Yadua, North Coast of Vanua Levu, Fiji

August 19, 2010

Cukuvou Harbour—Lat. 16 degrees.48’ S and Long. 178 degres.17E

We make a two-day journey out of it—from Savusavu along the north coast of Vanua Levu to Cukuvou harbour on the west coast of the island of Yadua.

We thread our way through the narrow Nananu passage, looking for sticks that mark the reefs, watching depth, looking at the various water colour. That in itself is a guide. One stop for the night, then continue on for Yadua. We pass Yadua Taba, a small island at the south-west corner, which is a sanctuary for the protected Green Crested Iguana.

Yachts are no longer allowed at Yadua, because some careless sailor stole Green Crested Iguana eggs from the sanctuary. One bad apple is all it takes for the rest to suffer. A warden form the village of Denimanu protects the sanctuary.

Into Cukuvou bay we sail having hooked a beautiful Mahi Mahi, a Big Eye Tuna, and half a tuna—the other half of which we shared with a shark. There is the sweet little red boat, Kalisto: our friends are already at anchor. We hail them to come for a sundowner and fish dinner.

Barely on board, with the sun setting fast, a small fishing boat pulls up to Zulu in the shadows and a tall Fijian and a small boy hop on board from the stern steps without being invited. Smooth landing! An aggressive move. We are surprised and all somewhat inhibited by the size of this man towering above us. We put on timid, but brave smiles. Bula!

“Do you have some cigarettes for me?” he asks with little formality, going straight to the point. Russ looks up at him like a petunia in the shade of a redwood.

“No, we don’t have any cigarettes on board.” Russ has a shot at diplomacy while standing his ground. The rest of us are nervous. We’re not really supposed to be there. But the permits are all in Fijian and we don’t read Fijian. Wink.

“Do you have a knife I can borrow?” he demanded rather than requested. “I forgot my fishing knife at the village.” Yes, sure. You are out fishing and forgot your fishing knife? I could see Russ’ thoughts turning.

“Sure, just a minute.” Russ obliges. Not the right time to argue that you don’t really like lending your knives out to strangers. He goes down to the engine room in search of his Made- in-China knife that can’t even cut butter, but could not find it. So gave up the second best thing, his Made-in- Mexico knife.

Amazing how quickly the shadows lengthen when faced with a demand for a knife. The whites of the dark, tall “fisherman’s” eyes are all we now seem to see as he turns to disembark with the boy. Two silhouettes vanish as quickly as they appeared.

Phew! Welcome to Yadua.

It is time to go below and open some wine and get that fish on the grill. Lighten up. The moon is rising and waxing too.

“Gary off Kalisto thinks it was his sweet, innocent children that saved our tails.” Got to laugh. They now laugh too. And we clink our glasses happy to still be alive.

We enjoy the fresh catch and after salty-dog sailor talk of escaping the cannibals, we say our ‘good-nights’ and look forward to a good night’s rest, safe at last we hope in this picturesque bay. Tomorrow the sun will shine down on us.


A Mahi Mahi is on the hook en route to Yadua Island. Poor fish!


Got it! What a beauty. But sad it has to die for a sailor’s supper.

Morning arrives all too soon. Fresh coffee ground. Pour the hot water over the grounds and add hot milk and sprinkle cinnamon and nutmeg on the top for me--my treat from Russ in my bunk. I sip it slowly enjoying the taste and warmth, and peak through the porthole at the shimmering blue waters.

I don’t think we are going to hike the 3 hours across the island to Denimanu village to present the chief with kava. Who knows, that might have been the chief himself who boarded us last night. Rather doubt that. But we will keep a low profile. Go for a hike with the kiddies off Kalisto.

The white beach fringed with palms call out to us. What? Another fishing boat approaches us. But this time it is three smiling Indo-Fijians. Not so tall. Yay! They have a red snapper in their hands and offer it to us as a gift. They want to see the boat, but Russ says his wife is busy below.

So in exchange for the fish, which we need like a hole in the head, he extrapolates some juice and Indian snacks from the larder for them. Then further wards them off by asking if he can see their boat rather. They are happy enough for the trade and oblige.


The long white strip of beach in Cukuvou bay, ringed by palms against a dry, scrubby backdrop on Yadua Island.


The sea cliffs we climbed to see the bay on the other side that is sanctuary to the Green Crested Iguanas.


Morning light through the palms.


Friendly Indo-Fijian fishermen want to see our boat. They exchange a fish for some cold drink and snacks from us.

The Indian fishermen leave. It is time for us to lock the boat and do the disappearing act. We give the snapper to Kalisto and take their sweet heart children—Zeke and Nina—with us on a hike up the sea cliffs to see the view from atop.

What a view! Below in the calm and protected bay are our sailing vessels at anchor: Zulu and Kalisto. The beauty is all ours for the taking. On the other side is the bay that is the sanctuary for the Green Crested Iguanos. We drink in all that surrounds us.

Then down the sea cliffs we go to the dinghy and cross to the beach on the other side. We’ll climb up there for a view of the waters beyond. There is a big tree that seems to mark an easy way up. So we make for it.


Zulu and Kalisto are the only two boats anchored in Cukuvou bay, Yadua Island.


Zeke and Nina, off Kalisto are our hiking buddies.


Nina scales a boulder for yet another one of my snap shots.


Russ and Zeke look across the bay to our boats at anchor.


Let us climb down these sea cliffs and dinghy on to the other side. We’ll climb up to see the view from there. A big tree seems to mark an easy way up.

Zeke and Nina start up a loose sand gravel drop off. It seems Nina might be stuck in a precarious place. So Russ bolts up in front of me to help her. In doing so, he dislodges a bolder the size of a soccer ball.

I am hanging onto a tree branch with one hand waiting to make my way up, when I see the airborne boulder heading straight for me. I thought I put the back of my hand out—out of instinct--to protect the rock from hitting my head. But Nina said the rock hit my hand while I held on to the tree.

Whatever happened, I felt the hit. It was bone splitting. I heard it. I look down at my hand in shock and see it pulsate and swell up in slow motion and the pain stabs at me and the blood pours out from the gash where the rock hit. All a bit dramatic.

How I got down to the beach, I do not know. But I bent over and hung my hand down so the blood dripped onto the yellow sand. Owwww owwww owww. My hand is broken! Yes, I do not suffer in silence.

Zeke could not stand to look. I need help. What to do? In the distance I see a person walking along the beach. He is waving. This beach had been deserted all day. Where did he come from? I went up to him and said I needed help and showed him my hand.

He was gentle-looking and had a white bandana around his forehead with red Japanese characters, and was carrying a Blackberry. His name was Lepani Davetanivalu.

“I am the village nurse.” He said. How on earth did he appear out of the blue? Was he an angel?

“I will cut you a splint from a tree.” He continued.

“No, no, please come to the boat. I have a medical kit on board.” I urged.
Wringing my hand and hopping from one foot to the other like a Kangaroo.

We dropped Nina and Zeke off at Kalisto and I howled on about how I broke my hand to Gary and Vicky, who looked at me with vague incomprehension. On we zoomed to Zulu.

I got the medical kit out: gloves, bandages, antiseptic, Neosporin ointment, pain pills. Lepani went to work—gloves on-- cleaning the wound and directing Russ to cut a splint a certain size.

Russ not having nursing skills or attributes, stuck to getting his Japanese saw out and hung out in the engine room sawing a piece of wood to size post haste. He came up on deck just after the Neosporin was on and the pain pill swallowed.

Lepani then bandaged my hand with splint properly placed and put my sundowner ice in a plastic bag with instruction to keep my hand elevated and on ice.

While he worked on my hand, he wanted to know if we could charge his Blackberry and if we had some music we could download onto his iPod. We could not help with the latter, but Russ plugged his Blackberry in to the boat battery and said he could pick it up in the morning.

With the hand wrapped on ice and the pain pill kicking in, Russ asked how it was that he was on this deserted beach.

“I just delivered a baby in the village last night. And a group of the family came over with me to Cukuvou bay to fish so that we can have a celebration tomorrow to honor the birth of the baby.”

“We will fish in the bay tonight, sleep on palm mats on the beach, and return to the village in the morning.” He said.

“I will come again in the morning to follow up before we leave. You have a fractured hand. Can I have these gloves? They are good quality and I can use them at the village.”

“Of course you can have the gloves.” I say.

Lepani has been the village nurse—with a lot of responsibility--for the past 5 years. He used to nurse at the hospital in Suva before he was directed to come here. He hopes they have not forgotten about him, because he would like to make a change. In the same sense, he will miss the people so.

“I will just leave in the night.” He said.

I gave him some money—equivalent to US$15, which he said was way too much. But I insisted. Then lay down and went to sleep with the water from the melting ice trickling down my hand. I felt calm, having had some kind stranger emerge out of the blue to care for me.


Lepani Davetanivalu smiles as he gently places my hand in his. He is the nurse or angel who emerged on the otherwise deserted beach to take care of my broken hand.

The next morning Russ went to fetch Lepani from the beach. He brought Vani Lalo, the sister of the women whose baby he delivered, and two of the village boys—Wame Duluvesi and Josua Muakula. They had wondered what he was doing on our boat. So they came along to see for themselves.

He donned new gloves with a glint in his eye, unwrapped the bandage, cleaned the wound, applied more Neosporin, re-bandaged my hand putting the splint in place and ice on the top. He told me to keep it stable for two-to-three days and, thereafter, start exercising my fingers and see a doctor in Suva.

“Can I have these gloves?” he asked again.

I brought out some juice and cookies, which they virtually inhaled. But they thoughtfully kept some to share with a five others ashore.

And then they left, waving goodbye. And soon the beach was again deserted as they made their way out of the bay for the half-hour journey to the village, carrying the fish they had caught to celebrate a new life.


Wame Duluvesi and Josua Muakula on board Zulu . They came to see what Lepani was doing for me.


Vani Lalo is the sister whose baby Lepani delivered. They are on board Zulu to follow up on my broken hand and enjoy some refreshment.


The little group of Yaduan islanders depart Zulu for their village after taking care of me.

That night I slept tight and awoke to what I thought was a bird. But it was the air horn from Kalisto. It was 4:00 AM in the morning and they circled our boat to say farewell. They were leaving by the light of the moon in order to cover the miles necessary for reaching the Yassawa island group beyond.

Now we are all alone. Soon the putt-putt-putt of Kalisto’s single stroke engine can not be heard. All that is left is a deep silence--an emptiness--and the light on the water spills from the moon.

The fresh ice pack is melting, and I can feel the cool water trickling down my arm. Medication masks the throbbing pain. Slowly I lay back down to sleep and tumble into what seems to be the center of a Yadua island dream.


Light on the water spills from the moon in the early hours of the morning. All is quiet and I tumble into what seems to be the center of a Yadua island dream.