update 19

Happy New Year from Whangarei, NZ!


After leaving Opua and the Bay of Islands behind, we were anxious for the Big New Zealand Potter Family Reunion to begin. Kara's parents, older sister, and nephew were flying from California. Her younger brother and sister had been hiking on NZ's South Island and were flying in from Christchurch. Aunt Abby was flying in from Honolulu. We'd been in the South Pacific and mostly out of contact. Despite the logistical difficulties, the plan was for everyone converge in Auckland December 2nd.

Kara's family have been known to be a bit emotional at times, so the streets of Auckland were probably not the best place for the first meeting. Passers by gave us sympathetic looks, plainly wondering who had died as tears puddled on the sidewalk. Kara's younger siblings, fresh from backpacking the South Island, had transformed from two two clean-cut models of personal hygiene into something a bit more woodsy: over the next few days they spent a great deal of time picking twigs and leaves out of their hair and maintaining their dreadlocks against the onslaught of shampoo and conditioner. Mother was not entirely thrilled.

We spent two blissful weeks with the family, hiking, surfing, fishing, and catching up with each other. Having been sitting on the boat for the last year, we had trouble keeping up with the hiking, but we eventually learned how to walk in a straight line again. We plied them with our home brewed beer, which was such a big hit that when it was time to go, they cleaned out the local supermarket and loaded their suitcases with enough raw material to yield 80 gallons of beer. Again, mother was not entirely pleased.

Eventually it was time to go. The goodbye lasted over an hour, in the rain, on the street – again. When everyone was all cried out, they climbed in the car and drove back to the airport, and we lost ourselves in boat work for the next two weeks. For Christmas, we caught a ride in “the Whale” back up to Shipwreck bay for a few days of surf – glassy, well overhead. On the way back, Kara went for a soak in some exceptionally stinky hot springs. The rotten-egg scent lingered on her for days, which was a bit unfortunate as we spent the subsequent week sealed up in Orca during heavy summer rains.


Up to this point, we had yet to encounter the long lost Uncle Dave Pennington, who had slipped out of California sometime in the late 70's or early 80's, moved to New Zealand, and now—reportedly—lives in Auckland with his wife and three boys. I'd only met him once, when I was 12. Our plan was to meet him just up the coast for New Year's where an email hinted we could catch him and the family camping on the beach – how hard could it be?

When we pulled into the appointed bay, we were greeted by hundreds of tents on the beach. Between Christmas and New Year's its a kiwi tradition to trade the crowds and comforts of the city for—well, crowds and comforts. The massive tents were packed in so tight that in many places you couldn't walk between them. Inside cloth houses one finds couches, TV's, 4-post beds, refrigerators, showers, and sinks: all the amenities of home. We picked our way through the tent city looking for the mythical Uncle Dave. With no cell signal, we had some detective work to do: we didn't know what he looked like, what kind of car he drove, anything at all, really, except his name. We started canvassing the neighborhood. Eventually we found someone who had actually spoken to the mysterious creature, but they remembered only sketchy details of the encounter: he drove a green van towing a silver boat, there may have been a dog involved. By New Year's eve, we had half the tent town looking for green-van-silver-boat and still hadn't found him. We had a lovely evening anyway with a couple of sailors from Amsterdam and their Kiwi family who had been helping us track the elusive Uncle Dave. It was a true New Zealand New Years, celebrated in a sheep shearing shed on a green pasture surrounded by big tents filled with full-sized home appliances.

Eventually we cornered him. He had avoided detection by driving a silver van with a green boat, but we forgave him his deception and were soon re-meeting family. They gave us a crash course in NZ – we had marmite, learned Maori history, and were “chuffed” to learned “heaps” of “wicked” kiwi lingo, "eh?" We spent three days with the Pennington's before the wind came up and drove us out of the bay to find better shelter. We're now anchored in the mouth of the Whangarei estuary waiting for the tide to take us into town.

Thanks!


Kara and John

update 18

Hello from Tutukaka, NZ!

Well, we finally escaped Opua. We just got a little too comfortable with the showers & laundry and before we knew it a month had passed – guess we have a different sense of time now. There was plenty to keep us busy though. We'd only been in the country a few days when we hear wild yelling and hooting outside the boat – it was Don & Kim, the dynamic beer-brewing/surfing duo we had met 3,000 miles back in Raiatea,. They were burning doughnuts in their dingy in excitement; seems they'd rustled up a some transportation. It turned out to be a not-very-sexy looking van. This would have been a big setback in CA, where surfers pride themselves on the size of their truck and the shinyness of their chrome step-sides. Don & Kim's van, however, is a box with wheels, riddled with rust holes. It took a pry-bar to get the rear door open, most of the exhaust system had rusted away, there didn't seem to be any seatbelts, the headliner sagged onto your head, the undercarriage was held together by bits of galvanized wire and zip ties. But “The Whale” was not chosen at random, for (1) it's Japanese – very light for its size; (2) the engine was mounted in the center of the van – weight distributed evenly to all four tires; (3) its a turbodiesel – few electrical components to give trouble in the salt water; and (4) it has true 4WD. In short, with the tires half deflated and the transmission in 4-low, there's no beach it can't conquer. So, before we really knew what had happened we found ourselves kidnapped, plowing over sand dunes miles from the nearest road with nothing but our surfboards, wetsuits, a package of noodles, and 20 liters of homebrewed beer. We were off to chase the swell and offshore wind across the North Island.

Surfing in NZ is a bit different than back in California. Instead of houses and roads crowding the coast, vying for every penny of that “million dollar view”, there are almost no houses and very few roads branching out to the coast—even in the 'crowded' Northland. The only reasonable surf tripping strategy is to find a road to the coast and, at the ocean, turn left or right down the coast, off-road. Then, in 4WD, one must duck through forests, plow over sand dunes, splash down the beaches, and bounce over the rocky outcrops and cobblestones. Once the ideal wave has been located, set up camp, preferably above the high-tide line (you only make that mistake once). In general, the wave quality seems higher than California, and there are very few surfers. The attitude among the locals we've met is “I sure am glad you guys are here, I get tired of surfing alone. Also, can you pull my car out of the sand before the tide gets too high?” In fact, we only saw a handful of other cars, mostly on 90-mile beach (which is a bona fide national highway) In fact, 90-mile has an enforced speed limit and a few other traffic laws. Unfortunately, you only want to take this highway on low tide when there's not much swell, otherwise its underwater. “Honey, can you pick up dinner on the way home from work?” takes on new excitement when one can stop in the middle of the freeway to dig clams or surf-cast during the commute.

We made several trips with Don & Kim, surfing both the Tasman and the Pacific. The highlight of the trips was camping on the beach and surfing at Shipwreck Bay, which resembles a left-hand Santa Cruz. A 5-mile long (mostly) sand bottomed pointbreak picks up the powerful SW swell coming out of the Tasman. (Oddly enough, these are exactly the same SW swells that we surfed in California and Baja.). At Shippy's, there are 7 or 8 surf spots along the point, and when there's enough swell, they link together for a remarkable ride. The wave type ranges from fun Pleasure-Point to super-hollow slab, and the prevailing wind is offshore. If your tetanus shots are up to date, you can surf by the rusty iron shipwreck protruding from the water just off the beach.

So, after much surfing and only a little beer drinking, it was with calm weather and minimal swell on the forecast that we finally left Opua. A sunny sail out of the Bay of Islands put us in position to make Whangamumu harbor, a flooded volcano caldera just to the south of Cape Brett. The coast is rugged and cliffy, like Big Sur, but with no houses or roads. Most of the beautiful bays and harbors are accessible only by boat. We spent two nights anchored in the flooded crater, where we had access to a well-exposed surfing spot by hiking over the southern rim to the next beach.

We're now a few miles further South, in Tutukaka Marina, to meet up with Kara's family for a long-awaited reunion. Its been over 11 months since we've seen them. In the meantime, we've come up with some figures to sum up our trip from CA to NZ:

distance traveled: 9,600 nautical miles

time away from home: 11 months

nights at sea: ~70

nights spent at a dock: 1 (Mexico)

days at sea with 12'+ seas: 5

days at sea becalmed: 4

days wasted on bureaucracy, including port captain, customs, agriculture, immigration, health clearances, etc: 25

longest time between 'real' showers: 6 months (Mexico to Fiji)

scariest moments: riding in car in La Paz (nearly hit by a bus), crossing street in NZ (also nearly hit by a bus)

Update 17

Orca Update # 17

Hi!

We gladly left Lautoka behind, paperwork in hand, to sail to Musket Cove, the southernmost all-weather harbor in Fiji. Musket Cove has a resort that caters to yachties as well as tourists, providing showers, laundry, and final customs clearance service. The main attraction for sailors is, of course, the bar which is situated on a tiny sandy island sticking out into the anchorage, connected to the main resort by a floating dock. For most of the year, it's a beautiful place—idyllic. However, in October and November, there is tension in the air. Instead of happy vacationers, gladly free of the office and swilling Fiji Bitter, you see groups of nervous men and women clustered around tables covered in weatherfax printouts, laptops, and pilot charts. They talk of cut off lows, upper level short wave troughs, bent back warm fronts, NOGAPS model runs, sea surface temperatures, and the elusive “weather window”. Later, after the day's decision have been made, those who choose to go will have a cup of coffee and get to work, those who choose to stay will have a beer, or six, and stare off into space.

These are the skippers who will make the run to New Zealand, and any one of them will tell you they are anxious about this passage, perhaps above all others. They've listened to and read the dozens of heavy-weather accounts on this passage through the North Tasman Sea. Chiefly, they remember the 1994 Queen's Birthday storm, when a dozen boats on this stretch of water all set off emergency beacons within hours of each other, hammered by unforecast 70 foot seas and hurricane force winds.

We decided to go on October 22. We spent the day before checking hatches and ports. Tying down everything big enough do damage, should we get turned over. We checked gear we hope never to use—sea anchor, storm stays'l, our deepest reefs, our sea cocks. We scrubbed the bottom clean, to make the passages as quick as possible. We felt Orca was as ready as she was ever going to be, the weather looked promising, so we left.

We'd been watching the weather for months with this moment in mind. While weather forecasts more than 3 days out are unreliable, by watching the multi-week cycles of lows and high marching across the southern ocean and timing our departure, we were able to stack the odds in our favor. The strategy was to catch the leading edge of the topside of a slow-moving high pressure system, beating into the reinforced SE trades, then ride the backside of the high down to NZ as it moved past us. In reality, it blew SE for much longer than we expected. Orca is a wet boat in any circumstances—lots of water on deck. But beating into 25-30 knots of wind in 12-15 foot seas, for 8 days, turned her into a veritable submarine. We pushed her as hard as we dared, hull speed all the way through baby. She shuddered and groaned, and water found its way in through just about every port, hatch, and gasket. It was important that we go fast – we didn't want to be at sea when the stormy part of the cycle started.

We arrived in the Bay of Islands, New Zealand, yesterday after 8 days at sea. We averaged 135 miles/ day, which is fantastic for Orca. NZ is a huge port of call for cruising boats, and the various marinas all compete for blue-water business. Consequently, we were pampered upon arrival. Free dock. Free clearance procedures. Customs met us on the dock with an arrival 'gift pack' – free rum (from the local liquor store), coupons for free stuff ashore, cruising guides, and a nice woven bag to keep it all in. Orca is now in a slip for the first time since leaving North America, and she needs it! We've got a lot of boat projects to catch up on, so we better get to work!

Update 16 -- Lautoka, Fiji!

Hello from Lautoka, Fiji!

We had a week of fantastic surf along the SW edge of Fiji with the parents, Tim and Ann. The swell comes barreling out of the Tasman Sea, between NZ and Australia, and slams directly into the outer reefs that guard the southern edge of the Bligh Water. The swell refracts into and around the passes in these reefs, which creates all sorts of interesting effects, the primary one being nearly perfect waves. There are only two small islands out along this reef. Tavarua, the most famous, is about the size of a city block. Namotu, which has the better anchorage, is only slightly bigger than a basketball court (we hear it was much larger until plowed by a hurricane in the 70's which eroded nearly the whole island and stripped it of vegetation).

We lucked into quite a bit of swell last week, surfing Cloudbreak as it built. Cloudbreak is on an outer reef a few miles from land and is a very exposed wave--best when the wind is light. It's accessible only by boat, and we were able to anchor Orca in the channel for a front-row view. The bored Fijian panga drivers, waiting for their tourists to finish surfing, loved to come aboard for a cup of coffee and shoot the breeze. At the peak of the swell, a front rolled through creating stormy conditions that were a little too exciting for the outer reef, but perfect for Restaurants, which is one of the gems of the South Pacific. A few feet overhead, the wave breaks as fast as it is possible to go on a surfboard and peels perfectly into two feet of water over sharp reef.

Every night, we would go ashore for a fantastic meal on the resort, to chat at the bar, and occasionally sing bad karaoke. We met some some great people who we hope to see again in Australia and NZ. The kava ceremony was a highlight—at least for Tim. He was really looking forward to the narcotic effects of the pounded root. Unfortunately, after calling for 6 additional rounds of kava after the ceremony had concluded, the only effect he reported was a numb tongue and lack of sleep due to numerous bathroom trips. According to Eli, one of the friendly Fijians on the island, its not uncommon to drink 30 rounds of kava in a single night before feeling any effect. Eli was a real character; as a long time employee of the surf resort, his clothes were a conglomeration of gifts and forgotten items picked up from resort guests. He could usually be found finessing his big surf panga right into the Cloudbreak lineup, wearing a pair of girl's designer sunglasses, while fondling the outboard motor handle protruding proactively from between his legs. In the water, despite weighing in at a solid 260 lbs and riding a tiny 6'0 second hand surfboard, he would power into double-overhead Cloudbreak on sheer muscle alone.

The swell has now gone flat and there a moderate-strength high pressure system moving off the east coast of Australia. In a few days time, if things continue to develop favorably, we will try to catch the top and backside of this high and ride it down to NZ. We are now in Lautoka, standing by for a weather report and customs clearance to make the jump. Its been a while since we've been out of the tropics, so we're digging out the warm clothes and checking hatches, rigging, and other gear. The passage to and from NZ has a reputation for being quite rough, but with a little luck on the weather we can hope for landfall 10-20 days after leaving Fiji.

Thanks!

Kara & John

Update 15 --

Hello from Namotu, Fiji!

In the last few weeks we have not covered the big mileages that we're used to seeing, but the sailing has been very challenging for other reasons. We spent 7 days at Wallis island, which has a very interesting lagoon dotted with muffin-top islands, craggy Dr. Seuss cliffs, and long sand bars. Wallis is remarkably isolated and the people's lifestyle is an artifact of the generous French government; they have no industry, they export nothing, and there is no tourism—yet the island supports a population of nearly 9,000. Despite the economic state, there is almost no poverty, everyone is happy and seems to have everything they need. Everyone is a local; there are no street signs, the businesses aren't labeled, there are no maps. They drink Foster's instead of water—in fact, we hadn't taken 10 steps on shore when we had cold beers shoved in our hands by some friendly natives. They don't get many (any?) visitors, so we were a bit of a curiosity. Hitchhiking was easy, thumbs largely unnecessary. After getting in the car, we sometimes found ourselves kidnapped for extended island tours. It wasn't unusual to have the driver pull over to buy a round Foster's along the way. We were amazed at the Wallisian generosity, especially since we rarely encountered anyone who spoke English.

The highlight of our stay was at the end of a muddy dirt road, after a gentle but lengthy uphill slog on borrowed bikes. An inactive volcano crater, 1 mile wide and perfectly round with vertical sides, dropped 600 feet into a black lake. Legend has it that the lake is bottomless, fact seized upon by the Americans at the close of World War II. Presumably to keep their war machines from falling into the wrong hands, they simply bulldozed their entire war operation over the cliff into the lake. The tanks, trucks, artillery and ammunition sank into the depths and have never been seen again.

Fully refreshed, we decided to press on to Savusavu, Fiji. That night we entered Fijian waters, which are a new ballgame, navigationally speaking. Up until this point, the geography of the South Pacific has been one of few islands separated by hundreds or thousands of miles of deep, open, and safe water. This leads to a highly technical sailing strategy of “point the boat in the right direction until you see land.” In Fiji, however, all the charts say things like “numerous uncharted reefs exist in all areas,” which turns out to be exactly correct. There are lots uncharted reefs, and entire uncharted islands, big ones! Needless to say, we can sail only during the day and someone is on bow watch all the time.

Having safely arrived in Savusavu, we were overjoyed to find that we could afford to buy things! We ate out at restaurants, bought fresh fruits and vegetables, and were able to talk to locals (English is spoken as a second language by nearly all Fijians). Around this time word got out to friends and family back home that we were in a prime vacationing zone and suddenly we found that we were sorely missed and people were just going to have to come visit us. The excitement started when Megan and Chris, friends from home, caught a lift with us from Savusavu across the Bligh Water to the remote Yasawa group to do some beach camping and backpacking. Kara cooked a breakfast which our guests quickly regurgitated into Orca's wake. Between heaves we told them how the situation could be worse; the Bligh Water got its name when Captain Bligh and a few loyal men, after losing the Bounty to another faction of mutinous crew, were chased across the same 70 miles of water by war canoes filled with angry Fijian cannibals. They frantically rowed their lifeboat for hours and finally escaped, exhausted, into open ocean. Megan and Chris, however, retired below for long naps.

The next morning at first light, we anchored behind a picturesque sandspit connecting two islands in the Yasawa group. We surfed a nearby reef that had almost no redeeming qualities – shifty and small like a beach break, shallow and dangerous like a reef break. We had a nice bonfire on the beach, which was when our would-be campers discovered that tropical desert islands don't make good campgrounds: lots of creepier-crawlies, debilitating heat, and chronic lack of water. A bit disillusioned, our first round of guests retreated to Orca's relative luxury, canceled their camping plans and booked flights back to the U.S. Megan and Chris were hot, seasick, and tired but in surprisingly good spirits when we left them at Musket Cove to start their retreat back to the US.

Meanwhile, a few miles away at an expensive surf resort, a pair of hot, tired, and jet-lagged parentals had just checked into their executive villa and wasted no time bumping the air conditioning thermostat down to sub-Arctic. A quick sail brought us out to meet them, and so it happens that we find ourselves anchored behind the small island of Namotu, within easy reach of several world class surf breaks that have yet to produce anything other than knee high wind-chop. However, time is on our side so we will see what the future holds.

Thanks!

John & Kara

Update 14 -- Wallis Island

Orca Update 14

Hello from Wallis Island! We've covered nearly 1,500 nm since the last update, so we've got a few stories.

We left Raiatea with 5 days left on the visas, and scampered through the pass at Bora Bora just before nightfall. Ghosting into a pretty anchorage just behind a shadowy motu at dusk we found the water to be of reasonable anchoring depth and dropped the hook to enjoy the last of the sky's colors. Morning broke the spell, showing 100's of hotels, resorts, condos and bungalows littering the shorelines. Hourly flights from Tahiti roared overhead, and high-speed transports zipped through the lagoon delivering people to and from the airport. Rental jet-ski's buzzed like hornets, and tour boats rumbled by with running commentary oozing from their PA systems.

In protest we hung our damp salty underwear out to dry in the view-shed of a few dozen Ritz-Carlton executive suites.

Paperwork and shopping took the remainder of our time, and soon enough we were back at sea. The wind was light, which is fine with us. We scrub Orca's hull religiously so she moves well in light air.

About this time we began to enter the South Pacific Convergence Zone (SPCZ), a little known but feared stretch of the South Pacific where the consistent balmy trade wind weather becomes a bit sinister. The warm, moist air from the east, which has been blowing over the equatorial waters in the form of the trades for the last 5,000 miles, meets waves of colder air forced north by storms around NZ and Australia. For reasons not entirely clear to us, this interface doesn't usually produce large scale storms, but instead manifests itself as one or more stationary fronts which are characterized by narrow bands of intense squalls which can last for weeks. Stories abound of moonless nights in which an unsuspecting sailboat stumbles into one of these fronts and finds the wind going from 5 to 80 knots in a heartbeat. Few fly spinnakers at night in this stretch of the ocean. Two weeks ago a 67' catamaran was overturned in one of these squalls and had to be abandoned.

Three nights out of Bora Bora we began to see signs that we were approaching one of these squall lines. Just after sunset, we began to see flashes of lightening below the horizon reflecting off nearby clouds. By midnight, a line of thunderheads blocked the horizon, stretching out of sight from SE to NW. At 5 am, it was nearly upon us. The wind jumped from 10 to 25 knots and switched direction from E to N. Continuous lightening made headlamps on deck unnecessary. We reefed down to storm canvas, re-lashed the dingy, unplugged radios, and wrapped crucial electronic gear in tin-foil to protect it from the huge electromagnetic forces that would result if we took a direct strike. Just before sunrise, a line of rain moved toward us– big cold drops that could be heard moving across the water toward us in a hiss. The wind increased to 35 knots and began to whistle in the rigging. Webs of cloud-to-cloud lightening crackled across the sky overhead and a few big ground strikes hit the ocean near us. The thunder was felt, rather than heard, over the sound of the wind and waves.

And just like that, we were through: 10 hours of anticipation—10 minutes of terror. Blue sky stretched ahead to the horizon and the wind dropped to 10 knots. Kara danced the robot in the flashes of lightening as we scudded safely into the clear predawn sky.

Before we knew it, Aitutaki was in sight. This Cook Island has a lagoon that rival's Bora Bora's for magnificence, but is much less visited; there is no natural pass through the reef. An artificial pass was blasted in the 1940's during World War II, but has since filled with sediment and is now only 4.5' deep at peak high tide, which is too shallow for most large powerboats and nearly all sailboats. Being rather dainty, as far as bluewater cruisers go, Orca draws just over 4'. We went aground in the lagoon 3 times and had to kedge off twice (kedging involves taking an anchor back into deep water with the dingy and using it to pull the big boat off the shoal). Safely into the harbor, which was about the size of a basketball court and 6' deep, we explored the island.

Aitutaki has a small airport with connections to Auckland, and nurses a small tourism industry. We jumped right in and decided to rent a motor scooter. At the rental office, the native islander with a big afro and acres of tattoos showed us to a shiny red scooter with a big logo on the front, “Rino's Rentals”. He asked if we'd ever driven a motorcycle or a scooter before and we said no. Rather than give us a few pointers, he said “well you better take this one instead then” and rolled out a scooter that had obviously been in an unhealthy number of high speed crashes. It was missing a rear view mirror, the turn signals were held on with duct tape, it leaked copious amounts of oil, the brakes (we later found out while descending a steep dirt road) worked at about half capacity, the plastic bodywork was hanging on by faith alone, the muffler didn't muffle, the shock absorbers didn't absorb, and, naturally, there was no trace of the rental logo on it anywhere. But, for $14 US, we had her for the next 24 hours with tacit permission to crash as many times as it took to figure out how to drive a moped and how to negotiate traffic on the wrong side of the road. The other challenge was that neither of us had driven for almost a year. With all this we figured we'd better stay away from people so we took to the dirt roads and trails on the interior of the island and spent the rest of the day bouncing, wobbling, and sliding along deserted ridge tops. The next day, we drove on the beaches (our only crash was when we hit some deep fluffy sand, lost control, and ended up in a heap).

After a week at Aitutaki, we scraped our way out of the lagoon and set a course for Wallis Island. We spent 11 days at sea, and the wind averaged a lovely-sounding 15-20 knots. The average is a bit misleading, though, because for the first 6 days we were becalmed and the last 5 we spent hove-to or running under triple reefed main with winds between 30 and 45 knots and 15-20' seas. Kara enjoyed celebrated her birthday by being tossed around the cabin. It was a challenging passage physically and mentally, not to mention the wear and tear on our gear. Luckly, nothing broke, we built confidence, and now we're safely ensconced in Wallis Island's lagoon taking a breather before pressing on to Savusavu, Fiji.

Thanks!

J&K

Update 13 -- Port du Phaeton...

Orca Update 13:

Hi everyone,

Thanks again for all the love from home.

Picking up where we left off last time, we went to check out the mysto reef-pass at Port du Phaeton and found it to be sunny, light offshore, a very pretty few feet overhead, and extremely life threatening. 3 waves were more than enough; we felt lucky to get out of there alive. The wave wraps in, sucks off the reef, hollows out and reels off onto 6” of water rapidly draining to dry reef. There was also the nearly inescapable dry reef close out section, which seems to be fairly ubiquitous around here. A few locals came out on body boards wearing full suits and helmets—always a bad sign.

Escaping to Pape'ete, we found a nautical traffic jam – 100's of cruising boats packed into a relatively small area, all anchored in a 100' of water. The attraction? McDonalds, among other things. The price of a cheeseburger? $4.00. The taste of home? Priceless.

Never fond of the big cities, we were out of there pretty quick. A light air sail over to the N side of Moorea took all day, but found us in Robinson's Cove, one of the more famous sailing stops. The water was deep right up to the trees, so we dropped the anchor just off the sandy beach and took a short line ashore to a palm tree to keep Orca from swinging around under the overhaning trees and fouling her rigging. The surrounding mountains looked prehistoric: massive, craggy, and superlatively tropical with massive old growth hardwood wreathed in vines. It didn't take much imagination to see dinosaurs roaming the island. We ambled up a dirt path that took us to the base of one of the huge spires disappearing into the clouds. 5 hours later we stumbled back to the boat covered in mud lugging 15 pounds of fruit we gathered during the hike.

An overnight sail brings us to Raitea and Taha'a, a pair of islands which share a fringing reef. We've been here for a while; we're not sure how long. Time...seems unimportant. We spent a bit of time reconnoitering the various reef passes with good exposure to SW swell before latching onto the gem; a gorgeous left with an idyllic anchorage just behind it. The wave is fairly long, and has three distinct sections. The deep takeoff, at size, is a top-to-bottom classic reef pass drainer which has spit out many an intrepid explorer. The end of this section leads into a few hundred yards of bowly, jucy shoulder. Then you reach the good part of the wave, where the inside section can double in size as the swell that wrapped into the deep reef pass hits the shallows and thickens into a long reeling hollow section. Don't forget to kick out before the dry reef closeout section, though. The paddle back out is quick, since the offshores and the outgoing current help. There area few gnarly locals around who surf in the afternoons– big guys, lots of tattoos. They can be very intimidating, especially as they paddle straight up to you at top speed, an unfamiliar look in their eye. When they reach us, we wait, cringing, for.......a handshake and a polite introduction. They are very happy to see us, welcome to the lineup, would you like to tie up your dingy to my panga, as it has a big anchor? We hope you enjoy our waves, stay as long as you want. Please, no pictures though.

We've met another sailing/surfing couple from New Zealand, who have been surfing the left with us. They have gotten us really excited about NZ; they keep talking about all kinds of good Kiwi stuff. As an example: they thought it strange that we would consider buying local beer at $3/can. They asked why we didn't just stock up on the 'brew kits' from our supermarkets in the US...? Apparently, in any local supermarket in NZ you can buy a beer brewing kit 'cheap as chips.' Our friends, Ron & Mim, brew it 25 liters at a time, once a week. In the tropics, it takes less than two weeks and tastes like nectar.

Needless to say, we're going to burn through every last day of our visas right here, before heading the 12 miles west to Bora-Bora to finish our clearance paperwork. We're not sure of our next stop, but we've got a couple of possibilities bouncing around. Wallis island has a number of nice looking reef passes with good surfing exposure. After that, we've heard that the Fijian government has opened Tavarua to the public, which means that we could be some of the very first cruising sailors to surf Cloudbreak. We'll see.

Thanks!

J&K