Rarotonga, Cook Islands

Actual Date of Events: Mid October

Maneuvering into harbor in Rarotonga was a slightly difficult task, with a narrow channel allowing for only a small margin of error. After making it past the shipwreck on our starboard side and the jagged rocks just off our port, we entered the harbor where we then moored to the only cement wall, large enough to accommodate up to maybe 8-10 boats. Once moored safely, we were warned that if a shipping boat arrived in the harbor, the ship attempting to dock might destroy all unattended boats that could not be moved. With this warning everyone took an oath to look out for one another whenever possible.

Once moored somewhat safely to the wall, we then were left having to use our sinking dinghy as a bridge to shore. After a week of this, our dinghy became slightly worse than before and would begin to slide down an irreversible path of destruction. Once ashore all seemed quite ecstatic to finally set foot on hard ground. Though only at sea for five days, walking ashore felt very foreign and required that my sea legs be reintroduced to shore.

One thing became very clear the moment we arrived in the Cook Islands, and that was Dirty Dave’s poor manors and awkward social skills. While sailing across the Pacific it seems clear to me that the priority and most compelling reason of this lifestyle is the ability to explore these foreign tropical islands, to be able to meet, eat, and learn about other cultures. Captain Dave’s priorities were very different. Without an interest in these things, he spent the majority, if not all of his time aboard his boat. Even when we had just arrived in Rarotonga, he had no interest in leaving the boat unless it was to get food or eat. His inability to socialize with others and his lack of effort left him attempting to keep us aboard in order to have somebody to hang out with, and the only way he knew he was capable of achieving this task was to assign us jobs.

Let me be clear, I am a hard worker and one reason I wanted to sail was to learn. Learn how to not only sail, but also about all of the different facets of the boat. I wanted to work and had no problem doing any task assigned to me, but when we had just arrived to shore after a passage the very first thing I wanted to do, was get off the boat. Time was surely on our side, and these tasks were by no means so important that they could not have been finished another time. Regardless, first thing upon arrival we were all assigned jobs.

Josh and Marina had the unappealing task of dismantling the head (toilet) and deep cleaning every small part in order to find a small leak that dripped water onto the bathroom floor. I had to dismantle the steering cables connecting the rudder to the steering wheel and realign the rudder. After accomplishing our tasks we anxiously took showers and disappeared from the “Turdy Ferd”, as we now referred to our boat going ashore in search of food and a long needed brew.

Soon we would discover that Rarotonga was a small simple island. It had two buses that circumnavigated the 32 km island, one labeled “clockwise” and the other “counterclockwise”. Mopeds were the primary source of transportation and around 90 percent of all transportation was composed of mopeds. This was very convenient and Marina and I ended up renting two mopeds for a week that allowed us to explore the entire island and access the best beaches. With Josh riding on the back of one of our mopeds most the time and Dave feeling left out, he too decided to rent a moped for a couple of days. Josh writes, “the worst part was having to share a ride with FD "fat Dave" on a tiny moped which was definitely way to uncomfortable/squashed to be worth getting to the beach on! Turning around made for an interesting ride in itself as Dave was almost falling over with himself on the bike let alone me”. So funny…

Marina had on a previous boat escaped and stayed on Rarotonga for six months and so acted as a good tour guide for Josh and I. Our first night out she ran into a NZ lady that she had known from the time she had lived on the island named Stacy. After inviting us all out to dinner with her date and refusing to allow us to pay instead paying with her date’s credit card, she soon became known as “crazy Stacy”. The night only got crazier and involved bar hopping and dancing at a club occupied by all 18-year-old local kids. It was a lot of fun and again a story that must be told in person.

One morning, I decided to venture to the hills and try to climb to the highest point on the island. The terrain was surprisingly rugged and required that I remain on a very narrow steep ridge overgrown by tree roots. The roots were quite astonishing and created steps that while hiking felt very similar to climbing thousands of stairs. Once on top I came to a small pinnacle with a sign posted stating the potential danger. Though it did seem quite precarious I took off my flip-flops, grabbed the chain bolted to the earth and continued up to the furthest point I could go barefoot. Alone on top of this small peak I remember feeling quite rejuvenated. Needing a break from the crew, the fresh breeze and cool air of a little altitude felt inviting after having been at sea level for so long. From the top, I could sea a full 360 degrees, revealing the beauty of the Pacific from all directions.

Along this hike I crossed the path of dozens of chickens and it became quite apparent during our stay that chickens ruled the island. They must of outnumbered people three to one, whether on top of the mountain or on the beach their presence was known. Aside from chickens and rats, there are no other creatures of any sort; the Cook Islands are completely bare from all life, animals and insects. This was a little awkward especially when hiking through the tropical forests where it seemed a monkey may appear at any moment.

The shipping dock where the “Turdy Ferd” was moored was also the local swimming spot and hang out. Every day when school had finished, kids of every age would retreat to the docks and swim for hours. It was so amusing to watch them climb up the anchor chains of the boats only to get yelled at by unfriendly sailors. Also amusing was there jump of choice, a move not far from a belly flop called the staple. This move, most appropriately done from jumping off the highest point requires the jumper to appear as if he/she is doing a belly flop, then at the last minute touching your hands to your toes, thus the appearance of a staple. Hard to picture I know, either way it looked quite painful and it was hard to understand the appeal of this move.

So many things happened during these travels that it is hard to adequately describe my experiences, but for the family I guess a little description is better than none, at least if your interested. What else… oh, I bought the cheapest guitar I could find, still well overpriced for what it was; it seemed quite necessary for the long passage ahead. The Cook Islands were not as cheap as anticipated and though the food at the market was inexpensive, all other items seemed similar in price if not more than the States.

We also reunited with some friends we had met aboard another sailing yacht in French Polynesia. The captain was Doug an Australian, and crew consisted of Campbell a kiwi, Manu a Panamanian and ...hmmm, I can't remember the ladies name who was also a kiwi but had obtained a very strange accent due to her travels abroad. She had studied physics and the butterfly effect and upon many drunken nights much to my dismay insisted on talking mathematics with me. We soon became good friends with this boat and crew and ended up meeting up with them in the Cooks and Tonga where together we shared many adventures. You will hear their names again once I get to our Tonga adventures…

After provisioning at the local market, and filling up with diesel and water we again were off, next destination Tonga some 800 miles away. With a bundle of banana’s we departed and happily waving goodbye to “Crazy Stacy”, who tried to hitch a ride back to NZ we all seemed elated with our experiences. We then sailed away from land, leaving our experiences far behind with new adventures lying ahead.

Life At Sea...

Actual Date of Events: October

“Once upon a time there was crazy Captain of the infamous pirate ship the Ferdinand who became the most famous Cockroach killer in the South Seas! But that's another story!”

Josh Craig

Not sure of what to expect, land soon disappeared from the horizon and so began my sailing saga. Shortly after we lost sight of land, I recall Josh looking rather green and dashing for the side to reveal explosive green chunks. Fortunately I had come prepared and had expensive and effective seasickness medication. Not needing them myself, Josh placed the magic patch behind his ear as instructed and soon acquired sufficient sea legs. Aside from Josh’s occasional sickness between changing these patches, there were no other incidents of sea sicknesses; that is until our final passage in which the crew and fortitude of our boat became seriously tested, but that I will speak about later.

In order to avoid potentially dangerous situations, it was required that somebody be in the cockpit steering the course and scanning the horizon at all times. Though unlikely, this is necessary in order to avoid colliding with other boats, floating object, or treacherous reef. Apparently it has happened many times that massive shipping boats arrive in harbor to find the sails of boats, similar to the Ferdinand wrapped around their propeller. Not an appealing way to disappear. Dirty Dave also told stories of Whales slamming into sailing boats leaving them nearly inoperable and the number of boats that sink on account of hitting reef every year. Thus, while on one’s watch it is very important to stay alert.

This required that the twenty-four hour day be divided into four shifts. Marina, being the only lady on board had first choice and chose 6-9 am/pm. Dave took 9-12 am/pm of course, leaving the two worst shifts to Josh and myself. Josh took 12-3 am/pm and I was left with the 3-6 am/pm shift. This proved to be a very challenging watch for many reasons. Marina was rewarded with sunsets and many sunrises on her watch, not to mention quality sleeping hours. Dave whose watch was next would begin decently, but when Josh’s hour approached he could be heard yelling, “Josh, Josh, Josh, Josh…” In his nasally voice “your watch asshole”. In Josh’s Blog he writes, “You scan the horizon for any lights of ships or approaching squalls and try to steer the course without letting the forward sail called the jib flap too much. Otherwise an angry naked man will appear to demand what your course is”.

This made it very difficult to sleep and usually I would awaken at 12 am, only sleeping again an hour or two from 6-8am when the sun would graze my face and wake me up. There were benefits however to these ungodly hours in which I was responsible. No distracting, cluttered, bright city lights. No bustling college parties, bars or nightlife. No sirens, barking dogs, or squealing vehicles. No television, radio, Internet or media of any sort. Dead silence. There was something indescribably unique and beautiful, having the ability to escape all of these attributes of life and be alone on deck staring up at the exposed universe. I don’t believe there is anywhere more beautiful to view the stars in complete thought than a clear moonless night in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Also at night is an immaculate display of phosphorescent plankton, which glistens as the boat breaks its way through the sea. Leaning over the side of the boat reveals an impressive show of thousands of neon green lights that flash as if dancing to the sounds of firecrackers; a sight that I do not believe can be fairly described as to its true beauty.

Among the many other beautiful occurrences at night an occasional squall would engulf the boat and the most fascinating change of weather could be observed. It would spark a drastic change from dreadfully rough seas to a completely flat body of water; the stillness of the water only being broken by the torrential raindrops colliding into the pristine calm mirror like water. This interaction would create the most vividly stunning presentation of beauty between the relationship of the rain and sea. It is now clear to me why many sailors never return to their previous lives after having seen and experienced all the beauty of the ocean.

As for the daily routines, we’d eat, sleep and well…hmmm. Aside from the occasional sail change, and weather pending the days were spent reading, attempting guitar, or trying to catch a fish while dragging a line; ultimately pretty lazy days in paradise. The only real potential improvement would be better company, other than that life at sea can be very peaceful.

I’ll leave this chapter with another quote from my fellow mate Josh, whom I feel has a very nice way of revealing the true humor of our journey. “After 5 days in the twilight zone of eat, sleep, and watch we sighted the peaks of Rarotonga [Cook Islands] in the distance to cheers from the crew. None of us had yet succumbed to agoraphobia- the opposite of claustrophobia and none had yet fulfilled Cap'n Dave's prophecy that by the end of the trip we would all be nudists!”

Cruising In French Polynesia…

Actual Date of Events: Early October

Panorama of the Tahiti harbour

Within the week at anchorage in Tahiti many tasks needed to be accomplished in order to prepare our vessel for the time at sea we soon would embark upon. These tasks included cleaning out the engine room, which proved to be a very hot greasy mess; scraping the barnacles from the anchor chain that had not moved in the three months captain DD was hospitalized; and thoroughly cleaning the entire boat interior and exterior checking every detail to ensure everything was in working order. Mostly I enjoyed cleaning the underside of the boat and the propeller since it required long hours swimming with the snorkel. Marina, Josh and I were also responsible for provisioning for our passage to the Cook Islands, which required the shopping and selection of foods needed.

I had some great experiences in Tahiti being able to practice my French and communicate to the locals. I have to mention one funny story that occurred while I had the illustrious job of dismantling and cleaning the oven in order to assure that it operated properly for our voyage. While on the deck of the boat washing the many pieces, four very large young Polynesian women were hanging out on the beach and swimming along the shore. They were very upfront and felt very comfortable shouting at Josh and I from the shore. After no reply from us as we attempted to ignore them, they took it upon themselves to swim the distance from shore to our boat. This turned out to be quite amusing.

When they came near and began climbing up the latter on the back of the boat, captain Dave, Josh and I all looked at each other in amazement. Marina happened to be out at this particular moment and it was unfortunate since she seemed like the only one who might be able to diffuse the situation. As these three large Polynesian women boarded the boat (topless I might add), Dirty Dave insisted on staring at their chests as Josh hid below in the galley. There English was not very good, so it was left to me to try to diffuse the situation with my French. Anyways, it was quite hysterical and I’ll save the rest of the story for another time.

Finally departing Tahiti our first destination was Moorea, an island a day sail away from Tahiti. Upon arrival it was clear that this small island, populated by only a couple thousand people was a much more beautiful island than Tahiti. It was snorkeling here that I saw my first stingray and was able to swim close behind capturing its beauty. We also had a great time exploring the island, and free diving for spider conch shells. Marina made the mistake of leaving her conch on the deck a couple days too long and upon the attempted extraction, which required boiling the shell and skewering the arm, much gagging ensued. The conch filled the boat with such a horrendous smell that I awoke in a cold sweat dashing to the deck for oxygen. In fact I think it was the most sick I felt the entire passage to New Zealand. The shell was immediately hurled overboard.

After spending only a few days in Moorea we were off to the Cook Islands, but first we had to complete the task of filling our water tanks. Since our boat was not equipped with a water maker, we were confined to the 150 US gallons of water that could be held in the tanks. Filling these tanks in Moorea proved to be a challenge, since there were no docks able to supply clean drinking water on the island. Instead it required that Josh and I shuttle fresh water in the two five gallon jugs aboard using the pathetic red sinking dinghy. As you can image this took a great deal of time, 15 trips back and forth using a small hose and a filter on shore that seemed to only trickle.

When we first arrived on shore via the dinghy to seek a water source, we were confronted by what appeared to be a gang of Polynesians. However after some odd interactions they offered us jugs of beer and were very interested in our experiences and life at home. One of the funniest things was their interest in American music and Josh’s reaction. As they would list off American artists, Josh would continually interrupt and list off Canadian artists that he thought they might be familiar with. It was so hysterical and the situation still makes me laugh. It was one of Josh’s most defining Canadian moments on our trip. These teens also told us how they had a local street-fighting ring in this exact location we were at and stated that their “crew” had won against the rivals. They had achieved the rights to the territory and were very proud of this accomplishment, this I also found funny especially since they compared it to the film Fight Club. Regardless, after 15 trips and several jugs of beer with the locals ashore we were drunk and decided to stay one more night.

The locals invited us back later and stated that there was to be a party in the same spot that evening. Excited to speak more French I assured them that I would come ashore again later that evening and party with them. Returning to the boat with our last jugs of water, Marina and Dave seemed jealous that we had consumed so much free alcohol. In fact I think I can recall hearing Dave mumble in his nasally voice, “assholes”, but Josh and I simply laughed it off as usual. After these fifteen trips to shore, the dinghy was nearly sunk, half full of water and was in need of being drained. As I raised the bow to drain the water out the stern plug, I should have been conscious that I was flooding the motor. This was a moment of irritation, as later in the evening when I tried to go back ashore to party I was unable to get the motor started. As a torrential rainstorm began, I refused to give up and tried for an hour in the heaviest rain I’ve ever seen to get the motor started. Meanwhile Dave, Marina, and Josh laughed as I returned a failure, drenching in shame.

The next morning after some very amazing experiences in French Polynesia we departed for the Cook Islands. This passage was around 600 miles and would take us 5 days; averaging roughly 120 miles a day and having a steady wind on the beam the entire sail. It was a surprisingly peaceful passage and a great first introduction to sailing.

The crew and the vessel...

Actual Date of Events: Early October

Having only spoken with the captain via emails, I departed Portland airport with only one bag and with no expectations. After a painful layover in Las Angeles and an excruciating sleeping Spaniard whose head rested on my shoulder the majority of the flight, I arrived in Tahiti.

The temperature was in the 90’s and it was so humid that within the thirty minutes it took waiting for my ride, my shirt had literally melted to my body. As I waited, sitting in the airport I realized that the lady who had been sitting across the isle next to me on my flight, was Marina, the Scottish woman who also would be on our boat. It was quite hysterical that we had sat next to each other and had not spoken a single word our entire flight. I even debated asking her if I could sit in the vacant seat next to her in which she so comfortably lay across sleeping so that I might escape the snoring sleeping Spaniard whose drool steeped my shoulder.

Dave our captain finally arrived and after some difficulties fitting Marina, Dave, and myself along with our things into a small friends car, we were finally off. Dave, or DD “Dirty D” as I later nicknamed him and he soon became known by the crew as, was a 61 y/o Canadian who had been both the captain of delivery and charter boats for some thirty years. He had left the British Virgin Islands, sailed to Panama and had made it to French Polynesia before getting a near deadly staff infection in his foot. Dave had been hospitalized in Tahiti for over two months and had his dinghy stolen by his previous crew leaving him stranded. As I slowly got to know Dirty D, I could understand why his three previous crew had deserted him but these reasons will be explained in due time.


After a short ride, we soon arrived at the harbor and made our way to “Ferdinand” our boat that was anchored out in the free anchorage. Since the Dirty D had his previous dinghy stolen he had recently purchased an official cheap piece of crap and upon my first sighting I knew this man was a cheapskate. The red dinghy that can be seen above had several holes, about two inches of water in it, no motor and two oars. Among the other dinghies on the dock, it had the appearance of a rundown moped parked next to a Cadillac.

As I shuttled first Marina, then Dave to the sailboat, I realized the necessity of obtaining a motor and fortunately Dirty D had already found one to purchase. The next morning I soon realized how my relationship with the captain would unfold when he asked me to go to the ATM and get $500 US dollars to purchase a motor. I did so reluctantly and felt a little strange that my first instructions were to get money for the captain. Clarifying that he would pay me back I did as instructed and paddled nearly a mile in our dinghy to purchase a Yamaha 15 motor from a fellow cruiser.

Just for reference, cruising is a lifestyle. One sails from country to country, living on their boat unemployed. Doesn’t sound so bad does it; typically cruisers consist of the wealthy and I consider their boats to be the RV of rich folk. Ironically, the boat and captain I arrived to were quite the contrary, broke, cheap, and barely getting by.

The final crew, who had arrived the day before was a 21 y/o Canadian by the name of Josh. He can be described as a tall gangly, uncoordinated man who often appears as if he is watching some bird off in the distance. Although he often would amaze me with his ability to be both in a conversation while at the same time having no idea what the conversation was about, it was the friendship between him, Marina and myself that made the journey and captain both bearable and enjoyable. Josh also has a Blog from our trip and to better understand our crew, I’ve inserted his description:

“My new shipmates turned out to be Eli, also known as "Manimal" and Marina the 40 something Scot who is not afraid to tell you she is always right! She also enjoys to party a lot and reminisce about her days in the Caribbean on a party yacht which sold shirts saying "I came I saw I jumped off of the Willy T naked!” which you had to do to get the free t-shirt. And then you have me of course and our Cap'n who upon my arrival told me that some of his previous crew think that "the sun shines out his ass" while others regard him as an "anal prick"! So far he's not proved too popular with the crew who like to imitate his cries of "asshole" and so on in his nasally and annoying voice. So he definitely suffers from a case of Grumpy ol’ man syndrome, which can put a damper on things. He's also a nudist who can be a little shocking in the mornings to wake up to and has a swollen foot to contend with from an old infection, but that's another story.”

The Crew

"Dirty D"

Marina

Josh

Eli

Life on Dirty Dave’s sailboat can be described in few words, cramped and cluttered, with cleanliness consisting merely of salt-water showers. Cramped describes both our eating, sleeping and lounging atmosphere and cluttered describes the fact that Dave had never cleaned his boat out. It looked as if he slept in his office with no clear understanding of organization.

Unfortunately I took no pictures of the inside of our boat, so I will do my best to give a verbal tour. As you walk through into the cockpit and down the steps, you arrive in both the galley and Josh and my bedroom. Our beds were the seats to the table which both folded down into small beds. Depending on the side the boat was heeling, either Josh or I slept, rarely both. At the foot of my bed was the stove, sink and ice chest. It was conveniently positioned so that when Dave would walk past to make his coffee, naked usually, he would graze my feet that overhung off my bunk and into the galley. At the top of Josh’s bed was one head (toilet) and at the base was the chart table. The Stern quarters belonged to the captain, with a separate head (toilet) and the bow quarters belonged to Marina.


After a few rounds of drinks and our first night sleeping on the Ferdinand we all became acquainted and knew immediately that our voyage was certainly going to be interesting and an adventure to be remembered.

And so it begins...

Actual Date of Events: End of September

It is funny how opportunities reveal themselves and the manor in which they become discovered. Never had I thought of sailing as a means of traveling until now. This opportunity has been an experience that I could not even began to adequately describe and I am so thankful. Never have I kept a journal, never have I been good at writing long emails or keeping in touch with family and friends. I hope that through this Blog I am able to share some of my many adventures with those close to me.

And so it begins…
The one thing about myself that I am certain of is my inability to conform to routine. If I remain in one place for too long, I constantly am searching for change, for a new adventure. This is both my biggest downfall as well as my driving force. Though at times it has proven to be a burden, this trait has propelled me to explore and constantly be searching for something new. I accredit this emotion with my decision to sail.

One evening after sailing on a friends boat at Fern Ridge Lake and upon consuming a copious amount of alcohol a discussion ensued about hitchhiking the seas (thank you Darrell, Charlie, and Genie!). That evening when I returned home I sketched the above drawing, realizing the potential of what it truly represented. Within two weeks, after a little research online and without much thought I had booked a one-way ticket to Tahiti, French Polynesia. Soon I would board a 44ft Gulfstar sailboat with an unknown captain and an unknown crew to depart across the Pacific, final destination New Zealand.