The Voyage of Yacht Zulu: Kenutu

July 15, 2010

Dinghy to Kenutu

We read the Tongan charter company—Moorings—guide notes to Tonga for going to Vava’u’s eastern most island, Kenutu. It is supposed to be the most beautiful of all the Tongan Islands some say.

First you have to find the passage of Fanua Tapu by starting west of Lautala and steering 120 degrees magnetic for ¾ of a mile. Then you have to navigate through an S-shaped channel that is 12 ft at low tide, leaving a boats length away from markers that are no longer there.

Kenutu is difficult to approach. Avoid the reefs off the southern tip of Ofu—these dry at low tide—then line your stern up with the beach off southern Ofu and head for the southern tip of Kenutu or the gap between Kenutu and Lolo islands. Keep a sharp lookout for coral heads.

We did somewhat of a dry run from Tapana to find the Fanua Tapu passage with the dinghy and with the passage markers missing felt it looked a bit iffy. Then Russ got way points from SV Wind Pony and plotted them on the MaxSea electronic charts, which are a ¼ mile off in Tonga. We should have been prepared to go. The sun was even shining brightly and skies were blue.

“Hey Russ, I’ll give you the best back massage ever if we skip taking Zulu to Kenutu. Rather, let us take the dinghy and a picnic basket for a day trip. It is only just over three miles away.” I put this proposal to him in my most persuasive way. My rationale was that way we could have a no-hassle trip. No worries about smacking into coral heads or misjudging S-curves. I’d had my fill of the Seattle 405 S-curves for three years. I was through with them. We’d have a fun, carefree day in the sun.

Russ agreed. Wow! That was easy!! We will go tomorrow, Thursday. Leave Zulu anchored off the southern end of Tapana, where she had been anchored for the last 4 days holding on with chain might.

Thursday dawns absolutely picture perfect. I pack the gift of dried, sliced mangoes Russ’ sister—Bev—had given us; trail mix, macaroni salad with kidney beans and kalamate olives and sweet pickles; canned peaches; oatmeal cookies and cold water--a simple no-frills lunch. Put it all in the little cooler. Pack flippers and snorkel in case the reefs call out to us.

I am seriously looking like Crocodile Dundee with sun-dried skin that would work for shoe soles. Even Russ says I need to protect my skin, which I don’t do well. So for this excursion I smear sunscreen on my face, put on my bathing costume and over that my short pareo and long-sleeved surf shirt to block out the UV rays. The cherry on my top is a serious sun hat and sun glasses--ready for sun combat. I switch the mast-head light on just in case and bring the large bright flashlight. If the Mercury outboard quits, we’d be drifting a long, long way. To Tahiti or Chile?

Russ has his signature cap and cut-off T-shirt with synthetic shorts on for drying quickly. For sure we are going to catch the spray en route. He has pumped the dinghy, has the small dinghy anchor secured, has the hand held VHF, checked the gas. Check, check. He yanks on the starter chord and the Mercury outboard starts to purr. “Let go of the line, he calls.” Away we go. Hey! We’re not going to Everest, just Kenutu 3-plus miles away!

I carry two hermit crabs in a small can. Had inadvertently picked their sweet houses up—this isn’t the first time I’ve done this—while selecting shells on the beach for a necklace. Then in the night I hear them trudging around and over the shells for rent in my necklace box. The tips of their sweet, skinny, hairy little yellow and black legs on view.

As we pass over a reef close to Tapana, Russ throws one, then the other onto a boutique beach where after a shock landing the crabs can resume life in the sun—carrying their beautiful shell homes around with them. I can identify with them living on a boat!

The morning is young and we head north east over the reefs—kind of like dinghy snorkeling. The water is crystal clear and the reefs jut far out from the island of Ofu. It really isn’t too long before we arrive and pull the dinghy wheels up onto the beach at Kenutu.

There are some campers and kayakers there: from New York, and Norway and Chile! All here on Grand Central Kenutu. It is a magnet for free spirits. I was thinking quiet and uninhabited. Not today!

We walk the path to the eastern side. I walk straight into trees, banging my head--my sun hat riding low over my forehead. Ouch!! “That is the trouble with those kinds of hats. You can’t see where you are going. Take it off.” Russ says as he crouches low under branches and I rub my nicked forehead. I need a jolly vinegar rag to soothe the sting.

It is not a far walk to the other side where the Pacific Ocean, blue and benign today thrusts itself upon the island. Huge C-shaped ‘inlets’ are formed, cut into the limestone the high, high headlands of which rest on flat rock platforms. These ‘inlets’ form a sharp and rugged scalloped edging to the eastern side. Huge boulders are tossed up to rest at the inner curve and a semi-circle of receding limestone is eaten away by the tide and waves creating a natural walkway of sorts half way up the vertical sides. The surf rushes into these ‘inlets’ with force crashing over the rocks, sending water that booms into blowholes and spray high up the face of the limestone.

Pacific Ocean waves crashing onto the carved out ‘inlet’ floors of Kenutu.

What? There are two young European chaps on the north side of one of these ‘walkways’. Are they crazy? At one point they hang on as a wall of water breaks over them. They are collecting crabs for some reason. For bait?

Two European kayakers way down in the ‘inlet’ have just had a wave break over them. See the ‘platform’ to the right the vertical walls rest on.

There are Pandanus forests battered and broken by the cyclone season winds. Their roots form an upright triangle of multiple struts and their branches are bent over like the arms of rheumatoid old men, soft like paper mache, and leaves are virtually shaven.

Multiple root structures of Pandanus trees on Kenutu Island.

Russ goes off on a walkabout as usual, where there is no path. He finds a perfect spot for our picnic on the northern headland, which in turn forms the southern headland of yet another ‘inlet’ into which the ocean waves can pound.

There is a pine tree lending shade and another leaning tenaciously over the edge, its days numbered. A mound of red earth is covered by pine needles, creating a soft bed for us to lounge on at the edge of the drop off. The breeze is heavenly.

A mound of red earth is covered by pine needles, creating a soft bed for us to lounge on at the edge of a drop off.

I lay out my orange Hawaiian pareo on which to sit and serve up our simple fare. It hits the spot and tastes soooo good. Nourishment. Respite.

“I’m going to see if I can get down into this northern ‘inlet’." Russ says. Oh boy my mind starts turning. How the dickens do I get him out of there if he slips and falls. Fun in the sun with Mr. Explorer. I know what he is going for. I see floats that have drifted across the ocean wide thrown high onto the huge boulders. I bet he goes for those.

I daydream in the shade. There is bird call. A turquoise finger of water juts out to meet the reefs of the extreme southern point, beyond Lolo island. The ocean is azure blue giving a sense of the passive. But it can change at the toss of a hat! Sailors beware.

The azure blue Pacific Ocean meets up with Kenutu Island, Vava’u Tonga with reefs in the distance to the south.

Russ has returned. Sigh with relief. “This float is from Chile.” He says carrying a white oval float. “There are two from Tahiti and two from China. The names where they come from are stamped on them.” He says.

Russ sits down with his new found Chilean float. It has covered significant distance as have we.

I remember walking through the forest off the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State with Ian, Sarah, and Vanessa. We were staying in a beach cabin at La Push. It was cloudy and windy and gray. I sang a song I made up about a storm in the dark forest and us coming out of it into sunlight on a beach. I sang this to the kiddies as we tramped through the rain.

We came out onto the beach with the wild waves crashing and foam spraying. The winter sun was shining to my delight! There in the white rollers I saw something green off which the light reflected. The waves were bringing it in. It was a beautiful sea green glass float. I ran into the surf to get it--an offering from the seas, a treasure, a gift.

Later a friend of mine, whose father was a beach comber—he had a beautiful cottage at waters edge on Whidbey Island—showed me where to look to find the origin of the glass float. At the very bottom there was a stamp, and from this his father was able to identify the name of the town in Japan where it was made—and came from.

With Russ’ float there were no ifs or buts about the origin. There it was written in plain English--Chile. So fantastic the distance the ocean currents can carry things. Have carried humans too.

“There were a bunch of flip flops too.” Russ said. I looked down at his feet to see if perhaps he was sporting some used Chinese imports.

We rested some more, contemplating the distance the floats had come: from Tahiti and Chile and China, and the distance we had come: from Seattle. And the distance the European chaps at the base of the ‘inlet’ had come—now clinging to Kenutu’s limestone as the waves broke close to over them. We are in the Tongan convergence zone! All things come together through motion.

Russ lies down and dozes off, using his new found treasure float from Chile as a head rest. And I daydream on with image poetry in motion.

Russ dozes off using his new found treasure float from Chile as a head rest.

Shadows are forming. It is time to go back to Tapana. Back down the path we go and I kid you not, I run head on into a tree again! Off with the hat so that I can reach the dinghy with head in tack!

Before we set forth though, Russ wacks the top off a green coconut he brought with and we quench our thirst with the sweet, refreshing, satisfying taste right down to the last drop. It spills down my chin through some cracks and onto my chest a la coconut shower.

We wheel the dinghy into the water and point it west. It is low tide and we venture out cautiously over the shallow reefs. In the distance I see two amazing sand bars in the middle of nowhere between Ofu and Kenutu. After begging Russ to go there, he succumbs. Throws the anchor into the shallows and we walk onto ‘untouched-by- humans’ sand. Really, really, really perfect sand, the edges of which have been carved by receding waters. A few birds alight. A few shells and sand dollars are left as ornament as the tide goes out. Perfection is untouched. Words are uncalled for. Silence speaks loudly.

I take uncountable photographs that really do not capture context. I take what images I can with me, digitally across the waters, avoiding the reefs of southern Ofu on the dry, past Fanua Tapu, across the reefs at low, low tide to Zulu awaiting us in turquoise waters off Tapana.

We are wet through from spray as we board Zulu, but care not as we sit on the aft deck in the setting sun silent with the beauty of this day within. Fulfilled.

Enjoy the digital images I carried across the waters and coral heads and reefs.