Return to L’Ils des Pin

November 21, 2009
Russ’ game of chicken at the pro international championships; Amedee light house; Anchor in Baie de Kuto, then hike to Pic N’Ga

Russ’ game of chicken at the pro international championships

Zulu is ready for the first return leg to the Isle of Pines, which will be the jump-off point for NZ. We have made our last purchases from the colourful morning market: mahi mahi, white tuna (Thon blanc), cilantro, lyches, potatoes, tender lettuce, and a papaya. And I cannot miss La Boulangeri Vieux France, where I resist the Napoleons and get 4 Baguettes l’Compagne and some croissants. Melting moments for our passage. Vive La France!!!

Russ’ potato aux gratin he made all by himself sits on top of the gimbaled stove in a Pyrex dish. We weigh anchor and motor out from Le Baie de Olephant. POW!!!! CRASH!! The Pyrex dish flies off the stove top and hits the floor sending parmesan and butter milk into a spray en par with hotspot waves.

A large portion of the sliced potatoes land on Russ’ ‘not-too-fresh’ deck shoes. I hurriedly scoop it up and put it back into the Pyrex dish and clean up. Fun in the sun!

The Teri Kite Surf Pro International Championships is on at Pointe Magnin Hotspot. The world water sport competition is in progress: para sailing, wind surfing, hoby catting.

The Spanish, Dutch, NZ, Australians, British, Germans, Brazilians are here to take on the French to win titles in freestyle, waves, long distance, and longest flight events. The French are crazed when it comes to the water. They take it on in the fall and with hair-raising speed. The winds in the lagoon are 15-to-20 knots steady. It must be old fromage at work.

Another crazed sailor with old fromage at work is Zulu’s captain.

“Russ, we’re in the middle of the para sailing and wind surfing race course!” And you’re playing a game of chicken with the fearless specs on the seas!”

No response. The chicken game is at hand. The purple and silver and red and silver windsurfer sails careen past our bow—hair breadths away. Oh no!! The para sailors don’t have that kind of control. HELP!

“Please, please change course!!” I beg you. No reply from Mr. passive aggressor. The helicopter is flying overhead. I’m waiting for reprimand over the radio and for Russ to respond in his calm and ‘not-so-cool’ way ‘Je comprend pas—I don’t understand.

“I only speak American!” he says as the Yankee flag blows in the 20-knot wind.

Where is the brown bag for my head? But the helicopter turns and flies away. Russ wins the game of chicken with them too.

The white capped waters (when are they not white capped in New Caledonia) are peppered with humans hanging onto bright sails, screaming across the waters with Zulu at large.

“Coming about!!” His majesty advises. I cross my heart. Yay! Thank you Lord.

We’ll tack away and free ourselves from chicken games for grownups.

Amedee light house

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“To Amedee.” Russ says as he looks ahead through the reef riddled waters.

“Hmmmmm I thought we were going to Baie Pui—short of the Woodyn Canal so you can scrub the hull?” That was what I understood our course to be.

“You wanted to see the lighthouse—we can spend the night there.” He says in pseudo thoughtful way.

Procrastinate another day. What the heck. We’re cruisers. Throw in another book to read in between land falls!

The lagoon of New Caledonia is approximately 24,000 square kilometers with 1,600 KM of coral reef. WOW!!!!! It is the largest lagoon in the world and shallow—about 40 to 70 ft and riddled with reefs. The waters shimmer turquoise—what else? It is a windy paradise. There are jewels amongst jewels in this lagoon and one could spend a long, long time here. I wish! How on earth did we do it 30 years ago with just paper charts and a sextant?

Small sand banks raise their perfect creamy white sandy heads and the reefs have their signature fringe of lace-like white breaking waves and the serious wake-up call of the colour yellow or beige or brown.

The French mark the reefs well—and we peel our eyes for these markers.

On a perfectly beautiful pearly white sand fringed island stands a lighthouse called Amedee. It is not the typical squatty structure with a red or green roof. Rather this lighthouse is an architectural art piece, slender, sleek, and very tall. It is 400 meters long and 56 meters wide with 247 sturdy cast iron steps. The lighthouse marks the Boulari passage out the lagoon to sea—one of three passages.

The lighthouse is fitting for this paradise. Who else could have designed it, but Monsieur Eiffel of the Eiffel Tower in Paris( M. Rigolet, from Butte Chaumont built it).

The lighthouse was designed to fit in with the milieu. The white pearl sands, the turquoise waters, the creamy breaking waves on the reefs, the blue skies.

A clause in the contract stated that it was to be assembled in the builder’s workshop and erected in Paris, where it stood for two years. Then all 1,265 pieces were disassembled, shipped to New Caledonia, and erected on Amedee island on November of 1865. Bon, voila, c’est vraiment manifique.

As we approach the island we don’t see or know there are moorings to be had. I wanted to walk the lighthouse staircase to the top. The 20-knot winds, though, are inhibiting and without obvious shelter we instead tack and head in the direction of Baie Pui—17 miles away. It is late in the afternoon when colour in contrast is brightest.

I look to our port side and notice how close we are to the ominous reef. We have to tack soon!! Then I notice the mother of all Rasta knots in the headsail sheet around the winch. Eight wraps with the sheet tail bound by all. Oh and top it off with some cross turban-like wraps. This is interesting I surmise. How are we going to come about? A warm sense of panic starts to well up from the pit of my tummy.

“Hey this could be dangerous!” Mr. Cool Cat chicken game player at last acknowledges danger. What a novelty.

“Put the engine on!” He bawls. “Come into the wind!!!” He yells.

“OK, sure we’ll hit it head on rather than broadside.” I think out way loud. I have my trail mix in the grab bag. It will last awhile.

“I might have to cut this thing!” Mr. chicken game player says as he wrestles with the Rasta knot.

“It’s coming loose—he’s unwrapping it amidst wild sail flopping and yes red light engine alarm!! The engine is overheating.

“Switch the engine off!!!!” I can’t help but hear the Bligh bawl.

“Come again? Yes siree! Engine is off avec smoke all around.” I think out loud. Adrenalin is overpowering angst.

“Come about!!!!” Is that the captain calling?

“Ah gee I was looking forward to trail mix on the reefs!” My brain is on fire.

“Coming about.” I say and Zulu responds.

Black clouds ahead. A squall. The wind is up. Push Zulu over. Rain. The skies are metallic. 17 miles to go and the sun is low.

Dodge the sand banks, dodge the Amedee reefs, and peel our eyes for markers. Tack! If we knew about the moorings at Amedee, we could be partaking in the Mary D’s tourist sunset buffet and watching Kanak natives dance with white painted faces and long yellow straw head dresses.

Now though, Amedee is becoming a dot on the horizon. Ahead the squalls block out the main New Caledonia island.

“Look ahead!” I call out. The highest rainbow arc ever. Perhaps Eiffel was in his design moment as we speak. How breathtakingly beautiful. Indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, red. The base of the arc is brightly coloured, but high above the squall clouds are overshadowing the colours.

Hold on rainbow. You are my signal for hope, for endurance, for lifting my spirits, for the pot of gold in an anchor dropped safely at bay. Look behind Zulu. The sun is setting on the horizon. With it comes the longest green flash I’ve yet seen. As the blaze of green subsides the rainbow colours disappear at our bow. The lights are out, and dusk soon turns to darkness.

But know Eiffel’s Amedee light flashes white and bright. It is telling us we’ve left dangers behind. Go forward into Baie du Pui in the night. You’ll be alright.

“I see the contours of the land. The folds that come down to the water on either side to form the bay. I see the shore. The depth sounder is reading 50 ft, 40ft, 20ft.” I call the depths out to Russ up on the bow.

He drops the anchor, wet from the rainbow colours and the pot of gold. Our way was lit from Amedee's light against a blood orange sky. All is quiet. And I breathe deeply, steady again.

Lamb chops are on the grill.

“Would you like some potato gratin a la deck shoes?” I ask.

“Yes please!” The captain smiles unbeknown as to the truth of the matter.

Anchor in Baie de Kuto, then hike to Pic N’Ga

We are safe at anchor in Kuto bay. Russ caught a Spanish mackerel on the last leg down to Isle of Pines. This size mackerel could carry the dreaded ‘siga tera’ (sp) poison. I politely refuse to eat any.

The bay is graced with the 786 ft Pic N’Ga as background. We are bathed under gray skies. They hide the turquoise and powder white colours in contrast of bay and beach. The peak calls to us. We can afford the tiny test of lung capacity and views that inspire, however muted the blues and greens are and get ready to hike the trail.

We walk across to Baie du Kanumera, called smiling bay. It is a swimming and snorkeling gem edged with scrawny Araucaria pines. You can almost walk to the mushroom-shaped Kanumera rock at low tide, but climbing it is not allowed since already erosion is taking a toll.

We walk through an old grove of windblown trees (do not know what kind) that form the most beautiful canopy to reach the trail that leads to Pic N’Ga. I go ahead of Russ, my Tevas taking a beating. It is invigorating. I turn around every now and then to take in the tranquil views of bays and distant islands at various levels.

We reach the ‘summit’ (quell summit) and rest awhile eating dates and almonds and drinking water. A treat of a few lychees top it off. Then down we go in time to drink in the last sunset over Ile Bayonnaise from Kuto bay.

Want to take a hike with us?



Russ showing off the Spanish Mackerel he caught the last leg of the sail to Isle of Pines. This size fish could carry the dreaded siga tera poison. I politely refuse to eat any.


Kuto bay, Isle of Pines with 786 ft Pic N’Ga in the background.


Clouds gather over Kuto bay: they hide the turquoise and powder white colours in contrast of bay and beach.


Baie du Kanumera, called smiling bay is a swimming and snorkeling gem. See the scrawny Araucaria pines.


You can almost walk to Kanumera rock at low tide, but climbing it is not allowed so that it can be preserved.


Walk through an old grove of windblown trees (do not know what kind) to reach the trail that leads to Pic N’Ga.


Russ taking a first breather to look at Kuto bay, where Zulu is anchored, from the trail to the top of Pic N’Ga.



Marilyn holding onto the post of a cross, one level below ‘summit’ of the great 786 ft Pic N’Ga.


A view of Ile Aventure from the hiking trail unfortunately doused in gray. The brilliant of blues and green are hidden.


Our last sunset over Ile Bayonnaise from Kuto bay.