The pressures of home

Savusavu, Fiji, 6/6/2019

Returning to Shanti is usually a great pleasure, but this time I felt quite low. The brief interlude spent with family and friends in Melbourne had zoomed by without time to catch up with everyone, but it was enough to fill me with the warmth of those near and dear, and the sudden contrast of being completely alone again weighed heavier than ever before.

It was obvious to me what had happened. I had spent the previous 49 days and nights alone at sea on that interminable passage from Panama to Tahiti, arrived exhausted, and before my feet had steadied on the land, had immediately jumped on a plane home. There had been no time to establish contact with even one friendly face, and now I had returned to that void.

But it wasn’t time to linger. I needed to do what had to be done and get moving again. Mat, the local rigger, arrived more or less as arranged and replaced the lower shrouds. He did a good job and I was glad I hadn’t waited for the replacements to be sent from Cape town, or I’d still be waiting.
I collected my duty free alcohol (Absolut vodka at $US6 a bottle, and likewise quality French wines) and walked to Carrefour for the last time to spend the last of my francs. Peculiarly for me, I used them to buy a new dress instead of more provisions. (Perhaps the influence of shore life, where shorts and T shirts don’t constitute every day attire.)

It was 1530 before I finally got away and the fading hours of daylight were spent motoring in a windless rolling swell. After clearing the island’s wind shadow a strong Sou’easterly soon had me reefing down. These were the first few days of 25-30 knots that I was counting on to get me off to a flying start. A 75 mg capsule of Stugeron held my queasiness at bay, but still it was an uncomfortable first night and I couldn’t relax.

Seeing the bunches of black clouds rimming the horizon put the panic in me, remembering the last beating one had dealt. I dropped the main entirely and furled to a pocket handkerchief of headsail in readiness, and was glad I had. The Society Islands of Bora Bora and Raiatea are well known for these squalls. As the rain began pelting down and the violent gusts tossed Shanti like a toy, it was back to hanging on till it passed.

The frequency of these storm cells make it prudent to remain reefed down, and when they pass, Shanti is left wallowing, with sails slatting noisily in 3 or 4 knots of wind. Storm cells are like giant vacuums that suck up the air from all around, gathering it into a concentrated blast, then laughing at the upturned turtle left floundering helplessly in its passing shadow.

A few bright lights on the shore prick the darkness as the landlubbers settle into their evening with family, safe and sound within their solid shelters, and I am struck by a deep loneliness. Such is the price of having split my journey to go home for a few weeks, just long enough to get a taste of that warmth and to miss it so much more deeply.

The rest of the night and all of the next day continued with much of the same, wearing me down lower than any other time before. Perhaps it’s because I know I’m on the home leg now, and a part of me just wants to get there. I don’t have a lot of interest in sight-seeing in foreign ports.
“What’s the good of being alone in paradise?” someone once asked me. This feeling is exacerbated by having spent such a joyous time with a handful of other cruisers in the Caribbean, and now, since transiting the Panama Canal, I find myself completely alone again.

Day 4, I woke up to relative quiet, no sails slatting, no rolling or lurching, and clear blue skies with 12 knots of breeze just aft of the beam; in short, a glorious morning, with Shanti gliding along as if on a well oiled track.

Is there some kind of predetermined trade-off of a gorgeous day for a lousy night? The entire rim of the horizon was on fire with a shimmering white glow, occasionally shot through with staccato orange and red flares, as if some angry god was hurling fireballs into the sea.

I want to curl up and hide under my bunk, only the ship’s stores are already cowering there. I managed to get a few hours’ rest, but by dawn the wind had completely gone. The big black cumulo-nimbus encircling Shanti had sucked it up again, so I resigned myself to a few more hours motoring in a rolly sea.

Funny how quickly things change. By 1400 I was punching into a steady 12 knots right on the nose, punctuated by 20 knots in the squalls. By 1600 I gave up on that pointless, fuel burning exercise, cut Yani, and bore away to sail due north. It was boisterous sailing, only slightly disheartening that it was entirely in the wrong direction. The DTG was 270 nM, the calculation was 9 days. “More like never, heading off in this way!”

By 1900, the wind had dropped back down to 4 knots, so I decided to hove to for the night. This can be quite a peaceful thing and well worth doing when in need of sleep. I only got up a couple of times, more by habit, to check on things.

But having stopped is good psychologically, because it mentally prepares me for an extra day or two, or however many it takes, with the understanding that it can be just as pleasant out at sea as in a harbour. Hoving-to is kind of like anchoring in the middle of the ocean, sans anchor.


Despite the slow progress, and having to hove-to twice more, it was a relatively good passage of 12 days to cover the 850 nautical miles from Tahiti to the Northern Cook Island of Suwarrow, which was as glorious as I'd been led to believe.



Palm trees equal Paradise

I hadn't expected there to be any other yachts in the anchorage so was pleasantly surprised to find 3 others, 2 French and 1 German. The older Frenchman who had been cruising for 25 years said it was the first time he had encountered 4 single-handers in the one bay together. His boom was broken in half so he needed to leave the next day for repairs in Samoa. He was replaced by 3 men aboard a large Swiss-flagged catamaran, the owner, delivery skipper and one crew. We shared a few drinks, meals, laughter, stories, guitar-playing and singing in the Rangers' shelter each evening, which was just what the doctor ordered for me!  And plenty of practice for my French.

The general preference was to head to Western Samoa rather than American, it being less costly, less bureaucratic and a better anchorage, so I followed suit, to discover a different kind of paradise, but still enchanting.

The resort spa where we stopped for lunch; same palm trees, different vibe.

 A few of us took a taxi tour of the island, which included stops to swim in a waterfall pool and a deep ocean trench formed by a collapsed volcanic caldera, which was the highlight of the day.

My stay in Samoa was cut short by a panic call from my sister in Kalgoorlie, who was sure our father was on death's doorstep. After several phone calls back and forth to her, and to my dad and his wife Tanya in NZ, things didn't seem quite so bad, but still worrying enough for me to get moving.
I had already been intending to leave Shanti in Fiji and fly back to Melbourne for an excision of a small BCC from my nose, so it seemed prudent to head that way asap.
 
The distance of 580 nautical miles was covered in one week, with perhaps the best SE Trade winds sailing I have had for a long time.

I was very fortunate to get the last berth at the Copra Shed Marina, thanks to Aussies, Sally and Stuart on "Blithe Spirit" - the 46' yacht next to Shanti, recently arrived from NZ. It's amazing how small the cruising community is. I met this couple several years ago in the Whitsundays and it was an unbelievable coincidence that they should happen to be here at the same time as I. We went to a few local restaurants together in the 4 days of overlap, before they headed off today to cruise the more remote Fijian islands.


A chipped filling in one of my heavily filled molars sent me off to the dental clinic at the local hospital this morning.

The "waiting room" at the dental clinic this morning.

After all of this, things are still somewhat uncertain, and the "waiting game" continues.


In regards to my next moves, it's a bit of a we'll see, or to cite one of my favourite sayings, "all will become clear in the fullness of time".


Hoping life is treating you all as gently as a smooth technician....