Reunion, Nuku Hiva

The first symptom is Death

 

 

May 15

 

 

Since last I wrote, my friends Tilikum and Herbert have arrived, still waiting on Brian.  I was excited to learn that they only left a few hours after me, which means I beat them by nearly a week—22 days to 28!  How proud I am of Araby!

It is so great to have them back.  I have walked about Atuona a bit with them, cooked them a welcome to the Marquesas meal, and had some good chats about our separate adventures.  Their trip was rather smooth compared to mine, far fewer problems, just a bit slower.

Herbert and I hiked / hitch-hiked to the old chapel I found a few days ago.  While sitting to eat my lunch (I think Herb had fallen asleep in the Chapel) a group that was having a picnic invited me over to have a plate with them.

Oh it was great.  They had raw fish, bar-b-qued lamb, this wild pineapple-looking think that tasted like mashed potatoes, bananas, coconut milk, bread—the works.  It was grand.  Luckily I saved some for Herb when he arrived.

 

This chapel and picnic area were right on the beach.  We jumped into the warm water with all the locals and body surfed and headed soccer balls.  We flirted with a few young Marquesan chicitas.  It’s funny when you don’t speak the same language—you just sort of make jokes and laugh at each other.

 

 

 

The next day, after hanging low, doing some boat work (getting my outboard running) I went ashore to have a run.  I decided on a little rutty, muddy track I knew from my hitch-hiking adventure with the Tahitians.  It was nearby and would offer some solitude and wouldn’t be straight up.

Indeed, I didn’t see a soul.  I ran and ran and then I found a side road I hadn’t seen.  It went up and out of the valley the main road was following.  It was dark and, if possible, less used.

There were less ruts and mud, but more cobwebs and shadows. Low branches and moss.  It was wonderful, but slippery.  I’d go through pure stands of banana trees, saw some papya and many other fruits I can’t identify. 

As I went the track narrowed and narrowed.  I started checking my compass just in case.  Eventually I could hardly make out the trail and started hiking in stead.  I found cairns to guide me.

 

The first treat (besides the mud to my knees) were the trees—I don’t know what they were, but they were tall and buttresses like bald cypress, but they had many more flukes and ridges and no pneumatifors. I was in Terrabythia again, but they were different.  The late afternoon light dousing all the moss and lichen in a faint glow—I was in the foothills of nowhere, hardly a trail, it was getting late.  Perfect.

And then I looked up the sloop and saw a design in the rocks.  There appeared to be an ancient wall or foundation.  I was somewhere after all, an old, old somewhere.  Was this the cause of the cairns?  Was there more?

I never found out because the sun dipped behind the ridge and I didn’t dare tarry any longer.  I found my way back down to the last cairn and linked them together as quick as I could.

 

It was wonderful ambling through dense jungle and then so unexpectedly finding ruins that could be hundreds and hundreds of years old.  And there really is little infrastructure here to find answers to any questions about them.  Most things here are word of mouth, but I don’t speak French. 

Mysteries are fun too.

 

 

Unfortunately, the real excitement (and danger) of the day came at dinnertime.  With all the strange risks I take who would suppose that my dinner would almost kill me?  I don’t exaggerate.

Only two days ago I was reading an essay about dumpster-diving and the boons and risks and ethics, ect associated with this much frowned-upon activity (of which I am a whole-hearted fan).  One issue was the understanding of risk in certain food times, one of which were canned goods.

Now I keep a lot of my cans in the bilge and from time to time water gets in and causes the cans to rust.  There is little I can do about it and I am not about to through away all of my beloved chili, baked beans, corn, enchilada sauce, clam chowder, mushroom soup (for green bean casseroles), ect.  No way.  But one must be careful, as I well knew, for holes in the cans—least you contract botulism.  

 

So last night I needed a quick meal; I had already eaten a bit with some new friends whom just arrived in port from Mexico (29 days afloat).  I mashed some tatters and got out a can, an old can of green beans to go along.  The can was rather awful but I checked it and it was fine.

As I stirred the beans I tasted one and it was fine, but felt somehow tough.  And that essay came back to mind and I couldn’t help but be a bit nervous.  I got the can out of the garbage and rechecked it.

Damnit, sure enough, plain to anyone who isn’t BLIND was a pin hole in the middle of the can.  Shit—I had just eaten a bite of a potentially botulism infested bean and I had just read that the first symptom of botulism is death.  And ain’t that just great.

What to do???  Half a bean, what to do??  Botulism, the first symptom is death.

 

I didn’t like it but the only realistic thing I could think of was to go puke it out over the toe rail.  And I had just had a nice bowl of rice.  At least I’d have something in my stomach to puke up other than the one bean.

Not fun, but the thought of dying of botulism was just too ridiculous to bare.  I even went back below, chugged some water and then vomited that up just to be sure.  What a drag.

 

I was furious.  How stupid, idiotic.  Why?  Is one damned can of beans worth it?  Why wasn’t I more careful.  I was so close, so close.  The can was already in the garbage, already past inspection—only intuition or something, that essay maybe, something took me back and saved me.

Maybe there was no botulism, but I don’t know.  That isn’t the point.  The point is that I was stupid, made an error that I can’t afford to make, an error as serious as flawed storm tactics or lax anchoring habits. 

It took me hours to relax.  I was a bit unnerved.  I watched the Big Lebowski with  Tila and \Herb and felt better.

 

Enough of that.  Ironic story I think.  I sail all the way across the Pacific to be killed by a can of green beans. 

 

 

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Note on boat—swimming—body surfing—engine fixing—Aguaja and N.C

Trip to Puamau—party with Sea Cor—hikes/run—chess—boat sale to Tilikum

Bushwack—porpusies—leaving Araby—Brian arrives—Mark had turned back—Nuka Hiva bound—big party on Araby

 

 

 

 

 

May 23, 2006

 

While spending time with Herb and Til, getting ready to leave Atuona at last, one day a note appears on Bamboo for the both of us.  It read: “Bamboo and Araby, you are invited to a party to celebrate the birthday of Martine in Paumua Bay on Friday 19^th.  Aguja and Noble Cause should be arriving tomorrow and Sea Cor on Thursday.  See you then.  Sincerely, Sea Cor, Aguja, and The Noble Cause.”

This was a shocking letter on many levels: Who wrote it?  Where did it come from?  I know these people; they are my friends from La Paz, the friends I had hoped would be in Atuona when I arrived.  It had turned out that Sea Cor was in a bit of a hurry and they had all moved off—I had assumed northward—and would likely not be seen again. 

So to hear that my good friends were still around was a delightful discovery.

Where was Paumau?  It was just on the other side of the island, barely 25 miles away.  I couldn’t believe they were so close.

 

While this was taking place I noticed that there was good cause for my delay in Atuona: there was no wind, none, nothing.  I was told that the water outside the bay was glass.  Everyone had been motoring to and fro.

For me, not having an engine, this is a problem.   I have to wait out for the wind.  However. . . I could hitchhike, a nautical hitch.

 

A day later Aguja and Noble Cause cruise into the anchorage.  It was so merry to see them again after nearly two months.  Matt on Noble Cause is a single hander and has no autopilot, only a windvane; which, if there is no wind, doesn’t work.  So motoring requires him to stay at the helm for the duration.

So I thought I’d catch a ride with Matt up and around to Puamau Bay and leave my boat in Atuona.  There is never any real wind in the anchorage and it is shallow and I have a bow and stern anchor out—plenty safe.  Plus good neighbors.

It was so great to be on another boat for a change.  There was no wind, but the Noble Cause is such a great boat.  It is the smallest—by far—in our fleet: 24ft. long.  It is similar to a Bristol Channel Cutter, or a Falmouth Cutter—a great tough cruiser, and fast too.  This was Tilikum’s boat before she sold it to Matt.

 

We had a beautiful motorsail around the island and our meeting with Paul and Laura on Sea Cor was huge.  I love these guys, a Brit and an Aussi—two of the most generous, giving  people.  I had really missed them.  We drank a lot that night, and the next day too…and on and such.

Puamau was a great open bay.  We were nearly the only boats there.  The village is preferable to Atuona, very quiet and shady.  We visited an ancient site with great Tiki statues, the biggest west of Easter Island.  I was planning on hitching back from there but I was able to catch a ride with Matt once more.

 

Unfortunately, Matt’s mom is ill.  This coupled with other personal matters has persuaded Matt to head home.  So he re-sold the Noble Cause to Tilikum.  She now owns the boat for the second time.  Strange but true.

 

Arriving back to Atuona after a great sail with fine winds and sixty porpoises flanking the boat for hours uncounted, we found Brian’s boat, Thistledown, anchored soundly just outside the breakwater.  What a joy!  He was long overdue and I had worried that he had turned for the Galapagos instead.  But there he was, over a month underway, becalmed for weeks at a time.

With the arrival of Brian our only missing friend was Mark, sailing a Westsail from La Paz.  He was also long overdue.  The next day Sea Cor received an email from Mark in England saying that three days after setting out he noticed a raging tooth infection and had to turn around (he had just had two teeth removed before the trip).

He made it back safely but won’t make the trip this year.  A big loss for us.  Very sad to lose him, a good guy, very funny.  And now we’re losing Matt who is the resident comedian.  His shoes are unfillable.

 

So now the ranks of solo sailors have swelled.  There is me and Brian, now Tilikum on the Noble Cause, and Herbert will be solo again now that Tila is gone.     

 

 

 

Everything personally is fine.  I eat mostly out of my dry goods and pick up fruit and baguettes when possible.  It is great to have such great friends around to share this with.  The Marquesas are so shocking, somewhat surreal.  And I get to share them with great people.  I am so fortunate.

 

 

 

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Nuku Hiva

 

Finally I weigh anchor—first time in nearly three weeks.  Everyone is heading to Daniel’s Bay on Nuku Hiva.   The wind is back at last.  The anchorage is small here, and protected, so Paul is going to give me a little tow out of the harbor until I gain a bit of sea room and a steady breeze.  I am so ready for this.  I have missed moving.

 

And on Nuku Hiva there is internet, so perhaps I’ll be able to touch base with my friends and family and learn what’s been happening in the rest of civilization.

 

And so it has come to pass.  The sail was an overnight—plenty of wind.  Double reefed main.  Winds 20 – 25 knots.  I made good time, but the seas were lumpy and uncomfortable. 

I am sitting safely at anchor once again,  once again in a new place.  It is a wonderful quiet place, much like Puamau.