Questions about reefing.

Posted on July 12, 2001 by George Backhus

What sort of reefing do you use?

Moonshadow’s main sail has three deep reef points as well as a flattening reef which we occasionally use to keep the boom out of the water when power reaching. Each reef point is controlled with a single line that comes out of the boom below the gooseneck and leads to a winch on the mast, just above the main halyard winch. Reefing is quite simple. In rough seas, we heave to on starboard tack, which reduces motion and sets up the work on the high side of the boat. Otherwise, we just feather the main and then lower the halyard to a premarked position and then close the rope clutch. Then the reefing line is wound in on the winch until the both the reef tack and reef clew are drawn down to the boom.

With the aid of full battens in the mainsail and a boom rack, we find it faster, easier and safer to set the leeward lazy jack to hold the extra canvas as opposed to lashing it. In average conditions, taking the first reef is a two or three minute job.

The first and second reef clews on the mainsail have cheek blocks installed to reduce chafe and effort. I use a lightweight tag line spliced to the third reef line to help reduce weight and resulting shape distortion of the main.

What would you change if you had to do it all over again?

I would do one of three things: 1) Reconfigure the deck layout to accommodate the leading of the main halyard and reefing lines aft to the cockpit. 2) Install a boom furling system for the mainsail. 3) Buy a trawler.

Is the reefing system operable from the cockpit or must you go forward?

The current reefing system is not operable from the cockpit. I must go forward to take a reef. When I do, I wear a harness and tether myself to a full-length tubular webbing jackstay, and we have a very beefy pushpit on either side of the mast to lean on for support. Unless I am single-handing, I have another person on deck to control the mainsheet and keep an eye on me. I reckon the whole operation is still safer than crossing the street during rush hour in New York.  To make reefing easier in rough conditions, I usually heave-to on starboard tack which calms the boat down immensely and makes the job a lot easier.

On average, how often per year do you find you need to reef?

Over the past few years, we have sailed an average of about five thousand miles a year. I figure that we have taken a single reef less than once per every thousand miles sailed. The second reef makes a cameo appearance about once a year, and the third reef is still a virgin. We are quite happy to wait for a favorable weather window before heading to sea.

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Vila to Santo, Part 2

Posted on July 10, 2001 by George Backhus

Our goal was to be in Luganville, commonly referred to as “Santo,” for a 4th of July party, so it was time to put a few miles under the keel. We headed west, around the bottom of Malakula Island and then followed the west coast north a ways to the lovely Southwest Bay.

We had a great sail and hooked a nice, four-foot wahoo on the way. I reeled him right up to the transom, and was about to haul him aboard when he spat the hook. Bugger! The good news is that we hooked his big brother fifteen minutes later, and managed to board him after a good fight. A bit of cheap booze poured over his gills, a.k.a. “the parting shot” and Mr. Wahoo was quickly relaxing in La-La Land. This monster weighed in at around fifty pounds. Wahooo!!! As soon as we were anchored in Southwest Bay, some villagers in canoes visited us. They saw Mr. Wahoo peacefully resting in our cockpit and got very excited, yelling, “wan beeg fis! wan beeg fis!,” which I reckoned was Bislama for “nice catch, dude!” I filleted the nice fish and gave the carcass and one of the fillets to our visitors. I think they were more excited about the wahoo’s head than the 20-pound fillet. We understand that the natives consider the cheek meat of large pelagic fish to be a delicacy, and the head makes a tasty soup.

That evening, we were sated with fish, and pelted with rain. I estimate we received about six inches in eight hours. It was the first good wash down Moonshadow had received since NewCal. After all the salt was washed away, we caught enough runoff from the deck to top off our tanks, and give us a temporary reprieve from our state of perpetual water rationing. The bad news is that the surrounding countryside turned into a sticky, squishy mess, and the muddy river runoff turned the normally crystal clear water of Southwest Bay into something that resembled the contents of a kava bowl. Diving? Spear fishing? Fahgeddaboudit!

The next afternoon, after the heavy rains had let up, we dinked into shore, landed on the dark volcanic sand beach and scrambled up a cliff on a slippery path to the village of Wintua. At the end of a soggy turf airstrip was Alo Lodge, the local guesthouse. There we met George, the proprietor, who gave us some skinny on the area and organized a guide to take us hiking in the jungle the following day.

As we arrived on the beach the next morning, Aitep, our guide, greeted us. Aitep was a slight man with graying hair, deep lines in his face and a well worn half-set of teeth. From the neck up he looked every one of his 56 years. From the neck down, he was slender and quite fit. He looked and moved with the agility of a 30ish marathon runner.

Aitep led us along a soggy jungle path while clearing recent overgrowth with his long, sharp machete. To help us with our footing, he made Cate and I walking sticks with a pointed tip and smooth handle. Even with the aid of the sticks and our grippy hiking shoes, we slipped and slided in the mud. Aitep must have had electronic skid sensors built into the soles of his bare feet, as he never seemed to lose his firm footing. As the trail began to ascend into the hills, Aitep retrieved a small shovel he had hidden in the bushes and dug steps for us on the steep parts of the path. When we became thirsty, with a few whacks of his machete, he would hand us a coconut opened up for drinking. There is nothing that can compare to the flavor of the cool milk of a young coconut on a hot day. A few more whacks and we had a snack of its soft meat, the consistency of yogurt, scooped out with a spoon make from a chip from the husk.

Occasionally, Aitep would stop to point out a plant, bush or tree that had some significance to the Ni-Vanuatu people. Most of their food, medicine, construction material, clothing fibers and adornments grow in the jungle. Many of these people survive quite nicely with very little intervention from the outside world, much as they did before the arrival of Europeans, hundreds of years ago.

Our first stop was at the top of a high hill, where we had a commanding view of the village, the airstrip, Southwest Bay, and a large lagoon just inland from the bay. After a rest, a chocolate bar and a few Kodak moments, we went to visit Aitep’s coconut grove and cattle pasture. Aitep claimed to have 200 head of cattle on the island, which would make him quite a wealthy man by Vanuatu standards.

We strolled back into the dense canopy of the jungle and visited a hut that Aitep had built on a sacred site for native rituals. He said he also occasionally came to the hut by himself to get away from the wife, kids and noise of the village. Funny, that’s why we came to Vanuatu, but I suppose it is all relative. The hut was beautifully and meticulously hand crafted of heavy branches with walls and a roof of woven palm and pandanus leaves. We were not allowed inside, but were allowed to view some of the ritualistic masks kept there and used in their kastom ceremonies, while Aitep rolled and smoked a cigarette made from local tobacco and a bit of notebook paper.

Retracing our steps back to the sea, we managed to avoid any death slides on our trip down from the hills and made it safely back to Moonshadow in time for a late lunch. We were quite muddy and tired from the long walk. Aitep says he does it every day to attend to his garden and cattle. No wonder he’s in such good shape!

The next day, the weather forecast predicted a small low-pressure system would be moving over us, bringing some north and west winds. Southwest Bay is well protected from the South and East, but wide open to the North and West, so we immediately weighed anchor and sailed north to Santo and the protection of Segond Channel. We had a very fast trip with fresh Easterlies on our beam. In the lee of Malakula Island, the seas were nearly flat. It was a lovely day sail in cloudy skies, which finally opened up on us just as we entered Segond Channel from the Southwest. While some yachts cruising in Vanuatu reported gusts to 60 knots in the “disturbance,” we didn’t see much more than 25 knots as we sat snugly anchored in Santo.

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Port Vila to Espiritu Santo

Posted on July 4, 2001 by George Backhus

After nearly a week in the “big smoke,” Port Vila, we were provisioned up and ready to get back out to visit some of Vanuatu’s more remote islands. Vila is quite nice with it’s calm and protected anchorage, nice waterfront cafes and restaurants, good shopping and continental touches, but we were ready for some more “National Geographic moments.”

On the morning of 20 June, under a cloudy sky and with the help of some reinforced southeasterly trade winds, we made a quick trip to Port Havannah, situated around on the north side of the main island of Efate. It was a bit windy in Havannah, so we made Moonshadow ready for the passage north to Epi and chilled a bit for the afternoon.

We weighed anchor just after first light, and slipped through Purumea Channel into the South Pacific Ocean. As we moved out of the lee, or wind shadow of the island, the reinforced trades kicked in giving us about 25 knots of breeze on the beam. With just our working sails and “Wilhelm” our trusty autopilot steering, we made the 60-mile trip in about seven hours, logging a top speed of 12.9 knots for the day.

After dropping the hook in a very rolly Lamen Bay, we caught up with our old cruising and diving buddies Jeanette and Jim on Dancer, their beautifully maintained 55 foot Bill Tripp designed ex racer. Lamen Bay is world famous, at least in Vanuatu, for it’s friendly dugong, a.k.a. a manatee or sea cow. People come to Lamen Bay just to swim with this sea mammal. The dugong made a cameo appearance for us but because some recent cyclones have disturbed his feeding ground, has been feeding elsewhere.

The following day, we had a nice stroll through the village and school along the shore of Lamen Bay. We kept a sharp dugong watch, but he was not to be seen all day. We went ashore for a local meal at Tasso’s. He runs a guesthouse and Nakamal or Kava Bar. In his thatched “yacht club,” he put on a great meal for us, more than we could possibly eat, for about US $5.75 per person, tax included, and Vanuatu is in the “no tipping zone.”

Two rolly nights in Lamen Bay was enough for us, so we headed about 25 miles west-northwest to the Maskelyne Islands. These small islands on the southeast end of Malakula are remote and beautiful, and their surrounding reefs are reported to have some of the best diving in Vanuatu. Once again, we had a beautiful day of sailing and then anchored in a tight little bay behind a little island called Awei.

The Maskelyne islanders are very friendly, but quite cut off from the rest of Vanuatu, so live very simply and traditionally. Many farm small plots on the mainland or other islands, so they “commute” by sailing or paddling their small dugout canoes through strong currents and rough seas. Others can be seen fishing or foraging on one of the many shallow reef areas surrounding many of their islands. The scene seems more reminiscent of Southeast Asia than the South Pacific.

We forgot our Kodak for one Kodak moment, a man on the beach expertly shaping the hull of a canoe with an axe and hatchet out of a single hardwood log.
It looked like very hard work. He told us that it was usually about one week’s work to make a canoe, and that a good one would last a maximum of five or six years. Given the basic tools they have to work with, we were amazed at how fair or smooth the hulls turned out.

We spent four days in the area, balancing our time between some boat cleaning and maintenance, some jungle walking and a bit of diving when the wind and tides were cooperative. The weather was mostly crappy, so the diving was less than ideal. Jeanette from Dancer finally put out a “health and welfare” call on the sun, which hadn’t even made a cameo appearance for nearly a week. A couple of the dives were quite nice though. We did a few drifters along the reef at the intersection of four channels. Our dive guide labeled it “Kodachrome Reef.” There were plenty of big fish, turtles and we even spotted a very rare, ten-foot leopard shark having a snooze on a sandy patch of the bottom. All allowed us to get up close and personal. An evening walk on the reef in search of lobster turned out to be a total bust.

Our most interesting shore visit was to a village on the little island of Avokh. A man named Robert came by in his canoe and invited all the yachties to visit his village. The two cyclones that ripped through Vanuatu earlier this year had been particularly hard on his village. It was not as tidy and the people seemed to lack the same spirit as in other villages we had visited.

No village tour is complete without a visit to the church. Robert was particularly proud of their church. He told us nearly all of the wood beams and bench planks had been hand-hewn by the villagers. A few were salvaged from a shipwreck. Typical of the area, the church bell was an old fire extinguisher suspended from a post. It actually had a pretty nice tone!

We were invited to visit the local school, across a shallow mangrove swamp on the neighboring island of Lembong. Village children arrive at school by boat, taken by their parents in large “station wagon” sized canoes or in small “sport” models. The little school, perched on a hillside overlooking the soccer field, was simple and tidy. The four-room structure had loose coral bits on the floor, salvaged corrugated tin on the walls, bamboo matt partitions between the rooms, and hinged, tilt up window shutters. The day we visited, it was “parents day,” so not much serious schooling was going on. This seemed to be just fine with the friendly, energetic and neatly uniformed students.

The classes each had about twenty kids, with two grades in each room. Of course there were good old-fashioned chalkboards at the front and back of the room, but these had been neatly framed with split bamboo. The curriculum was a mix between the three R’s and social studies and some practical education to prepare them for life in the village. Ni-Vanuatu children are taught three languages, English, French and Bislama or Pidgin English, in addition to their tribal language, which they usually speak at home. Most Ni-Vanuatu speak at four or five languages. They learn about the local plants and animals that make up their diet and how to balance them for proper nutrition. Needless to say, it was quite interesting to look at the teaching aids on the walls. In one room, there was a display hanging from the rafters labeled “transportation.” Suspended there were two rough woodcarvings, one a small floatplane and the other a dugout canoe. I suppose that these are the only forms of transportation that they have seen, or may ever see. The children were very curious about us and always gave us a big “thumbs up” when we snapped a photo.

Experiences like this are a big part of the reason we are out here.

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Tanna to Port Vila

Posted on June 28, 2001 by George Backhus

Anchored in Port Resolution on the lovely island of Tanna, a week passed us by in no time. On Monday 11 June, we got ourselves underway and made a short hop to the island of Aniwa, situated about 20 short miles to the Northeast. Just to clarify, short miles are downwind and long miles are to windward.

We couldn’t find much information about Aniwa in our cruising or travel guides, other than it is known for it’s orange groves and has a large, beautiful lagoon. The charting of the island is poor, so we decided to do a bit of scouting to see if we could enter the lagoon or find some other suitable anchorage. I surveyed the pass into the lagoon with the dinghy while Cate stood off the island with Moonshadow. While a very shallow draft yacht or catamaran could get in at high tide, the 3-foot soundings scared us off, so we anchored in the lee of the island in a sand patch a mile or so south. As advertised, the lagoon was spectacular, the waters showing variegated hues of blue and the surrounding sand beaches were wide and white, lined with coconut palms.

The water around our anchorage was crystal clear and the snorkeling excellent. A young man named Reuben, who paddled out to visit us in his traditional pirogue, a Vanuatu style dugout canoe, visited us. The Ni-Vanuatu people are shy but friendly, and very curious about the yachties, especially in the more remote areas.

The evening was quite nice and calm, till about 0230 when the gentle trade winds whipped up to about 20 knots and began clocking to the south and west. By 0530, we had our back to the island, a.k.a. a lee shore, and decided it was time for a change of venue. As we prepared to get underway, Reuben returned with his T-shirt bundled up, holding at least two kilos of Aniwa Island oranges. He had paddled out, fighting wind and waves, at first light, just to give us his gift, expecting nothing in return.

While most of the Tanna Rally fleet heading northward were stopping in Dillon Bay on the island of Erromango, we felt that it’s open roadstead, facing to the West, would not be a particularly safe and comfortable place to stop. We looked at the chart, and took a flyer on a large and open bay on the opposite side of the island called Polenia Bay. In a few hours we were in the lee of Erromango and sailing up the dramatic east coast of this large, lush and mountainous island. Leaving the two spectacular volcanic peaks of Traitor’s head to our port side, we turned west and headed into what looked to be the most protected corner of the bay, a bit of reef with a small village adjacent called Potnarvin.

Potnarvin is on the East side of the island, facing into the prevailing trade winds, so would see very few cruisers. We later found out that we were the first yachties to put an anchor down in their bay for about a year.

Potnarvin is a friendly, tidy and relatively prosperous village of about five hundred people. They are cut off from the rest of Erromango since one of the bridges on the connecting road was washed out. They see an island trading ship with provisions once every three or four months and a weekly visit from a small seaplane, which collects lobster for restaurant clients in Port Vila. Two small stores offering little more than a few canned goods, rice and flashlight batteries supply the village. The villagers grow the rest in remote plots they call “gardens.” There is no electricity, telephone service, or running water. Their only regular link to civilization is one short wave radio powered by a small solar panel.

Shortly after our arrival, a man named Joe, the village chief, paddled out in his pirogue to pay us a visit. He and a few of the village boys came aboard for a look around. They were fascinated by Moonshadow and particularly curious about the TV and video. We showed them about a half an hour of Endless Summer, the surfing film, which they found wildly entertaining. The day after we saw one guy out trying to surf his pirogue.

I accepted Chief Joe’s invitation to join him and a few of the village men that evening for a lobster hunt. The nearby reef was very beautiful and pristine, and very alive with a plethora of reef fish, coral, and, of course, a few white tipped reef sharks just to keep things interesting.

A short dinghy ride from the boat, I dropped in the water at the edge of the reef. There was plenty of lobster to be seen and had. In a half hour, I had snatched up a couple of nice bugs for our pot that night. Chief Joe and his friends had gotten three, which they offered to give us. We declined, as two or three lobster on the Port Vila market would pay for a year’s schooling for one of the village children.

The following morning, we went ashore for a walk. Every time we landed the dink, there was a large, friendly and curious welcoming committee to greet us. Some other younger kids had never seen a white person, and looked at us with intense curiosity, sometimes bordering on fear. In parts of Vanuatu, they believe in black magic, voodoo, evil spirits and that sort of thing.

Chief Joe assigned a young villager named Remy to be our guide. Remy was friendly, curious, well educated and reasonably articulate. He showed us around the village, took us to a small waterfall, and then walked for about three miles with us to the next village up the coast, and back. A few other village boys followed along out of curiosity. He introduced us to various people and told us a bit about life in his village. Like many young Ni-Vanuatu men, he was quite interested in soccer. Potnarvin has a nice, level, grass field, just inland from the beach. They keep the grass cut with their machetes. Occasionally, the teams travel to other islands to play in inter-island matches.

We enjoyed our time in Potnarvin so much that we decided to stay an extra day. The wind was still blowing strong from the southwest, so we were safe there for a while. We enjoyed some more snorkeling on the reef, more visits by the villagers and another productive lobster hunt that night. One very large white-tipped reef shark seemed to be lurking very close to me the second night. It is always more difficult hunting when you have one eye hunting and one eye watching a large, hungry and potentially dangerous shark.

Many of the villagers in outlying islands do not have access to or cannot afford prescription eyeglasses. We carried some old donated pairs up from Sydney and gave some to the villagers. They tried them on, right on the beach and swapped and passed them around till they found a pair that best suited them. We even found a handsome looking pair that helped myopic Chief Joe to see a bit better.

Joe thanked us by bringing us a large yam. In the States, we are accustomed to yams that are more or less the size of an average potato. Not in Vanuatu. The whopper that Chief Joe gave us weighed in at about 10 kilos! We were searching for every yam recipe we could find so we can figure out what to do with the massive root.

These villagers were very honest as well as trusting. On the day we left, one villager named Harry gave me his bank passbook, a signed withdrawal slip, and asked me to get some cash for him and give it to the seaplane man to carry from Port Vila to Erromango. No worries!

It was time to get to the “big smoke,” Port Vila, to provision up for three months cruising in the northern Vanuatu islands. The sou’wester was still blowing fresh, so we had a rollicking good 80-odd mile sail up to the main island of Efate, leaving Potnarvin just after first light, and arriving in Vila harbor in time for happy hour.

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Rally to Tanna, Vanuatu

Posted on June 22, 2001 by George Backhus

Early Sunday Morning, we sailed out of Noumea and stopped in the spacious and well-protected Baie du Prony. Prony is situated just inside the barrier reef from Havannah Pass, the main shipping route into New Caledonia’s huge lagoon from the East.

We sailed out at first light on Monday morning and began a very fast, wet and rolly close reach to the island of Tanna, near the south end of the Vanuatu chain. The passage was a bit uncomfortable, but we arrived in Port Resolution, on Tanna Island, more than 200 miles northeast on the rhumb line, in less than 27 hours.

The local Sea Gods must not have received their ’01 copy of the West Marine catalog, so they decided to help themselves to some items that were not-so-firmly attached to Moonshadow. Large seas managed to reach up under our dinghy, stowed securely upside down on the foredeck, and snatch one of our oars from its Velcro straps inside the aluminum bottom inflatable. They also pinched my boat hook attached in clips to the pushpit. Then the Electric Gods had a go with the forepeak bilge pump wiring. The automatic switch wire and the high water alarm wire connections both failed on the passage. The result was that we arrived in Tanna with a half ton of salt-water ballast at the pointy end. Not exactly ideal for fast sailing or dry gear stored up front. At least we now have a really clean anchor chain!

Tanna is not an official port of entry into Vanuatu. Because it is situated more than 100 miles to windward (south-southeast) of Port Vila, the southernmost port of entry, it sees fewer visiting yachts than the islands to the north. Because we entered the Island Cruising Association rally and paid a few extra vatu (the local currency), Customs, Immigration and Quarantine were specially organized and flown in to handle the formalities for the group of 15 yachts arriving from NewCal and New Zealand.

The final approach heading into the lagoon at Port Resolution was almost DDW (dead down wind) with 25 to 30 knots of breeze and 10 to 15 foot breaking seas. We noticed a slight elevation in our pulse rates as we prepared to negotiate the pass. Charting of the area is inaccurate, so we relied upon the help, guidance and some good GPS waypoints of some of those brave souls who had gone in before us. We made it in through the reef pass with no drama and once in calmer waters doused our mainsail. It was nice not to hear wind whistling through the rigging, water cascading down the foredeck, and to have our hook down in a calm anchorage once again.

Port Resolution is one of those idyllic little anchorages that you might see in on a postcard or in a travel magazine. To our north, there was lush vegetation right down to the cliffs that dropped into the lagoon. In the background were striking volcanic mountain peaks. Puffs of steam rose from the hot springs in the hillside. The locals use the hot water for washing and cooking. To the west was a black volcanic sand beach neatly lined with coconut palms. To the south, there were more cliffs and traditional homes fabricated of palm leaves and corrugated tin dotting the landscape above.

Brian and Joan Hepburn of the Island Cruising Association had organized a fun and interesting week for the rally participants in Tanna. It was a nice change for us to have someone else be “fun chairman” and to just be able to show up for the activities.

The villagers of Port Resolution made us feel quite welcome to their slice of paradise. The first event was a welcome ceremony consisting of songs, dancing and a speech by the son of the village chief. The village children, many of whom had never seen a white person, always seemed to be looking at us with keen curiosity. I could only imagine them thinking “who are these weird people with light skin who have come here on big canoes, wearing funny looking clothes and talking differently?”

The official welcome was followed by “market day.” Some of the ladies of the village brought fresh fruits, vegetables, coconuts and even a coconut crab for sale or barter. Others brought exotic seashells, carvings and baskets they had hand woven from the palm fronds and dried leaf fibers from the pandanus plant. As usual in these markets, many of the produce items were not recognizable to some of us non-islanders. Prices were reasonable considering the closest “real market” was more than 100 miles and two islands away, and every sale was greatly appreciated.

After a tough morning of shopping, the local boys challenged the yachties to a game of football (soccer). There were lots of laughs, a few abrasions, many sore muscles and even a goal or two. We did manage to outscore them by one goal, but then realized that these guys were their “C” team, mostly half our size and a quarter our ages. The “A” team guys came out after our game for a little practice and it was clear that had we played them, they would have kicked our transoms.

That afternoon the villagers served up a “feast” of local specialties at the Port Resolution “Yacht Club.” The yacht club is typical of architecture and décor of many South Pacific “yacht clubs.” Over a concrete slab floor (formerly a church) was constructed a lovely hut of wood poles covered with palm leaves. Over the top of the roof was an assortment of tarps and old sails to keep out the rain. Hanging from the rafters is an assortment of old yacht club burgees, flags, banners and battle flags. There is a very old, semi-operational fridge that serves semi-cold Tusker beers, the local brew, for 350 vatu, about US $2.50.

Upon entry to the yacht club, we were handed plates fashioned from palm fronds and banana leaves. This “organic china” left nothing to wash afterwards but your hands unless one opted to bring utensils with which to eat. There was a buffet of curried chicken, local fish, roast piglet, rice, cauliflower, cabbage, potatoes, yams, tarot roots, kumara and a few other unrecognizable concoctions. Everything we chose to eat was quite good, particularly when washed down with a cool Tusker beer or some New Zealand sauvignon blanc (BYO).

Late the following afternoon, we all jumped into the back of a 4-wheel drive pickup for a ride up to nearby Mt. Yasur. We jerked and bounced, wiped dust from our eyes and ducked under low hanging branches for about an hour before the landscape changed from jungle to moonscape. Mt. Yasur is one of Vanuatu’s many active volcanoes. It has been erupting more or less constantly for years. The pickup dropped us just off just shy of the rim, so we scrambled up the hillside of loose black sand and pumice stones that had been spat out by the volcano.

We walked along the rim as the sun set and could look right down into three cinder cones, one of which was quite active. Several times a minute the earth would rumble and then bits of molten lava, smoke and ash would spew from this open wound in the crust of the earth. As the light grew dimmer, the red from the lava bits would glow brighter and appear more dramatic. Some pieces that had been shot from the hole hundreds of feet below us were launched into the air well above our heads. We were quite happy that the volcano was only “moderately” active and the wind was to our backs that evening, as our guides didn’t provide helmets or flak jackets as part of the tour package.

The next day, the cruisers had the opportunity demonstrate their sporting and creative skills. In the morning were competitions in archery, petonque/boulles (similar to bocce ball) and boulles played with coconuts. Afterwards we had the opportunity to lodge (tongue in cheek) protests against other participants in the rally and read poetry and short stories we had made up using all the yacht names in the fleet. Some people had obviously spent many hours of creative time on this (during the passage) and there were plenty of laughs.

The week was capped off with the prize giving ceremony, which was to be attended in some sort of costume starting with the letter “S.” We dug out our old cow costumes and went as “Sir and Lady Loin.” Other costumes ranged from Siamese twins to a guy dressed as a solar panel.

First prize for the rally was two bottles of rum. One was to be poured into a bucket of fruit punch for all to share. The other was to be given to the last place boat, which was to be poured into another bucket of fruit punch for all to share. A potluck dinner and more prize giving for all the other week’s events followed happy hour. The village kids judged the costumes and we, the “MooCrew,” won first place.

I think that after the last evening the village children were pretty much convinced that the white people are very weird.

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Spearfishing in New Caledonia

Posted on June 18, 2001 by George Backhus

The return trip from Ile des Pins to Noumea was too far to make with good light in a single day, so we stopped for the evening at Ilot Mato. Ilot Mato is a small island, surrounded by coral reefs and was reported by our cruising guide to have an abundance of fish.

Shortly after we got the hook down, Tim and I decided to go have a look in the water and brought our spear guns along, just in case. By sunset we had shot three nice coral trout, seen many more, and made a mental note of the spot so we could return tomorrow morning for a few more.

The only bad news was that there was an endless parade of white-tipped reef sharks cruising along the reef edge. While they don’t normally attack humans, it is not a very good idea to have an injured fish close to one’s body when they are in the neighborhood. Whenever we shot a fish, we would hold it up out of the water till we could get it safely into the dinghy.

Well, our mental note got erased somehow, and we couldn’t find our great fishing spot. We did find another spot that actually had more fish and had a successful morning hunt. We made a mental note of that one and decided to have another go that afternoon. Once again we lost the spot, but found another spot with still more fish. We were pretty well stocked on coral trout, so I decided to try to introduce some variety into our diet. I spotted a couple of very large spotted sweetlips (very tasty) and began stalking.

One that I had been eyeing stopped and posed for me at about 30 feet below the surface. I took a shot and hit my target, just behind the gills. Typical of an injured fish, Mr. Sweetlips dashed under a rock, spread open his gills, and lodged himself there for protection. I left my wooden gun dangling on the end of its cable (attached to the spear) about 20 feet below the surface.

I had a look around and noticed that there were no sharks in the immediate vicinity, so I went down to coax Mr. Sweetlips from his hiding place. He managed to make a tangled mess out of my cable in the coral and rock at the edge of the reef. Five 35-foot dives later and I had gotten the mess organized and was now ready to bring the catch-of-the-day to the surface.

I noticed a white tip shark cruising calmly along as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Great, I thought, he didn’t notice! I watched as it disappeared into the blue. Just as I filled my lungs to go down for (hopefully) the last time, Mr. Sweetlips apparently fluttered or flopped, sending out a fish distress signal. Mr. White Tip had his sonar turned on and tuned in. All I saw was a gray shadow darting under the reef below me. The next thing I saw was my speargun doing a jig on the end of its cable. A few seconds and it was all over. Mr. White Tip swam off, chomping on a mouthful of Mr. Sweetlips that I had served up to him on a stainless steel skewer. Bugger!

I did manage to recover my gun and my spear, each of which had a shredded piece of cable attached.

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Communications

Posted on June 9, 2001 by George Backhus

Communicating From “the Boonies”

With so many electronic “toys” available to the cruiser these days, it is very easy and inexpensive to stay in touch, from virtually anywhere, with family, friends and business contacts in the “real world.”

Here is a rundown of our experiences and how we on Moonshadow stay somewhat connected to the real world.

Telephone

We have installed a special marine telephone jack outside the boat that is hard-wired to a standard phone plug at the nav station. When we are at a marina for an extended period of time, we usually sign up for local landline service with voicemail and plug in a regular home phone. In first-world countries, there is usually some sort of special long-distance service available to keep the costs to a minimum when dialing family and friends back in the States. In Australia and New Zealand we had rate plans that gave us 7/24 calling privileges to the States for about US 11 cents a minute-way less than AT&T. This also allowed us to dial up a local ISP access number for email and web browsing.

Most of the local pay phone systems are modern and adequate, and use prepay cards. This is fine unless you don’t have a card and the stores are closed. Many of the cards are printed with beautiful designs and make a nice collectable or souvenir to send to kids back home. Using prepay cards for long distance calls will cost you a lot of coconuts. Using one’s long distance service is cheaper, provided there is a local access number in the country. Some pay phones post their numbers and will allow incoming calls free of charge.

Cellular

Most of the South Pacific islands now have cellular phone systems, but there are some unavoidable snafus. First, the frequency used by most of the world for digital cellular is different than that in the US, so unless you have a special dual-format phone, it won’t work down here. I used my old US analog phone in New Zealand for a few months, but I couldn’t use it to transmit data, so I purchased a second hand digital phone there for about $125 and have been using it all around Australasia now for three years. I also had to buy a piece of software (about $125) to allow the cell phone to interface with my computer for web access.

Digital cellular allows web access at 9600 baud, which is pretty slow, but adequate. Per minute rates vary widely from country to country and plan to plan. Rates can be as low as US .10 and as high as $1 per minute. This makes it less expensive than SatCom systems that transmit at the same baud rate, but coverage is limited to a few miles from land where there is cell coverage. The dramatic island geography is beautiful, but can create a lot of “blackout” areas, particularly in the more remote anchorages. But then again, that ain’t so bad.

We have kept our New Zealand number active, as it will roam in Fiji, New Caledonia, Australia and who knows where else. We can access the Internet with it in those areas (once I replace the misplaced SIM card!).

It is less expensive to buy and use a prepay SIM card for local calls in some areas such as Fiji, which is what we did when we were there last season. They can be purchased at the post office in smaller towns and at cell phone stores in the “big cities” like Nadi, Lautoka and Suva. When we reached Australia, it was once again less expensive to have a local number, so we obtained yet another SIM card for use while we were there. We were able to assume a number used during the Olympics so didn’t have to sign up for a long term rate plan to get the best rates. Using prepay SIM cards increases the per-minute charges, but avoids billing hassles. The best option for each situation depends how long you plan to be in a country and how much you use your cell phone. I may end up needing a special file for storage of SIM cards!

Email

Email is by far the cheapest, and I feel, easiest way to communicate. When we do not have a landline connection, or cellular coverage, we use SailMail. With eight centers scattered around the planet, coverage is essentially worldwide. It takes a bit of practice to get used to the best time of day and frequencies to use for successful data transmission, but after awhile it becomes quite easy. SailMail does not provide web access, just basic email at about 2800 baud (sloooooow). One needs a computer, a terminal node controller (about $1000), some free software provided by SailMail, and a single sideband and/or HAM radio. Most long-range cruising yachts are already equipped with the radio. The association fees are $200 per year, which allows the user ten minutes of data transmission time per day. This should be adequate for the average cruiser’s needs. I feel it is a great system and a great price performer. Kudos to Jim Corneman and Stan Honey for providing us the SailMail system!

Larger towns in the islands usually have at least one Internet café for those who don’t have a computer, wish to do some web browsing or check their regular email accounts. They can usually be found in the section of town where backpacker’s accommodation is located. Some places even have decent coffee, hip décor and groovy music. Some will allow you to plug in your own computer so you can download/upload email. French keyboards are nearly impossible for us Anglos to type on, so some have an English version they can plug in for us. In Nuku’alofa, Tonga, the local phone company provided Internet access. In Zihuatanejo, Mexico, the local Internet/Fax was at an ice cream parlor! Life is always interesting in the third world.

We used Inmarsat C, one of the Satellite Communication (SatCom) systems, for about two years and found it to be reliable but very expensive. Messages cost the sender about a penny a character (about $20 a page) and one has to have an account set up in order to send email to the yacht, or the yacht must pay for all incoming messages. I became an abbreviation xprt. My Comsat billings were always a nightmare and took my mother hours to get the account straightened out (thanks Mom!). The only thing I miss about Inmarsat C is the great regional weather forecasts that came in every six hours or so. They were a huge help to many of us in the fleet in avoiding hurricane Nora in the Sea of Cortez during the summer of ’97.

SatCom

We are anxiously awaiting new products in the Satellite Communication arena. It would be very cool to be able to download a weather chart from the web in the middle of the ocean, check on what’s happening on Wall Street, and then send a digital photo of a mid-ocean sunset to someone back home. At last check, SatCom Mini-M, which offers voice communication as well as data at 9600 baud, was about $7000 installed, and rates for airtime were $2 to $7 a minute. Coverage is nearly worldwide, but in my mind that’s too many coconuts for limited additional capabilities.

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Roller Furling

Posted on June 2, 2001 by George Backhus

Roller Furling

1) What roller furling system do you use (if any)?

We have two furlers on “Moonhshadow.” The headsail furler is original equipment, a Reckmann, and the staysail furler is a Harken which I installed in ’95.

3) What do you like and dislike about roller furling?

What I like about roller furling is that, most importantly, it is easier and safer than hanked-on sails. We sail mostly double-handed, and I occasionally single-hand. Even when we are two, only one of us is usually on watch. It would be much more difficult to handle our 62 feet without roller furling, particularly in any sort of blow. In addition, we can do all our headsail handling from the cockpit, which is much safer and dryer than the foredeck. Sailing deep, with the headsail in the lee of the main, one of us can easily furl our 140% genoa without even using a winch. The other advantage of roller furling is the ability to quickly shorten sail in a squall, or furl to slow down to land a fish or negotiate a reef pass. We also do a quick furl of our genoa to tack or gybe it more easily around the baby stay. Folding sails, particularly on a pitching deck is a drag. The negative side of roller furling is the maintenance and repair aspect. While both of my furlers have been quite reliable, they have more moving parts than piston hanks, so require some occasionl work and $ to keep them in good working order. Weight and windage aloft hurt us a bit when we are racing, but I keep reminding myself that we are a cruising yacht. For me, these are worthwhile tradeoffs.

4) Can you sail efficiently to weather with a roller furled jib?

We try to avoid sailing to weather whenever possible, but sometimes there is no getting around it. With a relatively short stick, shallow keel and narrow beam, we are not exactly a brilliant upwind boat to begin with. We find that our upwind VMG (Velocity Made Good) deteriorates as wind and heel increase, so we shorten early when beating. Our old jib is not great upwind, but gives us respectable performance since it’s recent “tummy tuck.” Our staysail is in very good shape, but doesn’t have an ideal sheeting angle for pointing up high.

5) If not, how close to the wind can you efficiently sail roller reefed?

While we can sail to within 35-45 degrees of the TRUE wind, we find that in winds above 15 knots our VMG is not so hot at those angles. When seas get above 3 feet and the wave frequency short, we pound. Depending on schedule, conditions and the level of comfort we desire, we will use a couple of different strategies. If the sea state is settled, we will sail it with reefed main an a full jib. The next step is to furl the jib an use a full staysail. That will keep us moving well upwind in up to 25 knots of true wind. The other option is to motorsail bare-headed with a single-reefed main. We can usually do 6-8 knots (depending on sea state) comfortably at 10 degrees off the true wind. This is a much better VMG than 7 knots at 45-50 degrees.

6) How far down are you reefed when sailing to windward?

In warm tradewind temperatures and conditions, we can sail very well upwind in up to 15 knots of true wind with a full main and full 100% jib. In 15 to 22 knots of true wind, we do well with a single reef in the main. At about 25 knots, it’s time to furl the jib and use the staysail. At 28 to 30 knots, we double-reef the main and start furling the staysail to tune to the sea and wind conditions. I can count on one hand the number of times I have actually used the second reef point.

7) Do you have any form of special luff padding on the jib to help when
roller reefed and if so, how does it work?

My old jib and genoa have pretty wimpy padding on the luffs. It is more or less useless. Headsail shape suffers badly if we partially furl either of these sails when sailing to windward. The next set of headsails will have substantial luff padding. My five year old staysail has excellent luff padding and holds pretty good shape when it is partially furled. I have only experienced conditions that required partial furling of the staysail on two or three occasions.

8) How do you handle your storm canvas?

We keep it safely stowed in the lazarette! In all seriousness, I have never actually used any of my storm sails. Once every year or so, we take them out, hoist them up and inspect them for. . . I guess dry rot, mouse holes or just for the heck of it. The only chafe they get is from going in and out of the sail bag! They are all brand-spanking-new, 15 year old sails.

Unless we had some fairly advanced notice of severe weather approaching, enough crew on board, and calm enough conditions to allow for headsail changes, I doubt that we would be able to use much of the storm canvas. Our main has three deep reefs. The third reef doesn’t present much more sail than the storm trysail, and is much easier to deal with than another bag on deck. The staysail is very heavily built of 11 oz. dacron and has three marked reef points. The third reef on this baby presents less sail area than the storm staysail. Given the choice between stripping the baby stay and bending on the storm sail, as opposed to rolling out a hanky of the staysail, in a short-handed situation I would opt to stay safe and dry in the cockpit.

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Isle of Pines

Posted on May 15, 2001 by George Backhus

Bonjour all!

We just arrived at Ile des Pins, or the Isle of Pines, which is about 70 miles east/southeast of Noumea. It was so named by Captain Cook because of the of Norfolk Island pines scattered about the island. As advertised, it is quite beautiful, and noticeably absent are the scars on the land from the mining that are so common on Grand Terre, the main island of New Caledonia.

We split the trip into two leisurly day sails. There are numerous reefs to negotiate and it is safest to travel in areas such as this between 10 am and 2 pm, when the sun is high and the visibility good so that we can more easily spot the reefs.

The weather was squally all day, and the wind shifty, between 5 and 25 knots. We did manage to sail about a quarter of the way.

We are having a good fishing season so far. Today we caught two. The first was a 20 pound barracuda, which we traded in on a 20 pound wahoo which came to us about 15 minutes later. It was a great swap, as wahoo is our favorite. The freezer is full and we are on a steady diet of fish once again. I’ve not heard any complaints from MaiTai.

Well, between sailing all day, filleting the wahoo and changing the oil in the main engine, I am smelling pretty ripe. It’s time for a shower!

 

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Isle of Pines

Posted on May 12, 2001 by George Backhus

Bonjour!

We’re anchored in beautiful Oro Bay on the northeastern side of the Ile des Pins (Isle of Pines). A low pressure system passing to our southwest has given us our first bit of weather since we arrived in New Caledonia. It’s overcast, warm and humid, with occasional drizzle and winds from 6 to 26 knots. Not particularly nasty, but not great for any shoreside soujourns.

Tim and I have been doing a bit of spearfishing on some of the coral bommies in the bay. There are plenty of edibles here-cod, hump-headed wrasse, grunt, and our favorite, coral trout. BIG coral trout! They spook easily, quickly retreating to the safety of a puka in the base of one of the bommies at the slightest sound we may make. When they come out to play, it seems that one of two rather large and toothy white-tip reef sharks is within eyeshot. Bugger! In addition to the edibles, there are plenty of beautiful colored tropical fish, giant clams, turtles and even a small lobster or two.

Our landfall to the Ile des Pins was Kuto Bay, on the southwest side of the island. Kuto is a shallow, protected bay with a long, crescent-shaped beach with sand the color and consistency of confectioner’s sugar. The shore is lined with pine and palm trees. It’s very quiet, and the biggest excitement seems to be the daily arrival of the ferry from Noumea.

While in Kuto Bay, we were host to some squatting remora that seemed to think that the bottom of “Moonshadow” was the underbelly of a basking whale. They hung out, and on, for two days, and seemed to enjoy the little bits and pieces of food, etc. that came their way via our through-hull fittings.

Shoreside, a one kilometer walk up the main road led us to two very significant Ile des Pins landmarks. First, on the right, was the ruin of a prison that was home for French revolutionarys in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. It looked to be a dreadful place. Some of the cells were so small, the walls between them were wider.

The other landmark, across the road, is the boulangerie, ubiquitous in French parts of the world. Of course, we loaded up on fresh baked croissants and baguettes. One baguette always seems to go missing on the way back to the boat. Hmmmmm.

The charting of most of the Ile des Pins is very poor and incomplete. Since much of the water is protected by barrier reefs, we were able to take a long dinghy ride to scout out an anchorage on the south end of the island. The following day, we moved five miles southeast to Port de Vao.

From our anchorage, we were able to visit Vao, the main village of the island. The bustling metropolis of Vao boasts a huge Catholic church, two schools, a small medical center, the government center for the island, a post office, a general store and perhaps a few dozen homes.

After taking in all the hot spots in Vao, we took the dink up into the estuary between Port de Vao and Baie d’Upi. Located on the shore is one of the last boat yards specializing in the construction of outrigger sailing canoes. Numerous canoes are moored along the shoreline. The main hulls are dug out of a single, huge log and with the exception of Dacron sails, they appear to be authentic versions of boats used by the Melanesians for thousands of years.

Looking to do a bit of diving, we hopped over to Ilot Brosse, three miles to the southwest. Although the island was quite attractive, with a grove of pines and a gorgeous white-sand beach, the diving was marginal. The coral was covered in algae and there were few fish to be seen. The weather was packing in, so we returned to the protection of Kuto Bay.

There are two nice walks that can be enjoyed from Kuto Bay. Our first stroll was to the top of Pic Nga, the highest point on the island at 262 meters. It was a rather easy walk on a good trail, and from the top, one can see the entire island and surrounding reefs, as well as much of Grand Terre, the main island, lying 70 miles to the northwest. It was well worth the exercise and provided some great Kodak moments.

The following day, we walked around the perimeter of the Kuto Peninsula, through the pine and native bush forest, along the raised coral shoreline. In some places, it appears as if the trees grow out of solid coral! The sea has eroded the uplifted coral at sea level, leaving dramatic overhangs above.

The break in the weather that allowed us to move over to Oro Bay was short lived. We’re rocking and rolling, and collecting rainwater. It looks like we’ll just sit out this system in this gorgeous spot, and enjoy a bit of reading, writing, snorkeling and cooking.

 

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