Through geological time, that is. The journey from the comparatively young Marquesan Islands to the ancient Tuamoto archipelago took only three days of sailing in variable winds (close reach to close hauled). We kept up a steady 6-7 knots, slowing down to 5.5 knots to time our arrival at Raroia Atoll’s pass for dawn. The sailing required frequent adjustments in weather helm for the Wind Pilot, as the force on the sails doubles in a 15 knot apparent breeze versus 10 knots. One squally night out of three wasn’t so bad, and the stars on the other two made for spectacular night watches. Although it was a tiring three days, we were thankful for wind and the beauty of sailing through gentle seas in lapis colored waters.

As dawn revealed the low-lying land of Raroia Atoll and the narrow pass into the lagoon, it wasn’t only the sleep deprivation of a passage that led us to feel we were in a dream. The reality we knew was the lush, mountainous volcanic isles of the Marquesas. Before us the narrow band of coconut fringing the bleached coral beaches on either side of the pass looked surreal, more postcard than physical reality. Current flew out of the pass, the water leaping and churning, a river within the sea. We waited for the flow to subside, sailing parallel to the beach under jib alone, jybing back and forth while marveling at the scene before us. Our friends aboard two boats with stronger engines arrived an hour after us, and we followed them into the pass once we heard the maximum current was 4 knots. The passage in and out of lagoons is the trickiest part of sailing these waters, and it was with great relief that our speed climbed from 1 knot back to 3 and then 5 as we made it through the narrow choke of flow.

The dreamscape intensified once inside the pass, as the flat water of the lagoon revealed shades of blue from cerulean and turquoise to lapis. We raised sail and set out close hauled on port tack for the anchorage on the far shore, eight nautical miles across the lagoon. Coral reefs and isolated coral heads dot the lagoon, lush habitat for fish, but a navigational hazard for us. The morning sun serves as a spotlight, highlighting the dangerous zones of brown and cerulean and revealing the clear pathway of lapis waters. In prime conditions the helmsperson can spot the coral while steering, but its best to have someone high up with a bird’s eye view of the lagoon. Devon climbed the rat lines he and Mark made in the Marquesas (rope steps attached to the shrouds – wires that stabilize the mast), and Anson used his mast harness to scurry up the mast to the first spreaders.
Flat water sailing in a 10 knot breeze closehauled is what sailors dream about – especially on a boat like Anthea that points without leeway. I was at the helm for the entire crossing, as an inflamed elbow kept me from the job of winching. So it was with minimal guilt that I hogged the helm for one of the most memorable sails of my life. We heeled gently and pointed high, slipping through the water while Anson and Devon sighted shallows. Sailing on port tack in the southern hemisphere meant that every gust of wind was a lift, helping me to eek a few degrees higher to avoid coral. For some reefs we simply fell off five or ten degrees to dodge the shallows, with Mark easing the sails, and then hauling in the main sheet and winching the jib to get us back on course. The tacks to avoid the large patches took more work. Anson had the role of tactitian, and I felt I was in a race as he shouted down from the mast, “Tacking in 10, 9, 8…3, 2, 1!” I pushed the helm over hard, both boys holding fast while Mark built muscle winching in our powerful jib. Short tacking through the coral, with two crew in the rigging, we made it to the anchorage, exhilarated and in awe of this island of water.

We had journeyed through millennia of geological forces in this passage: the coral atolls of the Tuamoto Archipelago had once been as tall and lush as the Marquesan islands we so enjoyed, but erosion and the subsidence caused by the movement of the tectonic plates into deeper waters created the dreamscape before us. Anchored behind coconut palms, we watched the puffy cumulous clouds of the trade winds move unimpeded across the landscape. The sanctuary of the lagoon equaled its beauty: Anthea was as still as at dock, but behind us was an expanse of flat water and ahead turquoise shallows fading to cerulean wavelets lapping a coral beach with coconut palms waving in the breeze. Paradise found. Kim
Now at Makemo Atoll Latitude 16 degrees 38 minutes South; longitude 143 degrees 24.9 minutes West

Anaho Bay, Nuku Hiva – As Special Now as 35 years ago (written after landfall in the Tuamotu Archipelago)

Anaho Bay, on the north shore of Nuku Hiva, is one of the anchorages I remember clearly from my time here 35 years ago. I remembered the beauty of the long narrow entrance to the bay and the slightly wider head of the bay, ringed by white sand beaches and coconut palms, with Marquesan peaks rising overhead. So we planned a stopover there, and after celebrating Kim’s birthday in Hatiheu Bay next door, sailed over to Anaho Bay. How glad I am that we returned and what a great three days we had there. Here are some of the highlights:

The bay is a great anchorage. In addition to its length, at its head it widens up and provides a protected nook with little to no swell – a perfect place to drop the hook. The quiet water made for good sleep and general comfort on board. The coconut groves that ring the bay are unusual in that they come right to the water’s edge, and border the entire shore; in the late afternoon the sun’s rays bring out the brilliance of their green foliage – an almost surreal bright bright green, which made a sharp contrast with the white sand beach and the blue and tourquoise water color. The bay is also unique in that there is no road access – the only way to get there is either by sea or by trail. This is one reason why we saw more horses being used here than any other place in the Marquesas.

The beaches at the head of the bay are inviting and gorgeous. There are three beaches. Two small ones and one larger one. The westernmost beach faces the open ocean and hence receives the modest swell that was running while we were there. Thus it is perfect for bodysurfing, which we enjoyed doing for several hours each of the three days we were there. We had the beach to ourselves (there were only two other boats in the anchorage and less than 10 families reside in Anaho). The only other people we saw was the occasional local person riding horseback on the beachside path that rims the bay (including one with a rifle slung across his saddle, returning from a goat or pig hunting trip). It’s hard to imagine a more beautiful setting for bodysurfing with one’s family than here. Twice Anson tried to kiteboard off the beach, but without success due to the lack of wind. We had hoped that the low saddle over the eastern edge of the anchorage would funnel enough of the trade winds for kiteboarding, but there just wasn’t quite enough.

A rocky outcrop separated a second small beach from this bodysurfing beach, and adjacent to it was the larger beach. The mountain slopes rose steeply from the first two beaches, while a flat and gently sloping plain, no more than 50 to 100 yards in width, provided area for the families who call Anaho home to live and cultivate behind the larger beach. Perhaps due to the lack of road access, perhaps due to the small number of families that reside there, perhaps because of its spectacular beauty, or for some other reason, the bay has a particularly peaceful and tranquil feel to it.

We experienced some of that tranquility our last morning, when Kim and I went ashore to walk along the large beach prior to departing the anchorage. Once ashore, we had the good fortune to meet Diana, a local woman who was walking – as it turned out, to work – with her 15 month old baby boy. Walking to work for her meant walking around the bay to the east side where she was clearing and maintaining her grandfather’s coconut trees. We strolled with her on the path, which wound through the coconut groves. It was like walking through a manicured agroforestry landscape. Closely cropped grass covered most of the ground, giving it almost a golf course feel. In addition to coconut trees, the local residents had planted a variety of fruit trees (banana, lime, breadfruit, among other). Flower gardens were tended here and there, including on historic old stone house platforms. Everywhere were signs of the managed landscape. Recent burn piles dotted the area and the sandy soil under some of the trees even bore the telltale signs of recent raking. As we walked with Diana, she pointed out the various species of trees that had been planted, including, we noticed a recently planted breadfruit tree protected from grazing animals with fencing. We learned that in addition to her baby, she had a 12 year old son who went to school in Taihohae (on the south side of the island) – a steep price to pay for living in remote Anaho. We also learned that her husband works for the municipality in nearby Hatiheu Bay, and that his commute is a half hour horseback ride over the ridge twice a day. After offering us gifts of bananas and breadfruit, Diana turned off the primary footpath towards her grandfather’s place. I remarked to Kim about the grace, warmth and generous hospitality that we had just experienced, and of how one could easily imagine a different, less enthusiastic, response from a local resident whose bay is visited yearly by lots of wealthy, privileged boaters. Diana certainly is a role model for us all. As we ambled back to the dinghy, we passed a shore-side house, in front of which was anchored one of the few, more traditional looking boats with a stout outrigger lashed to its side. I asked the friendly young adults who greeted us out front if they had made a trip to Hatiheu that morning (as I had seen them depart and return in the boat). No, they said, they had gone fishing and had returned with the day’s catch, which they were getting ready to prepare. This interaction is another example of what makes Anaho somewhat unique. Not only has the lack of a road contributed to its isolation from the various influences, economic and otherwise, that roads bring, but the residents here have also not turned toward the presence of yachts in their bay as a source of income to supplement their subsistence activities. No one approached us with the offer of a home-cooked meal, or to see if we were interested in wood carvings or tapa, or to purchase fruit. Instead, the rhythms of life here seem to persist independently of these external forces. I wonder how long these rhythms will continue. Yvonne (see Kim’s prior blog post) described how she and other area residents had fought off efforts from developers in Papeete to develop Anaho as a prime tourist resort bay, complete with multi-story hotels. Will Anaho be as special and unique thirty-five years from now? I hope so.

-Mark

What an extravagant celebration of my birthday this year, beginning with coffee in the cockpit in beautiful Hatiheu Bay on the north shore of Nuku Hiva! Morning light illuminated steep volcanic spires rising majestically from the cliffs on the west side of the anchorage. A short knife-back ridge extended northward, undulating from the abrasion of rain and wind on ancient volcanic rock. The hills descending into the black volcanic rocks along the lapis sea shore were covered with green. Ours was the only boat in the anchorage, a rare treat in these islands on the favored cruising route.
I was treated to banana fritters for breakfast, followed by a morning snorkel. A beautiful array of butterfly fish, trigger fish, angel fish, and the occasional parrot fish swam by, small blue gobies and orange fish darted in and out of coral, and a moray eel bared its teeth inside its hidey hole. I popped up after a dive to find myself in the middle of a school of small, silver fish swimming in unison around and around, as if I was inside the exhibit of sardines at the Monterey Bay Aquarium.

Soon the sky darkened so we returned to Anthea for lunch and a rest as the squalls passed by. By mid- afternoon it was clear that the rain would continue, but we decided to forge ahead with our plan of an afternoon hike to archaeological sites a ½ hour walk from the village. We packed a change of clothes in the dry bag and set off to the rock and concrete landing area. The surge at the landing would abrade a dinghy tied fast, so Mark moored the dinghy and then plunged into the clear water to swim ashore. A fresh water rinse from the tap on shore awaited him: not a bad solution in the light of day.

The village is by far the prettiest we have encountered. A main road circles the bay, with elegant solar powered street lights interspersed among the carefully tended palm trees along the grassy verge separating the road from the rocky shoreline. Flower gardens and decorative stones adorn the water’s edge, and horses often graze on the grass between the palms.

We ambled through the village savoring the peaceful beauty and climbed up the valley to the first archaeological site, tohua (public plaza) Hikoku’a, which served as a ceremonial site in the past and is the site of arts festivals and dances today. Ancient tikis and contemporary statues adorn the massive stones, and gnarled mango trees provide shade for the festivities. Not long after we arrived the mosquitos descended and rain poured down, so that even the trees transformed from natural awnings to drip showers. It was the only miserable moment, made even more dreadful by our discovery of an abandoned building with intact roof only a few hundred yards from the site of our drenching!

We wrung out our shirts and shorts and returned to the road to hike to the sacred Banyan tree adjacent to the remains of the marae (ceremonial site) of the goddess Tevanaua’ua’a and another tohua (Kamuihei) with petroglyphs of turtles, fish, human figures, and birds. The guidebook described the tree as “huge,” which, coming from the land of redwoods, I reckoned would seem “large” to those of us who hike amongst the tallest trees in the world. But “massive” is actually more accurate. The circumference of this sacred tree was easily 120 feet, many times larger than any of the other banyan trees we have seen. We soaked up the sacred power of the place, but the mosquitos kept us from lingering. On we went to the beautifully restored tohua of Kamuihei, finding more lovely thatched roofs over sleeping platforms which would have provided us with spectacular shelter had we only begun our journey uphill! Marquesan horses, one tethered, one free, grazed among the grounds. Dusk pushed us out of this extraordinary site (by far the most impressive restored plaza in the Marquesas), and we quickly scanned the rocks for petroglyphs as we returned to the road for the next part of my birthday celebration.

Chez Yvonne is a remarkable restaurant in the village: curved and weathered rocks are artfully placed around the lush gardens framing the thatched roof. A stream runs alongside the eastern edge of the restaurant and large eels, six feet in length, swim the waters while waiting for scraps to be tossed their way. Underneath the expansive roof, fresh arrangements of hibiscus flowers and lush greenery adorn the tables, and, for special occasions, white frangipangi blossoms are sprinkled across. The open air design provides an unobstructed view of the bay through the coconut trees and gardens, or the garden and eel stream off the side. Most days a handful of guests come by rental car or taxi to enjoy the huge platters of food; every three weeks a small cruise ship disgorges hundreds of people, many of whom take taxis to the restaurant. Yvonne then supervises the roasting of whole pigs for a Marquesan feast.

Since my birthday was on a Sunday this year, Mark and I took an evening stroll on Saturday to see if Chez Yvonne would be open for a celebratory dinner. After a delightful conversation, Yvonne agreed to open the restaurant for us, with an arrival time of 6:30. We arrived on time, but we looked like a pack of drenched rats. Dry bag in hand we were led to the huge bathrooms and were able to transform ourselves into reasonable restaurant patrons, combed, groomed, and rain showered. While waiting for the massive plates of food, we read a display board recounting the archaeological project and providing interpretation for the sites we visited. We only managed to eat 1/3 of the food on our plates: fish and shrimp for me, goat in coconut milk for Anson, curried goat for Mark, and pork in rum sauce for Devon. Just when we thought we couldn’t eat another bite, out came Yvonne and one of her cooks bearing a birthday cake, complements of the house. We ate huge pieces celebrating with Yvonne and the chef. Knowing that our boat fridge could barely accommodate the four boxes of leftover food, Yvonne offered to keep the rest of the cake in her refrigerator for us to enjoy the following day.

Yvonne is an amazing woman in her sixties who is a force in the community. Twice mayor, she supported the restoration of the ancient sites, fought the Tahitian government to keep the sacred items in the local museum rather than sending them to Papeete, and, most impressively, navigated the challenging political waters (local and distant) to keep multinational tourism development out of adjacent Anaho bay. She has a deep love for Nuku Hiva and the Marquesas, and the beauty of the village is no doubt due to her vision and leadership.
By the time we returned to the dinghy, the water was brown from the downpour; it was also dark and eerie. Mark changed into his swim trunks, psyched himself up, and plunged in the water to retrieve the dinghy. Anson and Devon had argued for a nice clothesline system to reel the dinghy in and out to the mooring, but Mark rejected it, so he was the one who did the difficult deed! He earned his shower on board that evening.
We did return to Chez Yvonne’s on Monday, this time with friends of ours with whom we’re journeying to the Tuamotus. They arrived via rental car, having left their boat anchored in Taoihae Bay. We enjoyed more conversation with Yvonne, devouring the cake and savoring the views and ambience. We forgot to take the camera, so the following morning Anson dropped me outside the shore break and I waded ashore with the dry bag, capturing images to freshen my memory for birthdays to come. I knew my memories would fade without the photos, and this birthday is one I hope to remember until my last.

On Tuesday we left beautiful Hatiheu bay with a pod of dolphins escorting us out. We had a brisk sail around the corner to Anaho Bay – another adventure for another post!

Today (Monday) we set sail for the Tuamotos – a 450 mile mini passage. If the winds and waves are kind, and if the squalls keep their distance, we’ll arrive after 3 full days and a bit. So it is farewell to the stunning Marquesas, the amazing place and people. Kim June 5

At 5:00 p.m. Kim, Mark, Anson, and I jumped into the dinghy and motored ashore (Taiohae Bay, Nuku Hiva). There we said hi to Brian and Slater (fellow cruisers who had their engine break down) and got an update on how the repairs were going. Soon we continued walking towards the restored archeological site. The restored site was about 600 feet by 400 feet, almost reaching the sea. There were several stone platforms around the site. They were up to four feet high and made of big boulders, some probably weighing up to a ton. On top of the platforms and scattered around the edges were tikis and stone sculptures. A tiki is a stone sculpture, usually of a god, goddess or ancestor. Generally, the tikis of deities are shorter and squatter than a human, have big eyes, long, braided hair if they are female, and have their hands over their stomachs.

As you entered the site there was a sign that described how in 1979 a Catholic bishop and several Marquesans started an organization called Motu Haka (the gathering). Its purpose was to help revive the Marquesan culture: the language, dances, chants, legends, wood carving, tattoos, and ancient sculptures. In 1987 the first art festival was celebrated. This site was restored to celebrate the second one in 1989. There are still art festivals going on once every few years.

After spending half an hour reading the sign we wandered around, trying to save at least part of our blood from the abundant mosquitoes. After viewing the tikis and platforms we sat down on the grass and listen to Dad read from Islands and Beaches, a history of the Marquesas by Greg Dening. It described the time 150 years ago when the French were instigating their rule. A haka-iki, leader, of the Marquesan people returned from a voyage to Europe and then started a war with his neighbor. Later he was indebted to the French and became their puppet ruler of the whole island. Another haka-iki, Pakoko, rebelled against the puppet king and was driven off by the French. After killing six soldiers for a small offense he turned himself in and was shot to death. The most amazing thing is that it all happened in the valley where we were all sitting!

Twenty minutes of listening later, we left to see the huge church. As we walked through the giant gate we heard the tail end of beautiful singing. When we left we made the acquaintance of the kind priest. Mark learned he was on a two-year contract from France.

It was dark when we went to find a restaurant. We finally reached it after lots of hopping over puddles, asking for the only flashlight, and squelching in mud. We ordered pizza and cokes and then took turns washing our hands. But when dad came back he was followed by a casual acquaintance who he had said hi to on the way to the bathroom. Unfortunately, the guy was completely plastered. The smell made Anson and me ask to take a walk. When the food came and the man didn’t leave, Anson had to pretend he had a migraine so we thankfully could get the pizza to go and leave. We sat down on a covered bench to finish our pizza, but just as we finished our second slice people with blaring music came and sat down near us! We packed up and left again and ate our final pieces outside a closed shop next to the concrete wharf. Peripatetic pizza for all! Devon.

May 25 Thursday, Taiohae Bay, Nukuhiva

Fresh provisions are not easily available around here; we’re lucky to get (imported) potatoes and onions from the local stores and they never have things like greens and other perishable items. Kevin, of Nukuhiva Yacht Services here at Taiohae Bay, told us that the morning produce stands are open Wednesdays and Saturdays, but you had to get there early, like at 5:30. And the friendly woman at Magasin Larson had told me to get to the store at 5:30 if I wanted fresh baguette. They were both right as on Wednesday I arrived at 6:30 am to find all the fresh produce sold and the baguette long gone. So on Saturday I dutifully dinghied ashore at 5am in the pre-morning light and once there found a bustling set of fresh produce stands. I was able to purchase three bunches of green beans, four heads of something like bok choy, bell peppers, carrots, turmeric (for which the island is traditionally known), ripe bananas and several incredibly delicious looking mangoes – all fresh and locally grown, which means it will all keep well on board. Lots of locals and a few French ex-pats (are French ex-pats here? maybe not, but feels like they are) kept the business brisk. Asking if I could leave my large, full and heavy bag of fresh produce with one of the friendly woman vendors, I set off for Magasin Larson in search of baguette. As I arrived, around 6am, the smell of fresh baked bread permeated the front of the store – an excellent sign indeed. Inside, the storekeeper, who laughed at my early arrival as I had mentioned it might be difficult to get there that early, pointed to the large sacks of baguettes that had just been delivered from the boulangerie. I helped myself to four fresh loaves and noticed a variety of Saturday morning pastries, so I had to also ask for a couple of chocolate croissants, 2 plain croissants, 4 chicken spring rolls, and two small loaves of sweet bread made with coconut milk. Things were really looking up in the food department. I made my way back to the quai where the produce stands were, picked up my large bag and on the way back to the dinghy passed by the fish mongers, who were cleaning, packaging and selling the fish that had been caught during the night on the small motor launches that locals use. Large tuna (3-4 feet long), octopus, and several types of smaller fish were being prepared and sold. I purchased 2 kilograms of sushi grade maguro tuna (Bluefin?) for 1,000 Polynesian Franc ($10 US). We were really set now. A nearby fisherman engaged me in conversation and I learned that while the locals fish with one hook per line and only for the local market, a deal had recently been struck with a company out of Papeete to open up an ice house and fish processing center in the Marquesas with the aim of exporting fish to Tahiti (and beyond?), and procuring fish with larger vessels and lines with several thousand hooks. He was concerned about the effects of this plan (which is already underway) on local fishers, and illustrated his point by grinding his heel back and forth in the ground. This appears to be yet another story of capital-intensive fisheries development, deeper market penetration, surplus accumulation for “outside” interests (and local elite?) and local socio-economic marginalization and possibly degradation. Sounds like some activist political ecology research is needed on this issue

At any rate, back on Anthea the crew, when they woke up, was delighted with the pastries and later that day we set off for Daniel’s Bay, only a short sail away. Kim has already described our hike up to the waterfall at the head of Daniel’s Bay. I wanted to add a bit about the wonderful fresh fruit we purchased from Teiki and Kouha, the couple who live at the mouth of the bay and who maintain a garden and fruit orchard that some have described as a tropical Garden of Eden. It was while returning from the hike to the waterfall that we passed back by their homestead. On the way up we had expressed interested in purchasing some fruit from them. Teiki was ready for us, watering down several large bunches of bananas, which he had cut down and had hung from a tree branch near their house. Nouha had also prepared several large bags of ripe guava, mandarin oranges, starfruit and limes. After choosing which banana stalk we wanted and paying for all the fruit, Teiki carefully cut down the stalk and placed it on my shoulder. It was heavy. Weighed down by our purchases, we continued the last quarter mile to the dinghy. I had to call to Anson to help me carry the banana stalk the last bit to the dinghy (he and Devon had gone ahead of us and were waiting at the dinghy). Back on Anthea, he strung it up on the backstay, where it remains, slowly ripening. Devon estimates that the stalk holds upwards of 200 bananas.

That evening, what a feast we had. The lightly seared tuna in sesame oil with sesame seeds was extremely delicious. The fresh greens and beans were excellent and the fruit salad we prepared was one of the best of my life: fresh guava, thinly sliced star fruit, mandarin orange, and mango, with fresh squeezed lime juice to hold it all together. We actually took a photo of the salad to help us remember the visual beauty of all that tropical fruit. Mind you, this is a far cry from our usual fare aboard Anthea, but the meal was a joyful and healthy expression of the bounty of this land and ocean, of what the possibilities are of living primarily off of locally grown or caught produce and fish.

Our “feast” also perhaps harkens back to the important Marquesan cultural practice of koina, or feasting, which was one of the primary ways of consolidating political authority, remembering/honoring ancestors and strengthening inter-community friendships. Of course, those feasts were incredibly elaborate, included pig and goat, and required weeks of preparation and inter-community communication. Greg Dening, in his book about the Marquesas (Te Henua), titled Islands and Beaches, describes the transformations in political authority under the French in the 1840s and 1850s as a shift from the currency of feasts to the currency of liquor, when the powerful local ruler Temoana traded food for liquor from the French instead of food for feasts within the local community. He also notes the centrality of koina, when Marquesans (Te Enata) sought to reinstitute/revive the practices of koina as a last ditch effort to resist the cultural disintegration and depopulation from disease and violence that occurred as a result of contact with European and Australian sandalwood traders, whalers, missionaries and soldiers. While reviving the practice of koina in the mid-nineteenth century could not turn back the tide of genocidal change, the thread of feasting and its associated inter-island and inter-community competitive dancing and singing has continued through to this day and is a central component of the cultural revival that has occurred throughout these islands in the last decades. I hope that current political-economic changes, like the plan to locate a large ice house and fish processing facility here, will not undermine the important local efforts to (re)strengthen cultural integrity, identity and autonomy.