Passage to New Caledonia

October 29, 2009


Leaving Fiji

“Waitui Marina, Waitui Marina this is the SV Zulu calling Aseri. Over.” I call on the VHF.

“This is Waitui Marina, Aseri speaking. Over.” His polite voice comes over the air.

“Aseri we are ready to leave. Can you be so kind as to assist with untying the mooring line?”

“I will be out in a few minutes.” Waitui Marina back to 16.

Aseri wasn’t planing full steam ahead in the dinghy with his Colgate smile. He was standing up and rowing partly backwards with one oar.

“Where is your engine?” I call out to him.

“In for service.” His big smile breaks out as he replies and he rows forward in semi-circles to the right and then to the left as he changes the oar from side to side.

At last he makes it to the mooring and unties us. Zulu is free with engine in idle.

“Hard to starboard and take Zulu out.” El Capitan calls back to me. “Yes milord. As you speak.” I tease and turn the wheel hard to starboard and out she goes.

“Vendraka! Goodbye.” We wave at Aseri. “We’ll be back next year.” We call back to him. His slender figure recedes as Zulu moves forward. And he waves goodbye.

The sun shines. We motor out, around the corner to where a tidy resort is nestled in the palms on the point at Lesiaseva. Beyond are a few motus with yellow rings of beach and the faintest ring of turquoise water. A yacht is anchored off the resort. I’d like to come back here I think.

Round the marker that shows Point Reef. Hoist the sails. Head for Koro Island where we think we might anchor the night, even though we’ve cleared to leave Fiji. We don’t want to thread our way through any reefs at night.

“We’ll never make Koro Island by close of day I estimate. We’ll have to grit our teeth and bank on Maxsea electronic charts to get us safely through the Koro Sea.” I think out loud.

Out on the horizon there is a sailing boat—so beautiful to watch. It is a moving cut out in a sunset sky. We’re headed toward Namena Barrier Reef. We won’t clear the point or make it around Koro Island’s south side by sun set.

Tack. Point in the direction of Nanuka passage. The wind dies. On with the motor. Tack. Motor down the west side of Koro Island. Tack north. Tack. Sail down the north side of Nairau, Ngau. Tack. Tack again and stay on course through the Koro Sea, past the Great Astralabe Reef. Past Kadavu Island to the tip where a tall volcano stands, with its top flattened, guarding the SE point of Fiji.

Sail west into the sunset on a course 240 degrees magnetic for New Caledonia. The moon will follow me.

“I feel I have left a country of about 332 islands behind that I barely touched. I can only sail on visualizing in my mind’s eye: island groups that rise from platforms in the submerged mountain chain of the Continental Shelf. The western platforms of Viti Levu, Vanua Levu, and the Yasawa and Lomaitivi groups. The eastern Lau Group of about 80 islands. For now these are just ‘exotic’ names that tickle my yearning for touching these island shores with time.

For now I conjure up feelings of tropical rain forests; fields of sugar cane; thin, tall palms; large rivers; the British and Colonial influence—gin and tonic, missionaries, indentured Indian labour; the coups of 1987 and 1997, where Fijians took back the Government from Indo-Fijians; exiting Indo-Fijians as a result.

I visualize the reputation of cannibalism of long ago; first European sighting of the islands by Abel Tasman, the Dutchman; the missionaries, whalers, traders, deserters--human beings playing off one another.

I wonder how through all the history these Melanesian-Polynesian Fijians can still smile their gapped tooth happy smiles and call out Bula to passing strangers. And how the Indo-Fijians hang on tenaciously to their inherent nature to succeed. And how the Europeans still feel they rise above it all. Like the face of the Queen on the Fijian dollars.

I sail away visualizing the hard efforts of the vendors selling peanuts and peas; the labourers in the sugar cane fields; the nimble hands at work manufacturing garments and textiles and foot ware; the farmers producing fruit, vegetables, rice, coco, kava, tobacco; the fishermen; teachers; and doctors; the Bollywood student dancers and the little girl in the white tights and sparkling yellow top jumping up and down endlessly to the music under coloured lantern light that Copra Shed garden night. She will be crowned Queen some day in her own way.