Christmas Island, the first stopover for the yacht Shackles, a Westsail 32.

ARRIVAL AT CHRISTMAS ISLAND
Westsail 32
First published in "S.A. Sailing"

Since my arrival the previous day, the inner secure haven of the lagoon at Christmas Island had been obscured from me, but thanks to Peter Edwards, the Harbour Master, who piloted my vessel off the shallow bank on which I had been anchored the previous night, 'Shackles' was now securely moored.

It had been quite a morning, starting with all kinds of people converging on the anchored yacht off the town of London, Christmas Island. All the local officials were there. The customs inspector, the man from immigration, a few police officers. They all had to come out to clear me in, and welcome me to Christmas Island.

It is not often that a yacht appears "out of nowhere" heading for the town. The few craft that do visit Christmas Island are normally en route from Polynesia to Hawaii, and anchor off the pass in the open bay, off an area called Bridges Point, which is a sheltered position in most wind conditions, but many miles from the settlement and not always accessible as it involves a dinghy ride through a pass, and often rough seas.

Most of the spectators ashore had gradually dwindled away, as had the dozen or so outrigger fishing canoes that had accompanied me into the anchorage, their occupants shouting greetings and advice. Someone had even presented me with some fresh fruit, and another of these amazingly friendly people with a few reef fish.

I just sat on deck all alone, and savoured the sights and smells of this yet to be explored magical island. I had sailed a long way to get there - 3300 nautical miles directly from San Diego. After 35 days at sea, it was all quite overwhelming.

Later on I launched my dingy and rowed the 50 or so metres to the white sandy beach and walked the short distance into the village of London. I was accompanied by a dozen or so smiling and laughing kids, who all chatted away to me in Gilbertese, which is the local language.

The settlement consisted of a very modern telecommunications building and tower. From that office I was able to send a fax to my family in South Africa, assuring them of my safe arrival. A bank, police station, school with coral playing field and a few scattered stores, as well as a Pub - are part of "the town". All the stores sell virtually the same products, as they all buy from the same wholesaler and all rely on the same infrequent arrival of supply ships. The few items that are available are expensive. For some reason, and one which to this day I still don't understand, the currency in use is the Australian Dollar!

A tarred road leads from the wharf through to the village, which has a scattering of palm dwellings and occasional brick or tin houses dating back to the era of British or American occupation. A 'Maneapa', or central meeting hall is very distinctive, with it's thatched palm roof and open sides, and it stands in the middle of the community. This, together with the adjoining church, is the focal point for the inhabitants.

The road winds it's away through coconut groves to the north of the island, where it passes the Captain Cook Hotel and the airport, eventually following the shoreline to the southern part and on to the ruins of the settlement called Paris. This road was originally built for military purposes, as were the two airfields on the island, one of which is still in use.

During World War II, the area was used as a United States airforce base, and from 1956 until 1964, as a base for Nuclear tests by both England and America.

The country of Kiribati, which is made up of a host of tiny islands, has been an independent Republic since 1979. It was formerly part of the British ruled Gilbert and Elice Islands. The country, with all it's islands, covers a vast area of the Pacific Ocean. It straddles the Equator, and stretches from 157 degrees West to 173 degrees East Longitude - a distance of some 2400 nautical miles, and also straddles both sides of the International Date Line.
The Capital of Kiribati is Tarawa, 2000 miles away from Christmas Island on the other (Eastern) side of the date line. Because of this confusion, the Kiribati government have decided to bring the day forward on the east islands, to be the same day as the rest of the country. Makes sense?

The islanders of the Line Islands (Christmas, Fanning, Washington) are mostly of Polynesian descent, whereas the majority of the country's population are Micronesians.

In the Gilbertese alphabet there are only 13 letters. 'Kiritimati' is the local word for Christmas, and is pronounced as such. The Kiribas are known as I-Kiribati.

Christmas Island, only 119 miles north of the equator, is the largest coral atoll in the world, and is 248 square miles in size, of which 125 square miles is land. The total population of the island is around 2500, which is only 3% of the total population of the country, yet it occupies over a half of the available land mass. Due mainly to it's remoteness and lack of industry, coupled with a very low rainfall, the island is sparsely populated.

The only tourists who arrive, apart from the odd yacht, are fishermen who come on the weekly flight from Hawaii, and are mostly Americans. One of the most striking qualities of Christmas Island is the seemingly endless flats of sand and coral that stretch out in the shallow lagoon. It is for this reason that the island has recently become a sought after remote fishermen's paradise. It is apparently the best location in the world for Bonefish and Trevally.

The fishermen who come to the island are an unusual type as they are best described as "somewhere between a hunter and a fisherman". All the fish they catch they release. The elusive Bonefish usually appears out of deep water and comes up on the flats to feed for a few moments, and then ghost away.

The 'Harbour Master' is in charge of the few outrigger powered canoes which cater for the dozen or so fishing enthusiasts who are on the island at any one time.

I joined one of these parties on an outing. Their excitement was obvious immediately they were dropped by an outrigger in knee deep water. The flats are clean white sand with clear water and no grass, which makes spotting 'bones' relatively easy. However, a misplaced cast or 'presentation' spooks the wary fish. Never before have I witnessed a stronger more exciting and taxing game fish, whose surface strikes are simply spectacular. The average catch is in the 5 - 8 lb class, although an experienced angler can often average a 15 - 20lb fish.

That evening, after a prosperous day's fishing, and while skimming over the lagoon in the big canoe, the anglers were ecstatic about the day's activities. A number of them go there every year and confirm that this island is the best and most exciting Bone-fishing location they have ever known. As we landed on the wharf, the fishermen were whisked off to the hotel some 20 kilometers away on the northern shore, while I returned to my hotel, where 'Shackles' was anchored near by.

The Captain Cook Hotel is close to the airport, and caters almost exclusively to fisherman. Each room has a small refrigerator and private bath (water is heated by solar panels) and all rooms have a view of the barrier reef.

During my two month stay on the island, the hotel had no water for baths as all the water is collected from rain water, and it hadn't rained for the previous six months. People were even doing their washing in salt water, and drinking water was a very precious commodity indeed.

A French telephone specialist was busy testing the newly installed telephone system while I was there. This was to be linked via a dish across the lagoon to the hotel. After a week of modifications and trials to the system, the expert came to the conclusion that there was something blocking the signal from the tower to the dish at the hotel. It eventually transpired to be me - or in reality the top of my mast was in a direct line between the two. I was asked very sheepishly whether I would mind moving. It was a blessing in disguise, as where I was moored didn't offer too much protection from the trade winds as they blew across ten kilometres of open water lagoon.

I moved 'Shackles' a bit closer to the reef, and this offered a lot more protection, especially at low tide.

During my stay it was the time of year for the Westerlies, which can blow very strongly for many days at a time, so I decided to put in a permanent mooring. With the help of a number of friends and a flat barge, we lugged an abandoned and derelict engine block to the beach, loaded it onto the barge and sunk it in the anchorage. I supplied the buoy, chain and rope, and when I departed I left it all for future visiting yachts.

Christmas Island is dotted with old rusty relics from the American occupation during the Second World War, and other subsequent occupations. Old Jeeps, engines, planes, landing barges, water tanks and old rusty buildings, some of which are still in use, clutter the island. Old rusty jetties, the poles of which are just visible above water, fuel drums and heaps of rusty metal, litter the dilapidated wharf area. This was once a hive of activity, but now all that remains of that bygone era lies rusting in the salt winds of the trades, under a blisteringly hot tropical sun.

When I originally sailed in, I planned to stay for a month or so, but the days and weeks flew past so quickly that it was almost Christmas before I knew it. There is a tradition on the Island that during the days preceding Christmas, they have something called "Christmas Nights", so I decided to prolong my stay for another month, and spend Christmas on Christmas Island in the Pacific.

A few weeks before Christmas the Islanders were preparing for the day in earnest. The 'Maneapas', or local community meeting halls were a hive of activity, as new ornamental palm floor mats were woven and decorations were artistically created, using local plants and dyes, as the 500 or so children who are sent to Tarawa, some 2000 miles away to be educated, were due to return. These children, mostly of high school age, form a very big part of the festivities.

Having extended my stay to include the festive period, I decided to get into the swing of things, and even had a few woven decorations on board 'Shackles', and a colourful display of flags flying from the backstay.

Amongst the many Polynesian friends I had made was Kiora. She was employed at the newly formed Kirimati (Gilbertese for Christmas) Tourism Agency. Her Job was to promote foreign and local tourism. This in itself was a difficult task, as there was only one flight into the island per week, just one mediocre hotel which catered for the dozen or so fishermen who arrived each week, and one 'guest house'.

Kiora's idea was to print a brochure about the island and it's attractions, and to take photos depicting island life. Her intention was to 'sell' the concept to her superiors back in the Capital City. This particular island constitutes more than 50% of all the land of the entire country of Kiribati, which comprises some 33 main islands, yet only 3% of the total population lived there.

The camera which had been supplied by the government to it's tourism officer had fallen in the water, and consequently wasn't working. I was asked to accompany Kiora, who enquired whether I had a working camera, on a complete tour of the island and to be the official 'government' photographer.

Kiora hired an open backed truck as our transport. Before long we stopped to pick up a few of her friends and relatives, and it was not long before they filled the back of the truck. Most of the people had bog cooler boxes with them, and this fast became a major government sponsored party. We stopped whenever I thought there was a good photo opportunity, while Kiora (who's English was excellent) was filling me in with gossip from the Capital "City".

We drove to some very interesting areas, often on bush tracks through the spiny grass and reeds, and sometimes splashed through the shallow waters of the lagoon which comprises more than half of the total area of 248 square miles of the atoll.

Christmas Island is a producer of salt where the various pans of water are dried out and the salt collected. However, when I was there an overseas buyer had not yet been found, and salt blocks filled the derelict sheds.

Kiora took great pains to show me the sights, some of which were new to her too, as she hadn't been living on the island long. We had plenty of locals sitting in the back who guided us and generally gave advice and directions. The famous "Big Tree" was a sight to see, I was told. It was apparently rather like a Willow that had stood by itself close to the beach as long as anyone could remember. Not big by world standards, but on this island, where almost all trees of any size are coconut palms, this tree was a rarity.

The southern area of the island is very seldom visited and contains dozens of brackish pools of fresh water, which our party hoped would contain the much prized Milkfish. We drove through the bush to the first pool which was almost full of reddish coloured water. Our 'passengers' gleefully alighted, threw off their 'slipslops' and ran like crazed people into the water. A net was produced and the pool was literally cleared of fish - perhaps 200 - which were mostly about 250 to 300 mm in length. Tradition, however, does dictate that a few are left in the pond to breed for future visits, and this makes jolly good sense too. They filled their cooler boxes and proceeded to another pool where the process was repeated. After four pools, all the boxes were filled, as was a big canvas bag. The fish were ultimately to be dried in the sun, and there was sufficient to feed some of the communities until well into the New Year.

As part of the team my share represented about 60 fish. These fish were amazing, and rather like Carp. After years of drought the pools completely dry out and become crusty sand, yet when water appears - often with no rain - new fish life suddenly forms again.

At lunchtime we drove to the wreck of a Korean ship that was stranded on the barrier reef, a few hundred metres off shore, on the windward side. Someone prepared a fire with dry coconut husks, while others collected palm fronds and coconuts for an impromptu fish barbeque. Those Milkfish were very tasty, if cooked enough, but very bony. A splendid meal was washed down with coconut milk!

It had been a very long day, although I was pleased with the few spools of photos I had taken and the unusual opportunity I had been given to tour the remote areas of the atoll. Within a few weeks the prints came back from the lab in Hawaii, and I was given a copy of each.

There are very few Europeans on Christmas Island, and the few who live there are called 'Imatangs'. Over the course of my stay I met them all. I became particularly friendly with Perry Langston, who is quite a character. He is a Britisher who has been living and working in the Gilbert Islands for the past 25 years, and has been to virtually all the islands. Before his retirement, he was employed by the previous British government as a land surveyor and local Governor of the Copra plantations, a position which he even held after independence. He married a wonderful Gilbertese woman and has three children. He and I had a regular Sunday ritual. I would go to his dwelling after he and his family returned from church, and I would sit in his antique racking chair under the swaying palms, swopping yarns and drinking his homemade Saki. What a way to spend a Sunday!

Perry had cut his foot quite badly on a piece of coral a few weeks prior to me meeting him, and in the tropical climate it would just not heal. The local 'hospital' had absolutely no medicine, so my first aid kit was put to very good use. After a few days treatment with an antibiotic cream, the wound slowly began to heal.

Then it became my turn to be ill. I came down with a fever and high temperature and just couldn't stop sweating. The nights on board the boat were bad as the temperature outside never dropped below 30C, and I just could not sleep. One particularly bad morning, convinced that I had contracted Malaria, I managed to get ashore somehow, and make my way to Perry's house. I spent a few days resting in his 'sleeping room', where the floor rested on raised posts. The peaked thatch roof is supported by coconut columns, leaving the sides open, except for woven flaps that could be lowered to break the wind or keep out the rain. Fortunately I did not have Malaria, but it did give me a scare, especially when I realised the almost non-existence of medical services on Christmas Island.

I recovered in time to be in top spirits for Christmas Night's celebrations, which mainly involved the visiting of friends and neighbours, having feast after feast.

I was invited to a number of these very traditional feasts. The custom is to wait until the host is sitting cross legged on a mat on the dining room floor, then to join him on the floor when asked. The food is mostly prepared by the women folk, and is laid out on palm fronds in the centre of the room. At a given signal, mostly following prayers or speeches, everyone tucks in, grabbing food and eating with fingers out of wooden dishes. Belching, teeth picking and lip smacking are all appropriate signs to show enjoyment. Getting up and leaving as soon as satisfied and taking quantities of food with one, are all part of the niceties of 'table manners'.

More celebrations of a more conventional kind were held at the local 'Pub', as well as a number of 'twists' or dances, and again I participated, being made to feel most welcome wherever I went.

At the anchorage there was also a lot of activity in the form of canoe races between different groups on the Island. The local barge was plying backwards and forwards out to sea, as a supply ship had arrived, with the only way to off load being by barge - a procedure that always took many days.

The last morning before Christmas the water surrounding 'Shackles' was pretty crowded with fishermen in outrigger canoes. These simple folk had been very good to me in often offering me part of their catch. I didn't always accept it as I am a bit wary of eating reef fish. On board I had a number of little odds and ends as 'gift items', which I took great delight in giving out. These consisted mostly of peaked caps, bead bracelets, South Africa flag badges and the like, all of which were greatly appreciated. Most of these people have very little, so consequently the smallest gift is greatly cherished!

Another yacht arrived by this time, and her crew decided to stay out to sea in the bay off Bridges Point. This necessitated a very long dinghy ride ashore while negotiating two passes on route. I became very friendly with the couple on board who had departed French Polynesia and the hurricane season down south, to spend a few months in the Line Islands while also visiting Fanning and Palmyra atolls.

Scott and Wendy off 'Elan' invited me to spend Christmas day aboard with them. I gratefully accepted and spent a very memorable day out in the bay, and watched the sunset over Christmas Island.

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