After a restless sleep due to rough seas rocking us in all directions, anticipation of the next day to come, bad dreams, a belly full of beans, continuously waking to keep an eye on our course, Brian and I both arose before sunrise to scan for land.
The first island that we spotted could have been a mirage, a dark and oddly shaped cloud on the horizon, but despite our proximity and strong winds, this cloud persisted. It was in fact an island, first land that we’d seen in 28 days. Its shape was reminiscent of Maura, the massive and wise turtle from The Never Ending Story.
Brian went below to plot our course and discovered that we were too far west, headed straight for the midsection of the north side of Hiva Oa. That is all well except that we were aiming for the middle of the south of the island. He had changed the course slightly in the night to try and limit the roll of the boat to induce sleep. As he poked his head through the hatch, we spotted our target: a large dark mass of rock.
Large dark clouds were culminating on our windward side, but in the predawn light, their extent and intensity were hard to tell. To be ready, I switched the genoa for the working jib in a flash and tied the genoa to the windward side of the boat, a lesson learned from an incident a few days ago. Just as the sheets were tied in and I began to raise the sail, the winds and rains of a squall were upon us. We beat through it, close to the wind, and when the downpour paused the strong breeze remained, but a promise of daylight began its ascent from the eastern horizon.
The close hauled beat against weather was necessary to head east around the cliff faced eastern most edge of Hiva Oa, Mata Fenua. Kayak keeled over at about 20° and large waves smashed her bow, trying to consume the secured genoa, soaking us and washing over the deck. Coming out from the cabin’s hatch on the windward and higher side of the boat, I lost all grace when a wave struck the port side and I toppled into the cockpit, stopping myself from going any further by striking my sternum on a winch. Breathless for just a moment, and probably only due to the fear that I could be injured worse, I got away with a mere lancing and a breastbone tender to the touch.
We tacked back and forth twice to ensure that we’d be clear of the weather worn cliffs of insanity that had to be skirted around. It felt as if we were abandoning our target by turning away from it.
The island appeared first as a dark shadow shroud in grey scale of clouds and rain, not exactly the lush jungle clad hillsides surrounded by turquoise waters and welcomed by sunrise and dolphins. There were no features or definition, only a looming mass. Coming closer revealed the topmost ridge outline, some deep dark valleys cutting inland and lots of steep cliffs. The landscape seemed to be fabricated of fortresses holding mysterious secrets and past civilizations. When the sun broke through the dense cloud cover and chased away rain shadows for a moment, dark crevasses were illuminated, valleys cast shadows on their west sides and the steep walls lit up to reveal layers of sediment as they broke waves that beat their bases.
Passing the blunt east side and turning west to follow the coast to our destination maintained heavy winds and rain, and being soaked through to the skin gave a chill, fingers and hair waterlogged and permeated with salty splashes and a fresh precipitation. Changing wet clothes for something to keep warm in and emerging from the cockpit was a treat, despite the soggy weather, because there was LAND on either side of the boat: Tahuata to the left and Hiva Oa to the right. Some variety and promise from the daily expanse of big blue was a treat, even though we couldn’t see details of he coasts due to a thick greyness. This is not a mirage! When the skies lightened we spotted houses perched upon the strongholds and floating on hillsides and clustered at the mouths of valleys along the coast, habitations that we have not glimpsed in a month, holding people that will be different than the two that have lived on Kayak for 29 days!
A last squall battered our skills and energies, and reducing the main sail to the second reef was completed just as the blow passed. The skies lifted and we could see the port of Taa Huku, where we would plunk down the anchor after motoring in safely. The anchorage was tightly packed and I gazed with wonder at people, other boats, buildings, things that had been denied to us in the big blue. I ordered Brian to go make friends and find out the details of getting to shore. He took the dingy over to a neighbouring boat to inquire of the whereabouts of the gendarmarie to check in with immigration, if I was allowed to go ashore (he was lead to believe that only the captain may check in while crew waits on the boat, and he asked me to prepare myself for not going to land until the next day. My preparation included being incredibly disappointed and put out at the suggestion and prospect of spending another night on the boat, with the ground in such close reach, after floating for days and days and days. My temperament mirrored the weather that we were under.). While he conversed I began to dry skin and clothes, snack and gather things that I’d need ashore in the likely case that I’d get to stomp ground and hug a tree. What does a person wear to an occasion like this?…first time on land but threatening clouds that were holding off their rain for the moment…He returned with good news: I’m welcome here!, the hours of the gendarmarie and grocery stores, the ease of hitch hiking (autostop) and we began to launch the dingy.
Paddling over to the dingy dock I marveled at the collection of boats gathered here, the variety of their styles and home ports, the new faces and that we were as far from Kayak as we’d been in 29 days.
Excited to see how my sea legs would fare onshore, the extent of jelly that they had become or if I would be able to walk in a straight line, without holding onto a support, the dingy touched land. When we crawled onto the concrete landing and tied off the little hard shell, we were calf-deep in the ocean still, and took the few stairs to the dirt road that serves the yachties who anchor in this little harbour. The ground was firm, muddy from the rain and my feet got immediately dirty. Dirt! A novelty! A fly! I hadn’t seen an insect in a month! (that wore off quickly) My legs apprehensively recognized this compact surface and their knees shook for a moment, but a lifetime on land and seasons of biking and snowboarding made quads strong and able to carry me forward. A slight lack of control and feeling of intoxication began to creep into my senses, and I’m not sure if it was from the jittery jambes , smells of plants and dirt, sounds of animals, cars, people, sights of habitation, or the excitement that were on LAAAAAAND!!!
Safe, sound, not so sane but smiling and stoked for exploring the Marquesas!!
Green in the Blue 