Sailing Taurus NZ

With a favourable easterly wind predicted we decided to leave Tweed Heads in the early afternoon of New Year’s Eve.

Before our departure we went over to the nearby beach and had a quick dip, staying in shallow water due to the threat of sharks. On our way back to the boat we stopped to talk to the owner of another yacht who was anchored just in front of us, and who, I feared, might be sitting above our anchor which would prevent us from raising it. I wanted to ask if he could drive forward to give us more room. The guy on-board apologised and told us he couldn’t move, explaining that he had no sails and that his gearbox had failed when trying to anchor the night before. He had basically anchored whilst being dragged sideways by the tide. We were lucky to have avoided a collision. Happily, a short while later the change of tide moved everyone around enough for us to lift the hook and we headed out of the river and across the bar.

Our destination was Coffs Harbour, about 150 Nautical Miles away, some thirty hours of sailing at our average speed of 5 knots. Our sail was pretty relaxed and uneventful, and we spent New Years off Byron Bay, watching the fireworks in the distance.

2025 started on a pleasant note with some unexpected positive feedback.. my thanks to the unknown cartographer, but surely the matter was never in any doubt!

Time passed slowly, as time does at sea when there’s nothing to do, and so we sat down to get on with a couple of projects. One of the things I had to do was add some material to our ‘red duster,’ the British civil ensign, which has been getting smaller and smaller as the end that flaps, frays and breaks down. We had bought some material in Tweed Heads and I thought the job had been quite successful until I later talked to a Canadian guy in a boat anchored next to us. He told me that he had been wondering what flag we were flying, being unsure as to the pink and red design…

Day turned into evening again, and at about 11:00 pm we began our approach into Coffs Harbour. The harbour is chiefly a fishing port with a small marina but is well set up with a wide mouth, fantastic leading lights, and no bar. As such our entry, even in the dark, was nice and easy.

We could see a few yachts in the wide bay ahead, so chose an empty spot and dropped the anchor.

We slept well, but the bay was quite rolly due to the swell from the east. Roughly divided into two unequal parts by a long jetty, we had anchored in the larger southern part, but decided to move to the northern part, just past the jetty, where a couple of public moorings have been laid. To the north of this is a small protected area that houses the marina and fishing boats.

In our new spot the swell was much better and we resolved to save our money and not use the marina. As usual we had a few jobs to do. One of these was to clean the Hydrovane rudder which, not having been anti-fouled at the same time as the hull, was getting pretty encrusted with barnacles. We tried cleaning it in situ but ultimately chose to remove it to clean it on deck. Once clean, we hung it up and gave it a coat of etch primer and two of anti-foul. A nice quick and satisfying job.

Feeling virtuous we headed into the protected harbour to visit the local chandler and town. Unfortunately many shops, including the chandler, were closed for the holidays, but it was nice to wander round. Coffs seemed like a nice place, much smaller and less consumer focussed than the touristy Gold Coast cities we had grown used to. Back on the boat we were entertained all day by children leaping from the jetty, upsetting the turtles and odd dolphin.

Next day we stretched our legs with a walk up to the Mutton Island reserve before feasting on fish and chips from the fisherman’s co-operative shop. Fish doesn’t get much fresher.

Unfortunately, there was little time to stop and relax. We were still trying to get to Sydney before the 10th of January to meet our friend Eugene. With the prevailing weather coming from the south we had to make the most of every opportunity to head that way.

Thus on the 4th of January we were off again. Our destination this time was a place called Pittwater, about 240 NMs distant.

As previously mentioned, Taurus’ average speed is about 5 knots. Less in light winds or lumpy sea states, more with a stronger breeze at the right angle of sail. On this sail, however, we were blown away to find ourselves consistently sailing at a speed far higher than we would expect in the light wind conditions. This it turned out was due to the East Australian Current, which was adding at least a couple of knots to our speed, enabling us to do 8 knots in less than 12 knots of wind. Fun!

The sailing was spectacular, but all too soon the wind shifted to a northerly and we were pointing straight downwind. We poled out the jib and continued to sail fast, but the rolling motion was pretty uncomfortable.

As if to distract us from the constant motion, a pod of dolphins arrived just before sunset and frolicked at the bow until dark.

The next day the wind continued to rise and we were soon surfing down some pretty big waves in 20 knots. As we got closer to Sydney the marine traffic increased considerably. With the jib still poled out we were starting to struggle with our heading angles, there being little lee way with this sail configuration. Just before dark we were contacted by a large container ship, 200m long, but still some seven NMs away. The voice on the radio asked us to pass starboard to starboard, that is right side of the ship to right side of ship. To do this would have required us to jibe sharply to port, something impossible with the jib poled out, and then to starboard. I answered that we were a sailing yacht and that the wind angle prevented us from taking the requested position. Much to my surprise the voice came back, saying “oh you sailing boat, we move for you.” Normally everyone gets out of the way of these behemoths, the mantra ‘might is right’ having some bearing, but more importantly the stopping distance and difficulty in manoeuvring these massive ships means everyone else shifts for them. However, on this occasion the container ship adjusted course by a few degrees and we sailed blithely on.

I confess that as it grew dark and the wind and waves continued to rise I began to grow worried about our decision to leave the jib poled out. We had reefed the jib considerably, but left the pole up because we were moving across the face of the wind a good deal as we surfed down the waves. Without the pole the jib would repeatedly collapse and snap back as the wind refilled it. The forces on gear as this happens over and over and over are considerable, as is the wearing effect on the crew. It was with some relief then that the wind dropped and we could put the sails to bed and motor the last 5NMs into Pittwater.

Pittwater is a drowned valley estuary boarded by national parks about 40 kilometres north of the Sydney CBD. Being so close it has become more or less a Sydney suburb, and the place where many Sydneyites choose to leave their boats. Happily, some of our friends from the Pacific were currently there, Ron and Sue from Eudora and Karl and Elaine from Salsa.

On arrival we had anchored in a safe but fairly exposed spot, not wishing to blunder around in the dark. So in the morning we sought advice and found a nice mooring, courtesy of the Royal Sydney Yacht Squadron, in Coasters Retreat, aka ‘The Basin.’ Pittwater would have been idyllic at one time, and it is still spectacular, but today, especially at this time of the year, it’s a bit hectic. From multi-million dollar super yachts to the humblest of tinnies, all can be found with their owners trying to enjoy time on the water.

One of the advantages of The Basin is that a campsite is located next to the mooring field. We soon found our way to shore to get rid of some rubbish and pay a A$1 for a hot shower.

Semi-tame wallabies were an added attraction on land. These marsupials, an Australian icon, are a growing pest in New Zealand where they are shot with zeal in order, hopefully, to prevent them from becoming endemic. It is also held by some that too many Wallabies in New Zealand will drastically reduce the quality of the national sport, but of this I know nothing.

The campground also held a signpost pointing towards Aboriginal carvings. The walk followed a wide concrete road up a steep hill, but after so much time on the boat it was nice to move and work our bodies a bit. The carvings were pretty interesting and may be up to a thousand years old.

The highlight of our time in Pittwater was getting together with our friends for sundowners and a catch up. Karl kindly picked everyone up and took them back to his and Elaine’s yacht in Morning Bay. Cara and I took along the last of the Green Skin wine to share out amongst other members of the Pacific Rally as requested, and a good night was had by all.

Still needing to get to Sydney we left early the next morning. However, the forecast was entirely wrong and instead of a light to mid easterly we were met by 30 knots from the south and some hefty seas. We persevered for a little while but conditions weren’t improving and we were going to have to sail so far off shore to get south that it didn’t seem worth the effort and possible damage to gear. Taurus also wasn’t set up for heavy weather, the life lines, which you attach yourself to when on deck to prevent being swept overboard, for example having been stowed away to prevent UV damage. Discretion being the better part of valour, we tucked our tail between our legs and ran back into Pittwater.

The next day we were up early and the weather was far more conducive to a southerly sail. There being three boats heading in the same direction the race was on, and though the other entries were light, and modern Taurus easily won first prize in her class (old, steel, and slow).

Only a few hours later we were sailing past Manly and then through the Sydney heads. Unfortunately the wind dropped as we made our approach so our dream of sailing into Sydney in full glory was nipped in the bud. Our disappointment was offset by the clouds growing behind us, indicating a front was on the way, so we were just glad to get in to shelter.

As the heavens opened we found our way to our chosen anchor site in Rose Bay. Our friend Eugene had arrived in Sydney at much the same time as us, so we unloaded the dinghy from the deck and ran ashore to pick him up. I hadn’t been sure that we were going to make it in time to see him, but as it turned out we made it with a few minutes to spare.

Next time: we explore Sydney with Eugene, we go to Bondi Beach to do our laundry, we experience an apocalyptic storm — and survive!

Before leaving Brisbane we had to catch up with our good friend, Julian. We had met Julian and his wife Tracey in Noumea, New Caledonia. They had sailed their yacht there before the troubles and ended up staying throughout and having an amazing time, making friends on both sides of the divide as they were apolitical and just about the only tourists in the country. They enjoyed New Caledonia so much that they decided to leave their yacht there and fly back to Australia, so that they could easily fly back again to resume cruising in the region. Unfortunately, Tracey was visiting family in Perth when we found ourselves in Brisbane, so we had to miss the pleasure of her company this time around.

I’ve often found that to get the best out of a new city you need to be shown around by someone who knows it. This certainly proved to be true in this case. Julian suggested we go for dinner at a place called ‘Eat Street,’ which we hadn’t heard of but which was a mere twenty minute walk from where we were anchored.

Eat Street is an incredible place that we highly recommend if you ever find yourself in Brisbane with an evening to fill. Part Moulin Rouge, part carnival, and all about satisfying carnal pleasures — of the eating and drinking variety. The ‘street’ is essentially a wide variety of quality street food outlets, bars, and live music stages thrown together in an eclectic fair-ground-type layout . We were there just before Christmas and the place was heaving, but the queues were short, the food was excellent, and there were tables enough to go around. The music, lights, crowd, and atmosphere created a kind of never never land for adults.

The evening was one of those in which you curse the fact that you only have one stomach to fill, and once full to the point of knowing that it would be a slow waddle home we had to call it a night.

We had planned to head south after leaving Brisbane and find a place to anchor in South Port, the main marina and anchorage area serving the Gold Coast. However, Julian advised us that South Port and the area around it would be insanely busy. His work as a commercial skipper routinely takes him there, and he warned us that over the Christmas break it would be a mad house of launches, tinnies (small aluminium boats with outboard engines) and jetskis — all trying to get wherever they were going as fast as possible and without a clue about COLREGS (the International Regulations for Preventing Collisions at Sea), the rules of the road at sea.

Not being a huge fan of too many people, and jetskis period, I was easily persuaded that we should instead anchor off the excellently named Coochiemudlo Island. Captain Matthew Flinders (16 March 1774 – 19 July 1814), Royal Navy officer, navigator, cartographer and leader of the first inshore circumnavigation of Australia, was the first European to land on Coochiemudlo in 1799. At that time he named the island ‘Sixth Island,’ which suggests he was sick of naming Australian features by the time he got there. Coochiemudlo is a bastardisation of the Aboriginal name “Kuychi Mudlo” meaning ‘place of red stone.’ For generations it was a source of ochre, which aboriginals used for body decoration.

As well as a sheltered anchorage, Coochiemudlo was a short ferry ride to the mainland, and a short walk from there to Julian and Tracey’s home. As if the idea of staying at Coochiemudlo needed any sweetening, Julian promised to cook us a roast dinner when we arrived, and generously offered us the use of his home and car when he headed away for a few days to catch up with Tracey and family. It’s been said many times before, but the best thing about travelling really is the people you meet along the way.

We headed down the Brisbane River early next morning to take advantage of the outgoing tide, and after some fun and games trying to fuel up at a jetty where the pump’s hose was too short to reach our fuel intake, we found ourselves back at sea.

Visiting Brisbane had been fantastic, it’s one of the Australian cities we don’t know well but would like to know better. One of the things our stay highlighted was that despite being close neighbours, we Kiwis are often ignorant of the realities of Aussie life. I had remarked to Julian that it was a shame the river was in flood and too dirty and swollen to swim in. Slightly aghast, he said the river was always that dirty, it’s known as the ‘Brown Snake’ by locals, but, he added, no-one swims in it anyway because of the sharks. Not entirely sure if he was serious (who ever heard of sharks in rivers?) I later did a quick google and found that scientists believe that upto 3,000 bull sharks may be in the Brisbane River at any one time. Apparently bull sharks, one of the more aggressive and dangerous species of shark, have developed the ability to breathe in both salt and fresh water, and have learnt to go up the river to feed on livestock that fall into the water. The idea of thousands of sharks in that brown turgid mass was certainly enough to put me off the idea of a dip!

To remember the various hazards that Australia poses to the unwary we found a helpful map that reveals the areas of risk (below).

After a short sail of a few hours we reached Coochiemudlo, and dropped anchor a little way from the beach and moored boats. Steve and Karen who had been anchored in Moreton Bay sailed down to join us, and on hearing this Julian extended his dinner invitation to include them. We took our dinghies to the ferry terminal and headed to Victoria Point where Julian picked us up.

Dinner was roast pork with plenty of crackling, and by God it was good. The wine in the sachets on the table was gifted to us by Viki, the owner of the Pacific Island Rally. Greenskin, the wine company, had sent Viki some samples for cruisers to try. As well as being very palatable wine, the packets of 750ml each are much easier than bottles to store and can be returned to the company to be recycled once empty. So we now have white wine, red wine, and green wine! Thanks to Julian, Viki, and Greenskin, and can we make it a regular thing?

We stayed on Coochiemudlo for a few days, enjoying the island and making the most of access to a shower, washing machine, and car. Christmas Day was spent hanging out on Taurus eating too much (again), followed by a circumnavigation by foot of Coochiemudlo. On Boxing Day we drove down to the Gold Coast to catch up with my daughter, Abi, and her partner, Allan. It was an eyeopener to see how busy the four lane highways were and we ended up crawling along in a traffic jam for much of the way.

After picking Abi and Allan up we headed into town to try and find somewhere to get a meal and buy Abi a 21st birthday present. It being Boxing Day the city was insanely busy with shoppers looking for a bargain, and we maybe didn’t help ourselves by ending up at the Pacific Fair mall, the largest mall in Australasia apparently. The number of people was staggering, it seemed like half of Australia had decided to go shopping.

After our trip into the big smoke, it was a relief to return to our little boat in our quiet little corner of paradise.

Next morning we bid adieu to ‘Coochie,’ as the locals call it, and headed south towards South Port. The image below shows the inland waterways we followed. The anchor symbols show our route, where we stopped or considered stopping along the way. Normally, these channels are quiet and serene, but over the holiday period they were busy, and the closer we got to the Gold Coast, the busier they got.

As we had been forewarned, the waterways were packed with boats and jetskis, all going as fast as they could, as loudly as they could. Often the people who had gone screaming past us turned around and came screaming back. I’m sure it would be great fun to ride a jetski for an hour or two, but the numbers involved and the apparent pointlessness of it all made it feel slightly perverse, the lack of attention to standard safety rules needlessly reckless. People flew past on either side, in either direction, often at the same time, cut across our bow, did little jinks to try and get each other wet, did circles around us, so that in the end we could only ignore them rather than try to maintain a safe distance. It was later reported that three people died in Queensland waters over the Christmas period. I’m amazed it was only three.

We stopped for a short while at Tipplers Bay on South Stradbroke Island, and squeezed into the space between land and channel along with dozens of other craft of all shapes and sizes. A short walk across the island we came across the ocean and an enormous beach that was practically deserted in comparison to the resort side. With gratitude we enjoyed a semblance of peace, went for a swim, and then rejoined the throngs for a beer before clearing out.

Trying to get away from the crowds we anchored later than day in another bay closer to South Port but separated from the main channel by a sand bank. That night we were entertained by a thunder storm that reminded us that nature and beauty could still be found in that humanity over-loaded environment.

Australia is a big country, the sixth largest in the world, but despite this its population is one of the most urbanised in the world. The Crocodile Dundee type image of Australia is largely a fallacy. The vast majority of its 27 million people are squeezed into a narrow corridor between ocean and inhospitable interior. A full 90% of Australians live within fifty kilometres of the coast (a mere 0.22% of the country’s land mass): 73% in major cities, 26% in inner and outer regional areas, and only 2% in remote or very remote areas. The resulting density of people can be a little overwhelming, and the boom in building over the past few decades has resulted in parts of Australia becoming a seemingly endless vista of beaches, high-rises, and malls.

Naturally, in this capitalist heaven some succeed and many fail. Great wealth and poverty rub shoulders on the street, if nowhere else. A common topic of discussion is the inaffordablity of housing. The average Australian house price in March of 2024 was A$959,000. When you think of the massive divergence in price between housing in the interior and exterior of the country it becomes readily apparent that most people, living where most Australians do, have no chance of owning a house. Many of the citizens of the ‘lucky country’ no longer seem to believe that luck is going to come their way. Cost of living, crime (especially youth knife crime), mental health issues, and drug addiction all seem out of control. We have been quite surprised by the number of people we have seen wandering the streets, mumbling to themselves or yelling at passers by. As if worried for their own safety the police here, armed with sidearms, tasers, pepper spray and wearing stab resistant vests, wander round in packs of three or more. Australia is obviously facing some serious social issues, but solutions seem to be in short supply.

Early next day the jetskis were back, and the weather offered a small window for us to clear out. With an opportunity to leave there was no question of staying, so we packed up and headed towards the South Port bar, our escape route to sea and sanity. Before attempting the bar we called the local Marine Rescue chaps and been given the all clear, checked the on-line cams, and made sure that all the conditions were favourable. Even though everything was in our favour the bar still provided a couple of waves of sufficient size to stop Taurus in her tracks. When doing our research we had found some images of a yacht that attempted the bar in 60 odd knots of wind, with predictable consequences. It was a good reminder that you just can’t be complaisant about bar crossings.

Once out at sea we had to tack through the reefs and shallows that sit outside the Gold Coast, before heading south towards our destination for the day — Tweed Heads.

Tweed Heads is only 15 nautical miles from the Gold Coast, some three hours sailing if the wind plays ball. In our case it took just over 7 hours as we tacked through a south easterly, zigzagging towards our destination because we couldn’t take the straight line into the wind. Still, it was nice to arrive and cross the bar during daylight, and even better to find the tempo of life turned down from the frantic pace of the Gold Coast.

We motored a short way up the Tweed River before picking up one of the free public moorings provided by the New South Wales Government.

Tweed Heads and the merged town of Coolangatta lie across the border that divides Queensland from New South Wales. A 300 km fence once divided the states for ‘quarantine and customs purposes.’ The fence also held a darker purpose, making it harder for ‘black bird’ slaves, men taken from the Pacific Islands to work on the Queensland sugar plantations, to find freedom. New South Wales didn’t operate sugar plantations, and so the enslaved labourers were free men if they could find their way three miles or more over the border. If caught less than three miles from Queensland they were returned to their owners.

As mentioned in a previous post, Queensland, unlike the rest of Australia, decided against operating a daylight savings system, with the result that it lies an hour behind the rest of the country. In the photo below Cara’s right foot exists at 11:00 in the morning, whilst her left lies at 12:00 in the afternoon. I imagine living here would make my head ache.

We stayed in Tweed Heads for a couple of days, spending our time mooching around town and keeping a close eye on the weather. As soon as the opportunity arose we intended to head further south.

Next time: we celebrate New Years Eve at sea, do a couple of 48 hour passages, catch up with friends, and check out some Aboriginal rock carvings.

New Caledonia has a land area of 18,575 km² and a population of approximately 270,000. The indigenous ‘Kanak’ people make up about 41% of this total with the remainder made up of the Caldoche (Europeans born in New Caledonia), the Zoreille (those who have emigrated from metropolitan France), and non-Kanak Polynesians who make up about 10%. The Kanaks speak 28 different languages, which are unrelated and wholly incomprehensible to speakers of other local languages, so that French is the lingua franca.

James Cook was one of the first Europeans to sight New Caledonia, on 4 September 1774, during his second voyage. He named it “New Caledonia’ as the island reminded him of Scotland. The Comte de Laperouse followed Cook in 1788, and after him came various whalers and traders who continued the work of surveying and mapping the islands.

The value of sandal wood, found in New Caledonia, attracted ongoing European interest, after which the practice of ‘black birding,’ exploiting Melanesian and Pacific labour for use in the sugarcane plantations of Fiji and Australia, continued the one-sided relationship.

France took official possession of New Caledonia in 1853 and used the islands as a penal colony between 1864 and 1897, during which time some 20,000 French convicts arrived and were put to work mining nickel and copper. The Kanak people, treated like second class citizens and vulnerable to European diseases, revolted against colonial rule in 1878 which resulted in the death of 200 French men and 1,000 Kanaks. Eventually, the better armed French suppressed the revolt and beheaded the Kanak leader before exhibiting his head in the Museum of Natural History.

After WWII, the struggle for Kanak independence was given a boost when the UN placed New Caledonia on its ‘Decolonisation List of Non-Self Governing Territories.’ Adopting a more liberal strategy, the French gave Kanaks and French settlers the right to vote in 1951, and shortly after New Caledonia became an overseas territory of France — bestowing French citizenship on New Caledonian citizens. However, fresh rioting broke out in the 1980s which resulted in Kanak leaders and the French Government agreeing to a series of three referendums to decide the future of the country. The first two referendums resulted in a narrow win for those who want New Caledonia to stay under French rule. The third referendum was disrupted by Covid, and was boycotted by the Kanak people who wanted the French to postpone the vote. As such the result was a massive defeat for the independence party.

Fresh rioting broke out again in May 2024, with the loss of thirteen lives, 800 businesses, and over 10,000 jobs, amounting to some 30 percent of New Caledonia’s GDP (gross domestic product). The situation in New Caledonia remains slightly unstable and tense. For a short time, foreigners were asked not to visit, and several cruising yachts that were headed to New Caledonia chose to divert elsewhere. With all this in the air it was far from certain that we would be able to visit the country, though we were very keen to do so — not least because it breaks up the trip from Vanuatu to Australia.

The political tension in Noumea, the capital of New Caledonia, is palpable, but can’t entirely detract from the city which is easily the cleanliest, most modern, and most sophisticated we have visited in the Pacific Islands. The people have been universally helpful, but a clear divide separates the French from the Kanaks, the latter appearing much poorer, less well educated, and sometimes slightly unfriendly until they discover that we aren’t French. Despite large numbers of reinforcements having been brought in, the presence of the police and army seems, no doubt deliberately, understated.

There can be no doubt that a great many wrongs have been done to the Kanak people, but, as is always the way with these things, the situation is far from clear cut. Firstly, the majority of people allowed to vote want to remain French citizens (and voters had to have lived in New Caledonia for at least ten years, a move designed to make the vote more fair for Kanak people by removing the influence of recent French immigrants). It is also difficult for us not to remember speaking to David, a village elder in Vanuatu who wished independence had never been achieved there. David believed that Vanuatuan political freedom had led to a serious rise in illiteracy amongst the young (because education is no longer provided free of charge). He also expressed concern in regards to the growth of Chinese influence, and the degree of governmental corruption. Certainly, France continues to give vast amounts of money to New Caledonia, and one wonders what would happen if that easy money was suddenly cut off.

So, with the political situation in mind we began to explore the city. One of the first attractions we visited was the Maritime Museum, the walk there happening to take us past the local patisserie and supermarket. The museum was quite small but had some interesting exhibits. The Captain Cook area had a model of The Resolution and a reproduction of one of Cook’s charts which showed his journey through Vanuatu and New Caledonia. I hadn’t realised how closely our trips had aligned, we might have been following in his footsteps.

The next day we tried to find one of the local forts, but though we found a modern military base we couldn’t work out how to get to the headland without trespassing. The French take a dim view of such things so we found a bar instead and kept everyone happy.

We left the marina the following day and headed out to Maa Bay, which someone had recommended to us. It was a fast sail in 25 knots and a pretty bumpy anchorage so we didn’t try to leave the boat till next morning. Then we jumped in the dinghy and tried to find a walk that led over a hill to the next bay. Unfortunately, after walking some way all we found was a private gated community. Being unable to find any other way we ignored the privee sign, but the gate and fence on the other side was pretty serious so we had to retrace our steps, all the way back to Taurus. Our attempt to cross the peninsula may have been unsuccessful but we had walked along way, and getting some exercise was the real goal.

From Maa Bay we sailed to Signal Island. The island is so called because a pillar was built on it in 1854, which, when aligned with a local hill, reveals where the channel through a nearby reef is. The island is now a nature sanctuary so that anchoring is not allowed and instead moorings are provided. After a walk around the island, and seeing lots of birds and some big spiders, we returned to Taurus and decided that now was a good time to clean the hull. Australian Customs can get very unhappy about boats turning up with a dirty bottom, so we risked the tiger and bull sharks and jumped in with scrubbing brushes. Hiding in the shade of the hull was a school of Bludger fish. If we hadn’t been in a reserve I would have been very tempted to grab the speargun, but they proved surprisingly good company, and it turns out they are often infected with ciguatera, a neuro-toxic disease, so best left alone.

Friends of ours were leaving Noumea to head to NZ the following day so we decided to head back into town. The sail was pretty gnarly with 25-30 knots of wind and a short, sharp chop that slammed into the bow, slowing us down and causing the bow to want to turn downwind. The conditions meant that we had to motor sail — sailing with the engine providing some additional thrust — so that we could make decent headway.

After seeing our friends off we decided to get the folding bikes out. These bulky items are often a subject of ‘should we get rid of them’ discussions, but though they don’t get used often, when they do get pulled out they can be indispensable and a lot of fun. Our goal for the day was firstly a big chandlery (boat stuff shop) that we had been told about, and secondly an old fort called Canons de Nouville. We managed to leave the shop empty handed and then tried to find our way to the fort. After many miles along dirt roads and tracks we finally reached the fort which was well worth the effort. The cannon are rifled breach loaders with a date of 1870 stamped into them, so roughly contemporaneous with the US Civil War. Who they were intended to defend Port Noumea from I have no idea. There was no information about them there, and even the staff at the local museum knew nothing about them. Presumably the threat was considered to be very real as they would have taken considerable effort to mount, and this is just one of several forts in the area.

On the way home, to a pressing engagement at the local bar, Cara got a puncture. Naturally, it was this point that I realised that her wheels don’t have the common quick release system but instead require spanners to remove the wheel. We managed to remove the inner tube with the wheel in situ, but then the vulcanising rubber we had in our puncture repair kit refused to stick the patch on. In the end we had to resort to periodically pumping up her tyre and getting as far as we could before the tyre went flat again. Not exactly what you want after a long, hot day in the saddle, but at least we didn’t have to walk home, and the bar was still open and all our friends still there.

After another couple of days seeing the sights in Noumea it felt like it was time to get out of the marina and save some money.

We had a fantastic sail to Amedee Lighthouse. The sun was shining, the breeze was just right, and though it wasn’t coming from quite the right direction we were happy to take our time and tack a few times to get there. The lighthouse is apparently one of the tallest and oldest in the Southern Hemisphere, it having been originally used in France and later dismantled and shipped to New Caledonia.

As mentioned in a previous post, our intention was not to stay here long, but rather have a brief stop and continue on to Australia. However, the weather has been particularly unsettled with light winds in the Coral Sea that would require us to motor for 4-6 days of the 7 day trip. The weather looks like it may come right on Saturday, so we have a few more days to relax and enjoy Noumea before getting ourselves ready for our passage to Bundaberg.

Having cleared Vanuatuan Customs we were free to explore. Vanuatu is a chain of 13 large and 70 smaller islands. Tanna, the island we had arrived at, is not quite the most southerly of these islands. The country has an interesting, if somewhat bleak history. Archaeologists believe the islands to have been inhabited since around 3000 BC. Europeans discovered the islands in 1606, but it wasn’t until nearly two centuries later that much interest in the group was taken, and they were then visited by such famous men as Bouganville, Cook, and d’Urville. Bligh also passed through the region on his infamous longboat voyage from Tonga to Timor following the mutiny on the Bounty.

The demand for sandalwood led to increased European and American interest from the early 1800s and led to several violent confrontations with the locals. The populace were later used as a cheap labour resource and taken to Australia in a practice known as ‘black birding,’ which quickly degenerated into a system little dissimilar to slavery. The British government stepped in in 1872 to try and protect the islanders. French interests in the islands subsequently resulted in a joint colonial governance, with the islands being run under an unwieldy system of British, French, and local law. Vanuatu eventually gained independence in 1978. The islanders collectively speak an astonishing 115 indigenous languages, as well as French and English which is an outcome of the ‘condominium government.’ In consequence, the Vanuatuan Government elected to create its own language, Bislama, which is a form of pidgin English. Since independence there has been an unfortunate degree of political corruption and instability, which has resulted in poor economic development. At the time of our visit we hear that the school teachers are striking because they haven’t been paid for some time, and that the government is bankrupt because the Chinese, who have built several impressive roads in the region, have called in their loans.

However, this dire history probably doesn’t impact the vast majority of people in Vanuatu who don’t miss the opportunities that they don’t know they have missed out on. Indeed, nuclear war, solar flares, or asteroid strike could probably pass unnoticed by the locals unless they happened to be in the direct line of fire. These are people whose carbon footprint would register in negative figures.

The technological resources in Port Resolution Village, home to some 200 people, amounted to one solar powered light outside the church, a couple of large communal water tanks, and a solar water pump. Breeze block houses with corrugated iron roofs are springing up here and there, challenging the traditional building techniques that are still used. However, as these houses stand up far better to the routine cyclones that lay waste to the area their ugliness shouldn’t disguise the fact that they represent real progress.

When we visited the village for dinner one evening the only available light came from open fires in huts which are often loosely clad with strips of wood with inch wide spaces between the slats, presumably for ventilation. The locals live lives that make western ideas of healthy, environmentally conscious living look slightly absurd. Our dinner, a feast of vegetables, rice, and omelette, lacked both meat and fish. When we asked our host about this she pointed to a plate of spinach and said, ‘this is our meat.’ When we asked how often the villagers ate fish, the men spending much of every day fishing in traditional outrigger canoes, she told us that the fish were sold at market or saved for feast days. Illumination for the meal was provided by a single torch propped on a beam. If cheap electricity goes the way of the dodo much of the world will crumble, but these people will hardly notice.

A day later we took a ride to the biggest town on Tanna, Lenakel. Together with a group of villagers we piled into the back of a 4×4 ute and enjoyed a bumpy ride along some rough jungle roads. Standing was often more comfortable than bouncing around on the hard seats, though a wary eye was needed to keep watch for low hanging branches.

After about three quarters of an hour the truck burst out of the bush onto a volcanic ash plain. The change from verdant jungle to lunar-like landscape was abrupt and surreal. After another 45 minutes or so of racing across loose tracks in the ash and in and out of gorges we struck another bizarrely different track — a paved road, built by the Chinese, that ran up and down steep hillsides as if intended as a testament to human ingenuity.

When we arrived in Lenakel we found a small town with an excellent market, full of local produce at good prices; perhaps a couple of dozen shops all selling pretty much the same stuff; a bank; and a small harbour choked with rubbish. After an hour or so we had ‘done’ Lenakel, and headed into the local cafe for a meal. The promised steak and chips turned out to be a bit of beef, cold rice, and salad, but it was tasty and disappeared quickly.

The drive back to Port Resolution followed a different route but was equally impressive, taking a coastal road with incredible vistas of cliffs and sea. As we neared Port Resolution the tarmac ran out again and we bumped along the rutted track before finishing off with a fast drive along the beach. This trip really has it all. But as much as we enjoyed it we have to take our hats off to the kids who do this trip every day to get to school and back.

As we’ve found throughout the Pacific Islands, the kids around Port Resolution were simply a delight. Unfailingly cheerful, polite, and curious they seem to have no notion that they are anything less than blessed, despite their circumstances, to our eyes, being so very limited and lacking in opportunities.

Our next excursion was to Mount Yasur, the local volcano. Sometimes called ‘the light house of the Pacific,’ the glow from its crater had guided Cook to Port Resolution in 1774. The volcano is also an importance centre for the John Frum cult, a bizarre religion that stems from WWII and awaits the reappearance of an American deity with a wealth of material goods to give away.

The volcano is easily accessible, and we only had to walk a hundred metres or so from the car park to the lip of the crater. At the top is a rudimentary fence hammered into the loose sand, beyond which is a vertical drop. From the viewing area we could hear the lava inside the volcano crashing as if it was the sea breaking against cliffs. At other times, deep booms made me appreciate why Vulcan, the Roman god of volcanoes, was imagined as a black smith. As we waited for dark there was little to see, but as the light fell we could see lava being thrown up and explosions inside the crater.

Next day we said adieu to Port Resolution and headed north to Dillons Bay, Erromango Island. We expected the 60 nautical mile trip to take about ten hours, but the strong winds blew us there in rapid quick time. As we turned into the shelter of the bay the wind disappeared and we anchored near a river mouth and the village of Unpongkor. That night we had a visitor. A local elder called David had paddled out with gifts of papaya and bananas and the offer of a tour of the village and a local cave used for burials. Who could say no?

David proved to be the proud owner of the Dillons Bay Yacht Club, an entreprenurial attempt to attract yachties to the area. For a nominal fee David showed us round the village and took us to a swimming hole up river where we could swim in fresh water. That afternoon we took the dinghy to another bay and climbed to a couple of caves where the locals used to be buried. Apparently missionaries persuaded the natives that the dead should be buried in graves rather than caves, though what the difference is at the end of the day I don’t really know. And wasn’t Jesus buried in a cave for a while? Anyway, the skeletons in the caves are apparently those of past chiefs, and they serve their communities still by attracting ghoulish tourists who pay to view their earthly remains. Apparently, this money helps to pay for the local school, so it goes to a good cause.

On the way back to Unpongkor, David asked if he could borrow a battery powered drill. It’s hard to imagine, but in some respects we have more resources on board Taurus than the 900 strong community we were visiting. Unsurprisingly, this leads to visiting boats being seen to some degree as a resource to be exploited. Having given David coffee and milk we had to say no to subsequent requests for fishing line, petrol, and a lift for relatives to Port Vila, some 16 hours away by sail. We felt a bit mean saying no, but David had done pretty well out of us and we can’t give everything away, especially as the poverty of Vanuatuans rises the further you go from Port Vila, and here we were pretty close. No doubt we will be asked for items like these many times during our stay. Indeed, we had been asked to pay for fruit in Port Resolution with clothes we no longer wanted. Material things have greater value than money if they are hard to resource or ridiculously expensive.

I couldn’t refuse David my drill, but I was a bit reluctant to just hand over my precious tools (it’s a guy thing), so offered to help build the pigpen he wanted to use it for. I wasn’t worried about the tools being stolen, but a few minutes trying to demonstrate how the drill worked proved that David wasn’t comfortable with even this degree of technology.

It felt good to be doing something practical and helpful, and the number of hands made light work of the job. Alas there is no room for a pig onboard — I’ve always had a soft spot for pigs.

That afternoon we caught up with friends, Richard and Jude on Amelie, who had arrived in the bay the night before. We first met these guys on our Advanced Sea Survival course in Christchurch in 2022 (yes, we are ASS qualified!). They left NZ last year and have cruised all round the Pacific Islands and the east coast of Australia, and are now planning to head home at the end of the season. It was very helpful to hear about their experiences as we intend to follow in their footsteps more or less, with cruising around Tasmania one of our ambitions. Later that evening we lifted anchor and headed off shore to Port Vila, aiming to arrive some time around mid-morning the following day, but that tale can wait for our next blog…

Next time: we sail to Port Vila and do other stuff.

Sailing, and by extension cruising, is an activity self regulated, to some extent, by the wisdom and dire warnings of a legion of sayings, proverbs, and aphorisms. One of these maintains that ‘the most dangerous thing to have on a boat is a schedule.’ This alludes to the view that the safe sailor only sails when the weather is right, and if the weather isn’t right he or she stays in harbour; the sailor who ignores the weather due to other pressures can all too easily find themselves in hot water.

When preparing to leave Fiji, Cara and I were well aware of this hazard, and yet the weather itself imposes its own schedule on cruisers in the Pacific. Due to annual cyclonic activity the cruising season is limited to between April and October, so that prudent captains (and those with insurance, whose policies have clauses demanding departure before a certain date) leave the danger area before the Summer heat imparts its energy to the sea, normally heading to Australia or New Zealand. Whether (weather?) we liked it or not, we had a schedule, and the clock was ticking.

The necessary repairs to our mast had already delayed us somewhat, and once they were finished we began to consider when we should leave. However, we wanted to cruise the Yasawa Group (previous blog) and good friends of ours, Dave and Jackie, who we sailed with to Tasmania last year (see ‘Nelson, NZ to Launceston, Australia,’ June 2023) had left Australia and were sailing to Fiji. It was a no-brainer to catch up with them before we left.

Being consummate and fast sailors, Dave and Jackie managed the 1,700 nautical miles in just ten days. Watching them on AIS as we returned from the Yasawas we saw them heading into Vuda, and so anchored outside the marina and took the dinghy in. Dave’s face as he realised who it was yelling ‘hello’ at him was hilarious! “I didn’t recognise you guys being so brown!” he said. Once they were cleared we of course caught up in the time honoured nautical fashion — over a few drinks.

After bidding our friends adieu we sailed across the bay to Denaru. One can clear Fijian Customs from either Vuda or Denaru, and we had decided on the latter because we felt it was easier to resupply at Denaru where you can take a dinghy to a local supermarket. By taking the dinghy downriver and tying it up at a condemned boat ramp the supermarket is only a five minute walk away. We spent a small fortune, stocked up, and were pushing the trolley back down the road when we were stopped by an employee who told us that we couldn’t take the trolley we had, but could take another trolley. Mystified, we asked what the difference was and he said, “I don’t know.” Bowing to the inevitable we did as we were bid and soon found out the difference in the trolleys, if not the reason for the change, the new one would not steer within ninety degrees of straight!

That evening we caught up with a couple of friends moored in millionaire’s row, a part of the marina housing several large yachts and not one, but two super yachts. Our dinghy seemed a little lost tied up in an empty berth designed for a fifty foot monster.

We’d been checking the weather for the previous week or so, and thought that we had identified a window on Monday the 2nd of September for the four day trip to Vanuatu. The fly in the ointment was that the weather on the last day looked a little rough, about 25 knots. Now there are several problems with planning departure dates according to forecasts. For one, there are several different forecasts available, and often they don’t agree. The danger then becomes that you ‘cherry pick’ the one you like. Secondly, forecasts are just that: scientifically empowered best guesses using data available at the time, and the further out from the data the greater the margin of error (many people consider four to five days the maximum in which they will place faith in a forecast). For a four day trip this means that regarding the weather you are sailing from ‘best, fairly accurate, guess’ to ‘God only knows.’ You can’t discount the forecast, but it’s fair to say that what has been predicted is unlikely to be ‘gospel.’

Another issue, and ultimately the most important one, is the human factor: experience or the lack there of; willingness to motor or determination to sail; willingness to be uncomfortable; and so on. Aware of the lack of sea miles we have under our belts, we are always keen to discuss our plans with more experienced friends. Speaking to Eugeni he initially advised us to wait, saying Friday looked ugly. Unfortunately, we couldn’t speak to Dave until late in the day, and then only over an internet connection that kept failing. He seemed to feel that the weather was fairly steady without any rapid changes and that the window was doable.

Owning a heavy steel boat we prefer a good stiff breeze to lack of wind, which causes us to bob around like a pregnant duck with nowhere to be. We don’t like spending money, so we don’t like motoring. Being heavy and steel we know our boat is strong, and we have no qualms about her seaworthiness. So, after weighing all this up we decided that it would be foolish to be put off by the forecasted winds of 25 knots on Friday, something we sail in fairly routinely, and made the decision to go.

Monday morning we were up nice and early and took the dinghy back into the marina to make our appointed meeting with Customs at 9:30am. Luckily we were early because all the officers were leaving. It soon became apparent that whoever we had spoken to had forgotten to record our appointment. This kind of ineptitude is all too common in Fiji. Previous episodes that had impacted us included the Denarau Marina booking us into the marina after receiving a cancellation but forgetting to inform us; whilst the Vuda Marina managed to book the travel lift for the Tuesday following the one that that we actually wanted it for, so we busted our guts getting the mast done, and had friends and a professional rigger sitting around waiting for a crane that never came. Not being able to clear the country after waiting for the window and getting everything ready to go would have been the cherry on top! For some reason Fiji just hasn’t quite made it to the point where people can be relied upon to do their jobs — and the money and time routinely lost and wasted must be horrendous.

Having cleared Customs we headed straight back out to Taurus, loaded the dinghy on board, tied everything down and lifted the anchor. A 15 knot SE was forecast, but the wind was still light in the protected bay so we motored to begin. Happily, the wind soon started filling in and we were able to raise the sails and turn off the engine.

As we approached the Malolo Passage the wind started to increase and I said to Cara that we should reef on the other side. Another famous marine saying is that ‘the time to reef is when you first think of reefing.’ It was a shame we didn’t take this on board because once in the passage the wind strength rose significantly and we struggled to control the boat as we manoeuvred through the tight space between reefs. Another yacht that entered just ahead of us seemed to be having all sorts of issues until they managed to furl their gib and presumably motored through. In contrast, we depowered the rig by letting the main out, choosing to push through the passage and reef the sails properly when we had more room on the other side. In the end we got through fine, but it was amazing to see just how much protection the low lying islands and reefs give from the wind. Once outside we found it was blowing in the high 20s to mid 30s with 2-3 metre waves short intervals apart from the SE. As we were heading in a roughly SW direction this meant that we were broadside onto the wind and waves, a position that is uncomfortable as it rolls the boat around, and can become dangerous if the waves build too high. As this was the start of a four day sail I was keen to ease into it, so we raised the storm jib, put the second reef in the main (made it almost as small as possible) and slowed the cutter down. I was quite concerned that if the forecast was so inaccurate on this our first day it could mean that all bets were off and the gale we had found ourselves in could continue for the whole trip, or get even worse.

The strong winds continued on into the evening, and when I went off watch in the late evening I found I was feeling pretty off. I don’t normally get sea-sick, but it happens occasionally, especially at the start of passages. I encouraged myself to throw up, hoping it would make me feel better but instead it initiated a bad period of vomiting and diarrhoea. Whatever I tried to ingest (water, food, anti-nausea and diarrhoea tables) immediately returned one way or the other and often, somehow, in greater quantities. I soon ended up feeling felt absolutely smashed. Life in a small boat in decent winds can be bad enough, life when sick in a small boat sucks. Any physical effort, like getting out of bed to take my watch, required maximum effort, and when we decided to put the third reef in in the early hours it took me some time before I could do more that sit there staring stupidly at the sail in the dark. It wasn’t until the following day that I finally managed to keep down a tablet and I could start trying to rehydrate and recover. Most of that day I spent in a weird limbo between awareness and semi-unconsciousness. My shifts were spent in the same near comatose state. Every twenty minutes my alarm would go off and I would struggle to sit up and comprehend our position, the relation between wind and sails, and the presence of any other marine traffic. If there was no immediate danger I immediately returned to my torpor. Cara was of course magnificent, but not even she can do 24 hour watches and had to rest at some point.

Fortunately, the weather moderated on the second and third day and I remember little about them. The sails were set and we needed to change very little for over 48 hours. By the fourth day we were approaching Vanuatu.

We had decided to head to the island of Tanna in the south of Vanuatu so that we could visit the famous volcano there, Mount Yasur. Unfortunately, the official port of entry is on the western side of Tanna, a small town renown for its unprotected and rolly anchorage, a place known as Lenakel. There is another possible place to enter, Port Resolution, on the east, but this can only be utilised if prior permission has been granted by the authorities. Landing without permission apparently carries the real risk of fines and criminal proceedings.

As Thursday morning began we experienced a sudden deterioration in the weather with the winds rising to mid 20’s and the sea-state becoming much rougher than the wind conditions alone would suggest they should be. This may have been due to the ‘fetch,’ the distance the wind and waves had travelled without obstruction, allowing them to build. As we were still beam on, trying to make headway to round the southern tip of Tanna, we were quite vulnerable to large waves striking the side of the boat. A boat is said to have been ‘knocked down’ if it is forced over onto its side, causing the mast to nearly parallel or even touch the water. We didn’t get quite there, but we were twice thrown much further onto our side than we are accustomed to, with the sea almost entering the cocking coaming on both occasions (I know I was sat in the cockpit and got quite wet). Objects in the cabin, like all our books, that have stuck fast through everything previously thrown at them, came unstuck and went flying before landing in unceremonious heaps, several of them landing on Cara on the opposite side of the cabin. In these conditions we needed to reef on one hand, to maintain control and reduce heeling, but we also needed to keep the boat powered up so that we could push through the waves that might otherwise stop us in our tracks. The solution we reached was to utilise the storm jib (to keep the centre of effort close to the centre of gravity), main with third reef, and a small degree of jib to keep the boat moving. With this set up we were powering along at about 6.5–7 knots, sometimes even 8, whereas once we furled the jib completely we dropped to below 5.

We had been approaching the Island of Futuna, an impressive volcanic island, for hours, trying to get south of it, but we both felt that we had to adjust the course to take the waves off our beam. We thus passed to the north and then when we tried to head to the SE again we found ourselves in the same predicament as before. Our Starlink, which provides satellite internet, was unable to connect in the rough weather, but our Garmin In-reach, which tracks our position and provides text messaging ability, allowed us to try and contact the Vanuatu authorities to see if we could head to Port Resolution. We were also able to contact Viki, the Director of the Pacific Island Rally that we’re a part of, to see if she could email Customs for us.

We heard nothing official back, but as the conditions got no better the apparent folly of trying to sail to Lenakel increasingly overshadowed our fear of upsetting the Vanuatuans. Maintaining a hazardous point of sail in order to reach a distant port with little or no protection, when a safer port was not only closer but also would allow a far safer course of sail seemed crazy, and ultimately made the decision to divert easy. The decision was not made harder by my ongoing lethargy and weakness. At this point I was able to keep down what I ate, but my appetite was almost non-existent and I remained exhausted. The idea of being smashed around for a needless ten hours failed to appeal in the slightest.

The decision made we changed course and enjoyed an almost immediate respite in the violent movement of the boat. Several hours later we were relieved to be notified that permission had been granted for us to enter Port Resolution, so Vanuatuan prison was off the cards! The rest of the trip was long and bumpy, but uneventful, and only the entrance through the reef into Port Resolution at 11pm, in pitch darkness, remains in my memory. Once inside we saw numerous anchor lights ahead so dropped the hook in about six metres, raised our ‘Q’ flag, and went to bed.

The next morning we found we were anchored next to One Life, the boat that left Fiji on the same day as us. They had beaten us into the anchorage by a few hours but had received permission to go there before leaving Fiji, so had maintained a more direct course. Clearance was straightforward with the Customs, Immigration, and Health chaps coming from Lenakel to meet us — and we happily paying for their time and petrol costs.

Unsurprisingly, Port Resolution was named by the great Captain James Cook, who visited here almost exactly two hundred and fifty years ago, in August 1774. The following is taken from the Captain Cook Society website: (https://www.captaincooksociety.com/cooks-voyages/second-pacific-voyage/july-september-1774)

They sailed south to another large island “being guided by a great fire we saw upon it.” On 5th [August 1774] Cook realised it “was a Volcano which threw up vast quantities of fire and smoak and made a rumbling noise which was heard at a good distance.” It was the island of Tanna and the volcano was Mount Yasur. Cook “sent two Arm’d Boats under the command of Lieutt Cooper and the Master to examine and Sound” a potential anchorage which was deemed suitable. The “Launch was hoisted out, laid out warps and warped father in”. The ship was moored by four anchors. “Placing our Artillery in such a manner as to command the whole harbour, we embarked the Marines and a party of Seamen in three boats and rowed in for the Shore… two divisions of the Natives were drawn up on each side the landing place… not one was without arms: In short every thing conspired to make us believe they intended to attack us… I thought it was best to frighten them away… and accordingly order[ed] a Musquet to be fired over the heads of the party… this was the Signal for the Ship to fire a few four pound Shott over them which presently dispersed them and then we landed”.

They stayed ten days to “take in a large quantity of both wood and Water”. William Wales, the astronomer, “took the Watch & Astron. Quadt on shore & got Altitudes”. Forster “went ashore & got some plants… the Ships-crew hawled three or four times the Seyne & got upwards of 310 pounds of Fish, chiefly Mullet, Tenpounders & Angelfish”. All three activities were repeated nearly every day.

On the 8th Cook “sent the Launch to the other side of the harbour to take in ballast”. The next day Forster “went with Mr Sparman [botanist], Mr Patton [surgeon], my Son, my Servant & a Marine, who was to convoy us.” Two days later. according to Cook, “two or three boy’s got behind some thickets and threw 2 or 3 stones at our people, who were cuting wood, for which they were fired at by the petty officers present. I was much displeased at such an abuse of our fire Arms and took measurers to prevent it for the future.” Later “we struck the main-top-mast in order to fix new Tristle-trees and a pair of new back stays.”

On 17th first lieutenant Robert Palliser Cooper “Punish’d Wm Tow Marine 1 dozen for trading with the natives when on guard on shore”. Two days later, Cook “sent the guard on [shore] with Mr Wales as usual… A good many of the Natives were, as usual assembled near the landing place and unfortunately one of them was Shott by one of our Centinals, I who was present and on the Spot saw not the least cause for the commiting of such an outrage and was astonished beyond Measure at the inhumanity of the act”.

Three days later “during the night the wind had veered round to SE; as this was favourab[l]e for geting out of the harbour, we at 4 a.m. began to unmoor and at 8 wieghed our last anchor and put to Sea. As soon as we were clear of the land, I brought-to to wait for the Lau[n]ch which was left behind to take up a Kedge Anchor & hawser we had out to cast by… I named the Harbour, Port Resolution after the Ship as she was the first who ever entered it.”

It always feels like a rare privilege to travel in the footsteps of Cook, one of the great navigators, cartographers, and humanitarians. Here, in Port Resolution, the landscape remains an untouched blend of sea, beach, forest, and mountain, so unspoilt that Cook would instantly recognise the place today. It is easy to sit and dream about HMS Resolution appearing around the corner, and the Vanuatuans shedding their western clothes to prepare a welcome committee. What I would give for a time machine.

Next time: we meet the Vanuatuans and explore Vanuatu!