Location: Almost at Fakarava
I stood there beneath the deck hatch in thought: should I change into my foul-weather gear, or no? It had been raining earlier and we had all enjoyed running the genniker while bathing in only our shorts and skins. I was sure the deck would still be wet, but the moon now beamed down upon me; I looked up to see her bright shape, boldly filling what I could see of the dark night sky through the hatchway. No, tonight would be lava-lava and t-shirt.
I clambered up to the deck for the midnight shift to find the previous watch team in a relaxed state: one man on the foe, one on the guitar, and two more with a piece of the banana & walnut chocolate cake that was our night time snack in their hands, and bright smiles on their faces.
"Watch out for that rain cloud", one cautions, pointing to the NE beyond Gaualofa's bow. 'Drat', I thought to myself, and reached into the hatch to pull out my foul-gear after all. As I wriggled into it, tucking away my lava-lava, the drizzle set in. It didn't last long; just long enough to ensure that any topside sitting spot would require waterproofed pants to enjoy.
The moon beamed on, however, and we cruised into the early hours of the morning...
As the next watch now emerges from the dark recesses of our twin hulls, someone is again strumming the guitar, someone else is steering the foe, and I sit here enjoying this lovely piece of banana & walnut chocolate cake, watching the moon-shadows change shape, and the great Fish-hook of Maui (or scorpion's tail) move slowly across the starry patch of sky above.
It has been a long journey, and rumours have it that we may finally make landfall tomorrow. After a month at sea, what will it be like to stand on earth once more? Undoubtedly, it will be a good feeling, but also perhaps an unfamiliar one. The wide spaces, the different faces, the cultural experience; and just imagine the ability to bathe in fresh water, rather than sea!
It is exciting to think about, but the time for that is tomorrow. Right now, at quarter past 3am, it's time for bed, and dreams of loved ones at home.
Bruce
Samoa Voyaging Society - Aiga Folau O Samoa
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Thursday, May 12, 2011
10th May 2011
The huge grey beast persisted on our tail, appearing to devour everything in its path. One other boat, following some miles behind, had already disappeared into its bowels, sending shudders down our spines; no one wanted to go down there - not again. The shifting, fluctuating wind was no comfort for the watch, who struggled to keep our faithful Gaualofa on course; every inch of muscle and willpower going into our hopeful escape from that looming monster...
After more than two weeks of constant head winds and the relentless bashing of toppling towers of water onto our deck and hull, the calm that had finally arrived only a few hours before had been such a relief that almost the whole crew could be found on deck in shorts and t-shirts, despite the not-necessarily sunny weather. Perhaps, I thought, this meteorological relapse could be enough to finally dampen the spirit of our ever-smiling crew.
We struggled on, however, as the air turned cooler around us; we were in the mouth of that thing and could feel its terrible wrath about to fall upon us. Each member of the watch hunched his back, grit his teeth, and put on his hooded wet-wear, as realisation of our fate galvanised in our minds. Also in mind were memories of warm, dry land, and thoughts like, "Please tell me once more why, oh why i am out here??...".
...One hour later: the squall, what seems to have been our Great Ocean host’s last attempt at overcoming the crew’s sterling resilience, had not been as severe as it had looked and had already passed over us, leaving a beautifully reddening sky behind a hedge of silhouetted cumulus castellanus on the horizon. The clouds were far off, but towered like a row of purple blooming trees into the evening sky. High above, the moon smiled down upon us once again; her toothy grin brightening our evening for songs, prayers, and our daily story before dinner.
The cold, the damp, the wet feet, the sticky salt, the sleepless nights; all would be forgotten, promised me one watch captain, once we had reached the tropics and made our first festive landfall. Those days of hardship would be over-written in memory by the pleasant, warm, tropical days to come... Well, i shouldn't hope so! An important part of this experience, for me, is enduring this hardship. Each day when I sit down with the crew to enjoy our next gourmet meal, graciously provided by the Almighty and one of his three cooking assistants aboard Gaualofa (which includes the captain), I remind myself that whether six of us are attempting to shelter from the rain or ocean squalls within the 1.5x2.5 metre galley space, or whether we are braving the elements on the deck as we eat, we have it a whole lot easier, warmer, safer, and more gourmet than any of our original voyaging ancestors had it - and we should be grateful.
So now, as I sit on the deck, enjoying the evening sky and the roast kumara wedges with caramelised onion and capsicum, and miso soup on the side, I am happy to have come through those weeks of rough weather. It gives me a little more perspective on where we have come from: for me that means not only the thousands of miles from my lavish Wellington lifestyle of comparative luxury, but also my journey as a member of this great voyaging race, over these countless generations of culture and development as a people. I am grateful for the good times we share on our deck in the moonlight and sun, but even more so for the hard times when we have had to band together, when we have had to knuckle down and grit our taro-hardened teeth, relying on each other and on our Gaualofa, who, with God and undoubtedly the spirits of our many watching ancestors, is protecting us as we travel onward to Fakarava, Nukuhiva, Hawai’i, and the future.
Bruce
After more than two weeks of constant head winds and the relentless bashing of toppling towers of water onto our deck and hull, the calm that had finally arrived only a few hours before had been such a relief that almost the whole crew could be found on deck in shorts and t-shirts, despite the not-necessarily sunny weather. Perhaps, I thought, this meteorological relapse could be enough to finally dampen the spirit of our ever-smiling crew.
We struggled on, however, as the air turned cooler around us; we were in the mouth of that thing and could feel its terrible wrath about to fall upon us. Each member of the watch hunched his back, grit his teeth, and put on his hooded wet-wear, as realisation of our fate galvanised in our minds. Also in mind were memories of warm, dry land, and thoughts like, "Please tell me once more why, oh why i am out here??...".
...One hour later: the squall, what seems to have been our Great Ocean host’s last attempt at overcoming the crew’s sterling resilience, had not been as severe as it had looked and had already passed over us, leaving a beautifully reddening sky behind a hedge of silhouetted cumulus castellanus on the horizon. The clouds were far off, but towered like a row of purple blooming trees into the evening sky. High above, the moon smiled down upon us once again; her toothy grin brightening our evening for songs, prayers, and our daily story before dinner.
The cold, the damp, the wet feet, the sticky salt, the sleepless nights; all would be forgotten, promised me one watch captain, once we had reached the tropics and made our first festive landfall. Those days of hardship would be over-written in memory by the pleasant, warm, tropical days to come... Well, i shouldn't hope so! An important part of this experience, for me, is enduring this hardship. Each day when I sit down with the crew to enjoy our next gourmet meal, graciously provided by the Almighty and one of his three cooking assistants aboard Gaualofa (which includes the captain), I remind myself that whether six of us are attempting to shelter from the rain or ocean squalls within the 1.5x2.5 metre galley space, or whether we are braving the elements on the deck as we eat, we have it a whole lot easier, warmer, safer, and more gourmet than any of our original voyaging ancestors had it - and we should be grateful.
So now, as I sit on the deck, enjoying the evening sky and the roast kumara wedges with caramelised onion and capsicum, and miso soup on the side, I am happy to have come through those weeks of rough weather. It gives me a little more perspective on where we have come from: for me that means not only the thousands of miles from my lavish Wellington lifestyle of comparative luxury, but also my journey as a member of this great voyaging race, over these countless generations of culture and development as a people. I am grateful for the good times we share on our deck in the moonlight and sun, but even more so for the hard times when we have had to band together, when we have had to knuckle down and grit our taro-hardened teeth, relying on each other and on our Gaualofa, who, with God and undoubtedly the spirits of our many watching ancestors, is protecting us as we travel onward to Fakarava, Nukuhiva, Hawai’i, and the future.
Bruce
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
9th May 2011
Position: 18°08.8’ S / 154°46.0’ W (so near yet still so far from land)
Today’s weather forecast is supposedly good weather, in our case: no more breaking seas, no more squalls and actually a bit of sun to dry EVERYTHING out, including ourselves. Though every time Marc mentions this supposedly good weather, our deck gets pounded by an 8 metre swell, dousing everyone and everything in its path. So the verdict is still out for the count.
Due to the safety hazard, since the bad weather we haven’t been able to throw out a line. Still no fresh fish on the Gaualofa lines since departure from NZ. But with the weather improving we’ve begun to speak in hushed tones of finally throwing it out and trying our luck. What fish we’ve been eating has actually been quite interesting: flying fish. These poor creatures throw themselves on the Gaualofa deck unknowingly (or maybe not?) at night and become the cook-up for the dawn breaking shift. I recommend deep fry with a bit of garlic; the sizes vary from 6 inches up to 10 inches and they’re very plump out here we’re pleased to report. Though it must also be reported since we’ve come closer to French Polynesian waters, we’ve received less and less of these gifts that just seem to find themselves in the frying pan.
On passing the 21°S latitude we were able to spot a few new sets of stars that we rarely see in Samoa: Leo the lion and the Big Dipper. A night or so later on our early morning shift, at 19°S latitude and NNE of the va’a, we spotted 3 planets aligned in a triangle: Venus, Jupiter and Mercury. They were all quite a bright and a beautiful sight.
Salai made topai koko samoa for breakfast two mornings ago. It went very well with the crew, who praised his culinary arts but made a point of his clumsiness - he had accidently cut himself while trying to open the koko samoa packet, quite a minor cut. Of course it lasted until lunch (minus the putas). LoL. Though I don’t know if he’ll be able to be talked into making a koko samoa meal again anytime soon.
We’ve opened our 6th 5kg bucket of Punjas Breakfast Crackers since departure, which was about 22 days ago. That’s a lot but then again we Samoans are quite satisfied with our crackers, ergo the reason why there’s always a dozen boxes/buckets of crackers at every fa’alavelave.
Since the arrival of the sourdough culture, Lole and Marc have been constantly baking bread. And of course Brynne has been steadily baking away in great concern for our sweet tooth. John has done his share by making fruit crumble last night with a side of yoghurt (yes we have a yoghurt maker onboard, it’s a standard va’a issue)!
As we’re reading this, we notice that we’ve written almost entirely about food. We’d like to remind everyone we like to talk about food on our shift!
And on this note, soifua lava.
E fia momoli atu le faafetai lava I le tapuaiga ale atunu’u ao feagai ai alo ma fanau a le atunu’u i folauga I luga o le vasa.
Gaualofa
Today’s weather forecast is supposedly good weather, in our case: no more breaking seas, no more squalls and actually a bit of sun to dry EVERYTHING out, including ourselves. Though every time Marc mentions this supposedly good weather, our deck gets pounded by an 8 metre swell, dousing everyone and everything in its path. So the verdict is still out for the count.
Due to the safety hazard, since the bad weather we haven’t been able to throw out a line. Still no fresh fish on the Gaualofa lines since departure from NZ. But with the weather improving we’ve begun to speak in hushed tones of finally throwing it out and trying our luck. What fish we’ve been eating has actually been quite interesting: flying fish. These poor creatures throw themselves on the Gaualofa deck unknowingly (or maybe not?) at night and become the cook-up for the dawn breaking shift. I recommend deep fry with a bit of garlic; the sizes vary from 6 inches up to 10 inches and they’re very plump out here we’re pleased to report. Though it must also be reported since we’ve come closer to French Polynesian waters, we’ve received less and less of these gifts that just seem to find themselves in the frying pan.
On passing the 21°S latitude we were able to spot a few new sets of stars that we rarely see in Samoa: Leo the lion and the Big Dipper. A night or so later on our early morning shift, at 19°S latitude and NNE of the va’a, we spotted 3 planets aligned in a triangle: Venus, Jupiter and Mercury. They were all quite a bright and a beautiful sight.
Salai made topai koko samoa for breakfast two mornings ago. It went very well with the crew, who praised his culinary arts but made a point of his clumsiness - he had accidently cut himself while trying to open the koko samoa packet, quite a minor cut. Of course it lasted until lunch (minus the putas). LoL. Though I don’t know if he’ll be able to be talked into making a koko samoa meal again anytime soon.
We’ve opened our 6th 5kg bucket of Punjas Breakfast Crackers since departure, which was about 22 days ago. That’s a lot but then again we Samoans are quite satisfied with our crackers, ergo the reason why there’s always a dozen boxes/buckets of crackers at every fa’alavelave.
Since the arrival of the sourdough culture, Lole and Marc have been constantly baking bread. And of course Brynne has been steadily baking away in great concern for our sweet tooth. John has done his share by making fruit crumble last night with a side of yoghurt (yes we have a yoghurt maker onboard, it’s a standard va’a issue)!
As we’re reading this, we notice that we’ve written almost entirely about food. We’d like to remind everyone we like to talk about food on our shift!
And on this note, soifua lava.
E fia momoli atu le faafetai lava I le tapuaiga ale atunu’u ao feagai ai alo ma fanau a le atunu’u i folauga I luga o le vasa.
Gaualofa
Saturday, May 7, 2011
A Daily Practice
Date: 6th May 2011
Eighteen days into the wind: the waves roll high and crash onto our deck; they violently slap our hull at night and cause our small but proud va’a to pitch, sway and bounce along, as we slowly scratch our zig-zagged path into the surface of this immense blue that surrounds us. At times, below deck, it feels like sleeping in a tin can which is rolling down a bumpy, rocky mountainside. Our skipper, Marc, remarks that this has been his longest ever sea-journey with a constant headwind; and it has been long and it has been hard
Aboard the Gaualofa we have many daily practices, most of which (steering the foe, bailing water, tidying ropes, swabbing the deck) are in place for the safety and wellbeing of our crew and va’a. One daily practice, however, is a little different: Marc had stipulated before our journey began that each day before dinner one crew member would share a written story, which would be logged in the Gaualofa Story Book. Two stormy nights ago it fell upon Marc himself to fulfil this ritual, and here, I will make a humble attempt to relay the gist of his eloquent words.
As we sail into these relentless headwinds on our journey of cultural and spiritual rediscovery, we can each be reminded of our individual journey through life, as we brave the waves of social norms and the ever-present, ever-growing winds of consumerist conformity. The question we ask ourselves when facing these forces is, do we simply go with the flow, passively travelling to wherever these man-made forces should carry us; or should we strive against odds to find our own way in spite of these oft-overpowering pressures, taking responsibility for the course that we each should set, and leaving only good things for the future in our wake?
Aboard the Gaualofa, the crew had all made this decision before signing up. As we battle forth into this Easterly wind, we each also guide our personal va’a against the flow of material consumption, of modern enviro-unfriendliness, and of the divisive political tendencies of our time. Upon Gaualofa, we are powered by the wind, yet we travel against its flow. Upon Gaualofa, we receive power from modern solar panels, yet guide our va’a by the practices of our ancient forefathers. We are empowered by our ancestors, and we are supported by our people, and we travel with all of them to a better future for all of us.
Eighteen days into the wind: the waves roll high and crash onto our deck; they violently slap our hull at night and cause our small but proud va’a to pitch, sway and bounce along, as we slowly scratch our zig-zagged path into the surface of this immense blue that surrounds us. At times, below deck, it feels like sleeping in a tin can which is rolling down a bumpy, rocky mountainside. Our skipper, Marc, remarks that this has been his longest ever sea-journey with a constant headwind; and it has been long and it has been hard
Aboard the Gaualofa we have many daily practices, most of which (steering the foe, bailing water, tidying ropes, swabbing the deck) are in place for the safety and wellbeing of our crew and va’a. One daily practice, however, is a little different: Marc had stipulated before our journey began that each day before dinner one crew member would share a written story, which would be logged in the Gaualofa Story Book. Two stormy nights ago it fell upon Marc himself to fulfil this ritual, and here, I will make a humble attempt to relay the gist of his eloquent words.
As we sail into these relentless headwinds on our journey of cultural and spiritual rediscovery, we can each be reminded of our individual journey through life, as we brave the waves of social norms and the ever-present, ever-growing winds of consumerist conformity. The question we ask ourselves when facing these forces is, do we simply go with the flow, passively travelling to wherever these man-made forces should carry us; or should we strive against odds to find our own way in spite of these oft-overpowering pressures, taking responsibility for the course that we each should set, and leaving only good things for the future in our wake?
Aboard the Gaualofa, the crew had all made this decision before signing up. As we battle forth into this Easterly wind, we each also guide our personal va’a against the flow of material consumption, of modern enviro-unfriendliness, and of the divisive political tendencies of our time. Upon Gaualofa, we are powered by the wind, yet we travel against its flow. Upon Gaualofa, we receive power from modern solar panels, yet guide our va’a by the practices of our ancient forefathers. We are empowered by our ancestors, and we are supported by our people, and we travel with all of them to a better future for all of us.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
4th May 2011
Position: 27°55.154’ S / 158°53.787’W (in other words, somewhere south of the Cook Islands and nowhere near French Polynesia)
Talofa Lava Samoa,
Today starts off as any other day on Gaualofa, gearing up for your shift in small tight quarters, while constantly being knocked around by the waves, making sure your watch is awake and ready to face what the South Pacific is going to through your way. During the change of shift, our only instructions were to sail north though go as high up to the wind as possible without slowing the va’a down. After Monday night’s debacle at the end of our shift - we drifted down wind from the rest of the fleet, leaving the next shift to make up for our mistake - we were eager to reaffirm ourselves in front of the crew that it was only a one time slip. There’s no room for error when we’re on the foe. Not only do we lose ground but also time in making up for the lost ground. So as we’re subtly told by Cap, ‘Don’t do it at all.’ So we make sure we don’t. After our turns on the foe, we have something to eat and then return below deck to have a little rest for the next shift.
Due to rough seas, some of our meals have been ‘ready-made boil in the bag’ which has its advantages - no dishes to wash. It’s a big deal when you’re trying to keep dry. We finished our cans of Manaia pisupo which was part of the donation from Ah Mau Wholesaler a couple of weeks ago. Faafetai tele lava - it has seen us through some dire times. Back in March when we arrived in New Zealand waters we still had some of the vegetables (donated from the Chinese organic plantation), which we weren’t allowed to bring into NZ as they were perishable. We had a big cook up of those!
We’re so blessed in receiving these gifts from our many sponsors, local companies, friends and aiga. Faafetai faafetai tele lava.
The breaking seas and strong winds have not diminished the jokes we play on each other and the constant laughter. We’d like to let our families and friends know that we’re well and fit.
Faafetai lava mo le tapuaiga ma talosaga.
Taleni, Salai, Faapau ma Fealofani ma the crew.
Talofa Lava Samoa,
Today starts off as any other day on Gaualofa, gearing up for your shift in small tight quarters, while constantly being knocked around by the waves, making sure your watch is awake and ready to face what the South Pacific is going to through your way. During the change of shift, our only instructions were to sail north though go as high up to the wind as possible without slowing the va’a down. After Monday night’s debacle at the end of our shift - we drifted down wind from the rest of the fleet, leaving the next shift to make up for our mistake - we were eager to reaffirm ourselves in front of the crew that it was only a one time slip. There’s no room for error when we’re on the foe. Not only do we lose ground but also time in making up for the lost ground. So as we’re subtly told by Cap, ‘Don’t do it at all.’ So we make sure we don’t. After our turns on the foe, we have something to eat and then return below deck to have a little rest for the next shift.
Due to rough seas, some of our meals have been ‘ready-made boil in the bag’ which has its advantages - no dishes to wash. It’s a big deal when you’re trying to keep dry. We finished our cans of Manaia pisupo which was part of the donation from Ah Mau Wholesaler a couple of weeks ago. Faafetai tele lava - it has seen us through some dire times. Back in March when we arrived in New Zealand waters we still had some of the vegetables (donated from the Chinese organic plantation), which we weren’t allowed to bring into NZ as they were perishable. We had a big cook up of those!
We’re so blessed in receiving these gifts from our many sponsors, local companies, friends and aiga. Faafetai faafetai tele lava.
The breaking seas and strong winds have not diminished the jokes we play on each other and the constant laughter. We’d like to let our families and friends know that we’re well and fit.
Faafetai lava mo le tapuaiga ma talosaga.
Taleni, Salai, Faapau ma Fealofani ma the crew.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
3rd May 2011
It is pitch dark outside, cold and rough... Gaualofa is jumping all over the place and us with her. But this evening is just appetizer, the main course arrived later in the night.
We are trapped in a big high pressure system, the only way out is to sail north, while trying to do some easting. We have 600 miles to go against the Easterlies to get out of it. 4 to 5 days; less if we are lucky. No big danger, just absolutely not comfortable and hard for my nerves. At least with high pressure systems the wind is dry and we can still see stars.
We receive lots of spray from the bow - it dries quickly and leaves a salty crust on our faces. With our hands getting thicker we are all turning into real sailors.
We still manage to have really nice food. Lole and Brynne are cooking and sometimes I prepare a meal to give them a rest. The ambience on board is positive.We are all thinking of the warm and calm waters a couple of days north of us.
Salty hugs
Marc
We are trapped in a big high pressure system, the only way out is to sail north, while trying to do some easting. We have 600 miles to go against the Easterlies to get out of it. 4 to 5 days; less if we are lucky. No big danger, just absolutely not comfortable and hard for my nerves. At least with high pressure systems the wind is dry and we can still see stars.
We receive lots of spray from the bow - it dries quickly and leaves a salty crust on our faces. With our hands getting thicker we are all turning into real sailors.
We still manage to have really nice food. Lole and Brynne are cooking and sometimes I prepare a meal to give them a rest. The ambience on board is positive.We are all thinking of the warm and calm waters a couple of days north of us.
Salty hugs
Marc
Monday, May 2, 2011
Two Weeks
Date: 2nd May 2011
Two weeks... For two weeks the crew of Gaualofa have been at sea. Two weeks without a fresh water shower. Two weeks without television or radio. Two weeks without cell phones or email. Two weeks without more than five hours of sleep in a row. Two weeks without much of the comforts of life on land, and yet in these two weeks without, there is not one thing I can find missing aboard Gaualofa or for want amongst her dedicated crew.
Without the distractions of daily life on land to which we all have become accustomed, we find fulfilment in different ways. There is a certain comfort found in the discomfort and restriction of life at sea. While the daily tasks on a voyaging canoe are multitudinous and continual, they all serve a common purpose and goal: to ensure the safety and security of the va’a and her crew, and to direct our canoe steadfastly through the waters.
With no cinema to attend, no faalavelave to consume our days, and no parties to take us until the early dawn, we seek entertainment not through the external, but from the internal; from one another and the activity on board. When not on shift or working on the va’a, conversation and song permeate our days. We have had very little luck fishing thus far, so the never ending hunt for the unlucky few flying fish which end up on our deck provide another source of amusement (and the occasional snack).
As I write this, sheltered in our canoe’s small galley, my watch team trying to entice a red tailed tropic bird to join us on the deck. Koleni must have quite a tempting call as this bird hovers just feet from his head. Senio attempts to lure our feathered friend further with offerings of yesterday’s sourdough bread. In the end, it is the bird who has the last laugh, leaving a lovely parting gift splashed across our deck and sails (bird leaves droppings are good luck right?).
While we have encountered several showers and winds, and the sheer latitude of our canoe has made for cold days and nights, we have been blessed to have quite smooth sailing thus far. Offering a welcome return to the sea, such conditions have served to reinforce our unity as a crew, and have provided a little refresher to life out in the blue. Today, however, will mark the beginning of rougher conditions that will crescendo for the next 5 or 6 days. Trying to make our way through a substantial high pressure system, we will do our best to continue to go East. The winds however have not cooperated, and with the forecast build in the wind, we are being pushed further North than desired.
For now though, we will enjoy another decent afternoon at sea. Lunch is close to being served and someone is back on the ukulele. It is my turn to take the foe, and help direct the va’a in the right direction, trying to head as close into the wind in order to keep a heading as close to East as possible (fingers crossed). Must jet - I’m already a couple of minutes late.
All is well on Gaulofa. The crew sends our love to all of our family and friends back home and around the world.
Fa soifua.
Brynne
Two weeks... For two weeks the crew of Gaualofa have been at sea. Two weeks without a fresh water shower. Two weeks without television or radio. Two weeks without cell phones or email. Two weeks without more than five hours of sleep in a row. Two weeks without much of the comforts of life on land, and yet in these two weeks without, there is not one thing I can find missing aboard Gaualofa or for want amongst her dedicated crew.
Without the distractions of daily life on land to which we all have become accustomed, we find fulfilment in different ways. There is a certain comfort found in the discomfort and restriction of life at sea. While the daily tasks on a voyaging canoe are multitudinous and continual, they all serve a common purpose and goal: to ensure the safety and security of the va’a and her crew, and to direct our canoe steadfastly through the waters.
With no cinema to attend, no faalavelave to consume our days, and no parties to take us until the early dawn, we seek entertainment not through the external, but from the internal; from one another and the activity on board. When not on shift or working on the va’a, conversation and song permeate our days. We have had very little luck fishing thus far, so the never ending hunt for the unlucky few flying fish which end up on our deck provide another source of amusement (and the occasional snack).
As I write this, sheltered in our canoe’s small galley, my watch team trying to entice a red tailed tropic bird to join us on the deck. Koleni must have quite a tempting call as this bird hovers just feet from his head. Senio attempts to lure our feathered friend further with offerings of yesterday’s sourdough bread. In the end, it is the bird who has the last laugh, leaving a lovely parting gift splashed across our deck and sails (bird leaves droppings are good luck right?).
While we have encountered several showers and winds, and the sheer latitude of our canoe has made for cold days and nights, we have been blessed to have quite smooth sailing thus far. Offering a welcome return to the sea, such conditions have served to reinforce our unity as a crew, and have provided a little refresher to life out in the blue. Today, however, will mark the beginning of rougher conditions that will crescendo for the next 5 or 6 days. Trying to make our way through a substantial high pressure system, we will do our best to continue to go East. The winds however have not cooperated, and with the forecast build in the wind, we are being pushed further North than desired.
For now though, we will enjoy another decent afternoon at sea. Lunch is close to being served and someone is back on the ukulele. It is my turn to take the foe, and help direct the va’a in the right direction, trying to head as close into the wind in order to keep a heading as close to East as possible (fingers crossed). Must jet - I’m already a couple of minutes late.
All is well on Gaulofa. The crew sends our love to all of our family and friends back home and around the world.
Fa soifua.
Brynne
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