Cocos Keeling Islands

Cocos Islands consist of two atolls in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Coconut trees, white sand beaches, clear blue water, and prospects of fish made the decision to stop an easy one. As a territory of Austrailia, the atoll is protected, resulting in an environment rich in wildlife. Spinner dolphins escorted us into the lagoon and several manta rays joined the welcome party.

We quickly made friends with the crew of Lady Amber, the other yacht who stopped for a diesel top-off during cyclone season. They collect deep ocean current data for the UN. We spent a couple days off the uninhabited Direction Island with crew and the captain, Peter Flannigan. Peter is one of the most wild men I ever encountered. His life story, including death row and lion attacks would humble the most imaginative adventure novels.

When our friends departed, we scoured the other islands for cold drinks and good company. The population of 600 is split 5:1 between the Malay and Aussies. The Malay inhabitants on “Home Island” are strict Muslims and generally kept to themselves. We found what we were looking for on “West Island.” We stumbled upon the Austrailian minority at tailgate next to a shack on the beach known as North Park. Bon fire on the beach and a rapidly declining cooler of beer, every story I heard in North Park involved at least one shark, a trophy fish, or a near death experience (occassionally all three). We were generously welcomed and even made an cameo appearance on the local radio station during our short stay. The area and locals has a rich history, orated at the bar by a descendant of the original Clunies Ross dynasty. The Clunies owned the islands from 1834 until Australia purchased the land in 1978.

Our stop in Cocos quenched our craving for an island fix. Activities included harvesting coconut trees, and exploring underwater via spearfishing. We like to consider ourselves top of the food chain, but find ourselves corrected after a large shark looks up from the depths. They maintain an unnatural ability to hover outside the border of visibility. For our week of spearfishing, we enjoyed the treasures of the reef and shot our share of fish. As a sign of gratitude (mostly curiosity) we tossed the carcasses overboard and emulating the shark divers in Fiji, dove after the fish entrails. Waiting under the boat with scuba gear, up to a dozen reef sharks approached. Reef sharks feature timid personalities, and several simply circled for a couple minutes before the first took a investigative bite. Each shark subsequentially consumed the carcass tearing off a small portion.

After a week of living off the land and a boatload of coconuts, it was time to move on. The trade winds summoned our sails with the promise of fair weather to Mauritius. We decided to sign the “island guest book” before our departure. On several uninhabited islands scattered around the globe, recreational yachtsmen keep various forms of records. On Direction Island, wooden signatures are nailed to coconut trees. Broken Compass left her mark a touch above the rest.

Bali

Bali
It’s not difficult settling into a place like Bali. We rented motorbikes and explored the land. Makai loves the motorbike, riding up front with her paws on the handlebars. The locals can be creative in how they pack the little motorbikes. We witnessed 5 person families to the casual mobile kitchen. On one occasion we looked like locals sporting two people, surfboards, and backpacks with a dog on the handlebars. It worked fine until Makai apparently had enough. She hit the key to “Stop” with her paw, leaving us immobile on a busy highway.
About 90 minutes north of the anchorage is an area known as Ubud. It is an artist’s dream destination: laid back lifestyle with a variety of talented painters and sculptors. The main attraction is a sacred monkey sanctuary, where the Bandar-log leapt from trees to temples and climb onto visitors who trade the local currency: bananas.
Bali has more than just great surfing. The nightlife is crazy. Sky Garden, the main club, has fire dancing performances and multiple floors of bars and dancing. The down under equivalent to Cancun or Cabo San Lucas, drunken Australians inundate the streets and beaches of Kuta attempting to forget the better part of a short lived vacation.
Bribes in Indonesia are commonplace, especially with the police. During the two months I was stopped 4 times for virtually no reason and paid a ‘ticket’ anywhere from $1.50 to $10.00. Sometimes you have to know when to just pay the “fee” and stop negotiations. I was a couple days late in applying for a visa extension (an illegal immigrant). Accustom to flexible Island life, they were half-way through processing my deportation before I submitted by paying the $100 late fee.
A few days before our departure, a 6.0 earthquake rattled the city of Denpasar damaging several buildings. I talked to a couple locals about the earthquake. Even the elderly said that they have never felt anything like it. According to all our neighbor sailors we have missed the window to cross the Indian Ocean. No wind and Cyclone season is approaching. Just in time for our passage to Coco’s Keeling. Pray for wind.

The Arafura Sea

The Arafura Sea. This stretch of water between Australia and Indonesia is 40 feet deep for hundreds of miles. Stereotypical of the nearby coast of Australia, the creatures are deadly. Shark sightings were common and appreciated until one decapitated a large tuna leaving only half the head on the hook. Once an old desert now covered in water, we witnessed about a dozen sea snakes over a hundred miles offshore.

Despite the dangers, we did have watchdogs in the air. The Australian sea patrol plane hailed us on the radio, presumably to verify we did not deter from our Bali destination. We did not relay our fishing report which was noteworthy. We caught tuna on request along with one large wahoo weighing 38lbs. Stripped and dried, wahoo yields some pretty tasty jerky.

Days are easily lost out at sea, however, one was celebrated. August 2nd, our (including Makai’s) birthday. We found Makai in California the first week of October; she was eight weeks old at the time. She did not come with a birth certificate so naturally, we fabricated one. She celebrated with the jerky and we ate a chocolate cake. The attendance was lean this year with family and friends to be desire. The wind and sun were guests gifting sail and solar power respectively. The generosity ended with the Arafura Sea.


Entering the Timor Sea, the wind ceased to exist for 5 days. A surprising number of people ask us what we do out at sea when there is no wind. Well… we wait. Most sailors go crazy not moving, we see it a vacation from sailing. Reading books, laying in the sun, watching movies, casting for fish, isn’t a bad way to spend a few days. No wind or swell, the sunsets, sunrises, and stars all seem better. One of the world greatest destinations is the middle of the ocean with no wind, waves, clouds or moon. The stars are so bright they reflect off the water. It is nearly impossible to tell where the reflection ends and sky begins. I imagine is similar to being in space void the view of the earth. It is also quiet... so quiet it takes a little while to get used to it, like being underwater. These rare moments never last forever. The wind revived and whisked us off to Bali.

Pacific to Torres Straight

It took just over a month to sail from Fiji to Bali. We ghosted by the Vanuatu’s Makura and Mataso Island on a rainy morning and, unfortunately, continued West. Consistent wind and moderate seas, we averaged 135 mile days for the last leg of the Pacific Ocean.

We were looking forward to the Torres Straight after rumors of scattered coral islands, strong current, and congested shipping lanes. With a fair SSE wind, we decided pave our own way. Minding the easterly current kept us out of the shipping lanes we kept our distance from the shipping lanes. We were making great time and life was good until a gale forced us to drop sail a few hours after sunset. Lacking a working jib as a result of an incident in Fiji, we hove to with a reefed mizzen. We drifted slowly towards the shipping lane eight miles away, we felt pretty uncomfortable tuning into the VHF radio for cargo traffic and popping our heads into the gale every five minutes. I took a nap as Chad was on watch knowing it would be a long night. I’m not sure when exactly I woke up. It could have been the noise, but I would like to think I awoke while flying. Either way, my flight crashed landed after only 8 feet. I hit the starboard cabinets while shielding my head from airborne books, laptops, and Chad’s throwing club from Africa (I have to find a new storage place for that). A wave broke over the beam and mizzen sail. I was sure our mizzen mast was gifted to Poseidon. Chad and I looked at each other thinking “Where the hell did that come from?”

Throughout the night, the wind continued to build accompanied by rain as the current graced into the danger shipping zone. Visibility dropped significantly rendering watches all but worthless. Around 3am Chad came down below for a few minutes from his shift and disappeared again out into rain and darkness. “Hit all the lights! Get on the radio! Three hundred foot cargo ship is going to run us over!” is all I heard. Every light we own was on within seconds. I grabbed the radio following protocol by announcing our location off the ship’s port bow, stuttering through rough coordinates and desperately seeking a response. The ship immediately veered to starboard missing us by “a football throw” as Chad so described. 4am I made coffee and blueberry pancakes to shake off the night and start the day off right before the sun lit the sky. By 5am the wind had settled to 30 knots, so we rose a double reefed main slowly pinching upwind.

Late morning we caught the tidal current and favorable wind. We paid our respects to Twin Island as we cruised on past. Records were broken as we hit 12.5 knots through the Prince Wales Channel. I have to attribute at least 5 knots to the current. It felt like sailing down a river as we were swept into the milky green waters of the Arafura Sea. Goodbye Pacific, hello Indian Ocean.

Last Days in Fiji

The west side of Fiji is beautiful. We grabbed a mooring ball in port Denerau and scheduled to haul out Broken Compass (This is the first time we have taken her out of the water since purchasing her). As waves of tourists and honeymooners passed through the marina in transit to the outer islands, we shifted to work mode. The bottom was caked with a half-inch layer of algae and barnacles... No wonder we have been sailing slow. Our rudder had her own issues. Unbeknownst to us, she was harboring a worm, who had eaten its way through the wood. With a piece of wire, we traced and ended the path of the worm. The list of repairs grew with every nut inspected. BC turned into a chemistry lab with mixtures of epoxy, paint, hardeners, thinners, cleaners and resin. Potential hazards and breakdowns were eliminated one by one until Broken Compass splashed 2 weeks later with a new colors.

Joining the ranks of cruising yachts, we motor/sailed to Musket Cove. They call Musket Cove “The vortex” due to the world class surf and island comforts that can trap sailors for years. We hooked up with our friend Mark, captain of Northfork, and hit the reefs. Spending over a year in the islands, dinner by spear was like picking from the menu of a seafood restaurant. After a couple days we sailed to Lautoka, pulling ourselves from our friends and the vortex. All aspects of our sea trial seemed perfect until the new clutch on our recently rebuilt starter made a grinding noise and snapped. Replaced once again and Fiji astern, we are off for Bali. Estimated trip time is 36 days crossing the Coral Sea, Torres Strait, Arafura Sea, and Timor Sea.

Pray for wind!

Sail to Nadi

Continuing to rely solely on the wind, all of our sails take longer than expected. The first few hours down the southern coast were pleasant with following wind and seas. We decided to take a short cut through Beqa passage close to where we went shark diving the previous month. Short cuts typically increase risk. Well, the wind switched then died, leaving us in the middle of the passage. It returned heavy on the nose with rain. Due to our limited navigation equipment coupled with Fiji's reputation for shipwrecks, it was a little unsettling sailing along the coast on a moonless night. The abundance of reef patches and strong currents running through the passage gave the night some flavor.

The next evening we hooked into a tuna. We were a little out of practice. I saw the rod bend and per procedure, screamed, “Fish!!!” Chad flew on deck from a nap, realized it was dark, and bombed down below to retrieve a headlamp. I had left the helm to work the fish and the boat self tacked back over the line, causing it to tangle under the boat. Rigging, sails, solar panels, Firefox, and Makai all posed unique challenges to the procurement of this fish. I pulled it alongside before we remembered our gaffe deficiency. No problem, wire leader... just haul it up when the boat heels over. One... two... wait... three! The fish came aboard surprisingly well with the motion of the boat. A little too well. I stepped aside to watch Chad trip over the cooler while bear hugging a 45 pound yellow fin tuna. As they landed, one of the treble hooks caught Chad's calf, further connecting him to the fish.

I dove below to the tool box and after two unsuccessful attempts with wire cutters and pliers, grabbed the bolt cutters. In all my life, I have never seen a landed fish so calm. Chad sat quietly with him, knowing a crazed tuna would cause a few deep lacerations in his leg. The bolt cutters worked just before the fish began his final flipping fit.

The next morning we positioned ourselves to sail upwind through Navula Passage. We were sailing confidently through with plenty of wind, then a loud cracking noise followed by a splash. The jib sail along with the entire forestay/roller furling system ripped out of the mast and fell in the water. We lashed the sail and hardware alongside as we limped on the mizzen and a double reefed main. Threading breaking waves on either side of the pass added to the excitement. We anchored for the evening in Momi Bay to assess the damage in and devour some yellow fin. The next day, with fairer winds, we continued up to Port Denarau to haul the boat out of the water for some much needed repairs.

Suva

It took us three (more) long weeks to realize Suva is the unlucky side of Fiji. It rained almost every day we were anchored, and if something on the boat wasn't broken, it happened there. Our outboard engine took another 2 week vacation after the starter coil burned out.

The toilet joined the outboard, leaving us scrambling to find specialized parts.

Our engine led us through the fuel system to the injectors to the timing back to the injectors to end ironically with the clutch of our brand new starter breaking due to a manufacturing defect. We discovered sending a new starter to Fiji is equivalent to purchasing a round trip ticket. We were left searching truck graveyards of Fiji.

Breakdowns are not uncommon in Suva. One not need look far to see wrecks and remains of boats around the harbor. The frequent sinking of boats and close calls discussed over Fiji Bitters at the Royal Suva Yacht Club were a strong omen to leave. One of our friends, Troutbridge, hit the reef coming in the Suva harbor. His boat was stuck on the reef for over two weeks. We departed shortly thereafter.

All mishaps aside, Suva is a fun city. The people stop you in the street just to talk to you, and there are a lot of great bars and clubs. We made many friends quickly and enjoyed the simplicity of the Fijian lifestyle. We were picked up by a couple cute Fijian girls at a bar and found ourselves playing squash at the university and learning local agricultural techniques for fish and prawn farming. Tired of the rain, we picked up the anchor to head over to the Western side for some sun.

Fiji

The trip to Fiji provided a nice variety of wind, squalls and calm sunny days. We had a full crew including Mike Foley and our little Brother, Tyler. The absence of consistent wind delt a delayed arrival to Fiji unfortunately missing Tyler's flight back to LA. We landed in Suva, the capital of Fiji. The capital is not like the brochures. There are no beaches, blue water or tourists. We spent a couple days at the Royal Suva Yacht club fixing the Tahatsu from her swim a couple weeks prior. We searched for a better location to entertain Liz and Ann Marie who would fly in to meet us in a couple days. Pacific Harbor became an immediate appeal when it advertised the "Adventure Capital of Fiji." We do not typically find ourselves allured by guided tours, however Pacific Harbor became an exception. We geared up in scuba equipment and decended to 70 feet underwater where trained professionals fed giant sharks. The sharks and pelagic fish were incredible. The fish comprised of tuna, trevally, and red snapper frenzy over fish carcass scraps. The sharks on the other hand, are more coy. The larger sharks move slowly with grace and power, like kings of the ocean. They carefully selected their meals and inhaled tuna heads in a single bite. During the dive we saw up to 12 foot bull and lemon sharks. It was an unforgettable experience.

We took a side trip to an isolated beach where Makai could release some energy. Similar to the other islands we attempted sneak her to remote places. This plan never works. Taking Makai to land is like to taking Nemo through an elementary school. Exotic creatures never go unnoticed. She found her peer group quickly and ran around with the kids of a local police officer named Osea. Osea, like many other Fijians, looks and holds himself like a warrior. His interrogation was inquisitive more than threatening and we enjoyed lunch with his family. We quickly became good friends and spent the following day, sitting in a circle eating and drinking kava for hours.

After a couple days in Pacific Harbor we sailed to an island called Beqa. Beqa is known for walking on fire and their supernatural ability to heal burn wounds by touch. It is customary to take Kava to the chief for permission to stay in the village. Although we would sleep in the boat, Kava opens doors. After presenting the Kava, the village decided to throw Mike a birthday party. Mike's Birthday started early with wake boarding under the stars at 3am. Sleep was optional and we all joined the village at a nearby beach for game day. The men provided lunch via spear. The women thatched and made the fire. The kids played and climbed coconut trees. We were encouraged to join the kids and happily obliged, drowning ourselves in coconut water.

The sail back to Suva was difficult with no wind or head winds. Firefox took a detour half way to obtain extra petrol in order to connect Mike with his departure flight. In Suva the plan is to outfit Broken Compass for a successful 40 day trek over to Bali.

Snow Dog in Tonga

We landed on another island. All these islands look the same in the south pacific. I was just happy to see land. Tonga is a little different. Christian missionaries abolished cannibalism among people but there were never missionaries for dogs. In Tonga, people eat dog and dogs eat everything. Tonga is one dangerous place! I have heard a couple jokes about being thrown in the umu (an underground oven) but no one made a move on me. The boys scored us a sweet island gig. I can now run, roam, swim, and sleep on the beach all I want. I have an island all to myself… well, almost all to myself.

Honyo. Honyo is a Tongan dog on the island. After miles at sea and always on the move, I was happy to have a friend to play with and settle down. She had other plans and was not very welcoming. Some days we could run and play together, but when dinner time arrived tempers stirred. We exchanged in a couple of scuffles, which were always quickly ended by the boys. Some fights went better than others. Although we did not end best friends, Honyo taught me a one valuable lesson: Never turn your back on a hungry dog.

Aside from the complicated relationship with the Honyo, we have had a couple adventures. An average day involves exploration and the procurement food. This includes wild coconuts, bread fruit and fish. The boys caught sardines in nets and went underwater for the bigger ones. I always worry a little when they disappear under the water and am equally excited when they return to the surface. One day we tried something new. The boys took me out to go pig hunting with a bow and arrow. I have no idea how to hunt pigs! We made it about 50 human paces into the forest when I heard a noise. I chased it listening to my wolf instincts and ignoring the boys' request to return. I found the source to be a wild chicken. This I can handle. I caught it and brought it home so the boys could cook it up. At least one of us caught dinner and it was delicious.

For want of a Snapper

Fishing has become a large part of our daily activity in the past year and a half. On Eueiki island, we spear our food almost every evening. This evening we wanted a particular fish: the red snapper. These have been most difficult to shoot, as they are the predators preying on reef fish that wander into deeper water. We divided our strategy with Chad and Allistair fishing and myself and Tyler spearfishing. The ocean was rough that evening by our standards (we later found out it was the result of a cyclone a few hundred miles away). I considered the lee shore of the island, but Chad reminded me the snapper were more abundant on the south reef of Euakafa, the island two miles to the west. When there are fish, safety slips from the mind like the hazy memory of a budget after a few drinks at the bar.

Tyler and I donned our gear, and hopped off the dinghy (Firefox). After a few dives, Tyler surfaced with a small chub. Chad and Allistair stayed away from the reef in white-capped open water. Calming myself in the excited water, I took a deep breath and performed a quick duck dive. Descending to fifty feet I clutched a piece of dead coral to stabilize myself against the strong current. Five red snapper swam in my direction and stopped. After what seemed like a debate to continue, the brave one entered my range and I squeezed the trigger. The spear pierced through both gill plates and I surfaced calling for Chad to pull around the boat.

Conditions seemed to have worsened during the below water time. Chad approached and a wave pushed the boat over me. Thankfully, Chad had put the engine in neutral, preventing the propeller from blending my left abdomen. This act unfortunately caused the engine to stall as it drifted swiftly towards the reef. In between swells I saw a six foot breaking wave lift the back of Firefox and throw Chad and Allistair into the air. Paddles, fishing rods, fish, a bucket, masks, snorkels, and spear guns scattered across the ten foot deep reef as waves continued to crash over the boat. I quickly tied the fish (still in my hands attached to the gun) to a large piece of coral underwater. After a difficult time righting the boat Tyler and I became rescue divers scouring the reef for lost equipment an amazingly recovering all except for the paddles and a bucket.

Having been submerged, the engine became non-functioning. Tyler, Chad and I swam Firefox against the wind, waves, and current to a relatively sheltered area on the outside of the reef and weighed our options. The sun was down and the decision to stay anchored through the night quickly became our best option. The largest concern was our Mother and Mike still being on the island and not knowing our location or situation.

It was a long, cold, sleepless night out with 4 people crammed in a 14 foot inflatable boat. Every ten minutes a wave would crash over the bow drenching our shirtless bodies. When the frequent squalls blew through, we developed a shelter system with four fins acting as shields. We shot a spear out as a secondary anchor in the event our primary failed (fortunately it did not).

Early the next morning, Chad and Tyler put on our squall shields and swam the mile and a half to Eueiki across “Shark Alley,” known for having large sharks. Walking up the beach, then casually greeted Mike and our Mom. The time was around 6:30AM, right before a meeting took place in the main town to coordinate a search and rescue party. Some local friends came out to tow our boat back to the island through rough seas. After the rescue, Captain Ongo, a speaking chief and owner of the uninhabited island we spent the night off of just smiled as he watched me unload the last item on our boat. In my hands I held a 10 pound red snapper.

Taste of Tonga

Our good friend Mike Foley just left the Broken Compass after visiting for over a month. When we have friends visit we make very few promises, except that their time on the boat will be “an experience.”

(Mike's first fish by spear)

One of the first nights on the island a dog fight broke out. Chad and I flew from the dinner table to break it as he grabbed Makai, and myself onto the island dog, Honyo. Teeth were in a shark like frenzy when I grabbed Honyo's cheeks to pull her off. I held Honyo from clamping down on Makai's neck, which freed Makai to take another bite at Honyo. Makai's white fangs disappeared into my wrist and slid out effortlessly. The fight stopped immediately and I slowly walked back to the kitchen to receive “Island doctoring” which consists of a medicine tree and Chad's suturing.

Life on the island settled down a bit and we watched a movie and went to bed early one night. Chad moved out to the dock. The dock is an ideal spot on hot nights with the cooling ocean breeze. Taking in the thousands of stars overhead keep you up for a few minutes, until the gentle sounds of waves on the coral beach induces sleep. Little did we know, halfway across the pacific the devastating tsunami hit Japan. A Tongan friend named Sione motored his little outboard boat 5 miles that night to warn us of the coming wave. We quickly gathered a few belongings, expecting the island to be submerged in the next couple hours. We sailed the remaining hours in the dark to a safer harbor, only able to hope for the best. Luckily, only a few boats in Tonga were damaged from abnormal tidal surges, marked by bouys to the harbor being torn out of the ground.

The following day we were invited by a Tongan friend to celebrate the harvesting of yams. We headed off to the rough village of Pangi. Removing yams from the earth is not an easy task. A spade is used to clear an area around the yam, which is vertically buried up to 4 feet deep. Each foot long yam took us about 20 minutes, while the larger expensive yams were reserved for the most experienced farmers. The afternoon was rounded with a beach party where we watched the water level rise and fall as a result of earthquake aftershocks.

Back to the village to finish the yam harvesting festival, we ate fish and yams. Kava, a drink mixture from a local root followed dinner. Accepting an invitation to sleep in the village, we were all sardined into position, and with my feet inches from the father's face. The following morning our surrogate mother dressed us in traditional church clothes in my first church attendance since arriving in the Pacific. The invitation continued into the afternoon as we ate pig along with more yams and a taro leaf dish. We lazily lounged on Ano beach after the feast, absorbing the sun and swatting at mosquitoes.

Tonga II

Tonga has been treating us well. Since arriving, we found a job that we had no idea actually existed: Island sitting. Back in the cubical days, I used to set up a desktop background of island views with white sand beaches and turquoise waters. Now I just look up past the screen:

A good life is one that’s shared, so we arranged a steady stream of visitors from all over the world to come visit us on our private island. If we didn’t have the goal of sailing around the world, a career as a Tongan tour guide would be right up our alley. Kayaking, fishing, spearfishing, wakeboarding, snorkeling, scuba diving, cave exploring, island hikes, beach bon fires, fire dancing, coconut opening, and pig hunting with friends have kept us busy.

It is difficult to blog when life moves entirely too fast, so I’ll just post a couple pictures with captions…

Showing Christina how to scale a snapper.

Christin carving on the wakeboard in front of Eueiki.

Exploring the outer island of Lau ui vaha after a long canoe paddle.

Getting PADI Open Water Certification with Sejal at Port Maurelle.

Throwing a party for some friends who are teaching at the local schools through Peace Corp.

Chad fishing on Euakafa, the island Survivor was considering for their next season.

We've been eating pretty well on a fish diet.

We had a boat full (13 large boxes) of Christmas presents for the kids here in Tonga. So yes... we were Santa Claus. A little background. Thrifty Americans living abroad send packages to American Samoa and find yachts to sail them to Tonga to avoid hefty shipping charges. So we were postal carriers arriving 2 days before Christmas. Since everyone loves Santa, we made friends quickly and were invited to a Christmas party hosted by the owners of a local resturant.

Tonga created their own time zone which puts them first in the world to celebrate the coming of the New Year. We celebrated at a local bar called “The Mermaid.” The scene at a bar is more similar to a high school dance where bootlegged booze is consumed and boys and girls stand on opposite ends of the dance floor. We were lucky enough to not only enjoy Tongan and American New Year traditions but also a Norwegian leg of dried lamb called Fenalar which was snuck past airport officials by a Norwegian girl with one heck of a smile.

Enter Elisabeth. We met Elisabeth several months ago in French Polynesia. She is an amazing free-diver and cook. Two good assets on a sailboat in the south pacific. During Elisabeth's three week visit we sailed to some of the pristine beaches in Vavau island group, anchoring off several reefs and successfully spearing fish for dinner each evening. We also visited one of Vavau two popular caves, mariners cave, which has an underwater entrance into a misty cave perfect for a aquaman hideout. All good things must come to an end and Elisabeth flew home to her Architecture firm in Norway.

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With the low season in full swing the entire island group is open for our exploration. Threat of cyclones keep people away and us here until late March. Until then, we'll hone our inter-island sailing and diving skills checking out what the Vavau group has to offer. Visitors from all over the states are lined up over the next couple weeks before Bret and I raise our sails and continue the journey west.

Tonga Sail

We rode down to Tonga on a string of squalls. Each dark grouping of clouds came with mixed feelings. Without them we made almost no headway due to lack of wind. Unfortunately wind's buddy, Rain, always tagged along for the ride. Beyond the constant adjustments of the sails, it is typically not bad sailing three days with wet weather. The challenge came when there was a noxious leak below the cabin. We quickly became nauseous and couldn't figure whether it was a propane leak, fuel leak, or a punctured can of paint, epoxy, or resin in the v-berth. Concerned about propane, Chad closed the valves. Unable to ventilate the cabin due to the continuous rain, we didn't have hot food for two days. Cold, wet, and sleepless, the cabin became an attractive alternative until 15 minutes later we retreated to the rain with pounding headaches. Once I came back out and vomited over the railing ranting that I was not seasick (for record's sake) and cursed our toxic cabin.

We had no natural concept of time for three days as the dark clouds covered both moon and sun. On day four, the rain resided, the sun emerged, and the wind died. We were able to open the hatches and found our three day nemesis, a half-gallon sized can of acetone lay empty under scores of ropes, tools and sails in the v-berth. It never felt so good with no wind at sea. 20 miles north of Vavau island, wearing dry clothes, eating hot food, and playing backgammon in the sun was bliss.

The next day we were hit head on with a 40+ knot squall as we tacked up into the island group. Entering the Neiafu harbor, our friend, Elisabeth, who had flown from Norway called on the radio. After her three days of flights to Tonga traveling half way across the world, somehow the South Pacific winds brought us to the same place within 15 minutes of each other. Talk about timing!

Farewell to Pago Pago

Bret headed back on a whirlwind US and Mexico tour as Makai and I manned the boat. The "rainy season" is aptly named, but did not deter several excursions and island tours. Two palangi teine's (white girls) named Christin and Alice were companions and tour guides for the island. We went kayaking in Pala Lagoon, a marshland that looks as though it was transplanted from the Florida everglades. There is a beautiful hike and protected area called Palangi beach on the west side with a good break for surfing. “Sliding Rocks” has tidal pools where we lounged for hours drinking Vailima (local beer) until sunset.

We caught barracuda, trevally, tuna, and a native worm called Pololo. Pololo is the caviar of Samoa. They emerge one night every year from the coral to be caught by eager fishermen. I took a couple trips on a local samoan boat. The harvest was poor this year, but it didn't slow down the laughter and drinking, which continues well into the morning.

There is a bar/dance club called Oceans which opened across the street from the Marina. The managers, E and Vanessa, are the kindest samoans I met “on island.” I spent several nights exchanging stories and learning Samoan traditions, business, and political practices on the island. Another friend and qualified mechanic helped install the engine we shipped from Minnesota. The engine was damaged in transit and we ended up building the current one from scratch (or just the short block). As we leave Samoa for Tonga the engine still does not work (we just shipped a new starter). We are pressed for time to meet a friend from Norway who is flying to Tonga to for Christmas. So we will leave for Tonga in typical Broken Compass fashion... 325 miles, No engine, no wind, no autopilot and one week until Christmas. Pray for wind!

Brief visit home

With the Broken Compass safely docked in Pago Pago, I booked a flight to Mexico. The plan: Cousin's wedding in Mexico, fly home to Pennsylvania to visit family/friends, and source supplies back to the boat.

I stopped in Phoenix for a 3 days layover only to experience slight culture shock out at the Scottsdale bars. Dressed in nothing but board shorts while sharing $5 bottles of rum for the past year, flashy outfits and dozens of people pushing each other for $10 drinks was a bit of a change. Fortunately, the wedding was held in Puerto Vallarta, providing a more subtle transition as I was able to revisit places we sailed almost a year prior. Sitting on the beach viewing the vastness of the Pacific ocean, I thought of our 34 day crossing and all the islands thousands of miles westward.

Albeit a home warming welcome, Pennsylvania in November is incomparable to the tropical sun of the south pacific. I visited friends, family, and began preparations to head back to the boat when Chad informed me the replacement of our engine was a more practical alternative than fixing the old one. Purchasing a new engine and shipping it on a freighter took another 5 weeks and I found myself staying in Pennsylvania through Thanksgiving and spending time in an office in the interim.

Having returned to the States, it gives our journey perspective. Running around with a car, phone, iPad and the ubiquitous “virtual connectivity” to everyone is vastly different than life at sea. It leads me to question: Which is “the real world?” Emails, facebook, texts, and phone calls begin to be a lot to manage.

On my flight back to Pago Pago, I spent a few days in Portland Oregon visiting friends and stopping by my old office. Although it was great to see former co-workers, the old cube confirmed my decision to sail. The endless opportunities of the sea and excitement of the next island seem to polarize the spacial confines of a cubical. A two day layover to see a best friend from high school and watch the Pipeline surfing competition and I am on my way back. There is one thing I know for certain: The Broken Compass, clear blue waters and Makai eagerly await my return.

-Bret

Snow Dog in Samoa

Samoa is like the wild west for dogs. Unlike my overprotective owners, dogs run free and patrol their territory in packs. We had several encounters during our morning runs, however I was on a leash and I just watched as Chad defended us with rocks. One day I was determined to meet these dogs who lived without rules or leashes. I untied my rope and jumped off the boat to the dock. I was free! I did not run far before I found my friend, Nancy. She is a female about my size and she comes by each evening to tease me at the end of my leash. Now it was my turn. I was batting her around outside the Marina when suddenly I was grabbed and thrown in a pickup truck. I did not know the owner of the truck, nor where we were going, but I was on an adventure! A little over a mile later, the Samoan started to creep me out, so I jumped out to explore downtown Pago.

Then I saw them: a pack of stray dogs whom I wanted to befriend. To my surprise, they were not as excited to see me. The group of 8 ran towards me barking, angry, and with bad intention. I retreated. Fortunately they are all much slower, so I would run, wait, then run again. I finally took refuge in a white pickup truck with an open door. Exhausted, I laid in the back hoping he would just take me home. He didn't. First he tried to poke me with a stick. I ignored him because I was to tired to play games. He said his name was James and he would take me home. Perfect, I thought. On hour later we arrived at a house in the middle of the woods. This is not good. I couldn't sleep or eat. I was scared and whined all night. The next morning I was back in the pick-up truck with a little boy. Kids seem to understand me much better than older people. I licked him, he laughed and smiled. A short ride later I was back on the Broken Compass. I thanked the boy and went to catch up on some much needed sleep.

In the following weeks. We went on hikes, kayak tours, boat rides, swims and car rides. I love car rides.

I met some of the nicer dogs on the island and found that one on one, I have not found my match. Speaking of matches though, I met a couple boys when Chad left the boat one day. I jumped off to play. They seemed to want something else. I went along with what they called mating. I waited for them to come back the next day, but Chad took me on a car ride instead. I love car rides. We stopped and all I remember is a man came in the car, poked me in the butt with a needle. I woke up with a purple belly, 8 stitches and unable to walk. I think I was drugged and cut open. Either way, I don't want to try that mating thing anymore.

So American Samoa was exciting. Living next to land was bliss and playing with all the stray dogs was definately a highlight. I hear we are headed to Tonga next. The other dogs told me to watch out because people eat dogs in Tonga. I simply told them I am Makai, a siberian husky traveling the world and not even dog eating Tongans will stop me from completing my journey.

-Makai