It was the last day of 1979. A front had come through, and the wind was fresh from the WNW. It was an ideal time to take off for Nassau, our initial destination enroute to Panama and the Pacific, and we were ready.

Or so we thought. It didn't take long for the first problem to appear. Somewhere east of the Gulfstream axis, our telescoping aluminum whisker pole snapped in two.

In Nassau, I decided to replace the pole with a laminated wooden pole. I found some 12 ft long (light but reasonably strong) redwood 1 by 3s in the local lumber yard and two 1/2 in galvanized lag eyebolts. Using some resorcinol glue and multiple C-clamps I had aboard, I was able to laminate up a pole and finish the ends with the eyebolts (from which I had removed a sector). This remarkably simple freestanding pole has since carried Catspaw many miles around the world and beyond. It is still going strong and has never once disengaged from either end. (It must be said, however, that this pole is difficult to handle in fresh winds.)

We next crossed to Ship Channel Cay at the northern end of the Exumas. We had one final task to perform before heading south. To improve the ground for our ham radio, we needed to run an external copper strap directly to the lead shoe. This meant careening Catspaw in order to attach this strap and install a bolt leading the ground inside. We waited for high tide and beached Catspaw parallel to the eastern shore of Roberts Cay. Working rapidly at low tide, we installed the strap.

In 1973, we had slowly worked our way along the Exumas, stopping often and lingering in Georgetown, Exuma, before rounding Long Island and heading south and east. This time, with a favorable NE breeze, we entered Exuma Sound at Conch Cut and basically headed directly for Great Inagua (via Cape Santa Maria at the north end of Long Island).

Doug Stover joined us in Great Inagua for the long sail across the Caribbean to Panama. As we moved south into the Windward Passage the wind became very light, and it took us several days to round Haiti's Cape Dame Marie. As we passed we could see fires on the hillsides at night, and as we broke out into the open Caribbean, we started to experience an ominous swell, unsupported by the local wind. Gradually the swell and wind grew and we began to understand that we were in for a pretty rough ride.

It was really our first experience with such conditions. We'd seen something similar at the eastern end of the Caribbean in the gaps between islands, but our exposure to those gaps had been of relatively short duration, and we'd not had to worry about cooking or sleeping until we arrived at the next island.

This was different. The seas were 10 ft and higher and stretched from one horizon to the next. Every 6 seconds, Catspaw rolled lazily 30 degrees to one side and then 30 degrees to the other. The motion was not violent, but it was substantial, and it was unceasing. Not only did we have to sail and navigate the boat, we had to live under these conditions, to feed ourselves and get our rest. And it would be like this for the better part of a week.

Somewhat to our collective surprise, we adapted. It helped that we were all fairly resistant to motion sickness and that we were able to get some sleep. It was not easy and not terribly precise, but I was able to shoot the sun and figure out more or less where we were. We even had a few hot meals. I had entered the passage to Panama somewhat apprehensive, not knowing entirely what lay in store. By the time we reached Panama, I had some confidence that we would be OK. In retrospect, the passage to Panama proved to be one of our most difficult. To have arrived in one piece was a good start to our long adventure.

Colon, Panama, was a dangerous place. Shortly after arriving and clearing in, Doug decided to walk into town. He returned without his wallet. Another yachtie was relieved of his pants, and a third chased his assailant down the street trying to recover his watch. (He was not smart to try, but he did succeed.)

We backtracked against the wind to the San Blas Islands of Panama (via the historic town of Portobelo), and spent several weeks among the Kuna Indians, enjoying the sheltered sailing and dickering for molas. Our favorite area: the Hollandaise Cays.

Atlantic Photos

Returning to Colon, we were anxious to transit the canal and set off across the Pacific. We needed line handlers and found some at the military base in Panama City. The day for our transit arrived, and we queued up, entering the first lock behind a small freighter. I had been through these locks before (on Jean Filloux's boat) but had forgotten how treacherous the boiling waters could be. It was absolutely essential to keep the lines taut at all times. Fortunately, we had a good advisor, and he helped ensure that we made it to Gatun Lake without incident.

Now, if only Catspaw's engine could get us across the lake in time. Suffice to say, we almost didn't make it, but did, arriving in Panama City shortly after dark. (I understand that, currently, yachts are required to stop overnight in the middle of the lake and complete the transit the following day, a much more reasonable expectation. You are nonetheless apparently expected to claim a fraudulent motoring speed of eight knots. I don't know what happens if you insist that your motoring speed is five knots, but that, if you have two days, you don't really need to go any faster!)

Well before arriving in Panama City, we could in fact smell the Pacific. We were not too sure the Atlantic even had a smell; with the Pacific there could be no doubt. In fact what we smelled was the kelp and other life forms that litter the beaches and the flats exposed at low tide. As we would soon discover, the Gulf of Panama absolutely teems with life, sharks, rays, mahi mahi, tuna, porpoise, and, on the bottom, various shellfish, not to mention all the humans preying on this life. (Approaching the Perlas Islands at night we passed through a seemingly endless fleet of fishing vessels, apprehensive that we might get entangled in a net.)

Pacific Photos

After stopping for several days at Espiritu Santo in the Perlas, we set off for the Galapagos. We had good wind for about a day, and then it died, leaving us bobbing. The wind would return in spurts, none too vigorous. Mostly we just sat and waited. At least we were comfortable. Life was good. Why not enjoy the moment?

Gradually we worked our way past Malpelo and then set a more southwesterly course for the Galapagos. Now, in addition to intermittent light (and mostly adverse) winds, we had an adverse current. Basically, a light southwesterly breeze would appear for a short time in the late afternoon. The rest of the time we were becalmed. At one point, it took us a week to advance a single degree of longitude.

Occasionally in the calms we would go over the side for a swim, On one of these occasions we noticed that Catspaw was growing a substantial crop of goose barnacles. Some of these barnacles were more than an inch long. We had never noticed such barnacles in the Atlantic; if they came aboard in the Pacific, we marveled at how rapidly they must have grown. In any event we took a putty knife to Catspaw's bottom and gave her a shave.

At some point we crossed the equator, and King Neptune appeared. He had three new initiates to deal with. (I had already been duly initiated on a Scripps cruise to the Central Pacific in 1960.) The usual rites, and we were allowed to proceed.

Before leaving home, we had tried very hard to gain entrance to the Galapagos, but had not succeeded. Still we were determined to see something of this unique part of the world on our way through. We settled on a reasonable but risky strategy for accomplishing this end. It was well known that the currents in the Galapagos are strong and variable. This meant that sailing among the islands at night was hazardous. Accordingly, we decided to make our landfall at one of the outer islands and find our way from there to Academy Bay in day hops from one island to the next. If we ran into trouble with the authorities, we would have a plausible explanation of our actions. Whether they would accept this explanation, of course, was another matter.

We settled on Tower Island for our landfall. It was a good choice. We anchored in the bay near the small research station and presently were speaking to the young lady in charge. Yes, we would have to move on to Academy Bay, but it would be OK if we first walked the trail that started at the station. What a wonderful introduction to the Galapagos, the following morning on this trail! Hundreds of mating frigate birds, boobies, and sea lions, all seemingly oblivious to our presence.

The following day, we moved on to Bartolomy Island, with its pinnacle rock marking the anchorage, and a day or so later negotiated the channel between Baltra and Santa Cruz Islands, moving around to the Plaza Isles on the east coast of Santa Cruz. Here we found land iguanas and sea lions in abundance. Also a sailboat belonging to one of the Angermeyers. He gave us some oranges and warned us to move on without delay to Academy Bay.

The following day, we cleared into Academy Bay (with some apprehension). Fortunately, our delayed entrance had escaped notice (or so it seemed). We were granted several days in the anhorage before we would have to depart for French Polynesia. This allowed us to restock and also visit the Darwin Station to see the Galapagos Tortoises.

Eastern Galapagos Photos

We were not yet done with the Galapagos. Leaving Academy Bay, we rounded the south end of Isabella Island and made our way north along its coast to Tagus Cove. The grafitti splattered on the cliffs surrounding the cove heralded an earlier era when access to the Galapagos was much freer and environmental restrictions lax to nil. Here we hiked to the nearby lava fields and played tug of war over the dinghy painter with one particularly cheeky flightless cormorant.

We then moved across to the anchorage at Fernandina Island. Here we found a park boat with two guides aboard. We made friends and wound up trading some Galapagos charts (that we would no longer need) for some dried goat meat. And they took us ahore to see the sights. Splayed across the path leading from the anchorage was a sea lion in labor. By the time we returned along the path, she had given birth. In the meantime, we had seen a flightless cormorant sitting on her nest, hundreds of marine iguanas, a mother fur seal and her pup covered in coarse sand. and other visual delights.

Western Galapagos Photos

In retrospect our stetching of the rules in the Galapagos was probably foolish, Had we been caught, we might conceivably have been severely fined. On the other hand, it would have been a shame to have sailed by without at least getting a taste of what this unique archipelago has to offer. Certainly we had done no harm to anyone or any creature. The Galapagos were no different for our having been there. And while we could possibly have seen a lot more, we were very grateful that we had seen as much as we had.

It would not be the last time we stretched the rules. The next time, in French Polynesia, we would recieve a reprimand, but again nothing of consequence would follow.

We set off for the Marquesas Islands of French Polynesia, mindful that the area between the Galapagos and the Marquesas is somewhat notorious for collisions between small boats and whales, much to the disadvantage of the small boats. There are in fact several published accounts of boats that have foundered as the result of such a collision, leaving the crew to survive aboard a liferaft. How many more such incidents have gone unreported because the crew didn't survive? (Sadly, we personally know of one boat, that shared some anchorages with us in the Red Sea, that later disappeared enroute from the Galapagos to the Marquesas. This was one of two vessels we met during our entire circumnavigation, out of perhaps several hundred, that were later lost at sea. Those are somewhat sobering odds. You will likely survive a passage on the open ocean aboard a small boat, but it's no sure thing!)

Leaving the Galapagos, winds were favorable but light. Gradually these winds increased. By the end of the first week, we were in a groove. This was definitely much more comfortable than the western Caribbean, in part because I had found the right combination of sails for off the wind sailing. There were two secrets to being comfortable. 1) One was to set a pair of jibs, wing and wing, poling the working jib to windward, and sheeting the reacher to leeward via a block at the end of the main boom. 2) The other was to never sail directly downwind. In addition to the two jibs, you needed to set either the main or the mizzen to help stabilize the vessel, and this you could do 20 to 30 degrees off the wind. Any closer and you would blanket the leeward jib. (40 degrees off the wind, you could set both the main and the mizzen and have all sails drawing.) It was of little consequence that you were not sailing directly towards your destination. What you lost in increased distance, you basically gained back in increased speed, and you tyically had a long way to go before you needed to jibe around to the other tack.

These conditions were also ideal for the wind vane steerer. There was sufficient apparent wind to make the vane control very positive, and the rig was well balanced, meaning that the vane did not need to overcome much helm. We sailed for days at a time without touching either the sails or the vane steerer. It was a liberating experience. We could concentrate on daily functions, cooking, eating, sleeping, talking, reading, listening to the many cassettes we had recorded prior to leaving, listening to the ham nets and requesting an occasional phone patch back home to my parents, honing sextant skills and monitoring our position, and, of course, keeping an eye out for possible hazards and other vessels.

During the entire month-long passage to the Marquesas, we saw perhaps two or three such vessels on the horizon. And, oh yes, if we saw any whales, it was not often, and not close by.

Marquesas Crossing Photos

The most windward island in the Marquesas chain is Fatu Hiva. We knew that we probably would not be able to enter there. Most likely, we would have to clear in Hiva Oa before we would be alliowed to visit Fatu Hiva. But it was worth a try! Accordingly, a month out of the Galapagos, we rounded the north end of Fatu Hiva (after first passing by a treacherous rock well out to sea, where no one would expect a rock to be) and headed south along the coast to Hanavave Bay. What a remarkable visual introduction to the Marquesas! Lush, green, and raw, this was as alluring a setting as we could imagine.

Unfortunately, we could only look. We would not in fact be allowed to stay. We'd have to sail to Atuona on Hiva Oa, enter there, and then sail back to Fatu Hiva against the wind. Fine! So be it! It wasn't that far, so it wouldn't be that difficult to get back. It would in fact be several weeks, however, before we returned to Hanavave.

Before departing Hanavave Bay, we made the acquaintance of a number of people in the anchorage on other boats. Two of these were the Frenchman Jean-Claude Stark and his German wife Trudel aboard Antares II. Upon our arrival, they invited us to dinner along with Bernard, a single-hander, also from France. Jean-Claude and Trudel had sailed west with their two young sons, intent upon settling somewhere in French Polynesia. Their sons were home schooling aboard and the younger son was having difficulty concentrating. The Starks later found a home in Tahiti.

Several other vessels in the anchorage that we would see again were Halcyone, Odette, and the big Norwegian ketch Framstig.

We had a quick passage to Hiva Oa, and made our way into the anchorage at Atuona. It was very rolly, even worse than Hanavave. After clearing and spending several days getting the lay of the land and restocking, we decided to move on. We wanted to return to Hanavave. But we also wanted to spend Bastille Day, July 14, in Atuona. That would not leave us enough time on Fatu Hiva. Accordingly, we decided to postpone our return to Hanavave until after Bastille day and visit instead the more accessible Hana Moe Noe Bay on the neighboring island of Tahuata.

It was a good decision. The secluded Hana Moe Noe was just exactly the right place to relax for a while, following our long passage across the open sea from Panama. Perhaps the most comfortable anchorage we experienced in the Marquesas, Hana Moe Noe also has a white sand beach at its head and orange trees and papayas growing back in the scrub away from the beach. (Unfortunately, the beach also harbors the no-no, a small biting insect that packs a delayed whallop and is hard to spot.)

We shared the anchorage with two other small sailboats, Adagio and Twiga. We would subsequently cross paths with Will and Judy Hardy aboard Adagio a number of times. With Steve and Marja Vance aboard Twiga (Swahili for giraffe), we would gradually forge a relationship that would long outlast our respective trips around the world. Over the course of the next few years we would share many anchorages and experiences. We would be together in Bali, Sri Lanka, Oman, and Sudan. We would visit Shaab Rumi and struggle up the Red Sea together from Port Sudan. On her return to the US, Twiga would spend ten years at our dock while Steve and Marja pursued a successful career as charter boat captain and mate/cook on a succession of large sailboats and motorboats. Steve and Marja would eventually sell Twiga to a third sailing couple that shared many of those same anchorages, Andy and Carolyn Van Herk (aboard Eryngo). Twiga would eventually pass on to the Van Herk's son Chad. It was Chad and Twiga that went through hurricane Ivan at Hog Island, Grenada, several years ago.

Steve and Marja's most recent charge, the 90 ft motor yacht Phantasma, is based at Bahia Mar, Fort Lauderdale, so we have seen a lot of them in recent years. I have no doubt that Steve Vance is highly prized as a charter boat skipper and can personally attest to the fact that Marja is without peer as a cook. (Following one last job in Alaska this summer, they expect to finally retire.)

Hana Moe Noe also saw the beginning of our interest in collecting shells. In comparison with the Atlantic, the Pacific and Indian Oceans are a veritable goldmine for shells. One need only spend some time snorkelling or walking a reef at low tide, turning over rocks, to discover an endless variety of colorful species. Hana Moe Noe harbored the beautiful and relatively large humpback cowrie.

Trolling off of Tahuata on our return to Hiva Oa, we caught a 20 lb yellowfin tuna. It would prove one of the better catches of our entire trip, and it fed quite a few yachties that evening in Atuona's rolly anchorage.

The following day was the start of festivities marking France's Bastille Day. But the anchorage continued to be anything but settled. Indeed the swell was breaking on the beaches lining this anchorage, so that it was not clear how we would manage to get ashore. There was one spot, however, where the break was diminished and looked possibly manageable, if one timed things correctly. Gavin and I went in, rowing the Jolly Boat, and Jody and Garth followed with the Avon, running the Seagull. Gavin and I made it in, and I waded back out to help land the Avon as it came through the break. We succeeded in beaching the Avon without incident and went on into town to the celebration. Few, if any, of the other boats in the anchorage, however, joined us.

So what kind of celebration was it? Basically the townspeople lined the edge of the road and watched a dance troupe perform the tamure, accompanied by a small percussion ensemble. I can hear the drums and wood block now, egging the dancers on. There was also some fire dancing and fire walking. On the second day of the festivities, the audience was invited to demonstrate its tamure skills as well.

There were four principal dancers in the dance troupe. One of these, the leader, was male. The other three were female, two younger ladies and one somewhat older. They all wore grass skirts and headdresses. The ladies had coconut shells over their breasts. Two had dark hair and looked very Marquesan. The other had light hair and could have come from anywhere.

I wondered how the villagers really felt about their French ties in general and Bastille Day in particular. It may have been a French holiday, but here it certainly had a Marquesan face. I suspected that it was probably just another holiday, another chance to dance, sing, eat, drink, and be merry, and that here all holidays might well be celebrated in pretty much the same fashion.

In the anchorage were Colin and Janet aboard Odette, whom we had previously met in Hanavave and would see again on our return to Hanavave, Fred and Dianne Sperry on Loner, a couple from our home town of Fort Lauderdale whom we had not met before (Fred was a carpenter at the Summerfield Boat Yard, Loner a traditional carvel planked ketch), and the single-hander Tom Tagrasse on Black Whale, who had crossed from Socorro, Mexico, often sleeping hove to at night, and occasionally taking days off when he just didn't feel like sailing.

Hiva Oa Photos

One evening, we departed Atuona and headed back towards Fatu Hiva. It was somewhat difficult sailing into the trade wind seas, but conditions were moderate, and we made reasonable progress. After several long tacks, we finally arrived in Hanavave Bay early the next morning. We were anxious to finally sample what Fatu Hiva had to offer.

Indeed Fatu Hiva has much to offer. One of the attractions is a waterfall that begins part way up the razor back ridge that runs along the axis of the island, descending over 100 ft to a pool at its base. This waterfall is reached by following a trail that eventually merges with the stream bed draining the pool. We hiked to the falls in the company of Colin and Janet from Odette, who had also returned to Hanavave; several others from the anchorage came along as well.

For a three year old, Gavin was remarkably adept at hiking right alongside the rest of us. Indeed, he would later prove a more dependable and enthusiastic hiking buddy than either his mom or his brother. When I could entice no one else to climb that hill adjacent to an anchorage so that I could gather another photo of Catspaw in another spectacular setting, Gavin would answer the call and join me. Gavin, thanks for all those trying hikes with those tiny legs; thanks for being such a good sport.

Another trail along the ridge connects the town at the head of Hanavave Bay with the town of Omoa further south. It is primarily in this second town that Thor Heyerdahl spent his days on Fatu Hiva. The view from the trail is reputedly quite spectacular. We did not, however, take the trail, but instead traveled to Omoa by inflatable (in tandem with Jean-Claude and Trudel from Antares II). Jean-Claude was known to be good with outboards, so it was not long before someone had collared him over a reluctant engine. It was a good skill to have; no matter where you went, you could give something back for the warm welcome you inevitably received.

A dirt road lead from the landing to town. Behind a stonewall on the south side of this road, well in from the landing, lay Omoa's principal landmark, a substantial and coloful church. The houses had tin roofs. Dogs roamed freely (pigs not as freely). There were many drying racks for copra and bananas.

Mathias, a singlehander who had arrived there from France some months prior, had recently announced his desire to stay and become a member of the Omoa community. He was currently negotiating with the village elders the terms of his acceptance.

On the road above town, near where Thor Heyerdahl had once lived, we met an old man. We asked him whether he remembered Heyerdahl. Indeed. It was Tioti, Heyerdahl's friend, often mentioned in his book.

In Fatu Hiva, we first became acquainted with two memorable Polynesian foodstuffs, a species of small orange banana that is much prized (fei). and the pamplemousse, a succulent grapefruit with a sort of coffee flavor. We were also able to obtain some fresh beef. The villagers butchered periodically, but you had to be in the right place at the right time to get a share.

Another not so pleasant encounter: a large poisonous centipede that we saw on the trail inland from Hanavave.

It was also our first opportunity to learn something of the native language. Garth was particularly interested in acquiring some facility. It was not so easy. Apparently the language is quite subtle; there are, for example, many variations of the word for "go" that differ according to the direction of travel.

Of all the places we would visit, Fatu Hiva was perhaps the most primitive, the most genuine. This was life as it had existed here for many years, changed, to be sure, by the influence of the French, the church, and modern day communications, but still distinctly Marquesan. We would have liked to stay longer, but there were so many other places we also wanted to see.

Fatu Hiva Photos

We sailed back to Tahuata, anchoring off of the town of Hapatoni on the SW coast. We walked into town to pay our respects to the chief and found him preparing poi behind his home. That evening we were invited to dinner. I brought along a small button accordion that I had learned to play one summer in Austria. (I could play a smattering of folk and popular tunes from around the world. Unlike most small accordions, mine had a minor chord.)

If you want to make friends, there's no better introduction than being able to play something, anything. And, of course, it's even better if you can sing at the same time. (I had enough of a problem getting the right notes to sound on the accordion. As you may know, each row of buttons on a button accordion is like a harmonica, You don't get the same note in and out. The scheme is quite efficient, but, for those with a short memory, confusing.)

We had a number of musical instruments aboard: my viola (that I brought along just in case I found some other string players along the way), a violin (that I hoped Garth might show some renewed interest in), a guitar, a ukelele, several harmonicas, and the accordion. This is not to mention the pump organ that I had converted over from a Montgomery Ward pump organ I'd found advertised in the classified section of the newspaper one day. I'd boxed the keyboard and reed assembly of the organ to sit on top of the dinette and built a new reservoir for the organ into (and under) the deck beneath this dinette, and a foot pump that plugged into this reservoir from above and that one worked seated in front of the keyboard on the forward settee. When not in use (which was most of the time), the boxed keyboard stowed outboard of the lower saloon berth on the starboard side, and the foot pump stowed in the forepeak just aft of the bits.

You did not actually have to play any of these instruments in order to make friends. Most of the younger generation were into music and knew their way around the guitar and ukelele, in particular. In Hapatoni, we met two such lovers of the guitar, Emile and Boniface. Several times they came to Catspaw to pal around and jam with our guitar. From Emile and Boniface, we learned that reef fish in French Polynesia are sometimes toxic. It depends on the type of fish and where it's caught. The same fish that's OK from one part of the reef is not necessarily OK elsewhere. Bottomline: it was best to seek a local opinion before eating a reef fish. To be entirely safe, one ate bananas.

We moved a short distance north and anchored for the second time in Hana Moe Noe Bay. Here we crossed paths with Fred and Gayle Bieker aboard Quintet (there with their son Paul, with their daughters Chris and Katherine, and with a friend of the family, Dale Norton). They had just arrived in the Marquesas, following a 21 day passage from San Francisco. Fred was a plastic surgeon from Portland, OR, who played chamber music CDs while he was performing surgery; Quintet, a Swan 50 footer, had been named for the Schubert two 'cello quintet that I had once performed when I was a student at Wesleyan. So here was another musical connection that helped us to rapidly make some new friends.

We would see Quintet again a number of times (in Ahe, Bora Bora, and American Samoa) before they eventually headed back home via Hawaii. Twenty years later, we would be invited to join Quintet for a week in the Pacific Northwest. Paul would later become a naval architect and would be involved in several America's Cup challenges (for Oracle). Chris would become a patent lawyer specializing in microbiological issues. Katherine would marry a Dane and live near Denmark's southern border with Germany.

Tahuata Photos

We next sailed around the west end of Hiva Oa to Hana Menu Bay on the north coast of Hiva Oa. At the head of this well protected bay was a grove of coconut trees, farmed for copra. Above the bay on all sides was the Hiva Oa highland plateau, inhabited by goats and (reputedly) by a herd of wild horses.

Here we met Jim and Liz McCane on Michael Stuart. Talk about a small world! Jim had studied German with my father at Swarthmore High School. He also had a rifle and wanted to climb up to the highlands to see if he could bag a goat. Was I interested in coming along? Yes, indeed.

We found our way up the slope on the west side of the bay. There were no goats to be seen, but, lo and behold, there were the horses! There were about ten of them. A bit skittish, but not so skittish that we couldn't get reasonably close. I think Jim was disappointed not to get a shot at a goat, but I was very pleased with having come along. How many times in one's life does one get a chance to see wild horses?

While at Hana Menu, we were invited to a pig luau ashore by Eugene and Gilbert, who worked the copra. In standard Polynesian fashion, a pit was dug in the ground and lined with rocks, and a fire was started in the pit. When the fire had burnt to embers, the pig, wrapped in multiple layers of leaves, was added, along with multiple breadfruits, all covered on top by more leaves and dirt. After cooking for a good part of the day, the pig and breadfruits were unwrapped and served with rice and coconut milk (to season everything). It was all very memorable and quite delicious!

From Hana Menu, we sailed north to Nuku Hiva, the setting for Herman Mellville's book, Typee, describing the mores of the early Marquesan tribes. There are several large bays on the south coast of Nuku Hiva, of which we visited three, Taiohae, in the center, Tai Oa (Daniel's Bay), to the west, and Taipivai, to the east (one of three branches of Controler Bay). In fact we did not get to Taipivai until after an intervening side trip to the island of Ua Pu to the soutwest, and our initial visit to Tai Oa was very short.

Taiohae is the commercial center of Nuku Hiva and, like the harbor at Atuona on Hiva Oa, was quite rolly. But we were happy to pick up our mail at the post office, and Jody found someone to have a look at her foot (that she had twisted during the luau in Hana Menu). (She was advised not to walk on it for a while but apparently had not broken anything!) We also enjoyed some spaghetti at Frank and Rose Corser's restaurant. (They had arrived in Taiohae on a small boat some years before and had decided to stay.)

Tai Oa, a much more comfortable anchorage, was bordered on its eastern margin by a very green and productive delta-like lowland with bananas, papayas, coconuts, horses, and pigs, and on its western margin by some very spectacular cliffs. There was also a waterfall well worth seeing inland, but that was a bit of a hike, and Jody was in no condition to go anywhere on foot. We marked down Tai Oa as a place to visit again before departing the Marquesas for the Tuamotus.

In the meantime we moved on from Tai Oa to Ua Pu, an island crowned at its northern end with a series of Disneyesque spires. What approaching sailor can possibly resist stopping and staying on Ua Pu for a while? We couldn't and stopped first, for several days, at the village of Haka Hetau, on the northwest coast, and then again, further south at Vaieo Bay, a remarkably scenic, but treacherous, anchorage.

Vaieo Bay is a pretty wild place. There is no one living directly on its shores, although a path leads from its head through the underbrush to a town not that far distant. But from the bay itself there is no sign of human habitation. You are there seemingly all by yourself. And what a place to enjoy all by yourself! The headland forming the western margin of the bay is high and steep, and the view down on to the bay from atop this headland is to die for (particularly when your tiny boat is in the middle of it).

Well, yes, the anchorage was comfortable enough, but the holding was not good. We tried several times at several different locations to get the anchor to dig in, but it wouldn't. (My recollection is that the bottom was sort of pebbly and not very thick before you got to something hard and relatively smooth.)

Finally, the anchor (a 25 lb CQR) seemed to catch and stand some modest backing down. We watched for a while and then decided to walk into town. When we returned, Catspaw was still there, but she was no longer in the same place. She'd moved about 100 meters. I broke out and rigged the storm anchor (a 45 lb CQR). In fact I'm no longer sure how Catspaw survived the better part of a week anchored at Vaieo Bay. Suffice to say, 1) we eventually found an anchoring scheme and location that held well enough, and 2) we were undoubtedly apprehensive the entire time we were there.

Although the bay was disconnected from the village, it did not take long for the kids and eventually some grownups to find us. And it was not long before we had been invited to dinner at one of the homes in the village. Unfortunately, something got lost in translation, and we showed up a day late for the meal. We could tell that our hosts thought they had been stood up. An awkward moment, but probably long forgotten by now.

One day we saw several manta rays swimming in the bay near the boat. Garth and I joined the rays in the water with my Nikonos camera. A memorable encounter with a very odd, but graceful, creature!

Ua Pu Photos

On returning to Nuku Hiva, we first sailed into Taipivai on the southeast coast. Here the local woodcarver Jacob made Garth a small sandalwood tiki, and we were taken to see some large stone tikis in the jungle by Eduoard and Josef from Emanuelle's grocery store. Listening to some of the tales of the cannibalistic rites that took place by these tikis, I was glad to be present in the here and now, and not back in the time of Melville.

Sharing the anchorage were Bulliq and Zeus. Zeus was escorting the French windsurfer Baron Arnot across various stretches of the Pacific. They had just aborted, after one day at sea, an attempt to windsurf from Nuku Hiva to Hawaii, and the French navy had responded by prohibiting them from making a second attempt. So the good baron had left on his own in the middle of the night ... for the Tuamotus. The navy had searched for several days but had not found him. We would hear more of this story unfold as we moved on.

Among the boats back in Taiohae were Black Whale, L'Olympe, and Debut, a large relict cargo vessel, now touring the South Pacific in what appeared to be a sort of commune mode. We would see Tom on Black Whale and Jean Marie and Francoise on L'Olympe again.

Returning to Tai Oa, we relaxed a bit, took on fresh water, and loaded up with two breadfruit, a bag of pamplemousse, and seven stalks of bananas, most of which we would deliver to the villagers on Takaroa, our expected landfall in the Tuamotus.

Unlike the Marquesas, the Tuamotuan atolls are below the horizon until you get quite close. (Nominally you first spot them from about 10 miles out.) Also the tidal currents are strong and variable. These factors made sailing Tuamotuan waters a bit hazardous. (Remember, this was before GPS.) Accordingly we had chosen Takaroa, which sits out on the northeast edge of the Tuamotus, a distance removed from the other atolls, as our first destination in the Tuamotus. Unfortunately, it was overcast, and we had difficulty establishing our position. Indeed, several days out of Tai Oa, we had to stop and wait for the overcast to break before continuing any further. The following morning we spotted Takaroa, closed, motored into the pass at slack tide, and tied up at the town dock.

Soon after arriving, we were presented with the town's register of visiting yachts, to which we were expected to add a page of our own. To our surprise, several of the previous entries were by people we knew. Phil Pleydell, who had worked at Nova's Oceanographic Center for several years, had passed through on Osmunda in 1977, and Bob Lafore, with whom I'd first sailed the Bahamas in 1959, had passed through on Caleb in 1975.

Phil was on his way home to Australia. He had sailed Osmunda across the Atlantic from England to Fort Lauderdale with his wife and had worked at the lab as an electronics technician for a while, before taking off for Panama and home. Unfortunately, he and his wife were so exhausted from getting ready to leave that, during the first night's passage to Bimini, they both fell asleep, and Osmunda hit a reef and sank. Somehow Phil managed to raise Osmunda and get her back to Fort Lauderdale, where he spent the next several years rebuilding her while working again as a technician at the lab. When he eventually again departed for Australia, however, he was minus a wife.

Like me, Bob had responded to that liberating carefree summer of 1959, sailing the Bahamas on Viking, by also resolving that he would one day have his own boat. Eventually he had Caleb built in Taiwan and sailed her back home to San Francisco via Hawaii. Later he and his family sailed Caleb from San Francisco to French Polynesia, stopping in Takaroa.

In Takaroa, our anchoring system was put to the test and found wanting. We had departed the dock on the pass and anchored inside the lagoon close to town. Shortly after dark, we felt a gentle bump and knew we had a problem. Very fortunately, we managed to get underway before there were any more bumps, and we were able to put down a second working anchor nearby. We maintained an anchor watch throughout the night and, the next morning, got some help recovering the first anchor from Henry, a former pearl diver. (We had been anchored in about 50 ft of water, which was beyond my capabilities to free dive.)

Most boats travelling the South Pacific anchor with an all chain rode and employ a substantial windlass on the foredeck to get the anchor up. Catspaw was designed primarily with the Bahamas in mind, where such a heavy rig is not necessary. Catspaw's anchor rode was mostly 5/8 in nylon line, ending in 10 meters of 3/8 in chain at the anchor, and she had no anchor windlass and no chain locker below. Her anchor was raised entirely by hand (using the engine to slack the line), and the ground tackle was stowed on deck.

The problem with this scheme is that one cannot always anchor where the bottom is entirely free of obstructions that can entangle and eventually cut through a nylon rode. To discourage this eventuality, we tried to keep the line off the bottom by attaching a series of floats, one at the very end of the line (where it shackles to the chain), and several others at suitable points further along the line towards Catspaw. We also made it a practice to always swim the anchor line, sometimes repeatedly, to make certain that it remained clear of obstructions. This scheme actually worked quite well, but it was not perfect, and Takaroa was one case where it failed us. (We'd had one earlier failure at Tower Island in the Galapagos, and would much later have a third failure in the Canary Islands, just prior to crossing the Atlantic. Three instances in four years is certainly not a clean record, but, considering that most of our anchorages were less than ideal, either too deep or somewhat foul, it's really not that bad.)

While in Takaroa's lagoon, we did some snorkelling on the inner reef. Gavin had been swimming in the pool when we left home but seemed to have forgotten most of what he had learned. We tried to take advantage of the relatively quiet and relatively shallow environment of the upper lagoon to encourage a renewed interest in swimming and snorkelling, but he was not buying it. (Perhaps it was all those small back tip sharks patrolling the reef!)

Gavin, however, was still enthusiastic about accompanying me on hikes. One day we walked the north beach to the wreck of the County of Roxburgh, a full rigged four masted merchant ship that came to grief on this shore back in 1906. (Jody and Garth had hiked to the wreck the day before.) It was surprising how much of the steel-hulled vessel still remained.

Another interesting feature of Takaroa's lagoon was the fish trap that the villagers had constructed in the shallows just inside the pass. The trap was basically a maze of lose coral rocks on top of the reef that fish could enter easily, but had a difficult time finding their way out of (at low tide). The fish inside could then be trapped and concentrated by closing off the entrance and other passages within the maze.

Takaroa Photos

From Takaroa, we continued to Ahe, where visiting yachts were accorded a most congenial reception. Hardly an evening would pass without a party somewhere. The guys in town , Teina, Elvis, Sten, Hiti, and others, all played guitar and knew how to have a good time. (Catspaw's wide cockpit was barely large enough to accomodate all who joined in.)

Life in Ahe was good. A little fishing, pearl diving, coconut husking, all good clean fun, and then, every once in a while, a ride aboard the Taporo into the big city ... Papeete! Indeed these guys were all very fit and would spend hours demonstrating just how fit they were by hurling spears at a post mounted coconut, high above the ground. Occasionally, a spear would strike the coconut with sufficient force to stay lodged there like a banderilla in the neck of a bull.

Anchored off the town dock with Catspaw were Black Whale, Safina (a German sloop belonging to Eberhardt, an ex U-boat captain) and Tumbelina. Several days later Quintet also arrived and subsequent to that, Taku. But Taku had closed on the wrong atoll and now has to sail back up wind to reach Ahe's pass. There is not much time remaining before nightfall. To speed their approach, Dom and Celia run their engine hard, and a fire breaks out in their engine room. We are listening to all this over our ham radio as they approach the pass.

With the afternoon starting to fade, Terry on Tumbelina takes Teina aboard and heads across the lagoon to the pass in order to meet Taku there and guide her back to town. Afterwards, Teina admits that this was a most harrowing experience, guiding the two vessels back across Ahe's reef strewn lagoon in the dark.

In the succeeding days, Fred and Gayle from Quintet, ever the physician and nurse, stage a clinic to treat the town's ills. (Unfortunately, the chief has a serious problem with his heart and is not expected to live too much longer.) But Ahe is nonetheless appreciative and decides to host a feast in the good doctor's honor. We are all invited. Mama Fana and her minions have pulled out all the stops. Barbecue pork, fish, coconut beer, leis and shell necklaces, it is one grand occasion!

And one afternoon, we all climb aboard Quintet to go scuba diving across the lagoon near the pass. We take turns sharing the scuba gear. It is my first time diving at a depth of 40 ft. I am struck by how different the corals are (in comparison with the Caribbean) and by how much of the reef is dead, even here in the heart of French Polynesia.

Several of the boats have a windsurfer aboard, so I also learn to windsurf in Ahe.

On another occasion, I go spear fishing with Hiti at one of the patch reefs inside the lagoon. It is a most edifying experience. First of all I am impressed with how good Hiti is with his handmade speargun. He can quite consistently spear fish from 10 ft away. Second, my role in this enterprise is to husband Hiti's catch on the end of a large multipronged pole spear. As the sharks start to accumulate, I am beginning to feel a little uneasy. When a larger gray shark appears, Hiti indicates it's time to go. None too soon, as far as I am concerned! I climb up on the reef with several small blacktips in pursuit.

Ahe was not, however, all fun and games. We had departed home with a good supply of Vivatex canvas, spur grommets, and a Reed's hand crank sewing machine, so I took the opportunity afforded by our lengthy stay to sew an awning to cover Catspaw's deck amidships. ( The awning was supported from above by the main halyard, it was spread laterally by ties from its four corners to the lower stays of both masts, and its port and starboard side flaps were secured to the lifelines.)

Ahe Photos

Continuing on our way towards Tahiti, we stopped briefly at two more Tuamotuan atolls before breaking clear of the group. At Rangiroa, we picked up two friends who would sail into Papeete with us, Linda Smith and Bill Holland. (Linda had worked with me at Nova, and Bill and I had been fellow students at Scripps in the early 1960s.) We also drift dived the main pass there (a good way to quickly and effortlessly cover a lot of ground but remain close to your inflatable in the process), and spent several days exploring the motus on the northeast edge of Rangiroa's extensive lagoon. Perhaps here more than anywhere, we were impressed by the large variety of colorful Pacific reef fish.

Our stop in Tikehau was notable primarily for the passage of Gavin's fourth birthday and for a Sunday morning spent listening to the singing from one of the local churches.

Approaching Papeete, we faced the first major crisis of our around the world adventure. We were proceeding very deliberately and very slowly downwind along Tahiti's north coast. We were wing and wing, and the day had just dawned.

I was off-watch below, trying to catch some sleep prior to entering the harbor. Jody, Linda, and Bill were in the cockpit, enjoying the moment. Before they knew it, this moment had turned ugly, and they found themselves in a rapidly developing situation that they were unable to arrest.

They could see a number of vessels fanning out from the still somewhat distant harbor entrance. It was in fact the bonitier fishing fleet setting off for the day's hunt. And one of the vessels seemed to be headed in our general direction. Surely it saw Catspaw's spread-eagled jibs and would soon alter course! Or was it trying to pass close to get a better look at us?

In fact the bonitier was on autopilot, running at a high rate of speed. Its crew was in the cockpit, (most probably) enjoying their morning coffee. And from their cockpit they could not see what lay ahead of them.

By the time Catspaw's crew realized there was a problem, it was too late to get out of the way. I was awakened from my sleep by an horrendous grinding crash as the two hulls collided. (Fortunately this collision was somewhat glancing, starboard bow to starboard bow.) I remember emerging somewhat dazed from below, looking across to the other vessel, and seeing her skipper, also very much dazed, trying to figure out what had just happened.

I quickly surveyed the damage. We'd been lucky. Catspaw's starboard bulwark forward had been stoved in, but her underbody had not been breached. She was not taking on water. Both vessels were still afloat and pretty much in one piece and could make it into port under their own power.

I was amazed how quickly and sensibly this incident was adjudicated. No sooner had we entered the port and anchored and tied up Catspaw, stern to the beach (the so-called low-rent district), than we received word that the port captain wanted to see me in his office the following day. Basically, he talked immediately to both captains and within several days had ruled on the matter. Subsequently, the owner of the other vessel agreed to reimburse me for all repairs to Catspaw, most of which I would in fact make myself.

Fortunately, Papeete was a modern commercial hub and had everything I needed to effect the repairs. The lumber yard had Philippine mahogany that it could rip into strips to rebuild the starboard bulwark and its cap. Both resorcinol and epoxy glue and various fiberglass products and resins were also available. A local machine shop could straighten several chainplates that the collision had bent out of shape. Finally, I could later haul out to deal with several cracks in the strip planked skin amidships that this collision had introduced. (I basically bridged these cracks from the outside with several flush 1/4 in plywood dutchmen, glued and screwed in place, and rebuilt the outer fiberglass skin over the dutchmen.)

In all, it took me about a month to recover from the accident. It was a month I would have preferred spending in other pursuits, but I was basically happy to have lost only a month.

There is in fact a silly little story here to cap this tale. Soon after our arrival in Papeete, the owner of the other vessel stopped by Catspaw to say that he would pay for the repairs. But I was not aboard, so he asked Linda to pass on his name and address to me. She dutifully wrote down "Robert Rondicat" and an address not far from the beach.

Some weeks later, after tallying up the cost of the repairs, I go ashore to find "Monsieur Rondicat". It's a business address. I walk in and ask for "Monsieur Rondicat". There is a sort of fleeting half smile and then the response, "Oh yes, ... he's in the other room." We meet. "Monsieur Rondicat?" ... "Yes." We settle up, shake hands, and he wishes me better luck on the remainder of my voyage than I have had arriving in Papeete. Back on the street, I take a close look at the sign above his business. It says, "Robert Rent-A-Car."

While in Papeete, we often walked to the large open market near the port, where, if you looked hard enough, you could find just about anything you might want. If you ate it, it was there ... fruits, vegetables, meats and poultry, fish and other seafoods, ... The market was also a great place to observe and photograph people.

We also took advantage of le truck, a large open bus, to get around town and take in other points of interest in the neighboring countryside. In this fashion, we visited Point Venus, the Gauguin Museum, the blowhole, a nearby waterfall, and a number of other attractions.

After a week or so at the beach in the port, we moved around to the anchorage near the Beachcomber Hotel. Here I continued with rebuilding Catspaw's bulwark and also attempted to refinish her masts from the bosun's chair. It was a beautiful spot, particularly at sunset. The mountains of Moorea beckoned to the northwest. They seemed to be saying, "Patience, you'll get through this, and you're going to like what lies ahead of you."

During this period, we had a succession of visitors. Linda and Bill, who had sailed into Papeete with us tried to make the best of a bad week. Catspaw was out of commission, and I was occupied with making her whole again, so they were pretty much on their own. (I guess if you have to get stuck somewhere, however, you could do much worse than Tahiti/Moorea!) At some point our longtime friend, Jan Witte, also joined us for a week, and sometime later (after Linda, Bill, and Jan had left for home), my parents flew in.

By the time my parents arrived, Catspaw was almost operational once again, so we were able to up anchor at the Beachcomber and sail to Moorea. Anchored at Robinson's Cove in Opunohu Bay, we relaxed and celebrated a most wonderful Christmas. If ever there was an occasion to feel grateful for being alive and well and among family and friends, this was it. Gavin, I think, was particularly grateful for the visit of his grandma and grandpa (and for the many gifts they had brought with them).

Christmas in Moorea Photos

Then, as quickly as they had appeared, my parents departed Moorea for home, and we moved over to Cook's Bay for several days before heading back to Papeete, where we had an appointment at the boatyard. In Cook's Bay we found the Starks on Antares II, whom we'd first met in Hanavave. They were here so that their two boys could attend the local school. and they were already thinking about Moorea as a possible place to settle down. For the first time since leaving home, I offloaded our folding Centaur motor scooter, and Jean Claude helped me get it running. (We would use the scooter repeatedly in the Society Islands, but not too much elsewhere. It would, in balance, never really pay for all the space it occupied in the forepeak.)

In Papeete, we anchored in the port, and, a few days later, hauled out at Ellacott's. There I repaired the cracks resulting from the collision outside of Papeete. It was not an easy job because the weather had turned somewhat nasty, and I had to fit the work in between showers. But eventually I got it done, and Catspaw's patched hull returned to the water with a new coat of bottom paint. Also at Ellacott's were Glenn and Dan on Sea Venture.

Following our haulout, we lingered for several weeks in Tahiti, first at the port and then at the Beachcomber, in company with a number of boats we'd met before, Osprey, Taku, Quintet, Michael Stuart, and some new boats, Silver Willow, Hic, and Odyssey among them. We took advantage of Papeete's markets to restock our food supplies, home canning a large quantity of meats in our large pressure cooker. Someone had stumbled upon a cheap source of Primus burners in town, so we stocked up on those as well. (We were discovering that it was best not to run our stove at too high a pressure, because the burners did not last as long.)

Tahiti Photos

Eventually, we sailed back to Moorea, this time anchoring behind the reef at the entrance to Opunohu Bay, on the east side. This venue gave us the rare opportunity to anchor at a shallower depth over a sand bottom. Towards the end of our stay there, we passed through the edge of a tropical storm, and we were very happy to be so anchored. (During the storm, we deployed both working anchors and the storm anchor; Catspaw did just fine.)

In the anchorage at one point or another during our stay were Dom and Celia on Taku, the Biekers on Quintet (minus Paul who was currently aboard Hic), Mike and Tim on Inoa, Mike, Patty, and Steve from Odyssey, Tom from Black Whale, David and Agnes from Runaway, Bob and Jane Brown from Brown Palace, MJ and Ian from Silver Willow, George and Kim from Johanne Bruhn, and Jim and Liz from Michael Stuart. It was getting to be a rather large community. One of the decided pleasures of ocean cruising is getting to know all the others who, like yourselves, have cut loose from their more conventional lives to try something a little different.

It was now the rainy season, and we were mostly confined to quarters, waiting for the weather to improve. Occasionally, we'd get a break in the downpour that would allow us to go ashore or across to one of the other boats, but mostly we sat at the saloon dinette, reading, writing, listening to audio tapes, and playing card games. I was still writing up some of my projects from before leaving home. Garth was beginning his high school extension courses with the University of Nebraska and was programming the C1P. Gavin was learning to read. And Jody and Garth were baking bread in the pressure cooker.

As roomy as Catspaw is below, we were all very happy when, after about a month hunkered down, the rain stopped and we could escape outdoors. We landed the Centaur motor scooter, got it going (always a bit of a project), and for the first time explored Moorea's roadways, two at a time. From the beach near our anchorage, we could follow the road east and south along the west coast of Cook's Bay to town or west and south along Opunohu Bays east coast to Belvedere lookout. (From the lookout, one could see both bays.) Shortly before departing Moorea for Huahine, I completely circled the island with Garth and Gavin. (I don't remember how we managed with the three of us.)

Moorea Photos

Eventually it came time to move on from Moorea to the other islands in the Society group. The first of these was Huahine. We approached twice, closing on Huahine's very inviting southeast coast late one afternoon (but not entering), and again the following morning (after circling the island to the north and west) on its northwest coast, anchoring off Fare's Bali Hai Hotel. In the anchorage were Sea Venture, Da Boat, Stone Drifter, and, later in the day, Quintet, and, the following day, Tethys. (We understand that the Bali Hai with its lovely inside waterway, was destroyed by a cyclone in 1998.)

We spent the next several days exploring the bustling town of Fare and visiting the marae and community house on the lake at the north end of Huahine's upper peninsula, Huahine-Nui. On the way back to Catspaw, we bought several bonito from a local fisherman. (He had also caught a 3 ft yellowfin tuna.)

From Fare we proceeded south inside the reef to Huahine's lower peninsula, Huahine-Iti, anchoring behind the reef in company with Nerissa, Alrisha, Sea Venture, Renaissance, and Panache. Here the bottom was sand, and there was lots of it. For the first time, we began to appreciate the large variety of colorful tropical shells that burrow in the sand, augers, mitres, volutes, cone shells, and others. What's more, these shells were easy to collect. You just followed their furrows to the end and dug them out. If I had to pinpoint the beginning of our interest in shells, an interest that greatly enriched our long cruising adventure and kept us active in the water, hunting for that next treasure, it was here behind the reef in Huahine.

(Our shell collection would later acquire its signature specimen, a large tridacna clam that we found in the Solomon Islands' Morova lagoon in about 10 ft of water. We harvested this clam from off the bottom in a complex operation involving both dinghies and a comealong, ate its adductor muscle for dinner (actually for several dinners), and transported the clam back home, halfway around the world, in Catspaw's cockpit. This clam now sits in a corner of our living room.)

We dinghied ashore to Huahine-Iti and once again landed our motor scooter. Circling the peninsula with the scooter, Jody and I discovered Brown Palace anchored on the east side. In Parea, we walked around town and watched the men play boules. Later we contributed some lentil soup and banana bread to a pot luck dinner ashore (at a picnic facility belonging to the Bali Hai).

The following day, we got back to the Bali Hai Hotel in Fare at about the same time as Taku, just arriving from Tahiti/Moorea. Taku had several packages for us from the post office in Papeete. One was from Jody's parents and contained various foodstuffs and spare parts. The other was the latest installment of Garth's high school extension course with the University of Nebraska.

Leaving Huahine for Raiatea, I relinquished my captain's shirt to Jody. I would cook. She and Garth would get us to Raiatea. It all started off well enough. The wind was fair and we were making good progress downwind, wing and wing. But the wind did not hold and we started getting frequent showers. Jody was having a difficult time setting the steerer in the light following winds, and she was clearly not happy with all the rain. I started to worry that we might not get to Raiatea until too late in the day to comfortably enter the pass. As luck would have it, I'd picked a bad day for the switch. In the end, we decided to leave it for another day.

We arrived at Raiatea's southeast pass at about 1700. Not the best time of day for entering, but the current was manageable and we were able to get in without difficulty. We proceeded on into Hotapuu Bay and anchored in about 50 ft of water.

The following day we met Guye, who lived on the north side of the Bay. He offered to take us to Taputapuatea, the nearby mother of all maraes. Here, in what had to be a pretty gruesome ceremony, the ancient rulers supposedly feasted yearly on the flesh of young boys, roasted like pigs. So much for family values among the noble savages who once inhabited Raiatea! (Not that such values are confined to primitive cultures! Witness Heinrich Hoffmann's Struwwelpeter, a cautionary tale designed to focus young civilized minds, and a product of an enlightened middle European culture. Just imagine what Mr Hoffmann could have done with this Raiatean horror.)

Guye had lost all his teeth. His wife had club feet and only one eye. They gave us coconuts, pamplemousse, and manioc. We responded by taking polaroid pictures and inviting them to coffee aboard Catspaw in the late afternoon. But his wife seemed very afraid to climb aboard (perhaps because it was beyond her, physically), and returned home in tears. Guye loved the coffee, but refused dinner (perhaps because he had no teeth).

We sailed up the east side of Raiatea inside the reef to Faaroa Bay, where we dinghied up the river, swimming and collecting mape (a sort of chestnut).

Further north, we arrived in Uturoa and tied up to the dock behind Flores, a small French sailboat from Toulon with a large family aboard. In Uturoa we did our laundry, ate ice cream, and relaxed for several days. To our surprise, we found that the town had a tennis court. Well, we had brought along some tennis racquets, so on several occasions, Garth and I played tennis. We also once again took advantage of our motor scooter to ride down the west side of Raiatea, a particularly scenic drive.

Huahine and Raiatea Photos

A short distance north is the island of Taha'a. (Raiatea and Taha'a are in the same lagoon.) A long slender bay headed by the town of Haamene cuts from the center of Taha'a to its east coast. We sailed into this bay, briefly visited the school there, then exited the bay and continued up along the east and north coast of Taha'a around to a motu on the northwest side of the lagoon, Ilot Tau Tau, anchoring in sand behind this motu.

This motu has evidently since been extensively developed into the Taha'a Island Resort and Spa, and one can understand why. It was a most beautiful setting, made all the more alluring by the excellent weather we experienced while we were there. Bora Bora lies not far to the west and is visible well above the horizon from various vantage points on the motu. (The setting sun only improves the view.) Ashore we found a family from Taha'a enjoying a picnic outing. They invited us to join in, and we spent an engaging afternoon of halting conversation, swimming, music, food, drink, and Tahitian checkers.

Taha'a Photos

The next day Quintet joined us in the anchorage and we discussed sailing in company across to Bora Bora, so that we could both get some pictures of our vessels under sail. It was not exactly a good match speedwise, but, if Catspaw left early, the chances were that at some point the two boats would be abreast and stood to get some good photos of each other, some perhaps with Bora Bora in the background. To facillitate the shoot, we decided to swap crew. Chris would sail over aboard Catspaw, and Jody and Gavin, aboard Quintet.

It proved an excellent plan. The weather was perfect for the crossing and for the photos, Catspaw made good progress on a broad reach, and we obtained the best set of photographs that we currently have of Catspaw under sail. (Thank you, Quintet, and thank you, Jody!)

The view of Bora Bora from just outside its fringing reef was truly memorable. (Once viewed, the distinctive profile of Bora Bora's inner mountain core is not easily forgotten.) And we were close enough that we could hear the swell breaking on the reef.

Entering Bora Bora's lagoon from the west, we anchored with the other boats near the Bora Bora Yacht Club. This was not, however, a good anchorage. We were in 90 feet of water. At such depth we had no idea what lay on the bottom and there was no way we could anchor with anything approaching the proper scope. Nonetheless, we somehow survived the better part of a week anchored there.

The yacht club itself was a low budget affair run by Alex and Michelle. It basically provided a place ashore for those passing through on yachts to congregate, converse, and enjoy a drink or two.

We again landed the motor scooter and explored the island, two at a time. Jody and I rode south to the Bora Bora Hotel and beyond in search of some aerial photos of this spectacular island. We found suitable photos at Moana Art, south of Vaitape. Along the way we snapped some excellent photos of our own.

Our stay near the yacht club was marked by two events. One was my 46th birthday. The other was the great dinghy race, a no holds barred contest between sailing dinghies. Whatever you could get away with to handicap the other dinghies was quite allright. Quintet's Gig Harbor dinghy, the presumed favorite, started the race tied to a rock on the bottom. (They never had a chance!) Catspaw's Jolly Boat, a smart performer, also found herself beseiged by a succession of minor catastrophes. We had all been issued water balloons at the start of the race. In addition, Taku used its deckwash to inundate dinghies that passed too close to her. But we also had several unique weapons at our disposal. We had rigged a line from Catpaw's boomkin to a float 10 meters downwind that Jody could raise to force the other dinghies to round the float. And Garth was milling around wrecking havoc with the Avon, a sort of waterborne bumper car. Finally, much like the terrorist in the mosque, I had Gavin with me in the Jolly Boat to inhibit others from becoming totally unglued.

All to no avail. Although we were leading towards the end of the race. we lost out to Ishmael's dinghy, towed across the finish line by Alex. And the last shall be first!

South of the yacht club anchorage was Motu Toopua and in its lee, some shallower ground much preferable to where we currently were. We moved over to the motu with Nerissa and enjoyed several days in their company, harvesting land crabs and climbing the motu to its top. Eventually Taku, Kirsten Ann, and Quintet also anchored behind the motu, somewhat further north.

Later we travelled to the northwest corner of Bora Bora's lagoon and snorkelled on the inner reef near the airport (some of the best snorkelling of the trip). Here we met Sylvia and Ray aboard Zara II, and were introduced to their fine shell collection. Back at the yacht club anchorage we waited for a money transfer to clear before setting off for American Samoa (via Suvorov atoll).

Bora Bora Photos

Our final stop in French Polynesia was Maupiti, some distance west northwest of Bora Bora. The entrance to the lagoon there is long and somewhat exposed, and the incoming swell may occasionally break seaward of the pass, rendering it somewhat dangerous to enter, but we did not have a problem, either coming in or later going out. In the anchorage, we witnessed several spectacular sunrises. Ashore, we spent a delightful day, hiking around the island (a trek of 5 to 6 miles).

Maupiti Photos

There is much much more to this tale, but it will have to wait for another day. There are other details more important to the overall development of this website that need first to be documented.

In brief, Catspaw continued on from French Polynesia to Suvorov atoll, Samoa, the Vavau group in Tonga, Fiji (Viti Levu, the Lau group, and the Yasawa group), and then crossed to New Zealand.

During the passage from the Yasawas to the Bay of Islands, New Zealand, Catspaw went through the only storm of her around the world trip. For about half a day, she lay hove to under reefed main. The seas were perhaps 15 ft. But the crests were very far apart, and there was not much water on deck. In short, the storm proved less of a trial than I had imagined it might be. Several other passages, the upwind slog from Suva, Fiji, to the Lau group, the passage from the Solomon Islands to the Louisiades, and the passage up the Red Sea from Port Sudan to Suez, were all more uncomfortable.

Coming into the Bay of Islands, Catspaw's engine was overheating. Indeed, we had to be towed the last few miles to Opua by Dan and Peggy on Osprey, who happened to be coming in at the same time. The problem proved major. The head had to be pulled off the engine and milled, and a new head gasket fitted. Fortunately we were in New Zealand, with mechanics and machine shops accustomed to dealing with such issues.

Indeed Catspaw's engine basically gave us no further trouble, the rest of the way around. It did burn a little oil, which it had not before, but not so much that we couldn't live with it (as we still live with it today).

Following six months in New Zealand, Catspaw returned north to Vanuatu, the Solomon Islands, the Louisiade Archipelago, the Torres Strait, Australia (Darwin), and Bali. She then crossed the Indian Ocean to Sri Lanka (via Christmas Island. Cocos Keeling Island, and the Chagos Archipelago), continuing on from there to Oman and the Red Sea. In the Red Sea she stopped in both Sudan and Egypt, emerging from the Suez Canal into the Mediterranean Sea in the spring of 1983. Following a spring and summer in Israel, Turkey, Greece, Italy (the Aeolian Islands), and Spain (the Balearic Islands and Alicante), she returned home across the Atlantic to the Bahamas and the USA (via Madeira and the Canary Islands).