After getting in touch with plants and plains again after some days on the south side of Hiva Oa, climbing the highest roads we could find, replenishing our deprived souls with all the fruit we could find, sharing with other yachties and with my friends and family through various technologies, refreshing my French skills and picking a few Marquesian words, it was time for our first inter-island sail. We left the busy bay of Taa Huku about 3pm with sunny skies, a welcome difference from the grisly downpour with which we entered this port.
The passage was a short one, with Tahu Ata visible as soon as we left the mouth that had swallowed us back into civilization. We had smooth sailing and golden hills to welcome us as the sun set west, directly between Hiva Oa and Tahu Ata. Brian plucked at his guitar while I savoured the new views of this land that we were about to explore.
Three little coves on the north side of Tahu Ata each had their own sandy beach lined with palm trees, a few buildings visible beyond those coconut fences and not a soul in sight. The first bay came recommended in one of our guidebooks, but was occupied with one sailing vessel. Leaving the privacy of the beach to the lucky early birds who had arrived there before us, we aimed for the middle beach, Ivaiva Iti, while the small western one seemed more exposed. As we neared our destination, the wind calmed and we had to motor in as to have an accurate and accident free anchorage. Just as the golden hues turned their pink and fuscia, we plunked down the pick and were the only souls in sight.
Waking the next morning with a beach to be explored, yet this new rock untouched by our salty feet, we took our time to absorb the beach’s vibe, to build anticipation and to drink our coffee, of course. We could see a few empty habitations, hammocks, palm trees and patches of grass just beyond. Either side of the bay was lava rock lined with sloping mounds barriers to the bays on either side of us. We loaded our bags with swim, snorkel and lunch gear, and paddled in the dingy to a surfy landing.
Discovering the features of this bay, we swam in the blue sea and skimmed either side of the bay’s black boundary that had been produced with the raw material for beginnings of earth, old lava that had been spewed years previously and its slow deconstruction back into the ocean by the relentless power of the elements. Shallow pools trapped crabs, amphibious creatures and fish, while the powerful waves occasionally burst through a small blow hole in a shower of sea foam. Scouring further from the sea, we found square net hammocks, one full sized and one weekend fishing sized homes, shelters for canoes (vakas), fire pits and plenty of fruit trees. Brian climbed palms for young coconuts despite an adversity to their taste, and pick cheek-puckering oranges. After a power boat dropped off a man and we made small talk about his weekend getaway home and asked permission to have a fire in front of his property, he invited me to pick from the pamplemousse tree before he let out his ten piglets and their mama and left again. I loaded up on limes and pamplemousse, plucked shells from their sandy shelter and hauled fallen palm fronds to a pile to light ablaze later in the evening.
Top Secret, a catamaran full of new friends that we had met on Hiva Oa cruised into this private bay. When they came to shore we drank and discussed the cruising life, and our pre and post trip lives. Brian and Kendra made a run to the boats for food, musical instruments and blankets to spend the night on shore, while David, Rob, Annie and I prepped a fire and radioed to the taxi team for the things that we’d forgotten to order. As sun set and fire smoldered, we played ukuleles, guitars, drank beers and margaritas with Ivaiva Iti plucked limes, ate sandwiches and cuddled with the two friendly kittens who roamed these sands. When the firewood was crisp and the cups dry, Rob and Annie headed back to Top Secret while four of us slept in the sandy hammocks, my first night sleeping on land in almost 2 months.
In the morning, we knew that Captain Rob was eager to go, so we woke and David helped tidy the front yard that we had sullied in our relaxation. Brian paddled him and Kendra back to Top Secret and eventually made his way back to the beach with coffee! Great delivery service! In the meantime, I sawed away at coconuts, eager for their revitalizing water after sour tequila drinks the eve before. Taking way too long for the reward at the end, but thankful to finally get into a couple of cocos, I ended up spilled half of the water chasing a run away plastic bag that the wind tried to deliver to the ocean. A refreshing swim alone on this beach was paradise found and I thought that I could make a life quite easily for myself here. Then the owner of the other little house here showed up, as if to say that squatters would be found out! He was with his nephew and they beached their outrigger canoe, aided by the motor on the back. I offered to help them haul the boat out of the surf zone, and learned that this weekend home provided limes, coconuts and grapefruits to sell to Aranui, the large ship that visits the Marquesas twice a month from Tahiti, bringing supplies, buying fruit and in the meantime dropping budget tourists off to stroll around villages and up to ruins.
Knowing that many more places of interest awaited us, we left this beauty beach for the southwest side of the island, feeling blasé from the booze. We were aiming for Hapatoni, an artsy village center and supposedly calm harbour. During this sail we experienced the common Marquesian gusts that rip their way down the steep mountains to the sea. The winds were quite variable, from a dead calm to strong along the land, from one direction to another in a matter of moments. We tacked back and forth to make use of the wind that blew our way as we hugged the coast of Tahu Ata.
Cruising into Hapatoni with the winds bowling down the hillsides, the anchorage was empty, seemed to be exposed and without an obvious dingy landing. We circled this bay a few times, rocked by the wind continuously, unsure of the reassurances given in a yachter’s guide and the deep water of the seemingly safe middle of the bay. Brian was listening to his sea gut and didn’t have a great feeling about the place, so we turned back north against the wind and made for Vaitahu. Anchoring among a few other sailing vessels, we guessed at the best dingy landing being the concrete boat ramp and we went to shore for the hour before sunset.
Usually the magasin / epicere is a good place to start a journey in a new town. They have cold consumables for sale, we can ask locals for directions which usually ends up in a delightful or strange conversation, and we can check out what supplies we’d need for Kayak. In Vaitahu, I bought a creamsicle and Brian a juice box, we ordered some loaves of bread to be made for us in the morning and we began our saunter through this friendly town, situated at the flattest spot of the valley and surrounded by vertical sloping craggy cliffs. Passing people our age on the field in front of the church playing handball, we met some locals who offered conversation, local knowledge and pakalolo. I turned the latter but still made friends with Te’ii, with warm eyes, dark wavy hair, keen to talk, a traditional Marquesian sleeve tatu and a very friendly Capricorn. He offered to walk with us in the morning to the forest and pick fruit. Without other plans for the day, we accepted, while avoiding the persistence of another local known as the Professor, who was offering car rides, midnight fishing and Marquesian language lessons, a little too eagerly. Heading back to Kayak before dark was our excuse out of an awkward situation, but we didn’t avoid an uncomfortable dingy launch. From a slippery boat ramp into a swell is not ideal, but a lovely gentleman helped push us through it and we sang thanks and praise as he pulled himself from the waist-deep water.
The next morning Aranui was docked at the pier and dwarfed the town with its metallic mass. Trucks were lined up to trade wares, the place crawling with people for the exchange. Te’ii was helping with this and we were going to meet him once he was done his part. We attempted another landing place, with success, and met our friend, guide, fruit whisperer for the day. Beginning our walk uphill towards the palm plantations, we stopped at his house, met his friendly sister Rachelle as he opened a few young coconuts for Brian and I. We turned for the forest and Te’ii walked next to each other barefoot, while Brian spoke with a couple other young men who were making the same trek. I picked Te’ii’s brain about everything, from life on the island to with his family, and his personality, enthusiasm to be with strangers, social yet secretive, helpful and hard working, reminded me a lot of myself. Then I learned that he was also a mountain goat, with a love and knowledge of the forest, and we shared the same celestial sign. We walked up the dirt road and through the coconut plantation, past tikis and stone ruins of a civilization long gone, learning of the copra trade, the lack of land ownership and how people on this small isle make a comfortable living. The whole day we had Te’ii’s dog follow us, a white puppy without a name, so we called him Chein.
After the hacked coconuts, we picked grapefruit, climbed breadfruit trees, selected guava, reached for and basketed mangoes, chopped bananas and clambered for oranges. After hiking for a few hours in the forest, we went towards the water and chose pomme citel, cut chilis, collected nuts, questioned the spiky fruit, plucked pumpkin greens and harvested a pacific pumpkin. I tried to translate Bob Marley’s Guava Jelly into French to explain my love for the confection.
Speaking French the whole time was a challenge to my limited knowledge but also enlightening because we didn’t deviate from the language, unless Brian and I were speaking together, and although I didn’t understand one hundred percent of what Te’ii was sharing, I got 90% of the jist and was able to use the language to question words of ideas that he was sharing with us. Te’ii didn’t seem to mind my limited tongue, being patient and understanding. Perhaps much of my fatigue after collecting fruit and ideas was not only due to physical exertion but mental as well, intently listening and ensuring that my outgoing words would fall on comprehensive ears.
After the cache was a large as we could carry, we had a frosty Hinano outside of the magasin and I inquired about the church, a mainstay and forefront in many villages, learning that everyone went to church and respected the ideals of the institution, but of course still lived freely and without guilt. After the Hinanos, Brian, Te’ii, Chien and I piled into the dingy with our collection for a beverage on Kayak. We made margaritas and pulled out the charts so that Te’ii could point out some choice places on Nuku Hiva to visit. He asked what we’d like to exchange with him for his time and for the amazing stash that we had collected. He suggested our ipods, sunglasses, alcohol, tobacco, music. I suppose most of these are hard to come by on these islands, or expensive. A pack of cigarettes is about 800 Francais Pacifique, equal to $10 CDN. We gave Te’ii the dregs of the tequila bottle and the few CDs that I had to trade, knowing that he like reggae music, and Brian contemplated his shades as well, but with the paddle back to the shore with the waves, the transfer of Te’ii and Chien turned tumultuous and they forgot to swap their sunglasses.
Green in the Blue 