Luganville  - Ambae

13/9/16 – 24/9/2016

(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.)

Luganville, even to its ardent admirers could not be described as a pretty place. Perched on the northern side of Segond Channel opposite Aore Island, it lacks the attractive topography of Port Vila, and whereas in islands all around there are current or ex volcanic peaks with grandeur that demands attention, here on the southern side of Espiritu Santo, or “Santo” to everyone, the aspect is low lying, flattish and on first inspection, possessing plainness in considerable degree.

Not far away though there are some world class attractions that make Santo a premier destination for tourists. “Downstream’ from Luganville, lies the submerged wreck of the liner SS President Coolidge, sunk during WW2 after hitting a “friendly” mine at the harbor entrance, which attracts divers from all around the world, and has the practical bonus of being accessed by simply walking off the beach to the “dropoff” to the wreck site. Then there is the Millennium Cave which has been a mecca for canyoners and adventurers since its taboos were lifted in 2000, a host of incredible “Blue Pools” for the more mortal of visitors, forest hikes, stunning beaches, and for us some anchorages plucked directly from Yachting World. These delicious places plus the ever friendly folk of Santo have made it a “must visit” destination for yachties for years.

Secure on the mooring at Aore opposite Luganville

We have come to Luganville for supplies, primarily fresh produce from the Luganville Market, some items from the supermarket, and a cut or two from the butchery, of Santo’s premium beef. Accessing Luganville, with its long and languid main road presented a logistical challenge for us, because anchoring off the town is not easy, just “downstream” off the Beachfront Resort, there are masts to be seen but the anchorage is exposed somewhat to the SE, so we have settled for a sheltered mooring off Aore Resort, across the Segond Channel, where the promise of a regular ferry service direct to the town wharf was a key attraction for us. The resort has been gathering place for sailors for years, and the cruising notes spoke of warm welcomes for salty sailors, a ‘yachtie room” for saline bonhomie, showers, good food, cold beer and of course the ferry. Times have now changed however, and under new ownership the moorings have been reduced to three in number from “several”, the “yachtie room” has sunk without trace, and the “shower’ is a tap by the beach. We can access the resort ferry into town if there is space available after resort guests are seated, but taking jerry cans or large volumes of shopping on board is not permitted. We took our second class citizenry status stoically, but wondered how, in lean tourism times post-Cyclone Pam where most international carriers refuse to use Port Vila’s airport until it is fully repaired, any money, even our second class money, over the bar or in the restaurant, was not a good thing for the bottom line.

Onboard the "ferry" to Luganville

Understandably, apart from some pleasant dalliance in two of the town cafés we treated our time in Luganville as “business”, and were keen to get on our way. The market proved to be fine for quantity and price, but a little thin on variety, whilst across the road at the local Butcher’s, I had arranged a handful of vacuum packed Scotch Fillets, but left, deflated, when the staff explained that the machine had broken, and the timing for its repair was…. “island time”. Cookie came back from the market with a woven basket full of sweet potatoes, and a similar quantity of eggplants, having been unable to convince the sellers to reduce their sales from bulk to portions. We will be getting creative in the galley when we leave Luganville.

Market produce purchased & washed!

We departed Segond Channel past the Coolidge, just as a group of divers were wading into the fray, and were soon abeam of Million Dollar Point, where at the end of WW2, US Forces, not knowing what to do with a host of trucks, jeeps earthmovers and the like, simply tipped them into the sea rather than see them fall into “unfriendly” hands. The needs of locals here on Santo apparently did not carry much weight in the Pentagon, and most tourists coming to this site today leave still scratching their heads.

Million Dollar Point

Beyond Segond Channel we came around to the north with an intention of making for the highly regarded anchorages off Oyster Island, tucked in behind a series of islands and reefs in an area known as Petersen Bay. Mostly we plan where we are headed and stick to the plan, but just a handful of miles up the coast as we entered Diamond Passage off Palikulo Point, which marks the entrance to Petersen Bay, a wave of spontaneity had us hastily changing our plans. Off to port twinkled the sheltered waters of Palikulo Bay, coloured as though it was Lapis in Nepalese jewellery. Already there were two masts there, floating on azure, and in a trice Cookie was heading below for the “waypoints” from the cruising guide that we would need to weave our way into the anchorage around some reefs and shoals.

Turquoise waters of Palikuno Bay

Although we have crossed vast tracts of lonely ocean there are times when we connect or re-connect with others who are also living afloat in ways that continue to astound us. Here we were thousands of miles from home and as we closed on this charming anchorage, we realised that we had a connection with both of the yachts anchored there. In 2010, on returning from our ill-fated voyage to the Louisiade Archipelago off the SE tip of PNG, and with Christmas approaching, we sheltered in the cosy harbor at Bermagui, waiting as gale after gale blew through Eastern Bass Strait. There too in a wonderfully sturdy steel sloop, welded by hand, and using materials as they were scrounged was the sloop Jannali, who with owner / builder/ welder extraordinaire Martin, and partner Kerry like us, were waiting for anything looking like a gap in the weather off Gabo Island to make for Lakes Entrance and Xmas. Before leaving Aore Resort we had a message from one of the staff that a “Martin” was trying to contact us, but think as we did, we had no idea who the “Martin’ could be, or how he knew where we were. Now as we came up to anchor, there was Jannali, and there was Martin, with new partner Cindy!! Well we remember sitting with Martin, poring over BOM information and weather models, and planning an “escape’ from Eden, around Gabo in the briefest of lulls before yet another gale hit from the NE. We left Eden at 3.45 am on Xmas Eve 2010 – Cookie’s trip diary tells it unerringly - , and because coast radio stations were effectively closed for Xmas, we stayed in touch with Martin until he called us about 2am when we were somewhere off Wilson’s Promontory to say that he was safely in at Lakes Entrance. We had not heard from Martin since, and that is just the way of the sea. Now Jannali was just about to up-anchor for the Oyster Island anchorage, and naturally we arranged to re-connect there after our stopover at Palikulo Bay. We were really keen to meet again and to compare notes after nearly six years of life had passed under our keels.

Jannali

The second yacht at anchor was Stylopora owned originally by SA orthodontist Don Gilchrist and his wife Robyn, and whose book on their voyage around the world was eagerly read by us both, given that Don’s original boat, Bandwagon, was the first “big sailboat” we had ever put to sea on, following an offer to ‘crew” on board in a Saturday afternoon race off SA’s Cruising Yacht Club, arranged by good friend Geoff Gowing. Cookie remembers the afternoon well, what with seemingly urbane men endlessly yelling at each other and for the stiff rebuke she got for leaving the post where she was placed, to race to the bow to see a pod of dolphins. “The balance of the boat!” someone barked, as Cookie looked around wondering how her slender form could upset a 10 tonne racehorse. We have a “dolphin rule” on Calista that says that if the sea state is fine, then to go to the bow to watch dolphins is the thing to do, as one of the great joys about being at sea is to watch these magnificent creatures cavort at the bow. We never tire of doing this. Now Styropora was owned by Geoff and Di, a Brisbane couple who were surprised by Cookie’s enquiry that went… “was your boat originally owned by Don Gilchrist?” The sea is sometimes a small world indeed.

Stylopora

In the tranquil and inviting waters of Palikulo Bay, we had hoped its reefs might provide some worthwhile snorkelling, and we identified two areas that we would try. Returning from the first we saw Paul and Juan on Bumpy Dog heading in with the alarming news that they had grounded out on the shallow reef entrance to Oyster Island, and were abandoning plans to go there. We felt that apart from having a deeper keel than us, they had made their entrance attempt too early in the rising tide, and that the next day, closer to high water, was the best time for us to make our passage. With high tide due at mid -afternoon this gave us an opportunity for a morning snorkel on the reef section guarding the anchorage in the hope that we might find some nice coral and, if we were lucky, we might “find Nemo”. Maybe this was our lucky day, because sure enough, alongside a very substantial coral head, we found not only “Nemo” but a brace of his clown fish relatives as well. Cookie was in eighth heaven, although these distinctive little fish are always flitting hither and yon, and are therefore very hard to photograph.

We found Marlin & Nemo !

Now came the moment of truth, negotiating the shoal entrance to the Oyster Island anchorage. On our way there, several miles up the bay, Martin called to say that he too had grounded on the entrance, but he had new coordinates that might help us find our way in.  So, after a careful approach, with Cookie at the helm and me at the bow with my cleanest polaroid glasses deployed, we slid through, with everyone breathing in, and our depth indicator showing a spare 0.2 of a foot under the keel. The reward for negotiating this entrance, was to access the Oyster Island anchorage, off the Oyster Island resort, a safer and more picturesque spot it would be hard to find. A well anchored boat could ride out a considerable tempest in the tree lined Oyster Island anchorage, which is a truly sumptuous place.

Beautiful sheltered anchorage at Oyster Island

It was great to catch up with Martin, to meet the wonderful Cindy and hear the unusual story of their meeting over the sale of a guitar on e-Bay, after Martin and Kerry had amicably set sail for different horizons a few years ago. Cindy is an “outdoorsy” lady who, apart from battling the dreaded mal de mere loves her life at sea on Jannali. We have sometimes mused that to test a relationship, just put to sea together. Martin is now a key member of Volunteer Marine Rescue services at Hastings in Victoria, and they too are making their way: ultimately back to Bass Strait and home, but via Vanuatu’s northern Banks Group, then north of New Caledonia to Bundaberg. We were keen to spend a little time in “catching up” about life and times and Martin suggested we join them at the Sunday Resort Smorgasboard, that was to especially feature a group of local musicians who were presenting a number that they were preparing for the South Pacific Song Contest, drawn from a local group of young musicians, a Bamboo Band and a group of female “water dancers”, who were all set to perform. We have rarely taken up an offer with greater alacrity and rapidity!

Catching up with Martin & Cindy at Oyster Island Resort

Sunday at the oyster Resort turned out to be a stellar one in every respect. We had the opportunity to meet some fine folk from other boats and backgrounds, before tackling a buffet that was delectable, expansive and had the serving tables groaning under their burden, before we too groaned in sympathy, unable to consume another morsel. If the food was superb, the musicians were equally meritorious, and we spent a singular afternoon, marvelling at the performers, especially the dexterity and harmony of the Bamboo Band and the unique skills of the Water Dancers whose water slapping percussion skills had to be seen to be believed. All the performers combined for the South Pacific Song Contest, and what with the rapturous applause from all assembled under the shade of the coconut trees, they treated us to two encores. This was a day that we wanted not to end.

Local Band

Water Dancers

Bamboo Music

Guilt ridden after a day of excess, we set our sights the following day on a kayak paddle up the nearby Nalgiafu River to the Blue Hole, a limestone swimming spot fed by underwater springs, and ever popular with tourists. For us the paddle up the river hemmed in on both sides by forest giants, wreathes of climbing plants and the marvellous mangroves was the real highlight, with the swim at the end in a distinctly blue pool coming as a bonus. Martin and Cindy joined us in their dinghy, and took one of the images you see below. We were delighted to be back on our kayaks apart from finding, to our great disappointment, that somewhere in the “practice paddle” the previous day, or whilst tied up alongside Calista overnight, one of our boats had suffered two small punctures. Cookie is a skilled operator when it comes to small boat repairs, and we hope that with her intervention, the air in these fine craft will stay, next time, where we put it.

Lovely paddle....

...to the Blue Hole

The morning high tide on the reef pass into Oyster Island was timed at 0630, and following s pre-dawn rise, we opted to join three or four other vessels in making good our “escape” to the north. With the “snail trail” of our track into the anchorage still there for us to follow on the way out, the passage over the shoal was easily accomplished and soon we were hoisting sails for Undine Passage, which leads between Malano and Malugoa Islands to the open sea. We were headed for the modestly named Hog Bay on northern Santo where, within its confines, is found one of the world’s celebrated beaches; a place that we had on our “wish list” since we visited there on Pacific Pearl in August 2015. “Imagine being there by ourselves, just us and no tourists” we had mused.

On the “big ship” we were up early, leaning eagerly over the top rail of the eleventh deck as we eased our way between Lathu (Elephant) Island and Sumgmass Point, and there, away to point, a crescent of white sand cradled by forest and a limestone escarpment hove into view, the exquisitely beautiful Champagne Beach. “How would it be sailing here!” we said to each other. Now, after nearly 20 miles out at sea, and radioing our farewell to Martin and Cindy on Jannali, who were heading further to the north, we bore away to port, to our waypoint abeam of Elephant Island which marked an entrance that we had long dreamed of, and coincidentally, at 15degrees, 06,98 minutes south, marked the most northerly point of this voyage. Head west to the Australian mainland and this latitude lies between Port Douglas and Cape Melville on the East Coast, it aligns with a spot above Wyndham in the west and tracks through Mataranka Springs in the middle of the continent.

Passing Elephant Island on way to Lannoc Bay

To be honest, we were pinching ourselves that away to port lay Champagne Beach in its sublime splendour, with not another soul to be seen. Anchoring off Champagne Beach itself - named this not so much as a marketing ploy as for the fresh water springs that “bubble” through the sands to the east of the beach – is feasible but not practical due to the coral heads that are scattered just off from the beach. Like other yachts we headed for Lannoc Bay, the “next bay around” from Champagne Beach, beyond Sungeun Point and reef, where in gin-clear water, deeper than we usually consider at home, we found a patch of clear sand into which we rattled out our anchor chain. Off Pacific Pearl, we had photographed a yacht riding in Lannoc Bay, with the big ship in the background (see this picture in the first Blog Post of A Voyage to Vanuatu), and now Calista was the yacht in the picture, just as we had envisaged it could be. This was all just a little surreal.

Stunning blue waters of Lannoc Bay anchorage

If blue is your colour, then all of its hues, from deepest to lightest are on display in Lannoc Bay from the richer shades bordering on purple in the deep sand patches through to lighter tints closer to shore. A duck ride ashore here is an experience in itself. Then, at water’s edge rivulets of water issuing from the sand are just another phenomenon at this phenomenal place. Fresh water springs! Yes, you can head for a swim in your turquoise sea pool, go for a snorkel to check out the wildlife, and then wash off in the crystal waters of the spring before thinking about the day; and keeping in mind that you have not yet reached the jewel in the crown, Champagne Beach, which lies but an amble away through the coconut grove. By the way, sea water temperatures here nudge 27 degrees, so the keener waters of the springs are a skin tingling delight.

To come ashore at Lannoc Bay is to enter a world akin to what Bali must have been like, when the first of the “alternative” travellers ‘discovered” it in the 1960’s and 1970’s. Cows graze on the beachside meadow, chickens fossick and peep, and families of pigs snuffle about, oblivious to scenery. Collections of thatched huts mark the modest Towoc Restaurant and Bungalows, like the losmens of Kuta, transported over distance and through time, but missing the beards and the beads of a hippy invasion. Bovines eyed us curiously as we made for Champagne Beach, and soon, there it was, in all of its postcard glory with not a waddling tourist in sight!

Towoc Restaurant & Bungalows

Champagne Beach is a masterpiece of nature, with the blinking whiteness of the beach nestling under its headland: crystal waters bathed in sun; against the leafy backdrop of the forested escarpment and the picture perfect view across the reef to Elephant island, bobbing out there, cradling the bay. There is a pier in the corner of the bay, for the patrons off cruise ships and locally hewn shelters along the bay, that come alive when a ship is in with local sellers pedalling mementos, clothing, Vanuatu – style takeaways, and of course cold beer.  Today Sarah, who lives next to Towoc, and whose extended family own much of the area, right up to the escarpment, has finished her chores at home and has taken her kids to play on the beach whilst she has put out some of her home crafted wares, just in case some tourists arrive. We wonder if her kids will ever know that in frolicking on Champagne Beach, building sand castles, collecting shells and watching crabs endlessly digging their burrows they were growing up in paradise. For us, we swum, strolled along the beach, lounged under the dappled shade of a forest giant, chatted to Sarah, and eventually, when a car arrived with a young couple from New Zealand on board, prevailed upon them to delay their plunge long enough to take a snap of us at work here in the tropics.

Champagne Beach

At day’s end we strolled into Towoc Restaurant, met the charming Lena, who manages it seems everything front of house to cooking and bottle washing, to be told the terrible news that they were out of beer until someone “did a run” into Luganville, next day for supplies. With this, we booked for the next night – no booking sheet or diary, just telling Lena was all that it took – and headed off down the road in search of the local baker whose whereabouts was uncertain, and Lena’s instructions petered out at Towoc’s front gate. In Australia, the bakeries at, say, Lameroo, Willunga and Yankalilla (yum!!), are all there in the main street, whilst here bread is baked “cottage industry” style, and it took some significant sleuthing and questioning of locals – several who had conflicting input – before we stumbled into the backyard of the wonderfully friendly Dimity, the local baker, just as he was extracting a brace of golden offerings from his oven. Dimity’s succulent loaves cost around a dollar Australian each, but their aroma……priceless!!

Dimity's Bakery

Sarah's beachside stall

In board Calista, we have been wondering whether too much of a good thing is still a good thing, and whether spending time in dissipation at Champange Beach is something that we should even admit to, let alone write about. In the end we settled on attending to a raft of necessary tasks in the next two mornings – Cookie, for example was keen to rectify the punctures in our kayak – before abandoning our on board life as the heat of the day gathered for a spot on the sand in the dappled shade, with endless immersions on offer, was the correct approach to mixing pleasure with pleasure. Bumpy Dog had been “in residence” here when we arrived, but they had now headed on their way and our original vision of having this place among places to ourselves was complete.

Paradise, though, cannot always be perfect and the light airs that we have welcomed and cherished have ushered in clammy and misty conditions, born of volcano and village smoke, that meant that Elephant Island, that stood clear in focus across the bay was now obscured in haze. None of this dented the enthusiasm that we applied to time on Champagne Beach, and we were lucky that we took a selection of pictures before the mists rolled in from the sea.

Our evening at Towoc Restaurant, was memorable for its uniqueness and quaintness, rather than for its haute cuisine. Between the chalkboard menu, Lena’s kitchen interpretation, and what finally arrived at the harborside tables there was evidence of non-adherence to script although the fare was fine indeed given where Towoc was, and the limitations of the culinary engine room. The aforementioned beer, a commendable local drop tagged Tusker Premium, came crisp and crackling cold, and was consumed with aplomb. Also “in’ that evening, were an Aussie guy who has been at Towoc for weeks and is besotted with the place, a Dutch lass with her Mexican boyfriend, and Jules and Scott from Christchurch, who it turns out were on their honeymoon. Jules is a Norwegian engineer, and Scott is a Kiwi who is a photographer for Discovery Channel. Jules must carry some Amundsen blood, of living on the edge, because her and Scott have just come from one of the Ambrym volcanoes where they abseiled down inside the crater, to camp alongside, film and to be up close and personal with its cauldron of lava. This sort of puts a new twist on the old line of….”darling did you feel the earth move last night”? It probably did!

In these climes, winds typically rise during the afternoon and drop off at night, so with a half moon “’t illume the heavens” and the promise of a light but nagging easterly to blunt our progress at sea, we planned our reluctant departure from Lannoc Bay on the 53nm passage to Anbae Island, for one am, to make the best of the still of the morning, before the breeze got up. Alas, we could not see Champagne Beach as we stole out of Hog Harbor, and although a feeble moon did its best to penetrate the smoke in the atmosphere, we spent the night and into the early morn with Ambae bold and tall out to our starboard, and could not make out its outline.

Vanihe Bay anchorage & black sand beach

We had heard much about the unusual nature of Ambae’s Vanihe Bay, with its spectacular volcanic cliffs, black sand beach, and its solitude, arising from its beetling topography, which prevents anyone from getting there by land. Having come from the talcum-white of coral sand at Lannoc Bay, the eeriness of clear water over black sand took some adjusting too, especially as the clarity of the water at Vanihe Bay was such that it was possible to count the links on our anchor chain, some 30feet down on the bottom. Ashore, on the beach was like being in an amphitheatre, as castle-like walls towered all about, defying anyone to climb out to the village at Lolowai Bay that we knew was just over the ridge into the next bay. To swim was unnerving, with the black sand turning depth into guesswork and the pallor of feet, in contrast with the sand, giving a ghostly effect. Anchoring, tucked under precipitous cliffs, blunts some winds but causes swirling eddies that defy any attempt to “hang” on the anchor in a preferred direction. Vanihe Bay was indeed an anchorage like few others, and with raptors circling above the battlements and the afternoon sun lighting up the escarpment, it was a treat to have this quite unique place to ourselves, as the sun faded away from the day. I will admit to reaching for our strongest torch in the middle of the night just to make sure the craggy cliffs were where we had left them on nightfall.

Lolowai Bay anchorage & local store

The entrance to Lolowai Bay is a tricky one, and although it lay only a short steam from our Vanihe Bay anchorage, it requires an accurate approach on navigational “leads”, and to safely cross the reef, and the last third of a rising tide is strongly recommended. We were unsure whether we would “overnight” in Lolowai Bay, but having entered in the early morning, if we got ashore and were nimble, we could see the local village, take a look at the “wharf” area where an inter-island barge was loading, and still have time to clear the entrance on the tide before noon. In effect, this is what transpired, for apart from a generously stocked and friendly local store and a collection of unremarkable built facilities, we saw little that was to compare with the extraordinary places that we had just visited. Lolowai Bay had some tough acts to follow, but some 25 nm away there was a place, on the island of Maewo, which deserved every bit of attention that we could muster. With this much vaunted destination of Asanvari Bay in our sights we left little time in clearing the reefs that guard the NE corner of Ambae Island and setting sail for the southern corner of Maewo Island, one of two baton-shaped islands that are peculiar to this part of Vanuatu. As we sailed from Ambae, the skies finally cleared and the smoking dome that is the profile of this rumbling isle held our rapt attention, astern of Calista. We were on time to make Asanvari before sunset.

Safely across the reef..next stop Asanvari, Maewo Island

 

Port Vila (Efate) to Luganville (Espiritu Santo), via Epi and Malekula Islands

3/9/16 – 13/9/16

The nation of Vanuatu is a new arrival in the South West Pacific, having achieved its independence and nationhood, in July 1980, to the great joy of locals who had sought their freedom from foreign rule for decades. The Spanish and Portugese were the first Europeans to ply these waters as early as the 1600’s but it was James Cook on the second of his incredible voyages into the Pacific, who mapped and named many of the islands and gave the chain the name of New Hebrides in 1774. Later interest by the French led to a tug of war between the British and the French to gain control of the islands that led to the nonsensical “two-fella rule” by these two countries from 1906 onwards. Under the so-called “Condominium” rule, dubbed the “pandemonium” by those who lived under it, both France and Britain imposed their own laws, systems of punishment, education and health systems in the New Hebrides and there were two sets of police supposedly keeping order. Locals concluded that if you were going to get “done” for a misdemeanour, it was better to be pinched by the Gendarmerie because their food in jail was better. There are not many examples of colonial rule that would be more flawed than the Condominium and after1980, the year of independence, the sound of The Republic of Vanuatu rang sweetly for the locals, the ni-Vans. Australia retains a strong and supportive presence here, and we find that Australians are welcomed genuinely and warmly as good friends and neighbours.

The isles of Vanuatu sit parallel to New Caledonia, run broadly SE to NW, and end a couple of day’s sail from the Solomons. To the south of Efate and the capital Port Vila, are found the major islands of Erromango, Tanna and Aneityum, whilst to the north, in a loop popular with sailors, lie the islands of Epi, Malekula, Espiritu Santo, Ambae, Maewo, Pentecost and Ambrym that take one first to the NW from Efate, to Santo, and down from Maewo to the north back to Efate and Port Vila. On Calista we are hoping to make the most of “working the trade winds” around this northern cluster of islands before returning later to Vila, and then Noumea and Australia, before the onset of the cyclone season. We are already beginning to regret the loss of a month following the near-disaster at Coffs Harbor, but at least we are here and we are having a fabulous time to boot!

Heading west from Port Vila, and heavily laden with supplies, we made our way across Mele Bay and rounded Devil’s Point, named possibly for the horrible currents that can plague this area, for the protected waters of Havannah Harbor, which in the early 1940’s became a major port for the allied Pacific Fleet, aimed at repelling the Japanese forces that were threatening the region from the Solomons. Paul and Juan on Bumpy Dog were heading on the “great loop” as well and took the photo below of us on approach to Havannah Harbor, doing it comfortably under headsail alone.

Some cruisers spend weeks in Havannah Harbor, but we planned only a brief stopover, near the mouth of Ai Creek, because the forecast for the next day looked near perfect to take on the long day sail to Revolieu Bay on the island of Epi. The Ai Creek anchorage served our purpose perfectly although on the shoreline was found a couple of beachside holiday homes that looked like they had been plucked from an Australian seaside, and came complete with a couple of Aussie families in residence, with the guys, tinnies in hand, performing cultural heroics on the outdoors barbie. Yes, we gave them a friendly wave as we settled on anchor, but we have not sailed all the way from Australia to find it duplicated off our starboard bow.

Anchorage Ali Creek, Havannah Harbour

Another delightful dawn departure

We were making our way across Havanna Harbor to Little Entrance, between Mose and Lelepa Islands before the sun kissed the highlands of Efate, and we were soon in the open ocean with moderate trade winds nestling, in the slot, abaft of our beam. This was a perfect opportunity to engage “Kev” our Fleming Wind Vane, a process that starts with getting the boat balanced, and “light on the helm”, which for us usually means a reefed mainsail, and a headsail or genoa according to wind strength. When Calista is “light” to steer, with little or no “weather helm”, we set the boat as close as we can to our desired course and then rotate the vertical wind vane on top of the device until it sits upright, locked square onto the wind, and at this point we engage the lines that link the vane to the steering wheel. If we have this process correctly in place, then thanks to the remarkable construction of the device, if the yacht veers to one direction, wind pressure comes on one side of the vane and via the gearing and lines to the wheel our ship is brought back on course, and the vane is again vertical to the wind. This is of course the sanitised, blog-friendly, version, and in reality setting up and “tweaking” the vane until it is all working well; in a seaway, with wind blowing, the boat rolling in a swell, and, the ever present challenge of keeping Calista as close as we can to being “on course”, is a test of patience and cooperation, that could test any seafaring crew. When it is set up, though, we can make minor course adjustments by raising or lowering the boom via our mainsheet, and relax to marvel at it all as the indigo-blue waters rush past our hull, and the bow of Calista makes white furrows at the bow as we settle back in the cockpit to look for flying fish, the spouts of whales and to sup on the gently changing vistas as islands form, draw abeam and are lost astern, as clouds drift merrily overhead. Sailing like this in the trades is as unforgettable experience, and we constantly marvel at what we are doing, and just where we are on the globe to be able to enjoy it.

Kev at the helm

On board during “passage”, we cast regular eyes over the horizon, monitor our progress on our chart plotter, and every couple of hours or so we commit to navigational work below on our paper charts and record our latitude and longitude, so that we can cast our eye over the area that lies ahead for anything of note in planning a safe passage to our destination. An institution that we have kept is that of having a pot of mixed nuts and dried fruits at 10.30, the time we call “recess”, although no sirens sound to herald its arrival.  On this passage to Epi, the wind held true, Kev was in stellar form, and we romped along over the combers as the once volcanic peaks of Matasa and Makura, and the larger isle of Emae slid by out to starboard. Yes, the flying fish were there in abundance, and whilst the spouts of a pod of whales was sighted not too far away, they were making cumbersome progress and were soon left well astern.

Another tough day at sea!

By early afternoon the island of Epi was clearly in view ahead, a green and forest clad isle, with the misty slopes of Mt Pomare in the middle, and a golden opportunity missed by those managing local nomenclature in not naming it Mount Epicentre. Later as we passed Epi’s heavily wooded coastline, we rounded a reef to anchor at 1445 in Revoulieu Bay, on Epi’s western side, and we were delighted to have covered the 55nm passage, at an average of between 6-7 knots, a doddle for today’s sleek “go fast” cruisers, but for us a wonderful day at sea. We had planned this bay as a safe “stopover” on the way to Epi’s better known Lamen Bay, and as the afternoon closed on nightfall, a fine young man in a dugout canoe came alongside to introduce himself as Pierre, saying that if we again anchored in this gorgeous place with its river and its leafy uplands, we should come ashore, ask for him and he would take us for a tour of his local village.

Revoulieu Bay

Pierre

In the end we decided not to deflect from our plans and linger longer in Revoulieu Bay, knowing that there was every chance that we could pass by this way later, on our return to Port Vila. As a fine sunset gathered its ruddy momentum, we celebrated our first night out from Efate with a smorgasbord of Cookie’s stellar salads out in the cockpit, and mused about the fine folk back home who sometimes asked us...”so what do you eat when you are out there on your boat?”. We eat very well thank you very much!

We do it tough on Calista!

Sunset views from Café Calista

Not far from Revoulieu Bay lies the headland of Cape Foreland with its dolphin like visage, and up on top of its summit we spotted a communication tower, which, we found to our delight delivered excellent internet coverage. We had converted one of our phones to “local”, via a regional sim card, and with a modest data allowance, it allowed easy and unexpected linkage to our Predict Wind weather forecasting system, at a miniscule cost. Over the next week we would be constantly surprised to find, in supposedly remote islands, we had internet coverage superior to what was available in many of our coastal destinations at home. Converting a phone to “local” and using it as a “hot spot”, linking to our devices was proving to be a very good idea indeed.

Morning coffee as we pass Cape Foreland

We were eager to be up early and to head for the coastal town of Lamen Bay, which apart from possessing an anchorage of some repute, had a number likely attractions ashore including a “yacht club” where nautical souls from around the world were supposedly wont to gather. Beyond Cape Foreland in the hour of dawn, wisps of smoke from cooking fires was all that marked the presence of villages, nestled deep within the coconut groves and the trees of the forest. Lamen Bay’s anchorage proved to be a fine one, and we were soon ashore to find a community still getting back on its feet after the ravages of Cyclone Pam in early 2015. The local wharf was in disarray, with its concrete slabs all akimbo, but whilst such a teetering structure would be condemned out of hand at home, here it was “business as usual” with locals apparently seen lumping their produce over this fractured structure to the weekly ferry as if it was a graded road. At the end of the bay we found the local landing strip with its “Domestic Terminal”, limited, quaint, and deserted. Heading back into town and past the local High School, it was not a school day, and although a helpful local offered to “open it up for us”, he needed not to bother, as we found that none of the doors were locked, and besides, if they were we could have climbed in through the windows. When we hear of teachers in Australia complaining about the quality of facilities and resources, we’d like to charter a plane, and bring a group of them to see Lamen High, via Lamen International, following its necessary upgrade.

The local wharf

Mr Sibly's classroom

Further into town, along the foreshore, we eventually found the “Yacht Club”, where tattered pennants and flags, and a stained and forlorn visitor’s book told of a place where the good times had been literally blown away, and might not return until reconstruction was finally complete. Duck and a cold beer would not be on the menu tonight, although the workers outside suggested that if we waited until mid afternoon, a local household might have bread on offer fresh from the oven.

Back on board, with a stroll through Lamen Bay completed, it was still shy of noon and Cookie came up with a wonderful idea. The weather forecast hinted at conditions that might see us sheltering in Lamen Bay for a couple of days, but if we were nimble, we could hoist our sails in the direction of the famed Maskelyne islands, which sit like the paws of a seated puppy, which is a fair description of the outline of the larger Malekula Island, some four or five hour’s sail to the west. We had heard a lot about the beauty of the Maskelynes, but with the weather forecast we might have to head a little further to the north on Malekula where in Port Sandwich, we could sit out most blows. A brief visit to the Maskelynes was now possible, and to us brief was distinctly superior to not at all.

Anchorage at Awei Island

The entrance to the Maskelyne anchorages, after a lively passage where rain constantly threatened but never eventuated, meant sneaking in a channel between Baneuv Point and Vula Island which cannot be seen until one is nearly on it and but for the reassurance of the cruising guide and its invaluable waypoints, the waves crashing on the volcanic rocks all about would keep all but the most adventurous sailors well out to sea. The anchorage giving best shelter in the area lies in an inlet tucked behind Awei Island, protected from the open sea by an extensive reef, and surrounded on all sides by an exquisite vista of coconut palms, forest and craggy uplands.  Minutes after anchoring a local dugout pulled alongside with Gricken on board, a local villager who had been waiting all day for three friends to emerge from the forest to a beach on the other side of the cove, where they supposedly had been sourcing Kava roots. His “would be” passengers were operating on “island time”, but now as darkness began to fall Gricken was wondering whether he should wait any longer or start on the longish paddle to home. He asked if he could use our mobile phone to call his village for news of the others and he responded to our puzzled looks by pointing out a phone tower up on the ridge, surrounded by forest. Mobile phones and dugouts seem an unlikely pairing, but eventually we helped Gricken find out that he may as well head home, for his friends would not get back to the beach before sunset. He has a mobile back in the village, and we gave him a zip-lock bag that meant he could bring it with him with less chance of it getting wet in the dugout.

Our new friend Gricken

Local traffic

In the fragile light of dawn, I looked out into the cockpit to find Gricken and his canoe already alongside us, with the offer of some gleaming reef fish for breakfast. It was very hard to heed the warning about the potential ciguatera poisoning, and decline Gricken’s kind offer. Soon though, Gricken’s friends emerged onto the beach and we soon headed that way too in our duck to explore a forest trail that led through the bush behind Banev Point to the ocean beach on the seaward side. The trail turned out to be a stunning one: at first wending its way through groves of coconuts before plunging into a lank and dense forest where the very air was thick with the musky taint of wetted leaves; where creepers draped themselves around mossy branches, where throaty birds made melodies in canopy branches, where butterflies flitted in squadrons of gold and where blue-tailed skinks darted from fern to fern with abandon. All about the plants of the forest grew rich and succulent, drawing goodness from the volcanic soil. We expected to come upon a village, but instead we emerged on an open beach where an extensive reef kept the coastline at arm’s length from the ocean that roared beyond. There was no one to be seen and we might have been Robinson Crusoes, on a forgotten island. This was a place of great natural beauty, where pandanas palms licked at golden sands, in a scene that might have been plucked directly from South Pacific.

Beautiful tropical forest walk ........

...........to remote tropical beaches

  In the afternoon we ventured ashore on Aewi Island, and made our way past a traditional copra drier, and through further stands of coastal rainforest to the tiny village on the windward side of the island which is now home to three families, where we met Nasoa, a village elder who was more than willing to show us around. The scene here Imay have been idyllic, but we soon learned that all was not well in paradise, with doubts hanging over their tenure on the island, and the tragic death of his young brother in Port Vila, who passed away suddenly in hospital, leaving behind a wife and three little children now casting a pall over everything. Nasoa had high hopes of his own children doing well via education, but we wondered how this might be possible, from here on remote Awei island.

The Copra Furnace

Nasoa and his youngest son

That night with our new-found web access, we were delighted to find that the weather in the next few days was likely to be softer than predicted although we still felt it sensible to make for the shelter of Port Sandwich, which seemed to have other features of interest, all of its own. Later in the evening, from the cockpit, we noticed a reddish glow in the eastern sky, which, in Australia would be diagnosed as a bushfire out of control, somewhere beyond the ranges. Here in the Maskelynes, the chart showed that looking down the channel, we were in a direct line with Ambrym Island, some 20 miles away. That surely was it, the twin volcanoes of Ambrym, Mount Marum and Mount Benbow, with their eruptions colouring the night skies, and warning everyone that there are powers of nature afoot that reduce humans to insignificance. Reefs, rainforests, lagoons, mangroves, and now volcanoes with their Vanuatu version of Dante’s Inferno…what manner of places are the Maskelynes!

It is recommended that in piloting a way out of the Maskelynes, care should be taken to “go with the tide”, which for us meant a morning passage past Lemboy Island, Gricken’s Avokh Island then Vendeuv island from where we entered Cook Bay, before  leaving Gasgard Point to port and finding the open sea between Malekula and Ambrym Islands. We could see Ambrym more clearly now and the plumes of smoke that constantly rose from its volcanoes drifting away in the trade winds before congealing as a line of clouds heading north-west to the horizon. Scudding showers again threatened but they did not mar our passage, while ashore, past the fringing reef, only the wandering bovines on the shoreline, and the waft of smoke from cooking fires gave any indication of habitation hidden in the woods. Peunoamp Point with its navigational tower marks the rounding point into Port Sandwich, where around Lamap Bay and a further point the anchorage itself opens up, and we could see that we were not the only yacht that was seeking safe anchoring in this well regarded haven.

Anchorage at Port Sandwich

The word “port” conjures up many things, but this port, apart from a clutch of yachts laying on their anchor chains, had only a rudimentary jetty, laden with local produce, as the sole piece of infrastructure that might confirm its status as a “port”. Visually, though, with its surrounding hills clad in green, down to mangroves fringing its shores Port Sandwich was pleasing to the eye, and we soon had our duck afloat and were heading ashore in search of the Rainbow Store, where apparently mine hosts Ruac and Noelle have been fine friends to yachties over many years. We had expected a town of sorts, with a bank, small stores and an airfield apparently not far away, but ashore, apart from doe-eyed cows grazing under coconut palms, and the odd chicken scratching underfoot, there was little to see, as the main settlement of Lamap lay nearly an hour’s walk along the only road out of town.

We ultimately found the Rainbow Store, and going there was quaintly like entering someone’s back yard, where a “store” for supplies was really a rear room under a back verandah. The Rainbow Store, too is still recovering from the cyclone and whilst the charming courtyard, leading to the locomotive-like wood oven was ambience personified, an eatery of sorts was no longer functioning but Ruac assured us that the oven would be at full steam in the pre-dawn of the next day and orders for fresh bread could be placed, and be collected for deployment on board for breakfast.

Delightful Rainbow Store

Collecting our fresh bread from Noelle at Rainbow Store

 Meanwhile, as the afternoon progressed, Ruac suggested that we should not miss the big event of the day, the afternoon arrival of the ferry, Big Sista, in the middle of its weekly jaunt, linking Port Vila with Luganville, and many of the islands in between. The throng of locals arriving on foot plus a handful of utilities bumping down the village road to the wharf were sure signs that the ferry was on its way. There were kids playing in the shallows and locals; some with goods and chattels, and others taking up vantage points for the entertainment, plus sundry hounds of mixed parentage, all mingling and milling alongside the wharf, making up the welcoming party as the twin hulled Big Sista made its way around the point and growled its way into the wharf. Soon all was a bustle of people, produce, and chiselled young men lifting impossible loads, such as bags of coconuts, to a cacophony of orders. Where we had picked our way carefully over jetty plankings, broken and loose, swarthy young fellows now danced like gadflies, laden to the gunwales, and nary missing a step. Pigs in bamboo baskets were lifted and deposited on the upper decks with their squeals of protest lost in the haste to get all aboard and secure in the fading light. Then, with no ceremony at all, Big Sista’s lines were let go and with a throaty roar and brimming with people and cargo, she made for the open sea. What a night aboard might be like in a stiff sou-easter we could only imagine. At Port Sandwich in minutes there was no one to be seen and the gentle lowing of a cow in the coconut grove was the only sound of note as we headed for our duck to make our way back to Calista.

Loading Big Sista

With Bumpy Dog and Serafina now joining us in port, Cookie decided to make a batch of her peerless scones and invite their crews over for Devonshire Tea. As ever her baked produce was a gastronomic triumph and our visitors arrived hungry and left replete. This excess, led to a decision to take a long walk in the afternoon, up the road to Lamap, where we were informed a local soccer tournament was under way. Eventually we found the rudimentary bank and local store, and the hotly contested game of soccer where young men threw themselves at the ball with commensurate skill and courage. We deflected the offer to join a group at the Kava Hut, thinking that stumbling back along a darkened road, with no light to illuminate the way was silly in the extreme.

Devonshire tea on Café Calista

Banam Bay is a mere handful of miles up the coast and with a more desirable weather forecast on offer, we made our way there easily and were soon anchored and heading ashore. We had planned a swim along the beach, but the children from the nearby village had other ideas and soon we found ourselves kidnapped! They swarmed around us all a-chatter and were soon joined by the mum of three of them, Judy, who offered to “show us around the village”. We had visions of a 10 minute excursion but what unfolded was a near three hour connection with the wonderful people in the local villages that left us misty eyed in wonder at the fathomless friendliness and kindness  of people we had only just met.  After showing us through her local village, and with the clutch of kids in tow, Judy took us to a copra kiln where we met the local chief who welcomed us warmly, and took time out to explain the process where coconut flesh is kiln-dried for local export to Luganville.

The chief, Judy and lots of kids at the Copra kiln

Wonderful stroll through the villages with Judy & her children

With paths weaving their way past coconut groves, villages and wells we shook hands with many, gained an insight into daily village life and eventually found our way to the ocean coast where Ambrym smouldered away in the distance. Knowing that our background was in education, Judy offered to take us up the hill to the local school, where Rolina the local kindy teacher met us and her grandfather insisted that we take with us a trio of his freshly baked bread rolls. She insisted that we return the next day, Sunday, to share some lunch with her and to meet other members of her family who lived a short walk away. Rolina’s work is demanding in the extreme as Cyclone Pam had destroyed her schoolroom, and her 42 pupils were still “roughing it” in temporary shelter. As we wended our way back to the beach, we stopped off to meet Rex, Judy’s husband who is hoping to take up contract work on farms in Australia as part of an agreement between the Vanuatu and Australian governments. We returned to Calista laden with gifts of bread and fruit having experienced a singular excursion ashore, one that we would not forget.

Judy, Rex, Jaster, Erneth & Emil

We were relieved that the heavy rain that fell overnight and into the next morning stopped before noon and, as it often is in the tropics, with a pinch of sun and a waft of wind, there was soon little evidence that it had rained at all. We took inshore a secondary mooring line that Judy and Rex needed to tether an errant cow, some fishing gear for Rex, some home products like margarine and coffee that were not available at Banam Bay, and Cookie who is a dab hand at making jewellery, presented  Judy with a necklace that was received with both gratitude and delight. In no time we had made our way back to the village by the school where Rolina had prepared a tasty vegetarian lunch before leading us to meet her brother Jim whose partner is Brittany, originally from Florida, who he met on a tall ship experience in local waters. Jim and Brittany have a son Isaac, and Brittany has an academic background, and is keen to undertake a PhD specialising in local languages in Malekula. Brittany somehow manages a foothold in two very different cultures. Jim’s extended family and a sprinkling of friends were also there and, as we shared plates of delicious fruits from the garden and forest, time skipped away, and before we knew it, we could struggle to get back to our duck in daylight hours. It was hard to leave this wonderful place and when we ultimately got back to our duck, with plans to sail further along the coast in the new day, Judy insisted that she and her children join with us to hold hands as she prayed for our wellbeing on the great voyage that still lay before us. Although her words were in Bislama, the message was abundantly clear, and this was a moment as poignant and as moving as one could experience anywhere. What did we say in an earlier blog about the wonderful people of Vanuatu? We returned to Calista with an experience at Banam Bay that we would never forget.

Lunch at Rolina"s home.

Brittany, Jim, Isaac and extended family

From Banam Bay it is a sail of five or six hours to Port Stanley, and in a tailing breeze, we were joined by Bumpy Dog in a pleasant romp up the coast, before we turned into the passage between the mainland and Uripiv Island and found a snug anchorage protected by an extending reef, as the afternoon winds whistled in and confined us to on-board activities. After our remarkable time at Banam Bay, our solitary existence in the low-lying Port Stanley, came as a stark contrast.

Sunset at Port Stanley

By now we had reached the “head” of the “seated puppy” that is Malekula, and we were within a day’s sail from Luganville on Espiritu Santo, lying across the Bouganville Strait. We planned to reach Luganville in two hops, one to the northern Malekula Island of Vao and another to the Ratoua Island Resort via the tricky currents of Bruat Channel, between Malo Island and Luganville. After an early getaway from Port Stanley we soon drew abeam of Vao Island and it was clear that with the fresh SSE wind prevailing, the anchorage at Vao would be an uncomfortable one and it would be prudent to move on across the strait to Ratoua. With the breeze holding at a moderate strength, we soon covered the fifteen or so miles to the entrance to Bruat Channel, where we had timed our approach so that wind and tide were aligned. Yachts must pick up a mooring at Ratoua but when we got there we found the available mooring in a poor state, and not wishing to duplicate our experience in Baie de Prony, we decided that for the second time in one day we would change our plans and this time head for the Aore Resort moorings opposite Vanuatu’s “northern capital”, Luganville. What had started out as a 15 mile jaunt to Vao Island became a 49mile passage via the Bouganville Strait, Bruat and Segond Channels to the lights of Luganville. Our passage from Port Vila had exceeded whatever expectations we had and whetted our appetite for what there was to discover along Santo’s eastern coast, and the islands that lay beyond, over the horizon.

 

Luganville

Secure on a mooring at Aore resort