Our friend Rob arrived into Luganville on the 19th of September. Andi & Rob worked together in Townsville for years. He is our first “official” visitor! By now, the south east trades had developed & the fetch across the channel between Santo & Aore was batting Paws about in an uncomfortable slop.
We spent the entire next day grabbing last supplies & then getting the hell out of there with our nose straight into the wind. We were able to tack out & set sail to Palikulo Bay just around the corner for a secure anchorage while the weather played out its patterns.
In between rain squalls & fluctuating winds we found an interesting snorkel at an old factory pier. It revealed scattered evidence of both WWII & the closure of the tuna canning factory in the 2000’s. There is a plethora of wrecks & other war remains just simply shoved into the waters of Santo. The wreckages at Million Dollar Point & the famous SS Coolidge sitting in a depth of 30-70 metres have made the area of great interest to scuba divers. I was quite happy to have my first dive after 3 years on a breezy 25 metre coral bommie at Aese Island. I relished in the feeling of weightlessness & freedom, of being a part of this underwater world instead of just an onlooker. Somehow I managed to run out of time to dive the wreck.
In the meantime we had a charted out itinerary for Rob’s time with us. Unfortunately the weather had other ideas. With nothing but rain & strong trades forecasted we were in for a wild few weeks. Of course in hindsight we should have probably changed our itinerary accordingly but nonetheless we fought our way east to Maewo Island across a stretch of 67 miles of unruly & unforgiving waters. The only reprieve was an eerily giant wind shadow caused by the solid tabletop mountain that is Ambae which proved to be worse than the 25 knot gusting winds in the open. At a whopping 1496 metres high, we still didn’t imagine that every breath of wind could be blocked so completely at an already generous clearing bearing of 7 miles. Sound also seemed to disappear while we bobbed about in confused seas struggling to fill the sails.
Ambae had a huge volcanic eruption in March this year which has forced the evacuation of all the residents of the island. The people are now living as refugees both on Santo & Maewo. The danger level was downgraded to Level 2 in mid September but nobody is yet allowed to return which meant we also had to stay clear of the tempting anchorage of Lolowai on the northeastern tip. Both the noxious gases & ash still emanating from the crater are a serious risk to health & it is still in an unstable state where another eruption may occur. The ash cloud was indeed immense, seeming to plume outwards from the vast mouth & cover everything downwind in its ominous grey cloak. The only explanation we can come up with for such a dramatic vanishing of the wind is the heat from the crater sucking it upwards & away leaving only a vacuum behind. We travelled behind the looming wall under motor for 7 miles.
When the wind licked around the corner of land again the sails were raised & unfurled & we were off again across to Marino anchorage on Maewo. The tiring journey was not to be rewarded however as we soon realised that the shape of Maewo affords no protection from the south east swell wrapping around the bottom of the island that seemed to gain momentum as it moved north. We had a sleepless night with strong wind & beam on swell, each lurch of the boat jolting you awake with a gasp. As is courteous & part of their custom in Vanuatu we dutifully slodged ashore in the poor dingy the following morning to ask permission to be in the bay. The tiny village only had 5 houses & the people seemed quite alarmed to see us. Very little english was spoken & our clumsy bislama didn’t help much but we smiled & shook hands all round & offered small gifts. As we returned out over the shallow reef flat we were waved off from the shoreline by bewildered faces. The hoisting of the dingy back onto the davits was somehow performed without injury to either person or boat with the sea state up & bucking already at the early hour. No decision making was needed, we upped anchor in record time & began punching south in the wind which had uncooperatively swung due south at that very moment. Already knowing that the other anchorages on Maewo would have similar conditions we bypassed them all in favour of the very southern bay of Asanvari. The problem was, we were pushed to make it in the daylight & no prudent sailor enters an unknown anchorage in the dark. This day also marked the last that we would see sun or be dry in what felt like a very long time.
After some anxious passage planning en route & a near detour to the forbidden island of Ambae we somehow made it against the unforgiving weather into Asanvari before nightfall. The boat all dishevelled & salt water in places salt water should not be, we made it ashore to ask our permission & introduce ourselves before making a rapid but polite about turn to the boat for dinner & bed. The bay was welcome protection out of the swell but the wind danced us around all night in pirouettes as it blasted through the saddle of the mountain & bounced off the sheer cliff faces. The bottom was coral rubble & rocks, not black sand like the guide reported. Either it had all been washed away or the one & only (& mythical) patch eluded us. This caused sharp scraping noises throughout the night which sadly did not give us much sleep there either. We did choose to stay a few days though.
In early September Maewo had received some heavy unseasonal rain & much of the south west coast had experienced landslides. We were not sure what to expect but we wanted to see for ourselves & support the communities with our tourism. The small population (around 500) had also taken on some of the Ambae refugees so were doubly burdened with crop loss & extra mouths to feed. The following day, we met Iris who ran the Yacht club (currently in a state of rebuild since Cyclone Pam), & the chief Justin & his wife Charity who was also the school Headmistress. We learnt that Asanvari was not badly affected but other villages had lost houses & many root vegetable crops. Maewo is one of the few islands that grows water taro to sell, so they had lost their rare income as well. In saying that the Red Cross had already come to help & the people very much had an attitude of just picking themselves up & starting again. The impression was that of resilience & determination not of self pity or the desire for hand outs. Justin explained how he was trying to keep their traditions strong so that they would not be reliant on donations or white man.
We saw a community that was just quietly ticking along. There was certainly no shortage of water with multiple waterfalls gushing down the vertical terrain. It was disappointing to learn that the Sparkling Waters restaurant had shut down, but we were still able to have a fresh shower in the Lavoa cascades!
We finally reunited with our boat friends on Pandion & Bella Luna as well so that persuaded us to stay a bit longer. Our paths were only crossing again briefly here with our differing plans but it was great to see them.
After a few days we were off again across the wild 5 mile stretch of water between south Maewo & North Pentecost. Our next anchorage was Loltong Bay which was another secure spot for us with the weather forecast to blow up at the weekend. We met the family that ran the Yacht club: Marie & Matthew with their 3 adopted children Nelisha, Grillis & Philip. The heavy rain had caused destruction here too: the Yacht club had collapsed! Matthew had already started clearing up the mess of the wooden poles & pandanus leaf roof which had got so laden with water it had simply disintegrated. All services that they used to provide like tour bookings & meals were on hold until they could build another shelter. A small hut stood by the ruined site with weaved walls & leaved roof that a fire was glowing in constantly. He told us that their own kitchen at home in the village had also fallen down so he built the hut in a day so that they could cook there. “A day?!” we repeated. “Oh yes, I build in a day”. So moving & shaking was possible in Vanuatu despite the distinctive laid back “Island time” attitude.
We were very eager to help this lovely family already & the opportunity arose almost immediately. They had been gifted a fibreglass sailing dingy by another yacht but with no means to repair it, it had sat unused for some time. Matthew asked very politely if we knew how to fix it & then & there the task ahead was predetermined. We would stay in Loltong while Andi & Rob fixed the dingy & get to know these quiet welcoming people. Within the same conversation we learned that there was a ceremonial festival happening in a nearby village (a Kustom). I boldly asked if we could go & it was agreed that we would climb the mountain with Marie the next day to attend this festival. She was dancing at the event & many people had been practising for days beforehand. It sounded important. It would take us the best part of our time here to understand exactly what it was for. The story was rather convoluted, told by many people, we finally slotted the parts together & translated what it all meant.
Firstly there was the beating of the drums at the Nakamal in Loltong. This was for the dead chief. In the beginning we thought that the chief had just died but it turned out that he had died 20 years before. The drumming happened before & after every meal for 20 days. A Nakamal is a meeting place & can be a clearing under a large tree or a tall A frame hut. The men gather here every evening to discuss the day’s events or the village’s concerns & drink Kava- the pummelled root of one species of Pepper tree. It is also a place of refuge, particularly on Pentecost, their ethos is that all are welcome, travellers passing through can seek shelter & food at any Nakamal on the island.
Early the next day we woke to overcast skies & blasting intermittent winds. We set off up the mountain, through the village, passing people as we went who Marie spoke to in the local dialect. There were many smiles & funny looks, we got the feeling we were the butt of the joke but not in an unkind way. The walk proved to be a challenging hour & 40 minute climb up a steep rocky road. The humidity was already high at the early hour. A light drizzle of rain started which initially created some relief but then became a hindrance to our passage as the way became more muddy & our pace slowed. As we wound our way up the incline, Marie pointed out Matthew’s brother’s house & his gardens & their own gardens of kava & taro (cash crops). The view showed us Paws anchored so far below in the bay with reef surrounding her on all sides.
When we thought the end of the journey was near, sighting a cluster of houses up the road we diverted onto a worn foot track & kept going for another 20 minutes through thick squelching mud, only passable barefoot as our thongs became completely useless.
We knew we were close when we heard more beating of drums signalling the beginning of the event so the pace was quickened. Through coconut plantations & gardens we arrived into a clearing ringed by huts of various sizes & materials, the Nakamal being the most prominent.
There was a crowd of people that had come from several other villages to this special festival. Over the course of the day the explanation unfolded as to what was actually taking place.
Twenty years ago the Head chief of all the villages passed away. It is only once in twenty years that they elect a new Head chief. The chiefs from 4 different villages were all hoping to be elected. They were identifiable by their lava lava skirts- red cloth lap laps worn around their waists with material hanging down at the front & back. Traditionally that would be all they wear but an eclectic mix of modern & traditional clothing was worn by all involved in the ceremonies: the men wore briefs under their lava lavas & the women dancers had vest tops & skirts under their woven dress, feathers & face paint as well as plastic beaded jewellery & bangles of pig tusk.
There were 3 long dances where the chanting & people stamping their feet in the heat & moving in carefully crafted sequences kept going for hours non stop. In between the chiefs paraded around the clearing calling out to the crowd & men presented gifts of red mats or pigs, hoping to move up in status. The celebrations were to commemorate the passed chief, elect a new one & allow men of all ages the opportunity to move up the ranks. The most important possessions in Pentecostal culture are pigs, kava & red mats: if you have all three you are wealthy of status. These symbolise a monetary wealth when modern currency did not exist & still do in the villages. The significance of the pigs is their tusks. The more spiralling & ingrown the tusks, the more value they hold. The tusks are worth more than the live pigs. I lost count of how many pigs were “gifted” but it was explained by a helpful man called Joseph who befriended us, that records are kept of them & then at future ceremonies they are gifted back in order to keep the “wealth” within the communities & not just have a few rich men. It seemed very complicated but what was perfectly clear was that we were witness to a once in 20 year event. A flutter of nervous energy stayed inside my chest for the whole day, feeling the privilege of being here. But it was also sadness for the pigs which squealed & struggled to get away, most of them tied by a tight biting rope to a front leg. I felt powerless to help the terrified creatures this ancient culture still uses. Their obvious distress to me was lost to their captors. Needless to say, we did not stay for the pig killing, for the feast. But I still felt involved, a part of it just for bearing witness. But equally I know that it would have happened whether I was there or not, the same way we would still farm livestock for food despite my individual abstinence from meat. It didn’t not erase the feeling of guilt & heaviness that I took away from the day however privileged we were to be there.
The eventual elected chief Dennis, was also the head of the village & we had to make contact with him before we could go. It was important that we offer him a gift in lieu of the honour of being granted permission to be there. The trouble was, he was busy the whole time & we were getting anxious that we would not make Loltong before dark. Marie managed to speak with his wife who summoned her husband over. Marie presented to him our donation of “small money” wrapped in a red mat. He immediately looked up to the crowd & honed in on us- not that we were hard to spot, being the only white faces there. He spread his arms wide in gratitude & mouthed “Tank yu too mus”. He appeared extremely grateful. The obvious acknowledgement was an honour to us. The festivities went long into the night & the next 10 days so we were told. The rain had come in dramatic sporadic bursts all day & so the journey back was slower going with even more mud up to the carves in places. We got back exhausted but unscathed. We all had a good night’s sleep from the exhaustion as well as the wind dropping off enough to allow the jolts of bullets to lessen.
There was no ease into the morning the following day as we were governed by the weather as to how long we could stay but the dingy still had to be fixed. Andi & Rob set to work straight after breakfast with curious onlooking children surrounding them under the make shift shelter that Matthew had just built.
After a long day of work, the boys fixing, the adhesive curing, myself & Marie preparing dinner, the shelter became the Yacht Club. In thanks for our help, we were invited to dinner along with another boat, & had a wonderful evening getting to really know people for the first time since coming to Vanuatu. Matthew’s brother Jacob joined us, as the eldest he was in charge of making kava & we tasted a few too many cups of the strong elixir. He prepared it from root to drink, painstakingly grinding it using “coral stone” & then all the men took turns pounding the tough root into paste to be drained through coconut husk & water & handed out one by one. In most places only the men are allowed to drink kava but here the women are too. I had only two small sized cups but the boys had a few & the tingly relaxed feeling spread around the circle of these newly made friends.
We felt welcomed into the family & their generosity was overwhelming. They went to enormous effort to look after us & even though it was only a few short days, we were sad to leave our new friends. It would have been so good to stay longer, & help rebuild the Yacht Club, but what I tried to explain to both Matthew & Marie was that they didn’t need a physical building to continue, the shelter itself was enough as well as the spirit of place. Matthew was worried what people would think about there being no table to sit around & I argued that they didn’t need it, if people wanted to sit in a fancy resort restaurant they could get that in Port Villa, people came to the islands to support the remote communities & have a more authentic experience, I hoped. We certainly had a truly genuine experience there with a brief pause from just being a tourist paying for a put on dance or tour.
The dingy was finished & dry by Day 3. We finished up early in preparation for our imminent departure the next morning. The weather had not relented & rain had come down heavy each night without break. We elected to head back to Santo bypassing Ambrym & Malekula due to a depression forming in the south. The Solomon’s were having an unseasonal cyclone & we were caught in the trough between two systems. They was no hope of the rain stopping any time soon & a danger that we would get slammed by the low. We were vulnerable to say the least & needed the wind to escape. Cyclone season was already looking like it was going to be a doozy. Our best hope was to head north east out of the dangerous quadrant & be ready to depart Vanuatu sooner than planned.
Saying goodbye to the first Ni-Van people we had made friendship with, we set sail just after what would have been sunrise had there been any sun. The wind was due east, a direct downwind run all 47nm back to Santo. Of course, that was not taking into account the mysterious vortex of Ambae which did not fail to impress upon us again. Being now on the windward side of the island, still a good 7 miles out, we thought that nothing abnormal could happen but were soon proven otherwise when the wind abruptly made an about turn & we were suddenly sailing into 18 knot north westers. The water remained calm so we had an incredible ride pinching high at speeds of 9 to 11 knots. At first it appeared to be a storm cell we were riding, but as we cleared land & were back in open water, the wind changed back to east. In our novice meteorological opinion it was completely inexplicable & I am now beginning to understand why Pandion are calling us “cursed”. They are jokingly telling people not to sail with us because we have had some pretty crazy conditions on this trip. The stories are hard to believe when regaled, (I’m sure they think we are telling tale tales by now).
At last, a reprieve from the rain. No sooner had we left the eastern isles, the sun showed itself again as if to say, “I’ve been here all along you silly creatures”. Maybe we were inside a vortex after all….
Arriving back at Santo we found a new anchorage in Suranda & I revelled in the warmth of the sun’s rays for two days drying out the boat, getting rid of the mouldy odour & doing a couple of rounds of washing. There wasn’t exactly a rest break in store for us it was straight to work again. The boys did a big shop by hitching a ride into town.
New plan, time was running out for getting Rob back with so much island ping-pong so we elected to do all our final Luganville jobs up front in order to start heading north up the east coast. One more full day of shopping, flight bookings, refuelling, banking, & updating our cruising permit & now we have commenced the final increment of our Vanuatu adventure. We will drop Rob in Petersen Bay on the way & then make our way up to the Banks Group where our check out port of Sola is located. The last few months have flown by so quickly its hard to grasp that we will be leaving for another country soon. With any luck the weather will behave & allow us some kick back time but I am already realising that microscopic pockets of relaxation are hard to come by with the ever changing nature of the ocean & weather.
Sailing Adventures on Paws 
wow, the last months certainly have flown! And while taking it easy you have still fitted in alot! Going along to the chief selection ceremony sounds like such an honour – despite the pigs distress.
Cant believe you will be heading to another country soon! x beautiful writing as always