~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Saturday, April 12th. - Laying to Anchor, Off Colon & Cristobal, Panama.

The perfect opening to a new log would be a description of the crossing over between two continents and the entry of the mighty Pacific ocean. Well that would be the perfect opener to log four of the voyage but one that is not to be. As you can see we are still more than a week waiting on the Eastern or Atlantic side of the canal and will not be making our transit for a few days yet. During our time here we have however been having a great time and getting a few jobs done to boot. Firstly let's turn to the reason for the hold up in our transit.

Whilst in Margarita we made arrangements to club together with New Liverbird to cross the canal. The canal needs each yacht to have four line handlers, a skipper and one pilot provided by themselves before you can travel. With line handlers costing fifty dollars a day it makes sense to club together with other boats. In addition to this one must provide four lines of thirty metres in length with a diameter of no less than twenty two millimetres. Pooling resources to achieve this is also more than helpful too as that is a hell of a lot of line. Hence boats count on pooling together somewhat therefore we made our arrangements to meet up here.

When in Curacao we saw that they had cleared in with immigration and were due to leave on target to arrive as assigned here with us. Yet though we were on the same small island we could not find them. It was very peculiar but we concluded they must have gone to some isolated anchorage that we did not know of and said that we would meet them here. This we have not done. Earlier in the week we had some friends arrive and we said we would not make any other arrangements with another boat until a week has passed. This time has passed now and to our surprise there is no sign of 'The Liver Birds'. It is not the inconvenience that is a problem whatsoever as we had people queuing to club in with us, but by now we are getting concerned. Bernie and Sue are pretty reliable and had firmly resolved to be here a week ago. I hope they have not had any difficulties. I will keep the log abreast of the details there.

Anyway I should try and give my first impressions of Panama and the canal. The Eastern side of the canal is a bay that has been almost completely encircled by two enormous breakwaters, it really is something. The enclosed bay is about twenty five square nautical miles and it offers an excellent anchorage for yachts in their assigned section commonly known as 'the flats'. From here everything is organised via the use of the facilities of the Panama canal yacht club. This is a tremendous club that has an equally excellent bar. Washing, water, fuel, dingy dock, cloths washing machines, excellent showers, taxi rack and much more all for our usage, but the bar is still the best. It has a real old world feel about it with a central bar that in fact is a boat built into it. The minute you enter it the cool AC air hits you and the nice tinted glass that allows you to take the permanent squint out of your eyes. Then you go get a cool drink and nearly faint at how little the charge is. It is so small that you just buy a pitcher of really good beer and sit back with your glass to enjoy. Yes the Panama yacht club is certainly the tops by my reckoning. Whilst in there having a cool drink you could have anything in the dingy at the dock and you have no thought for its welfare. Nothing happens in its big grounds. In fact the only viable danger we found there was whilst we were on the large lawn playing with our newly acquired Frisbee and worse still a boomerang. Whatever about the former the latter in our hands along with the squad of kids that joined in with us was certainly liable to kill someone. If this was the most dangerous thing in the Panama Yacht Club enclave it could not be said the same of the world outside.

Colon (and Cristobel that was American territory before hand over) is a bit of a rough spot. On the whole the place looks shabby and some places are pretty desperate. The problem is that it seems once it was a really busy and bustling little town with the American enclave being so near, plus no doubt the Military law enforcement. Then the Americans handed Cristobal back to Panama and the downslide began commercially and socially. The businesses slumped and eventually a lot just closed down shutters and never reopened. Hence the busy little town of Colon went to the dogs. All that is left of the neat little ten by ten block district is a few buoyant but well worn streets and in between post apocalyptic decay. This may sound dramatic but in fact it is the case. I guess it comes from those American movies of the seventies that give you those big tales of after the holocaust and all. Anyone one of them could be shot on these streets without a single prop being used. Looking down them you will see garbage and rubble spilling out onto the street like a great wave of debris from disembowelled and burnt out buildings. Burnt out cars rusting on mass are interspersed here and there. Amidst all of this there are people all over the place not doing anything just milling about. If it was a shanty town it would not have the flavour of those post apocalyptic movie sets I mention, but this was obviously a buoyant town and the carcasses of the buildings speak of this. However though I speak of a post apocalyptic movie cityscape as the first impression, the second impression that immediately follows on seeing this is that this is not a movie, it is real!

The above mentioned type of street can be seen by looking down any crossword and we went down one by way of a taxi. He had to drop me off to sort some papers in a downtown emigration office. It really was the only way to see it as it is not prudent to walk into such a street during the day, at night you just will not make it ten paces. Just stepping from the taxi to the office door I found I passed through a dozen young men in the street, just hanging about sharp as eagles, edgy too. It was as if they were going to just play a game of football but the ball disappeared. It would take nothing for something untoward to go down. The wink of the eye the step to the left of two of them and one to the right and its all over. Jayne stayed in the taxi terrified whilst I did the business in the office and the taxi driver waited nervously. Fortunately the main streets are more secure than this, and I remind you, by main street I mean forty feet over the way. This is because of a high military and police presence. Both are armed to the teeth and wear flak jackets that they need. When Noriaga was jumped on by the Yanks he dispersed arms to the general population on the hope they would give resistance, they did not and it means that there are a lot of guns floating around not too far beneath the surface of every day life here.

It is not uncommon to see someone being spread-eagled against a wall with one man searching him whilst the other covers both men with an uzie machine gun. By hence, and rather more clever, using armed and plain clothed police, the main streets are kept under control during daylight hours. The shops themselves have all armed guards that handled their guns nervously and never take their finger off the trigger. Most all there weapons are automatic shot gun types which got the name 'street sweepers' in the United States by the violent underworld. The description is accurate and if a fire fight was to commence with such weapons in use the place would look like a slaughter house in an instant. This however is the state of play during the day. Once the sun goes down, you can forget it, you just do not go there. Four good beer drinking German freighter sailors, who probably went into the town for more than the beer the bars advertise, told me they way they went up town at night was to bribe a soldier for twenty dollars so he would stand guard over them whit an M16 whilst they had a few beers. That apparently is not the exception but seems to be the way of things amongst the big freighters.

So it is a bit tricky here, but on the whole, as long as you do your business by daylight and do not make a real faux pas with the streets you might dash down, you're alright. This combined with the wonderful little enclave that the Panama Yacht Club is makes it really great here. In fact before I depart the security aspect I do have one interesting little story that I should mention. One day I went off for a stroll about town with a guy called Dave whom I will talk about later. However for now I will say Dave is a reasonably rough looking guy, forty five, tall, slight but with broad shoulders and looks every bit an ex British solider with his harsh features, tight cropped hair and thick moustache. We traipsed all over town looking for boat bits, or should I say more correctly I got tied up with him whilst he brought me around town looking for his boat bits. Anyway during the process of the whole day he was constantly panhandled and hassled by folk. On each occasion I expected the panhandlers to tackle me next but each time they took one look at me and shied away like frightened dogs. Strange I though as David was much more daunting looking prospect than me and he was roughly dressed too where as I was very smart in a matching black pair of shorts, black belt, black polo neck shirt and in fact black peaked hat and sandals. My ships briefcase was even black which was made of fabric and I could wear it on my back via special straps. I looked very smart indeed, but none came near me at all I noticed as I surveyed all behind a pair of 'Ray Ban' sunglasses that were specially designed for sailing and have a slight mirrored effect to reduce the light intensity.

On we went through town until I started to notice people clearing the way before me, especially down and outs and suspect looking characters. Life for me was a breeze but for David he was constantly being hassled. It was only when I arrived back that it suddenly all made sense. Dressed in black my clothes were that of the elite wing of the military junta. No wonder why they all stepped aside. However though convenient it probably is not a good idea overall. My briefcase though looking like a flak jacket would do nothing with respect to a snipers work had he a penchant for taking out military junta personnel.

Before I depart Colon I have to mention the prices. They are incredible for the price of a packet of cigarettes you will buy two pairs of very smart ladies shorts here or two pairs of sandals. Food is just brilliant too, you can get a lot of American food at a really good price which makes it a fantastic place to stock up or augment your Margarita shopping. We are in a wonderful position now to go into the Pacific thanks to this place in relation to the complete set up, food and sandals bits and pieces that are vital, I remind you of the earlier mentioned Frisbee, and we are very happy in this respect. However though the downtown shopping may be good it is nothing by comparison to the enormous duty free zone. This is a city of itself just on the outskirts of Colon. It has absolutely everything all Duty Free. We really missed the music aboard and would miss the money even worse if we stocked up on CDs in each port. Hence the time came to look into buying a 'boom box' for the express purposes of taping. We were undecided until we looked at the prices here. Then we were decided post haste. We bought branded Radio CD player included a double cassette deck for one hundred dollars. Yes, one hundred dollars. Just to put it into perspective I was going to buy rechargeable batteries for it outside the zone and for the number it required they came to fifty dollars, half the price of the system itself. Amazing, right now I am taping our stuff to give it to Ewald and Michael on 'Mora Labora' who showed up here just after us. Yes we have certainly got the music under control here.

In addition to the music we also have our passage under control as well now despite the change of plan with Liverbird. The aforementioned Dave and Chris of Shady Lady that we met briefly in passing in Bonaire waited patiently for the expiration of our allocated week of grace to the Liverbirds. Then Ewald and Michael came in and if we all club together and do three transits we can provide all the required lines and line handlers between us to meet the canal requirements. With that sorted we had just to sort out our measurements and pay the fees.

The Ad Measurement was a scream. We had a very pleasant man come aboard after doing Shady Lady and he set to the paperwork with manic vigour. Sitting down below as he went through the details he continuously kept saying that it was hot and he loosened his collar. We agreed but thought strange it was not exceptionally hot and he was a native. This continued for some time until he had to go above to get some air for he felt distinctly ill. It was then we twigged it, he was not hot, our Ad measurer was sea sick in the very calm and placid bay. We could not believe it. Hence the measurement continued between seasickness breaks where I gave him all the tips of the trade to prevent the onset of the dreaded feeling, a big help to him, and also told him a few from my repertoire of seasickness jokes until Jayne threatened my life, that was no help him at all. Nonetheless, Obsession has gained an official Panama Canal Transit number No. 370487, and our bank balance sank three hundred and fifty dollars. To do the whole passage it will probably amount to about four hundred dollars in total. But hey that's good value in my books, one only has to imagine Tiera Del Fuego and Cape Horn to see why and the whole mess up of contrary winds and routes. Very good value indeed.

Well that's the story to date and I finish the log here on three different personalities. The first is David of Shady Lady. As mentioned we met him first in Bonaire and he is a really friendly and in your face kind of guy who dived upon us one day and invited us to his table for a drink. There we met his Dutch girlfriend Chris who, with the exception of Jayne, is probably the most attractive girl I have seen afloat to date. At thirty two she is about twelve years his junior and has lived with him for about eight years in Holland where they both worked as croupier's.

When you first meet David you really see him as a bit of a staccato and odd guy. You find his humour harsh and abrupt and his nature a shade too sycophantic for my tastes, but on the balance of things he appears fun loving and hell bent on partying. Once he has made an acquaintance however he does tend to attach himself to you with a vengeance in fact he becomes practically inescapable. This is rather unfortunate as after a while, and the more you become aquatinted to him, a less endearing picture seems to emerge.

The man seems to be a confused kind of character. He is an interesting combination of many drives you find out over time best described perhaps as an egotist with low self esteem. Firstly he seems to suffer from the worst type of ignorance, the omniscient type. Benign ignorance, my kind, is where you know you don't know much and generally try keep quite. David however seems to suffer from the pernicious omniscient variant of ignorance. The one where the victim is too far gone to notice just how little they know, and consequently think that they know a hell of a lot that they should share with the world. Akin to most people, this type of character can wonder through various fields of interest and soak up some superficial details; unlike most their tendency is to spout extensively upon then whilst donning an expert air. Hence David speaks with great authority on many subjects like quick draw cowboy of the wild west - the type who operates on the principal; ready, fire, aim, ain't I clever.

The man is often speaks volumously in sepulchral tones about many areas of which I honestly confess to know little, but yet enough to discern in most circumstances that he knows less or nothing at all. Yet he insists on continuously speak of these subjects in lofty, if not condescending, tones. To further exacerbate the situation normally these subjects he brings to bear upon you are of not one jot of interest. I can not understand why he should do this.

Far from it being my prerogative to hang a man for waffling on, that would be the height of hypocrisy on my side. However David does seem to be special case. The man seems to be held captive by ego-centrist, a hankering need be in the spot light where he can promote himself as an intellectual and a free thinker on a higher plane. This is so very unfortunate for him as the more he speaks the more the opposite becomes apparent. For in each moment of his presence, at least as far as I am concerned, all that can be seen is how transparently boorish, disgusting, crass, extremely rude and rapidly approaching dirty old man status the poor man is. Indeed it is so apparent that it is both embarrassing and uncomfortable to be near him. He does however seem acutely sensitive far down and beneath it all, but the sensitivity is buried beneath a thick layer of vulgarity that would never allow it to blossom. The single fact that I have found in his favour is he is very truthful. When it comes to what he wants he will say it as it is.

This of course brings us back to Chris which really has me putting words to paper in David's case. As you can tell by reading between the lines of the above passage, I am not at all enamoured by my experience of David. I admit I wear my animosity for the man on my sleeve. This is a function of two things. Firstly by the lay of the land, and his own attraction to us, we have had him latched on to us for a little too much over the past few days. Secondly because of Chris and his poor treatment of her which is embarrassing to both Jayne and I.

She truly is a lovely girl, pretty as a bright new penny, light hearted and airy and as easy going as they come. Though David is no picnic to live with I can imagine he certainly reserves a special cultured relationship when it comes to Chris. As a rule he treats her like she was trash and believes firmly in the school of 'treat them mean and keep them keen' with respect to the girl. I don't mean this in a rough handed manner, at least I have not seen evidence of this, but in company he is constantly belittling her. It is a particular pronounced habit of his that seems a personal addiction he is unable to do anything but serve.

Ironically and on top of this he seems a bit vulnerable when it comes to her particularly as she is so attractive. Hence a lot of these comments are snide and loaded, taking the form of twisted psychological poison darts that are all to transparent as seems the norm with the man. It is a constant talking down to her master and servant style in a shameful way that she just goes quiet and in a non antagonistic way. Not pleasant and if that is not enough it gets worse. His core interest in life is sex. Not I might add actively participating in the act, but much more preferably to him is to be a voyeur - watching others do it. Especially so floozies tartly dressed up. For him to get Chris dressed up in PVC and go out on the town is the ultimate and it seems the girl gives in from time to time. The piece de resistance for him is watching lesbians at work and again Chris has to serve here as he generally touts for a third party to move in aboard and to set to work on the poor girl. Running a very close second to this off ball new age type free sex relationship planning that he desires is his ultimate penchant. That is, I would have to say is talking about it all of course.

David candidly speaks that he wants to have a menage a trois aboard when Chis is not about. His view is that he wants to have two wives, so to speak, who enjoy each other for his voyeuristic pleasures. This he has had from time to time he purports until the other girls have run off not to mention the four wives he had before that. Chris on the other hand is a straight girl and just wants to have a kid and be with a father. A thousand guys would follow her to the end of the Earth but she is some way tied to this guy that seems far from ideal. One that treats her like a dog and like a stupid and loyal dog she keeps coming back for more. It is a terrible pity and there is a terrible sadness on that boat Shady Lady (a name that incidentally speaks volumes of David's natural artistic and intellectual capability to pick a classy name for his yacht that he is staggeringly terribly proud of).

The whole thing is a pity as I see it. It is a pity for Chris, and, it is doubly a pity for me having to put up with the guy for the next week whilst transiting the canals. Thank God for the two German guys to give us a measure of sanity. Well it takes all sorts to make up a world and on the subject I will let the last words go to Jayne on the subject last night. "It is there world, its not ours" she said and I do not think anyone could have put it in any more egalitarian terms.

Well that's the case with David and the next personality to make an equally unpleasant entrance onto the stage here has been 'dingy'. Yes it has been a bit of a drama with the dingy. You guessed it the glue did not work and the patch lifted. Nightmare but I think we have got to the bottom of it now. Apparently Zodiac dinghies are made of some new fabric that no other glue will work on and we are getting some special glue shipped out - no it cannot be got anywhere in Colon to my complete amazement. However for the moment the patch is kind of working and the dingy does not sink if you leave her tethered to the yacht. Just when we got to grips with the disappointment of that the outboard engine who had been running erratically suddenly packed up and refused to run anymore. Fortunately this was easily remedied courtesy of a few years of motorcycling in my youth and a bit of experience with two stroke engines. The carburettor was full of dirt from Venezuelan fuel. Once I took it all apart and cleaned it out the engine ran like a dream. So the dingy story continues but, though not fixed, it is not as bad as it was.

My final word is reserved for a mention of a very special personality in relation to the trip. Whilst in full flood on those three dollar pitchers of beer in the Yacht Club bar I just stepped over to the phone and there was, who you won't believe when I tell you, getting a reverse charges call over the counter. Of all people Kim Luckham. Of course when she had finished I had her over and had to buy her a beer for old times sake or should I say tradition. She got a ride across on a Catamaran and saw the Caribbean for a while. Then she jumped on a boat in Grenada to cross the Pacific. Unfortunately this did not go well as she was ejected from this yacht here under less than amicable terms by the looks of things, an irate skipper came in and asked her in no uncertain terms to finally remove her gear as it was going mouldy in a plastic bag on his deck. However with this little hiccup of the plan she said she would go and tour Latin America this year and jump on another yacht to do the Pacific next year. That was about the total I got from her. David was there and of course with his hot dreams of a menage a trois he dived on Kim with great charms. Thus he insisted when she left that she would be line handling for us and he would arrange it when she came over for dinner. I of course told him to forget about Kim as she was really not dependable. David however insisted that he knew more about women's psyche than me and he would get the best out of Kim where I had failed. It was more than obvious the devilish plans he had for getting the best out of Kim by the excited glint in his murky eye. All sorts of sordid imaginings were afoot in his mind. Kim of course never showed up for his dinner and drinks invite probably being more than experienced with such lechers on boats at this stage.

Yet I say well done Kim. It was truly great to see her and we had a great chat until David diverted it. Apparently the great Dane is still in the picture coming out to see her and all. I really say great guns to her and more of it. The final thing I would say is that she has not changed one ounce in her time. I don't want it to sound bad for I am so pleased to see her but it is an interesting footnote to our meeting. A taxi here is one dollar or the price of a can of coke at home. Yet Kim marches out at the end saying she has to catch a bus to her accommodation. Chris and Jayne went ashen faced at the prospect of her going out to town in the dark to catch a bus. It is a definite no no in Colon. They were just about to run after her with a dollar for a taxi when I said hold it. Kim knows the scene better than us and has plenty of money as was always the case. She had just explained to us her plans to go touring for the next two years ahead, she had one dollar today for a taxi if it was worth it to her. But it was not she would rather save the difference between it and the bus fare. If you paid for her this evening she would just do the same tomorrow and each day after it. So forget it, I suggested, its her own life, she puts it at a value to herself of a few pence saved, why should we value it at more. Leave her to do her own thing, I said, and so we did. Anyway I pitied the poor guy that would try to take anything from Kim, she can be quite a tiger in such circumstances.

Kim made it and I am sure with her brilliant determination that she will continue to make it. It is so funny as I was just going to send her a postcard and all. It really is great to see that. Kim never said one thing aboard save one day when she made a solitary statement that nearly knocked Martin and I out coming for such a silent corner on an otherwise very noisy boat. She said 'you can have anything you want in life, so long as you don't want to have everything you want in life'. On this belief Kim must operate as it appears dear to her and 'more power' to her as we would say at home, 'more power' to the girl.

Friday, April 18th; - Aboard 'Mora Labora', Gatun Lake, Amidst A Crossing.

Well as you can tell from the title this is the first log entry that has been set down whilst aboard another yacht and it is a great pleasure. The Panama canal consists of three locks up, a twenty one mile run across the magnificent Gatun lake, one lock down, another one mile run, then the final two locks down to the Pacific ocean and of course vice versa. Presently we are in the middle of Gatun Lake and racing across those miles with the hope of getting down the other side with a ship so we can transit in the same day. This believe it or not is our third transit and the previous two transits involved a one night stopover. This of course has had us going flat out for the past five days from five a.m. till late in the night. Though exhausting I have to say it all has been great fun.

The first passage was with 'Shady Lady', yes David's boat. Well it was not bad in most respects. Firstly the actual crossing could not have been simpler, in fact it was a piece of cake. Up-locking we tied along side a big beautiful Italian Racing Yacht of at least fifty feet and a trimaran took the other side. Hence the line handlers of the big boat took control and we had nothing to do but watch it all, perfect. The only tricky bit was the actual separating of the rafts once trough Gatun. The Italian helmsman could not do anything at a moderate pace so it was the occasional splash and sharp intake of breath as we parted. The down locking was even simpler again, we went centre chamber on our own. Truly, I thought, what was all the fuss about the ditch, it's as straightforward as they come. David however I concluded would be a royal pain in the ass and to my astonishment he was within a range of nausea that was respectable. It seems and we noted that he is OK as long as he is not drunk and if we did not party on down he would be hard pressed to get wasted and become his real self. It all went very well and upon arrival it was a quick taxi through Balboa for the express bus to Colon and 'Obsession's' turn. 'Obsession's' ride through would not be as easy.

The big problem in the Ditch is when you get put behind an enormous tanker up-locking and it has to throw it's engines on to move forward. This I was to experience as we came in very blasé after our first outing. We were rafted up with an Australian Boat called Mirage, and all went well up-locking until they, the enormous ship ahead, went to move. They tried to shift it with the locomotives along the top but with four towing it they only achieved one foot. Then the Captain said he had to push it with the prop and we were told by our advisors to brace ourselves. The force was enormous and a maelstrom of water came hurtling back upon us. It was a if the chamber of water was a large liquidiser spiralling everywhere before the engine kick out. The yachts went crazy leaning this way and that and the four tethering lines all at least twenty two millimetres thick stretched as if they were bungy cords. It was quite awesome and it would have been frightening to know what would have happened had he left the blade turning for more than a few seconds or gave it any more power. Unfortunately the next lock up we were to find out.

All went well again until the ships engine turned over. I am not sure whether he gave it a little more power or if it was just that he ran it for a moment longer, whatever it was being behind the ship in the chamber felt like the inside of a washing machine. The lines sprung and creaked and it was clear something had to give, in the end it did. Fortunately it was not a line, otherwise the yachts would have been really broken up when they hit the walls in the tumult, it was a fairlead that snapped on the other yacht. Of course for those who were amidst it all it was a seriously bad moment. All were hanging on for dear life, looking at the bouncing lines and praying so when the shot came there were a lot of gasps. By good fortune for 'Obsession' the line on 'Mirage' was also secured to a winch so it held at that point. The pushpit was unfortunately in the way of the snap of the line and under the load the stainless steel bent and buckled as if it were a plastic straw meant for a soft drink. Phewww, we had a close one there for if the other boat's line gives its you that hits the wall not him. Remember he is holding you off the wall and you him. That was a close one but needless to say 'Obsession's' fairleads and cleats are second to none and the lines we were using were from Mora Labora were far over specified so we were in top shape. The third up chamber went more or less like the first and we all breathed a sigh of relief when we got out of the top chamber. The rest of the voyage was a cinch. Well a bit of a drama to keep things entertaining.

Our transit unfortunately did entail an overnight stay in Gatun lake, something that I have to say is a real pleasure and not to be missed if you were just doing a one off. However when you have to deliver three yachts it makes it a mad dash and it is a really questionable pleasure when you have David aboard. Again I will say as long as you keep him off strong liquer he is not at all too bad to put up with. I don't mind crass idiots as they go but when they want to talk a lot of rot with great aplomb to make out they are great sages it gets a bit tough. I spoke of wearing my animosity on my sleeve before in the log entry and it is more than obvious that I want as little to do with David as possible. Whilst he was slagging off Chris to a large group one night I turned to her and said it is a good thing she had not got a boat such as 'Obsession' has. 'Why' she asked. 'Because' I replied candidly 'if they had a gun aboard she would have been a solo sailor by now'. From that statement, that David overheard as I in no way concealed it, they both knew exactly what the future prospects were between us. Something all too familiar to them, nobody can stand David and a guy will be the first to make it clear and swift. Hence he has been a little afraid of me and is acting, very much like a slapped puppy around me. It is quite humorous to be honest. All this together keeps him from going mad and being a mega asshole in his wild overt style. Instead he is a self repressed mega asshole for the moment and that has made the ride fair enough.

However, apart from old David, the Gatun Lake stopover is truly wonderful. All of the boats have made delicious meals and it is lovely to anchor off beside the jungle that surrounds the lake. It really is special. One can see monkeys, otters, beautiful birds, fresh water alligators, otters and fish are constantly leaping out of the lake all about you. At night the sounds are wonderful and looking into the undergrowth one can see fireflies even at a distance of two hundred feet. However the best of all is a swim in the fresh water. It truly is magnificent. The daytime temperatures are truly unbearable, in the mid thirties and the humidity is as bad as ever I experienced anywhere in the world save Margarita, hence the dire necessity to get into the water for relief. Even at that it is like a very warm bath once in, but, a very warm bath is much better than the sauna that is above. The others, save Jayne, decided they did not feel like swimming after seeing the size and the teeth of their first fresh water alligator. After swimming in St Catherine's Gorge I had every faith that they were harmless - I am nearly sure!

Anyway so went our passage and the final boat of the three is on the way at the moment. At the moment it looks like this one has a slot in the afternoon to go down so perhaps it will be a one day transit this time. Jayne and myself would be leaping up and down and saying hooray we are through and we have finished with our obligations in relation to other boats in the canal. We would say that except we are not. This is because when we came back to bring 'Obsession' through we noticed a well bashed up old steel boat anchored not so far away. Yes, the 'Liverbirds'. They had fallen in with a tug boat operator from Liverpool in Curacao and had a ball, got stocked up and fixed up with the generous assistance of this man. Hence they had spent an extra week in Curacao. Then they got the stuffing knocked out of them in a blow off Punta Gallinas making the voyage to Panama take over a week as they had to hove to. Despite this they are in the best form ever and it was great to see them, for we were not without concern at this stage. Of course the lazy buggers will not go searching for another boat to club up with once they saw us there. Well never mind, what goes around comes around, so we are doing another transit after all. That will make four transits of the Panama Canal, we could turn professional at this lark.

Wednesday, April 30th. - On Balboa Club Moorings, Off Balboa, Panama.

Well we are at last in the Pacific and for the first time we can start to look over the distant horizon and think its approaching time to go. This is a strange feeling because although 'Obsession' has tasted the salt waters of the Pacific ocean for some time. Yet Jayne and I have been tied up with line handling and just getting on top of maintenance issues that suddenly seemed to get out of hand. However before turning to the latter I should conclude on our experiences of the Panama canal that we have now transited four times.

On the Panama canal I can say two things that seem to be the case from our suddenly acquired extensive experience. Firstly that it was a hell of a lot of fun. We really had great fun going through on the various boats and really enjoyed the people, even David, I admit, although I will give him a special mention in a few moments. It was great getting together with the other yachts and even better having the opportunity to help out the crew of New Liverbird. As I said to a delighted and more than grateful Bernie stepping off after his transit was completed, "what goes around, comes around... this is the coming around bit helping your transit" and I said it right. So it was great to be all sailors helping sailors with their boats and fun to boot. In addition to this I have to say of the four transits we did there was always something different in each trip.

It is hard to believe that each transit was different but it was the case. Our first transit was the easiest with David's Shady Lady. It was as easy and straight forward as they come and we were given a false sense of casualness. The next one was 'Obsession' and that was to wake us up a bit in the up-locking with the crazy wash that hit us. It was the most risky one by far and by good fortune the other boats lines held or we would have had it. I asked our Advisor how many trips through he did and he answered just over one hundred. After the up-locking was over, which is the tricky bit of the canal, I told him we were clear and he could tell us the horror stories now, on which of them did he have his closest shave, I enquired. To this he thought for one moment and looked at me in complete sincerity and said, this one. 'Mora Labora's' transit came next. This was a trip that had no real dangers but constant changes and hassles, one minute we are going alongside a barge next, centre chamber then alongside the wall. Whatever we were supposed to be doing our rearranging of the boat was guaranteed to be in the wrong place or off-line so the line handlers had to pull like crazy to get it right. Yet in the end it got through as a one day transit. The final one was New Liverbird and by now we were old pro's thinking that we could not see anything new. Big mistake.

Pressing hard to make a one day transit as there was a window of opportunity, at the last moment it was aborted and we were anchored off. A flurry of activity suddenly came about that had tug boats cranes and all sorts of work boats full of divers flying madly around the bend and against this activity we saw not one commercial ship come through. We waited overnight overwhelmed by curiosity but was only to find out the cause the next day. A tug boat had sunk in one of the chambers knocking it out of action. In addition to this a bush fire was coming close to the 'Cut' and all traffic was halted. The 'Cut' is the narrowest part of the canal where a rock mountain was literally blasted away to make the canal at the start of the century. This is the narrowest point and is hence being widened at the moment to allow two ships to pass at once. Hence there is a lot of controlled dynamiting of rock being carried out. This was something that could become very uncontrolled with the assistance of a bush fire.

If this was not enough the first lock of the transit provided a really exciting moment. We were behind a ship and waiting well clear of the chamber for the ship to enter that we would be ascending behind. At the last moment our advisor suddenly perked up from his hand-held radio and said the ship has lost his engines and urged Bernie to video the next few seconds for a training video. By this he meant film millions of tons of a steel ship hit the lock wall of the Panama canal. As we looked on this was within inches of happening. It was only averted by the speedy reaction of a tug to try to nuzzle it off track and into the chamber instead of the wall at the side, plus, most importantly, the engine firing to life and giving the desperately needed reverse thrust in the nick of time. This was not before the ship had shaken loose its anchors, blown the ominous five hoots and the captain and first mate had both had unwanted happenings in their trousers. It really was gripping stuff and as close as they come in such enormities by my books. However back to the Panama Canal.

Well as you can see it was both varied and good fun and we have had a great time here with al the activity surrounding the transits - not to mention all the ridiculously inexpensive shopping. Panama rates highly in our books and has been a very pleasant interlude in the trip. Speaking of pleasant interludes in the trip, I should now turn to a final mention of Shady Lady and David.

Well although I could not call David a pleasant interlude in the trip, he was a highly interesting one and has taught me a few lessons. As you can discern from my earlier text I quickly went off the man. I think this is not the exception with David. When I mentioned the name of the boat to Bernie he had heard of it in no uncertain terms. Whilst in Margarita Jayne and I met a couple with a tempestuous relationship on a million pounds worth of yacht called 'Jack's Apprentice'. When we first met David in Bonaire he asked us for any news of 'Jack's Apprentice' as he explained they were very good friends of his. This very good friends status he reserved for only two boats and he invited the couple off 'Jack's Apprentice' to visit him in Panama for some partying (something that was uncannily coincidental to the exact time he needed line handlers to transit instead of worrying about partying). Anyway they sent him a fax saying they were busy and could not come and he got through via sticking to us like glue. However Bernie did some work for 'Jack's Apprentice' long after David had parted company with them and they had never met Shady Lady. Yet Roy upon paying Bernie and saying good-bye to him said one thing in warning before heading West. He said in grave tones if he should ever come across a boat called Shady Lady do not get involved and move on to another anchorage if possible. Hence once I mentioned the name Bernie recalled the caveat straight away. If this was the advice to a stranger from someone David would consider a friend it really makes one wonder what someone David would call an acquaintance would say. I guess I would be put into that category.

On the whole meeting David was a good experience. It has once again taught me a lesson that I am constantly reminded of. If I have any personal animosity I must learn to tuck it into my sleeve and keep it to myself. It takes a hell of a lot to rattle me but David seems to have that hell of a lot concentrated in the right places. By the end of the time I admit I was more than short with the man and it was abundantly clear to all. Sure David may be a prize case but this is not good enough. I firmly believe that to keep a man in a ditch you have got to get down in it with him. With a subdued but nonetheless hot blooded nature within me added with a tendency to call a spade a spade, I can if goaded the right way hop vigorously into other peoples pathetic ditches for a mud wrestle. It really is not good enough. I have to watch this for the future. Emotive decisions are usually the worst basis for any action and as old Oscar Wilde said 'a man that calls a spade, a spade, is only fit to use one'. The moral is to avoid all conflict or at least if there is conflict at the heart of it survey the field as if you were a champion poker player. David has taught me a few lessons that I must remember and hence meeting him was really beneficial. Hence the whole Panama Canal and everyone surrounding it have been great, even old David. Our vote on Panama then is highly positive.

This said we have had some interesting moments just after all our transits are over and we were back on 'Obsession'. There are many things that you can say to a skipper of a yacht which will cause him to flinch and grit his teeth with anxiety. In he days after our transit I had two of them. The lesser of the two I experienced was when we sailed out of Balboa the little island of Taboga to carry out the last of the Pacific fit out. As we approached the island by power as it was directly upwind I heard the faintest whistle from the instalments. I had noticed there was not much water clearing in the exhaust and it came as no surprise when Jayne came up and said the engine is over heating. Well our first afternoon of tacking was in hand and also our first anchoring under sail. All went well despite the fact that it was a bay we had no chart for. Also the cause of our problems was nothing more than a little kink in a water pipe. I fixed it straight away with the help of the keen eye of Bernie who was awaiting our arrival in the anchorage. It was lucky it did not happen in the canal or I would have to have had a mandatory tug and associated costs move us. Pheeww.

The next skipper teeth grinder was not as easily remedied, not by a long shot. This happened the day after we arrived back in Balboa and had a bit of a party in the bar that night. The next morning Jayne and I literally crawled out of bed only to slump into the cabin in an appalling state. Jayne left for the heads and I lying semi conscious on the settee-berth was in no position to deal with the worst skipper catastrophe that could happen in the next moment. This was in the premium league of Maritime disasters that we have to deal with and its timing could not have been worse. As I lay there Jayne came out of the heads with a look of concern and through my the hazy consciousness I heard her say 'Mike the toilet is blocked'. It took the afternoon to sober myself up to the appalling task. When we stripped it down we found a couple of baby wipes at the heart of the matter jammed in conjunction with a massive build up of calcium. For some reason all Marine toilets suffer from a build up of calcium. It coats everything inside to unimaginable proportions. A two inch pipe will be reduce to a half inch after a year and a half of usage. It is staggering to see the effects and puts you right off butter thinking of the similarities to chalesterol in one's arteries. Of course we knew of this and had planned to service it in New Zealand when we are lifting out of the water before it blocked we reckoned and then it would have been OK doing it without the real mess - I mean this in all sincerity if you're worried your time is due do it now before it blocks for mercy sake. After a lengthy period of work application under the principal of 'just do it and don't think about it' we had the heads cleaned out. There is an uncouth American expression that has been slightly modified aboard 'Obsession' and is used these days when things inevitably go wrong; Calcium happens, man!

Once we got these two jobs behind us it was fast forward with the final bits and pieces of the Pacific fit out. These included cleaning the barnacles off the yacht, putting in place a set of ratlines servicing the engine and various mechancal bits and pieces, sail repairs and a big mailing of letters home. Of these the two which I will mention are the Ratlines and the cleaning of the boat. Firstly the ratlines which allows a crew member to climb the mast to observe the abundant reefs of the Pacific. I made these to the highest possible standards as ones life really is dependant on the worksmanship here. This was equally as fascinating as it was exhausting. The technology of knots and whipping is amazing. With a rolling hitch of old and a securing whipping to keep it in precise place a rope that to a stainless steel shroud will not slip downward even though the load is pushing it thus. It just self tightens and resists the load to an amazing degree. In addition to this once I put the complete Ratline rail in place, with a solid teak first step and top step to lessen the bend on the cables, it looked very smart. Indeed so smart that it would be tempting to do both sides of the mast for appearances sake. This, though pretty and Romantic looking, would happen except for the rather non Romantic aspect of the past, the desperate hard work entailed. There is little romance I assure you in swinging at all angles from a mast, whipping lines. It is exhausting and cuts your hands to shreds after no time at all at the best of times, plus it is so labour intensive. Two days of non stop work just disappeared into the Ratlines which was a shock. If this was not enough the heat was the final turn of the screw. Manual work here really is out of the question unless you are highly seasoned. I am not in the least surprised that nearly thirty thousand souls perished building the canal. Hence the Romantic notion to do the other side for aesthetics will remain just that, a Romantic notion.

The other job that deserves a mention is Jayne's scrubbing of 'Obsession'. Whilst I was busy hoisted up above Jayne was well and truly at it down beneath - no smutty jokes thank you. We planned to anti foul in the Caribbean but being under time pressure we left it for Panama. The crane at the club in Colon was too busy so we could not do it there and did not fancy the surge nor angle that the boats lay in the tracks here in Balboa. Hence we are going to defer our antifouling until New Zealand when we will do a major haul out. This means that from now on we will be doing a two weekly snorkel and scrape to keep things under control. This Jayne was doing whilst I was working aloft. There were a lot of barnacles and algae on 'Obsession' and amidst this live hundreds and hundreds of little crabs. The minute you scrape away their home they make a mad dash for it and a lot of them scurry across ones face. When Jayne arrived on deck after a big clearing exercise she was constantly irritated by water in her right ear. Later it became so annoying that she felt sure there was a crab there. Of course I had a look, saw nothing, and said "no way, don't be ridiculous". Later Bernie and Ruth of Liverbird came over to generously help us clean the barnacles off also. When they came up they nonchalantly asked for hair clips to fish the crabs out of their ears which we complied with instantly. Sure enough they produced a crab an ear and Jayne seeing this disappeared to the heads to produce one herself. She came back and looked at me with a stern eye. To this I looked on in amazement, held my hands out palms up, pursed my lips, shrugged my shoulders, rolled my eyes and said "I have only heard of a flea in your ear".

Well that's the most of the log to date, and it is certainly a long time since I put an entry in so busy have I been recently. However before I close this entry I will mention two things, one a bit sad and one happy. Taking the former first I have to say Jayne is really going through a hard time at the moment. The dreaded homes sickness is on her like a sad cloud in this piercing sunshine. Though we have a wonderful time together and she is seeing the world, homesickness really is inescapable for Jayne. She is so young and it is her first time away from home. In addition to this she is so close to her family and particularly so her younger sister Sally. With this being the case there is no way out of it. At the moment we are working hard on the mail to keep in touch which is crucial but what is more critical is to get a planned visit by her sister Sally and mother set up. This was tentatively organised for just after Christmas in New Zealand or Australia. However Sally has had a change of her options. This has effectively put this all on hold for the past month while she tries to make up her mind as to what she wants to do. Of course this is the worst thing that could happen for Jayne in a situation of dreadful homesickness who is most in need of something tangible. It puts everything into a confused impasse making her deadening feeling seem interminable as it gives her nothing to look forward to as a way out of it all. Hopefully a decision will arrive soon and we can see a way forward whether it is Jayne going home or a visit out.

For people who should think of carrying out such a voyage as this I should remind them to be very cautious of homesickness. On the whole homesickness affects women more than men and it is the major reason for the collapse of extended cruises by what I have grafted from Bernie and Sue. We have no concerns by this respect as Jayne really is a brave girl and we are together for always, yet it is terrible to see her suffer from it. Soon it will be a lot less as I am certain this is the worst part of it at the moment if she can break through the next couple of months she will be away with it. This I am sure she will do. However it is one of those things one has to look out for in extended cruising and make provisions for.

The last thing I would like to mention is Kim. Yes I met Kim in passing once again. She was so chatty I could not believe it. For a girl that was once so taciturn I could not escape her wave of chatter at seeing me this last time. I would have loved to stay only we were dashing off to do a job at the time and she had a gentleman and a taxi waiting for her too. Apparently she had found some old gent who was mutely waiting for her beside a running taxi whilst she was talking to us. He was looking for someone to crew whilst he cruised around the local waters. It was a perfect set up. Kim has a place to stay and sail and he has a young lady to keep him company for some time as he peruses about the waterways. It was good to see her in such tremendous form and that things are going well for her. More power to her!

Sunday, May 4th. - Day 2, En Route, Panama To Galapagos Islands.

At last we are under way across the mighty Pacific. So far the trip has been dominated by light to no moon and by a rather spectacular display in the sky last night. However before I turn to this I would like to set down a fleeting mention of the island of Taboga which I have so far neglected to do in the log and I feel it certainly merits a mention without doubt for anyone who should choose to follow. There are no charges as in Balboa (a place that charges exorbitant prices for the use of their moorings but fortunately do not keep very good tabs of how long you are there or of the comings and goings) and it is not that inconvenient to get to.

Taboga is about eight to nine miles out from Balboa. It is a lovely little island and one of the most pleasant little anchorages one could come across. After we had sorted our toiletries, shall we say, Jayne and I headed out to Toboga to do the balance of our Pacific fit out. In a lovely little bay in Taboga we found we could not have picked a nicer little spot, save that the heat was unbearable. The heat in fairness was not a fault specific to Toboga as it is an inescapable fact of life here unless you are prepared to constantly stay in the water which was very pleasant of its sandy shore. The island is very small with one little town that is very pretty and looks like something out of the Mediterranean. One can find a single shop here that caters for the islands groceries or get the ferry back to the mainland. To give one an idea of the shopping I should say Jayne made several attempts to buy bread, even arriving on the appointed delivery hour, but never succeeded. Sold out was always the case but this did nothing to put us off. In fact we found our first free meal there to more than adequately compensate for the bread. We found a coconut which we cracked open and fried with Soya sauce as recommended by 'The Birds'. It was truly delicious.

The best part of the bay of Taboga was the view it offered. One could see the towering metropolis of Panama City in the hazy distance to the North, the vague outline of the only bridge spanning the canal carrying the Pan American highway across the isthmus and the higher lands of mainland Panama to the North West. The latter made for the best part as with the desperately high humidity one was always guaranteed a distant and fabulous thunder and lightning display almost every evening that could be watched after a lovely sunset. This was nothing to be sniffed at as the lightning storms here are really something else and as I watched them over the land each night I was truly delighted we were not directly underneath. This was a sentiment that I would have wished for last night, our first night out, as that unfortunately was where we were. Hence we go back to that earlier mentioned spectacular sky at night I mentioned from the outset.

The lightning storm started off pretty much to the East of us and over the process of six hours moved across to the West. During that six hours it was a continuous sequence of highly frequent light flashes. This frequency was breathtaking and it could only be described as being similar to being under a white strobe light of a disco for that time as the intervals although slightly less frequent the affect was not at all dissimilar. Because there was no moon, or more technically stated it was a new moon that means it has not yet appeared, it made it very difficult on one's eyes. The frequent oscillations from white out to intense darkness in milliseconds really packs a punch if you have ever experienced it for a few seconds at a disco one would catch my drift. However if one was so inclined and particularly into the acid night club scene they could not have been better placed than standing my watch last night. For along with all the wild night sky went an amazing phosperesence display. As the storm moved overhead the winds constantly circled and caused medium sized waves to move up and break in dissaray. When this happened I noticed the phosperescence was bright and alive in the crash of the waters leaving a light trace of its breaking upon the surface. Then looking behind I saw we had that magnificent Walt Disney type effervescence wake again only better. Indeed this time the towing spinner was like an electric snake wiggling out behind the boat and particularly vibrant at the end where the rotor churned up the water most. Hence the sky above was a wild series of oscillating flashes and the ocean below us came alive with effervescent sparklets if anything should touch or agitate its normal movement. It was truly a phantasmagoric world. What one would imagin of drug like affection.

Though this was all very exciting to watch as it drew near one had take precautions. Though most of the drama of the sky was high up and in-between the clouds, as it came closer, I saw several thick arcs of lightning reach down to the sea. With the yacht being the only thing on the sea we would run a risk of being hit and I needed to prepare for it in some way. To this end I dug out the deck locker and found a length of chain that we use to secure 'dingy'. I took this to the stern and wrapped most of this around the back stay to assure a good and wide area of concentration and then trailed enough overboard to have it dip it into the ocean. Hence if we were struck the lightning had at least a quick and efficacious path to earth from the mast. With this done and the oncoming torrential rain I felt it well time to abandon the cockpit and go below till it all blew over, save of course for the sail changes. This I did and I choose not to think of the damage that might occur in the event of a lightning strike but instead congratulated myself on my makeshift but effective earth. On this I rested easy whilst the drama unfolded above decks, save for one moment.

This one moment of very personal concern was caused by a lack of thought for an instant. If you beg my pardon I will explain that this happened whilst I was standing and using the heads in the normal manly fashion. Whilst I nonchalantly was in the process of norma usage I saw an almighty flash that was not at all that far away as an unearthly crack came a second or so later. It set my mind thinking rather distantly, as one does at such times, if there could be any other more distructive route that lightning could pass through the yacht except via my newly set up Earth. My eyes languidly looked around the heads as the task at hand was coming to an end until they alighted upon my hand casually fixed on a steady handhold to steady my stance in the moving boat. The handhold I had was the mast. Just as quickly my eyes darted down into the water closet's sea water. In between the two was my person making a perfect circuit should a million volts decide to surge through me. The thought of the potential circuit took me a microsecond to work out, about the same amount of time it took me to unhand the mast.

Thursday, May 8th. - Day 6, En Route, Panama To Galapagos Islands.

As I sit and write this a thunder and lightning storm just finishes above decks. This seems to be a feature of the sailing in this area known as the Inter Tropical Convergence Zone (ITCZ) or better known to most lay people as the doldrums. On the whole we have been lucky. We have only had two storms pass over us and most of the energy we see is fortunately in the distance. Yet the humidity and the heat here is just overwhelming and it is appalling. Mid afternoons are the worst but on the whole one could say it is insufferable most all of the time. Quite frankly we are looking forward to feeling the effects of the Humbolt current that is not far away now. It is a chilly current from way down South in Antarctica and by consequence it makes it possible for Penguins to live in the Galapagos islands. Hopefully once we arrive in it the environment should cool some what and become more tolerable. At this moment that is just over three hundred nautical miles away and along with it the Equator which is presently only one hundred and thirty miles due South of here.

The voyage so far has been blessed by some winds though I will confess 'Obsession' is a real ally here as she will make progress in the lightest of a breeze. For the first few days we had a breath of air late morning until the evening and then it would throw in the towel. Then we would set 'Des The Diesel' going at the low engine revs of 1300 revolutions per minute to optimise our fuel consumption. This seems to have been reliably the case up until the last few days where a seemingly consistent breeze has come up on the beam or just slightly forward of it. For the first time last night we sailed throughout the night and all was going exceedingly well until the aforementioned storm descended upon us and has de stabilised things for the moment. Des is thumping away right now as we wait and see and hope for more wind. At the moment we have light airs on the nose and a lumpy (yuck) sea with the mainsail up to try and stabilise us somewhat. I hope the wind goes back on the beam or astern of it as the old saying goes 'a gentleman never goes to windward'. Though I hold out no great hopes of ever being described as such I certainly subscribe whole heartedly to that old chestnut.

Apart from that there is little to tell I am afraid. Our days are full of reading books, playing guitar in my case, and doing a little typing in between passing out in the unbearable heat. All of these are going well and I am delighted with the progress on my first flat pick arpeggio on the way to the Galapagos archipelago - sorry I had to get that in somehow. Jayne is munching through the books and is currently stuck into 'Gone With The Wind' which is a thick volume that should see her out on this voyage. I have just completed John Greshams 'The Rainmaker' after reading 'The Mortgage' which is another best selling legal eagle book. By consequence I feel at this stage like a burnt out US Lawyer and have picked up enough jargon and courtroom strategy to take on anyone - watch out Eamon. We had a visitor for a couple of days. A poor little robin red breast that was just about tuckered out flying the Pacific and I cannot say I blame him. We left out all sorts of food and water for him but he was too tired to look at it. Eventually when I noticed he came to me when I spoke I put up my hand and took him gently inside. This surprised him and he did not like the rough handling. Yet I managed to get him to have a good drink of fresh water which he desperately needed though he did not hang around 'Obsession' much longer after that little episode.

There is little else to report as this voyage winds on save the occasional log in the water and indeed we bumped into one. However with the slow speeds of light winds and economy running of the diesel engine at low revs means they are of little trouble. At the moment we are slightly refreshed due to having a good soapy scrub in the terrific downpour of the last storm. It was a small break for on the whole we are very tired and laclustre lately. This is due to the terrific heat and unbearable humidity. Yet on we role none the less mostly thanks to Des the Diesel. Eric Hiscock is probably one of the best known of the first advocates of the cruising life and indeed very well written. He said he would never sail a yacht without an engine again after doing so once here in these doldrims. I well believe him. It would be apalling to waller in this opressive sauna. I close now as the digits on the GPS 'distance to go' are about to fall from 300 nm to 299.9. Yes it is 'happy clappy' time as we call it. Some of the old habits of the Atlantic never depart.

Friday, May 9th. - Day 7, En Route, Panama To Galapagos Islands.

Today is an absolutely brilliant day. The oppressive heat has lifted and we can breath air again. It is really an unbelievable feeling. Air that feels like air again, cool and crisp to the skin, most divine. Yesterday was probably the worst day so far and today came the welcome relief. The first signs of it was a good night's sleep not rolling and tossing and waking each moment in a layer of sweat despite the fan going non stop. No last night was a nice night where you just slept. Awaking you feel alive to the day and what a day today was. Not alone has the terrible clammy humidity abated, it is also somewhat cloudy so the sun has also given us a break.

The difference that makes is just unbelievable, you feel alive again and full of energy. To my surprise we could see clearly once more, everything was in acute sharp relief and we just could not help looking all about. Though we had not noticed it, there was so much moisture in the air the previous days we could not see very far from the yacht nor were things sharply visible in the cockpit. Today it very much a different story and we are in great spirits as a result of the new and refreshing environment we motored into.

As for wind we have not seen anything since I last put an entry in the log absolutely nothing. Des has been hammering away since. So far on this voyage we have had wind from all points of the compass but right at this moment the Pacific (meaning peaceful as named by Ferdinand Magellan) is living up to its name. For about us is a slightly undulating millpond without a breath of air. This is not really good news as we are running low on fuel and with two hundred and fifty miles to go I know we do not have enough fuel to make it all the way. To further exacerbate the situation we are picking up a north going current at the moment and this is slowing our progress dramatically. Yet of this I do not complain as we checked it this morning and found it noticeably cooler and the source of our new sense of well being. Wind now is called for to complete this leg of our journey and we patiently await it as Des drinks away on all but his last drop that will be reserved for an emergency.

I close on another visitor aboard. A large bird has firmly made home on the tip of our pulpit. We think he is an albatross and by consequence after reading Coolridges 'Ballad Of The Ancient Mariner' his welfare is assured. He has been there now for twelve hours and in all that time he has not ceased for a moment in his preening activities. Not even whilst I carried out a little maintenance not one foot away did he cease his industry. There must be and important date behind it Jayne and I concluded. However it was friend that gave us the most amusement. This second albatross is to flying as James Dean is to driving. All morning he has been swooping around trying to land on the pulpit beside his colleague. Each time he misses by a fraction of an inch and backs, circles, and swoops again. This was going on for so long that even he decided to get brave and just drop down on it. The results were comical. He missed the perch completely and fell awkwardly down between the pulpit and the headsail furling gear. There he hung in a daze with his feet akimbo for a few moments hooked awakardly by his neck over the top rail and dangled there rigid and dazed for a few moments much the same as a walking stick would. However in the process of his crash landing he nearly dispatched his colleague into the water and there was less than pleasantries between them. A moment later he wiggled himself free in an ungainly fashion and took off again. That was the last we saw of him. Evidently it seems he has decided he has had enough.

Monday, May 11th. - Day 9, Hove-To Off Galapagos Islands.

We have almost made it into Wreck Bay of Isle San Cristobal, one of the first of the Galapagos islands and are truly delighted. At present it is approaching midnight and we are adrift in the currents that skirt the West side of the island. With only a large scale chart of the overall island group and darkness we thought it prudent to lay off until first light to make our entry into the rather inauspiciously named Wreck Bay. Though we may be adrift as I write this entry on the ocean it truly feels like a calm lake and every bit as good as an anchorage for the night. Even better as we sit the current is taking us down to our final destination at a rate of two knots. For the first time in quite some while the current has decided to favour us. Two days ago it was not the case.

On Saturday we seemed to have been dogged by bad luck. It may seem like I am making this up but this ill faith had an interesting correlation with our two guests aboard, 'Albe' the Albatross and his colleague 'Crash' who eventually managed to make a landing confound him. Once those guys got aboard nothing seemed to go right and I mean this with all sincerity. As I mentioned earlier our critical engine fuel that has kept us moving in this area was dead low and we could just scratch through if we got some wind and a favourable current, but only barely so on that basis. When the first Albatross came aboard the wind disappeared completely and a slight counter current arrived. Not good news, but never mind, there is always tomorrow. Tomorrow was when 'Crash' finally managed to touch down. That morning I awoke to see the two of them using 'Obsession' as a diving platform. The counter current had tripled into being a real and nearly insurmountable problem. We got wind though, precise to an exact degree, unfortunately directly from where we wanted to go.

It was unbelievable and a very serious impasse confronted us. It was only when we attempted to tack into the wind in order to make some progress did we comprehend the enormity of the predicament. With the winds straight on we could normally tack through seventy degrees with 'Obsession' especially with light winds and no sea to throw us off. However with the current coming in synchrony with the wind against us, and by consequence of the light airs a poor boat speed, it made our tacking angle in excess of two hundred degrees. The result of these combined forces was that it would not be technically possible to sail to the Galapagos without sailing a single tack almost to Ecuador and back out West then. This would have been of course out of the question. Yet on we went making the best of the only breath we were given. Each moment we saw the fruitlessness of our efforts, only fifteen nautical miles after a day's sail while the wind was up. Even worse fifteen nautical miles not precisely in the direction we were going. It was becoming so bad that we were preparing to consider the option of going on to the Marquesas without visiting the Galapagos. If this was not bad enough in the heel of the hunt of all the sail changes to try to make every ounce of advantage of the slight breath of air available we had a terrible loss. I had not secured our fishing line properly and noticed it was lost overboard mid afternoon. Boy that made me so angry as it was totally my fault as I should have put a safety line on as I normally do. Moreover during the process of changing the sail we found the remains of the poor little Robin that I had tried to get to eat and drink. Evidently his luck was none too buoyant either and that was sad.

It was all going seriously wrong and one could not help but look at the albatrosses perched lazily on the pulpit. I jest you not but at this stage I could understand exactly where the basis of Coleridges 'Ballad Of The Ancient Mariner' came from. The pair of them really felt like they were physically weighing down upon my shoulders. A most odd but nonetheless true sensation. I don't know why exactly this was. Perhaps it is their heavy, ungainly and awkward nature. Maybe it was their semi vulture like appearance, or just when ever you went near them, and by this I mean right beside them as they really had no fear of mankind, they were mostly oblivious to you, so busy were they with their interminable preening. Perhaps it is all of this combined, but if I was to put it down to just one thing, I would say it was in the oddest look that they gave you if you did manage to catch their attention. It is hard to explain but they seemed to look at you with a strange and nonchalant bewilderment. Upon their countenances there seemed to be an indignant expression that resided somewhere between 'where did you come from?' and 'what do you think you're doing here?' It was something to behold. Above all, however, and this was written all over them, was a miffed sensation of 'you must be out of your mind if you're even thinking of putting us out in any way'. The net effect of all was we soon started to see, what we first thought an interesting acquaintance with wild life, to be a curse of bad luck and bore down upon our shoulders. Worse still their curse intrinsically had something about it that said we cannot frighten it away, as with the birds themselves, for that would make it worse. It had to go with their leisure. The final faux pas of course would be to take out the shot gun, as I genuinely was tempted to do surveying the two buggers as everything went wrong and they eyed me back with that indignant and taunting 'Yes!' type look. That we concluded would be a fatal mistake for life.

I am genuinely not superstitious, but that's what we experienced and the way we felt about things a few days back without any exaggeration whatsoever. But that is not all of the tale either. On May the 11th we awoke to find that our two visitors had mysteriously disappeared. There was no sign of them for the first time in days. "Thank God!" we said and from the moment they disappeared our luck changed dramatically in our favour. The negative current abated somewhat so the precious drops of diesel that we burned over that night seemed to deliver us an extra thirty percent to our previous norm. A light breath of wind emerged that a boat could make way on and because we took a southerly course on the engine combined with some good luck so that we could get on a tack that brought us directly to the Galapagos. Most of all that morning we woke up just as we were half a mile above the equator. In fact just in time to start a party for the unexpectedly early crossing. From then until today everything has just seemed to fall totally in our favour but I would confess I touched wood just as I said that.

So there you are, well,. Albatrosses and sailors?! Well I don't know, that was just our experience. All I can say is what I said from the start, that I can see where the basis of the poem came from and I will just leave it at that for the moment. For more interesting events are here to be described like the crossing of the equator.

There is one longitudinal meridian and equally one parallel of latitude that are ultimate in the global sailors voyage diary. These are respectively the Date Line, a target that is shortly ahead on our voyage, and the equator, that on May 11th slipped into 'Obsession's' wake. Of the two there is far more pomp and circumstance attached to the equator when it comes to cruisers. Old hands who have crossed it previously eagerly adopt an initiation ceremony for those who are crossing it for the first time. Generally it gives them carte blanc to do all sorts of public pranks upon them. Then in turn they will have their day the next day time around. Jayne has never crossed the Equator and I never actually sailed over it so hence we really were up for the full works each. We had all sorts of things planned. Covering each other in biro tattoos spraying over with shaving foam you know the type of thing but when it came to it well we never got round to it. This was not because the event all fizzled out on the contrary it was because we were just having such a magnificent day.

We crossed at about ten a.m. local time and as we went across the Champagne cork popped and the contents were enjoyed with a slice of delicious fresh water melon each. Spirits got high early and so they continued all day sipping merrily away. The sea was beautiful and though it was sunny we put the awning up for a perfect shade and being close hauled a lovely breeze worked its way through the cockpit. There we dined like kings all day thanks to Jayne and had the most wonderful and memorable day. As for our planned initiations, well they really never happened. We were just having so much pleasure as it was so we errmm never really got around to anything else. However this best be kept a secret for 'Neptune's initiation' as they call it can only be administered by someone who apparently really got a plastering themselves for their first crossing. Should we ever cross with someone else in the future we will of course tell them we had terrible atrocities carried out upon us for our crossing as we count the miles off to their turn. Then of course say to them with a hearty back slap, 'well that's life it's the Equator you know, we don't want to do all these terrible things to you and all but it is Neptune's initiation , and everyone gets it!". As they say in Ireland 'a wink is as good as a nod to a blind horse'!

So hence we have arrived in the Galapagos. As mentioned above it was no sure thing there for a while and when I get in I predict courtesy of this present current we will have one litre of fuel remaining. Of course to make it with that spare litre we really had to sail some non existent winds making distances under sail of less than twenty miles. Yet we just made it here before we lost the benefit of being able to power our way through the night that meant everything to us. Again I say God Bless Des the diesel on this passage. You are truly a fool or a masochist if you want to cross the doldrums in this area without an engine. I am with Eric Hiscock on that one.

I close this log in the most spectacular waters of the voyage. The Galapagos cause the moist tropical airs of this area to condense and hence start the thermal engines of convection clouds. As a consequence when we came in this evening the sky was full of colour and drama. To add to this the waters of the lee side of the island are like a lake and it mirrored the sky magnificently. The visual effect with the island as a back drop was breathtaking beyond description. Furthermore the profusion of wildlife activity about me is spectacular. As the yacht races to her destination in the silent current with the star bejewelled sky above all that can be heard are the sea lions diving and coming up all about to snort in deep breaths of air. That is all. Yet this silence can be deadly and a current of two knots plus can put you in trouble very quickly in these rocky waters. Hence I close to attend to 'Obsession's' welfare, as she has done for us so much so in all the miles past. All is very well with our world.

Saturday, May 17th. - Wreck Bay, San Cristobal Island, Galapagos Archipelago.

We have been here the best part of a week at this stage and on the eve of our departure I am delighted to report that our brief sojourn has been most pleasant and relaxing. However before I speak to you of the Galapagos I feel I would be negligent if I did not say a few parting words on the voyage that brought us here.

It was a highly memorable trip. It boiled us alive for a while, gave us practically no winds, put an enormous counter current against us and even danced lightning arcs around us so as to make our electronics aboard check out their life assurance policy - of which there is none needless to say. At times it even made us doubt that we would arrive in the Galapagos. Yet the passage probably rates as one of the most pleasurable voyages we have ever had despite all. I put most of the pleasure down to the pleasant seas. We felt absolutely in perfect shape all of the time where normally Jayne is keeping down to minimum effort and I am not quite one hundred percent. On this voyage Jayne even pottered about as if we were on a calm anchorage for the eleven days at sea. Having her in top form meant the trip was characterised by delicious foods rather than my efforts amidst the rolling seas. Hence life was more than comfortable. Then came the wildlife.

Of course we have already mentioned old 'Albe' and 'Crash' but there were many other birds about and much more sea life. A profusion of fish just seemed to follow 'Obsession' as she passed along and the Pacific waters being so clear we could see them swim along side us as if they were in an aquarium. Once whilst on the helm I went hard to Port to avoid a floating log the broad end of which I could see directly ahead. Just as I passed it a head popped up and an enormous turtle was just as surprised to find us waking him from his mid ocean siesta as we were surprised with him. He measured no less than one metre long by half wide. Arriving into the Galapagos we had an unforgettably picturesque approach with sealions all about and, entering 'Wreck Bay', a manta-ray which could only be described as metres in size again fooled us into thinking that a tree was in the water as we could not believe the scale. Then it was into the wildlife of the Galapagos.

Truly a wonderful voyage and I would like to report the final piece de resistance and crowning glory of the trip was Jayne. The leap into the Pacific where there is just no more thoughts of looking back seems to have broken the back of the terrible home sickness that Jayne was suffering of late. Though Jayne is not one to complain in any fashion or circumstance nor brood or anything at all of that nature, I could tell she was secretly suffering and it was sad all round. She had not been her normal buoyant self for such a long time. Getting off into the Pacific and indeed in such a great fashion as this trip offered really made all the difference. She is again in her normal very good spirits and it is so lovely to see this. A Jayne smile greets me each time I cast an eye across to her if she is not engrossed in her incessant reading - the aforementioned 'Gone With The Wind' incidentally went thanks to the lack of wind in the doldrums. The past weeks feel like a May day just after the sun has come from behind a little puffy cloud. I am basking in the suns rays under a bright blue sky. I am sure she has turned the major part of the corner on this now and from here on it will be much easier. Hence the trip to the Galapagos voyage, with the magnificent entry I have already mentioned, will have to go down as one of our best so far. With a single voyage in excess of three thousand miles next to the Marquesas starting tomorrow, yes that's more than a month at sea, it is not a bad thing to have had a pleasant trip to lead up to it. However that's for tomorrow, lets now turn to the Galapagos.

Alighting on this island we put our feet down in the foot prints of Drake, Raleigh, Cook, Hawkins, too many pirates to mention and most importantly HMS Beagle sailed here in 1835. It was the latter that put the Galapagos islands on the world map for on board was a man who was to shake the world up with his book 'The Origin Of The Species'. This was Charles Darwin of course. Darwin spent ten months here and it was from his research on the Galapagos Bullfinches that he put forth his 'natural selection' theory. But that was not all, in fact the Galapagos provided him with many other examples of wildlife development. The ecosystem is cut off from the mainland and hence developed independently. For anthropologists and botanists it could be described as an enormous biological test tube and therefore the islands remain a centre of heightened activity in these fields. With this type of renown the islands get a big billing and a pre-eminent significance that is hard to live up to.

During my first few days here I admit I was starting to feel the islands were a load of bull - finch! The biggest problem is that they are controlled very tightly by the Ecuadorian government with a couple of Naval Bases to make sure all runs along the lines of their way of thinking. A yacht may only land in one of two bays, period. To our horror picking the one that we were assured of being able to refill our diesel tanks meant putting down the anchor for good. You cannot go anywhere else and it is quite expensive to stay just in one spot at that, the Ecuadorian governments way of thinking is to make some money out of the islands. Moreover the price of the diesel here put our wallet into shock. We expected it to be expensive but not more than double what we just paid and drinking water was a highly chargeable item. The magnificent wildlife that is attributed to the islands seems to distribute itself throughout the archipelago with each speices having a penchant for different islands. Therefore one could only see what had taken a shine to San Cristobal and nothing else unless one was prepared to spend a lot of money, and I mean a lot of money, to see any more. We took a taxi ride which is really an open backed four wheel drive to see a sealion populated bay and the island to my eye was not that spectacular in land. Cut down the trees in your garden and let it go to seed for ten years and on a drizzly and humid summers day you have saved yourself an air fair to the Galapagos. That is the down side of it by my reckoning. Fortunately there is an upside also.

Firstly, though we may not have seen many species of wild life what species we have seen have been in unbelievable abundance. Everything here is just bouncing with life, ten times bigger than at home, and in unbelievable numbers. Secondly and the most critically different to any other place in the world, wildlife here is just not wild-life. No species here has learned to fear man and as man is obviously not in their food chain they are totally oblivious to man. You can walk straight up to sealions, birds, iguanas, turtles (one called 'Pepe' we met and indeed so could have Darwin as he is more than two hundred years old, unfortunately he was a bit uncertain of the fact I was not in his food chain, but fortunately very, very, very slow to move) in fact anything and it will not have any fear of you. This is amazing and really has to be experienced personally. The funniest of all are the sealions.

They have a seeming domesticity about them and a dog like head that makes them seem like mans faithful friend and very attractive. In addition to this their calling sound resides somewhere between a bark and a an uproarish laugh and it is highly endearing. On this island they are quite literally everywhere. Their lives seem to revolve around swimming and a hunting for food and then general lazing about. Judging by the lazing about that goes on here the waters around the islands must be teaming with fish and funny situations develop. They lay on the steps of the harbour pier so you have to persuade them to move on so you can land, lie on your dingy line when you want to go anywhere, and what is most funny take over any unattended boat for a languorous repose. We looked over the Gunwale to find two having a right old slouch in 'Dingy'. One can watch sealion families going about the harbour, some times mother and father having a few loud words, whilst the pups frolic to death. What I found most lovely is the pups love of frolic. Like canine pups they have a fondness for human children who they instinctively find have the same love of play. One day I found it so lovely to observe the sealion families and the human families swimming off the town beach here. The sealion pups could not help sneaking into the children investigating the fun they were having and the parents on either side happy to share the beach as they are unconcerned to see their young play. This is how it should be I thought as I could not help being enchanted by the sight. It's too late for the rest of the world, lets hope the animals of the Galapagos never learn to fear mankind.

This I am sure will never happen. The incarceration of 'Obsession' is not a bad thing. It may be a pity to us but it does control other people who would possibly do harm to this precious eco-system. In addition to this the islanders here are just the friendliest we have ever met. None really speak English, unfortunately, but none the less they are so helpful and a pleasure to meet. Watching them interact with the animals and especially so the children one can see no concerns there. The navy guys based here were equally as much fun to work with. The base could not help us enough and just did everything they could to assist us, if at a remote island pace of progress. It was quite a lot of fun watching them go in and out of there various straight khaki to full brilliant white uniforms as various rank and privilege come and go - an Admiral visited a few days ago and the Navies beautiful full rigged sailing ship arrived and anchored behind us today. They however had much more fun watching Jayne's comings and goings and I am sure they will be sad to see us leave. Save the base doctor that is who will have a dramatic reduction in the number of enlisted men suffering from neck strain.

There is one lovely tradition they have here which I have to mention. They keep a comment book for all the yachts that come in and the latest one almost stretches back over a decade. Each yacht is required to place in a photograph and a comment. Some people did not have a photo like us I admit and had to be creative so drawings of all sorts go in to the book and it is lovely to browse through. Leafing backward through the pages we suddenly came across a photograph placed in in 1988. It was a picture of a steel yacht in Liverpool docks. A man stood on the pier above it perched for the photograph and his merry countenance spoke volumes. It was none other than Bernie Mac Donald with New Liverbird out behind him. 'Hope to see you if we ever make a third trip around'. He could very well do that still.

For three centuries the Galapagos islands were called 'Islas Encantades' - the enchanted islands. From our experience I would say the islands would wear the original well. I close now for a lovely meal that Jayne has been putting together and later we are heading off to the island disco. Yes they have one here and we changed a few dollars too many. Let's hope its not full of sealions like everywhere else!

Saturday, May 24th. - Day 6, En Route, Galapagos To Isles Marquises.

Of all the legs of a circumnavigation the leg to the Marquises will probably feature as the longest ocean voyage for most yachtsmen. We have been at sea now for six days and have only sailed just over five hundred nautical miles. This only amounts to one sixth of the overall total and if we extrapolate the voyage out on this basis it will take us thirty days to arrive. This is indeed a long time and as you can imagine we will be pleased to see the back of it.

To make things worse the voyage so far has been hard going and we have felt it so. After beating our way away from the Galapagos islands we went beam on to the seas and set off upon our three thousand mile great circle route. The SE trade winds are renowned for being light and airy Beaufort 3 - 4, sometimes 4 - 5 and in exceptional and very rare circumstance 5 - 6, though the latter is practically unheard of. Unfortunately we got the latter with an extremely foul sea. The net effect was a very uncomfortable motion for the first few days that really wore upon us and introduced fatigue early into the voyage. Accompanying this we have had some bad luck thrown into the pot.

Our wind vane I noted was as stiff as an arthritic hip going to the Galapagos and would hence not function. As it was critical for this leg of the voyage I spent some time lubricating it and freeing it up but could not help but notice a specific area, at the heart of the system, that seemed highly resistant to all my efforts. The acid test for my efforts came just after we departed. In short it was still inoperable and would require an extensive bench strip down. This has us totally dependant on our electronic auto pilot for the next thirty days. This was and is not an ideal situation. Particularly so when on the second day we heard an enormous crash and the yacht gybed and flung herself into a hove-to position. Arriving on deck I found a cantilever made out of teak to support the Auto pilot had broken in two and we had lost our steering device. It spoke volumes of the conditions but volumes more to us. Jayne and I looked at each other and knew very well the disaster it laid out clearly to us if we could not do something about it; three hours on three hours off, day and night, non stop for thirty days on the tiller. We got straight to work. Soon with a little ingenuity and some sawing, drilling, chiselling and with the aid of a couple of G- clamps we had a new jury rigged auto pilot system that was set to work. It has proven itself so far and I am sure if the Auto pilot holds out for thirty days it will too.

So hence our voyage started and over the past few days we have managed to settle into it somewhat. The winds backed a little after two days and we could erect twin poles and run off at an angle of fifty degrees to it. This allowed us to have far more pleasant conditions in the rough seas as it is always better to go with the seas as much as one can rather than against them plus we can put up an awning for some shade. Today we have just returned 'Obsession' to a beam reach however as the wind has been veering somewhat and driving us north. This makes conditions a lot less pleasant but I am delighted to report that the wind has settled back to a more normal Beaufort force four and the ride is much better. Our progress however at the moment is very slow, I confess. I have no idea why this should happen but at the moment we are experiencing a negative current, which is truly inexplicable here, and it is chewing up our mileage.

Before I left the Galapagos there was rumours of an 'El Nino' current a foot in the papers. This is a rare and freak current that changes the natural order of things in the Eastern Pacific and happens extremely rarely, indeed the last occurrence was in 1983. When it does happen it reverses the whole system in the Eastern Pacific thereby causing havoc here and its effects are felt globally. A Spanish sailor put the freak counter current and those unheard of northerlies that benefited us at the start in the doldrums down to the El Nino taking hold. Consequently he was very worried about setting off to the Marquises which he plannd to do a few days after us. We took a rather more stoic approach to it, saying we cannot stay so what will be will be there is no point in having any concerns about it. Moreover the El Nino, we found out, has its strongest affects at about Christmas hence the name that translates to 'Holy Child Current'. Consequently it did not concern us. This said we have had some unexpected conditions and maybe the Spanish sailor had something with his concerns about the 'El Nino'.

Either way it matters nothing to us. We are out here a mere speck in the world's biggest ocean and the Gods can do what they decide themselves with us here. What ever comes we will just have to deal with one way or the other. After all we are mere play things for the deities entertainment and this is never more apparent than out in the wind, waves and currents of an ocean such as the Pacific. However I would like to close this log entry on a couple of pleasant observations of late, one tangible and the other more airy but even more pleasing.

The first is I am delighted to say two days ago we actually spotted another yacht trashing its way along behind us. It must have been a bigger vessel as it overtook us on our starboard side during the course of the day. I believe we spotted him first as when I tried to make radio contact he did not respond and I am certain he had his Marine VHF turned off. After about an hour or so we got a call from him and he was delighted to speak to us or should I say Jayne as he only spoke French. It was good to have a chat as although we have met people deep ocean before we have never achieved radio communications until now save once which was very brief. Lets hope we meet another yacht on route who speaks English as it would be a real luxury to have a chat.

The second observation I would like to impart is a little more difficult to describe and if you forgive me I may need to draw upon an analogy. I have mentioned that I have been working on the guitar of late and am in the process of moving away from the good old chord clunking to a little right hand rhythm work. Initially this is taking the form of arpeggios which make for a lovely sound. From time to time now I notice I forget myself and my self consciousness and the left hand just falls into place of its own accord and likewise the right so that a beautiful and natural stream of music results. After it happens you sit back take stock and say to yourself 'wow that was great'. Of late I have found this similar experience when working with Jayne.

Though I do the majority of the sailing operations aboard the yacht Jayne assists me with the bulk of them. Over the past while I have noted such an unconsciously smooth synchrony that it is like the music I described above when in operation. This can be when we are doing routine operations but also in sudden unexpected emergencies and I truly believe it extends to most all our activities. Everything we do now seems to be like the left and right hand working in complete accord from a single entity. This I am sure is down to this operating environment that breeds by nature a high level of interdependence. Of course something that is complimented ten times over by the natural unity we feel for each other. On the whole it is a lovely thing and it is very special. What's more important however is that I feel it sets us together in a very tight bond for the future. Stepping into that vast frontier with this as our training ground one has to have the greatest of confidence.

On this note I close for today. For I confess there is little else to tell out on this desolate ocean and one eventually tires of trying to write whilst supporting oneself at a rolling angle of forty five degrees, both in yacht tilt and afternoon temperature. So hence I close and try to find somewhere where one can rest and read to ones heart content.

Thursday, May 24th. - Day 11, En Route, To Isles Marquises.

At the moment 'Obsession' is sliding along on a beam reach making every ounce of benefit the steady force four that has resided with us for the past four days. The motion is comfortable now for a beam reach and at last the current is with us so we are making steady progress in these most favourable conditions. Earlier it was not so, as was stated in the previous log entry, and we are delighted to see the events turn in our favour. Or more appropriately stated we are delighted to turn the events in our favour.

In the last log I stated the adverse current was inexplicable, there was no mention of any possible counter current in Jimmy Cornell's 'World Cruising Routes' nor on a very detailed pilot chart, yet it was most defiantly there. My hunch was to head south to get out of it and this we did. For two days we went back into those aforementioned foul seas and in the process took another buffeting on the beam. When we broke through a few days back the seas suddenly settled and we have had reasonable sailing conditions since. With the settling of the seas came the answer to a lot of explanations of our harsh initiation to this voyage. There is an 'Equatorial Counter Current' which is mentioned on the navigation chart but not referred to on either of our other current information charts. On the navigation charts it is presented as being four hundred nautical miles south of the equator but as the Northern Hemisphere summer comes on so does this current migrate north with the sun. To be precise for anyone following my route I can say with certainty it resides at two degrees South of the Equator mid to late May and runs at one knot. This was what we had on the nose for a while. Hence too are the big seas explained. Dropping South in an area where you have enormous ocean current running West and an even larger one running East just below it causes all hell to break loose. The area between being, of course, the worst of all.

Hence the hardships we endured could all be explained in the end and fortunately now we are in a far better straight. The fatigue caused by this has left its mark though I confess. Jayne was so run down that she got a mild urinal infection. This was cleared up quickly with the use of antibiotics donated to me by a charitable doctor friend at the trip offset, Geof. I faired no better acquiring a leg infection and because of my reluctance to take antibiotics until the last possible moment, I fared off worse in fact. I never get infections or anything and I heal remarkably fast when I acquire nicks and cuts. Hence I was surprised to find an angry lump on my inside thigh slowly grow to become an extremely painful and debilitating abscess over the course of a few days. It really is something and packs a real punch when you stir your leg. The inflammation reached down to my knee yesterday and really has me laid up for unnecessary movement for a while.

After letting it go for too long I eventually turned it over to Jayne who is now completely in charge. With the ships medical manual in hand she is dosing me with the various differing types of antibiotics we have, trying to find one that stems the infections inexorable growth. Whilst this is going on she is keeping me bunk ridden as she caters to all the food and washing up. What a star she is, she has neatly transformed into a sailing version of Florence Ninghtingale. Ironically over the past couple of days I have been reading a book called the 'Horse Whisperer'. It is a story about a little girl who looses a leg as a result of a riding accident and her fight to overcome it. This combined with the inexorable growth of the inflammation, the fact that we are out of contact with the nearest doctor a minimum of three weeks away, and the fact that the ships medical manual said an injection of penicillin is required that we have not got, does inspire some interesting dreams as I am sure a reader can readily imagine. Jayne funnily has the worst dreams surrounding the whole thing. She awoke this morning in bits after having a horrid nightmare that she had killed me with her medications and she was eternally incarcerated after a less than friendly murder trial. Though we are not really worried we were thankful to see some of the pills she found has halted the swelling today.

All this said the spirit aboard ship is remarkably high, in fact highly buoyant. At the moment and, apart from my little infection, our physical welfare is rallying in the more favourable conditions. This is I am sure due to both body and spirit. Our physical recovery is firstly due to the ease of the conditions but secondly, and equally as important, due to the fact that we quite literally force feed ourselves with the best foods we can muster on sea. In order to keep our energy up we really work hard to keep those good solid meals going in and thanks to our potatoes holding out we are getting a good amount of fresh vegetables in our diet. This we also supplement with vitamins on this voyage and treats such as chocolate which we stocked up on as they were good value and something relished on the Atlantic crossing. What also is helping our recovery is I am sure our good spirits.

I am amazed at our ability to chit chat all day long and continually come up with new things to chat about. One would think we have said it all by now but not so. Sure we rehash a lot of stuff over and over but most every day we find many new things to chat about most of which engender a good laugh. It is amazing. Probably most people would think after three weeks at sea we would be at each others throats and justifiably so as psychology's 'prisoners dilemma' presents; but not so. In fact for us the opposite is true. Of course we get on great all of the time but I have to say the relationship is markedly even tighter in a situation such as this. I would expect a common man would presume it to be a bit more hostile, but the contrary happens to be the case for us. This is because when we are going through a hard time we are both suffering together and it engenders bonding against the adversity. The teamwork of operating together against it has indeed its own pleasures too as I mentioned in last entry. Out here there is nobody else, only us de facto and the need for each other is amplified. Finally and probably the most overriding point is we simply enjoy each others company so much. Hence we thrive.

All in despite a hard start and a few setbacks we are on the way and in good shape. One third of the voyage down two thirds to go - three more weeks!! It is indeed a good thing we have a happy ship, a very good thing indeed. More as it happens from Captain Peg Leg. Oh there is one thing I just thought I should mention whilst on the food topic. As with the Atlantic we stocked up on large quantities of eggs before departing and found them a great source of long life food. The ones we stocked up with in the Galapagos we found highly disappointing. They just were somehow different to any eggs we have ever had before. They reside in the shell differently, crack and pour differently, taste fishy and do not keep nearly as well, a few real smelly rotten ones nearly caused a stomach eject on the spot. Whilst we were munching through an omelette with this fishy taste a notion suddenly occurred to me that might just explain it.

- "Hey Jayne" I said excitedly "I might have come up with an explanation for these eggs".

- "What" she inquired wincing her face up after a mouthful demonstrating that the eggs where stalking the borderlands between what she would consider edible and utterly appalling. I looked at her for a solid moment and considered the lack of unprocessed foods aboard, the energy content of the eggs and finally the fact that all it needed would be the slightest nudge and it would be all over for her with the eggs. At the end of this I said "Ah nothing, remind me to tell you in the Marquises" and I kept going eating encouragingly. Jayne looked at me, then the eggs, and me again with a look of equal parts bewilderment and mistrust in her eyes. In the end she slowly and superciliously returned to her meal thinking it was indeed best not to pursue the subject.

In this vein she was right. For the thought that had occurred to me was that the eggs we were eating may not have been hen eggs. Instead they could be Tortoise eggs that they harvest in the Galapagos ever since man had set foot on the island. This I could put from my mind but once the notion had entered Jayne's, no matter if it was rational or otherwise, it would be the end of the eggs for her. Again I hope Jim Carey is in the Marquises with a note pad for the day that I present Jayne with the notion.

Sunday, June 1st. - Day 14, En Route, To Isles Marquises.

If I was to look back at this voyage I am sure I would just see it as a month in life compressed into a single day. This sensation is caused by the lack of distinction from one day to another, of which there is practically no differentiation to grasp onto at all. The sun comes up each morning a few minutes later, as we are heading west, and goes down commensurately later each evening, but the sea remains the same the eternal blue. It is just there, day in day out, with not a difference of late since it has settled into a set condition. The sea is endlessly there, in its constant mood. Thereby all about us is the same. There are no changes of sail plan, no new tactics, no new anything, just the same days being relived again and again. The monotonous rolling in and out of each self same day, day after day upon an interminable ocean. An ocean that could not concern itself to thwart you or interfere with you for mischief, for why should it bother, the pure size is more than adequate to wear upon the stoutest hearted sailor.

Each day I take out pencil and ruler at six o clock and stretch out the metre wide chart to fill in our progress. The duty takes about two minutes to perform but yet it is the high point of the day as it will dictate if we had a good days run or a bad one. A good one, on our chart with its scale of 10,000,000 : 1, is a pencil line of over twenty two millimetres, a bad one a paltry ten to fifteen. Once this is done I am thankful that the chart table is too small to accommodate the complete metre width of the chart and by necessity it has to folded in half. Before embarking on this voyage I heard stories of people who could not bear to have a chart totally unfolded as they found the scale of progress appallingly discouraging. Now, although I cannot say this of myself, I can say I have the deepest empathy for them.

Looking back over the past two weeks on the chart here before me, all I can see is a lead pencil line on that piece of paper not even ten inches long. That is practically all those past two weeks represent for the days therein are a blur, and as already mentioned are without character or difference so they coalesce into a single day in the mind. The only trace of them are here on the chart. This only being in the circles on the line denoting the fix and its appellation date beneath. So hence will the days of the coming weeks be denoted circles, on the growing lead line. For they too, though not lived yet, will be part of the single day that will eventually be this trip in our memories. Despite the capability to break ones heart I would equaly say that it is not in the least upsetting. For out here we learn to turn off time and any notions of its value. We fall into a time anaesthesia without concern and let the days role by day into night, night into day with great Pacific lassitude. It is not uncomfortable nor upsetting it is just the way it is. For time is a thing of nothing when sailing a yacht across the vast Pacific ocean.

Yet in our time here there are moments to take stock, to sit back and view our progress. Of these days there is none better than today. One year ago today, at just after midday 'Obsession' untied herself from Rosslare Harbour pier wall and set off on her circumnavigation. The long awaited and very much delayed trip commenced. Hence looking back at this point I can see behind me one of the greatest years of my life, probably one of the most formative, plus indeed the very luckiest and most provident for the future; I speak of my fortunate engagement to Jayne especially in this case. I could go on for hours on the subject but suffice to say 'Happy Birthday Trip and a big thank you to it'. In addition I should say well done trip. With one year spent of what has now become a three year circumnavigation, I look at the chart below and see we are only a few days away from one hundred and twenty degrees West. In short a third of the overall planned voyage has passed at almost precisely the time we have sailed one third of the surface of the planet. All is very well there and a third of the way around the planet is something realy tangible. Makes one feel a bit proud in fact.

Yet today has another interesting turn of events in store. As I write this entry it is an hour before noon. 'Obsession' is steaming along and we are making very good progress I see on the instruments here before me on the chart table. Most of all I see on the GPS the distance off is 1540 nm. By the six o'clock fix we will today have broken the back of the longest voyage on the circumnavigation list and have passed half way. Another little milestone that in the overall scheme of things means nothing, but as I sit here in the middle of this passage I can assure the reader it means quite something to Jayne and I. Also, three days ago it was my birthday which was another interesting event in orbit of this moment. Jayne made the day by sticking a big happy birthday sign up over my bunk whilst I still slept and waking me to some lovely presents. Later she went to inordinate efforts to cook very tasty foods which were indeed delicious. She really is something that girl. 'Obsession' did her bit too by hitting the half way mark as a slightly belated birthday present but none the less graciously recieved.

So in a time of days that offer little to remember, there are in fact very special moments to remember after all. I close now and am delighted to report this is a happy ship.

Friday, June 6th. - Day 19, En Route, To Isles Marquises.

Well it is official now with our Longitudinal reading presently at one hundred and twenty three and a half degrees 'Obsession' has sailed one third of the way around the world. Not bad work and there is room for a little self-congratulation for there is something serious about a third. It really feels like a solid fraction, something achieved and a major inroad into that overall objective of sailing around the world. Also in addition to this I am delighted to say that we have cracked the two third mark of this particular leg of the voyage as well and as I write this we are nine hundred and forty miles from 'Hiva Oa'. So all is very well there too. If the wind keeps up we should kill off the last few miles in about nine days which seems like a mere bagatelle to us now. Yet the wind has not been as predictable of late.

The last entry I mentioned the stability of the wind we experienced on the beam since then we have had the occasional shifting. On the negative side of this we have had some squalls. Nothing bad just a bit of a pick up to a gusty Beaufort four to six which gets us whistling along. Then is just goes a little higher and you are pushed into a position for prudence sake of dropping a little canvas for and hour or so all is well at that and then all of a sudden the wind gives up altogether. It appears the squalls concentrate some of the winds here and in doing so there are resultant calms afterwards for about three to five hours. It does mess about somewhat with marginal mileage but to date these squalls are a mild inconvenience and we have only experienced three so far. On the positive side I am delighted to report the wind has backed just enough to allow us to run down wind. Initially we have done this with one poled out genoa and main but of late we have the two big genoas up. This is wonderful as it makes for a very pleasant motion below decks and we really are enjoying the trip.

Yes that was right the last thing I said there is we really are enjoying the trip. This probably is a function of a couple of factors I have already mentioned in the preceding entries. The first one being the strange way in which the long miles has actually brought us closer together and we just feel so good with each other. This was something one would find hard to imagine as on the whole we are an extremely close and happy twosome anyway but this trip has enhanced it even more. I could not describe this even if I tried but suffice to say we have such great pleasure out here talking about our little things, mirthful jesting and being ever so romantic. This combines well with the second fact that time has just disappeared for us. It has suddenly drifted away as a concern. We will get there when we will is the feeling and right now it is no problem for we have just settled in to the voyage so well that now home is here on the waves. It has been so long since we have been on land that we have almost forgotten the feeling, especially so since the last time we touched it was only for a brief respite after a twelve day stint at sea. Hence we feel now that being at sea is actually our normal abode and we have settled in.

The final thing that really makes it a pleasure is that we are in good shape. Since we have got out of those disturbed seas the motion on the yacht has very much improved and doubly so since we have got the wind on the quarter and are doing a 'broad reach to run' type of sailing. This has helped no end but what has been critical on top of this has been the fact that all through the voyage we worked hard in the galley to make sure we ate very well. It was hard to do this when it was rough because of the effort involved and the fact that you were not hungry, but it has paid off now and we have never been in such condition after a long voyage as we are in presently. A lot of this goes down to a big stock up of potatoes that has lasted us to a few days back. This was with a lot of examination and picking off of buds but I have to say the potatoes we took aboard in the Galapagos would have lasted the distance anyway and I am sure the good coating of clay that they came with did no end to assist in this. Anyway having them was tremendous and reduced considerably the amount of tins we used. The fresh vegetables I am sure aided my recovery from that leg infection.

That I confess had me laid up for a good ten days. It turned out to be something and as I write it still has not fully healed but I believe is not of a concern anymore. That one took a lot out of me and the moral of the story is simple. Don't go to sea without potent antibiotics and take them first rather than last on a voyage like this. Yet the whole episode is behind us now and we are both delighted to say that.

Hence the Pacific is treating us well and we are enjoying it. When on a voyage as this one cannot help but reflect to the Atlantic crossing. Where one expect to see nothing but similarity all we can find are differences. Of course the customs of the Atlantic still remain like the 'happy clappys' on the reduction of a century of nautical miles off the distance to go - something that only changed in the doldrums where ten miles was a celebration the going was so poor there. The treats on the big longitudinal Meridians are still going on, the reading etc. etc. Jayne still hears the occasional voice of the deeps, though I don't hear them anymore. Yet it is all different.

You will only ever have the thrill of crossing your first big ocean once, after that it is business as usual. We have done a lot of sailing since and have really settled into this voyage as I mentioned above. We never settled into the Atlantic voyage and were more keen to get in. This was amplified by the big parties we had on the milestones in the Atlantic. After having so many one thirds, half, two thirds and the meridians in-between we found ourselves over four hundred miles off and our heads psychologically saying 'hey we should be in now the parties over' hence there was some disillusion. This trip is less of a big deal at the milestones and everything is much more relaxed when it comes to expectations. Plus after the Atlantic crossing I have to confess we stocked up on the things at low cost, Latin American prices that we craved for and have them on a more frequent basis. On the whole this means we're a lot better off now psychologically and physically even despite the little setback of the infection. Equally the Atlantic crossing will always remain in our memories as more special than any other.

There is little else to report apart from a couple of other things that are noteworthy. The first event occurred some nights back. We were laying on our respective bunks chatting away when Jayne suddenly said:

- "Oh my God, I don't believe it' and a sudden fierce look of consternation fixed on her face where no such thing ever resided.

- "What?" I questioned looking at her and then to the bulkhead where her eyes were malignantly fixed.

- "A cockroach" she said through clenched teeth. I looked at the bulkhead where she was staring fixedly and sure enough there was a medium sized cockroach out for an evening amble totally oblivious to us. "Ill get the 'Baygon' as if we squash it it might eject fertilised eggs all over the place" says Jayne and off she went like a shot to root it out. In seconds she came back and the cockroach, who was fortunately still completely oblivious to the comotion he caused, had scarcely moved from the perfect blasting position of being on the centre of the bulkhead. Of course one always has to have concerns of there being a lot more than one with cockroaches and I have spoken of this in the past. However, Jayne hit that one guy on the bulkhead with such a vehement amount of 'Baygon', that I reckoned there was enough insecticide in the yacht to wipe out a colony anywhere within ten metres.

The last point I will cover is also a good laugh provided by Jayne on a daily basis. With long distance cruising one has a small garbage problem in that yachtsmen will not litter the sea de facto and as a consequence we have to carry a lot of garbage with us. This however is not as bad as it seems as we only really retain plastic materials and paper. Biodegradable objects such as potato skins etc. go over board and of course emptied tins. Tins sink to the bottom of the ocean and bed happily into the slime to rot out six miles down out of anyone's way, but not in harbours please as they foul anchors there. Anyway the first time you go to sea there is quite a decadent feeling to just pouring out the contents of a tin and wham, with a backhanded cavalier toss over the shoulder and it goes out through the cockpit and into the ocean. As I have normally cooked to date Jayne always watched me doing this bold stroke with envy until her day came to cook en-route. This has come of late with the calm seas of the Doldrums and over the past while since Florence Nightingale kept me off my feet whilst convalescing with my sailors peg leg. However for some odd reason Jayne just cannot manage to get the tins overboard what with the sun awning and the spray dodgers as obstacles. Everyday there is always a good uproarish laugh for me as a tin or two misses and clanks around in the cockpit. Sometimes they don't make it out the companionway. Yet each time there always ensues this wonderful expression from Jayne. Her hand clasped over here mouth in cute little-girl-like embarrassment that borders on a smile and the same words:

- "Oh I don't believe it...I missed again". I love that girl.

Wednesday, June 11th. - Day 24, En Route, To Isles Marquises.

We have found the weather here goes through a four to five day cycle. The winds go from very light, to light, to medium, to good sailing winds and then returns down through the cycle once again, over and over. However as we have come closer to the Marquises, and we are now just over four hundred miles off, the cycle remains but the wind strengths throughout is much less. Hence where we were in the past able to sail before in the light winds now it is impossible and as I write we have had 'Des the diesel' in action for the past fourteen hours. This is not optimal as we cannot afford the diesel and if we do not get some wind soon we will be seriously considering turning the engine off and waiting. Although we do not want to burn diesel I can assure the reader we are none the less very appreciative of old 'Des'. Never more so in fact, as we lost his reliable helping hand for a while a few days back.

I am sure I mentioned that the engine overheated on the way to Taboga as a result of a kink in the water inlet pipe. Where I thought I put an end to that problem I was sadly mistaken. I am afraid, it kinked again and this time to disastrous effect. After the temperature warning light screamed at me once again I finally put pay to the blocking kink, by inserting a solid pipe into the bend of the tube to keep it open. However despite this I realised, to much concern, that when I fired it over the engine was not pumping water through. It had therefore this time caused some damage upstream. This was certainly not good news but not the worst, the engine was not totally necessary to complete the voyage. We could wait out the calms and conserve our use of electrical energy for critical instruments when the towing generator was not at full output. Then we could try to fix it once we were in the islands. However that very night unfortunately and for the first time we came across two ships close by. As we had little power we were under pressure to run our Nav-lights and the radar watch afterwards was doubtful. Had it been necessary to take some evasive action we would have been very limited. The time was ripe to become an engineer afloat the next day.

The manual I have for the engine is the standard workshop type. It is very basic and does not even touch on the subject of 'marinised' engines. Looking at it really just gave me pointers and little else, had I have wanted to take the pistons out and dissemble the crank shaft it would have been a matter of following the text line by line. On water pumps it was very vague. The water pump it presented to me was to my great delight directly on the front of the engine and very accessible. With a rolling sea tossing us about that day it was more than encouraging and I set to work much enthused. After completely dismantling this section I realised to my horror that it was the fresh water pump and not the sea water pump that I had dismantled. Hence the reassembly of this entire unit commenced and a desperate search for the salt water pump ensued that the manual was oblivious to. After some time the second blow came when I saw something that might just be it.

The suspicious augmentation to the engine with the pipes leading to it was right at the back and tucked away down low. To get at it I had to lie across the engine and push my arms in behind. In short probably one of the most difficult points to access. Anyone who has worked on a small car engine where there is zero space to work, a thousand edges to skin ones knuckles, and a last screw or two that just are resolved to remain in position even at the price of wearing out their slots in combat, will have some sympathy for me on this one. If they have not, well pitch in the fact that the boat was rolling all over flinging me about all the time, tools were flying everywhere, it was boiling hot and anything that was fumbled fell into the bilge. Throw in that lot for good measure and one could see that it was a pitiful task. The biggest shock of all came a couple of hours later and a twofold shock it was at that. Totaly alien to my nature I had bought a few spare parts before departing and included in the list were a couple of spare impellers. An impeller turned out to be the part at fault and hence I had the replacement part. The second and even bigger shock was that when I put it all back together I had fixed the problem and it worked perfectly. That I found the most unbelievable aspect of the whole adventure.

If I was to make one passing comment on the whole thing it would be this. The fact that I could tackle the problem speaks volumes of our fitness after such a long voyage at sea. We are in remarkably good shape. In fact so much so that after initially loosing some weight we are presently gaining a few pounds in weight. This is seriously unprecedented at sea for us. A lot of this stems from Jayne's fitness. She is now in 'A one' condition at sea and is cooking away some delicious dishes that contribute mightily to those extra few pounds we have gained. But the main thing is that we are in top shape as this makes the voyage an all round pleasure and I am delighted to say that I am getting a lot of the things I set out to do on the overall circumnavigation under wraps.

Firstly that vital education that I so desperately needed is well under way. With the excellent 'Sophie's World' I have now at least got to the point of a nodding acquaintance with the history of philosophy. Since embarking on this voyage I have dived into a book I cannot recommend more highly 'The Columbia History Of The World'. It is a serious book, with large pages full of text and with a thickness of about four inches gives gravity more than a good purchase in your hands. Yet it is magnificent to read. Though I am only about an inch and a half in I can at last fit some of the world's history together. Human evolution, Mesopotamia, the Hellenistic world, the Roman republic, Mohammed and the rise of Islam, Chinggis Khan, The Middle Ages, The Roman Church, The Spanish Inquisition, Byzantium, Greek Orthodox Church and the Slaves and early Russia and so on. It is all there and for the first time I am getting a feel of where it all fits together how and why. It truly is something special and very important and I remind one of that wonderful quote of Goeth to conclude on the point "he who cannot draw on three thousand years of experience is living from hand to mouth".

In addition to this I am still bashing upon the guitar to try and accomplish that marginal proficiency in music that I am aiming at. Although the history studies flourished on this trip not so the guitar I am afraid. The infection I had really wiped me out for a while on that front. However I am back again and rallying to the cause with a daily practice of about somewhere between one hour to two. The time has allowed both Jayne and I to get our mail sort out for posting ashore, some typing on the laptop that needed adhering to and of course provided for some leisurely book reading too - as I write this Jayne is quite literally glued to the pages of 'The Thorn Birds'.

All in all a good trip and with only four more days to go there is just enough time to dust off those final little odd jobs. It is indeed a relaxed and happy boat. Though we are looking forward to arriving in the Marquises there is none of the desperation to get in that one would expect after such a long time at sea. Perhaps it is because we have forgotten what it is like to be ashore! I return to my history book.

Monday, June 16th. - Day 29, Approaching Isles Marquises.

At last we are on the final approach to the Isles Marquises, although there is still another day in it. As I update the log we are fifty seven nautical miles away and crawling in with very light winds. Hence we probably will not make it this evening and may lay off until the morning to make our final approach. Yet it is a remarkable thing to us at this stage that the voyage is coming to an end. Fifty seven miles is a distance we just find difficult to compute after spending a month at sea with the distance predominantly numbering in the thousands. And land, what is that? It seems like something strange like a thing of a different life a thing that is almost forgotten. It is strange to us both the whole concept, land, stopping, the interminable voyage finds an end, a whole new way of life after adapting totally to this one. Though we have a very stoic approach and calm disposition acquired to deal with the enormities of the ocean voyage undertaken, there is a mounting sense of excitement. Yet we subdue this as best we can because on the sea anything can happen next.

The last few days have certainly been a good example of that. Earlier I am sure in the last log I mentioned the cyclical nature of the wind that had presented itself to us. Hence we hoped for better conditions to follow and abstained from using the engine as much as possible. The wind in this area seemed to be governed by different factors by all accounts and this was exacerbated by a highly unstable weather pattern that settled in for the past three days.

With our resolve towards sailing it made for a somewhat difficult life. Firstly the wind seemed to be subject to a front of some nature that came over us for the period. This meant the wind strengths varied dramatically being largely a function of squalls. Yet, though of a squally like nature, they never reached any belligerent force as the base wind strength in the area is very light. Hence though the top winds were not destructive the overall average was very poor for sailing. However, this aside, what presented most difficulty was their variability. The winds were just coming in from every angle with little or no stability. In one example we noted a case where in fifteen minutes we experienced the winds go around an arch of one hundred and eighty degrees, from a starboard beam reach to that of a port beam reach, only then to switch within thirty minutes to a dead run. Though this is a sensational example it is indicative of the shifting nature that we experienced on the whole. By consequence it was a full on job of constant sail changing to make any progress and equally the conditions destroyed whatever purchase could be derived from the light airs.

With such violent wind swings the sea could not settle into a steady pattern. The surface at any moment is the sum total of the waves frequencies and wave directions caused by the winds of the previous hours, plus the current wind and over-ridden by a strong trade wind swell propagated from outside. The resultant motion was very unpleasant. At one moment I saw we were hit on three of the four quarters of the yacht by a different swell. This of course threw the yacht about most horrendously and flung the light winds out of the sails with a terrible clatter and clanking of rigging. Therefore the speeds were very poor and hard fought for. Fortunately that was largely the experience of one days sailing and the nights around it which had us up on deck regularly. It was indeed hard work especially in the day time where you were either fried alive or rained out of it. It made the days before it of being totally becalmed seem like a pleasure and the return of a decent breath of air just yesterday something to be ecstatic about. Since then though we are back in business and although the winds have become light today and are of all places on the nose. Yet with only fifty miles to go we are making every ounce of the wind work hard for us and it is a beat of the greatest pleasure to hammer into. Yet in these past two days there have been times that have been less taxing and equally as interesting.

The first of these I would like to mention is whilst totally becalmed or just managing to squeeze enough out of the wind to achieve steerage, a speed of just above one quarter of a nautical mile. The reason I would like to mention this time is a very strange phenomena occurs during these days. As mentioned in the previous entries we are incredibly well adapted to our environment. We are completely at rest and our daily patterns of reading, dining, some music et cetera. They just seem to make the days disappear in very quick and orderly fashion. Akin to buying a box of matches and taking each out successively, striking it, watching it burn, then discarding it for the next, so our days went as the miles passed away underneath. Blazing heat, black darknes of night once it extinguishes, then the same again and again each day where a day only counts as a moment in a place where time has no meaning.

That was however until we came to this area where we were becalmed. On board the conditions were more pleasant. The motion was such that one could practically build a card house on the cabin table and motion on voyages like this is probably the most significant factor to overall well being. Also it was not overly hot at the time and we had beautiful nights sleeps. Yet during this whole time we were constantly restless and ill at ease where the opposite should at least physically be the case. We could not apply ourselves to any of our normal pursuits and were constantly wistful. Once the winds came back we were settled in once again. It appears that there is some innate drive in human beings that needs to feel they are making progress and nowhere else can this drive be felt than on sea.

The other event of the past few days that should be mentioned I am delighted to say is one of remarkable pleasure. Anyone I met in Ireland pre-departure and who had sailed the Pacific said the sky is magnificent. How true.

At present we are on the first quarter of the moon and the clarity of the light even at this stage is staggering. There is no need whatsoever for lights to work above decks at night. Later on and in the early hours when the moon with it's bright intense light slips under the horizon the complete panorama of stars that can then be seen is breathtaking. Each night there are big beaming planets and small single pin-pricks, fat blinkering stars but also glittering vaporous rivulets of fine little star grains, they all light up the dome in a storm of light. The Milky Way, which is normally vague, is intensely bright and full of spectacle. Polaris, the north star, however, has disappeared for quite some time, though we can see the Ursa Major. Yet, by recompense, we have the spectacular Southern Cross swaying across the southern sky each night. In front of this spectacular display the occasional puffy trade wind cloud drifts past its billowy shape vividly illuminated. On board, being terrible creatures of habit, we have taken to drinking cocoa late at night under the stars. It is truly the most delicious drink at sea and very pleasant to sip in the luxuriant temperature of the pacific nights where one can enjoy the beverage without feeling hot after it. If anything remains with me from this voyage I am sure it will be this. Jayne and I sitting out on the foredeck together, sipping our cocoa looking up at the sublime heavens above, whilst the Pacific waters drift beneath us in a silent trickling hush.

Well that's all for this entry. The last entry en route I hope. The last thing I would like to mention is by way of a quick note to following sailors and a small caveat. I can never get enough pilots for I feel equally that one can never get too much information on the anchorages et cetera that they contain. As mentioned we met a French yacht a few days out from Galapagos and they were heading for Fatu Iva one of the islands of the group. This is an island out to windward and it would be most pleasant to visit on arrival only, but we had to land by regulation at one of two assigned ports in either Hiva Oa or Nuku Hiva. Hence they were not bothering with the regulations and going for it which inspired us to do the same depending on the conditions. However having plenty of time to read the information in the 'five' guides which we have that cover these pre-eminent islands we found one had a warning in relation to this. It said don't do it because there is a watch man who radios across to the arrival port the yachts arrival and if it is not already cleared in you get fined. I hope the French boat had 'Charlies Charts' aboard, where we found that little gem, and reads it before he lands in Fatu Iva. The message in short is it really is good to have a lot of pilots and we are sure we have paid for all of our Pacific pilots alone just in this incident alone.

I bid you adieu. The next time I write I hope it will be in the Iles Marquises. I will go and join Jayne who has jut gone up on the foredeck to watch out for any traces of land beneath the shade of the head sail. Exciting times aboard.

A quick adendum to the aforementioned, fifteen minutes later. After twenty nine days at sea, and at twenty one, fifty hundred hours Universal Time on June sixteenth we have sighted land. The Eastern tip of Hiva Oa, The North West Of Fatu Iva and the length of the minor island of Mohantani are suddenly visible, hooray! Hooray!

Wednesday, June 18th; - Atuona, Hiva Oa, Isles Marquises.

When en route to these islands Jayne and I spent many hours of mirthful banter and I can remember some of my quips. One was after talking about so many friends we could potentially meet here upon arrival. I said we would find none of them and surely just come across 'Shady Lady' instead. As we go in we would see David rowing over to us like a mad man yammering away about all sorts that he knows nothing about and preparing himself to stick to us like a barnacle for our stay here. Oh no! We both giggled and laughed, what a nightmare, get a boat hook and fend off was the answer of course. The other quip however was much more relevant.

After being out for about two weeks I said 'if the Marquises happened to be the world's biggest trash heap loaded high and mighty, we would probably come in after the remainder of our voyage and say this is the most beautiful trash heap in all the world'. This statement is probably true. Yet taking that aside, and without any prejudice, I can say these do happen to be the most beautiful islands I have ever experienced in all my travels. They just simply are.

Despite the plan as outlined in the previous log entry we came in at night as the conditions were optimal, both weather and moon, the harbour had a sectored leading light, I had excellent charts and pilots so it was no difficulty to come in. Hence up until the morning of arrival we had seen nothing but a darkened outline of a ragged landscape in the sea and some interesting bays such as the one here where we have anchored. Though I can only describe it as magnificent then in the moonlight it was nothing by comparison to the view that greeted us in the morning.

We have experienced a lot of deep ocean islands up until now. The Canaries, The Cape Verde's and so on. On the whole these type of islands are volcanic. Hence they have a very distinctive brutal and mostly violent relief to the eye. The earth seems to compress and collide upon itself in these areas. Then the mighty and broken edges of global rock plates push up ridges giving sharp spiky angular pinnacles with long ridges and immense steep valleys. On the whole they have been austere places and it is their baron rugged nature that is pleasing to the eye. The best example of this being a savage bluff in the Cape Verde's that is indelibly printed upon my mind. However all this apart, I can say now the most exciting example of this type of violent landscape I have ever seen has been on this first island of the Marquises. Yet equally, despite this, I can say that this is the most beautiful and gentle island a man can set his eye upon. For there is one overriding difference to the preceding volcanic islands that we had visited; it abounds in a luscious verdant tropical growth.

The first thing we saw upon waking was a rich sweeping vibrant green that surrounded us and swept up the valley to the sky. All that was to be seen were coconut palms amidst a profusion of other leafy green trees the fragrance of which filled our nostrils. A rich and moist scent of life that we breathed in deeply with profound luxuriance. A magical aroma that after so many days at sea was a sensation akin to a deaf man suddenly being able to hear a classical melody after years of silence. Still the major feast was for the eyes. Following the trees up to the high enclosing ridges I could see those violent features of a volcanic landscape I previously mentioned. This time their violence was of naught for all was pure magnificence swept over in its rich green coat of life most vibrant. All the harsh features were softened by this leafy carpets of which parts were glittering in the sun rays, parts were shaded by the low cloud and parts were caressed by misty trails of cloud. Yet the savage beauty makes itself felt beneath. The violent angular ridges sweeping around the valley leading up high to a dominant and mighty arch pinnacle. This mass of rock looks down over the bay where it presents a sheer dark rock face that refuses to be subdued by the leafy growth. Mt Timetieu appears as an overseer of all below, a stately indomitable majestic king. Yet, as of all things in the Marquises, a kindly spirit too. For in his stately aspect is an ethereal dreamer who has no interest in the doings of man. For he spends his days adrift in the misty clouds that sweep about him in council. Such was the sight we saw from 'Obsession' upon waking.

Stepping ashore it was equally as spectacular. Seeing the rich soil the moisture and the abundance of growth the first thing I said to Jayne was 'you could stick a walking stick in the ground and it would grow'. We had not travelled ten meters when this comment caused a good laugh. Up the road from the bay was a small corral amongst the trees with a horse lazily grazing in it. A wire fence had been set up around it with wooden posts driven down every metre or so. To our amazement we saw that each and every fence post had sprung buds and had come alive. On we continued and everywhere we looked we saw the most amazing profusion of different fruit and spice bearing trees. Most all had big beautiful deep green leafs bounding in health. They brought to my mind each time the old sketches I had seen of leafs and trees that explorers of old noted down as part of their research. Such sketches were often included in the books of Magellan, Dias, Columbus, Cook and so on, that I had read in the months before departing. When visiting the Caribbean I had thought that they had exaggerated the aspect of the leafs in the drawings for they seemed so vivid. I would never think that again after seeing the leafs here.

If that was the close up detail and the view from the yacht the overall picture of what comes in between, what maybe a painter might call the middle ground, had yet to be experienced. Jayne and I had traipsed trough many of the Grenadine islands and though most of them were green and natural I could not describe them as being spectacular. With the exception of the beautiful rain forest of Grenada all the other island's natural reserves were scrub like vegetation consisting mainly of brushwood or stunted forest growth. If this canopy should permit some light beneath there would lay a tangled web of weeds. Though our visit was in the winter time the overall colour we experienced was olive green, again with the exception of the mostly verdant Grenada, and I am sure it probably lost a lot of that colour in the blazing heat of it's summer. Here it is so different.

For here it is as if God decided this should be his beautiful garden. As one steps around this lovely island one feels it has fallen under the hand of a discrete and magnificent landscaper. As a step is taken, views appear up rivers with perfect symmetry as if the trees had been set down especially to provide the perfect image. Beneath the overall canopy there is no weed, for weed here is a word that has no meaning as all the plants are beautiful. Leafy olive green grasses grow low, masses of large pinnate or fan-shaped leaves stretch out for the sun, and many different shrubs with woody short stems smaller than a tree branches near the ground explode in large colourful flowers. In fact flowers abound everywhere and their vibrant colours are scintillating amidst the verdure. Here I must apologise for I know little or nothing of the names of flowers. Yet one must only remember the paintings of Gauguin and picture all of the flowers that festooned his beautiful islanders to conjure up the spectacle it is to step through the undergrowth that produced those flowers in abundancce. Each step makes one feel with more and more certainty that such beauty and aspect cannot happen by accident, yet equally one feels that it can only be God that would create this as no man could come close.

This is what we have experienced here upon arrival. Though I could continue to write and write I know that it is redundant text when it comes to describe what we have seen. For I know that the simple sentence of 'this is Paradise' describes all. Hence I will leave the visual spectacle at that.

Turning to more practical matters the islands are a French colony. This I feel is not a bad thing. Of all the old colonies I prefer those of the French. They seem to have a certain cultural mix that is natural yet they have the quixotic and je ne sais quoi of the French infused. I love the French, all the men seem to think they are Napoleon and the women Josephine. I think it is great and my penchant for them is both retarded and enhanced by the fact that I cannot speak a word of the French language. For this equally means that I cannot very well communicate with them, which is a pity, but is a good thing also as perhaps I would not like them so much if I understood what they were saying to me. However the cultural hybrid of French islands is always magnificent and exciting. Plus we were to discover the high water mark of French culture is an everyday event here. To our great joy we found we could row ashore and pick up a freshly baked baguette for breakfast and devour it whilst listening to French soldiers sing the national anthem each morning in a discrete little army barracks tastefully set into the hillside overlooking the bay. So the civilisation of the beautiful islands is more than refreshing.

The final perfection of the ending of the voyage to paradise has been that we have arrived in perfect condition to enjoy it all. We have not been in the least bit tired or fatigued after arriving. In fact we have absolutely shocked ourselves with the organised way we have got to work at de-oceanising the yacht. Everything we could turn to was put down on a list and attacked with the keenness of two people who had just come around the headland into this bay to carry out some work on the yacht. It was unbelievable and we really shocked ourselves. Though the list of first off jobs contained a dozen items or so we got at least seventy five percent complete in the first hours after landing. In fact we would have completed the whole list had it not been for David of 'Shady Lady' who rowed over to us and talked incessantly.

Yes that first quip came back to haunt me after all. How funny. In fact I have to say it was really good to see him. Its so nice to see a familiar face and it is always great to meet Chris. David is as odd as ever but on the whole remarkably good to be about if you can make sure you have him in small doses. To our immense good fortune he has wiped out all of his stock pile of alcohol and when he is not drunk and aggressively in your face he is very entertaining if you do not take him seriously.

Hence all is well for us in paradise. I have indeed a happy ship at the moment. In fact if I was to give a fair weight to Jayne's mood, I should properly call it an ecstatically happy ship.

Saturday, June 28th; - Laying To Anchor, Hana Moe Noe, Tahuata.

It has been ten days since my last entry and with good reason. Since arriving in the Marquises a social explosion has happened that has been more than pleasant after our preceding month upon the solitary deep blue ocean. The anchorage of Atuona, Hiva Oa, was incredible busy and it is only now that we have departed that I can turn to the log at last. At the moment we are laying to anchor in an isolated bay in an island called Tahuata a few miles south of Hiva Oa. High cliffs embrace the cove where wild horses and goats constantly graze. Between these ridges a natural vale reaches up into the island and a stream seems to issue forth in the trough of the contour. Where it meets the sea in the centre of the bay a pearly white sand beach resides in front of a dense growth of wild orange trees that benefit abundantly from the fresh water stream. A perfect spot all to ourselves to explore. Yet although inviting the shore may be, it offers us no temptation whatsoever. Unfortunately with the dense vegetation, the fresh water along with salt water close at hand the beach is renown for its infestation of 'no-seeums'. This is a sand fly type insect specific to the Marquises that thrives in such surroundings. The species is impossible to see, hence the rather practical appellation, but they leave their marks with vicious infectious bites. Hence we are more than happy to stay offshore and adhere to a few tasks aboard. Writing up the log is one of these and I can now give an overview of the events of last week.

When a yacht has been at sea for four to eight weeks it has a collection of tasks to be addressed. 'Obsession' is normally quite good this way as there are few equipment problems normally. Of course at the moment we have some serious self steering problems but these I will defer until I can find a workshop. On top of these there are a lot of day to day things to be addressed especially after a month of not doing any. Sometimes these may not be easily achieved in remote parts of the worlds. To name a few would be a clean down of the yacht which means getting all the green gunk off the yacht's top sides that seems to take over after long ocean passages. To re-fill with gas and water, something I will discuss later in the entry. To refill with diesel fuel. To do the odd few minor repairs and re stowing. To carry out an inventory. To get a complete clothes and bedding wash done. To spray for cockroaches before they can get aboard carrying on the old 'live and let die' strategy, and so on and so forth. There were plenty on the jobs list as is always the case with a circumnavigating yacht. In addition to this there are the natural legal formalities to be adhered to like clearing in and the sorting of ships papers.

On top of the normal activities there were a few things that were not at all necessary but were targeted in these days all the same. A double hammock I made in the Canaries was at last set up aboard, to the envy of all in the anchorage, and a handsome cockpit table was arranged with the use of the grating from the cockpit sole. The latter provided a revolution for dining outside under the awning and has now become the norm. The hammock also had the unexpected advantage of providing shade to keep the cabin that bit cooler during the day. We decided, after all, we were now in the Pacific and were going to enjoy it to the hilt with our extra little conveniences. All of this kept us more than busy with a list of activities to keep us occupied during the day. With a free shower, endless quantities of washing water, and a convenient shop that with a quick few paddles of the oars in the morning resulted in nice crispy fresh French bread for breakfast, it was not hard to decide to carry out all this work just where we were. However despite this flutter of boat activity the nights were the busiest.

The anchorage in Atuona was probably the most social we ever went to with the exception of Barbados. In Barbados we knew a lot of people in advance and it was the Christmas season, yet Atuona sure provided stiff competition on the sociability front. Of course it would be extremely dull to describe all of our new acquaintances to a reader. It is sufficient to say that we could not help but make a lot of new friends which was truly great. Yet there is one yacht that stands out the most from all of our experiences to date and I would be negligent if I did not mention it. It's name was 'Eclipse' and when it arrived into the anchorage I felt no other name suited it better. With an overall length in excess of one hundred feet, a requirement of half a dozen crew to sail the fully automated sloop and a price tag of over four million dollars, the bay certainly felt eclipsed by it.

Coming aboard I whispered to Jayne 'it's sailing Jayne but not as we know it' harking back to that old Dr Spock Star Trek quote. Little did I know that that would be the best way to describe the vessel I was to experience, for it's whole aspect was almost directly out of the set of 'Star Trek' and the central ship 'Enterprise'. The bridge was almost the same and it had those amazing press button doors of the 'Enterprise' in plate glass and magnificent stainless steel. Down below the complete air conditioned interior had that slick space ship look also. Cabins were like small hotel rooms with TV, videos, music centres, showers, wardrobes and all the gubbins. Even these were the less swish ones, the pen ultimate ones had baths and the owners cabin had an enormous Jacuzzi. The kitchen was bright, modern and equipped with everything that could be imagined on every good space ship. Connected to it were huge freezers containing foods too delicious to think about. Above decks all the winches and lines were captive so that they were not seen and the rear deck lifted up and opened hydraulically. This produced a storage area for play things. Looking in I could see it was big enough to park a car along with a few motorbikes for good measure. Yet this ample garage had instead all sorts of dive equipment inflatable dinghies and water sports leisure equipment. What was really funny was that there were a couple of lazer dinghies complete with rigs included in this list of play things. When this enormous lid shut down there was again a huge teak after deck that was large enough to be a fine dance floor. This is what it turned out to zealously be used for after arriving in from their Galapagos trip.

One of the crew said to me early in the night, before they all were completely and utterly wiped out, that they were so happy to be in at last. They had taken all of sixteen days to get across, he explained, and by the time they had got in they had seen nearly all of the videos. A terrible trauma for them, I thought. All of sixteen days down there in that air conditioned palace, relaxing in the bath, eating delicious foods, looking at those videos and maybe having to do a three hour watch some time during the day. How terrible, I thought, and the worst part was that they were getting paid abundantly for the trauma. Yet despite my aspect upon the whole scenario, they must certainly have thought it was hardship for they had a 'God Almighty' beer bust when they came in. I sincerely mean this in no ambiguous terms the alcohol flowed like a river and their sound system raised the whole valley. The owner was not there and with the average age of the crew about twenty six the skipper played the strategy of invite everyone in the anchorage aboard. If they came they partied. If they did not come, well stuff them, they can suffer hearing the party. David of 'Shady Lady' smelled free booze and was in like Flinn. Chris and he were supposed to come over to us that evening but he flew past us telling us to come to 'Eclipse' instead in a rush of mad excitement. His dingy was planing above the water handsomely, despite the fact he was only using his oars.

If that could be counted as an invite we were triply coerced aboard. There was an Irish girl amongst the crew who came after us later. She would have come straight across but she could not believe that our boat was in fact Irish and not carrying a faded Italian flag. Irish boats are rare and not what a Cork girl would expect to bump into in an anchorage in French Polynesia. Hence we ventured across and including David and Chris we were the sum total of the anchorage that turned up which they thought strange. In fact they would have felt a little piqued by the turnout had they not been totally smashed and could not tell the difference. Jayne and I however were not surprised at all. 'Johno, a wonderfully amiable Australian, was half cut when he went about on invitation duty. Hence his performance of the task provided for some comprehension skills and probably made people think they had too much ground to catch up. Yet despite the low turn out the chaos that followed with the crew was more than enough as they were indeed a great lot. Suffice to say for the log it was a highly entertaining night where one was obliged to go mad to feel in the least bit comfortable. In the heel of the hunt however one provident event did transpire during the carousing.

After everyone had been grabbed and thrown overboard during a 'dancing gone mad' routine, a crew member took out a hose pipe and blasted us all. I got a good shot in the face and found to my complete shock that he was blasting everyone with fresh water. After spending a month at sea where we considered a cup full a precious commodity this was too much. Having downed many 'ice chilled' beers in exchange for a bottle of 'Cinzano' we had aboard, I had got over the showers, the baths and then finally the Jacuzzi, but this was an exorbitant waste of precious fresh water. The skipper saw Jayne and I shocked beyond belief and begging for the blast of the hose of the divine liquid to sailors. He laughed and said they had huge water makers aboard, and if we wanted any water we were more than welcome. The water in Atuona harbour is tricky to drink as it comes directly from a river. If it rains just a little too much the faeces from the wild horses, pigs and goats in the highlands gets washed into it and it becomes foul to drink. Hence we did not want to fill up with drinking water on the quay side so his offer was most gratefully accepted. The next day we came across and took thirty gallons, a mere drop in the ocean to 'Eclipse'.

Hence our aforementioned water problem disappeared in an interesting way. I say interesting because this was our first taste of manufactured water. It is so clear and bereft of any other mineral or pollutant that it is strange to taste. In fact it has zero taste being pure H2O and when one takes a taste of it the only sensation in your mouth is the acquiring of a liquid at a different temperature. Most strange and it does not feel in the least bit satisfying. Our vote is certainly for tap water, if only we could get it without the wild horse, pig and goat flavourings I already mentioned. Yet we are away and filled with water for the moment and delighted to be so. It was by similar chance our cooking gas problem was solved. For upon arrival that was running low and needed to be addressed.

After making initial enquiries the situation was beginning to look very bleak. We were down to our last bottle and it was not possible to fill standard yacht type bottles in these islands. Hence we indeed had a problem. By chance at the same moment as making my preliminary enquiries I came across a Canadian called David, a truly most affable and pleasant man, at the dingy dock. By chance he had the same problem and was en route to try to secure some of the large type canisters that were used in the islands. He said he had got a routine to take the gas out of the local bottles and to fill his, but he could not get any gas as it was all ordered especially for people. Yet he said he was going to continue searching and if he acquired any he would let me know.

Sure enough the next morning he hailed me and said he had got hold of one. He was just going to connect it up and asked if I wanted to watch. This I did and whilst ashore with him I have never enjoyed so much being nearly blown up before in my life. His system was good but his hose was not that good, it was too hard and inflexible to fit onto the local gas bottle without leaking profusely. In the end we resolved that the pipe he was trying to work with was not correct and we both returned to 'Obsession' to see what I could dig out of my lucky box of assorted bits and pieces. By chance of good fortune an old hot water pipe, that I had replaced after it blew crossing the Atlantic, fitted the bill admirably. With the adoption of this hose the mission was a complete success. The single large local cylinder filled not only his two boat bottles but also my spare. Plus the operation was perfectly safely handled without leaks using the new hose pipe. However on top of all this I had acquired the technique along with the equipment to fill my bottles in the future. In tricky circumstances such as this without the know how it would have had us eating cold beans and corned beef for extended periods. Yet the solution was very simple indeed.

All that is required is to take the large domestic cylinders freely available and hang it out of a tree in an out of the way place. Make sure before commencing work there is plenty of ventilation and NO NAKED FLAMES! With the local cylinder hanging upside down connect a pipe to the nozzle at the bottom. The connection has to be complete and air tight even under pressure and that is where a soft plastic hose worked a treat as in my case. Being a size too small for the nozzle I had to stretch it somewhat and work it on with great effort which was perfect. Once there a dubly-hose-clip sealed it perfectly as the soft plastic moulded tight into the nozzle. With this done the same operation was to be carried out upon the boat cylinder. This should be set down beneath the elevated local cylinder on the ground. Once this has been set up a completely tight connection is made between the two cylinders. After that all that had to be done is to open the tap on the empty boat cylinder and likewise on the full large cylinder held aloft. The pressure equalised and then the liquid butane starts to drip down by the process of gravity into the lower vessel. The progress of this is again easily observed if the tube is translucent as mine happened to be. This is quite a good facet to have in the system as by inspection the lower bottle could be tilted to the perfect pitch to receive the flow. After about an hour or so a four point five kilogram bottle can hence be filled. All that is required is a bit of daring a metre long length of soft translucent half inch hose and two dubly hose clips. One can ice the receiving bottle for best results but what I got from the simple routine was more than enough. A piece of cake that you could bake incidentally after the completed operation. But, of course, if you blow yourselves up after a botched attempt don't come crying to me. I know nothing.

So hence went our time on such boating tasks and socialising with the complete spectrum of the sailing fraternity. In fact we had little time to spare to even step out of the harbour and meet the locals I confess. Yet in this time there was some time to take a few steps and make a few observations and I will briefly jot these down here on a first impression basis. I have already spoken of the scenery of the island. It is magnificent and needs no further description. Yet I will talk of two other events we experienced. Up high and almost upon the ridge of the valley overlooking the anchorage of Atuona there is a hotel. From the yacht this looks very pleasant indeed. It appeared between the palm tress as a collection of A line chalets and looked very exclusive. One day we climbed up to it deciding that we would spend five dollars for two soft drinks up there as a treat. Yes that was five dollars incidentally for two soft drinks about six times the price at home, we are in the remotest islands in the world and everything is prohibitively expensive. After climbing up we found the ice cool 'Sprite' wonderful but the hotel nothing really special to our surprise. However when we sat back to enjoy our drink the landscape did provide a treat. We could see the entire bay and surroundings from where we sat as well as the out lying islands. A wonderful panorama was there to be savoured. To make it perfect a large yacht was working its way in from seaward. Though it was made minuscule by our lofty perspective this was the piece de resistance of the overall vista. There is something magical when overlooking a bay from high above and watching a yacht working its way in, even if the scene had not had the inherent beauty of French Polynesia.

The next memorable visit I would like to set down certainly revolves around a French Polynesian theme. Indeed it goes directly to the man who put the theme on the artistic map and gave the whole idiom romanticist colour; Paul Gauguin. Though most of his French Polynesian time was spent in Tahiti he eventually came to live in Atuona and it was here where he died in 1903. Gauguin was a colourful character and somewhat of an anomaly to the islands. It is far beyond the scope of this log to give the history of Gauguin but it was fascinating to visit the relics he left behind that still stand on the island. His final residence that he called 'The House Of Pleasure' he built in Atuona. This he decorated with wooden frames that he decoratively carved with figures and inset his favourite maxims into the image. "Soyez mysterieuses" 'be mysterious' was one, and "Soyez amoureuses et vous serez heureuses" 'be in love and you will be happy', was another. This done he moved promptly took a fourteen year old girl, a female age group he had a particular penchant for, and moved in. Today it is fascinating to see these works and run ones fingers over the engravings of his very handwork nearly a century later.

In addition to this there is his grave situated high on a slope in the cemetery above the village. Gauguin's grave is simple, made of pock marked volcanic rocks and shaded by a large white blossomed frangipani. Garlands of flowers were strewn over the grave along with shell necklaces. The grave marker was his own statue of a wild woman with the lettering 'Oviri' marked in large type at the foot. The word means 'savage' and it is this that Gauguin felt himself. Not barbaric but certainly an anathema to the colonials that he loathed and never described in his paintings. Looking at the statue over his grave I again could not help but run my fingers through the lines of its relief thinking that such a famous man had had his very hand there. Yet also the thought occurred that he was only a man. Nothing more, nothing less, just a man and one that probably lived a hard life at that. Now maybe he was famous for his body of paintings in French Polynesia, but what good was that to him for his life had expired. For life must surly be the most singularly precious thing to a human being. Nothing else is more important. At that we departed for it is not good to ponder on such things in a cemetery. On the way out we passed the grave of Jack Brel who also is buried in the same cemetery. He apparently was a famous singer in nations where the French language is first. By consequence this grave site drew the attention of French speakers more than that of Gauguin. Although an original Gauguin statue, I thought, of such notoriety just sitting there in a secluded graveyard must tempt the attention of a few less than dignified visitors to the islands much more some day.

On the few scant observations of the locals to date I should conclude this entry. The first and most outstanding feature of the locals is their friendliness and generosity. Though we have not mixed with them on a one to one basis as a function of not speaking French on my part we do seem to get the generosity second hand so to speak. Other yachts folk get given too much fruit and they pass it down the line to us. This is despite the fact that the islanders are embarrassed to give fruit. They prefer meat and fish and to a large part they just feed the fruits that are dropping off the trees for want of picking to their pigs. Hence they see fruit as pig food that they are giving to us and find it uncomfortable and somewhat strange that we should hanker for it. In addition to this in an island of plenty they will not touch any fruit that has dropped on the ground. They will only pick it from the branches. This is so deep rooted in their culture that school kids will not pick up there pens and pencils should they drop on the floor. The sight of a yachts man picking up perfect wild lemons beneath a tree sends them running to set them aside for the ones of the branches.

What the islanders love doing is having a feast of any sort. From what I can see they are just craving for an excuse of any sort and so many yachtsmen are the cause celebre for the smallest undertaking on there parts. There they heave on pork, fish and lobster onto the grills in monstrous portions and it seems there are some serious customs attached. David and Chris in fact got caught up in one and no one ate until they had force fed the two of them overwhelming portions. Once they had consumed three times their appetites worth under the weight of the islanders coaxing and showed they could not eat a morsel more all the natives tucked in ravenously. It appears the guests eat first their full. These type of barbecues are very very common and really a yachtsman has to be going out of their way to avoid them. Even Jayne and I who had not at all mingled ashore, purely by weight of activities afloat, got invited to a discrete one via the Canadian David, of Gas technology fame. On the whole the islanders are incredibly welcoming and generous.

The other primary characteristic is indolence. I have to say they are a content lethargic bunch. I am not being critical here as a European would intrepid the observation, as 'content' really is the operand word here. Why run around in a tizzy stressed to death acting as serious as a heart attack and engendering one at that when you can have the dolch vite as the Italians call it. There is little reason to go mad for all you need to live is there in abundance. Fresh fruits are falling off the trees, meat of many types is running wild around the mountains for you to grab and the fish are just jumping out of the sea. Thanks to the French, bread, butter and rice are subsidised to be half nothing to buy so why turn into an industrial and competitive society. No reason in the world is the evident answer with a great gesture of lassitude. Though the products of the twentieth century have arrived here in abundance there is little in the way of commercial initiative. On the whole people progress at a very slow happy pace of life and lounge around at ease for the slightest entertainment. Of course with this kind of friendly languor one does get a few teenage wise guys but on the whole it is relaxed and very friendly.

The only energy I have seen from the islanders here is when it comes to boat racing. This is manic by comparison. I am not talking stick and rag here but serious full on paddling of their out rigger canoes 'Hawaii Five O' style. This is something else to watch and they have all sorts of races that include relaying crew members on the way and the onlookers become highly animate. It is indeed a keen sport that they love and each evening at least one or two teams are practising with immense speed and vigour. It does not bode well for a dingy to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when they come flying through.

The only other area of any passionate interest the islanders seem to have is their hatred of the French. They just cannot abide the French. Ironically, by consequence any yachtsmen who cannot communicate with them in the local colonial language, of French needless to say, is oddly consider one of the fold. Of course this is to be understood. It is more than obvious that any foreign occupying force of a remote island twelve thousands miles distance where the natives and the occupiers are as similar to each other as chalk and cheese, would engender natural nationalistic hatred. However having an apparent lack of any real industry it does not take long to conclude that the roads, telecommunications, electricity, sanitation, harbours, subsidised foods, free health care and so on does not come out of a healthy national trade surplus. Rather on the contrary it comes out of the French tax payers pocket. In fact the only external trade the islands have is copra, coconut. This normal trades at a market price of a paltry three hundred dollars a ton which makes it very difficult to hack a living out of harvesting it. However to assist people to make a living the French pay an extra five hundred dollars subvention raising the price to a reasonable level to provide a livelihood to provincial islanders. Thereby the main export from the islands is a phenomenal loss leader bolstered up by the French exchequer. Hence the islanders hatred of the French in my opinion, will never ripen beyond anything but lip service in this island group as long as France keeps writing the cheques.

Well that's the lot for this entry. With the inviting beach being a no-seeum danger zone I have at last decided to give 'dingy' another shot at repair as he is out of commission. The last parcel drop included Zodiac's own special glue and some patches for that big hole we received in the Caribbean. This is probably our fourth shot at repairing it and because the hole is so wide I have to use two patches which even when used in conjunction are too small. However I am giving it my best shot placing one on a day to give it a good chance and hoping that this time we will succeed. I close to put the second patch on and cross my fingers. Oh I should just mention David of 'Shady Lady' in passing as we said good bye to them when leaving the anchorage.

As I mentioned in the last entry it was good to see the old devil and if we kept him at arms length it would remain so. With such a busy social anchorage we could not help but do this as each night we were tied up to the hilt. By the end it even got to the stage where he was obviously miffed with us because we were not paying enough attention to them when we honestly could not help it being everywhere at once. However that was all fixed when we dropped over on the last night, our only opportunity. As we had abundant supplies of liquor and he was out we brought him a bottle and he was more than pleased with that. On the whole he is not that bad, old David I have to say now from further experience. I have a problem in that I say only what I can substantiate and by this measure I took a particular dislike to David. On the whole it presented the guy to me as being full of crap and I was appalled by his desires, designs and utter self-centred focus. However getting to know him a bit more you start to realise he is only half full of crap after a while and the rest is only hot gas. In fact we noted that Chris was cracking the whip behind the scenes a lot more this time. As long as he does not figure out that we gave him the bottle of rum when we were exiting so that we did not have to endure him drunk all will be well. I depart to dinghy repair duty as previously mentioned.

Thursday, July 5th; - Laying To Anchor, Hefa Tefau, Tahuata.

The last few days have been highly pleasurable. In all our travels this, we feel, is the most perfect anchorage we have ever dropped our CQR into. We are tucked in behind the northern headland of a large bay. Upon the southern end resides the very small native village of Hapatoni. This originally brought us here erroneously thinking they had spring water as opposed to that of mountain river water. By chance of some foul weather blowing onshore, that I will discuss later in this entry, we felt it unecessacairily risky to anchor off the village. Hence we were just about to retreat back to Hana Moe Noe just over an hour away when suddenly we noticed a little cove tucked right in beneath the northern promontory. Trying it out we found it offered a perfectly still anchorage. There was the odd little onshore squall sweeping in around the headland but nothing to worry about. 'Anchor away', we hollered in unison and in twenty metres the sure splash of its plunge sounded. A quick test found it well set to our delight after a fraught preceding few hours we were more than pleased with that result. Having all our concerns for the security of the yacht and the reliability of the ground tackle's holding it was not until this was all squared away that we took in our surroundings. After that first realisation we were left in awe, a feeling that has not wholly departed us even four days later.

We lie very close to the shore which consists of high steep slopes arching around us. Although half of our surrounds are part of the mighty headland it is dwarfed by the sheer mountain that stands directly behind us. Though the apex of this is just behind us it stretches a long ridge on down along the coast. The shoulder is almost as straight as it is perpendicular, sloping right up and into misty clouds above. Craning our necks to see it almost directly above us it is not unlike an enormous wall up to the sky. A wall that is densely vegetated in a sweep of palm trees with some other dark green trees and grass lands higher up nearer its misty ridge. All, in fact, is a rich dark green save for the central recess of the cove just above the waterline. Here there are a few metres of black pock marked cinder like rock reminding one of the islands founding volcano. It is this alone that is bereft of growth for all else has been taken over by the sweeping dense carpet of leafy green. However tucked within this dark rocky area, in the internal space formed by the meeting of the high promontory and the mountainous shoreline, is the piece de resistance of this lovely little cove we have stumbled upon. There appears a beautiful rocky grotto with an open roof where a scarcely discernible valley climbs its way upward in trances between the promontory and the mountain. A constant stream of fresh water comes trickling down these small terraces creating a small waterfall to cascade into the grotto just a few feet above sea level. There over brimming the secluded freshwater pond beneath the waterfall takes it's final steps into the sea. A sea that had a unique dark electric blue and vibrant green colour reflecting the elements surrounding it.

With all these elements combined and indeed just over a stones throw from the point at which we are anchored inside the calm little cove it is not hard to imagine how we have found it so pleasurable. Upon settling in we found the view so spectacular that we simply could not bring ourselves to put up the awning to impinge upon it. The might and sheer perpindicularity of the mountain behind had us in awe watching it and seeing small tropical birds fly in formation to and fro across its enormous face. We could not help ourselves but continuously look up at it viewing different aspects each time. Commensurably, as if vainly approving of this, the mountain and its long ridge thereby caused any air passing over it to condense into cloud and shelter us each day from the burning sun. Thereby we had a beautiful temperature and comfort without the need for an awning and we spent most all of our time in the cockpit adoring the view. Yet equally the sounds around us are more than pleasant. The gentle occasional surge of the sea upon the rocks, the trickle of the waterfall, the occasional rush of the spasmodic wind rustling through thousands of palm leaves and the call of the animals. From the land the youth of the wild goats often hail their mothers or the neigh of a wild horse. From the sea the merry chatter between the many dolphins that frequented the bay in large shoals.

Here understandably we have been so happy. It is as if this little cove here is all ours, of our own and it is our corner of paradise. Each day we just luxuriate in being alive here. We play music for most of the daylight hours, eat delicious fresh fruits and swim in the crystal clear waters. At night we read and sometimes lie out in the hammock watching the magnificent dome of stars traverse overhead as can only be so noticeably observed near the Equator. Most of all we talk with mirthful banter and get on about as few little jobs as we cannot avoid like two children at play in Paradise. Though we are all of the time two happy little souls, surrounded by this lovely place, we feel it so amply. It is strange that all we need to be happy anywhere is just to be together and it is so noticeable after our many miles. Though it sounds terrible, I have to admit, we don't overly need the company of any other yachts or natives, just each other and that's all. It is so strange.

One would think after being exclusively together for so long sailing here we would have expected a craving for other people, but not so. We had a lovely time socialising in Atuona and we feel it is equally great to be off wandering and enjoying things together again. None more so than this little cove that we, well kind of found, and feel it is our first exclusive corner of Paradise. Here life is great. All of this comes back to Jayne of course for she is truly the very special person that makes the magic for me. Without immersing myself into the subject once more, I feel it is sufficient to say that there is aboard here an equivalent to Pandora's Box. This one however produces an endless stream of unexpected virtue and qualities and it is called Jayne. She is truly a very special person and her entry has really turned this trip into a Garden of Eden. One fortunately that has not as yet had the visitation of a notably unsavoury snake. Apart of course from her lovely nature, Jayne also happens to a very pretty young lady. With respect to this one afternoon we spent some time at work with camera and lenses taking photographs in the central grotto of the cove. With such a lovely backdrop I seized upon the opportunity to take some portraiture footage of Jayne. With the film in the bag I hope my work will do her the credit she deserves. If not, well it matters little. For we had such a good time working on them it scarcely matters. Anyway, I feel I am drifting from the past events, being overwrought by the pleasures of this place. I should turn my attention to these

Firstly I should say we have had a couple of visitors in our time here and we have had some frisky moments on arrival and in the last anchorage. Whilst still close to the subject of this anchorage I will first turn to our recent visitors here. Whilst cruising in the Canaries we met a yacht called 'Tazenda' skippered by a character called Andy. Andy is an energetic little fellow, fifty, bald as a coot except for side rings that extend to a tiny ponytail at the back, loquacious and as odd and staccato as two left feet. Since then we bump into him occasionally and when he saw 'Obsession' in the little cove he came into visit with his latest crewman Chris from Cornwall. For the entire day he was in our little anchorage the two boat's sailors where constantly together whether on 'Obsession', 'Tazenda', in the Hapatoni village or out snorkelling around the grotto which turned out to be equally as spectacular just underneath the surface. It was great fun and the conversation never stopped for a breath to be taken.

The funniest thing that was central to all our chats was the frustrations of crews he had had with the exception of the present guy Chris which I hasten to add; one could not ask for better anywhere. It was a problem for Andy and my empathy was with him a hundred fold. Everything he spoke of was with an enormous level of frustration showing through. Having first hand experience my sympathies were very much with him. He felt it was hard work running a crew and in total accord with my earlier observations, the skipper had to separate and distance himself or it all fell apart. The landscape was all set up totally against natural friendship forming and the successful route was to be a stolidly reserved bastard. Of course my days of the skipper crew was all an adventure that I found a fortuitous experience by way of tuition that I would call upon in the future. But for Andy it was a nightmare. He did not need to learn anymore like I have to be expecting to move into more challenging areas in the future. This was all over for him and this was his dream retirement that he had spent ten years building the yacht to enjoy. The last thing he wanted to have now was a full time job of performing the dreaded hard nosed skipper role that one is inexorably forced to become by the way of things on boats. To make things worse he wanted to sail around the world with companions to enjoy it with and he just could not, of course, do that with his crews. A nightmare for him that I could understand one hundred percent. However he could not have done better than sail with Chris as he is until Tahiti for there is a really great bloke that both Jayne and I thought the world of.

When they up and left quicker than they expected as a function of anchoring problems we were sad to see them go, but equally happy to have our exclusive little anchorage back to ourselves. Jayne was particularly happy to see them disappear as she has a penchant for living Garden of Eden style, before the snake had words. This was a little difficult with two love lost sailors a boat length away. However a native called Lewis from Hapatoni, an exceedingly welcoming village, was very sad to hear they had gone as he had arranged to trade fruit for a UB40 tape belonging to Chris. Yes I am afraid despite the remoteness of these islands the homogenising world culture has engulfed them. Amongst the first questions asked of us was do we have any U2 music tapes and the list continued down to UB40 where Chris responded affirmatively. I explained to Lewis that unfortunately the boys had to leave due to anchoring problems and we traded with him instead for bottle of rum. For any sailors following I would suggest bring tapes, T - Shorts, cigarettes and alcohol, particularly Tequila, to trade in these islands. Your liver will overdose with vitamin c for the smallest amounts of these.

Well that was the past few days and before closing I should just turn to our adventures we had en route to this anchorage. We were planning to leave Hana Moe Noe about noon but found that due to a serious build up of wind we left an hour before. An enormous squall came up and pushed us right out of the Bay. To add to our troubles I found when I lifted the anchor up an enormous coral head was ensnared in the CQR. When I say enormous I mean it was surly a metre long by half wide and deep. With the sea going mad around us and the anchorage we were planning on visiting a couple of miles south only we decided to worry about the coral head on arrival. Then the fun started. Behind high islands such as these the wind funnels and has enormous acceleration zones but this was an exceptional day and it was really kicking up hell. As we powered down we experienced winds that squalled between force seven and nine. The latter was the highest wind speed I was on sea with and being in the lee of an island there was fortunately no accompanying seaway running. Yet and all the sheer force of the wind was stunning. The water just lifted off the surface and flew into the air when the force nine bullets hit. 'Obsession' would heel right over on her bare poles and the squeal of the wind generator made it sound like the demented Scotch witch 'Cutty Sark' had descended upon us. It was the last thing we wanted with an enormous coral head hanging off our bow but no problem in fact at all. Fortunately I disposed of the coral head off Hapotoni by dropping the anchor and in a bid to find a safe anchorage the conditions lead to us finding the spectacular cove I have described where we are now.

After writing such a happy log I feel disappointed to end with a problem. Yet I have to include in this report some sickness aboard. Jayne had a one day tummy bug that wiped her out in Hana Moe Noe. It was most unpleasant for her and we do not know what caused it. She had just cooked the most delicious Banoffi pie and that got the 'wrap' for it. However I had consumed a larger part of that myself and was not ill, though I did feel like a bug in my system that was giving me a break. In the long run we decided to let the banoffi pie off the hook because it is too dammed delicious to have 'black listed'.

Less fortunately I am sorry to report that I got another leg infection just afterwards. It was the same deal as the one I had en route but this time lower down on the same leg and just below my knee. It was not as virulent as the first one and did not blow up to take over the whole joint but it was sore enough and would not go without the use of Antibiotics. Fortunately it has subsided now to be of no immediate concern. I guess I am starting to acquire some resistance to this strain of bacteria that is dogging me so they don't rise to push us into a potential amputation scale of disaster, but obviously not enough. It is very strange and we will just have to take a visit to a doctor to get to the bottom of this at this stage. This we expect to happen in Oa Pou and we will keep the log posted on that one. Apart from that and the flies, the same as common house flies in Europe, that some times have a go at us we are in top form.

Oh, and the same can be said for old dingy dinghy I am delighted to say. So far all is well and the patches are holding. To cap it all I put a handle on the top of the outboard cover to facilitate lifting the engine on and off from on board. With that little innovation all operations with the dingy have become a piece of cake. The only thing is after having a soft, squeegee, half deflated dingy for so long the new firmly pumped one looks like a complete stranger along side 'Obsession'. But we are not complaining and enjoying being able sit on both tubes immensely not to mention having no fears of finding it all sunk beneath the yacht's stern each morning. Yet I cross my fingers as I write this, goodnight.

Wednesday, July 9th; - Laying To Anchor, Bay Hakahetau, Oa Pou.

The last entry could be said to describe the pleasures of a relaxed sojourn in a beautiful anchorage. Since then we have been on the move and by consequence the last few days have been filled with much more varied and quite unusual happenings. To kick off this entry I should first say we have visited four different anchorages since I last committed ink to paper. Bay Vaitahu, in Tahuata, Bay Hanamenu, in Hiva Oa again, plus Bay Vaiehu and Bay Hakahetau in Oa Pou ( pronounced o-whapooo) the latest island we have visited. First and foremost I will turn to Bay Vaitahu just around the corner from Hefa Tefau.

Though it is true to say that Bay Vaitahu happens to be 'just around the corner' from Hefa Tefau, it felt like it was a whole new world from our previous little paradise and certainly not an improvement. First and foremost the squalls that ran through the place were unbelievable. If I were Norwegian I would probably describe them like clouts of Thor's hammer coming spasmodically through the harbour. As I am Irish and am bereft of such a flowery analogy, I will just call them more prosaicaly, bloody appalling. Seriously, 'Obsession' was swinging and heeling wildly to cracking shots of Beaufort force nine every few minutes and I advise anyone that follows in my wake to give the place a wide berth. In the single night we spent there 'Norn', a yacht we made acquaintance with in the 'ditch', dragged anchor twice and was quite literally finally blown right out of the bay the next morning. In the process he hit a German boat 'Tranquillo' in the night who himself was trying to avoid another yacht swinging wildly about in the gusts. 'Tranquillo' in turn lost his dingy in the melee and these were the only boats I spoke to, as for the rest of yachts there I am sure they had equal pleasure. We had a good little spot though, I admit, and were well out of any trouble. Hence I slept through the whole fracas but still it was no joke taking the anchor up with shots like that buffeting the yacht. As a consequence of these wild shots of wind we renamed the little town and bay there 'Squallsville' and have since referred to it as that. The other thing that was appalling about the village were the kids. They were too bloody friendly!

When we first came in to Squallsville, we could not believe the aforementioned shots of wind we were experiencing, and went over to 'Tranquillo', who seemed well ensconced, to see what the scene was. After making our acquaintances he said it was always like this, though little did he know at that stage the night that was in it for him as a result of downright bad luck. After a general chat we asked him where to get the spring water, which was the purpose behind our visit, and he pointed out the location of the tap ashore and informed us of the general bits and pieces. With that in hand we wrapped up saying we should be off to go ashore and get it all sorted. To this suggestion he gave us a rather odd look.

- "Oh I would not go ashore now' and he nodded towards some little kids swimming next to the distant pier, "the kids you know" he said rather matter of factly.

- "The kids?" we said in response not quite grasping what he was driving at.

- "Yes...they are a bit of a nuisance.......with the dingy' he said lightly and equally as offhand. 'I would wait till later if I were you'. Jayne and I looked at each other. Though our German friend could not tell there was in this glance something that only lasted a fraction of a second, yet it said all 'why is this guy being so namby pamby about a few kids, what's he like?'.

- "Oh we are in a bit of a rush and need to get things done so we best go in now" we said leaving and secretly chuckled to ourselves about him once we had the outboard at full revs and had got well clear of his yacht. Unfortunately our chuckle was very short lived.

We made it as far as twenty feet from the pier when the dingy was engulfed by a swarm of grinning little welcomers. They were all over smiling at us, frolicking and diving all about with enormous splashes soaking us through. In an instant the dingy was a sea of little brown wriggling bodies and the outboard was a danger to an equal measure beneath. At first it is a lovely happy experience, those Polynesian welcomes of the movies type of thing. However after five minutes utterly forlorn sitting there with the mass of smilers and splashers both attached to and on top of the dingy, it got to be a bit of a problem. Of course at this stage one resorts to saying, 'OK, nice seeing you all, bye, au revoire, auf weidersehn, hasta la pasta, etc., all of which would be just as effective as discussing Nitsche with a barn yard cow. They remained latched on laughing and splashing and diving ecstatically seeing it all as an exciting new game to play. By good fortune the bunch on the bow started swimming in unison and towed us to the pier. There I let Jayne off with all our cans while I planned to take dingy away to sea before it was convivially ripped apart and sunk. My 'Au Revoirs' then became more pronounced.

Each one I courteously directed to them individually. Then with the most pleasant of smiles, a hand over the little urchins face, and a God-all-mighty push off the dingy hastily ensued. Despite this more effective route of communication it took me a good twenty minutes to push them all off and even then I was dragging a handful out to sea underneath that could not be dissuaded. Retrieving Jayne and the water up the beach where I thought it was safe from them was even worse. There I had to leave the tender in a big swell to collect the heavy water cans and of course they all came up after us.

It was like a hundred chimpanzees were unleashed to rampage in your kitchen and all hell broke loose. They were rowing the dingy, starting the engine, tangling the line, in fact anything possible they could do being our little helpers; I would dread to imagine what they could do if they were actually trying to hinder us. It was a nightmare and by the end of this part of the sortie all the shore operations were handled like the US chopper drops in red hot fire zones in Vietnam. In short this revolved around a quick dash to the opposite end of the beach to where the main body of kids were playing, a hasty drop and an even hastier retreat before the horde of ecstatic kids running wildly towards whopping and hollaring in a bid to engulfed the dingy. The pick up was much the same high speed affair. It required a speedy dingy patrolling the beach well offshore ready for collection. The person ashore then finds the slack point on the beach and catches the attention of the dingy driver without letting the kids seem them. The dinghy roars in and whilst the person ashore dashes out into the sea hip depth or more and dives into the bottom of the boat to make a clean getaway. This we were doing in the end much to the children's disappointment. They would run like crazy and look all sad when we evaded them by inches hollering "Bonjuor" coming roaring in and "Au revoir" going out, all pleasant waves and toothy smiles as nice as pie. Believe me if any one says 'watch out for the kids' we listen these days.

So hence our stay in Squallsville was a wild affair and by consequence equally a brief one. After one day we decided that the place could quite happily get along without us and we departed the Island of Tahauta for Hiva Oa once more, but this time for a remote anchorage in the North West corner Hanamenu. Coming into this remote anchorage we expected a very quiet sojourn to be the case there and were surprised to find two men very keen to assist us upon our first landing that evening. These turned out to be Mike and his young cousin Rolf that ran the Copra plantation and Mike instantly gave us a guided tour of the little bay straight off. By good fortune Mike spoke a little English and he truly was delighted to show us around. Although I found the bay itself more baron and rocky than I would have preferred, the valley behind the beach was truly lovely. There resided a rich coverage of palms and all sorts of other fruit bearing trees and a magnificent fresh water spring. The spring was a small pool surrounded by all sorts of flower bearing shrubs that perfumed the air with a beautiful fragrance. This then was all overhung by leafy palms making it just the type of thing that one would expect to find in the Garden of Eden. Looking above this again I could not help notice the magnificent star bejewelled Pacific sky.

On the yacht we see it mostly un-obscured but I noticed there looking up between the silhouettes of the palm trees it was absolutely breathtaking. It was like some artist had made large uniform splurges of black paint over a painting of the star spangled cosmos and it made it completely perfect. Whilst looking aloft at this and letting my eyes ramble though the lovely symmetry above us Mike said he was going for his meat in the morning. The statement was in complete discord with the pleasure I was enjoying with my eyes and my mind remained focused on the aspects of the view above. He continued to say that he got his meat off the mountain behind the fresh water spring by hunting wild pigs and goats and that was what he would be doing at first light. Being in a relaxed and distant most pleasent revere I quite oddly asked him if I could come. To this he said of course, be in first thing in the morning and we would be off. Regaining my faculties with that strident answer I saw Jayne smile discreetly at me and she fluttered her eyes mirthfully as we stepped back to his shack for coffee. Though the look only lasted a moment the implicit comment was unmistakable, what have I let myself in for now. The next morning halfway up the mountain I was thinking the same.

There is a movie called 'The Mission' I believe. It stars amongst many Robert DeNero, Liam Nieson and another Irish actor called Quinn, the fist name escapes me for the moment. Anyway it was a bit of a dull affair and its only high point was the theme music by Enio Marconie which was wonderful. However although I cannot remember a single aspect of the plot one thing does remain with me from the movie; the actors wearily scaling densely vegetated mountain sides in torrential downpours. This is the closest thing that I can remember to compare handsomely with what I experienced, save the mountain I climbed was often more steep and rocky at times. Going up was gruelling work in the downpours that dogged the day. To my horror I quickly realised that my deck shoes were a terrible hindrance to safe passage. The soles had a lot of little grips set into to them to make for a fast holding upon wet decks but in the mountains this proved a disaster. They allowed for a nice constant coat of mud to adhere to them in the rain and so hence it felt like they were continuously well greased. With this realisation each foot rest during the climb had to be doubly careful as one slip and you had little chance of survival up near the top where it got particularly steep. In addition to this the previous month of not using my legs at all made the steep and lengthy climb more than arduous. Hence my blood was steaming and tinctured with adrenaline from the outset. After surmounting the escarpment there a sense of profound significance was well upon me even before the hunt began on the plateau.

Mike was a wild man and at just a year older than me he was starting to calm down a bit. He told me he had been a champion boxer in his mid twenties. Judging by his physique he could well have been a champion, although I have found evey ex-boxer I have ever met told me he was a champion and have learned to take that one with a handsome pinch of salt. Anyway, Mike combined his boxing, along with his wild youthfulness, with a penchant for drinking alcohol and going out on the town chasing women at dances. This in turn eventually resulted in the local island police man being laid out flat on his back and Mike being grabbed, amidst the flashing disco lights, by a detachment from another island. Hence ensued three months in 'sing sing'. The net effect of this has resulted in him giving up drinking and having to go hunting wild pigs with dogs as the police will not issue him with a gun licence. This I felt made the whole event a little unusual and far more interesting.

On the way up in the downpours he said to me he was concerned about the rain as the dogs would have difficulty picking up the scent. What a pity I concluded then, looking at Rolf who was trying to find a path that the dogs could scale up the steep gradient. They were in fact the most docile creatures I had ever seen. I would have thought working dogs such as these would be fearsome but they were like lambs. I had often stepped on their paws on the climb when they jostled past underfoot, hence providing an additional hazard for the climb I might add. Yet they never once snapped nor snarled nor even yelped. All seven of them were the most docile pets that you would have children play with. Yet looking closer one could see although they were affable creatures they were indeed hard workers. Not one of them had a coat that was not in some way marked, either in the past or as was often the case a fresh cut. One had the complete bottom part of his mouth hanging down in two pieces of loose flesh. These were working dogs alright most assuredly as they were about to prove despite Mike's concerns of the rain hindering their ability.

Arriving at the plateau was a magnificent moment. A breath of air, a rest and the rain cloud that shrouded the mountain parted somewhat to provide an exhilerating view of the valley stretching up into the highlands further in land. This was truly a lovely moment early on in the day. Something very good for the heart and soul and a great pre hunt kinship prevailed amongst us and the jostling dogs despite the fact I felt very much the part of a UN Observer. Then after a brief pleasurable repose the dogs were set off and the action started.

Well action I say here in very limited terms. To be honest all I can remember was a quick flurry around the sedge and grass covered tableland that lasted about five minutes. Then Mike went charging across it Machete in hand hollering to Rolf to follow in Marquaisian. I was as hot on his tracks as I could be, which was not very hot indeed, and by the time I arrived at the other side of the practically sheer mountain edge I looked down to see Mike dive into a thicket thirty feet below. There protruded the rear quarters of several dogs in wild commotion and a squealing sound issued from it that passed out shrill over the silent valley below. In seconds the latter ended and one by one the dogs curled away cowardly as Mike issued instructions for them to desist in no uncertain terms. The slope down was highly dangerous and any chance I had for a photograph this century was from the top. This I did as Mike held aloft a little hairy wild boar and shouted up to me in his pidgin English "Little pig, very good, very good barbecued". Then he ascended and gave the little pig of about fifteen to twenty kilograms to Rolf to attend to.

Upon arrival to my level I said to him I could not believe how fast he had descended the cliff as it was tricky but he went down it like a bolt of lightning. He responded by explaining that he had to be fast to finish off the battle or the pig would damage the dogs. That this was only a small pig and was no problem, but a big one could give a hell of a fight. The pigs always ran over the edge of the cliffs when chased as they go there to shelter from the sun and sleep and know it well. Hence they always retreat to this dangerous terrain when chased. This I was to understand all very well not five minutes later and to be further amazed if not dumfounded by Mike's speed and agility to get in for the kill.

A really big pig was suddenly flushed out then and there followed a mad chase around the tableland. Rolf and I got lost but I guess because I was the slowest I stayed in near the centre and spotted Mike flying in red hot pursuit when the animal went almost the full round with the dogs. Then he disappeared shouting after me until he traversed the edge of the incredibly steep escarpment. I bolted after him and arriving at the edge found to my horror that the action this time was nearly a hundred feet below. Quickly dropping over the edge I worked my way down and found a track of broken branches and fern where the frantic ensemble of dogs, wild bore and Mike had passed before me. Whilst trying to work my way down at breakneck speed I realised that the climb up may have been dangerous hard work but the decent was ten times as treacherous in the heavy rain. At one stage whilst negotiating a particularly dangerous position I may have cursed sailors shoes but I certainly thanked God for my new sailors instinct of always having a handhold under my fingers. For at that moment I found myself dangling with out stretched arms from a branch that over hung a cliff edge and a straight drop of fifty feet below. Down there and over to the left of where I would have splattered in some undergrowth on a small ledge was Mike over the kill. He was nonchalantly hollering, half in French, half in English, to go to the left to find a better route down. Though he does this every second day and is highly adept in his normal working environment it was nonetheless unbelievable how quickly he went bounding down that cliff edge with his machete held high for its coup de grace. One wrong foot hold and he would have been dead yet he was there completely unscathed like lightning once again.

When I eventually arrived I found the bore was dead and I was just in time to assist with butchering as Rolf had lost us for the time being. By good fortune Mike attended to most of this and my role of UN Observer was to the most part kept as observer which was the way I liked it. However as the butchering process continued before me I was starting to wonder. The bore hung now out of a tree, although being reduced dramatically by skinning, beheading, gutting et cetera was no small beast and with Rolf still missing in action I was starting to get concerned that I would have to shoulder one end of the animal on a stake up the mountain. At this stage I was well past any faint hearted concerns of dealing with the still-hot-from-life remains, rather my concerns were more practical, I could just not scale the slope with it. Also as I looked on I do confess that the thought did not escape me that had I landed on the island a few hundred years ago I would probably have been butchered with equal nonchalance for dinner. Take away the haggard 'Power Ranger' tee shirt that the heavily Marquesain tattooed Mike seemed to burst out off, and there was little else to put us in the twentieth century. I was unsurprisingly delighted to hear Rolf make an appearance high up above us and at the same moment for the sun to come out. Although the hunting day was over there was still a quick thrill to be had just at that moment.

Rolf being Mike's young protégé was not as fast as Mike and had nearly as much difficulty descending the treacherous cliff as I had. In the descent a rocky and fernie sound came suddenly clear to us below that was unmistakable. He had started a small rock slide high above us. Though I was inexperienced with this domain I knew for certain that I had to get the hell away. Looking right and left I did not know where to dive for sure nor where the rocks were going to issue forth. For some reason I picked a dive to the right. It appeared to be the correct route as Mike who was getting up from his work with the bore came up behind me like an express train and pushed me harder in that direction under a small overhang. The dogs scampered hither tither. Presently the heavy clap of the few boulders that came passing by and disappeared down the side without causing any harm. Stepping out of our safe nuke we awaited Rolf's complete descent to our position. I confess at that moment I did notice my heart bound for a few moments in my chest and I was acutely alert. However Mike was very relaxed and although shouting at Rolf thoughout his complete decent in stern Marquesain, it was easy to see that he was truly ribbing Rolf. This ribbing seemed to revolve about him not being able to find us for so long, where I had, plus of course to come and cause a rock slide. There also seemed to be the suggestion in Mike's hand movements towards Rolf that Rolf should contemplate a career of making love by himself.

Well with that final bore in the bag, which I mean that quite literally as they took the pelvis and inserted it into the rib cage and put it into Rolf's rucksack, we climbed up onto the tablelands again. There the sun made an appearance and the boys turned there attention to the small pig which they had earlier put aside upon a rock to pursue the large one. His preparation was handled somewhat differently. The sun had come out and in some deadwood underneath one of the very few trees that resided on the high lands they lit a fire. Though the sun had come out at this time it was no easy task after all the downpours. Mike went off on a scout at this stage and Rolf set to work at this. It was fascinating watching him at work with it and again if I let my mind slip it would have been easy to forget any notion of the twentieth century. It was a most pleasurable moments rest there in the shade of the tree watching it all. Especially so when Mike returned and all the dogs, tired from their morning's work, came to slumber in the shade around my feet. For a moment I thought we were going to barbecue the little pig straight up and I greeted the prospect at that moment with an uncertain appetite. Soon I was to see they were doing this to prepare the meat for later and was slightly thankful of the fact. They burned his hair off and then scraped that harder outer part of his skin off with their knives, as opposed to completely skinning him like the larger beast, then they cut him up and stuffed him some how into Rolf's burgeoning backpack. I confess when this was all over I had a hell of a time getting down to sea level in one piece afterwards, I have no idea how Rolf handled it with the load of two beasts on his back.

So that was my wild boar hunting expedition. Of course in true Marquesian style Jayne and I were invited to dine that evening with Rolf and Mike and a funny incident happened. Mike had been too generous to us and gave us loads of fruit and I was keen to repay him somehow. During our time there I had noticed the two guys just loved music. They had a boom box that was seriously dilapidated, yet it had a tape deck that worked admirably as long as they fed it handsomely with batteries. This they had going all the time rotating a handful of tapes continuously. I thought a couple of new tapes would be just the ticket and thought of wiping off some Irish traditional for them. However when Mike was aboard we gave him a sample of the Rocky Road To Dublin. Though he did not say anything I could see it was not his 'cup of tea' so to speak. However when we put on some excellent rock tapes I saw his eyes light up and duly we made him three hours worth of 'bad assed' rock and roll listening. Arriving ashore for the feast we presented these and expected him to put them on straight away. However to our surprise and in true Marquesian form, this he did not do. Rolf was frantic to put them on, you could see it in his eyes as he surveyed every aspect of the tapes affectionately for at least thirty minutes, and I am sure Mike was champing at the bit to hear them too, but no. It was Marquasian style for him to share his music with us and as was the standard custom we were seated by the table and the dilapidated stereo was placed right beside us. Mike placed in a tape he liked pressed the 'play' button and said this is good music to listen to before sleep.

In a few seconds the blank lead of the cassette wound in and the first bars of a soft and romantic song started to sway. Upon hearing the first notes of the melody I went bolt ridged and then broke down into uproarish laughter. Every one seemed confused until a second or two later Jayne twigged it and I then proffered an explanation to a puzzled Mike and Rolf. I told them that I had travelled more than a third of the way around to be here, sitting at their table, in the light of a paraffin lamp, beside there bamboo shack in the remotest part of one of the remotest islands in the world. Yet though this is all true the tape he had happened to put on was the music of Chris De Burgh. He was not alone an Irish artist, but also a man who was brought up and lived no further than ten miles from where I had been in the rural countryside. The irony of the situation was far too much. After that we tucked into a wonderful meal they had prepared. Jayne found it all fabulous as Mike was right the small pig he prepared was less stronger tasting than one would expect for a wild animal, though admittedly I went for the stew quicker than the ribs after being briefly aquatinted with the little chap that morning. A good night was had by all, though we had to depart early as we were setting sail at five a.m. for Oa Pou. Upon departure Mike of course loaded us with the leftovers which was too generous but we have heard good reports that the boys raved about our tapes from yachts men since. All in all a great time and quite some experience.

Quite an experience could be said of our passage to Oa Pou as well but not a pleasant one. It was a stiff and lumpy one that was really uncomfortable and we were delighted to make the island and get settled into a nice remote anchorage called Bay Vaieu after twelve hours. By chance Chris and David of Shady Lady came racing in an hour behind us and just before dark. Of course David was himself macho style saying wonderful wind for sailing and all that but it was obvious they had a nasty pasting on route as well. The two of them were about to pass out from exhaustion and more so David himself. However little did they know their luck was in doubly. Not alone did they get the anchor set in just before dark but also they could not have timed it better with us. The enormous pot of stew that was the left over from Mike and Rolf's table was simmering perfectly in the pot just as they turned into the bay. Hence we all dined royally that second time on the proceeds of the hunt and after a hard day at sea it was welcomed by all when it came, a few minutes before sleep. The next morning we awoke to find the most pleasant of little bays to anchor in but equally a desire to go on to the next tenable bay a few miles north, Hakahetau. Though this was not as protected it did offer a village to us and there were a lot of yachts there. Amidst the heard was one we particularly wanted to see 'Pala', the Irish yacht we had met in the Caribbean. Hence we departed the lovely Bay of Vaieu rather more quickly than normal. Yet it was great to meet Johnny and Emer again. They were still the same, we were delighted to see, but to our complete surprise their status was now much different. For since they had come yachting celebrities!

In the cruising circuit there are a lot of people that are able to transmit voice dialogue over large distances via Short Wave Upper Side Band. These in turn become very friendly with each other as they keep in regular contact. This is particularly the case whilst on passage say from Panama to the Galapagos and onto the Marquises and so forth. During these long hops there is normally a boat that runs an organised Network, shortened to Net, of boat communications whilst on transit. This boat keeps control of a regular role at assigned times and tracks the positions of all involved throughout the journey. Apart from that formality, that is a central interest to all the yachts involved, there it is a convivial talk shop that all can get join in. Departing Panama Canal Emer of Pala suddenly for some reason happened to be assigned the net operator for the passage. Soon everyone realised they could not have picked a better control boat and she made a big success of it.

Emer who is a remarkably attractive, if not beautiful, lady in her early forties. Coming from a highly successful management background she is one smart cookie. Neither Jayne and I are that sure we have ever really met Emer. She is just so switched on and is so frenetically ahead of you at every moment one finds it difficult to discern if you are seeing Emer herself or seeing Emer engrossed in entertaining you. If I were to guess, the truth resides somewhere in the middle. Yet one thing can be said for sure about Emer, she is mirthfully charming, thoughtful, utterly discreet and a power house of energy. With most other 'Net' operators being dull-as-ditch-water radio heads, all of Emer's lovely qualities combined to make her Net an overwhelming success. Hand in hand with this then, Johnny and herself became somewhat celebrities with all of the listeners. We have had a listen in lately and I have to admit she is great. Of course her light dusting of an Irish accent is lovely to hear but her presentation is very good, kind of like Marian Finucan, the RTE radio presenter, on speed if you could imagine that. So you do not get to see Johnny and Emer very much these days in the singular, you really can only see them amongst ten other people. Of course amidst this Emer is having a ball and Johnny is himself, he does not give a damn one way or the other.

Hanging out with them in Bay Hakahetau was a real education in the 'Net' society I confess. We do not have a transceiver, but we can however listen into the chatter when we have the frequencies. Herb's net in the Atlantic is a good example of one we listened into though this was a shore based more professionally operated net secifically based around weather forecasting. However this 'Net' is more social being one afloat and could be called one big club. It is socially tremendous and I can imagine many of the people who get together on Emer's 'Net' will remain buddies for years into the future. It would be fabulous to be able to link into the group for many reasons in addition to those social. Safety for example is first and foremost. The time I had my leg problem en route we could have talked to a doctor somewhere afloat or if we needed assistance with the boat from another vessel we could call for help. Tips and advice on where to go and not to go abound, this could be to ask what time we can enter a harbour over a sill to how do you make coconut soufflé. Plus many more advantages too many to say. However we began to feel that having a transceiver is a double edged sword.

Firstly the transceiver is a highly expensive piece of equipment that requires a complex installation to optimise its potential in a particular yacht. Apart from normal on going concerns of electrical equipment it is monstrously power hungry when transmitting and one would certainly have to run the engine frequently to feed its requirements. In use you really are expected to listen in each morning and say hello. If you don't they worry about you whilst you are at sea and if ashore they feel that you are not playing by the rules; one gets the implicit feeling 'that you are either with us or against us'. Once you are in the club, then there is a club norm and a pace of cruising which is kind of a herd psychology that is hard to get out of. One is drawn to do as the group does or be orphaned. Plus the group tends to stick together in large numbers whilst going about exploring the islands. This probably is the worst aspect of it I would say from what we saw. Sure it would be great to be able stay in contact with boats such as 'Pala', 'Norn' and 'Chant De Mai', but unfortunately for every interesting yacht on the air there seems to be twenty boring ones. This probably is a little unfair and I should try and clarify.

On the whole cruising yachts that have transmitters seem to be boats more of affluent retired persons who like to have their comforts and securities. The exception to this is rare and we could not be more different to this group of people. Where they look for the comfort and companionship of a large group, Jayne and I have a honeymoon like aspect to our trip that adores going into a secluded cove and getting away from the world to ourselves. When we come out we like to party hard and have a lively time not to talk about how stultifying aspects of luxury sailing such as how to prevent fungus from attacking the filters of your water maker. What we would consider an exciting adventure they would consider a problem; let's party tonight 'great idea, but hey, we have to go back to the yacht to catch the eight o'clock net and we like to be in bed by nine'. In short we really do not fit that well into the herd and would kind of be driving a round peg into a very square hole.

So hence a short wave transmitter is not a clear cut winner for us now that we have seen both sides of the fence. Of course it would be wonderful to have one, for it is always good to have such a thing close to hand for that moment you are in a jam and need some advice post haste, but it just is not worth the investment that surrounds it for us and rates about zero on the pining scale. For other people it probably would rate higher and this I freely admit, for as one old Parish Priest of my home ground said 'if we all had the same tastes, we would be eating each other'. This statement from the pulpit I have never quite been able to fathom completely and perhaps it's henceforth the best one I can offer to the weird and wonderful world of the radio-heads. However despite being off the Net we still have a very good sense of timing aboard 'Obsession' that more than compensates for not being directly in 'the know'.

Arriving in Hakahetau late afternoon we were told straight away that there was a birthday party that evening by Johnny. It was the local big man's fiftieth and all of the yachts were welcome as he had a penchant for the yachtsmen that he wanted to build relations with. All we had to do was whip up something for the picnic and we were in. This we did and the scale of the event turned out to be an enormous surprise to all concerned. The local big man or kind of mayor of the small village had the tourist budget of the island and decided a good time to throw a party with it was on his birthday. This he did by having a goat hunted down and cooked up along with delicious native foods. A disco was thrown into the late hours but the crowning moment was some native dancing all especially arranged for the occasion. Everyone knows the lovely South Pacific dance style of native ladies from those old Elvis Presley movies, but it was the men who stole the show on the night. The troop, numbering about twelve, really let rip and gave a magnificent performance. It was not unlike a Maori dance style but far less aggressive and stylised after the pray of a would be hunt as opposed to frightening foe. Of these onlookers none were thrilled as much as Jayne. Early on in the proceedings all the ladies had been given a lai, a head-dress of woven fern and flowers, and Jayne was quite over the moon with hers. It did in fact look remarkably well on her. It issued forth a lovely fragrance for the entire evening and dressed in a sarong she looked very much the part and was thrilled to bits. All in all a wonderful night we fell upon.

So that's the story to date and as you see its been a busy time. Oh how could I forget to describe Oa Pou, something that I will never be able forget after seeing it once. Coming around the southern part of the island I was to see the first of what would be the most distinguishing aspect of this island. It was a little island called Motu Takahe and in fact I would never describe it as an island although technically that was what it was. On the pilot chart for ease of navigation it was called a seven hundred and seventy eight foot obelisk and that was a much fairer description. To me it just looked like a gigantic rock fang or perhaps an enormous chuch steeple coming out of the water and towering up into the sky. One could not fathom what abnormality of an eruption would drive such a shaft up and out of the sea. Yet as I was to see this was typical of what was to be the landscape of the island of Oa Pou. All about the island were such towers of rock, everything eroded, slender perpindicular and the clifs of black rock straight into the sea and foaming in the surf. The most spectacular ones were to be seen overlooking the village of Hakahetau. There over the roll of the mountain if they were not shafts they were almost perfectly symmetrical cones reaching as high up as four thousand feet. For all the time I was there I could not help but think that there lay a coven of gigantic witches behind the shoulder of the nearby mountain, so close were there appearance to witches hats. Seen from a distance the island in total looks like any of the other beautiful Marquasian islands except as if it had gigantic stakes driven up through it from beneath by some angry God. It truly was spectacular and once anyone has seen Oa Pou they will never forget it for their entire lives.

On this note I shall close this entry. More as it happens en route.

Tuesday, July 23rd; - Laying To Anchor, Baie Du Comtroleur, Nuku Hiva.

The past days seem to have flown by and I cannot believe that it has been so long since I have placed an entry in the log. I hope to put that to rights here and now by stating we have moved to the final island of our Marquasian tour, Nuku Hiva, and have visited three major bays here that amount to its entire southern coast. After a brief passage from Oa Pou we first landed in Baie Taioa, or Daniel's Bay as yacht's men call it after a very friendly local, for a quiet and restful time. Then we carried on to Baie de Taiohae, where resides the capital of the islands, for the celebrations of Bastille Day, Marquasian style, and to unexpectedly run into some old friends. Then from there we went to Baie de Controleur where we are presently peacefully anchored. First, I will return to our adventures in Daniel's bay.

This is a particularly lovely double bay that is very sheltered and usually over run by yachts. However as we are behind the main pack we were surprised to only find one other yacht there upon arrival. This was an old Whitbread Maxi called 'The Card' that had the bay to itself and the day after we arrived it departed leaving the entire place to ourselves. This we found more than pleasant and we spent some time aboard just enjoying the scenery for a day or so as it was more than pleasant. On anchor a yacht has a full three hundred and sixty degrees of mountain and foliage that surround the anchorage. Plus there is practically no motion nor bothersome swell so that it not alone looks like a lake but also feels like it. The close lying mountains themselves are spectacular rising up nearly two thousand feet in height. The southern range that stretches into the sea looks much like Mount Rushmore with harsh faces seemingly engraved in its black rock but far more impressive was the sheer cliffs around to the East from this that pass inland. This range was very impressive and seemed like all the Gothic cathedrals of Europe interwoven en mass. It was this range that we were to explore for a day before departing the lovely anchorage.

In our pilot there was a mention of a waterfall that was a walk from the beach and we were off after it. This walk turned out to be a hike that took us through swamps, deep jungle, over mountains and through rushing torrential rivers. In the end it amounted to over three hours hard toil to get there and the same again to return. After that we learned firstly to be wary of what the pilot called a walk and secondly always go and visit anything that is described in the pilot as it is well worth seeing.

I am sure any reader of this log is by this stage fed up of all the superlatives I use to describe these islands, and I will not indulge myself once again in trying to describe the visual beauties we see as it is repetetive. All I will say is the terrain we traversed could have fitted easily into a tropical location shoot for an 'Indiana Jones' adventure. The waterfall itself was however a slight disappointment. From a mile off one could see the top of the one thousand feet fall pour in great white volumes off a mighty ledge in the sky and into one of those aforementioned cathedral type rock mountains. This more than wetted the expectations, yet upon arriving at the foot of the fall the whole majestic drop was obscured from vision. All that could be seen was the final twenty meters or so. However this internal cathedral like chasm where the foot of the fall cascaded was still a spectacular place and worth the hike. Upon arrival we were not overly disappointed as we felt Budda had it when he coined the phrase, 'the journey is the reward'.

Before I depart that 'Indiana Jones' analogy I should mention that there was one other aspect of the trek that would make it perfect for a location shoot for such a movie; the archaeology. First and foremost in this was a spectacular ancient road that we largely followed to the falls. This was a raised causeway about two meters wide and was flagged with square edged boulders. It was truly a lovely construction and it remained mostly intact in the deep jungle environment, of flood and erosion, for who knows how many hundreds of years. Following it to the falls brought deep into the jungle where layer upon layer of living things clung together. Roots, trunks, branches ferns mingled with moss and rocks. Everything was padded and wrapped there because of the moist airs. Rocks were upholstered in a velvety green moss and a dense carpet of fallen leaves and fruits lay decaying on the floor itself giving the jungle a slight discernable rancid tincture Where occasional light would fall through the canopy a cluster of soft ferns thrived. Here and there was the chuckle of water running through the roots and ferns and the noise of far off waterfalls not unlike the howl of city traffic.

As we progressed we cam upon many unexpected ruins. Overgrown and moss covered villages of ancient civilisations in the dark undergrowth. There the villages walls, house platforms, and even in one example a perfect pit where they stored a harvest of breadfruit, all lay silent and damp beneath the dark canopy of the jungle. All that remained of these peoples now were these buildings of stone. All else would decay save there stonework that only the roots of large trees could distort in time. Of this stone work the Polynesian tikis reign supreme. A tiki is a statue, but Tiki is also a god - the greatest in Oceania. These large stone figures more than often representing a human figure and perhaps the most famous of these are upon Easter Island photographs of which most people will recollect seeing. Though I give these as example they are in fact different to the tikis here, and in fact are called moai instead of tikis. The most photographed ones are of faces whilst what are seen in the Marquaises are largely fully bodied Gods and most usually seated. They have large eyes and small mouths and fearsome expressions and it would not be unfair to quip they look like the Gods of constipation. En route we saw a few of these though better examples were to be found elsewhere on the island. However these for us will always reign supreme, found as they were covered in moss, lost and as much in the half light of the jungle as they were in time.

Such archaeological finds as these are not at all rare in the Marquises, and are in fact commonplace. The population of the islands currently stands at about six thousand but when they were first colonised they had a population of sixty thousand which was by no means its peak. With Western contact came battles for domination which thinned the population somewhat but worse still it introduced Western diseases. The latter brought wholesale death to the inhabitants and by consequence the population dwindled to a fraction of its former years. Hence such ruins of old dwellings and villages, as we casually came upon, are scattered throughout the islands and are a common sight for most any trek. It is a pity that little is known about such a rich history as the islands must have. This was carried down by word of mouth for generations until the holocaust struck with the arrival of the Western powers. Then it all fell apart. With the advent of Christianity putting pay to the old religions and the fact that the civilisation had not achieved written records all of it was lost forever. Hence little is known about the history of the islands save that of a cannibalistic past. This in fact was a pragmatism, if it could be seen that way.

Though the island is dripping in fruits of all sorts at present this was not always the case. Before colonisation there were only a handful of edible fruits available and the breadfruit featured largely in this. This left the burgeoning tribes that inhabited the various secluded valleys very exposed to famine should one of there core crops fail. When this happened they would basically come together and climb over the ridge into the next tribe to steal their stores. They of course would be suffering similarly and a famine based war would commence. The net effect of all this is obvious. Any of the survivors of a certain Andes aeroplane crash can mumble to you inaudibly what would inevitably happen with crimson cheeks and a lot of dry swallowing. However despite there consequential Western appellation of most heinous savage as a result of this, the tribal societies here seemed to be on the whole very structured, specialised and particularly orderly. They kept no prisoners and apparently transgressors went into the stew pot straight away. If food however was plentiful they were held over and fattened a bit as a two legged store house for hard times. Hence with that unpleasant prospect for those of criminal tendencies, society was understandably very law abiding. Anyway I digress as usual and I return to the series of events.

Returning to 'Obsession' after our lovely walk we were surprised to find a couple of visitors from the old maxi 'The Card' before it had upped anchor and left. This was a lovely looking girl called Vanessa and her husband Pat. Though I did not pick it up at first in her accent, Vanessa as it turned out was from south Dublin and had come over to visit the Irish yacht as is the form. It was the Murphia scene straight away. When we made firm acquaintances she explained she had come from pretty stiff and snooty old world south Dublin Protestant sect. Of this background I hasten to say there was remarkably not a trace in her whole being. Anyway after college her dotty father decided he did not particularly take to her Dublin boyfriend at the time. Hence he bought her an 'around the world ticket' to distance her from him in the hope that the hot embers of youthful attraction would grow quickly cool with time and distance. Sure enough he was right, but his adroit plan backfired most foully upon him. For a year later Vanessa arrives back home after her tour engaged to Pat, a less than well educated, rugby playing, broke fisherman and one of the nicest Australian guys you could ever meet. This was a leap out of the frying pan and into the fire for her father who felt as he described a 'third generation pathetic catholic thieving Irish convict' that would drag his daughter half way round the world from him was not his cup of tea, nor would it suit his table. The ensuing events and the antics of an equally mad clan surrounding them gave Pat and Vanessa loads of stories to tell us. We in turn had a few laughs for them and in the process we became fast friends and shared very good times both there and in Baie Taiohae the next stop down, where we were to meet up again.

Speaking of good friends Baie Taiohae was probably the most provident in that front. In fact so much so that we could scarcely see half of the people we wanted to and found ourselves dragged from one boat to the next and staying up into the late hours just to see everyone. Of all these one boat stands out above all as being very special, in fact probably the most important of all the boats we have met on this trip so far. Coming into the bay we were told that none other than good old New Liverbird was anchored over at the far side and had been enquiring high and low about us. Immediately we dashed across and found them all having a chat on 'Norn' and it was good all-round to see each other again. Soon we had the gossip.

I had expected Bernie to take a fair amount of time to make passage from Balboa, in Panama, to the Marquises as he had a heavy steel boat. Yet when he said it took him sixty two days I nearly fainted. Sixty two days at sea for a single passage, I could see Jayne trying to count it all up and looking distinctly light headed. It was by good fortune he informed us whilst aboard 'Norn'. For 'Norn' had run out of fuel en route to the Galapagos and fell foul on the counter current and spent twenty six days just drifting back and fourth across the equator a total of six times. But sixty two days. Though New Liverbird had left before us we had visited Balboa again, the Galapagos, and some of the islands of the Marquises by time they had just arrived. It was incredible we were practically dumb struck. Despite this they seemed in great condition and in good spirits. They were due to depart that afternoon and put this back and we at least got to spend a little amount of time catching up. This was difficult as at the time it was the middle of the Bastille Day celebrations and we had so many people about us that we knew. Yet we did snatch a snip of time and when we got a bit closer to the 'Birds' I have to confess they did seem to be showing signs of strain.

First and foremost Bernie seems to be very concerned about finances. We were lost to hear that he was considering not going to New Zealand. We had informally planned to meet up with him there as his route takes him North across the Pacific and ours South. We had looked forward to this Christmas in New Zealand and it was sad to hear this would not be the case anymore. Bernie was concerned about work regulations there plus he felt he needed to go to one place and stay there to earn some finance to get him home. Once home he wanted to get a book published that he had completed on his sixty two day stint and the publication of this was now his primary focus above all. This proposed big work stop then would be in Australia for him. He expressed many concerns that 'Obsession' would not make it from there and up the coast of Australia to be in time for the season of a three year circumnavigation where he had none before. We checked our miles and it seems OK but of course we will take his warnings to heart and watch it closely. However this caveat of his presented probably what was his strongest reason to cancel his New Zealand leg. After spending sixty two days at sea I am sure he felt that he could not make New Zealand and almost circumnavigate the coast of Australia to be in time to cross the Indian ocean in a three year tour. At his current rate of progress he could I am sure do it, but being hard pressed financially as well he would not have time to do the sailing and get any decent paying work on top of it. Hence he is, I am sure, making a very practical decision on New Zealand albeit a terrible pity.

On other aspects of the voyage they are also not in as good a shape as one would hope for. Financially he is not in that strong a position as I have mentioned but also his equipment is getting very old and tired. He does have a lot of problems that keeps him constantly tied down with repair work on the 'Bird' plus it is less than encouraging to have a boat that causes him to spend two months at sea making passages that others carry out in half the time. In addition to this there is a lot of tension between him and Ruth which causes problems all round. This is nothing exceptional, just parental to teenage growing pains. Normally teenage girls and mothers have a right song and dance, and I say normally here very glibly as in fact on this subject I know absolutely naught, but in this case its Bernie and Ruth that have the tension. They appear to be just the same personalities and hence, as things are when it is that way, rub themselves up the wrong way. Anywhere else it would not be a problem but trapped on a small yacht all the time the energy is concentrated in crucible style and I think they could do with a break. However I do not want to paint a bleak picture in this aspect as most all of the time everything is fine it just is a predisposition you sometimes notice.

The final thing I would say is that they are not really enjoying the trip as much as they should. Sure you would say with the above list of maladies it would be difficult but not so. There are a lot of cases that are in far worse circumstances and having a ball. In fact some people in small boats of just over twenty feet or less, often sailing alone, are having the times of their lives where I would consider a viking like funeral for the boat and a one way aeroplane ticket to the emerald isle as the only way to preserve sanity. This is largely because the people on these boats are out doing new things, seeing new peoples and new places. This the New Liverbird is certainly not doing and they really have no one to blame except themselves here.

All they are doing is retracing practically their first two circumnavigations island by island. The only way they are varying in anyway from the route is to reduce the places they are going to in favour of the main ports. Bernie says that this is how he picks up work on boats and he convinced me this was the case a long time ago. However of late I have been watching him in this respect and this is not true. It really is something that I feel stems from being fixed in his ways. He would pick up far more work if he travelled more and promoted his skills by word of mouth to the yachts he met in each place. Hence they go back to the same places all the time without fail. This means that all he sees is the decades fall upon any people he might remember, six feet of earth and a headstone on a few of them, and the constant relentless power of western materialism slowly destroy all that he remembers was precious of his previous visits. In fact all he would see I am sure is decay. If he went to new places and met new people this would not be the case. To anyone who has sailed in the Pacific even for a week to consider doing Bernie's route would be pure madness. Firstly it entails jumping wildly across the ocean missing out some of the most beautiful aspects. Then to repeat it the same way over and over again is just too much to even contemplate. So hence I think he is digging his own grave there. But alas it is not my place to say anything. Anyway something might turn up and revolutionise the whole trip for him again. In the cruising way of life there is always something just going to happen that can really change things and I am sure Bernie is due some good luck.

Speaking of good luck we of course managed to fall again right on our feet being in the primary administration centre of the islands for Bastille Day. The islanders have an ill concealed dislike of the French as I have already mentioned but there is no stopping them when it comes to partying even if its a French celebration. In fact Bastille day is a much bigger event throughout French Polynesia than it is in France, not unlike St Patrick's Day in the States. The build up is enormous and the days surrounding the event and indeed the day itself are jam packed with activities. Of these the dancing reigns supreme and various competitions were being fought out for us at night. These were magnificent and equal to the competition dancing were the costumes. All the items worn were natural flora and fauna woven into head-dresses or grass skirt of pinnate leaves and polished coconut bikini's which caught the attention of many a male spectator. In fact the entire festival hall was decorated by all local leaves flowers and foliage woven most delicately into strings, beads, mats and even professional gift spiral bows of large palms. Not one thing was from the Western World save the beer and wine which should have been out of space judging by the prices. Alas we settled for a carton of modestly priced 'Chateau Plastic' in a litre case and enjoyed the whole wild ensemble about.

Amidst the hurly burly we met friends of Bernie's called Tracy and Joseph. Tracy was a Liverpudlian yachts woman who sailed into the island a few years back. There she soon met Joseph a local and married. They made a lovely couple and after Liverbird flew the coup they had us up to their house. This was lovely and had a perfect view of the bay and Oa Pou in the background. In fact it was so lovely that had it been any other place in the world a quick visit to any real estate agent would ahve made the owner a homeless billionare. With this in the background we were further wined and dined and thoroughly enjoyed getting the inside story of the Marquaisian way of life. Also a few equally interesting tales on South Africa where she had lived and her sisters antics with the hoy paloy smart set of London. All of which was very entertaining and much too long winded to put in the log. Suffice to say she is very happy living out here in the remote island and not dreaming of returning to the West.

However before you think that we did nothing in Taiohae but party I have to redress the balance, some work was actually carried out. Whilst on 'Shady Lady' I quipped that there is always a job on board that you think will be hell and you keep putting off. Then when you brave up to it you find yourself shocked at how easy it was. Then you turn to do one that will only take ten minutes and a day later with the boat in bits you are still not finished. I laughed when I was going off saying this but little did I know how true the statement would be. The job I was referring to was the stripping down of the self steering wind vein you've heard so much about to see why it was seized. I really did not look forward to it as I was sure the salt water would cause all the bolts through dissimilar metals to have practically welded themselves together via electrolyses. Hence they would all sheer off and cause enormous problems. To my utter amazement this was not the case and by the end of a mornings work I had it all stripped down and reassembled with the culprit siezed bearing in the main shaft fully operational again. I could not believe it and with the enormous encouragement instilled by the success I dived into the yachts plumbing for a quick job to repair a leak somewhere in the system. Two days later after finally getting a hole in a stainless steel tank welded that we eventually found was the route cause, it reinstalled in its case and this reinstalled behind the panelling I had to take out to access it, I was still working at eight o clock at night. Then I was trying to figure out how to prime the water pipes that lead from the engine so as to get the heating function and the engine operational again. It is exceptionally rare that I make a wise crack that turns out to be patently the truth of matters, why had it to be this one.

Also whilst in Taiohae we finally got to a doctor about these infections I had been having. This was a relief at last as we were running out of Antibiotics and an answer to what the problem was. Seeing the doctor provided a solution to the latter of these problems. Though I showed him the various wounds that remained from the infections he was in no way interested and was rather casual about them. It was more than obvious that it was a common occurrence and he kept saying 'streptococcus' in rather pleasant tones. When we explained that we had run out of antibiotics as a result of 'streptococcus' he gladly stroked his pen on the prescription in typical doctor illegible fashion and dispatched us off to the hospital chemist room. There we were supplied with a handsome refill to our medical supplies and a bill for naught courtesy of course to the French taxpayer. Stepping out we went straight to the store and stocked up on bread, rice, butter, flour (our last two kilos from Margarita had metamorphosed into solid bags of big weevils) which were all subsidised to the extent that they cost a fraction of their value by the French. Once this was over we pushed the heavy dinghy and its load off the pier and wished we could sing the French national anthem in triumphant tones. At least we said "vive la France" with a big grin.

Since then we have been having a more leisurely pace of life here in Baie De Controleur. Within this enormous and picturesque bay, two rocky points divide the head of the bay into three coves towards their heads. For the first day we set down in the Westernmost of these coves, L'Anse Haka Paa and then just yesterday we moved to this one, the next along, called Anse Hanga Haa. Whilst in L'Anse Haka Paa we did little except learn how to play music and relax. You are probably very curious at this stage as to why there is this constant reccurring theme of music mentioned in the log, why we spend quite a large proportion of our free time dabbling with it. Well, there is a reason for this, and at this stage of my competence it is rather embarrassing. Hence I will leave it for another day to tell all, but suffice to say watch this space. Instead I will complete this log with our adventures abroad today.

Today was another archaeological expedition day. The log said that there was some large stone tikis and a huge ceremonial stone temple platform measuring twenty five by one hundred and seventy metres to be seen. This they said was a fascinating 'hike' up the valley and we were dully warned to bring water cans, machete and provisions for two days. It also said 'biting no-nos are a nuisance in this village'. No-nos, if I have not already mentioned them, are a real pain. They are like mosquitoes but leave a worse infection, and at half the size or less cannot be seen very well. Hence we donned shirt and long pants for the occasion. By good fortune the day was overcast or we would have fried with the clothes and camera gear for it was no easy task finding this ceremonial alter that was of course just a little 'hike' up the valley. Eventually in the back woods we came across a mother and son who were heading down to the village Tai Paii Vaii the pretty little village at the head of our current bay. They told us we were well off course and practically brought us back to the bottom of the valley to restart our quest. Knowing how tricky it was the mother kindly sent her son as a guide from there and we were surely thankful of him. An hour later and a hike up practically to the top of the mountain that flanked the East of the bay and there appeared one of those paths I mentioned earlier. Then following this whilst trying to stay upright upon the gradient well covered with slippery mud, a clearing appeared in the jungle growth. Stepping through this and there we found it as described. I would say breathtaking, except after the climb to it our breath had already long departed for a wheeze.

Such places are amazing especially when you just find them in the undergrowth. We are ending this tour by another tour to such a sight on the North coast. Although we have seen quite a lot of tikis and old ruins you just cannot seem to get enough of them and hence we are off on the trail once more. The same could be said for the Marquises themselves. On this note I will close this entry as indeed I am tiered this evening after such a long hike. Till the next entry, 'salute'.

Tuesday, July 23rd; - Laying To Anchor, Anaho Bay, Nuku Hiva.

"Anaho Bay [is] well enclosed, with extensive ruins, a white sandy beach and a coral shelf - one of the few reefs in the Marquises, the only lagoon - it was the loveliest spot I saw in the Marquises, combining the colour and gentleness of a tropical beach with the raggedness of surrounding mountains.....Anaho is the apotheosis of the South Seas; distant, secluded, empty pristine - ravishing in fact".

In the last entry I promised not to tire the reader with more florid descriptions of the Marquises. However Anaho Bay is very special and hence I cheat a little here. I have been good to my word and not waxed on. Instead I have given you Paul Theroux's description in 'The Happy Hours Of Oceana'. He toured the pacific to write the book and briefly visited Anaho by road whilst on route. Despite its name the book has a more than apparent negative slant to it, as he was undergoing difficult times particularly at the offset, yet he could not fail to give Anaho Bay a favourable mention. It was this bay too that the much more famous writer Robert Louis Stephenson visited in 1888 aboard Casco. He along with his family were bewitched by Anaho from the first moment they set eyes upon it. Indeed so profound an effect had Anaho bay upon him that it convinced him he had made the right decision when he resolved to spend the rest of his life in the Pacific.

For those who should follow in my wake I could not recommend a better place to visit than Anaho Bay. It is not alone spectacular to the eye but perhaps the best anchorage we have visited in the whole island group. The bay is so large and enclosed that there is practically no motion whilst on anchor and with a pass through the above mentioned reef there is no surf when it comes to dingy landing. This is indeed rare in the Marquises and something that makes a visit remarkably pleasurable. In addition to this there is beautiful fresh spring water ashore in unlimited quantities and a local who sells vegetables just up from the beach. In short the perfect sojourn for any yachtsman. Had we not had a 'honeymooning' atmosphere aboard, so to speak, that caused us to enjoy Hana Tefau, in Tahuata so much, we would say this is the ultimate anchorage of our trip so far. For facilities it most certainly is. If I were to visit these islands again I would not think twice of coming directly here first and the same I would recommend for any other yachtsman. In complete accord with this recommendation is an American cruising family called the Beeslies. For our visit top Anaho is definitely dominated by the Beaslies.

The Beaslies are really something. Fifteen years ago they upped with the three kids, two sons and a daughter, and sailed the world relentlessly. During this tour Anaho Bay stood out amongst all of the places they had been. Hence they all returned here, save one son, under remarkable circumstances this time. The father and mother, Charlie and Pat are in a smaller boat, that I will speak of in more detail later, and came in from Mexico. The son Charlie is on his own yacht who along with a friend just came in from a tour of Chile and Latin America that included Cape Horn. Their daughter Andrea is aboard her yacht that they bought in the States with her husband from New Zealand and were sailing it home. All three boats rendezvoused here to party in what they reckoned was the ultimate meeting point before shaking loose again and broaching the rest of the Pacific. Talk about a family afloat and on the move or what. In addition to this they are quite amazing people. With the initial seven years of a circumnavigation and the benefit of living in many different countries they have some remarkable experience that they call upon whilst going about their business.

The first thing I would say about them is that they are incredibly resourceful and adaptive. They come from running a business in the construction industry and hence with high level qualifications in carpentry they can turn their hands to anything. In addition to this they have a passion for precision and excellence that is breathtaking. Any odd piece of bright work on deck that gets roasted daily by the sun and hammered by the elements would still but any dining room coffee table I have ever seen to shame. This passion for detail is all embracing whether it happens to be a piece of varnished carpentry or, sail set up, keeping their boats spotless, electronics, souvenir hunting, food, drink or just plain helping out other people. With a long tropical sea going tradition behind them at this stage to see them make a barbecue for instance is an education.

It is not a case of just grabbing a few lumps of driftwood heaping it high, placing a drop or two of outboard fuel on it and letting it rip. No chance. A shady area is selected for sun protection, plus of course a place that offers a nice breeze and plenty of rocks to place the food and utensils upon as sand is a nuisance. Only the hardwood driftwoods could be used, broken by dropping large stones on them. For these produce the nice coals and it is in coals that you cook the foods in not the flames. Rocks were aligned to make different fires for each different course especially as to make natural flues to make sure these coals came about as desired. Handsome saplings were cut down pealed and first dried over the flames before being conjured into a rack for roasting a goat hunted down the previous day. Coconuts at different levels of maturity are selected as if they were fine wines for different parts of the meals. Even precise pod leaves that surround the coconuts are used as torches to give light late at night as apparently they have an oil in them that makes them light perfectly. The amount of detailed information they know and call into practice in just about every operation is literally amazing and this is a typical example. In addition to this they are doers not dwellers. The whole family seem to attack everything on mass with a specific concentration that would make the building of a city a weekends work. They really have to be seen to be believed.

This attention to detail can be specifically seen in the 'Lark', Charlie seniors and Pat's boat. To call it boat in fact is a crime as it is nothing of the sort. 'Lark' is in fact a work of art. Whilst cruising Charlie met a renowned cruising couple Tim and Pauline Carr. They had spent over quarter of a century travelling the world in a 1898 Falmouth Quay punt called 'Curlew' and Charlie fell in love with the eighteenth century boat on sight. Though its overall deck length was a mere 28' 2' Charley could see the speed in its lines and he was certainly not wrong. The Falmouth Quay punts were working boats delivering cargo's to shore from the anchored tall ships in the estuary of the Fal. A fast boat got the business in most all cases. Combining his life of wood master craftsmanship with his love of boats and the particular shape of this incredible little craft could only mean one thing; Charley decided he had to make one.

This he did every bit himself with family help and with such precision and craftsmanship that the final result is simply breathtaking. Here the Beasley' passion for excellence as well as efficiency certainly triumphed. The hybrid between classic lines and the Beasley desire to pick the most choice pieces of wood and integrate the latest technologies in wood fabricating and handling techniques worked like magic. This too could be said of all the bronze metal work about the yacht, it was beautifully crafted and tailored to the vessels lines. So eye catching was it that I had to enquire where he got it and was surprised to find he had in fact made it all himself. First he made all the fittings in wood. Then he would take a cast from these and have them made up in what's called aluminium bronze. The result does not alone look magnificent on a classic boat, but also have a tensile strength greater than stainless steel.

Despite this type of razor sharp detailed work carried out upon the yacht she was still completed by Charlie in two years. In doing so Charlie brought the old world vessel alive with much more than all its former glory, plus he made it even stronger again. Should there be any doubt about this the vessel was severely tested in its first tour. There Charlie senior and Charlie junior found themselves unfortunately pitted against the teeth of a hurricane and three hard days of running before it in wild seas. This would have broken up many a vessel yet little 'Lark' came through the pounding without a scratch being made on those one hundred coats plus of varnish carefully administered and sanded back by Charlie Senior himself. The boat was a major success with a lot of character. This I believe is what Charlie senior wanted from the vessel. A special boat that would be kept in the family well past his time. One which his children could take off for a spin any time they desired and hopefully his children's children and so forth. What a lovely idea.

Whilst they were testing a self steering device here in Anaho, that was a captive hydraulic arm hidden below decks to preserve the antiquity of the yachts aspect, I took a spin with them and could see why she faired so well in the Hurricane seas. It was in fact like sailing a brick she is so solid. Despite the fact that she is a fraction of the size of 'Obsession' she probably weighs fifty percent extra and this accounts for her solid feeling. Yet in conjunction with that weight there is an enormous sail plan to hurtle her along. In square footage it would easily have more canvas than a fifty footer so when it comes to it the little yacht stomped her way up wind out of the bay with fearsome stealth. However getting all that sail up and running was no joke. I never saw so many control lines in all my life even upon a racing yacht. Soon I was to discover why, this was a racing boat plus one of an age old vintage. With the enormous amount of sails, Main, Topsail, Inner cutter sail and the Genoa out on a bowsprit, plus the associated reefing, it could be got to move. Coming back in with the wind on the beam I was to see this in abundance. She lifted right out of the water and pressed an enormous aerated bow wave aside as she hurtled back in to Anaho. It was a great spin and lovely to see the father and son with so much knowledge at work on the little vessel and a great outing.

It will in fact be the Beasley's that will be our major memory of our time in this bay, for we will never forget them. So much so that in fact we call the bay 'Beasley Bay'. The family took to us by good fortune and soon we were invited to everything they were up to. This to a large extent was barbecues as aforementioned and delicious meals aboard their yachts. We have been having a fabulous time with them all and although we only intended to stay in Anaho for a few days we are having such a good time that we have been here well over a week at this stage. Such a united and highly integrated family is so rare to see and I am sure this is caused in no small measure by the fact that they set sail around the world together when the family were all teenagers. The only pity about it was that we did not meet there other son Vincent who is married in Austria. He too seems to be an extraordinary character. When he was in his early twenties and had completed the circumnavigation he went to Fiji to build a traditional islander canoe and tour the islands in it. This he did so well, with his fathers penchant for blending the best of the traditional approach with technology, that the thirty six foot catamaran / canoe became a cause celebre for magazine articles. After his tour it was eventually purchased by the Fijian national museum in Suva where it resides today. They are all a splendid bunch in fact. It was by very good luck that we should have chanced to meet them and make good friends and good times.

In fact since we have arrived here we have done little except enjoy ourselves. We are like too big kids in paradise and we have totally regressed to childhood occupations during the days. With all the tapes of the neighbouring Beasley boats to pick from and the local radio we have spent a lot of time recording tapes. This takes me back years and likewise Jayne to when we were kids taping the charts off the radio and so forth. There is something about being on the ocean that you just cannot listen to an album end to end like you would at home. You just want a track of this and a track of that and a constant change of upbeat artists. I guess in a normal Western lifestyle there is constant change about and it is nice to have a consistent sound. Whilst at sea you just have the same about you and crave for constantly changing music to shake it up a bit. Hence with the skimming and searching through the tapes recording and recording our music for other boats it can keep you busy. My advice is not to leave home on a trip like this without the capacity to record and play tapes. A lot of people only have CD players on their yachts and rue the mistake. Although it might appear frivolous it is in fact quite pleasant as it is so good to have a few different tapes to put on deep passage especially if they cost only the price of the blank tape.

The next child like day out was a trip over the shoulder of the eastern slope of Anaho Bay. This dropped us down into another enormous bay called Haatuatua which is wide open to the to prevailing winds. Of course this makes it practically useless for the purposes of anchoring yachts but it does make for great surfing and a great collecting point for all sorts of flotsam and jetsam. The Beasley's have a penchant for all sorts of little curios and amongst them were unusual bottles that they normally know the origin of. If the bottles happen to be particularly nice examples they often press them into service as wine decanters and they do look well. When we went over the hill and found the beach by accident we had a great day of strolling the shore like scavengers. Like two castaway kids we absorbed ourselves trying to find interesting things amongst the thousands of coconuts that wash in there. Soon we were uncovering all sorts of unusual bottles and getting all excited. Of course this was all about nothing, but who cares its a lot of fun and you don't have your mother and father interrupting saying 'you can't bring it home'. In the end we wound up carrying off nearly a dozen bottles off to be cleaned up and the proud holders of the liquors of our drinks cabinet. This was great fun and I might add quite provident for the yacht as well. For during our stroll we came across an almost perfectly new three foot 'Plastimo' fender with thirty foot of good line attached plus some floats that I can experiment with in relation to a bathing lather. Not a bad find and a mental note was made to always make a stroll on the windward shore of an island if chance should make itself convenient.

The next childhood regression I have to report was discovered by chance on a memorable day in Grenada. It was whilst we were travelling in the dinghy from the lagoon to the main harbour and I had some throttle applied. Suddenly the dingy lifted up out of the placid water and quite literally whizzed across the surface at a ferocious pace. What a wild sensation from our normal amble and we could not believe the speed as the dingy quite literally whizzed along with an enormous wave rolling out astern. The net affect is we had discovered our latest thrill and what is known in the business as 'planing'.

Up until then I had always cursed our mercury four Horse Power as being a nuisance for being heavy and ungainly. Once that dingy lifted up and let rip we never cursed it again. It appears that we have just enough clout in the engine to lift the zodiac with the two of us aboard and plenty with just one but you do need a nice smooth surface or it will not happen. Also you need the outboard running well and a dingy that is holding the air well so that it gives a rigid board like shape to skip along the surface. The combination of my fuel system service in Panama, the repaired dingy leak and the placid surface of Anaho bay has turned out to give us some wild rides. The envious Beasley's cannot believe the speed we rip around at and not being wise to the planing thought we had a fifteen horse power engine. The sensation is addictive and really is great fun. Yet one does need to have some cautions.

Akin to driving a car over the speed of one hundred and twenty miles per hour, one finds the speed changes straight roads into long sweeping curves and so does the surface of a bay change at speed. The net affect of this is ladies should wear a stalwart brassiere at this activity. Also the unexpected can occur. Yesterday we were high balling it across the bay and the engine vibrations shook the retaining nuts off the steering handle loose. It was quite a surprise to find we were flying at a tethered boat with no steerage and no way of cutting the power back. A quick dive upon the engine and a lurch dispatched us from that but we found to our horror it was aimed at equally high velocity at a tender full of yachties en route to their boat. Another desperate dive and the engine lurch sent us at the last instant mercifully out to the centre of the bay where we had space and time to gain control. Fortunately we did not know the people in the tender but I am sure they shook their fists at us screaming 'bloody adolescents' as we roared off sloshing them with our wake.

The childhood revisited aspect of the past few days does not end there I am afraid, in fact it gets worse. We are even down to drawing pictures of late. These are on the IBM Laptop and we can print them on a portable printer, but admittedly it amounts to the same thing, kids at play. We have turned out our own stationary that we whipped up from a boat 'bit maps' combined with the 'Obsession' logo and a cartoon card that we can give out as and address card for friends. This doubles as a greetings card or a Christmas card when we add a seasonal element. These are exorbitantly priced or unheard of here and this will in fact save us a fortune. Yet despite this highly practical aspect to the whole activity it still is a hell of lot of fun drawing it all up in the 'Corel Draw' application, of which Jayne is becoming rapidly facile, and really it is crayons for grown ups. This I have to confess to and come clean. The two of us are becoming increasingly more like big kids each day by day. If one considers the majority of our other activities revolve around learning music, swimming traipsing around and the occasional lengthy foot tour, I would say we are going to have the shock of our lives when it comes to re-entry. Yes the day we go back into the society will be a very painful ageing shock indeed. But alas that is still a long time away, and right now we are going to enjoy each moment just like two big kids playing and enjoying the fruits of paradise.

Speaking of the fruits of paradise, they are so abundant here that they have changed our diet dramatically. Jayne has taken a great interest and discovered some delicious foods by integrating the local fruits. The best one has got to be the Banana Cake. Though the recipe calls this Banana Bread it truly is a misnomer to do this as it is in fact a delicious cake. For us on a yacht it is perfect as it does not go stale, unlike bread, and when you have an enormous bunch of Bananas that suddenly all ripen together it is a perfect way of using them up. Not alone is it delicious but it really fills you and can be treated as an important staple aboard. In fact by our books the best thing by far since sliced bread. To make it you just cream together 8 tablespoons butter and 12 tablespoons of sugar. Gradually add 2 beaten eggs. Mix in 1lb plain flour (hald could be wholemeal if you have it) 1 teaspoon baking powder 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1 teaspoon vanilla essence. Mash plenty of ripe bananas the more you put in the longer it takes to cook and stir into the mixture. You could add some walnuts if you had some and cinnamon instead of vanilla esssence as a change. If you use 4 average sized bananas it takes about 1.5 hours at 180C/350F, cook in a greased loaf tin until a skewer comes out clean then leave to cool in the tin for about 10 minutes before turning out onto a cooling rack.

Another cake that we use as a bread substitute that is even more wholesome and filling than the Banana bread is the Coconut Chocolate cake. This is truly delicious and is so rich that you can only eat a small amount. To make it you mix together in one bowl 4oz flour, 4oz sugar, 3 oz butter, 2 eggs, 1 teaspoon baking powder, healthy sprinkling of drinking chocolate and half a freshly grated coconut. Mix together really well and taste the mixture to see if it's choclately enough, if not add more! Poor into a greased cake tin and cook at 180C/350F for about 45 minutes, the coconut makes it really moist so it takes a bit longer than a normal sponge cake.

The best use of coconut however is in making curry. This is truly one of my favourite meals especially if you cook the rice in the coconut milk. The results is so delicious and really has to be tasted to be believed. To prepare it you quickly fry the rice in 1 tablespoon oil, a tablepoon curry powder, 1 teaspoon ginger powder and 1 crushed garlic clove. Take the milk from the cocnut and make it up to about 400ml with water pour over the rice, cover and leave to simmer for 20 minutes. Meanwhile fry an onion in 1 tablespoon curry powder, 1 teaspoon ginger powder and 1 garlic clove crushed. Add half of the grated coconut whilst the onion is still a bit crunchy and fry together. Add vegetables (we use a tin of mixed veg) and a tin of chopped tomatoes and leave to simmer until the rice is cooked. Watch the rice in case it boils dry. We have it with homemade mango chutney which finishes it off perfectly.

In addition to this the ubiquitous wild lemons and limes can be turned into service to make a Lemon cake. This is sweet and light and is a desert unlike the banana cake and the coconut cake that although equally delicious are so wholesome that they can be considered a meal. This is prepared by mixing 4oz each of flour sugar and butter, 1 teaspoon of baking powder and 2 eggs. Grate the rind of one large or two small lemons into the mixture and stir in. Pour into a greased baking tin and cook at 180C/350F for about 20 minutes until cooked. Turn out onto a cooling rack and mix the juice of the lemons used with 4 oz sugar. Drizzle over the cake and as it cools the topping forms a zingy crystallized icing. Yum!

However lemons are not reserved for just cake. On the contrary they are called into service almost every hour of the day aboard. They make a delicious and refreshing drink by just squeezing one into a cup of water plus adding a spoon of sugar for sweetening. Even better is to dispense with the sugar and using some honey instead. The real breakthrough with the lemon however is with Rum when entertaining. Just mix it as with the drink and it makes a delicious drink, even when you make them violently strong as I have a tendency to do. The beauty of this is you can drink it all night and do not have a hang over in the morning. Rum is a notorious drink for the dreaded hangover but made with freshly squeezed lemon, a spoon of sugar and some water, they are magic. It is rum and coke that cause the real problems, particularly the coke, and the people of the Caribbean laugh at all the tourists drinking it whilst they merrily squeeze lemons into theirs. This has to be experienced to be believed and trust me it is worth the try. All that you feel the next morning is that your body has been blitzed with vitamin C.

There is a whole raft of things that are too many to mention. Things such as Mango Chutney, Banana Flambe, Banana/lemon curd, Banana chutney, lemon cordial et cetera, that Jayne has got into and they just make dining here so good lately. It really is great to have these delicious foods and it compliments all the other aspects of the good life that we are enjoying so handsomely in this friendly little nook of paradise. Life really does not get much better.

This of course would be the best note to close this entry upon but before I do this I feel I would be negligent if I did not briefly mention our visit to Hatiheu just over the Western shoulder of this bay. It was quite a hike to the village as the shoulder was much higher than the one to the flotsam and jetsam bay, yet it equally had its rewards. Upon arriving at the shoulder the hiker is greeted by the most spectacular view of Anaho Bay. It truly is something and the only fault I could find with it is that the perspective is practically from the corner of the head of the bay. This is unfortunate as the head of the Anaho bay is dominated by a magnificent mountain that sets it apart and the perspective does not allow this to be seen. Hence the only fault one could complain of the most beautiful view we had probably ever seen is that it could not encompass the entire beauty that is in Anaho in one perspective. This is indeed asking a lot of any one-stop-shop I have to confess.

The bay that Hatieheu resided in was not as spectacular as Anaho yet in true Marquasian fashion it had an unusual aspect that made it striking. These were three great mountains of rock that emerged out of the western side of the valley like ragged watch towers and were highly impressive. The village itself was lovely with a large wooden church with twin steeples and a red tin roof dominating a meadow in the centre. Yet not half a kilometre from this lay the most impressive ceremonial area, called a tohua, we had seen to date. It was about quarter the size of a football field with elaborate enclosed stone platforms, altars and carved statues. The petroglyphs or tikis we saw were by far the best examples we had seen to date and this was truly worth the visit as it seems to have benefited from upkeep. A little further into the forest there is apparently another site that is even larger but does not benefit from any upkeep unlike the first site. This apparently is worth visiting but at the time we were a little tired to brave it and the long hike back to Anaho Bay. It was unfortunately the day after a Beasley barbecue and we were a little rusty to start off with.

However another fabulous day that will always remain with us in our memories. In fact so impressed were we that we just had to buy the first souvenir of the whole trip in the village as a token. This was a hand carved sword and it was selected because it offered the best value, otherwise we would have went crazy. As a rule we do not buy souvenirs. Apart from the finical aspect of this we rarely see anything that is really that tempting. Yet the Marquises are special to us and despite the expense we wanted to have a token of them and in some way contribute to their art. An art that comes alive in our eyes because we are so in love with these lovely islands, where we are having the time of our lives.

Sunday, August 10th; - Day 3. En Route To Ah, Tuamotu Archipelago.

"Come, my friends,

'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

Push off, and sitting well in order smite

The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds

To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths

Of all the western stars, until I die.

It may be the gulfs will wash us down:

It may be that we shall touch the Happy Isles...

- TENNYSON, Ulysses

If ever there was an ideal island chain for Tennyson's 'Happy Islands' it would have to be The Marquises. As is evident from the above title of this log entry we have now departed the lovely archipelago for that of the Tuamotu chain lying just over five hundred miles south. Hence we have bid the lovely islands of the Marquises farewell. In parting we are taking with us some of our fondest memories of the entire trip and perhaps of our entire life. Yet the Pacific is full of great spectacle and we must move forth to encompass a taste of as many of the aspects that the time allows us. By this token we do not leave in sadness. Rather with great expectations of what the future holds for us and a sound contentment that we have lavished the Marquises with the time the explorations they deserve.

The first of the new islands we are visiting are the Tuamotu archipelago which offers us a whole new aspect of paradise to our trip. The Marquises offered a verdant green ruggedly high volcanic paradise of islands and the Tuamotus could not be more different. They are apparently low lying islands in atolls, sometimes only measuring a few feet in height. These atolls are somewhat circular islands strings of petrified coral polyps that nearly always enclose those peaceable lagoons that the Pacific is famous for. Originally these atolls had an island that the coral reefs founded themselves around. However this island collapsed many thousands of years ago and all that remains of it is the coral rings that once surrounded them and the lagoon that sits in its place. Hence the atolls are most unusual and beautiful. Unfortunately as is most always the case with beauty, sadness is close at hand. With savage reefs, current races in passes and low lying land that cannot be seen until one is almost on top of it, they provide some of the trickiest sailing in the world.

Ships and cruising yachts are swallowed up by the dozens in the Tuamotus and because of this it is known most commonly as the Dangerous Archipelago. In the past, the islands were called the Puamotues. Then trading companies came in droves for the natural pearls, as opposed to the farmed perils today, and doing so depreciated their ships by twenty percent a year. This meant that for commercial purposes the life expectancy of a ship was no more than five years in this region and as a consequence it is most often avoided by all classes of sailing vessels. Since the advent of GPS a few more boats risk it yet this is not the panacea to all navigation problems in this area. The charts of this region were drawn up years ago with the use of sextant technology. GPS is far more accurate and we have experienced up to a three mile discrepancy in navigating these waters. Hence even the good old GPS has to be taken with a pinch of salt here as though it is not inaccurate the specific positioning on the charts often are. Despite this risk however we cannot resist the opportunity of visiting these most unusual islands and are approaching them with great apprehension.

Ironically, despite the alert cautious tingle in the blood, I have to confess that in the last hour I have only realised how close we have come to loosing our mast, en route. The voyage from the Marquises so far has been hard sailing. The first day was the most harsh. We left from Taiohae, after returning there from Anaho to collect a letter from my mother, that incidentally did not turn up, and re provision for the trip down. We experienced little wind on the outset and then as we cleared the islands it picked up into a cracking good breeze. This unfortunately was on the bow which was unusual but 'Obsession' jumped on it and cleaved an enormous bow wave apart as she dug in. The speeds with the use of the repaired wind vein and the stiff wind were phenomenal. The GPS 'Speed Over Ground' registered seven and eight knots nearly continuously. In one day alone we made a passage of nearly one hundred and sixty nautical miles, the fastest day passage ever especially when you consider that there was practically no favourable current and it was all hull speed. However though we were making a phenomenal pace, down below we were not enjoying it one bit. Heavy motion on the first days out is the last thing you want no mater what the rate of progress. Though we did not feel overtly sick we were lethargic, laconical, drowsy and indolent, in short awful. We have only become our sprightly selves yesterday. Yet to my complete surprise I only discovered that for the first time 'Obsession' was taking no pleasure in the conditions.

To my complete horror I have just discovered one of the forward lower shrouds, a steel cable that holds the mast in-column, has all but disintegrated under the loads that it was subjected to on the beat. Had the wind not come more around on the beam and eased off we could have lost the mast overboard. That would have placed us in an unimaginable predicament.

Seeing it just an hour ago has somewhat shocked me. It was of course all my fault as I have been driving the girl on too hard. Up until now I have always had a personal warning go off once we are going above hull speed, which is about six knots for 'Obsession's' waterline. I should have reefed down once it happened in this instance especially when driving to windward. A bit of a frightening lesson has been learned here and fortunately not too much harm has been done as I am nearly certain I have a spare one. But before I can install this we have the dangerous Tuamotus coming over the horizon tomorrow to navigate. This warning will sharpen our perspective there I am sure. I hope that the next entry will be written safely anchored inside in the lagoon. Until then, salute.

Wednesday, August 13th; - Laying To Anchor, Ah, Tuamotu Archipelago.

I am delighted to say, as is more than clear from the entry title, that we are comfortably settled in just off the main village in the Ah Atoll. Yet as can equally be discerned from the title date we are a day later than planned in the last entry so I have a few minor events to set down. Nothing totally untoward I am thankful to say in these very dangerous waters yet I thought I should faithfully record it for the benefit of anyone who may follow in my wake. Less than an hour after I finished the last log entry we found the wind had all but diminished. Once it happened the permutations are obvious, if we could make Ah at all in a day it was going to be at sunset and by consequence we would not be able to enter that day.

To navigate in these waters one needs exceptionally good vision and that means the sun up high and behind you. For instance if you're entering a westbound pass, the morning sun is best after rising over three hours and has still some easting in it. Commensurably if eastbound, the afternoon sun is your best option till a few hours before sunset. Even with this one has to be doubly certain in these waters, though if you traverse in the optimal time of day it is still wise to maximise the visibility and have someone up the mast at cross tree level 'con' you in. However once the wind died we knew the Ah was not a traversible pass at sunset and the only option would be to enter the following day. This turned out to be very much the case and we arrived as it happened just before sunset. Without digressing I will just briefly say here that it is quite amazing just to see a few trees on the local horizon as your destination and nothing else save the white sand beneath once you come closer. It is a totally new dimension in sailing and somewhat funny seeing those islands depicted in cartoons of a palm tree and sand just appear as they are in the cartoons nothing more, nothing less if you set aside the reef that surrounds them.

However, as we only arrived at the entrance just before sundown and it left us in a tricky position. These islands are extremely 'steep to' and it made for some very tricky anchoring outside, at least that was the case we experienced at first hand with Ah. Our first attempt was to 'let go' in about twenty metres. However when we finally settled in and the yacht swung around on her full scope we were lying not too distant from a fearsome reef. At about ten metres from the beach the corral polyp protruded from the water and was as daunting as a snarling rabid dog its teeth drenched in foaming froth like surf. Though it was two boat lengths away from us, which is a short distance seen from the cockpit, it did not inspire confidence. To exacerbate the situation the pilot placed a yacht wreck precisely upon that reef next to us as a conspicuous marker to help identify the pass. This yacht had since been broken up entirely and disappeared it did not enamour us one bit. We would not sleep happy in our bed being so close. The answer was to move out about ten metres and re-anchor.

This we did and the second anchoring left us precariously hooked onto the edge of the atoll. Though we had one hundred and eighty feet of chain out the change of depth for just those few extra metres allowed us very little scope. It was not optimal but the best we could make of a bad lot. We dug it in well with the engine parallel to the shore in accord with the prevailing wind. There we would be safe to all points of the wind save directly off the Atoll. If this came about we would be shaken loose and the anchor would just pull of the edge. Hence we would slip out to sea with the anchor hanging directly down and its weight plus that of all the chain making for some interesting work for the windlass. This would mean an extra watch to make sure you do actually blow away from the island and not get taken ashore further down with a treacherous current, some motion discomfort for the night and a small hike to return in the morning. In short a little hardship. With all the reefs about that could sink us in an instant this I felt on the balance of it would not be the worst outcome and we settled in for the night. Sure enough at half past one in the morning we were woken by the anchor graunching and realised the complaints were a function of a change in the wind and a vigorous freshening of it. A few moments later, after a loud and final overwhelming graunch the anchor parted company with terra firma. Off we went out to sea again rather involuntarily.

Returning in the morning we prepared to do battle with the pass, our first Atoll. Jayne hated climbing aloft and I could perfectly understand this. The prospect of looking down from the rig of a yacht, to that of looking up at the mast is a startlingly different sensation. Only once you have gone up a mast and looked down will you understand this. Looking up it the height of the mast seems to diminish somewhat, yet once you mount and look around the opposite happens. Aloft the height seems to be multiplied by a factor of ten and everything below seems to contract in a horrifying perspective. I have grown familiar with this over time carrying out the occasional repairs and making the ratlines and so forth but to Jayne it was all new and terrifying.

To prepare herself for 'conning' she secretly tried out the ratlines in some calm isolated anchorage. I doubt if I ever will forget the sight that I stumbled upon by chance on that day. Looking up I saw her almost at the top of the ratlines just about frozen in terror but there was no way she was going to come loose and fall. That was about the last thing that would happen. Her arms were bound into the lines as if they were strands of the ropes own twisted fibre and her fists protruded violent white knuckles so tight were they clenched onto the stays. So too were her legs entwined. They were wrapped in ungainly fashion almost in knots in the lower ratlines and jammed hard against anything that could withstand the pressure of their purchase. Yet these were only the preliminaries for keeping herself aloft. For the piece de resistance in securing herself in position was upon the top rung of the ratlines. There she had planted deep into the rope clenched in a fearsome mouthful of teeth. If all else failed she would still remain attached to that top rung with a grip as sure as an iron-worker's bench vice. The sight was hysterical and despite having the greatest compassion I could not restrain a lengthy outburst of laughter.

This was Jayne's very first outing with the mast. Unfortunately the second was in full combat so to speak going in through the Ah pass. To compound the problem, although all went well, there was a rather unexpected turn of events in the transit that made for a refining of the torture for the poor girl and should be noted by anyone who follows in our tracks.

The pass of Ah was clearly marked and we had an excellent pilot despite its seemingly frivolous name of 'Charlies Charts of Polynesia'. As we went in we could clearly see the bottom three hours after sunrise, although there does seem to be a stronger glare in the morning light. However the visibility was excellent for us. Deep water could be seen as a deep dark blue where in other parts of the world it would be a dark green. As the water shallows the dark blue lightens and the definition of the bottom becomes visible. If one stays in this light blue, one is in reasonable depths for safety. As more white appears depths are reducing below two metres. Pale white with the slightest tinges indicates the shallowest water over white coral sand, generally only a foot or two in depth. Hence all was well with reading the contours of the bottom. However to our horror just inside the pass was a line of wild breaking waters that looked like raging surf. This we could see from outside and had assumed it was a reef that we would turn away from and into a channel upon entry. Inside we were horrified to see that all else was in fact clearly reef and that this breaking area of raging surf ahead was the only route to progress.

"We sipped our pineapple daiquiris looking out to seaward at beautiful surf breaking on the shore and knew we were in Paradise". This is the type of line you may read in a travel books of tropical islands or perhaps more appropriately in a Mills and Boon novel. Yet this is the only way surf can be a pleasure, watching it from far away in a nice bar over the top of a tropical drink. No swimmer, long boat man, fisherman, merchant sailor or yachtsman would speak in any loving terms of a beautiful surf. Normally it spelt only one thing to them, complete destruction of vessel or person. Here were we having no option only to face into it and God knows what concealed under in the most deadly archipelago in the world. Not good and we both faced the proposition with little joy.

For me in command of the vessel I had to weigh up what was about me and the proposition of sinking her. The pass was being used as we had seen by a few shallow draft boats who rode out earlier and the breakers ahead offered the only route for those vessels to come out. It tallied reasonably well with my chart that in the centre of the breakers was a narrow channel that was there but equally covered with a breaking crest. A speed boat, skimming a foot of water, came hurtling out just at the moment before we hit the surf and waved pleasantly to us. I waved back and immediately caught their attention with a hand signal. First I pointed forward over the breakers, then quickly followed with the linked index and thumb 'OK' signal accompanied by a Gallic shrug. The question was obvious to them, 'is this route OK to pass'. The answer was the big OK hand signal back. Well that was fine for me 'surf here I come' one hand on the power lever one eye on the breakers and one eye on the depth sounder. The power lever was critical as I had to make the ride as smooth as possible. For high up in the mast was the other half of the ships crew, Jayne. She greeted the prospect of hitting the wild surf whilst high above with much less conviction than I but held her breath with grim determination.

Unfortunately this soon froze into sheer and utter terror as the effects of the raging sea made itself felt wildly amplified at the crosstrees. An inch of rolling motion at deck level is a violent three foot jolt at cross tree level and the sea was that bad that much more than am inch was been felt at deck level. Despite being clipped on Jayne felt sure she was going to be flung from the mast. The motion flicking backwards and forwards was highly dangerous and her whole body froze with terror and went numb from the muscle fatigue of the strain of rigidly hanging on. After a few meters she had turned to jelly from the waist down and it was by good fortune that we passed clear at this stage. Once in we found that navigation was easy. The coral heads could be clearly seen in the lagoon with a ring of bright greenie blue and then white water with brown extrusions on top; the French call them potatoes and that is in fact what they look like. Hence Jayne could then come down to deck and this she did slowly and sat down for a long time. Fortunately there was still an hours navigation to the village and this kept her mind busy otherwise she would have had time to dwell on the terrible scare she got. Then the beauty of the village and its islands made up for everything upon arrival and this I will leave until another entry to describe.

What we experienced were in fact rips. They are just inside the pass with the flood tide and just outside the pass with the ebb current. We must have hit them crack on at full wallop. I mention these for anyone that follows as it is these that seem to be the problems of atoll passes provided you are navigating with good visibility. If they get you the wrong way they will spin you into a reef so you need to hit them with a firm hand and not be afraid of them. Plus when you do hit them make sure you have your 'eye in the sky' at deck level as they make for an uncomfortable ride up high. Also of course I should say make sure you are hitting a rip and not a reef. However, better still is to take an atoll at slack water. This requires some tide calculations of which we have no book. We are trying to work on a way around it, if we have any success we will return on that.

Well our first Atoll has been entered now and for the limited amount of time we will be spending in this area I am sure we have gained ample experience to see us through. I will end this log entry however returning to the voyage that took us here.

The first of it was truly rough going and on the whole we found it hard and very unpleasant for the first two days. Yet it did offer some pleasant sailing after that and particularly that last night when the wind died away to a balmy breeze. That last hundred miles of ambling along was perhaps the most beautiful few miles we ever

put under our keel. The sea was very calm and there was just enough air to fill the sails on a beam reach. This made Obsession lie over ever so slightly and track forward through the calm water at a divine pace. Sailing through the night with shimmering moon upon the surface was a thing of visions and not reality. Equally so was the day a pleasure. We sat on the deck in the shade of the sail for some time just looking at the water in the mid afternoon. Never have we seen such beautiful water. The azure blue there was nothing like we had ever seen before and so translucent you could not alone see the fish but even the shadow of the boat in the water itself. Never have we seen anything like this before and then came these little islands with palm trees just in the middle of nowhere, an isolated splash of green in the big blue, then beneath golden white sands.

I have always joked that we were not sailors and said that placing a conch shell to your ear to hear the sea would be akin to sidling up to me in the hope of finding a mariner. This I have always quipped to all asunder despite sailing almost half way around the planet at this stage and by consequence it was an eye raising statement to anyone who heard me utter it. Despite all arguments to the contrary I held fast to the fact that I am a landlubber, and could never be a sailor, not ever. This jest I will never be able to say again after the last couple of days before entering Ah.

In these days I experienced, and I believe so did Jayne, a sensation entirely different to any other voyage. The long voyage from the Galapagos we believe was at the foot of it and the sensation of surrender to the sea on that passage inspired it. The sensation I speak of was a kind of home coming. A feeling of being at home upon the vast empty ocean. We have become mariners.

Friday, August 22nd; - Laying To Anchor, Rangiroa, Tuamotu Archipelago.

Since the last entry we have departed Ah and are anchored in a second atoll of the Tuamotu Archipelago, and perhaps the largest of all within the chain, Rangiroa. Over the past few days we have been to some interesting places and also met some very interesting people. To commence with I should describe what we have experienced of these islands.

As I have described them in previous log entries they are not at all dissimilar to those cartoon islands of sand and some coconut trees. The islands, called motu

here, are mostly larger but the cartoon is not far from the mark. They have placid little shorelines on the whole as they are all surrounded by a ring of coral reef that break up the waves before they land on the beaches hence they have a lake like aspect. This is particularly the case of the enclosed side of the motu chain, or atoll, which is referred to as the lagoon. Being practically entirely enclosed they are indeed placid little lakes and have no swell. However as with larger lakes when the Atoll gets very large they provide for a large fetch so they can get very lumpy at the leeward side. This is the case at present here in Rangiroa as it has been blowing for the past couple of days across the lagoon and it is such a large lagoon that you could fit the island of Tahiti inside it with plenty of spare room. The most startling aspect of these lagoons however is the water.

I have previously noted that the clarity of the water in this area is ultimate from our sailing experience to date. On the voyage down we were amazed by the bright luminous blue clarity of it that spellbound us on the deck and seen from the shore it is equally breathtaking. There as the waves come pealing ashore to crash down on the reef you can actually see through them. They are not unlike extrusions of glass rolling in with a frothy foaming cap astride. Though we have spent some time on many differing shorelines I can say that I have never ever seen directly through and underneath the breaking waves coming ashore. It is quite phenomenal. But this is only the external shore. Inside the atoll, the lagoons are utterly bewitching. These lakes are paradises of luminous bluey-green waters. The dark waters are cobalt blue and as the depth tails off it becomes bluey-green and finally turquoise over white sands. Inshore in half a meter or so of water it is like a sheet of glass it is so clear. Little fish appear to be flying through air and the only way to discern its presence is the sunlight flicker on its ripples when the wind shifts it. Looking into it one can see the bottom crystal clear and can equally distort it by shifting your hand about to cause little ripples under the surface. These ripples can be seen with perfect clarity and there resultant shadows upon the bottom.

Although the waters here are ultimate the little motus too are interesting. They are largely made up of broken up coral polyp and some sand. Hence they offer less than fertile soil for plant life. Despite this the ubiquitous Pacific palm tree abound giving the little islands there characteristic nature and never have I seen a single species of plant provide so well for mankind. In the Pacific the coconut tree alone can provide for nearly every requirement of mankind. In our travels we have personally witnessed them being used as follows:

The Leaves: Woven and fabricated into houses, baskets, clothes, hats and decorations. The long stem parts of the pinnate leaves can be collected and used for brushes. The leaves can be used for covering food whilst cooking in underground ovens and for serving food as well as for lining and wrapping food stores. The leaf pods having a slightly oily make up, as well as providing excellent kindling, make for superb torches.

The Nuts: Primarily provide delicious food and water plus a medicine. In addition to this they provide natural oils for cooking and food preparation. This oil is also a very effective insect repellent which is important in the tropics and even more importantly offer the islands an export crop. The shell of the coconut makes excellent cups and bowls that can be highly polished. As mentioned they make highly interesting brassieres for ladies, and other useful items such as hair slides. The fibre that surround the nut can also be woven to make a fabric.

The Tree: Provides timber to make a frame for the aforementioned houses of weave and provides for the fabrication of wooden objects of which the drums they have here are perhaps the most interesting example. It provides for firing and shelter. Yet the funniest application of the coconut tree is yet to come. If the stem that supports the nuts is cut off and a bottle is attached to collect the sap turns directly into an alcohol, which reputedly is potent liquor but still leaves your head intact the next day.

These are only some of the applications we have come across and are by no means exhaustive. If anything I would say they are perhaps only the tip of the ice berg. Plus it equally has to be said in each example of usage we have given here there is not one instance of a fierce effort been made to adapt the tree to the particular usage. On the contrary the tree lends itself perfectly to all the various applications. Hence, although the vegetation may be limited on Pacific islands, and specifically so on these coral atolls, having that solitary palm tree is more than enough.

Returning to the subject of our time in Ah then, with this around us it is not difficult to imagine we had a most pleasant sojourn. A sojourn that was enhanced very much by a little visitors knock on the side of the boat late one afternoon. Coming above deck I was surprised to see a young French couple in a long boat alongside. The man who was about my age. He had fine chiselled features and a good physique that would easily give a career in modelling and was very pleasant. The girl by contrast was rather waif like where protruded a Gallic nose but had a pleasant nature and shyness about her that was immediately endearing. I presumed that they were selling something and invited them aboard though they appeared shy and courteous about accepting at first. Once aboard they presented the nature of their request.

They were called Guillome and Katia and in fact lived on one of the little motus of the Atoll where they had commenced pearl farming. With their work up to date they where going home to a well deserved vacation in France after three years and here was how we could assist. In order to do this they needed a lift to Rangiroa, which was the next atoll along and unlike Ah had an airport. There they could catch a flight to Tahiti and hence on to France as it is a primary Pacific hub to Europe. Hence they were checking if any yacht could help them. With no repatriation responsibility as skipper, as they are residents of French Polynesia, we were delighted to assist and told them we would bring them across on the one day voyage in a couple of days time. They were delighted and so were we as it gave us an opportunity to visit there little motu and see what there remote existence was like.

Guillome arrived the next day to take us to his island at about eleven in the morning. As it was the first time he brought us so that we got an idea of how to navigate the reefs and where to come in. In less than twenty minutes he had us there as it was only the second island or motu up from the main harbour. The island itself probably measured thirty meters wide by one hundred and fifty long and was covered in coconut trees. Coming ashore we landed on the beach and stepped through the trees to a very small clearing of twenty square meters that Guillome had cut out himself. There he had his traditional house of timber structure and coconut weaving walls and roof and an outdoor table plus some few small out houses and shades. Another equally affable young French man called Jacques was there introduced to us as the man who would be looking after the ranch so to speak whilst Guillome and Katia were in France. All about were their pet cats and dogs giving a nice feeling of "The Swiss Family Robinson" castaway in Paradise notion. A feeling that was amplified by the bright sun speckles drifting down between the lofty palm leaves above, the lazy trickling lap of the sparkling turquoise lagoon on the waters edge, the hush of the waves on the distant reef and the shimmer of the trade winds in the palm leaves. A feeling of paradise that was further enhanced when Guillome said we must stay for dinner, and lets go and get it. With that Guillome, Jacques, Jayne and I boarded the long boat and headed out to the middle of the lagoon whilst Katia prepared the rice.

I have little experience of fishing but had I have been the most experienced fisherman in the world I would surely have not failed to have been amazed at this episode. We tied off to an Oyster buoy in the lagoon and Guillome dips his hand into a large box where ornate shells scuttled about. Picking up one he turned it over to present the legs of a hermit crab. There he paused and coyly looked up at both Jayne and I. He ejected a jet of air through his mouth whilst shrugging his shoulders in typical French fashion and then turned his attention down to the crab saying "this is life little crab". A sudden and merciless twist and yank ensued and out came the crab from his domicile. Two seconds later and the crabs body was in two halves as bait on the two hooks that were on his rod and sinking down to the bottom of the lagoon. "If you use crab the fish go for it but the sharks never come round and cause you to loose your line" he just about said when there was a yank on the rod. Within a few more seconds he had wound the line in again. Up came through the cobalt blue waters two beautiful fish on either hook shimmering an orangish-red not unlike the colour of goldfish about ten inches long on average and round with meat. With these off down the line goes and the same procedure recommenced and in no time at all two more fish came winding up on the line.

It was so easy that Guillome gave me the rod and let me do it. This I did with ease and that is about as easy as it gets when it comes to fishing if I can perform the act of catching fish without effort. Jayne and I could not believe it. Plus most all the fish in Ah are free from Ciguatera something that is particularly nasty and incidentally this reminds me I should discuss this later. It was all as if you just went down to the local shop and nonchalantly picked out dinner. Guillome noticing our astonishment joked about pretending that he was in a high class restaurant and picking the fish that would be used for lunch. He enacted a charade with the maitre d' where he was looking at the fish sniffing it and asking him if he was certain it was fresh. Our notion of Paradise was bolstered one hundred fold but Guillome was quick to tell us it might seem like wonderful but it was far from it. Sure enough he was right in this respect. Upon the return to the motu this vision of paradise came crashing down around our ears with a severe thump.

On the motus of Ah they have a plague of the most annoying house like flies that I have ever experienced. They are virulent buggers, the type you swat off but fly in a tight semi circle to land precisely back in to the spot that you removed them from a second earlier. Once they are on you it is hard to dissuade them. Also and much more of a problem there are hordes of mosquitoes on each island and they quite literally eat you alive each moment you set foot on the motu, day or night. Sitting down to lunch with all these buzzing around takes the pleasure from your meal somewhat and it got worse.

Gilloume was explaining that it may be nice to have this nice fish meal and healthy but imagine having it twice every day without a break, it becomes quite wearisome. This I had to agree with however what was of more concern to me was the fish that was being served up to me. The beautifully fresh fish cooked with some skill over flame took on a rather unappetising aspect three minutes after being set to rest on the table. In fact it ceased to look like a fish at that stage and looked more like one half a kilogram of angry bluebottles on a plate. From that point on dining was a battle to keep our food from being consumed by the bluebottles whilst equally a struggle to keep our bodies from being devoured by the mosquitoes and flies. During the time Guillome explained that sometimes it can rain and blow hard for up to two months relentlessly and all they can do is stay under the shack and hope it does not blow away. This is not to mention cyclones that come and take the whole lot away and some violent swells that come up from the southern ocean to do the same. The notion of paradise on this atoll withered away post haste after that meal.

This was probably the thin edge of the wedge. Frankly I could not live in the environment and I think Katia was under pressure. However, Guillome, who was quick to point out the unpleasant aspects of the environment, was equally quick to point out that he loved the lifestyle. It was more than apparent that he loved living on the motu as much as Katia disliked it and they did have a strange relationship. They had worked for three hard years of manual toil, eight hours a day, to get their harvest of pearl producing oysters going. With little or no money they had done it all the hard way and it looked like they were just about to reap the rewards in the next few years and make a small fortune. I reckon Katia would wait for this crop to come in and leave it at that stage but Guillome would probably stay indefinitely. Good luck to them I said after our brief stay. They would deserve every penny they would make from their little farm. Jayne and I were not in the least bit tempted by the attractions of pearl farming after the expedition. However we made great friends with the three of them which confirmed that it was a good idea to have them as the first guests aboard 'Obsession' for an inter island trip.

Before turning to talk about this trip I will just remain with the topic 'the other side of paradise'. Two aspects which we should mention are the above mentioned Ciguatera and Streptococcus. Firstly I will turn to Ciguatera which to date I have not mentioned in the log and for any who may follow in my wake it is very important.

The most prevalent type of seafood poisoning throughout the tropics in shallow waters in and about islands is ciguatera. This type of poisoning I have to stress from the outset is only found around islands and is not in the deep ocean or blue water fish that yachtsmen mostly catch on passage. It is caused by the heat-stable toxin known as ciguatoxin, that is produced by free swimming single celled marine organisms classed as dinoflagellates. These creatures attach themselves to algae at the bottom of the food chain and are passed up it through fish of a variety of sizes and species. Hundreds of different fish in tropical waters can be affected as others are equally unaffected. For some reasons not fully understood, fish carrying the toxin are not themselves affected by it nor are the bigger fish that eat them. Only when man eats the fish will the effects of the poison be known. Symptoms of Ciguatera include nausea, vomiting, stomach cramps and diarrhoea. Worse still the toxin is capable of lodging against the stomach lining where it causes no harm until dislodged by the consumption of more contaminated fish or excessive alcohol. Then the affects can be fatal.

Ciguatera is an everyday part of life in the Pacific, and by that I mean avoiding the fish that contain the toxins. However having said that the only yachtsmen in our circle of acquaintances that we know who actually got it in Martinique in the Caribbean from fish they purchased at a market stall. Although this was probably the most unlikely way to acquire the disease it was a terrible poisoning this couple had and it left them ill for three months. Their medical advice was that if they get a second dose of from a carrying fish it will most likely kill them as a large portion of the toxin is lying in their stomach lining. Yet with discretion there is no need for concern.

Certain conditions lend themselves to ciguatera. The most certain one to cause an outbreak for two years or more through the fish population is after some major disturbance to the coral reef. For instance Ah was relatively free of it whilst many of the surrounding atolls had it throughout the fish population. This was because Ah was just about to get a small airstrip whist the others had theirs completed in the recent past. In order to complete airstrips they had to break up the reef and build upwards. Ah will hence become a no fish eating zone very shortly.

The best way to eat fish in any of these Atolls is to simply show them to an islander and ask them if it is safe to eat. As islanders have a fair amount of toxin build up in there stomach their safety limits will be far more conservative than yours so if they give it the thumbs up you're as safe as a house. Bernie from New Liverbird once tried this time tested method but upon visiting a recommended fisherman's house found the whole family laid out from the toxin. Of course if one did not take the heightened build up of toxin and consequent susceptibility of a fishing family into account one would wonder if this was a great house to take advice from. If it is not possible however to ask an islander research says that the toxin is concentrated around the back bone of the fish so if you fillet it you remove most of the concentration before consumption. Better still if you have a cat it is advised you give them the remains after filleting a few hours before lunch and keep an eye on them before tucking in, apologies to all cat lovers I should say here before continuing. Finally do not eat fish that eat all the little fish around coral reefs. An example of this is Barracuda as they devour all the little fish with a small amount of toxin and are most likely to have a high concentration of ciguatera themselves.

On the whole ciguatera is not a problem as long as you are wary. Far more dangerous I feel however is this streptococcus infection that I have mentioned in the past and I would like to revisit the topic to place a specific caution to all that follows in this respect.

Since I have put mine behind I have had no further recurrence thankfully. This is due to the fact that we are very vigilant and lavish a good splash of 'Betadine' on most any scratch we see. We have started to take this much more seriously since Anaho Bay. The Beaslies who are old hands at tropical sailing were highly aware of a tropical Streptococcus infection and took no chances after a son got a bad infection many years back. Still and all Andrea despite all her precautions got a full Streptococcus infection in her foot whilst in Anaho Bay. Fortunately the Beaslies do not mess with such infections and they went straight to Taiohae to the doctor. There an enormous dosage of antibiotics was applied to the malady and they got it early so it was no problem. This was not the case with a neighbouring and very large French boat. There a girl working as a cook got an infection in her leg and similar to me tried to cure it with normal disinfectants and cleaning, This worked to some degree on the surface but deep down the virulent infection thrived. Two weeks later she got very ill and the French boat left to bring her to hospital. The hospital in Taiohae, which is most accustomed to this type of infection, took one look at her and said it was too far gone for them to take any risks and it was in the blood. Her only chance was to be flown out to a specialist centre in the United States.

I believe I dealt with this subject rather lightly in my first passing. After the events of the French girl in Anaho we realised how close a shave we had when I got it a few days out of Galapagos. Yet it is easy not to take it seriously. The reason why I mention this again is because last week I met a French guy who had an enormous Streptococcus infection on the back of his leg.

I was amidst a cockpit full of French sailors topping up my gas bottle by the jury rig system when he came about and the subject of his infection came up and he presented the festering wound. The French sailors did not seem to identify it but I knew very well what it was. I have a personal maxim of not offering an opinion unless I have been invited to do so. I also would also never break into any body's conversation as a rule but finding a pause in this case, I was keen to make an exception. I told the man with the infection very briefly in short and swift terms what it was and what he should do with the infection. The guy had heard this before, I could see by his reactions but was not really interested in what I said. He felt that it was healing up and he had rounded the corner and that he could forget about it. That was what he wanted to hear. Hence my short message was not getting through and in a circumstance like that there is little one can do. Seeing that he was going to disregard the advice I once more told him what it was, what to do post haste, but equally said he was welcome to do as he pleased as long he remembered for the benefit of my conscience what I had told him. Then I left it and went back to my gas filling as happy as I could knowing this guy had in his care, his wife, three kids that were in a boat in the middle of 'coral-reefsville' without an airport. Yet he was happy to let a virulent infection eat up his leg and risk having, to be at best, air ambulance out for an indefinite time. All for the sake of taking a single course of antibiotics. To me it just did not make sense. All I can say is I hope to meet this man down the line in a few weeks and for him to present his fully healed leg saying how overly cautious I was. I sincerely hope for him and his family that this is the case.

What I am getting at here is that, for anyone who follows, I would like to say exactly what the Beaslies would say and what anyone will say to you who has experienced it. Once you have discovered you have a streptococcus infection, and believe me you will know it just rips apart what ever part of flesh it has it's teeth into, go straight to the doctor or failing being able to do this, hit it hard with course of antibiotics. Don't be shy with the course. Give it a major wallop on the first day and then follow the course right out to the end. Plus of course make sure you give cuts a good wash and a coat of Betadine to prevent the onset of such an infection. From what we have seen it is just not worth the risk.

Well I reckon that's enough of being 'old granny' for a while and to date these are the only negative aspects we have found to these areas. Without being too negative or perhaps sound even macabre, I should say since I commenced this trip I have once seen a man die I am sorry to say. That was a wino carelessly bolting across a major road in the city of Las Palmas. This is terribly sad but it does place into perspective where life's dangers are, and to a large part they are not sailing in a pleasure yacht around these most lovely islands of the Pacific. Speaking of travelling between pretty islands, and more pleasant things, I should now turn to mention our trip here to Rangiroa with our first visitors.

Although we had been through the pass of Ah already and had the benefit of getting the tide and pass current right it was very nice to have Gillome to act as a back up. It was no problem. In fact I would take on any of these passes before I would ever dream of taking 'Obsession' into Wexford harbour ever again. Yet it is always nice to have someone aboard who knows a pass infinitely well. Particularly so on our exit as because it was late afternoon when we traversed and very cloudy so the visibility was poor when it came to reading the outline of the bottom from the surface. Yet as I am sure I will discuss in a later entry it seems to us that getting the tide and consequent current right seems to us to be the paramount issue and the passage through was a cinch. After that the weather for the eighty five mile trip however turned out to be a little changeable. We started out with fair winds and made a great pace but in the early hours of the morning these petered out after a fearsome down pour of rain that left us completing the voyage under power. Entering the Avatoru Pass here in Rangiroa could not have been simpler. The correct tide to enter is in fact when there is a light run out to act as a break. However approaching the pass there was a beautiful and recently wrecked yacht planted right up on the reef who had obviously got it wrong somehow. This to sailors is a horrific sight especially coming in along the same tricky route. It is not unlike going down a new street and finding a badly mutilated corpse strewn out on the ground. As this would not endear a streetwalker to a locality neither does the sight of such a wreck give sailors pleasant anticipation's. In fact the heebie jeebies reign supreme and it again served as a reminder in these waters, should it be needed, to be highly vigilant. Despite this we glided in against the light out going current without as much as a concern delivering our two passengers safe and sound.

I can only say that Guillome and Katia were the perfect guests and we thoroughly enjoyed their company en route. In fact you could not have got two better people to sail with and we were so lucky to have met them and equally to have got an insight into their lives. Yet in equal terms it could be said when we arrived and they went to the airport it was also very nice to have 'Obsession' all to ourselves again so we could stretch out and do our own thing. Our own thing in fact, involves a lot of relaxing and particularly twanging of the guitar in my case which does call for a lot of space. Before departing Guillome and Katia however I should say they were so delighted with their ride over that they generously gave us a beautiful black pearl. This was far too good of them but does give us a lovely souvenir of our time together. However their troubles of getting passage did not end when we delivered them here as we were sad to see. All the planes out of Raingiroa were booked out for a week and they had to sit it out in the airport waiting as standby. This would make it almost a week of their scheduled months holidays expire even before they got to the airport in Tahiti. Such are the problems of living upon a remote motu in the Pacific ocean.

When Guillome and Kathie departed Jayne and I got ready for a very special day for ourselves that just happened to be the very next day. It was August nineteenth, the anniversary of our engagement a year earlier in Casablanca. A whole year had passed since our engagement. Where most people would most probably say 'My God! a whole year since that; it feels just like yesterday" we say the opposite. It has been such an eventful year for us that it feels like the whole event took place over a century ago, even in a different life time. In fact so close are we now that we cannot even remember a concept of ever having a life without each other. The notion seems strange and alien. It feels almost as if we have been together forever and that was the way it was and always will be. Yet this sensation did not deter us one bit from treating ourselves royally.

We went ashore and lavished ourselves with cool soft drinks and ice cream whilst traipsing about, something undreamed of. Then we went for a swim in the most beautiful waters imaginable. In fact so good did both the water and Jayne look that this turned out to be a protracted photographic session. Once this was placed in the slide canister it was a no holes bared shopping trip for a particularly nice meal that evening with wine. After subsequent afternoon of high romance we sipped cool gin and tonics watching a colourful sunset over the edge of the lagoon. Then Jayne got stuck into cooking an exquisite meal whilst I quickly put together the poem, I have placed below, to mark the day. After all of this we planned to visit a very plush hotel for a night cap. This was the only part we passed over on. After the activities of the entire day, the copiously beautiful meal, and the lethal mixture of the gin sundowner and the wine; Jayne lay down on the seat and quickly passed out. As she merrily dozed with the great overmaster of pleasant dreams showing in the warm features of her sleepy repose, I lay out on the bunk as well. There I listened to the soft music tape wandering back and forth through the 'Auto Reverse' unit in the sleepy lagoon and just felt every ounce of how lucky we are.

AUGUST NINETEENTH

It is a strange world that hungers for answers.

That sings romanticist ballads to a notion, truth.

Yet it adores the quick rejoinders of chancers,

And, to what may legitimise it's errors, it gives salute.

Yet I have learned to worship the question that is right.

For good questions are rare and poor answers rife.

It was through a solitary question, I touched eternal light,

On that day that I asked, would you be my life?

To Jayne, as is everything.

August 19th 1997.

However the fact that we did not avail of our treat to go out for night-caps was not a bad thing, it allowed us a second night out, by our rule books, as we did not avail of it the first time around. This we made even better use of a couple of days back when we moved a few miles east in the lagoon to anchor near the Tiputa pass where most of the yachts here come too. This is for a very good reason as it is simply lovely here plus there is a fabulous hotel complex here. This is called 'Kiaora Village' and we visited it for our evening out. We dressed up to fit into the salubrious environment and had a few drinks at five dollars a shot. During the night they had some traditional dancers and the bar had islanders playing traditional island music in the corner surrounded by a group of locals singing. This was not unlike how traditional Irish music is heard in pubs around Ireland. This was all a bonus to our night out for in fact the beautiful hotel on its own was more than enough. It was to a large part built out on stilts over the water and looking down under its glass and teak floors one could see the fish drift hither thither beneath in those divine turquoise waters. Perfect!

However the biggest bonus to come was one morning when we looked out of the port holes to see an enormous racing trimaran anchored close by. The boat looked simply stunning, and was not unlike the one used in the movie 'Waterworld'. I had seen a yacht like this once before whilst 'Obsession' was in Dun Laoghaire, south of Dublin. It dominated the entire harbour there and caught my imagination as never had any sea craft done before in all my life. It was called Spirit Of Ireland and was owned by Robin Decay's who planned to race it around the world. Sadly he could not raise all the sponsorship required for such an event and it fell into the statistics of a round the world dreams that never left the dock I spoke of in the 'Preface To The Log'. As i looked at this enormous trimaran I equally thought wow and watched her lazily turn in the breeze. Suddenly the starboard outrigger float turned to present its name and to my utter amazement I saw written there 'Spirit Of Ireland' with all the Irish companies sponsors' names. I could not believe it within no time we were over in the hope we would make the acquaintance of Robin Deasy out on his pleasant world cruise. This was not to be the case. However we were even more fortunate to meet a young man called Tarlach Baumgarten who despite the Germanic surname was very much a fellow Murphia man.

Robin Deasy had sold 'Spirit' to a man from Luxembourg and he had altered it somewhat and had it delivered here. A couple of young Irish guys who used to sail it with Robin and some various guys they picked up as crew on the way delivered the yacht and one, Tarlach, was still here when we enquired at the yacht. Soon we were to meet him and as a result made good friends. Tarlach is a fabulous guy and so very interesting to talk to. As a result of meeting him we were brought ashore to have dinner with his friends and even better got a spin on Spirit. This was in fact quite amazing.

I doubt if I have ever been on anything that moves so fast without an engine in my entire life. The smooth waters of the lagoon are ideal for such a racing boat and once the sail was up it went directly to a speed of twelve knots with little or no heeling or rolling about that one comes to expect with mono hulls. It literally just lifts up and flies. A brief turn on the wheel also presented just how responsive the boat was. Tarlach said it drives not unlike a car and touching the wheel I could see what he meant. It offered complete and instantaneous response, a thing that was a little unnerving hurtling along at twelve knots on a highly strung vessel and both Jayne and I were happy to unhand it. Yet that casual speed was nothing for the vessel and with a little effort being applied to it she could easily have doubled that speed and more on the day. Such speeds are just incomprehensible for us small mono-hull sailors. Although the amount of work, diligence and vigilance to administer to these speeds would equally be as incomprehensible. Plus the accommodation on a trimaran is always on the spartan side of meagre. A great and exciting fun boat was Spirit but it was nice to return 'home' to Obsession.

But fancy meeting the same boat twice. The first time being in Ireland where 'Obsession' scarcely visited half a dozen ports. Then, of all places to meet it a second time a couple of years later in a little corner of an Atoll, in an isolated archipelago thousands of miles around the world. How un-canny and on this remarkable note I will close this entry. Good evening we have to go try track Tarlach down to have him over to Obsession for dinner.

Saturday, August 30th; - Laying To Anchor, Robinson's Cove, Moorea.

Again I start a new entry in a new island, in fact an entire new island group; 'The Societies'. This morning we arrived in Moorea which is an island just sixteen miles to the West and the most famous of all South Pacific islands, Tahiti. Despite the fame and renown of Tahiti, we are lead to believe that it is comparatively less than an attractive place on the yachting calendar. The island appears to be dominated by the city of Papeete, its urban sprawl plus a circle of ribbon development that runs around its mighty conical aspect that takes from its natural beauty. It is the centre of all activities for French Polynesia, if not the entire South Pacific, and as such reportedly has an urbane hustle and bustle about it as any national city would. On the whole this is not what yachts men come to the Pacific for and natives of its orbiting islanders find Tahiti most awful. By utter and complete contrast 'Moorea' is a beautiful place. Hence, with some small business to conclude in a weeks time in Papeete, pronounced Pap-be-et-te by natives and to their chagrin Pa-pet by the French, we have elected to spend the time before hand here on this lovely island.

Moorea we discovered is one of the most photographed islands in the Pacific and by consequence has come to represent the image of idyllic Polynesia to the world. Perhaps the most photographed bay of all in Moorea is this very one Baie Oponohu that in a small western cove of which we are currently laying to anchor. Incidentally and by no coincidence I noticed on entry that two of the three pilots we use in the pacific have used a shot of this very bay for their covers, Charlie's Charts and Landfalls Of Paradise. Justifiably so too I might add for this is a most lovely bay and it is ideal for anchoring. Indeed that old Hollywood musical legend, 'South Pacific', also used this location and for many this island would be familiar as the idyllic 'Bali Hai' depicted in the tale. Although as of yet we have had little time to discover Moorea, we have to agree from just what we have experienced that it is a beautiful island. The crew of Obsession however are hard to please these days as we fell completely in love with the Marquises.

To this chain of islands Moorea could be said to be not at all dissimilar and the island could easily fit into the Marquises archipelago without looking remotely out of place. However to the keen and discerning eye there could be seen to be differences. Though the island is utterly beautiful and is a dark and rich green it is just not as densely vegetated as the Marquises. Nor is the green here as dark and as deep as that of the spinach green of the Marquises. Also as a remote paradise one cannot help but get the feeling that this is a very domesticated island compared to the wild gems we are accustomed to. With Papeete on it's doorstep and the hordes of tourists that come here to experience what they expected of Tahiti it is set up for tourism. This does not mean Spanish 'Costa Del Sol' madness, no absolutely not. However one does notice the island has been manicured somewhat. The quality of the slightly busy roads, ornate balustrades on bridges, the occasional gazebo and the island has been set out with copious little picnic areas. Of course this does not detract from the island one iota but ones heart does hanker back to the raw and untouched beauty of the Marquises.

Yet it does have other aspects to it that are far in excess of what can be had in the Marquises. Primarily from what we have experienced it seems to run this way. When it comes to beautiful islands the archipelago of the Marquises win. When it comes to beautiful waters the archipelago of the Tuamotus are absolutely ultimate. But when one wants a combination of both the Society's are the winners no question. They have both the lush green volcanic islands plus the reef and clear waters. Of course in getting both together one lacks the utter refinement to absolute perfection that are available in the above mention Polynesian cousin archipelagos. But what is here is much more than adequate than any other part of the world and could not be faulted. On the balance, in the Societies you may not be victorious in the particular but will certainly win in the overall. Also having the island close to the centre of commercial action, one is able to acquire a few items at exorbitant prices, but not astronomical like in the other islands. You may have to permit me a brief departure from the flow of conversation to clarify that unusual statement.

Before departing Rangiroa we picked up a mini loaf of sliced bread to take with us on the passage. Just as we were about to pay for it we discovered it cost five pounds and thought the better of it. This would be the price of ten such loafs or more in Europe. Six pounds for a head of Californian cabbage is not unknown and even locally grown vegetables in general are shockingly expensive. If only my poor father could hear that as he was trying to sell cabbage for ten pence a head in Ireland. Here, close to Tahiti you expect to pay just over double the normal going rate which is down to earth by outer island standards. With this price hike in mind we filled the boat up with provisions for a fraction of the cost in Latin America and are living off these stores, plus of course the occasional subsistence items the French subsidise. Hence the cost of living here does not affect us that much save in one sense, it saves us a lot of money. Again that appears to be a strange suggestion and I should explain that. When, in Margarita or Panama you see general items at very low prices one cannot resist buying all sorts of junk and at the end of the day you wind up spending like crazy. Here, where everything is astronomically priced, you just would not even dream of buying a soft drink unless it is a special occasion. Hence you never think of taking money about because you know there is nothing remotely worth purchasing. By consequence you wind up spending very little here and in fact save money. Anyway if you pardon that digression I now return back to the original point that I keep rambling from, Moorea.

Moorea is truly a lovely spot and one really would be a nit picker to fault it here, or two souls who have fallen in love with the islands of the Marquaises and the waters of the Tuamotus. However as I have said enough about that there is one aspect that is particularly wonderful here and has been a complete surprise. We have noticed the temperature has gone down a couple of degrees.

This we did not expect at all. As we sailed in here in the early hours at about four in the morning, I was completely surprised to find that when I went on deck I felt like putting a tee shirt on. This to anyone in a cold climate sounds ridiculous that one would find it a requirement to put just a tee shirt on. Yet for nearly nine months we have not felt any breath of cool air during the day and certainly nothing that would stir you to pick up even the smallest item of clothing for the purposes of keeping warm. The heat is something we had thought we had adapted to until we discovered the beautiful refreshing cool airs that can be found here at night plus mornings and evenings. It is truly divine and by cool I should describe it perhaps as what one would feel in Ireland tucked into the shade upon a hot summer's day. Suddenly we feel incredibly energetic and notice that previous to this normal life was comparatively lethargic. It is truly wonderful although I am not sure if this is a function of fluky southerly airs, akin to northern airs in the northern hemisphere, that seem to have oddly set themselves upon the island at the moment. These gave us problems during our passage to the islands. The temperature may be a natural phenomena from coming south or it could be these unusual winds that are at the foot of it. Either way it is most lovely to feel and we are quite enjoying it. This of course introduces the topic of our trip down which was perhaps one of our less than exciting passages.

The trip down was a peaceful but slightly frustrating voyage. The trade winds should have been behind us or on the beam, and thus provide excellent conditions, but the contrary was true. They were directly on the nose, light and fluky. In fact they were very difficult to make progress with. One day the sea was like a checkerboard of light squalls and calms and the following day practically nothing at all. With limited diesel supplies it was not optimal, and when ever I used whatever diesel we had tactically in order to avoid long tacks the errant wind seemed to change direction after our motoring and switch around to be again directly on the nose from the new location. Ironically when we eventually got a favourable wind shift that provided for a tack to our destination I could not use it. Though we could see Tahiti's mighty 2241 metre central peak from sixty miles off, and this aspect of Tahiti is truly spectacular, a singular latent low lying atoll north of the island lurked over the horizon in the night in the path of the tack. This made it too risky to follow that course and again we found ourselves sailing away on the opposite tack furthering ourselves from our destination. I would like to say here I hate going to windward but tacking is a subtle refinement of the torture. However interestingly enough, this beautiful little white sandy atoll called Tetiaroa that is thirty miles North of Tahiti, is privately owned by Marlon Brando. He purchased it when he played Fletcher Christian in the 1966 version of the "Mutiny On The Bounty".

In addition to this, and this was perhaps the worst aspect of the whole trip, Obsession seemed to be dead in the water. She just had no get up and go and was very sluggish. We had just cleaned her bottom a month previously and was surprised by this. Of course our anti-fouling at this stage has completely gone to pot, as it has not been renewed since Ireland, yet it came as a surprise. Mask, fins, snorkel and paint scraper will be donned here very soon to remedy that as there is nothing as disheartening as a boat that will only do two thirds of its normal speed. However despite this there was one incredible moment of the voyage that should be set down for posterity. We saw our first ever whale on this passage.

This might appear utterly amazing to a reader that after all these sea miles we have not seen a solitary whale. So it should be as it has been something bewildering to us that until this day we have not seen one. We have spoken to a lot of yachts men and most have seen wales regularly. We had presumed that we were not seeing them because we were rarely above decks on passage but colleagues told us that you would know when they are around regardless. One would here them, particularly when spouting, and there is a distinctly fishy, and not altogether pleasant, odour off their breath. Hence we then said fate has kept whales away from us in all these miles and after reading about the Baileys run in with one, in their book 'One Hundred and Seventeen Days In A Life Raft' we were not entirely too upset at not meeting them. However this brief encounter was delightful and in the most unexpected place imaginable. After all our deep ocean sailing where did we come across our first whale but here in this bay in Moorea, Oponohu whilst preparing to drop anchor. How strange. To make it even more surprising the bay is practically enclosed by coral reef save for a handsome pass and is fjord like being a long narrow inlet of sea between high cliffs. Hence it is as flat as a lake and looks every ounce a long river. In fact it was the last place on earth that we expected a big water spout to go hurtling into the air ahead of us and then for an enormous whale to go traipsing past us.

So that is the latest and I am delighted to report that we are currently ensconced in the lovely Moorea. However before I close this evening I would briefly like to return to the Tuamotus that are well worthy of a final departing few words. We simply had a wonderful time there and fell upon most wonderful people. I have spoke of Guillome and Katia but would like to mention Tarlach again here. He is perhaps one of the brightest young men I have ever met and his achievements at the mere age of twenty one are too numerous to mention. In addition to this he is a wonderfully generous and affable young man that we thoroughly enjoyed sharing some time with and hope to see in the future. In the time we spent with him we were introduced into his wide circle of friends, enjoyed another ride on Spirit and hence visited a little island in the centre of the Lagoon called Bird Island. All of which meant we totally enjoyed our time in Raingiroa. Indeed so much so that we stayed much longer than we had planned and this precluded a visit to any other island. But who cares we could not have been having a better time than we had there in the lovely waters of Rangiroa.

In our time we have seen many sunsets and none have ever had that much hold upon us. That changed in Rangiroa. Never have we seen such a spectacle as the sunsets we saw there. Practically every evening we sat out on the deck and watched the array of colours change before our eyes. The light here is like nothing on earth and when it is combined with the waters of the placid lagoon acting like a mirror and no dark land mass to throw dark reflections the effect is bewitching. One sunset I will never forget in my entire life. It could only be described as having the semi dome to the west being transformed into a Turner painting. Bright saturated yellows and reds intermingled with profusion in the sky giving a feeling of latent energy and ethereal drama. Yet at the same moment the eastern semi dome could not be more different. It was a distinct Monet, discreet tender pastel blues drifting into hues of pink with the pale halo of the sky above. Beneath which the green trees of the motus and pearly white sands came softly alive in the ambient luminescence. Hence was most vividly alive in all moods at once and so was the lagoon. There lay a mercurial mirror, unruffled by even the merest breath of air. It mixed and reflected the contrasting colours of western drama and eastern reposed tranquillity into its incandescent harmony. All was light, dramatic, tranquil, mixed and alive in the most breathtaking luminance I have ever observed.

Yet in this beauty there is a dark side in this chain of islands that I continuously keep returning to. The danger of shipwreck, and before departing Rangiroa I could not help but visit a wreck of a yacht on the main Avatoru pass. To my complete and utter surprise when I hiked around to the vessel I found it high and dry in remarkably good shape. I would have thought it would have been picked completely clean but the boat largely lay as it fell on arrival and it seems the local islanders were disinterested in it. To my complete sadness I found there a lovely little American sailing ketch of about thirty six feet. When the owners left they departed it practically without looking back and took a flight away from the saga without much baggage save their heavy hearts. A lot of clothes and shoes of a past life were strewn around the bottom and to my amazement some good books. I presume that these were not taken away by the islanders because they were in English and to my amazement a few were almost in perfect condition. They spoke volumes of a discerning reader, James Joyce's Ulysses lay damaged by water but in very good shape was rather ironically Finigan's Wake a book title that seemed very much at home in the place I found it.

Even more ironic, and equally a book I was searching for, was Jack London's South Sea Tales there and in excellent condition. Doubly ironic this book was a series of simply excellent South Sea island stories that spoke in volumes of the dangers of navigating the waters of the Paumotus - the archaic name for Tuamotus. As I looked upon it I could not help but think how now the story of this poor wrecked boat would become a sad South Sea tale for someone. These books I will keep as souvenirs of my visit as nothing else could be more applicable. By equal good luck and just as I was departing I stumbled upon a lead block and soon realised that this was an anchor damping weight or riding block. Such weights are excellent when slid down the chain of an anchor to dampen snatching and most of all to help the anchor set. Such a thing was well past its use to this sad boat. Hence I christened it Finigan and also brought this with me to help keep Obsession from ever winding up like the forlorn vessel.

On this subject I will just leave one parting word for anyone who should follow in our wake. From our experience the passes can be a hell on earth in even the best of extraneous sea going conditions. But equally, if you hit it at the right time they are simply no problem whatsoever. If one gets the entry into passes timed correctly for slack water sailing in the Tuamotus, if ones navigation is accurate, is less than a problem. Slack water in the passes means little or no current, zero current is only a few moments, and it is best to enter and exit against a slight run in the water. The trick is to find out roughly when this is and to this end we have used the following format which we have found met our requirements. If you do not have the lunar transit data a quick piece of arithmetic with a Dover time table will be equally as good at giving you tide details.

DRAWING

The time of slack water is however not only affected by lunar movements and one should bear this in mind, wind direction and swell can change it dramatically and many other factors can also so this is only a guide. Also please do not take any guidelines from the pilot 'Charlie's Charts' in this area. Although he provides excellent information on passes and charts his tide workings and formula are not just bad information they are completely and utterly in error and it is well known. However not all yachtsmen found out in time as I noticed it was a rather salt laded 'Charlie's Charts' that was still open in the above mentioned forlorn yacht upon the Avatura pass. But enough the bleak and technical now, back to my earlier dialogue of the Tuamotus that I seemed to have rambled from.

The one thing which the reader will have noticed is that I have spoken of a lot of things but scarcely a word of the people here. This I ruefully admit goes down to the language barrier. It is very difficult to get to know a race of people if you cannot communicate even the smallest idiom beyond that which can be dealt with via charades. Despite this one can gain a superficial aspect. Of course the Tuamotus were peopled by the Polynesians in about the fifth century. The race originally moved East from Samoa and Tonga to the high islands of the Marquises. These they hence used as the unexpected hub for dispersal throughout the entire South Pacific region as far south as Easter island and indeed as far West again as New Zealand. Before I drift from this I should mention that this was not because they are a race of Captain Cooks, on the contrary Polynesians are notably poor sea travellers. The reason for such an amazing seagoing dispersal throughout the Pacific was a function of over population and exile by warlords as opposed to seamanship. They were in fact driven to their sea discoveries or face the cooking pot so to speak, and here I have an interesting little tale to tell you of an islander of Ah. Before I do this though I will just say a few words of brief observation of the people of the Tuamotus.

The most notable aspect of this race of people is that they are incredible friendly and helpful. It is so deep seated in their nature that it is totally ingrained. This I could notice in probably the most over run atolls of the chain who see too many yachts, I could not help but wonder what the other less visited peoples are like. Where the Marquisian people were shy and reserved their chocolate brown cousins in the Tuamotus, as there is far more direct sun on the atolls and little or no shade, exuded good nature. This was particularly the case of the children. They were all models. You expect the occasional wise guy but the kids here have no notion how to behave badly and it is lovely to see. Also the islanders as a whole seem to be doing well for themselves. In the past this archipelago consisting of circles of coral sand and coconut trees offered little by the way of wealth. Pearl farming of late however has changed that. This rich gem has brought a buoyant cash crop to these islands and the natives are fairing well. More power to them I say as it could not happen to a nicer lot of people. I close this little observation on that little interesting tale I promised about a native of the Tuamotus.

Polynesians are renown for eating anything that could be made to fit into there mouths. I have spoken of the race's penchant for eating human beings in a past entry. This is not something they seem embarrassed about and in fact speak of their cannibal past not without a hint of pride. Though it was supposedly eradicated a hundred years ago in the Marquises most of the older folk smirk at that and correct it to be about fifty years. So 'long pig', as human dishes are ubiquitously called because of the meats semblance to that of pork is not at all that long forgotten in the Marquises. However the Marquisians are quite unique in Polynesia in striking another meat of the list along with humans, that of their dogs. This is not the case at all with the natives of the Tuamotus, in fact far from the case. Much to the chagrin of the Marquasians, a famous delivery old world Tuamotuan trading schooner the Tamari Tuamotu that goes to almost every bay throughout Polynesia often leaves many a family pet curiously missing from his home when it departs a bay. The end result of course being to wind up served up on a plate in the Tuamotus. Dogs with a golden colour, such as Labradors, are preferred and they are supposed to taste not unlike mutton. However this penchant of the Tuamotus inadvertently did lead to a completely bewildering culture clash on an American Yacht.

A very friendly and helpful native of Ah was invited aboard an American yacht for a quick snack one afternoon. The owner was a most affable and friendly man and was presenting some American cultural foods to the local in warm terms. He placed a cool beer in his hand saying "Cool Miller, the best, crack it open and drink". The local agreed wholeheartedly to this and immediately opened the can and drank a deep draught. A few moments later the snack became ready he passed a delicious hot dog loaded with sauerkraut, mustard and relish. "This is a Hot Dog" said the skipper before chomping into his "and it is dammed good, you got to try it Man" he then continued amidst chewing. The locals excited expression suddenly dropped and a sullen cloud fell over his excited features. He eyed the Hot Dog in his hand but could not entirely conceal the distaste that overwhelmed him. After a series of dry swallowing he preparing to eat the meal his host gave him. The skipper noticed this sudden aversion and being puzzled by it enquired between his chomping "What's the matter?" To this the islander looked up at him and fixed his eyes upon the skipper plaintively. He then said in an embarrassed tones "but this is the only part of the dog we don't eat".

Until the next entry, on that note of culture confusion, I say adieu.

Saturday, September 6th; - Laying To Anchor, Cooks Bay, Moorea.

The days of the past week have been amongst the most tranquil of the trip. We enjoyed a wonderfully relaxed sojourn in Oponohu Bay and have moved just a few miles from it to the adjacent bay of Cooks yesterday. This to a large part is a reflection of the lake like aspect of the northern bays of Moorea. It no longer feels like we are in an ocean inlet, but rather resting upon a picturesque lake, surrounded by precipitous mountains where all is very green and very very still. In fact so still is it and quiet that the only sound aboard is the slow tick of the ships clock making that sensation of repose almost palpable.

Apart from the divine serenity there is also practically no motion aboard and one can pretty much rest assured that this will remain the case irrespective of climatic conditions. Not alone are the bays on the leeward side of the island but they are practically encased by high mountains, not unlike the floor of a grave so high and steep are the surrounding ranges, and a reef guards the bays exposed mouths from any sea swell. To complete the picture we had the last bay of Oponohu pretty much all to ourselves. Again the benefits of being well and truly late and being well behind the pack of seasonal yachts; wonderful. Hence, when one is in an utterly tranquil place, where one can rest assured it is going to remain an utterly tranquil place, one is inclined to lean towards being utterly tranquil. However, despite describing our past week as a relaxed sojourn, I could also say it was surprisingly busy and not at all without an unusual event or two.

Perhaps the most unusual of these events happened in the early afternoon whilst I was scraping off the bottom of the boat. Yes, the recent mysterious lethargy of Obsession became immediately explicable after a quick inspection with my snorkel and mask. After a brief stay of a couple of weeks in the warm waters of the Tuamotu lagoons we had acquired an amazing growth of tiny little antler coral polyp. They grew in startling abundnace all along the bottom of the yacht. The growth had a rubbery texture and most defiantly accounted for the drag we were experiencing and resultant impact upon our progress. Returning into the water after seeing them, this time with a pair of gloves and a paint scraper, I set about putting pay to that. It was after a couple of hours of scraping and just as I was putting my final strokes to the job I noticed something that became increasingly more strange each time I came up for a breath of air. Resurfacing after one of my dives I noticed a yacht was coming in along the bay. 'Company' I thought nonchalantly and dived down again several times.

Resurfacing again chance took it that I looked back in the direction. This time I noticed the yacht was still in the same position and two men were running from side to side in a most peculiar fashion and looking over the side. The yacht too seemed to have a strange aspect about it, it seemed to fall into a heel each time they traversed athwartship and looked over the side. 'Very peculiar' I thought looking at their antics, and instinctively felt that they had run aground. This proposition I ruled out just as quickly as they appeared well out in deep water and I knew that there was nothing there to harm them. Must have divers overboard I concluded but I asked Jayne to keep an eye on it while I was down below. After finishing the last few scrapes I climbed aboard and found that Jayne's observations were similar to mine. The motion of the yacht was as unusual as the bustle of the crew and we both concluded that it was most peculiar and it looked as if it was aground. Yet how could it be as it was in deep water. There was nothing for it but to jump into 'dingy' and zoom over to see that all was well. If that was the case then all would be well and if not we could surely lend a hand. No one would be upset by us asking. This we did and it was truly a good thing as it happened.

The yacht was in fact hard aground and though the tide drops here are not as bad as in Irish waters they still are the bad news for a yacht that falls foul of a coral head on high water. This was the case for this thirty five foot Warrior yacht called Grey Glider. When we arrived at the sticken vessel we were surprised to see that he was relatively close to the shore on the Eastern Side, close to the first leading light for those who may follow, and it was our perspective from being tucked inside Robinson's Cove that made it seem like he was in deeper water which was not the case. Yet and all it was none the less surprising that he should have hit an enormous coral head where he was. It came right up out of the depths and formed a plateau a metre or so beneath the surface and a good thirty metres out from the steep to edge. The two men aboard were Barry of about sixty years and his crew man Simon, a man of thirty plus. They were delighted to see us but we felt introductions could be left till later. I asked who was the skipper and Barry responded. As he said so I noticed he had blood on his nose, and I presumed that he must have received that by colliding with the wheel when the yacht 'hit the bricks'. Immediately I told him not to worry we would do anything we could do to help but I had to take a look down below before we would take any steps. Re-gaining mask and snorkel in I went and saw that the fore foot of the yacht's long keel was right up on the coral plateau but deep water was all around to his starboard and stern. Arriving back to the surface I reassured him not to worry, she will come off without question and without damage and we would get straight at it.

Our first strategy was the one most readily to hand. We shifted all his fuel and water cans aft so as to take the weight off the bow where she was held solid and use it to our advantage, see-saw like on the stern. Then Jayne and I took his spinnaker halyard and motored out to starboard. With Jayne pulling out of the line from the front of the dingy we reversed the outboard full throttle. This put a pull on the vessel sideways, inducing heel and by consequence lifting the keel also athwartship. Then Barry gave the engine full gun to try let her take herself off. This we did for a protacted time and with the roar of engines in unison we were utterly despondent to find that the yacht would not budge from the coral head in the remotest. In fact if anything she rotated upon it and the prop-walk took the stern around and along side the shelf at the port side. Seeing that it was not working we powered back along side and said to Barry not to worry. We told him we would zoom over to Obsession lift anchor and be back in ten minutes to tow him off by the starboard quarter. If he could ready a line for this plus let out the boom and weigh it down to starboard it would expidite the operation.

Again before departing I told Barry not to worry at all we would get him off no problem once we applied Obsession to the task. I kept saying this for the simple purpose that it seems that Barry, utterly forlorn, had left the rescue over to us after finding himself helpless. Had I been in the reverse role I am sure I would want anyone helping me to calmly say exactly the same thing; 'don't worry we will have you off in no time and there will not be any damage'. Though I truly believed this to be the case after a quick underwater survey, I also was equally as surprised how hard it was to make this happen.

The next approach was to use Obsession to tow Grey Glider off. Returning with Obsession in ten minutes we played a careful game to keep her in a working position and also very much off the reef. Jayne went over to Grey Glider in the dinghy and received the line he affixed to his starboard quarter. Then she brought it across to Obsession and I fixed to the bow through the chocks. Immediately we set to work at towing the boat off as she was heeling dramatically at this stage under the ebb tide. Once Jayne motored safely away, for fear of being injured by a line that broke and lashed, I applied the power slowly and picked up the line. Then with the slack pulled out Barry signalled he was about to give it the works and this we then did in unison. The engines of both yachts roared and vibrated. Nothing happened, I increased the power and the line between us became tensile. Nothing happened. I increased the power to the point where I would dare not put another revolution on the diesel for fear that she would pull the shaft out of herself with the load in reverse thrust. Nothing happened. The engines continued to vibrated through each boat for what felt like several minutes but was I am sure shorter, nothing happened. Time for plan B, I thought not really knowing what plan B would be, and shut down the power signalling the same to Barry.

Coming closer to within voice communicating distance over the drone of both engines, I hailed in calm tones "not to worry, I have twice the thrust when applied forward. We can take the line from my bow and reattach it to the stern for a second attempt". However before doing this, I said let us try the same manoeuvre from the mast head again instead of the quarter. To do this I asked him to quickly attach his hawser we were working with to the halyard we had hold of earlier in the dingy. This he did whilst I manoeuvred Obsession into a new position to apply the load perpendicular the his boat whilst Jayne took this opportunity to safely come board. When all was attached we gently reapplied the power in reverse again taking up the slack very slowly. As plan B came into play Barry appeared to be worried about me putting a sudden snatching load on his mast but Obsession moves too gracefully in the water to cause such a lash and we proceeded with rapt attention.

Gently the line pealed its way out of the water until it lifted clear and slowly became taught and applied weight to the mast. Slowly I pushed back the engine rev lever and slowly the mast of Grey Glider came towards me. Then Barry gave it full astern on his yacht and once again the drone of yacht engines dominated the moment, but nothing else was happening. Again I increased revs and again the mast on Grey Glider felt the load, although to our eye it gave no visible signs of it. This time the engine roared at a reduced pitch in Obsession's case. We were working to deliver heal in conjunction with a slight towing aspect in this case, and hence I had not near the power of the previous effort, plus above all wished to preserve Grey Glider's rig. Yet we could hear Barry hammering on it. Despit this, nothing was happening. As the engines droned we all watched anxiously as we felt we had arrived at the same impasse once again. Plan B was entering our minds as we watched the transits intently. A tree on the shore moved forward behind Grey Glider, then another and another. Yes, our transits were on the move or more correctly the boat was coming free. Within a few more moments she was clear of the shelf and a final sway from Obsession's guiding hand on the mast head lead the bow of Grey Glider around and into clear water. All was well again with Grey Glider's world.

The lessons to be learned from the tale, I guess, is to give shorelines where reefs thrive a wide berth. When we entered we had come up directly in the centre of the bay Barry was cutting it a bit fine, but I have to confess I was totally surprised to see that coral head where it was. Secondly, when it comes to getting people off the rocks, it is probably best to go for the mast head straight off and use it to apply heal reducing the draught and allowing them to reverse off. I had a hell of a lot of reverse thrust on when I first tried to tow that boat off with Obsession and yet it did budge. There was not that much more kick in the old girl had I have reattached and tried to tow off with forward thrust. In retrospect I am not confident we would have pulled it off that way when I factor in the adverse tide working against us each moment. Anyway that was that and it all ended well.

In fact it all ended very well for us. Barry and Simon had us over for dinner that night and we had a great chat into the early hours. They left the next morning to join the group of our friends somewhere out there that we will, I am sure, meet somewhere along the route in an out of the way anchorage. When parting Barry tried to give us a very expensive bottle of wine that he went out and got especially for us when they freed the boat. Although it is rude not to accept such a thing we did say no in this case on a point of principal. We told Barry that we did nothing in helping him out of the jam he was in more than what he would have gladly done for us. All we did was the normal thing amongst sailors and by token we could not accept his over generous gift. Coming over for a nice meal was more than enough and we would meet down the line later where they would join us on Obsession for another evening. So we left it on very good terms.

Whilst on the topic of making friends we met a truly great couple by chance a couple of days later. This was Greg and Judy out on vacation from America in a large cruise ship called Windsong. Early one morning we packed the camera gear some lunch and plenty of water to go hiking off to see some maraes, the name for ancient sacrificial sites here on Moorea. They were described as a serious hike by 'Charlies Charts' and hence after our aformentioned experiences with what Charlie glibly refers to as a walk, we decided to leave early and bring the survival kit. However unlike the Marquaises there were signposts and roads with lots of tourists driving around upon them and this turned out not to be a bad thing at all. After a little stroll we stuck out our thumb and all of a sudden Greg and Judy pulled up and we were in the back seat for a lift to the nearest maraes. From the first moment we hit it off and from that point on we were all together whizzing around the island for the rest of the day 'having a hoot' as I believe the United States expression goes. This went on right into the evening, in fact so late that we had drank a few too many, much to the generosity of Greg and Judy. At that stage we found we were at short ends and they went so far as to arrange and pay for a taxi to return us. They were really the bestest and we were lucky enough to grab them just as they were leaving so we could at least buy them a farewell beer at the Bali Hai Club. As they live in Palm Springs in the middle of the desert, I doubt if will meet them on this trip again, but certainly another.

Whilst on the subject of whizzing around the island roads in a rental car, I should use this to briefily introduce a sad connected topic which I will not linger upon. I have spoke long ago of the great BBC World Service. This really is something when it comes to staying in touch whilst travelling the world. Yet even the supreme World Service does not have good coverage of this remote corner of the world. Perhaps where we needed its company most is where we lost it. The long ocean crossings from Panama that have taken us to the Galapagos, to the Marquaises and on through the Tuamotus have been without it as the area is so remote there is no broadcast service set up for it. Only recently in Rangiroa can slightly discernible service be perceived in the crackle and hiss, but this now grows in strength as we proceed West. Hence we know little or nothing of current global affairs over the past months and rather hoped that the world could get along without us. Yet despite this neither Jayne nor I will ever forget the first time we turned our receiver on, in Oponohu Bay, Moorea one tranquil evening.

The radio was pre-tuned from an earlier attempt at the same time of evening in Raingiroa a few days past. By chance then it happened to be on the best frequency at the best time for us to receive a broadcast. What we heard when we glibly said we would check the reception was the click of the on off knob, and the sudden surge of power through the system that always sounds like a muffled pop. This was immediately followed by the clearest discernible British accented voice we had heard on the system in over five months. The first dozen words hit us as if they had come out of a distant galaxy and, despite the amazing clarity of the speaker we looked at each other dumfoundedly not quite comprehending what was said. For we heard what he said, but could scarcely believe it. By complete chance on the very moment we should choose to switch on, the news announcer said these precise words; "The Princess Of Wales died four hours ago after being in a car accident in Paris." It was utterly unbelievable. Suddenly we were in contact with the outside world after such a long time, and the first words from it were so utterly sad.

This is not the place to comment on such an accident, the details of which ensued in broadcast after broadcast. I am sure it has filled the lives of everyone in England, and if not the world, as it will for years to come. All one can say is it has been, more than aparently, a sorrowful tale. This ending has only brought to it the height of tragic dimensions. Similar to the news of the assassination of Kennedy for a couple of generations younger than ours, I am sure most people will remember where they heard the news of the death of the Princess Of Wales. Few will remember it as vividly as Jayne and I.

I should now turn to a more pleasant topic of discussion and perhaps, with this in mind, I could pick no better than that of the island of Moorea that we mostly saw with Judy and Greg. From what we saw I would say that the most beautiful place of all remains Oponohu Bay, the area surounding it, and particularly so just inland of the foot of the bay. During our time in the bay we had many walks through this area and we thoroughly enjoyed every square inch of it. I mentioned earlier that our first impressions of the place has been that of a beautiful landscape that has been manicured somewhat and this first impression remains faithful to what we subsequently experienced. This was particularly the case when we progressed further away from the shore line. There we found tarmacadamed roads leading into the countryside that we would have been forgiven for thinking was a part of France or more likely Austria as opposed to Polynesian. Though the fiersome black craggy peaks and bluffs of wicked looking volcanic mountain ranges embraced all, it was well and truly tamed and sung of pastoral lands instead of the tropics. Canterloube could easily have composed his "Shepherds Hymn" here and so could Bach have equaly set down his piece "Sheep May Safely Graze" in these surroundings. Though it was not Polynesia it was equally not entirly European and the lovely hybrid made for a particularly nice walk through the countryside. Passing along beneath the shade of the pine trees, that were planted each two metres along the roadway, bought back pleasent memories of home in Europe. I am sure a senasaition the early settlers who placed the seedlings hankered for a century previously.

Progressing further up into the ranges the two bays of Oponohu and Cooks can be seen clearly from the higher ground. In fact there is a much vaulted lookout in Belvedere, which is the name of the area, that is certainly worth a visit. The view is superb but I found much to my chagrin it did not lend a good composition to the camera lens. Yet it was very much worth the visit and few who come to the island would depart it without taking in the vista. Equally so are the aforementioned maraes on the way to the look out, although they were not as exciting as what we saw in the Marquaises. This was a function of the fact that they were on a smaller scale and were quite literally overrun by tourists on this island. However later on in the day we took pleasure in a lovely translucent lagoon with divinly hot waters, white sands and tall coconut trees hooping right over the sands to yield shade; try find that in the Marquaises outside of Anaho Bay. However what we noticed most on our spin was the tourist areas plus the amount of houses. We had not seen a tourist development nor many houses for a long time and found it very strange after being in the wilderness. Speaking to a local islander they said that the rate of development is astounding on the island and it will probably utterly spoil the Moorea here in a few decades. This I would say is fair comment. However to conclude, palms, woods, wild leafy green volcanic mountains, surf on a bright beach, limpid green lagoons, all that you imagined. It is all here if you can drive from each aspect to the other. If you cannot drive well pick which you enjoy most and stick with it. This is very much what we did in Oponohu.

This leads me on to my last topics of conversation for this log entry and indeed I believe ships log I see as my pages dwindle. If one was inclined to think I ended on a humorous note in my last entry, you may perhaps think the same here. This time however, the laugh is decidedly upon me.

If I am not mistaken I noted down how happy I felt I was progressing with a few concurrent objectives I had whilst sailing around the world. I am sure I wrote something of it during our long passage to the Marquaises where at last I was chewing through books. There are of course several objectives and amidst the list I mentioned there, one of them was to gain a facility for making music. This topic of music is a leitmotif in the text and I believe I promised in a later entry in the Marqauises that I would explain the significance. Then I shied away from the subject with much embaresment and promised I would return to it later in the log. As the pages of this forth ledger are coming to end, perhaps the time has at last arrived to come clean. To do this I will have to bring the reader back to the time prior to the trip's first planned launch date.

I have never been able to sing and rarely would even attempt a bar of a song. The prospect would be as unendurable to me personally as would have been to any one in earshot. In the summer before leaving I was driving in a car with a friend called Jane Lowney, a different Jayne, who enjoyed singing to herself and I noticed something very interesting about the whole thing. When she sang her voice seemed to disappear into the music. This was very strange to me. When ever I was tempted to nonchalantly give an odd bar a shot whilst on a long drive I found my voice added to the overall sound. Jane's just disappeared or the singers on the tape disappeared depending on if she raised or lowered her voice. Being puzzled by this, and at the same time being with somebody who could explain why to me I could not help but enquire as to what was happening. This she did and it was there and then I realised what it really meant to 'sing in tune'. Up until then I thought you were singing when you were adding extra sound to the overall piece, how amazing. My interest was piqued.

Whilst in the weeks prior to the debacle with Eamon I was not in all honesty focused on pushing the boat out for an around the world trip. I had too many things going on, and one of these was following up on that singing thing that had piqued my interest. I was recommended to go see a man called Peter O'Leary who was a singing teacher and the two of us struck it off straight away on at least a personal basis. Peter is an enormously generous man with a heart too big for his body. Where most people would have not even looked at me as a prospect to spend two minutes with upon an agenda of singing Peter sat down with me for two hours on the day we first met. There the two of us poised whilst he struck notes on the piano and checked my voice and then struck more notes and checked my voice, paused and considered it all lengthily, then did it all over again and again. At the end he meditated for a long time and let the whole trauma that he had undergone in the previous one hundred and twenty minutes of unadulterated hell sink in. At length he turned to me and said with an uncertain quaver in his voice "You know... I am nearly certain you are not tone deaf".

Yahoo I said when stepped out of the door and onto the cold winters streets of Wexford. At this stage I had a good working feel of the art forms of, prose, poetry, image and the only one missing was music and associated singing which I just could not ever seem to pick up without an effort like the others. I really wanted to round it all up of late. Also being Irish one is somehow expected to be able to carry a song internationally and I had let the old sod down for years and had a fair old scolding in one case for showing up null and void of sound that I never quite forgot. If I was technically not tone deaf, by my reasoning there was no reason why I could not become a good musician and singer if I worked at it. That good old strategy that has served me well in the past would be sure to work well here; showing up with no talent and bludgeoning the problem to death. With time suddenly available to me on such a trip as sailing I could focus now on the 99% perspiration part of the deal and disregard the 1% inspiration part. And if I was going to work at it, well why not go the whole hog and set up a band on the boat. After all I had just got into Irish music and it was very popular around the world.

From this point of departure the guitar was thrown aboard with big plans. Off I set westward bound around the world planning to return from the east crooning a fine lilt and elegantly twanging strings. To this date I have to confess I did not anticipate how much perspiration would be involved to start music later in life and rise it to a decent level of proficiency, Sacre Bleu it is hard going. Especially so when you are trying to learn it without the benefit of a teacher nor guitar players around you to ask such questions such as 'should I try play this thing with this little triangular plastic thing or just bash it with my fist". There were a lot of basic frustrations like that and of course that ever-present obstacle that seems to dog my efforts, a distinct lack of musical talent. But when it comes to sticking it out I have this asinine stubborn streak that will not give in and hence I persevered. Then along came my good luck again that just always blows in when times are at there bleakest and just saves everything.

My 'good luck' these days I have ceased to call 'good luck'. It is in fact with me every moment these days, delectably tangible, over poweringly strong and ever-present. It makes everything I do turn out right. It makes everything I turn to a pleasure and makes life so blissfully happy as to be ineffable. As it has become such a powerful force in my life and is so very tangible I hence can no longer call it 'good luck' any more. For a couple of years back I found out it had a specific name of its own. Once I learned its real name I have always addressed good luck by its proper and venerable title. This is, Jayne. As she makes everything else in life easy, a pleasure and just fall into my hands, Jayne too has turned in to carry me over this musical endeavour.

Coming from a long lineage of musicians the sound of music to Jayne is akin to that of English and she plays the piano wonderfully. Through Jayne's patience and help, the former of those being the most important, I have started to get to grips with all sorts of things, rhythm, musical keys, notes, and the medium in general. When this help from the Mother Theresa of music compassion was combined with the endless perspiration of mindlessly bashing the guitar, it suddenly started to stick together more and more until a reasonable level of competency has just started to emerge. So much so that the land marks have been in the past few months and hence the references being made to large amounts of time being spent upon music. Not alone can I now play the instrument but also I can sing. Amazing and utterly, so what next?

Well the answer to that has very much come to life in the past weeks in Bay Oponohu and been continued on here. When I said we had a tranquil time but were very busy I truly meant it. For we were busy playing music, but this time with a difference. The day had arrived where I had achieved a level of competence that Jayne and I could play together without me collapsing or holding her back. What's more we were utterly amazed that we could kick out what we thought was a proper and exciting sound. The seeds of the Obsession band had come around and were pushing out their first buds before our very eyes and ears. Thrilled we decided there and then we were going for it for all the fun we can milk out of it. A couple of hours practice each day from here in and its watch out New Zealand and the rest of the world, a new Irish Folk band is going on a world tour. But wait, what are we going to call ourselves. The Obsessed From Obsession, no too Romanticist, we need something Irish sounding. Heartland, no too nice. Then came the simple suggestion hey we are having the life of Reilly, so why don't we call ourselves Reilly's Life. And why not was the answer, so our band Reilly's Life was born aboard Obsession, in Oponohu Bay Moorea on September sixth 1997.

The bill of fare at the moment is a bit scanty but over the next few months perspiration shall be applied and for those who are curious or just want a downright good laugh the bill of fare at the moment is as follows: Raglan Road, My Lagan Love, She Moved Through The Fair, Fields Of Athenry, Steel Away, Carrickfergus, Follow Me Up To Carlow, Seven Drunken Nights, Star Of The County Down, I'll Tell Me Ma, Mollies Wedding, Ride On, Back Home in Derry, The Sea, The Sea, Spancil Hill, Holy Ground, Old Maid In A Garret, Kilmainham Gaol, Sally Gardens, From Clare To Here, Dublin - My Dublin, Green Fields Of France, Down By The Glen Side, Cockles And Mussels, Summer In Dublin, Whiskey In The Jar, Wild Rover, Rocky Road To Dublin, Spanish Lady, Rare Ould Times, The Foggy Dew, Fiddlers Green, My Singing Bird and more as we get hold of them. As you can guess the Irish folk stars that have dominated the scene to date and made a good living from it are currently shivering in their boots at the prospect of our imminent entry onto the stage from the deepest Pacific. Potential managers will soon be fighting it out on the gunwales to get an exclusive contract and after that will come the madness of fans and groupies. I daren't think of it, the price of our imminent stardom. It is all too much and I will have to close this entry and log in fact now on a more practical ships log way; for fear I get carried away. To do this I will turn to a quick description of Cook's Bay here where we are laying to anchor. A bay that we are enjoying very much.

Firstly, Cook's Bay acquired it's name when it was visited by James Cook on an expedition to observe the sun's eclipse by Venus. Whilst in the islands as a whole he made astute observations of the Tahitians and their lifestyle, including the name they gave to their island, Otaheite ('this is Tahiti'). In fact it was in honour of the Royal Geographic Society, Cook named the islands Societies Islands, and returned to them several times. For good reasons too as from what we have experienced of them so far we can say they offer great beauty and the most perfect anchorages we have experienced so far on the trip. However of the two bays, Oponohu is by far the most beautiful. The difference between the landscape would be only slightly in favour of Oponohu save for the amount of businesses and homes that dominate Cook's and this really throws it vastly in favour of Oponohu. It is a busy little bay here and hence looses that lovely feeling of repose that is Oponohu.

Yet it is equally as tranquil an anchorage and it is ever so pleasant to just be able to step ashore and pick up those beautifully fresh French baguettes that I have spoken of, delicious. Plus when in Moorea one has to have a nice icy beer in the Bali Hai Club bar, you just have to. Not before some work though. The slave is called to its master, more practice I am afraid, maybe we should rename the whole musical episode Reilly's Strife!

With these final words of the entry said, I can now close ledger four and start a fresh new ledger to account upon the trip. Though the voyage is less than half way complete, and provides for almost two more years of adventure, I doubt that we will experience anything like what we have in the past five months and I sincerely hope this log retains a glimpse of it. For the Pacific is master of all oceans.

When we first came to look at the ocean we saw it in a big A3 sized hard bound atlas that we have aboard Obsession. There we saw a mighty expanse of water that was utterly awe inspiring. Half of the worlds free water and one third of the Earth's entire surface it said underneath the map. Even more incredible still, and in the latter part of the atlas, there is a picture of planet earth from outer space entitled 'the water planet' and sure enough the aspect shows practically nothing but water. Beside it is written 'Tahiti is at the centre of this half world - a half world that is almost all water. The Pacific, largest of all oceans, shows its expanse.......' .

This picture continually allured us each time we leafed through the atlas' well worn pages, for within the view were equal aspects frightening and inspiring to us. Yet the more we came to look at this view of Earth the more we were lead to feel the picture does not look like Earth at all. Rather it looked more like the opposite, a view of outer space from earth. Looking at it this way the planet becomes the dome of the night sky, the tiny little pinpricks of islands dotted about it became the stars and the deep eternal blue becomes the infinite dark depths of space.

Through this vast ocean of the night sky we have voyaged in our little ship for the past five months as if we were an interstellar space ship. In fact as we passed across the ocean we to left a phosphorescent wake of light trailing astern, not unlike the flame of a rocket propelled ship in space. Arriving at the centre of this mighty expanse I now look back and see what has been the most precious time of our lives. For voyaging deep into spatial Oceania we found the most beautiful little stars imaginable in its depths. All of them only be described as veritable gardens of Eden, pristine, verdant, and still fresh from the creators hand. None were what we imagined as each had to experienced in reality to be truly felt and then once experienced all ones dreams are at once exceeded. These wonderful little pin pricks and isolate speckles on the mighty Pacific will always be part of us as we continue forth. They will be a thing that will always lift our hearts and bring us happiness. Yet this is not all, for there is more.

Mostly what we have learned in the last months is to find the greatest beauty in is what at first unsettled us upon entering the Pacific. This is space itself; what in fact the Pacific is. In letting go to the Pacific, it spatial scale and inherent time dimensions, and adapting to it, we too have stretched our perspective on time, space and our relationship to it. To set out into an isolate place with little or no frontiers is now no longer frightening to us, but a place where we feel at home. Space and time has now has become a part of us. As we too are star dust, voyaging the vast expanses of this planet, in a Galaxy that is too voyaging through space, how lucky are we to have come so close in our lifetime to experiencing the universe in such a palpable way.

I close now on that note by looking up at the night sky that is so beautiful in Oceania. Indeed it is utterly bewitching, so much so as to make night as spectacular as day here. The whole dome of the sky is crowded with thick shapes formed from stars, over laid with more shapes in brilliant density. It is a storm of light over a black deathless sea, made brighter still by auroras composed of tiny little star grains, points of light so fine and numerous they seem like luminous vapour, as if the entire sky hung with veils of lightly shimmering smoke particles. Here are we beneath it all, betwixt and between, upon the still reflective waters of this Moorea bay, where the universe is at once mirrored and emulated. On we voyage outward bound, on a journey that is Earth's longest possible. The one that we will return home without ever turning back. I bid you adieu for now.