Our dear, beloved mother and grandmother, Marguerite Carroll Baker, peacefully passed away Saturday evening, September 23. We are bereft. We are also grateful that her transition to death was as comfortable and peaceful as it was, and we know that Carroll was ready for this. She gave us ample opportunity to begin the grieving process, to say good-bye and to affirm how fully and completely we love her, and her us.

My frequent conversations via satphone with my mother at least partially transcended the great distances between us. These calls became twice daily during the last week, and were either daily or every second day throughout our cruise. My mother has an almost uncanny ability to enthusiastically engage with others’ experiences. She always wanted to know where we were (tracing our route on her atlas and globe), what and how we were doing, and where we were going next. She particularly enjoyed reading, and later having read to her, the blogs that Anson and Devon wrote. True to her amazing character, she never spoke of the discomfort and pain that she must have experienced, especially after breaking her leg in late July and being confined to bed from that time on, until her death. These calls provided us ample opportunity to express and affirm our love for each other, and for her to update us on her life and how she was doing. They enabled us to feel connected to her, and to feel emotionally prepared as the end approached.

This is not the place to recount what an extraordinary woman she was. However, I would like to share how amazingly lucid she was as she approached death. Even a few hours before she passed away, she was able to acknowledge hearing my voice over the phone by raising her hand when we said good-bye. Her love for her family knew no bounds and was pure and unconditional. Our love for her fills our beings.

We also want to express our deepest appreciation for Mark’s sister, Zara, who has played such a central role supporting our mother during the last nine months. Without Zara’s steadfast support for Carroll, we would not have been able to embark on this cruise. The regular outings that Zara took our mother on during this period immeasurably enhanced her quality of life, as did the frequent visits she paid to her at home. Zara was the primary interface with Hospice, and she played a central role in organizing the 24 hour care that enabled Carroll to remain at home during the last several weeks of her life. Zara also spent many precious hours with Carroll as she transitioned out of this world. Thank you, Zara. We take comfort also in the knowledge that our mother was supported by a strong and vibrant community of friends and neighbors during this period. These include her neighbor Carol’s daily visits and piano playing, visits from our dear friend Judee, ongoing support from Emily, Mother Sara and fellow parishioners of her Episcopal Church, the Hospice chaplain, Bob, Dr. Ellen Mahoney, and other dear neighbors and friends. We are also grateful to Hospice and to Agape staff for providing such professional, compassionate and loving care for Carroll throughout this period.

Our hearts are heavy with sadness and grief.

Mark
Vava’u group, Tonga

During our weeks in Niue we first met Stuart and Charmane, an Australian and South African cruising couple, during our check in at customs. While waiting for the customs official to arrive we found out that they had sailed the Southern Ocean for four years, including two trips to Antarctica, while raising their daughter, who now attends an Australian university. Since he works as a doctor and she a nurse, they sometimes get six-month work contracts all around the world, helping support their wonderful cruising life. It wasn’t until later though, that we found about their personalities. Stuart will go off spouting a story that’s utter balderdash, like I sometimes do. Charmane seems serious at first but is just as much of a jokester as he is! We met them several more times and really struck it off. We left Niue a week before them hoping, if not expecting, to see them again.
We arrived in Tonga on a Friday, so we didn’t finish checking in and were told to come back Monday. When we came back to get the health certificate we saw, to our delighted surprise, Vlakvark (Charmane and Stuart’s boat – it means warthog in Afrikaans)! We dinghied to them and discovered that they had arrived Sunday, having left Niue earlier than planned. Having some grocery shopping to do, we said our good byes and continued ashore. On our way back they were just finishing with customs, so Anson invited them to his birthday party (he turned 19 on September 4th). They joined us at an anchorage and we had a wonderful time listening to their fascinating stories and eating cake. Unfortunately, we had to leave them the next day because, fortunately, a kite boarding wind had come up!
Four days of exhausting kite boarding later, Mark recognized their signature warthog on their jib as they sailed past. We organized a meeting place and went to a couple of anchorages together, where they invited us over for a delicious dinner and cards. The next morning Stuart rowed over in their wooden dinghy and invited me to come and stay with them for a few days! I immediately accepted and got my things ready.
We had left the anchorage an hour after I boarded Vlakvark and now were ghosting through the water at a speed of 2 to 3 knots. The wind was light, only 5 or 6 knots, with a small swell gently rocking us. An exclamation of “whale” reached my ears. Three hundred yards away, a dark back rose from the water with a loud exhale, three others following shortly. With a flurry of movement, Stuart brought out camera gear, and Charmane and I drifted behind the boat, holding onto the sugar scoop stern. We worked our way up the hull until we could see the whales. Two of them slapped the water with their fins, which we believe was a confrontation, as it soon stopped and only three whales were sighted after. The whales continued to get nearer without any more drama until they were just a hundred feet off our bow. When they were directly in front of us I ducked my head under water and glimpsed a large, dark shape with a white underbelly slowly making its way forward. It was awe inspiring to see the huge mammal swim in the same paths its ancestors had traveled millennia ago. They surfaced farther away and continued their leisurely pace. We swung back around to our original course and continued onwards.
An hour later we reached our destination and dropped the hook. Immediately all three of us jumped into the water. As soon as my head was under water I could hear a haunting whale song! I instantly lifted my head and saw Charmane had done the same. “Do you hear the whales, Devon?” she asked, treading water. I nodded, then dove deeper down as it was easier to hear the melody. Each time I submerged myself I heard a short snippet of a longer verse. Looking back on it, it might have even been the song of the beaten male. Ten minutes later we continued the snorkel and took a short walk around the island before leaving to go to a safer anchorage for the night. After barely avoiding uncharted shallow reefs, we reached the anchorage and dropped the hook. Devon
Vava’u group of islands, Tonga

Rising early on a boat for me usually goes one of two ways: either I am rested enough and I pop up with lots of vim and vigor, more unusual than ideal, or as somewhat more typical, I slowly roll out of bed, doing my utmost to not slip on the so-called “nonskid.” I find that this specially designed surface will quickly facilitate an ungraceful lunge into the morning’s porridge if one is not vigilant when treading on it.

This morning, the knowledge that our friend Fia had arranged for me to join a whale watching tour as a volunteer photographer for Oma Tafu, the local whale research NGO, gave me the motivation I ordinarily lack to overcome my post-rousing lethargy. After a quick bite to eat I joined Mark and Devon in the dinghy to be ferried ashore to meet Fia who had generously offered to act as transportation as well. Devon joined on account of the possibility that a second space on the tour’s RIB (rigid inflatable boat) would be available due to another’s misfortune in health or constitution. To his later great disappointment, there was only seating for me. A short drive around the island brought us to the whale tour and dive outfit where I joined the group of New Zealand septuagenarians for the tour. Due to the vertical nature of the shores on Niue there are only two locations with the facilities for hauling out vessels larger than local canoes. Due to this constraint, the initial fifteen minutes of the tour were highly irregular – all seven of us were doing our utmost to remain in the bed of the pickup truck as it bounced its way to the quay. I joined the six New Zealanders and the two local brothers who acted as the guides, one as the driver and the other as the diver.
We were finally off, planing across the moorage as we all scanned the horizon waiting to spot the burst of white on the horizon which, for hundreds of years, has prompted the unmistakable cry, “Thar she blows!” Our initial contact with the four whales, who were about to make history for the whale tour guides, occurred near the southern point of the island. After surviving a quarter of and hour of waves which “must have been at least 6 meters tall” according to the landlubbers aboard, we came across four whales: a mother with her calf and escort male along with a hounding intruder male. We watched for minutes as the escort and intruder vied for position in relation to the female, who was using the RIB as a sort of obstacle, although we did not feel as though we created any meaningful impediment to the intruder. I was scrambling around with a camera, attempting to both capture in-focus photos of the flukes of the whales, while preventing the inordinate quantities of spray shooting over the bow from destroying the camera by means of a towel and eventually my rain jacket, when the aforementioned became dripping wet. Despite the hardships, including seasickness for some of the passengers, it was a truly magical experience. The two males were constantly diving down around us, and reappearing just slightly closer to the female. This jousting of sorts continued uninterrupted for around twenty minutes until it reached the crescendo: all of a sudden one male and then the other turned around and swam towards each other as if jousting. I held my breath as they reached one-another, expecting a crash, but they continued on until their flukes just overlapped. All of a sudden they began to beat the water and possibly each other, it is difficult to recall the exact location of the flukes as both tour operators were also audibly as well as visibly surprised by this reaction. When the actions of beasts who are just thirty meters away, and whose size dwarfs your own vessel, perturb the guides in any way or manner, one will easily find the unlikely danger swiftly seeming more imminent. Thankfully, for the sanity of all passengers aboard, the intruder did not remain long. The brother acting as the leader of any snorkeling with the whales wasted not a second; he carefully lowered himself into the sea, minimizing any large splashes which could alarm the whales, and swam towards the mother and calf. With an urgent wave of his arm he called the six New Zealanders into the water (I could not go as well due to one of the many laws governing any whale-human interactions which states that only seven people may be in the water at any given time). To my unexpressed delight, one of the women who had previously been seasick quite firmly stated that she would not be entering the water for any reason for the rest of the day, creating the opportunity for me to join the next and last foray into the water. We continued to tag along with the mother, calf and escort for a while longer. During this interlude the RIB was tossed from side to side by our movements across the boat as we tracked the three whales as they made repeated passes directly under us while remaining only a few feet deep. As any ocean sailor knows, these beautiful creatures will soon tire of a mere hulk of floating metal and fiberglass, topped by those funny-shaped creatures who have dubbed themselves humans.
While everyone aboard was disappointed by their departure, it brought about the most magical encounter with these animals I have ever and probably will ever have. One of the guarantees given to prospective clients by the tour operation is that if possible there will be two separate swims with the whales on each trip. To fulfil this commitment, we searched for the intruder who had separated a while back. When we encountered this whale we were forced to track it as it swam slowly, for a whale, along the coast. To do this the dive leader put on his mask and fins, grabbed hold of the RIB’s grabline along the side, and was towed through the water as he signaled directions until the whale came to a gentle halt. We all rapidly, but quietly, piled into the water and were immediately shocked by the intensity of the song sung by the whale only thirty meters away. On some of the notes I could feel the vibration in my sternum and the padded handle of the GoPro. I caught up with the leader and we swam together, filming all the time, until the whale was directly beneath us. It was a truly transcendental experience. I floated on the surface barely breathing as thirty to forty meters below me the whale hovered with almost no movement in a head down orientation, singing. The song sung by the whale is like nothing else in this world, it modulates from a low, almost moaning, bubble of sound through a mid-range of notes which almost flutter, ascending to a squeal. These sounds are repeated in distinct verses over and over lasting fifteen to twenty minutes. Eventually he began to rotate up and swim forward towards the surface to breathe. I climbed aboard the RIB and was barely mentally present as hot chocolate was passed around on the journey back to the quay.

Anson

P.S. These events occurred when we were at the island of Niue despite the fact that it is being uploaded at Tonga.
P.P.S. As soon as I reach decent internet, most likely when we reach NZ, I will upload the video of the whale singing which came out with amazing acoustics.
P.P.P.S. The whales in each region have a distinct song, which is carried across the ocean and modified by whales in different locales. We learned of a woman who did her Ph.D. research on tracking whale songs across the Pacific during a presentation put on by Fia.

We stayed longer at Niue than we ever imagined, acclimatizing ourselves to the rolly anchorage, and deepening our relationships with people and place. A poster requesting assistance with whale research and announcing a presentation on the endangered Humpback whales motivated us to rent a car to travel to the small resort hosting the event. Fiafia Rex, or Fia, the heart of the research team of Oma Tafua (a local NGO whose name means “to treasure whales”), gave an outstanding presentation on these humpbacks who return each year to Niue to give birth to and raise their young, before swimming 5000 km to the nutrient rich Antarctic waters. We learned about whales playing a key role in mitigating climate change; the theory is based on the concept of trophic cascade, a view of baleen whales as not simply consumers of krill, but the fertilizers of the sea. Their “poonamis” feed the phytoplankton which sequester carbon from the atmosphere through photosynthesis, and of course the zooplankton eat the phytoplankton, which in turn feed the small fish, which are eaten by the large fish. Whales, if we support them, can be key partners in revitalization of our oceans and planet.

We approached Fia with an offer of our boat for whale research trips and were delighted when she booked us for an outing. 0n 8/22 Anson picked Fia up at 6:45 a.m. and we ventured out of the bay towards a mother, baby and escort. Our goal was to photograph flukes, as the underside of the fluke is a unique fingerprint of each whale. We also hoped to scoop skin after a breach, which could then be analyzed for DNA. We carefully followed the guidelines for whale research, and the whales seemed totally at ease, not changing their behavior as we approached, and gently surfacing and lazing on the top of the water. After capturing numerous fin shots (another, less reliable, way to ID the whales), we set off for the point towards a breaching whale, who was leaping full body out of the water. The wind was howling and the waves crashed as we ventured outside the lee of the island. We soon turned back, for the whale had descended and was likely singing off the point, reveling in the reverb from the rocks. We returned to drop Fia off at the wharf for her primary job with an environmental organization called “Ridge to Reef.”

On the sail to the wharf, while scanning for more whales, Fia shared with us some of the recent history of Niue: the mass exodus of Niueans in the 1970s when they gained New Zealand citizenship; the introduction of Niuean in the schools in the 1980s (which divided the island into Niuean only – as a reaction against the demise of the language; English only – for those Niuean’s with dreams of children suceeding in New Zealand and believing language learning was a zero sum game; and bilingual education- advocated by those who saw the benefit of multilingualism in a transnational world); the fiscal deficit of the 1990s which led to 300 civil servants being fired overnight, resulting in the second mass exodus to New Zealand and Australia; and the devastating cyclone two decades ago which damaged the coral and destroyed buildings. These conversations helped us make sense of the many empty homes on the island, stripped of any valuable elements, most of which were abandoned, not destroyed.

Over the next few days we were focused on whales, snapping photos of mothers and babes as they ventured into the mooring field, observing whales meeting and greeting along the unsheltered Eastern coast as we used Fia’s car to hike across the dramatic landscape of Togo Chasm (replete with a long ladder descent into a sandy isle, dotted with palm trees, and surrounded on all sides by tall coral walls), another research journey with Fia and two volunteers from New Zealand, and Anson’s ultimate whale experience of swimming with a singing Humpback.

We’ve another blog or two to write about Niue, and then we’ll catch up to the present: we are now in Tonga after sailing two days to this nation of islands surrounded by protective reefs (day one with powerful 10-12 foot waves and 20-25 knots of wind; day two a notch down). With the work of the short passage behind us we are in bliss in these protected waters with enticing towns and villages, clear water and beautiful fish and coral. Kim

 

Once again we traveled through geological time, for Niue was once an atoll similar to the idyllic Tuamotos, but now it sits as a rock in the midst of a vast ocean.  For instead of continuing the slow journey into deeper waters, Niue was uplifted so that her thriving coral reefs were launched far above the sea.  The coral animal life died, along with the algae that dyes it rainbow hues, leaving behind the imprints of life in bleached out limestone.  Having snorkeled the reefs and passes of the Tuamotus, and having imprinted the shapes and textures of diverse coral formations in our memory, we simply shifted our gaze and added flesh to the skeletal remains of coral gardens, painting an image of their thriving underwater past.

 

Away from the shore, tenacious seeds grew roots in this hostile environment, and their decaying remains paved the way for all subsequent plant life.  After thousands of years of this process, the soil is still a shallow layer atop the limestone base; tree roots lie partly embedded, the top half boldly rising above the life-giving soil.  Many plants grow directly out of ancient coral heads, their roots anchored inside the caverns and holes. No rivers course through this rock island, and the thin layer of top soil is held firmly in place by intertwined roots of trees, ferns, vines, shrubs and grasses.  All rain run-off is filtered through limestone crevices before washing to sea, creating a crystal clear meeting of ocean and land.  In contrast, the waters around the Marquesas, rich with soil, covered in waterfalls, streams and rivers, became muddy pools with each downpour.  Even the coral sand of the Tuamotus, aided by the disruption from pearl farming, and when churned by seas washing over the outer reef and strong trade wind blows, would mix with the ocean water, reducing visibility from 60 feet to a murky 30.  Here in Niue we sit in 120 feet and can see the ocean floor.

 

The main attractions of Niue are along the edges of the island where processes of uplift and erosion interact to create magical enclaves, hidden pools, caves, caverns and chasms.   We rented a van and followed the “Key Attractions” pamphlet from the Visitor’s Center, each site paired with a tantalizing photo urging us forward.  Crossing the island to our first cavern, we journeyed through the Huvalu Forest Conservation Area, within which villages continue their customary farming practices.  All signage in this region referenced sustainable land management, sustainable communities and customary rights.  Taro fields, papaya, coconut groves, banana and pineapple emerged within clearings in the forest, with the slashed shrubs and branches serving as mulch to sustain the crops.  Behind were younger trees with old growth forest framing the background.

 

Popping out of the trees we found ourselves on the east coast of the island, at the town of Liku.  Had another cruising couple not shown me photos of the “road” to Tautu, we would never have found this site.  Their directions were to spot the church with a stone wall in the shape of the bow of a boat and then drive across the expanse of green grass to find the car tracks to the hiking trail (‘track’ in NZ English).  It was hard to drive by that church over pristine looking grass, especially since it was Sunday and people here are serious about church.  No stores are open, and no immodest clothing is allowed in sight of a church, but with no prohibition against driving in front of one, across we went and stumbled upon a road.

 

The track wound down through a limestone cavern, and it was Anson who remembered that the stalactites hang down and the stalagmites grow up.  This dripping limestone smoothed out the sharp remnants of coral, so we could climb and explore the caves without being poked and sliced.  Devon clambered around, exploring the crevices, poking his head through holes that fish once swam through.  Down below, the ocean waves crashed against the shore.  Knowing we only had one day to explore the island, we hiked back up the path, through the dripping limestone and packed ourselves in the rental van.

 

We drove around the north side of the island, passing historic sites where Christianity was introduced in 1846 (by a Niuean who had been converted in Samoa and returned to save souls; this required an armed guard of over 60 Niuean fighters, as the gospel wasn’t universally welcomed) and where in 1863 a Chilean boat enslaved 109 young men to work in the guano mines of Chile.  Our presence here is yet another intertwining of always, already intertwined worlds, hopefully one which is more life-sustaining for all involved!

 

Our next stop was Avaiki Cave on the northwestern shore, a low tide destination, and the site where the first canoe landed on the island.  Hiking down this path we emerged on a coral plateau where water barely covered the bleached remains of a deep water garden.  To the north a large cavern framed a shallow pool, with live coral tenaciously reproducing in the crystal waters.  Brightly colored algae covered the walls of the cavern, reminding us of Painted Cave on Santa Cruz Island.  Across the coral shelf, towards the breaking ocean waves, deep pools enticed us for a snorkel.  Entering was easy:  we found a spot of bleached coral to stand on and jumped over the edge.  We swam like tuna, exploring the edges of the pool, following the fish that make these pools their home, and reveling in the live coral and its color giving algae, while sadly noting the profusion of bleached coral in these warm waters.  The second pool we entered was slightly larger, and it was here we first swam with the beautiful ringed sea kraits (a type of sea snake).  These curious creatures swim up from the depths, seemingly taking stock of each newcomer to its neighborhood, then turn and swim back down, their lithe bodies twisting gracefully in small curves towards tiny limestone caves.  (Two varieties of crates live here: an endemic one whose bands are variously spaced and a species common throughout the region with evenly spaced bands of white on a bluish black body.)  If only our exit was so simple!  Clambering out of the pool, framed by live and dead coral, proved a bit tricky.  Devon slipped and tumbled back in, but fortunately his slices weren’t deep, although painful.  The dead coral spots provided poky toe and hand holds, which ultimately served their purpose, but we relied on those on land to exchange fins for flip flops.   Ideally we wouldn’t have been wandering around this fragile ecosystem.  For even those of us who can identify live from dead coral, and who care to avoid that which is living, knowing it takes decades to regrow, probably are doing harm inadvertently.  (If, like us, people have a hard time staying away from such beauty, ideally a raised walkway with ladders into the pools would be erected to minimize the harm.)

 

Our next spot was Limu pools, just north of Avaiki.  This track was popular with New Zealand tourists of a certain age.  Doughy bodies lounged under the sail-shaped canvas erected for shade, while others swam languorously in the pools, as if at a hotel.  We journeyed beyond and over a steep incline to find ourselves alone at another pool, fed by fresh water on one end and salt water from the waves pouring through the ocean pass on the other.  Entering the pool we were shocked by the cold water, and swimming quickly towards the ocean edge, we found ourselves looking through our masks as if through old, wavy glass.  A lens of cold, fresh water lay over the warm, salty ocean waters which drifted like long, clear tendrils below, not mixing until churned by the waves at the pass on the far end. We dove down and were immediately rewarded with soothing warm waters and a clear view of butterfly scythes, sergeant majors, box fish, parrot fish, and sea kraits.  Here we swam under a limestone arch and explored until the cold drove us back to shore.  Upon our return to the first pools, we joined the crowd (of 8) and explored the more accessible waters.  These were warmer and gentler, and it was only our tight schedule that sent us scurrying out and up the path to the van.

 

A fellow cruiser, Dan, a singlehander from Kirkland, WA (yup, Costco’s home), joined us on this outing.  By this time most of us were getting a bit tired, although Dan seemed ready to hike the 30 minute trail to view the Talava Arches.  With Devon’s cuts preventing a hike we proceeded down the short track for a view of the Matapa Chasm.  Here the ancient coral faces rise straight up for 100 feet on both sides, framing a narrow pool which was once the bathing site for Niue’s royalty.  If this had been our first stop we would have donned fins, mask and snorkel and explored its length and depths.  Instead we tested the water with our toes, declared it cold, and decided to retreat for a snack at the whale overlook.   It was clear that more than food was needed, so we drove to one of the few establishments open on a Sunday for caffeine.  Even after re-feuling we admitted defeat and realized we didn’t have the energy or time to tour the sites on the southern half of the island.  So back to our boats we returned, feeling endlessly fortunate to have landed upon this magical island of Niue.

Kim