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

Magic Hour

Typically the hour between sunset and darkness is filled with treasures. The views are beautiful with an assortment of colors painted across the horizon. It is also a time to squeeze in everything you forgot to do during the day. Today was no different and spearfishing was the neglected activity. Let me start by saying spearfishing is a dangerous sport. There are many ways to be killed, led by the possibility of drowning. We were solicited by a cute British girl named Alice to catch dinner off a reef close to her house. She played our ego. There were red flags everywhere. I heard a coastguard mention it was the roughest seas he has ever seen off the coast, It was high tide, we were in unfamiliar waters, there was no rescue boat, I was wearing my back-up fins (shorter and torn), but we went anyway. Swimming a quarter mile to the breakwater, I remember thinking... “damn this is far... even if I did shoot a fish, it is a long swim back and the sharks would more than likely take my dinner.” We had heard stories of 12-14 foot hammerheads in the area and over 10ft tiger sharks. Either way, I figured we may see some good fish and it's always worth checking out. We approached the edge of the reef and the rip seemed strong. I turned to Bret who was following Alice. “Rip is pretty strong,” I said. “Yup” was his response with a slight smirk. We figured this Alice girl might want to turn around but she started looking at us as if we should have already shot a fish. I thought... Damn, Ok, big fish are in deep water. I took a dive and scanned for a trough. Nothing. This sucks... Alright, where did those two go? I thought I could hunt right on the edge of reef where it dropped off into deep water. The strong current would also attract big fish. I creaped to the edge and dove. The current was 6-7 knots screaming out to sea (surfers call it a riptide) I went down and was sucked into the deep water. I held onto a big chunk of reef on the bottom and it broke off with the pressure. I was flying out to sea underwater. Kicking hard, one of my cheap fins purchased in Mexico ripped at the foot. Alright, this is bad. One fin, being pulled out to sea... what are my options. There are many reactions when a person faces a life threatening situation. Panic and immobility are the most popular. I must have been blessed with a lower IQ than normal, because I seem to process slowly in these situations. Drop the gun and swim for it was my first thought. No, darkness is quickly approaching and this gun is my only protection. It can also act as an anchor with 200ft of nylon rode. Keep the gun. I was already 200 yards from the chunk of reef that ripped off and disoriented. Which way do I swim? Hmm... Ok, we swam out the channel... that's the deepest water, rips take swimmers straight out, swim toward shallow water and less current, but parallel to land to escape the rip. I swam hard but paced myself. The last thing I wanted was to be exhausted and floating out to sea, see an opportunity and not have the energy to go for it. The opportunity did arise. A finger of reef stuck out and I found bottom again. With a shot fin, I could not swim fast. I dove and held onto the bottom and as the tide surged I made my way forward. First by only a couple feet after each dive and re-surface but the distance improved as the depth reduced. Back on the reef, I saw Bret and Alice. They chose not to explore the riptide and were content swimming in the breakers. Alice looked worried but Bret appeared undaunted as he swam closer. "Nice current" he greeted between sets as we were still being pummeled by waves. "Yup", I replied.