Of Foreign Build (32 page)

From Aitutaki, we had a short, smooth sail to Palmerston Island, where locals spoiled the cruising visitors in exchange for gifts. The anchorage was rolling within the swells of the mighty Pacific Ocean, and we stayed just a few days before heading to Niue.

Four or five day sails were now considered short hops. Like a well-oiled engine, Noel and I smoothly completed the tasks for setting sail, and our shifts ran like clockwork. As
Mariah
sailed herself towards our next destination, I started to wonder what would happen back in civilisation. In the meantime, Niue and a new set of experiences loomed over the horizon.

‘If I don’t go right now, I’m not going to do it,’ my voice betrayed an ungainly combination of conviction and caution. I hoped the rest of the crowd couldn’t hear it. They all moved aside to let me go, revealing through actions that they could hear the fear as much as I could taste it.

We were fifteen metres underground in a silent, echoing cave. Only the solemn plop of icy, fresh water could be heard, woven between our awed whispers. I took two big breaths, the chill of the encompassing sapphire water temporarily forgotten. Two metres down, with lungs bursting only moments after a big breath, I turned underwater to head through to the next cave. My thrashing arms and legs fought for propulsion, and I felt stuck in a current that did not exist. I saw the torch light from our guide in the next submerged cave and headed toward the surface, seeking much needed oxygen. I was that close to being able to breathe again. I knew I could make it. Suddenly, a firm hand reached down and pushed my head back under. I was coming up too early; my soft head was on course for sharp, jagged rock. Fighting to withhold my panic, I swam farther along and the hand released me. I broke back into my world, gasping in the sweet smell of air. In reality, I had been under water a few seconds and swam a few metres. ‘That was pretty easy,’ I grinned.

The unofficial tour of underwater caves was discreet and unsanctioned. If we had injured ourselves the responsibility would be at our door only. The sign to the entrance of the sunken paradise made it perfectly clear. Willy Kalah, our guide, took us on the tour for free; he owned a bar and hoped that we would pay him a visit – a good deal.

The alien surroundings and phallic like rock glistened with their golds and yellows brightened by our torch beams. The thriving green foliage around the startling blue pools of clear water were extraordinary. ‘Wow,’ ‘oooh,’ and ‘arrhhh,’ became the group’s vocabulary between grunting from climbing up and down sheer faces of slippery rock with only a fraying rope to assist.

Later, at Willy’s bar, he absorbed our weary minds in the tale of how his great grandfather was a pioneer in the island’s banana export and import. The Kalah’s have their roots deeply entrenched in the tiny island, completing work that present day cruisers are glad for. Centuries ago, the Kalah’s had a hand in blasting through the rocks to enable supply ships to make their deliveries by a dock and enable today’s travellers to make an easy landfall and haul their dinghies to a safe place.

Niue is a country in its own right. The small island sits like the gem set in a gold of ocean. Situated approximately 230 nautical miles directly east of Tonga and 672 nautical miles east of Suva in Fiji, Niue created a welcome rest while sailing between Palmerston Island and Tonga. Niue is one of the last jewels in the ornamental circumnavigation ring.

We met some interesting characters whilst here. The tears that pricked Mr. Premier’s eyes were not from the whispering smoke of his cigarette, but rather his emotions. His eyes shone as he frankly described losing his wife. He lost her first when she was alive. He felt that he had neglected her, as he worked endless hours fulfilling his task of leader of Niue. He lost her again when she sadly left this world.

A mountain of a man sat beside him. His bodyguard seemed to have an easy time and enjoyed the myriad of conversations. As Mr. Premier sat with a few of us cruisers, sipping his cool beer in companionable chat, we could feel his excitement and love for his country. His honesty, friendliness, and down-to-earth spirit was refreshing and offers of residency were made with sincerity.

Twenty mooring buoys were on offer for visiting boats, a bargain at five American dollars per day. Anchoring was difficult within deep, coral strewn waters. With boats coming and going, most days there were one or two available moorings. Getting ashore was exciting. The sheer cliff face and rolling seas did not allow beach landings. An unprotected concrete jetty with a small crane was the only way to make landfall. Hoicking yourself and all your gear from dinghy to the slippery concrete steps was like riding a galloping horse while trying to stand up. Timing was critical: ride the swells and understand the movement before making your move. One unlucky blighter stayed in the dinghy while the crane was lowered towards them, having the lifting straps ready to start with was imperative. The person in the dinghy secured the hook, and the crane operator (whoever was standing nearest) could lift the dinghy. The person in the boat had a tough time in the rolling swells of the Pacific and then performed a balancing act as the dinghy was lifted up. A trolley was provided and we all lined our dinghies up neatly, it was like the car park at a supermarket. After just a few shaky starts, we all became dab hands at the process.

Alofi, Niue’s main town, was small, friendly, and funky. The quiet streets carried the good-humoured laughter of local lads shooting pool. Shady trees stood proud outside the popular Internet cafe, under which a cruiser or two sat exchanging information as only water gypsies do. Watering holes perched on the headland, where we could peer thirty metres down over our silent boats, creating enticing dreams that we were fulfilling. Towards the end of the town, square blocks of concrete foundations sat in vivid gardens, where, once upon a time houses stood. In 2004, a violent hurricane kicked up waves high enough to reach over the massive rock structure and wash the buildings away. The hospital, lives, and dreams were carried away that year. The town was rebuilding, but it was a long way from flourishing. Flights to Niue were extraordinarily expensive, much desired tourist trade seemed too far out of reach.

Having a taste of mopeds in Aitutaki, we were eager to hire bikes and explore this tiny country to see what other gems this jewel had to offer. A small group was organised and three couples hired small, lightweight motorbikes (125cc).

James and Ann on board
Novia
(meaning sweetheart) were a typical British couple with an extra dose of daring. James had always wanted to ride a bike, but never had. Noel offered a five-minute verbal instruction, forgetting to point out the rear brake. The end of the instruction was finished with a flap of his hand saying, ‘It’s easy, you’ll be right, mate.’

What James didn’t realise was that Noel had been riding bikes all his life. James jumped on, started up, amazingly got the wheels turning first go, and flew straight into a bush. We were all more than slightly relieved he veered right into bushes, instead of left off the cliff face!

James came back on foot, with a few bloody scratches on his cheek. Ann was speechless and none of us knew what to say between belly cramping giggles.

‘Ahem,’ started James, ‘ready, Ann?’

All heads turned to Ann with wide eyes.

‘Yup,’ she smiled, jumped on board, and off they went!

Two days later, at a local fete, James was teaching a fellow cruiser how to ride. The stoic, single mindedness and blind bravado of the British lives on.

The empty roads were perfect for novices and old hands alike. Like sailboats, the motorbikes allowed thoughts and ideas to enter our minds and spill out before they took hold.

The island’s sixty-seven kilometre road worms through pockets of communities nearing extinction; vacant houses, bolted church doors, and limp business signs smothered the odd occupied home, where residents tried to shut out the failing town with pretty curtains and freshly painted front doors. Each town felt desolate, confirmed by the stray hungry dogs, bored grubby kids, and obvious lack of money.

On the positive side, hidden down unbeaten trails, Niue hid striking sights. Volcanic moonlike rock topped with skin tearing shards lined the path that weaved between the heavy jungles. Enormous ugly spiders hung in the trees, the females clearly carrying young. Breaking through the foliage, the pacified Pacific Ocean greeted us, and we watched the strength of the waves pummel the land. Enterprising locals had built ladders and steps to allow the adventurous to do their thing. Securely tied to a ten metre sheer drop was a strong wooden ladder. At the foot was an enclosed beach that, after traversing huge boulders, led to a secret garden. If a mermaid had stepped from the water and offered us a rainbow, it wouldn’t have been a shock. In the peaceful silence, vivid climbing greens clung along the sheer rock faces, and startling blue clear pools urged us in for a cool swim.

Alas, the time ticked on and, again, and we had to say farewell. The too familiar hand that squeezed our hearts was back, to remind us of our lot – our life that was full of farewells. Next stop was Tonga, where our trusty home and transport,
Mariah II
had spent summers many years ago.

It was funny, as we got closer to home, with more miles and experience under our belts, the more fearful the journey became. Everything had gone so well so far; surely it was time for a drama?

As we dropped the mooring and watched Niue shrink in the distance, we knew we’d never return to this unique country and we felt privileged to have had the opportunity to experience this solitary little world.

The drama we thought we were due for arrived in the form of windy and his mates. Basically, it blew like shit all the way to Va’vau in Tonga.
Mariah
swept up and down the building seas while Noel and I clung on. There was no fear, no shouting, no stress. We knew
Mariah
so well that we knew she’d cope with the seas. We knew we would cope too. We also knew it would finally stop, at some point. Life was so different now on board. The romping wind and waves were uncomfortable and tiring, but that was all. A strong, proven boat and strong proven crew kept our shoulders relaxed and at ease. I felt like I could do this forever. The sailing had completely ceased being any sort of drama. It was the next chapter in our lives that would become the drama – the transition back onto land.

Our stay in Tonga was a restful one; we had no need or desire to participate in tours. Noel and I were content enough to just enjoy the soft scenery and giggling kids splashing on shore. The kind welcome from the locals was enough to help us experience their way of life. After a few days rest we weighed anchor, bound for Fiji.

Once upon a time, we had left Coffs Harbour in NSW bound for Fiji, and a storm had blown us back as we could no longer fight the malevolent ocean. We had re-grouped and decided to follow the trade winds. Seven years later, we finally made it to Fiji, heading in the right direction, some 30,000 nautical miles later.

The Royal Suva Yacht Club was an island bar with chipped wood, plastic tablecloths, cheap beer, and reasonable food. Together with our friends on board
Iron Mistress
(Robert and Elyse),
My Chance
(Alim and Kian), and
Adverse Conditions
(Nana and Spencer), we all dressed up in our finery and enjoyed one of our last “on the road” meals together. We all planned to meet in New Caledonia and from there we would be parting to go our separate ways. Suddenly, it was ending.

Before we left the Fiji anchorage we witnessed a large waterspout not far from the anchorage. We watched intently, realising how lucky we had been on our voyage. There had been no real damage to
Mariah
or to us. In a way, this made us more nervous, as something was bound to happen now.

In Noumea, New Caledonia, we were all in a marina. With great French food, gleaming and expensive bars, we indulged in a little luxury before heading home. It seemed a poignant time, a parting of friends. We would head south, while most of the other boats were heading north in Australia or down to New Zealand.

The separation from our buddies was tougher than I imagined. We had not spent a great deal of time together, zigzagging between anchorages – sometime we met up, sometimes we didn’t. But the ease of our friendships, the lack of expectations, and the fun times we had all shared gave a sense of belonging. Good friends and fun folk made our journey the incredible experience it was. We would miss them.

Australia had a horrid reputation of being one of the worst places in the world to check in to. It really wasn’t if you followed their rules. Their rules were strict, but not hard to adhere by, and they were there for a reason.

We had an amazing sail into Bundaberg QLD. Within near perfect conditions,
Mariah
blasted her way back into Australian waters. Three days out, on flat seas, I was sitting in the cockpit naked (it was hot). Suddenly, I could hear an engine. I quickly tied on my sarong. There wasn’t one boat in sight, so I looked up. The Australian Customs plane came so close that they could read
Mariah’s
name off our bow!

‘
Mariah II
, this is Australian Customs, how many people do you have on board?’

‘Good afternoon! Two people on board.’

‘Very good. Do you have any plants or animals?’

‘No,’ I replied. I always feel guilty with officials, even though I had never done anything wrong. However, I had read and re-read the rules and requirements for checking in, and I knew we were good. With a few more questions, they wished us well and flew off, flying over us every day until we reached port.

The unique colours of the Australian sky were drawing us home. As the sun sloped off behind the horizon, it painted the sky Aussie golds, which were woven with tinges of low pearly clouds. For a few glorious moments, the sea was warmed by the reflection of yellow. We were absent from society, but not for long.