The Voyage of Yacht Zulu: Anchorage Islet, Suwarrow

September 18, 2009
Checking in, A walk around the islet, Surprise the terns, The windward side, Cut back across to the leeward side

Checking in

Coffee. The last of the Tahitian blend. Good, with hot soya milk and a sprinkle of cinnamon and nutmeg. A light breakfast. Dinghy ashore to formally check in.

Dinghy ashore to formally check in.

John is raking leaves and Veronica sits on the airy verandah of the Suwarrow Yacht Club. Flags flutter from the ceiling. A breeze blows and the view from the verandah through the palms of the gorgeous water breaking over coral onto a white sand beach spells paradise. On the table is a guitar.

“What is the time?” Veronica asks me to take a look at the clock. I think perhaps we have come too early. Then I look up and see the clock has no hands on it. We begin our check in process with laughter and in timely or timeless fashion.

Veronica hands us the rules to read, keeping in mind that Suwarrow is a National Park. These ‘rules’ go into more detail than those posted on the board at the head of the pathway that leads up to the club from the hand built coral ‘wharf’. No spear fishing, collecting of crustaceans, upsetting nesting birds or turtles, dumping rubbish etc. etc.

Russ takes leave to go for a tour with John, leaving me to check in.

Assuming we have digested the essence of the rules, Veronica continues to fill in our passport and last port of call information without a trace of officiousness. She has me sign on the line marked Skipper. When I point out that Russ is the skipper, she says that’s OK and hands me the pen smiling. Captain, mate, all the same. US$50 is the fee, which allows us a two-week stay. Check in is finished. How simple can that be? She has to be the friendliest administrator in the South Seas.

What a breath of fresh air! Give me the Cook Islanders any day over the red-tape-convoluted-illogical Mexican process or the sometime arrogant, downright rude and pompous French Polynesian official’s attitude with a giddying process that is exhausting . Smiles don’t cost much. They’re free.

We are free to go now and enjoy our visit here.

Suwarrow Yacht Club on Anchorage Islet.

Veronica asks me to tell her the time, then points to the clock. No hands! Laughter!

Veronica checks us into Suwarrow, the friendliest administrator in the South Seas.

While I check in, John takes Russ for a tour?

Walk around the islet

We start our walk around Anchorage islet on the leeward side, along the white sand beach that is a median between thick coconut palm groves and reef. Wind and weakened root systems cause some palm trees to lean out over the water, adding character to perfection.

It is HOT. Find shade. Russ climbs a coconut tree and twists off a green one. Cut the top off with his Mexican knife. Drink long, refreshing gulps of nectar from the gods. Linger in the shade. Rest our still wobbly sea legs!

We laugh about the time many years ago when Russ had climbed a coconut tree in the Tuamotus, French Polynesia and disturbed a nest of wasps. He played fireman sliding down that tree as about 7 wasps stung him sending him running for the sea! Coconuts falling out his bag on the way.

Now, refreshed from the drinking nut he casually walks out over the reefs, to the edge, to where Zulu lies at anchor in the royal blue waters of this national park. Time has turned full circle it seems.

Wind and a weakened root system pushes a palm tree out over the water, adding character to perfection.

Another palm reaches out over waters blue.

It is HOT! Russ climbs a coconut tree in search of a thirst quencher.

Cool, clear, green coconut milk: oooh aaah.

Russ wades out gingerly across the reefs, to the edge, to look at Zulu at anchor in the royal blue waters of this national park.

Surprise the terns

Walk on. Whishhhh. We surprise some Terns that flew their nests in gusto making shrill calling sounds. I camouflage myself in the trees and wait very quietly for a chance to catch them in flight on film. How absolutely beautiful. Fairy-like. Delicate. Strong.

I understood Veronica to say that these are called Fairy Terns. However, in looking Terns up in Peter Harrison’s Seabirds, An Identification Guide-- Fairy Terns are confined to the Australasian region and have a triangular spot before the eye, and the crown and nape are black.

Whereas, white Terns are found throughout the tropical oceans--which would include Suwarrow--and adults have big black eyes like these do. Juveniles have a black spot behind the eye and a brownish mottling over the nape. I will later come across some when Veronica and John take us to see the nesting birds on a distant motu or islet.

Whatever the proper name of these birds are I’ll just call them Fairy Terns, because they are so delicate, so light in flight, like dancers with wings cut out from the pure blue skies.

I get dizzy turning in circles to capture the birds in flight from their green tree branch perches; flying high in the sky; some as if frozen in flight like a paper background; fairy-like, delicate dancers with wings; big black eyes, tucked in legs, tails like fans, wings with great span. Absolute perfection.

Wshhhh. We surprise some Fairy Terns that flew their perches in gusto.

White bird flying in the sky so high…..I hear the Blackbird song.

As if frozen in flight a tern becomes background to the branches of a tree.

Fairy-like, delicate, dancer with wings.

Almost got that wing tip, but just missed it! See the big black eyes?

The windward side

Walk on until the wind picks up on the windward side and the seas crash loudly on the reefs. See the pass we came through. Russ is far ahead of me because I have lingered with the birds a long time, but not long enough. He waits for me to catch up.

Russ waits for me to catch up on the windward side of Anchorage islet.

Behind me is the pass or passage we sailed through the reefs.

“Let’s find the shortcut through John’s place to the other side. We need to get back to Zulu.” Russ says.

He finds the shortcut, but I can’t bear to leave the windward shore. There is a hammock strung between two palms, a seat set on a mound of coral. I linger and seek expression through the eye of my camera lense. See the hardy plants pushed up through the coral, the palms swaying. Listen to the rustling sound, the waves breaking, listen. See the passage through the reefs. Out beyond the great force of the Pacific moves ever west and the Trade winds blow steady. For now, I am safe in the arms of the seashore.

I think of the poem by the mid thirteenth century philosopher, scholar, and poet-- Jelaluddin Rumi—born in Balkh, which is now Afghanistan, and who lived most of his life in Konya, Turkey:

Don’t wait any longer.
Dive in the ocean
Leave and let the sea be you
Silent, absent, walking an empty road
All praise.

A hammock on the windward side of the islet calls for me to tarry.

A hardy plant pushes up through the coral with time.

Palms sway in the cool breeze. I listen to the fronds rustling.

Another view of the pass through the reefs of Suwarrow. For now I am safe in the arms of the seashore.

Cut back across to the leeward side

Slowly, I cut across the islet through John and Veronica’s garden, past the ‘yacht club’, past Tom Neale’s house and the statue put up in his honor. To the other side in five minutes to find Russ sunk deep in another hammock looking out at Zulu safe at anchor in the lee.

This completes our check in to Suwarrow. And the windows to its past and present begin to open: of discoverers, ship wrecks, treasures, pearls, opportunists, and men of solitude; and of its natural beauty, extraordinary marine and bird life, pastel brush strokes of cruising yachts at anchor in the pristine waters by day, and the unfolding of sailors’ experiences around the fireside at night.

How fortunate we are to be here. How privileged.