Fri, 23 Aug 2002
On Tuesday the Easterlies we enjoyed when we first arrived in the Loyalties at Mare Island had turned to North easterlies, and the anchorage was gradually becoming unpleasant, if not untenable. Our next passage would be an overnighter, and at dusk, we weighed anchor and sailed out of the bay, bound for Lifou or Ouvea, depending on what we found in the wind when we got closer to one or the other of these two islands. The wind died however as soon as we left and we wound up motoring through the night, with the main still hoisted, in the seas left from the previous winds, hopeful that the wind would return. Wings wallowed and pitched, flogging the mainsail but there was little that could be done about it short of dropping it all together which meant waking Judy, so we let it go. Ulu, with Mick, Chris, and Tahi aboard, were motoring just ahead of us. Funny how comforting their small white stern light was on the horizon, Ulu, leading the way.
All night and into the dawn we motored but 0600 the SE breeze filled in. The sun rose into a clear blue sky and the ocean was changed from a featureless gray to that wonderful deep blue that makes days at sea into religious experiences; it was a gorgeous morning that we knew would be a perfect sailing day. Setting the jib and turning off the motor, we decided that the South easterlies represented the new wind, and would hold true, so the anchorages at Ouvea, which favored winds from this direction, would do nicely. We set our course for Ouvea, another 45 miles further on in the same direction as we had been traveling.
Ulu, turning away for Lifou, noticed our diverging course, and called on the radio. "Wings, it looks like you are headed for Ouvea?" They knew we'd left Mare undecided about our destination, while they were firmly in the Lifou camp. We answered in the affirmative and told them we would see them there if they followed along in a few days. We also made plans to continue our daily radio sked. Even though we thought we'd see them again in a few days, we weren't sure, either of us, and this was a bit of a sad parting, two ships sailing off in different directions. Since Sydney we'd been in company with Ulu, not always but frequently, and we usually knew which port we'd both be in next. And we'd grown close to Mick, the bubbly Yorkshire man and Chris, sensitive and artistic, and Tahi, the precocious baby of the sea, conceived in French Polynesia and born in Australia, who couldn't walk yet, but could easily climb the companionway ladders of either yacht and could keep a solid footing against the roll of a sailboat already at one year. She could also say "Judy", which was enough to put her deep into Judy's heart. No, this parting was different. We knew we would be hurrying back to Noumea to check out of the country for Vanuatu while they were going to stay longer in New Caledonia, and then head back to Australia. Maybe we wouldn't see them again. We could feel the emotion over the airwaves as we said goodbyes, both boats hoping it wouldn't be forever.
Thursday turned out to be a delightful sailing day, easy and fast, as we ran down the trades for the pass into the lagoon at Ouvea Atoll. By 10:00 we had poled out the jib and were sailing downwind in 18 knots of wind, with 20 miles to go. The sun was out and the air was warm, in contrast from the generally cool conditions we'd been experiencing since we'd left Sydney Australia in early July. Maybe we'd finally found those tropical sailing conditions we had been longing for. This was sailing! I thought about hoisting the spinnaker, but thought better of it. It was too easy to just sit back and put on some sunscreen. At 12:15 the pass was in sight and we dropped the jib and turned for the entrance buoy. Fifteen minutes later we sailed into another paradise: Ouvea! A sheltered lagoon 20 miles across, with a 10 mile long white sand beach and azure waters where coral heads and reef fish down 50 feet looked clear enough to touch. On the shore a church steeple and cross stuck up above the waving palms, and there were native kids running and shouting on the beach. Wings heeled close hauled to the fresh breeze and carved through the outgoing flow in the pass, 200 feet from the sandy beach on the tip of the island, the American flag flying stiffly on the backstay. We anchored in 15 feet of water off the village of Mouly near two French catamarans and backed down to set the hook, then had a drink to toast another successful, if short, passage.
Friday we hitch hiked to Fayoue' a town 5 miles along the island. Actually we hitched quite a way beyond Fayoue' because we didn't notice the town as we drove past. It was only when we saw a signpost directing us back the way we came that we knew we'd passed it. "Out here please, Monsieur". We hitched back the other way. When we got to Fayoue' there was only a couple of churches, a school, and a store, closed until 3:00 PM. It was noon. We stuck our thumbs back out. We didn't really need to buy anything; we just wanted to see the town.
Saturday we went sailing in the lagoon, after a trip to the store and watching the festivities at the finish of the "Ouvea Magic Race" an 18-kilometer run along the beach. For this event the sleepy little village of Mouly woke up to a true media event as people, TV cameras, trucks and cars, and a camouflaged military helicopter converged on the strand. Soon several dozen competitors came staggering up the beach one by one and across the finish line to the cheers of the waiting crowd. We took some photos.
The sailing trip was just a fun sail, nowhere to go, but miles of flat water, sunshine and a nice breeze, we couldn't waste it. We dug an old spinnaker out of the bow, unsure whether it was in one piece or not, or if we could remember how to fly it. We did, and the sail was still in one piece, amazingly after some 20 years of hard use. We sailed out on a beam reach, pole to the headstay, and we took turns steering. When the wind built a little and we thought the sheet looked stressed so we put on the heavier afterguys. Then, we did a few jibes; we acted like we were racing in the Jack and Jill races in Seattle, just to remember old times. We watched one of the catamarans set sail behind us, and another boat was out there sailing too, but they couldn't catch us. After an hour we'd sailed 7.6 nautical miles, far enough; We were a little bored…no competition. We doused the kite, set a jib, and turned upwind, towards the town that we'd hitched hiked to the day before, Fayoue'. We didn't stop there, but four miles from the town we picked up cell phone coverage and did an email session. Then we had a great, seven-mile long jib reach back to our Mouly anchorage. Judy fished on the way but the fish weren't biting, or the lagoon was all fished out. It was good to sail back into the protection of Mouly Bay, pick up the painter for the dingy, and drop our hook on the white sandy bottom. We put away the boat just like the old days too, like when we returned to the dock in Seattle after a race. Even this was fun, the boat was a jumble of ropes and sails when we anchored, and gradually it got organized and orderly until everything was in its place and neat. I packed the kite and Judy covered the main. It was a fun day.
Monday we planned to sail back to the New Caledonia mainland, on our way to Noumea, but the night before, all night long, the wind howled in the rigging. Before dawn we were up and trying to make a decision to go or stay. The wind was only 18, but it sounded like more, and it would be stronger outside the lee of the island, Judy predicted. The wind was also blowing out of the Southeast, making our course back into a close haul. So we'd have wind and waves against us. But it was only 45 miles, couldn't we sail upwind for 45 miles? We watched the conditions as the sun lightened the sky, and the wind shifted some, more to the East, only 20 degrees, but enough. We weighed anchor and headed out. A boat came in as we were leaving. Judy wondered if we should call them on the radio and ask about the conditions. I noticed their triple reefed main and said that pretty well told the story. But they also had a spinnaker pole up, so it couldn't have that bad. We continued on, and the conditions turned out fine, more than fine, great. The wind was in the low 20's and we were almost close hauled, but the waves weren't huge, and the boat handled them with grace and ease, dipping, charging, working the waves, making 7 knots. We rested and enjoyed the sail, watching the miles roll off. We started off with foulies but soon were wearing shorts. I set fishing lines and we hooked a beautiful big blue fish which fought hard, then jumped twice and shook the hook free. It was the most gorgeous fish I've ever seen, powerful and sleek, and he jumped once more to say good-bye. I wanted that fish.
The wind freed and we eased the sails, and the speed went up to 8.5. We went in through the pass in the reef early in the afternoon, after having a great sail. We were glad we decided to go.
Fred & Judy, New Caledonia