S/V Delos

Hamilton Island Daze- By Brian

2012-02-07T06:07:00.001-08:00

Hamilton Island, Whitsunday’s- This is Australia?!?!?

As I sit here writing this it’s been just over 9 months since we cast off the dock lines in New Zealand and headed back to the islands. 9 Months! It seems like just a few weeks ago we set sail for Fiji. Since then we’ve sailed just a bit over 8,000 nautical miles exploring Fiji, Vanuatu, Solomon Islands, and Australia, which is a pretty good bit of sailing.

The last 2 months were spent exploring northern Queensland between Cairns and the Whitsunday Islands, just east of Airlie Beach. We’d heard some good things about this area from nearly every Aussie we ran into (and a few Kiwi’s too) so decided to spend some time here. Our friend Rob came for a visit and took us to one of his old stomping grounds, Hamilton Island, where he worked about 10 years ago.

Hamilton Island is a peculiar place. There are no cars (only golf carts). There are 12 swimming pools. There are 3 huge resorts, 1 apartment building, and a bunch of multi-million dollar homes. There is a golf course, go-kart track, bowling alley, shooting range, chapel, gym, airport, night club, zoo, and some pretty sweet hiking trails. There are yoga and palates classes nearly every day. Sometimes on the way to the pub a wallaby hops in front of you and you realize “Hey- I’m in Australia!” Everything on the island (including the workers) are owned by Hamilton Island Enterprises. The only way on of off the island is by ferry so most of the 1,000 plus resort staff live there in company provided housing. It’s a little like living in a college dorm, but you have a job and you’re in your mid-twenties. It doesn’t take long before you start recognizing faces. The resort and Island as a whole caters to white, sunburnt, tattooed Aussie’s on their yearly holiday.

We pulled into the Marina and didn’t leave for about 6 weeks……. As marina guests (also owned by Hamilton Island Enterprises) we got full use of all the resort amenities, including some of the most awesome marina showers I’ve ever seen.

At some point I lost my entire crew as Brady, Paul, and Josje all had jobs on the island. I contemplated sailing to Brisbane by myself but the day before setting sail all three were laid off. On the same day! Is that fate or what? Crew problem solved.

So that’s what we’ve been doing for the last two months. Working at jobs, working on the boat, and doing a bit of diving and exploring on the Great Barrier Reef as you do. The pictures can describe it way better than I can.

Delos new home- the marina at Hamilton Island.

Not a bad tee right?

The famous Whitehaven Beach from top lookout.

The famous Whitehaven Beach.

Buggy (aka golf cart) parking only please…..

Delos amongst a bunch of stink pots.

Resting on the way to Magnetic Island.

Sunset in Cairns.

Cute little guy on Magnetic Island.

Sail art party!

The finished product!

Road trip (with real beer) courtesy of Rob and Nina.

Poo is just funny.

Time to get suited up. Deadly jellies here.

The crew going for a dive in the Whitsunday’s

Sweaty weirdo working on boat projects. Stupid refrigerator.

The crew working hard. Thanks guys!

OUCHY from Solomons

More OUCHIES from Solomons.

Yea for fiberglass!

Where Brady, Paul, and eventually Josje worked and got laid off from.

Is this guy serving me drinks today?

Or is it this guy serving me drinks?

Josjerama in her Aussie Park Ranger Costume.

Our mates that showed us some real Aussie hospitality by shouting us dinner on New Years Eve! Thanks a bunch guys!

Delos Down Unda- By Brian

2011-11-28T17:09:00.001-08:00

Delos catches our last fish leaving the Solomons and pays tribute with Beiber Fever!

We left Ghizo, Solomon Islands with a forecast for light and variable winds and were prepared to motor for a day or so looking for breeze. Fortunately the passage gods smiled and gave us 5-10 knots right out of the reef. This built to 15-20 and stayed with us for the entire passage giving us one of the best sails we’ve ever had! Just days and days of constant, beautiful beam reaching. And Delos really loves a good beam reach with the big jib unfurled and both main and mizzen pulling nicely. The seas were calm and the weather fair. This is the stuff you see in the movies. Just a sailboat alone in a great big blue ocean gracefully cutting through the seas. We had planned on a 6 day passage to cover the 850 miles between Solomon Islands and Cairns, Australia but arrived in just over 4.5 days. There were days on end where the knot meter didn’t dip under 8 knots, and often hovered around 9 for hours at a time. Doing 200 mile days in a sailboat is pretty fricking cool!

Customs and Quarantine officials were super nice and cleared us within minutes of arriving. By 11:30 we were playing the didgeridoo and by noon we were at McDonalds. Arriving in a new port is always exciting but getting to Australia is a MAJOR milestone for us. It’s taken 2.5 years and nearly 20,000NM of sailing to get here.

Playing the Didgeridoo.

Too much Macca’s!

Naturally when you spend time in the islands you get acquainted with the simple lives of the local people. The biggest, nicest towns in the islands pale in comparison to even a small city in a place like Australia. We walked around in a dazed state for a while mesmerized by the things that most people take for granted. There were sidewalks, water fountains, swimming pools, and huge buildings full of shiny things. Amazing stores stocked with every kind of cheese, vegetable, and meat one could wish for. We spent at least an hour wondering through Woolworth’s before settling on a bag of avocadoes, cream cheese, and some baguette. Yummy!

Amazing shiny things mesmerized us all.

Look at those fresh tomatoes!

So far we’ve:

1) Eaten at McDonald’s 6 times and now feel sick. Pretty sure that’s out of our system.

2) Saw Paranormal Activity 3 at the theater. No, it’s not related to PA 1&2. J\K!

3) Partied with backpackers at Gilligan’s and The Woolshed. And had way too much to drink both times. Felt sick and needed to eat McDonald’s to absorb the alcohol. Didn’t work. Josje did win a wet t-shirt contest though so that was cool.

5) Fixed our bike that’s been rusting away in the back locker for 7 months and broke it in the same day.

6) Spent countless lazy days lounging at the pool and BBQing at the park watching Zumba in the background.

7) Did our best to fill our bodies up with fresh milk and real juice, neither of which came from a powder!

8) Visited the home brew shop to stock up on beer making supplies.

9) Checked out this internet thing. Got bored with it pretty quick!

10) Found out that Moevember is in full swing and Aussie’s take it really seriously. Spent some time on our gnarly facial hair to fit in.

Stage 1- Full Bearded Sailors

Stage 2- Working our way towards stache perfection!

Stage 3- Watch out Moevember here we come!

G'Day Mate! - By Brady

2011-11-17T00:20:00.000-08:00

Delos is currently 640 miles from Cairns, Australia! She is sailing at an impressive 7.5 knots with 17 knots of breeze on the beam. At this rate we should make landfall sometime on Monday! We said farewell to the Solomon Islands yesterday morning and the islands gave us one last parting gift, a 4 foot Kingfish. The meat is white and delicious, similar to a Wahoo so we are stoked. The sailing has been perfect so far. Beautiful blue skies that fade into a bright moon, little swell and steady wind. We are 3 degrees further south then our most northern point in the Solomons and can feel them temperature slightly dropping. It is a welcome relief from the average temperature we saw of 100+ F. The vibe on Delos is bitter-sweet. We are all so ready to be in civilization but sad to leave our private paradise behind.

The past 6 months have a been a blur filled with: Crying children because we were the first white people they had ever seen, partying too hard with European backpackers, climbing live volcanoes, hanging out with cults, being adopted by a local tribe (of which Brian is the honorary chief), drinking the strongest kava known to man, diving some of the best dive sites in the world, WWII history, thieves, days so damn hot you can't move, and too many fish to count. Thanks to everyone we met along the way, see you next time...

Australia is a huge milestone for Delos. It has been almost 2 years and 10,000 miles since I hopped aboard in Mexico. Originally I was only supposed to be on for a month or so. As you can see that didn't happen at all. The great times have flown by and i'm finding it hard to wrap my head around actually being in Oz. This is where I have wanted to live since I was 7 and now it has seemed to all fall into place. I'm sure it will all sink in when we step ashore on the land of bloomin' onions, Fosters, baby eating dingos, and boxing kangaroos. Below are some of the things we have been talking about the past 6 months that we can't wait to enjoy. I'm sure most of you take these things for granted...

1. Eat at McDonalds and every other greasy, unhealthy fast food joint we can. If only they had a Taco Bell and Papa Johns.
2. Buy and eat an avacado
3. Drink the hell out of REAL juice and REAL Milk. No more of this powder shit, although if you take a spoon full of powder milk and a spoon full of sugar it becomes a hell of a party in your mouth.
4. Speak english with other white people. No thats not a racist comment..
5. Eat the biggest plate of Nachos we can find.
6. Rent a hotel room so we can take 3 hour showers and not worry about running out of water.
7. Go to a supermarket, not to buy things but to wander around and look at the selection.
8. Go to a movie theater and get sick off of cold coke and buttery pop-corn.
9. White women, No thats not racist either...
10. Fast, free, unlimited Wi-Fi....

This Is My Life- by Josje

2011-11-13T14:58:00.000-08:00

Chilling out in the Toa Maru, a Japanese Freighter.

Beneath the surface there is more, much more than I ever thought there could be. This rule applies to most things in our world; there is always more than meets the eye.

We live on what seems like a tiny insignificant spec of a sailboat compared to what is out there when you look into the horizon. There's nothing like sitting up on the bow while sailing and no matter how far the chart says you’ve gone, it seems as though you haven’t moved an inch. Its like the water never ends, we sail forward, but there is always more water to fill the view. Its actually really magical, I love the feeling and rush of grateful emotions every time I sit up on that bow. It feels so raw. So simple. Just me, on this boat, sailing around this ocean. Where the sky is free to touch the horizon all around, dotted by the occasional islands here and there. And its always lit up by such vivid beautiful colours, streamed with clouds that seem to go on forever.

This view is one of the best but the crazy thing is, its all above the surface. It’s a whole different story when you descend down below.

It was a little over 4 months ago when I took my first breath underwater. And a little before that, I remember being in Fiji, sitting on the deck of Delos, in the middle of hair braiding and other pirate gypsy activities that Brady asked me if I knew how to scuba dive. No, I didn’t even have a clue about the basics? Ok, you wanna learn? Of course! We had nowhere to be and nothing to do, why not. Within the next 45 minutes or so, Brady taught me the basics. He pretty much said that what most people learn in 3 days, I learnt in about an hour. How professional. It seemed pretty simple though; breathe through this reg, push this to inflate/deflate, this tells you how deep you are, blah blah. I just wanted to get down there and see what all the fuss was about! But it was ok, because I knew I was in safe hands, I felt confident (enough) and excited. 90 minutes after the initial question, we were off to the sand bar to learn. Feeling bombarded with information already, Paul tells me “Don’t forget to clear your ears” I hear Brian say “Oh yeah, crucial. Have fun Josjerama! You’ll love it”. And off to the sand bar we went, sitting on sand under 13 feet of water. Breathing.

4 months of really, really amazing diving followed. World class dive sites that people pay thousands of dollars to come out here (the Solomons) and dive. And here I am, a little novice diver, with no money, diving straight off Delos for free, down into the wilderness of marine life, vibrant coral, WW2 wrecks, and the occasional Cruise Ship that ran onto the reef. Lets just say the Solomon islands is a very random and cool place. And as I hear, its got the best scuba diving in the world. Not that I can compare, but with 30meters of visibility, warm waters, pristine coral and WW2 wrecks, I’m not going to argue. I know that wherever I go, nothing will be able to compare to the diving here.

With each dive, I learnt a little more about the aspects of diving. Back in Fiji, starting with the basic drills. Then moving onto safe depths and decompression, safety stops, neutral buoyancy, how to make sense of the computer, using the compass and all else that follows in Vanuatu. Tongoa wall in Vanuatu was my 5th dive, and my first deep dive, where we went down to 115 feet. Once we reached our maximum depth, Brady kept signaling if I was OK and I gave him the OK sign in return. It wasn’t until I looked at my computer that I realised that we were pretty deep.

Since then, about 20 dives have followed, including going down to 175 feet to see a Japanese troop carrier, where I first got narked. Now, that was fun. I started somersaulting over the masts of the fallen ship which now lie outwards parallel to the sea floor. The fish swam in a more interesting manner and Brady’s air bubbles seemed to feel amazingly spectacular as the glided up and passed my skin. There was an amazing bed of coral at 15 feet where we stopped for 3 minutes to do our safety stop. This was my first discovery of Christmas tree worms, so I spent the next 3 minutes flicking my hand inches away from the coral heads to see the little spiky colourful ‘Christmas trees’ contract and disappear. This was a fun dive. And to make it even better, we were greeted on the beach by a bunch of Kiwis who fed us with birthday cake and some classic old Solbrew beer.

But don’t get me wrong, every other dive has something equally as strange and amazing, but they’re also unique in their own manner. We found saki bottles and jap bullets in the Mavis sea plane, we dove down extinct lava tubes, sat in the cockpit of a B17 Bomber, did a gnarly drift dive, swam through broken portholes in a submarine and even leaped off sailing Delos with full gear on to dive down into an underwater cave, which takes you to an opening in the middle of the jungular island.

Getting ready for the leap

And we’re in the water swimming towards that little crack in the cliffs

Delos sails away

Exploring the Cave of the Kastom Shark

Dinghy full of Divers and Dive Gear

See, its things like this that makes me so happy I learnt how to dive, and so lucky that Delos has all the necessary equipment. Its made this whole experience even better than what's already above the surface. But for me, both feels so natural and half the exploring is underwater anyway.

Seriously, some of the reef dives that we do look like a movie set from finding Nemo or something. Its ridiculous! I never knew there was so much to see, to explore and to learn. And the wreck dives are even more incredible. At times it can be pretty intense, when you really take a step back and realise that these wrecks are some 70 years old, laying to rest at the bottom of the sea. When I’m diving, I often imagine what it would have been like to have flown one of the planes, or be working on board one of the ships. And to have been shot down in an intense struggle for survival. Or been bombed by the sly enemy hiding within the bush. And once you’ve been spotted and targeted its only a matter of time before your plane or vessel is sinking its way through the water, waiting for a thud to know its reached the sea floor. And now the stillness of those memories is what we explore.

When I look back on the past 4 months, we’ve had some pretty crazy times on Delos. Its just been day after day of new horizons and new adventures, it’s fucking great. We never plan where we go either, at least not until the day before or from word of mouth. We meet great people and sometimes they give us positions for their private island. Or we hear from the locals about all the secret kastom places, which often require a small kastom fee. And unlike other cruisers, we don’t wear shoes, which is a general sign that we are poor and have no money. We seem to glamour and sneak our way around these fees though, often trading the various clothes we have left, magazines, batteries, rusty drill bits and sometimes even used motor oil. And this is how we pay for our kastom fees, literally a heap of carvings and most fruit and veges. The fish don’t really have a choice of being caught and stuck in the grill so all in all, I say we’re doing excellent for the amount of money in our pockets compared to the stuff we’ve been up to.

Our ridiculous collection of carvings from Fiji, Vanuatu and the Solomons

In between all this, we still do manage to explore the many villages and islands. Like this skull shrine

And having a “lucky pot” dinner party with John and his Family from Roderick’s Bay

A relaxing day on the beach.

Chilling with some locals.

Exploring a very big cave full of bats. This cave was where Americans came to hide during WW2. We found some old tins bottles from that time.

Hanging out in the village.

Mary Poppins doing coral watch on the bow.

Unfortunately all this amazing world class diving, waking up and stepping off the boat into the crystal clear waters, no plans, beautiful sunshine, beautiful people, drinking beer and the occasional gold mining has to come to an end. We plan to spend another 2 weeks in and around Gizo, soaking up the last of the sun and the ocean of the Solomons before heading to Aussie land. Which in fact will be a whole different story, in a good way. Although I’m not so sure how our plans of trade for food, drinking and general adventurising will go in cities full of working, civilized people. Or so we think.. ? We are unsure of what the future holds but nevertheless, we are excited. Our enthusiasm will be through the roof when we rediscover real milk, juice that doesn’t come out of a packet, avocadoes, white people, buildings more than 2 stories high, the wonders of cars, bikes and trains, going out for dinner, going to the shop and buying anything we want, wearing clothing other than our bikinis or boardies, and McDonalds.

Not to say our simplistic and beautiful lifestyle will be greatly missed. But the most important thing is that we will all remember to take some of this life back with us.

Heading out to Kennedy Island for a day of diving and beach lounging.

Playing football in the Russell Islands.

The American WWII Memorial in Honiara, Guadalcanel.

World Discoverer Cruise Liner wreck in the Florida Islands.

Japanese Mavis flying boat int he Florida Islands.

Delos anchored by the Florida Islands.

Yummy coconut drinks from our villager friends.

Paul's snot ball after our Manta pass dive.

Island where JFK swam to after his PT-109 was sunk. Thus named Kennedy Island!

Inside the Toa Maru, a Japanese freighter bombed outside of Ghizo.

Double fisting Japanese Saki bottles.

Cargo hold of the Toa Maru littered with Saki bottles, bullets, and bombs!

Tools of the Trade- By Brian

2011-11-02T23:02:00.001-07:00

Tools of the trade for a nighttime pirate watch.

If I had $1 for every time I’ve been asked “So, do you carry guns?”, let’s just say I wouldn’t need to work when we arrive on Australian shores. Seriously, I’ve been asked this question a lot over the past years. And never, ever did the relevance sink in until recently.

Since leaving Seattle Delos has witnessed nothing but safe and hospitable locals. In Mexico we enjoyed the warm friendly smiles of the coastal towns and villages, never mind the drug related beheadings that plague the border towns. When we left the boat sometimes we’d close and lock the companionway door. We lifted our dinghy out of the water at night to ward off would be engine thieves. And we slept soundly.

In French Polynesia we felt so safe that we never locked Delos. We never even bothered to close the door. The deck was often littered with drying dive gear and the cockpit full of our I-pods. Computers were left out and when we got a little lazy we wouldn’t lift up the dinghy. We’d just tie on a second line to prevent it from “floating away.” We slept soundly.

It was the same in the Cook Islands, Tonga, New Zealand, Fiji, and Vanuatu. Although in New Zealand you had to keep your beer close or some thirsty Kiwi might “accidently” think it was theirs and guzzle it down. We slept soundly.

And then we get to the Solomon Islands. We heard the stories from other cruisers about the rough characters here. About ethnic tension between neighboring islands, namely Guadalcanal and Maliata. After all there were a few slight problems (ok huge problems) in the country in 2000 where rival militias battled it out with stolen guns and full-on ethnic cleansing occurred. The government was overthrown and this had a serious impact on tourists coming to the island nation. They basically stopped coming altogether. The economy was destroyed and their currency was devalued. In fact someone told me yesterday that the Solomon’s only received about 3,500 tourists last year! The Solomon’s are the second largest island nation in the Pacific. Only Papua New Guinea is larger. That’s 27,556 square km of land, 5,313 km of coastline, and 922 islands that get in total 3,500 visitors a year. I think there are hotels in Vegas that hold more people than that.

The stories only served to excite us more. Sounded like our kind of non-touristy place. Plus, the diving is out of this world since some of the largest naval battles of WWII were fought right here. You have Guadalcanal, The Slot, Iron Bottom Sound, and even the island where JFK swam to after his PT-109 was sunk. Yep, there is a PT-109 bar and we plan to go there. Ever read “The South Pacific” by James Michener or the seen the musical it inspired ? It’s all right here. How can you pass that up?

So we rocked into Honiara and parked right in front of the Point Cruz Yacht Club. That night we heard stories from a boat recently returned from Tulagi Harbor in the Florida Islands (about 25 NM from Honiara). They were the only boat there and it’s a husband and wife team. They recounted a harrowing tale of being woken up in the middle of the night by men on their boat armed with machetes. The men were on deck and not planning to leave anytime soon. Our cruiser couple yelled and screamed out of the hatches and were rewarded with a machete stuck into the open hatch. They were verbally threatened as the men attempted to kick in their companionway door. This went on and on. At some point our cruising couple turned on the deck lights and used their VHF radio loud speaker in siren mode to ward off the men. Unfortunately the speaker was disabled with a machete blow in short order, and the lights only served to show the pirates the loot stored on deck. At some point a few hours later the men got bored and\or sobered up and a rather traumatized but physically unharmed couple emerged from their boat to survey the damage. Scary stuff right?

We heard other stories of petty theft in the area too. Right in front of the yacht club with half a dozen other boats around. We were warned to put everything away and to lock the boat up. There was a large ketch anchored next to us, Infinity, that was doing night watches around the clock. So we prepared Delos and made sure all our stealables were stored safely below or in a deck locker. We closed and locked our companionway hatch for the first time in ages and headed to bed.

About 4:30AM I was sleeping peacefully when a noise woke me up. I heard a rustling and jolted out of bed, sticking my head through the hatch above my bunk. I was greeted with the shadows of 4 men. 1 was actually on our boat and 3 more were in a small fiberglass boat pulled alongside. “Get the F**K off my boat mother F**CKER!!!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. The intruder on Delos reacted by diving head first into the water. SPLASH!!! His buddies had the engine started and were roaring off before he had fully clambered into the dinghy.

I stood there confused and shocked wondering what the hell had just happened. I was even more shocked when instants later I saw a second fiber tear around our bow and head off into the night chasing the other boat. By this time everyone on Delos was up and I was trying to explain what happened. A few minutes later the second fiber returned. It was our buddies from Infinity next door. They had seen something suspicious and came over to investigate. Their Captain, Clemence, pulled a bunch of hoses from the bottom of their fiber and put them on their deck. “I think these regulators are yours.” he said matter of factly. I was blown away when I recognized the colors of our dive gear. Three regulators with dive computers and all, valued just under US$2,000 were laying there on the deck. They then recounted the tale of their chase and ensuing high seas battle with the thieves. Oars were used as weapons and punches were thrown and landed. One of the bad guys got a broken nose. The thieves attempted to lure our friends in but they got the better of them and retrieved our gear. It turns out the thieves had gotten into our stern deck locker and robbed us! Shame on me for locking up the inside of the boat but completely forgetting about the deck lockers. I had to search for and figure out how to lockup since we’ve never, ever needed to lock down the deck until now.

This story has a happy ending, namely nobody was hurt with their heroics and the only thing we lost was Brady’s Oceanic BC. But we could still dive and were glad it wasn’t worse. The next day over beers we briefly considered leaving and heading straight to Australia. Who wants to deal with this? Sit up all night and keep pirate watch? Sounds like crap. But then I thought about how many times my car had been broken into in the US, and how my office had been robbed twice. About all the terrible things you hear on the news that happen every day. I didn’t leave Seattle or the country, but I was more careful where I parked my car. And I installed a security system so that next time my office was robbed I could at least watch it on video. Why let a few bad seeds ruin all our plans?

So we decided to stay and implement the following things, which we’re now referring to as Delos Defensive Procedures (DDP).

1) Lock em up boat! Yes, even the hatches and deck lockers. All the time, no exceptions.

2) Fly your American colors! Unlike most of the world everyone loves American’s here because of WWII. Many a times the roughest looking local burst into a beetle-nut stained smile when he finds out you’re from the US of A.

3) Night Watch. Dread of all dreads now you have to do watch at night, even when your not sailing?!?!?

Now night watch takes some getting used to. Luckily with 4 people on board it’s not such a big deal. And we are prepared with weapons! Not guns, but there is lot’s of cool stuff on a sailboat.

First Line of Defense- 400,000 candle power spotlight. If you see someone lurking in a dugout canoe or a fishing boat with mysterious “engine trouble” light them up! Let them know you’re there, awake, and give them a good bout of night-blindness. In fact, every 15 minutes just randomly shine the light somewhere. Light up everything. Birds, fishermen, random waves, it doesn’t matter. That will keep them on their toes, and hopefully let them know you’re not an easy target.

Second Line of Defense- If the spotlight doesn’t warn them off and they still get closer or have snuck inside your perimeter blow the air horn. Wake everyone up on the boat and prepare for battle.

Third Line of Defense- By now your would be thieves are closing in or possibly have already boarded your boat. They are not easily spooked and mean business. So shoot them with the flare gun, aka the ending of Dead Calm where Billy Zane gets tagged with a flare. For really close combat we also have the fishing gaff, a 6 foot long pole with a huge rusty metal hook. If we can pull in a monster tuna I’m sure we could hook a pirate.

Fourth and Last Resort Weapons- Blast them in the face with the fire extinguisher. Not sure what this would do but I’m betting it would be unpleasant and surprising. Then we have rusty machetes that not only inflict a serious wound but also hopefully a case of Tetanus. And if all else fails we have the Rambo Knife, complete with compass and emergency fishing kit built into the handle. That way if you need to get away in a hurry and go dark after your encounter you can at least find your way and fish.

Since implementing DDP our strategy seems to be working with all suspicious bogies being repelled by the First Line of Defense. So is it worth the trouble to be here? Would we do it all over again? YES and YES! Without a doubt. The cruising and diving is really that good and the people in the outer islands are absolutely amazing.

Take John from Roderick Bay for example. When we went to the Florida Islands (yes I know what you’re thinking but there are like 60 wrecks in one harbor alone) he and his sons were our personal security guards. While anchored in front of his village he insisted on paddling his canoe around our boat all night long, him and his sons taking two hour stints just so we could sleep peacefully. Then he cooked us a huge feast for dinner. Thanks John!

John our self-appointed security guard.

The thing about weapons onboard a sailboat is they are useless unless you are prepared to use them, and if you do use them then there’s another whole set of consequences you have to consider. Like explaining to the local officials (probably from a dirty, dark jail cell) why you lied about having weapons in the first place. So no, we’ll never carry guns onboard. But we will continue to sit around and hatch over the top scenarios about defending our boat from would be pirates and hope that sharpening our machete’s in full daylight on the bow works in our favor.

We’re in the Western Province now, about 220 miles NW of Honiara. We’ve only seen two boats the past month, the diving is out of this world, and the people are as friendly and safe as can be. We’re still locking up Delos at night but we are sleeping peacefully once again!

Pirate Watch Quiz- By Paul

2011-10-21T06:41:00.000-07:00

Hello Delos world. Today its time to find out what type of harbor night watchman you'd be. You're in the Solomon Islands, a South Pacific country known for its unruly pirate behavior. You've heard from multiple sources about the night boarding of vessels, plundering of goods and usage of machetes. Yes machetes! Tonight's the night you start night watches of all god awful annoying things. Time to find out what kind of boat guard you'd be...?

Cheeseburgers at the yacht club were divine, but now its yachtie midnight (9PM) and the food coma is setting in. Which time of night best suits you to stay up and watch?

a) 2200-2400

b) 2400-0200

c) 0200-0400

d) 0400-0600

e) Sorry bro I'm still out at the club

Fiberglass boats are motoring back and forth to "fish". Mysteriously their engines always die when they get close to your boat. Which weapon would you use to defend the boat from would-be thieves?

a) Flashlight, then run and tell somebody the boat is being robbed

b) Machete

c) Rambo knife if I don't kill them with my hands.

d) Fishing gaff

e) I've got this half consumed bottle of Solbrew from the club in my hand

What type of lighting suits your mood?

a) Turn on all the lights, I want pirates to know I'm here and to stay far away

b) The light from my computer. It's movie time!

c) Lights are for losers, I want to lure them in before I strike

d) The moon and sunrise are my lights

e) Red light district. Maybe I'll get a pretty island pirate-ess up to the boat and plunder her booty

Who do you do night watch with?

a) I'm a girl, I don't do night watches

b) Me and my partner stay up and watch movies together, we're a couple

c) I'm a straight solo act. "My body is an island," whatever that means

d) The stars keep me company

e) Whoever this random islander I got partying is. What's her name again...

How do you pass the time?

a) Sleeping in my bed

b) Chatting with my hubby

c) Sharpening my Rambo knife, lurking in the shadows

d) Listening to music and watching boats act like they are fishing

e) Ecstasy and dance parties. I love that new GaGa song

You see a suspicious boat slyly drifting and lurking around your boat. What do you do?

a) Run and tell everyone, blow the airhorn, call the harbor police on channel 16

b) Bust him with the flash light and say, "gotcha bitch" in your best kiwi accent

c) Stay still in the dark waiting to pounce. You've been waiting for this; it's game time!

d) Go out and ask him how his "fishing" is going

e) Invite him up for a glow stick battle dance off. Make sure he gets "served" before you kick him off .

Ok time to tally up the score board and find out what type of watch pirate watchman you are.

If you answered:

All A's:

Princess

You're just eye candy on the boat. Somebody important's main squeeze. If you do a watch, it's the first one. "This way I can finish that bottle of 1982 Chateau Margo and pass out promptly." You don't do much in the way of helping out and can't be bothered. If you're not already sleeping when the boat is getting mugged, then you'd probably run and call the boat police on channel 16, after waking everyone up with your bimbo blond horror screams. In all actuality, enjoy your nine hours of sleep barbie.

Mostly B's:

Couples

It's hard to separate you lovers. You like to stay up together and watch movies and chat about life, love and where you'll be 1,3, and 5 years from now. It's cute, and sickening. You've got a good 2 hour section of the night to watch: 2400-0200. It's when most "fishing" boats are humming back and forth, so be on your toes during nookie and post coital. If a boat did come close to your yacht you'd be outside blasting them with the flashlight saying, "gotcha bitch" while your hubby would be asking them hows the fishing at night.

Straight C's:

Dark Knight

Hello all you wannabe navy seals. Rambo has nothing on you lot. You've seen enough special forces movies and shows to think you've got what it takes to take down a small army of pirate rebels. You work alone and in the dark. Lurking in shadows, you're tan naked body blends into its surroundings; darkness is your ally. Fishing gaff and then Rambo knife are how you roll. You're here to inflict pain. "Beware locals, my enthusiasm alone might hurt you!"

C's and D's

The Man's Man

Your beard is kept jungularly, you drink your scotch neat, and your abs come from six months of sailing; not the gym. You've got the good but serious watch, somewhere between 0200-0600. That's when you've been told most of the looting goes down. You stay up by listening to music at low level. Yet, at the slightest sound you're alert and ready. You prefer watch with the lights off because it improves your night-sight. As a solo act, you're on your toes at the slightest sound of a humming motor. If need be that boat hook or machete is within arms reach. You're there to get the job done and then go home safe. No heroics, "its just my job."

Straight E's

Get a life loser.

Enough said.

************

Meet Memo-By Brady

2011-10-16T17:32:00.001-07:00

Hello, my name is Memo….I’m a Clown fish and I live in a sea anemone. No, I am not related to Nemo who became famous over some stupid movie filmed on the Great Barrier Reef, about 700 miles away. I’m only a few years old but I know that my home is a special place. There are always people that come and visit! I can hear the engines above me get louder and louder until they stop. I know that when the engines stop it is only a matter of time before the visitors arrive! I live near an island called Tulagi in the Florida Islands, part of the Solomon Islands. Apparently there was a lot of fighting and war that my great, great, great, great grandfather experienced ages ago, but everyone says he was a crazy old man so who knows? My insane grandpa always tells me my home is very important and I am lucky to have such a nice neighborhood to live in but I don’t know what to believe because most of my friends live on the outer reef and say that it is very nice too. Maybe you should know about my village history…. I live on a Kawanishi flying boat also known as a “Mavis”. There are many fish that live here but I live near the bow of the plane in the cockpit!

My village is so nice. We have fresh current all day for food, tons of places to hide, lots of light and many visitors. Some days I stare at the controls and gauges and drift off, thinking of my crazy ancestors and their stories of planes falling from the sky. I want to be a pilot someday!! But not one in a war. My home was one of many Japanese flying boats that swam the sky during WWII. On the 7th of August 1942 my home, which was then still able to swim, was hit by American dive bombers and sunk here. That was almost 70 years ago! It seems strange to me that people come here just to see where I live. They come down from the light with big metal things strapped to their back, they make a lot of noise, try and shove their way into my cockpit and always seem to hold these strange square things that flash at me! Why do they look so intensely at the back of these things?? Flash after flash until they swim, or should I say try to swim, away. Most of them look like my little brother when he was born. They bang into things and are very uncoordinated. All I want is to see the other side of the sky; where the visitors come from. My dad says if I see that part of the sky it is the last thing I will ever see so I better be careful what I wish for! RIP uncle Lemo….Ill take my dads word for it and stay here in my beautiful home for now.

Memo…..He has such wonderful life. He can hang out underwater all day and never have to come up for air. If only we were like him or Kevin Costner in Waterworld. No lugging heavy dive gear around, no running out of air, no decompression sickness, no getting cold. Just relaxing in the most beautiful of coral; Over 100 Ft under water on a WWII wreck. Memo might see the occasional shark or barracuda or “visitor” but all he has to do is swim back into his house, inside the barrel of a 50 MM gun. Pretty ironic that he lives and takes shelter in a weapon that had once been used to kill a lot of people.

This part of the South Pacific is rich in WWII history. It’s strange that the majority of people know nothing about the war in the Pacific. At least I didn’t know anything about it. Everyone knows about the war in Europe and all about Hitler. A lot of you may have heard of Pearl Harbor due to Ben Affleck's phenomenal acting skills. But WWII had much more to it then a gay, half-Jew Nazi with a ridiculously cool mustache. It also had more to it then Mr. Affleck. This was the point where the Japanese were about to take over the free world. Does the name Guadalcanal sound familiar? That’s about the only name that rang a bell as I looked at a map of the Solomon Islands about 5 months ago. After being here a month or so I can put it simply: By 1942 the Japanese had taken over all of South East Asia, the Philippines, Papua New Guinea, and the majority of the Solomons. Their next target was New Caledonia, then Australia, New Zealand and the rest of the South Pacific until they made it to America. It’s pretty ridiculous that I learned absolutely none of this in a text book. And if it was in a text book would I really have cared? There were over 50,000 American soldiers alone that passed through the Solomons……04802484 of which lost there lives here. There are 100’s of wrecks in the passage known as “the slot” between Guadalcanal and the Florida Islands. In fact, the spot we are now anchored is known as Iron Bottom Sound due to all the wrecks. You can imagine the amazing scuba diving in this area.

WWII has been the new theme of Delos. Vanuatu brought us kastom, volcanoes and culture but the Solomons are bringing us history and a lot of diving. We have dove a B-17 bomber, also known as the “flying fortress”. A Japanese submarine, a Japanese troop carrier known as Bonegi 1, and a Kawanishi flying boat (similar to a Catalina Sea Plane). We also dove an amazing site called the twin tunnels, which are 2 extinct lava tubes in the middle of a reef and the World Discoverer Cruise ship that hit a rock in 2000 and sits 90% out of the water. We haven’t even scratched the surface of the diving world here but we are trying our best. Below are some pictures of our dives so far in the Solomon Islands.

B-17 flying fortress

North Western Guadalcanal. 65 ft. max depth.

The plane runs parallel to the shore about 200 ft. off. You are able to see the shape of the plane and the remains of the cockpit. The bottom is pretty silty so visibility can be bad if it is kicked up.

B-17 cockpit and controls…

Japanese Sub

Western Tip of Guadalcanal. 100 Ft. max depth.

The Submarine starts in about 20 Ft. of water and slopes down the reef. The shallowest parts aren’t so intact but the in the deeper areas you can actually see the shape of the sub and swim inside. A local in a dug out canoe helped us find it but we were charged a small kastom fee of $25 Solomon dollars per person (about $7.50 US).

Stern of the sub

Bonegi 1 Japanese Troop Carrier

North side of Guadalcanal. West of Honiara. 180 Ft. max depth.
Amazing dive and pretty easy to find. If you see the Bonegi 2 with its engine block sticking out of the water your too far West. Bonegi 1 lies about ¼ mile East of Bonegi 2 in a bit of a cove. The ship starts very shallow around 15 Ft., lays on her port side and is beautiful all the way back. Lots of swim through’s and good coral.

Top of Bonegi 1

Inside Bonegi 1

Twin Tunnels Lava Tubes

South South-West of Tulagi Island 125 Ft. max depth

This is an amazing dive that starts in about 40 Ft. There are two extinct lava tubes that go straight down to about 120 Ft. They are joined here with a big cave that leads to the outer reef wall where you can see many pelagic fish.

There are 2 sets of moorings here, both under about 6 Ft. of water. The most South Western one is directly north of the first tube. We also did a night dive here. Beautiful bio-luminescence and a few flash light fish in the cave.

Japanese Kawanishi “Mavis” Flying Boat

Near Ghavutu island in Tulagi Bay 105 Ft. max depth.

This plane is 90% intact with the starboard wing sitting just off the bow in 90 Ft. There is a mooring here which is 6 Ft. below the surface but easy to spot. The mooring line is tied directly to the bow of the plane. The cockpit and port side of the plane are very intact and interesting. You can find bullets on the bow near the cockpit and sake bottles on top of the starboard wing.

Wing Float

Japanese Bullets

Japanese Sake!!!Pilot gauges

World Discoverer

Roderick bay, North Sandfly passage, Western Florida Islands. 55 Ft. max depth.

This German Cruise liner hit a rock in the passage in 2000. It was able to make it into Roderick bay. To keep the ship from sinking the Capt. drove it up onto the reef to salvage it. It now sits above water in a beautiful bay surrounded by jungle. Even if you are not a diver this is a cool site to see. The ship lies about 25 degrees to starboard and is fully intact. You can dive under the ship in about 30-50 Ft. and look through the rubble that has fallen out or broken off. Snorkeling is just as good around the ship. You will probably be yelled at from the beach by the land owner asking for a “donation” which is a set price of $25 Solomon dollars per person. You only have to pay the fee if you climb on the ship or go to the beach.

You could fall through the rusting deck at any point…

Nothing better then an underwater toilet

Telephone and fire extinguisher under the wreck

Me on the bow spotting shallow areas

Go A’murica

And New Zealand!!!

Team Delos

GPS COORDINATES AND DIVE INFO. See www.michaelmcfaydenscuba.info

Is it really October?!?!? By Brian

2011-10-10T19:23:00.001-07:00

I totally agree with you! We’ve been blog slackers for the past month as we traveled through Banks, Torres, and Santa Cruz islands. Sometimes you wake up and realize that a month has flown by. We did take lot’s of pics though…..

Northern Espirito Santo

The Blue hole near Oyster Island

The rope swing of death.

Our courage built and we sung from higher and higher until Brady almost hung himself.

Sling, Island style.

Nothing better then a beach fire, a camera and a 15 second shutter speed. Josjerama did some amazing art…

Gaua (Santa Maria)- Banks Islands Vanuatu

Almost out of the kava world! We hiked 3 hours through the jungle to one of the Pacific’s largest lakes. On the other side was an active volcano.

Vanua Lava- Banks Islands Vanuatu

Waterfall bay. Twin waterfalls with fresh prawns at the top.

Brady’s new son…

We decided to do something nice for the village at waterfall bay and hosted a movie night (Iron Man) with our projector and mainsail. Over 3 dinghy trips were needed. About 37 villagers!

Iron Man on the big screen.

To make a long story short a 14 year old from Gaua needed a ride North to Vanua Lava to see family which we later found out he was just running away from home on Delos. We did speak to his father and he said it was ok to give his son a ride but there must have been some language barrier. All was good when he called his family a few days later…

What else would a 14 year old want to look at…a nudie mag.

Bat cave near waterfall bay.

The village thanked us for the movie night and fed us well.

We saw a huge waterfall sailing away Vanua Leva and anchored for a closer look.

Ureparapara and Reef Islands- Banks Vanuatu

Big Wahoo on the way into Ureparapara…

Our anchorage was inside the crater of an extinct volcano. This is the rim.

Reef islands uninhabited beach.

Had an amazing day of naked fishing. Three good size yellow fin tuna!

As we left Vanuatu, heading north towards the Solomons and said our good byes we were given yet another yellow fin from the fishing gods.

Santa Cruz- Solomon Islands

Our first stop in Solomon Islands was Utupua in the Santa Cruz group.

Brady striking a pose with his villager gang.

“My parents went to Hawaii and all I got was this lousy shirt!”

Huge rain squall in the anchorage.

Sweet model canoe that we traded for.

Brady traded for this awesome crocodile\Bob Marley bowl carving!

Nendo, Tumuto Province, Solomon Islands

Sunset from the Anglican Friary overlooking the bay in Nendo.

The chill hut the Friars built.

Delos snugly anchored in Graciosa Bay, Nendo.

Our new Albino friend Moses!

Gotta get rid of those tan lines!

Island girl in Moses’s canoe.

Fresh water swimming hole by the Friary.

Desert for dinner night on Delos. Cookie dough base with homemade caramel filling, topped with bananas and chocolate. YUMMY!!

Reef Islands Temutu Province, Solomon Islands.

Welcoming party! Machetes are for opening us refreshing coconuts of course……

Schools on a break so all the village kids come out to see the yacht.

And of course we have a Michael Jackson Dance Party!

Paul and Josje’s adopted son.

Brady making a killer trade for a Penn size 12 reel salvaged off a wrecked sailboat!

Exploring the lagoon by dinghy.

Brian borrowing a sailing canoe.

Leaving Temutu Province sailing to Guadalcanal.

Porthole Baby: Birth Neg De-la By Paul

2011-10-08T15:27:00.001-07:00

It’s scary. You’re diving. You’re 210 feet below the surface. You’re inside a 210 meter ship at the stern. And you’re alone. All alone. Once upon a time there were five of you. Five happy divers: two guides and three sailors, all ready to do the immortalized stern dive on the President Coolidge, in Vanuatu. But now there’s just one of you inside the ship. You. All alone...and super lost. At least I was. And that's when panic kicked in.

My heartbeat picked up immediately, only I didn’t register it at first. I could feel it pulsating against my BCD. I thought I could see waves through the water pushing away from my chest. My mind was narc’d watching itself begin the stages of freaking out under water. When my brain realized that was happening, my lungs started hyperventilating through my regulator. I was at 2200psi when entering the ship,1800 when I became solo, and in the next five minutes I would drop to 1100psi. I was eating up air rapidly. I did the simple math in my head. At that rate, I wouldn’t have long. With proper decompression stops, I wasn’t going to make it. It was either the bends if I could get out of the ship or drowning. I was in deep trouble. I was dead.

**************

“Everyone ready? Ok lets go!” Sedi say’s and psshhh goes the sound of air escaping your BCD as it leaves and you descend onto the deepest dive of your life. For the past five days or so, the Delos crew, minus Josje--because she’s not certified-- had been working our way to the stern of the famous President Coolidge ship. Allan Power diving gets you accustomed to the depth of the ship in interval levels, so that you don’t get yourself narc’d and die being a hero. We had worked our way through the levels of the ship and were now ready to see the stern with the big Coolidge lettering.

“140 feet,” I thought to my self under water. “Just a walk in the park depth for us nowadays on this bad boy.”

“165. Now we’re getting places.” I felt good and relaxed, while the ship started to appear through the clear deep water.

At 180 we landed on the top of the starboard aft side of the ship. Our dive guide Sedi, gave us the ok sign and Delos hit him back with the ok gesture. I looked back at David, our rear guide who was just tagging along for the dive, we both agreed it was all good. Time to hit the ocean floor sand. We swam to the stern and down towards the propeller. At about 200 feet the hooting and hollering started.

“AHHHHH!” I heard someone scream while I was in a daze. Then again. “AAAHHHH!” I’m not sure if it was Sedi, Brian or Brady who screamed but when we realized we were still descending past 220 feet we all looked at each other and screamed. Not for fear, but for joy. We screamed and cock-trusted the gayest joy imaginable at one another. Each one of us smiling that deep pure happy narc’d smile you get once diving below 200 feet. 200 feet below sea level is a pretty bad ass thing to say you’ve done. Not many have that notch on their diving belts. PADI wont let them. But Delos didn’t come down here for just 200 feet. We came to party. And party we would.

We wanted to go all the way to the sea floor, where it was nice and comfy. Where you could take a nap or dig your depth gage deep in the sand like you were making a hole to the other side of the world. Two hundred and twenty six feet is what my gage said at the sea floor. The air at that depth taste more crisp and fresh then any air has ever before in my life. Breathing was ecstasy. We were footloose and fancy free. We were home. Scratch that, we were really narc’d.

After I was done playing grab ass with the sand and stern anchor, I looked up at the huge ship that lay in front of me. “PRESIDENT COOLIDGE” the big sign on the back sounded in my head like a stoned teenager. I swam over and dusted off an O. Then I promptly kissed it. I don’t know why. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

Not much clear thinking happens at that depth. You’re a bit buzzy and light headed from the nitrogen. Every thing feels like its floating; it is, but not for that reason. Then the feeling sort of goes benign. It’s still there hidden, floating around your body, tingling your senses. Yet, you get used to the sensation and leave it in the back of your mind. After all, we still had a whole 210m of ship to swim through.

Around the deck of the stern we went in a row like little ducklings following momma. Sedi, Brian, Brady, Myself and David all at perfect distances apart from each other. We learned early on that space is important when diving through the wreck. It’s no fun banging into one another trying to see everything Sedi points out. You end up jockeying for alpha position and miss the pleasure of the dive.

A quick stop to look at the huge guns on the back deck and through locker #7 we penetrated. This was to be no ordinary assault on the Coolidge. It was to be a deep, tight, and long penetration. Pun Intended. “Sedi’s special tour,” he called it. He said we’d work our way from the back, all the way to the front, never leaving the inside. “All on one tank,” he winked at us before the dive. That special wink too. The one where Sedi’s eyebrows go up and down and then winks right after. All in a split second. It’s a special wink all Ni-vat’s can do, which signals they know something you don’t. Then they laugh loudly afterwards like little kids. Leaving you laughing, then confused all at the same time. But we’ve already done Sedi’s Friday tour, so we’re not worried about said wink.

Locker #7 leads to a massive cargo hold with all sorts of military machines left behind. Jeeps, tanks and other military paraphernalia littered all over the place. Upside down or on their side, military crap has been laying there since it sank during WWII. Not because of enemy fire. The cruise liner turned military transporter ran into a friendly sea-mine--two of them actually--upon entering port Santo, and promptly sank an hour and a half later. How many people died is confusing. It’s thought the initial mine killed one person. Two are believed to have gone down with the ship after that. In the madness of getting 5,440 troops off the sinking ship, orders were left to leave all gear behind. Then, with the ship slipping from the reef it was ran up on too, snuck back under water and rested on her port side to where she is now. Leaving a diving gold mine behind as her watery grave. This is why military equipment has been left everywhere. Why the boat’s ceiling, is your port; the boat’s floor, your starboard.

Flickers of light cascading through cracks and holes in the rusted ship give off plenty of light down at that depth. Even at such a depth, the water is amazingly transparent allowing this to happen. Only when you get deeper inside the ship and the light gets fragmented, do you need a torch for viewing assistance.This is where the fantastic five were headed. Down deep inside.

Over and under some beams we dove playing around in the cargo hold. Through a gap on our left we went up a level on the ship’s blueprint still inside. Five little ducklings all in a spaced out row. The gap lead to what was a large holding room converted for standing navy or marines probably during voyage. “Nothing much to see in here,” I thought. Just four walls and some portholes leading to two doors at either widths of the ship. Sedi had taken us up through the top one.

Up to the doorway, I pushed through it and peered down a smaller hallway. Just enough time to see Brady’s fins go through door number two, twenty feet below where I was. We were doing another up over and down maneuver. My favorites because you can control your ascent and decent with your breath.

The hallway, now vertical, I had entered was considerably smaller and lead down to two doors ten feet apart from what I could see. It was a connector room. Could be sealed off if needed but basically a walk through. A useless room, it seemed. The ship was gradually turning darker inside.

I had a peek around and behind me with my torch, while breathing out to descend down to door number two. “Nothing.” It was an empty room. A seemingly worthless room on a ship full interesting rooms, I thought. There were no toilets on the floor at my right. No medicine cabinets or game tables. No military helmets or gas masks I could swim with on my head. Just a military grey hallway that has no purpose. Too tight for anything of value. Not big enough to have held anything of worth. Down I went in slow motion. Turning around I caught the tail end of door number one. A darkly abyss and ghostly corridor. Pitch black with what looked like no exit. Just emptiness. I took a quick look at my air: 1800psi.

“Here we are, door way number two,” I said in my head and put my hands on the hallway door. Only there was nothing down corridor number two. Just that same empty dark blackness from door number one staring back at me. Not a single soul in site looked as if it had been down that hallway for quite some time. I started to recall my memory in an instance. “Swim through, look down, Brady goes through the lower of the two doors. Door number two. Yep that was it. That was exactly what I saw. Or was it door number one and I’m playing games with myself? They are kind of close to one another. Sort of. Two...one...two? I swear I saw him swim through door number two. The lower one for sure.” In my mind I was reasoning through what I had seen 30 seconds before. Only nothing seemed certain--narcosis has a way of doing that too you.

There wasn’t any light being cast about down the hallway. Not a single torch was lit and looking around at old war memorabilia. Not even a kick up of silt from three divers swimming through. I lit my torch again and cast it down the hallway and still couldn’t see anything but the endless black abyss. After six or seven feet I couldn’t even tell if the walls gave way to other entrances or not. I wasn’t about to enter the twilight zone. Then I started to think more. “Why can’t I see his fins? I can always see his blue fins!”

It’s an eerie feeling to know your buddy just went through that door and now you can’t see a trace of him. As if magic made him disappear. “Ok no problem,” I thought, “I’ll just turn around and ask David behind me which way.” Only David wasn’t there anymore. All that was behind me was the grey wall. And above me a hallway leading back up to a small walk-through door where we had come from. David who had been bringing up the rear was gone. “Where did he go?” I should have known right then and there that this was not going my way early. But I didn’t. All I knew was that I was in a small hallway, suddenly by myself.

My mind started to race. “Where had they gone? What are the signs to look for? Do you even know how you got into this room?” etc. My memory wasn’t gone, it was just unsure of itself. My head was racing in a slowed narcosis state trying to sift through information. Problem was, I wasn’t trusting anything I had seen one minute before this time. Everything seemed like magic. Brady was there and then he wasn’t. David was behind me but now he isn’t. Everything seemed possible and impossible all at once. I was mystified and slowed into a dunce trance. Then panic started to seethe its way into my body. Through my blood stream like a snake it slithered around and into my chest. Ripples began radiating off my chest through the water. I was consciously unaware that my heart rate had elevated, while I was playing mind games with myself. I was a sitting duck. I was lost.

“Ok maybe they did go through door number one. Maybe I am seeing things,” I thought. Only I wasn’t seeing things. I was narc’d and doubting myself. I pushed up to the higher door immediately. I grabbed the outside and looked down the hallway. Empty! Pitch black, just as it had looked the first time. One way in...no way out. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

That’s when the first real answer came to me. “No. I had no idea how I got into this room.” My minds uncertainty was now deemed untrustworthy of any answers it was producing. Everything I had known up till this point seemed like it was false. The only thing I knew was for certain: I was lost. And for more than a minute now.

Panics second level kicked in: heavy quick breaths. “I need to get out.” I turned around and propelled myself from the dark grey connector room, back up and through the door way summersaulting back into the big room with four walls. Only I didn’t recognize it. I was looking at it from a different angle. As if from the bow now. Nothing was familiar. All I could see was military grey and some light entering in through portholes. My mind complete with being untrustworthy had now slipped into being disorientated as well. I began to feel really lost while I sat there floating around, trying to figure out how I had gotten into this room the first time.

After scanning the room for a little while, I noticed I was drifting up slowly towards my (starboard side) ceiling--the curse of heavy deep breathing. Looking for cracks or ways out on both sides, I could see slivers of the ocean to my right here and there. Nothing was opening up on my left. I was in a big grey rectangle of four walls with portholes in the roof.

Arriving at my ceiling, there had been no outs. I had now been left alone, lost for about 3 minutes. My air was down from 1800psi to 1300psi. I was breathing at a rapid pace. I knew I was panicking. For the first time in my life I felt claustrophobic. I was trapped in a large grey rectangle. Walls appeared to be moving in and out at me coinciding with the beating of my chest. The way we had come in--back towards the cargo hold--was below me about 40 feet. It was marked by some light coming in through the gap. “Why hadn’t I seen that the first time? Where is my head?”

In my agitated state, going all the way down and back out did not seem like a viable option now for me. In an instance, my uncertain brain processed the depth, time and air of swimming down and back into another questionable room. “Not a good idea,” I reckoned. Plus, I wasn’t even certain I knew where I’d be going. My disorientation saw an all time high when I had travelled up and looked back down at my grey rectangle of death. “Vertigo. Sweet.”

With walls pulsating around and the port side floor hole not seeming like an option. I felt trapped. I was trapped. I was going down with the ship. Only the ship was already down. Drowning became a reality. Scenes from my life shot through my head at light speed as I was floating just under the starboard side.

I began to muse myself in a slower state of mindfulness, “Ya done son. This is it. The way you go out. Drowning while diving. Idiot. Good news is, they say it’s really euphoric drowning; so that’s nice. And It’s sort of cool going out this deep under water.”

And then I had a moment of comic relief in all the tenseness. “Ah shit, my mum is going to think I’m an idiot.” I could hear her voice,

“You were down how deep? What were you thinking?”

“I was just hanging out...diving.”

Over four minutes lost in a ship under water and that’s what I think to myself?! That can’t be normal. It sure didn’t seem normal with death knocking on my door step.

Just then a cooler head prevailed. “Hey idiot, its a ship. It has to have plenty of ways out. Just calm down. Slow your breathing down. And think.”--Easier said then done, I’ll say that. I pushed off from my hovering spot below the ceiling portholes and began to look again. Left, right, in front, and behind me I scrutinized the walls around as I descended about fifteen feet. Nothing. I really was trapped. Grey on all sides. Below was still not an option to me. It just didn’t seem viable with the deco stops and having to go back down under 200 feet. So I looked up again towards the sky.

There they were. Those same portholes. “Maybe,” I thought to myself. Last time up there, I hadn’t given them a real serious look. Still hyperventilating, I studied the holes from below. They seemed tight. Form-fitting. Too small almost. But they were a opening. And, with my life on the line, maybe it was a porthole I could use my Navy Seal training on. By training I mean, I’ve seen enough movies with such extreme acts that of course I could do such things in real life. Right...?

I shot back up to the ceiling. Just as I had suspected they were small. Runway model small. Skintight circular holes that had coral growth and rusted edges. I found the most feasible one.

With my hand on the starboard side ceiling, I looked at the diameter of the hole. About 2 feet across. I then turned my head side to side eyeballing my shoulder length. “About 2 feet.” I surveyed the the hole and then my shoulders again. “Yep, this could work. Only not with a scuba tank on my back.” The tank would not make it through a slim-fitting hole with me. It’d be like a pregnant girl trying to wear a size two dress. It was going to have to come off.

Under my ceiling of death, I stripped down to my women’s size four wet suit. In the last four months I had dropped about 15 pounds and could now say with confidence my dress size was a four. This played to my advantage. Had I tried this maneuver when Delos left New Zealand four months ago, I’m not sure my fat ass would’ve been trying this.

When I was confident this insanity was going to work, I was right in the middle of the hole. With my BCD and tank hanging low in my left hand, I took the last couple of breaths from my first stage before attempting to birth myself through a porthole. I took the stage out of my heavy breathing mouth and lowered it towards my waist. Up, up and away I wiggled.

My head and lead arm popped through first, just like a normal birth should. I could see the outside ocean. “Holy shit this is actually working. Just hope my shoulders will fit.” I squeezed them together and felt the coral and rust trying to slice open my wet suit. It was working. But my BCD had slipped from my hands slightly in the excitement of this awesome plan succeeding. Head, shoulders, knees and almost toes out, I reached down beside my fins and grabbed blindly at my BCD shoulder straps. If I was making it out of that ship, so was my air tank. First try I nabbed a strap. “Exactly where I had left ya. Neutrally buoyant. Boo-ya.” I pulled my little life line out from our womb of separation.

In actuality this all took under ten seconds and then I was outside the ship standing firmly on the starboard side. I slipped my gear back on and threw my primary stage back in my mouth. “Air! From outside the ship.” This was a serious moment of triumph. My breathing went from DEF-CON 5 hyperventilation to 3. I was now just under 200 meters from the bow of the ship, in current, and still 180 feet or so under water. I had to get to the hang tanks if this was to be a complete success.

I oriented myself for the first time and swam towards the bow. Within 30 seconds I ran into David.-- I think he had been looking for me.-- And in my calming state of panic, I gave him the sign that I was under half a tank. He gave me the ok sign. I gave it back even though I was still breathing heavily. Noticing this he offered me his sling tank. “I’m ok now,” I signed back.

David noticed me rising a bit to try and save oxygen. He thought I didn’t have enough weight. For some reason, he was already carrying a heavy valve seal. He passed me the valve and I looked at it. “Ok cool. More crap from the Coolidge bro. But I’m at under half a tank and I'm gonna need air soon. Can we look at stuff tomorrow?” I gave him the valve back. Our under water conversation wasn’t jiving. We weren’t on the same page. Still in a sense of astonished relief, I didn’t notice him slide the weight into my slip pocket.

Next we ran into Brady and Brian chilling half way through the ship above the Lady. Brady was breathing through a sling tank that Sedi had been carrying with him just in case. Both asked me if I was alright. “I'm ok,” I signed them. Only both could tell from my eyes and breathing that I had been through some rough shit. The four of us swam up to the bow and into our deco stops--if you’re keeping track, there should be five of us. There Brian and I shared a hang tank for a while. It took me another ten minutes and another couple of deco levels to completely get back into underwater zen status. That’s when Sedi showed up. When he saw me. He was relieved and extremely low on air. So much that he swapped tanks with another guide who had taken others out not so deep.

Apparently, when I hadn’t popped out with them at the Lady. David signaled to Sedi one is missing. From there Sedi threw the sling tank through the water to Brady who was low on air. He told both Brian and Brady to wait there and took off to locker #7, to case the ship for me.

But now we were all back. The fantastic five together at last. And all ok.

My depth had been 226ft/71m with a bottom time of 34 minutes. My deco stops took up about 28 minutes. All in all, I was in the water for just under 70 minutes. Five of those spent alone, lost and trapped inside the ship.

The first thing I did once getting out of the water and stripping out of half my women’s wet suit, was have a cigarette. Feeling the tingling deep diving gives you combined with the expansion of oxygen and nicotine; It’s a light headed-relaxed feeling. And it’s a damn good one to have after quite a scare.

After that we recounted our dives to one another waiting for Sedi to come out of the water. Because of his second round through locker #7, he had to deco about 15 more minutes then the rest of us. Apparently I’m the only person to ever swim out through a port hole. So I’ve got that going for me.

When he came out of the water walking up toward the shore, I walked down to see him. Passing the smoke to him, “My bad, I remarked. Then I gave him the Ni-vatu eyebrow raise and wink, giving him five.

******

Sedi and I talked that night about the dive over some Kava. The next day he and I went back down deep. The Coolidge and I, we still had unfinished business.

The President Coolidge in her new launch grandeur.

Before conversion to a troop carrier.

Abandon ship!

90 minutes after hitting the mines.

Tank smashing something.

Gas masks!

Medical supply room.

Dishes in the galley.

Gentleman’s room.

Playing commando with machine gun and helmet.

The famous “White Lady” before.

The “White Lady” after.

Antiaircraft guns on deck.

Artillery shells.

Life saving portholes!

The deep darkness inside the Coolidge.

Sedi- AKA Spider Man- sailing on Delos.

Into The Rabbit Hole- By Brian

2011-10-02T09:04:00.000-07:00

He sits about 10 feet above you, perched on a steel beam. His legs are crossed, each knee perfectly aligned with the other. His arms cross his chest and he's leaning slightly backward . He's the epitome of relaxation, comfort, and balance. He peers down on you with a cocky expression looking almost amused. His eyes say “Where have you been? I've been waiting for you!”.

You make eye contact and in a split second he jumps to his feet. His back arches and with a jerk of his legs he jumps. In a graceful arc he goes higher and higher and higher. After an impossibly long time he finishes his back flip and starts to rapidly descend. He goes down, down, down. He passes underneath the beam that held him just moments ago and keeps right on going. Then he disappears into a dark hole barely a few feet across. He's gone in a split second leaving no trace.

In your head you think “HOLY S**T! Did that guy just do that?!?!?!?” But you don't say anything. You couldn't even if you wanted to. But you do chase him. You go head first into the dark hole, banging and scraping your way through. You make it and find yourself in a dark corridor. There's an intersection of sorts. Should I go straight, left, or right you ask? A glimmer of light to your left tells you the answer and you lay chase. You pass many things and not all of it makes sense. Some things do though. You pass a Gentleman's sign and then a row of toilets. There's a lamp and then an exit sign. It's completely dark and you slowly make your way forward, feeling and bumping your way. At some point you think you're closing on him. Yes, you are closer now. Just a few more feet! Your hope is dashed as he speeds ahead like a bullet, effortlessly weaving through pipes and shattered marble that seems to be strewn all about. He kicks his foot off a wall and instantly changes direction, shooting off down another dark corridor. You resolve to yourself that you'll never catch him. He's basically Spider Man and you're, well you're not Spider Man at all.

But dutifully you continue your chase. Up ahead you see a few beams of sunlight breaking through the darkness. Suddenly you're in a huge room, nearly the size of a gymnasium. There are high ceilings and balconies lining the walls. You see a chair and a backgammon board. There's also a huge chandelier at least 12 feet long. No time to meander though, you race off in endless pursuit. Spider Man disappears down another hole. He's gone without a sound and you tear off after him, headfirst right into the darkness. You catch yourself on a sharp, rusty piece of metal. It really hinders your progress but you finally get free. No damage done so you continue on in pursuit.

Up ahead you see a flickering light so you follow, heading straight for it. You find yourself in another enclosed room, pitch black except for Spider Man excitedly shining his light on the wall. What is that you ask? Then the form of a porcelain lady and a unicorn emerge from the darkness. It seems Spider Man is a connoisseur of sculpture. Suddenly he kills his light and for split second you're submerged in complete darkness. The deepest, darkest black you could imagine. Then you begin to see it. A few flickers at first, then more and more. Soon your entire field of vision is filled by flickering lights. They're completely surrounding you, flickering away. It's almost as if he peeled the roof back to reveal the most stunning, clear Milky Way you could imagine. Spider Man could do such a thing right? Except they're where the walls should be too. They're above you and even below you now. You reach your hand out to try and grab a star but it senses your intentions and disappears. He wastes no time though, there's a lot more to see. So you continue on chasing.

You see a bed pan and some viles of white powders. Hey, isn't that two cigarettes in a glass bottle? There are bed frames but strangely no mattresses. There are plates and glasses scattered everywhere. Boy, they sure left in a hurry. They didn't bother to put anything away. Then you find a whiskey bottle. Spider Man sees it too. He actually lets you catch up to him and pours you a drink. You cheers Spider Man and tilt your head back. Before that warm feeling that always accompanies good whiskey is gone he shoots ahead.

He shows you even more cool stuff. There's a swimming pool full of salt water. There are guns and helmets and what appear to be artillery shells. Then you see jeeps. There are at least a dozen jeeps littering the floor. But something is strange here. They are scattered every which way. Some are on their sides, some are upside down. One is crushed by an upside down tank. Hey what the hell? How did that tank get here?

Things get a little clearer now. You realize that things are not really as they seem. Left is really, well down for lack of a better word. Straight is still straight but right is actually up. And then it dawns on you, you're on the President Coolidge and she's laying on her port side. You're 160 feet (50 meters) underwater and having the best wreck dive of your life. Spider Man is actually a 24 year old Ni- Vanuatan that's done 5000 dives on the Coolidge and was late to your dive because he was playing soccer! And your computer just beeped at you. You're in decompression mode and if you surface without your deco stops there's a good chance you'll get the bends.

The President Coolidge was an amazing ship in her time. Launched in 1931 from the Newport News Shipyard (same yard that's now building today's aircraft carriers) she was heralded as the most luxurious cruise liner to be launched from an American yard. During WWII she was converted to a troop carrier and assigned to the American Pacific Fleet. Her top sides were painted gun-metal gray and antiaircraft guns were welded to the deck, right next to the saltwater pool. Her spacious accommodations were converted to house 5000 soldiers.

On October, 26th 1942 she hit two mines attempting to enter Espirito Santo. In a last ditch effort her captain rammed the bow into the shore and ordered all hands to abandon ship. Leave everything behind and just get off the boat. Most of the crew was able to climb over the side and walk out onto the reef. 90 minutes later she sank on her port side to her final resting place. In a stroke of luck the casualties were light, totaling only three if I remember correctly. One man was killed by the initial mine blast, and two others were killed attempting to fight fires and rescue their trapped shipmates.

And so, we have one of the most accessible and awesome wreck dives on the planet. You enter the water from a nice, gently sloping beach and swim out to the reef. Where the reef ends the bow of the Coolidge begins! Diving on the Coolidge is really intense. The bow lies in 60 ft but the stern is at a whopping 220 ft So, the guys here consider a “shallow” dive to be 130 ft which is at the limits for a PADI advanced diver. Basically every dive you do here the majority of your time is at 150 ft or so, and they will take you all the way to the bottom which happens to be 226 ft.

Because the diving is so technical here, and the wreck is huge and easy to loose your way in, we for the first time actually paid someone to take us diving. We choose Allan Power because he's the real deal. Over a span of 42 years he's done over 20,000 dives on the Coolidge. Can you imagine that? Diving on the same wreck 20,000 times? That's 40 dives a month, every month with no breaks, for 42 years! So he really knows his stuff.

With Allan there are no packages to buy and no fuss. Everyday there is a morning dive (around 9:00AM) and a afternoon dive (around 2:30PM). If you want to go diving just show up at one of those times and you'll be sorted. If you're not too wiped out from the morning dive show up in the afternoon as well. And if you want a night dive just ask. It's well worth it. Plus, if you are a sailor and have your own gear you get a pretty sweet discount.

After an initial dive to learn your skill level and air consumption the guides will start taking you deeper and deeper into the ship. These guys don't mess with multiple tanks or tri-mix. Everything is done on a single tank of air. It is possible to pop down to 226 ft., meander around a wreck at a respectable 150 ft. for 30 minutes and then swim out the chain locker at the other end. The Coolidge is over 650 ft long. Over the course of several dives you become more acquainted with the wreck. You calm down, relax, and most importantly slow your breathing. It's then that you exit the chain locker with 1/3 tank left and are feeling pretty happy with yourself! Then your guide shows you his gauge and it puts you in your place. That's ok though, they'll have hang tanks waiting at the deco stops.

We have lot's of good photos but this one will have to do until we get internet.

Vanuatu, Tenk yu tumas! by Josje

2011-09-20T02:39:00.000-07:00

Nambawan! All of a sudden we are sailing away from Vanuatu and heading north towards the Solomons. Woah crazy! Pull up the anchor and it hits us all at the same time… We're leaving Vanuatu. How did this moment creep up on us? Pop open the champagne! Smiles and goodbye Vanuatu speeches are made while we sunbathe partly naked on the back deck of Delos. Thank you Vanuatu! Cheers to volcanoes, prophets, ganja and nambas. And thank you crystal clear waters for taking such good care of Delos as we sailed through the beautiful reefs that connect these amazing, diverse islands. I smile and embrace the past 9 weeks we spent sailing and exploring Vanuatu. Truly an amazing place which will be in our minds, body and soul for the rest of our lives. Vanuatu even gave us a little goodbye present as we sailed away. We caught a yellow fin tuna which we proceeded to cook straight away. Can't get much fresher than that! Forks in hand, we share the catch and some rice from a big dish. Nothing better than island style… Vanuatu, you taught us well.

Getting Stoned with Savages By Josjerama

2011-09-01T18:50:00.000-07:00

Let’s go on a little adventure... let’s say it’s about 4:20pm. Think that the colours red, green, yellow and black are somehow more vivid than ever before. Imagine you’re bare foot, sitting on the jungle floor, feeling that warm soft breeze flow past your face and there are heaps of people. Heaps of wonderful, relaxed people. Oh, and also lots of plants. Any kind of plants you can imagine.

You’re surrounded by nature and huge coconut trees tower over you, one occasionally making a loud crash somewhere over there as a coconut falls into the dirt. Life is good, there are no worries. The sun shines warmly on your face and you can’t help but smile. Sometimes it gets too hot though, but it’s all good, because you’ll find yourself an old, wise tree that will shade you and generations to come. Or you can just dip off in the ocean that just happens to be the perfect temperature.

Feeling refreshed, you walk out of the ocean and see one of the children holding a stick, drawing a picture in the sand. His mini dreadlocks bounce around and he runs away laughing when he sees you approaching. What you stumble upon is normal and recognizable. This guy’s face is on most of the t-shirts that people wear around here.

You figure out that you’re on an island, lets call it Alukelam, plotted somewhere in the group of islands called Vanuatu in the Western South Pacific. F**k yeah, your thinking, your stoked to be here! Oh, but…. oh no. Its at this point that the adventure starts to get a little weird. The story seems to come to life. The environment, the people, nature; its all real. Its almost too real. Your slowly starting to slip back to reality, doing whatever your doing and Bang. That’s it. There’s your little glimpse of our everyday paradise. Delos finds itself anchored in the calm, beautiful bay. And Brian, Paul, Brady and I find ourselves hanging out in a village called, oh I don’t know, Pilem. Is it a coincidence? How did we stumble into such an amazing place full of amazing things? Who knew it would be like this? We had an idea… but nothing like this….

We were lucky enough to catch a fish on the way in, so our first order of business is to take it to shore and give it to the village. Brady handed the fish over and we were automatically welcome. They asked if we would like a tour and then walked away giggling while leading us through their village, so we meander through huts, nakamals, pre schools and churches. We gather an army of villagers behind us and I notice that half the people have dreads. Sweet, I thought, that’s pretty cool. What we ran into next though, we weren’t so prepared for. This guy here:

He was sitting in his little hut, reading the bible. He was surrounded by carvings of wood and stone, all brightly painted and placed aesthetically around his hut. He came out smiling and shook all of our hands. Right away he asked if we could take a photo of him. Of course we would. He went back into his hut and changed into a silk robe with the price tag on it. In permanent marker it read $500 VT. (About $5 US dollars)

We had to get a photo with this guy. He was pretty cool. Previously, his name was Tom, but he liked Moses better, so he thought why not combine the two. Tomoses was the outcome and he definitely suited it. Oh and turns out he’s a prophet too. Prophet Tomoses. Has a ring to it doesn’t it? We were then led into his hut and the smell of paint drifted in the air. We were surrounded by maybe 25 brightly painted crowns all carved by Tomoses himself. There was an odd selection of Medieval carvings. Swords, bow and arrows, crowns, and sheilds were some of the works of art. We asked if it was ok to try some of the crowns on and take photos. Of course its ok. Excellent. Paul goes for a classic look.

Brady got his hands on the biggest one he could see and I grabbed a funny looking one sitting in the corner. We are still unsure whether the one on my head resembles a tea cosy or a nipple.

And of course, what more to expect from Brian? He grabbed a sword, huge crown and put on his game face (a.k.a the creepy face)… Turns out that prophet Tomoses is an active member of the SDA church (Seventh Day Adventist) and preaches on Saturdays and yep you guessed it, all of his followers get to wear a crown during the service. What more could you expect from a Saturday service?? At this point we were all a bit tripped out by what we just stumbled across. So we decided we make our way back to the warmth and comfort of Delos. We slept like babies. The next day Brady swam into shore a bit before us and was passed a smoke the second he crawled from the sea. We showed up minutes later and took our places sitting on the beach, and hung out with a bunch of dudes, young and old. They decided to take us for a little walk into the jungle. We ended up in a wee clearing just in front of the beach, with a small hut and a garden. They were very proud to show us one of their plants in particular. As they didn’t speak English very well, and we don’t speak Bislamic it was sort of like their way of seeing if we were on the same page. The same level so to speak. And of course we were. They showed us their plants with pride. We had a pretty good look, took some pictures and nod approvingly.

Brady representing Trautman’s Deli. Holding a smoke up to his nipple? Anyway..

They all smiled and led us back to the main village. One of us told the guys we were big supporters of what they were doing. With another big smile we were told to wait where we were. He ran into one of the huts and came back holding a parcel, neatly wrapped in a green banana leaf….

Oh wicked, its Christmas time! What to do now?? We were told there is a river near by and it would be a good idea to go hang out there. Sounds like a nice little Saturday plan so we continued our walk along the beach, through the jungle and out onto the other side. A river here flows out of the jungle on our right and meets the ocean on our left. It’s a beautiful little spot.

We all take a seat under a comforting tree and the parcel is unraveled. I take it in my hand to get a closer look.

Tightly wrapped goodness in a banana leaf.

Some is taken from the parcel and rolled into a dried banana leaf.

Which we all then proceeded to smoke. Nothing better than island style… It burnt really well and managed to make its way around the circle too many times to count. As if that wasn’t enough a second one was also rolled, lit and passed around at the same time. Our worlds became nice, light and fluffy. Everything was good, the sun was shining, children laughing and playing in the water… The water, oh man, it looked so good. It was too tempting, so we had to get in and bathe. And that was exactly what we did. We swam across the river and lazed around. We took full advantage of the hot sand, as we spread our limbs and relaxed. One of us happened to look over and see Tomoses and a few others bathing naked across the river. None of us are even disgusted by the sight of an old naked man. If anything, we were happy. We shake our heads with a smile on our face and take in the moment. It was too good to pass.

The people here live such beautiful lives. They live within this complete paradise and they’re constantly surrounded by their family and friends. It would be so easy to just slip away from reality forever and live a life more simple. A life full of joy and happiness. And you can tell the people here are so genuine, so caring and helpful. They always have a smile to send your way, and there’s no doubt it’s a genuine smile. I often wish that everybody could just drop everything and come see this magic. There’s just nothing else like it…
As we lay in the late afternoon sun, we were entertained by the children of the village. Its crazy how creative these kids can be. By having such limited resources in general, they make the most out of the resources that they have. And after spending a while with these people, you soon find out that they have a million uses for everything, its great. So these kids started playing war games with all the things they could find on the sand. Twigs, old coconut shells, coral, and even leaves were all used and each kid had their own aircraft, or boat or machine gun. They were totally engulfed in their games, totally in the moment, enjoying life. They would make blasting noise, trying to destroy each others forts. This was so much better than any video game.

Some of the kids got real keen and took it to the next level. One guy ran into the bushes and grabbed branches and vines. He started tying twigs together to make an extra strong fort, and covered it in leaves.

Boys playing battle ships.

We were mesmerized by these guys for hours. Of course we were, we had just smoked some great local stuff, rolled in a banana leaf and we were lazing around in the sun building forts out of twigs. The thought itself is pretty buzzy. Its not everyday you get to do that. Unless you live here of course, which we all contemplated for a little while. Time was floating by and it was heading towards dinner time and we remembered we had leftover lasagna waiting for us on the boat. Win. Mouths watering, we said our goodbyes and headed back.

As we were walking along the beach, we ran into a group of people sitting on some logs, toes in the sand, with smiles painted across their faces. And they all had some sort of dreads in their hair. So we decided to stop and chill out with them for a while. Everybody was introduced, and as always , no names were really remembered. But it didn’t matter, everybody was happy. There was a relaxed silence for a few minutes as we all absorbed the situation. We ask if they smoke and they all nod and smile. So Brady rolls a smoke, pretty good size for our standards, and lights it up. When it gets passed around to one of the guys, he shares a loud friendly laugh. He is laughing because for him it’s the smallest smoke he’s ever seen. He looks to his side and around the rest of the circle and doubts its going to make its way around. We all share a laugh. He says its too small and looks to one of the women who soon disappears for a while and comes back holding something a little bigger. She hands it over to us and says “for you… to smoke on boat”. Oh sweeeeet. We give our many thanks and carry on. The lasagna definitely upheld its reputation. Thanks Brian.

Island size cone.

The next day we woke late in the afternoon as usual. We met a lady named Danessa who lives in New Zealand, but comes to visit her home town here in Vanuatu, once a year. She asked if we could give her and three other children a lift to the island just across the channel. Yeah of course, we will pick you up on shore in about 15 minutes, we say. Four people turn out to be seven people so including us, there’s now eleven people loaded into the dinghy, which has a rated capacity of 6. Nothing like an adventure we say. So we all squeeze in and make our way to the other island across the channel. When we all arrive, we are greeted by many family and friends who gather around and follow us all down to her home village. We weren’t sure whether she was extremely grateful for the ride or if she was just super excited to be home because she was just bursting with energy and excitement. I figured it was probably a bit of both. She’s like one of those aunties who are always fussing and doing something to make sure everyone and everything is Ok. We stopped to rest and she was frantically cutting pawpaw and coconut for us to eat and drink. I’m always blown away by the hospitality of these people; always wanting to make sure your ok and doing anything they can to make you feel at home. It was touching.

And before we knew it, she was taking us on an adventure through the jungle to the gardens where they would gather all sorts of fruits for us. In the end, we had accumulated about 7 coconuts, 9 grapefruit, pawpaw, a handful of nuts and seeds, cocoa, a heap of ginger and a huge bunch of delicious bananas. Wow, all of us had our hands full. We were set.

So we loaded the dinghy up and said our goodbyes. Danessa and the gang were so happy we gave them all a lift, it saved them having to canoe over, which is pretty hard work, so they all stood on the beach waving their arms above their heads until we were out of sight. Danessa was also so happy to be home, and why wouldn’t she be. With abundant fruit and beautiful people, I think she was extremely lucky to grow up here.

We made our way back to Delos and decided to make one more stop onto shore before sailing into the distance. It may or may not have involved another banana leaf surprise. Nevertheless, we all wished we were able to stay in this magical place for longer, but time was upon us and we had to move north. So we pulled up the anchor and sailed off into the distance, where more adventures await us. I was sitting on the deck as we sailed away, and I witnessed an absolutely magical sunset, where the suns rays glistened through the clouds, where all sorts of crazy colours spread into the sky. Good times.

Its crazy how similar Vanuatu and Jamaica are. Not that I have been to Jamaica myself, but if I had to imagine it, this is what it would be like. Its really quite interesting actually, for example, the Vanuatu flag holds the colours red, green, yellow and black. Red representing the blood of the people, green representing the land, yellow representing the sun and beaches, and black representing the skin of the people. The flag also shows pigs tusks, resembling prosperity and in the centre of that, a Namelle leaf which represents peace.

A lot of people here have dreads too, which is unlike any place I’ve seen. And of course, those are the ones that like to smoke. A lot. They also love their rasta hats, Bob Marley t-shirts and reggae music. And its quite funny, if you ask a local about Jamaica, they are quite unaware of the similarities that both countries have. Some don’t even realise the colours are the same! Some just shake their heads as if they don’t even know where we are talking about. Hah. But nevertheless, although the cultures seem to be insanely similar and they’re worlds apart, it doesn’t matter, they’re both happy as can be. So pretty much, Delos found the Jamaica of the south pacific. And how wonderful it was.

Out here, every single moment is too good to pass. I’m just so grateful to be out here experiencing it. I have to say its often pretty difficult to embrace every single moment. I try my best to absorb the whole thing as best as I can, but it can be a little overwhelming at times. Always being on the move, constantly being surrounded by paradise is almost too good to be true right? Well, its not because we’re fortunate enough to be out here doing whatever it is that we’re meant to be doing. I often wonder what has lead me to being here? But in the end, I figure that it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I feel exactly where I am meant to be. Happy days.

Happy sailors on Delos

The end.

Visions in Paradise - by Brady

2011-09-01T12:07:00.000-07:00

Before our blog moves on and starts focusing on other islands in Vanuatu there is a story we would like to share. It takes place on, yep you guessed it, Tanna. Unfortunately this is a rather heartbreaking story but the visions and happenings that surround it are indeed interesting. The majority of the information was told to me by our John Frummer friend, Erick Phillemon, at a late night nakamal kava session so I’ll do my best to include everything that was whispered to me.

“Erick, do you have brothers or sisters?” I mumbled into his ear, trying to get to know him a bit better. “Yes, I have one younger brother and two older brothers.” “Do they live here on Tanna?” “My younger brother does but die three weeks ago.” His reply was very non-chalant, then continued, “one brother lives in New Caledonia and one in Vila.” I paused as you sometimes do when the locals talk to you in a broken kava induced English. “Wait, your younger brother just died three weeks ago?” “Yes, he drown while spear fishing, his name is Tom”. Since arriving in Tanna we had heard a few villagers mention a local drowning a week or so before. We asked questions but nobody really told us the story. I really wanted to know what happened but didn't want to pry and speak out of line. “I’m so sorry” I said. Eric reached into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone out. The screen lit up and he started showing me pictures of his brother. He went through them very slowly, and was proud to show them to me. I glanced up from the screen to his dimly lit face and could make out a slight smile. “I’m sorry, Eric. What happened?”

He put the phone away and began to softly speak. “Sunday me and Tom get up and want fish so we walk to Port Resolution with our friend and we take the fiber (fiberglass boat with outboard engine). Beautiful day” He said while smiling and shaking his head back and forth. “Many, many fish. Flat waves. We spearfish and swim all day. Beautiful. The boat is full of fish in afternoon. I tell Tom lets go back and eat fish. We get into the fiber but Tom says no and sees a big fish. He is swimming toward the fish then dive down. He doesn’t come back up…Me and my friend” he continues while pointing to a man stoking the fire. “We swim and dive and look but don’t see him. We think he gets tired and swims to the beach. We drive by the beach and do not see Tom. All day until the sun goes down, we dive.” He paused and looked at the fire. “How long were you guys searching for him?” I wanted him to continue the story. “He goes down at one or two and we look until sun goes down, five or six. We go back to the village and are very worried about Tom. I walk up and down the beach all night until sun comes up Monday but I don’t see him.” I don’t know what to say at this point and there is a moment of silence. I picture losing one of my brothers and what he must be feeling. He spoke again, “We search Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday all day and night but we don’t find him.”

I’ll stop the story there and rewind a few days to a conversation with a woman named Margaret. We spoke to her on one of our missions to find Prophet Fred, who turns out to be her uncle. After 20 minutes of talking with her and hearing her endless stories about having visions and seeing miracles, there is one thing we can say about Margaret; She’s a bit crazy. Here is an example of one of her witnessed “miracles”. She told us a story of leading two tourists to the volcano at night only to get very lost in the jungle on the way back. Her eyes were wide open and she looked deeply at all of us. “We pray and pray all night to get out of jungle. We hold hands and pray to god to let us out. Then big light!! All jungle lights up and we find path out. Because we pray god shows us out of the jungle.” We could be wrong but we came to the more logical conclusion, to our selves of course, that the sun came up. “Have you had any other miracles or visions lately?” One of us asked. “Oh yes”, her eyes grew wider, “there was a boy that drowned and I see him in a vision!” “What happened, what did you see?” “I was praying in church Sunday and I see him spear fishing. He goes down very deep and gets stuck. He shoots big big turtle and turtle takes him deep and he dies.” She stretched her arms wide, “BIG, BIG turtle” “And you saw this when it was happening?” I replied. “yes, yes I see him spear fishing……” Margaret continued and recited her vision again. “So what did you do?” “Nothing, I did not know the meaning of the vision. When I find out he is missing I tell them of my vision…On Wednesday I tell them where he is on the bottom of the sea and point from the beach. Two white man go dive with gas and find him at 24 meters.” “Wow, so they found him because where you pointed?” Our eyes were the big ones now and looked at her. “Oh yes, I see him spear fishing……” Just incase we didn’t understand she told us once again. “……..big turtle take him down….”

Fast forward back to the nakamal with Erick. “So you searched Sunday, Monday and Tuesday and didn’t find him?” The talk with Margaret instantly popped into my head “Did you find him Wednesday?" I asked “Yes! We find him! My mom, Emily, has a dream Tuesday night” So your mom had a vision as well, I thought to myself. “Tom comes to her and says he is cold and sleeping at the bottom of the sea. My mom was very anger with me for not telling her that her son was missing, she cries and yells” “So, your mom didn’t know Tom was missing when she had the dream!?” “No, no. We don’t tell her what happened Sunday because we don’t want her to worry. Tuesday late or early Wednesday morning she runs to my home holding a pair of Tom’s trousers. She says ‘Why did you hide this from me!! Tom is very cold!!’ We walk to the beach to look at the sea then back to Port Resolution. So we wait until the sun comes up and find two French man on yacht with gas for diving. My mom goes to the beach with Tom’s trousers and points to where he is sleeping on the sea. She is crying and pointing and holding tight to the trousers. The divers go deep down and find him there.” How terrible it must have been for her to have her son come to her in a dream shivering and saying he was sleeping at the bottom of the sea.

“Wow, very sad. I’m sorry”. I said trying to be understanding as possible “Yes” he says still half smiling as he shows me another picture on his cell phone. This one was disturbing. It was his brother’s bloated body just after the divers brought him up. We both paused and gazed into the fire for a few minutes. “Do you know Margaret, from the village on the other side of the hill?” I wanted to know what he thought of her and her vision. He looked away from the fire and turned to me with a big smile whispering, “She’s crazy women”. I told him what she had to say about Toms death and asked if he knew about her visions and the role she supposedly played in finding his body. He smiled again and said “Oh, Margaret, she’s crazy women. She didn’t tell anyone about her vision in church until after Tom was found….Why didn’t she tell her vision on Sunday when we lose him??”

By this point Erick and I were well into our stoned kava state and called over for another bowl. I said sorry once again about him losing his brother. He patted me on the back, grinned, and said “lets go have kava!”

A few days later we were finally able to track down and meet with Prophet Fred. We went all out, setting up a tripod and filming an hour long interview with him. Among other things, we wanted to know what he thought of all these visions revolving around Tom’s drowning. The time came and I told him everything I heard or knew about the tragedy then asked “What do you think happened?” Pretty open ended question right? He could have easily told us visions he had or how he was involved in finding Tom’s body like the others but he was very calm and through his translator said “I knew about what happened to Tom and was very upset by it. We are all family. I did not have any visions but many people came to me and we sacrificed for Tom to be found. The next day Tom was found…”

Who knows what actually occurred or what visions or prayers led to the divers finding his body. The interesting fact is that two people possibly led the divers to the final resting place of Tom’s body and Prophet Fred may have worked his magic through the power of prayer. Even more interesting is how Margaret kept going on and on about a big, big turtle…Believe it or not but a few days after Tom was found a big, big turtle was found on the north part of Tanna, about 20 miles away. In the turtle was Toms spear!…..Maybe "crazy woman" Margaret isn't so crazy after all.

I can clearly see your nuts! By Brian

2011-08-29T18:53:00.000-07:00

Quick Note- If you’re easily offended by ritualistic animal killings and\or ceremonial nudity you may want to skip this one…..

“Who want kill pig?” shouted the man leading our ceremony. My arm instantly shot up as if it had a mind of it’s own. I’m not sure why, it just sort of happened. A sort of subconscious arm-jerk reaction. I walked to the center of about 30 people, most of them fellow cruisers here to participate in the Malekula Port Sandwich festival. I was handed a club and led over to a pig that was to be sacrificed and eaten for the ceremony. The pig was bound and tied at the feet and laying on it’s side. The ceremony leader pointed at the pig’s head and made a striking motion to the center of it’s skull.

My fellow cruisers started snapping photos. I got into my best stance, lined up my swing, and landed a good whack squarely in the middle of the head. I did two more just for good measure. The pig didn’t squeal, didn’t tremble, it just went limp. The kill was quick and clean. According to the natives this is the Kastom way of killing a pig. There was a slight clapping of hands but mostly looks of disbelief coming from my fellow cruisers. I believe they didn’t expect that to actually happen. I walked away in a bit of disbelief myself, pondering the fact that I’d just killed another animal but knowing that the animal would be eaten and nothing wasted helped. It’s one thing to buy pork or beef at the supermarket, but quite another to actually see where you’re meal is coming from.

We had just watched a ceremonial dance put on by the Small Nambas tribe of Dravai Village, South East Malekula. The natives were wearing their traditional dress for the dance which means a lot of testicles were out and about. There are two tribes of Nambas here, the Big Nambas and the Small Nambas. I know what you’re thinking right now, and NO- it has absolutely nothing to do with the size of their family jewels or any other thing located in that general area! The Big Nambas just wear more leaves and cover up their rear ends. The Small Nambas simply wrap their penis in a fibrous leaf, throw on a belt fashioned from tree bark, and tie the end of the penis leaf cover into the belt holding it at attention. The Big Nambas belt is a bit wider and uses a different type of leaf. Both tribes leave their testicles pretty much exposed.

While the cruisers and other tourists sat down under a thatched roof shelter for an already prepared lunch I wondered off into the bush, following the men carrying the pig. They loaded it into the back of a pickup truck and roared off leaving a trail of dust behind them. I asked the ceremony leader where they were going with the pig and explained that I wanted to see the rest of the ceremony. The man asked me to sit down and a few minutes later returned with another man. “Brian, this is the Chief of Dravai village. His name is Chief Joseph. He says you may come to the Kastom Nakamal.” With a somewhat guilty and pained expression he explained that a Kastom fee of 1000 vatu (about $10US) was required. He went on to explain that all people not of their tribe had to pay the fee, even natives from other tribes. No worries I said and whipped out a 1000 vatu note. The Chief smiled and a few sentences in the local unintelligible dialect were exchanged. “The Chief says that we will wait for the French Army truck. When it arrives we will all go to the village together.”

It seems the French Army is here building a hospital for the island. I heard there are about 40 of them here. They have a ridiculously large six-wheeled very mean looking truck they roll around on this tiny island ferrying villagers and French Army men about. A text message was sent to the army and a few minutes later this monstrosity pulled up and 49 natives and one white guy (me) crammed into the bed of the beast. “French Army! French Army!” everyone yelled while pointing and laughing. Apparently the French Army was the bonifide taxi service here. We rolled off at break neck speed on a dirt road down the coast of the island. Everyone hooped and hollered at every dip in the road. The yells only encouraged the driver to speed up. You know he was loving his job and his driving style showed it. We raced through river beds and sand, through fields of grass and coconut plantations. Nothing slowed down the monster as it hurtled around the island.

About 20 minutes later we pulled up to the village and everyone hopped out. The French army driver jumped out and I got a good look at him. In typical French fashion he was wearing camouflaged short shorts, like something you’d see in the French Riviera but with a military flavor. They barely covered his thighs. A lit cigarette hung limply from his mouth. A little beret was covering his balding head and his belly could be seen bulging from under the stylish camouflaged frock that was his shirt. He passed out cigarettes to all the natives. When he turned around and roared off the natives pulled their shorts up as high as they could around their thighs and walked around puffing their cigarettes in a mocking fashion yelling “French Army! French Army!” while laughing hysterically. You gotta love the French!

I was lead through the village to the Nakamal which was a few hundred meters into the jungle. The Nakamal was huge, the biggest I’ve ever seen. It was bordered by a palm thatched fence and could easily have held 250 people. Inside were dozens and dozens of ceremonial carvings and tam-tam’s. The area was beautifully kept and the dirt raked clean of leaves. It looked like a impeccably well kept garden or backyard.

The pig was laying on a bed of palm fronds and a group of a dozen or so men were gathered around. The entire pig was rubbed in dirt and water. They lit the fronds on fire and proceeded to burn the hair off the pig. Someone held a burning frond in his hand and lit up portions of the hair while another man followed behind with a machete scraping the burnt hair away, leaving just the skin behind. The smell was just how you’d imagine burning pig hair to be. The entire body was then cleaned with water, and rubbed from snout to tail with papaya halves.

Another man with a machete then gutted the pig in one stroke leaving the liver, heart, intestines, and everything else laying in a neat pile. The carcass was thoroughly washed with water and quartered into chunks, which were then cut into smaller pieces and placed onto freshly cut bamboo poles. These were arranged around a fire and the meat was spit roasted. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t look absolutely mouth watering. I sat around with the men feasting on the simple dish of roasted pork and rice.

I sat down next to my guide and translator, Etienne, as he explained some of the Kastom things of this Nakamal. The island customs of Vanuatu are distinctly different, and even vary from area to area within one island. Etienne- are women allowed in this Nakamal? “Yes, of course. But before a women enters the Nakamal a man must escort her. When they get to the Nakamal entrance the tam-tam is hit five times. This let’s everyone know a women is approaching. If it’s just a man approaching they only hit the tam-tam three times. Also, everything made in the Nakamal is sacred. All food prepared here must be eaten in the Nakamal. Nothing can be removed. The feathers, clubs, and nambas cannot be removed unless it’s for a special dance and the chief has approved.”

Etienne, I’d really like to wear a nambas. Would that be allowed? He looked confused and confirmed with me “Brian, you want to wear a nambas?” I shook my head yes in the now dimming light. “I will need to speak to the Big Chief about this.” Etienne got up and swiftly walked off to the Big Chief, the same man that I paid my Kastom fee to. There was a discussion, some pointing at me, and lot’s of smiling. A small group of men gathered around and you could tell they were hatching some scheme. They were in good spirits.

Etienne returned and sat down. “Brian, the Chief has said that one of the boys will fit you with a nambas. There are three things you must know. First, you must wear the nambas with dignity. When you wear the nambas you must be serious. There is no joking around and your face must be like stone. You must be like a warrior. Otherwise the Chief will punch you.” Ok, got it I thought. No messing around, serious business, put on a war face or possibly get beaten by the chief. No problem. “Second, you must dance with us. Everyone that wears the nambas must dance. We will show you what to do. The boys are going to do a special dance for you tonight. You are very lucky Brian. Not many people see this dance we do tonight. The last thing is after dancing you must drink Kava with us. Have you had Kava before? It is very strong here.” I smiled, shook his hand, and told him that I was in and willing to do everything. And yes, I had drank some Kava before. His eyes widened when I mentioned Sulfur Bay on Tanna.

I was led behind a small thatched hut by one of the men I recognized from this morning’s dance. He spoke no English so with hand signals told me to remove my shirt and shorts. We all gave up underwear ages ago so nothing to worry about there. I stood in the jungle completely naked while for the first time in my life another man swiftly grabbed hold of my most precious element and wrapped a leaf around it. The leaf was folded over and over, making multiple layers. A band was then tied around it snuggly to hold everything in place. It was, let’s just say, a very interesting and different experience. A piece of jungle vine was tied around my waste and the nambas leaf was then folded back towards my abdomen, and tucked back into the vine. Imagine a right triangle formed by my lower abdomen and nambas leaf with the hypotenuse of the leaf attached just below my belly button.

A 4 inch wide piece of tree bark was placed around my waste and secured with another vine. A few bits of leafs were stuffed into various places to add a bit of flair. Dozens and dozens of nuts were tied together forming a native version of Santa’s Jingle Bells. The string of noise makers was then lashed around my ankles doubling on themselves and wrapping around and around. The slightest motion ended up in a huge amount of noise. It was like having a dozen tambourines attached to my ankles. At this point another man approached me with buckets of paint and went to work. There was red paint from berries for the face, black paint from charcoal, and white paint from chalk. My back, chest, face, beard, and legs were painted in native designs. A feather was stuck in my hair and I was handed an impressive looking war club. All ready to roll I was directed to stand in front of the tam-tam and wait for the rest of the dancers.

I stood in the middle of the Nakamal, directly in front of the huge tam-tam. It was hard to absorb the experience and I was in a bit of shock, standing there stark naked except for my nambas in the middle of a native village somewhere in the jungle. My fellow sailors and cruisers were somewhere far far away, no doubt enjoying the festival and sting band entertainment in Port Sandwich. Somehow, someway, I was meant to be here at this one moment. To share this experience with this tribe of fascinating people.

The Chief and his brother stood at my side and slowly but steadily began to beat their own tam-tam’s. The dancers entered through a break in the Nakamal fence and with precise and fear some movements began an intricate dance. They formed two lines and in unison weaved in and out of each other, brandishing their war clubs and stomping the dirt throwing up clouds of dust with each foot fall. The nuts tied around their ankles rang in unison with the tam-tams which were steadily speeding up. Soon the tam-tam’s were pounding at an incredible pace. The dancers kept each step perfectly timed and started exploding with energy leaping into the air and shouting fierce yells into the darkness. It was apparent that this dance was meant to intimidate. It was meant to show other tribes you were very, very tough and not to be crossed. The message came across very clearly.

The beat reached a crescendo and the dancers broke their ranks and began circling the tam-tam’s in two circles. The inner circle and outer circle revolved in different directions. The men placed their war clubs on their shoulders and walked around and around. It really wasn’t a walk though. I’d describe it as more of an animalistic prowl. A step that said “At any moment I’m ready to pounce. I could easily jump on you and bash your head in with this club.” It was very fierce. For a brief moment the recent history of these people crossed my mind. Although I felt perfectly safe being the only white guy surrounded by more than 50 natives I couldn’t help but think back to something I read just a few days before. The last REPORTED case of cannibalism here on Malekula was 1969. The practice was commonly overlooked by the government well into more recent times. The natives here would eat their dead ancestors to make sure that a piece of them stayed with the living, always.

I was nudged out of my thoughts by the chief’s brother, who motioned that it was my time to dance. I was to join one of the rings of circling dancers. So I jumped right in and began my toughest walk. I put my club on my shoulder and did my best war face. I’m really glad it was getting dark because I couldn’t help but feel really self conscious. Soon enough the beat began to speed up and up. I did my best to follow the dancer in front of me, trying to mimic his foot patterns. The tam-tam’s reached a crescendo and everyone stood in place, stomping the earth to pieces and making an incredible noise with the ankle shakers. Hunch your back, tilt your head up, and hold your war club at both ends down by your waste. Now lift your knees as high as you can before slamming them back into the dirt. This went on and on for ages and ages. My thighs were burning. This was way more exercise than running, it was like a Stairmaster on steroids. Suddenly the beat shifted and the circles began moving again in opposite directions. Stomp twice with the left foot, once with the right foot. Around and around we go with our war faces on and clubs ready to let loose. Now switch. Twice with the right foot, once with the left foot. Now march like you’re heading into battle. Do this for a while then it’s time to stomp in place again. Dancers are breathing in puffs and sweat is making the war paint run down your brow and into your eyes. Time for a rest…… Lift your head, put your club on your shoulder, and walk like a hunter surveying it’s prey. Relax a little bit but always keep moving. Never stop moving. Now repeat the whole thing again, back into intimidation mode. This went on and on for how long I’m not sure.

When the dance was over we retired to the Kava area and with great ceremony I was presented a bowl of Kava. I was treated with great honor and respect, and allowed to drink Kava before the chief which has never, ever happened anywhere else. It was a great gesture on the part of the chief and I was lucky enough to realize it.

Etienne came to my side and shook my hand. “Brian, the chief says you danced very well. He wishes to invite you do dance with us tomorrow for the circumcision ceremony. We dance at 9:00AM.”

Gut check! My stomach doubled over at the thought of dancing not only in the bright light of morning but also for the real ceremony. It’s one thing to dance with the natives privately in the Nakamal in the dimming twilight, but quite another to dance with potentially dozens of tourists around. I briefly wondered if it was right to dance with the natives. Would I be tainting the experience of all the tourists that had traveled so far and gone to great effort to see a traditional native dance, only to find a white sailor guy dancing about acting like a native? Would my participation take away from the genuineness of the dance? I only pondered for a split second before realizing this was as real as it gets. I was extended a real invitation from the Big Chief to dance in a real circumcision ceremony. To refuse the invitation would have been an insult not only to the chief but the whole tribe. If the tourists were put off by my involvement so be it, they could focus their expensive telephoto lenses elsewhere. It could have also been the fact that I was on my second bowl of Kava, but either way I heartily accepted the invitation and expressed my gratitude and honor towards the chief. We shook hands and the entire tribe belted out a shout. I was in. We spent the rest of the evening drinking Kava and snapping photos.

Early the next morning we started walking to Dravai for the ceremony. We were picked up along the way by the French Army truck and dropped off in short time. I was lead through the village and into the Nakamal while the rest of the Delos crew and other tourists waited outside. I was a big boy and put on most of my outfit myself this time. My war paint was applied even more intricately than before, and I was handed an absolutely immense club.

The tam-tam warned us of the impending approach of the mass of people. Before I had time to consider my position we formed two lines and started our war prowl out to the central area. Two rings were formed and we circled the tam-tam for ages and ages. There were well over 100 people watching, nearly split between tourists and villagers. Cameras flashed and shutters snapped. Comic book large telephoto lenses sat atop tripods ready to take it all in. One guy in particular had a complete backpack full of equipment.

I did my best to clear my mind, to focus on the dancer in front of me and not steal a glance at the throng of people watching. I was instructed to do the same thing as last night. I don’t really remember much from here. It seemed to go by in the blink of an eye, even though I know it lasted well over 30 minutes and the whole ceremony was at least 2 hours with multiple dances. Maybe it was nervousness, a rush of adrenaline, or my brain switching to warrior mode. Maybe a bit of all three. I’m not sure but when we were finished I had the hugest rush of euphoria and a wave of accomplishment and satisfaction rolled over me. It was very similar to how I felt after bungy jumping in New Zealand, basking in the after glow of a huge adrenaline rush. Many village elders approached me and shook my hand. With a knowing smile they asked me how I felt after wearing the Nambas and dancing. They knew how I felt. They had been there before.

If you’ve made it this far you may be interested to hear where the title of this blog came from. A man walks into a psychologist's office completely naked. He is wrapped head to toe in clear plastic wrap. Around and around the wrap goes covering his entire body. He awkwardly sits down on the office couch and asks “So Doctor, do you have any idea what may be wrong with me?” The doctor looks at the man, thinks for a moment, and replies “I can clearly see your nuts!”. One of my dad’s classics!

I’m happy to say we also have a new toy on the boat. My old Olympus bit the dust so we now have a sweet new Canon G12. So far we’re pretty impressed and playing with all the settings is a blast.

Au Revoir Port Vila, Tank Yu Tumas! By Brian

2011-08-10T23:31:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you just need a break. A break from what you may ask? Isn't this whole trip a break? Well, the answer is both yes and no.

You see, this cruising season has been very intense for Delos and her crew. I'd say we really haven't done much "cruising" since leaving New Zealand over 3 months ago. We've done a whole heap of adventure seeking and just happen to be traveling by sailboat. We've sailed the hell out of Delos. Trips that would have taken 2 days using the motor in light winds turn into lovely 5 day drifters.

Our motto this year has been do the opposite. When most boats sail west we sail east. When people are talking about sailing downwind we go upwind. 5 knots of breeze? No worries, it will just take longer. No cruising guide? Nothing mentioned in Lonely Planet? We're there. Natives bearing machetes and malaria? We have smiles and Doxycycline. We've had tough beats upwind. Not comfortable. We've had surf too big to land the dinghy, so we swim in. We've been in anchorages so rocky and rolly I wake up and think we must be sailing, only to find out that we're not going anywhere. For a few days on Tanna the SE trades disappeared leaving a Westerly that covered Delos in an inch of volcanic ash. It was hot, humid, and muggy but still we couldn't open the hatches to let in even a peep of fresh breeze. The payoff for this has been in spades however. We've seen and experienced some ridiculous things over the past few months and have cherished every second. But it can sometimes be exhausting.

So we took a break. Call it mid-semester, mid-season, halftime, whatever you like. We still have 3 months to go and need to stay fresh for the second half. We parked Delos in the calm, lake-like lagoon that is Port Vila. We ate food that someone else cooked, enjoyed daily trips to Au Bon Marche for French cheese (flown in daily), and ate as much fresh lettuce, tomatoes, broccoli, and cauliflower as we could bear from the farmers market. We basked in free internet (on the boat even) and watched countless terrible movies, which by the way are all bootlegged copies for $5. I drank Cafe Mocha's every afternoon and we all filled our bellies with baguettes. We even tried, and failed, to get caught up on our blog posts.

But this morning after two weeks of idle laziness the Northern islands of Vanuatu beckoned. We started taking our malaria prevention meds, pulled up the hook, and tacked out of the harbor under sunny blue skies and a wonderful 7 knot westerly that's supposed to stick around for a day or so.

We're sailing North and haven't picked a destination yet. We'll see what island we're closest too when the sun rises.

Drinkem Yumi Bigfella Kava- A Night At The Nakamal- by Brian

2011-08-06T21:09:00.001-07:00

The first time I tried Kava was in Niue, Cook Islands. We bought a small bag for $20NZ and headed over to our buddy boat Ghost. Having no idea what to do we poured the powder in a cup, mixed it with some water, and stared at the murky brown mixture with chunks of weird things floating around in it. It looked like very dirty dishwater. It smelled slightly of pepper and dirt and wood. No bowl, no filter, no straining cloth, no coconut shells. It was amateur hour and we had no idea what to do or expect. Sure, we’d read about it in some books but until you experience something for yourself you really have no idea.

Finally Brady got up some courage (peer pressure) and took a big gulp of the mixture. We sat around like kids trying alcohol for the first time watching to see what would happen to him. Would he fall over? Would he get really drunk? How potent was this stuff and how long did it take to effect you? Brady survived his gulp so we all took cups and started putting the mixture down. At the end of the night we had nothing more than a bunch of ground up root pieces stuck in our teeth and a slight numbing sensation on our tongues. We must not be doing this right we thought.

A week later we were in Tonga, where we saw how the locals prepared Kava there. The powder was strained with water through a cloth into a huge bowl to remove the chunks. We started using a dish towel to strain the Kava. We were making progress but still not getting much out of it, at least nothing like what we read about. We would put down 15 coconut shells or more, get really relaxed, and fall asleep. It gave us the most vivid, colorful dreams. We got some awesome nights of sleep.

In Fiji some 7 months later we got our own custom carved wooden bowl and a real straining cloth. We were moving up in the Kava world. We drank substantial amounts for hours on end on Delos and with the locals. We would drink 10 cups or so and start to feel the effects. Our mouths would get a little numb and we would get even more relaxed. There was a bit of euphoria and the world seemed like a happy, rosy place. One night it seemed like it was a little harder to walk back to the dinghy but certainly no different than having a few beers. The locals would get completely “drunk” as they would call it and barely be able to sit upright, much less walk a straight line. We still weren’t there yet.

What was the deal? Why did it effect the locals so differently than us? We heard that Kava needed to build up in your system and since these guys had been drinking all their lives had a bit of a head start on us. Still though, you would think we’d feel something more. Maybe our lifestyle of indulging in alcohol had given us a tolerance of sorts. Maybe we could hold our Kava better.

Kava is primarily drunk in Tonga, Fiji, and Vanuatu. As you move West it gets stronger. The Fijian’s laugh at the Tongan’s kava, much like we would at a non-alcoholic beer. The Ni-Vanuatu laugh at the Fijian Kava, comparing it to maybe a light beer. Nobody makes fun of the Vanuatu Kava. It is the strongest in the world and everybody knows it. It is the 180 proof Everclear of the Kava world. Within Vanuatu there are something like 9 different types of Kava. Of all the islands in Vanuatu Tanna has the strongest. Of all the villages in Tanna Sulfur Bay has the strongest. So, one could reasonably say that Sulfur Bay has the strongest brew in the world.

“Brian, have you drank Kava before?” asked Videl as we left the village and started our descent down the hill towards an immense banyan tree that marked the village Nakamal.

Yes, of course I have. We drank Kava in Tonga and Fiji. “How much you drink?” asked another villager Erick, who spoke passable English. Oh, sometimes we’ll drink 10 bowls or so. Erick and Videl both smiled at me. “Brian, I think you drink 2 bowls tonight. Maybe 2 and half but no more. The Kava is very strong here” said Erick. So I’ve heard. How many bowls do you guys drink? “Sometimes 4 or 5” replied Videl.

We walked down a steep hill and into the darkness. A few minutes of winding our way through the forest brought us to a huge Banyan tree, maybe 30 or so feet across. There was a small fire lit next to a open-sided hut. About 15 men were milling about in total darkness. Some around the camp fire, some simply squatting in the dirt or sitting on logs. Everyone was dead quiet. There was no talking, no whispering. A solo man was strumming a few chords on a guitar. A sliver of moon filtering through the jungle canopy and fire embers provided the only light. Occasionally you could see the artificial light from an mobile phone flicker, some native sending a text message about who knows what to who knows who.

“Brian, this is our Nakamal” whispered Videl, barely audible. “There are some rules that you should know when you are here. First of all there are no cameras allowed. That is why the Chief had your bag put in the hut. No women are allowed either. This is a men’s place only, where men are free to openly discuss anything. This is a place where men can talk to spirits and where men can pray. We also are very quiet and only talk in whispers, so that people can pray. Now we will sit and wait for the Kava to be prepared.” So we sat down in the darkness and silence for a few minutes. Then a man with a stick banged on a huge tom-tom three times, making the sound of thunder resonate through the jungle. The guitar immediately stopped playing.

What was that Videl? "That was the signal to start preparing the Kava. It also tells the women to bring food from the village and leave it on the other side of that small hill over there. After the women leave the food they will signal on another tom-tom and we will send a boy to pick it up. This is because the women are not even allowed to look at the Nakamal.” Well that’s interesting. They could have texted each other but the tom-tom method is so much cooler. So what happens if a women breaks the rule and enters the Nakamal? “Oh, it is a very bad thing. The women’s family has to give their best pig to the Chief, and also their best and oldest Kava root. It is very shameful. Pigs are a sign of wealth and power.” So does it ever happen? “No, never” was his reply.

“So Brian, now the boys are chewing the Kava root for everyone. In Tanna we chew the Kava. Other islands grind it to a powder but here we still prepare it in the Kastom way.” whispered Videl, barely audible. So quietly he had to put his lips right up to my ear for me to make out his whisper. I looked up to see a half dozen or so boys squatting on their legs in a semi-circle. Their Kava stuffed cheeks making them look like overly stuffed chipmunks. Even when their cheeks were impossibly full they somehow found a way to stuff another root in and chew. They chewed the Kava for ages, until it was a finely ground mixture of pulverized root and saliva. I had read that the composition of saliva did something to break down the root even further, making it stronger then ground powder. They are not allowed to swallow anything during this process. When a batch was done the boys would spit the contents onto a banana leaf, making an impossibly huge and long line of this disgusting mixture.

So Videl, is everyone allowed to chew the Kava? “Yes, anyone can chew the Kava.” and he pointed to a few older men outside the circle happily chewing their roots and spitting it into leaves. One thing I have to mention here is the silence is now broken. Not with words, but with the sound of clearing throats and hawking loogies. You know, that disgusting sound you hear that means someone has something nasty in the back of their throat and is trying to get it into their mouth to spit out. That awful sound resonates from over a dozen men and the thought crosses your mind that at some point you’re going to be asked to drink this. Your stomach turns and you doubt in your ability to do such a thing.

“It is not important who chews the Kava” Videl continued, “but it is very important who prepares the Kava. The person that strains it in the leaf is the most important.” So who is allowed to do that Videl? “Only circumcised boys that have never touched a women.” was his reply. Ok, so only circumcised virgin boys can prepare the Kava. How old are they when circumcised? At this point an older man was squatting next to us. A hushed conversation between him and Videl happened. He looked at me and motioned a height above ground. "The age is not important” was his answer “You can tell when they are ready to become men. It is different for everyone. Maybe 7, maybe 9, maybe 12. It is always different.” So where does the ceremony take place? The older man pointed to a small hut at the edge of the Nakamal.

“Brian, the Kava is now ready. Walk up to where the boys are straining the Kava and they will give you a coconut shell. Take the shell into the jungle and say your prayer. Drink the entire shell and come back.” Ok, game time decision. Can I go through with this? I’ve never had a strong stomach. Even the slightest bad smell or disgusting sight can set off my gag reflex. I walked up to the boys and watched them pour water from a jug and into a leaf. The leaf was bound at both ends by sticks, and when the Kava was saturated with water both sticks where turned in an expert manner just enough to squeeze the water through the Kava\Saliva mixture and into the coconut shell. A shell filled to the brim was handed to me. I walked off into the jungle to ponder my situation and think of a prayer to the spirits. All I could really think of was how do get this mixture down. I had to do this, I decided. So I pictured flowing streams, clear water, bottled water, and imagined that is what filled the cup. Was the cup warm? Was it warm because just a few moments ago this mixture I’m supposed to drink was being chewed then spit out by a bunch of random Ni-Vanuatu villagers? No, impossible. I breathed in a deep long breath through my nose, exhaled through my mouth, tilted my head back, and did nothing put picture the clear, clean water that I was sure filled my shell. The sounds of loogie hawking filled my ears. No, don’t think about that. It has nothing to do with you.

The first thing I noticed was the think consistency. Much thinker than water, much thicker than any of the other Kava we had drank. This stuff had some substance to it. The taste was powerful and peppery. It tasted like earth and volcano and dirty feet. I could see why you have to finish it in one go. Once you stop you’ll never get started again. I drained the shell, right down to the last bits floating in the bottom of the bowl. I suppressed my gag reflex and wandered out of the jungle, setting my empty shell next to the boys again. I sat down next to the fire for a few minutes, absent mindedly poking at the embers with a stick.

This stuff was different for sure. I could immediately feel the effects. My mouth was numb, my mind was floating. My limbs felt a little heavy. I felt at peace and relaxed. I was completely content to sit by the fire and stare into the red-hot coals. Some time passed by. I’m not sure how long but I was tapped on the shoulder and signaled that my second bowl was ready. I got up, grabbed my shell, walked into the jungle, said my bit to the spirits, and drank it down. It went down easier than the first one. I barely noticed the sounds of loogie hawking in the background.

I eagerly returned to the fire to continue contemplation of nothing and found myself sitting next to one of the village elders. He really didn’t speak English but for some reason I could understand him enough to have a conversation. He mentioned that he lived here all his life. “Countem years blong you” I murmured. He surprisingly understood my crude attempt at Bislamic which was supposed to say "Count the years that belong to you”, or “How old are you?” He shrugged his shoulders and said maybe 1937. Age is not a big deal around here but at least he knew when he was born. He was 74 years old. Videl returned from his trip to the jungle and sat down next to us.

“Brian, this is the Chief of Kastom for the village. Chief Issak is the Chief of John Frum but Chief Philimon is the Chief of Kastom. He is the Chief of our culture.” I looked into the depths of the man’s eyes and instantly felt a connection. He had the kindest, most understanding eyes you could ever imagine. I instantly felt at ease and we talked for a bit. We talked about sailing, we talked about America, we talked about Kastom. Some amazing things this man must have witnessed in his lifetime.

At this point I was definitely feeling the effects of my second shell. I felt like a tree root. I was in touch with the ground and the jungle around me. My body was heavily sedated but my mind was increasingly alert and lucid. I felt a oneness with those around me and a warm feeling of euphoria permeated my chest. The sounds of the jungle were intense. My arms and legs were heavy and it seemed like a lot of effort to move. I noticed that I was grinding my jaw a bit. That makes sense, Kava is the only legal narcotic in the world.

I talked with Chief Philimon and Videl for quite a while. I asked about their Kastom stones, the special ones that ensured good crops and fishing. “We have stones for everything. There is a fishing stone, a banana stone, a stone for breadfruit and taro. When the time is right you take your stone and pray to it. You think about the good crops that will grow or the fish you will catch. You think about this for a long time. The stone should be special and represent what you are praying for. You then wrap the stone in leaves and hide it in a special place, a place that only you know about. That is another reason why women are not allowed in the Nakamal. We can talk about our stones here, where we have hidden them. If the women hear about it they are curious and will try to find them. If they find them the crops will not grow.” Can I see a special stone? “No, it is not the right time yet.”

We ate a little food that the women had brought. Some baked cassava, taro, and some local beef. All pretty typical villager cuisine. Some time had passed and I thought about Brady, Paul, and Josje. I wondered if they had made it over and what they were up to. I suddenly got an impulse to walk to the other village and told my villager friends I wanted to look for them. “Ok Brian, we will walk to the other village but first we must drink one more shell.” was Videl’s answer. I attempted to stand up but it was very, very difficult. My legs didn’t want to listen to my brain. I somehow wandered over, grabbed my shell, and went to the jungle. About half way through it I hit a wall. NO MORE is what my body said. I belched and almost lost my cookies when a acidic, peppery gas cloud came out. I apologetically gave my half full shell back and it was used to make a special brew for someone- a double strong brew of sorts using my left over Kava instead of water for the next bowl. No thanks! I had enough. Erick’s guess of 2 and a half shells was spot on.

We started up the hill and I realized just how hard it was to walk. Putting one foot in front of the other was a major chore. My mind was alert and vivid but for some reason my body didn’t want to listen. I seriously tried to walk a straight line, you know like you try when you’ve had a bit of alcohol to drink. I couldn’t even come close. One foot in front of the other turned into staggering overcorrections of 6 inches or more to the side. My balance was off, I was overcompensating, and staggering all over the place like a ridiculous drunk. The locals were having a ball with it, laughing and teasing me the whole way. The walk through the jungle path was intense, or at least seemed so. I think my perception of time was really skewed. I swear the walk took at least an hour. The next morning I found out it’s really about 10 minutes. We walked up and down ravines, across washes, and past immense trees. I could hear the sound of waves competing with the rumbling of the volcano now. We must be close.

We found the Nakamal of the Sulfur Bay village and I immediately recognized the outlines of Brady and Paul silhouetted against a fire. “Your friends are drunk!” said Erick. I saw Paul try to stand up, only to go down on one knee. Brady was simply swaying back and forth, not attempting anything too drastic. I sat down behind them. “Oh man, we were worried about you!” said Paul. Yea, I know guys. I kind of got stuck at Chief Issak’s village. “Oh cool. Man, I really have to pea but I can’t even get up. The kava is wicked strong.” I was immediately forced to drink another shell. It would have been rude to refuse so I got half of it down and smiled. Big mistake. It put me right over that fine line I was walking and I was now over the edge.

How many shells have you guys had? “Three each.” was Brady’s reply. “I puked Bro. It’s really hard to walk. How did you make it here?” His words trailed off and we lost our train of thought. Not important…. We smoked some tobacco with the locals. It turns out that nothing enhances a good Kava drunk like a bit of tobacco. It also turns out the the guys here don’t smoke just tobacco. They always sprinkle a little something special from the fertile volcanic hillsides on top, as if the Kava wasn’t enough to get you going. I was really feeling the effects of that last half bowl and decided it was now or never. It was time to put myself to bed.

Well I’m done guys. My stuff is up at the other village so I’m going to crash there. I’ll catch you guys in the morning. “Cool bro.” was Brady’s reply. I staggered off into the darkness with my little entourage of villagers in tow. It wasn’t long before I was doing more side to side movements than forward progress, especially up the hills. So weird to have a clear, conscious,alert mind and for your body to be the absolute opposite. How to describe it? Sober mind drunk body maybe? We had nearly made it back to the village when I could go no more. Whatever was inside of me was begging to come out and I could no longer hold it back. I staggered to the side of the trail, put one hand on a tree, and started releasing staggering amounts of kava mixed with cassava and taro. It was an unruly mixture. These guys had obviously seen this before. My village friends were kind and thoughtful. No less than four of them rubbed my back and held me up while I emptied my stomach. I’ll never forget looking up between bouts of vomiting only to see an erupting volcano shooting lava into the sky. Very surreal experience.

My friends helped me to the hut where I was to sleep. Before I knew it a tray of rice and food was laid on the floor and they told me to eat. Sorry guys, there’s no way I can keep anything down. I just want to lay my head down and rest. So that was it. With my hosts busily eating the food on the floor next to me I laid down and closed my eyes. I had a wonderful, restful nights sleep. My next memory is of whistles and shuffling feet. It must be 7AM, time for the flag raising ceremony. Best of all, no hangover!

A few days later we were invited to a dinner party on another boat and asked to bring something to entertain. We collectively wrote a little poem about our Kava experience so here it is.

Welcome To Tanna, Where The People Have Much Mana

Mt. Yasur, he rumbles and blows, but no worries it’s here that the Kava grows.

Sit with Chief Issak and also Prophet Fred, then move to the Nakamal and listen to what is said.

Drink 1 or 2, but definitely not 3, either way you’ll stumble most likely right into a tree. Be careful my friends it’s a fine line, so much different than rum, beer, or wine.

But if you over indulge on saliva and Kava there’s nothing quite like vomiting while watching a volcano spit lava.

Yes, yes, yes I know but what else are we supposed to do in our free time?

The Chief’s Son’s hut, where I slept.

The hut where Brady, Paul, and Josje slept.

Paul spewing out of the lovely hut. Check out those villager feet!

Since no cameras are allowed in the Nakamal we also had a less-formal ceremony on the beach where we could get some pics and chew our own Kava.

Brady chewing root.

Tom chewing root.

Paul’s contribution.

Yes another random villager’s contribution.

Yummy! Almost ready to strain.

Chipmunk cheeks full of kava!

The straining process.

The finished product.

Bottoms up!

Our little band of Kava chewers.

F**K YEAH, THAT WAS AWESOME - By Brady and Josje

2011-08-03T23:16:00.001-07:00

Ahhh, The South Pacific; White sand beaches, crystal clear waters, spectacular reefs, and sun-filled days that melt into each other….. right? The mysterious island of Tanna lies about 500 miles SW of Fiji and has definitely eluded this stereotype. This unique island is in the Tafea Province of southern Vanuatu and is shrouded with magic, prophets, cults, and the greatest show on earth- volcanic eruptions.

Mt. Yasur rises from Tanna’s South East corner to a height of 361 meters. This peak is an extremely active volcano and is famous for being the most easily accessible active volcano in the world. In fact, 4WD vehicles can get to within 100 meters of the crater rim. Because of this, tourists and volcanologists from all over the world travel here to witness the raw power of Mother Nature, some unfortunately losing their lives in the process. The total number of deaths directly caused by the volcano ranges from 20-30 depending on what you read and who you ask. In 1995 two tourists didn’t listen to the village guide when he told them the volcano was too active and dangerous to get close. They proceeded up the ridge and were killed. One was decapitated by a lava rock and the other had a molten projectile shoot straight through her chest. Another incident occurred more recently involving a tourist, again disregarding the warnings of the locals. He apparently climbed up to the rim and found himself in the path of a tiny rock, the size of a pebble, rocket into his calf and melt a gigantic hole in his leg. The obvious thing to do is listen to the locals and respect the volcano.

As we sailed from Anatom to Tanna, Mt. Yasur’s orange glow could be seen about 10 miles out. Brian had the morning watch and woke me up around 4 a.m. to check it out. Every 20 minutes the glow would intensify followed by a deep rumbling sound. Even from this far out from the island it was amazing to see and hear the power of the volcano. As the sun began to rise, the orange glow began to disappear. We pulled Delos into Port Resolution, dropped the hook and got some rest.

From our anchorage in Port Resolution the volcano can be reached after a 4 wheel drive adventure that takes an hour and a half or a walk that, depending on who you talk to, can take anywhere from 30 minutes to 5 hours. After two days of hearing the massive eruptions and seeing lava shoot into the sky it was time for us to get closer and look into the volcano from the crater rim. With a strange look of nervousness and excitement on our faces we piled into the back of a locals truck. Their were 12 of us in total, 3 or 4 locals, 5 of us from Delos and a few other travelers. We bounced around in the truck bed, ever so often having to get out and walk the tougher parts of the track to not only keep from being tossed out but to get some weight out of the overloaded truck.

We finally got to the “gate” at the base of the volcano. Parked under a bamboo roof joining two huts on either side is where we spent the next 20 minutes. For those of you from tourist land, this gate was something like an island version of the gates you stop at to pay before entering a theme park parking area. Sorting out money and tickets proved to be a tough process for 12 people. At 3,350 Vatu (Vanuatan currency) each and our green ticket/receipt in our hand, we proceeded to zig-zag our way up the face of the volcano. Constant rumblings grew louder and louder and our faces grew anxious.

Entry Gate

Local with a large calculator to add fees for 12 people…

Safety poster on Mt. Yasur

Steam vents near the volcano on the side of the track

Once we couldn’t drive any further the driver parked the truck. We all jumped out and fled up a broken path of ash and rock, all while the volcano was getting louder and more violent over the ridge in front of us. As we reached the rim, the sun began to say goodbye and settled beyond the horizon. All of a sudden the creature came to life. The sound and feeling is so hard to describe. It was like a bomb had gone off right in front of us. First you see molten earth being shot into the sky, followed by a deafening boom then a pressure wave that hits your chest and ear drums with such force that you actually take a step backwards. This eruption we walked up on might have been the biggest of the night, shooting lava 200 meters towards the stars, causing a fireworks show that impressed us beyond belief. “F**K YEA! THAT WAS AWESOME!!” is all Paul could say while fist pumping and cock thrusting towards the beast.

Paul’s “F**k yeah” sequence

We walked around the rim to get a better view of the 3 vents that were battling each other and taking turns ejaculating hot molten goo into the sky. Every 10-20 minutes two of the vents would erupt in unison.

The show went on as the moon began to glow. We immediately started looking for an adult section, away from the children spectators, where we could all get naked for some Check-out-my-cheeks photos. Why get naked one might ask? Well, why not? Random South Pacific Island with a very active volcano seems like a great place to be naked with nature. When in Rome…So, away we walked. Past the families, past the tourist in bright safety vest, and past the photographers with tri-pod set ups worth more then a car. It was a bit cold out and lets just say it wasn’t conducive to blood flow to certain parts of the body, but we bared through it and stood naked waiting for the next big eruption. Brian, Paul and I were the first to strip. A few camera flashes from further up the rim were directed at us for a moment not the volcano. Then BOOM! An eruption occurred as if the volcano was saying “hey, you’re here to see me not some strange naked people”. After a few big eruptions we clothed our selves and took over camera duty. Now it was Josje and Karins turn to be at one with the volcano. Karin was a bit hesitant at first but all Josje had to say was “f**k man, you’re on a volcano. When else are you going to be able to do this”. I may sound perverted, probably because I am, but there is something quiet sexy about a naked women, let alone two, in front of an erupting volcano. I’m sure one of us made a very mature comment like “maybe you two should hold each other to keep warm”. After a few minutes, molten rocks were thrown at the moon once again. Naked pictures were now complete so we put our clothes back on and just sat there, mesmerized with our jaws wide open, as the sky grew darker and the lava brighter. Camp fires have nothing on the power of flowing lava to make you zone out. In all we spent about 3 hours on the volcano although it felt like 20 minutes.

mmmmhmmm

The people of Tanna live by the Volcano. It is their life force. They depend on it to tell them when to plant. They pray to it and have the highest respect for it. The fertile volcanic soil is ideal for growing anything from Marijuana and kava to peanuts and sweet potatoes. And yes they grow it all. Brian read that one person spending four hours a week gardening was enough to support an entire family. On other islands it might take 4-5 hours a day to yield the same crops. I was told that Vanuatu has the strongest kava in the world. Of Vanuatu, Tanna has the strongest. And of Tanna, Sulfur bay
(the bay of the John Frum Movement at the base of the volcano) has the strongest. This is all a direct bi product of the Volcano.

Not only does the volcano provide food it provides spirituality for the villages. You can feel the magic and energy anytime you step foot on land. It just seems to fit that there are cults, prophets and spirits surrounding the volcano. There are stories that involve spirits living underneath the volcano and even chosen villagers who can magically walk into its pits. Throughout our stay in the John Frum village we were given a tiny glimpse into just how much the volcano plays a key role in there lives. Most of the kastom relating to the volcano is undisclosed and only known by the kastom chief of the village and maybe a few others. It started out with little comments from some of the elders about the power of the volcano. We would ask questions but it seemed they were holding on to their kastom and didn’t want us knowing too much. As we spent more and more time with them secrets started coming out and we were told to “read between the lines”. By the end of our stay they trusted us and took us in as one of their own. We were lucky enough to take the first step towards understanding the volcano as they do. The kastom chief, with the help of the village school teacher, drew up a diagram of the volcano, and the basis for their prayer (sacrifice) process. The information was so secretive that most of the villagers don’t even know. To give us this diagram and explain it to us we even had to walk a couple hundred yards away from the village so nobody would see the hand off and induction. We swore to not tell or show anyone, and have to respect that. What we learned there is just the tip of their belief system and we were told that when we return they will let us in on a bit more…

The Quest Continues- Chief Issak Wan Nikiau- by Brian

2011-08-03T22:26:00.001-07:00

The crew from Namakara village. Chief Issak directly to my right.

At this point in our little quest I’m sitting in the back of a pickup truck hurtling across an ash plain in the shadow of Mt. Yasur. The scenery reminds me more of a moonscape than a tropical South Pacific Island. There’s ash everywhere. It’s covering my face, in my mouth, worked itself right down to the roots of my hair. My eyes are watering and now I have ash and tears trickling from the corner of my eyes.

Views of Mt. Yasur from the ash plains.

There is no lush vegetation, only a few sparse bushes and shrubs that sprout out of the ash fields seeking sunlight. A portion of our path takes us through Lake Isiwi, long since drained into the ocean taking a portion of Sulfur Bay village with it. Some people blame Prophet Fred and his Black Magic for this. I’m not entirely sold on the idea but am entertaining all possibilities on this island of magic.

Hey Stanley! Can you stop the truck and I’ll just walk from here? “No, you’ll never find your way to the village. We’ll drive you further.” But aren’t we driving next to the river that leads right to the village? Can’t I just follow that? “Yes, but there is a huge drop off. You can’t follow the river.” Ok, how about I just follow the road and keep the river on my left and the volcano on my right? Nothing but silence. Apparently I wasn’t getting out of this dusty ash trap of a truck anytime soon. I really just wanted to walk in some peace and quiet, feeling my way around the volcano. I knew where the Sulfur Bay village was, I knew it was only a few KM to the ocean so it couldn’t be far. Brady, Paul, and Josje were hiking over on the trail from Port Resolution and I was hoping to rendezvous with them on the way. So be it, for some reason they wanted to drop me off right in the center of the village.

About 5 minutes later we drove across a home-made cattle guard and into a small village. I didn’t recognize this village, even though Stanley referred to this as the John Frum village. It was definitely a different village than we visited the first night swimming in from the ocean. A few hurried Bislamic sentences later and the truck turned around and started back the way we came.

Stanley! Why are we going back? “I talked with them and they said someone was walking to Port Resolution today. They will see your brother and friends and then they will turn around back to Port Resolution. They are bringing Kava back over the hill so there is no reason to come here. I think you should come back to Port Resolution and drink Kava with us.” It took some convincing but I finally got Stanley to stop the truck long enough so I could jump out. “What time do you want us to pick you up?” asked Stanley as the truck started to roll away. It was obvious that Stanley wanted me to come back to Port Resolution, and for one reason or another he didn’t want me to stay in the village. I believe it was his sense of hospitality. We were anchored by his village, so it was up to him to make sure we were looked after. There was no danger and we had an invitation from the village so I felt comfortable. I explained that we had our camping gear with us and would probably stay the night in the village.

Seeming appeased the truck pulled away in a cloud of ash and after a few minutes of leisurely walking and I was back in the village. A small elderly man approached me and with a friendly smile said “Halo. I’m Issak.” BINGO! So that’s why I didn’t recognize the village. This wasn’t the original Sulfur Bay village where the John Frum movement was first centered, this was Chief Issak Wan’s village.

Chief Issak sitting down for our chat.

You see, there was a rift in the John Frum movement about 11 years ago. Everything was going great for the John Frummers. They were happily raising their flags, celebrating John Frum day on February 15th, and waiting for the return of John when a mischievous man by the name of Fred returned. Fred left Sulfur bay in the 1990’s (no one really will say exactly when) and spent some time fishing on a Taiwanese fishing boat. This is where the story starts to get weird, as if the whole situation wasn’t weird already.

After some years of fishing, somewhere off the coast of Africa in the darkness of the open ocean, Fred started receiving visions. Messages from God. The messages told Fred that the people in Sulfur Bay were not following a good path, that they must change their ways. So Fred quit fishing and returned back home to Tanna to deliver the word back to his people. He arrived and immediately started causing a rift in the movement. This ultimately led to separate villages, burned huts, a lot of ill will, and two distinct groups- “The John Frum Movement” (The original Frummers) and Fred’s followers, know as “John Frum Unity in Christ” or something similar to that. It’s really hard to nail down the name because everyone calls it something different.

I sat down with Issak and a group of village men under a simple palm thatched roof hut. The walls are open, woven matts haphazardly cover the volcanic ash to make a floor. This is the simple shelter in the middle of the village where they do their dancing on Friday nights. Issak spoke only a little English and brought in the local primary school teacher as a translator. Videl was very excited to speak English to an American and translate on behalf of the Chief. He said English was his favorite subject and he wanted to further his studies at the university.

The village center, where the worshipping dances are held.

I told Issak that I was very interested in the John Frum people. I had read quite a bit about their movement in various books and I thought maybe some of it wasn’t true. I wanted to ask him some questions to get the real answers if that was ok. “Yes, that is ok” Videl said. “The chief wants to know where you and your friends are from, the ones that are walking over from Port Resolution.” Word travels fast apparently. Me, my brother, and our friend are from America. We have another friend from New Zealand on our boat. After a few minutes of rapid Bislamic the reply came back. “The Chief says that the people of Tanna and the people of America are one- like brothers. There is no difference. America is a Super Power nation and gets their power from the Eagle, the most powerful bird. The people of Tanna get their power from the Volcano.” The volcano rumbled, powerfully shaking the ground. Seriously, I’m not making this up at all. It happens about every 5 minutes. It felt like a small earth quake and I could see a cloud of ash drift overhead in the trade winds. No one else even bothered to look up.

“The Chief says that he visited America in 1995. He traveled to Los Angeles, Houston, North Carolina, New York, and Washington D.C. He met with one of President Clinton’s aids while in Washington. The American government sends a new flag to Tanna every year for them to fly. He says the wealth and power of America are immense.” I tried to imagine this Ni-Vanuatu villager roaming the streets of the Big Apple, mesmerized by the 100+ story buildings and the millions and millions of people. I asked how the Chief was able to go on such a trip. Videl replied “An American visitor came here and got along well with Chief Issak. He paid for him to tour America.” Pretty sweet gig I thought. “The Chief wants to know how you get your news on the sailboat. Are you able to keep up on current events? Did you hear about the killing of Osama Bin Laden?” asked Videl. Yep, we heard about that from some friends before we left New Zealand. We get some of our news from the Internet when we have access, and also from emails from friends and family. Wow, way out here on a small island with no electricity and no radios they were pretty up to date.

Chief Issak all dressed up during his White House visit.

One of his prize possessions- a US Navy Officers hat. We weren’t allowed to take it out of the plastic.

The Chief’s hut, where all his treasures are stored.

“The Chief wants to know how you feel about Obama. He is a Black man like us and now he is in charge of the most powerful nation in the world.” Wow, straight to politics. Ok- I’ll admit that I am not 100% up to date on the policies but I do think he is working an uphill battle in a tough environment. He is certainly better than Bush. They all smiled widely when this was translated and nodded their heads in agreement. I’m pretty sure I heard the mocked sounds of bombs being dropped. A few more sentences in Bislamic followed. “The Chief says that the World Trade Center was a terrible tragedy, but it was a wake up call to America. It was God telling America to make some changes, to change their path. In fact we were not surprised by the news. We had known for quite some time that something was going to happen.” You knew?!?!? How did you know in advance? “We knew over a week in advance. The spirits let us know.”

The volcano rumbled again, shaking the ground and belching smoke. I’m the only one that looked up.

And on and on and on the conversation went. When I felt like I had built up a little trust I started to ask some of the juicy questions. So who is John Frum? Is he American? Why do you worship on Friday? Do you really believe that if you raise the flags every day and parade around with bamboo rifles John will return on a white ship bringing heaps and heaps of cargo? This brought up a torrent of Bislamic. Videl finally replied “John is like Jesus. Do you know where Jesus is from?” Caught a little off guard I told them I thought he was born in Bethlehem and spent most of his time in the Middle East. “So people all around the world worship Jesus but it doesn’t matter where he is from. His teachings and word are still all the same. It’s the same way with John Frum. We don’t know where he was born. Maybe America, maybe not. It doesn’t matter to us. We believe that if we are true in our faith then he will return. People have been waiting for Jesus for a long time. We have not been waiting for John for so long.”

Videl continued “The Chief says that Jesus died on a Friday so that is the true day to worship. Sunday means nothing. The Presbyterian and others have it all wrong. Especially the Seventh Day Adventists! What good does worshipping on a Saturday do?” So what’s the deal with the Red Cross? People say it’s so the US military will come back and give everyone free medical care. This one received a quick reply. “The crosses are red because Jesus spilled his blood on the cross. That’s the only reason.”

I asked the Chief if anyone could still speak with John. He replied almost instantly. “Yes, of course. My father was the first person to speak with John and now I still can.” So how do you receive messages from John? Do you get visions? Do you hear voices? “Yes, I get messages. Mostly it’s in the form of spirits delivering the messages to me.” So tell me about these spirits? What forms do they take? “The spirits take many forms. They are in the earth around us, in the land, in the volcano, in the animals. John used to often come as a Tiger.” Are there any tigers on Tanna? “No, there are no Tigers here so it’s proof that John used to visit my father this way.”

So, what about the spirits that live in the volcano? I heard that John Frum lives in the Volcano with an army of 5,000 men? I also heard that there is a secret tunnel leading from under the volcano to America. This brought about much hushed conversation between a number of tribal elders. The reply finally came back. “No, of course there is no army with John in the volcano. There is also no secret tunnel. Sometimes people just write things because they make a good story. They come here for a few minutes, scribble down some notes, and then go away. They don’t take the time to understand. We really hope that you spend enough time with us to understand. There is much to tell but we must trust you first. Also we never speak of Kastom in the village area. We must go to the Nakamal where we drink Kava. Only then can we openly discuss these things. There are no women and no cameras allowed in the Nakamal.”

Yet another huge explosion from the volcano resonates through the village. Ash clouds drift overhead. No one takes notice.

So on February 15th I hear there is a big celebration. Why February 15th? There was a short pause, another short translation session between the Chief and Videl. “February 15th, 1957 is the day we had a huge celebration in Sulfur Bay. Thousands of villagers from Tanna came to celebrate. Some of our leaders that were imprisoned by the *Condominium* were released because the Americans came and told them to release our leaders. We were visited by an American ship called the Yankee and the commander told us we should work hard, just like the American people. Only then would we be prosperous. So every February 15th we celebrate the freedom of our leaders and America’s friendship. We march in formation and hoist our flags. We have five flag poles to hoist flags for our celebration. We fly the US Marines flag, the US Navy flag, the Company Flag, the Stars and Stripes, and the Vanuatu flag. We have a huge parade.”

*The Condominium government was something established by the French and British. They both had interests in the New Hebrides in the early 20th century. Neither would cede power to the other so they created a dual government in 1906. There were two sets of leaders, two sets of laws, two court systems, two prisons, two police forces, etc. The French prison had better food and served wine (of course), while the British prison was more humane for example. The British hanged people while the French used their guillotine. It was a very un-productive way to run things and people often got lost in their legal system depending on who’s laws you were prosecuted under. The Condominium was often referred to as “The Pandemonium” It wasn’t until 1980 that this system was abolished and Vanuatu gained back their independence.*

The huge US Flag only raised on February 15th.

US Marines Flag raised only on February 15th.

Village “Headquarters” that has been under construction for 11 years. When finished the Chief assured me it would have Internet, Fax, and Phone lines. He also said it would be done in a weeks time…..

Did many people from Tanna help the American’s in WWII? “Oh yes, in fact over 1,000 men from Tanna sailed to Efate to help the American’s. We sent the most men out of all of Vanuatu. The Japanese were very bad, killing very many people. We helped the American’s by unloading ships and working on construction projects. The American’s were very good to us. They paid us for our work and gave us food. They even had black soldiers, just like us. America is a Super Power and can do such things.

So Chief, why did you move your village up closer to the Volcano and off of Sulfur Bay? “There was much trouble with Fred when he returned from fishing. He was preaching lies, telling people that we were not following a good path. He was making trouble with Black Magic, making people sick. He wanted to go back to the Presbyterian church AND worship John Frum but on Wednesday, not the true day of Friday. So the true John Frum followers created this new village 11 years ago. This is the true center of the John Frum Movement. The people in Sulfur bay now are very confused. They go to Presbyterian Church, they go to Seventh Day Adventist Church, they dance for John Frum on Wednesday and Friday. But they only are half believers. They have no original music, no composers. They copy all our music. They have no Kastom in that village. They are a mis-led people.”

I heard that Fred drained Lake Isiwi and it destroyed part of the village. “Yes, that is true. The lake that went all the way to the volcano drained and destroyed part of the village. He said he saw the lake drain in a vision, and that the people should move out of their huts. When this happened Fred gained many followers. He told people that if they followed him to the volcano they would go to heaven in three days. They were to leave all their possessions and bring only food for three days. So he went up the volcano with his followers.”

So how many followers did he have? A few hundred? “Oh no, he had 4,666 followers.” WHAT?!?!? Never mind the 666 part, but he lead almost 5,000 people up a volcano to be saved by Jesus after camping for three days? “Yes.” And then what happened? “So Jesus never came. But the people waited and waited. They built huts and started to live in the jungle by where we plant the gardens. This was very bad, they were destroying the gardens that belonged to everyone. Our food was no longer good.” So what happened? “I went to Port Vila on Efate. I told the government what was going on, that Fred was living on the volcano and destroying our gardens with his followers. The police came back to Tanna with me. We kicked everyone off the volcano, sent them back to their old villages, and burned down all their huts.” You burned down their huts?!?!?!? Wow, this is some serious stuff I thought. Something right out of the middle ages, only this was about a decade ago.

So where does Fred live now? “Oh, he lives over by Port Resolution with his family.” Do you think it would be ok to go talk to him? “Yes, of course. I’m sure he would be very happy to talk to you. ” This confirmed a discussion we had with someone in Port Resolution, who said that Fred’s hut was the one with laundry hanging, just up the hillside and plainly visible from Delos.

By this time it was almost 4PM. I asked if anyone had seen Brady, Paul, or Josje. The answer was no, but they guaranteed me that the path to Sulfur Bay lead through their village. They could not get through undetected. I mentioned being invited to the other village for Kava, and that I may walk down there. There was a discussion amongst the elders again. “Brian, the other village has no Kastom. We really think you should stay here with us and wait for your friends.” Ok, looks like I’m hanging solo with Chief Issak and company for a while longer.

The Chief suddenly stood up, looked at his watch (yes, he has a watch), and shouted “TAKEM DOWN FLAG!!!”. Apparently in our very interesting discussion time had slipped away from everyone. It was 4:15PM and the good old Stars and Stripes and Vanuatu flag were still flying high. The Chief’s son and another man ran to their huts and appeared minutes later in WWII vintage army uniforms. Too cool! They marched to the flag posts, and with military precision simultaneously lowered both flags . With split second timing they folded the flags, turned about-face, and marched off back to their huts with the flags folded and resting on their forearms. All the villagers had gathered to watch the show and clapped to show their approval. Just as suddenly as it began it ended and everyone went back about their business of lounging around.

The US and Vanuatu flags are lowered every day at 4PM.

The flags are carefully folded and stored until raised at 7AM the next morning.

The Chief’s son showing off their spiffy US Army uniforms.

“So Brian, will you stay and drink Kava with us tonight?” asked Videl. Yes Videl, that’s an offer too hard to refuse. “Ok, good. We will be able to share much with you then. Hopefully your friends will walk through also. The Chief says you are to sleep in his son’s hut. Your bag is already there.

To be continued…….

Yep, even the Chief has a business card and a mobile number. You can text him if you want, but you have to know Bislamic of course.

The Quest For John Frum- By Brian

2011-07-28T15:35:00.001-07:00

Before reading this blog there are a few details that you may find entertaining. In Sulfur Bay, Tanna, Vanuatu at the base of a very active volcano exists a village known as the John Frum village. They are reportedly a “Cargo Cult” established when a mysterious visitor, that may or may not have been American, visited the island. In 1939 he told them that America would be their brother and take care of them. This visitor John also told them to go back to their traditional ways, to give up Christianity and return to ancient Kastom traditions. If they did than a plethora of wealth and cargo would be bestowed upon them. WWII happened a few years later and the American military showed up in force defending Vanuatu (New Hebrides at that time) from the Japanese. The John Frum movement as they are now known still raise the US Flag every day. They are reported to march around in uniforms carrying bamboo rifles, and have red crosses adorning their monuments and buildings. They have a spirit seeing Prophet by the name of Fred that stirs up trouble and has caused a split in their movement. People say he practices black magic AND Christianity, and has been known to toss babies into the volcano. They are still awaiting the return of the mysterious John and the Cargo. We can’t wait to meet these people, to see what’s BS and what’s not!!

View of Sulfur Bay from the trail leading to Port Resolution.

“Hello, Hello! Is this the John Frum village?” we asked the dozen or so children swarming around our dinghy. Brady and I had just made a questionable landing on a black sand beach through some pretty large surf, leaping out at the perfect time to avoid getting rolled by a late breaking wave.

Dinghy bashing waves on the beach.

“Oui monsieur! John Frum!” a boy of about 11 replied bursting with excitement. Oh great, they speak French we thought. Time to revert back to French Polynesia skills. “Parler Vu Anglais?” I asked in my worst French accent ever. “Oui monsieur! Leaoni Parler Anglais.” Ok, that sounds promising. The boy was urgently pointing to a village just over the sand berm making the beach. There was a hurried conversation amongst the boys. Without warning they shouted “Un, deux, trois!” and lifted our dinghy, 25 HP outboard and all, well off the sand and started running up the beach with it. Cool, valet service Vanuatu style!

With our dinghy safely ashore we were escorted into the village on our quest to find Leaoni who apparently could speak English. We were lead through rows of huts and across a huge earthen field stomped flat by generations of bare feet. Everything was covered in volcanic ash. Mt. Yasur dominated the horizon with it’s belching smoke cloud. We were close, really close to the volcano. So close that we could feel the ground tremble under our feet in unison with the puffing smoke clouds and venting steam.

Sulfur Bay village center.

Leaoni was expecting us, no doubt informed of our presence by a village boy sent running ahead. “Hello, I am Leaoni!” Hi Leaoni. I’m Brian and this is my brother Brady. Is this the John Frum village? “Yes, this is the John Frum village in Sulfur Bay.” Awesome. Do you have a band and dancing tonight? “Yes, of course! We play and dance all night long.” Great! Is it ok if we come with our friends to see the dancing tonight? “Yes, please come see us dance!” Sweet! We’ll go back to our boat and get our friends. What time should we be here? “The dancing starts at 8PM and lasts until 6AM.” Wow, all night long. Ok, we’ll see you later then.

Mt. Yasur in the background belching smoke and shaking the ground.

You see, we were on a reconnaissance mission of sorts. Our driver that took us to Lenekal earlier that day was 7th Day Adventist and his Sabbath started on Saturday so he was unable to drive us Friday night. We heard the village was close to the beach on Sulfur Bay but had conflicting reports on how far inland. Some said 30 minutes, some said 10 minutes. All said that the waves were large on the beach and difficult to land in. So Brady and I were exploring the possibility of a dinghy mission in lieu of driving. Friday night is the big night in Sulfur Bay so we were keen to give it a try.

With our mission accomplished we gathered our valet parking team together and carried the dinghy to the ocean edge. The waves were pounding and breaking right on the shore, seeming much larger than when we landed. We waited and waited watching the sets come in. On the last wave of a huge set we launched the dinghy, started the outboard, and went like mad. Before we could get outside the break a wave caught us on the bow and lifted us skyward. Both Brady and I instinctively leapt to the front of the dinghy. We hung there vertically for an impossibly long time before crashing back down. Brady looked at me and gunned the engine again.

We had just gotten straightened out and making forward progress again when another wave moved towards us relentlessly. We didn’t have a chance. We both saw it coming and knew we were done for. This one was even bigger than the previous. The bow rose up and up and up. We went vertical, then the wave broke and flipped us backward. The dinghy landed upside down and we surfaced under the dinghy. Oh great I thought, we haven’t flipped the dinghy since Mexico. Total amateur move. All those protective reefs in Polynesia has made us soft. We dove out from under the dinghy to find the water littered with our GPS, VHF, oars, anchor bag, sandals, and fuel tank. Just about everything from the dinghy had come lose and was floating around our capsized AB. Before we even collected our thoughts we were surrounded by eager helping hands. Within seconds all our floating debris was collected, the dinghy was righted, and swam back to shore for us. The village boys had come to our rescue in amazing time.

Our valet and rescue team.

We tried to compose ourselves on the beach. The only casualty was our hand held VHF. No injuries and no other damage! Luckily the outboard started with only a little coaxing and seemed to run ok. We lashed everything down for another try. Leaoni tried to get us to stay but we explained if we didn’t get back to the boat our friends would worry about us. The village boys made a plan and using hand gestures motioned that they would swim the dinghy through the surf. So out into the waves we headed with a dozen boys swimming our dinghy out. They held the bow down by hanging on it, their bodies lifting out of the water as each wave passed. We repeated this pattern of crashing through waves and swimming like mad until we were out of most of the break. I quickly jumped in the dinghy and the engine roared to life for a few seconds before stalling. More swimming, more engine starting, more stalling. The boys literally pulled the dinghy well clear of the break when the Yamaha roared to life and we zoomed off clear of danger. A huge cheer went off from the boys in the water and the rather large gathering now on the beach watching the show.

Back on Delos we contemplated our options. Still no call from an alternate driver so it was dinghy back to Sulfur Bay or not go at all. Weighing the alternatives we decided to go for it. Instead of landing the dinghy we would anchor outside the break and swim in through the surf. Hmmmmm. Swim into a black sand beach in the middle of the night into a secluded village in Tanna Vanuatu. Yep, sounds like a great idea. The locals went into the water without hesitation so there’s probably no sharks. Plus there was a full moon and we really, really wanted to see the village ceremony. We loaded up our fins, and filled a dry bag with clothes.

Ready to jump into the darkness.

We dingied over, spent a few minutes psyching ourselves up, and jumped into the murky, dark water. The water was unusually warm, much warmer than it should have been. Brady and I both commented on hot sand spots launching the dinghy earlier, some hot enough to almost burn your foot. The whole area is littered with volcanic steam vents. The swim in was surreal. Huge breaking surf loomed just off the beach. The moon was casting shadows over everything. The volcano was spitting fire and lava. At night from this side of the bay you could really see the action. Huge molten chunks the size of cars were tossed into the air, over the volcano rim, and rolled down the side. Ok, don’t pay attention to the volcano now Brian. Just concentrate and swim, swim, swim until you hit that sand. So swim we did right through the surf which landed us on the warm black sand with a plop. We made it without too much hassle.

One hell of a view from the beach.

Sitting on an overturned outrigger canoe we dried off and changed clothes. Just after changing we saw a shadow approaching from the far edge of the beach. A few minutes later I recognized Leaoni approaching from the shadows. She looked amazed and confused at the same time but still managed a smile and welcomed us back. She escorted us to a thatched hut at the center of the village and seated us on a bamboo bench. We were just in time, the band and dancing would start in a few minutes!

We had read so much about the John Frum movement\cult and were pumped to see it first hand. We wanted to witness the real deal and compare our experience with what we read in The Shark God, Getting Stoned With Savages, and a few other travel guides on Vanuatu.

Within a few minutes a man with a large stick walked uncomfortably close to us. He circled us slowly, and precisely. He made a perfect circle around us never, never deviating from his sharp gaze. He was intense, you could feel and see the energy in his eyes. He suddenly stopped walking and with completely rigid legs bent at the waste. He stared with a burning intensity right at Brady. I felt at any moment Brady could burst into flames from his gaze. We all became a bit uncomfortable. What the hell was going on here? What kind of crazy drugs was this guy on? This went on for about two minutes.

“Hi, my name is Brady.” No response. “Me name-name blong Brady. What name-name blong yu?” No response to Bislama either. We shared a few uncomfortable glances amongst ourselves. Ok, now this is getting really weird. Should we move? Is this guy going to beat us with his stick? Suddenly our strange John Frum friend straightened up, raised his stick, and proceeded to hit the post right next to Brady making 4 extremely loud cracks sounding like thunder. We all nearly jumped out of our skin. Suddenly the man’s face softened then he smiled and sat down next to Brady.

It seems we unknowingly sat down next to the Tom-Tom, which is a large wooden post buried deep into the ground. The man was intently praying or meditating on the post before striking it. He wasn’t paying attention to us at all, in fact to him we didn’t even exist until his job was done. We later learned that he was the ceremonial Tom-Tom striker which includes opening the ceremony and counting the number of songs each band plays. You see, in order to play all night long the John Frum people have multiple bands. Just like a sports team pulling tired players and replacing them with fresh players from the bench.

His job was to sit there intently and count the number of songs played. On the ninth song he would strike the Tom-Tom 4 times, very very loudly. The band would continue playing. At the end of the ninth song the Tom-Tom was struck 4 more times. The band would then play one more song. Then the Tom-Tom was struck 3 times quite softly. The band would stand up and slowly walk away into the darkness, starting with the outer ring of singers, ring by ring until the 8 or so men in the center holding their guitars, ukulele's, metal drums, and other noise makers would slowly stand up and walk away. Within minutes the next band in the line up would sit down on the woven mats and start playing. The thing is they only play one song. ALL NIGHT LONG. The very same song is played over and over and over for 10 hours. Weird right?!?!?!?

The band going at it.

A large group of about 30 singers and clappers situates themselves around the band. Leaoni sat in front of us and motioned for us to come down on the floor. We were encouraged to clap in rhythm with the crowd which became very contagious. There was an incredible, tangible energy in the air. There was easily a hundred villagers rocking out to the same song over and over again. People clapped. People sat. People danced. Then out of no where a rumble on the ground would start and you could look over your shoulder to see Mt. Yasur spout out lava and give its contribution to the magical singing and dancing. The people dancing were fascinating. Completely free and uninhibited they found incredible ways to move their bodies. Children, adults, elderly, it didn’t matter. At some point everyone got up and lost themselves in their own personal dance. Not dancing with each other, but dancing only by themselves and for themselves. It felt that at any moment these people were about to start talking in tongues and faint. They waved their arms and danced in circles. They stood and swayed gently back and forth. This was their way of praying. This was their Church. The song repeated over and over was their prayer.

Josje, looking like a missionary, hanging with the ladies and learning to dance.

After a few hours of this bewildering spectacle the village was still going strong. Brady and Josje went for a walk to check out the village at night. On their way back they ran into a mysterious man standing alone in the shadows. “Hello, I’m on of the chiefs here, can I speak to your leader?”. Brady, confused by the situation said “uhm, well my brother is the Capt. I’ll go get him”. Brady came up and tapped my shoulder. “Brian, there is a guy here asking for our leader.” Fair enough, I’m the closest thing our group has to a leader. “Hi, my name is Male Wan.” (pronounced ma-ly) he said in passable English. “Thank you for coming to our village and watching us dance. It means a lot for people to come visit us, especially Americans. We are very close to the US. We feel the people of Tanna and the people of America are one- like brothers.” Oh cool, this is just the sort of conversation I wanted to get into. I asked him if it was ok to ask him some questions about the John Frum movement. “Yes, of course! It is important that people know what we are about and stand for.”

Male Wan from Sulfur Bay. Yep, he’s wearing a ski parka.

He went on to explain that John Frum visited his grandfather in the 1930’s, right before WWII. He explained that the missionaries had converted the villagers to Christianity and would not allow them their traditional Kastom ways. Kastom (pronounced custom) means everything pertaining to the spiritual way of life. It includes strong ties to their ancestors and customs for ensuring good crops, good weather, and beating your enemies in battle. Kastom is the unwritten law that governed the islanders for millennium before the missionaries came. Kava is a huge part of Kastom. It is the spirit of Kastom.

When John Frum arrived he told them they should get back their Kastom ways. They should celebrate their old ceremonies. They should worship in whatever way they wanted. They should drink Kava. Also, they should do all this on Friday. Why on Friday I asked? “Jesus was crucified on Friday. Who cares about Sunday? Friday is the real day.” was Male’s reply.

Much to the chagrin of the missionaries that suddenly lost all their flock. “You see, John Frum is just like Jesus. We think they are of the same spirit, like brothers. John Frum told us that one day America would come to our aid and help us in a time of need. America would be our brother. This came true only a few years later when the American’s came here and protected us from the Japanese. This is why we celebrate America and raise the US flag. John also told us that if we celebrated our Kastom ways we would be rewarded in the future. That he would return and we would prosper. Just like the Christians are waiting for Jesus we are waiting for John Frum. There is no difference.”

Very interesting. The travel books say some different things. Do you know what the books say? They say that you are expecting wealth and material goods if you continue to worship. They say that the Red Cross on your monument is from the American Red Cross army trucks of the war, that it is there because you think it will give you free medical attention. He chuckled a bit and said “Yes, I have heard this before. The cross is red because Jesus was crucified on it. It is red because his blood covered the cross. It is as simple as that. Plus, the fact that you are here right now is proof of the John Frum prophecies being fulfilled. Because you come to visit you bring money to the island. We will get roads, we will get trucks, our lives will get better and better every year. That is what the prayer song is about. It says 2011 is a good year but 2012 will be an even better year. We celebrate the past, present, but especially look forward to the future. By the way the books even have his name wrong. It is John Brum. With a B not a F.”

We spent the next few hours chatting with Male and absorbing all we could about this fascinating group of people, who were so much more interesting than any group we’ve met so far. We asked about Chief Isaac Wan, who’s father was apparently the first person to talk to John Frum. He lived in the next village over. We asked about Prophet Fred, who apparently went fishing for ten years on a Taiwanese fishing boat and had some spirit visions off the coast of Africa. He returned in the mid 90’s back to Sulfur Bay and told everybody they had it all wrong. They were on a path to damnation and should change their ways. He was kicked out of the village for various reasons, including draining a lake that destroyed half the village and casting spells on people with black magic. Is anybody sick? Blame Fred. Is the weather bad? Damn Fred. Volcano being too active? You got it- Fred’s fault. He moved up onto the volcano and started a new village with 4,666 of his believers. He promised them they’d be in Heaven in 3 days if they followed him. Apparently that never happened. He now lives in Port Resolution. We could see his house from our boat. We could also talk to him if we wanted.

There was once a lake here until it overflowed and destroyed part of the village.

“You should come back on Sunday and drink Kava with us. We can talk more. Kava is good for talking.” Absolutely Male. We’ll come back on Sunday for Kava.

We spent the next hour lounging in volcanic fresh water hot pools, laying in the hot water letting the black sand scrub our skin. The volcano was going full blast, never relenting. Always throwing fire into the sky. What a crazy place we thought. We definitely have to spend more time with these people. So we swam back to our dinghy braving the surf in the wee hours of the morning. As the Yamaha roared to life a huge volcanic plume lit up the village and shot a magma ball onto the outside of the crater. What a crazy send off for a crazy night.

Mt. Yasur lighting up the night sky.

Safely back from our early morning swim to the dinghy.

And so our quest to learn more about the John Frum people has begun. We need to track down Chief Isaac Wan. We definitely need to track down Prophet Fred.

Meet Josje

2011-07-27T03:24:00.001-07:00

Please be alarmed!!!! I have been kidnapped onto a boat named Delos. Who are these American sailors? I woke up one morning after a 2 week party binge, and I was sailing off into the direction of Vanuatu.

My name is Josje, what??? Pronounced Yoshya, and I come from the land of the long white cloud; Aotearoa, mostly known as New Zealand. My name originates from Holland, along with the blood flowing through my veins (my rents are full Dutch). The crew from Delos now have a half kiwi, half Dutch gypsy pirate who likes to drink tea, make hair braids, snack attack, wear only one earring, and generally just laze around living on their boat. Ha-ha. If only they knew what they were getting themselves into.

I guess I didn’t have a clue what I was getting myself into either, because who knew that having a few drinks at the bar in Musket Cove, would ultimately be a life changing event. Before I knew it, I was being dragged to the dock and onto Delos, into the man cave and waking up some random long haired, brown body, white assed guy apparently named Paul with a tequila shot. Apparently it was his birthday. They seemed to have plenty of alcohol and a few good looking chaps so yeah of course I stayed and partied with them. After knowing these guys for about 24 hours, I was asked if I’d like to come sailing for a couple of days. Sure why not!? A couple of days quickly turned into a return trip to Musket Cove to grab my backpack of gypsy clothes and goodies. May I add at this point that Paul has become a fan of some pink gypsy pants I found in my bag, and let me tell you, they look good; really good. And BAM, I’m now a crew member of Delos. Ahhh the serendipity.

Hello from Tanna Vanuatu!

2011-07-17T18:44:00.000-07:00

We've been in Vanuatu waters for almost a week now. The sail was incredibly smooth and peaceful, one of those passages that you really don't want to end. Just endless sunny days of drifting along on huge, rolling swells. We could have easily kept going but the islands of Vanuatu beckoned us from the horizon.

Boy time sure flies when you're visiting John Frum Cults, climbing active volcanoes, and drinking bowls of wickedly strong Kava. The Kava here is no joke- it's chewed in the Kastom style so along with the powerful root you're ingesting saliva of many virgin boys. Two bowls and you're done, three bowls puts us over the edge. Much more to come on that when we get some internet......

Anyway, for any cruisers still in Fiji we did check into Anatom. The process was smooth and easy and completed entirely onboard. The Customs officer Keith lives on the main island and is always around. Immigration and Quarantine fly into Mystery Island from Port Vila. Our timing was very fortunate to coincide with the arrival of the P&O cruise ship Pacific Sun. The officers flew in that morning to check the cruise ship in so we lucked out there. Another boat in the anchorage had been waiting since Saturday (3 days) for the officers to arrive. It may be worth a look at the cruise ship schedule to avoid any delays. Fees were 4000 Vatu for immigration, 3000 Vatu for quarantine, and 3000 Vatu for customs. Immigration and quarantine are paid in Anatom while customs must be paid in Tanna. There is a bank that will change foreign currency to Vatu in the village but no ATM. There is a rumor that you must pay the fees twice if you arrive in Anatom. This is not correct, just make sure you get receipts for any payments to show officials when you get to a major port. There is also no ATM in Tanna so bring cash. The ride to Lenekal from Port Resolution and back is 2000 Vatu pp. A ride to the volcano is 1000-1500 pp depending on the driver. The volcano entrance fee is 3350 Vatu pp. Last known rate here is 84 Vatu for $1 USD.

“We got a first timer over here”- By Brady

2011-07-14T18:22:00.001-07:00

Delos proudly holding skulls

Like most people, I can recall some significant events in my life. I remember my first day of school, first sexual experience, and my first time breathing underwater. Fulaga was able to check a few more firsts off the list and make them unforgettable.

The day after one of the best Mondays of my life when we went adventurizing (aka: Bob Marley inspired adventure) and found the Lazy River and the Delos Grotto (see Does somebody have a case of the Mondays?- by Paul), Brian and I had an interesting day. Waking up around 11 as we tend to do, the day was started with some coffee and fruit. We talked about our options for the day. Paul had already paddled off on the long board and Darren was reading about clouds so Brian and I discussed swimming to shore and hanging with the village, going diving, going wakeboarding or just sitting around and doing nothing. A few days before, the “mayor” of the village, Mele, told us about a cave containing a human skull. Done; the goal for Tuesday was finding human remains from the cannibalism days. We donned our mask and fins and snorkeled in. Tai, the village “funny man” as they called him, was the guy to ask. He spoke fairly good English, stood about 5ft. tall and always had an interesting grin on his face.

Mele on the left, Tai on the right. Enjoying kava Delos style

“Oi Tai, do you know where the old human skull is?” I said, still dripping wet from the swim in. “Oh…,yes…., maybe 5 chains from the village. We go now”. Tai replied. Wow, easier then we thought. We followed him and asked how long or far a chain was but he really had no idea. “Maybe 15 minutes” he said smiling. The day’s mission had begun.

As we followed Tai through the village, he spoke to all the people we passed saying something in Fijian. Every one of the villagers replied with an “Oi?!?” I’m sure he was saying “Hey, these crazy white men want to see a human skull”. We hiked passed the pigs, cassava plants, and banana trees, up the limestone mountain into the jungle.

Penetrating the lush jungular landscape

About 20 minutes later Tai stopped and told us we were at the site of the old village that his ancestors once lived in which could have been anywhere from 100 to 200 years ago. Nobody really knows. We came to a cliff face with a small gap, about 3 ft. high by 5 ft. across.

Looking down into the village

Tai and I near the old Village

Tai climbed into the limestone hole and popped up grinning like a mad man. In his hand was a skull.

Tai being a funny man

He waved us over to the opening. Brian and slowly I peered in. “Holy shit!” we said simultaneously as we looked down onto a pile of at least two dozen skulls, both children and adult, male and female. The bottom of this cave was literally piled with remains. Femurs, jaw bones, ribs, vertebrate, and hip bones made up the ground. Some of which were covered with algae from being in the damp cave so long.

yep, all those were eaten

We hesitated for a minute or two then Tai invited us in. We sat in the cave for a good 30 minutes taking pictures, playing with the skulls and talking. As long as we put the skulls back where we found them out of respect, Tai was happy. A few days before, Mele told us a story of his experience with a skull. It was the skull of a women and he described it as being very handsome. He asked the skull “Where are you from?” then put it back down out of place. Later that night a Tongan women came to him in his sleep and said she was the spirit of the skull that he was holding. The spirit terrified his wife Chico but Mele had a big smile when he spoke of the Tongan women that visited him in his dreams. If you’re wondering, non of us had a Tongan women visit us in our dreams, unfortunately.

He doesn’t look like a murderer at all

Apparently the bones were remains from two types of victims. Some were from Tongans who had been unfortunately blown to Fulaga or paddled there during island war. The others were from missionaries who weren’t too successful at spreading the “good Word”. Both of which ended up as a village feast at one time. Tuesday the 7th of June was the first time holding a human skull that was once another person’s meal- check.

This unfortunate Tongan or missionary got their skull bashed in

Later, back on Delos, we told Paul and Darren of our Goonie like adventure and came to the conclusion that we needed to go back the next day for their turn with the skulls. Funny enough, Darren and Paul had the same “holy shit! That’s a pile of human bones” reaction.

After climbing back down from the tomb, Brian wasn’t feeling too well and headed back out to Delos to rest. We asked Tai what he was up to and he nervously replied “I have to go help someone with something”, which we later found out meant go get drunk off grog. Darren wandered on to the beach and found a nice spot to pass out. Paul and I collected some coconuts to quench our thirst then went for a walk to the school where the teachers were so proud of the children they made them line up, military style, and sing the Fijian national anthem.

VIP concert of Fiji’s National Anthem

Mind molders of Fulaga

Bill, one of the villagers who was walking around with us, asked if we wanted to go see the other village. What else did we have to do? The next adventure soon began.

The supply ship into this island hadn’t come in about a month but lucky for the village and us it arrived earlier that day. You could tell because nobody was out planting, cooking, or working in their yards. Where was everyone? Sitting in circles drinking fresh kava right off the boat. Bill took us from hut to hut in the other village drinking a few bowls of kava at every stop. What we did makes a pub crawl look like a 12 year old ballet dancer. We now refer to that experience as the Kava crawl.

Low tide, high tide, or tsunami? Tsunami

Fellow kava enthusiast

We heard that kava needs to build up in your system before you feel anything. The past few months we stared at the locals, from one village to another, getting so relaxed from the grog while they could barely speak. We would drink 20- 30 bowls in a sitting and feel nothing more then a full stomach. Wednesday the 8th of June was the first time getting drunk off Kava- check. What was the feeling like? It’s really hard to explain. Almost like a mild stoned feeling but more in your body then head. You feel relaxed and care free. You smile and laugh. You’re legs don’t want to work. Good stuff.

Last stop on the Kava crawl

To top off that Wednesday Paul and I shared another first, this time with a child. Wait…That didn’t sound right. Simply put, we walked around a hut to see this little boy look up at us and react as if we were monsters. His eyes widened, filled with tears and he let one of the worst screams I’ve ever heard while running into his fathers arms. His dad picked him up and held him while laughing and saying “sorry, you are first Kaipalangi (white person) he sees”. In our Kava stoned state it was hard to grasp the situation, and really take in but I’m positive we looked at each other and said something along the lines of “Shit just got real”. Maybe someday that child will write a blog about his first times and there Paul and I will be; the first white people he had ever seen- check.

The poor child that has Paul and I etched into his memory for ever