June 19, 2009
Inherit the Wind; Valley at the foot of Daniel’s bay; Walk the King’s Highway to Hakaui falls; Saturday market on the quay: eve before departure
Note: Chronological order for reading last three posts should be: French Polynesia; Nuka Hiva, Marquesas; Daniel's Bay. Apologize for posting out of order.
Daniel’s (Taio) Bay: Lat 08 Degrees.56’ S; Long140 Degrees.09’W
“Hey! A wahoo is on the line!!” Russ yells. “Pull it in with the net!”
NOT! I think he wants me to become one with the fish. It is HUGE. We have no gaff, our freeboard is high, the magnificent fish is fighting, and you want me to just swoop it up with the net? Sorry matey.
“Oh no!!! It got away!!!” Russ exclaims.
Go noble fish I think. You are free. Please lord make the hook disappear.
We sail on into Daniel’s bay June 19. The entrance is narrow. Inch in through the dog leg opening –- a circular bay, Taio Baie—mirror still. Drop the anchor. We are surrounded on one side by unsurpassable cliffs or mountains, and on the other side by burnt dry hills. Steep, verdant, folding volcanic cliffs drop into the sea. Shangri-La. A cave up high in the rock face has goats in it.
There is only one other boat in the bay.
The entrance to Daniel’s bay is narrow.
Steep, verdant, folding volcanic cliffs drop into the sea.
Dry brush hills frame the opposite side of the bay in contrast.
Inherit the Wind
“Hey, that is Inherit the Wind.” Russ says.
The French Canadian boat ‘Inherit the Wind’ at anchor in Daniel’s bay after nearly sinking crossing from Costa Rico.
It is the boat we heard about on the Pacific Seafarer’s net when crossing from Mexico. It was blown off shore in Costa Rican waters during a Chubasco (strong wind). They started taking on water seriously. Sylvan from Eastern Canada was the captain. He had a young Irishman as crew on board. This was the Irishman's first sailing crossing.
We row toward Inherit the Wind and Sylvan appears through the hatch. We tell him we heard about his ordeal and his phone patch to his daughter on the HAM radio.
“You want to come on board?” he asks in his French Canadian accent.
“No thank you, we are headed for the foot of the bay.” I say. “Just want to make sure you are OK”.
Sylvan quotes some verse from the Bible. “Have no fear, for God is with you.” And proceeds to briefly fill us in on his current state of affairs.
“I arrived in Nuka Hiva still taking on water after a 58-day crossing from Costa Rica where the kid, Brian the Irishman, and I had to pump the bilges every ten minutesto keep the boat from sinking. I brought the boat now to Daniel’s bay because it is calm here and the timbers are less inclined to ‘work'.
I cannot believe it. I am here. And a boat pulls in flying a Canadian flag. They are French Canadians and when they find out my predicament, they bring wood and all the tools and other things to help support the hull planking. Now this boat is hardly leaking!” He exclaims in his French Canadian accent.
He smiles in disbelief. It is a winning smile. His saga seemingly ended for the time being, yet still tenuous I am sure. He plans to sail to Manihi in the Tuamotus and haul the boat out for proper repair.
“Where is the Irishman?” I ask.
“He jump ship as soon as we arrive.” Sylvan laughs.
(Later, back in Nuka Hiva we invited Sylvan aboard Zulu, with Adam off Sea Wolf whom we knew in Mexico. Sylvan then gave us the in-depth story of the chemistry between him and the Irishman in trying to keep that boat afloat, how a tanker diverted from its course to give them food supplies, and how they lost one of these barrels of food and propane in the transfer process. Adam is a boat builder by trade and would further advise and help Sylvan so that he could make it safely to the Tuamotus. We heard Sylvan was sighted in Manihi, had fixed his boat, and was setting sail nonstop to Vanuatu. A long, long way away.
Much later, news reached us in New Zealand that Inherit the Wind sank in the waters off Tonga. Sylvan did not have a life raft. He pumped his dinghy up on board, lowered it into the ocean, stepped into it with his dog and EPIRB, and watched his boat sink. The Tongans responded to the EPIRB signal and picked him up. Such finality.)
Valley at the foot of Daniel’s bay
We motor away from Inherit the Wind to the foot of the bay where there is a beautiful valley edged with a crescent white beach and a palm grove. A pencil line of turquoise water rings the verdant cliffs as they cut in. Otherwise the water is milky green, warm, inviting; but for the sharks and giant sting rays. Courage still lacks so I swim only the beach line, where small black tip sharks come in as close as can be. I cannot believe it is here they filmed the silly show called Survivor.
Russ goes on his own discovery walk about up a stream and finds crabs and scopes different paths out. He asks a Marquesan man how we get around to the village and he points the way. He tells us that this is his Valley now. Daniel and his house had been moved to the other side when they came to film Survivor. They paid for a new house for him and his wife. He now has passed away. Sadly.
Russ’ trophy crab from his walkabout up the creek.
A horse grazes at the foot of Daniel’s bay where Survivor was filmed.
Russ rests in the dinghy on the beach contemplating the story of Daniel’s bay. Many a yachtsman spoke of Daniel. How kind and giving he was. His spirit will never go away. He will never be forgotten. The bay is his namesake.
Russ resting in the dinghy contemplating Daniel’s bay.
Back on Zulu we see Sylvan sitting alone with his little dog, listening to music. He is very lean with long sandy brown hair that blows in the breeze, and a beard. It is a touching picture of survival: he and his little dog aboard Inherit the Wind. A story that will continue with interest I am sure.
Walk the King’s Highway to Hakaui falls
We walk the 5-hour roundtrip along the Kings Highway to Hakaui Falls, the highest waterfall in the Pacific Islands and among the highest in the world? We walk on rocks around the point of the bay, past a small gravesite ringed with bougainvillea, through the village houses, across the river to a “road.”
The “road” is a two-track path really. Past well-kept lawns with tropical flowers and fruit trees, past tethered horses, past an open-sided church with beautiful flower arrangements. Lime trees, star fruit trees, pampelmouse trees, papaya trees, banana trees. Fruit for the world! Palm trees reaching to the sky.
The village main road that leads to the 5-hour hike along the ‘Kings Highway’ to the falls.
Russ stops to watch a tethered horse by the river.
Palms reaching to the skies.
We ask a Marquesan woman for directions. She points the way and asks if we want to buy some fruit. Oui I say, when we come back. Her name is Monette. She tells us that she arranges the flowers in the open-sided Catholic church.
On we go, past miniature houses in the most stunning of settings, past horses grazing, past roosters on the pathway. Cross the river again. Carefully find a footing on the rocky river floor, water rushing. Find balance. See the waterfall: a ribbon streaming from the heavens above.
Across the muddy rippling river a third time—below tree canopies—falling yellow beach hibiscus, bird calls, rock walls, carved stones, Tikis hidden in the ferns, a huge ancient fire pit in a place for ceremony. Trees with hollow trunks.
Close up of the wall construction.
Papa trees have hollow trunks.
Across the river for a fourth time! This time holding onto a long pole as we cross the shallow, but fast flowing waters. Follow the cairns through the ferns on the rocky path on the stream bed. The rock faces are sheer, taller than tall and lean inward—weeping streams drop down the rock faces, pools of chalk-green water collect at the base, cold. I enter the pool. It is a place of reflection, my baptism in nature so much greater than I. Fresh water crayfish swim around me. Little field mice scurry through the ground cover. Solitude. Worship the sounds of silence. Tarry awhile.
Retrace our steps. 5 hours later we see Monette. She waves us over to her little Shangri-La house to give us sweet bananas and to sell us some pampelmouse. She is muddy from gardening and I am muddy from hiking the Kings Highway. She firmly packs the fruit into our backpack like our mom.
We wave goodbye with big smiles. We wave at her husband and son on top of the roof doing repairs.
"Goodnight." They call. Smile. Goodnight in the day light.
Saturday market on the quay: eve before departure
Tuesday, June 23. 4:00 AM Saturday morning. Back in Taioha’e bay. We jump from our bunks into the dinghy and motor to the quay. Thread our way between the dinghies that are tied up to reach the iron ladder, perpendicular to the wall, the height of which lengthens and shortens with the tide. It is dark.
Fishermen are busy cleaning, cutting, and showing their catch on tables around the quay. In the newly-opened market place people sell their fruit and vegetables. All are VERY EXPENSIVE! $14 for a small melon. $1 for one orange. $6 for a dozen eggs. $2.50 for one pampelmouse. $6 for a very small bag of tomatoes. I am talking US dollars.
Some of the ladies have crowns of flowers on their heads and are putting clusters of bougainvillea on the tables. There is hot coffee and Milo for sale. A French baker and his beautiful Polynesian wife sell croissants, quiche, Napoleons, chocolate éclairs, glazed fruit to perfection in pastry shells.
A Napoleon is really a ‘Mille Feuille chocolat’, which is custard between three thin flakey pastry layers. The top pastry layer is covered with a sweet glace dribbled with chocolate. It is my absolute favourite. A little girl comes up to the table and points to a Napoleon. The baker gives it to her. She holds her small hand out and pays the equivalent of $4.00 without blinking an eyelid. Away she goes taking bites out of it as she walks. Custard oozing, squishy.
A Napoleon or Mille Fieulle. Picture taken in New Caledonia FYI here.
We finish our shopping to last for the next 700 miles of our journey to Tahiti: long green Thai beans, lettuce, tomatoes, papayas, pineapples, pampelmouse, fish, croissants, quiche, apple tarts. We leave the new market and go to an older quaint eating place on the Quay for a coffee and Milo, and munch on a warm, crispy croissant. There is a quiet sense of calm as people welcome the day. Two men strum a guitar and ukulele. Fishermen converse and laugh and sip their steaming hot drinks. Their workday has already ended.
There is music coming from across the Quay. It is the weekend of the music festival. Dawn has not yet come, and the DJ plays his songs: French, Polynesian, English. A little boy in an open truck takes bites out of his glazed cherry tart from the French baker. People take coolers out of a 4X4 truck. They sell wrapped meals-–a kind of snail with rice. I’ll pass. In no time they are sold out. It must be a delicacy.
The cool set in camouflage jackets and head wraps sit down to listen to the music. I stand by the speakers and sway slowly in time to the beat. The waves gently break. Dawn breaks. Another day in Nuka Hiva.
I sit and look out across the bay and contemplate our stay. This is our last day here. There have been informal sundowners with yachties on the Quay, crepes from Nadia’s crepery under the big Tiara tree, hikes across the saddles of mountains to other bays, dance and music evenings in the hall, witness to the French high commissioner’s visit, a sail into Daniel’s bay and a 5-hour hike along the Kings Highway to French Polynesia’s highest falls, chats with the local French over a Hinano or two: travelers who have arrived and stayed years on this stunningly beautiful Marquesan island. And all the other travelers we have met who have had to just tarry awhile and then sail on into the sunset, as we will have to do.
We will remember Andy and Jane off Drimea, who welcomed us as we straggled in from Mexico; Sylvan off Inherit the Wind, who took 58 days to arrive from Costa Rica having to continuously pump his bilge as he took on water, and his boat’s final demise in Tongan waters; Adam off Sea Wolf, who sailed 45 days from Mexico alone, and now looks forward to his wife Jessica and little sweetheart girl Lulu arriving; Keith and Ann off of Ketchup 2 from Australia; Taja and Joha off Libertas from Finland; Marion and James off Balu from northern Ireland, Hans and Erica from Seattle off Babalu: all 21st century cruisers from all walks of life who came together with the common bond of sailing the Pacific to reach Les Isles Marquises and islands further south and west. Dreams come true. We will especially remember the Marquesan people: their pride, their hospitality, their joie de vie, their beauty, their stature, their culture.
Time has a way of slipping by: since Alvaro de Mendana ‘discovered’ the Marquesas Islands in 1595; since Captain James Cook came to take sights on Venus; since the whalers and the 1862 slave ships wrought havoc; since Herman Melville jumped ship; since the missionaries arrived with their messages of faith; since the protectorate French arrived.
Time as slipped by for us as well. All is stowed away on Zulu. There is the sound of waves breaking on the shore. At last Taioha’e Bay is quiet and the gusts of wind that funnel down the high walled mountains have abated as if ending the stories of yesteryear. The Trade Winds have intensified. At last the sun is setting with relief from searing heat. There is the sound of practice drums in the distance. It is the eve before we depart and we never really did ‘discover’ the island.
Inherit the Wind; Valley at the foot of Daniel’s bay; Walk the King’s Highway to Hakaui falls; Saturday market on the quay: eve before departure
Note: Chronological order for reading last three posts should be: French Polynesia; Nuka Hiva, Marquesas; Daniel's Bay. Apologize for posting out of order.
Daniel’s (Taio) Bay: Lat 08 Degrees.56’ S; Long140 Degrees.09’W
“Hey! A wahoo is on the line!!” Russ yells. “Pull it in with the net!”
NOT! I think he wants me to become one with the fish. It is HUGE. We have no gaff, our freeboard is high, the magnificent fish is fighting, and you want me to just swoop it up with the net? Sorry matey.
“Oh no!!! It got away!!!” Russ exclaims.
Go noble fish I think. You are free. Please lord make the hook disappear.
We sail on into Daniel’s bay June 19. The entrance is narrow. Inch in through the dog leg opening –- a circular bay, Taio Baie—mirror still. Drop the anchor. We are surrounded on one side by unsurpassable cliffs or mountains, and on the other side by burnt dry hills. Steep, verdant, folding volcanic cliffs drop into the sea. Shangri-La. A cave up high in the rock face has goats in it.
There is only one other boat in the bay.
The entrance to Daniel’s bay is narrow.
Steep, verdant, folding volcanic cliffs drop into the sea.
Dry brush hills frame the opposite side of the bay in contrast.
Inherit the Wind
“Hey, that is Inherit the Wind.” Russ says.
The French Canadian boat ‘Inherit the Wind’ at anchor in Daniel’s bay after nearly sinking crossing from Costa Rico.
It is the boat we heard about on the Pacific Seafarer’s net when crossing from Mexico. It was blown off shore in Costa Rican waters during a Chubasco (strong wind). They started taking on water seriously. Sylvan from Eastern Canada was the captain. He had a young Irishman as crew on board. This was the Irishman's first sailing crossing.
We row toward Inherit the Wind and Sylvan appears through the hatch. We tell him we heard about his ordeal and his phone patch to his daughter on the HAM radio.
“You want to come on board?” he asks in his French Canadian accent.
“No thank you, we are headed for the foot of the bay.” I say. “Just want to make sure you are OK”.
Sylvan quotes some verse from the Bible. “Have no fear, for God is with you.” And proceeds to briefly fill us in on his current state of affairs.
“I arrived in Nuka Hiva still taking on water after a 58-day crossing from Costa Rica where the kid, Brian the Irishman, and I had to pump the bilges every ten minutesto keep the boat from sinking. I brought the boat now to Daniel’s bay because it is calm here and the timbers are less inclined to ‘work'.
I cannot believe it. I am here. And a boat pulls in flying a Canadian flag. They are French Canadians and when they find out my predicament, they bring wood and all the tools and other things to help support the hull planking. Now this boat is hardly leaking!” He exclaims in his French Canadian accent.
He smiles in disbelief. It is a winning smile. His saga seemingly ended for the time being, yet still tenuous I am sure. He plans to sail to Manihi in the Tuamotus and haul the boat out for proper repair.
“Where is the Irishman?” I ask.
“He jump ship as soon as we arrive.” Sylvan laughs.
(Later, back in Nuka Hiva we invited Sylvan aboard Zulu, with Adam off Sea Wolf whom we knew in Mexico. Sylvan then gave us the in-depth story of the chemistry between him and the Irishman in trying to keep that boat afloat, how a tanker diverted from its course to give them food supplies, and how they lost one of these barrels of food and propane in the transfer process. Adam is a boat builder by trade and would further advise and help Sylvan so that he could make it safely to the Tuamotus. We heard Sylvan was sighted in Manihi, had fixed his boat, and was setting sail nonstop to Vanuatu. A long, long way away.
Much later, news reached us in New Zealand that Inherit the Wind sank in the waters off Tonga. Sylvan did not have a life raft. He pumped his dinghy up on board, lowered it into the ocean, stepped into it with his dog and EPIRB, and watched his boat sink. The Tongans responded to the EPIRB signal and picked him up. Such finality.)
Valley at the foot of Daniel’s bay
We motor away from Inherit the Wind to the foot of the bay where there is a beautiful valley edged with a crescent white beach and a palm grove. A pencil line of turquoise water rings the verdant cliffs as they cut in. Otherwise the water is milky green, warm, inviting; but for the sharks and giant sting rays. Courage still lacks so I swim only the beach line, where small black tip sharks come in as close as can be. I cannot believe it is here they filmed the silly show called Survivor.
Russ goes on his own discovery walk about up a stream and finds crabs and scopes different paths out. He asks a Marquesan man how we get around to the village and he points the way. He tells us that this is his Valley now. Daniel and his house had been moved to the other side when they came to film Survivor. They paid for a new house for him and his wife. He now has passed away. Sadly.
Russ’ trophy crab from his walkabout up the creek.
A horse grazes at the foot of Daniel’s bay where Survivor was filmed.
Russ rests in the dinghy on the beach contemplating the story of Daniel’s bay. Many a yachtsman spoke of Daniel. How kind and giving he was. His spirit will never go away. He will never be forgotten. The bay is his namesake.
Russ resting in the dinghy contemplating Daniel’s bay.
Back on Zulu we see Sylvan sitting alone with his little dog, listening to music. He is very lean with long sandy brown hair that blows in the breeze, and a beard. It is a touching picture of survival: he and his little dog aboard Inherit the Wind. A story that will continue with interest I am sure.
Walk the King’s Highway to Hakaui falls
We walk the 5-hour roundtrip along the Kings Highway to Hakaui Falls, the highest waterfall in the Pacific Islands and among the highest in the world? We walk on rocks around the point of the bay, past a small gravesite ringed with bougainvillea, through the village houses, across the river to a “road.”
The “road” is a two-track path really. Past well-kept lawns with tropical flowers and fruit trees, past tethered horses, past an open-sided church with beautiful flower arrangements. Lime trees, star fruit trees, pampelmouse trees, papaya trees, banana trees. Fruit for the world! Palm trees reaching to the sky.
The village main road that leads to the 5-hour hike along the ‘Kings Highway’ to the falls.
Russ stops to watch a tethered horse by the river.
We ask a Marquesan woman for directions. She points the way and asks if we want to buy some fruit. Oui I say, when we come back. Her name is Monette. She tells us that she arranges the flowers in the open-sided Catholic church.
An open air Catholic church. Monette arranges the flowers.
On we go, past miniature houses in the most stunning of settings, past horses grazing, past roosters on the pathway. Cross the river again. Carefully find a footing on the rocky river floor, water rushing. Find balance. See the waterfall: a ribbon streaming from the heavens above.
Sweet houses nestled in natural beauty.
The ribbon of Hakaui waterfall from a distance.
Across the muddy rippling river a third time—below tree canopies—falling yellow beach hibiscus, bird calls, rock walls, carved stones, Tikis hidden in the ferns, a huge ancient fire pit in a place for ceremony. Trees with hollow trunks.
A fallen Beach Hibiscus on the Kings Highway.
Every now and again you see a Tiki peeping out along the Highway.
Very old walls built along the Kings Highway.
A ceremonial fire pit.
Papa trees have hollow trunks.
Across the river for a fourth time! This time holding onto a long pole as we cross the shallow, but fast flowing waters. Follow the cairns through the ferns on the rocky path on the stream bed. The rock faces are sheer, taller than tall and lean inward—weeping streams drop down the rock faces, pools of chalk-green water collect at the base, cold. I enter the pool. It is a place of reflection, my baptism in nature so much greater than I. Fresh water crayfish swim around me. Little field mice scurry through the ground cover. Solitude. Worship the sounds of silence. Tarry awhile.
Sheer cliff faces frame the ribbon waterfall.
The cliff faces lean inward framing the skies.
Below the cool pool becomes a place of reflection, my baptism in nature so much greater than I. See my reflection in the water.
Russ ponders the beauty that surrounds him.
Retrace our steps. 5 hours later we see Monette. She waves us over to her little Shangri-La house to give us sweet bananas and to sell us some pampelmouse. She is muddy from gardening and I am muddy from hiking the Kings Highway. She firmly packs the fruit into our backpack like our mom.
Monette, muddy from gardening, has given us sweet bananas on our return.
We wave goodbye with big smiles. We wave at her husband and son on top of the roof doing repairs.
"Goodnight." They call. Smile. Goodnight in the day light.
Saturday market on the quay: eve before departure
Tuesday, June 23. 4:00 AM Saturday morning. Back in Taioha’e bay. We jump from our bunks into the dinghy and motor to the quay. Thread our way between the dinghies that are tied up to reach the iron ladder, perpendicular to the wall, the height of which lengthens and shortens with the tide. It is dark.
Fishermen are busy cleaning, cutting, and showing their catch on tables around the quay. In the newly-opened market place people sell their fruit and vegetables. All are VERY EXPENSIVE! $14 for a small melon. $1 for one orange. $6 for a dozen eggs. $2.50 for one pampelmouse. $6 for a very small bag of tomatoes. I am talking US dollars.
Heads and tails cut off, fish cleaned, fisherman are ready to sell their fresh catch.
Yellow fin tuna freshly caught and soon ready for somebody’s pan.
Some of the ladies have crowns of flowers on their heads and are putting clusters of bougainvillea on the tables. There is hot coffee and Milo for sale. A French baker and his beautiful Polynesian wife sell croissants, quiche, Napoleons, chocolate éclairs, glazed fruit to perfection in pastry shells.
A Napoleon is really a ‘Mille Feuille chocolat’, which is custard between three thin flakey pastry layers. The top pastry layer is covered with a sweet glace dribbled with chocolate. It is my absolute favourite. A little girl comes up to the table and points to a Napoleon. The baker gives it to her. She holds her small hand out and pays the equivalent of $4.00 without blinking an eyelid. Away she goes taking bites out of it as she walks. Custard oozing, squishy.
A Napoleon or Mille Fieulle. Picture taken in New Caledonia FYI here.
We finish our shopping to last for the next 700 miles of our journey to Tahiti: long green Thai beans, lettuce, tomatoes, papayas, pineapples, pampelmouse, fish, croissants, quiche, apple tarts. We leave the new market and go to an older quaint eating place on the Quay for a coffee and Milo, and munch on a warm, crispy croissant. There is a quiet sense of calm as people welcome the day. Two men strum a guitar and ukulele. Fishermen converse and laugh and sip their steaming hot drinks. Their workday has already ended.
There is music coming from across the Quay. It is the weekend of the music festival. Dawn has not yet come, and the DJ plays his songs: French, Polynesian, English. A little boy in an open truck takes bites out of his glazed cherry tart from the French baker. People take coolers out of a 4X4 truck. They sell wrapped meals-–a kind of snail with rice. I’ll pass. In no time they are sold out. It must be a delicacy.
The cool set in camouflage jackets and head wraps sit down to listen to the music. I stand by the speakers and sway slowly in time to the beat. The waves gently break. Dawn breaks. Another day in Nuka Hiva.
I sit and look out across the bay and contemplate our stay. This is our last day here. There have been informal sundowners with yachties on the Quay, crepes from Nadia’s crepery under the big Tiara tree, hikes across the saddles of mountains to other bays, dance and music evenings in the hall, witness to the French high commissioner’s visit, a sail into Daniel’s bay and a 5-hour hike along the Kings Highway to French Polynesia’s highest falls, chats with the local French over a Hinano or two: travelers who have arrived and stayed years on this stunningly beautiful Marquesan island. And all the other travelers we have met who have had to just tarry awhile and then sail on into the sunset, as we will have to do.
We will remember Andy and Jane off Drimea, who welcomed us as we straggled in from Mexico; Sylvan off Inherit the Wind, who took 58 days to arrive from Costa Rica having to continuously pump his bilge as he took on water, and his boat’s final demise in Tongan waters; Adam off Sea Wolf, who sailed 45 days from Mexico alone, and now looks forward to his wife Jessica and little sweetheart girl Lulu arriving; Keith and Ann off of Ketchup 2 from Australia; Taja and Joha off Libertas from Finland; Marion and James off Balu from northern Ireland, Hans and Erica from Seattle off Babalu: all 21st century cruisers from all walks of life who came together with the common bond of sailing the Pacific to reach Les Isles Marquises and islands further south and west. Dreams come true. We will especially remember the Marquesan people: their pride, their hospitality, their joie de vie, their beauty, their stature, their culture.
Time has a way of slipping by: since Alvaro de Mendana ‘discovered’ the Marquesas Islands in 1595; since Captain James Cook came to take sights on Venus; since the whalers and the 1862 slave ships wrought havoc; since Herman Melville jumped ship; since the missionaries arrived with their messages of faith; since the protectorate French arrived.
Time as slipped by for us as well. All is stowed away on Zulu. There is the sound of waves breaking on the shore. At last Taioha’e Bay is quiet and the gusts of wind that funnel down the high walled mountains have abated as if ending the stories of yesteryear. The Trade Winds have intensified. At last the sun is setting with relief from searing heat. There is the sound of practice drums in the distance. It is the eve before we depart and we never really did ‘discover’ the island.
.JPG)
.JPG)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment