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FANNING
TO TUVALU
Westsail 32
First published in "S.A. Sailing"
It hadn't rained for a long time, and certainly not during my two month
stay on Christmas Island, nor during the final two weeks I spent on
Fanning Island. As a consequence I was pretty low on drinking water
and had to scrounge what I could as fresh water in the tropical Line
Islands group near the equator is a major problem.
Joe, the Islander who seemed to take care of the very infrequent visitors,
conceded to give me 50 litres of dubious water, that I had to boil and
re-boil - and even then it wasn't drinkable on its own. Even with coffee
it tasted foul! The mosquito parasites and small wriggly worms in the
water can't be very good for one...?
Gilbertese custom is very alive in this untouched tropical island and
a feast is usually prepared for a departing visitor, and I was to have
one prepared in my honour.
Kate and Joe off the American Ketch "Navi-gator" were invited, as was
Kaz, who I had originally brought with me to Fanning Island. A number
of locals who I had befriended were also to be part of the feast. Joe
and his wife Joy from the island were to be the hosts, and it was planned
to be quite an occasion.
On the day of the feast, I was accompanied inland to Joe's house where
the guests were already waiting under the shade of a wooden structure
with a thatch roof. There were a lot more people than I had imagined,
many of them being people I had never seen before, but as "Islander
Joe" said "Once word gets out about a feast, anyone that arrives cannot
be turned away - that is part of the custom". Custom also dictates that
before the meal, the host makes a speech, and if the family is religious,
prayers are said too. After Joe's speech, with lengthy praise directed
at me - I had to respond with the same sort of speech directed towards
the hosts.
I suppose that a lot of the public praise that was bestowed upon me,
was due to the fact that I had sold Joe and his partner a VHF Radio
each. I actually got the money for them, but after that there was no
more money and the rest of the items I supplied had to be free. These
included coax cables and plugs, a few fluorescent lights, and then the
hospital (in name only) had no supplies, so I shared my first aid kit
with the medical facility. And so it went on. Not that I begrudge anything...
I also realised that there were so few items available on the atoll
that I bestowed upon certain people a number of plastic combs, cheap
sunglasses and toothbrushes - all of which were highly prized treasures!
But back to the feast. The women folk had prepared a big bowl of rice,
another dish of raw tuna fish, chicken, fruit, pumpkin and a bottle
of soya sauce - all to be washed down with coconut milk. We all dug
in with our fingers. In honour of the fact that there were a few non-islanders,
we were given plastic plates. What an amazing meal it turned out to
be. When some of the uninvited guests were satisfied, they just got
up and left, usually taking a snack with them. I thought Joe would
be upset by this, but no, that is the way things are there, as were
the burps and belches which were to show appreciation for the meal.
In parting, Joe's wife Joy gave me a letter to give to her mother in
Funafuti which was to be one of my ports of call some 1 800 miles away.
Communications are very difficult on these very isolated islands because
the supply boat cannot be relied on as it only passes the island every
few months.
The day dawned for my departure, and I had deliberately timed it to
exit and pass at high water slack. As it was going to be quite a monumental
task to get my anchors up, I enlisted some help. One anchor was caught
around a coral head some eight metres down, and as it freed, the tide
swept us towards the pass at around four knots. My assistant jumped
into his dinghy alongside, and I was alone and committed to the narrow
pass and the sea beyond!
The current hurtled me half way out of the pass, with me motoring to
try and keep steerage way. There was breaking water on the reefs on
either side of me. At the bend in the pass, and with literally a metre
or so to spare, I managed to skirt an exposed jagged coral mass and
finally faced the open sea. The effect of the trade winds on the outflowing
current, produced at least two metres of breakers over the bar which
I also had to crash through. With the engine screaming just to make
headway these waves broke over the bow with a terrific force. The anchor
chain hastily thrown on deck earlier, ended up in the cockpit, and a
lot of my neatly stowed goods below were completely dislodged and ended
up on the saloon floor.
Suddenly the crashing stopped, and almost immediately an uncanny silence
prevailed. I was through the pass. I was then able to hoist my sails
and set a course for Canton Island.
The subsequent ten day sail was very pleasant with steady trade winds
backing from North East to South East. The odd line squall kept me alert,
as some of these really pack a punch when they arrive. Fortunately I
was able to catch a good quantity of rain water, so I was able to use
my polluted Fanning water for washing.
After 1000 miles I was amongst the Phoenix group of islands whose eight
atolls form an outflung part of the republic of Kiribati. I was heading
directly for Canton Island, as it is the only one of the group that
has a navigable channel into an inner lagoon.
During the Second World War it was used as an US Air force base, and
after the War, until 1958, it was used as a staging post for the Trans-Pacific
Airlines, flying seaplanes. Between 1960 and 1968 it was used as a missile
tracking station.
Today, however, it is almost deserted, with, I was told, one family
living on the island, as "caretakers" for a sizable collection of disused
equipment and buildings. I sailed within sight of the entrance and located
the pass, which is divided in two, by Spam Island, which is a metre
high triangular coral island formed when the North channel was dredged.
The day was very squally and after attempted tries at lining up the
approach for the North Channel, I would get pushed off course by strong
eddies and tide rips. After a few hours of watching the island and attempting
to radio I could see no sign of habitation, so I decided not to chance
it, as if I did run into a problem and got stuck on a reef, I could
be on Canton a very long time. This is always one of the difficulties
that a single-hander faces - being the dilemma of whether to sail
into an isolated spot or to carry on!
I carried on sailing towards Tuvalu, now 800 miles WSW. I passed within
sight of Mc Kean Island - a treeless coral formation 1.5 kilometres
in diameter with a heavily breaking outer reef. I also made out Gardner
Island (4º 40' S, 174º 32' W), but all I could see were the tops of trees
"dancing" in the heat haze of the tropical sun. Apparently this Island
as well as most of the Phoenix Group are deserted, having been abandoned
in 1963 owing to a lack of water.
It was very frustrating that just after crossing the International Date
Line, I got becalmed in one of those maddeningly "nothing one can do
about it" windless seas. Day followed day, and the sea just stayed like
glass. I took down all my sails and just drifted. In periods like this
I read a lot just to pass the time. My destination was still too far
away to start the motor. I could listen to the wonderful island music
broadcast from Radio Tuvalu on my medium wave set, but I just couldn't
get there!
Up until then I had been averaging 135 miles a day, but for two days
a princely Zero.
After four days the wind increased to the point that I could sail, and
after a further two days I could see the Island of Funafuti, part of
the Pacific Nation of Tuvalu.
Soon I was able to savour the land smells as I approached the wide pass,
between two smaller islands on the reef. This pass was easy, and with
a following wind I sailed in and then motored towards the village of
Fonagafale where I dropped anchor. The water was crystal clean and my
anchor looked so close in the eight metres of water, despite being 100
metres offshore. What an ideal spot!
The clear water teemed with brightly coloured fish that darted over
the bottom and inspected the new arrival of my anchor and chain. Luckily
I found a sizeable area free of big coral heads in which to moor, then
reversed to make sure the anchor was well and truly lodged.
After spending 16 days at sea since Fanning Island, I was anxious to
get ashore and stretch my legs. After a few half-hearted attempts at
packing sails away, I launched my dinghy, collected the "ship's papers"
and my passport, and was on my way to visit Customs and Immigration
of the country of Tuvalu. It was pretty obvious that they weren't going
to come out to the yacht, as I had been trying to raise someone on the
island all morning, on the VHF. I do this every hour or so as a courtesy
when arriving in a foreign country.
I selected a suitable landing site for my dinghy, and pulled it up on
the white sand beach, and left it, almost on the church steps. By this
time dozens of kids were crowded about me, smiling and wishing me 'Talofa',
meaning hello. The children accompanied me along the shady track, boarded
by thatch houses on either side, and past the small hotel to the village
centre. This is where I eventually located the Customs office.
It was Friday, and when I arrived underneath the sign "Customs, Welcome
to Tuvalu", there was a small sign pinned to the door which stated -
"Closed until Monday". Oh well, it didn't seem so important to clear
after all. So, I carried on with my walk, made a phone call to my family
and did a bit of shopping. Armed with some frozen chicken drumsticks
and a few beers, I returned to 'Shackles' to cook up a meal, and have
an early night.
I was hoping to stay in Funafuti and the vicinity for a few months until
the end of the South Pacific Cyclone Season in April. It was now only
early February and I had sailed as far south as I dared - 8 degrees
South. The instance of a cyclone this far North is rare. Already the
season had spawned a few lively cyclones further south!
Over the course of the weekend I explored a lot of the small islands.
Bright and early Monday morning, I presented myself to Customs and Immigration
to clear in, and the officials couldn't have been more friendly.
Seen from shore, 'Shackles', the only vessel anchored in the lagoon
made a perfect picture postcard setting amongst the contrast of the
colours of the deep and shallower waters and dark greens of the undersea
reefs. What a wonderful place. The people were amazingly friendly, the
anchorage calm and well protected in the light easterly. As I sat on
board 'Shackles' I was extremely contented.
Dawn, the following morning was spectacular. A crimson sun shooting
bright red rays halfway across the sky, reflected off the clouds in
pinks and scarlets.
Soon I was bound shoreward to spend another day on the picturesque island.
There was a lot to see, even though the island is only a few kilometres
long and less than half a kilometre wide. The atoll itself consists
of many low wooded islets, lying on the reef which encircles a very
large lagoon, on average about 18 kilometres across. Funafuti is the
largest island, and only one of the two inhabited islands in the atoll.
It is also the capital of the Independent Nation of Tuvalu. The country
lies west of the International Date Line and north of Fiji in the central
Pacific, and is 12 hours ahead of Greenwich Mean Time. The National
waters of Tuvalu comprise almost a half million square miles of ocean,
yet the atolls or groups of islands, comprise a land area of around
18 square kilometres. The population of the country is estimated at
9000, 7000 of whom live in Funafuti.
One of these inhabitants was Joy's mother. Joy runs the "bush clinic"
on Fanning Island, and I had been given a letter to deliver to her mother.
My problem was to find the lady. It was easier than I thought. I just
showed the Postmistress the name on the envelope, and I was directed
to the right house.
The elderly lady was overjoyed and filled with emotion as she read the
letter from her daughter, and clutched the $20 bill enclosed. That was
my good deed for awhile.
During my wanderings I visited the Tuvalu Philatelic Bureau and can
now realise why postage stamps comprise a big percentage of the National
economy. Every year many different, extremely colourful sets of stamps
are printed overseas, depicting various facets of Tuvalu (real or imagined).
Some of the designs featured trains, and other's Disney characters.
These stamps are distributed to collectors throughout the world, who
hold deposit credit accounts with the bureau.
The day was becoming unusually hot and clammy and the freshening breeze
was rustling the tops of the coconut trees. I didn't pay much attention
to it as I took a leisurely stroll about town, and slowly made my way
back towards the church and my dinghy. By the time I got to the dinghy
a few hours had slipped past and it was late into the afternoon. I knew
something was wrong before I even got to the shore. Instead of a breeze
just rustling the tops of the trees, it was positively shaking them,
and big palm fronds were being blown about.
The beach were I had pulled up my dinghy was littered with debris and
white foam spray from the breakers forming offshore. What was initially
a very protected area from an easterly wind, was now very exposed in
the strengthening westerly! The surf was too big to even think of launching
my dinghy, so all I could do was to sit on the nearby church steps,
and try and wait it out. The rain squalls came, bringing dark and ominous
block clouds. Between these and the lightening flashes, I could see
'Shackles' gamely at anchor, taking a bit of a thrashing. The once calm
area, where I had anchored, now had two - three metre breading waves
crashing over the bow occasionally. It was hard to watch the scene as
I expected 'Shackles' to break loose at any moment and get washed ashore.
At dusk I couldn't take anymore, and walked, wet and bedraggled, to
the local hotel, where I booked a room for the night. I was so anxious
over the fate of my yacht, that I couldn't really appreciate the new
found luxury around me. Hot running water, cooked meals and a bed that
didn't move. I spent a troubled night, racked by dreams of wind, waves
and weather.
From the hotel veranda I could see 'Shackles' bouncing up and down in
the grim, grey early morning. The wind and seas, if anything, had increased.
I had to get to my boat, if not to stay on board, at least to put out
some more anchor chain, and maybe a second anchor too.
It was now impossible to dinghy it, although I did manage to enlist
the help of a village fisherman and his sturdy powered boat. He had
just returned from a few days fishing at one of the reef islands, and
was seeking shelter from the coming storm. Before he secured his boat,
he took me out in the surf to 'Shackles'. The movement aboard was so
acute that I had great difficulty even getting to the bow. Somehow I
got there safely and let out another 15 metres of chain, knowing this
would put me very close to the inshore reef with the westerly wind.
I also managed to throw out a second anchor - a 45lb CQR with 10 metres
of chain and 20 metres of nylon. This was not ideal, but it was all
I could do.
I managed to get below without doing serious injury to myself, grabbed
some damp clothes, some money and my passport and jumped back into the
fisherman's boat, after 'sort of' locking up the yacht! We surfed our
way back to shore!
There was no option but to book into the hotel for another night and
hope that by morning the wind would have eased. This time I was a bit
more confident that the yacht would be secure, but I did worry all the
same!
Radio Tuvalu had begun broadcasting a storm warning for that evening
and the following day. I spent another difficult night in the hotel
during which the rain, high tided and surf flooded the Hotel's veranda
and dining room. The following morning, the once white sand beach looked
like a disaster zone, as most of the sand had been washed or blown away.
In its place were lumps of loose rock and coral. The occasional fishing
craft that hadn't been pulled high enough off the beach and into the
coconut groves, lay wrecked and washed by the surf. Debris was everywhere.
Bits of wood that were once part of a proud fishing craft, fishing floats,
nets, bottles, palm fronds and plastic were all piled on top of each
other in random disarray.
Fortunately my dinghy was intact, except that it was full of water and
sand. I had it tied to a tree next to the steps of the church.
Tuvalu consists of very low islands, with Funafuti being especially
low. It's highest point is around a metre above sea level. With the
surf and high tides, half the island was flooded. The airstrip was under
water, as was the road leading from one end of the island to the other.
Most islanders' houses weren't affected, as these are built on coconut
poles or stilts, with the floor about a metre off the ground.
'Shackles' looked a forlorn sight in the grey overcast morning, with
heavy seas still pounding the bow, although she was holding her own.
No craft ventured out of the lagoon, so it was impossible for me to
get out and check the yacht, so I had to trust fate and spend another
night in the hotel.
By now I was a familiar sight to the staff, and I knew most of them
by name. They were an extremely happy team of people. I had also met
the few guests who were mostly business people who were staying a few
days and then flying out on the daily flight, either to Fiji or the
Marshall Islands.
The only tourists were a British couple, Malcolm and Yvonne, who were
doing a fascinating tour of the Pacific and fulfilling a life long dream.
They had flown from Fiji to Funafuti, as it's pure remoteness appealed
to them. Also, Malcolm knew Tuvalu from the stamp collecting world.
Each day the couple would sit on the verandah contemplating the weather
which hadn't been very kind to them during their Pacific adventure.
However, they made the best of it, and were often in the waters of the
lagoon, in front of the hotel, snorkeling in the wind and rain.
A few other intrepid adventurers came and went, as Tuvalu must be one
of the most isolated holiday destinations which still has a comfortable
hotel. To get there, from almost anywhere in Europe of America, would
take days and involves at least three to four plane trips.
The weather didn't improve for another week as strong winds gusted up
to 80 kilometres per hour. A cyclone 600 kilometres to the south was
forming, and was expected to move further South. There is a saying in
Tuvalu that Cyclones are the best export the nation has, as the waters
around the area are the breeding ground of most South Pacific Cyclones.
After a few days I did manage to get out to 'Shackles", and took down
all the loose covers, but I had already left this too late for my dodger,
which had been shredded. During my stay at the hotel, I had befriended
Jefata, the captain of the Tuvalu Maritime School, which is situated
on an outlying atoll. He was aware of my predicament, which was all
too visible from the hotel, so he offered me a mooring in a sheltered
bay at his school, some 20 kilometres away.
If only I could get there, I would have jumped at his offer!
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©Tony Herrick 2001/4 exists on ALL material on this website.
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