Zulu News—Back to Fiji for Rest of Hurricane Season

February 16, 2012 


Russ’ Air Pacific seat mate—Honolulu to Apia; Leaving Vuda Point—Sunday’s entertainment; My Fijian haircut from ‘Flower’; Meat; Putting Zulu back together again; Dinghy to Tavarua; Sand Spit off Musket Cove and coral snakes; Easter day; Island bound. 


Russ’ Air Pacific seat mate—Honolulu to Apia 

The queue for Air Pacific at Honolulu International Airport cuts a skewed profile of redwood-tall Polynesians, many of who inch multiple HUGE cardboard boxes tied with string up the line by sliding or pushing with their LARGE sandaled feet. They seem to be significantly wide as tall. Guess where our first stop is? You guessed! Western Samoa—Apia. 

The flight is delayed in Honolulu by two hours!! I ask a Fijian woman if she could text Mohammed, the Vuda Marina taxi driver, to that effect. She is an assistant professor at the University of Suva, and is happy to do that for me—I, usually having no phone or know how, or watch. 

At last we board the plane and find our seats. The towering Samoans bulge down the aisle ways denting themselves temporarily on seat arms and backs and skinny people’s knees and elbows. Russ was lucky enough for the second time to get a ‘large’ lady sitting next to him on the aisle—he was in the middle seat, and I by the window: yes! 

She promptly pulled up the arm rest between them and put her handbag there to allow for overflow onto Russ’ lap. If it was me, I would have been quietly peeved and irritated to say the least, but dealt with the audacity of ‘flesh overflow’ for 4 hours—pretty much incensed. 

Not Russ. “Haa haaa ha. Whoa! No no. Got to put your handbag under the seat in front of you, and get that arm rest back down!” He looked up at her uninhibited in the least—dwarfed by even her handbag-- like she was Jane (of Tarzan) of Apia. 

She kind of cowered at this small Palangi’s Napoleon air and demurely did as he said. However, it did not take her too long to find another aisle seat at the back of the plane where she could completely overflow into the middle seat as it was empty. 

No longer settled, than the Boeing 737 banked over the indigo water broken by white waves on the reefs and cast a veritable shadow in the calm ice-blue lagoon and landed. The ‘officials’ were dressed in white short-sleeved shirts and lava lavas (wrap around skirts) and all large people disembarked with a tower of cardboard boxes en suite. 

The plane took off, rather floated off light as a feather and pointed toward Nadi, Fiji 4 hours away. Mohammed was there to meet us and we drove along the narrow roads with verdant green mountain vistas and drizzle curtaining a gray Pacific back to Zulu. 

Leaving Vuda Point—Sunday’s entertainment 

It is HOT! To say the least and Russ operates on 20 % of energy, dehydration not helping. Down in the boat the humidity is switched to high and we pour perspiration—down our chest and back so that our shorts are absolutely drenched. In other words all your energy lands up in your shorts! 

We had to get out of there for Russ to get strong after his medical emergency stint in Honolulu—however, a haven Vuda had been. And getting out we did March 10 with the wind pushing us down on S/V Helene’s chain minutes after nosing out—which they had not hauled in since the hurricane. We certainly provided Sunday’s entertainment as follows: 

Zulu’s hull is cradled in chain. Put the engine in neutral otherwise the prop will be feeling serious pain from chain. The wind blows us down broadside on the spearheads of about 5 bowsprits. Ouch! This is when I go into hopping Kangaroo mode to push the boat off various points certain to connect and gouge the dickens out of things. And this is when Russ goes into SILENT, calm mode. Like he needs to get his book and read on deck!!! 

Round-bodied Eddy off S/V Helene had his big Brussels’ foot pushing against the fragile life lines. Aaaaaaah, not good. Ground your flipper on the stantion, and thanks for the help! Gordon off Dragon Fly, Australia pushes off our stantions, and Melinda and Darren off S/V Mischief, Hawaii leap from boat to boat and onto Zulu like serious trained Swiss rescuers from the Alps—Army knives in their Godess belts. They act with intelligence! 

In the mean time Jerry—my favourite security guard—appears in the Tinny and holding onto the shortest line in Yachtsville strains his every tendons and ligaments pulling at Zulu’s stubborn bow. His little outboard engine has as much umphf in it as a sick kitten. 

Reinforcement shows up with our Kiwi friend Grant off S/V Lochiel, NZ arriving with his dinghy. How he got it off his boat so soon I do not know. Blow the whistle….Grant is here. He has a sublime face, like that of Angel and to the rescue he came and waited his cue in between Zulu and the row of ominous-looking bow sprits. 

Darren grabs a long line from Russ, leaps Kangaroo fashion into Jerry’s Tinny telling him to let go the piece of ‘dental floss’ he was holding on to and rode the long line out to the big orange buoy in the center of the marina. Russ then puts the other end of the line around the electric anchor winch and Zulu can resist no more. 

I push off with all my might so that S/V Helene’s anchor does not gouge an agonizing line out of our solar panel and Melinda jumps to the wheel to spin it to port. 

“Grant push the bow out!” Darren yells in his gentlemanly acupuncture-needle- pointed -tone (he is an Acupuncturist). Grant gets into gear and noses into Zulu’s starboard bow. Zulu has to respond. Her bow turns and we winch up to the orange buoy safe point, pull in lines and point to the channel. 

The last images I have are Darren and Melinda saying “we have to get off the boat” and Jerry’s Tinny taxing up with him standing up Fijian tall, carved features under cap and waving to me…..”Merrrian” as he pronounces my name, calling out goodbye. 

Out the channel we motor with some yachties waving from the Sunset Bar as if we are departing for the South Pole, rather than ½ hour to Denarau. 

The cherry on the top is the engine started overheating shortly into the channel…….we motored on despite it—at a slower speed, as Russ did not seem immediately concerned. 

Splash, the hook went down in chop outside the entrance to Denarau--with Zulu bouncing around like a tethered stallion—and next morning we attend to business of: buying meat for Russ and fresh vegetables and fruit, and getting a hair cut for me etc.. Provisioning! 

Tired, that night, all the faces of who became our family at Vuda Marina etched into memory: Jerry, Elanoa, Miliana, Nicholas, Mr. Fong, Anna, Sela, Keith, Lilian, David, Maria, JD, Joe, Adam, Lisa, Michelle, Brian, and the yoga teacher. All of these people will stay with us forever. All they did was give, and then give some more with an unending happy spirit. 

My haircut from Flower 

I walked into a ‘salon’ on the main street of crowded Nadi Town—a colourful strip of shopping variety--as there were about 20-plus pictures of Caucasian and Eurasian models with ultra sharp, blunt, asymmetrical, fringed, chic haircuts. I was greeted by a Fijian woman, but spotted a slim Chinese ‘hair dresser’ with the most awesome hair cut. His hair was wire straight and cut blunt with half the hair on the top oiled to veer off and up to the side at a 45 degree angle. Kind of like a with-it rooster. 

Note I had had the best haircut of my life in Honolulu and just wanted it trimmed! 

“I would like my hair cut in the same style, with about 1 inch taken off please.” I said approaching him. The penny did not drop. Oops he did not speak English and I no speakee Chinese. I felt him slipping through my ‘good hair cut’ hands as an extra gay (I love gays) Fijian sashayed up to me and said in a confident way. 

 “I know what to do, sit down.” Hmmmmm I thought I was heading for shaky ground. And then the Chinese graciously gestured to ‘her’ chair and said “It OK, have a seat.” I gave him a long terrifying look and he returned one of reassurance. 

My hair dresser was a tall honey-skinned Fijian with apricot-dyed Melanesian frizzy hair shaped somewhat like a pudding. ‘She’ had on an orange singlet, body tight blue jeans and wore stiletto heels. Her glasses were oversized plastic leopard spot-on-cream-frames, she had a flower in her hair, and glossy lips protruded in a pouty fashion. 

I’ll call ‘her’ “Flower” as she said she would love to go to Honolulu just to see the flowers. I told her I had just returned from there.  

"That is all I want to see—all the beautiful flowers- and then I would fly straight back." And she tossed her head back and lifted her hand to the sky coquettishly. 

Out came the scissors and comb from her tiny cabinet, and spray bottle. (There is no offer for a shampoo, which I badly needed.) Spray a bit of water here and there, clip up bunches of hair here or there, pull up a three-legged stool and swish onto the seat as if ready for the go carts and snip away miniscule bits of hair, expressing artistry through body language. A pinky finger flipped up vertically. A glossy-lipped pout in concentration. 

I saw disaster in the making. Memory loss. Hello!? Remember I have a middle path? But the hair was flipped over to the right side and long uneven strands hung helter skelter like a Gothic nightmare. At the back there was a tail of afterthought hanging down the nape of my neck. Finished? Looked like Flower had just run out of steam and walked off. She appeared again renewed. 

“Do you want your hair dried she drew her right shoulder up to the flower in her hair and spun around on a stiletto.” I was so let down and all the chic, sharp cuts on the model pictures outside eluded me and I was coming away with a ‘gothic-pudding cut’ gone wrong. 

“No thank you, I’ll just let the wind dry it”. And all I could get out of my mouth was a compliment to the Chinese who had just cut a head of straight shiny bouncy hair to perfection. 

This got Flower jealous and she winged her curved body to the doorway and with eyes narrowed and apricot lips pouting glossy, sulked. 

I paid the F$10 = about US$7 to the owner and said in leaving to Flower, “Thank you and see you in Honolulu.” Thank you? She kept her pout and stared ahead. I felt a bit bad, but thought of ringing my eyes in black and going for some lip piercing to match the cut! 

Meat for Russ 

Meanwhile Russ went for a Meat windfall. He was down to skin and bones—and as I say to my friends and family—a coat hanger with skin hanging over it. He needed MEAT. 

Lean minced meat, cubed stew meat, bacon, and ham. He salivated before it was even cooked and relished every mouthful of spaghetti sauce with meat, stew, meat loaf, curried mince, bacon on avocado sandwiches, ham and eggs, bacon and crepes etc!! Add that together with sun and breeze and lots of sleep has made him stronger and gotten most of the work completed on the boat—ready for sailing. It has been too long for sure since May of 2012, and with a WHOLE LOT OF HUMAN MISTAKES taking place at Vuda Point for sure! 

Putting Zulu back together again 

Out on the sand spit (referred to at Musket Cove as famous sand bank) the breeze blows over sparkling waters. The weather has been volatile for the last three weeks of March—as if the hurricane season is showing off with final statements. 

In 60 feet of water we have 300 ft of chain out. The clouds gather and race across a crescent moon and turn spectator clouds for sunset black and gathers momentum and burst the skies apart with torrential rains and lightening. 

I run out and place containers at collection points and decanter water as it collects. Enough to do the washing in the sun shining morning. 

Russ’ body is cooled, and the meat is bolstering his energy, and he envisions sailing again, and puts his heart and mind into putting the rest of Zulu’s hardware and interior ceilings and trim back together again. Hallelujah! He exclaimed at his rate of progress! We are nearly done! 

Dinghy to Tavarua 

“Let’s have some fun today!” he declares. We pack a lunch and dinghy over the sand bank and coral at high tide heading for Tavarua, and Namotu, the islet next to it. 

It is beautiful to say the least and we choose the waves off Namotu to investigate, rather than Cloud Break where the Big Boys and Girls ride powerful glass drops and explode out of the pipe in a white water frame. No thank you! 

Cloudbreak is rated as one of the top ten waves in the world! So says the mariners guide to Fiji. Namotu, where we were bobbing parallel to the waves is the best longboard water in Fiji. Good for intermediate surfers and above. 

Surfers wait in the swell for a turn at the break, and we keep our dinghy in neutral at a first-time view point close to the waves, but far enough away from the surfers. A girl paddles her board up to the ‘mother Tinny’ tied to a buoy. “This is HARD work she pants between paddling and boards the Tinny. Glad I’m a spectator. 

The waves are not giant, but current is strong. Time to motor off to Tavarua. 

We approach through seriously crystal clear water. You do not need a mask. Just stand up in the dinghy and you see the coral—not much of it—and fish. Boats are coming and going from shore, and a cluster of Fijians are singing welcoming and goodbye songs. 

We nose the dinghy up to the shore and a tall friendly Fijian apologizes in having to say “This is a private Island.” 

No problem, we dinghy back to the islet and I plunge into water so green blue and clear it seems to shatter as you enter into a sublime swim of all swims. Leave me here for eternity I think. 

Russ does, and goes a shore thinking of beer. He comes back gun shy as the beers are FJ$10 a bottle. 

We’ve had views of waves and surfers and Tavarua’s welcoming singers and surfers disembarking cool fashion in board shorts carrying surf boards……kind of like carrying a guitar in Greenwich Village. They cut a ‘with-it I’m in with the in crowd, and the in crowd is in with me’ stance. It’s all good. 

Forget the beer and our lunch…….time to zoom back to our Sand Bank. We go further though into Musket Cove and have a sandwich and ice cream and a shower and visit with yachties and go back out to Zulu in a head wind with chop beyond comfort and spray covering our bodies to find we’ve lost an oar and more. 

 It has been a day of fun, and moreover it is a comfort to be back on our ‘private’ yacht and boil water for a cup of tea and give thanks for our haven from the elements. We sip our cups of Earl Gray slowly and feel exhilarated by the fun day. 



Surfers at Namotu wait for the break. This spot is referred to as the best longboard wave in Fiji, according to Mariners Guide to Fiji. It is good for intermediate surfers and above. 

 

Our perspective from dinghy level of a Namotu, Fiji wave. 

 

The mother Tinny waiting for surfers to return from the waves to take them back to Namotu. 



Namotu: perfection. 


This is the water I plunged into off Nomotu. Heaven and beyond. 



Tavarua island: a surfers paradise. Close to Cloud Break and good for intermediates when conditions align with a high tide, per Mariners Guide to Fiji. 

 
 
Approaching Tavarua through crystal clear water. 



The shores of Tavarua, with Fijians welcoming and saying goodbye to surfers in song. But this was a private island and we could not land. 

Sand Spit off Musket Cove and coral snakes 

“There was a coral snake* in the dinghy” Russ said. He had lowered the boat into the water from alongside Zulu’s hull—it’s bed for the night—and saw the snake. The drain plug was out so rain water could drain out. It must have come into the dinghy through that hole, but when?” Russ was animated by the morning snake adventure. 

Coral snakes are unaggressive but deadly poisonous. If bitten, the venom is quick to act and is lethal. 

 “I picked it up by the tail and threw it back into the water. Believe me; I did not hang onto it for very long. Then it slithered back up into the dinghy again, and this time I hit it with an oar. It got the message and did a deep dive.” 

The following day Russ said “I’ve seen snakes swimming around the boat.” That definitely spoilt my day. As I would slip into the blue water from the stern ladder and swim the 10 boat lengths 450 ft) to the beautiful clear turquoise water over the sand spit and venture along the periphery of deep to shallow water looking for my fish friends. This was a daily exercise. Then I would swim back. And mostly, I would swim the blue water patch without a snorkel. 

Hmmmmmmmm. Snakes? Well a third day dawned since the snake in the dinghy. It was windy and the blue water was choppy as was what I call my ‘cathedral’ waters over the sand and coral. Having worked all morning in the boat I HAD to get off it and exercise, so I jumped off the stern and swam like the dickens to the shallows. 

Made it!!! The water was murky. Very murky—even in my ‘cathedral’. I did not feel very comfortable as I was the only person in the wide world out there, alone. So after a ½ hour-compared to 1and ½ hr snorkel, I decided to Australian crawl it through the chop for the return trip as I had not asked Russ to fetch me. I could see nada it was so murky. 

Then short of reaching the boat, inches from my face, I saw a vertical ‘thing’ in the water that could have been anything. Oooooh ohhhh, the black and white bands come into view—its body vertical and undulating. I put my flippers into big time reverse to circumvent the snake and torpedo out onto the stern ladder, flippers getting caught between the rudder and first step, and my imagination going wild! The snake is around my ankle Ahhhhhhhhaaah--not. 

I’m not going to swim the blue water ANYMORE and for sure not alone--especially, since I also saw a shark some days before, howbeit a reef shark. 

“Those reef sharks are pets. You can stroke them!” I know they are absolutely harmless but once I have snakes on my mind, pet sharks lead to bigger one in my psyche. 

It was a strange phenomenon: The skies were blue, but there was thunder? I looked far in the distance and there was only a suggestion of cloud. And then the rains came down—virtually from blue skies turned gray in minutes-- and I took opportunity to scrub the deck so water could run straight into the tank, through the deck drain. 

In my hurry to scrub, the brush somehow fell into the water when I placed it down to move a line, and the boat hook I ran to use was not being very cooperative! The brush floated away! 

If I die from a snake bite at least I’ll die having retrieved the brush, so in I jumped and got it. And THERE WAS A SNAKE between me and the stern ladder. I seriously freaked. All I saw were black and white bands and its head and again I torpedoed onto that ladder with a double whammy of a crab crawling up the rudder. 

I’m through with swimming with the snakes. They are not my friends. I only go in now on a glass clear day—like today, and swim to find my fish friends: two of which swim up to my mask and open and shut their little round yellow mouths, pouting somewhat like Flower, the hair dresser. Their markings are beautiful! Black sides with 2 perpendicular turquoise blue stripes, and trimmed in dark yellow—yellow faces, and delicate yellow fins and tail. They are curious and comical. They bring me joy. 

Once through being with my fish friends, I wave a flipper in the air for the return trip—Russ keeps the binoculars on deck when I swim-- and he dinghies over to get me when he sees the flipper sign. 


*NB: The truth about coral snakes now that I have you in goose bumps. They live along the coastlines and come to shore to rest. They are docile and rarely attack people unless badly provoked. Even then, their mouths are so small they they are harmless to human beings. That said, the thought that their venom is lethal is enough to give a swimmer who runs into them the heavy jeebs. 



Coral sea snake of Fiji. Highly venomous, lethal, but passive. Most likely mouth too small to bite a human. Still it gives me the heavy jeebs. (Picture off the Internet)

Easter day 

I designed Easter day for perfection. The morning dawned calm with not a breath of wind, leaving the waters a glass platform. And I wanted it to be memorable. 

After homemade granola, paw paw and yogurt we dinghied into Musket Cove to do a load of wash. While the overused machine chug a lugged away, I rented a paddle board to try my luck at moving through the water in a different way. I could only have it a half-hour. 

Lotti, the tall Fijian beach attendant, gave me a quick demo: “you get on like this and paddle like this.” And that was that. 

I got speed wobbles getting onto it and up, but once up I was away. I called out to Lotti that my half hour would be Fiji time, and therefore ¾ of an hour and he gave me thumbs up smiling wide. 

I gingerly tried the balancing act of maneuvering it round and round and in reverse circles and forward toward the horizon. I imagined crossing the Molokai channel—between Oahu and Molokai—an event Adam Wade (the CEO of Vuda Marina) and his friends were training to take part in. Don’t think I’d make the team, but it had a place in my ‘things-to-do’ long ago. Smile. At least it was a fleeting thought on the glass waters of Musket Cove. 



My first try on a paddle board in the glass still waters of Musket Cove. 

A long swim followed, and Russ even got into the water. Since he was ill he has not put his toe into the water. In any case he is not a swimmer, rather a skin diver with his friend Christian. 

It was time to get that washing and take a warm shower and shampoo. Squeaky clean I put a flower in my hair we walked the half-moon circle of beach from Musket Cove to the Lomani Resort for lunch. Lomani means Love in Fijian and it felt apropos. 

We passed the Musket Cove resort and pool (I’d give it 3 stars), and the Plantation Resort and pool geared toward family vacations (I’d give it a non-sparkle 2-minus stars. Run down and hurricane hit. But Lomani takes the cake. I’ve described it before in my blog in 2012 so won’t repeat. 

We got there just before the resort vacationers freshened up from their return trip to the sand bar, and got the best table. The restaurant deck was aesthetically pleasing, as was the table settings, overlooking a cool swath of lawn framed by coconut trees and the calm sea. On the side the most beautiful infinity swimming pool of all pools spilled water over its sides and bathers glided through the blue. Others lay in comfort on green cushioned chez lounges under quaint and well made pandana-thatched umbrella shade havens. So tempted was I to glide into that pool after lunch, but I put the thought aside I lieu of heightened appetite. 

We ordered Lemongrass and coconut Mahi Mahi on a crisp, fresh salad; a bowl of potato wedges; a club soda with ice and lime and Fiji Bitter for Russ. Yum! To say the least we savoured every last morsel with a pleasant cool breeze for our comfort. 

 “Would you like to finish your lunch with some ice cream?” The Fijian server-- dressed in a light brown Sulu, cream shirt , and white cowrie shell necklace--asked in a tempting way. 

Coconut ice-cream banana split with chocolate sauce certainly was tempting. But we thought it would be better to have desert at the end of our return-through-the hot-sun walk to Musket Cove. So I folded my serviette, slowly slid out of my dining chair, took a last glimpse at the infinity pool—my dream pool where I stole swims last year—and walked the white beach semi-circle back. 

Our ice cream moment of desert had come. Two cappuccino ice cream cones in hand we sat on the cool verandah at the Trader café back in Musket cove enjoying decadence. 

Reality struck. Pick up the laundry, head out to Zulu’s life lines for pegging the wash and sun drying it in the perfect Trade Wind breeze. Leave the Naples washing boat for the sand spit. 

Do yoga, walk, meditate, and watch the tied come in and eat away at the edges of sand and cover our toes and feet and legs and calves and jump into the dinghy to motor back home for a toast to the sun setting with an iced rum, pineapple and orange juice, and fresh-squeezed lime. 

Watch the ball of fire plunge behind the watery horizon, propose a toast to the green flash, and be thankful for this day of rebirth. Easter!  


 














Easter Sunday on the sand spit. 

Island bound 

It has been three weeks since we arrived at ‘our spot’ off the sand spit and the time has come to haul up anchor and move to snake less waters. The work is almost done and Zulu is starting to look like an ocean voyager. It feels good. Russ is much stronger and itching to go. He’s been thorough at what he is doing, which makes the days flow one into another. 

April is here and by the need of a light blanket last night, we can officially declare Fiji is entering ‘winter’. This means perfectly sunny days -- without the debilitating humidity- with Trade winds and perfectly cool starlit nights. 

“Let us stay another 2 nights.” He says trying to bring things to an end, which never ends. So two more nights it is and, thereafter, the three-hundred feet of anchor chain will be winched up and Zulu will be bound for new islands. 

We will head up the Yasawa chain; across the north top of Viti Levu to Savusavu; on to Viani Bay and Albert Cove and the Yangassa Cluster in the Eastern Lau group—which we visited 33 years ago. Revisiting in the name of life is short: 

That night long ago the moon was tucked into its moonlessness. We were ending our passage from Vavau, Tonga and were off the Fijian shores. “Marilyn, get out the life gear!” Ian was a babe still. Calmly I came up into the cockpit with the grab bag—letting Ian sleep on until I knew what faced us. Russ pointed to our port. “There is a whale.” He pointed. It was 1 and ½ times the size of our 33-ft wooden boat and 12 ft from it.” WOW! We could make out its shape and felt it’s greatness and how ‘small’ the three of us were. 

“Go and turn the depth sounder on.” he said and I did. And the whale sounded and dove under and across the breadth of our boat into the inky waters. Gone. 

That memory spurs us on to what was then—after the whale encounter-- our first Fijian destination. We came into ice-green waters with mushroom shaped coral clusters. It was a watery moon wonder world. Something Lucas would dream up for his animated movies. 

We dropped the hook and Russ dove overboard to bring up a lobster. I had Australian butter and herbs and wine, and on the nearby islet there were lemon trees. It was on a par with the parable of the loaves and fishes: A miracle in safe landing and food multiplying. 

Days later we headed into Suva seeing virtual grave yards of sailboats on the reefs. We had arrived safely with paper charts, no moon, a baby on a wooden boat, and a whale to urge us on. 

The Yangassa Cluster lies in waiting.As do Fiji's other islands in the sun. Thereafter? Fate will set the compass course. For now, we stay in the moment.