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All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise with out the prior permission of Michael Harpur, skipper of Yacht Obsession, or Wendy Gibson both available at the following address. 5 Maple Grove, New Waltham, Grimsby, N.E. Lincolnshire, DN36 4PU, Phone / Fax 01472 823 771.

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Saturday, September 6th; - Laying To Anchor, Maeva Beach, Tahiti.

One day in 1768 a bare-breasted Tahitian girl climbed from her canoe to a French ship under the hot-eyed gaze of four hundred French sailors who had not seen a female for more than six months. She stepped to the quarter-deck where, pausing at a hatchway, she slipped the flimsy cloth pareu from her hips, and stood utterly naked and smiling at the men. Down went the anchor and in that moment the myth of romantic Tahiti was conceived, a paradise of tropical mountains, beaches, fruit trees, and very welcoming beautiful women.

"Like Venus rising from the waves", that was how the naked girl was described by the captain of the ship, Louis Antoine Bougainville, the first Frenchman in Tahiti, who believed he had discovered heaven on earth. "I thought I was transported into the garden of Eden, the abode of Venus, the island of Love". More rousing than the unashamed nakedness, were the sexual practices the crew were to discover. They were of the most unfamiliar kind and to Bouganville this seemed to be an island of exhibitionists. Officers and sailors were invited into the islanders' houses were given food and afterwards the Tahitians "offered them young girls". Neighbours crowded into the house, music was played and the floor was spread with leafs and flowers. The sailors were then encouraged to strip naked and make love to the girls, there and then, under the approving eyes of the islanders. "Here Venus is the Goddess of hospitality, her worship does not permit any mysteries, and every tribute paid to her is a feast for the whole nation". Bougainville's 'Voyage Around The World' (1771) made Tahiti a byword for everything beautiful. Translated into many languages it delighted and inspired, if not stimulated, readers into making the word Tahiti a euphemism for the 'Island Of Love'.

I mentioned in my last Moorea entry that captain Cook visited the islands, as it happened, a few years subsequent to Bougainville to make celestial observations of Venus. Whilst in the islands he made a few observations of a Venus like aspect of the natives as well. In fact he was taken completely aback by the Tahitians' dedication to free, joyous and unsentimental sexuality. Being a true gentleman Captain Cook was shocked by what he saw in Tahiti, and wrote "there is a scale of dissolute sensuality which these people have ascended, wholly unknown to every other nation whose manners have been recorded from the beginning of the world to the present hour, and which no imagination could possibly conceive". On one occasion in Tahiti, in a presentation that was organised by the islanders for the amusement of the foreigners, Cook and some of his men watched a six foot Tahitian man copulate with a fourteen year old girl. Cook noted that neither were embarrassed, indeed he sensed that the girl was skilled in the arts of love. Ironically when Cook went on to die in Hawaii by sad mischance in a scuffle with natives, the catalyst for the disaster could be traced directly back to the syphilis that Bougainville's men infected the Tahitians with. Although that is a long story, which I will not digress into here, I will say that Cook's first mate on the day of his death was the man who made the island a licentious legend by equal, if not fatal, mischance. It was none other than William Bligh whose trip to the island with HMS Bounty in 1788 is familiar to most everyone.

So here we are at last. Anchored in the legendary island of love perhaps not very far from the very spot were the Bounty could have swung to her anchor. The renown island that has managed to colour the world's imagination of the pleasures of the South Sea's; indeed with this in mind, many an old codger, gave me a knowing wink upon departure, saying 'go on ya divil ya'. Well the big question is what is Tahiti like? Is it really as it has been portrayed, the people, the place, everything? The answer to this I am glad to say is absolutely 'yes'. The unfortunate qualification to that unequivocal 'yes' is, two hundred years ago. Now I have to sincerely answer that it is without question one of the least attractive islands we have visited in the Pacific. If you want the holiday of a lifetime most certainly fly to French Polynesia, but pass on straight through the island of Tahiti as fast as you can.

Seen from the sea the prospect that Tahiti offers is magnificent. The peaks and slopes, as is the case of volcanic islands all over the Pacific, are so steep and dark and so thoroughly wicked looking that the coasts by contrast and their pale pretty looking lagoons seem utterly beautiful. There is always a scrap of mist around the peaks on these islands and sometimes a great torn pillow of black cloud. As we approached Tahiti a magnificent billowy white cloud reposed directly upon it and it seemed to at once protect and mimic the island. Though it obscured the vertical roughness of the islands majestic peaks, that we saw from afar whilst making passage to Moorea, it also enhanced the island and gave it an ethereal aspect. Inside and around the island the lagoons are truly very pleasant. Tahiti's original name was Tahiti-nui-i-te-vai-uri-rau 'Great Tahiti of the Many Coloured Waters'. Although our entry was late in the evening and coincided with an unpleasant and protracted squall we were to see the lovely waters later. Underneath the islands dead green volcanoes lie a ring of vivid green and blue waters that are truly beautiful, rippling with fish and the outer reefs have the enormous southern ocean swell continually breaking upon them tossing up a line of pristine white surf. It is all very pleasant from the sea, but once it comes to the island itself, it is seriously disappointing.

Though the island is dramatically beautiful, the population lives entirely on the fringes of its steep inaccessible slopes and so it seems small and utterly crowded. Add to this the fact that nearly 135,000, of the entire French Polynesian population of 190,000, live in Tahiti and one begins to understand the level of build up on the island. The coast is an unbroken stretch of bungalows and villas, that is one enormous attenuated city suburb encircling the entire island. Natural Tahitian houses that blend into the landscape have long since been departed for modern cement and bricks and the overall affect upon the island landscape is utterly awful. If that was not enough many of them have signs reading, Tabu, that needs no explanation, and others Attention Chien Mchant, beware of fierce dog. It is also a sad fact of Tahiti that there are few usable beaches. There are a few attached to the major hotels that are well cared for and a few public beaches that are to be kept clear of. That could unfortunately be said to be the best of it for what we have seen and it certainly does not get better once one arrives in the capital, Papeete.

Papeete buildings border on scruffy, are certainly ill-assorted, and basically could be described as a characterless mass cluttering the lower slopes of the extinct volcanoes, Aorai and Orohena. Though I browsed around many of its streets I could only find one building that I would describe as pleasant and that was the Town Hall that had just been erected. Nothing else was remotely of interest. In fact apart from the city's distinct lack of architectural character the only other singular characteristic that the city has, or town would perhaps better describe it, was that of being utterly traffic-choked. This probably was the most awful aspect of Papeete, the endless roar and fight for survival with traffic. It was interminable and the island seems to be one big circular speedway that everyone seems to want to race a vehicle around. One could easily have to wait five minutes to cross the road and even at that it was a deed not to be undertaken by the faint hearted.

Many yachts tie up alongside along the town quay but upon entry we took just one look at the maddening traffic roaring past directly in front, hard over went the helm and we took off as fast as we could. Hence, as can be noted by the above title, we anchored five miles south west of Papeete in Maeva Beach and take the truck into town for our business. The truck incidentally, which is literally a truck converted into a bus by erecting a wooden carriage on the back, is however the best deal on the island which is frighteningly expensive. A dollar will whip you about the island and the vehicles appear frequently. For anyone who follows in our wake come straight to Maeva Beach is my advice. In fact I would say sail right past Tahiti, but one has to complete customs formalities here and that is an experience one will never forget I guarantee. However this I will discuss later, first I have got to get back to my diatribe on Tahiti. Now that I have laid to rest the notion of a verdant paradise I should turn to discuss those willing women that of course are at the heart of the Tahiti fantasy.

Over the past two centuries I am afraid those legendary erotic women seemed to have disappeared along with the beautifully verdant island and fruit laden trees. Not, I might add, that it matters one jot to me for I, am almost a married, but certainly a very happy man. Yet for those, who dream of such things about Tahiti, I have to say keep dreaming, it certainly does not exist here. It seems axiomatic that as soon as any place gains a reputation for being sensual paradise it goes to hell and Tahiti had two hundred years to collapse into the abyss. These type of early descriptions of Tahiti attracted two types of man to the island, both were extreme fanatics and equally extreme polar opposites. The first were licentious adventurers eager to exploit the delights of the islands of love (of which the name Gauguin springs to mind). Yet far more detrimental of all were the second, the missionaries determined to cloth and convert the islanders to Christianity.

Both have left a distinct mark on the fair featured native islanders of Tahiti and reportedly most all Polynesia. They have in fact driven the natives to the complete opposite end of the spectrum and made them utterly inviolate. Indeed so much so that one has to be careful not to bump into them for offence might be taken. The native girls are completely chaste in Tahiti, there is little or no public affection and as a rule they are exceedingly decently clad. In fact here lies the irony, if Bouganville returned today the only bare breasted women he would meet would be French tourists on the exclusive Hotel beaches. The clock has gone full circle. Sorry boys, Paradise scores zero, hell scores ten, keep your money in your pockets and don't fly to Papeete. Even worse for those who have been here and indulged themselves somewhat downtown there is a terrible shock in store have they already not discovered.

The night streets are littered with Polynesian prostitutes, strutting their stuff, flirting coquettishly with each passing man and just walking as if they were not going anywhere. This is perhaps the one thing that Papeete is famous for in the pacific, the level of prostitution late at night. Yet despite this being the oldest profession in the world, and the fact that it has somehow become overly buoyant business in Papeete, one can say defacto that so chaste are the native ladies here, that you will not ever find a single native Tahitian female in the business. Nor will you find girls from any of the neighbouring islands, it is just not the case. This of course begs the question where do all these shady ladies come from. This I will answer but I should first give one word of warning. If any man who availed of such services in down town Papeete should chance to read this I would advise him to stop reading right now, to skip the next paragraph and take up reading from there on.

The answer to this conundrum lies in a particularly strange Re-re custom that is prevalent in Tahiti. This is that the first born of the family is claimed by the mother as their personal helper. From that point on they become the second woman of the house and help bring up the rest of the children acting as a second mother. The unfortunate thing about this custom is that it does not matter if the first child happens to be a boy or a girl, they are given the role of mothers helper regardless. Hence if first born happen to be a girl all is well, and if they happen to be a boy all is well also, the latter are brought up as a girl from day one and are known as Re-re. They do everything as a girl, are treated as a girl by society. Hence from a very young age they are seen as a girl wear only girls clothing and behave as girls. It is unfortunately the Re-re that singularly hold true to the licentious past of Tahiti. By consequence of this strange custom Papeete is the centre of transitive prostitution in the world. Paradise, minus ten, Hell, ten more bonus points.

So that is Tahiti for you, a sorry mess by my reckoning. I guess it would best be described as the armpit of French Polynesia with Papeete being its epicentre. However as I am sure I have mentioned we were forewarned and thankfully our expectations were so very low we could not have been disappointed. Yet despite this there was one single encounter that completely surprised us, if not winded us and left an indelible black mark on our visit to Tahiti.

This was with a man whom I will call here Tahiki, alias Michael Jackson, Pox Face, Power Freak, Merde-Head, F**k-wit and many other names that I would be pressing the limits of decency to set down on paper. Tahiki was the man in charge of the Gendarme (Police cum Emigration) that dealt with the clearance of yachts. He was a most unpleasant Polynesian man, which is rare, and is highly distinctive for two reasons. Firstly he had a rather unappealing skin pigmentation problem. It meant his lower face was half pink splotches and half brown thereby the former of the exemplary listed names were acquired. However despite this rather salient characteristic it was a mere bagatelle by comparison to his other highly distinctive personal nature which earned him the rest of the example alias' listed above. Tahiki was the most gruff, obtuse and utterly intransigent man I believe I have ever met. To briefly explain our experience with him I need to go back a few months.

When we entered French Polynesia we were not asked to pay the much talked about 'bond by the border officials. This bond, or caution as it is known in French, is a sum of over a thousand dollars per head to be held by Polynesian Police until we departed the group of islands. Then upon a proper departure it would be returned to us. If however we should not depart the island group the money would be used to deport us. Hence the bond was a security the government took to make certain one departed the islands and if not, that they would not endure the costs of doing it forcibly. Tourists are not asked for the bond as they have a return ticket to there point of departure from the island group. This in fact was the other option to placing the 'bond' buying a one way ticket out of the country to satisfy the police. Most yachts men find this, of course, an anomaly, as it was obvious we would be going as long as we did not sink the vessel. In addition to this it was rather annoying that French nationals were not required to pay it.

The worst part about it was the way the bond was handled, and I speak here of the 'bond' as buying a one way ticket home was not a viable option for yachtsmen. Normally the money had to arrive from ones national bank, a bank fee, in dollars or pounds and you had to exchange it into French Polynesian Francs to pay, a bank fee, then the bank held it for you whilst you were in the country, for a large bank handling fee. When it came to refunding the sum on exit, it was in French Polynesian Francs cash only, which you had to transfer back into dollars to repatriate, a bank fee, and then repatriate to your home account, involving a bank fee. In-between and during the time one spent in French Polynesia the Polynesian banks enjoyed some handsome interest on the money they charged you a healthy handling fee to hold for you. The bond hence was a very expensive, and cumbersome paperwork nightmare for all save the banks. Many European Community court cases were won as we crossed the Atlantic. If French citizens did not have to pay this bond no other European citizen should and the results seem to have made there mark in Atuona. There no European citizen was asked to pay the bond. Hence every European said yahoo when they ceased to charge it in Atuona upon entry. They did not say yahoo however when they met Tahiki.

Tahiki was really a strange guy and totally at odds to the whole Polynesian race, in fact wildly so. For some odd reason he just wanted to enforce any trivial paperwork technicality that could frustrate a yacht clearing out with an absolute vengeance. It seemed to be his complete mania something that perhaps bordered on a fetish from what I experienced and have heard from each person that has been unfortunate enough to meet him. He truly broke the hearts of most anyone who had dealings with him and left everyone utterly terrified of him. This is with good reason too I might add. One yacht called Scoots that I met the skipper of had an entertaining time with Tahiki. The last time I met Scoots the slightly arrogant skipper had boasted to me that he had never cleared in anywhere along the route and was not concerned about doing so. The perfect candidate for Tahiki, we heard he had the book thrown at Scoots for this. Then they searched the yacht to try get something more to stick on him. There they could only find four extra one litre cartons of wine aboard that were above what he declared. Not much you might say but they fined him five hundred dollars per litre. A grand total of $2,000 for wine that cost him a few dollars in Panama.

This was the only boat that I was aquatinted with who were up to tricks that had cleared with him. I had briefly met some New Zealanders with Scoots who had said they were not clearing in either. It seems they may not have got clear of him either as I was told of a boat full of New Zealanders being escorted from Moorea by armed Navy Boat to Tahiki for not having bond slips. Yet this is the thick end of the wedge and it might lead you to believe that Tahiki swooped down on only those that deserved him. No this is far from the case Tahiki swooped down on every poor soul that stepped in front of him. Most yachts men make it there forte to handle their paperwork with due care and diligence but scarcely anyone could make themselves Tahiki proof. Tahiki could find the remotest detail that he could escalate to crisis in most everyone's case and by consequence most all found Tahiti clearance a trauma beyond description. Everyone he touched he turned their lives to hell and so it was with us on Obsession.

To cut a long story short we had not paid the bond as it was our understanding that it was no longer required of us being European citizens. However when we came to clear out, Tahiki decided he wanted us to pay the bond before he would perform the paperwork. Let me just clarify that. We went to Tahiki to get our papers stamped that we were leaving French Polynesia. But Tahiki however would not allow us to leave French Polynesia unless we went to the bank and deposited a thousand dollars each as a bond to guarantee we would leave French Polynesia. Once we had been away to set this all up, and by that I refer to that the description set out above that had paperwork and bank fee as leitmotifs, we then could return to him under terms that were to his liking. That is with a piece of paper that said we had paid French Polynesia a bond that secured them in case we should not leave French Polynesia. Once he received this he would stamp it, and our passports, that we could leave French Polynesia. Then we would walk across the street and go through the second half of the procedure, that again had bank fee as its byword, for as we were leaving French Polynesia we could get our bond back. If we did not place the bond, Tahiki would not stamp our exit on our passports. Hence we could not leave French Polynesia as we desired to do. By consequence we were then eligible to be deported from French Polynesia, that of course they would not do, because we had not paid the bond and they had no finance available to them to deport us.

That is a little complex and I can perhaps summarise as follows. An exasperating expensive piece of paperwork madness that only should be part of a Joseph Heller novel called 'Catch 22' where one should not bring reason into the equation for one microsecond. It is the last thing you should find in a country that targets itself as being totally dependant on building itself into a tourist nation. It got worse, as he tried to bog us down in the paperwork the 'Catch 22' madness fell back on him when he applied every letter and jot of the small print. In order to get the bond organised it would take a couple of days and that would put us over the three months standard visa that was issued to us. This could not be extended because as he pointed out we must apply a month before the visa expires for any such extension. A royal crisis ensued and Tahiki sat back with fiendish pleasure thinking how he was going to maximise our difficulties. By good fortune another yachtsman came in and he set to work on him also. Grabbing the bull by the horns whilst on the hop, we saluted Tahiki and said that we would leave this muddle till the next day and take it up where we left off. This he happily agreed to setting his teeth into the German yachtsman who had a backbone as rigid as a broom handle and manic looking eyes. I sneaked him a departing glance and the protracted look he gave me was in total accord, this was his second helping with Tahiki and it was not going to be fun.

The next day I had with Tahiki it got worse beyond all my realms of imagination. Somebody called from the British Consul and gave him stick about his behaviour and guess who he thought it was had complained about him? Yes he, of course, thought it was me. Hence he was going to take me down the line and bust my ass for anything he could. Of course I did not know what was going on behind the scenes when he greets me in with an unsavoury sneer, full regalia (medals, lanyards and all), revolver, witnesses the works. This was getting crazy and to make things worse the guy was truly paranoid that I showed up alone. Jayne, the patience of a saint, found the man appalling and could not face him again and I said I would go alone.

It must have taken me an hour of intense negotiations to find out what was at the bottom of his sudden and brutal drive to crucify me. It was just in time I might add for he had halfway completed his report file at this stage for the yacht to be impounded. When he let it slip that he had his shoulder felt by the embassy it took me another hour to convince him that I was not the man who had ratted on him. What was running against me was the fact that Jayne had not come with me and so paranoid was he that he thought she was waiting in the British Consul to receive the outcome of my second meeting for the signal to set the dogs on him. In the end the only way I could clear it all up was to get him to call the Embassy and see who it was had made the complaints. When he did this and checked that Jayne was not there at least I was back on a level footing but now he was dead against me as he had made a fool of himself in front of me and he was going to brave his hard route out to the end now doubly. Really the more I think about it the more I think it was all a bizarre movie that makes no sense. A nightmare that your are running down an endless corridor to find a door that will not open or one that you find you are on a ladder falling backwards and you grasp at straws to save yourself. Bizarre.

There are some hours in your life that you are scintillatingly brilliant. I, on the whole, like to think I am of modest demeanour and would never say for a moment that I have been worthy of the title brilliant under any circumstance. Yet for some odd reason the artist trait that thrives in utter madness, the Romanticist part that loves to sing anthems to truth, justice and not the American O.J. way, the salesman part that can be utterly convincing, and a part that awakens in complete desperation, all came together in the final half hour I had before Tahiki. In that thirty minutes I was for the first time in my life scintillatingly brilliant. You might think I am singing my own praises here, but I assure you had you gone through what I did with this man and won you would sing your own praises too. For some unknown reason, in a full on Liam Neeson big-screen kind of way, I convinced Tahiki who wanted to impound us, fine us for every cent imaginable and put us practically in jail, to let us off; all papers signed stamped and sealed down to customs clearance on a duty-free diesel fill. Not alone did I manage this but he even saw me to the door in the end, all toothy smiles, hand shakes 'have a nice trip and be careful, tell your fiancee I was asking for her' and all that.

The ending was as mad as the start and yachts men who knew him could not believe it as they reckoned we were going to walk the plank. I jest, not Roland and Lisa of Andromeda knew the details of our case and had dealt with Tahiki with utter and absolute exasperation on another issue. When they saw our dinghy tied along side the pontoon all night that very evening as we were hitting the tiles, they were certain Tahiki had us down town in the slammer. It probably will go down as one of the most bizarre episodes in the whole trip to date, one of those you would have to have been there to understand and for those who follow a good reason to pray each night for a rotation in management of immigration in Tahiti.

I depart the whole saga for more interesting things, yes, that night out hitting the tiles I brushed past very briefly there. When we entered and had a quick look at Papeete we were stricken to see an enormous yacht depart the island just as we arrived. This was none other than Eclipse herself and all the crew we had met in Atuona. Too bad, but to set the balance right we had some good fortune as well. We recognised immediately three yachts alongside in Papeete, the Beaslies. Better still Peter, who was crewing with Charlie, had a brother in town that imported most every drop of foreign alcohol into French Polynesia and he was the man to be connected to. Budweiser were doing a promotion for 'Budweiser Ice' in a night club and being part of the family us two bludgers were 'in like Flynn'. A great night was had by all and particularly the Beaslie boys. You see they are all utterly in love with Jayne, and rightly so I might add as she is a utterly loveable, as Charlie senior said 'they could happily spend the rest of their days just looking at her'. Peter, Charlies crew man, is as bad and has come to the point where he asks me for permission to give Jayne ear rings as a little present. Of course I could not refuse on any grounds but I did feel it was far too generous of him all together. In fact generosity of spirit and everything would perhaps be the single descriptive word for them all, they are such a great bunch. It is so good to have met them and with them in New Zealand I am sure life bodes well for our stay there.

The Beaslies had some sad tidings that I should just briefly mention, a problem of the Tuamotus that is particularly dangerous. One has to be careful of shifting winds whilst in the lagoons on anchor. A yacht called Tarizam that the Beaslies knew and just departed Anaho bay on the day we arrived was caught unawares by a wind in Fakarava and swung up onto a reef. Not having a working engine they were under pressure to get the boat off and she was lost in the heel of the hunt. Charlie met the owner again in Papeete where he relayed the whole story to him. He said the owner told him of all that happened without once looking him in the eye, instead the man issued every syllable looking alternately at the ground to the right and left of where Charlies feet stood. It was sad, yet from what we experienced of the Tuamotus you would sincerely be asking for trouble going there without a reliable and powerful engine, in fact you would be mad. However there is one problem we did have before departing the whole topic that I should mention before I forget as I am sure I did not do so in the last entry. This is the problem of anchor chain wrapping around coral heads in lagoons.

The Beaslies had a stint in the Tuamotus whilst we were there and we both experienced some shifting winds. When this happens yachts are inclined to wrap there anchor chains around coral heads and suddenly their scope disappears and the chain becomes bar tight as they continue to wrap. The end result of this is really bad news as Tarloch told us in Raingiroa many boats broke chains, windlasses and deck fittings and often ran aground as a result. It is a serious problem and the Beaslies even got caught yet we were lucky on Obsession and had no problem. The best way of avoiding this is to hang a fender or two upon your chain to raise the scope of chain off the bottom to preventing tangling. Also it is good to have a length of nylon line attached via a chain hook with plenty of slack on the chain where the line takes it up. This allows for some elasticity if the chain should wrap and provides a one off weak link that the boat can survive. Finally it is advisable not to have all of your chain out. Should it wrap tight then you have some scope to loosen it up and work it free, otherwise it could be the 'bitter end' and hooking a fender on. That I think is enough on that subject.

The final thing I have to say about Tahiti is that Christmas came here. After many months we finally got our collected mail all delivered to us via a DHL parcel. Mail is very difficult to handle when cruising out of the way places. It is next to near impossible to predict where and when you will go with any precision and nearly half of all mail sent to yachts never is received. Hence Jayne's mother has been ever so good collecting it all up for us and arranging expensive courier drops. Every four months a big parcel of it comes out via DHL, which provides an excellent service almost within a few days to most any place in the world. This time she really went to too much expense as she included all sorts of gifts and presents that cost her a fortune to send. Yet having said this it was so good for us to receive it. After months of conjecture we are now well abreast of the goings on of our friends and the way of things at home. With the exception of a brief note, in the Marquaises, I had not heard a word from my family at home in six months and it was truly great to get abreast of everything and to know that all is very well. It was indeed like Christmas opening the parcel. All the build up and excitement to the big day, then getting it safe and sound-unbelievable, the big opening of it and seeing what's there, lots and lots of letters hours of wild fun. Then at the end the two of us were like two tired worn out kids in the evening, after devouring all that had hit us at once to total overwhelmed us. Yet a moment never to forget.

On that note I will say goodnight and ponder on new adventures for all our family and friends at home. For they never got up to half as much as we had invented for them in our quiet moments during our long sea voyages.

Tuesday, September 23rd; - Laying To Anchor, Apooiti Bay, Raiatea.

At last we have departed Tahiti and are back visiting pleasant and interesting islands once again. Since my last entry we have laid a hundred sea miles in our wake and visited four more islands of the Society group. These are the two islands enclosed in the reef of Ile Huahine, Huahine Nui and Huahine Iti, and the islands of Tahaa and Raiatea again enclosed by the same coral reef twenty five miles further west. All of these islands have been characterised by a singular and most welcome trait. That of having the most pleasant and restful anchorages we have ever been to.

I spoke in great length of the feeling of repose that overcame us in Oponohu Bay, in Moorea perhaps the most perfect anchorage we have ever dropped the CQR into. Yet the tranquil waters are leitmotif throughout the Society group. I have never been fond of the word reef as in general I felt it was a euphemism for yacht-wrecker, yet after sailing these waters I could get fond of the term once I see it upon charts. Once an island, or in fact a pair of islands or more as is predominantly the case in the Societies, is surrounded by a reef the waters around the shores are as placid and as calm as any small lake on a still day. Hence one is assured of a beautifully still anchorage no matter where you should set down for the night, and you are particularly guaranteed such in a sheltered bay or little nook away from the prevailing winds.

These islands of the Societies abound in such spots and with the protective reef surrounding them, they are a yachting heaven. Of course the Tuamotus have the reefs that break up the ocean swell too but they do not have the volcanic islands with nice bays to tuck into once inside and, worse still, without it they often have such a large lagoon as to allow a horrid fetch so that swell can develop inside the lagoon itself. A particularly nasty example of this I might add was in mighty Rangiroa. If you got caught at the wrong side of it when the wind kicks up there is little difference from the ocean itself. Also the passes here have been exceptionally easy by comparison to the Tuamotus and perhaps that has something to do with the island dominating the entire centre of the reef. In fact the one solitary point I would also like to make about the Societies are that they are so well marked for navigation. Most all are not alone marked with buoys, pillars, and excellent large transits, as well as the waterways inside, but more often than not they are even lit up. A lot of people speak of the French involvement in Polynesia with great distaste, but I for one, as a yachtsman, hope they never pull out. In all my travels I have never seen a nation mark and maintain their sea coast for coastal navigation as well as the French do and it is a tradition that they have brought with them to their colonies. Hence these islands make for a perfect cruising ground and offer some of the best anchorages we have come by yet on all of our travels. However as is always the case with the sea you are never perfectly safe and things can always go to the dogs when you least expect it.

This in fact did happen to us in Huahine when it kicked up all hell for a few days. There is a wind called the Marabou here that comes about every so often in this season that packs a hell of a punch. Although we were on the lee side of the island anchored off the little village called Fare, we were getting shots of Beaufort seven to eight over the deck. As we were not in the worlds best anchorage there and close to the reef it was not at all pleasant nor conducive to restful sleep at night. Then the swell came up causing waves to come over the reef. Though this did not cause a swell on the leeward side of the island it fired up a wild race of water to come rushing around the island. When we turned on our instruments to monitor the wind we found Obsession was making a speed of two nautical miles through the water on anchor and that put paid to it; we were not riding winds like that and a current to boot another night, it was time to move. The Gendarme were about and when they came to us we smiled saying the world was all well and we couldn't be happier, and they headed off again, we did not know what business they were upon nor did we want to get into any lengthy conversation with them for reasons I will mention later. However trying out another anchorage we got wind of what they had said to other yachts who were making the best of it in another anchorage not far South of where we were and not much better in the conditions as it happens. The word was that it was going from fresh to frightening and they recommended Bay Du Bourayne, an enormous protected bay down between the islands and out of the current, for the night. This sounded good and off we went to ditto.

Bay Du Bourayne as it turned out was excellent and you could weather a cyclone there in complete comfort, the Marabou was not in the remotest discernible. If anyone should follows us and have plenty of anchor chain for a deep anchorage definitely spend a night there for it is truly lovely. To make it even better for us it was a special day aboard, Jayne's twenty fifth Birthday.

As I mentioned earlier we had just received our courier parcel in Tahiti and there were many presents and cards held over till the big day and these really made it for her. Jayne had a ball opening them all, and she got some very nice things from her much too generous family and relatives. Also I found another great usage for the ubiquitous palm trees of the Pacific. With a little bit of time you can wrap presents superbly by weaving the leaves together, not unlike a basket around the gift, and when it is fresh and green it looks great. Inside my leafy parcel were two sarongs, or pareo as they are known here, which were in truth a gift to myself as she really looks stunning when she wears these. However to get the balance right and not benefit entirely from the day myself I also arranged with the help of Jayne's mother for a harmonica to be delivered to us. Jayne was bewitched by the instrument when she heard a yachtsman play one aboard Obsession and hence I got the idea. A few moments after the vile little thing was placed in her mouth and I had christened the instrument squealer, so that more than made up for the pleasure I had out of the sarongs. However to my utter amazement she got the swing of the instrument almost straight away and it is sounding fine now, but for other yachtsmen who follow do not allow somebody to come aboard a small vessel with a view to learning such an instrument, it is less than wise.

So all in all the day went down very well especially when we arrived in Bay Du Bourayne. In fact so happy were we in finding the most perfect anchorage in the island and were fixed up for a peaceful night after a couple of wild ones we thought it seasonable to uncork a handsome gin and tonic each, and perhaps a few more. In fact we got a bit roasted if truth be known. In the midst of this we had a great night, a splendid meal and I got to scribbling these few lines of poetry under the influence.

THE WEALTHIEST MAN

And from my life I have come to see,

It is money after all, that is the sixth sense.

For without its ability to bequeath liberty,

All the other five have a lean existence.

So it is, it is true, yet I now find life is far above,

When from my poorest pockets I take my hands.

For in each moment, that I enfold yours my love,

The wealthiest man of all, beside you stands.

To Jayne, to another twenty five

years of our obscene wealth.

So passed Jayne's birthday and a very memorable one at that, Marabou included. After exploring the southern island of Huahini Iti the following day, we departed these islands for Raiatea a voyage of just over four hours. It was on this trip that I had rather a heart rending moment.

About two hours into the voyage Jayne was asleep and I was reading. Earlier I am sure I have mentioned that when you read on the sea it is truly a lovely experience. There is nothing else impinging upon your imagination and you are totally and exclusively absorbed by the pages of the story that you can give yourself completely to. If this would not be enough I could not think of a better environment to read Daniel Defoe's 'Robinson Crusoe'. The novel, although set on a fictitious island near Trinidad, was based on the true life experiences of Alexander Selkirk who went ashore on the uninhabited island of Juan Fernandez in the Pacific in 1704. Hence reading it all in this environment and having a great familiarity with all the places he voyaged to before being marooned made it a truly wonderful read. Yet I would say that this book of great vintage would equally be an excellent read anywhere so well written is it and so strong is the character of the writer. Anyway, I had just come below decks after my regular five minute, three sixty degrees check of the horizon for other vessels and found nothing. A few moments later and I arrived at the part where Robinson discovered a human foot print in the sand of his island, a visit by cannibals. The text read 'it was at that moment my very heart shrank and my blood ran chill'. At the precise moment I could not think of a better description for the feeling that overwhelmed me.

When I say a person can get engrossed in a book whilst sailing I meant it but not to the level I experienced it that moment laying reading there on the bunk. For as I read those words I heard the roar of a human voice and the drone of an engine just what sounded a mere distance of feet from the side of the yacht. My heart bounded in my chest and seemed to hurtle out through the companion way like a cannon ball carrying the rest of my body with it. By the time the book, that I had departed in mid air, had hit the floor I was upon the tiller ready to swing our small ship away from the colliding vessel coming down on us as best I could. There to my great relief and equal bewilderment I saw two enormous jet skies had just flew past us heading towards Huahine and six more roared by a few feet away on either side in the next few seconds. All were driven by Polynesians in full waterproofs and as I regained my faculties I guessed they must have been delivering the vessels between islands. Seeing us they thought they would liven up their rather lumpy ride by driving by and say hello so to speak; the term 'drive by' being very much operand here Of course after the previous days of the Marabou there was a sea running making it impossible for me to see such little vessels until they were on top of us - not that I would expect in all my life to see such play things in deep blue waters especially when it was well crested with white caps. As I observed them return into oblivion in another few moments astern I said to myself 'there goes the biggest single fright I have ever had on this entire trip' and tried to quell my heart that had taken on the aspect of a set of tappids in a formula one racing engine.

Well that's all to date except I did mention that I would return to the topic of our reluctance to get into protracted conversations with the Gendarme lately. This is for the simple reason that they might ask the very relevant question, 'you have cleared out of French Polynesia why are you still here?' This is of course a very sticky question and by an interesting turn of events I was amazed to find our wind vein malfunctioning when we were setting out from Tahiti. Our robotic self-steering device called 'Robert' threw a fit and collapsed for a while on the way to Raingiroa and hence could not be relied upon to meet the requirement and we truly needed the mechanical one to function reliably. Upon a thorough examination and strip down of the wind vein having reached the first available island on route, being Huahine, I found Joshua was in need of a stainless steel welding repair. This we are getting carried out here in the adjacent, and indeed I should mention excellent, boatyard here in Raiatea, the next island on route. Of course when we get it all back together we will have to do a quick test run as far as the spectacular Bora Bora. This will be the next and final island along the cruising yachts visiting circuit had we have been here cruising instead of being driven by mechanical failure to endure against our will.

So if the Gendarme should ask I can say two words that practically account for half my French dialect, for apart from these two words I know only bonjour and perhaps an interesting one in the circumstance that I demonstrably show no comprehension of, au revoir. The words I refer to here are force majeure. For had our self steering had not broken we would have gone past all these lovely islands. Sure we would Tahiki! Honestly!

Tuesday, October 7th; - Laying To Anchor, Off Bora Yacht Club, Bora Bora.

I look at the date of the last entry and simply cannot believe how quickly two weeks have passed without a single entry, where have they gone? I know for sure at the end of this trip I will be sitting down considering the same question, where have the years gone and what have I done. Then the same answer will spring to mind as it does for the past couple of weeks; we were having a great time, in great places, with great people. Most noteworthy of these was to meet up with old friends on Na'maka and we made great friends with a yacht called Chiara with a Mexican man and his Italian wife and two especially lovely children. We also made new friends on a New Zealand boat called Tere Moana who were to cause an interesting turn of events and both Jayne's and my most nervous moment of the trip yet. More about that later first I return back to Raiatea and more particularly the Northern island of Tahaa.

Before departing this island we returned to Baie Apu, where we first anchored upon entering the group, and then spent our last night in these islands in Baie Hurepiti. Both bays are simply wonderful but I have to say the latter was particularly so. Although we only spent one night in the bay we did have the opportunity to have a long walk around the unsealed road that fringed the bay and found it a lovely and particularly scenic walk. It is certainly a place to stop particularly if you can pick up some moorings there as we did and this turned out to be of great benefit. For the weather here has been very unsettled.

Yes grey days in paradise, unimaginable but we were indeed experiencing a spell of bad weather. Whilst in Raiatea we had not just a grey day but rainy too where there were intermittent heavy showers pretty much continuously. We could not believe it and felt very much cheated that we had a rainy day in our almost unbroken run of three hundred and sixty five days of sunshine. It was a shock and we were quite miffed. Time to leave; I am sure Tahike had the old voodoo doll shaped as a yacht and was pouring water over it. Then we went to Tahaa and it stopped raining though it was still grey. Yet we were happy to leave the rain behind. However in the fjord-like valley of Baie Hurepiti we found to our surprise we had nasty shots of winds that came out of nowhere and just buffeted the yacht from side to side and often sent us zinging about in circles. Although our short passage from Baie Apu to there was characterised by only having a single sail up running down wind around the corner at great speed, the severity of the sudden williwaws surprised me. The anchorage was so deep as to place our scope of chain under duress and we were quite happy to be on moorings to face the shots. This made us reasonably comfortable in the face of things and I say reasonably comfortable because you never really know how good moorings are until you dive on them or take them up for inspection. Tahiki must have been blowing on his voodoo model we concluded. The next day, after a not so wonderfully restful night with the williwaws, we headed out to sea for Bora Bora and were just about to find out how much he was blowing on the model.

Exiting the pass outside Baie Hurepiti, which again was excellently marked, God bless the French, we were about to get a real taste of the good old Irish sea sailing conditions. It was most unpleasant and we found that we had a good six to seven blowing which accounted for the severity of the williwaws in Baie Hurepiti. Worse still there was an unnatural sea rolling beneath it all that gave such a terrible motion. Jayne decided very quickly that it was not doing her sea feet any good at all so she went down below and rested. Then down came the rain and it really rained, Irish style, and when it arrived visibility fled. With the highly unsettled sea which was a function of it being in a channel between the two islands, the lack of visibility and the winds being so hard astern I thought it prudent to stand there and hand helm for fear of damage or being surprised by a reef. Five hours of that and I felt as if I had been transported back to Ireland save for the cold. What the hell is happening to paradise I wondered, has Tahiki completely mastered voodoo?

Well no as it happens Tahiki had nothing to do with the conditions, El Nio has. It is an El Nio year this year and most yachts are running for their lives from the tropical Pacific come the southern summer, us included and in fact many have gone already as it is going to be hell here. The El Nio is messing up the weather system already and hence this most unusual spate of weather we are having including the suspect Marabou which we had in Huahine - this was an El Nio affect as there is no rain we found out with the Marabou. However although this weather rather took from a pleasant voyage and entrance into Bora Bora, the pass is only two hundred metres from the major volcanic peak that dominates the island yet we could not see it so poor were the conditions, it did however provide me with a most spectacular sight. Coming near the island the low lying rain clouds took on the aspect of the greeny lagoon of Bora Bora and the affect was spectacular. The grey sky that concealed the entire island took on a ethereal greeny hue that I have never ever seen before and even after standing in the rain for hours on end I found it most amazing. It was like something out of the movies. So much so that I urged Jayne out of her berth to have a look through the porthole. This she did and found it unusual although she was not really interested in greeny hues as she had been enduring one in her tummy for the past few hours. However all ended well when we dropped the hook off the lovely and most friendly of all yacht clubs and let the rest of the wind do its worst and the rain too. We were in Bora Bora, the most highly vaulted of all the islands of the Societies and our last stop in French Polynesia.

James Michener is credited with describing Bora Bora as the world's most beautiful island and when you see an aerial photograph of a Pacific island it is most likely to be Bora Bora - check if it's pentagonal, if so it is Bora Bora. The beauty of this island owes much to the varied hues of the waters here. Truly they are something to be seen. The island abounds in greeny blue opalescent waters in an extensive lagoon that surrounds the island's central, thrusting peaks. In fact to call Bora Bora an island, akin to most all the Societies, is a mistake as it is really two primary islands with the occasional tiny little island around them especially at passes.

In fact we spent a most enjoyable day on one of these tiny little islands that was truly spectacular called Motu Tapu. The photographs I took of Jayne in the Marquaises in Hana Tefau turned out to be a great success and we opted for another day in the life of a 'super model' and photographer. Although it turned out to be a windy day we could not have picked a better venue of this little island of Motu Tapu. The island is private and belongs to a major holiday club and it is not permissible to go there without paying them an exorbitant fee. Frankly what ever they charge would be worth it as the surrounding waters are spectacular and the view to the main island breathtaking. However the day we chose to visit was on Sunday because of information provided by a Hawaiian yacht unusually with an Irish name called Fianna. We were most upset to find landing on a Sunday that there was nobody there to pay the exorbitant fee to and we were stuck with the whole island to ourselves. Fingers crossed on the photographs again.

The island of Bora Bora itself we found less extraordinary than its waters. Although truly lovely it was not spectacularly so and had in particular that feeling of being a very tame domesticated member of the Society group that is aimed at tourism but not as yet really organised as befitted Polynesia. What was particularly interesting however was a tour up into the hills with a fourteen year old boy. The boy called Ras'i, who looked every inch a young Brad Pit, was off Fianna and we made fast friends with him for he was truly a bright and lovely young man. Whilst up to some touring he had come across some guns in the hills and we went with him to have a look. Bora Bora I believe was the centre of US operations against the Japanese during World War II and they had upwards of two thousand troops on the island for a time. Believe me the island is small when it comes to that number of people and such an enormous presence of men and associated war materials would just dominate the whole island. Arriving at the crest of a hill we were amazed to see the guns Ras'i had discovered for they were monolithic and their excellent condition spoke volumes of the quality of materials that went into their manufacture. Finding such lost historical items as these in the wilds of the mountains is always a treat. Yet it was not these guns of Bora Bora, nor the magnificent opalescent waters, nor the savage island peaks that will stand firm in our memories of our visit here until the day we die. It is something very far removed and I now return to the New Zealand boat Tere Moana, that I mentioned in the first paragraph, the crew of which were the catalyst to the aforementioned tense moment.

We visited Tere Moana by chance blunder one afternoon. When ever an Irish tricolour is seen behind a yacht the dingy is planing over post haste and it's a big 'Howzitgoen ya divils ya' from the gunwales a second later. This I had been encouraging in Jayne of late as we have seen so few Brits, it is amazing how few they are here. We saw the ensign of Tere Moana from a distance in Tahaa and said 'Brits we should go over and visit'. However at the time I was patching dinghy, patchwork being more the appropriate word as I was joining in the third patch to try to staunch the rip that we had acquired in the Caribbean, and the dinghy could not be called into service. When we were whizzing from the Yacht Club in Bora Bora we saw the boat again and we said 'hey lets go now' and breezed over. Coming alongside we greeted the owner and his sister who were on their way home to New Zealand. That's odd we thought, until we looked up directly at the British ensign fluttering above us. It had four distinct stars on it, a New Zealand ensign, how could we be so stupid not to have looked. To make it worse we found out that we had pointed out the self same boat two months previously to a New Zealand friend in Anaho Bay and already met the people aboard as we were hastily passing to a Beasley party. If we had brains we would have been dangerous. Anyway we were invited aboard, had a great chat and became friends quickly with Barbara and Vince. So much so that we invited them over to Obsession in return and whilst there they noticed our musical instruments.

After a few drinks of course there was no way out of it, they insisted we play no matter how ill prepared. This we did and as chance may happen we must have done something right for they loved it. In fact they loved it so much and were so excited by the whole Reilly's Life band idea that they insisted we play the next night at the yacht club bar and they would arrange for their friends to come. This enthusiasm was a complete but pleasant shock to me and just as I was going to politely decline I was utterly amazed that Jayne stepped in front of me with a response instead. Jayne is very shy and originally dreaded the idea of a band. With recollections of traumas of her festival musical displays as a young girl, the prospect was terrifying. Jayne was and is too shy to play and sing in front of anyone, even me at first, let alone a crowd. However over the past few months she has taken to the band and the fun we have playing together very much, in fact so much that she has lost her initial inhibitions somewhat. Yet, though I felt this new trend in Jayne, I was totally and utterly taken aback when she said to Barbara and Vince 'yes why not it will be good for us'.

I nearly fainted. Of course she was right, but what a brave stroke, or more appropriately, what a very bold stroke considering my level of competency. Not knowing what it was like to play before an audience, I thought it a great idea too, if premature, and put it all down to the stiff Gins and tonics we had consumed. Less than twenty four hours later, had someone put a bottle of neat gin before me I would have drank it all there and then without stopping for a breath. For if Reilly's Life was conceived in Oponohu Bay, it was born radically premature in the Bora Bora Yacht Club Bar and restaurant.

It is practically axiomatic that a band's first outing, if not first season, will be a disaster. This was certainly the case for us and although you come to expect this, it does not make the whole episode less traumatic. I expected a nice little situation with five of their friends to be sitting around a table in the corner of the bar upon entry. There once our acquaintances were made we would sip a drink, chat and play a song every so often. Nothing could be further from the case. To my shock I found thirty people sitting in a nice row of chairs looking at a remote table where the performers would entertain them. I nearly died but Jayne was all to familiar with it and knew the scene. She had suffered from pre-stage nerves all afternoon which I thought peculiar for the event I had secretly envisaged, now it made a lot of sense. As is usual when the worst imaginable happens some terrible sense of parody comes over me. It says 'this is not happening in real life and its all a dream so lets carry on and grace over it cool as a breeze'. This I did while Jayne was very nervous and we started tuning up. Then I noticed for some odd reason the lower string of my guitar had some how come loose and the nut was playing up; a thing that had never happened ever before. Not good but we got it back in tune tentatively and I thanked god for the stiff medicinal rum I had consumed before leaving. However although this was rescued for the time being as I tuned the guitar I happened to noticed large gaps in the floor boards beneath me with horror. The bar was built over the water and if I dropped my only plectrum as is usual when I play it would fall through for sure. That would cook the goose for my playing.

Once we had tuned up, we let rip without further ado. We opened with a good song for the two of us called "I'll Tell Me Ma" which was a medium to fast number and we delivered it perfectly. At least we thought we delivered it perfectly for once we issued the first word we noticed an enormously disconcerting acoustic problem. Outdoors without amplification the sound we were creating just disappeared into the wind and the lapping of the water. It was so bad we could scarcely hear the music we were playing to get in key and we did not know what to do only bash on, after all we had a good start and Jayne was ripping into it now.

The next song we picked was a good old happy one 'Old Maid In A Garret' and this was where it all started to go seriously wrong. Not being able to hear ourselves we cranked up the sound knob on Jayne's keyboard. That was the last stroke for the batteries in the system. The branded Panamanian batteries we had stocked up on had the life span of a sigh and though we were completely oblivious to the fact the ones in Jayne's system were about to exit. Half way through the song and the keyboard suddenly gave up the ghost for the night. With it we lost our slick musician and it was down to me to hold the show together with music.

Holding the show was not in fact what I was accustomed to doing. In fact as a learner I was accustomed to playing the odd song, having a chat, then another and so forth. Suddenly I had to hold it up non stop as I realised to my dread 'the show must go on' is not a saying but a dogged and steadfast rule. Before me were thirty faces staring intently at me and I had to keep this strange thing in my hand going and I was suddenly feeling very tired. It was starting to dawn on me that this was not in fact a dream but reality and I was starting to crumble badly which was the guaranteed que for Jayne to come in. Immediately she forgot her every personal concern and set off solely to bolster me and keep me going. Despite this we were starting to loose badly, song after song were going out of key to the wind and sea trying to shout over their combined effects. Then ironically in the middle of a song 'The Sea The Sea' the delinquent nut unwound the lower string suddenly again. In full flow I gave the audience the option of keeping going or stopping to re-tune, they begged in unison the re-tune and it all came crashing to a halt again. Then after restarting and dispensed with the song I claimed a break for a beer which appeared most amicable to Jayne and I. The crowd of course just kept staring at us expectantly which was most unsettling. I said you can all 'fall out now', not a budge. Then I said 'OK the first person on each row turn to your right and the second person turn to your left and so on through the row, then say the first thing that springs to your mind! They still kept mindlessly staring at us. 'OK' I said 'I am off to the bar for a beer catch you later'. When I came back they were still staring, but Jayne and I tucked into the cool lager post haste.

Had we stopped at that point, I would have said Reilly's Life

would have been not born prematurely born, but stillborn. By good fortune we started up again after we had wolfed a drink but this time in more favourable terrain. We came closer to the audience, in fact betwixt and between them plus we had chatted with them whilst having a drink and felt no longer isolated, a bridge was becoming apparent. In addition to this during the earlier saga it appeared that all my blarney waffling between songs to them and the interplay between Jayne and I was highly endearing and they were having a good show, somehow, and this was on our side. Then with the break we caught our second breath and when we set off again we did so with more marked effects.

Jayne has a truly lovely voice. I have spoken to her so much about its lovely quality but the message was not getting through to her and she was loath to sing. She would not believe me as she thinks I am so besotted that I would marvel at any sound she issues, which is true, and secondly after working on my singing efforts she would hardly credit me with great discerning powers in this area. Anyhow in the past few days at last I feel she has seen the proof and it is exciting for her. When she lets go on Irish ballads her tone is truly in its home ground. Her sound is so soft and airy which gives such a lovely hushed poignancy to the ballads as to make them breathtaking. Once Jayne hit them with a couple of these we were back in the game. Then I gave a decent version of a ballad myself and we were rolling for a couple of fast ones and a close on the high ground. With this accomplished we were content. We were rolling, if still shivering in our boots. In fact more than content, so much so that we gave what could have been considered a couple of encores. The last of which was the 'Drunken Sailor' a mandatory for a band on a boat. Interestingly as 'Drunken Sailor' was amongst our repertoire and notably our last song we left everyone thinking that it must be an Irish song and stirred up a good conversation there.

A night to remember to say the least. The best judge of it I guess was Vince, who has become to us what Paul McGuinness is to U2. He is a warm but earnest man and would not tell lies. After it was all over he came up to us with a view to the bands prospects that he has already planning to install in his local bar. "That was good work" he says. "You did very well there. Especially considering you lost your keyboard straight up. You really are something to keep it going, for that's the main thing to keep going no matter what and you did that. The asides you give and the direct banter to the audience is spot on that's just perfect. I have not met many bands that can do that and it really is great. Also what you have, which is abundantly clear is a seamless union between the two of you and you seem to have a lot of fun together which is great to watch. From what I see you have everything you need to make a good band, its all there, it just needs some work, but it is all there. Actually the best part of you guys is the two of you, and your personalities. Jayne is just so English, in an English rose kind of way, and Mike you are just so Irish, the contrast and bond on top of that we could watch all day'.

So hence ended the most memorable night of music we have had on the trip so far. Our start, so to speak and it was critical to do it, even so early on in our career, as we got the idea of what we need to do and what's involved when we are playing. We learned more in those couple of hours than we had in a month of guessing, we can target our work now directly upon the job. Plus we have done the first night now and are no longer stage virgins anymore, with the ice broken it is a matter of getting the feel of it more and more. The major thing we learned however is that we have a load of work to do before we can really play with confidence. This we are dedicating a solid month of non stop playing in New Zealand to before hitting it out again. Until then it will be all quiet on the Reilly's Life front, though we will give the odd impromptu session I am sure on friends boats or a beach somewhere. That is as long as there is little wind and no hush of the sea on the shore.

Well, so ends our time in Bora Bora and I will bring this entry to a close here. In a few minutes I will step up on deck and haul up the ground tackle for the last time in French Polynesia and head out into the deep blue ocean once again. Off we go Tonga bound and we have just checked in the past few moments the distance. To our surprise we found it to be a voyage of one thousand and four hundred nautical miles. A two week sail and the fact that we had not really cared to look until an hour before setting sail certainly proves how nonchalant we have become about these long passages. At least the nonchalance is only directed at the sailing for in the past few days we have attended to all the details. We are full of diesel, provisions, cooking gas, water and of course at last got our broken wind vein up and working in A1 condition. In fact we are so much on top of it that we have scrubbed the bottom of the yacht and even washed all our clothes. What more could you want - famous last words. I bid you adieu the high sea calls us out.

Tuesday, October 14th; - Day Six, En Route Bora Bora - Tonga.

I look back to the last lines of the precious entry and think how funny the note of how complacent we are about setting out on long ocean distances. Not ten hours after I had set down those words to paper I was on a raging foredeck working in the darkness to retrieve and lash spinnaker poles securely home. Then the wind was howling and pelting hard droplets of the torrential downpour into my face. In the golden tungsten rays of the mast light the sheets of rain seemed to glisten thickly in the air ahead. Whilst astern all that could be seen was flashes of lightning spitting forks into the sea. Beneath me Obsession galloped like a petrified horse through the early storm whipped seas and in the tumult each item on the rig tried to fight my greatest persuasions. With the wild swinging motion of the vessel the spars dived back and forth away from me and loose lines lashing me vindictively as they flailed the wind. At that moment I felt that complacency was no longer the order of the day. In that short amount of time it was replaced by the old sailors saying of 'one hand for the boat, one hand for your life'. Worse still that was only the start ot it all.

The three days that followed were certainly the worst seagoing conditions we have experienced to date. Although far from survival conditions, in fact I would not entirely call them gale force conditions, they were nonetheless highly unpleasant. The wind I would say was force seven to eight, but not a full fledged gale, what I would perhaps describe as a half gale. Yet as any real sailor will tell you it is not the wind that one has to have a caution for but the seas and indeed it is true for this was by far the worst part of it. I have no idea what was disturbing the seas but they were most terribly unsettled. For the three days that we pressed forth on our course they were constantly pounding down upon us.

Weathering it on the port quarter the shots of the waves that set upon Obsession reverberated through the hull. Some hit forward, some amidships and the most dangerous ones caught us aft on the quarter, knocking the vessel into a spin. During this the decks were awash with 'green water' as sailors would put it. Worse still to my utter surprise I found for the first time ever that we were getting large quantities of water into our cockpit. This was very bad news as a large weight of water in the cockpit de stabilises the boat and alters her whole equilibrium. You can feel the vessel pause for a moment after taking a wave aboard. It is as if she is trying to consider it whilst it drains out, like a dazed boxer trying to recollect his faculties after receiving the 'one', of the fatal 'one-two' combination. Whilst this happens you wait in those moments for the knockdown wave that could follow.

Fortunately that never happened to us. The old 'one-two' boxing routine in sailing is 'pooped and knockdown'. We did however get pooped very badly. It was a pooping to such an extent as to be quite sufficiently damaging on its own. This luckily happened around breakfast time and not in the middle of the night where we would have been caught off guard. I was preparing a breakfast that I frankly had little appetite for but always force myself to eat in such circumstances for the sake of preservation. Whilst I had wedged myself tightly into a corner to leave my hands free to butter bread I heard the sudden and distinctive pealing up of the enormous wave and wham it was all over.

Obsession was flung instantly over on her starboard side to sixty degrees and the apex of the wave hit me hard where I was sitting down below. As I fought for balance I felt the bread that I was trying desperately to preserve in my hands turn into a mushy soggy mass and could not believe it. I knew straight away we had been hit hard and Obsession was taking her time about collecting herself from the wallop. Heading straight for the companion way I thanked God we had left one wash board in for it had prevented a mass of water getting below. From there I saw the cockpit was aflood and a stainless steel stanchion on the port quarter that was bent over to an angle of forty five degrees spoke volumes of where the weight of water had impacted. Worse still I saw that the wave had stretched over the stern and had snapped the wind vein off the self steering device. The Yacht was hence without steering for the moment as well as trying to clear her cockpit and recollect herself. Quickly I leaped up and got things going again above decks while Jayne got to work below and fortunately we avoided getting that second wave coup de grace. It really was a good thing it happened just then in the morning when we were awake and close to hand. Otherwise we could have been rightly caught out.

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Truly they were some seas and in addition to the above problems they did provide for some extremely rough surfing rides. In one case I believe Obsession must have rode an enormous wave crest down a steep precipice and buried her nose right down in the bottom of its trough. For once, this happened whilst I was sitting at the chart table surveying all of the reefs that were nervously close to our passage plan, I suddenly felt her go faster than I ever had felt before. I looked up at the instruments and to my horror I saw on the GPS ( a device that averages the speed) that she was doing more than twelve knots, an unbelievable speed. No sooner had I seen that, than an enormous BOOOOOM! bellowed through the yacht as she hit the bottom and I fell forward like a crash test dummy. I never heard a shot so loud as that on a vessel in all my life. Recovering myself I grabbed the chart for I was sure we had hit a reef, it could be the only explanation for such a shot. Yet no reef was there, nor sound of breaking material nor water entry followed; just the steady pounding of the wind and water once again. It was something else.

Well that was about it for the three days and they really felt like very hard days to us. Obsession took a little damage as I mentioned. The stanchion, the wind vein, a part which I had an immediate spare to put in place, the spray dodgers were torn, a bamboo pole I had for an awning disintegrated, the radio/cassette player took some salt water below, but of much more concern was that the temporary lower shroud had disintegrated. I mentioned that we had a damaged shroud earlier and I had temporarily 'jury rigged' it by attaching a new twelve millimetre halyard, doubled with a stainless steel cable in its place. I felt that this would be more than sufficient especially when there was some of the original strands of the lower shroud still intact. Boy was I mistaken!

At the end of the tumult I found the twelve millimetre line lying on the deck snapped off like a piece of thread and the remainder of the shroud flying about the deck. Fortunately we were running downwind or for sure we would have lost the rig. I now have tried a new tactic which I am far more confident about. I bent the broken end of the shroud over and bolted two bull dock clips there to secure it in a loop. This I have reconnected to the bottle screw making up the shortfall in length with a length of solid chain. This solution I feel far more confident of, yet I am still amazed at how that twelve millimetre line snapped off.

The hardest part of heavy weather I still find is keeping body and soul together. There is no fear what so ever, in fact so far our hardships of weather have been marked by the absence of any real concern, just complete fatigue. I cannot begin to explain how exhausting a few days of these type of conditions are. One feels absolutely drained of every ounce of strength and the prospect of lifting your hand becomes an unendurable labour. To eat is a two part nightmare. Firstly you do not want to eat anything and secondly the thought of battling in the tumult to make anything is distressing; yet you know you have to. It is the fatigue that is the worst part of the whole thing and despite it being a few days past I am still physically drained from the ordeal. Worse still Jayne suffers.

She has it a little worse than me as she suffers from overt physical sea sickness. Apart from the loss of energy through the sickness she can scarcely eat to replace it which is the real problem. Thus she can deteriorate further than me if a watchful eye is not kept upon her. Although strange as it may be she does seem to bounce back faster than me later. However, in this trip we noticed that canned fruit is the ticket in such circumstances. I could get her to eat this type of food until the situation had abated so that I could get her to take something more substantial. During this process of keeping going and trying to aid Jayne's recovery a most ironic anniversary should come about.

After having so much pleasures over the past year it was bitterly ironic that the anniversary of Jayne's arrival on board should fall right in the middle of the belting we were receiving. Just as she was at her lowest ebb. Where once she would have been rejoicing the best year of her life to date, I dare say as she lay there with the yacht gyrating through a frantic orbit and the seas pounding down upon us and the wet below and her stomach doing all of the above to her I dare say the past year and particularly the present were non too appealing to her. She must have been begging all during that day to be at home and very far from the sea if not even dead. What a pity. Ah well there is always time for celebrations and we are very good at whizzing up an event if the notion should take us.

However all was not gloom and hard times and as the sailors say 'it is indeed an ill wind that does not blow fair for somebody'. With the smallest imaginable amount of mainsail and a smidgen of headsail Obsession blazed a trail across the ocean on the back of these winds. In the days of the blow we cracked an average of one hundred and sixty miles a day which must have been our fastest ride ever. Hence we are well into this trip and getting on with it despite the belting. In fact after four days we came past an island called Aituataki where we could have held up and rested for a while. Yet with time not being in our hands we said we would press on and so we left it on our port hand side and continued west. This we thought very brave of ourselves and self congratulations were handed out all round. However when I say we in this case I mean Jayne and I, for Obsession had entirely different plans.

She seemed to have had enough of it all and wanted to call it quits for a couple of days rest. After I had passed well clear of the island in the night and hit the bunk, Obsession took it into her mind to go to the island herself. She caught the guide line that set the course of the wind vein in one of the tiller blocks and moved it furtively around millimetre by millimetre. There she slowly undid my course set up for Tonga and adjusted it to a course back to Aituataki. Hence she made a dash for it whilst I slept. Waking up in the morning we could not believe we were heading back for Aituataki and the island was frighteningly close where I had expected to have left it far behind. I looked at the course and could not fathom it for a while. When I saw what had happened I thanked God I made large allowances for all sorts of events that could bring us up on the island. Least amongst this list I have to confess was the doings of a wilfully misbehaving boat. Or should I say mutineer! Fortunately the captain prevails over most such mindless mutinies and certainly so in this case. The island of Aituataki is entirely surrounded by reefs that Obsession would not find a comely coexistence with upon approach. Should I perhaps rename the Obsession, Fletcher Christian. I bid you adieu.

Monday, October 20th; - Day 11, En Route Tonga.

The past days have seen the conditions settle dramatically and the voyage has become more pleasant I am delighted to report. The wind and seas have abated in accord. Even to the extent that we were motor sailing for a couple of nights and we very much welcomed the respite. By consequence we are again in very good form and have completely recovered from the fatigue of the first part of the trip. Yet despite this we are very much looking forward to our relaxed stay in Tonga. Here we can truly relax as we are three weeks before the optimal seasonal window to make the jump to New Zealand and it will be nice to shed that feeling of being slightly 'behind schedule' that has been with us since leaving Grenada. Tonga is presently a mere day away providing we can safely navigate the thirty miles of reefs and races that lead to the harbour. As we have made exceptionally good time on the overall voyage and the final run in we are currently slowing the yacht down to facilitate a morning approach to the main island of Tongatapu. So as the 'old chestnut' goes 'all's well that ends well'.

I am delighted to say that there is nothing to add to our list of tribulations; save breaking our headsail halyard via halyard-wrap. By good fortune we had the sail reefed at the time on the furling gear and it did not collapse onto the deck. Plus by doubly good fortune it remained on the roller whilst reefed in for the rest of the voyage. As we had no other halyard to attach to it and we have a policy of not going up to the mast head at sea; if it's not a matter of life or death, it's not worth the physical risk. No I am afraid there is little else to report form Obsession apart from reading, dining and music, and a strange mania that suddenly took over us to plan out the rest of our lives together. The latter series of five year plans will be the longest remaining aspect of this particular voyage I am sure. Sure we talk about life and our future together a lot during trips but this voyage saw us put down exactly what we are going to do and broadly when. This rash of planning came about as a result of the most unexpected event

Whilst sailing ones dreams can become acutely vivid and in the early hours I had a most appalling dream of murder scene in a bathroom. Frankly it was frightening to extreme and although not quite the same as the macabre scene in Hitchcock's Psycho it was Hollywood like frame by frame. The worse part of it was that when the victim fell from there mortal wounds (well clad in a bath robe for all you Psychoanalysis Freudian repressed sexuality fans who may interpret interesting things in this) they inadvertently knocked the washbasin taps as they fell and lay dying as the water gushed forth. Fortunately a plumber was not required for my dream house as the plug was not in the drain hole and it was of an adequate size to deal with the cascade. Unfortunately for me though, the rush of water against the hull of Obsession as she made good passage in the night merged with the taps cascade in the dream world, if not precipitated it, and this left me for some time lingering in a surreal environment of not knowing whether I was conscious or in a dream and utterly startled to death. When full consciousness took over and relieved me everything suddenly came together. I had been toying with a story for a novel for months in the back of my mind and had quite forgotten it as it was on the whole flat and uni-dimesional. This scene as I had dreamed it precisely was the entrant of another character and second plot overlay in this story that breathed life and dimension and wrapped it up entirely. From this inauspicious start our frantic spate of planning began.

If I could dream up a good story, surely I could dream up a few more. Then if I could put them down and tell them well, we have a new profession that was place independent. After we spent step one of five years or so getting ourselves back on our financial feet and set up nicely, this would provide us with the freedom to live as we pleased, where we pleased, as much as possible maximising the benefits of current technology and culture. With this new aspect of writing chiefly as a supplement to income and a view to family, we could not help but think of rural Ireland where I grew up. Then we set down to planning our perfect dream home that we could build in the green fields of Ireland, pencil and paper, plan, elevation, landscape the works. Each day a new element was added to the scheme of things. For instance problems of where the stairs would be placed in our dream house, how balconies could be married in to the roof and how the general appearance would be traditional whilst still having all the benefits of modern ideals. During the past few days we even had to move the location somewhat to best optimise sunlight and landscaping where a gradient was possible to enhance the vista of the grounds of the house. We were so stuck in that we have even designed the statue that will dominate the garden.

Hence for some strange reason in this trip we have planned out and practically set down our plans for the next ten to fifteen years forward in detail. It is quite shocking to be so organised as this especially for me who normally lives by a stroke of spontaneity. However I have always found that if you take a long range plan you can normally achieve it if you clearly set your mind upon it as a long run goal, like a large ship that slowly builds up momentum in a direction, try to stop it and your in trouble. I reckon what we shaped up on this trip was perhaps the vocalisation of a lot of silent subconscious thought over the past while and is our true desire. Better still it incorporates the chief ingredients that are best; quality-of-lifestyle, change and challenge. If you live life like a frisky little dingy, constantly tacking, ducking and diving its fun but you never really wind up anywhere at the end, least of all where you want to be. Anyway it is great fun planning it all out. Having all the time in the world before we re-enter we can ruminate over our plans and discard them if we do not like them with the additional thought. If however we do not discard them, it will mean our traumatic task of re-entry into popular culture and society after the trip will be less taxing for us. For the event will not be the end of the trip but the start of the next five year plan that will lead onto the next five year plan. Hence we will be champing at the bit.

Whilst all this planning was going on inside Obsession the environment outside our vessel did provide a few observations that are new to this voyage and these I will turn to now. The first and most noticeable feature of this run has been a pleasant lowering of the temperatures. I spoke of this before in Oponohu Bay, Moorea, which was the first time we totally enjoyed having to put on a T-shirt. This was in fact a result of a Southerly wind at the time and the temperatures did rise subsequently. However this trip has taken us further south in to the lower hemisphere and we have commensurably seen a very pleasant sustained drop in the temperatures that we are enjoying immensely. Though this present temperature would be akin to the hottest day in Ireland, it is perfect for the two tropical birds that we now are. For this is the furthest we have been from the Equator since we departed the Canaries in the Northern Hemisphere and we have acclimatised somewhat to the tropics. Yet it is as refreshing and invigorating as a cool iced lemonade under the sun and we are anticipating a more than pleasant environment in New Zealand to carry out Obsession's half-way full bill of health.

The second most noticeable aspect of this trip was the moon. I am sure I will bring the reader to tears of boredom speaking of the night sky of the Pacific but this was truly exceptional. I am not well up by any description on the antics of the heavenly bodies that orbit the earth but do have occasion in the seafaring way of life to keep an eye on the moon. This was very much the pleasure on this voyage for never have I seen such spectacle as the moon at the moment. There is in Europe the term the 'harvest moon' which speaks of this time of year when the moon can be seen to be visibly large and bright in the sky. To my surprise the moon is equally large in the southern hemisphere at this time which suggests to me that maybe it is at the closest point of its elliptical orbit during this season. Whatever the reason the 'harvest moon' in the Pacific is awe inspiring. Here it is so large and bright that the night sky is no longer black. It is in fact a pale hue of blue grey. It is like dawn throughout the night and when the moon first arises it is an utterly awe inspiring red disk. Most people think of the Pacific in terms of a big bright blue sky yet the image that will perhaps stay with me will be the blue sky at night caused by this amazing moon.

Whilst on the theme of illuminated domes I would like to turn to the subject of twilight. In the tropics there is very little twilight, perhaps only thirty minutes between the sun speedily drooping over the horizon and complete darkness. Since we have come further south, again akin to moving north in the summer time in Europe, we find the evenings are stretching out more than we can attribute to our natural westing miles we have made good. Departing on this westward voyage of an arc of twenty degrees we would have expected to have an hour of extra evening daylight upon our arrival. Yet on this trip we have acquired two whole hours and not in fact lost much morning light if any. This is accounted for by the westing plus the fact that we have dropped south exactly at the time that the sun too is migrating south for the Southern Hemispheres summer. New Zealand is a thousand miles further south, and we hope to have some twilight which would make the evenings most pleasant. This phenomena of moving around the globe chasing the sun and extending our days brings me on to the final subject of this log quite nicely.

For if one continually goes west and acquires a few minutes extra each day one has to pay it back in the great overall scheme of things. This we did yesterday; Sunday October 19th 1997. For this day was the shortest day of our entire lives, it only lasted in fact two hours. At two a.m. in the morning of Sunday we crossed the longitudinal meridian of one hundred and seventy three degrees west. The international date line runs broadly along the line of one hundred and eighty degrees except, where it stretches westward up north to include the Arctic Near island, and in the southern hemisphere where it stretches eastward to include the Tonga group. Jules Vern's Phillias Fog traversed the date line east-bound, and by consequence he gained an extra day. As we crossed it west-bound, we lost an entire twenty four calendar hours. Good thing we had no bets with a time limit on them like old Philias. Even better and more to the point, it is a good thing we found one final can of tonic water we can have with a handsome gin to celebrate the occasion. I depart to the pomp and circumstance.

Tuesday, November 4th; - Stern To, Queen Salote Wharf, Tongatapu, Tonga.

In 1773 and 1779 Captain James Cook visited the islands of the Tonga group and found the people that dwelt there very gentle and of a friendly nature. Indeed so much so was this the case that the great mariner was given to naming the archipelago 'The Friendly Islands'. This title has remained with the island group on all charts since.

Sixteen years later the man who was to become Cook's last first mate went on to gain an entirely different impression of the people of these islands. This was none other than Captain Bligh who suffered his mutiny in 1789 not sixty miles north of where I sit and write this log entry. The much celebrated story came to a head off the Haapai Group between the islands of Nomuka and Tofua. Though the basic story mutiny of the Bounty is known world-wide, little is spoken of the aspect of what happened to Bligh after he was cast off in his launch. Many see the story at an end when the mutineers sail to Pitcairn and the few people that are drawn to follow the tale further do so in pursuing how the mutineers murdered each other in subsequent years. Yet the most incredible feat of human endurance in the whole tale is what Bligh managed to achieve in that open vessel. The stricken captain and the eighteen men that remained loyal to him sailed the small open launch, a remarkable voyage of 3,620 miles from Tonga to Kupang in Timor. The voyage of forty eight days where he avoided land for fear of cannibal attack saw him deliver all his men alive except for one. In this epic voyage his single loss was one man taken during an attack by natives on the island of Tofua in the Tonga group. This I am sure was the cause of his trepidation of visiting any other islands en route until he got to the safe British outpost at Kupang. Equally this would have made him question Cook's judgement when he named the islands the 'Friendly Isles'.

Who then was right then?

The first experience we had of Tonga was decidedly unfriendly. This to a large part was of our own making, I have to confess, as we were poorly equipped with charts and were relying to a large part on a less than descriptive pilot. When we finally made our approach it was at the optimal timing as we had planned it, forenoon with plenty of light having the sun directly overhead. Despite this advantage it was hard going. The entrance to the harbour is a highly involved passage of thirty miles and we had to endure a Beaufort five to six and poor conditions every step of the way. To date we have been equipped with good charts. This was the first time we were on shaky ground and this reef strewn island provided us a smart testing. However with some acute concentration no real problems were had and we picked our way in. The moral of the story, as any one who has visited this island by sailing vessel can explicitly tell you, is never to sail without good charts, and if you ever take a stab at it don't make Tongatapu your first shot in the dark. It is indeed an unfriendly start to a short term career. However, though the waters surrounding the island may have been unkind for us upon entry, after settling in the first thing that was abundantly apparent was how downright jovial and friendly the people were. Despite the two centuries that passed since Cook visited he was abundantly correct about the people here.

We have never experienced such a happy nation of people. The Tongan people are so mirthfully happy and friendly that it is hard to believe. They make the inhabitants of the rest of the planet seem dour by comparison. As a race this is certainly the first aspect that struck us as we landed and coloured our dealings from the outset.

Whilst visiting customs, the first stop always, we practically were trampled down by a mass of people exploding from the rough shack that serves the function on the main pier. They all halted within a safe orbit of the little building and convulsed into uncontrollable laughter that they were content to be lost in for some time. Various idle bodies that lingered around the harbour joined in the uproar when some practical joke was made apparent in a native tongue. After quite some time had expired they again began to settled down to normal operations and perhaps a level of joviality again took foot that allowed for a marginal amount of work to be carried out. Though this eruption happened just at the moment we were about to step in the door, there was an air about the place that suggested we had not chanced upon a moment of unusual high spirits, rather this was the normal modus operandi.

When we then talked to an official that had then managed to subdued his uproarish laughter to a giggle about our 'clearing in' he was most helpful. He brought us here and there, slapping in mirthful revelry any characters that made up the community of Queen Salote Wharf who had not noticed his approach. They in turn would catch him out when he was off guard with a playful smack or fond push as he passed. Ostensibly this play was carried on in a mood of humoured revelry, yet from what I could see it was clear how downright fond they are of each other.

This frolic we found to be the case almost continuously and when they were not they were busily engaged in friendly banter or some game or other - going into quarantine we paused the game of cards that the whole office was enjoying together. From what we have seen from our first day to this very moment the islanders have a buoyant frolicking nature of joviality in all of their dealings with each other that is utterly amazing and highly entertaining to watch. When this is not the case they are engrossed in pleasant and intensely intimate discourse in hushed tones that is equally as lovely to observe. This is the case in normal relations. However when they get together to have a party the good nature is amplified one hundred fold. I have never heard such a happy bunch when they party. They hoot and laugh like nothing on earth it is something to behold and listening to it from afar you feel that it is impossible for a race of human beings to be so jovial, it does not make sense.

Cook certainly had it right with his observation and he named the group well. Never have we met such a visibly happy race of people that are so utterly lovely to deal with. This is the first and most striking aspect of the island that continues to be the singular motif of our stay here.

Once one gets accustomed to the happy nature, a characteristic that leaves one overwhelmed for some time, the next aspect of the race that becomes apparent is their sturdy nature. This seems to be singularly the case and it is not at all surprising that Tonga features well in international rugby. Eight out of ten men that you casually meet on the street have the big square heads and solid bodies that could storm down any rugby pitch to the utter terror of an opposing team. Most all of the men here are burly and ones that are not are burly and well rounded. All are personally neat and tidy and far more traditional in dress than any of the other islands we have visited. In fact this is by far the most traditional race of people we have seen. The most visible token of this is the amount of men that wear pareos wrapped over with an unusual crunchy mat around their midriff.

This is a striking item of clothing that we have not seen in any other place and is most unusual. When the men walk the mats make a sound like a cow chewing hay or sometimes they sound like a biscuit being crumbled. Often these mats can be frayed quite badly and appear to be falling apart in places. Oddly the men that have the most badly frayed mats wrapped around them equally have an air of satisfied prosperity about them blended with a twinge of haughty authority. Hence an odd relationship seems to exist. Tonga is a royalist society and each person knows all to clearly his place in this hierarchical structure. There is little requirement for talismans as an island society is so small as to make it un-necessary. Yet the more senior the person in society is it is said the more frayed he wears his mat. I am not sure why this is but it does appear to be the case.

The ladies wear a similar mat or more commonly a loose decorative weave. Similar to the men these are wrapped around their midriff over their pareos. The more common loose weave is of un-joined decorated strips that hang at miniskirt length from an elaborate belt. The item of clothing is most certainly symbolically decorative and though it is widespread I am afraid I have to confess to being ignorant as to its origin and significance as I am so of the male equivalent.

On the whole the female islanders have a certain languid dignity about them and a readiness to smile warmly that is most endearing. However I have to say that they are largely of the sturdy or rounded nature of their brothers and I have not seen any that has the fine or delicate features that I would call very attractive. Many of these ladies, and to a lesser degree the men, seem to have a penchant for surrounding there teeth with rims of gold and or replacing teeth with gold. This is not to my taste either but it is certainly prevalent among the people here and obviously seen as a handsome adornment perhaps as much as a diamond necklace would be in western society. Yet I am a bad judge of what is beauty. For I am a very content man that can only find joy in one lady. Another man with his heart beating with romance would find some of these islanders utterly beautiful. In fact despite what I find on the surface unappealing in the ladies of this island, they still light your heart with there overt loveliness, their graceful languor and friendly nature. As the saying goes life without mirth is a lamp without oil and it seems that many a sailor came to these islands and left with a bride. They would not fare too badly from such a strategy I would guess.

However I digress, the most interesting aspect of Tonga is the class system I briefly mentioned previously. This is the only group of islands that has managed to retain its dynastic king. King Taufa'Tafua'ahau Toupon IV is the current monarch and he resides in his palace situated on the waterfront of Nuku'alofa. Though the palace itself is an interesting but not entirely inspiring building, Victorian in design it looks slightly neglected, it does happen to be the only wooden palace in the world.

The King himself is reputedly a very heavy man that weighs heavily upon his throne, though I have not seen recent pictures of him. I have no idea of his weight but it seems to be a prided fact that it is a lot. The only pictures of the man we have seen are on the notes and coinage and a big photograph in the excellent 'Cable & Wireless' centre near the port. The latter I am sure is many years old but he does look highly endearing in the shot - a rotund man in full regalia with no neck and an attempted imperious look, he looks every ounce like a charming stuffed teddy bear. On the whole and from what I can gather the monarchy seems to be a good thing and a benefit to the islanders giving them a sense of identity and focus.

The island is less than prepossessing. We have not seen anything so far that could be described as picturesque despite going from one end to the other to see flying foxes and a twelfth century Thrilithon. It is a low coraline atoll with a central lagoon so there are no attractive mountains. The town of Nuku'alofa, that translates to 'Abode Of Love', is far more attractively named than it appears in reality. For in truth it is really a sleepy little backwater. The one great aspect of this is, however, is that everything runs at a slow and relaxed pace that is immensely enjoyable. It is far from the traffic choked nightmare that was Papeete, for Nuku'alofa has little traffic and what traffic there is only reaches a top speed of twenty miles per hour on the main freeway that cruises along the north side of the island. This speaks volumes about the race I feel. The majority of their vehicles can reach in excess of one hundred miles per hour, yet they are never inclined to push them over the twenty mark.

Anyway, the houses in Nuku'alofa, akin to the Palace, look slightly neglected. On the whole this could be said for most of the buildings we have seen on the island. They are flimsy structures shabbily built and by such make an interesting contrast to the sturdy islanders themselves. Yet I have to admit I was surprised more by the general well being rather more than anything else upon first our first ventures about. One has to understand that this would be the case as Tonga. The nation has little industry and Tongans have little interest in trying to kill themselves in a bid to get wealthy in a western world. What they do singularly exert themselves at instead is the pursuit of a wealthy afterlife. They are fervent Christians.

Though the architecture of the island lends itself to the description shabby and the town sleepy backwater; this could certainly not be said of one particular type of building. The churches. It truly is utterly amazing how many there are, twenty times more than necessary, for every tenth building is an enormous church, many of which are cathedrals. To make up such numbers they are obviously of every known flavour of Christianity. Each is utterly magnificent in design and maintained to the highest standards. The arch Cathedrals of each dwarf the Royal palace into nothing. This of course is only the tip of the ice berg.

Tonga is a profoundly Christian islander that has religion inextricably intertwined into its culture. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, happens on Sunday, it is the Lord's day. Yachts men stay aboard their yachts and avoid carrying out an apparent work aboard that smacks of work. This would be seen as a gorse insult to the islanders. For them the only thing that happens on this day is mass, or perhaps service depending on how you see it. Whilst this is going on it is lovely to take a stroll past all of these churches. The Polynesian islands are renown for the beauty of their choral singing and I can testify that it is utterly lovely to listen to all of the voices singing the beautiful airs in varying harmonies. The utterly excessive amount of churches come alive somehow with handsome congregations in each and it was quite something to see a priest, or minister, carry out his service with the strenuous use of a conductors baton. One can take such a stroll anytime during a Sunday and witness such a service for each islander attends three services the duration of each bears no resemblance to what western society calls a mass or service. Sunday is certainly the Lords day in Tonga.

Religion is central to life here in Tonga and as a result of the fervour there are quite strict guidelines to behaviour and remarkably dress sense. It is statute law that a man can be fined a fixed penalty for being seen in a public place without a shirt on. Most people dress exceedingly decently and it is not permissible for girls to show anything that would tempt a lustful eye. Hence when girls swim they do so fully clothed. If that was not entertaining enough for a western visitor to see, they not alone swim in their normal clothes but bath in two sets of clothes as a minimum, one set dressed over the other. This is deemed to be preferable as for them to bathe in one set of clothes killed the purpose of the prudence in the first place; ever hear of wet tee-shirt competition. Hence they are covered in clothes each time they swim. No more needs to be said on this subject. In fact I will turn to something entirely different now. The yachting scene here.

As I mentioned by taking this large leap we have taken ourselves from being behind to being slightly ahead of the pack for a brief moment - if in doing so we missed out on large amounts of islands we would have enjoyed seeing. Because we achieved the door step to New Zealand in this frantic leap we suddenly placed ourselves in a unique position for socialising. This started off as a function of arriving in an old English protectorate and English speaking island. The two together can only mean one thing, at last the 'Brits' are about. We made immediate friends with Sue and Mike on a yacht called Chan whom we discovered by chance had a mutual acquaintance in England. The next boat of notoriety was Hanabella, friends of Chan, with Paul and Ingrid and again we made very close friends. Hence between these boats we had some wild socialising nights that made up for all of our relaxed isolated ancorages of the past. It was a real hoot but it left our livers in no way prepared for the first big onslaught of yachts migrating South that suddenly swooped down on the harbour. Included in their number was Chant de Mai and Kormoran, but more importantly the complete number of circumnavigating Irish Flags were all present and accounted for in one harbour at the same time.

For the first time Pala, Waxwing, and Obsession where all together. There had to be a night of the three tri-colours and sure enough it was had on Obsession. The night could not have been better chosen for an Irish get together. It rained like there was no tomorrow just as it does in Ireland and to make it worse it was as hot and humid as seething nights in New Orleans are portrayed in the movies. We threw dinner for everyone and with eight people, Johnny, Emer, Peter, Susan, Gale and Mick plus us, around the table that night and no ventilation because of the rain one may as well have been in a Turkish Bath. Yet with Johnny and Emer off Pala being their usual scintillating selves, the drink running down inside as fast as the rain outside, there was no way we could go astray. The guitar eventually was dragged out and the night ended in a suit of Irish sing along songs that were surprisingly devoured by a bunch of Paddies far away from there homeland. Various follow up bouts came out of this night and I have to mention in particular a meal that Emer threw for us aboard Pala. She really went to too much trouble and treated us to the best meal ever afloat. Roast lamb, green beans, roast potatoes, boiled potatoes and a garlic aubergine ensemble on the side that would make your eyes weep with tears of joy to recall the taste. Such things that one would dream of. Incidentally Johnny and Emer really are the bestest.

Despite this tidal wave of socialising, one night will stand out above them all in our memories. As usual this was the night Reilly stepped out on stage again. This time he was like a madman, and I have to go back in time to describe an interesting lead up.

A yacht called Satisfaction Plus came in alongside us and the word had spread to them that we played some instruments in Bora Bora. A French Canadian violinist came over to us straight away to introduce herself. Isabella was her name and she said she would love to play with us as she felt that Irish music was the ultimate pursuit now that she had extricated herself from ten years intense study of classical music. Marjorie her friend on the crew, and an old friend of ours from the Marquaises, announced at the same time she was throwing together a Halloween party the following night and that she needed some people who could pitch in a bit with the music. We of course agreed to be part of the ensemble and Isabella who was so keen to play joined us for a quick look at the Irish music. Then the most utterly awful thing happened.

We had been through a few of our numbers that is our regular morning practice with her joining in. She was good, as one would expect being a professional, and got a quick idea of the Irish sound. As she dived in she started to love it all the more and we finally introduced her to the most raucous and simply brilliant of Irish folk songs 'Rocky Road To Dublin'. I played her the Dubliners version of it in full swing and played it several times whilst Jayne helped her on rattling out the jigged up version on the keyboard. After some time she was just on the verge of getting it and trying hard. Then the violin started to kick into full squeal and commenced a canter of it like an uncertain horse. Isabella's eyes lit up and grew in determination and then suddenly became manic her foot started pounding on the floor as the violin started to gallop. 'Rocky Road To Dublin' leaped forth and flew through the cabin wild and racy. We all clapped as she got the air of it and the violin jumped like it had never jumped to a Mozart melody before. She really got the swing of it and we all felt triumphant at the end when she issued the last bar. There we sat and giggling until we heard a distinctive snapping sound. Isabella looked down at the violin and wailed 'Oh no' and pointed to the neck of the instrument where it joined the body.

We all looked in horror strickened accord at a white mark that had suddenly appeared where the neck and body meet. The mark of less died wood made evident the fact that they had shifted apart. Just at that moment as we were helplessly staring at the problem we saw the entire tension mounted instrument implode as a result and fall quite literally apart in her hands. It was an utterly awful moment and Isabella crying on top of it did not help. It appears the humid hot environment had taken its toll on the glue and I guess it would be not be unfair to say that the raucous 'Rocky Road to Dublin' was the 'hay stack that broke the camels back' for the poor little instrument that had hitherto only known fine classical music.

Fortunately, and again by the typical generosity, and I should say infinite patience and dexterity, of a fellow yachtsman who must have been a skilled carpenter the instrument was repaired for the night. Isabella was delighted and from the cockpit of the appropriately named Satisfaction Plus as it happened at that moment, I could hear her put it through its paces again in preparation for the night.

Of course the night that would be the second of Reilly's existence again turned out to be a surprise where we were completely caught off guard. After recounting in detail the last blast I will not make the reader endure another lengthy account. Suffice to say Marjorie picked the worst venue imaginable. After taking one look at it, and remembering playing out-doors in Bora Bora with engine noises close by, we said no way along with the two other musicians who were going to play that night. Talking to the intransigent bar manager who insisted we stay outside to protect his restaurant business we switched to the bar next door and took our fifty followers with us much to his chagrin. At least we thereby demonstrated that we learned something from our previous outing.

However the learning phase of our existence was only beginning. After tuning up again in a nice sized room out back I noticed Jayne was nervous again. I said to her not to worry as we were just along for the ride here. There were three other musicians out I explained. The first was Mary off Me'andor. She was a complete novice that really should not play in front of a group of people yet and certainly never ever sing as we discovered when she joined us in the forenoon. Good on her for giving it a lash, but fortunately there was more than that going out. Our real tour de force was Isabella of course, our professional violinist who I would be delighted to play second fiddle to. She would have oodles of stuff to dazzle all asunder after ten years of study I explained to Jayne. Then Rick a good old American folk singer with an incredibly stylish Ovation Guitar and a voice like a boom box with the base cranked up would come in. All we had to do was come in now and again and give them something different from time to time, I assuaged, we are along for the ride, it will be a breeze.

Jayne was having none of it and said it will not work like that and looked nervously at the numbers of people that were milling about and chattering, 'we're going to end up leading this Mike I know it' she says. I said not to worry and went out to Isabella to confirm my view of it. She had been neurotically tuning our instruments and busying herself for the event in the previous moments showing every sign of command and professionalism. When I caught up with her I relayed my interpretation of the show in clear terms, that she would take the show and give us the nod when she needed a break. Then we would swap over to us or Rick as the case may be and she would take over again and so forth. She said fine and I went back and reassured Jayne. Fifteen minutes later we all gathered in the room and as the show was about to commence I put down the guitar out behind me, lay back, and prepared to hear some fine violin playing. My repose was promptly interrupted.

Isabella stared at me in as if I was a saboteur. 'You must play', she said to me in a malignant and impatient tone. I looked at her in shock and plaintively said 'you just told me you were taking it'. 'There was no way I am going to play alone, I am going to accompany you only or somebody else playing, that's all I am going to do' she half said half wined in reply growing suddenly nervous looking as the moments passed. As I sat there still in shock, I looked plaintively. He instantly replied "don't look at me Man, I am only hear to help out' which was true, Mary had twisted his arm to come. As for Mary well there was no point in looking Mary's direction whatsoever, God bless her. In a second it all turned to liquid hell again, i.e. it was all down to us, the Reillys.

I am not sure what it was, the spur of the moment disaster, the fact that we did it all before, the fact that we had been let down on all fronts, the amount of G&T I had consumed at this stage, or whatever it was; a new phenomenon was discovered that moment. I now live aboard by the name of Michael Jeckyll and Manic Hyde for in that moment a monstrous showman stepped out and swept the joint thanks to Jayne's support. It was not at all unlike the book for I can only remember the night in snatches and so too Jayne. It was like what I imagine a prize fighter would remember of a fight, a few blows, a few tactics, faces coming in and out, disjointed sounds, and all in sudden flashes. Whilst Jayne and I solely did the Reillys Life gig, working together as a tight unit and keeping away from the other musicians, we really rocked the joint. We went in hard and fast and we were there for each other. What went in our favour was a collection of song books that Paul from Hanabella printed out for us and at times Jayne remembers everyone in the place joining in on chorus. All I can remember was my imploring to Rick to take over in between songs so we could regroup and subdue ourselves and him hooting 'Man you guys have got the house rolling, no one can take over from you now' and on we went. When at last we were a spent force we handed it over to a hodge podge of various improvisations that were terrible and killed it. Later Rick was the man that really came into his own in the bluesy hours of the night.

However, again we learned a hell of a lot. Primary amongst it is never to trust anybody when in the line of fire save Jayne. Our virtuoso violin player spent the entire night tuning her violin to my utter distraction whilst getting on with the job. She did not play one bar of a decent piece and when she joined in she was just trying to get the gist of the melodies as it went along which made for a horrific sound and a violent challenge to any vocal efforts made without amplification equipment. If I had had one more drink, that would have given me the liberty of action without conscious restraint, I feel certain I would have throttled the girl. This done, in a prolonged way so as to take most pleasure in the deed, I feel then I might have been drawn to the additional exultant pleasure of inserted that bloody squealing violin of hers up her bum for good measure. Yet it has to be said it was not a bad thing. Because of her we found out that when the excrement hits the fan, Jayne and I come in fighting fit. Three cheers for Reilly!

Well that has been our past couple of weeks and as you can see something wildly different from what proceeded it. So too will the next two weeks bring change and challenge, for these will take us down to New Zealand, and this will be no easy trade wind slide that we have been accustomed to so far on the overall trip.

The voyage down to New Zealand takes us out of the trade wind belt and into the Southern variables. This would not necessarily be overly challenging except for the current season that is in it. Right at the present moment we are exposes to the risk of encountering one of two evils, one in the tropics the other in the variables. If normal conditions prevailed, we would be running the risk of an early cyclone here in the tropics, and departing for New Zealand the risk of a late gale upon arrival in the variables. Leaving here later increases the risk of the cyclone but reduces the risk of the gale and if one leaves earlier the opposite is the case. It is hard to win. However this is if normal circumstances exist and this year normal circumstances certainly do not exist. I speak here of the El Nio.

Should anyone think the El Nio is just a scare story I will be delighted to put them straight on the subject from personal experience. On the voyage to Tonga I noted we experienced some rough conditions for three days. To date I spoke of the wind being just under a full blown gale, but I have subsequently received better data that has confirmed something I have suspected for a long time; my instruments are clocking slow. A yacht called Vanessa travelled very close to us for the three days and clocked the conditions up to forty eight knots and gusting higher. This would make the event well in excess of a gale and something approaching storm force. Looking back this would make sense as it was hard going and we found the conditions fatiguing to extreme. However this does not explain the ferocity of the seas that were pounding upon us. Sure it looks like we have been clocking wind speeds low, yet we have had the same clocking relationship to sea conditions that we had known since we commenced the voyage. As this relationship is consistent I can therefore still say what was noted in the log stands; that I found the whole sea condition that we experienced inexplicable.

The answer however to the quandary was found out very quickly after settling into this anchorage, and put in clear and no uncertain terms. A frighteningly early Cyclone went rushing in front of our path and hence the violent winds and seas we experienced on its fringe. Had we have departed a little earlier we could have been introduced to more of Cyclone Lucy's ravages. This would not have been a positive experience to say the least. The cyclone was totally early and as a consequence unexpected.

Should one think that it was a freak happening I would just add now that the El Nio is busier than that. Last week we happened to be listened to the local radio channel whilst taping some music, our favourite pastime. When the news came on we heard Cyclone Martin was up and running straight across the Pacific where we had just sailed. The next day whilst enjoying the same music taping pursuit, we heard it had built up enormous strength and was causing havoc. Yet it was only on the following day that it hit home. By then Martin passed over the Coral Atoll of Maupiha, a little island that we had passed close by not long after departing Bora Bora and indeed Vanessa tried to run in there for shelter during the start of the aforementioned three day blow. However, of the population of twenty four people who were enjoying the idyllic Pacific island life the day we passed, only six remained alive after Martin had chanced to passed over them. The rest were carried away to their deaths along their houses in the ferocious winds. Had we have departed a couple of weeks later we would have met Martin head on and would be very lucky to survive it. The El Nio is no joke and right now there is another cyclone thankfully been downgraded to a tropical disturbance two hundred miles North of us.

Hence we are now preparing to head south and run an interesting gauntlet. Hopefully with a good forecast we should not be caught out by a Cyclone. Personally I would take a gale any day of New Zealand in preference. On the whole I am not in the least bit worried, what we get we get and hopefully with a few smarts on our side it should not be a Cyclone.

What we will be sad to say good-bye to is such a friendly anchorage, the best value fresh produce market in the world, and possibly the loveliest people on Earth. It will be a sad parting but, with the rate of cyclone activity around I thing also it will be nice to bring this cruising season in the Pacific to a calm and pleasant end that is in accord with the wonderful time we had here. We have got all our visas organised here, the yacht is full of water, provisions, and local handicrafts for souvenirs, so it is New Zealand here we come.

I close now on a quick poem that I wrote in our happy days in the friendly island of Tongatapu. As the theam is mopre than self-evident I feel it would be supurflous to say another word more than adieu.

AND WHEN WE MAKE LOVE

And when we make love,

It is as if we are disembodied.

Immaterial and drifting above,

A spiritual unison, unhurried.

There, in communion with the breeze,

Passing between moon beam weaves.

An iridescent sparkle on sunlit seas,

A tree, as it is breaking into leaves.

It is, to drift away in the syllables of a prayer,

To soar in the gracefull swoop of a dove.

There is no hunger nor agression there,

Just two deep lovers, making love.

Friday, November 21st; - Day Seven, En Route Tonga To New Zealand.

At last we have set sail for New Zealand and are well into the voyage at this stage. I say at last because, as can be clearly seen by the above dates, it took us nearly ten days from the completion of the last log entry to actually set sail from Tonga. Part of this is due to finding a broken plastic 'bush' in the top of the roller headsail. This would have caused some damage had we have left without making some attempt to amend to the situation. Without digressing too much into this I will say I was shocked at how easy I could fabricate a perfect replacement with saw and files and some plastic block donated by kind American yachties. The moral of the story is never leave home without a block of plastic. However this did not account in any shape for the ten days before, far from it. The rest again has to be put down to making up for our solitary hours in the French Polynesian 'Garden Of Eden'. We were socialising like crazy again in a harbour, that for us, was the epicentre of the appropriately named Friendly Isles.

The harbour as I mentioned before continued to be the stop off point for all the yachts migrating South. Once one wave departed another came in to fill their place and amidst them old friends continually appeared. To name a few Tazenda, Norn, Chiara, Brisa, and on the list of old acquaintances a rather unusual and utterly boring Dutch couple on Wantij that we mostly managed to steer clear of Thank God. In addition to this we cemented a great friendship with a terrific American boat called Vanessa, skipper Tom, wife Julie and daughter Shiya that we hope see much more of in New Zealand and fell in for the first time with another US boat called Shadowfax. The latter had aboard a young and highly buoyant American couple called Rick and Beth plus they had their match visiting them from another young American boat, Kevin and Vega, their boat name I cannot bring to mind. Rick practically introduced himself to me by way of diving aboard to help me with my rig problems. He had worked on yachts for a profession and this skill, plus a genuine altruism, made it impossible for him to pass me by whilst he noticed I was embroiled in the furling gear. Then once aboard he is up the mast checking the whole set up and doing anything he can imagine to help amidst copious wise cracks.

His best trick however I was to learn later that night when we went over to his boat for dinner. This was to designate large ugly plastic cups to serve as his alcoholic consumption vessals instead of neat glasses. Immediately I was designated bar man as we arrived with a bottle of rum plus mixers and being Irish sealed my fate. Surveying the large plastic cups he proffered me for serving I immediately found it a strange choice, particularly with a view to drinking spirits. Apart from their size and clumsy unappealing appearance they were non transparent which made mixing a difficult task at first. Furthermore they looked rather harmless and child like, and totally misplaced for the purpose at hand; having a stiff drink. I of course said nothing and set to work. By the end of making the first round I fully realised not alone how brilliant these vessals were for party drinking but how unsurpassably clever the whole idea was. Later in the night Rick confirmed it to me with a wink.

By the time I had filled the initial six cups I had demolished my three quarter litre bottle of rum. There was something about the cups that devoured liquids in volume. In addition to this they made anything they contained appear like a mere trickle at the bottom of the cup, even when mixers had been included. This was the genius of it and to be honest it was only something particularly noticeable to the person mixing the drinks. Give a person a handsome little glass of spirits and they start to get cagey when they have arrived at their third refill. Give them this and they would happily polish of double that amount in one scoop and nonchalantly accept a couple of more refills. By then the party would be really hopping. However the best part of it has to be the innocuous looking plastic mugs themselves. For they made you feel that you were not drinking spirits at all but drinking some child's drink at the beach, or upon a picnic perhaps. Never would it occur to you after the initial sip's bite has been dulled, that potent liqueur could be coming out of such cups. Hence you are guaranteed to imbibe what will make a real hair letting down night and make for a real hair standing up next day. A veteran at promoting such nights, I took note, and made sure not to visit the man before setting sail.

This fine day did come around when we literally hid out from view and bolted the harbour to prepare for our departure to New Zealand. The whole operation we carried out of a lovely small island called Pangaimotu in the outer harbour with little pleasure. This had little to do with the lovely surroundings and more to do with a profound aversion that we noticed had grown within us to sailing. Something that particularly contrasted with our last departure from Bora Bora. Where that departure was greeted with complete nonchalance, a matter-of-fact ambience of dropping out to the corner shop for a pint of milk, our latest departure could be said to be the opposite. Though our conscious minds had no qualms with the voyage ahead, deep down in each atom of our bodies and lurking in the subconscious, there seemed to have grown an aversion to the sea.

It was much the same experience as one gets when they push two magnets together of like polarity, an invisible aura had grown that repulsed us from the undertaking. Another example that serves for the purpose is when you drink far too much of a particular type of liquor, so much to make yourself violently ill. For a long time into the future the sensation of having a copious helping of that particular drink again was precisely the same as what we felt about going to sea. Logically we knew that the voyage previous was a one-off piece of bad luck. It was something that should not be factored into any worries or any equation, save one that presented the remarkable strength and durability of Obsession in such heavy weather, the experience had nonetheless changed us. Somewhere deep inside our emotional view of sailing had been substantially tinctured towards abhorrence.

This voyage so far, and again by contrast to the last run, has been characterised by excellent sailing at the outset, to being utterly and peacefully becalmed, lake like, for the past four days. Despite this, it has only been at this late stage that we are subconsciously letting go to our environment and settling in. Up until the last day the trip has been characterised by constant 'GPS watching', the sailing equivalent to employee pre-quitting time clock watching, plus restless impatience. The extent of this has surprised us. Though we may logically work out most things with our conscious mind, two thirds of what goes on is still certainly like the ice berg, beneath the surface. This was most noticeable to us over the past while. I feel it is good fortune that we have had an easy ride for the majority of this voyage. It would be unpleasant to have a deep rooted abhorrence to going to sea, dogging us for our time in New Zealand. However having said that the future four hundred miles may still be of interest as it may be a tricky finish.

By a combination of good luck and our patience a weather mood developed over the south west Pacific. It is one that at once produced an environment that did not lend itself to generating Cyclones and kept the tip of North Land, New Zealand, reasonably calm. Hence our concerns of getting a cyclone setting off was effectively discounted. Now, a week later, we can observe them building again assured of being safe from being pounded to pieces by one at this stage. They rarely go beneath the thirtieth parallel, that we have almost reached, and if they do we will be well further south where they substantially de-power by the time they would catch us. With this concern reduced dramatically our next problems reside in actually getting to New Zealand, and making it in without getting pounded with heavy weather on the nose. Currently, where you would least expect it and by this I mean actually getting to New Zealand, these are quite an interesting challenge.

A series of high pressure systems that have come off Australia are dominating the area at the centre of our journey. These have interestingly dropped red sand dust on the ocean surface from the deserts and less interestingly left us with little or no wind to make passage on. Hence for the last few days we have been burning up large quantities of fuel to get south. Although we have made these miles to a large part efficiently motor sailing we are running very low and coming into an area where if any wind is available it will be directly on the nose which is problematic. It could result in us having to tack the final three hundred miles in. A most unpleasant idea especially if it kicks up hell, many of the yachts ahead of us received such a belting, including Pala and Hanabella. This I hope it will not be the case for us. Not alone would it be highly unpleasant but it would make for a prolonged rough ride that could prove interminable. However, there seems to be a mood on the weather that suggests it will not do this but there is also a malignant looking low beneath New Zealand that could put a spanner into our works. All is up for debate still, but whatever happens we will understand what it is and why, plus know a little in advance before it all goes sour on this trip.

Of all the passages we have undertaken we are most informed during this one. Working in favour of this voyage is Des from 'Naw Zeelund's' Russell Radio on 4445 KHz USB to listen to in the evenings and receive excellent weather fax information from Wellington on 16338 KHz at four in the afternoon local time. These give us a powerful picture of what is happening in the area which is highly interesting. They do also demonstrate how susceptible to chance one is in entering New Zealand for the rapidity of the movement of systems down there is breathtaking. Despite all the technology it seems in such an environment it is still a lottery. Yet a lottery that is at least interesting to follow with the technology. Hence I prepare to close as the next weather fax is due in a few minutes and I must prepare the laptop and short wave receiver to receive the document. It is in a way something that has become the exciting focal point of the day and I enclose below today's download.

However by way of closing I should say it has not been the only form of entertainment aboard. Today I will finish the final chapter of my weighty 'The Columbia History Of the World'. The lengthy Pacific crossing finally put paid to the enormous book. Though a weighty project to embark upon I cannot help but recommend it too, for it was truly worth its weight in gold. Another book I turned to during this passage is John Steinbeck's The Grapes Of Wrath. Again a book of particular historical interest, I have to say it truly is a moving masterpiece that I cannot but help recommend again. More as it happens.

Monday, November 24th; - Day Ten, En Route To New Zealand.

It is four am in the morning and I have just completed some sail changes to make the most of a wind reduction and slight shift. Basically it has allowed for us to motor sail whilst at very low engine revs, tighter to the wind and commensurably closer to the desired course to our destination. In short that could be called a lucky break.

On no other passage have we had to work so hard with tactics to make a few miles than on this voyage to New Zealand. Sure we had to be industrious to conserve energy whilst crossing the doldrums to the Galapagos, but not like this. Though the same situation exists with fuel here, as a result of crossing these enormous high pressure systems in the past weeks, the winds then were light or non existent in the doldrums but generally what was there was favourable. Here the winds are predominantly directly against us which makes for the real challenge. This introduces the topic of tactical tacking.

It is hard to describe tacking to person who lives on the land. It means to get to your destination you have to sail a course radically away from it so that you can then turn around with a workable wind angle to come back to the required end point. Worse still, it means you have to go up wind for the entire duration of the extended trip which means hard pounding conditions all the way. Hence the old English sailing phrase came about 'a gentleman never goes to windward'. Going to windward is an unpleasant thing and the affluent gentleman or owner would disembark with a view to letting the crew handle this mundane business.

To assist in describing the phenomena of tacking to someone who has not sailed, I will invent a situation where a businessman wants to fly from Cork, in SW Ireland, to Belfast, in the North. Arriving at the airport he discovers to his utter disappointment the flight board announced 'wind's on the nose', as sailors would say, to his particular destination. Hence when he checks at the desk he is told the following tactics are required to get him to Belfast. Firstly tacking. Broadly an equivalent to him for tacking would mean that he has to go to London first, then from there cut a course direct to his destination. Not fun; however that's not all there is to give a fair analogy to sailing a yacht to windward, sadly no. One then has to equivocate for the rough and arduous experience of upwind sailing in this example with our business man. This would be for our businessman the same as saying firstly, you have to go to Belfast via London because the 'wind is on the nose', and secondly, plus more unfortunately, this journey has to be taken entirely by coach and ferry as pleasant flying is no longer an option. Our businessman would, I am sure, not be not impressed with his lengthy and fatiguing prospects ahead. In fact, I am sure he would reconsider the entire merit of the journey before embarking upon it and if not; forget it altogether. This is much the same for yachtsmen. In cruising circles yachtsmen would immediately think of somewhere else to go, or at least, wait until the wind changes. This is why there is a saying in cruising circles yachts men have intentions they never have plans.

In fact, point in case, about yachtsmen and up wind sailing. Chay Blyth's BT [or whomever he happens to convince to sponsor and name the race in hand] Challenge is definitely a race that recruits people who have not a single notion about sailing. The race is predominantly routed against the wind and particularly so in freezing waters where the crew are pure and simple rope fodder to the skipper. A yachtsman who knows exactly what this means would never consider such a race for one moment. 'That's for the guys who never sailed upwind to enlist for', they would say and shake their heads mournfully. That would be the end of it from the sailing community, although a few who are given to sympathy would perhaps suck in through their teeth and add 'the poor buggers'. I would have to agree with this appraisal. For despite having few leanings towards the gentleman, frankly I cannot afford the appellation these days, I am with the above mentioned saying. I am a complete gentleman when it comes to going to windward.

However, having said all of the above, we have no choice but to go to windward in this occasion. At the moment it has not been so bad and in fact it has been somewhat challenging and I have to admit some fun as well. Largely this is because the 'up wind sailing' we have been doing has been into reasonable seas with medium to light winds. This means we have not been entirely pounded to a pulp for these last two hundred miles and I feel that should remain the same for the next three hundred miles. This feeling is a function of the weather faxes and weather reports from Radio Russell we have been receiving.

These two have transformed this ride entirely. Without these the whole episode would be a dull and frustrating stab in the dark. Firstly the weather fax we receive from Wellington. With the information I can quite literally stare at surface analysis, the chart and the instruments, that have always mesmerised me to date, and be completely lost for hours on end. Weather charts can seriously whittle away hours as you go through all the parameters of 'what if'. Say if this moves here and that moves there, then we could do this or that or even perhaps gamble on this happening, et cetera. Even better receiving them is a slow process of downloading line by line from the Short Wave receiver. It is not unlike a garment being knitted at high speed line by line and an entire chart takes up to half an hour. With our faiths dependant upon the details on that weather chart, and admittedly a myriad of dreamy strategies to conjure from it, this whole process of downloading is far from watching knitting. More fitting perhaps is an excitement not unlike Demi Moors performance in the movie 'Striptease' - a movie which I hasten to add, should any bellicose feminist chance upon this text, I have not seen but I can only guess the analogy fits. However, the weather fax we call the 'Wellington Today Show'.

This is a mere bagatelle when compared to the 'Des Tonight Show' alias Russell Radio broadcast over short wave. Although we cannot call in to Russell Radio as we have no UHF Transceiver we can usually find boats that call in from our vicinity and the local weather reports that they are given are equally applicable to us. When the 'Des Tonight Show' gives us a favourable wind shift forecast there is a great round of applause, we congratulate ourselves for placing ourselves in a position to benefit from it and a euphoric night is had. News of a bad shift is greeted with a feeling of great despondency, where we are largely disappointed not by the weather or our run to date, but by the show and blame Des himself for being a poor entertainer. However, irrespective of the weather, the 'Des Tonight Show' is still the big event that we look forward to avidly. In addition to the weather we also get all the reports of other yachts progress as when they call in they give their current position and conditions. Some of these we know including very good friends such as Vanessa, and Chiara and it is great to hear how they are doing. Hence the 'Des Tonight' show is not only the weather but also following all the other boats too. This can be done like it is shown in those old Battle Of Britain plane watches in mission control as each boat gives its co-ordinates and bearing.

A particularly interesting aspect of this watching all the yachts trying all sorts of tactics to make progress in the generally adverse conditions I have described. Wind shifts on the show are great for some guys and utterly diabolical for others. To a large part the shifts have suited us taking a bold, non tactical and almost direct entry line to our destination. This is because the weather patterns have been most unusual and not gone with the normal prevailing conditions. This can make for some very interesting radio. You have no idea how despondent a heard of American boats can sound on the net when they have done all their homework with the wind analysis and went to the pain of motoring hundreds of miles off on a tack to make entry easy, then only to find the wind has shifted right in their faces. It is positively entertaining and if we get a bum wind shift it is a mere scoff and never mind by comparison to these guys.

The most interesting of the these bunch has got to be a yacht called Centipede . The guy burns out all of his fuel on the way down and positively cries down the net to Des because he cannot make any progress. Ostensibly his strategy is that if he wails enough about it to Des, he will get in a helicopter and drop it off to him, but he is really hoping that someone listening will just go and give him their fuel. This has been ongoing for several days now and the latest and most interesting was last night.

We were whistling down on a good breath of wind making five to six knots. To our delight the tack was not alone getting us in the right position for our next tack but it was close enough to the desired course to be also creaming miles off our journey. Listening to the 'Des Tonight' show we were un-surprised to hear the same nonsense from Centipede, but we were very much surprised to hear him give his position. He was a mere thirty miles ahead. Hence he must have had the same favourable conditions as us and being that little bit closer could have really worked them to his advantage. By then a German boat was heading towards him to share what scarce fuel they had with the miserable bugger. We were tempted to call him up on the VHF to say we would be passing by in the near future and that we have a little hand book that showed how to set sail. This we could lob over to him as we whistle by and it would be of immeasurable service to him.

On top of the 'Des Tonight' show, and the 'Wellington Today Show', we have benefited from additional audio entertainment on this trip. Late at night the good old BBC World Service comes in as clear as a bell on 15359 MHz AM and once again has become a trusty companion. Then to complete the bill on this trip we have been immensely entertained by a treasure trove of story tapes loaned to us by Waxwing. These tapes include 'The Borhran Maker', 'Wuthering Heights', and 'Clear And Present Danger', where I might add the book is far superior to the movie, and the simply excellent 'Three Men In A Boat'. The last of which we are hearing at the moment 'Wuthering Heights'. Though we could not be more far removed from England, I have to say it is somehow a terribly fitting tale listened to with the pounding of the waves upon the yacht and the wind vibrating off the sails in the dark of the night.

On that point I say goodnight and return to my berth, for I have just realised I have wittered on far too much in the early hours of the morning.

Thursday, November 27th; - Opua, Bay Of Islands, New Zealand.

I am delighted to report that we are in tremendous form and, as can be seen, have our anchor stuck in the very secure alluvial mud holding offered by the Waikara river off Opua, Bay Of Islands, New Zealand. We made it at last.

First and foremost, looking upon the overall scheme of things, New Zealand is in fact highly significant for us. If you take a look at a map of the world, or even better a globe, you can see for yourself. A quick glance will show you that the man who said 'if you dig a hole from London straight through the centre of the Earth you will arrive in Australia' was a grossly inaccurate advocate, in fact the man was only fit to use a shovel. For if he had briefly cared to check his facts he would have realised that such a tunnel would come out deep in the Southern Ocean on the opposite side of New Zealand to Australia. Australia's diametric opposite truly resides in an uninteresting part of the Atlantic ocean just off Morocco. New Zealand's diametric opposite is, however, far more interesting for us. For it is to a large part Spain. In fact as I sit here in rattling in this letter in The Bay Of Islands, North of the city of Auckland, my precise diametric opposite is the island of Gibraltar.

This means for the first time we have sailed our little vessel from one point in the globe to its direct diametric opposite. Hence if we follow that thought a little further, and just before Sherlock would issue with great aplomb the expression 'Elementary my dear Watson', we could say that we have sailed half way around the world. Once that notion crosses your mind, the next elementary thought is let's go to the bar and have a party, yahoo!

On the way to the bar all sorts of crazy stuff occurs to you. Like how amazingly easy it all seems looking back at it so far. It is a peculiar notion that we have sailed around the world on this little vessel made of metal canvas and fibreglass. It seems a strange and alien notion. Plus New Zealand, the whole notion of the country is so remote. All of the lost islands of the Pacific we visited did not have quite the same notion of distance about them simply because before we set off we scarcely ever heard of the places in the first place. But New Zealand, everyone in Ireland and England has an idea where that is, and the correct idea that it is as far away as you can get. Yet we are here. It seems unthinkable that we could have done this, and the only way to encompass it is to have a drink and slap ourselves on the back in congratulations despite our lack of conception. Before doing this I should report on our final approach.

The day after my last entry the wind died out completely and the ocean turned into an oily lake once more. Though most sailors would find this abhorrent I have to confess we enjoyed the break from living at an angle of thirty degrees and the non stop pounding of beating forward. We had our last reserves of fuel to call into play and no better time could be chosen to power on. Whilst steaming I was later surprised to see the mast of a yacht on the horizon in the afternoon and was even more delighted to have a chat with the owners via the VHF. This was a Canadian yacht call Maeva who were cooking their very last drops of diesel like us in a bid for New Zealand. A great chat ensued and we then readied ourselves and our faiths for the 'Des Tonight Show' later on.

When the big time came I am delighted to say it was a great show. We had wind hard on the nose again but we could use it with some arduous tacks to get down to Whangarei. This is a principal town a few hundred miles down the coast of Northland, where we intended to clear in. There are extensive facilities there to carry out work on yachts and we planned to pass the Bay Of Islands, where people normally clear in, to get stuck into some mid-way servicing and enhancements. Sure enough Des was true to his word and we were bashing hard into it again but making progress.

Twenty four hours later and it was 'Land Ahoy' I hollered. Jayne came above decks bristling with excitement, and relief, to see the Islands of the Hen And Chickens off our starboard side. All that had to be done was a mere distance of eighty miles South to Whangarei and we were in. Even old Centipede, refuelled by a kindly German yacht and on the move, were hopping to the beat on it, and Maeva too somewhere close were whistling to Whangerei on sweeping tacks. It all looked exceedingly good and coming into VHF range of the coastal radio I even had the opportunity to talk to the hallowed star 'Des' himself.

Before moving on I should grab this opportunity to say Des is a pleasant, naturally modest, kind and ever so genuine man that one cannot help but experience an overwhelming feeling of warm effervescent pleasure when speaking to him. He is truly lovely that will perhaps be the most salient memory for most all of the yachtsmen that visit the islands.

Anyway it was all set for Whangarei. Des provided us with the tide details for the river that led to the town and if we jumped to it we would catch it on the rise and be swept right up. Perfect we were all set and the clock was ticking. That was, it was all set until the evening came upon us. At that point the capricious wind did precisely what it had done for the whole journey, it threw a spanner right into the works and with the coming evening it shifted to blow directly from the South. This was practically directly where we were going to which would mean a series of arduous tacks to make progress and no chance of catching the tide. Disappointed, well no not entirely. This time the wind may have snookered us on the corner pocket called Whangarei, but it left us a clear shot at the Bay Of Islands in the middle pocket so to speak.

For the first time in two weeks we had the beautiful yachting freedom to say, well if that destination is 'up wind' why don't we go somewhere else. And, when it comes to the 'somewhere else' scale we found you could do no better than the beautiful Bay Of Islands. Off we set with not one drop of remorse to The Bay Of Islands. Being true sailors Maeva, did precisely the same and even old Centipede seemed to be getting the swing of the wonderful sailing tradition and turned a sharp right for the Bay and we all said to hell with it in accord. Soon we were there in the waning light of the now pleasantly lengthening evenings.

Our first impression as we entered in to the mighty and picturesque Bay, that encloses hundreds of islands, was, that this is home. It looked like some of the coastline of Ireland or England if only they should happen to be blessed with hundreds of beautiful islands in unspoiled relief. Progress in as night came down we felt very much more at home using all of the navigational lights and bouyage. It was all excellent and made it not unlike navigating the Solent at night. In addition to this, if anyone should follow in our wakes, I should say Des provided us with some excellent way points to enter the harbour upon that he is delighted to provide to all visitors and the lights and way points combined made it the easiest entry we ever made. However during our entry there was one single element above all that made it feel like returning to England, the cool winds. Over the past weeks we had been noticing, akin to all southbound yachtsmen, the temperatures dropping dramatically by our standards. With a jacket, jeans and hat worn for the first time in over a year, and the cold wind chafing us as we picked our way in with charts, lights and way points, we most certainly felt like we had arrived home. There was only one solution we decided, a warm celebratory brandy after we arrived in.

By good fortune we had just invested in a litre bottle of the liquor before leaving Nukaloafa, down went the glasses into a saucepan of hot water in synchrony with our anchor at midnight of the 26th of November. An hour later Maeva came along and though it is strictly against regulations they stole across in their dinghy and a little party broke out that took us well into the morning hours. Centipede, must have come in during this but we forgot to invite them along for we were having too much of a laugh at their expense hooting at their antics on route. Later when we chanced to meet them we were to discover this was a very fortunate thing. For they were certainly the type that it is preferable to laugh at than laugh with.

The man, when I met him, looked like a long greasy haired computer nerd that had gone to pot, something that you would perhaps scratch out of your belly button with blood chilling horror and swear to be scrupulously clean to operating room standards from that day hence. It was his wife, however, that really took the biscuit. She was a garish sycophantic motor mouth that had a keen eye to clash every item of her appalling garb whilst at the same time thinking herself the epitome of haute couture. She was really something and it was after prising ourselves away from the couple I reconsidered my earlier harsh judgement of the man's wailing's for assistance on the Short Wave whilst bobbing about in the ocean. He was no picture, and it might sound sexist but even the most belligerent feminist would agree with my next statement had they opportunity to spend a few moments with this lady of Centipede. Had I have been in his place I would not have wailed for assistance to get the last few hundred miles to New Zealand. I would have been swimming. In fact considering she was my wife I would have been happy to have been doing that swim with a thirty five pound CQR anchor shackled to my ankles.

Before I close I should say that drink with Maeva turned out to save us a fortune and anyone who should follow in our wake beware. Everyone who sets sail for New Zealand will know that the government's agriculture office takes away certain vegetables and meat products etc. with origins in countries that have suspicious agricultural policies. This is well discussed and all yachtsmen are aware of it even before they cross the Atlantic. However no one knows or mentions that they also take antifouling and by good fortune during our little brandy, 'drive out the chill session', Maeva chanced to tell us.

The next morning when the guy from the department came he did not find an abundance that was against regulations. Sadly however we did find two jars of preserved beef that we chanced upon during our official check and could have enjoyed en route whilst bored to death with the same tins we had consumed since Panama. However, being a sporting chap, the inspector allowed us to hastily slap them into the saucepan and watched whilst we devoured it all post haste. When the big question came around 'did we have any tins of anti-fouling aboard', we mumbled an inaudible and unconvincing no. Throughout the search he continued to return to the question and we gave him an equally uninspired response of no. Eventually he left it at that and sure it was true we had no can of paint marked 'Antifouling'. In the bottom of our wet locker we had a big expensive can of some special paint to be applied to the bottom of yachts to prevent marine growth. But it was certainly not what he was looking for. We had bought it in Latin America and the label was in Spanish. It certainly did not have one single word that even resembled 'anti-fouling' upon it!!

I bid you adieu from this epic point of the voyage. We have innumerable friends to meet, in a fantastic looking country where equally as hospitable people dwell. We are so excited that we cannot even sleep at this stage. More as it happens.

Wednesday, December 31st; - Opua, Bay Of Islands, New Zealand.

To my utter shock I see I have not written a log entry in an entire month! Doesn't time fly by when you're having fun! How I am going to address it all here now on New Years Eve is anyone's guess? Never mind, prepare yourself for a fleeting glance of the past few months activities.

Looking back over the last month I would say the single most outstanding feature has been the social side of sailing. It has been one non stop wining and dining session with the migrants of 'ocean village'. With the notable exception of good old New Liverbird we have pretty much caught up with everyone afloat and have had them over to dinner drinks etc. aboard Obsession and vice versa. It has been one tremendous get together after another in New Zealand where everyone is in such great spirits. For everybody is delighted to have the tricky trip down over with, to leave the Hurricane risk behind, to have a break from long passage sailing for the foreseeable future, and to enjoy that time in what is evidently a fabulous country. The mood could not be more jovial and we have enjoyed particularly good times with, Chiara, Chant De Mai, Kormoran, Tazenda, Pala, Answer Portsey, Vanessa, Notre Dame, Jacarde, Hanebella, Chan, Comera, Alis, Piet Hinde, Tir Na Nog and many more.

Of all these great times we spent socialising in the past month one will stand above all in our memories and this was a day with Chant De Mai. Last year we spent Christmas day in Barbados. Sure it was a great day but I have to confess the big night last year was most certainly the euphoric Christmas Eve party which was utterly tremendous. However the party was a severe over indulgence and I have to confess the shadow of it rather eclipsed the majority of Christmas Day 96. Christmas Day this year was a real Christmas deal by comparison as we were in top condition to enjoy every moment of it. Andy and Ros on Chant De Mai had Jo, Andy's sister, and her husband Rob over so we had a total number of six to share the Christmas feast and frolic together. We could have clubbed together with other bigger parties, as the 'ocean village' would not permit orphans on the day, but the six of us in one group could not be more perfect. We both upped anchor and motored into the estuary of the Waikare river. About two miles up we dropped the hook off the small and little visited Marriott Island which I have to recommend as a great anchorage.

There we had the whole exquisite estuary to ourselves and it was truly beautiful plus, oddly enough, very Christmas like. By chance the day was overcast and in the morning we awoke to a thick blanket of fog that gave a very Christmassy feeling. In this vein the day continued and there was no burning sunshine so one could, if they forgot the pleasant temperature, almost kid themselves into thinking it was a European Christmas. Hence in this pleasant overall environment we enjoyed immensely whilst scoffing ourselves to death on all of the delightful and delicious foods that New Zealand has to offer. Jayne cooked a magnificent feast and thanks to a party game that Ros and Andy suggested we had six hours of unadulterated mirth and joviality leading up to it. It was just such a great Christmas. The peak moments of which I would love to say was Ros' singing in the very early hours of the morning. She is truly a gifted operatic singer and when she sings 'Summertime' by Gershwin, holy smoke, I never ever heard anything like it!!

I would love to say it was the pinnacle moment of the day, it would be lovely to have handed the prize to her estimable and highly meritorious singing. However, despite my awe and desire to do so, the moment was well and truly stolen by Andy earlier in the day. This was by his endeavours to charade 'Mr Bean' to Jayne. It turned out to be a prolonged affair thankfully for all who observed the whole shenanigan. This was not because Jayne was obtuse, but rather it was because Andy's endeavours to mimic the man were so fervent. It threw Jayne off completely and made her think that Andy had ceased to charade and had either thrown a prolonged spasm or gone quite mad. The rest of the day was not far removed from this tone and we will look back at the whole thing with great fondness and think ourselves lucky to have been thrown together with such good company. Definitely a Christmas to beat in the future.

Yes in a month of social whirl Christmas day was certainly the crescendo. But before moving on to this and that, I will just briefly return to discuss one of the above mentioned causes for a sense of relief in the 'ocean village'. This is the big sigh of relief of not having to continuously watch over our shoulders for fear of being hit by a full fledged Cyclone.

As mentioned before this is sadly an El Nio year with a vengeance. In the time we have spent here there have been some ferocious Cyclones ripping across the wakes of our yachts. Hundreds have died and many are people that yachts men know. Before leaving Tonga Mopelia was hit wiping out seventy five percent of the residents there. As we arrived in, Maupiti the island between Mopelia and Bora Bora was hit by the next Cyclone. Ninety percent of all structures on the island where swept away there before it tore up Bora Bora where I am sure it did just as much damage. Amongst the destruction in Bora Bora was the spot where we spent most of our time, the yacht club where 'Reillys Life' made it's debut. Nothing remains of it now save a sandy hole on the waters edge. Riatea has been hit by two cyclones at this stage and the boatyard where we had 'Joshua the wind vein' repaired was smashed up. Yachts that were weathering it out on the hard were thrown over like toys which is a terrible pity as the amiable Canadian called David I mentioned we met in the Marquises had his yacht there. The Island of Aiatutaki which we had to pass but where many yachts stayed and made great friends was also decimated.

It is utterly terrible and unthinkable destruction and loss of life. Cyclones rarely if ever historically touch the Society islands and more commonly cut a swath through the Tuamotus. This certainly is an El Nio year with a vengeance. In fact so much so that it is affecting Ireland and England which is an established knock on effect of a bad El Nio year. As I spoke to home on Christmas night in Ireland/England, St Stephen's Day/Boxing Day morning by New Zealand clocks, I see that they are also getting smashed up by frightening storms almost of Cyclone dimensions themselves. One hundred knot winds raked across Ireland cutting off electrical power, phones and water. It is quite frightening what a small shift of current pattern in the mighty Pacific can cause. Thank God we are in neither of those places where the affects are currently felt and I lament anyone who is. With this sad aspect and sigh of relief set aside, I now turn to the other activities that have characterised our past few months.

On the jobs list the first week of our time was entirely dedicated to getting our Christmas mailing sorted out. This was no small task as it involved corresponding letters and cards to a total in excess of one hundred people. A phenomenal number and quite some task. This year we pioneered the best system for keeping in touch. It involves a single A4 sheet of paper which when folded in four made up a card. When opened it first presented a Christmas card picture and when opened the Merry Christmas message was in the normal place but on the opposite leaf was a small global chart of the trip to date. Upon the back where normally a manufacturer stamp resides we had our address of a friend in Auckland where we can be contacted for our whole duration but the piece de resistance was when the card was unfolded there was a letter written on the back. This allowed every inch of the expensive mail to be used to convey a message and we thought the hastily put together cover should give a good laugh to those who receive them. This was of a war tattooed cannibal with skull in hand and various well chewed bones at his feet overlooking our yacht sailing up to anchor and the caption read 'Look Jayne the natives ahve come out to greet us, maybe we'll be invited to Christmas dinner!'

This was quite some task and when it was complete we only then looked into our jobs list to plan out our activities for the time here. I am sad to say at this stage few of these have been tackled due to a split focus and a bit of touring that inadvertently came our way. Firstly that touring.

We were casually having a chat with Kormoran when Jack and Carly of Jackardie (no prises for guessing where that name was derived) suddenly mentioned that they were sailing down to Auckland and needed their car delivered to Auckland. Well Jayne and I had been planning to go down to Whangarei which was a third of the way to Auckland anyway. We had been there the previous week courtesy of a lift from a fellow yachtsman, had checked out the car scene and had decided to invest there. Hence beimg able to drive down really suited us and 'well heck' we had never seen Auckland and had yet to visit Jayne's friends there. Hence when the trip down to Auckland fell right into our hands off we went.

Auckland we found to be a lovely city as cities go. It is particularly picturesque as one approaches along the main highway from the north and despite its sky scraping aspect it is very green, tidy and unrushed by city standards once inside. What was better was to stay with Jayne's friends Gary and Susan Bishop in there lovely new house. It was the first time we stayed anywhere off the yacht in a year and to be in such a lovely house was a real treat beyond description. When it came to returning home after delivering the car it was only a matter of a bus ride to Whangarei. For whilst passing through south bound we had bought ourselves a car of our own.

For those who follow in our wake I will briefly set down what was our experience with cars here. New Zealand is a country broken into two islands and in general terms it is felt that, although the North Island is utterly beautiful, the South Island is still the most picturesque. However going south from here lands one in latitudes called the 'Roaring Forties' and 'Screaming Fifties' very quickly, which in short is a thing for real hairy chested sailors. A far more practical way of seeing the country is by car. This is also quicker as most sailors will inevitable spend the bulk of their time in New Zealand carrying out general maintenance and enhancements of their yacht. To tour the island by yacht would certainly involve a stop over of an entire eighteen months which few can afford both in terms of time and finance. Hence most all the yachts men are looking at vehicles and predictably at vans. Vans are highly attractive to yachtsmen as they replicate the live aboard nature of sailing and by consequence seen cost effectively.

This was our initial and instinctive approach to a transportation idea until we put a bit more thought into it. After sitting down and thinking it out, we found a saloon car offered us a better deal when it came down to it. When one looked at the overall cost of ownership of the vehicle during our entire stay several factors weighed in to make a regular car the better option. To name but a few, the resale value of a car is not seasonal (vans drop value at the end of summer), cars are half the price on the ferry to the south Island, cars are more economical to run and amongst other things they are less likely to be burgled. Overall when one considers that one will be only touring for a month maximum it is a false economy to buy a van for the purpose of cutting out accommodation costs. It is far more economical to have a car and hostel and camp during the tour.

With this worked out we went out to get a car or preferably a station wagon if possible and by chance of luck we fell upon the perfect vehicle, at the right moment, with the right salesman in the auction room. By a fluke of luck we drove an excellent car out of the garage for a princely sum of NZ$1,450 (UK £600). Even better we managed to get a no questions asked, guaranteed buy back, for the vehicle from the salesman for NZ$1,200 (UK £500). Hence our primary cost of ownership for the vehicle for six months driving, provided nothing expensive goes wrong, is NZ $250 (less than UK£100). Back home one could not pick up a well used second hand bicycle for that sum, hence for such cost one would be mad not to have a vehicle whilst in New Zealand. This is doubly seen to be the case when one tries to do anything. Everything is spread out miles apart with little, and what there is in public transport it is atrociously expensive. Hence it is by good fortune that New Zealand offers cost effective motoring, for it is a car country.

The vehicle we have now is a Mitsubishi Sigma station wagon which is utterly perfect. It allows us the facility of just being able to pull up, inflate a couple of mattresses and sleep in the back if we choose to, plus it still has the benefit of not being expensive on the ferry and economical to run. This of course is the case when it comes to touring but long before that happens we are feeling the benefits of the car. Suddenly we are free to go and visit friends that are scattered here and there anytime and go off and do odd jobs that we once found highly problematic. Because of the mobility we are also able to stay and carry out non specialised work on the yacht here in Opua. This amounts to quite some saving as there is no charge to anchor here. If not for the car we would have had to locate ourselves near the equipment stores and have to pay a fee to do it. This would be a serious monthly cost and living in the middle of a big town would not be very as pleasant as this idyllic abode we have for ourselves in Northlands cherished Bay Of Islands - as they say one day the Bay Of Islands is beautiful, the next, its perfect! Then of course once we have taken it as a fact we are stationed here having a car saves us a fortune to be able drive to a large store to get the groceries.

Yes the car has simply revolutionised our lives and it is also great to know that it is here for Jayne's mother's use when she braves it out to the opposite side of the world to visit us. It will make her trip ten times as pleasurable, as it has our little stay here. Yes we are very content with our set of wheels and it has been particularly beneficial in helping us with respect to our 'Reilly's Life' venture.

Having wheels we can nip here and there to find out about things and one of the areas we had to learn most about was how to rig our little band up with some PA equipment. By good chance we hooked up with a man in Kerikeri that has got us up and running both in knowledge terms and indeed the kit itself. The total amount invested to get us up and running was UK£500 which was not bad. We were fortunate enough to come by a good second hand four channel amp that was spot on plus electing to build our own speaker enclosures cut a good chunk off the speaker spend. On the whole the project worked out surprisingly well financially, as seem to be the case in general with all expenditure in New Zealand.

It is nonetheless a brave step indeed to throw our rapidly dwindling funds into this project and dive out on the road with our little band. Especially when one considers I still have a big 'L' plate on my guitar and a voice that needs a lot of coaching and much more hope and prayers. Yet if one sets there mind to any project they can achieve it no matter what and this is one of my firm beliefs. It is the old drive and pain barrier that has to be broken again, that one embarks upon not with 'I want to' in their minds, but rather 'I will'. We are fully commitment to the 'Reilly's Life' project, though the odds are really stacked against it being a success. Yet I guess the same odds were stacked against the lark of sailing around the world which we have half completed at this point. Akin to the sailing, making a success out of 'Reillys Life' will not happen by itself, it will only happen by determined and steady miles of practice which just eats up time. In this respect we are now practising regularly to get ourselves ready for our target, rough and ready, launch of March first. As a result of this extensive practising taking place on the boat, servicing and boat enhancements needed for our return to Europe are moving along very slowly. Everything now is done hand in hand with the music and as a consequence we are behind where we would like to be on yacht work. However having said this there is a steady amount on the go that's moving along all the time.

On the whole I have to say I am slowly getting optimistic about 'Reillys Life' performance capabilities. We are slowly getting there and I have at last experienced what I call the 'manic hand' breakthrough. This is a phenomena that most ever beginner musician must have experienced at their early stage and it is particularly noticeable when one plays arpeggios. After continuously commanding you left hand to make various shapes and then place it in a certain area of the fret board whilst your right plucks certain strings ab nausea one gets a shock one fine day. This is when you find suddenly the hands get the idea on their own and suddenly start playing along of their own accord. It is indeed a shock the first time this happens. Suddenly one looks down and realises that your hands have raced ahead and your mind has no idea where it is in the music piece and what precisely the left and right should be doing. Yet, to your ultimate terror, both hands are off doing it all of their own totally of their accord. What's worse as you look on they are doing it all with manic vigour as if they were two machines or hands governed by some alien voodoo spirit.

Your eyes look on in horror and your conscious mind cannot fathom where they are in the piece or what to do next, but they do and continue about it completely detached from your conscious mind working as disengaged life forms of there own. In that shocking moment, you are at once, firstly overjoyed that you are getting the swing of it and secondly frighteningly reminded movies such as the 'Evil Dead'. Particularly so of dreadful scenes where disembodied hands crawl around the place intent upon fixing themselves to a hapless neck for purposes of strangulation.

Very far removed from this sensation however is the overall feel of practising music together. Since we commenced working on the 'Reilly's Life' material Jayne and I have noticed an incredible joy after trashing into what would normally be a dull session of our repetitive practice routine. On the lower end of the scale, and as a result of normally tackling a practice session in the first half of our day, the music just seems to wake us up and put us bright and breezy good spirits for the rest of the day. This is an unexpected bonus of just playing music but it is nothing compared to the after-effect of playing music together as a happy couple.

Though I don't want to sound like I am bragging, I feel sure it is fair to say that we are blessed with each other. If ever there were Platonist halves it would be Jayne and I and believe me we know it. Yet despite our normal level of closeness we have noted a higher level of fondness in the day after playing together. At that stage we have noticed we seem to return to a nature which could be described as 'puppy love' fondness of each other, or 'calf love' as my father would mirthfully mocked it. It is a quite surprising effect from playing but more than pleasant. Yet it is quiet pronounced. We thought we were going through particularly fond patches until realised the direct correlation there was with playing music. How strange? Hence the overall project, though it involves a lot of tedious repetitive work, it also has many profound emotional pleasures. Plus I should say here the potential for a few emotional judders.

The latest of these I will say was a shock at the Russell Yacht Club Christmas bash. By freak of luck an Irish band were playing 'The Tree Fellers' and I got chatting to an affable Dubliner 'Mike' who was the lead singer. He gave us some great advice before he dashed off for he was a veritable hound dog when it comes to chasing women. By complete surprise he remembered our conversation and in the middle of the night he decided some experience with a full range of band equipment would do us good. With a swift push from the crew of Notre Dame (a great couple who we call not-the-dammed) we found ourselves on stage looking out at the crowd belting out a couple of numbers.

What a strange phenomenon it is to use a full rig of PA equipment. In that moment we realised our future performances would involve a big learning curve with such equipment and thankfully less hollering our guts out to be heard. The feedback from our first stage performance was surprisingly good. Jayne's voice was a real treat for everyone and I just let rip with the blood thirsty 'Follow Me Up To Carlow'. That is such a ripper of a song that subtitles of singing can easily skated over if you sing it in a hot blooded fashion. I introduced it as a song set in the time of the movie 'Braveheart' to give it a bit of a taste of the Middle ages, and something visual for the international audience to grab onto. This of course is untrue as it is about a battle in 1580 which was much later, but who cares about veracity when it comes to showbiz. Anyway, despite this slight fudge I was taken aback when an American said to me a few days later 'that was a ripper of a song you did about kicking the English out of Northern Ireland, you sure showed them' and he waved a belligerent fist. I think I might need to be a bit clearer about such things. And hey, why not, Jayne is of course English and I am Irish, and we get on great!

Well that is about all there is for the moment save to say we are spending far too much money and will have to apply ourselves to the problem somehow soon. It is that old problem where everything is such a low cost you are inclined to buy things. In the Pacific as I am sure I explained you had no such problem. I believe having got by for so long one is inclined to have a big spending session when you escape the financial suppression. It looks like our thoughts will have to align with everyone else on the planet and we may have to place financial worries in a segment of our consciousness. But not a overly large segment at least for the moment.

I will close with a brief mention of a special visitor we had. In a previous life in London I shared a flat with a girl called Karen Morris. One day and from an unexpected corner she had an offer to go and work in a challenging job in Auckland of all places. Unsurprisingly she took it on the spot. Before she departed she thought she would check out the girl who the landlady had arranged to replace her in the flat. On one of her last evenings there, whilst she was helping scrub the cushions of a previous yacht on the siting room floor, the new girl showed up. There Karen myself and this stranger made our first acquaintances. By an unexpected turn of events, to all hands involved in that meeting little did we know at the time but all three of us were destined to meet again in Opua, New Zealand just before Christmas when Karen came to visit us. This is because the new flat mate that I speak of meeting way back then was none other than Jayne. Hence it was great to have Karen visit us here to bring us all three together once again. I bid you adieu. Its new year's eve, celebrations call me away from pen and ink.

Monday, January 12th, 1998; - Opua, Bay Of Islands, New Zealand.

The new year has come and gone and we find we are in the exact same place as we were last year, so to speak. And very happy to be so I might add, for it is hard to beat the Bay Of Islands. How lovely it is to peal off highway number one, which is not far removed from an Irish class highway, and after a half a kilometre or so find oneself cruising down a lengthy hill to Opua. There each inch of the way one can over looks a vast and scenic bay where one's yacht lies practically motionless as she sleeps on it's chain. It is a breathtaking sight I tell you, not unlike the feeling one gets when first they step into a gothic cathedral, and the satisfaction is more than doubled when the first expression that comes to your mind, even after the shortest absence, is 'it's great to be home'. It has been a long time since we have said that and I could think of few places on earth that I would rather say it of than here in our quiet little abode off Opua in the Bay Of Islands.

Since last I set down an entry we have been busy with 'Reilly's Life' and yacht work, plus some very pleasant socialising which seems to be a reoccurring leitmotif of our stay her in New Zealand. First and foremost amongst this socialising has been a brief sortie down to Whangarei after concluding my last entry to meet up with Chant de Mai and many other troops of the yachting fraternity for New Years Eve celebrations. The moment was brought in the yacht basins where various parties all came above decks to pop the corks and so on. It was a lovely night especially to be together with good friends although there was only one thing that I would say was particularly remarkable about it. That was unlike any other New Year's get together in any other place in the world I could guarantee precisely what everybody wished for the new year for you could sense it was precisely the same amongst every soul there. There was no new years resolutions, for not one individual had anything about the previous year that in anyway troubled them. On the contrary, the times everyone had were so good that meant they only wished one thing in silent unison; that the coming year would be as good as the last. With that hope in our breasts it was easy to raise a toast.

Equally as memorable however was an event the following day that we enjoyed before returning home here to Opua. That I am sad to say was a mere visit to the cinema, something which is seen as a great treat to yachties and a veritable army of us went, but I am equally happy to say it was no mere frivolous movie. The movie which we saw was Titanic, staring Kate Winslet, Leonardo DiCaprio, and Billy Zane who played a typically powerful character. For all those who have seen it in the cinema the spectacle of this movie will remain as much a memorable experience as it was to us. Never have I seen such quality of movie making in all my years, from acting, to special effects, to photography, to lighting, to costumery, to attention to microscopic detail, right across the board to the haunting Irish airs that become the living soul of the movie. The movie was crafted with skill and elegance. It is something that has to be seen in the cinema for it would loose the majority of its beauty and spectacle on a small screen. We loved every second of its three hour and fifteen minute run and were lost in it for days afterwards. As we settled back into our band and work routine grand images that it left etched upon our minds eye continuously return to us and I can call many lovely and poignant images to my mind still as I write this two weeks later.

The next big social event we had was from Jayne's friends, Gary and Sue Bishop, from Auckland who were delighted to come up and see the much vaulted Bay Of Islands by yacht. Of course this sounds wonderful , to see the lovely bay via yacht, but Gary, a truly wonderful guy, had something far different than tourism in mind for his break. Basically this was to play cards, eat well and drink copious amounts of 'Lion Red' beer. If luck should strike then he would hope to scoop up a couple of Cray fish for dinner with his scuba gear. Upon landing aboard we took them to Marriott Island where he began explaining this elaborately complex game called '500' and thus we embarked upon the weekend. By Sunday I have to confess I was hooked on the lifestyle and I wish the quorum required for the game were now possible plus the beer I might add. It was truly great fun and we had a heck of a time. In fact I am at this moment looking forward to going down to visit him in Auckland for such purposes, and of course whilst we are there perhaps we shall collect Jayne's mother from her flight which is the reason for going.

Whilst they were here I should say a most unusual event did occur for this perfect El Nio inspired summer we are experiencing. That was a gale. As we had passengers that were not familiar to the gait of a yacht in a chop, and a good hand of cards to be getting on with, we made best endeavours to make sure we found a series of protected little pockets to shelter from the conditions. To our utter surprise we found that no matter where the wind should decide to howl from, in the Bay Of Islands you are guaranteed to find a nice little cove that offered a nice alluvial bottom and consequent perfect anchor setting plus waters of a mill pond nature. It is a phenomenal place and I have to say of all the places available Opua, though we may love it dearly, offered the poorest anchorage we experienced comparatively speaking. In addition to this all of the places we visited were simply lovely and when Jayne's mother arrives we plan to break off our activities somewhat to explore as many aspects of this lovely yachting haven.

Apart from that it has been work and more work on the yacht. Predominant amongst this has been varnishing, servicing, a few enhancements such as a parallel manual water pressure system, and a rather complicated charging problem with our alternator. To our horror we found that we were not getting a charge through our system and after ripping it all apart and replacing various components I finally tracked it down to a simple loose connection on a terminal lead near the 'amp metre'. With this located I put it all back together to discover to my horror the alternator suddenly packed in completely, an expensive nightmare. Immediately I bitterly blamed myself for making an error that cooked it but double checking everything and could not find an error as I was particularly careful. Taking it to an excellent electrician here in Opua I explained all that I had done and he admitted that he could not understand why it blew. Bench testing it he confirmed my analysis onboard, the alternator was completely dead. He took it all apart to find out which component had failed. Not being able to find a fault in my procedure nor see anything readily apparent as culprit he decide to send the some components off for detailed testing. Today they came back and the had a clean bill of health stamped upon them. Strange we thought and double checked the rest of the components and they seemed OK too. Reassembling the entire unit we again tested it. For some inexplicable reason it all worked perfectly.

Immediately thought Thank God, thinking of the replacement component costs and in the same instant thought of the specialist hours labour that have gone into this so far. Once this fleeting financial impact had departed, I looked at the electrician in utter bafflement who looked back at me with a mirrored expression. All we can do is run it for a few weeks and see what happens. I truly hate working with boat electric's.

Well that's it except for a little misfortune that struck hard. Whilst working with some piping that I was pulling through some conduit I felt my left middle finger brush hard against a piece of metal. In an instant I knew what it was that I had come in contact with, the excess band of a tightly wound in dubly hose clip and the outcome was the usual when sharp steel and flesh meet; a lot of blood. To my horror I have cut a deep slit across the top of the digit that I need most to play guitar. It could not have happened at the worst time for I desperately need to practice non stop and with this I could be out of action for up to two weeks. I am truly gutted. Ah well, I guess with all this free time I have I might reply to the odd letter and even get the log up to date at last. Reillys not having his normal life at the moment.

I close on a little poem I wrote for Jayne by way of a new years kick off. So inspired was I by the great artistry in the movie Titanic we saw on New Years day that when we arrived back to Obsession I had to put pen to paper. Though the poem was inspired by the great artistry in the movie it is a rather ironic subject. On that point I will close this entry.

NE PLUS ULTRA

There was a time that I only lived in art.

The drift of a minor chord's tender rue,

The poignant poet, the love story well told,

In a fleeting pulse, to the soul of beauty I flew.

Those precious moments free from life's bondage.

In a halted breath where spiritual wings drew,

Over brimming heart, colour, light, spiralling free,

In a fleeting pulse, to the soul of beauty I flew.

Now it seems for me art has become impotent.

To its alluring reveries my content soul says adieu,

For such movements have become but frail spectres,

Compared, to the daily beauty it is to love you.

To Jayne,

To Another New Year,

To Us,

Together.