Day 92: Fatu Hiva to Hiva Oa, Marquesas – 07/04/10

We are up early – not even a cup of tea in bed for me – and just after 6 am we leave the bay heading for Hiva Oa once more which is our stop en route to Ua Pou and Nuku Hiva, the last two islands we intend to visit in the Marquesas.  As we leave, Joe and Jared on Brown Eyed Girl are also preparing to go.

It is overcast as we leave the Bay of Virgins, and as we round the corner a light rain starts.  We put up the main sail but with two reefs in, and a full genoa.  The wind is quite strong but most of it is coming down from the mountains so it is not a true picture of what the weather will be like.

As we leave the shelter of the island, we get a call from Joe.  They are going to the far east of us as they are heading for the north side of Hiva Oa, not the south side like us.  Joe warns us that he has just been hit by a squall that came from nowhere and that we had better get reefed in.  As the main is reefed already, we should be OK and there is nothing on the radar or on the horizon that gives us anything for concern.  Then we get a call from Rolando on Malikalalou wishing us good luck and just as we are chatting, from nowhere, the squall that got Joe gets us and I have to race off and help Mike get the genoa in.  It is so weird.  There was no sign of it anywhere.  It only gets to 23 knots but it dumps a whole lot of rain on us then disappears as quickly as it came.  When I try to call Rolando back, we have lost radio contact as the island is in the way.

I disappear off to bed for a couple of hours more sleep and when I come back out the sun is shining and we are sailing along happily at just over 7 knots.  Mike then goes off for his sleep catch up while I sit at the helm, gazing out over the horizon.

Suddenly I spot fins heading towards the boat – dolphins.  My camera is inside and I don’t want to risk waking Mike, so instead I carefully make my way to the front of the boat (I am not supposed to do this when Mike is asleep in case I fall overboard, but I hang on tight and stay low, walking like a constipated crab).  There are about 15 of them and they swim along at the bow of the boat for about five minutes.  It is such a wonderful sight.

Mike wakes up a little while later, I confess my recklessness and await my telling off.  As I am still alive to tell the tale, my penance is to make lunch – bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches.

We arrive in the familiar bay that we left just over a week ago.  Although there are no WARC boats, there are still a lot in the anchorage but we manage to squeeze in near the beach as we can get in shallower water than most yachts.  We hope not to have to put out the stern anchor because there is hardly any wind, but after an hour, we are permanently side on to where we anchored and we realise we have no choice.  To help us handle the horrid thing more easily, Mike detaches the chain and attaches a heavy line instead.  This makes it much easier to manoeuvre from the dinghy and I winch the slack in once the anchor is down, slowly pulling us around to face the right direction.

Photo:  The local rowing team practise round the bay 

We notice that Jessea, a Privilege 615, is in the bay.  Sara and Rolando met the owners in the Galapagos and travelled with them for a while across the Pacific (before Jessea, the faster boat, got too far ahead).  The dinghy is not there otherwise we would call over.

Paul has arranged for local restaurateur, Alex, to pick us up at 6 pm so we spend a couple of hours catching up on the internet then get ready and dinghy to the dock.  Alex is not there, and after waiting some time, Mike goes back to the boat to get my mobile phone so that we can call him, a real pain in the arse as it means he has to get the dinghy stern anchor up which nearly always gets jammed under rocks in this anchorage.  This time he is lucky though, and there is no problem.  He comes back with my phone and I call Alex.  A mix up in communication has left Alex thinking that we were going to call him at 6 pm while we thought he was going to pick us up at that time.  Anyway, full of apologies, he comes straight down to get us.

Alex’s place, ‘Pension-Bar Chez Kayser’, is basically his house where they cook for anyone who books.  It is high up overlooking the bay and I am very glad that we make the journey there while it is dark.  The road is almost vertical, and Alex’s car is an elderly pickup truck which makes ominous rumbling sounds and doesn’t like going into 4-wheel drive mode without an argument.  But the food is worth the terror of the short journey.  We sit by the side of the pool using his internet while we have a drink.  The view must be fantastic during the day but of course, we can see nothing tonight.  There is no menu – you just eat what they are cooking.  When Alex calls us to the table, we are joined by a family from Tahiti who are holidaying in the Marquesas for the first time.  When they realise we are English they say they will talk nothing but English all night but Alex tells them I can speak French, so French it is, for a while anyway, until they realise just how utterly appalling my old schoolgirl French is and they take pity on me.  We end up speaking a mixture!

On tonight’s menu is grilled lobster (a whole one each), poisson cru (raw white tuna marinated in coconut, citrus and tiny chopped vegetables) and breadfruit cooked three ways (in coconut milk, in citrus and smoked).  It is totally, totally delicious and there is enough to feed a small army.

Alex and his wife are a couple of characters, and worth the visit in themselves.  Alex was a sniper in the French Foreign Legion and lays on a chaise longue while we eat, delicately sipping white wine from the Alsace, while his lovely wife sits at the table with us in her bra.  It’s unusual to sit down to eat with someone who is wearing less than me!

Photos:  Mike, Alex and ‘the wife’

All too soon it is time to make the terrifying journey down.  We get into Alex’s pickup and he reverses it at breakneck speed around the corner of the house then back down the hill.  Actually, down is marginally less terrifying than up – but I am still glad it is dark!!!

At the dinghy dock, I stand and remove my still-white linen trousers (as I have to sit on the dirty concrete wall to get into the dinghy – remember, no washing machine) and only then do I remember that my knickers are see through.  Ah well, only those five guys sitting on the dock wall 20 yards away, so not too exhibitionist!  Eek!  I scramble into the dinghy, relieved that the stern anchor comes up easily.