Sailing and cruising around the Solomon Islands.

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THE SOLOMON ISLANDS

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November 24, 1994

HONIARA (Photo)
Leaving Papua New Guinea, we tried sailing direct to Honiara, but the wind was right on the nose - after one hour of motor-sailing we hadn’t moved at all. The current against us matched our forward motion so that finally, late in the day we turned around and sailed back to Misima to wait for the wind to haul around to the southeast where it belonged. We scrounged up enough money so that Peter could fill us up with diesel and bread, and waited out the weather for a day. Rather serendipitous that an Australian boat that we had met a couple years ago at Beveridge Reef stopped in here on its way back to Oz, so we spent a few hours catching up with our friend Sue. I told her that we regretted not spending any time on the Great Barrier Reef, but Sue said we hadn’t missed anything and that we were better off spending our time in PNG and the Solomons. Since she is an avid diver and a biologist to boot, I don’t feel so cheated anymore. Sue said that Australia has just trashed their reefs, and they’re just not worth the effort to go there if one has a better alternative, such as where we are now.

The next morning we set off again. The wind was no longer on the nose; after about four hours out of Misima there wasn’t any wind at all. We figured this was just a temporary lull, so we motored. Three days later we ran out of fuel with 75 miles to go. Just as we ran out of fuel (we still had 5 gallons of “emergency” fuel in a jerry jug) the wind came up, and from glass calm to 25 - 30 knots of wind and very confused seas. We were not happy sailors contemplating going into a strange port in nasty conditions, but our own personal jumbie was with us - we made the lee of Guadalcanal and the wind just died. We still had about 7 or eight hours of motoring to go, so we put in the last of our fuel and motored/drifted all night until we got into Honiara just at sunrise. A few hours sleep and we were ready to hit the beach running. Check in with customs and immigration, find stores to get some hamburger meat and such stuff, find a photo developer to get our film processed, and to the post office for our mail (!!).

A shame that I don’t have photo print-sized self-adhesive labels or I could have used the extra set of photo prints I got as postcards to send - a lot cheaper, here, than buying postcards. Of course, how much more “stuff” can we carry on this boat? It’s getting a bit crowded as it is, especially since the Baqaman Islanders just love my black coral carvings and brought me heaps of really good black coral so that I could carve stuff (the idea, of course, is that I’ll have lots to give to them). I have enough black coral that I can be somewhat extravagant in my carving, not having to squeeze every last inch of the stuff into useful pieces. So once I get my family’s stuff made for Christmas (assuming I have the energy to work toward a deadline), I can start working on fun things again. I’ve got lots of ideas, and want to teach the islanders some of the things that they can make to sell to tourists. My reward? A fat head (they are so-oo-oo appreciative) and more raw materials to drive Peter crazy.

Honiara is the largest city in the Solomon Islands - oh, my, this is tough - there’s practically nothing here. Of course, with nothing to buy, we can’t spend anything. Good thing that I provisioned so well in Australia, because otherwise we would be feeling very sorry for ourselves. It’s not that awful if we wanted to eat out in hotels, but trying to find something decent enough to wear to go out to eat is more trouble than it’s worth, so we rarely do so. And Ron Knaggs will be interested to hear that Peter has declared a moratorium on my serving chicken in any form whatsoever (although since when do I listen to him?).

We are told that the anchorage in Honiara is the worst in the Solomons, so we have a lot to look forward to.

November 30, 1994
THE RUSSEL ISLANDS, Solomon Islands
The Russell Islands are nice, but there are no really good anchorages - everything is deep and coral bound, so the chain grinds on coral whenever the wind pipes up, and with the depth of the anchorages (usually 50' or so) there's a lot of problems with the chain wrapping around big coral heads - it takes us maybe 1/2 an hour or so to get our anchor up.

We did find one great anchorage - the chart shows a ring of coral with no depths in the middle - which means it's unsounded, although normally it means that there's not enough water to bring in a boat. We figured we'd try it - the center of this "lagoon" is 100 - 180' deep, then there are sections with reasonable depths, as little as 25'. So we anchored there.

I was a bit concerned about the chance of weather coming up in the night and not being able to find our way out of the lagoon, so I asked Peter to put some of our reflective tape on the piece of iron pipe that the locals had jammed into the coral to mark the boat entrance to the lagoon. Peter was gone for a very long time, and when he came back to the ‘Melon he told me he needed my help to fix the pipe. It turned out that as he was putting the tape on the pipe, it fell over! Peter dove down to try to get the pipe up again. There were quite a few pieces of pipe lying there, so this wasn’t the first piece of pipe that had fallen over, but since it was our fault that this marker had been knocked over, it was our job to make it right. Easy to say, difficult to do. We tied a rope to the pipe, and as I hauled it up to the side of the dinghy, Peter pushed it from below. We finally got it positioned and anchored back on the side of the channel, but it took most of the day. When we were done, Peter told me that he had grabbed a pipe with anemones growing on it, and his arms were starting to get red and inflamed from the stings. When we got back to the ‘Melon I washed his arms with vinegar, and the redness and swelling went down almost immediately. Phew!

We spent several days anchored here, diving on the reef - fun, peaceful, no people around. Well, not many. As we were snorkeling the first day five big guys came by in their canoe -they were the biggest, meanest looking men we'd seen in the Solomons so far, and they didn't smile. Peter went back to the boat, but I stayed in the water. The guys came up to the boat and were talking with Peter, and everything looked peaceful so I came back to the boat. They were even bigger and uglier close up - but they were also very nice fellows (when I asked them if they worked on the copra plantations they psawed "no, we're village men"). Then a fishing boat came by with three fellows to talk. They offered us some fish, which we gladly accepted. We gave them a few cigarettes which made them happy, and we talked for awhile. They were obviously from Malaita and so I wasn’t surprised that their English was better than the first group.

Most of the Russell Islands are coconut plantations, leased by Lever Brothers. The main town of Yandina is where they have their wharf and copra drying kilns. Peter met an Australian fellow who is one of the managers of the operation and got an explanation of how they run the operation. Lever Brothers leases the land from the custom owners, clears and plants the coconut palms, and buys the harvested coconut meat (copra) from the islanders. They are instructed to only collect fallen coconuts (they can't climb the trees to harvest them), husk and shell them (husks in one pile, shells in another) and dry the copra. They then either bring the bags of copra to Yandina, or Yandina sends out a company boat to collect it. They test the copra for moisture content and pay according to how dry it is. In Yandina they put the copra in large drying drums, burning the coconut shells for heat (the husks are used for fertilizing the land where it came from). When it is sufficiently dried it's sent out in large ships to Australia where the oil is extracted. Coconut oil is used for many things, including soaps and various lotions. It's a big operation. The locals work at their own pace, and can make as much or as little as they like.

Because they have a steady source of cash, and Yandina has a good loading wharf, many people live in western-style houses (Texture 111 siding, tin roofs, ranch-style homes). Very few traditional leaf houses are left in the Russells. Of course, nobody is making the islanders build western-style homes, but apparently they are preferable to their traditional leaf houses (low maintenance, roofs and walls last for years rather than seasons, one can cook inside since there's not the worry about burning up your home from a stray spark). Perhaps it's a shame to see their culture eroding away, but I can't blame them for wanting an easier and more comfortable life. They still paddle around in their dugout canoes, the people are sweet and friendly (but not quite as overwhelming as in other places since they don't need as much from visiting yachts). We cruised around a bit, and each place we anchored, the children (but no adults) came by. I gave each kid a lollie ('lollie" in England and Australia is hard candy, not a lollipop). To our surprise, each of the kids came back to us with handsfuls of limes. I must have gotten 100 limes from all the kids. What a pleasant surprise (after all, I was going to give them the candy anyway). The most generous of the kids got balloons - and again they were a big hit (Peter was surprised that they appreciated the balloons more than the candy).

You can't cruise these places if you don't want visitors - they come out to the boat wherever we are. We establish fairly simple rules - because the villages were quite large and there were so many children, we didn't invite any aboard (not fair to have some aboard and not all). But we introduce ourselves, ask them their names, and then work very hard to remember names and faces for the next time they come by. I think it makes a difference to them that we can remember so many of their names - it brings it down to a very personal level, and perhaps that's why they were so generous with the limes (granted, the trees were full of limes, there for the picking, but it was still a nice thing for them to do). (Photo)

Going to Yandina, the "big city", for bread and fuel before going on to the New Georgia Group, Peter went ashore and was greeted like a long-lost friend by the “village men” we had spoken with in the reef lagoon. Yandina has two stores, both carry everything people might need - food, fresh bread and bakery goods, clothing, hardware, etc., etc. Choice is limited, but is adequate for everyday (every month?) needs. Then there's the butcher shop. Peter was told that Lever Brothers is experimenting with raising beef cattle fed with coconuts, and it's apparently sold at cost because filet steak was US$2.50 a pound! It's the best beef we've had since Vanuatu, and because we are white, we could buy it whenever we wanted. The islanders are restricted to buying it on a schedule. Each village has a designated day that they can buy meat.

If you picture a Wild West ghost town, that's about what Yandina (and most "towns") look like. Not much to see, and they're all pretty unattractive, with lots of old US Army WWII quonset huts, tin shacks, dirt roads. But the people are very nice, and once we established ourselves as friendly people we were warmly greeted by everyone. Only negative comment - somebody came by in the night and stole our American flag. It was the only thing missing, so no great tragedy, just a shock that somebody could come by and so quietly remove the flag without our ever waking up.

There was a tropical depression sitting just East of us, and with no really good anchorages in the Russells we headed out for New Georgia. Although only about 60 miles, it was a bit slow, with the winds from the West, right on the nose because of the depression. The seas hadn't had a chance to build up, so it wasn't an uncomfortable trip, but we arrived at Marovo Lagoon an hour after sunset, and one cannot go through the reef in the dark, so there we lay, drifting for 11 hours until the sun rose so we could get through the reef and into the lagoon.

January 10, 1995
MAROVO LAGOON, New Georgia Island to Gizo
We anchored by accident in a very lovely place. As is typical in Marovo lagoon, we were pretty much inundated by local carvers (although we know that we were lucky and didn't come in by Mbili, where the really aggressive carvers are). Some of their stuff is magnificent, but far too large for me to even consider buying. Their stuff isn't cheap, but for the work they put into them, I don’t think they charge enough. Because we're here during the "low" (cyclone) season, with very few yachts, we are able to make better deals with the people than in high season. However, these people have more "stuff" than the Papua New Guineans we met, and they have a greater need for money (they pay S$200.00 per year for each child they send to school, and experienced carpenters make S$2.50 an hour when there's work), so although they will accept items for trade, they also want some money (except for the poor fellow who desperately needed our stainless steel bolts - he tried very hard to bargain hard, but he also needed what we had more than we needed what he had). Trading items that are popular are children’s clothing, bed linens, high quality carving and woodworking tools (forget the cheap Chinese store junk - they don’t want that), T-shirts. We found people looking for video tapes, Walkmans, “C” cell batteries, underwater torches, good quality fishing lures and gear. We had bought children’s clothing in the St. Vincent DePaul and Salvation Army stores in Australia, paying about AUD $0.50 for like-new children’s clothes, otherwise we just traded for items we had on the boat that we didn’t need anymore, or could spare.

In this area the people are all Seventh Day Adventists, so they don't smoke or drink. The down side is that they can't eat lobster, and are not allowed to sell it to people who do, so we've got to look hard for a "backslider" or non-SDA to get any lobster. Different place, different culture.

The carvings here are really interesting. The traditional masks and "spirit of the Solomons" panels are elaborate, with fish, sharks, turtles, people all over the panel, on top of one another, twined around - oh, they're so unusual and detailed that I can't explain (neither can anyone else we've met). If we had a house, and lots more money, one of their "Spirit" panels would be spectacular. I've gotten a few small masks (they don't like doing the little ones - not enough room for expression), but I hesitate to get too much because we have no place for it. This is an area of artists - when one of the fellows tried to sell us some jewelry Peter told them that I made jewelry, and now I'm being descended upon by everyone who wants to know how I do things, get my findings, patterns, etc.

They make salad bowls and other bowls, round and oval - from very lovely simple ones to really ornate things in rosewood, kerosene wood (a gray wood with lovely fine dark gray to black grain - they tell me that it's called kerosene wood because it burns very easily and smells like kerosene when it burns), king and queen ebony (very expensive - king ebony is all black, queen ebony is black with a grayish brown grain), and a yellow wood that's probably a pine, but terribly yellow and I find it ugly. The rosewood is hard and pretty, the kerosene wood is lovely, and they also make things out of coconut wood (but it's dense, heavy, and light beige with a very pronounced spotted black grain - I don't really like it much). They carve simple salad and serving bowls inlaid with mother-of-pearl (and I've learned how they do it, which was nice); traditional masks - small, medium, and huge (the huge ones cost about $200 US and more, but they're spectacular - with fish, dolphins, sharks, and turtles incorporated into the mask as the features - for example the man's ears might be dolphins, the headdress might be a sea turtle - hard to explain). They also do what is called a "Nguzunguzu" (pronounced 'noosa noosa') - traditional war canoe figure heads - look like a chimpanzee face, inlaid with mother-of-pearl (to represent the traditional facial tattoos), made out of ebony. A most unusual table piece. They are traditional and very popular, though I don't really like them very much. While I was typing a fellow came by to give me his trade for a pair of shoes that we had given him. When the man asked us what we wanted for the pair of old shoes that we gave him, Peter just said “give us what you think would be a fair trade.” He carved me a beautiful "totoizu" - small king ebony traditional head designed as a pendant - it's just wonderful and far better than the shoes we gave him. John Wayne, a local carver who is determined to preserve his people's culture, told us that the totoizu was always carried in the headhunters' war canoes to insure them a safe and successful raid (i.e., with lots of heads collected in the end), so I guess we've got a good totem for the 'Melon. John Wayne's great-great grandfather was a famous chief and headhunter who was converted to Christianity by the Seventh Day Adventists and thereby stopped the headhunting in his area. John's a talented carver - the other American boat here right now commissioned a new tiller for their boat from John, and it is fantastic - an octopus head for the hand-hold, and intertwined fish, sharks, turtles, all twisting and turning all around the tiller - it's something that one can look at for hours and keep seeing new things in.

I've been trying to figure out why we like PNG and the Solomons so much more than Fiji and Tonga. Of course, the weather is better, but it's got to be more than that. The people are all very nice, very friendly, but I think that it's because we feel at ease with them, and that's hard to explain fully. In Tonga we got the feeling that everyone wanted something from us, but there was little give and take. In Fiji the people were very polite, but a bit reserved. In PNG and the Solomons the people are much more friendly and open, and everyone is very happy to talk about their lives and their culture, so conversations are much more interesting. Again, I'm really not too sure why it's better here, but we've been very content. Even considering the difficulties of anchoring and the less than perfect places we've had to settle for, the Pacific is so much nicer than the Caribbean that I'm really happy we came here. The water is clearer, the reefs are much more alive, it's just well worth the long passages (of course, I love passages so much more than day sailing that I consider a day sail a punishment). And we have been lucky that we chose the less-traveled route - the Gambier and Austral Islands in French Polynesia, Niuatoputapu in Tonga. Maybe that's why Tonga and Fiji, which are so popular with tourists, were disappointments to us.

Peter just bought a stone carving called a "Kezoko", or God of Fishing, carved by Gaga Tanito of the village Pienuna on the island of Ranongga. The god has a man's body but the head of a frigate bird (because the frigate bird is a fisherman, they say. Peter got a kick out of that). The Kezoko, according to their legends, didn't like headhunters, and so would sink their canoes if they went out without a Nguzunguzu on the bow of the canoe. These people have such a refreshing honesty, we have very little sales resistance to them - they quite openly admit that stone carving on the island is relatively new -only started in the past several years. We assume that they started stone carving as a way of getting tourist dollars with something different from the wood carvings of New Georgia Island. They are so very open and willing to explain their culture, and we are told over and over again that we are "nice" people, but now we are understand better - we think a lot of our "niceness" is due to the fact that we are interested in their culture and listen to their stories so avidly - even when we don't buy from someone, we are still thanked for our time, and are left with warm wishes.

We have to return to Honiara (again) to get the anchor roller welded. Honiara is the only hope of that (not a great hope, but better than anywhere else in the Solomons).

February 3, 1995
We aren't getting very far, what with going back to Honiara - Peter hates to backtrack, though it was a good idea in many ways. There is so little in the way of provisions in the Solomons, and outside of Honiara they are absolutely primitive, that I rather welcomed the chance to get more food stuff. Seems that as well as I provisioned the boat, we ran out of the most peculiar things - primarily, I think, because we eat differently when we're cruising than when we're in civilization where we can get fresh meat and produce regularly.

We had to go back to Honiara to have some welding done. The aluminum bowsprit had cracked and Peter rightly judged that we should get it fixed as soon as possible. Of course, this was not a simple job. There were 16 bolts holding the bowsprit and headstay fitting onto the bow. It took us about four or five hours to remove those 16 bolts and get the bowsprit off. Getting it welded only took a day, but it then took two days to get the thing reassembled onto the boat. There I was, hanging over the bow, ass in the air, trying to screw in the bolts while Peter scrunched up in the anchor well to hold the nuts on the inside way up in the bow, warning me every 15 minutes not to drop anything overboard. I wish there had been someone to take a picture of our contortions (and make a tape of our conversation during this whole operation). The easiest bolts took about 15 minutes apiece to reassemble, the hard to reach ones took about an hour each. Many curses later, with cramped neck, back, leg, and arm muscles, bruises on both of us due to the awkward positions we had to hold, the job was done. We were very, very lucky that the weather was absolutely perfect while we were doing the work - no wind, no swell, no rain. As soon as it was done, conditions in the harbor turned most uncomfortable - we finally had to move out of the small boat harbor because the swell was so bad we could barely get around on the boat. Moved around the corner to the commercial harbor, had two days of reasonable comfort and then the wind shifted again and we're back to rolling, though not as badly as before. A real pain, this place - just as we get ourselves bow to the swell, the wind and swell shifts 90 degrees and all our work has to be redone. Peter is getting sick of setting and resetting the stern anchor. But just another day or two and we can be out of here.

Last week, last thing before we were going to leave, Peter decided to adjust our self-feathering prop and grease it. I thought it was a lousy idea, suggesting that he wait until we were someplace where the depth was less than 50 feet, and we were over white sand, in case he dropped the end piece of the prop that needed to be removed in order for grease to be inserted. He of course insisted that he wasn’t going to drop it.

He dropped it. Into 50 feet of water with a one to two-foot depth of fine silt at the bottom. Two divers with tanks spent a whole day trying to locate the little thing, unsuccessfully. So on Monday morning we had to call Australia to have a new part sent up air mail. Major problem - had to call the supplier, get a fax from them telling us how to wire transfer the money, then go to the bank and arrange for the wire transfer, then back to fax them with the confirmation so they’d send the *&%! thing out immediately. Regardless of all the chest-thumping that Australia is the best place in the world, I knew that the part wouldn’t arrive until the following Monday at the earliest (postal workers in Australia don’t work as hard as they do in the U.S.), which was how long it would takes for our mail to arrive from Barrington, RI. (Melbourne, Aus. is 2,164 miles from here - Barrington is 8,600 miles. Mail from Melbourne has two flights to get from there to here, Barrington has three or four. So whenever anybody tells you that the U.S. Postal Service isn’t too good, you can tell them for us that they should be thankful they’re no place else in the world. So there!)

Of course, timing is everything. Mail sent out on a Monday makes it in a week. Mail sent out any other day takes a week plus the number of days until the following Monday - the reason for my insistence that the stuff go immediately. We’re getting pretty smart in our old age, wouldn’t you say? Got this foreign mail stuff scoped out pretty good (it helps that the people here are so helpful and full of information - they tell us exactly how many flights arrive, from where, and when - takes most of the guesswork out of getting stuff).

So, besides this, things are pretty good, except that we just seem to stay stuck in Honiara. Naturally, not doing anything,

As far as the choices between cruising or staying in the States, we don't think of it as a "better-than" choice. Although the longer we're out, the harder it is for us to think of going back to the States, we both agree that if we had to live on land somewhere permanently, it would probably be in the States. For all its troubles, Americans still enjoy the highest standard of living with the least intrusive government we've seen anywhere. And we do miss seeing family and friends, especially at Christmas.

February 27, 1995
SANTA ISABEL ISLANDS, Solomons
We sailed to Santa Isabel Island after finally leaving Honiara after getting our prop part from Oz (motored, really, since there is virtually no wind and it's always on the nose no matter what direction we're headed - if we decide to go West, there's a low forming to the East of us and so we get westerly winds; if we decide to go East, the low moves to the West and we have easterly winds). We spent several days in Thousand Ships Bay anchored off a little coral island in the middle of the bay because the flies in the mainland bays were just awful. When we finally decided to go looking for some people since nobody came out to visit us, we headed around the corner to the East coast. We stayed a week in Tanagomba Harbor.

The Peace Corps has quite a few volunteers in the Solomons, and we met one teaching here on Isabel. A young fellow from Nebraska - this has got to be a dramatic change for him - from the flat grassy plains with its WASPY inhabitants to this mountainous island with steamy rain forests, black people, and very strange food. He is delighted with his assignment, loves the people, the food, the entire experience. It's really great to see someone like that representing the U.S. We took him out snorkeling one day, and got lots of information. Since there are 100,000 applicants each year for the 30,000 spots available, the Peace Corps can pick and choose good, qualified people. They want people who are skilled - certified teachers, mechanics, whatever is needed in a place. Although the volunteers aren't paid a salary, their room and board and medical care is provided, and if they have government loans a portion of it is forgiven for their service in the Peace Corps. Volunteers sign up for only two years, and usually can't stay longer because the competition for positions is so great - one needs special skills to stay longer, we gather. Rules and regulations are quite strict, for the protection of both the volunteers and the host country. We were favorably impressed.

We met a delightful local man on his way back from working in his garden. He stopped by our boat, introduced himself and his daughter Merry Christmas (she was born Christmas day), and I noticed that he had a bunch of land crabs in the canoe. I hadn’t had land crabs since we left St. Martin, and I REALLY wanted them. I offered to trade whatever he would like, and he asked me if I had any children’s clothes. I brought up one of the Australian school uniform dresses that I had bought in Oz for about AUD $0.50, and we had made a trade! Merry Christmas was cute, but terribly dirty - covered with sand, no clothes on, and her hair just full of sand and uncombed. Her father apologized, explained he just couldn’t get her to clean up her act (it was pretty obvious that this little 4-year old called the shots); he thanked us for the dress and after chatting a bit more he went on his way.

The next day he came back, this time with Merry Christmas sitting in the front of the canoe, cleaned up, dressed in her new clothes, her hair neatly plaited. She was carrying a gift for us - a few nolly nuts. Children are taught from an early age that there ain’t no free lunch, that everything has a price. It seems to me that it’s not such a bad lesson to teach. (Photo)

Because few yachts make it to Isabel, the villagers haven't much experience with them. In most places we've been, maybe two people will come out in a canoe at a time. Here we've been inundated - one canoe had seven girls in it, all trying to jump onto the WATERMELON. We've had to be very firm with the children, denying them visitation rights if they fail to wait to be invited. This is partly from a sense of rightness on our part; it is primarily due to the fact that many of the yachts visiting these islands often behave miserably to the villagers, not to mention the dismay of any yachtie having eight or ten people invading their home at ail hours of the day and night. Rather than give the villagers the idea that all yachts are open houses, we would rather that they learn to wait for the courtesy of an invitation - in the long run it will save everyone a lot of grief. No, we're not trying to change the world, but we need to maintain some rules for our sakes and those that follow us. But the people are still wonderful.

We stayed just a bit longer, watching as a landing craft from Honiara arrived with lumber and supplies for the school. The entire village turned out to unload the boat which just couldn’t get close enough to shore to allow the supplies to be offloaded directly onto the beach. But with so many people cooperating, they made fast work of the job.

We then headed for Buala, the provincial headquarters, which is a good and protected harbor. We were prepared to leave after sending out our mail, only the weather got really nasty, with 35-knot winds in the squalls, buckets and buckets of rain (we were able to really flush out our water tanks since we could catch 30 to 60 gallons of water a day if we tried). We wound up hanging around Buala for two weeks and were really happy to be in such a good anchorage while all that nastiness was going on - two freighters went on the beach at other islands and were total losses during this week. We got to know the Peace Corps volunteers there - Sam and Jennifer, the first East Coast Americans we've met in a long time. They had reasonably current good magazines such as The New Yorker and The Economist, though since they are both liberal arts graduates, none of the solid stuff I crave, such as DISCOVER, SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN, or SMITHSONIAN (haven't read a Discover since we left Australia, nor a Smithsonian since 1993). They also have been here for almost a year and a half and could give us good information about the people and the culture. They like it here and have been here long enough to get past the two phases of culture shock. The Peace Corps has a very good section in their orientation manual on culture shock, and it was very enlightening to me because although we've experienced it and witnessed it in others, we really didn't recognize it for what it was. As culture shock is described, the initial stage is one of euphoria and total embracing of the local culture, unfavorably comparing one's native culture against the new one. The second phase is the big letdown, where everything about the culture is a big disappointment and one becomes severely critical - a bit like my response to American Samoa, though I don't recall going through the initial euphoric stage.

Finally the weather cleared and we were on our way up the East coast again. The first day out there was absolutely no wind, but the seas were nasty with a big swell (the local radio station was telling the canoes to stay in port) so we barely found a reasonable anchorage - first place we tried in the only bay we could reach before dark was so rolly that I was getting seasick at anchor. We went outside the inner bay (don't know the name of it, our chart doesn't say) behind a coral shoal - it should not have been good, but it was perfectly calm and safe. The next day the swell had abated significantly so we continued north up the coast, bypassing two or three anchorages until we came to a group of three uninhabited offshore islands protected by a barrier reef. We anchored there for a day, snorkeling and resting. Then just a few miles further to Cape Megapode, which would position us for the 25-mile trip to the next safe anchorage. Stayed in a perfectly safe and protected anchorage in Cape Megapode for two days because the weather didn't look good enough to continue and Solomon Islands radio again advised the canoes to stay at home, which we thought would apply to us as well - we needed good weather to maneuver through the coral heads and shoals. We were unable to get a chart for this area of Isabel in Honiara (out of stock), so we've got to be much more careful and alert (although even a good chart really can't help us completely - lots of places aren't charted well anyway, shoals appear suddenly and aren't charted, and Rakata Bay isn't sounded at all).

The Solomons are different, that's for sure. This is a geologically active region, with volcanoes and earthquakes changing the topography of the ocean floor every several years (1994 was pretty active, with Rabaul and another PNG island blowing up, and now Tanna in Vanuatu snorting and spewing). With humps and lumps all over the ocean bottom, a deep passage suddenly shoals up, and coral grows on the hump. We were going along in 200'+ of water when suddenly the bottom shallowed and before I could stop we hit a coral shoal - got off okay, but shook us up a bit. Very few sandy anchorages - either in a deep bay with a coral or mud bottom, or off a reef or coral island in lumpy coral. Although people said there were few white sandy beaches in the Solomons, we figured that wasn't such a problem since we only needed one or two. But a white sandy beach doesn't mean that there's a white sandy anchorage - the sandy beach is at the end of a shallow coral shelf, maybe two or three feet deep, then dropping sharply to 50 - 60', all live coral. We've circled island after island looking for the lovely sand shelves we always found in the Caribbean, and to some extent in French Polynesia. Not to be. So I'm always paranoid - will the anchor hold? If it holds, will we be able to get it up again? What if the wind shifts 180° - will we back onto the coral shelf? We could anchor off villages in the more protected places, of course, and not have any of these worries. But then there are more flies and mosquitoes, we wouldn't have the coral reefs we like to snorkel on, etc. We aren't complaining, really, it's just that we have to make more compromises than we're used to.

So what's so great about the Solomons? Well, the people are really nice. There's no theft, petty or otherwise (except for our American flag being ripped off in the Russells), so we feel safe wherever we are (which we could never confidently say in the Caribbean or South and Central America); It's cheap, we have enough of the staples on board (good thing, because there's precious little to be bought in the Solomons and it's generally the cheapest quality that Australia makes and double Australia prices), we can catch fish and trade for fruits, vegetables, and crabs, or whatever and spend very little money. The weather has been really benign except for these last two weeks or so, and it's not bad weather now, just not great visibility when we need it more. We'd like to see more cruising boats so we could socialize a bit more, but we knew that it wouldn't be too popular this year - most people writing in the SSCA bulletin last year complained bitterly about malaria, etc.; and with very little information about the relative rarity of tropical cyclones here and the safe, uncrowded hurricane holes, the boats go to New Zealand and get beaten up by the weather either coming or going, or both; are cold the entire summer in NZ, but convince themselves that at least they aren't being hit by a cyclone. Most of the cruisers out here just follow the crowd; a letter in the SSCA bulletin a few years ago said that cruisers "had no choice" but to go to NZ for cyclone season. Remember Mary, the single-handed 60+ year old lady on MIGHT MERRY II we sailed with from Ecuador to French Polynesia? She spent the 1993-4 cyclone season in New Zealand, then sailed back to Tonga and Fiji for last year’s sailing season. On her way back to New Zealand in September or October '94 the boat was knocked down in a storm, she hurt her back, broke her nose, had to have two fellows airlifted to sail the boat to NZ while she was air evacuated for treatment. It seems that each year there's at least one boat making the NZ run that gets trashed, or lost, because of the weather. Not for us. We've found a different way to cruise).

(Just had a minor crisis. Peter opened the chart table locker door and dropped a dozen eggs on the cabin sole. Eggs are hard to come by, so I've been griping at him).

Every so often I start feeling nostalgic for the Caribbean - the good anchorages, the strong but constant wind (there's a lot to be said about knowing that the wind will almost always blow out of the East), the short passages, the easy access to the States, the US foods. Then I think about all the major and petty theft, the boat bums and beggars, the obnoxious customs and immigration officials in so many places (and the need to check in and out of practically every island one goes to since it's a different country), the lumpy seas, the reports in SSCA bulletins about attempted rapes and muggings in various places, and I get over most of the nostalgia. I'm thankful that we decided to keep going, because this is such an interesting and culturally rich area (even the Samoas, no matter how much I loathed Pago Pago). Considering how many boats get into trouble in the Caribbean every year, the Pacific doesn't seem so difficult or dangerous to us. I can wax philosophic for just so long before it gets wearing.

March 27, 1995
KIA, ST ISABEL, Solomons
We had heard that Kia was a really lovely village (with over 2,000 people, it's more town than village) so up we went to Austria Sound and down the channel to Kia. The adverse current was terrific, but the channel is deep and wide, so it wasn't bad - all navigation marks for the shoals are gone, so we had to be especially alert. Almost ran up on a coral shoal just before reaching Kia - missed it by ramming the boat into reverse and backing off with help from the current - we would have crunched hard if the current had been behind us and pushing us. We've been frustrated with the light and water conditions here in Isabel - one has to be almost on top of the shoals to see them because there's no sand on these shoals to reflect light, the light is really peculiar, reflected off the water like a mirror. Don't know if it's like this all the time, or just a feature of the summer season. Anyway, we anchored in a lovely sheltered bay just off the town. It’s a most unusual village for the Solomons. The village was established during headhunting days by a rather far-sighted chief. They kept a lookout up on the hill, and could see any raiding party long before they got near the village, so the villagers could escape into the hills. The village is built almost completely over the water, with the houses on stilts set into the water. It is immaculately clean and quite interesting. (Photo)

They get few yachts and see so few white people that the villagers are very, very shy. A fellow who came out to see us in his canoe said that he was there to reassure the villagers that we white people wouldn't eat them up - sort of a sacrificial emissary. We've got practically no more Solomon Islands money, so we told him we would like to trade some of our stuff for food. But these people aren't at all used to yachts, and getting any food at all was a real chore. Finally got one lady to bring out bananas, sweet potatoes, and a pineapple. Not enough, but better than nothing.

We went out the northwest channel from Kia, and it was 7 miles of agony - shoals everywhere, and very difficult to see. Of course Peter says that since we didn't hit anything, what's the problem? But I don't consider this kind of navigating to be fun (go along, when the depth shoals from 130' to 90' slow down; when it shoals to 50' jam into reverse before hitting the 2' deep coral that's a boat length or two just ahead, turn and go around the shoal and speed up again until the next one). But we got out and into Manning Strait.

We anchored just outside of Poru Channel in front of Ritamala Village, and three fellows hopped into their canoe to greet us. We finally found some people willing to get us crayfish - of course, again feast after famine - 11 crays all at once. The village is very small, only about 30 people, pretty far from any store or large settlement, so they don't have very much and were willing to trade. Peter wanted to go into Poru Channel but I wouldn't go - the entrance is very narrow and it's uncharted - two hairy channels in one day is more than I'm willing to go through. We went ashore to visit the village, which was immaculately clean, as are most villages in the Solomons. Such friendly people, delightful children. (Photo)

We only stayed in the village for two days, then went to Kerehikapa Island, one of the Arnavon Islands, which are now turtle sanctuaries. We had met one of the administrators for the sanctuary in Kia and he and a work crew were going out so we said we'd meet them there. Turns out that he stopped to see us in Ritamala Village, which is a settlement of his relatives - he was getting several of the fellows to come out to work with him. They're building a ranger house and a traditional guest house to accommodate tourists. Probably the easiest place we've navigated into since our entry into the Solomons - wide entry through the reef, plenty of water, and although a deep anchorage (60'+), it's in sand, so good holding, no grinding of chain on coral. The lagoon is beautiful, decent snorkeling, though the water is too warm, and it is perfectly private. Too bad we are running out of time, this area of the Solomons is just great.

This has been a dry rainy season, so the waters are very warm, and since there's no wind to mix the colder lower layers with the surface, at times the water temperature is more than 100˚ F. At that temperature the coral starts bleaching (expelling all its algae), making the water cloudy. If the high temperatures continue for too long the coral dies. Another casualty of global warming. Anyway, the snorkeling from the end of February to now hasn't been so great because the water has been so warm that visibility in many places stunk, and sometimes the water temperature was so warm that it was uncomfortable to swim in it - we'd dive down to the colder layer to cool off, but after a while one gets exhausted, starts gasping for breath, and gives up. The same calm hot conditions made navigating the coral shoals quite difficult - the smooth glassy sea with its hot upper layer acted like a mirror, reflecting the sky and clouds but showing nothing of what was under the water's surface. This is the first time we've experienced this phenomenon to such an extent, and it is frustrating.

It has been about eight months since we left Australia and good stores, and our provisions, though sorely depleted, have held up extremely well. Peter joked a lot about how much stuff I had gotten when we were in Australia, but every time I fix him something he asks for I remind him how lucky he is that we have such a good selection of food. He is grudging in his appreciation. But I wish we had access to American foods - my list of wishes is peculiar: dill pickles (and all variations thereto - hot dog relish, sweet pickles, etc.), good brown or Poupon mustard, Hellman's mayonnaise (Australian mayonnaise is as close to inedible as any food product we've tried anywhere), American style bacon, Boston baked beans, Ritz crackers, Italian sausages (or any other sausage, for that matter), hot dogs (and I loathe hot dogs), veal cutlets. Only chance of getting any of this stuff is to go to Pago Pago, I'm afraid.

The people in the post office and the telecom office in Honiara get a big kick out of our boat name - they don't know our real names - when I come in with my Watermelon hat on, they proudly pass over our stuff without my even having to ask (of course, there aren’t a whole lot of white people here, and the post office employees probably know the names of everyone in Honiara, it’s so small). One fax that came in was addressed to Peter Pockel, and for two days the fellow told me that there wasn't any fax for us. We wouldn't have received it if I hadn't insisted that we had to have one. He was quite surprised that we had a name besides "Watermelon".

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