Helping out in the Hermit Islands: it takes a (global) village

Even without the incredible experience of swimming with whales, the Hermit Islands are indelibly impressed in our memory bank. We had a lot of fun in Bob’s company. His English is very good, and he’s happy to spend time talking- so we are able to learn a lot about the islands and the people who live there.

Group computer lessons at Bob’s house

One of the first things Bob mentioned to us is that visitors from a small cruise ships that called into the Hermits earlier in 2012 gave them a laptop computer. He was away at the time, and his wife Evelyn kept it safely stashed for his return, but nobody knew how to use it. Could we help? Of course! It’s so nice to be asked for assistance that we can readily provide. Jamie spends a few days installing programs like Microsoft Office, Acrobat Reader, freeware photo editors, OpenCPN (the open source tool we use for chartplotting) and more. Then, it’s a few long sessions of Computing 101 (and 102, and 103)– first with Bob, then with other members of his family.

We run into a few hiccups getting the machine set up. First, we can’t get OpenCPN to install correctly. The route planning aspect of this tool is going to be very useful to the islanders, who routinely make extended journeys in open boats: months being away of fishing to earn kina, or multi-day trips to the provincial capital for anything they can’t grow, build, or trade for in their remote location. The loss of life at sea is a sad reality. They are gradually getting tools such as handheld GPS units and this is one more tool to help.

The problem is, despite having what we’re sure are all the right components, Jamie can’t get it to work. There’s no internet access, only text-based email through our radio. It feels frustrating, the end of a string of activities in setting up the computer that remind us how many companies presume always-on internet. Forget always-on. We don’t have anything!

Jamie thinks to get in touch with a cruising-savvy friend stateside, and ask him to tap into resources we can’t access. Tim immediately jumps in. He’s dialed into a number of cruising forums and message boards, so able to get the questions out to a relevant and interested group, and then digest and funnel information back to us. Jamie and Tim go back and forth over a few days with troubleshooting: we can usually only connect in the early morning, and then gain in the evening, so we can’t just “check email” anytime for a rapid dialogue on progress. But with Tim’s help from across the ocean, bringing forward into the ideas of other sailors and even getting in touch with the developers, the problem is successfully resolved. Hermit Island seafarers now have access to great routing and planning tool, and we have a great experience of the broad net of mutual aid.

Other problems crop up related to the lack of internet access. Most software manufacturers presume always-on internet, or at least on demand access. That’s not possible here, of course.  But this means we’re struggling to get a basic document and spreadsheet capabilities. These are both key, because Jamie has been working with Bob on putting information together to help islanders interact with visiting boats (to share their amenities and sights, and also ensure visitors know their guidelines) and a spreadsheet to help with community finances. There’s a copy of Office installed, but we don’t have the license key. We actually have an older, never used copy of Office on Totem- with the key- but internet access is required to activate the program. Otherwise, it will lock up after a limited number of times it’s opened.  And of course, we can’t just go download freeware.  It’s frustrating and gives a sense for some of the hurdles that exist for the people who don’t have what we consider basic digital utilities in the first world.

The arrival of our friends on sv Sea Glass is timely. They’ve got a sat phone, something that hasn’t fit into the budget on Totem. We outline the problem with Jon, and he’s happy to give sat phone data to enable the connection and get the license key registered. A short time later- success! The laptop for the Hermits is ready to go.

This is just one little peek into how disconnected life in the islands can be. Life looks idyllic, tropical-island-paradise on the surface. But people want to participate in the modern world, to have access to information and choices for their lives, and it’s not easy.

Arriving in the Hermit Islands: typical of our PNG experience

Our arrival at the Hermit Islands was hardly auspicious. After two nights at sea with all the squall dodging fun the convergence zone has to offer, our morning arrival is darkened by thundercloud formations on several sides.

Looking down at the main village: Luf Island, in better weather

The Hermits are a group of volcanic islands, inside a lagoon roughly 10 miles across and surrounded by a barrier reef: much like the Bora Bora and other Leeward / Society Islands of French Polynesia. We hope to enter on the northeast side, but it’s a narrow entry and we don’t have good enough light to discern the reef from the passage. So we continue to the west side, where the entrance yawns to nearly a mile wide. Even with the latest squall dumping rain in near zero visibility, we can see well enough to make through that large opening. There’s none of the crazy current or wave action we found in Pacific lagoons so it’s an easier call to make in these conditions.

The Navionics charts we’re using turn out to be pretty accurate, but we don’t know that yet, so although Totem is safely inside the lagoon (and enjoying a much more comfortable sea state) we make slow work of picking our way through islands and reefs to the anchorage off the main village. Adding a minor bit of drama, both of the meat lines behind Totem pick up beautiful fish: a bigeye trevally, and a nice Spanish mackerel. So with one eye on the reefs, another on the squalls, and then juggling landing two fish- things get a little busy for a while.

As Totem nears Luf’s main village, we circle the bay to suss out a suitable spot to anchor. It’s tricky, because depths of 135’ and above are adjacent to coral heads that nearly break the surface. Then, as so often happens in PNG, a villager paddles out and offers local knowledge to the bumbling visitors. We have a standing joke about “the welcoming committees” who greet us, but it’s a lovely gesture that has been the norm here. We’re welcomed, aided in safely anchoring, and have a chance to ask questions- so we can work out who the chief/elder is (to bring a gift and formally ask permission to be there) and any guidelines locals have for us- as well as any requests we want to make. It’s a friendly exchange.

This time, our welcoming committee turns out to be the Hermit’s elected government representative, Bob Poplis. We invite him aboard, and give him one of the fish we caught on the way in.  At times like that, it seems ironic that so many cruisers choose not to come to PNG because of safety concerns. To be sure- there are very dangerous parts of PNG- but our experience in these outer islands is typified by this kind of friendly aid. With assurance that a particular mooring is secured to a large anchor (and some chain which probably wraps around a chunk of old coral rock), we tie up and relax.

We learn that the Hermits don’t receive many visitors (the registry book ashore indicates that as 2012 draws to a close we are the 15th boat in for the year), so we represent both a curiosity and an opportunity. Bob is eager to help us learn more about their islands and is attuned to things we’ll probably be interested in: the narrow pass where giant mantas feed, anchorage views from the top of their volcanic peak, islets with seabird rookeries, and more. He shares their guidelines: that we check in with him on the things we want to do and places we want to go. We share ours, which is simply that we’re tired from the passage, and a little unwell, and would like to have a few days of quiet.

And so Bob paddles back. We put the boat away from our passage, retreat to rest and recover, and barely move for a few days of drizzle, movies, books, and sleep!

Reader questions: fair trading

When we were in Jayapura this past week, we were able to get online in a meaningful way for the first time in months. It was fun going through blog comments- some great questions that come through the here and on our Facebook page. Here's an excerpt from one:

"Being both a person who'd "give the shirt off his back"...and extremely frugal (my wife might agree with the word "cheap")...I've often struggled with the concept of trading when there is no set 'price' - or haggling for that matter. How do you come to a "price" that is "fair" so that by the time you are sailing away you haven't traded $100 worth of batteries/shirts for a bunch of bananas and coconuts? A few islands of that and our cruising kitty would quickly run dry."

How to handle trading was probably one of the top ten questions I had before we went cruising. Even having the experience of living overseas in places where prices are always negotiable, haggling isn't something that comes naturally to me- as I suspect it doesn't for a lot of Americans; it's not part of our culture. Trading as a cruiser was a mystery.

It turned out that trading was not necessary or routine in most of the places we visited on the path to Mexico and then the coconut milk run to Australia: the countries we went through had cash economies, and provide even remote islands with access to goods. The notable exception where trading opened doors was in the Tuamotues for pearls... stash some rum for that!

As soon as we started down the less traveled path through Papua New Guinea, everything changed. But the trading we did in PNG's islands was not about hard bargaining. We had things people wanted, they had things we wanted, and it was a matter of putting those things forward until an agreement is reached. There is no haggling, really: this is very low stress compared to, say, a handicraft market in South Africa.

In a typical scenario, someone would arrive at Totem with fresh fruit or vegetables, or maybe eggs, or the offer to catch lobster. I'd find out what they want- food? clothing? fishing hooks? Then, offer what feels right from our stores based on their interests. For a basket gorgeous papayas, a kilo bag of sugar? For a half dozen carefully peeled drinking coconuts, a handful of small hooks? OK. Or, not OK. If the person you're trading with wants something different, or wants more, they'll tell you. Maybe they need a new band for a spear gun, maybe they need nails. For the most part, people were very reasonable- not trying to work us over for the best possible deal, just trying to work something out.

Where trading was sometimes less enjoyable was with people who would come asking for things, over and over, and have little to offer. Well, there's no obligation to trade at all- so just say no thanks, and be done. There were a few anchorages where we were bothered by people who seemed to think that if they just kept asking, eventually we'd be worn down and submit. I'm sure that's worked before, but we try to avoid setting or reinforcing that kind of precedent.

Trading for the beautiful model of the outrigger sailing canoe was more involved than the usual boatside veggie exchange. The artist wanted kina, PNG's currency, but we didn't have any (this was weeks before we cleared into the country, and hadn't seen a paved road or stores yet...but that's another story!). So Jamie spent about two hours sitting in the cockpit one morning, offering things to the Rubin, until he'd reached a level of goods that represented an acceptable trade. Jamie would keep going through things we had available to trade, or Rubin would ask for something he wanted, and eventually a deal was struck. It was a pile of stuff, from a snorkeling mask to line and tools and more, but we didn't exceed what felt like a fair threshold for the time and effort that went into creating this beautiful model. Everybody was happy.

If benchmarks help, think about what you'd pay to buy something if you could- and what it cost you to get what you're offering. Is that pineapple, which might be $5, a fair trade for the 1 kg bag of sugar that might have cost you $1.50? Yet while you can think about it in terms of the value of the items being exchanged, but think of it this way, too: when the ONLY way for you to get a fresh pineapple, and the ONLY way for them to get a bag of sugar, is to trade- so that isn't necessarily a great benchmark, but maybe a way of estimating how close or far you are from what's reasonable. We really found people to be very fair. I remember giving a guy in Kavieng a two kg bag of rice for a couple of lobsters one day. He was thrilled and insisted it was too much, then showed up the next day to give us three huge, beautiful papayas from his garden. Wow!

Oh, there were times when we made deliberately unbalanced trades. When a child has paddled miles with a handful of tiny tomatoes, or a pretty shell, and asked for things that represent basic needs for food and clothing- I'm happy to give. We didn't need another pretty shell, and those tiny green tomatoes weren't going to be any good, but we kept a stash of baggies that could be quickly filled with a small amount of rice or sugar or whatever was requested. How can you turn down a kid in rags who wants a t-shirt, and has paddled from a neighboring island with something they hoped you would want, when they saw your boat from afar?

Ultimately, if you're going to an area where you anticipate trading, research a little to find out what people will want. We raised the waterline with the volume of stuff brought on board in anticipation of trading. Most of it wasn't costly: staple foods, boxes of fishhooks. Clothes which we mostly expected to give away, and got both by purchasing from thrift stores, taking donations at the kids' schools, and paring down our own wardrobe. These things are then sunk costs to you, and you're not going to run down your kitty trading them...or worry to much about whether the bargain your striking is a fair one. It's going to work, or it's not!

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Evening discussions at Tunung Island

We were grateful for Paul’s help finding the shipwreck in Three Island Harbour  and enjoyed his company, so invited he and his family out in the evening.

Beautiful sunsets near New Hanover Island

Paul paddled out to Totem after sunset; sitting in the evening breeze and eating dinner together, we talk about his home. He grew up on the adjacent island, attending school until he was a teenager and his father told him to fail the test to pass to the next grade. He was needed at home to help with the family’s fishing. Piloting the boat for years evolved to work at the small resort on Tunung, helping drive tourists around to dive or surf sites. It’s closed temporarily, but it’s given him a good living: the owner helps support his employees with not just cash but goods and materials they can’t easily access otherwise, such as lumber and nails for their homes.

Like a lot of people we've met in PNG, Paul is smart and frustrated. Tourism gives him the exposure to how much he’s missing, and the near impossibility for people to get ahead. He wants to save for his children’s future, but can’t use a bank – there isn't one that’s practically accessible (the only transportation, private boat, translates to a fuel cost that’s too high for a casual visit- probably a month’s earnings- and fees charged for small accounts only deplete meager savings). He sees the ripple effect of logging on adjacent New Hanover. Elders sign away rights to their people’s land for grossly undervalued payment and without understanding the consequences of clear cutting. We hear that often, the land is appropriated without consent- that the power of money shifted to the right hands overcomes obstacles, and put signatures on documents from people who may not even be alive. Workers brought in from outside the local social structure introduce alcohol and violence to communities that can’t sanction them through traditional means, and don’t have the public services to handle the fallout. Fish are getting harder to find, as massive ships take everything from the waters when they pass through, making subsistence living that much more difficult. The wealth being extracted is massive, yet he has no opportunity to participate, and none of it goes to basic public services or improvements. For all the money being earned by a precious few, there is still not a road to connect the coastline of New Hanover, the schools are under-served, there is no public transportation or regular boat services connecting communities, and meager health “clinics” sprinkled through islands are under equipped and staffed.

Paul has every right to be extremely angry. To be sure, he’s frustrated: with the foreign companies that take blindly, with the government chooses to be bought instead of supporting the people they are supposed to represent. But he’s not an angry person. He doesn't accept it, but he doesn't know what to do. How can people organize, when they don’t have communication or transportation, much less running water, electricity, or other basic public services?

Talking into the night, feeling the pain of his helplessness, we try to think about the possibilities. Why does PNG seem so far off the radar of environmental and social justice organizations, or NGOs who can support better lives? The only imported goodwill seems to be missionaries, but spiritual fulfilment doesn't feed your family or send your kids to school. There are opportunities for tourism, but the cost, corruption, and  infrastructure get in the way.

Schoolroom poster about modes of communication in PNG

The local ‘wantok’ system factors meaningfully here too. Wantok, a tok pisin word that comes from “one talk,” refers to the circle of a greater extended family (it can also include friends). In PNG, the wantok system obligates members of an extended family to help each other out. This is a subject for much more detailed explanation, but suffice to say here that this works well in a lot of ways- strong family ties mean that children are raised by a village, food is available for the hungry, elders are cared for by their grown children. But it’s also a limitation to progress. There is little motivation to achieve success for many when it means all their wantoks will come to them with their hands out: they cannot be refused. The wantok system also means that jobs are handed out based on relationships, and not merit. Money and opportunity go to those who have family connections.

It’s a complex problem, and one we’re not going to solve with our late night cockpit discussions. But as Paul paddles away, it’s impossible not to dwell on the big changes needed for people in PNG.

Working around New Hanover, PNG

En route to the Hermits, we spent more time than we originally planned at Ungalik. But we feel the need to keep moving west, to try and get as far as we can towards Indonesia’s Raja Ampat before the seasonal northwesterlies set in. Still, we couldn't resist the lure to linger a bit longer near New Hanover.

Visitors come to Totem in all manner of flotation devices

Tunung (erroneously labeled “Dunung” on our charts) has a large WWII ship and the wreck of a submarine to find, and a great position to jump off for the ~320 nm trip to the Hermits- so off we go.

Working between New Hanover and the fringing islands, we see one sweet spot after another. Islets that look to too perfect to be real pass in our wake: white sand, palm trees, pods of dolphins. Beautiful swells curl great stretches into sandy shores; I suspect we are passing world class, barely touched surfing spots. Not to mention, the waves look less lethal than most of the dumps into the coral reefs we've seen. But it’s not all rosy behind the lush scenery, since we've been warned about theft and danger around the logging camps along the larger island, and want to pick our anchorage with care.

With the anchor down at the Three Islands Harbour island of Tunung, we dinghy in loops around the area where we believe the wrecks to be located. If there was ever a time I really wanted a fish finder or depth sounder in our dink, this would be it! We know we’re in the right place, but the ship eludes us. It doesn't help that we've started out with poor light in the back half of the afternoon, with high tide, and poor viz in the water. Just as we've pointed back towards Totem, a dugout is launched and begins paddling towards us. We motor over for hellos and meet Paul. He knows exactly where the wreck is, and takes us to the spot.

It’s magical, and somber. A large ship lying on one side, a few meters below the surface. Knowing we're over the sunken tomb of the crew feels heavy. The sides are surprisingly clean, but the biggest coral fans I've ever seen wave gently in the current. A school of large sweetlips hide inside, in the shadows of the hull. We drift silently with the current, awed on different fronts by the beauty of the marine life the knowledge of the real people who died beneath us. Back in the dinghy, we marvel over the size of the fish. I joke with Jamie about going back to catch dinner, but it doesn't feel right.

Only a handful of families live on Tunung. Many work at the small resort on shore, but it’s closed temporarily. Most of the island's children seem to be on Totem at one point in the afternoon, and they’re the quietest bunch we've met. We invite them aboard and sit in the cockpit, drinking cold juice and snacking on watermelon together. Old enough to attend school, we know they can understand some English, but they don't speak much- mostly just reacting to questions with quiet giggles and wide eyes. The junior crew on Totem is swimming around the boat, jumping off and climbing back up again like a big floating jungle gym, but they aren't able to lure the other kids into their fun.

Paddling to school on the mainland

School is across on the “mainland”, as they refer to the island of New Hanover (only 20 miles across, but the main island from their perspective). Children paddle their dugouts daily to attend school- older children helping to ferry the youngest. There are no helicopter parents here! I look at the stretch of water, and marvel that they even make it on a regular basis. But then I think of the kids back on Panapompom, who have a long barefoot walk over a coral path (trust me, this hurts even if you have toughened feet) and then get to cross a river with crocs so that they can have the privilege of schooling. The boy paddling ahead of us has a cracker tin which probably keeps his notebook dry, and parcel woven from coconut fronds that probably holds lunch.

How soft we are.

Zen and the art of not missing a field guide

My abundance of pumpkin and coconut got me started on that post about wanting a certain cookbook a couple of days ago, but while I'm thinking about the books that we wish we had on board, there's another that looms large. Or rather, it's not one book in particular this time, but a gap in our range.



We have been lucky enough to spend a lot of time in stunning tropical places, with the kind of clear blue water promising darting colorful fish and gently waving coral fans that you just can't stay out of. Just looking at the amazing things under the surface isn't enough, though, so we have a raft of different field guides to help us understand and interpret what we can see. In Mexico, they were region-specific guides that fed our knowledge of the fish, seaweeds and invertebrates in the Sea of Cortez. Launching out into the Pacific, we bought a guide that I believe is the standard: Tropical Pacific Reef Fish Identification, by Allen/Steene. What we I didn't appreciate at the time was, well, the whole prominence of FISH in the title and the fact that it doesn't touch on any other reef life.



Oops.



The thing is, fish are just one tiny part of what we see on the reef. Here in Papua New Guinea, the diversity of life on the reef is stunning, and easily surpasses what we've seen anywhere else in the south Pacific. The squid, the starfish, the corals, anemones, nudibranchs, sea cucumbers, molluscs, arthropods and more- for any information on these and anything else beyond the world of fish, apparently, you have to purchase a companion book. The same publisher offers one, of course- "Reef Creature Identification." And there's another beauty from the same authors, that covers a spectrum of reef life for the region in a single text- "The Indo Pacific Coral Reef Guide." A dive shop in Australia let me flip through their house copy, but there wasn't a new one to buy anywhere we looked in our last few weeks in Australia.



If money were no object, we'd have a sat phone on board and data to spend on ordering books to be sent by an international courier service. But even that wishful thinking is problematic, because we're just a little "out there" at the moment... DHL doesn't serve remote atolls in PNG. I'm pretty sure it doesn't even serve most of populated PNG dependably. And anyway, we're stuck for now and that's the way it is. It's just a little unfortunate.



We do have a great marine mammal guide. Sea birds of the world are covered. Shells, too, in a few different books. We even have a guide for reptiles, covering the turtles, sea snakes and fantastic lizards we see, to the saltwater crocodiles we hope we don't. But for the reefs, only fish. How did I miss this?! It is times like this- realizing we can't having a gap in our books we really want to fill but simply can't- that being remote is a little frustrating. But then again, maybe a little separation from the instant gratification of the first world isn't such a bad thing. It's another chance to pull out a favorite catchphrase: if this was easy, everybody would be doing it!



Eventually, yes, we can get a guide book to cover this gap. Maybe we'll have visitors to Totem (I'm hoping some of our family or dear friends come out to play with us in 2013!), and they can pack along goods from home. But maybe we'll be waiting until dependable international mail service. Unfortunately, that is a few thousand nautical miles and many months ahead of us. Meanwhile, we sail through the most biodiverse part of the world.



Cautionary tale I suppose. But for now we're just going to have a good time making up names for what we see, and daydreaming about the possibilities of what they eat, how they poop, and how they reproduce.



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The Boat Galley Cookbook - all I want for Christmas

It's time to make dinner, and I'm looking around at the galley and wondering for the Nth time in the last few months, what I can do with pumpkin, coconuts, and ibecca (the mucilaginous leafy green that grows on the islands here). I'm running low on inspiration and it's not an option to tap ingredients into Google for a recipe. And I'm really wishing I could have gotten The Boat Galley Cookbook before we left Australia.



Jamie and I really love to cook. And we're lucky, I guess, that we don't have picky kids. They're game to try just about anything and "I don't eat _____" just isn't a phrase that comes up on Totem. So this should be easy, right? But we do have standards, and so while they are easy to please- going on repeat from a limited range of long term stores just isn't what we do. And besides, fantastic fruit and vegetables are showing up on our boat daily whether we want them or not. It's criminal not to use them.



This all serves as a reminder to me that the tried and true cookbooks from our prior shore life don't work well once you take off cruising. OK, more accurately, they particularly don't work well when you are far from recognizable grocery stores, and at the tail end of provisions purchased a few months prior. I've got a few cookbooks on the boat right now, but they tend to assume it's no problem to have things on hand like fresh cilantro or maybe some goat cheese or god forbid a bit of prosciutto. No, no, no! I dream about these things, but I have pumpkin and coconuts.



I just need some recipes. Recipes that will help me use the funny things we find out cruising in the tropics. There is a whole lot more to do with a papaya than reflect on your Maui vacation and how good it was with a lime squeezed on top. I know this now, but that's not helping me. I need recipes don't assume I have those ingredients that were once mundane, but now exotic. Recipes that understand cruisers run short on things like eggs and dairy, and offer alternatives to compensate (pre-cruisers out there, just figure out now how to make an oil based pie crust, and thank me later).



There are plenty of reasons why a good cruising-specific cookbook is important to have on board. As a newbie cruiser, they're great for guidance on storing fresh produce (so your oranges don't make all your tomatoes turn early), how to substitute when you don't have an essential ingredient, how to provision intelligently, or how to make those things you loved at home but can't buy in a distant port (I'm calling it a tie between yogurt and English muffins). This recipe wallowing just happens to be the reason I'm feeling a cookbook gap most keenly at the moment.



I've followed The Boat Galley's website for a while- it's got a lot of helpful tips and good recipes, and the co-authors have tons of cruising experience. I know this cookbook is going to be a winner. It's just a little complicated, since we left just as it went to print in October, and haven't even had the internet access to get the Kindle copy.



So Santa, husband dear, Universe- here's the deal: Christmas and my birthday are 4 days apart, and The Boat Galley Cookbook is what I'd love to see under the Christmas tree. I mean, under the mocked-up, tree-shaped fairy lights against the bulkhead, decorated with taped tinsel and paper snowflakes.



Please?



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But where is the soy sauce?

After anticipating cruising for years, you'd think we have plenty of time to optimize space used in Totem's various lockers, shelves, and other stowage areas. We'd know exactly where to store those things which fill out the essentials of life afloat, along with plenty of the extras which make life fun.

Hah! Even after four plus years, we still have a long way to go to reach storage Nirvana. I'm skeptical of any cruiser who claims to have it nailed, although there are many who may combine an OCD tendency with fewer complications than the Totem crew (*cough* IT'S THE KIDS, REALLY *cough*) to achieve such exalted status.

The thing is, we still have too much on board.

Despite massively purging the "stuff" in our lives, we still have too much kicking around. Keeping things organized and, well, findable is a constant challenge. I was told by a long term cruiser once that the basic rule was that for every item brought on board, something had to be taken off. That sounds great, and it's a good principle, but often not really practical.

Then, there's the little matter of finding what we need, when we need it.

I have an Excel spreadsheet I use as a guideline for provisioning. Columns along the row of each staple listed identify where I've stored the many things on the list. And you know what? Some of those items actually are correctly stored in the coded location. The problem is that storage is dynamic. We'll move things as one locker gets empty to avoid things banging around, or find we need to shuffle items to accommodate something of a particular size. Somewhere along the way, the tidily noted location on the spreadsheet becomes meaningless. At the moment, I know we've got soy sauce on board somewhere. I know it in my heart, I really do! But darned if I can find it. Call it spreadsheet fail...I've looked everywhere. How does a 750ml bottle of Kikkoman get lost on a boat?

There's a lot of context needed to name essentials.

Before personal preferences throw all rules out anyway, the differences in short vs long term cruising and provisioning options in different parts of the world and priorities of the crew make a "top 10 essentials" the stuff of cute glossy magazine articles but not practical reality. What we needed when we left Bainbridge Island is different than what we needed when we left Mexico, which was different again from when we left Australia. When we cleared out of Queensland in September, we dedicated an insane amount of space to items for trading and giving away for our months in Papua New Guinea. It really was essential for the last few months, but certainly not something we had not needed to do previously.

Our priorities, and our biggest space splurge, reflect our family's specific interests and needs. Because we have three children ranging from 8 to 13 years old, that means resources that support their learning as we travel, and the things that are special or important to them.

We have a ridiculous number of books, from my childhood set of Little House in the Prairie stories to the set of encyclopedias. I think we must have a few dozen different field guides, from the coffee table variety you can get lost in learning from, to the quick references that help us make the most of identifying the plants and animals around us. The advent of ebooks, something we didn't really have available when we left, has helped us cut down a lot- although I still have a preference for flipping through the traditional printed versions of my well-thumbed guides. But all those digital books mean I have a deep stash of appealing reading available anytime (I won't pretend to have any fancypants taste, but I cannot get into the book exchange mainstays of sci fi and Patterson). I no longer need to stash the physical version to avoid getting twitchy. But still, it's hard to let go of the Patrick O'Brian set, even if we *do* have them all in ebook formats.

And then there's the space we take up with things we collect. We love beachcombing and have a large locker full of finds. Do we *need* these things? My goodness no! But we cherish them. I can look into a storage bin and picture the very beaches we found different treasures. I've got a big bag of shells waiting to be hot glued onto fairy lights...for three years and counting. Arrowheads, a dessicated swordfish spear, endless bins of shells.

Well, it is December. Maybe it's time to tackle those shell-covered lights.

Click on the monkey's fist to read others bloggers on this topic.

And then there were three

Two days after we swam with whales in the lagoon here in PNG's Hermit Islands, we were told one of the whales had died. At this point, the pod had been inside for eight days. This sad news didn't resolve questions about whether they would be able to leave, or if we could have a group stranding.



We gathered input from from a number of sources, thanks to help from friends and a network of forwarded messages to seek expertise. Contacts filter into our radio-based email account to offer assistance and help evaluate the situation. A group PNG fisheries department visited for several days, but they were focused on their task of surveying the beche de mer (sea cucumber) population and didn't have any input to offer. With all of us on site unfamiliar with the scenario, these expert opinions from afar feel like a lifeline.



Our fuel supply for the outboard is limited, so we don't have the luxury of regular runs out to the reef. But men in the village pass by in dugouts as they paddle several miles to gather trochus shells or fish on the outer reef, and bring back news.



The day after the fatality was reported, we planned to make another trip. Our friends from sv SeaGlass had arrived, with more fuel and more suitable cameras (our ruggedized point-n-shoot camera died, and I'm a little protective of my nice DSLR). We hoped to get a sense for whether the whales were in distress and the nature of any injuries. Not long before we headed out, an update came back to the village: after nine days in the small inner reef, all but three of the whales had left! What a relief.



We've learned that these whales are highly social. Researchers had suggested to us already that they may have come into the lagoon to allow a sick member of the pod to heal. We'll never know, but the fact that the pod left within a day of a single death lends credence to the theory. Visitors and villagers alike, we were all just glad the whales could get out! We were told situations like this can be the precursors to mass strandings, when the strong bond shared between the whales works against them.



When we got out to the reef, the remaining three were as curious about us as the pod had been previously. We moved in their direction, and they came cruising by to check us out. It was certainly a lot less intimidating to be in the water now, compared to the pod we had estimated to be at least 20. This time, all the children got in the water to share the magic: listening to the chirps and whistles, watching and being watched.



Two of them stick very closely together, nearly close enough to touch; the third is always close by. Is the whale unwell? Or is a juvenile just being given a little helicopter parenting? Either way, it's sweet to watch knowing how tight social and family bonds are in the species. We're hopeful that these whales will also leave when they're ready.



Our pictures are- well, they're OK. We'll get more posted when we have internet access, but that's still going to be some number of weeks. For now, I'm so grateful to have good news, and for the support from the folks at ORRCA, Whalesalive, Whale Rescue, and Sharksavers.



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Oh yes, whales in the lagoon! Oh no, whales in the lagoon...

On our second morning at the Hermit Islands, Jamie went ashore to meet with Bob, the village elder who is shepherding us during our visit. He came back to Totem bubbling with information, and after reeling through what he learned, saved the most interesting for last: a pod of whales was in the lagoon! Not only that, but the villagers were eager to take us to see them. Wow- and, yes!

And yet- "oh, no." The flip side of this exciting news is that the whales appear to be stuck. They are inside a small circular reef, maybe a half mile across, which is then inside the larger lagoon of the Hermit islands' barrier reef. They'd been there for a number days.

The villagers haven't seen this happen before: they are concerned for the whale's welfare, and have already tried to get them out. They have more than the usual lineup of dugout outriggers at their disposal, since a fleet of small fishing boats was provided to them by the Chinese fishing company they supply with live fish (the boats have a well, so line caught fish can be kept alive and transported to a trap until the mother ship pays a visit to the lagoon). But despite attempts to both lead, and to herd, they haven't been successful at getting the whales out of the lagoon.

The villagers wanted to know if we could help, but how can we possibly help?

Thanks to our friend Emmanuelle on s/v Merlin, we've been connected with a cetacean research & rescue organization in Australia (quick plug: Emmanuelle's gorgeous Dean 44 catamaran is for sale & ready to go in Brisbane! I think the details are at merlinsvoyage.com... someone please correct the address in the comments if needed). We can't get online from here, but we knew Emmanuelle- who has a doctorate in marine biology- could help hook us up with the right people. Check! And so we have traded email with ORRCA, and hope to have some guidance for the best path to take soon.

While we share info on the scene here and wait for feedback, it's impossible not to be wowed by what we experienced this afternoon. With Bob and Mata on board, we navigated out to the small circular reef. Almost as soon as we entered, the whales approached us directly. Groups of two or more would pass by the dinghy, while others stood off together- almost as if they were waiting their turn. A cacophony of chirps called out. After some thin jokes about becoming whale snacks, it was too exciting not to get in!

It's hard to explain what it's like to look at a whale, and have that whale look straight back at you. It is both exhilarating and a wee bit terrifying. To feel keenly observed, and to feel very, very small in their presence. These aren't the giants of the cetacean world, but they're no shrimp, and it's impossible not to feel a little intimidated when they hurtle by and check *you* out from just a few feet away.

Looking at our references on board, we're pretty sure they're false killer whales. False killer whales are actually ocean dolphins, not whales- like orcas, minkes, pilots, and other dolphins commonly referred to as whales. Whatever. It is a mindblowing, and will probably be one of our most memorable experiences from this journey.

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Oh yes, whales in the lagoon! Oh no, whales in the lagoon...

Jamie went ashore this morning to meet with Bob, the village elder who is shepherding us during our visit. He came back to Totem bubbling with information, and after reeling through what he learned, saved the most interesting for last: a pod of whales was in the lagoon! Not only that, but the villagers were eager to take us to see them. Wow- and, yes!

And yet- "oh, no." The flip side of this exciting news is that the whales appear to be stuck. They are inside a small circular reef, maybe a half mile across, which is then inside the larger lagoon of the Hermit islands' barrier reef. They've been there for 6 days.

The villagers haven't seen this happen before: they are concerned for the whale's welfare, and have already tried to get them out. They have more than the usual lineup of dugout outriggers at their disposal, since a fleet of small fishing boats was provided to them by the Chinese fishing company they supply with live fish (the boats have a well, so line caught fish can be kept alive and transported to a trap until the mother ship pays a visit to the lagoon). But despite attempts to both lead, and to herd, they haven't been successful at getting the whales out of the lagoon.

The villagers wanted to know if we could help, but how can we possibly help?

Thanks to our friend Emmanuelle on s/v Merlin, we've been connected with a cetacean research & rescue organization in Australia (quick plug: Emmanuelle's gorgeous Dean 44 catamaran is for sale & ready to go in Brisbane! I think the details are at merlinsvoyage.com... someone please correct the address in the comments if needed). We can't get online from here, but we knew Emmanuelle- who has a doctorate in marine biology- could help hook us up with the right people. Check! And so we have traded email with ORRCA, and hope to have some guidance for the best path to take soon.

While we share info on the scene here and wait for feedback, it's impossible not to be wowed by what we experienced this afternoon. With Bob and Mata on board, we navigated out to the small circular reef. Almost as soon as we entered, the whales approached us directly. Groups of two or more would pass by the dinghy, while others stood off together- almost as if they were waiting their turn. A cacophony of chirps called out. After some thin jokes about becoming whale snacks, it was too exciting not to get in!

It's hard to explain what it's like to look at a whale, and have that whale look straight back at you. It is both exhilarating and a wee bit terrifying. To feel keenly observed, and to feel very, very small in their presence. These aren't the giants of the cetacean world, but they're no shrimp, and it's impossible not to feel a little intimidated when they hurtle by and check *you* out from just a few feet away.

Looking at our references on board, we're pretty sure they're false killer whales. (Jody R-M., are you reading this? You probably know exactly what they are! Throw us a comment with your opinions if you see this!). False killer whales are actually ocean dolphins, not whales- like orcas, minkes, pilots, and other dolphins commonly referred to as whales. Whatever. It is a mindblowing, and will probably be one of our most memorable experiences from this journey.

Happy Thanksgiving!

From our anchorage in the lagoon of the Hermit Islands, a Happy Thanksgiving from the Totem crew!

We didn't have a turkey or play touch football in a leaf blown backyard, but it was a sweet Thanksgiving on board. The gray skies and misty rain were reminiscent enough of our Pacific Northwest holidays, although the tropical temperatures would never let us forget we're far from home. Celebrating holidays without a pantheon familiar hallmarks puts memories of good times in sharp focus, but doesn't have to detract from the present: we keep our own traditions to make the day special.

There have been some unsettled stomachs on Totem so we mostly laid low: playing games, reading books, talking. The kids read out loud from different books we have about the origin of Thanksgiving (the cleansed version, then one dosed with a bit more of 1620s reality). We reminisced about favorite Thanksgivings at home, from walking the beach on Bainbridge with the Denlingers and Pecoes to gatherings with our family in Bellingham. This segued easily into a game of Chicago Rummy, which we'd always play with the Castle clan.

The meal was a far cry from feasts of the past, but options here are relatively limited. Then again, we did pretty well considering it's about a thousand miles as the crow flies that separate us from shopping that would even remotely resemble the good ol' Town & Country Market back on Bainbridge!

There was never a question of having turkey. But we had chicken and gravy- even if it was the bird I had canned up before we left Australia, since shoe leather is an improvement on the island birds we've tried. Jamie shaped stuffing into a turkey shape that cracked all of us up when it came out of the oven: there WAS a turkey on the table now! Cranberry sauce was dug up from a hiding spot in the bilge, stashed there for the celebration. Niall was convinced that a pumpkin pie wouldn't taste the same unless it was made from canned pumpkin, since island pumpkins look nothing like the deep orange sugars from home. After a bit of a debate on the subject I might have just told him a little white lie and said I'd find a can to make it from. The snag is that I knew we didn't actually have any canned pumpkin on board (Australians eat lots of pumpkin, but I never saw it for sale in a can) so that was never going to happen; but we had traded for a nice pumpkin back at Ungalik island. I waited until after Niall pronounced the pie delicious to 'fess up.

Sharing the things we're grateful for around the table, I'm secretly relieved that some version of traveling afloat as a family still features for the children as something they are thankful for. Still, Thanksgiving is one of those holidays that makes me the most homesick, full of the memories of special people so far away from us. But doubts shrink in the flickring evening shadows of our little family circle, laughing and sharing stories into the night.

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Adventures in fueling

Refilling the diesel tanks aboard a boat is generally the simple process of a taking side tie at an accessible dock, where helpful staff assists in fueling your boat and processing your credit card. At least that's our memory of most of the developed world. However, it bears almost no resemblance to fueling we've experienced recently. Here's one recent day-in-the-life.

Take dinghy along shoreline to locate a "fuel dock." This turns out to be an iron riprap wharf. There are no pumps, just a concrete slab with some rusty bollards on top.

Return from scouting and figure out how to get boat into the dock. Understand that bay is literally full of wrecks and volcanic ash making charted data irrelevant. Be grateful that wind is near zero knots for tying up.

Discover that available bollards are massive, designed for large ships. Tie up awkwardly. Try not to get anxious about the fact that bolts that are supposed to hold bollards down are mostly cracked or missing.

Locate the office associated with selling fuel at the wharf. This turns out to be a 10 minute walk down a dusty track towards town.

Find out that fuel is only available by the 200 liter drum. Recalculate drums to purchase from gallons originally desired. Pool total volume for purchase with other cruisers, so everyone can get something close to whatever they want (since nobody needs a perfect multiple of 200 liters).

Pay for fuel: they take credit cards. At least something is simple! Cross fingers that card does not get put on hold from large charge in a third world country.

Get boat to dock, then return to the office so they know you're there and will have the diesel delivered.

Return to boat. Wait. After an hour, a truck loaded with the drums shows up. Yay! Truck leaves abruptly, without unloading drums. No! Feel confused.

Wait another hour. Truck comes back. Drivers decide to make small talk for a while. Chat a bit then ask if you can fuel up please. This seems to be what they were waiting for.

Peel metal cap off drum with pliers. Insert four foot long length of pipe provided by truck, at the top of which is a hand-crank pump and ten meters of hose.

Take hose to deck fill inlet. Hold a baja filter in one hand, and hose in the other. Realize baja filter is too big for deck fill, and you must also hold a funnel underneath it. Wish you were an octopus.

Call out to a man on the dock to begin fueling. Man manually cranks the pump and fuel comes bubbling and gurgling into the tank. Keep communication going with the man pumping, so he doesn't exceed the filter flow rate.

When fuel has been dispensed, prepare to depart. Discover that breeze has kicked up and is now pushing you directly into the dock. Eyeball rusty riprap and worry about how to get off sideways.

Return to anchorage. Realize this has taken all day. Kick back, crack cold local beer, watch sunset behind the volcano and be grateful for living in paradise- even if it does involve convoluted fueling procedures.

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Kicking around in Kavieng

Kavieng doesn't disappoint for a cruising trifecta of greats: surfing, diving, and resort-style relaxing. Couple that with a town has all the basics to top up provisions, and a resort that offers passive security while welcoming cruisers to enjoy the vibe and refreshments. It's no wonder people rave about this place!

Yet somehow, we didn't get quite as warm and fuzzy feeling here that we've had so far in PNG. Partly because it just wasn't as friendly... the betelnut juice stream that gets a little too close to be accidental, the kid on the wharf in town who needed a staredown from Jamie not to spit at our dinghy. Partly because during our stay, it was gray and squally: so the things that should be fun about being here were just a little harder to get out and enjoy, and the boat gets stuffy when we have to keep it closed up for tropical downpours. And partly because we were waiting for wind to continue west, but the wind never came, and the weather put a damper on finding fun as we played the waiting game.

That's not to say it was all gloomy. Hardly. I love poking around towns. With Emily in company, I tracked down the hidden customs office and second hand shops. The wax and wane of the public market through the week was always a feast for the eyes, and getting stuck in a thunderstorm just meant striking up conversation and making a friend. For snorkeling adventures in bay are a Japanese torpedo bomber and a sweet little reef with incredibly colorful, diverse fish and corals. Iona from Nalukai and I went to a special Thanksgiving service on Sunday, when congregations from around the area came into their "parent" church for annual giving... an event which pitted their choirs against each other (such sweet harmony!) and ended in a fantastic feast (best. fish. curry. evah.).

The resort on Nusa Lik is part aviary, and we never got tired of visiting. There's the old cockatoo, "Kaki", who is lame (broken legs, doesn't fly) but chipper and friendly and will talk to anyone in range. The hornbills, who are gorgeous and cheeky and will steal french fries off your plate if you give them a chance. The gorgeous parrots and birds of prey, and... the pigeon. Among these amazing, exotic birds- which are everyday features of this amazing country- the presence of what looked like nothing more than your average urban American rat bird was the truly exotic creature.

Giving up on waiting for wind, we topped up our diesel and then broke away a couple of days ago to begin working our way around the top of New Hanover under power. We will have to come to terms at some point that we are in the doldrums and between the change of seasons, and so there is probably a lot of motoring in our near future! Catching several Spanish mackerel softens the blow, and we hosted dinner on Totem for our friends from Nalukai and Muscat with a smorgasboard of fish dishes: sushi and poisson cru, and Jamie's special, pan friend with a butter/caper sauce. Another sweet reef, one we dubbed "the theme park" for the incredible variety offered in sample sizes. A lionfish, a sea snake, a pair of immense batfish, a seahorse, a lobster. It also had more anemones and clownfish species than I've ever seen in one place, and several massive schools of fish you could literally lose yourself in- all in 6 to 12 feet of incredibly warm water.

We're at Ungalik now, a little island near the top of New Hanover. On our own again, we were ushered in by a stream of dugouts as children came back from the "mainland" from school. We joke about how There is often a welcoming committee, and this time it's Lawrence. Giving him a fish we caught on our way in, he led us into a good anchoring spot. Later we were given a tour around the island, with an entourage of children that grew to something over 70 (who could count?). In the evening, a suprise boatside delivery of a mumu dinner of yams, cassava and smoked fish (looking a lot like the fish we'd brought in earlier!).

We really need to get west. I'd like to have time to spend at Ninigo, and we know we're on the wrong side of the season now. But it's OK: we'll get there. And while Ungalik was intended as a brief stopover, I can see our visit stretching through the soccer games tomorrow, and can imagine the hymns at church on Sunday...

Trading in the Louisiades: what will you get?

What you should bring to trade was covered in the last post; We knew we’d do a lot of trading, but we weren’t entirely clear on either side of the equation. Here’s a rundown of some of the things we traded for during our weeks in the Milne Bay Province of Papua New Guinea.

Lots of fresh food.




You can cover a wide range of seafood, fresh fruit and vegetables through trading. Unless personal or dietary constraints limit what you eat, this is worth considering when provisioning. We've been offered:

• Starchy tubers: more of the yam/cassava/potato/sweet potato assortment than we can eat
• Vegetables: pumpkin, ibecca (a slightly bitter green), cherry tomatoes, hot chilis, long beans, green beans
• Seafood: reef fish (no ciguatera!), mud crabs, crayfish/lobster, and squid
• Fruit: limes, green-skinned oranges, passion fruit, bananas (many varieties and SO good), papayas, and other fruits we'd never even seen before – like the soksok on Budi Budi
• ...as well as eggs, coconut crabs, and even a prepared dinner of whole chicken cooked in coconut milk showed up (it was just this side of shoe leather)

Gorgeous shells.

After a few years of picking up the odd shell on the beach, we have more than we should already- but we have been stunned at the beautiful shells brought to us for trade. Large tritons, helmet “conch” shells as big as your head, beautiful nautilus and cowries. We hardly needed to expand our collection but have trouble resisting some of the lovely shells brought to us.


Carvings and Crafts.

The wood and style will vary with the island, but the carvings are lovely. We had nice pieces made by Ishmael on Panapompom, and gotten a beautiful ebony seahorse on Budi Budi. Also on Panapompom, we acquired a beautiful scale model sailing outrigger from Rubin. This is just the beginning! There are also bagi, the shell necklaces which are historical (and current) forms of currency. Women do lovely weaving: we have beautiful baskets holding our fruit, and a soft pandanus mat on the floor of the main cabin.


Knowledge.

We found it was really worthwhile to get our trading partners to look beyond "stuff." People have generally wanted to trade in concrete items with us, and I've tried to show that we are also very happy to trade for a service or knowledge transfer…especially when we really didn’t want our 45th lime or 253rd banana (that stem had well over 200 on it!).

• On Panapompom, I spent a memorable afternoon having cooking lessons from a woman so I could better understand how local foods were prepared. Wendy was pleased to get flour and yeast to make bread to sell a visiting rally; I didn’t just learn a skill, I made a friend and gained cultural insights.
• On Budi Budi atoll, we got together with a few boats and organized a lesson in weaving pandanus mats. The church women's fellowship group was happy to share their knowledge and very pleased to get a stack of exercise books, pens and highlighters.
• On Panasia, we traded for help to guide us to the spectacular limestone caves. We might have found them on our own, but I doubt it, and it wouldn’t have come with the history and personal experiences that our guide could share.

We didn't need the things we traded for, but had fun with the process. Oh, it was a great way to supply fresh produce. I'm having fun collecting souvenirs of crafts and shells, something we really haven’t done much before. And the learning has been among my favorite experiences. I can imagine looking at the triton years from now, or attempting to bugle from the conch, and picturing the idyllic atolls where they came into our lives.

Trading in the Louisiades: what to bring

We knew trading would be part of the experience of cruising in Papua New Guinea, but failed to appreciate just how much. For trading in the Louisiades, here's what I would like to have seen gathered in one place before we left. This is based on our admittedly limited experience, through the western islands in the Louisiades- from Panasia through the Deboyne group- and Budi Budi atoll.


First, understand that trading is deeply ingrained as part of the culture: it is expected. Where there are no stores, and effectively no cash economy, trading is how many needs are satisfied. At the same time, there is a great deal of need. It's tempting just to give a pair of shorts to the naked kid that paddles out to your boat. We think that even when we are basically giving charity here, the formality of making a trade is still important...so while we didn’t try to drive hard bargains, we did stick to trading. When a dugout with three children come out with a pretty shell, a few green cherry tomatoes, and big smiles- some might call me a sucker, but if they want clothes- they all get clothes. They want rice? They get rice. But when the young fellow with a mobile phone and a watch shows up and presents a list of the things he would like visiting boats to give him, we wonder about the precedents that have been set, and just ask what he has to offer in trade.

So, what do people ask for? What do they need? Here’s what we heard the most.



Food staples: flour, sugar, and rice are the most common requests; also, yeast, onions and powdered milk.



Clothing: smaller children's clothing especially, but shirts (nothing sleeveless!) for all, longer shorts for boys, skirts to knee length for girls, and mid-calf for women. I did not consider or realize how conservative and modest the norm for dress would be, and many items in my stash to give or trade aren't useful except for the cloth they are made from. We took donations from friends and our children's classmates in Australia and have given away a large portion of our own wardrobes. For boats coming from Australia, ask at Salvos, Vinnies and Lifeline about bulk purchases. Many op-shops will sell clothing at a very low price-per-bag or price-per-kilo if you explain why you are collecting it.


Cotton cloth, elastic bands, needles and thread (aka "cotton"): a great deal of clothing is made by hand. Yardage of cotton cloth would have been a really great thing to bring. A dozen meters of elastic- so cheap at Lincraft!- would be gold. Most skirts/shorts for children and women, and many tops, are made by hand with these basic materials. I really wish I had appreciated this before we left.



School supplies for schools- dictionaries and books were especially appreciated, and the supplies mentioned below were all gratefully received. Our early reader books were a bit hit, since most instruction puts the kids into a crash course in English: teachers are often from different islands and don’t teach in the local dialect. Schools are reasonably supplied with exercise books and writing instruments, all things considered, but still strikingly sparse compared to what we expect.



School supplies for everyone else- exercise books / workbooks, biros (pens), pencils and erasers were often requested in trade. The schools themselves are often reasonably supplied with these, but it is a limited part of the population that actually attends school. Many children drop out very young: schooling beyond year 2 in many islands often means living for the duration of the term on another island, and fees are hard to meet for people who don’t live in a cash economy- both hardships for a family. But the pastor may need a notebook to help plan their Sunday school program. A carver wants a notebook to use for basic correspondence and to keep a record of his work and sales. A child who isn’t able to attend school still wants to practice writing. None of these people have ready access to writing tools.



Fish hooks and fishing line. Different places sought different size hooks; hooks are asked for more than line.

Hand tools for woodworking: large planes, chisels, metal files, handsaws, drill bits, clamps, axes, adz... a hand drill would be invaluable. I keep thinking of the men I met selling old hand tools on the sidewalk south of Kangaroo Point for just a few dollars, and wish I'd picked up a boxful. These are high value trade items.



Batteries: primarily D-cells. Only a few people asked about any other size. D-cells are used to power radios for news, and lanterns for evening light. We brought too many AA and AAAs, which hardly anyone wants, and not enough Ds, which we are consistently asked about.



Solar or manually powered lights, radios, etc. Devices that can be powered by an integral solar panel or manual crank is highly valued. You can get cheap garden solar lights to bring, but many of them are pretty light duty for “outdoor” gear- try to get something that will last.



Magazines. Magazines offer a glimpse into the outside world for people without regular external media. I really wish I’d gotten that stack of cheap National Geographic magazines spotted in a thrift store before we left Australia; they would have been gold.



Flashlights and headlamps. After lollies and balloons, a torch is the first thing children ask for- coached by their parents on that count I’m pretty sure! In a place where darkness falls early, anything that helps extend usable hours of the day is valuable.

We were asked a couple of times for Bibles, especially the NIV (New International Version). Carrying Bibles isn’t really our gig, but that might be helpful for others to know.

Boat gear. The following may be particularly valued in Panapompom and Brooker, as canoes are made in the Deboyne group, but the waga / solaus are used all over. We were asked for:

• Marine paint – not necessarily bottom paint; anything for the sailing canoes
• Nails
• Retired sails, or plastic tarp to use for outrigger sails and for shelters
• Hand sewing needles for sails, and 1/2mm nylon or synthetic twine to use
• We think a quality synthetic small diameter line (like Robline) would be very valuable for the lashing in outriggers
• "Silicone"- really, sikaflex 395, 3M 4200, or similar stuff for joined hulls. Many of the outriggers leak like sieves and there’s often at least one person on board who is continuously bailing
• Line- this fisherman below on Brooker, Frank, was seriously jazzed to trade a couple of bagi for a strand of new polypro line. Rubin so happy to get one of our old halyards and immediately put it into service as a mainsheet on his family’s canoe (their old poly line was hardened and cut into the fishermen’s hands)

Other things we've been asked for:

• printing or copying photographs, sending email. It's such an easy thing for us to do with what we have on board, but can be so helpful to someone without these capabilities
• baby bottles. I am a deep believer in extended nursing, so I cringe to say suggest a bottle. But the practical reality is that sometimes it's not possible, and mixed with the plump cherubs there are some very skinny babies here who might be helped by a bottle- they’re drinking water from coconuts. Another mother I spoke to tended her gardens on a very steep hillside, without any shelter; a bottle made it easier for her to leave baby with father/sibling/aunties for a few hours to work growing yams
• bedding. Most bedding is just a pandanus mat to lie on. we were asked a couple of times for a sheet or a baby blanket

One thing we haven’t been asked for directly, but which would be a great aid, is mosquito netting. Treated nets can be readily acquired at low cost through charity organizations (skip the camping stores, they are outrageous!), and would be a great thing to have for gift/trade. On Budi Budi, malaria is endemic but there is no health facility and many people do not have mosquito nets. Getting medical care means going to Woodlark Island, which in their sailing canoes takes one full day/night IF you have the right wind...and several days if you don't. This all means that people here, and children in particular, die unnecessarily from malaria for want of a cheap bit of netting.

Next post… what you’ll be getting for your trades!

Rabaul and Kokopo: WWII history and volcanoes

We had a very uneventful sail from Budi Budi atoll up to Kokopo, at the NE corner of New Britain island. I use the term 'sail' very loosely here, as we motored or motor sailed almost the entire distance- about 325 miles. The sea state matched what we experienced floating along the equator during Totems passage to the Marquesas from Mexico: a tie for the most board-flat, almost oily, seas we've seen. We saw schools of tuna but had no luck ourselves, catching only a skipjack (and nearly losing it to a shark as we pulled in the line).

It's in Kokopo that we officially entered Papua New Guinea, more than a month after leaving Australia. Quarantine visited Totem while I was ashore with customs: it was one of the easiest clearance processes we have experienced. Visas acquired from the consulate in Brisbane smoothed our entry. The official who completed our paperwork clucked like a mother hen over the children and wondered how we managed to keep them fed during our travels. She didn't let us go until we had been given an orientation to the locations of the public market and various grocery stores.

Kokopo is the first place we've been where I have reservations about our safety. It was in this area that the prior owners of a boat we met in Mexico, Rio Nimpkish, suffered a brutal attack that prompted them to end their cruising years. Last year, men armed with machetes came down a hatch into a boat anchored off town at night, tying up those aboard and stealing goods. They weren't seriously hurt, but it was a traumatic experience. But we've also been told these were isolated incidents in an otherwise friendly place. Our choice was to keep our visit brief, and to stay in the company of the boats we'd met in Budi Budi: looking out for each other and being available if needed.

We nearly passed Kokopo by, and that would have been a shame. It was extremely friendly: the kind of exuberant recognition that can go to your head. Walking to the market, it seemed like every other minibus or flatbed truck/bus going by erupted in waves and smiles and "Helloooo! Good morning!"  Students called down from a hilltop with big waves. Almost everyone I passed in the street offered a greeting.

This was our first chance to check out hardware stores (time for a coconut scraper and a machete!) and get access to the Internet. The market was fantastic and offered welcome variety after weeks of similar island produce. We supplemented our staples with sweet pineapples, gorgeous eggplant, fresh greens, fresh ginger, bell peppers, spring onions, even bits of iceberg and a cabbage so tender I could pass it off as lettuce. Prices at the grocery store are higher than Australia- sometimes strikingly so. Powdered milk (forget about fresh) was at least double. It's painful to see food costs so high in such a poor place, and think about how limited the options are available to locals.

Kokopo is on the south side of a volcanic rim, with the town of Rabaul about 10 miles across the bay. Rabaul is the official capital of the province but was devastated by volcanic eruptions in 1994. Most of the population was moved to neighboring Kokopo, but Port facilities remain along with one main street of 'haus kaikai' (restaurants), a public market, banks and a few shops. It's supposed to be safe from eruption right now, but it's still unsettling to look up at the rim of a still-steaming volcano from our mooring at the Rabaul Yacht Club. An earthquake one night created some disturbing wave action around the boat, although it nothing dangerous.

Rabaul is full of interesting sites related to WWII history and the surrounding volcanoes. To try and take in as much as we could, we got together with our companion boats to hire a mini van, driver and guide. Thankfully many of our group are were quite a bit smaller (we have nine children between three boats!) and we all managed to squeeze in, despite exceeding official capacity by a few bodies.

At the volcano, we were able to drive close to the base to hot springs. Not knowing what to expect, a few of us had tucked swimming suites into our bags for the day. Let's just say the boiling water we found was nothing like the hippy heaven hot springs we know from the Pacific Northwest! We might not have been able to go swimming, but a landowner who showed us around made quick work of boiling an egg in the steaming water to demonstrate.

Later, at the observation tower, a diagram helped identify from our high vantage point the many volcanic peaks around the rim of the bay. Several of them are new, the most recent mountain popping up in just the 19th century. Welcome to the ring of fire.

World War II monuments, ruins and relics were next. Niall has written up his experiences with the war relics on his blog, http://totemtravels.blogspot.com. It is incredible to see these tangible pieces of history: it reminds us how truly awful war is. Even when the lines of good and bad and motivation to fight are not as blurred as they are today, it is still cruel and devastating. It seems that the innocent still pay the highest price. In the tunnels carved by Japanese to load submarines, in my minds eye the Indian slaves who worked them huddled in the shadows on the side: thousands of them died during the war under the Japanese. In Admiral Yamamoto's bunker, a small circular room painted with regional area maps and a range map centered on Rabaul left the chilling reminder of their use for warfare. We visited just a few hundred yards of the thousand miles of tunnel said to exist around Rabaul, carved by hand from rock. Peeking from the damp air through the cracks to the sea, you can imagine where anti aircraft guns would have trained on allied bombers.

With the looming monsoon weather change and the prospect of a friend meeting us in Indonesia for the holidays, we felt pressed to keep going and moved on to Kavieng. It seems like we could always linger to learn more and enjoy every place we visit, but we're all looking forward to snorkeling the pretty water and wrecks in the water off New Ireland.

Before we left, we stopped off at Rapopo for a  night. It had been a huge treat to see the s/v Bobbie moored there when we arrived from Budi Budi: we first met Emily, the woman single handing Bobbie on her adventures, back in Mexico more than two years ago. Bobbie had been hauled for work about eight months ago, then abandoned by the crane which took her out of the water, leaving the boat marooned on the hard. She'd just been splashed the week before. After a companionable evening on board, she decided to take a vacation from boat work in Kokopo and catch a ride up to Kavieng with Totem. She's excellent company so this worked well for everyone!


PNG isn't known for cruising guide coverage, so here are a few tips to this area for those in our wake:

* Kokopo: the safest place to anchor is off the Rapopo resort. It's less convenient to the public market and facilities, but you can dinghy over or anchor shorter term there. We wouldn't trust the moorings but didn't dive on them (they do not belong to the resort and do not appear to be maintained). There's one sandy patch, but the bottom here is mostly hardpan coral and difficult to get the anchor set.

* If you do anchor off town, know that customs did not want boats there. We stayed 2 nights then moved. For a reasonable fee, security guards for businesses onshore can provide guards, 24/7, to watch dinghies and boats if desired.

* Kokopo is a great place to provision for food, fuel, propane, and other supplies. The prices are probably about as good as we'll get without going to the mainland. Diesel was 2.50 kina/liter during our visit, with a minimum purchase of a 200 liter barrel. If you have a lot of islands left to visit, check out the wholesale stores for goods from bolts of cloth to pencils and workbooks for trade.

* Internet is available from the Rapopo resort, through a direct plug in at the front office. If you'll be in areas with cell towers (don't bother if you're headed towards the Louisiades!), a Digicel USB modem is a good buy and readily topped up in areas with coverage. For boats coming west, I suspect the Digicel modems in Fiji work here with a change in the country setting.

* In Rabaul, the bay at is so littered with wrecks and underwater junk (mostly WWII era) that you may not want to risk anchoring. Nylon rope at both ends of the chain of the RYC's mooring was sketchy at best, so Jamie went down (only about 22') and secured our own line to the mooring base.

* Rabaul security: there are a LOT of kids hanging around the dock at the RYC. A boat near us had their dinghy somewhat trashed. Most was good natured from kids jumping and playing on it while they had it at the jetty while they were away on shore, but it appeared to have been deliberately spiked with something sharp as well. Consider hauling your dink up to the RYC (you'll want wheels) or asking the adults fishing on the jetty to help keep an eye on it. Many of them are mothers to the children splashing nearby.

* Touring: we got our guide and driver through the RYC. Ask there or at the hotel for a recommendation. Total cost was 250 kina for 1/2 day (about $125), 350 for full, plus 20 kina/adult or the guide. You need a lot of small bills to pay the property owners at locations you visit (typically 5 kina/adult).

* A few of our group climbed up the volcano rim. This is not recommended by the officials at the observatory, but a local guy is happy to take you up for 50 kina / trip. He is the traditional owner of the land adjacent and is at the hot spring site daily from dawn to dusk. The extreme ends of the day are best for this hike, as the heat on the blackened earth is brutal. Round trip (plus dinghy ride from the RYC) can be done in a couple of hours.

How to cook yams, with cultural lessons on the side

Yams and coconut are diet staples where we have been cruising in southeast Papua New Guinea. We have traded for many, but my first attempts at preparing them weren’t very interesting. One of the first women I met on Panapompom Island, Wendy, came on board to help me work out the secrets one afternoon.
The first step is to peel the rough skin from the yams. Before we began paring, she pointed out that the trader who brought these to me was giving away her seed yams. This time of year (September/October) is planting season, so she cut off the top couple of inches from each yam and reserved them to be replanted. Our lesson diverged into a long tangent on growing yams: the many varities, how gardens are owned, and who works in them.



Wendy used a paring knife she’d brought in her bag. Actually, she’d probably love to have a proper paring knife. Like a lot of knives we’ve seen, this was just a broken blade which had long since been parted from its handle, but served the purpose.

Next, yams were cut into similarly sized pieces (about 1 x 2 inch chunks) and put in a pot, to which about an inch of water was added. She said we should put some salt in. I asked if she used seawater, since anytime we can use a little seawater helps conserve our fresh water supply. “Of course!” was the reply- and felt a little like an idiot. Her potable water is collected from rain during the wet season, so her method conserves fresh as much as possible: it’s a precious resource. Of course. The pot was put on to simmer.

What makes these yams really good is fresh coconut milk. This is probably where my yams prepared on board fell short compared to what we tasted on shore. Wendy laughed at my cleaver and suggested I needed a "proper” bush knife to crack them.  She made quick work of getting a mature coconut cracked, and the meat cut out in chunks, but it was minutes instead of seconds with the right tools. Getting meat out of a coconut is a lot harder than it sounds. I’m already fascinated with how everyone from about the age of two seems to carry these big machetes around, and have another reason now to seek out a bush knife. Meanwhile, I’m collecting photographic evidence of PNG toddlers as knife experts.

Next the coconut meat is grated. Once again, we are lacking island-style tools. Most homes have a coconut scraper that looks a little like a footstool, with a wicked looking piece of metal off the end. Half of a coconut is inverted over the metal bit, and with some vigorous rubbing the meat inside is quickly turned into a pile of fine shreds. Our grater didn’t work as efficiently or uniformly, but Siobhan helped us to get the job done.

Next, the grated coconut meat is put into a colander or strainer over the yams. All Wendy really does is squeeze it by the handful to eke out a few tablespoons of rich milk, but a little bit of water helps. She didn’t do much more than shake a wet hand over the top of the pile to get enough.



I couldn’t resist breaking out a can of coconut milk, and showing her how we would normally acquire the creamy liquid. The very idea is anathema: we did a taste test, and of course, there’s no comparison to the fresh stuff. In the context of her home, though, Wendy was fascinated. Coconuts litter the ground, but canned goods are only acquired at relatively great expense and by traveling to another island. It embarrassed me, to be honest, and I quickly regretted grabbing the can from a pantry locker- but she just laughed it off.

The yams were tested periodically with a fork, and were cooked through in about 20 minutes. Scooped out onto a plate, we snacked on them as soon as they were cool enough to touch. Yams are cooked and eaten throughout the day. Children poking their heads out see the “dim dim” clutch them, and like children everywhere, don’t find a mouthful of fluffy yam to be remotely an obstacle for talking.

We’ve eaten yams like these on almost every stop so far in PNG. Even if I weren’t already a little obsessed with what we eat, it’s hard not to be drawn to understand these mainstays of a subsistence lifestyle.  The lessons I learned along the way from my afternoon with Wendy underscore how food offers windows into a culture.



Wendy and I had also talked about how to find new ways to engage with cruisers to her home of Panapompom island. She and her neighbors are interested in trading, and curious to meet people who come to visit. But visiting boats don’t always want or need what islanders have to sell. Bringing them a service to trade, like a cooking lesson, is a different way of thinking. It gets cruisers and islanders into the same space and talking together: anything that can elevate the conversation from how many papayas for a t-shirt has got to be good! Even if the lessons are just be about cooking yams, at the absolute minimum it’s almost impossible not to make a friend, and learn more about the beautiful and friendly place we’re visiting.

Pictures of our first month in Papua New Guinea

Thanks to the good folks at the Ropopo Plantation & Resort near Kokopo, PNG, we have enough internet to get a few photos uploaded. Hooray! Kinda makes me want to stay here another day, but we need to keep moving. Having a schedule doesn't suit us well but it's well worth the upside of meeting a friend... in December, in Indonesia. Yep, time to get headed west!

For now, enjoy the photos. There's a full set here on Flickr, and a few of my favorites below.



Just a swingset by the seashore. The propane tank at left is a gong to call the village. -Brooker Island



Lunch after church at the pastor's house. -Pana Pom Pom, Louisiades



Beautiful children. - Pana Pom Pom, Louisiades



I love kissing babies. With Elizabeth's family, Pana Pom Pom Island


The primary school children on Brooker, SO HAPPY to have a soccer ball!



Julie Toby and her baby girl  - Pana Pom Pom Island, Louisiades



Just a little drumming and dancing. -Budi Budi atoll

Reflections on provisioning

Public market, Zihuatanejo, Mexico

People everywhere have to eat.

This is a lesson I seem to need to re-learn periodically. A lot of provisioning, I believe, is really just the result of over thinking things from a fear of scarcity- and as a result, buying far more than necessary.

On the other hand, this is coming from the person who has a very large spreadsheet to organize provisioning needs (and cross reference items to their stowage location on board)- so you can take that with a grain of salt. But I think almost everyone we know coming across the Pacific had unused food confiscated by Quarantine upon arrival in Australia or New Zealand, and I'll bet that like ours, a lot of it had been on board since Mexico.

But the thing is, I really do love to eat. We all do on Totem. Food isn't just something that sustains us, it's something that inspires us and creates memories. So living on rice and beans between opportunities for provisioning isn't going to happen, either.

One way to think of provisioning is to break down your ports into a three rough categories.

1. The Rice Category. First, there are the little village shops, which fundamentally are the same whether you're in the sparsely populated coastline of Baja, Mexico or the remote atoll of Fakarava, French Polynesia. Most goods are packaged for long term storage. Many may have been on the shelf for a long time. The selection will mostly be national staples (is there any place you can't find rice?), but nothing so unusual that you can't base your diet on what's available.

2. The Ooo, Peanut Butter! Category. Then, there are the small towns: the places like La Paz, Mexico or Neifu, Tonga where you can find a public market for fresh produce, and a few grocery stores that will also have some refrigerated and frozen goods. This is where you can find a larger variety and a few imports - like peanut butter, which as the children get bigger, we seem to need in increasing quantities.

3. The I'll Have Sushi Category. These are the major provisioning centers where you can source nearly anything you want and extensive imported goods, although some may come at a price. Puerto Vallarta, Papeete, and Brisbane ultimately had pretty much anything we wanted- from wasabi to quinoa. We might not have wanted to pay the price of that foie gras at the Carrefour in Tahiti, but it was there; meanwhile the brie and baguettes were fabulous.

So don't do what we did four years ago, when I hauled multiple carts out of the Trader Joe's in San Diego as if we'd never see proper food again. The local food in Mexico was so fresh and delicious. It was much more fun to seek out the market in villages down Baja (meeting people and finding adventures along the way) than dig into the freezer for another steak. And don't do what we did two years later, we bought enough rice and beans to take us around the world. It was embarrassing and a little depressing to hand that over to Quarantine in Oz.

Think of provisioning as an arbitrage game. Stock up on things you love where they are cheap. Get those things you well and truly can't live without (my Irish Breakfast tea!) in bulk, but worry less about staples. You'll find those between ports, but meanwhile, you will have all of those little things that can make your day that much better...from your morning cuppa to sundowners.

In many cases our storage space has been better used for specialty items. We did manage to run out of peanut butter, but have arrived at that level 2 port just in time to resupply. Meanwhile, it is pretty fantastic to be able to sit in the cockpit here in North of Nowhere, Papua New Guinea, watching the sun set while nibbling on a little Camembert and good olives.

I've got a handful of other ruminations on provisioning in the blog- get em all here: http://sv-totem.blogspot.com/search/label/provisioning :

- Long term provisioning approach on Totem
- Stowing: finding space, tricks for making fresh provisions last
- French Polynesia: what's good, what's available, and costs
- Favorite provisions on Totem
- Local help with provisioning in Mexico
- Mexico to Australia: what we over provisioned
- Mexico to Australia: what we were really glad we brought

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