Passage to Fiji

[Kyle]The first night after clearing out of Neiafu, the forecast was for no wind and a whole lot of rain. Rather than being subjected to that while underway, we popped back into the anchorage at Mala to wait it out on the hook.

I’m so glad we did. The rain was torrential, like standing under a waterfall. It hit the deck and splashed back up from every direction at once, making for an instant soaking when venturing outside, even under the bimini in the cockpit.

We didn’t really need any water. We still had ten days left in our tanks above our reserve level and enough in the cockpit buckets for a rinse should we decide to have a swim for some reason. In Fiji, we could fill up with as much as we wanted for five Fijian dollars, so there was no need to carry any extra weight there if we didn’t have to.

Still, our water catchment was all set up, so we left it that way. All three of our 40 liter buckets were overflowing within twenty minutes. I wanted to clean off all of the muddy footprints that were covering the deck from our clearing out process (the road to the offices is dirt), so I donned a pair of swim trunks, lathered up (might as well get a free shower out of it) and headed out with a deck brush and a bottle of soap. When I was done, I was able to splash tons of fresh water over the decks and upend a bucket over myself for good measure. The tubs refilled so fast, I was able to then turn the cockpit into a rapidly draining little kiddie pool, sending all of the accumulated salt and sand back to the sea.

Afterwards, it felt strange to sit there and watch all of that clean, fresh water go into the sea. We are so habituated to thinking about conserving our limited resources that it was like watching money fall out of an ATM onto the ground and standing there passively while the wind blows it all away.

It was still coming down in big, heavy sheets in the morning. By the time we were finished with breakfast, it had stopped. By the time the anchor was up, the clouds were rapidly turning into bright sunshine.

We had a few slow squiggles on our track as the wind filled in and swirled in the lee of Vava’u. Then we reached clear air and FOOM! We were off.

It was the best passage we have had in ages. The wind was from behind. The waves were, too, and they were slight enough that we barely felt the motion. We weren’t in a particular hurry because the distance was such that a daytime departure and a daytime arrival meant we could back off of the throttle a little bit, so to speak. We threw an extra reef in each sail, which kept us well protected from any unexpected gusts.

The air was warm and the skies were clear. My first night watch was the perfect mix of three hours of bright moonlight followed by three hours of moonless stargazing. Oh, if only all long sails could be this easy…

On the third day, just past the halfway point, we made it to the Lau group of islands. We had to pick our way through them to get to the Koro Sea, the relatively unobstructed gap between the Lau and Fiji’s main island of Vitu Levu. The Lau consists of about eighty islands, about half of which are inhabited. In addition, there are loads of reefs and atolls to worry about there as well. Much of the area hasn’t been surveyed since the 1800s, when longitude was difficult to pin down accurately. Reports from people we have met that have been there area say it’s not uncommon for charts to be as much as ½ mile in error in places. As a result, our route zigzagged across open water like we had been dodging a fishing fleet or something. We saw no other boats. We were just trying to keep at least a mile away from anything that might be land or even a shallow spot.

When we got to the Koro Sea, we had to turn even further downwind. This made our jib flog annoyingly in the turbulence behind the mainsail. We solved that problem by bringing down the main and zipping it up into its bag, since the jib is generally less work to operate. That made the sailing even easier.

On the morning of Day Four, we just managed to catch sight of Fiji’s second biggest island of Vanua Levu before losing it again in a wave of heavy rain reminiscent of our last night in Tonga.

It ended just as we rounded the corner into Savusavu Bay. The sun came out and the rain immediately began the process of steaming back into the sky, making it both hot and muggy. We announced our arrival to the Copra Shed Marina. They are the biggest of the three marinas in the harbor and seem to have been given the unofficial role of Harbor Control by the others. They assigned us the last of their mooring balls and then seamlessly put later arrivals in berths or on balls at the other two marinas. The whole time we were in Savusavu we detected no rivalry whatsoever between businesses there.

Once we were tied up, a launch came out with our first official, the Health Officer. The health inspection was in the same style as the one we got in Tonga; hand us the bill, see if our hearts hold up. He explained that he is always first in case we are actually sick. That way, he is the only official that gets exposed to anything we may have. Apart from that, he was very friendly. He told us the history of the town, explained where to go to get most of the things we might need. He emphasized that if we ever had any questions about anything at all, not just health related, we could pop into his office anytime to ask. Savusavu looked small enough to be easy to figure out. I asked him about the water at the marina. He said it was safe and potable. That was good to hear. Then he said it just wasn’t that way today. Huh‽

”When it has been raining too much, runoff can get into the drinking water supply. It’s best to wait until the rain has stopped for a while.”

I pressed him further. He said the water was currently safe to drink, but they put a lot of chlorine in after rains, so we probably wouldn’t like the taste. He said everything would be back to normal in a couple of days at the most.

Next were Customs, Immigration and Quarantine. They were quick and efficient. Fiji has a very paperwork-intensive process. There are thirteen pages of forms to fill out. They did all of the writing for us, all while simultaneously repeating the previous guy’s insistence that we pop in or grab them on the street if we need help or advice on anything.

Sights on passage - mostly fine sailing with a bit of rain towards the end

The Rest of Vava’u

[Kyle]After everyone else had left, we once again had Langito’o all to ourselves. We finally had some unstructured time with no “jobs” on that infernal list of ours. That was nice, because it allowed us to get bored enough to start looking for things to do.

Even though I would generally be considered the tidy one, Maryanne got it in her head that she would do a little Spring cleaning. I decided to go overboard and give the bottom paint a wipe down to keep any growth from gaining a foothold.

I had company. Our resident family of squid was hanging out down there. They are so adorable. As I cleaned one hull, they were all lined up under the other one watching me with obvious interest. When I moved to the outside, I would catch them peeking under just far enough to see me.

When I got finished, I decided to spend some time hanging out with them. They clustered around me watching my every move. I tried to communicate with them by going quickly from light to dark like they do. I did this by pulling my dark shirt up and down over my white belly. They just seemed to think that was weird, so I switched to making different shapes with the tentacles on the end of my hands. They really liked that. They would all gather up really close and a brave one or two would reach out with an arm and almost touch me before chickening out when I moved too much. They never went far, though, and always came back for another try. While all of this was going on, they were giving me a great show. They changed from light to dark, spotted to solid, and a couple of them even turned an arm or two blue, presumably to mimic me. I had a blue camera in one hand.

Kyle managed some playtime with our resident group of squid (at Langito'o)

I stayed until my tentacles were good and pruny. I would have loved to invite them up to play at the table, but I don’t think they would have liked that. I went back to my world and left them to theirs.

I was secretly hoping they would find a way to follow us to our next anchorage, although I knew it was best for them to stay in their own neighborhood, where they had all of the good hidey holes scoped out. I hope they are okay without a big boat to hide under.

[Maryanne]On the passage to our next anchorage (Mala) we detoured to Mariners Cave. This is a sealed cave that has an underwater entrance - you swim down, along the short entrance passage and can surface inside the cave itself where there is air again (I was a little nervous about my level of fitness, but practiced ahead of time by swimming under Begonia a few times to make sure I was happy to hold my breath for the time required). While I assume (somehow) fresh air can get in and stale air can get out, there is no obvious opening, and indeed the swell of the water outside actually changes the air pressure inside the cave - so much so that the air condenses and clears as the swell comes and goes. Last time we visited, the weather was so calm that this effect was simply not apparent, this time however, we managed it.. While floating in the cave, it is hard to be sure if your eyesight is going a bit squiffy or a fog has appeared, and just as you process that thought visibility returns to crystal-clear. It is a surreal experience. We each took turns to enter the cave while the other stayed aboard Begonia and hovered around the area. It is a little nerve-wracking watching your loved one dive down to enter a cave, and not see them again for 15 minutes!

Mariners Cave, looking out to the entrance and up to the ceiling

[Kyle]We moved on to Mala Island for a few days, which is conveniently located about halfway between Langito’o and Neiafu. We slept in and snorkeled and generally got ready for our next big sail at a slow, comfortable pace.

[Maryanne]From the Mala anchorage it is about a 1.5nm dinghy ride to Swallows cave. We'd visited here previously, but wanted a repeat visit to this spectacular cave. We'd since learned that there was access by foot to an inner cave, deeper in. We came prepared with underwater lights, headlamps, and good shoes. You can actually take your dinghy inside Swallows cave, we did, and with our electric motor there is no issue with engine fumes either. This year we saw no birds swooping in and out (Swifts nest here, despite the cave name). Inside the water is really clear, and you can see down to the distant floor and the amazing rock formations in the walls look cathedral like (both above and below the water). Kyle kept attempting to dive down to the bottom (which looked so close) but never made it. There are also large schools of small fish that you can enjoy their displays (and even swim through) while backlit with the afternoon sun. Swimming around with my underwater flashlight I found some large shrimp in one corner (they were very shy). Kyle climbed out of the water and went off and explored the inner passages and additional chambers on foot. The story has it that feasts were held in the dry cave, but Kyle suggested there may not have been so many birds back then, since now the floor was covered with guano and he definitely appreciated his flashlight to avoid the extra slippery locations. While we were enjoying snorkelling and exploring the main cave, a local boat arrived with a tourist family so we retreated into one corner to give them their time.

Swallows Cave - impressive rock formations AND schools of fish

There is another smaller cave just to the left of swallows cave - so we dinghied and swam in there too!

We found time for some snorkelling around Mala too (not the best but we always seem to find something to impress us

[Kyle]Back at the anchorage a few other boats came and went for a night each. Most kept to themselves, making us on waving terms. We did spend some time with Phil and his young daughter Hannah from Muse, while they were waiting for the wind to start in earnest before leaving leaving for Fiji. We'd met before via VHF when we were both headed to Tonga from New Zealand this year. Hannah decided to interview us for her project (video!) and made it a fun job by presenting us with freshly baked bread to get us in the mood.

We visited Malafakalava Island in the hopes of finding a cocktail and maybe even a meal at Lava Bar and Grill but found it closed down.. oh well..

Kind gifts and beautiful sunsets at Mala anchorage

We beat them out of the anchorage the next day and headed into Neiafu for our outbound clearance as well as a bunch of other “city” stuff. We got there just in time. Boats were streaming into Neiafu. Most were arriving from Niue with the World ARC Rally. They all leave and arrive as a group, so it only took a few days for Neiafu to go from being eerily deserted to being chock-a-block full.

We managed to get the second to last transient mooring ball in the harbor while the two boats in front of us headed to the government wharf for their inbound clearance. Then more and more arrived until there was a queue of boats hovering by the government dock waiting for space. All day long, there was the constant activity of boats leaving the dock for the mooring field while the next one pulled up to take their space. Then a brand new arrival would hover/anchor in their spot. Once the mooring after ours was taken, the newly cleared boats would spend longer and longer loitering around looking for one for themselves. They would each take turns picking up increasingly dodgy private moorings until they either got kicked off by the owners or grew to realize the mooring wasn’t stout enough for their boat (ARC boats tend to be much larger than average) or that they didn’t have the swinging room to keep from hitting adjacent boats or even the shore.

The boats surrounding us were all separated appropriately, but just. We could probably reach our two nearest neighbors by dinghy without having to paddle – just a big push would do the job. The boat right behind us is a giant, shiny new catamaran that looms over Begonia in a way that makes it seem like they are nearer to us than they actually are. I wouldn’t mind so much, but they run their noisy generator pretty much the entire time they aren’t actually sleeping. That used to be considered inconsiderate, but is increasingly less so as surrounding boats also have their generators running and are sealed up tight in air conditioned, hermetically sealed cabins. Those of us in the “fresh air in the cockpit” crowd are being increasingly marginalized, looked down upon as undeserving have-nots. The noise creates the subconscious feeling that there is someone constantly bearing down on us. Perhaps there is, but the noise is being masked by that damn generator. It keeps us from ever really relaxing. I have scanned for another available mooring ball, but there won’t be any. We need to cling to the one we have. It’s nice to be able to go to cafes and restaurants and to meet some of the other cruisers, but Neiafu is getting too crowded, as if it were Cruise Ship Day. I’m already looking forward to the solitude of the open sea.

We got intel from one of the ARC boats that they aren’t allowed to leave until well after we’ll be long gone. They’ll overtake us again, but they’re on a tight schedule, so it won’t be for too long. I’m hoping that makes for just the right mix of socializing and solitude.

Amazingly we were reunited with our Machete cover - which we'd lost while bushwhacking in Kenutu Island. Somehow it had found its way to a completely different island and delivered to the boater friendly Tropicana in Vavau 'just in case'. A big thank you to all involved!

Langito’o (Vava'u group, Tonga)

[Kyle]Our next stop after Avalau was a shallow, sandy spot between Langito’o Island and Vaka’eitu Island. We had been at this same spot before and liked it so much we decided it warranted a return trip.

We're back anchored between Langito'o and Vaka'eitu Islands!

The main draw for the area is a place called the Coral Gardens, which is about a mile to the northwest. The nearby village on Vaka’eitu has a couple of free mooring balls available, which we checked out last time and didn’t like. Langoto’o is considered a backup anchorage in case the balls are occupied. Most vessels don’t care for it because it’s too shallow and there is a bit if roll at high tide. We think it’s just perfect.

Our first morning there, we lowered the dinghy, attached the electric motor and headed to the Coral Gardens. The best bit is on the outside of the extensive reef that connects Vaka’eitu with Nuapapu Island on the side of Vaka’eitu that is opposite us. To get there, we had to land on the inside, walk over the reef to the outside and find a safe spot to put in.

That last part was a bit tricky. The swell was crashing onto the reef as surf. We found a small gully, timed the waves and then jumped in. There was nowhere to sit to put on fins without being washed away, so we did it after plunging into the water. Then we had to do it fast and start kicking to keep from being washed back toward the reef.

The coral there is definitely above Tonga average in coverage and variety in all shapes and colors. There were also lots of different species of colorful fishes, all zipping by in big schools.

Snorkelling the outer reef of the Coral Gardens

We weren’t relishing the idea of getting back out of the water where we went in, so we followed the reef all of the way to the other island of Nuapapa, where we were able to find a slightly calmer spot to climb out. We walked back over to the lagoon side and went back in there for the swim back along the inner reef to the dinghy.

The visibility wasn’t as good on the inside of the reef and there was much more dead coral. The water was a lot calmer, though, as well as warmer. We found lots of nurseries filled with juvenile versions of the fish outside. We also found a few interesting eels and a tiny sea horse.

The inner reef of the Coral Gardens - getting up close to some great critters

When we got back to Begonia, we realized we had been gone for most of the day. We had gone two miles in the dinghy and had swum at least twice that far chasing all of the strange critters of the deep. Before we even had time to finish dinner, it was dark already.

The trade winds gradually stopped overnight. We decided to use the unusual calm as the perfect opportunity to tick the one job off of the list that we couldn’t get done in Tapana.

The sun cover on our jib had taken a beating on the windy passage to Tonga and needed re-stitching. Having no wind made it a lot easier to get the sail off the furler and into the cockpit for sewing. It also meant we could put up sun covers to keep the area cool without having them flapping around like crazy.

Jobs Day... Things took a lot longer than we expected!

We started late morning and figured we would have everything back together in two, maybe three hours. Since we had the sewing machine out, we figured we would also give our cockpit enclosure a little TLC. It has been taking a real beating since Wellington. That should add another half hour or so.

Then we broke a needle. That happens a lot when trying to sew through three layers of canvas and eight layers of sailcloth, all at the same time. Maryanne replaced the needle, but then they started breaking pretty much every time she started the machine. Somehow the machine had slipped out of adjustment and the needles were being slammed into the bobbin.

Sewing machines, at least the one we have, are tremendously finicky to adjust. The needle has to plunge in right after the gap in the bobbin spins into place and leave just before it closes up. Our machine seems to only have about one degree of extra space for this. I would spend ages moving the thing the tiniest amount, testing it to make sure it was perfect, and then having it all go back out of tolerance from the act of tightening the set screws. A few times, we got it to work when we turned the machine by hand, but as soon as we started the electric motor, SNAP, another needle broken. That’s when I learned I have to allow for the slack in the drive belt when making adjustments.

It took so long to fix the damn machine and get it working reliably that Maryanne correctly remarked that we could have done all of the day’s sewing by hand in less time. Yes, but now we’re ready for a seamless next time!

Once all of that was finally done and the big mess put away, we went to hoist the jib and it would just not go. Our roller furler is essentially a long metal tube made out of several lengths of shorter tube connected in sections. The connectors had worked just loose enough to prevent the top swivel, to which the head of the sail is connected, from sliding smoothly over the tube.

So, I got to use the last daylight of an already long day to climb up the mast and sort it all out. At the end, we were exhausted and completely fed up with fixing unexpected problems. Time to lie on the trampoline, take a nice, deep breath and enjoy the stars.

When we got up in the morning, we were still a little paranoid. We made a point of interacting with Begonia’s systems the minimum amount possible before jumping into the water for a snorkel around our private little area.

Except that it wasn’t. Some catamaran had snuck in early and dropped anchor between us and the beach. Then a tour boat pulled up to the beach and disgorged half a dozen passengers for what appeared to be an extended picnic.

Maryanne swam over to meet the people on the cat while I finished up the last of the dishes from breakfast. It was another couple. They had their hands full, though, as they were entertaining four guests in the last days of their visit. We left them to it while we did roughly the same snorkel we had done at the Coral Gardens. We swam to the reef, crossed it on foot and had a swim up and down the outside before crossing again for the swim back to the boat.

Outer reef of Langito'o - most of the good reef is to the eastern end

The Langito’o reef isn’t nearly as vibrant and colorful as the one at the Coral Gardens, but it still had enough to make for an interesting swim. There was much more to see on the lagoon side. We found a giant lobster, who had apparently grown that size by being really good at wedging itself way under the reef where it couldn’t be reached. When it realized it had been spotted, it buried itself in so far that only the end of one antenna gave away its presence. We also found a Longhorn Cowfish, which seems like one of the least hydrodynamic things in the sea. It seemed completely unbothered by my approach, so it didn’t need streamlining. We assume it has some other effective deterrent to being eaten.

The inner reef at Langito'o is mostly dead coral - but some time poking about reveals plenty of gems!

Hiding under Begonia’s shadow was a big family of squid. They may be the same group that stayed with us here seven months earlier. They definitely seem curious about us. They stay just out of reach, but they seem to like to follow us and watch whatever we’re doing. Their visual language is so alien to us that we have no idea what they must be making of us, but they do seem to like hanging around.

Wildlife right under the boat!

Speaking of that, another boat showed up and anchored on the other side of us. We’ve noticed this phenomenon occurs occasionally in sparsely populated areas. A boat will come into the general area looking for an anchorage they had heard about, see us, and decide we must be THE anchorage, even though we’re not really in the spot they thought we would be. If we’re alone, the tendency seems to be to think the anchorage is small and so they put themselves right next to us. A third boat sees two closely packed boats and follows suit. If two boats are half a mile apart, the anchorage looks big and the third boat will pick somewhere toward the middle of the big gap. If the two boats are twenty meters apart, then “the anchorage” must be tiny and they have to get really close. We had this happen most notably at Kimolos Island in Greece. We were the only boat anchored along a mile-long beach of uniform depth and bottom composition, when a Dutch boat came up and anchored practically on top of us. Well, okay, but they turned out to be middle-aged nudists of, shall we say, below average attractiveness. They then went about their extended evening bathing while we were in our cockpit trying to eat our dinner (and keep it down). Had they been a mile away, they would have been two little pink specks doing vague pink speck things. Instead, we had them about a driveway’s width from being in our cockpit with us. Even if we managed to avoid seeing it, we were still close enough to hear the lathering of soap and the fall of every water droplet.

Thus it was for us, minus the nudity, thank God. Our anchorage was small – probably only big enough for two boats – but we weren’t “the anchorage”. That was a mile away in the next cove at Vaka’eitu. We haven’t kept a 365-day vigil, but the three different times we have been to Vava’u, we have never seen anybody anchored in this spot, other than us.

Now we were all packed so closely that we had to speak in hushed tones to maintain our privacy and theirs. At night, we had to cover the windows to keep from feeling like we were living in a fishbowl. We expect that kind of thing at marinas or in crowded anchorages in big cities, but not out here.

Just before sunset, a boat could be seen in the distance heading from the Vaka’eitu anchorage toward Neiafu. Boat #3 then picked up anchor and presumably headed to their vacated spot. The catamaran stayed the night. They were there when Maryanne and I surfaced briefly to watch the sunrise. An hour later, by the time we really got up, they had slipped away without a peep, just as they had arrived.