Jumped Ship

 
In reality more like a triple jump; one from the yacht Barfly, two from my Marketing career and three from my world over land & sea circumnavigation.

 

Yacht Barfly

I boarded her at Cuba in January and until Fiji in October she was my floating home, I didn't sleep another night anywhere in all that time. 

Nine months in the bow

Initially the plan had been to sail with Barfly all the way to New Zealand, however upon a bit of rough calculation I realised that this would add another 3000 miles to my over land and sea route. It was this fact amongst others that led me to jump ship at the furthest west longitude that I could. Fiji; which happened to be the last stop before Barfly went south to New Zealand.

No Pictures

An additional influence was the captain's lady friend arriving for a three week sail around Fiji. Her arrival gifts included what could only be described as an ornamental version of the rampant rabbit, which was subsequently hung up in the saloon. Say no more - it sure set the tone for primary activity of the forthcoming weeks. 

Finally and true to my financially motivated form, Fiji presented the first option since Panama for a cheap (£4/night) dorm in a hostel (ain't no backpackers east of Fiji). The ability to hole up somewhere acceptably priced was the final card in my decision to go 'all in' on the bet that I'd be able to find another boat out of Fiji. Ideally headed to somewhere in easy reach of SE Asian landmass. That had been the plan....

Barfly - Pacific Crossing 2012 - Epic

 

Marketing Career

 

It's been two and a half years since I've opened Microsoft Outlook and with plans as they were upon arriving in Fiji, I'd have been home by late summer of 2013.

With a pretty cool tale to tell, a more confident smile and a return to London my bets were that I could have secured a start tomorrow type Marketing contract, all be it further down the ladder than when I'd left. With that entry back into my career, I could have worked on a route back up north of the border. However, after meeting a continual stream of cashed up Auzi 'dudes' I started to consider jumping the 'marketing ship'. 

Auzi 'dude' Index

The money appeared to be on a fly in fly out type career in one of Australia's natural resource industries. The plan being to identify a way in and then hit it as hard as possible for the next 5-10 years and establish some sort of equity.

The question was by which route to make my way in? The well known saying, 'it's not what you know, it's who you know' had never ever been true for me; until now.

An immaculately paved, chauffeur driven road has been presented to me by the Rt. Hon Bruce McKenzie, aka Madog. All stand to applaud. My first destination being Ultrasonic testing of weld and plate integrity, in the parts of an offshore platform that require access via rope. Off to Australia mid January to start my training.

Will be all in a days work

Global over land & sea mission

This was never really a serious mission, I just felt that the standard 'buy flights and hop around the world', gap year type thing just wasn't challenging enough. I've taken a few flights (short and back the way), but have actually achieved the overland or sea crossing of every degrees of longitude between La Rochelle and Brisbane*. That's 205 of the world's 360 degree and in reality with the crossing of the Atlantic and the Pacific under my belt, the hardest degrees are done.

What remains for a 360

From Fiji the plan had been to sail with some Spanish lads to Thailand, make my way overland to SE Turkey and then try and cycle back to Glasgow from there. However, the afore mentioned offer of assistance from The Rt Hon Mr. McKenzie feels to me to be a 'strike while the iron is hot' opportunity. Therefor time to jump ship on the circumnavigation. 
The remaining 155 degrees of the the world's longitude remain and I'll do that at some point in the future. Most probably, after over-landing Australia at some point I'll then make the final part of the Meander from Bali to Glasgow.

In the mean time I decided to finish this part of the world tour in style by flying back to Fiji and blowing my remaining budget on staying at a 'backpackers resort', which ironically was once the location for 'Celebrity Love Island'.

Mission Impossible: The Tropical Barrel**  

* Long Story; Jumped Ship from Barfly, shelved plans to continue world trip due to opportunity on the rigs, but still wanted to cover the longitude between Fiji and Australia over sea. Therefore when the opportunity to sail to Australia arose, I took it and then flew back to Fiji to stay until the training starts for the rigs late January. The training and my base will be Perth Australia. The South Pacific Islands are like the planet's jewelery and I just couldn't think of a place I rather see out the final months of this part of the Meander. Will keep writing the Blog though...

** It appears that even after all the surfing on the meander I am still shit at it. Here; the wave I've located myself at in Fiji is the first right hander of the trip and it shows. For those not in the know - this is the full Barrel pose - except I'm about 6ft in-front of it. Ha, and what's that hand doing?

Man (Almost) Overboard

A tale untold to both my captain and my parents, shamefully now, to be splurged for the good of the blog.

It was exactly as it says on the tin and it occurred during our longest passage, at a point about 700 miles from the nearest land.

Without a water maker the non-hygienic reality of a 29 day passage is that there's insufficient fresh water to take showers. One option is to use a bucket of sea water. It's refreshing at the time but it leaves you covered in a salty crust which in the evening absorbs moisture and leaves you feeling like a greased axle. The remaining option?

Rain 'showers'

On this rare occasion where rain showers were a plenty my captain had thankfully 'showered' earlier. I say thankfully as it thus avoided the dubious sausagefest that was two naked blokes lathering up their bratwurst on the deck of a small yacht (not that anyone could see us - but that's not the point!). This did however leave me on the aft deck alone and with no means of communication with my hard of hearing captain who was down below.



Death Deck

 

The confused seas, such a part of that passage, resulted in our boat occasionally taking on a fairground style corkscrewing motion. Up-round-down and then accelerating round again, quite an entertaining force really. Although not in the middle of a rain shower whilst lathered up from head to toe and dripping soap all over the deck. 

I have to take full responsibility for what happened and say that I ignored my own Death Road safety briefings about concentration being the key to survival. With my guard down, my very own 'Death Deck' was the result. 

 With one super turn of the corkscrew the deck fell down and away from me, this robbing me of the traction afforded by my weight. Then as the boat screwed round to the side the proverbial rug was pulled from under my soapy feet. No longer firm footed on the deck my bare ass, bratwurst and body were scooped over the life rails.

Thankfully though and for the good of this story, my soapy hands got ahold of the wind generator mounting (right at the back) and I caught my feet under the solar panel just in front of me. Still, the memory of heaving my body mass up and back over the life rails fills me with shivers. 

Making light of it though; renewable energy? I suppose one day it could save all our lives?

Pacific 'potholes'

The Pacific is littered with metaphorical 'potholes' some we hit and some we swerved.

 

Swerved: Breakers and Discolored Water

Imagine the scene; 1000 miles from land with two of you on a small boat, you're sailing in waters more than three miles deep and right on the direct course to your destination, the chart simply says; 

Breakers and Discolored Water

It's hard to convey just how small this makes you feel as the chart gives you no further explanation. When was this recorded? What does it mean? Can we hit it? What will it look like? By how far should we avoid it?

It wasn't until I got to Google it about three weeks later that all became clear. And the reality further compounded our sense of vulnerability; because it is from discolored water that islands pop out of the sea!

Later on in the crossing, off the west coast of Tonga we encountered a hazard, simply referred to on our chart as 'Reported Volcanic Activity'. This turned out to be an island that rose out of the sea in 2006 which in the space of 2 years was eroded to a subsurface boat wrecker*. Bonkers.

 

 

Hit: Just for beer

The Tuamotos are a mid Pacific archipelago of atolls. Atolls are islands millions of years past the afore mentioned stage of formation. In fact they are so old that they've actually completely eroded to below water level and all that remains visible is epochs of dead coral.

Once was an island in the middle

It wasn't until the arrival of GPS about 20 years ago that recreational yachties started visiting the Tuamotos, never mind sailing within their inner lagoons.

After a mind-blowing few weeks and just before the departure of our final atoll we stopped to stock up on beer. On this occasion there appeared no other option than to drop the anchor directly onto coral. The judgement on where to drop is a best guess as you squint through the clear water for a flat patch.

Clearly not flat enough, we returned with beer only to find our anchor chain totally tangled in the snaggy coral. At 10 meters down both Matthew and I were at the at the limit of our free diving ability and could only just get down there to have a look at it. Spagetti on a fork - we were completely tangled.





Better bend this than the bow

Day1; we spend about four hours trying to free it before nearly ripping the anchor holder of the front of the boat. On day 2 the wind got up from the wrong direction overnight (we were now on a lee shore) and for three hours we unsuccessfully gymkhana'd in the meter high waves. After nearly ripping part of the bow out again some local pearl divers arrived and free-dived to the rescue. I lost count of how many minutes he was down there untangling the chain. Ironically the legends wouldn't even accept some of the beer that we'd stopped for.



 

Hit: The Mast

Yes...anchor chain

Oh...and the mast nearly fell down....a two day sail away from Rarotonga in the Cook islands. At dusk the main supporting wire at one side decided to start unraveling strand by strand. The resulting task to install jury rig 1 ended with me up the mast, in the dark doing the equivalent of threading a needle on a bucking bronco.

Of similar hilarity (retrospectively) was jury rig 2.

* http://www.ulb.ac.be/sciences/cvl/homereef/homereef.html

1 Month in Tahiti Pt4: Loosing my religion

Or possibly my sanity...

If pilgrimages to Mecca, Jerusalem or Disneyworld be there's then this be mine. And If natural wonders of the world be a religion then this was for sure my Mecca.....a once in a lifetime must.

'Code red' Teahupoo

Teahupoo doesn't look like this every day and that's why it's the über pilgrimage. All of the other wonders of the world, shy of changing light look pretty much the same 24/7. Except for the Aurora Borealis which for me is the only equal wonder requiring such a perfect orchestration of nature's forces.

Closer to the earth's surface and the first part needed to send Teahupoo 'Code red' is the wind (Meteorology). That of sufficient strength and direction to create swell a couple of thousand miles to the south of Tahiti. Next up Oceanography - the phenomena that is the 'organising' of waves as they propagate through the ocean. And almost finally, the crazy anomaly that is this one perfectly shaped bit of coral reef off the south west coast of Tahiti-Iti (Geography). And finally at the reef, a light offshore wind. 

They are all blocks in a finely balanced Jenga pile. If any piece wrong, the whole pile falls.

I had a 1 month....

Jackpot!

Firstly I had to get out to the wave as it's about 1/2 a mile away from shore. Huge ocean swells create such a current in the lagoon that it was a job not to get scraped over the reef even on the paddle out. Washed out to sea in a semi controlled fashion we drifted towards the haze. Once at the edge we realised it contained the international surfing circus, who'd flown in especially for the huge 4-5m glass like swell. A mirror image of the picture hanging in our living room at home in Glasgow.

A holy grail

Proximity to the coral reef is what makes this wave different. Tsunami style, the sea level drops before each set wave and creates what feels like a landmass of ocean moving beneath you. With all that movement, concentration is the name of the game as to be drilled into the reef by that lip could kill you. 

Next to the swimming photographers I got the full front cover view. Staring into that cavernous barrel below I saw faces filled with fear like I'd never seen before. I drifted too close once and after paddling for what felt like my life, I shook uncontrollably with fright for 5 mins.

It takes the widescreen of reality to really digest what happens there. It feels pointless to try and articulate to you what was simultaneously the most beautiful and most powerful 'thing' I've ever seen in my life. 

'#### ##### #### me!'

I hadn't been that excited since university when I stumbled into a Taste* after party to find out that Dave Clark was on the Essential Mix**! To form I wasn't short of verbal reaction on the day, but it was the day after where all I could do was to sit, gulp air and reflect in awe at what I'd witnessed.

And I didn't even surf it....

The world has thousands of waves, why Teahupoo? Easy; the power of a wave is articulated in the thickness of the lip (see a.), they don't come thicker. Secondly point b. which is the 3-4ft deep water and coral reef (i.e. death).

force and beauty

On this scale, the most powerful waves on the planet articulate the combined force and beauty inherent in nature like none other of the popularised 7 natural wonders of the world. Get it on the list.

* Every discerning Dundee students pilgrimage on a Saturday night. Basically a Student's Union disco.

** Late Saturday night Radio, showcasing 2hr mixes by the world's finest DJs.

1 Month in Tahiti Pt3: Men in Bras

For the purpose of explaining my comment in Pt2 about that 'man in a bra' who ripped the final button off my shirt, I introduce to you the cultural anomaly that is the 'Mahu'.

In Tahiti, whether you're born with female tendencies or not it's possible that you may be committed to a life of lingerie by your parents. Yes, by your parents.

If you are the 2nd brother born and you have no sisters then thank your lucky stars you ain't Polynesian. If you were the second born male in a family of traditional Pacific island natives then your parents would from day one bring you up as a girl. It was entirely a sentence of convenience for the fair distribution of the family's chores. All you got to decide was to what extent that you embraced it. 'to bra or not to bra?' that was the question. You'd think they'd just do the washing and that be that, but.

These 'gents' actually constitute a third gender here, no one blinks an eye. There are Males, Females and 'Mahu'. And incredibly (well, for me since being a small minded pseudo Glasweegian) the Mahu are sought after for prominent customer service and secretarial positions within the workplace. The latter I'm sure for their Lewinsky esq proficiency with the boss's cigar.

The most disturbing thing for me though was just how male they looked; think big New Zealand type rugby player, wearing board shorts and a bra. Zero voyeurism, but still camp in gesture.

With no adams apple removal surgery and that warrior like physic at least this post isn't finishing with the words; "honestly I didn't realise until......"

Unmistakable*

* image taken from web. As many of the blog pictures have been however I didn't wish any doubts about this one!

1 Month in Tahiti Pt4: Loosing my religion

1 Month in Tahiti Pt2: DJ Who?

Something for the weekend?

I inadvertently strolled passed the Mango bar/ club on my first night and heard some non-commercial house and techno getting pumped out. Feeling a little twitch of the old DJ nerve I thought - I gotta get a shot of that.

So I fessed up the next day, "eh..ave won competitions and that*" and the manager was like great "sat night warm up good for you? What's your DJ name?". I hadn't prepared for being asked that and couldn't get the words DJ Cheezer out of my mouth. I said "eh...it's just Michael".


The sweaty palms of the first night never spread further as thankfully there was an industrial size fan pointed directly up the back of my shirt. I hadn't mixed for over two years. I was from a world where records had pictures/artwork, I don't know the name of any of my records back home but their pictures paint a thousand beats. Here I was faced with some little LCD screen and only the name of the track displayed. Too much of my time was wasted selecting tunes and not enough spent flickin fader so the most contrived naming convention was born for the following week. The finest example must have been '3HPLRDSF' which stands for;



What does this button do?

3 = the rating out of three

H = House

P = Progressive

L = Loop

R = Rhythm

D = Deep

SF = Slow or Fast, in this case both? 

Thanks to the right hon James Kidd who's tracks were all pretty minimal, I sort of fumbled my way through. And when two sat nicely over the top of each other I went to work on choppin fader. 

Highlights we're for starters the manager's change of tone on the first night from 'cheap beer' at the start, to once the place was bouncing him coming up with a big grin, arms open and saying "drink what you want". Remember I'm on a budget here and a bottled beer in places like this was costing £9 and cocktails £20! Jackpot.

The other highlight worthy of note was the night where it was just me on the decks, the chick magnet Troy Walton and about 20 ladies on a hen** night. The main DJ then arrives, starts his set with some real girls cheese, the hens move up a gear into euphoria and before we know what's happening Troy and I are having out shirts ripped off. The casual Auzi easily done as he's wearing a t-shirt, but my Jermyn St. London slim-fit is being unbuttoned whilst my arms are restrained. Then one of those men in bras*** finishes off the last button with a rip and the next moment I'm on my hands and knees on the dance floor of this club I'd just been Djing at searching for my freekin button! 

I suppose what goes up must come down.

Too many buttons but only one knob

* All hail any of you that may have witnessed the Monday night - pound a pint DJ comp carnage.

** Otherwise known as a 'batchelor-ette' party.

*** See '1 Month in Tahiti Pt3: Men in Bras'

1 Month in Tahiti Pt1: Caricature Cops

Unfortunately my captain's mother passed away so he had  to fly home and leave me 'Home Alone' on the boat for a month.....in Tahiti. Right the middle of Polynesia's only city; Papeete.

What to do??

First up Mount Auori 2022m which I set about researching a possible route for. I'm potentially a bit of a purist (or a twat) but in order to properly enjoy summiting a mountain one must be accompanied by a large scale topographical map. Like the good old Ordnance Survey series I miss so much from back in the UK. 

Tourist information office, useless. Outdoor store, non-existent. Internet - nothing so I thought I'd go and try the head office of the Tahitian police force. It's a relaxed culture here, maybe they have a control room or something with a big map on the wall that I could photograph?

Que Tahitian police station - willing to waste all manor of public time on some tourist who has wondered in asking for a map. First guy, second guy, a small conference and then finally I'm ushered into an office where in the adjacent room there is the deafening clatter of what sounds like basketball? The Polynesian cop digests my request (third regurgitation) then in what can only be described as a gross waste of public money she calls about five different people and talks a lot in her adopted French tongue. She's even got the phone book out. During this time there is a knock at the door (seriously) it's a sweating cop with a basketball under his arm. 

After a good ten minutes of twiddling my thumbs and giving her little 'keep up the good work' smiles she opens back up in English with;      

A Polynesian version

"there are two American journalists making a map at the moment but they are back in the states". I'm starting to cringe. She gets back on the phone, gets their number and starts making the international call, only to find out that the map isn't finished yet? Incredible.

Doesn't she have anything else better to do?

Maybe she doesn't like basketball?

The door goes again and in the middle of this surreal caricature of socialist job creation, in comes another cop this time carrying a brand new coffee machine complete with purchase order still stapled to the box!

Caricature complete.

Actually not quite, remember that these cops are Polynesian, descended from peoples who populated the Pacific in their canoes.

The whole thing ends with an apology from the lady who completely changes tack, hunches over the desk towards me and says;

"We are Polynesian, as a police force we do not actually use maps" 

And she's said it in a way that was trying not to be condescending towards the fact that we westerners somehow feel we need them. Priceless.

And if all of that wasn't the most crazy thing that's happened to me in months she then closed with the offer of going to another government office where I would be welcome to review their large size photo collection of the mountains on the island. Trying not to be too culturally naive I could only guess that was for the purpose of remembering some landmarks? Still in shock from the culture car crash I declined and left giving her my warmest hand shake and words of gratitude.

The climb: the reality was actually that a topographical map would have been useless due to the clear signage and well maintained path that led directly to the summit. Doh! But I was spotting a theme developing when I heard that it was the army that maintained the path.

I wondered if they play basketball too?

Lost only for words