Lifou to Ouvea (the Loyalty Islands)

9/8/2016 – 12/8/2016

(Blog readers please note - by left clicking on  photos you will see them full size and a photo gallery below. The same applies for previous blog posts..see blog archives below.)

The physical and cultural allure of les Iles Loyaute dates from when James Cook first visited them over 240 years ago. As places of great beauty they have few peers, and culturally they possess a uniqueness, colour and subtlety that has always added to the fascination of visiting there. There are three main islands in the Loyalties, and each has their own distinctive language, Negone on Mare, Drehu on Lifou  and Iaai on Ouvea, the result being that locals from one of the isles may not understand the tongue of another just a half day sail away. These days French is a common thread for all.  We decided to make for Lifou and Ouvea, given the quality of their sou-east friendly anchorages, their stunning vistas and the recommendations of fellow cruisers. We arrived at Lifou, delighted that we had resolved the “clearing out” of New Caledonia formalities and that when we had experienced the delights of these magnificent places we could finally set our sights on Port Vila in Vanuatu, less than two day’s sail to the NNE. Yes, Vanuatu. Finally: but maybe not exactly as we planned to arrive there, but more of this later.

Local kids enjoying the aquamarine waters at the Drueulu anchorage

We were sharing the Drueulu anchorage with Paul and Juan on Bumpy Dog who had left Baie de Prony in advance of us and gave us a hearty wave as we settled back on anchor. Although a little sleep deprived, we were nonetheless keen to get ashore and Paul came over to let us know that, following local custom, they were soon heading ashore to find the Village Chief, and present a couple of small gifts in seeking permission to access the village and its delightful surrounds. We have fond memories of interacting with local villages in places such as India, Sri Lanka, the Maldives, Indonesia and in PNG’s Louisiade Archipelago, over many years of travel, both on sea and on land, and back in Noumea we had commented that although we passed locals in city streets, shared buses and were together in markets and the like, apart from a brace of smiles and bonjours, our connections with true locals had been limited. Now at Drueulu village, we hoped to interact a little more closely with the real locals of the Loyalties.

The precinct of the Chief...a blend of tradition and modern architecture

Once ashore though, our first thoughts were not so much “where is the Chief?”, but “where are the people”. No swarms of runny nosed kids, no mixed grill of doubtful hounds, no curious adults, no chickens and piglets, no one wanting to trade, barter or cajole, and no one seemingly interested at all in our arrival in their bay; in fact it was hard to find anyone, much less the Chief. Undeterred, we pressed along the shoreline road abeam of neat and modest houses that reflected both a respect for tradition and a taste for modernity, until eventually we happened upon what appeared to be a ceremonial enclave, a spiritual centre, a traditional beehive dwelling, a carefully tended cemetery and an impressive and modern bungalow that we rightly concluded belonged to the Chief. Unfortunately, the Chief was not at home and we presented our tokens to his mystified son, who via Paul’s superior French gave implied approval for us to anchor, swim and to frolic in local waters, and explained that the Chief was not at home because he was at a wedding. We found that we have arrived, in wedding season, where village nuptials were apparently enjoyed by all, to the point where a schedule of approaching ceremonies and who was taking the plunge, was posted prominently on the door of the local shop.

Drueulu’s retail precinct extended to two shops that we could see, both of which were noted for early morning sales of baguettes, and for the fact that after 11am they were likely to be found closed. Retailers do gentleman’s hours here! Along the main road we passed a couple of cars and found that, if we liked, there was a local bus to Lifou’s main town We, across on the other side of the island, that could be accessed by standing on the side of the road by 7am, and returning to Drueulu by 11am. No, there was no afternoon option, because accessing markets and doing business all seems to happen before 11 when it appears to be time to find some shade and take in a noon-time siesta. With our beach permission now invoked, we felt it culturally appropriate to return to Calista, unearth our beach shelter and return to the foreshore to gaze upon the swaying palms, and perchance to swim and to doze as the sun made its way to the western horizon over Baie du Santal.

Another tough day in paradise

There is something about waking up in strange places, and on this voyage we have woken up to some incredible vistas that bedevil you for a moment if you head out into the cockpit from the deepest of sleeps. It can catch one out for a second or two while the mind moves from stand-by to function and you work out just where you are. On our first night in Drueulu, with us both yearning for our pillows following an uneasy night passage, I awoke in the early hours to the undeniable cacophony of a party in full swing ashore, with discordant singing, loud and garrulous voices and no hint of it all winding down. Maybe it was the post-wedding festivities, but whatever it was it kept me from returning to sleep for about 14 seconds, with a wry smile my face.

Our alarm jangled us into a form of action at an early hour, and in the crisp air of the new day we tumbled into the duck and made for shore to join Paul and Juan at the main crossroad in town, that is in every respect; including the public notice-board about tsunami dangers, well short of Piccadilly Circus. Wondering if we had being led astray about the bus, we waited for some minutes before a dishevelled group of young men lurched unsteadily towards us and when in range offered a volley of staccato “bonjours”, with unstable voices and eyes that struggled in the morning light. Here was the party, now mobile, but like a function without a venue. We returned our hearty best wishes, wondering if in spite of our desire to engage with some locals, this group of Rastafarian revellers was a good place to start. One unsteady young man doing a military two–step minus the music, came at us brandishing something from the depths of his coat that turned out to be a half consumed bottle of Bordeaux. “Would ya like a drink” I’m sure he said in fractured Gallic as the clock ticked past 7.15am and as I tried to explain that in spite of a fondness for red wine I had just cleaned my teeth. His mate, not to be outdone and no doubt recognising the calibre of the newcomers in town, stepped forward to the presentation line and with a commendable flourish revealed the ace in the pack, a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label, which, with an unsteady grip, he offered around with pride. ‘It was now 7.16 and we were on a street corner on a remote island; not later at night on the chesterfield lounge, with smoking jacket and cigar. Sadly, in spite of our earnest best wishes and expressed bonhomie, we declined the offer of the scotch and to be conscripted into the party. Just then a car pulled up and a gentleman of obviously some standing in the community, wound down his window to enquire if we were ok. Despite our reassurances, a clipped word from the elder saw the young men immediately disengage, and wander off down the street, just as a white and nondescript van pulled up to the curb, This was the bus to We!

Roadside bus stop with Paul & Juan minus the partygoers!

We feel sorry for those who visit foreign lands, stay in the cosseted enclaves of their hotels and rarely get out to engage with real locals on their home turf. Some of our most memorable times away from home have emerged from random moments in distant places. This is not to say that things always pan out in a way that you’d hope; take for example the time that we secured seats for a jeep ride through the lofty Himalayas from Darjeeling to Gantok in the misty highlands of Sikkim, and the vehicle that seated six eventually had eleven on board, plus bags of produce, live chickens, sacks of potatoes, and bundles of sticks perched on the roof, before we pulled over to take a twelfth on board, a guy who proceeded to sit on the driver’s lap and operate some of the levers, plus steer whilst the driver accelerated on voice command!! With crumbling verges and a precipitous drop to a ribbon river of raging melt-water far below, and with us evading sundry vehicles, like dodge-‘em cars at the sideshows, I felt it time to raise a concern about occupational health and safety with the driver, who looked at me blankly and uncomprehending. When in Sikkim! In Drueulu, an eternity away from the great Himalayas all was well, and with lusty bonjours the payment of a modest fare, and meeting the puzzled stares from brown limbed tykes perched on matronly laps, we were away on our way to We.

A community building near the market

Central We is the administrative hub of the Loyalties, and we knew at once that considering the turn-around time of the bus, and it being the only service of the day, a visit to the thinly appointed visitor’s centre, a sweep through the local market, and a check-out of the local “supermarket”, would see it time again to re-join the locals for the trundle back to Drueulu. We had hoped to procure a hire car for a whistle-stop sweep of the island, but this was, after all, wedding season, and everything that was mechanically viable, and contraptions that were not, had been hired weeks ago; a fact confirmed by regular cavalcades of vehicles, bedecked in streamers, and almost trailing old boots and cans on strings, that blared their way through town, to the great acclaim of locals and four bemused visitors alike. We had wanted to see We’s new marina, the Marina de We, that might offer stopover potential and a refuge in foul weather, or an all-weather haven for rest and re-supply. For now, after a stroll through the local market, and the purchase of some delicious potato patties and a portion of sponge cake, we needed to access the ATM and to extend our local phone credit at a facility where, already, they were lined up to overflowing as if queuing for Grand Final tickets. It was clear that these things would have to wait for another day. The frenetic morning voyage to We on the local omnibus is as close to stress as one gets on Lifou and on our return to Dreuelu, in keeping with local custom, we felt it appropriate to seek afternoon shelter under our beach awning on the delightful foreshore, having already concluded that a re-visit to We on the morrow was both desirable and unavoidable. As the sun set on our first fine day in Lifou, we charged our glasses in our comfy cockpit, and raised one to the newlyweds, to the delights of Lifou and to a golden sun that sent shafts of filtered light above Cape Lefevre across Baie de Santal – a promontory that we had already re-named Point Porcupine – and concluded that wherever the good souls on Pacific Dawn were by now they could not be having better times than we were.

The downside to all of this of course was the clarion call of the alarm, at an unearthly hour, to summon us to re-join the good souls of Dreuelu on a bus voyage to We. This time it was just the two of us, reassembling at the appointed 0700 hour in downtown Drueulu, minus our boozy revellers (we had mused how many 7.00am’s would pass at the corner of North Terrace and The Strand, at home in Port Elliot if we were standing there waiting for an offer of a cabernet, much less a dram of Red Label!) but also minus any other locals, and the bus. We wondered what we could or should do just as a car stopped and a couple asked where we were heading. Their English was limited, but their goodwill was boundless and in 20 or so minutes, with sincere proffering of thanks by us both, there we were at the entirely slick We Marina.

We Marina with "big Galah" in the foreground

It is hard to get a “feel” for a marina complex from its brochures or website, much less to assess its “approaches” to answer the ultimate question – could we run in here at night in difficult conditions?  The outer section of the small harbor at We provides a terminus for the fast ferry from Noumea, whilst in the inner harbour, around a breakwater chicane the little marina looked just the place to be if dirty weather was on its way. In fact the marina looked a perfect delight on this fine day, with its attractive office complex, appointments for visitors and evidently a range of repair facilities that obviously served clientele far beyond Lifou. Its attractiveness was enhanced by the short walk out to the end of the breakwater, where modern “leads” into the marina were all that a visitor by night or day would want, and a glance into the gin-clear waters abeam of the entrance showed an array of tropical fish that would put the Darling Harbor Aquarium to shame. Just then a Dive Tender eased out of the entrance with a party about to head below, not somewhere across Chateaubriand Bay, but right there, just a stone’s throw away from where we were watching. Just then from a large Aussie Cat, Big Galah, perched on the end of the main boat finger, came a call, in quintessential Australian - “g’day there, I’m Kerry, do you want to borrow a mask and snorkel? The snorkelling here is the best we’ve found”.  A look at the teeming creatures, both under and around the big cat, confirmed the recreational potential of being tied up here, and only our civilian, not beach attire stopped us from taking up the offer. We had seen Sharon and Jim, the owners of Big Galah, back in Noumea, and that morning Jim had taken the first flight out of town in the hope of getting to the city and completing all “clearance” requirements for the four on board in time to catch the last flight back to Lifou. It was an endeavour studded with potential pitfalls, and everyone on board had their fingers crossed. We were happy with the clearance arrangements that we had in place via Chloe, back in Noumea.

The marina is a fair hike out of town so, flushed with our snaring a lift in the morning, an outstretched finger soon had us picked up and deposited in the centre of town. Just like that! Cookie was loving the free-wheeling arrangements of this day and mentally she was back in Europe in the early 80’s: backpack, bathers, ciggies, bottle of scotch and a change of smalls – after all what else does an Aussie girl on tour really need? These ethereal thoughts were soon dragged back to place and time at the Telco office, for phone re-charge, where at the electric ticket machine she became client 51, whilst client 14 sat at the help window, part way into a ream of forms. Jim off Big Galah might be back in town from Noumea before we got to upgrade our phone! I was no luckier outside with an ominous sign on the ATM saying that, maybe because of the weddings, it was out of money!

Local dwellings in We

Happily though, the urbane and fluently English spoken Telco manager sensed Cookie’s presence in the madding throng; came personally to find what she required and took over a computer to see her on her way, with renewed phone credit, both grateful and relieved. As there was another ATM further up the road we sauntered there and around a corner came on the hub that we were seeking: the aforementioned bank, a wonderfully stocked supermarket, the well regarded Snack Makanu Café, a hardware come general store, and out the front a family of enterprising locals who had a charcoal grill in full swing, producing some succulent marinated chicken satays that would have put the BBQ outside Bunnings on Port Road to shame.

With backpacks brimming with produce, we lumped our way back to the corner where we knew we were already too late for the bus, even if it had been running. We remembered a crucial piece of information that the Information Centre had to offer; that if you need a lift, just “thumb it” and locals will stop and pick you up. Sure enough, in no time at all an extended digit did the trick, and this time it was a form of local 10 seater, doubling as a freelance taxi, where for a modest fee we could get back to Dreuelu. The genial fellow at the helm asked if he could slip in some music, as we took in the countryside, and sure enough, out from the speakers came the anthem of all tropical places in the world….Bob Marley! We should have guessed!

Our favourite "Tribal Hut" in Drueulu

After a further stroll through Drueulu, where beehive huts and their distinctive thatched roofs had become a favourite, and a swim in the cove we returned to Calista thinking that if the weather was fine the next day it could be good to make passage on the 40-odd mile journey to what is the arguably the jewel in the crown of the Loyalties, the incredible coral atoll of Ouvea. Besides, Chloe had assured us that getting our passports onto a plane from Ouvea, when we had tired of paradise, was an easy thing to do, and that again, we just needed to go there and enjoy our holiday!

Sunset over "Point Porcupine " ( Cape Lefevre )

Entering the Ouvea Lagoon

We had hoped for an agreeable wind angle to clear Cape Lefevre and make for Passe de Coetiogon, the southern entrance to Ouvea’s glorious lagoon, but whilst we were favoured for a while, when half way there the wind moved astern of us away from our quarter, and then to a point north of east, that caused us to re-assess where we might ultimately anchor. At sea in these waters we normally monitor VHF radio channel 16, the emergency and call-up channel, but understandably, apart from a number of general calls in French, it came as a total surprise to hear our radio leap to life with the meassage….”Calista, Calista, Calista, this is Billaroo, Billaroo, Billaroo, do you receive, over” Billaroo! We could hardly believe it. We had first met Kerry and Sue off their big Queensland cat, oceans away on King Island, where they gave us a lift in their hire-car from the little port of Grassy to the main town of Currie on their way to check out local golf courses. They had mentioned, in passing, that after rounding Tasmania they were ultimately heading for Noumean waters, and now, seeing our “target” on AIS, and being just astern of us, they called us up. They asked where we were intending to anchor in Ouvea’s Lagoon, and suggested that with the 56’Yacht, Farr Flyer, also bound that way, we should all catch up on Billaroo, to share a meal and maybe a ceremonial “arrival” glass or two. Indeed! As we rounded the southern coastline of Ouvea, and set a course for the beacons that guarded the pass, the extraordinary lagoon of Ouvea came into view, and we were eager to see for ourselves the delights of this beautiful place, to find out whether it was as good as James Cook Master Mariner, and seafarers ever since, have judged it to be.

On Ile Ouvea, in les iles Loyate, just specks in the great Pacific, we have arrived!

 

WOW!  Welcome to Ouvea

Noumea to Lifou (Loyalty Islands)

2/8/2016 – 9/8/2016

(Blog readers please note - by left clicking on  photos you will see them full size and a photo gallery below. The same applies for previous blog posts..see blog archives below.)

What did Lennon have to say about life being what happens to you whilst you make plans for other things? Was it not the original doyen of travellers, Marco Polo who in the 1200’s, before Lonely Planet, went with his uncle Matteo to Constantinople, to satisfy a curiosity about where spices and silk came from and ended up in the court of the Great Khan in China, long before the great celestial kingdom appeared on the first maps? Back in Port Moselle, as we made plans to make for a side excursion to the Bay of Pines, our program was due to be adjusted, as much as anything by the controller of all sea voyaging, the weather.

Chinatown area of Noumea

We have grown very fond of our Port Moselle life, apart from the ongoing flimsiness of our AUD, the Pacific Peso. For all of our supposed wealth and modernity, our dollar would not light a cigar, and the New Zealanders here – there can’t be too many back in the land of that long white cloud – are chuffed that with three mountains, a flock of sheep and a herd of cows, the $NZD is real money that you can exchange for real things, like provisions and French wine, here in the market and in retail Noumea, not that the New Zealanders take any delight in outscoring us Aussies!

Marcel's Yacht Diddy's

At times our world is the size of an acorn, as we found when we spotted Marcel off Diddys, back in Scarborough, which in reality was only a month, but seems an eternity away. We were delighted to meet Maggie, a long- time friend of Marcel’s, who took the opportunity to come over for a visit; and her arrival coincided with yet another fine night of local music, just a stroll away in the marina bistro. There were mundane things to do in port such as converting our antipodean ship into a Chinese laundry, seeking sundry items to re-stock our lockers, sourcing comestibles, condiments and local delights at the marina-side markets, meeting and re meeting fellow cruisers, and keeping an eye out for anything of interest going on in town.

Plenty of fresh fruit, vegies & pickles

Noumea Laundry Service

Our only real frustration, one that irked Cookie to an understandable degree was the production and despatch of our last blog. Behind the scenes, with Cookie’s extraordinary diary at my sleeve, I amuse myself with nouns and adjectives, and when “the writing” is complete Cookie takes over, marrying her compendium of photos to the text, selecting pictures, “downsizing” them with commendable skill and inserting them in the finished product.  The worm in this apple is that this editing and publishing process must be done on line and whereas in Australia, with internet at hand this is a fine and creative activity that often takes place on a ship-board evening, here wi-fi is the access to the web and it is notoriously fractious. Wracked by frustration at a flickering technology, Cookie ultimately gave up trying to achieve an end product, either on board or in the marina lounge and resorted to getting the job done, perched on the ship’s folding stool directly under the wi-fi node at the end of our arm.  

The Blog office!

 Jerry, and his cruising “backpacker” companion Christina, on his delightful wooden 28 footer drew our particular interest. Jerry is an ex US Navy guy who has been seeking sunsets in tropical places for the last eighteen years.  No problems there, we would have to say, but the fact that he voyages without a fridge, and does all his primary navigation by sextant and chart – yes he does occasionally GPS check his calculations – flying in the face of the gadgetry of today’s cruising life at sea. Christina, of a Vietnamese / US background, is a new type of backpacker, a competent sailor who voyages around the world with good people looking for good crew. We don’t often meet interesting and engaging people like these at Wirrina. We do here and we have found, this to be an unplanned and ongoing bonus of our life in the “visitors” section at Port Moselle. The people who you meet are the” cherry on top” of the places that you see.

Port Sud Marina..no shortage of boats!

Besides people, at Port Moselle, there are the boats. This is an enclave for world cruisers and the “boat candy” here on display is an ever-changing delight. Take the just –arrived youngish couple from New York on the extraordinarily beautiful Cabo Rico 38, who tell us, in the midst of a sentence, that they have been cruising for nine years !.. As one does! Then, the throaty and mournful note of a ship’s horn heralds the arrival of P&O behemoth, Pacific Dawn, again tying up to tower over the city, with its elegant lines and its off-pouring inhabitants. For us the 10 minute stroll to the wharves at 9pm provided a must-do opportunity, to be dockside to see the great ship depart, lit up like the Royal Show, but afloat. Again we marvelled at being able to be right there, amongst the hawsers and mooring lines, and not being kept a suburb away as would be the case back home. So many of these things were invaluable add-ons to our life in Noumea, but we were mindful that they were not the main event.

With Calista brimming with victuals, fuel and water, we put to sea, with a plan to make the use of some softer and then non-SE weather to make a push for the Isle of Pines. A NZ couple and their young family had just returned from Ile des Pins, to report an extraordinary event on their way back to Noumea, alongside the annoyance of some nagging engine problems. Their boat became “adopted” by a pair of enormous Humpback whales who ignored all the protocols of separation in the “rules about approaching whales” in the great lagoon and NC waters. They refused to keep 100m away and insisted on swimming right alongside the family on their yacht, who kept a steady course and were thrilled beyond description once they realised that these great creatures, who occasionally came up for a good look at the awe-struck humans, presented no harm either intended or otherwise and “held station” right alongside the yacht for more than an hour. Jodie, the mum on board, still struggled to find the words to describe this Attenborough-like encounter! She did add that her kids were allowed up on deck away from a daily regime of studies recommended by their NZ school to take in this experience of a hundred lifetimes!! Maybe they could share this with their Maths teacher when they get home.

Making our way south from Noumea we had hoped to make as far south as we could before the afternoon trades kicked in but we were too late to avoid them and we quickly resolved to seek easy shelter in a familiar spot, Ile Uere, just out of town. Cookie rarely errs, but this time, looking at the saline spattered decks and coach house, courtesy of the stiff sou-easter we had recently endured, and comparing this with our pristine appearance as we left Port Moselle, she offered a brief quip that “we need a shower of rain to wash our ship!” I would remind her of this request in the days that followed.

With us settled in at Ile Uere a little earlier than planned, the admiralty announced, to rapturous acclaim, that Cookie’s Patisserie was about to re-open for business, this time with the constructed objective being a batch of Blueberry Muffins. An excruciating interregnum ensured in the confines below, with the wafting aromas of these baked delights seeing herself finally issuing a clipped edict that I was to remove myself from the galley!!. I go on the public record in saying this cruel period of delayed gratification was finally worth it, for it was followed by a sumptuous sampling of the finished product. 10 out of 10, was my score.

The break of day saw us hoisting anchor, and as Noumea fell astern, we made our way, under leaden skies for Canal Woodin, the deep and fjord-like pass that provides a passage for ships both big and small in the far south of Grand Terre, New Caledonia’s “big island”. The south of Grand Terre is a lusher and better watered area than further north and tangles of vegetation rise to the lofty summits of commanding uplands. Canal Woodin, lying between Ile Ouen and the “mainland” is well marked, but for “first – timers” like us it requires attention to waypoints, although we found our way through it easily with the assistance of a tide that was now on the ebb. Beyond the Canal the broad entrance to the popular Baie de Prony opens up to port whilst those making for Ile des Pins bear away to starboard, and those continuing on meet the challenging Havanah Passage, which sees vessels exit the great lagoon, and either head for New Caledonia’s East coast, for the Loyalty Islands about a day’s sail away to the North, or to Vanuatu’s string of islands, a day or two beyond.

Approaching Canal Woodin and the rain!

Baie du Prony is far more extensive than we ever thought it would be, with a number of wooded fingers leading to a raft of potential anchorages, linking with walking trails, waterfalls, hot springs, whale watching vantage points and even a spa for visitors. A popular anchorage is found off the Baie’s Bonnie Anse, where in the bay named Anse Majic, the popularity of the walk from here up to the Cape N’doua Lighthouse has led to parks authorities putting in five courtesy moorings, to make berthing easier and to protect the fragile corals that line the bay. Not far at the town of Prony itself a five day walking trail in the great south caters for footed adventurers, and in the middle of it all big ships can be seen making for a nickel ore loading facility which commands a commercial presence in the next arm of the Baie du Prony, north from Bonnie Anse. All about the scars of either erosion, or more likely mineral exploration, besmirch the forest and the hillsides, leaving the appearance a compromised one, like a pretty girl whose face has suffered the ravages of smallpox.

Scarred hillsides in Bonnie Anse

View across Bonnie Anse from Anse Majic anchorage

With a mind to stop over in Baie du Prony before heading for the Isle of Pines, we made for Bonnie Anse, intending to fit in a forest walk to the lighthouse, to see how some potentially changeable weather developed and to set our compass for the Isle of Pines. Normally we are cruising souls who prefer anchoring – “real cruising” – to moorings, but the anchorages in the Baie du Prony have come with a reputation of ochre-like red muds that when hauled on board via an anchor chain can be stubbornly difficult to remove. Our soft solution to this was to pick up a mooring, given the brief nature of our stay, and to plan things from there. Having developed a raft of questions about the waters leading to the Bay of Pines, and the passages leading from it, we called Richard, the author of Noumea’s Cruising Guide, who was more than happy to assist. We had some misgivings about heading to the Isle of Pines on the changeable weather on the way and Richard confirmed our inklings. Heading for the Isle of Pines, some 35 miles away was not recommended for the next couple of days, so we settled on going ashore, walking to the lighthouse and taking things from there. The Ile des Pins was now looking far more than 30 odd miles away, just as Cookie’s request for some rain to launder our decks was delivered; in spades. For the better part of a full day it pattered down and all shore-related activities were suspended as we put down the “clears” in our cockpit shelter and peered out from below.

Sunset colours

In spite of a forest still dripping, next day we took advantage of clearer skies and went ashore. The track up to the lighthouse was slippery under foot and we made our way up the clay-brick roadway with commensurate caution. Atop the hill and next to the light, we met two enthusiastic young ladies, complete with clipboards, mobile phones and walkie-talkies; keeping station as volunteer whale watchers. Sadly, they were scanning the waters out to Havannah Passage, for cetaceans that were refusing to appear. For us though the view from the top was 360 degrees and spectacular, although a misty air to the south-east kept Ile des Pines just beyond our gaze. Just down from the summit a young guy, a colleague of the girls up by the light, had set up his observation post in a facility that provided two sets of fine telescope-binoculars, and lots of information about migrating Humpbacks, all in French. The young man’s English was good and we fell into a conversation about the area, the Isle of Pines and the feted Loyalty Islands, over the horizon beyond Havannah Pass. We talked about the wonders of the Loyalties, which he underlined, and the difficulties faced by cruising yacht folk such as ourselves who, if we intended to ultimately make for Vanuatu, and to see the Loyalties as well, we needed to undertake a difficult return from the Loyalties, all the way back to Noumea, just to “clear customs”, only to repeat the journey back to and past the Loyalties all over again bound for Vanuatu. Doing this was already looming as a logistical and passage making nightmare and the young man suggested that we consider either flying or ferrying one of us back from the Loyalties to Noumea to complete these formalities. In this way a seed was sewn that led to adjusting our existing target of the Isle of Pines for a richer destination, the island of Lifou in the Loyalty Islands; if only we could solve the problem of the “clearance”, back in Noumea. We had an idea about who could help, but needed to make a phone call to clarify our options and to do this we needed to complete out lighthouse walk and get back to Calista.

The muddy shoreline made landing interesting!

A very eroded approach to the lighthouse

Misty vista of Baie de Prony & beyond

Havannah Pass

Sometimes events conspire against good intentions and we were about to experience some challenges that we did not foresee. Half way down the forest trail on a steep and gravelley pinch my right leg shot from under me and in the sudden wrench, my back was suddenly and significantly hurt and I doubled up in agony. I had been nursing my lumbar region ever since some over-extension back on that horror night in Coffs Harbor, and in Noumea with a couple of long swims under my belt in Baie de Citron I thought my recovery was nigh on complete. Now, ginger and hobbled I had to get back to the boat, get on board and do whatever I could to regain some functionality. We decided that medication, massage and some time in Calista’s rest bay would be the way to go.

To tackle the Loyalty Islands issue Cookie resolved to ring Chloe Morin, of Noumea Yacht Services, a young lady well known for her assisting of yachties, who we had been in e-contact with from back in Australia, who had arranged for us to get the Cruising Guides and who had helped us get some Vanuatu currency via her bank in Noumea after they informed us that confirmed that converting $AUD to Vanuatu Vatu could only be done via someone with a local account. Chloe is great and it was her who observed that “gee you don’t get much for your Aussie Dollars!” Indeed. Picture Cookie in our cockpit, about to call Chloe, only to be informed, in French, that “you are out of credit, and you will need to recharge your account” - or words to that effect. If at home getting help from Telstra will deliver an afternoon of frustration, then trying to get help here in Anse Majic was likely to be impossible, unless you are as flinty and as determined as she is. Finally we remembered a 14 figure code printed on a small wallet-tab that had our original sim card attached, that had been put away in a very safe place and once unearthed, we were again connected to the world.

Again Chloe was a saviour, and suggested that for a set fee we could send our passports to her on a designated flight from the Loyalties, she would process our departure documents, return-send our passports and when we had supped to our measure on the Loyalties, and a “weather window” was in the offing, maybe for Port Vila in Vanuatu, following a call to her, she would lodge our papers and we were on our way. Again Chloe sized up our communications restrictions and said “if you need some help, call me, anytime, hang up and I’ll call you straight back to preserve your credit [and sanity]”. Her final piece of advice was spot on, “just get on with enjoying the Loyalties and your holiday”. Indeed, again, and with this plan in place we figured that we had saved a goodly chunk of time and sea miles, and for the cost, it was likely to be really worth it. Viva la Chloe!

Back in Anse Majic with strong winds now having set in we decided to declare some recovery time for me, for a day or two before taking a look at some better weather that was forming in a couple of days. Now, on the mooring next to us, a NZ based couple, Paul and Juane, on Bumpy Dog, who had been alongside us back in Port Moselle, arrived with similar Loyalty Isle intentions to our own. It was nice to see them again and whilst we might not share the same patch of sea to Lifou, we planned to connect in a SE – friendly anchorage when we got there and raise a joint glass to a remote tropical place. After two days of triple intervention my skeletal graph was climbing, and with another night of rest I envisaged a return to normal nimblicity (verb – status of being nimble).

A not so secure mooring!

It was about 0530 in the early shades of dawn and in deep slumber when...BANG, BANG!!! Cookie, in two cat-like leaps was in the cockpit yelling, “(GOSH!!) we’re AGROUND!...(GOSH!!) we’ve broken our mooring!!!” it took no time to confirm all of the above, and we rushed to see what we needed to do to re-float our ship. The cruising information for Anse Majic pointed to coral formations along the shore – hence the moorings to protect them – and the bumps heard and felt below were clearly boat on coral, just the thing we wanted to avoid. Luckily, although the wind was supposed to be blowing with strength, it was lighter in the heavy hours of dawn, but still we were stranded, on a lee-shore, with a tide about to fall. We just HAD to get off to deeper water, NOW! A check over our stern showed some hope of clear water, so we put the wheel in starboard lock, started the motor, slid off the bottom and eased our way off the headland and out into the bay, discarding the mooring buoy and its fractured ground tackle as we went. WHEW! Anything could have happened as a result of grounding like that! So much for picking up a “Parks Mooring”, for safety in a blow!

Could it be a good luck omen!?

With us safely afloat we scurried for the Cruising Guide, to see where we would be best placed to re-anchor to inspect our “bottom”. The options were not obvious, so we puttered over to Bumpy Dog, to let them know what had happened, so that they would not be puzzled by our sudden disappearance. Paul’s sensible suggestion was that we raft up alongside them, come on board for a stabilising coffee, and assess things from there. None of us could fathom how we missed Bumpy Dog, and a blue local cruiser on our pilotless drift across Anse Majic to the eastern headland. Strong coffee is a commendable cure-all, as is the support given by fellow cruisers, but better still was the sound of a motor nearby indicating a mooring that was now becoming “free”, allowing us the chance to reposition and assess, not to re-locate as we thought would be required. Then, re-tethered nearby, a French local with dive gear on an adjoining yacht came over, offered to dive on our hull, check our ‘new’ mooring, and retrieve the broken mooring gear from across the bay. He was at a loss to know why the mooring failed, and he often used the moorings in Anse Majic. In the interim, I donned my snorkelling gear to make a preliminary check of our undersides, which showed that, apart from some superficial scratches on the port-side of our keel, we had suffered no mortal or debilitating wounds. We had been lucky!!

Rounding Phare de Bonne Anse

Past  Cape Ndoua  and the lighthouse we'd walked to

Now, afloat, and hopefully secure, we planned our passage to Lifou in les Iles Loyaute, the Loyalty Islands. Heading there from Baie du Prony required close attention to both wind and tide, and in particular the tidal patterns in Canal de la Havannan, the Havannah Pass, which has to be negotiated before reaching clear water on the way to the Loyalties. Opting to leave one more day for the winds to settle, we slipped out of Baie de la Incidente – Anse Majic is correct, but Bay of Incidents would be more correct for us – making for the Phare de Bonne Anse light tower that guards the entrance to Havannah Pass from Baie du Prony and directs vessels away from the fringing reef that lurks below the surface. Passing Cape Ndoua, and following the “leads” through the passage, we hoped that we would reach the eastern end of the pass, abeam of the 85foot tower light of Phare de Goro at full tide and slack water. There is an “overflow” effect of tides here, with tides running in and out for over an hour beyond the technical high and low, as the southern lagoon empties and refills. As we passed the Goro Light tower we were pleased to have gotten our calculations right and to avoid the awful wind against tide conditions that have made life difficult for many mariners over time, and caused others to end up on surrounding reefs. We were pleased to see Havannah Pass astern of us and in making our way across the submerged Banc du Coetogoa, set a course for our overnight passage to Lifou.

Sunset over east coast of New Caledonia

Sou-Easters! The devil wind! After muttering many things about the devil wind over time, we now wanted one to fill our sails at an agreeable angle, but now, clearing Grand Terre, the wind, although fine in strength held stubbornly close to the south. This saw us taking a frustratingly awry course to the north-west, nearly parallel to the big island, before we might alter to starboard and make a direct line for Lifou. The wind astern is a difficult point of sail and the following sea that it creates makes our self-steering mechanisms recoil in horror. We were left hand steering to cover the miles in the knowledge that dawn would see us nearing Lifou the middle of the Loyalty Islands.

With us both bleary-eyed and the light of dawn sketching an outline of Lifou, a ‘target” came up on our AIS, indicating a ship approaching from our stern quarter. We considered ourselves out of the “normal” shipping lanes and thought that the approaching vessel might be a liner, headed, like us for Baie de Santal, the sheltered bay to the west of Lifou, that is accessed by rounding Cap Lefevre, that was now outlined for us off our starboard bow. A check of the AIS target showed the ship to be Pacific Dawn closing on us rapidly, and whose presence was soon obvious due to the blob of light on the horizon. With our little ship and the very big ship both making for Cap Lefevre, our paths were likely to intersect, so, following the size rule – size rules! – we called Pacific Dawn on VHF, to offer to hold a line to port to allow the liner to pass between ourselves and Cap Lefevre on our starboard side. The Officer on Watch on Pacific Dawn appreciated our call, because, whilst we had come up on their AIS as a vessel nearby, and on a common course, they could not be sure that, in spite of their obvious size, we had actually seen them, and getting closer.

"Dawn" on approach to Lifou

Cape Lefevre

In the end both ships cleared Cape Lefevre in style, the big ship heading for the town of Chepenehe in the far north-east of Baie de Santal, whilst we appreciated the calm waters of the bay, where via the ship’s glasses, off the village of Drueulu, white sands and swaying palms called us enticingly, like the scent of sandalwood. With our anchor chain rattling out into water that was blue and impossibly clear, we had arrived at the Loyalties….but yes, there was more. According to the chart we were now geographically, undeniably and officially in THE PACIFIC!!

South Pacific palms!

Noumea to Baie St Vincent

17/7/16 – 28/7/16

(Blog readers please note - by left clicking on  photos you will see them full size and a photo gallery below. The same applies for previous blog posts..see blog archives below.)

Viewed from space or viewed from Google Earth, New Caledonia’s encircling lagoon, its emerald cloak, is one of the most stunning features on earth. With a 1600 km barrier reef, only second in size to Australia’s, it encloses a 24,000 square km lagoon, a marine treasure encircling Grand Terre, and stretching from the Isle des Pins (Isle of Pines) in the south east to beyond the Beleep Islands in the north-west to form the largest lagoon system on earth. When we arrived here we began to appreciate that we had found a marine playground, the dimensions of which we had scarcely appreciated. From our brief foray out of Noumea (see last blog) we decided that we needed see a good deal more of Noumea’s incredible nautical environment before setting sights on Vanuatu, which lies well away to the north-east.

The great lagoon of Noumea extends north-west from Noumea with openings such as Passe Dumbea, Passe de Uitoe and Passe St Vincent providing gaps in the Grand Recife (the barrier reef) to allow passage for smaller and larger ships alike. Dotted along the Grand Recife are rusting remains of a number of wrecks that one way or another have fetched up on the reef, and remain there to this day, providing a salutatory message to all who ply these waters to not be fooled by their intrinsic beauty, for dangers are lurking, all about. Beyond Passe St Vincent and Baie St Vincent the Recife heads coast-wards, and the lagoon narrows considerably before, on the charts, disappearing into a narrow finger of shoals and reefs that are largely unsurveyed. Those exploring Noumea’s west coast are obliged to exit the lagoon at Passe St Vincent and head seawards along the outside of the reef before taking a pass further north to once again access the shelter of the lagoon. Because the lagoon to the north is not as highly regarded, we set the northern boundary of this excursion as some stunning anchorages in Baie St Vincent, and with this in mind we exited Noumea’s Passe Petite and made to the north-west.

Example of the great Predict Wind weather forecast models

Winds in Noumea are dominated by the trade winds blowing from the south-east, and for most cruisers, when they push in with a vengeance it is a good time to be in port. When they blow moderately, cruisers can get about or make passage by as they say “working the trades” Typically the winds are softer in the morning before rising in the afternoon; so for those “working into them” it is good to leave early and be tucked in to an appropriate anchorage when they whistle in later in the day. In Noumea weather reports are thorough and valuable, but they come in French! Happily, Cookie is proving a dab hand with the Predict Wind models and her sleuthing of conditions in New Caledonia’s south-west indicated that after a couple of days of modest trades, a period of calmer days should follow, so with this in mind, we planned to use the sou-easters to push us up to Baie St Vincent, before heading south again into lighter airs.

Our first anchorage was little more than a necessary stopover at Baie Maa, and whilst we were glad to be making passage again, our good friends the Maa Remoras were there again, aggregating under our hull and exploding in a flurry of activity when morsels were dropped over the side. In reality we’d have swapped a couple of remoras for a dugong, as try as we did, a sighting of one of these ponderous sea-grazers still eluded us.

Anchorages and waypoints for exploring Baie de St Vincent

One of the problems in using the Rocket Guide to Anchorages in New Caledonia is that in the region out of Noumea there are so many options, that selecting the best places presented a pleasant challenge for us on Calista; although we settled on destinations based on their qualities, the things we like to do whilst cruising and ultimately what the wind was forecast to do. Heading north then from Baie Maa, we were intrigued by a isthmus anchorage at Ile T’Ndu where we could access this feature at low tide and at the same spot take a look at a new canal-style development that was now open and now selling, a day’s sail north of Noumea. By early afternoon though the tell-tale signs of a rising sou-easter sent us scooting north from Ile T’Ndu in search of an anchorage with good holding and SE protection, and by using our electronic guide we  sheltered in perfect comfort at Presquille de Uitoe, tucked away in the corner of Baie St Vincent. We could have withstood a gale in Presquille de Uitoe, but as we sat snugly in this anchorage overnight in a fulsome and gathering moon the gentle illumination all about made us reflect on what a difference even a sliver of moon would have made to our long black nights getting here across the Coral Sea.

T'Ndu anchorage and marina housing development

So far the winds had kept us from places where we might have access to some in and under water activities, and with this in our thoughts we sought out possible anchorages to the north where in the anchoring / information portal of the guide a ‘snorkeller” was shown, indicating a spot where we might finally get wet, and look for Nemo. One such spot was Ile Mboa, a few miles off the mainland, but on arrival there the sou-easter was like a thumb across a wet canvas, and it had stirred up the anchorage, making it possible but not welcoming to anchor.  Our high hopes for a location for aquatic pursuits between reef and shore now fell on Ile Ducos (Canal Ducos), but when we got there, water visibility was compromised by a milky current issuing from onshore and we had to reconcile ourselves to heading for the SE tolerant Baie des Moustiques, where, apart from not living up to its name, we could at least get ashore for a walk along the coast, on an island that presented a visage of surprising dryness. Our coastal “hopping” had been worth doing, and ever interesting, but with the winds softening we were certain that beyond Passe St Vincent we would find the brochure perfect places that we knew were there for the finding in the great lagoon.

Anchorage near Canal Ducos

Baie des Moustiques

From Baie des Moustiques, we passed through but discarded Canal Ducos, and considered Isle Tenia, just in from the outer reef, but settled instead on Isle Isie some 15 miles to the north-west, where two recognised anchorages were located and we hoped that at least one would provide adequate shelter in the lingering trades. The easterly anchorage on Isle Isie was too exposed to the afternoon winds, but on the nor-western side, protected by projecting reefs the location was like Goldilocks’ porridge, just right, at last! Just a short duck ride away, alongside the outer edge of the reef, we found the brochure; immense coral heads, “bommies”, staghorn corals in brilliant purples, green and blue, and soft corals like velvet fans of lavender, smoke grey, and ivory and more fish than we could possibly count and more colours than an Indian festival. Wow! That night, with a full moon approaching, we slept easily, with the trades blunted by Isle Isie and its girdle of reefs, looking forward to a long walk ashore in the early morn when the full tide gave access to the beach that surrounded two-thirds of the island.

Ile Isie

Ashore our beach walks have met our joint love of exploring new places, our desire to include some exercise whenever we can, and by the need to pay heed to a behavioural trait of Cookie’s for which I believe there is no cure available through science. She is an unabashed, indefatigable, and irretrievably committed shellaholic. When she discovered that the shelled Naitilus lives in numbers in New Caledonia’s great lagoon where it is recognised as a national emblem, and what is more, their shells often wash ashore in remote places, the search was on, and no bloodhound on a fresh scent, could strain at the leash like Cookie on a deserted beach, on a remote tropical island, on the search for calcareous booty. Thus our early walk, at an intemperate hour, was dominated by her forging ahead, often with a shriek and a pounce, like an owl swooping on a mouse, only for her to recoil in dismay as the unearthed treasure turned out to be damaged and incomplete, and the search was resumed again. Time and again promising “finds” proved to be fool’s gold, but we trudged on nonetheless. In a glorious environment such as this though, the absence of complete Nautili, was but small change considering the riches all about us. By morning’s end we could have opened our own website, specialising in Nautilus spare parts, in a pastime where four quarters definitely do not make a whole.

Excellent anchorage information from our Rocket Guide for Ile Tenia

One of the things that attracted us to “our next island”, Ile Tenia, some dozen or so miles to the south was that it nestled in a hook in the outer reef, the Grand Recif, just alongside Passe St Vincent, making it a tropical isle just an ocean’s roar from the Coral Sea. The approach to Ile Tenia takes a keelboat just abeam of a lengthy spit, that viewed from above must appear like an azure finger in an emerald sea. When we arrived there and set our anchor, we walked around our decks, not able to comprehend the beauty of this truly remarkable place. Yes, we were anchored not far from the ribbon of surf crashing and roaring on the outer reef, but that was not what held our attention. It was the water itself, clear, aquamarine, stunningly alluring from every aspect, and instantly pleasing to the eye. With keen vision you could count the links in our anchor chain, all the way to the pick. Wow, again!

After loading our duck with more toys than a child’s Christmas - we needed to take everything imaginable given the distance to shore - we made for Isle Tenia, to find that we were not the only souls to be attracted to Tenia’s considerable charms, and that given its relative proximity to “mainland” hamlets, it was a popular local destination for New Caledonians in runabouts. Recognising this, the NC authorities have responded to Tenia’s popularity and its invaluable ecology by putting in a handful of sturdily built picnic settings, shelters and the like to cater for the needs of visitors. Mini try-pot fires are also there to be used and to reduce foraging in the undergrowth, netting bags of sawn wood are provided, just to complete the picture. After seeing all of this and selecting a spot for our encampment, we found ourselves under a sturdily constructed wooden beach shelter, ocean view across the extensive reefs to the Passe itself, and, wait for this, our own beach lounges, the ones with the adjustable backrests, for our personal and private deployment. Viola! Viva la France! Muraroa is partially forgiven. For those who read these lines and believe that in some small way we are hard-driven adventurers, we can now come clean and confess, that at Tenia, what with all of the things to explore in the sea, and the softness and comforts of a lounge-lizard life available ashore, we succumbed to this enchanted isle and without requiring a plebiscite, voted to stay for a couple of days. If all of life’s great decisions were as simple as this!

Visions of Ile Tenia

Tenia looked gorgeous and her beauty was more than skin deep, for it extended under the water as well. To have days of coral snorkelling, beach walks – we only added to our Nautilli spare parts drawer and no more – and lounging under the shelters contemplating our novels, was just about as good as it gets. There were only two disconcerting aspects to note. One was the erosion on the Recife-facing shoreline which had come from a relatively recent storm, likely to have been the horrid event that we experienced at Coffs Harbor, which extended its destructive influence across the Coral Sea, and confined a cruise liner to the harbor in Noumea until it abated. Yes, lie under a shelter gazing at a lagoon we might, but allow ourselves to have a warm and calm day blur our respect for the capricious nature of the sea we should not. The other consideration was just observable, across the lagoon to the north. Calista. She was reduced to a bobbing dot on the horizon, like we were seeing her through inverted binoculars, and come the afternoon sea breeze and the swell of the fuller tide leaping the Recife; we would have to give thought to abandoning this nautical nirvana, to seek a sounder anchorage overnight.

If in the land of the internet you “just ask Gookle”, then in the lagoon abeam of Passe St Vincent, and you are looking for an anchorage, just ask the Rocket Guide. Sure enough, just an hour’s unfurled headsail away was the delightful cusped anchorage at Ile Puen, just offshore from a farm and farm-stay, and perfect for overnighting in a afternoon sou-easter. What is more, with a nearby reef and beach fully exposed at the low end of the tide, and the blessing of the manager to go and explore, there was the prospect of finding a shelled object of flotsam perfection as an added incentive for our stroll. Again though, the walk was great, and we marvelled at the immense Osprey nest in a forked tree just along the beach, but alas, in regard to Nautilli, complete treasures remained somewhere else to be found.  

Sheltered Ile Puen anchorage

Next morning in light airs we retraced our steps to the lovely Tenia and along the way were passed by a New Zealand family in their sleek yacht Zinabar, who photographed us as they cruised past. With it being a weekend, and the weather perfect, we thought that Tania would be a popular destination for locals and this proved to be true; although there was plenty of space, plenty of lounge chairs and plenty of water to go around. Whilst on land there was plenty of life, underwater it was as colourful as a pageant and in Cookie’s daily diary she described it thus….”I’d just got in and a sea snake glided past! The coral and fish were beautiful, ,with some great coral gardens…found some larger Nemos, saw a white tipped reef shark and heaps of fish. I swam with a huge school of big black fish – Ringtailed Surgeon Fish – colourful parrot fish and found more Nemos, this time tomato anemone fish. A great snorkel”. It was hard to resist another lap of the island, so we strolled around, and with three extensive snorkels, periods of indolence in the tropical shade, and the ever present vistas of forest, beach, lagoon and Recief to delight, we felt it time to use the last of the day, and the unusually gentle afternoon airs to make south to one of two seaward anchorages, again courtesy of the Rocket Guide and its detailed waypoints, for approaching and anchoring, at Ille Nduke. Besides, too much of a good thing might become not enough of a good thing and we might never leave the seductive Ile Tenia.

Another day in Paradise

On a voyage like this we have many unforgettable moments, and all about there is a smorgasboard for the senses, the hues of sunset, seeing raptors, up close and personal, the tickle of a hermit crab that you have placed in your hand, more images than you can store on your hard drive, and a shared Bordeaux with French Camembert as you debrief on the day. This moment though, one that I had been yearning for, came with the last of our “Noumea bread” disappearing into one of Cookie’s famous cheese and tomato jaffles atop our ship’s stove. Deep in a store locker lay a box of Lauke’s most excellent grained bread mix, and Cookie announced, to rapturous cheers, that she would rise early, as it were, and bake an offering in the ship’s oven. Where there is a knead as they say, and all of this would transpire whilst I remained a loafer, as it were, in the boudoir. In the end I was galvanised by my olfactory at the alluring aromas wafting from Cookie’s Patisserie and had a selection of potted conserves, honeys from Kangaroo Island and Tasmania, and the ship’s breadknife at the ready when the piece de resistance emerged golden, glowing and succulent for official photographing (see below!) and our joint delectation. And so there we were, nid-nodding in a tropical anchorage, filtered coffee at the ready – actually mine was green tea with jasmine – taking in all about us from the comfort of our cockpit, whilst we gave thanks to the farmers of South Australia, Lauke’s the wonderful millers, Cookie’s skills in the galley and to life in general. Sadly, the on-board diet police drew a line at my extending two ample slices into three, saying something quite unfair and illogical about needing to save some for later.

Cookie's Patisserie

We had programmed a leisurely burble down the lagoon to Ile M’bo some 15 miles away, where more underwater exploration lay awaiting, and this was a very good thing, as Tim our autopilot did much of the thinking and piloting, whilst your scribe, being lately sated, lay like a beached narwhal in the cockpit. Such is life in Nouvelle Caledonie, and we find that we are adjusting to it. As we arrived in the anchorage at Ille Uere, Noumea was in sight away to the south, and given that the day was a pearler, many locals had headed this way too, and there were vessels of many flavours lying languid on a slumbering sea, with their occupants committed to hedonism, with fine foods, and fine wines adorning their cockpits whilst others swam, snorkelled, laid under shelters ashore or draped themselves over foredecks, tanning their lithe bodies in the winter sun. For us, given that we had settled at anchor a little distance from the coral, and that the water looked as though it had leapt from a post card, we slid over the side, and after some earnest strokes found ourselves over some attractive coral gardens where a highlight was a banded sea snake, totally immersed in whatever sea snakes do amongst the deep recesses of the formations, before re-emerging to smile sweetly for the camera. Ile M’Bo, tick.

Another great snorkel at Ile M'Bo

Banded Sea Snake

Knowing that a mass exodus from the Isles out from Noumea would gather momentum in the late afternoon, we headed south for an overnight stop at Ile Uere, a fine anchorage, just out from Noumea, hoping that with the stellar weather continuing we could manufacture a visit to the famous Amedee Island and lighthouse out by the Grand Recif, which lords over Passes de Boulari, the triple set of passes into the lagoon via Passe du Nord, Passe Central and Passe du Sud. Ille Uere is a wonderfully protected anchorage which is really a bay within a bay, just out from the southern suburbs of Noumea, but this time with the wind at the lower end of the Beaufort scale, its qualities as a haven in strong weather would not be tested. We hoped, too, that given our arrival at Amedee was a Monday, not a Sunday, we might find it free on recreational craft, and apart from those arriving via the Mary-D tourist excursions out of Noumea, the island could be as free of human clutter as it was ever going to be.

Ile Ueure

Amedee Island, is an understandably “must see” destination for Noumea tourists and the large and sleek Mary-D vessels do a healthy trade. For terrestrial visitors without their own water transport, as we have, the day package to Amadee, complete with its cringe-worthy elements such as “cultural dances”, featuring local lasses wearing half coconut bras (try finding one of these in a local market!), is a fine option, especially as a glass bottom boat ride can be had on the island allowing anyone to be wowed by its underwater delights. Really, Amedee is a Mary-D island which is “open for business” only when the tourist boat is there, and when we arrived, the Mary-D was clearly not there. Ashore we rustled up the caretaker, who bore a passing resemblance to Johnny Depp, aka Captain J Sparrow, who informed us that, no the boat was not coming until tomorrow, nothing was open, including, in our heart of hearts, the famous lighthouse, but in the meantime we could snorkel, stroll around the island, and he was prepared to turn a blind eye to our use of  the beach-side furniture, which for non -  Mary-D clients would normally cost us 1000CPF (about $A14) for the pleasure. At that point we would sit on the beach.

Amazing Amedee

So not all was lost: we had this remarkable isle to ourselves, we had undisturbed snorkelling, and given the rare calmness of the weather we could overnight at Amedee, with a full moon rising, to enjoy the spectacle of the great light sending forth its rhythmic beams, whilst we lay comfortably attached to one of the island’s outer moorings. Later in the afternoon, post-snorkelling and lounge reclining, courtesy of Mary-D we embarked on a pre-sunset stroll to find one, then two and in all five banded sea-snakes slithering around the precinct. We commented that it would be easy for us to slide off a beach lounge and step right on one of these creatures. Then, as if on cue, a serpent emerged casually from nearby cover and made its way, untroubled by our presence, under the very lounges we had been occupying. When ashore at Amedee, the message is clear, watch your step!

On sunset we were joined in the anchorage by an Australian yacht, Skylark 2, who in the morning assembled their crew of three on the foredeck whereupon a bugle was produced, and to a creditably played rendition of Les Marseilles the French tri-color was lowered and the Australian flag raised aloft. We saluted, and then applauded, and they slid past calling out…. “we are bound for Brisbane!” We wished them “fair winds” and watched as they went, out through Passe du Nord, and into the Coral Sea.

Amedee Lighthouse

The next day, the hordes arrived, although by effecting a landing ashore out of official gaze, we side-stepped the Mary-D hoopla and by timing our approach to the lighthouse, to align with the cultural activities and the glass boat rides, we gave our 300CPF tickets to J Depp and climbed the 250 odd steps to the parapet. The Amedee Lighthouse is a doyen of its breed, commissioned by Napoleon the third in 1862 in the grand style of the Eiffel Tower, with its ballerina-slender waistline and its elegant staircase, it came to New Caledonia as the ultimate cast iron Lego challenge, to be assembled in situ, rising some 167 feet above Amedee. Unlike in Australia where “safety rules” stifle almost everything aloft, we ascended to the parapet with no official, or bunting to hinder our progress. In Noumea we saw a saying in an arty shop that said something like “it is not about the number of breaths you take in life, but rather the moments that take your breath away”. Well, the view from the top of the Amedee lighthouse, on this picture perfect day, took our breath away. It was superlative and stunning, provided you did not look over the edge and down! We hope that the pictures, below, can do it justice. Viva la Amedee!!

Enjoying the amazing panoramic view from the top of Amedee

It was hard to leave the eyrie of Amedee for ground level but eventually we did, making a visit to, yes, the Mary D, souvenir shop once we had gathered our “ground legs”. Cookie strolled over to the t-shirt section where amongst the garish and dreadful offerings there were a couple of styles that did credit to this glorious place. Soon she was at my arm whispering….“in the drawer of small t-shirts over there they have put a rubber snake!” Thinking that if this was an establishment ruse designed to test reactions of the visitors in loud shirts, I thought a re-assessment of management might be in order, so I went to see the “serpent” for myself, where as I looked in, the creature moved….it was REAL! Yes a sea-snake in the small t-shirt drawer, would you believe! Because we were the only ones in the shop, and we were clearly not about to expire at the sight of our serpentine friend, the delightful lady in the shop held the bemused creature aloft, we took the picture that you see below and, swearing a joint pact of secrecy about what we had found in the smalls drawer, found a more appropriate home for our banded friend (sea snakes are venomous, but not aggressive and cases of bites occurring are rare).

Free snake with your T Shirt!

Amedee Island, which is a conservation zone, is well known for its turtle population, and on our last snorkel, getting up close and personal with these encrusted and inoffensive creatures was easy to do. Some turtles came complete with ‘hangers-on”; remoras that thumbed a lift to wherever the turtle was heading, whilst for us, gliding over and around the” bombies” and coral gardens was a treat that we do not tire of. With our duck tethered nearby to board when we were feeling chill, we swam to it and boarded just as a substantial reef shark glided underneath. The pity was that Cookie missed the finned visitor, as it might have prompted a record for duck re-entry that would stand for a while. Back on board, as we prepared to leave, we speculated about what would happen to the raft of remoras that had taken up residence on our keel. Cookie’s droll observation was that “they are getting attached to us you know”. Indeed.

They looked quite attached to one another!

All that remained was for us to release from our mooring, unfurl a full headsail, and paying heed to a couple of nearby reefs, make our way across the lagoon for Noumea, or more correctly, Ile Uere, where snugged in and with plenty of chain deployed, we could plan our return to Port Moselle, because although we were far from scouring the shorelines for discarded morsels, we were in fact running out of some lines of produce. To be out of capsicums and eggplants – which we were - is an annoyance; to be out of cheese and wine – which we were not – meant that life could continue. The weather was holding though, and via Predict Wind we found that the next day saw breezes tending to the north-east around Noumea, just perfect for us to anchor off the “nightlife coast” of Baie de Citron, go ashore for a long swim and maybe treat ourselves to a meal at one of the cosmopolitan cafés in the evening. In fact, after an easy trundle out of Ile Uere, this is exactly what we did, blending in with the beachside tourists by day, and in the eve, attending a relaxed, open air pasta and pizza eatery, with a musical ensemble that created a pleasing and soporific ambience that softened us a little for the bill to come.

Baie de Citron

By now, apart from a need to re-supply, Cookie’s notepad was brimming with a raft of required tasks, most of which needed for us to be in port to complete. First of these was to re-fuel at Port Moselle, and in the morning we came alongside the fuel wharf, taking on board our first fuel since Scarborough. Across the harbor and abeam of Noumea we noted with fondness, the unmistakeable lines of Pacific Pearl, and we reflected for a while on the incredible experiences that had occurred for us since our trip here on that very ship, just 12 months earlier. Voyaging on Pacific Pearl left us deep in thought about the idea of sailing Calista to these waters and left us asking the key question…”could we really do that?” (see Blog 1 March 2016)

Refuelling with Pacific Pearl  in the background

When we arrived at Noumea on 7/7/16, our thoughts were to make a brief exploration of local waters before setting sail for Vanuatu. Now with the experiences that we have had in the great lagoon of Noumea, we are admittedly in a quandary. We would dearly love to visit the Loyalty Islands, a part of New Caledonia, but this would require a longish trip out there and another back because, although the geography would be perfect to head for Vanuatu from there, we would have to return to Noumea to “clear out” of the country. Also, we have yet to explore the marine delights to the south of New Caledonia, down to and including the Ile des Pins - the Isle of Pines. With all of this in our thoughts and Vanuatu still lying on our radar, far away to the north-east, we have planned to re-supply, attend to a few things, catch up with some good souls and pencil in a departure for the south of Nouvelle Caledonie, in the fair weather predicted for the following week. Our foray into the great lagoon of New Caledonia has exceeded all of our expectations, and has left us thinking that if there are cruising yachts enjoying better surrounds than we are then we would like to know where these places lie. Next week though, providing all goes well, we hope to see the Ile des Pins take form off the bow of Calista. We can hardly wait.