#18 The mysterious Marquases

Me: The propeller has fallen off.

Lottie: What do you mean?

Me: Er well, where there should be a propeller, there is no propeller, so it must have fallen off.

Lottie: How?

That is a bloody good question.  On our last day at sea before we arrived at French Polynesia I put the starboard engine in gear to give us a boost of speed to get in before nightfall and there was no drive.  Thinking the folding propeller had jammed in the closed position I popped over the side to have a look.   No propeller, it was completely missing.  We hadn’t used it since the first night after we left the Galapagos, how could it just disappear?  I still don’t know the answer to this question.  My best guess is that we hit some sea creature at some point in just the right way to shear off the locking nut but it does sound a little unlikely.  Anyway, we would be OK, we have two engines and two propellers after all!  We would just be a little slower and harder to manoeuvre. The redundancy naturally built into a catamaran was starting to pay off!

Due to this lack of propulsion we were unable to arrive at Fatu Hiva before nightfall and instead we motored into the famous Bay of Virgins anchorage in pitch black. There were 6 yachts already at anchor quite closely packed in this tight bay and as we tentatively approached we were met by a Frenchman on the first yacht flapping his arms and yelling “no room! Lots of rock! Your anchor will drag!”. This was the first time we had experienced an irate Frenchman shouting at us while we were anchoring but it certainly wouldn’t be the last. With limited manoeuvrability, a hostile yacht owner and all crew feeling very tired we abandoned the attempt and motored back to an anchorage we had spotted by the main village.  This one was much bigger and had only one other yacht and so we had no problems and before long we were toasting each other with beer and then rum before collapsing into our first unbroken night’s sleep for almost 3 weeks

What are the Marquases?

French Polynesia consists of five island archipelagos, Australs, Gambiers, Marquases, Tuomotus and Society Islands. We would be visiting the last three, each set of islands being very different. The Marquaes are the youngest of the group and consist of the tops of volcanic peaks rising almost vertically straight out of the Ocean covered in green vegetation and often shrouded in mist giving it a mysterious other worldly feel. Imagine scenes in Jurassic Park, The Lost World or King Kong and you get the picture. The Society Islands are older, the land mass having partially sunk back into the sea under its own weight leaving a fringing coral reef which used to mark the edge of the land but now is separated from it by a lagoon which is perfect for yachts to anchor in. The Tuamotus are even older with the entire land mass sunk back below the ocean level leaving just the fringing reef and few low lying sandy islands (motus) and a big lagoon in the centre.

After European “discovery” the Marquasians suffered so badly from European diseases to which they had no immunity that they lost more than 90% of their population and, sadly, much of the knowledge of their own culture. Ironically, much of this had to be pieced back together from images and writings from the colonists themselves. It is perhaps for this reason that art and, in particular, tattoo art plays such an important part of their lives (its a subject taught in school), a way to record and pass down their culture from generation to generation perhaps.

The Marquases Islands were also one of the last bastions of cannibalism in the South Pacific, although we found the locals to be a charming, welcoming, honest and generous people proud of their islands and their heritage and we never once felt like we were going to be eaten. There seemed little interest from the locals in exploiting these islands for tourism and we observed a strong respect for nature and living sustainably. Outside the few bigger settlements, you got a feeling that things hadn’t changed a great deal since the islands were first “discovered”.

Fatu Hiva – Virgins or penises?

Back to Fatu Hiva and the famous Bay of Virgins or what used to be known as the Bay of Penises before the Catholics got involved. Anyone sailing into the bay would agree its former name was much more appropriate with tubes of rock standing up proudly either side of the bay and extending up the valley beyond. The furthest of these took the form of a woman with long flowing hair looking over her shoulder, perhaps the inspiration for the new name.

The sheer cliffs, erections of rock and lush valley beyond combine to make this the most striking anchorage I have ever been to and something no photo could do justice. After our first night at the village anchorage we motored around in daylight this time and snagged a great spot the other side of the bay from the grumpy Frenchman. We then declared an afternoon of relaxation and cocktails as we waited for our friends on Aquafox to arrive, which they did that afternoon and we shared stories about our trip and compared fish photos (our billfish was a teeny bit bigger than theirs, just saying).

The next day we braved the swell at the dinghy dock and hiked up to the waterfall in the valley above the village with our friends on Aquafox and a single handed sailor called Henry who had sailed all the way here from Perth from East to West. Henry had some amazing stores but was also a little ecentric (as some single handers can be). He told us he didn’t fish but “ate whatever the sea provides” which in most cases was flying fish and little squid. Hmm, I’m more a yellow fin tuna man myself.

The walk and the falls didn’t disappoint and we all cooled off in the crystal clear water and took it in turns to jump from higher and higher rocks. On the way back, all limbs still intact, Aquafox managed to barter some rope for some fresh fruit but as we had no francs or euros we couldn’t buy anything which was so frustrating given the fact fresh fruit seemed to be growing everywhere and we had run out many days ago. We did find some “road kill”, fruit that had recently dropped onto the path that seemed perfectly fine to eat and had our first taste of pamplemousse, a grapefruit like fruit which seemed to grow everywhere and tasted delicious. That was the first of dozens, perhaps hundreds that we would eat during our time in French Polynesia.

Hiva Oa – Sea monsters, Gaugin & Sim cards

The sail between Fatu Hiva and Hiva Oa (via Tahuata) will always be remembered as the day we caught the biggest fish ever on Kilauea, a record I don’t think we have the capacity to beat. It all started just as we sailed over the 1,000m deep contour about half an hour into the journey. From the moment the rod buckled over and Tom grabbed it we knew we had a monster fish. The line went out relentlessly and it was all Tom could do to hold on and crank the reel up to maximum drag while the rest of us ran around furling sails, pointing the boat into the wind to slow it down to a crawl and “clearing for action” to prepare the boat for the inevitable bloodbath. Tom managed to strike some sort of truce with the fish just before we had lost all the line to it. “The deal is, you don’t swim away and I won’t haul you in, OK?”. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a long term strategy that either party could accept and with Tom flagging I took over and started slowly but surely hauling the beast in. We must have looked like a pathetic couple, me groaning and wailing with my shoulders, back and arms in agony while Tom encouraged me with lots of “you’re doing great”s and “I think you’re a quarter of the way there!”. He even spent some time holding the rod while I reeled, 2 blokes against one fish and it was only just in our favour. An hour after the first hit we had the fish a few metres behind the boat and saw it to be a gigantic yellowfin tuna and it took another half an hour to bring in those last few metres, the fish constantly pointing its nose down and beating away with its powerful tail. Tom was masterful with the gaff and the two of us hauled the fish up over the transom into the cockpit, I leapt on the tail and was almost instantly thrown off and Tom put his surgical skills back to action.

As with all the fish we catch, especially the big ones, we were determined to extract and store all the meat from this one and we set up our filleting and processing operation. Tom and Lottie on first stage with the carcass and myself and Ceara on second stage trimming and breaking down the fillets into fifteen manageable pieces (1.2-1.5kg approx each) and then vacuum packing them and reorganising our freezers to accept them. From the first moment the fish struck to us sitting down in a blood free cockpit eating sushi, the whole process had taken over 4 hours! We measured its girth and length and using a size guide the fish was estimated to be 48kg or 100lb in weight.

Hiva Oa was our first proper town and after anchoring in the harbour we made the 2 kilometre walk into town with first stop being the post office for sim cards so we could all catch up on news, sports results and emails. Next was a visit to Paul Gaugin’s grave where we learnt the life story of this gifted but seriously troubled artist and finally it was a big supermarket shop to get some much needed fresh food, our first for almost a month.

Tauata – Manta Ray Bay

During our stay in the Galapagos and Pacific crossing, the waterline had become brown and green with weed and barnacles and as soon as we dropped the anchor in Hanamoenoa Bay on Tauata the next day, the Captain ordered the crew to join him in scrubbing the hull. Well, “ordered” is a bit of a stretch, they actually volunteered willingly, but I wanted to make it seem I did have an element of authority on board.

No sooner had we all donned masks and snorkels and jumped in, all thoughts of domestic chores were forgotten when one and then two manta rays glided over to check us out. These beautiful creatures are so mellow and graceful and I originally thought them to be exceptionally rare although I was later proved wrong on this as we saw them in several places in the Marquases. They would circle underneath the boat and then rise up to the surface to swoop around alongside us, clearly curious in our weird bodies with no wings or horns stuck out the side of our heads. I decided there and then that IF I was to get a Marquesan tattoo it would be in the form of a manta ray.

This bay housed one of the very few sandy beaches in the Marquases so we decided we would have champagne at sunset on the beach and toast our accomplishments in getting through the big passage mostly unscathed. Like everywhere in these islands, getting ashore was a challenge with the occasional dinghy rolling sized breakers hitting the beach so we anchored the dinghy in deeper water and swam ashore with all our gear and drinks in dry bags. These efforts seemed to be appreciated by mother nature who put on a jaw dropping sunset and even a green flash made easier to see I am sure by the champagne swirling around our stomachs.

The next day we had a hard motor against the wind to the north side of Hiva Oa and found a lovely protected and remote anchorage in which to spend Easter weekend. We were again rewarded with manta rays in the bay and one leaped clean out of the water as we swam around them which we had earlier learned was to shake parasites loose. Easter day itself involved a 2 hour hike across the hills to the next bay where we stopped for a swim and then a posh dinner of roast lamb (from New Zealand!) and all the trimmings. That night with a full moon we made the snap decision to sail overnight to Nuku Hiva as we heard our friends on Aquafox and Waterhorse would soon be there.

Nuku Hiva – reunions, propellers, tattoos and waterfalls

We arrived at Atuana Bay to find our old friends on the Kiwi boat, Waterhorse anchored next to a Kiwi / USA boat called Far Out that would soon become new friends. “We’re just off for a hike if you want to join us” shouted over Annelise as we anchored behind them, so we grabbed our hiking shoes, jumped in the dinghy and met them ashore. It was a beautiful walk, firstly around the stunning bay and then over a gentle hill through a farm to the windward beach where some serious surf was breaking. The kids renewed their friendship with the Waterhorse kids and made new ones with the Far Out ones whilst we stocked up on all manner of fresh fruit and vegetables from the farmer. You basically fill up a bucket with whatever produce you want straight off the plants in some cases and then he weighs the whole lot in one go and makes up / calculates a price.

The next day, Chae from Waterhorse dinghied across to see me with a dive tank in one hand and a propeller in the other. “Mate, I was thinking, we both have Volvo Penta engines and I have this old spare propeller hanging around, what do reckon I chuck on a tank and see if it fits?”. Literally minutes later, the new propeller was installed and we were back in business again! If someone had told me that a week after I dived over the side and spotted the propeller’s disappearance in one of the remotest cruising grounds in the world we would have a new one installed, I would have politely enquired what drugs they had been taking. That an almost complete stranger would give their time, tools and scuba equipment and even a major spare part to a fellow cruiser in trouble that they had just met sums up the culture of camaraderie that exists in the cruising fraternity. Other cruisers would not find this story special or even unusual. Its an unwritten rule of the sea that cruisers will help each other, sometimes significantly at their own expense and with no expectation that the help will be reciprocated. My mum wrote of this when she first cruised over 50 years ago and it is as true now as it was then and probably many centuries before as well. The world may be rapidly changing but the karma of the ocean is alive and well!

Next stop was the largest town in the Marquases, Taiohae, where we finally officially checked in. As I was dealing with the paperwork the rest of the crew explored the town. Finding myself alone I wondered up a side street and saw a chandlery full of lots of things I needed for the boat (yay!) and, next door, a tattoo artist (interesting). Before I knew it I was sitting down with Danny, one of the island’s best tattoo artists being interviewed about my life. “I don’t want to know everything you have done, I just want to know who the real Alex is, man. What are your passions?”. I quickly stopped listing off some of the projects I’d worked on and instead starting talking about how rewarding it was during this trip to have so much time with my children at their age, how proud I was of my wife and how much I loved to travel, swim, sail and fish. Only after listening intently through all of this did we discuss what the tattoo might look like and where it should be placed. He scoffed when I suggested something small. “You’re a man, man! You want a man sized tattoo or a woman sized one?”. Er, what about a small man? I thought. “Fair enough, what do you think about a manta on the calf then?” is what I actually said. “Yeah, man, I have some ideas already for that one” and he started sketching some concepts. Minutes later, I was back on the street again having swapped whatsapp numbers with Danny and a booking for 2 days’ time for my session. Lottie grinned when I relayed all this, her nerdy engineer husband was just about to become, well maybe not cool as such but definitely a little less nerdy.

Nuku Hiva would be where Tom and Ceara would leave us after almost three months on board. There was still time for one more adventure before their flight and we went around to Danny’s Bay (named after a local) where we hiked up to another gobsmackingly beautiful waterfall for a swim. You couldn’t stay still for too long or the freshwater lobsters would have a nibble at your dead skin or a slimey eel would come and check you out. Back at the anchorage there was a beautiful tiny village where the locals put on a 3 course lunch of local Marquasian food, my favourite being Poisson Cru, raw tuna marinated in coconut milk. As we left they gave each of us a pamplemousse to take home. More fruit for the nets!

The last task on the island was my date with Danny and I nervously turned up on time, leg shaved and wondering what the hell I was doing. Everyone says tattoos hurt but Christ on a bike, I wasn’t prepared for that level of pain. Each line drawn was like a scalpel sunk deep into my calf and then sliced through the muscle. Over and over again. I rammed my fist into my mouth and bit down hard to try to equal the pain in my calf. I couldn’t come close no matter how hard I bit. I accept I’m no expert but I estimate the pain level to be approximately twice that of childbirth. After a particularly painful slice at about minute no. 7 I groaned “ooh, that was a painful one.” Danny stopped, looked at me slightly disappointedly and said “tattoos hurt man, be strong like a man ok?”. Like a man? OK, I needed to toughen up before I lose all respect. Whilst Danny looked like he’d come straight out of Harlem with back to front baseball cap and lazy swagger, he was very proud of his heritage and took my mind off the pain by playing some traditional Marquasian music, more like chanting really, all about the power and strength of the tattoo. It is so central to their culture and important for both men and women as they come of age. After an hour and a half though I was close to reaching my pain limit and it was all I could do not to whimper out loud like a small child when at last Danny declared that the piece was finished and he was happy with it. I could have hugged him there and then! Looking in the mirror I was blown away by the detail. There was my family depicted as Marquasian stick figures, waves to signify travel and the ocean, Maui’s hook as a nod to fishing and providing for my family and the string of symbols and thatching that represent my ancestry. All this woven into the shape of manta ray, its wings sweeping round my calf. Two things came to mind, the first that I’ll always have a very visible memory of this adventure and the second that I’d better make sure I keep exercising those calves.

Ua Pou – dodgy German chocolatier

After an emotional goodbye to our star crew, Tom and Ceara, we set off for Ua Pou which the kids pronounced “Oooooh! A Poo!” but is actually “Wah Poe” sailing in company with our friends on Aquafox and another American kid boat we had befriended called Tusitala a Leopard 43 catamaran with 5(!) kids on board. We were assembling quite a fleet of kid boats now.

Ua Poe will always be remembered for the hike to best waterfall of them all (and that is saying something) and also meeting the famous and exceedingly dodgy German hermit come chocolatier, Manfred. He welcomes visitors to see his quirky abode deep in the jungle complete with farm, chocolate factory and hydrogenerator amongst other things. He also claims to have three wives (not sure whether all are current) and took a very, shall we say, “hands on” approach to the ladies in our group whilst making rather suggestive comments bordering on harrassment. Worryingly, he also refused to allow any other human being into his chocolate making room leaving the mind spinning as to what horrors lied beyond. All that being said, the man can make some seriously good chocolate which clearly made up for his other failings and we loaded up on the only locally made chocolate in all the islands. All in all a slightly disturbing but strangely rewarding experience for us all.

At midnight that night we quietly lifted the anchor in the moonlight, turned our bows towards the south and set sail for our next archipelago, the tuamotu atolls, a journey we expected to take about 3 days. Ahead of us was scuba diving and snorkeling with countless sharks and other creatures, an encounter with a 4m tiger shark, finally cracking wind foiling, discovering the joys of spearfishing and the pain of fish poisoning, overnight sleep ashore challenges for the kids, wakeboarding, a 7 boat raft up and so much more. All that in the next installment!