Passage to Vanuatu

[Kyle]After leaving Denerau, Fiji, our first and only real hurdle for the passage to Vanuatu was traversing the first few miles to the edge of the reef at the Malolo Passage. Since we were still in the lee of Vitu Levu, we spent hours tacking in variable headwinds to get to the pass.

We arrived at the pass right at maximum flood, against the building wind. Worried that would make for rough seas and large crab angles, we started both engines as a precaution. We didn't end up needing them after all. With both sail and engines, even against a two-knot current, we had a quick transit of what turned out to be a smooth, wide pass.

Once we were clear, we turned downwind, shut off the engines and started a fast downwind sail to Vanuatu.

The next five hundred miles was relatively uneventful. Once out of the lee of Fiji, we had thick clouds, more wind than we needed, and an uncomfortable beam sea that was being pushed northward by a distant storm near New Zealand. Conditions weren't stressful, but they weren't exactly enjoyable either. The twenty-four-hour earthquake and the occasional dousing by an errant wave put us squarely in the annoying region for most of the way.

About a hundred miles from Vanuatu's main island of Efate, the wind reduced slightly and the waves shifted well astern. We surfed smoothly down long swells.

Ahhh, that's what I'm talkin' about…

It's nice to be at sea, where it's just us and the wind and the waves. Life gets reduced to its most elemental… Nevermind. Land ho. We're here.

We rounded the corner into Mele Bay and headed for the even smaller Port Vila Bay, way at the back, across water that had been flattened by Efate. We tried to hail Customs several times on the radio, to no avail, then headed to the quarantine anchorage to wait.

Having just arrived in Vanuatu, we were in the designated quarantine anchorage at Port Vila and having no luck getting anyone official on the radio. Eventually, Maryanne was able to get a message through to Yachting World Marina, who told her to call them on the radio to sort things out.

After a bit of back and forth, we were finally informed that Customs was on the way to Yachting World. We were to come in by dinghy for clearance.

That wasn't really the answer we were hoping to hear. We had variously heard that Customs may come out to us in their boat, may clear us in at the marina, or may want us to pick them up with our dinghy. Yachting World is a long way (for a row boat) from the quarantine anchorage, so we were hoping they would be able to come to us. Oh, well. we put on the electric outboard (still slow, but easier); we told them we were on the way, but it would be a while before we got there.

At the marina, the Customs officer was in the last stages of clearing a boat out for New Caledonia. Once he was done, he turned his attention to us. After completing everything, he informed us that he and the newly-arrived Biosecurity officer would now need a ride to Begonia.

Groan. Really?

Yup, really.

I showed them to the dinghy, which they both clearly did not like. I think they were expecting one of those high-speed, center-console mega-yacht tenders. After I explained that, with the motor mounted, the only way to ride and keep the boat in trim was for two of us to sit on the gunwales, which are not particularly comfortable for sitting, more snorts of derision ensued. Hey, I'll have you know this little dinghy is the most seaworthy vessel tied to the pontoon, even with three of us aboard.

Then things got worse. As I twisted the tiller on the electric motor to twice our usual setting, the Pudgy did not rise out of the water on its secret hydrofoil and start rocketing toward Begonia at twenty knots. This angered the two men.

The Biosecurity guy yelled at me, "Go faster!"

He then grabbed my tiller hand and twisted in lots more power. There's no point doing that on a displacement vessel. All you will get is 3% more speed and a much bigger wake. When I returned the power to its original setting, which was still double, mind you, he shot me a very angry look.

They asked which boat was mine. I pointed out the most obvious one at the near edge of the quarantine anchorage and explained that ours was the little catamaran two vessels behind it.

"What!!" They shouted, "You bring your boat to mooring! You come to mooring!"

Yachting world Marina manages several swing moorings right across the channel from their dock. We had a reservation for one of these moorings, starting tomorrow, since we were supposed to stay in the quarantine anchorage until receiving our clearance.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No! We go to your boat, then come back to mooring on your boat!"

I tried calmly explaining to them that I didn't think that would save them any time on their return leg, since I would have to contact the marina, change my reservation, if they even had something available (when we left, the mooring field was full), start Begonia, raise the anchor with no one at the helm to help, and then go pick up a mooring with no one at the helm to help. They ignored me and kept gesturing in the direction of the marina and yelling, "We finish, then go to mooring!!"

This ought to be fun.

At about the halfway mark, as I was trying my best to keep the mood light by making jokes about definitely getting them home for dark, etc., the Biosecurity guy decided he'd had enough, grabbed the tiller again and cranked in some more power, which made more noise, but didn't speed us up. Again, I reduced power and explained that the battery wouldn't last long enough to get us to the boat if he did that again. You don't want to row, do you? More angry stares…

As we entered the quarantine anchorage, we came near Ilo 1, who had just anchored right in front of Begonia. They had been trying for hours to get a hold of someone on the radio for their inbound clearance from New Caledonia to no avail. We had been in the marina office for several of their radio calls, which were always just after the perpetually busy manager had just stepped out.

Customs and Biosecurity seemed irritated about this new boat that had arrived without contacting them. They asked me about it. I said that I had heard multiple calls from them, but no responses. Would you like to pop by and talk to them?

"No! We go to your boat, then go to mooring!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, we go talk to them."

Whew! Ilo 1 has a more typical dinghy with a gasoline outboard, although both were currently stowed. My hope, and I hoped the official's hope, was that they could clear in Begonia, proceed to Ilo 1, clear them in, and then get a ride back to the marina on the bigger dinghy. Then I could collect Maryanne at my leisure for a last quiet night at anchor, before going to our reserved mooring the next day.

Our appearance in the water below Ilo 1's gunwales was a surprise for them. They seemed to have given up on getting hold of anyone today and were settling in for a quiet morning when they were told to drop their dinghy and come to Begonia to pick up the officers.

Problem solved.

At Begonia, the two officials dove one into each hull and started poking around. I followed behind, offering to assist or direct them to what they were looking for, which were generally met with arm waves to ‘go away'.

We generally keep ourselves pretty familiar with entry requirements for places we visit. We knew there were some things they wouldn't allow outright, but that we should be allowed to keep most of our produce, on the provision that we eat it aboard and never let it leave the vessel. These guys weren't having any of it. They took everything that looked like a vegetable and scooped it into bags by the armload. All the fresh, and generally exempted, produce that we had lugged with much effort to the boat in Denerau was now gone. They told us that if we wanted to eat, we could buy food in the market. My theory is that they were still fuming over the too-slow dinghy ride and were trying to punish me.

When they returned to the cockpit to fill out the rest of the paperwork, they saw the owner of Ilo 1 in his dinghy. He fastidiously donned a pair of sailing gloves, mounted a pair of oars and started rowing our way. The big dinghy was not made for rowing by small, backup oars, and the guy seemed to be struggling to move at all, even though Begonia was directly downwind.

Looks of incredulity came over the official's faces and they got more irritated and impatient at whatever I was doing. They thrust my completed papers at me and insisted I take them in the Pudgy to Ilo 1, then, after Ilo 1 was cleared in, I would collect them to come back and, "We go to mooring!! We go to mooring!!"

We passed the other dinghy at about the halfway mark, negating the need for him to have even made the trip. He is generally a pretty grumpy guy and he was not having one of his best days at the moment, so he threw a scowl to all three of us.

I dropped off the officials, and then returned to Begonia to wait with my giant bag of produce/trash for the signal that they were ready for pickup. Oh, I do not want to be doing this…

While the officials were down below on Ilo 1, the lone crewmember, who seems much nicer, generally, than the captain, wrestled the big gasoline outboard onto the stern of their dinghy. When I received a cryptic wave from the Biosecurity guy, I took the Pudgy over to see what he wanted.

His mood seemed no better. He thrust his arms in the direction of Begonia and the marina, "We go to your boat, then we go to mooring!! We go to mooring!"

"What if I don't want to?" I asked, gesturing to the big dinghy with the outboard.

"Fine!! Get your trash and bring it here!! You can stay."

Finally! The owner of Ilo 1 didn't seem to appreciate the idea and shot me a scowl, but I had already had my twenty minutes in Heaven with these two dudes. Your turn, buddy!

As they left Ilo 1 in their dinghy, either because it was too wet and choppy or because the dinghy couldn't plane with four aboard, they made a very slow getaway for the marina. A smirk may have briefly flashed across my face. So far, I seem to remember liking Vanuatu a lot more last time.

Now all I had to do was return to the marina in my own time in the lightly-loaded Pudgy to collect Maryanne. It took me exactly twice as long as the other guys, but I'm sure I was having a much better time of it. Maryanne had busied herself with a few important errands, not the least of which was to get local currency, the Vanuatu Vatu.

A few bits of officialdom (not all of them were grumpy), and we were officially cleared into the country and could hoist the courtesy flag

Apart from replacing our produce, we didn't need much in the way of provisions, food or fuel, so our plan was to spend most of our time in Port Vila exploring.

I'm kidding. If you ever need someone who can create jobs where none exist, Maryanne is your woman.

This one wasn't her fault. Our CO2 cylinder was starting to run low. Maryanne chased several unsuccessful leads to try to get it filled before we left Fiji. Initial investigation said we would probably not be able to find anywhere in to do it in Vanuatu. Maryanne did some more digging and found a guy at the local brewery, Tusker, who said he might be able to fill the bottle, but he would need to see it first to be sure. We got it to him just before the brewery closed for the day. Now Maryanne had a potentially multi-day goal to pursue. Then she realized some of the stores here might have stuff we couldn't find in Fiji, and the whole thing snowballed. Our last stop was to the Customs and Immigration offices to pay our fees, now that we had some Vatu. The (different) officers in each couldn't have been more friendly. Kevin, the head Immigration guy, greeted us warmly with a big smile, a few jokes, and friendly slaps on the shoulder.

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Quarantine Anchorage location >> On google maps

Last days in Fiji

[Kyle]From Volivoli, we spent a week along Vitu Levu's northern coast, stopping at two different anchorages along the way. Neither had much to do, apart from enjoy Fiji's stunning scenery, which is definitely not nothing.

Calm waters at Vatia Slot anchorage

The week's forecasts promised periods of strong winds and heavy rain. We thought that would give us some good, guilt-free hunkering-down weather, but the high terrain to windward kept us from getting much of either. The best we got was a lone night of light drizzle that was inadequate for fulfilling our fantasies of free showers, deck scrubbing while dancing "Singing in the Rain"-style, and copious bucketloads of hand laundry. I know, I know, it doesn't sound very vacation-ey, but sometimes a thorough freshening up is just what is needed to keep morale up for more traditional goofing-off duties.

At the far end of Vitu Levu, on its southwest side, we once again found ourselves in Denerau, bedroom community to the nearby city of Nadi (pronounced Nandi). Our main missions here are to top Begonia back up for the months ahead, and to clear out of Fiji, with the occasional fun, touristy thing wedged into the itinerary for some variety.

Denerau doesn't feel like a part of Fiji so much as a theme park called Fijiland, where every Fijian is in character all of the time, playing the people on the covers of the glossy travel brochures. Think really really big cruise ship. Only the mountains in the distance are a hint that it is not in fact in that part of Florida with all the other heavily curated park experiences.

Maryanne and I are not here for any of that. Mostly we are here to buy food – lots and lots of food, Tourists buy sunscreen and alcohol and expensive souvenirs from the overpriced stores along the waterfront next to the tour boats. We buy enough canned food to fill the bed of a pickup from the stores at the back, behind the far end of the golf course, where hotel staff go to fill the holes in their weekly deliveries.

We filled our collapsible wagon with all that it could hold, the poor thing, and then pulled it the mile or so back to the boat, with much effort. At least Denerau has smooth, wide footpaths that are separate from the roads themselves. That took care of the first quarter or so of our haul. To get the remainder, we would have to go into Nadi.

We started that journey on the bus. There are two types of public busses in Denerau. The first is the Bula Bus, which does continuous circuits of the island (oh yeah, Denerau is technically an island. I think that river is really a moat). For a day fee, it will take you from your resort to the waterfront or to the spa, because it is "too far" to walk (more than a quarter-mile). These busses, with their faux thatched roofs, are almost entirely populated by people in various shades from pink to deep red, depending on how long they have been here and how fastidious (or knowledgeable) they are about the use of sunscreen.

The other public busses in Denerau are the regular ones from Nadi. These would almost universally fail a safety inspection in any first-world country, and seem to be utilized by lots of people in various uniforms, clutching homemade lunches, on their way to or from tiring jobs. Although we understand that it's not true, economically, we feel much more in common with this crowd than all the brats snapping their fingers at the waiters for their next round of daquiris.

The Nadi bus does an interminable tiki tour of every address in Denerau (the marina is the first stop), and then goes through the guard gate and over the bridge into the real Fiji. Ah, it feels good to get out of Denerau. Saccharin smiles are replaced with genuine ones and the lush country that hasn't been tended by an army of gardeners is free to grow wherever it wants.

The bus station in the city center is a bustle of families with school kids and people out running all the daily errands of life. Horns blast, engines roar, street vendors call out for you to look at their wares. We got one of our phones repaired and then a series of very helpful people got us to our connecting bus to the big store at the edge of town.

It wasn't actually that big, but it was the best we were going to get for a few weeks, or even months, in the future. The staff were very helpful. When it became apparent that our two trolleys were about to overflow, they offered to hold them for us while we got two more. At the end, when it became apparent that our four hands weren't cutting it at the checkout they had opened just for us, they pitched in with the unloading. After ringing us up, they even waved some of their colleagues over to marvel at the bill. Our $2,200FJD total (about $1,000 US) seemed to be some sort of record.

Maryanne and I then carefully organized our haul and repacked it into our four trolleys. Outside, we found a cab driver, Justin, who didn't even flinch when I pointed out our train of carts. He cheerfully joined as we transferred armloads of bags to every nook and cranny of his car. He even managed to arrange it so Maryanne and I wouldn't have to follow along in a secA bus to the main town of Nadi, where we fixed our phone, and stocked up on fresh produceond cab.

Ah, it feels good to be back in Denerau, with its wide, manicured paths and its conspicuous lack of road dust. Justin dropped us off as close as humanly possible to our dinghy, which was still way on the other side of the pedestrianized restaurant area, and then helped me spread out our bags in a line along the walkway, as if they were tone-deaf swag bags for the well-heeled new arrivals. Maryanne then got SUPER lucky and managed to snag the lone, secret, giant dock cart from the mega yacht dock. With some careful balancing, we managed to get everything we had in a single teetering load, to the clear amusement of the al fresco dining crowds.

A careful scientific measurement of our dinghy revealed it to be neither as voluminous as Justin's car, nor the mega yacht trolley. One of us was going to have to run the first half to Begonia while the other stood guard with the rest. Maryanne graciously agreed to do the hard part of standing in the tropical sun at the dinghy dock, while I got to take a break by going back to Begonia and unburdening our dinghy. When I returned, almost an hour later, I found her guarding our stuff from a table with an umbrella at the railing above. She had just started in on the first of an ice-filled bucket of beers. How long did she think I was going to be gone?

"No, Honey. Most of these are for you."

Suuuuure they are...

Since our day had been so taxing and since our boat was still in a bit of a state, Maryanne suggested we treat ourselves to a meal out, instead of eating at home surrounded by the constant reminder of the dreaded stowage job that lay ahead of us. Denerau has lots of good restaurants. After our dinner, we agreed that we were definitely hoping to find one of them soon.

We eventually did. The Cantina did a pretty passable job of seeming like a real Mexican restaurant. The Indian food at Indigo borders on amazing. We should have eaten there all week. As a bonus, several nights a week, Denerau has a dance and fire show, which made a nice finale to the meals.

The only hitch was when Maryanne walked into an extremely clean glass door, thinking it was just air. She had gone in search of a restroom, while I cluelessly waited for her four tables away with my back to the drama. She returned carrying a handful of bloody paper towels and a waning look of shock. My brand-new concern was completely out of sync with events. I wanted to jump to the rescue, but the whole affair was already over and done. Oh, dear. Now she knows how those birds must feel when they do it.

We did a couple more provisioning runs to the big market at the back of Denerau before topping it all off with one last run to Nadi for lots and lots of fresh produce at their giant market. This gave us another pass through the conflicting feelings of being glad to leave Denerau, and then being glad to be back later, away from the chaos of the city.

A bus to the main town of Nadi, where we fixed our phone, and stocked up on fresh produce

We took a long walk about the island, to explore some of the resort parts of the Denerau complex

We connected with packages (thanks Portland Pudgy of Maine), and dined out, exploring the waterfront

We enjoyed the complementary fire shows on weekend evenings

As I was sitting on a bench, waiting for Maryanne with a month's worth of produce at my feet, I got to witness the arrival of a very obviously well-to-do couple. They were dressed in brand-new, carefully pressed safari gear. One effusively submissive guide after another led them to the waiting area for their resort's launch, and then begged forgiveness while they went to check that everything was waiting and ready for their arrival. It was clear to me from the couple's manner that they were expecting to not have to lift a finger for anything. Everything was done by remote control through whispers, preferably without eye contact. Oh, what they must have thought of me with my big, well-worn bag of self-ported celery.

"Must be staff..."

Presumably, they were driven from the airport while blindfolded.

It's a shame, really. Fiji is a beautiful country, and it's full of really nice people. Denerau sanitizes it practically out of existence.

Begonia's mooring was on the departure path for all the ferries and tour boats headed to the nearby islands. The first thing every single one of them does upon leaving the dock, every one, is get all of the passengers to yell "BULA!!!", so that they know they are in Fiji (as opposed to "ALOHA!!!" for Hawai'i, etc.). A little-known fact, at least among those who don't live on a mooring in Denerau, is that no group of passengers has ever yelled "BULA!!!" loudly enough the first time for one or more increasingly enthusiastic repeats not to be mandated.

Then there is the kava situation. Kava has historically been a rural/island thing in Fiji, but is becoming increasingly more common in the cities. I like kava, but - Wait, that's too strong... I don't dislike kava, but – No, also too strong... I can tolerate kava (there it is), but it is meant to be consumed while sitting on the floor or the ground, between your new brothers and sisters, who have proffered it as a gift of friendship and acceptance. The Ni-Vanuatu gulp it down where it is served at their nakamals, but then retreat to a quiet location to enjoy its effect in the company of their new brothers and sisters.

Denerau has a kava kiosk – a food truck-style trailer. I immediately dubbed it Tourist Kava. There, you can buy kava at an obscene markup from a hipster with a topknot, who dispenses it with a flourish from the vicinity of a loud, steamy machine with lots of shiny valves. Kava does not require steaming, so the whole thing is probably a ruse for the rubes. It's possible no actual kava is being served, because your typical rube might not have any basis for comparison. Throw some instant coffee crystals in a cup of strong tea, that could pass.

Tourist Kava is really there because there is a market for it from influencers who want to make stupid videos about how they went to Fiji, bro, drank kava, and got to yell "BULA!!!!!" on a boat.

Dude, you haven't been to Fiji. You have been to Fijiland. You could have saved yourself the four-hour plane ride and stayed on the Gold Coast, in Queensland. Wait, maybe I'm confusing that with the place where all the Fijians go so they can eat at Outback Steakhouse.

Denerau is full all the time, so we when the weather forced a slight delay to departure, we had to leave our mooring before we could clear out of the country and leave Fiji. That put is in the distant anchorage on the outside of the harbor. There, we were spared the BULA!!! chorus, but those boats made up for it by flooring it at the end of the no wake zone, keeping Begonia's hulls dancing around all day like a firewalker's feet. It makes me kinda look forward to the ocean, where the waves are at least from the same general direction.

We had to return to the marina basin to clear out of Fiji. This is because Immigration needs to see us each in person and, at their discretion, Customs officials may need to come to see the yacht as well. The last time we left here in 2019, Begonia was on a mooring in the basin, so I was able to collect the officers after only a few strokes of the oars. Being anchored way out past the channel entrance is not too much of a problem for the fast dinghy crowd, but we would be looking at thirty minutes each way using the electric motor in the Pudgy. Then, when we were done, I would still have to put the dinghy in lifeboat mode.

Thus, our plan was to spend our spare day in the anchorage converting our dinghy into a lifeboat. Then we would bring Begonia in the next morning for the formalities. Since the marina was insisting that they were full that day, our plan was to go to the fuel/water dock. I would then run in to Immigration to complete the paperwork, while Maryanne took her time replacing eight liters of air in the top of our last jerry can with diesel. Then she would do the same with our water tanks and every water container we could find. The hope was that I would be back well before then and then we could switch duties as necessary to finish dealing with any inspectors. In the event other boats were waiting for the dock, we planned to cast off and complete the necessary formalities while loitering nearby. Then we would find an unoccupied tour boat dock or something to drop the officials off.

The first hitch in our plan came when, at our appointed time, I arrived at the Customs/Immigration office to find it closed and locked from what appeared to be the night before. I spent several minutes bouncing back and forth between Begonia, where Maryanne was quickly running out of ways to kill time, and the offices, before someone showed up. The officer explained to me that she was not the Denerau officer I had been waiting for. That person had apparently called in sick. She drove in from the Vuda office as a replacement, and would get to me as soon as she was settled into her temporary desk for the day. At any rate, there was no particular rush, because the Customs guy was still at least half an hour away.

Ooookay... Plan B was for me to get my passport stamped, then switch off with Maryanne so she could do the same. Then she would wait in the office while I stayed at the boat, hopefully close enough that I would be able to see her and the Customs guy waving me over to an adjacent unattended space.

Then a bunch of boats appeared who were clearly waiting for fuel. I prepared to cast off Begonia's lines and the attendant told me not to worry, all those boats wanted unleaded gasoline. The fuel dock had run out yesterday and the fuel truck was just now arriving to refill the tank. It was going to be a while. That made me feel a little better, although I could still see agitation from those at the back of the queue, who had not yet received the news, at my conspicuous lack of animation. Then Maryanne arrived a few minutes later with the news that Customs had decided an inspection would NOT be necessary. Everything was done. We were free to go. No loitering needed. Next stop: Vanuatu

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Vatia Slot, Vitu Levu Island (north side) >> Vatia Slot
Vitago Bay, Vitu Levu Island (NW side) >> Vitago Bay
Denerau Marina (Moorings), Denerau Island >> Denerau Marina (Moorings)
Port Denerau anchorage (outside the entrance to the port)>> Denerau anchorage

Volivoli, Vitu Levu

[Kyle]We never managed to see Yadua in clear, calm weather. With the wind only slightly less bad than it had been all week, we decided to take the opportunity to make the upwind bash to Volivoli Resort, on the northeast corner of Vitu Levu (Fiji's main island).

It wasn't too bad. We had plenty of wind to drive Begonia fast, even with double-reefed everything, but the extensive reefs between Vanua Levu and Vitu Levu kept the swell from getting high enough to be annoying. After just losing sight of Yadua to our stern, we had about twenty minutes with just us and the sea before the mountains of Vitu Levu started rising out of the ocean ahead. A couple of hours later, we entered the pass at the Nananu Passage. The seas flattened and we zigzagged our way to the resort anchorage along the channels between the extensive reef patches.

Volivoli Resort owns most of the land on the peninsula adjacent to the anchorage, which pretty much makes going into the resort the only thing to do around here. We decided our first day would start with whatever respectably long walk we could cobble together on the adjacent roads, followed by returning to the resort for a meal out.

The resort was pleasant, and we explored the surrounding roads (mostly sugar cane farming once we left the resort property)
Since we were out of all alcohol aboard, we certainly enjoyed a few cold beers ashore!

The meal turned out to be completely mediocre, particularly considering the resort pricing. I mean, it was calories and salt, but not much else. The setting was nice, though, and we were at least given a day off from cooking and washing up, but we both agreed we weren't going to be returning for another.

It struck me as a different version of the same sensation we increasingly get after going for a 'night out' at a cinema. Why did I just pay a fortune to sit in a tiny theater with sticky seats, watching a movie that the theater has set the volume for to 'two', while the movie next door is clearly at 'nine-and-a-half', and the teenager behind me is talking into his phone at 'eleven'? Café Maryanne has (almost) all of my favorite foods, deliciously prepared, with generous servings, and delivered right to my salon table…

The next day, we decided to limit ourselves to a quick Happy Hour visit to their beach bar. Again, it was nice to have a change of venue, but the triple-pricing and the hassle of the dinghy ride made us decide that would be a one-off as well. Oh, if there was only something else we could do to pass the time…

There wasn't, but there was plenty for Maryanne to do.

After not getting too warm a feeling from the resort's dive operator, she contacted another local company. They agreed to pick her up at Begonia and take her to a nearby (thirty miles) Marine Reserve for two tanks worth of SCUBA diving, and for less than the cost of a local dive with the resort operator. I would get the opportunity to have some unstructured time at home to dispense with jobs I have been putting off.

The time flew. Just as I was hurriedly tidying up in anticipation of her return, a fast boat came around the headland and sped right at Begonia. Maryanne was back aboard before I knew what had even happened.

She reported that her two dives were just wonderful, with plenty of interesting stuff to see. Our underwater cameras are unfortunately not rated for the pressures of the depths of her dives, so we are just going to have to take her word for it.

[Maryanne]The weather was considered calm enough for us to get out to the Vatu-i-ra passage (a more exposed/open part of the Bligh Waters region, in the Somosomo Strait - the waters between Viti Levu and Vanua Levu. It's known as the "Soft Coral Capital of the World"). Along with the guide and an Italian guest (so a nice small group), I dived two sites with the trip: Mellow Yellow, and Pot Luck. Both were spectacularly colourful and full of marine life, and I dived. I don't have a camera that can take pictures beyond snorkelling depths - so no pictures, but WOW!

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Anchorage location >> On google maps

Yadua Island

[Kyle]Our sail from Navidamu westwards along the northern Vanua Levu coast started out well. We weighed anchor and ran northwestwards under double-reefed mainsail in winds that increased as we left the land behind. After about three miles, we cleared the extensive shoals to the south and west of the village and were finally able to turn across the wind to parallel the coast. We unrolled the jib and had fast, easy sailing in the flat water in the lee of the island.

Moving west along the north coast of Vanua Levu

That lasted for about fifteen miles or so, until our course, which had slowly been converging with the shore, finally got close enough that we were once again in the turbulence behind the mountains. Then the wind went through a cycle of five minutes on, which was just enough to make us think our woes were over, and fifteen minutes off, which made us think we would have to start a motor and spend the rest of the day like that. Eventually, after clearing the impressive headland at Naivaka (Sleepy Point), with its 500-meter peaks, we found ourselves in twenty-five knot headwinds for the remainder of our leg to the deep indentation at Nokanoka, just up the coast from the extreme western edge of Vanua Levu, the smaller of Fiji's two main islands.

Nokanoka is pretty, but is otherwise lacking in diversions. There is no village there and no beach. Most of the shore is hidden behind a band of mangroves. There is some coral around the edges of the inlet, but generally speaking, it is heavily silted over, which makes sense in the murky water.

Thus, we were able to have a couple of guilt-free days, where we didn't feel compelled to leave the boat. Even better, the steep valley at Nokanoka was aligned with the prevailing winds, which rumbled down the valley to meet us. For the first time in a while, we were able to wake up each morning to a battery bank that had been kept completely full all night long by our wind turbine. With it and our solar panels able to put out more electricity than we could even use during the day, we had the luxury of being able to be somewhat indiscriminate with it.

On Day Three, the southeast winds backed slightly to the east-southeast and strengthened, which would give us a strong beam reach for the fifteen-mile leg from Nokanoka to Yadua Island. There are extensive reefs between Yadua and Vanua Levu, which put some zigzags in our track, but also helped tamp down the worst of the swell. After a few hours, we were rounding Yadua's northwest corner and turning into thirty knot headwinds for the last couple miles of motoring into Cukuvou Harbor. We found a spot in thirteen meters of depth alongside one other boat.

Yadua is well-known for having good snorkeling at Cukuvou, but the next few days were forecast to be in very strong winds, so our plan was to hunker through them aboard while crossing our fingers that the anchor holds.

Visitors to the boat
including Sevu (wearing his blue park ranger t-shirt)

Before they started in earnest, a local boat with two men arrived. We invited them aboard. They introduced themselves as Sevu, the Park Ranger, and Lua, the grandson of Yadua's chief. Sevu patrols the island. Lua spearfishes during breaks. We got the rundown of the island and were even able to give our kava to the men to take to the village, on the weather-beaten opposite side of the island, for a remote sevusevu ceremony. The anchorages on that side of Yadua are tenuous on a good day. This was definitely not one of those. There was no way we were going to be able to make the trip in the current conditions in our Portland Pudgy, so it was nice of them to handle it for us.

Before the wind picked up too far, we took the opportunity to go ashore the next day. Getting to the beach was a struggle, like a thirty-minute workout with the rowing machine on ‘high'. Once ashore in the protection of the trees, conditions seemed almost normal. With an aim to getting over the ridge to the beach on the opposite, windward side of the anchorage, we tried a couple of trails inland, but they eventually petered out on us. We were at least able to forage some fresh papayas for later.

Exploring ashore

We returned to the beach, walked to the other end, and then a little further over tidal rocks, before finally finding the correct trail over the ridge to the long beach on the windward side, called Talai. This beach was beautiful, with long views of southern Yadua, and completely exposed to the building wind. It was the kind you had to lean into while holding your hands over your eyes as protection from stinging grains of flying sand. Well, at least we were getting a walk in. We've been overdue for that.

After regaining the ridge on the way back to Cukuvou, we took a side trail that led us to a couple of high points on the cliffs edging the bay. There, we got nice views of the wind-streaked anchorage.

Just before dinner, we were visited by a local boat with four men in it, who said they were just starting an overnight stint of fishing. Only one of them was wearing anything waterproof. They told us that when they were finished fishing, they would take their catch to market on Vanua Levu in the morning.

When we told them about tomorrow's forecast of thirty-knot winds, with gusts to forty, which would be headwinds for them to Vanua Levu, they seemed concerned, but not deterred. We gave them hot coffee, wished them luck fishing tonight, but especially on the trip to market tomorrow. Then they headed to the beach to make camp.

When we emerged from our bed in the morning, the men were gone and the gusts coming through the anchorage felt like they were going to lift Begonia right out of the water, held aloft by her anchor chain like a kite. Maryanne shared with me the news that another local boat had gone missing, over in the Lau Group. It was the second this month. So far, there was no sign of them, and a big search was underway.

By the next afternoon, the wind had abated ever so slightly. We made a plan of doing a quick snorkel in Begonia's immediate vicinity, with the option of bailing out if the water is too churned up.

We started along the reefs along the southern shore of Cukuvou. There was plenty of variety there, with high proportions of vibrant healthy species, and plenty of fishes that were too small to be worth catching by Yaduans.

The water was still unseasonably cold, though. I had opted out of wearing a wetsuit for simplicity's sake, which meant I was soon tugging on Maryanne's fin to tell her I was going to give up and retreat to the warmth of home while she finished her swim.

The next day, having finally accepted that it would be worth the effort after all, I donned my full outfit, including the hood. That took temperature out of the endurance calculation, and Maryanne and I were able to have an hours-long swim to, and then around, the big patch of coral in the middle of the bay.

Some beautiful snorkelling along the reef walls at the entrance of the bay

That patch was even livelier than the one yesterday. That, in turn, made us go nuts the next day. We swam past the central patch to the large reef at the southern headland. Then we followed its edge all the way around to the wall on the outside, and then kept going until we had left the bay altogether and could no longer see Begonia.

The wall was just fantastic, with lots of bright corals and darting fishes. It plunges straight down into the black depths below. Occasionally, we would pass a little canyon along the way, which made for a pleasant detour with 360-degree views. Since I am pretty good at free diving, I would often follow the wall to the fifteen-meter range or so, where I was constantly surprised by how porous this giant coral structure above me was, with sunlight coming through holes and wide caverns that are big enough for a person to swim through if they were so inclined. I was not, as at those depths I am wary of putting myself in any situation that could prevent my buoyancy from returning me to the surface.

After a few hours of this, we were both starting to get worn out. Following about the fifth “just to the next canyon”, we finally agreed that we should start heading home in earnest this time. Our route was all just a marvelous as it had been on the way out, which kept us from having to think too much about the miles of water between us and Begonia's swim ladder. The upwind bash across the featureless portion between the edge of the coral and the boat seemed to take ages, though.

Visitors - Local fishermen

After several years in communication we finally meet up with fellow cruisers - Cate and David - from the boat Noeta (photos thanks to Cate)

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Anchorage location >> On google maps

Navidamu, Vanua Levu

[Kyle]From the Labasa anchorage, we had a pleasant downwind sail further east along Vanua Levu's north coast to the village of Navidamu. It was mostly pleasant, anyway, until we got to the big turn at Muaituna Island, just north of the anchorage. At that point, our eight to twelve-knot tailwinds shifted to twenty-five knot headwinds, then thirty knots. We reefed and then needed to reef some more as soon as we were finished with each. Then one big gust convinced us that perhaps we would be better off stowing the sails completely and starting the engines a mile earlier than planned for the entry to the anchorage.

The village of Navidamu lies in the middle of the long arc of the bay with the same name. A few hundred meters off the shore, there is a very obvious mudbank that had us choosing a spot a little to the left of the village, along the adjacent sandy beach. Before we were less than half a mile from the beach, our depth sounder told us that we would need to go no further and anchor right there.

A while later, we were visited by Joe and his nephews, Joseph and Frank, on their way home from a day of fishing. We told them we were going to rest tonight, but planned to go into the village for sevusevu in the morning before the water gets too low. Joe gave us directions to his house, bid us farewell and said he would see us then.

In the morning, we were finally underway a little later than we had expected. It was full moon spring tides now, which is when the greatest difference between high and low occurs. The water had receded to the bottom of the sand on the beach, and then kept going until a wide band of mud was exposed further out. As I rowed, Maryanne guided us to the spot she thought would get us closest to the beach.

By the time we were halfway from Begonia to the sand, the oars were already hitting bottom. We were able to continue until about the two-thirds mark, when we finally mushed to a halt. We need to jettison some ballast...

I got out of the dinghy, expecting to be towing Maryanne for a while, but then she jumped out too, saying she knew she'd be in the water with me soon enough, and it wasn't like she was going to be able to get to the beach without getting covered with mud.

Without us in it, the dinghy made it about three lengths before it was aground again.

The mud was pretty awful stuff. We sank to our ankles, and every second or third step, we'd lose a shoe to it. It was a good thing we were holding onto the dinghy, because it kept us from falling into the mud. We'd pull for a bit, then rest for a bit, gradually closing on the beach.

As we were working our way through that part of our morning, a local boat was over by the village, going through the same thing on its way back from what appeared to be net casting on the mudbank. The local boats are fiberglass, almost as long as Begonia, and generally have forty horsepower outboards, which must make them weigh three or four times as much as our dinghy does. As the water was too shallow to use the outboard, it was lifted clear of the water, and the poor guy was alternately punting or dragging his boat toward the village, while the women with him walked alongside. That seems like a tough way to make a living.

Maryanne and I finally dragged the pudgy above the high tide line about the same time as the other guy got close enough to tie that boat to a stake. We were both covered with mud below our knees, which was further covered in sand. There was no way we could do sevusevu like that, so our first order of business was to find a place where we could rinse off, in order to make ourselves presentable for entering the village.

Arriving at low tide certainly complicates things

We entered the village and found our way to Joe's house. He wasn't there at the moment. His wife, Eta, said that he had taken the bus into Labasa for the day, and wouldn't be back until the afternoon. In the meantime, she took us into the village herself to help us find the Chief for sevusevu. Until we have completed the ceremony, custom says that we are considered visitors and must be escorted and introduced to the Chief first.

The Chief could not be found, nor anyone that would be authorized to act as his proxy. The lead candidate would be Livai, the Turaga ni Koro, or Headman, a position roughly analogous to Mayor, who performs all of the village's administrative duties. He was also in Labasa, and also expected to return on the afternoon bus.

Now Maryanne and I were in a pickle. Without going through sevusevu, we couldn't technically go wandering about the village introducing ourselves to people. The tide was even lower now than when we had landed, which made the two-way slog to go wait out the interval aboard Begonia undesirable. We had been expecting to kill the time to high tide in the village, but now we needed to find something else to do. We decided to walk along the road to Labasa for an hour and a half, then turn and head back to Navidamu in time to make it back before the bus did. Hopefully, we could at least get to see a view or two.

We took a walk out of town, up the hill to the logging forest area - a good dose of exercise

Leaving the village, the road climbed very steeply to the ridge above. There, we were able to join a different road to the next village to the west of Navidamu, called Nakalou. That road ran along the ridge, making for much easier going. During our entire walk, we saw maybe five vehicles. We were able to talk with one driver while he was stopped at the intersection. He worked for a logging company harvesting trees in the area. Another vehicle slowed to ask if we were okay, but we were surprised the rest went barreling by, leaving us in a cloud of dust. I mean, here we were, very obviously a couple of non-Fijians, a long way from the nearest anything, and dressed very formally by Fijian standards, and people were just swerving around us on their way to wherever they were going in a big hurry. I guess the last few anchorages of having every boat within sight come over to check on us and introduce themselves has skewed our expectations a bit. I suppose even the very end of a long road means you're going to find a few city people.

We made it back to Navidamu about an hour before the bus was scheduled to return. We popped in to see Eta and she invited us into her home to wait. We all chatted inside for a bit, and then Eta set up a mat outside for us to sit on while she built a fire so she could boil the kettle in anticipation of her daughter's return from school. She had a butane lighter, but it was still a long process for her to gather the wood and kindling, chop it all into the appropriate-sized pieces and coax the fire up to temperature. After a long while, the kettle boiled and she poured us both cups of lemon leaf tea.

We were so embarrassed. We hadn't realized until then that she had been going to all that trouble for us, not her daughter. Now it would be rude not to take the tea. Fortunately, lemon leaf tea is delicious, so it was no hardship at all. Then Eta disappeared and returned with a plate of scrumptious coconut cake to go with. That hit the spot after the long walk, but we would never have asked for or expected such unilateral kindness from a person who has already gone so far out of her way for us.

As we were enjoying our tea and cake, one of Eta's neighbors, another man named Joe, came over for a chat. After a while, he explained that some people were concerned about us because there are not a lot of visiting sailboats along the northern coast of Vanua Levu. The authorities, who are worried about the drug trafficking problem, have told people to be on the lookout for anything unusual, particularly sailboats going places they don't ordinarily frequent, presumably like half-price Happy Hour at yacht club bars or Jimmy Buffett look-a-like contests. If he had seen us come ashore, he would no doubt have known we were in no position to make a hasty getaway from the Narc Squad. Maryanne, who is always prepared, showed him copies of all our clearance paperwork that she keeps on her phone, while I did my best to hide the extensive collection of prison tattoos that I totally do not have. That seemed to satisfy Joe that we have been operating above board the whole time, allowing us to move onto other niceties for the remainder.

After a while, Eta announced that the man walking by along the road was the Turaga ni Koro (the title for the administrator of the village). She said it a couple of times before we understood what she meant. The man came over and introduced himself as Livai. He told us he would now be taking us to the Chief for sevusevu.

At the Chief's house, Livai coached on what to call out as we approached. Chief Waisea then invited us to enter his home and have a seat on the mat.

We presented our kava. Both Livai and Chief Waisea made long speeches – longer than other sevusevu speeches we have heard. Periodically, during these speeches, there are places when it is customary to clap or make some sort of response. Since Maryanne and I don't speak Fijian, we had to resort to the strategy of copying Livai, which had us always half a beat off-tempo.

Eventually, the incantations were finished and Chief Waisea switched to English for our benefit. After some small talk, he asked us when we had come ashore and where. When we confirmed that we were the ones with the little yellow dinghy, he told us that the other boat we had seen, the one with with its engine lifted out of the water as we were landing, had not been punting and dragging its way to shore because of the shallows. They had just left on an outbound fishing expedition from the village and then the engine had failed. After failing to restart it, they had to resort to returning to the village as we had seen them doing. The Chief explained that when they saw us, they had been hoping we would come and offer assistance. That was until they realized we had no engine ourselves and were also doing a long drag to get our boat ashore. Also, the Chief's wife was one of the people on that boat.

We were mortified. Honestly, we had no idea that anything unusual was happening. We just thought that their behavior was just what had to be done anytime they needed to arrive at the village at low tide. We exchanged smiles and one-armed, friendly waves with each other, but saw no signs of distress or urgency in anyone's manner. We certainly didn't want to give them something else to worry about.

Chief Waisea kept telling us it was okay, since it turned out we had no engine after all, but his measured Fijian politeness was hard for us to read.

He and Livai shared a few shells of kava with us and the conversation moved on, but Maryanne and I never completely got over feeling like we had spent the day making inadvertent social blunders.

Enjoy the hospitality of the locals: Eta made us tea, while we waited to perform our Sevusevu with the Livai (the Turaga ni Koro) and Waisea (the chief)

Livai walked us to our dinghy in the rapidly descending tropical darkness. High tide was in an hour or so and the water was just lapping at its stern. Livai asked us to visit again tomorrow, but we told him we thought it would be too difficult, with the tides being the way they were at the moment. We eventually agreed that he would try to visit Begonia once the tide was high enough in the afternoon.

That ended up never coming to pass. At the agreed time, the tide was still a bit too low to launch a boat from the village. Livai wanted to wait longer but, as Turaga ni Koro, he also had important duties at a big village fundraiser that afternoon. Eventually, nighttime fell and we knew he probably wasn't going to make it. {Maryanne: In hindsight I think thtere was a miscommunication at some point; we were expecting Livai to visit us wtih a local boat, and I think he assumed we were picking him up in our boat - oops!}

Late the next afternoon, just before sunset, we were visited by four members of a family returning from a day of fishing. One of them was a child having his second day ever on a boat. By that, they didn't mean a cruising sailboat, they meant any boat. That's why he had been so nervous about climbing from one to the other. We invited them aboard, gave them cups of tea and the tour. Then we spent half an hour talking and laughing before they said they needed to get home. The young boy (so new to boats and so nervious at the begninning seemed much more confident by the time he left).

No sooner had they left than a second boat arrived for more of the same with four new people. They hung out with us until it was clear the captain was starting to get anxious about making it back in the failing light.

That was nice. The spring tides had really not been helpful for visiting Navidamu, so it felt good to still be able to have a good chunk of the village come to us instead. They were all very friendly and it was good to have a chance to meet a cross section of them.

Visitors aboard Begonia at anchor off the village

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Anchorage location >> On google maps