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We received the news of the terrorist attacks on America just as we were ready to weigh anchor in Lamen Bay, on the island of Epi and sail toward Port Vila on the island of Efate. I picked up email on our SailMail program and there was only one message, subject “sad, sad news,” from an American ex-pat friend of ours living in New Zealand. I read the words, knowing it was no joke, but still not wanting to believe that something like this could happen in America.

I tuned in the BBC (British Broadcasting Company) on the single sideband radio where there was non-stop coverage of the attacks. The words came out of the speaker, but my ears didn’t want to hear them. I felt both shock and numbness at the same time.

We sailed directly to Port Vila. I felt that we might get more information there and could be with our cruising friends. It was a great sailing day, and we had one ear to the radio during the ten-hour passage. The BBC and Radio New Zealand had excellent coverage. Radio Australia’s coverage was hopeless, as usual, mostly sports! After arriving in Port Vila, we visited the Club Vanuatu, which has CNBC on two big screens going all day long. We drop in and watch for an hour or so every day to get caught up.

Port Vila seems to be relatively well insulated from the rest of the world. It’s not that they are shut off, but for most of the Ni-Vanuatu, the world beyond Vanuatu is something that they have seen only on a television screen. It is as if it is another planet, or something that is indistinguishable from a TV show or a movie. It is difficult to say if much will change here.

As far as we now know, we have no friends or loved ones who were in the buildings or on the planes, but the loss of innocence on that day is something that is likely to deeply affect every American, everywhere. Our freedom and security on home soil is something that we have come to take for granted. The misdeeds of a few men have changed that forever, and most certainly will change the way we will live our lives going forward. For the first time since we sailed out of U.S. waters in 1994, I actually feel safer being away from U.S. soil.

Unquestionably the cruisers here in Vanuatu have all been shocked and disturbed by the events. While the attack is not the predominate topic of conversation, it is clearly in the hearts and minds of all of us, just below the surface. I’m not sure if it is denial, a sense of helplessness or just detachment because we are so far from the reality of the situation. We seem to be getting together more, perhaps just for comfort and support.

It is easy, however, to move about town with the perception that nothing has happened. Other than some yachts flying flags at half-mast, and a few shops with the stars and stripes displayed in their windows, life here gives the appearance of being business as usual. The John Fromm movement had an “I’m Sorry” parade through Port Vila last Friday, dedicated to American visitors and ex-pats. It was a touching gesture, but mostly boycotted by the locals, apparently not wanting to show support for the cult itself.

Traveling as much as we have over the last few years, we have been exposed to different opinions and feelings about America. We have the opportunity talk to many people from many other countries and cultures. We get our news from many sources other than the American media, with much broader points of view. The rest of the world’s perception of America is very different from our perception of our selves. Some misperceptions, but some are painfully accurate. I think this huge wake-up call is a challenge and opportunity for Americans to become more aware of our impact on the rest of the world. Instead of being known as a “super power,” perhaps we should consider working to be more of a “super partner” in the global village.

That said, I am proud of how our leaders have handled this catastrophe. I am proud of how the American people have reached deeply inside themselves and risen to the occasion and pulled together during these tough times. The countless stories of heroism and selflessness are the only things that help make this all bearable and make me proud to be a part of this great society.

An event such as this also brings to light our mortality, the need to live life to the fullest and to follow one’s dream. A very wise man said the following words to me about ten years ago, which I took to heart: “When you are lying on your deathbed, you won’t wish you had spent more time at the office.”

It would be difficult to pass judgment on which island in Vanuatu is the most beautiful. The variety of geography offers something for everyone. We, however found Gaua, the southernmost of the Banks Island group, particularly alluring.

The north and west coasts are rugged and volcanic. The geography resembles the Kona Coast of Hawaii around Kailua, only it is scarcely touched by humans, and parts of the shoreline are protected by an off-lying coral reef. There are numerous picturesque, quiet and primitive little villages that dot the shoreline’s numerous protected coves.

We spent a few hours walking on the roads and paths near the Losalava Bay anchorage and visited a number of villages situated along the rugged shoreline. All are neat and tidy with the ubiquitous church as their centerpiece. Most of the homes are simple, tidy thatched huts with dirt floors. Around the homes are grassy areas, lovely gardens of ornamental plants and thick stone fences. We visited on a Sunday, so most of the villagers were relaxing, chatting or reading.

In the largest village, Namasari, we visited the recently constructed meetinghouse. This was the largest and most impressive traditional style building we had seen in all of Vanuatu, measuring at least 100 feet long and 25 feet wide. Its symmetry was nearly perfect and the craftsmanship was exquisite.

Outside of the village, the native jungle is dense and dotted with massive banyan trees, some with intertwined root/trunk structure as wide as a house, and standing at least 100 feet tall. In some villages, the Ni-Vanuatu people take refuge in the root structure for protection during cyclones, keep a lookout high up in the branches, and have Kastom (traditional) dances in a cleared out area under the shady canopy of these impressive trees.

As we were relaxing around sunset that evening, a man came by in a canoe to visit. He had paddled up from Lakona Bay, about 14 miles down the coast. He had come to pick up his daughter, who was in boarding school there, to take her home for the two-week semester break. I mentioned that we were heading in that direction the next day and jokingly asked if he wanted to race. He laughed and then asked if he could hitch a ride. I agreed to take him, his daughter and sister-in-law along and tow his canoe. I told him we would set off at 0900.

At 0850, Johnny, daughter Salina, and sister-in-law Vanessa arrived for their ride to Lakona. Johnny and I rigged a towing harness for his canoe, and then we loaded all his gear; oars, fishing spears, bush knife, bailing tub and a small amounts of food, water and luggage on board Moonshadow, so that nothing could be lost in the event of rough seas. Our passengers were delightful and most polite.

I offered Johnny the helm, which he excitedly accepted. With a small amount of instruction, he was able to steer a pretty straight course. He informed me that he had never driven a motor vehicle or anything that had a steering wheel before, but quickly figured out the relationship between turning the wheel and pointing the boat. There are some things we just take for granted!

We arrived in Lakona Bay by midday, saving Johnny about eight hours of paddling. I managed to give the decks a fresh-water wash down and change the oil in the genset before “show time.”

“The show” was the village women playing “water music” and the village men doing some Kastom dancing for a large group from the tall ship Soren Larsen. Water music can best be described as a cross between native percussion and water ballet. Eight village women performed a brief concert and I can only guess that it evolved out of washday boredom. The water music and the Kastom dancing were both interesting and impressive. I later asked the chief what was the significance of the men’s dance. In his very polite Bislama (Pidgin English) he told me essentially that, “if I told you, I’d have to kill you.” I didn’t push the issue.

There is no surer way to bring on rain than to do your washing or hose off the decks. Our neighbors on Sidereal Time did the former and we the latter, and sure enough, the rains began.

We managed to get ashore between the squalls to visit three villages situated along the bay. We had some nice chats with the villagers and learned a bit more about life in the villages. As an island trading ship approached, we heard the drums beating and everyone began hooting and hollering. Apparently this “coconut telegraph” is the way they make a general announcement of a birth, death, ship or yacht arriving, village meeting, etc.

These ships, formerly known as copra schooners, arrive on a somewhat irregular schedule, sometimes only a few times a year, to collect and buy copra (dried coconut meat) and deliver provisions to the villagers. They have a small on-board store with some basic items, which the villagers can buy with the money from the sale of copra. They also rent deck space for passengers, so act as sort of an inter-island ferry. The arrival of the trader is always a major event for the village, bringing much needed supplies, returning friends and family members, and news from the outside world, not unlike the copra schooners of yesteryear.

The weather was lousy, but the winds and seas remained relatively calm, so we decided it was a good time to put some miles under the keel. We decided to head south to Santo for some provisions and a meal or two out. We headed out at 0700 on Wednesday morning, and motor-sailed in seven to nine knots of wind to Hog Harbour, easily covering 54 miles in six hours flat. The fishing reel got a good workout, bringing in a large, toothy barracuda and a small female mahi, both of which were released. We also missed one large mystery fish, which stripped the reel and spat the hook. Bugger!

It was nice to return to civilization and catch up with loads of cruising friends who were hanging out in Luganville.

The past two weeks of cruising in the Banks Islands have been about as good as it gets; great weather, gorgeous and uncrowded anchorages, friendly villagers and a high fun-to-boat maintenance ratio.

Returning to Ureparapara from the Torres Islands, we had a chance to savor its awesome geography a bit more. Anchored in Diver’s Bay, one is virtually floating in the middle of a volcanic cone, opened up at one end, surrounded by 2000+ foot high, greenery covered precipices. On this, our second visit, the weather was unusually clear, so we had a chance to really take in all that lay around us.

We had a walk in the village at Diver’s Bay that is home to about 200 people. As usual, all we met were friendly and greeted us with a warm smile. Even though it was a “work day,” the village was quite quiet and nobody seemed in much of a hurry to get much done. I suppose these islanders are blessed with all they need to survive, and not much desire for more.

What is always interesting to me is to note the architecture and innovation used in construction of the homes, given the extremely limited availability of materials. The thatched roofs seemed more elaborate than in other parts of Vanuatu, and some of the huts had exterior panels of copper sheeting. I later found out that they were salvaged from the bottom of a French freighter that was wrecked on the island a number of years back. The panels, rough and covered in a patina, made for an interesting contrast to the bamboo, wood, palm and pandanus thatching. One home had, as a garden decoration, a radio antenna buoy used to locate the end of a long-line used for commercial fishing. This gift from the Gods must have broken or been cut loose and drifted into the bay, to be salvaged by this unknowing villager. Typical of Vanuatu, the village was very neat, and was nicely landscaped with quite a few ornamental plants, flowers and stone fences.

The most interesting feature was the “kinder” or pre-school. Its little playground had a full-on swing set and “jungle gym,” no pun intended, fashioned entirely of local materials. Most notable was the slide, beautifully carved and polished, made from a section of a single hardwood log. The whole scene was quite reminiscent of something out of “The Flintstones.”

We summonsed one of the villagers to muster up some lobsters for us and the Dancers, Jim and Jeanette. The following day, we were delivered seven nice lobsters, for which Jim swapped one second-hand T-shirt. The fresh bugs, washed down with some Kiwi and Aussie wine, made for a great meal.

The next day, we made the short twelve-mile hop over to the Reef Islands. This group of islands, surrounded by a shallow barrier reef, forms the only true coral atoll in Vanuatu. The low-lying islands, surrounded by beautiful white-sand beaches and a shallow green lagoon are no longer inhabited due to their lack of a fresh water supply, but make a great cruiser’s stop-off when the weather is settled.

The shallow lagoon is loaded with stingrays, which flee when approached by dinghy. We had a bit of fun chasing these fast-moving black or tan animals through the green waters of the lagoon as they darted this way and that to escape what to them must have seemed like a ship from outer space.

The diving along the outer edge of the reef was excellent. Numerous steep-sided coral bommies were strewn about on the 20-40 foot white sand bottom. There was a plethora of colorful tropical fish as well as sharks and rays. I managed to spear a very nice 5-pound grouper that was lurking on the sand bottom under the base of a bommie. This tasty fellow made for an excellent “fish of the day.”

The reinforced southeast trade winds kicked in once again. We were anchored on the outside of the Reef Island’s barrier reef, far from any wind protection from the islands. The wind whipped up to a minimum of 22 knots with long periods of 30-knot blows. The sound of the wind whistling through the rigging was, I estimate, in the 60 to 80 decibel range, enough to require earplugs to get a good night’s sleep. Time to split!

We weighed anchor early the next morning and sailed south to nearby Vanua Lava Island and the shelter of Waterfall Bay. During the easy twelve-mile downwind run, we hooked into another large sailfish, which promptly stripped the reel and snapped our line. He did a number of very impressive tail dances in a valiant effort to spit out the stainless steel hook attached to our new lure. Bugger!

We spent a couple of relaxing days anchored in Waterfall Bay. Unfortunately, recent rains had given the water in the waterfall a brownish tint; somewhat reducing it’s allure. That, along with a swell making a beach landing very difficult, kept us from going ashore. The villagers came by in their canoes with a multitude of fresh fruits, vegetables and coconuts for trade, so we managed to stave off scurvy for a bit longer. We also found some excellent snorkeling on the edge of the reef below the steep cliffs along the edge of the bay. The water was clear, the fish plentiful and there were numerous caves and swim-throughs to explore along the underwater wall that drops down to a 40+ foot sand and gravel bottom.

Sola, the governmental center of Torba (Torres and Banks) providence and is situated on the other side of Vanua Lava from Waterfall Bay. We needed to renew our cruising permit so we motored the 28 miles in light air to the lovely and well protected little bay on the east side of the island, landing a three-foot mahi enroute. Sola is described as the “big smoke” of northern Vanuatu. We knew at once we were in the big city again when we saw in addition to smoke, motor vehicles, electric power poles and a few cinder block buildings with corrugated tin roofs. We happened to arrive just as the village was waving goodbye to a group of the young people who were heading to the island of Efate to go to “camp.” That evening, we found it almost strange to actually see lights on shore once again.

We headed to the government offices to take care of the formalities and were met by Henry, the local Customs officer. Contrary to our experience in many other parts of the world, this gentleman was knowledgeable, helpful, friendly, efficient and polite. In short order, we had a new cruising permit in hand and were given directions to the “town stores” to do some provisioning.

Sola is “not exactly” like Port Vila or Luganville when it comes to provisioning. Unless you are a connoisseur of canned mackerel or corned beef, you might say that the selection of food on the shelves is a bit thin. We managed to get a few kilos of rice, some local beers, toothpaste, eggs and some matches and other odds and ends for trading. Henry, the Customs man got a message to the local baker, who dropped by the boat to deliver six loaves of fresh-baked bread the next morning at 0600. I don’t know if they use coconut milk in the bread dough or if the oven is fired with coconut shells, but the flavor imparted in the bread is heavenly. What a treat!

The following morning, we motored just outside of Sola Bay to nearby Kwakea Island. This gorgeous little island, just east of Vanua Lava, is ostensibly a coconut plantation surrounded by a white sand beach. Kwakea has about 20 inhabitants who survive by fishing and producing copra. We went ashore for a walk and were greeted by Chief Jimmy, who looked like a tanned, gray pony tailed throwback from the 60’s. He was most happy to see a visiting yacht and welcomed us to explore his island. He directed us to a footpath, and we enjoyed a leisurely walk past the village through the coconut plantation to the other side of the island, returning along the shell covered, and white sand beach. Unfortunately, most of the good shells had already been claimed by hermit crabs, and usually scampered away as we approached.

With light winds the next day, we motor-sailed south to the lovely Losalava anchorage on the Island of Gaua, about 20 miles to the south. About nine miles out from Losalava, we hooked a massive sailfish. I was hoping to just save my lure and lose the fish. After a half an hour of fighting, the huge fish came up to the stern, exhausted. I jumped into the dinghy and managed to slip a loop over its tail and we towed the fish the rest of the way into port. This one measured in at nine feet long and I’m estimating 150 pounds, a new Moonshadow record. It was a bit more than I wanted to deal with, let alone what we could possibly eat or freeze, so we gave the fish to the villagers at Losalava, who were quite happy to have some fresh fish. At least I saved my lure.

We had hoped to visit all of the Torres Islands during the time we were there, but for ten days reinforced southeast trade winds made all but two anchorages on the island of Tegua untenable.

We’re not complaining, as we enjoyed some relaxing and interesting time in the Torres, off the cruiser’s beaten path, but it just serves to remind us that the weather Gods are generally in charge of where we go, when we go and how long we stay.

We spent our time at Hayter Bay, on the west side of Tegua Island and at another unnamed anchorage just around the corner on the northwest corner of the island. The only other boats in the area were Jeanette and Jim on Dancer, in search of some remote dive spots, and Pam and Bruce on Ahquabi, on their way north to the Solomon Islands, another hundred-odd miles to the north.

Hayter Bay is a deep bight into the west side of Tegua, with rugged coral shores on the sides, overlooked by 200’ cliffs overhung with creeping vegetation. The end of the bay is a coral obstacle course which rewards those who make it past with a lovely white sand beach lined by swaying palm trees.

Ten days seem to pass in a flash, marked by copious amounts of diving. With snorkels we explored the anchorage and searched (unsuccessfully) for lobster, with SCUBA we dropped onto an offshore reef. We also dove into a few light boat projects, and quite of few good books. All in all, it was a nice balance of work and play.

There is no village at Hayter Bay, just one family living apart from the other villages on the island. Chief Donald, the patriarch, and his family have a tidy little homestead just beyond the white sand beach and a row of gently leaning coconut palms. His welcome gift to all the visiting yachties was a coconut crab, or “crab coconut” as they say in their Bislama tongue.

The coconut crab is a staple part of the diet for some of the Ni-Vanuatu living on the remote outer islands. It is a rather large, ugly, dark brown land crustacean whose back and legs are covered by thick shell, the remainder with a scaly, leathery material that would appear to make a suitable substitute for chain mail. The coconut crab carries the odor of the rich, loamy, jungle topsoil of the island and lives on a diet of, you guessed it, coconuts.

The coconut crab’s claws and pincers are strong enough to husk a coconut, an operation that requires a great deal of strength, skill and a big machete on the part of us upper primates. We never ventured a guess as to what the crab’s appendages might do to one of our fingers as they were usually presented to us in some sort of a crude straitjacket fashioned from some island vines. Not wanting any more “boat bites” on my hands, I kept them fully harnessed as I dropped them into the boiling pot. One night however, the Dancer’s coconut crab pulled a Houdini and made a break for freedom, causing a hell of a racket as it crawled along the deck. Jim was awakened in a startle and managed to get the beast back under control.

The ugly, almost frightful appearance of the coconut crab belies its fantastic flavor. Its firm, plentiful meat is unquestionably the tastiest crab I’ve ever had. It is moist and rich, almost as if it was naturally marinated in coconut cream, and requires no seasoning, garnish or elaborate preparation. It is an almost perfect meal. Simply boil it, cool it, and then eat it-a perfect yacht meal. It doesn’t appear in the Weight Watcher’s guide for caloric value, so we can only assume that it is fat free. NOT! The only bad news is that it can take from ten to twenty years for a coconut crab to reach an edible size and in some parts of Vanuatu they have become endangered.

Fortunately, they are still in good supply on Tegua. The natives claim that they are easily found walking around the jungle or “bush” as they call it. We swapped some much- needed articles of clothing with Chief Donald for a few more crabs while were there. I’m sure that on the sand patch underneath the spot where we were anchored, there is a shoal of coconut crab shells.

Situated one half-mile from the anchorage is a coral reef that reaches to within thirty feet of the surface. There are a plethora of small tropical fish, sea fans and other features, as well as some large pelagic or deep-sea fish, which occasionally cruise by in search a quick meal. We enjoyed a few nice dives on this site and in addition to all the usual multi-colored tropicals, we saw some big fish such as gray reef sharks, black-tipped reef sharks, dog-toothed tuna, trevally, sea turtles, barracuda and a spotted eagle ray. It was literally an oversized aquarium and the visibility was “adequate,” at least 100 feet.

After four days in Hayter Bay, we made a move for Hui Island and a little anchorage we had heard about on the east side behind a small, off-lying island. We had just gone through the channel between Metoma and Hui Island, which felt like sailing in a giant Maytag washer on the “heavy soil” cycle during a major earthquake. After 20 minutes of crashing, smashing and splashing, we had come back into relatively calm seas. Ahquabi, who had left an hour before us, hailed us on VHF 16. They had just pulled into the anchorage and reported that it was too rough to stay, hoping to catch us before we sailed through the channel.

We turned around and went back through the channel, albeit with wind and seas in our favor this time and took anchorage in the lee of Tegua on the northwest corner at the foot of a dramatic cliff. After two days there, we were driven away by an uncomfortable ground swell and repeated aerial attacks by swarms of voracious flies and decided to return to Hayter Bay.

We waited out the reinforced trade winds (25 to 35 knots from the southeast) and rough seas for four more days until the winds clocked around to the south and eased, then made a break for Uaparapara, the beautiful volcanic island with the large bay in its blown-out cone. The seas were a bit lumpy and confused, but it was great to be sailing again and we made a swift passage with a fresh breeze just forward of the beam until the wind died out in the lee of the tall, dramatic island.

Shortly after we furled the jib and cranked up its cast aluminum backup, we got a strike on the fishing line. A quick clicking of the reel and it was gone. A moment later, I could see a fin in the water, and another quick strike, and once again it was gone. On the third strike, I managed to grab the reel and set the hook. Just then, I saw a large sailfish jump out of the water and do a tail dance. We don’t usually take sailfish, as they are too large and cumbersome to deal with on board, but I was damned if I was going to sacrifice my lure, and figured that if it bit my lure three times that it was so stupid it should be removed from the gene pool. I played it for the fun and challenge, half-hoping it would spit the hook. No joy, this monster was hooked well, so we decided it would make a nice gift for the villagers at Diver’s Bay.

Fortunately for me, sailfish usually fight fast and hard and then give up pretty quickly. After eight hours of sailing, I wasn’t up for a four-hour fish fight! In spite of this, my opponent put up a worthy fight, leaving my hand blistered from the reel, and within minutes we had this beautiful fish at Moonshadow’s transom. We struck the main sail and once in the calm of Diver’s Bay, I managed to slip a line around the fish’s tail and hoist it up on the stern davit.

The arrival of a visiting yacht usually attracts visits by local canoes. There were lots of canoes in Diver’s Bay that afternoon, enjoying the beautiful weather and visiting the three yachts already lying at anchor. We attracted a few, until they spotted the 8-1/2 foot sailfish hanging at our stern. Instantly, we were surrounded by a bunch of very excited villagers in at least a dozen canoes, wanting to get a closer look at our catch.

We summonsed Chief Nicholson, who paddled out to greet us in short order. He too was impressed by the fish, which we gave to him to share among the villagers. Fearing it would sink his canoe, he towed it to shore by the tail, followed by a flotilla of dugout canoes.

The next day we went ashore for a walk. When I saw the chief, I asked him how he enjoyed the fish. I’m sure he was exaggerating a bit, but he said that everyone in the village enjoyed the fish, all 200 of them! There were no leftovers.

One of our major goals this season was to visit the Banks and Torres, two remote island groups at the very northern end of the Vanuatu chain. We had read and heard tales from other cruisers about spectacular and uncrowded anchorages, beautiful volcanic islands, primitive villages, excellent diving and plentiful lobster and coconut crab. Any one of these would be reason enough to go!

We needed to provision up in Santo for at least a month of life without any restaurants or grocery stores. Provisioning in Santo is adequate by South Pacific standards, but “not exactly” like Australia or New Zealand. There are a plethora of small Chinese stores in town, each having a broad and slightly different product mix, ranging from food to clothes to hardware and lots of junk, but none seems to have all that we need. Shopping here is more like a scavenger hunt. To complete our meager list, it was necessary to visit a dozen stores, and then, of course, the open market for fruits and veggies. Due to the hurricanes earlier this year, the fruit crop is thin. The market was more like “roots and veggies.” We still got skunked on a few tough items like pancake syrup and butter.

We also needed diesel, and unfortunately, there is no marina or fuel dock in Santo. Reinforced trade winds blowing straight into Segond Channel from the east made it unsafe for us to bring Moonshadow along side any of the big concrete commercial wharves for fueling. We had to arrange a tank truck to bring a load of diesel to a badly deteriorated bulkhead at an old, abandoned fish processing plant in the nearby and well-protected Palikulo Bay. With tank truck adjacent to boat, we siphoned the diesel into our tanks. I had plenty of practice at this in Mexico, and the whole operation went better than planned-no scratches and no spills. We were set to go.

The weather Gods got angry and threatened a strong northerly. We returned to Santo to wait it out and catch up with some friends. After two days of not much of anything, the southeast trades returned and we set sail heading north with a plan to dayhop our way all the way to the Torres Islands.

We are now lying anchored in a lovely spot named Lonakwarenga Bay, on the Island of Tegua in the Torres after spending five nights in as many different anchorages along the way. Here are a few highlights of our trip.

Leg one was an easy forty-mile motor-sail in light winds along the East coast of Espiritu Santo to Port Olry, near the northeast corner of the island. We anchored in the lee of a small coral island called Thion, which protects the rickety logging village of Port Olry from much of the wind and swell of the southeast trades. With a rocky islet In the middle of the anchorage, white sand beaches and green hills in the background, the scenery is quite alluring. The calm anchorage afforded us a good night’s sleep.

Early the next morning, we departed for Gaua Island, the southernmost of the Banks group, fifty miles to the northeast. With the wind just forward of the beam, it was a fast and fun sail. Averaging nearly nine knots, with surfs of ten to eleven knots, we made it into the lee of Gaua Island by mid-afternoon, landing a three-foot mahi-mahi along the way. Out of the full force of the trade winds, we glided smoothly up the west side of the island and took anchorage in a rather open bight called Kwetevut Bay.

These northern islands don’t see as many yachts as those in the southern part of Vanuatu, so the villagers are more curious, welcoming, and desirous of “trading.” We hadn’t even set the anchor and canoes from the nearby village of Tolav had already surrounded us. Everybody who came by had big smiles and warm greetings, mostly just to have a closer look at the yacht with the white people-and black cat-on board. Some offered to trade fruits, vegetables and coconuts from their gardens. Most of the local produce is large, beautiful and tasty, so we took the opportunity to stock up our voids. We traded a few fishhooks for a load of kumera (sweet potato).

The next leg was a short 15-miler, so we lingered for a bit in Kwetevut Bay. We got underway late in the morning and had a scenic cruise along the rugged coastline of the west and north side of Gaua to Lusalava Bay, on the opposite side of the island. Lusalava has a very scenic village and quite an extensive reef structure to protect the anchorage from the swell, but wind protection and diving were marginal at best. A few fishhooks got us some nice pamplamouse (island grapefruit).

The next morning we set out for what would be a downwind 25-mile run to Waterfall Bay on the island of Vanua Lava. Waterfall Bay is so named for the twin 50-foot waterfalls that drop into the sea at the south end of the anchorage. The villagers capitalize on their beautiful land feature by charging a small fee for visiting and swimming in the waterfall. They are also eager to trade freshwater prawns, lobster, crab and produce from their gardens for whatever yachties have that they may need. We bought a kilo of prawns for dinner and swapped an old Hawaiian shirt for three live lobsters and a sea crab. I think that both parties were happy with the deal.

Our next landfall, 20 miles to the north, was by far the most spectacular. Uaparapara Island is a dramatic 2500-foot volcanic cone jutting out of the sea. Its northeast face is blown out, forming a dramatic steep-walled bay that penetrates two miles into nearly the center of the small island. Lorup Bay, known the yachties as Diver’s Bay is long and deep which makes anchoring a challenge. We managed to get our hook set on the third attempt. We were greeted by not one, but two chiefs and given three fresh drinking coconuts as a welcome gift.

Very few Ni-Vanuatu carry canteens or water bottles, and even fewer have heard of Evian, so when they get thirsty out in the bush and there is no stream nearby, they simply whack off the top a fresh green “drinking” coconut with their machete and have a cool, refreshing drink. If they are also hungry, they split open the shell and use a chip of the husk as a spoon to scoop out the soft yogurt-like meat for a snack. Any guide is happy to do this for us when we go hiking in the jungle.

Uaparapara seems to be a “cloud magnet” as it always appears to have a puffy crown over its cone. The day we arrived was no exception and by late in the afternoon the skies opened up on us. Chief Nicholson had come by to say hi so we invited him on board for coffee while the rain Gods washed our decks and rigging and poured 100 gallons of soft rainwater into our tanks.

Chief Nicholson told us about his village of 200 people and his remote little island while we signed his ubiquitous yachtie “guest book.” Over coffee we watched some of the village boys in very light and fast dugout canoes (no outrigger) race around and surf the waves breaking along the shoreline. These “sports model” canoes are similar to kayaks and the boys used double ended paddles to move and maneuver quickly around the bay. Once a year, the Uaparaparans have a canoe race across the bay. The chief’s very fit younger brother is the reigning champion.

We found the youngish looking, goateed Chief Nicholson to be quite an articulate and entertaining character and enjoyed his stories, particularly his detailed description of the Kastom (traditional Vanuatu) ritual in which he was made the chief of the village.

As we sailed out of Diver’s Bay the next morning, we broke free of the cloud cover over Uaparapara and set a course for the Torres, a group of eight small islands at the northernmost tip of Vanuatu, just a hundred or so miles south of the Solomon Islands.

The day started with a fresh breeze until we sailed into the lee of Uaparapara and the sails began to bang and slap. We landed a small tuna, which we sent back to summons a more substantial member of the species for us. No luck! Once out of the lee of Uaparapara, the breeze filled in, but soon died out. We ended up motor sailing the rest of the forty-odd mile trip. Near the south end of Toga Island, the fishing reel screamed as the line went out. We slowed down to witness a very large sailfish do a couple of very impressive tail dances before spitting out our hook. Bugger!

We navigated around to the lee side of Toga, the southernmost island, looking for a calm anchorage with no joy. Loh, the next island to the north offered nothing better, so we pressed on towards Tegua. We hooked two good-sized barracuda within a half-hour. Fearing ciguatera poisoning, we let them go. Removing the hook from the toothy mouth of a four-foot barracuda is always a challenge. Even though I wear leather “gauntlet” gloves and use needle-nosed pliers for the extraction, I always fear that with one wrong move those massive teeth would make “handburger” of my hand.

At Tegua Island we found a good anchorage and were greeted by our cruising friends Jeanette and Jim on Dancer and Pam and Bruce on Ahquabi.
Our hook was set in Lonakwarenga Bay just in time for sundown, sundowners and a reunion with old friends.

Lonakwarenga Bay, also known as Hayter Bay has a well-protected anchorage, good snorkeling, a beautiful palm tree-lined white sand beach, a small, friendly village and loads of coconut crabs. I think we’ll hang here for a while.

A Quick Spin Around Northern Vanuatu

We’re just getting back into our normal routine after having Cate’s parents Chris and Rosaleen on board for a couple of weeks. They were great guests and we thank them for carrying up parts, mail, videos and other goodies from the civilized world.

We covered a lot of water in the two weeks they were aboard and managed-I think-to show them some of the treasures of this little paradise in the Pacific. They had never been to the tropical South Pacific, so had no expectations of how things ought to be.

Shortly after landing in Luganville on the Island of Espiritu Santo, we whisked them off to the lovely little Aore Resort, where Moonshadow was lying a few yards off shore on a mooring. It just happened to be Wednesday, which is “Island Night.” A couple “shells” of good, strong Vanuatu kava, a few drinks, a buffet of local cuisine and some Kastom (traditional Vanuatu) dancing quickly shifted them into island mode.

Early the next morning, we set sail for Ambae Island, fifty miles to the East. Beating into some fresh southeast trade winds and two-to-three meter swells produced some very green complexions and a bit of mal du mer in the tummies of our guests. In a few hours, we were in the lee of Ambae, looking up at the 4000+ foot volcanic cone and gliding along in gentle blue seas. Landing a four-foot mahi-mahi helped to round out the day and square out our evening meal.

With plenty of afternoon light, we negotiated the shallow pass over the sunken rim of an extinct volcano into the lush and beautiful Lolowai Bay. Lolowai is the Bali Ha’i village in James Michener’s Tales of the South Pacific, and every bit as beautiful and exotic as it is depicted in the book and the film.

We had heard a report that a large saltwater crocodile had drifted down from the Solomon Islands and found it’s way into Lolowai Bay. Once inside the bay, we saw what appeared to be a large, bumpy log floating on the calm water. As we motored closer, the log began to slowly move. As we got even closer, it moved faster and eventually dove to safety. Strangely, we all lost interest in an afternoon swim in the lagoon.

The next day, after a leisurely morning, we made the short hop across to the rugged Maewo Island, and our favorite spot in all of Vanuatu, Asanvari Anchorage. The two cyclones that hit Vanuatu earlier this year had done some damage to the Asanvari Yacht Club, but the rest of the area was as beautiful as ever.

We spent five relaxing days there, hiking, diving, spear fishing, reading, and hanging out with the villagers. Chief Nelson, the goodwill ambassador of Asanvari, arranged a feast for the yachties, preceded by some Kastom dancing and a couple of rounds of the local grog. Two shells of Asanvari kava is usually enough to render the average person absolutely legless.

One of the nicest features of Asanvari is a double cascading waterfall that plunges right into the sea. There is just nothing quite like the pleasure of a daily shower under a refreshing cascade of cool island water. And any yachtie can appreciate not having to turn it off when lathering up to save water.

The villagers use the stream for bathing and washing as well, but have also carved out a set of terraces in the steep hillside nearby for cultivation of tarot root. Water from the stream is diverted by a series of ditches and bamboo pipes for irrigation. The whole affair gives the area a very exotic touch.

Our next destination was Champagne beach on the east side of Espiritu Santo.
We had a nice downwind sail as we headed northwest and managed to land another nice sized mahi. The fish Gods were definitely looking over us on this cruise. As we anchored off the stunning white sands of Champagne beach, a villager in a canoe came by to greet us and was quite happy to have what remained of our recently filleted mahi.

Chris and Rosaleen enjoyed some walks and lounging on the beautiful white sands of Champagne beach while Cate and I did some snorkeling and spear fishing on the nearby reef. At the end of the day, we gathered on the beach with a group of yachties for a “sundowner.” Champagne, of course!

Working our way South to Luganville, we popped into the very protected lagoon behind Oyster Island. Oyster Island is named for-you guessed it-it’s abundance of very tasty oysters. We sample some of them, as well as lobster and coconut crab at a small guest house/restaurant on the island. The meal was as good as any we’ve had in Vanuatu, all for about US $10 per person-no tax, and no tips accepted. This place definitely rates “four coconuts” in our book.

There are a number of “blue holes” on Espiritu Santo Island. Two of them are situated in close proximity to Oyster Island. We took the dink about three kilometers up one of the streams feeding into the lagoon. The stream promptly ended in a very deep, azure blue pool. Apparently the stream is fed by springs that leech out at these holes. The water is crystal clear, the coral sand bottom is white, and the result is a beautiful blue pool of fresh, clear water, surrounded by green jungle. There were lots of hoots and hollers from exotic birds and a few fly-bys’ from some large flying foxes (fruit bats). This was an excellent spot for a refreshing swim.

The last stop on our little island tour was at Palikoulo Bay. Here we ran into a number of yachtie friends enjoying the quiet and calm anchorage just a few miles from the hustle and bustle of Luganville.

The local ex-pats have a little beach club, called Club Nautique, where they can “do as they wish” without causing offense to the Ni-Vanuatu people. The yachties seemed to converge upon it each evening for happy hour and the occasional barbeque or potluck. We had a couple of great social hours and an excellent potluck dinner our last night in the bay.

We sailed back to Luganville the following day, arriving just a few hours before Chris and Rosaleen were to board their connecting flight to Port Vila. It seems like two weeks just sailed by for all of us!

Cate and I have spent the last few days in Luganville re-provisioning, refueling, bottom cleaning and sorting out visa extensions and cruising permits for a cruise up to the Banks and Torres groups of islands. These groups are in the extreme northern end of the Vanuatu chain and are the most remote and untouched areas of the country.

Vanuatu’s 21st anniversary of independence from the British/French condominium government is today, so we plan to take in some of the Kastom dancing and festivities and then head north when the weather looks right.

The west coast of Espiritu Santo Island in Vanuatu offers up some spectacular anchorages, all within a short day sail from good provisioning in Luganville. Our favorite was Peterson’s Lagoon behind Oyster Island.

Peterson’s Lagoon is the most protected anchorage along the coast and probably the only spot that could be considered a hurricane hole. Oyster Island is a small resort with a few beach bungalows and excellent restaurant. From Peterson’s lagoon one can take a short dinghy ride up to the “Blue Hole.”

The bad news is that the passes into Peterson’s lagoon are very shallow and strewn with coral bommies. Entry into the “inside” should only be attempted at full tide and good light, a combination that may be difficult to attain if one is cruising with any time constraints.

We tracked both entrances into the lagoon so that when we return, at least we won’t have to be so concerned with the light factor.

We came in the southern entrance just after high slack water. You can see our track as we stood off and hovered, waiting till the tide had shifted so we could enter with a slight bit of ebb current. Light was good as it was near midday and entry into the outer lagoon at the south end was no drama. There were bommies within six feet of the surface but they were easy to spot and avoid in the conditions we experienced that day.

We anchored behind a small islet to the south of Oyster Island, but swell coming over the reef made it quite rolly. We had guests on board and wanted a bit smoother conditions, so I jumped in the dinghy, grabbed my hand depth sounder and started to do some “surveying.”

I discovered another pass into Peterson’s lagoon, the more protected lagoon in the lee of Oyster Island. I made mental note of some range lines and there were a few bleach bottle markers to guide the way.

Not wanting the tide to fall too far, I hurried back to Moonshadow, we hoisted anchor and headed for Peterson’s Lagoon. In my hasted, I neglected to turn on the MaxSea tracking function again, so unfortunately I don’t have this segment. Using my mental charts, we made it in to the beautiful and calm lagoon with no dramas.

After a few quiet and enjoyable days spent exploring the Blue Hole and Oyster Island, it was time to move on.

It would have been easy enough to exit the lagoon the way I had come in, but I had heard that there was also a northern pass whose markers had long since disappeared. Once again I took to the dinghy, depth sounder in hand and went for a survey. The exit was fairly straight forward, as one needed only to follow the sand bottom that wound its way through a field of bommies. The shallowest spot was just about five feet at low tide.

High water was around 2 that afternoon, and since we would exit heading to the east, the sun would be high and on our back. Once again we made it though the pass with no dramas.

Having tracked two possible entrances, we can now return and exit when we have high tide, but perhaps less than ideal lighting conditions.