Syzygy Sailing

(This post refers to events that happened September 21st and 25th)

I had designs to dive on beautiful reefs and coral bommies in Fiji while our guests were here.  Fiji is proclaimed as the soft coral capitol of the world.  I don’t even know the difference between hard coral, soft coral and mean coral but ‘capitol of the world….’ That must be good right? Alas, a broken wrist prevented Allison from being able to dive.  And while we did some great snorkeling, I never motivated to pull out the dive gear to dive while others snorkeled.  I am motivation-less when it comes to diving.  It’s also hard to bring along the dive gear in the dinghy when five other people are in there as well.  Dive gear being bulky and all.

So while I never dove while others were snorkeling above me, or dove down to see beautiful coral, I did do two dives, both alone and to mundane non-beautiful things.

The first dive was just off Octopus Resort on Waya, the day Gary and Anna arrived.  I am willing to bet large sums no one had ever dove my dive site, and so I feel empowered to give it a name. The dive plan was to head straight down to the bottom, a depth of forty-five feet.   Swim with the current along the bottom for sixty feet.  Then shift in one direction perpendicular where you just swam by about 8 feet.  Then swimming parallel to your original track, swim back to where you started.   Due to large amounts of silt, visibility was a mere fifteen feet.  During the quarter of an hour dive I saw no fish. The bottom was flat sand, bereft of any life or even a rock to break the monotony of the bottom.  Completely bereft save one item.  Matt’s snorkel mask.  The one item I was looking for.  This dive site is named Matt’s Mask.  I would not recommend this dive as the major attraction to the dive is no longer there.  I felt compelled to take it with me.  (As an aside, the snorkeling off Octopus Resort is excellent, we were anchored a bit away from it)

The next dive site was located off Navadra Island.  There was actually some particularly nice coral to look at just a little ways away, in predominantly twenty feet of water or less.  Allison was up above snorkeling, so why bother dinking around in twenty feet once I was done with the dive’s purpose?  That purpose being to retrieve our $800 Fortress stern anchor because the line attached to the anchor had chaffed through during the night.  This dive lasted just over five minutes as our GPS point of the anchor location was exactly on.  The dive plan consisted of going down to the bottom at fifty feet.  Visibility was only thirty feet; the water was cloudy here, though near the better snorkeling, visibility seemed improved.  Once at the bottom, dig up the anchor which is excellently embedded in sand, two feet away from the large coral reef which chaffed the line.  This will reduce visibility to six inches, so digging must be done by feel.  And you will not see approaching sharks, which are probably large 25-foot man eating ones.  I don’t know if there were sharks approaching, visibility was six inches, but I assume there were.  None, thankfully, penetrated the six inch visual field.  None, not even tiny reef sharks, actually penetrated the entire visual field of anyone that day during a combined four plus hours of snorkeling.  While my visibility was six inches though, I am sure the man-eaters were approaching rapidly.

Once the anchor is dug up, tie on a line to the anchor and return to the surface.  Job completed.

Another two dives bring my total to an impressive six dives in the last five months.  Seven dives, if you include the pool in Denver where I took the refresher course.  Other things have taken my time, energy, focus, and enjoyment.  Perhaps Australia will bring more regular diving!

(This post refers to events that happened September 18th to the 21st)

These pictures are from Allison’s and my stay at Octopus Resort, which I wrote at length about here.

this post refers to events which primarily happened September 18th-21st)

“Did you notice how the masseuse, she giggled after saying -You must be Jon.  From the yacht.-”  I asked Allison after we emerged from our respective massages at Octopus Resort on Waya Island in the Yasawa island group of Fiji.

“Do you remember me telling you earlier today that everyone here calls you that phrase?” she dryly replied.

I protested that she hadn’t; she reminded me that she had today, and yesterday as well, and gave details to substantiate.  I had to concede.

I sighed a popular refrain of her visit here, “You’re right Allison,” and I think as I said it, she smirked.

In Fiji, a distinct classification between places to stay on the outer islands is the location is either a resort or it is a backpacker’s camp.  On the outer islands, there are few or no places in between.  Names can be deceiving as many backpacker camps will insert resort into their name as linguistic facade.  I have been unable to divine a hard rule to classify resorts from camps, but have settled on three guiding characteristics.  Backpacker’s camps have all three; resorts can sometimes have one, though in the end being classified as a resort is still no indicator you will enjoy yourself there.  1)  Backpacker’s camps are cheap.  2)  Backpacker’s camps have communal meal times where everyone has to eat each meal within a prescribed.  These times are normally shorter than is convenient to my style of lazy relaxation, ie. Breakfast is 7-9, lunch: 12-2 and dinner 6-8.  More importantly, tables at which to eat are also communal.  3)  Backpacker’s camps have some, but usually not exclusively, communal living space.  Dorms, mmm, fun.

So by this system, Octopus Resort is classified as a backpackers camp, though given it’s priciest accommodations, one could claim it fails #1. Lonely Planet agrees with the outcome of my classification scheme in this instance, though it does say: “Compared with your average Yasawa backpacker camp, Octopus is more than a few notches up the coconut tree in terms of quality and yet still retains its unpretentious charms.”

A few coconut fronds indeed.  After a day wandering Nadi, followed the next day by a sail to Beachcomber Island (a tiny speck of sand with a decidedly youthful backpacker camp) and anchoring off Beachcomber that night, we sailed/motored our way to Waya Island.  At Waya, Matt dinghied us into the resort.  We arrived to large booms of “Bula!” The ubiquitous greeting of hello in Fiji, which all tourist-minded businesses yell towards new guests or passerby.  At the resort desk, I said I was Jon, and was interrupted with, “Ah, yes, Jon.  Jon from the yacht.”  Yes, I replied, I am Jon from the yacht.  On our reservation, I had put that we would be arriving by sailboat, and would not require the customarily included transportation from Nadi, and it only would make sense that the front desk would know me as such, I reasoned.

Checked in, we relaxed at our private bure, (no dorms for us, I already did college) for a while before a welcome ceremony for anyone who arrived today.  The bure was ocean-side and we watched the sun set over the Pacific Ocean from the hammock that hung not ten feet away from our little porch.  The welcome ceremony involved kava, a drink I had begun to enjoy.  After the welcome ceremony was over I stuck around.  Seated around the kava bowl, I talked with the Fijians who had run the kava ceremony and who were now idly playing a small guitar, singing, drinking kava or passing it to others.  After a question one of them couldn’t field, he turned to another man, who turned out to be the resort manager.  He asked if I arrived today and after I replied yes and motioned to Syzygy anchored a quarter a mile away, he intoned, “Ah, you are Jon.  From the yacht.” As he spoke, he nodded knowingly and the corners of his lips turned up in a smile.  This may have been from the kava.

That evening I approached the bar with two bottles of wine for the bar to hold on to, I had brought them from Syzygy and you were not allowed to keep any food and drink in your rooms.  (the single small downside of Octopus is it seems a few mice scurry about the resort).  The bartender said he would certainly hold onto them for me and asked where I had gotten them.  I said I had brought them from my sailboat when we arrived today.  “Ah! You are Jon!  From the yacht!”  “Yes,” I smiled, “I am Jon from the Yacht.”  “Of course we can hold this for you!” he said smiling.  They do this for everyone by the way.  Allison and I would saddle up to the bar many times over the next three days drinking a variety of concoctions.  Their pina colada was good; their mojito (called a wayan mosquito) just didn’t stand up to ones I make at parties (and written about in magazines, no lie).  It was a espresso-ice cream-frangelico combination though that we went back for again and again and again.  Delicious.

The waitress at our lunch the next day… same thing, “Ah, you are Jon.  From the yacht.”  Replete with little giggle.  When I asked another staff person at the front desk about a special lobster dinner I had booked when making our reservation, she replied, “Lobster dinner? You must be Jon! From the yacht.  Sabrina, this is Jon from the yacht, who gets the lobster dinner.  Can you help him schedule it?” And then all 4 women in the office I swear tried to hide a little giggle.  At the lobster dinner, our server came up to our table and exclaimed, “Bula! You are Jon.  Yes? From the yacht?”  I had finally caught on to the pattern.  Allison noted it the first time I believe.

Octopus is a laid back resort, there are a variety of activities to choose from, but the staff is supportive of being fabulously lazy.  Pool, dive shop, great snorkeling right off the beach, inexpensive, good food (lunches are best, and the lobster dinner is totally worth paying for)  traditional village visits.  On one of those village visits, Allison and I took the opportunity to go to a church service as Fijian village culture is renowned for church services with beautiful singing.  The Methodist service was quite impressive, if a touch awkward (for me) when many of the tourists (with the permission of our local guide) were taking pictures of the service.

Octopus Resorts is an amazing place to stay.  If you visit Fiji, I highly recommend staying there.

(this post refers to events that happened on September 14th)

We ran aground.  It wasn’t our fault.   We were within the channel markers, so perhaps Port Denarau was to blame for faulty markers.  We were giving a little space to a high speed catamaran that impatiently steamed by us, so perhaps South Seas Sailing is to blame.  Visibility into the water was zero feet, so perhaps god was to blame.

Anyway you slice it, we ran aground.  Thankfully, it was a slow, easy, decrease in speed to zero, dirt and mud gently easing us to a stop.  Hard coral or rock would have been more jarring and unforgiving to our boat.

As the high speed catamaran passed, the crew were motioning to come closer to them, a motion which is not at all clear as to its intent when viewed from fifty yards away.  We had turned slightly to port to cede more room to them, their large boat and their large wake, but when I realized what they were motioning for, I quickly tried to turn to starboard and sped up a touch.  Neither helped, and we gently came to a rest.

Matt sprung into action, quickly getting out 200 feet of line, jumping into the dinghy which we happened to be pulling behind us, and clipping out orders for Karen and I to follow.  Get the anchor off it’s mount.  Tie the line to the anchor.  Move the line to the bow roller.  Tie on another line.  And with that off he zoomed with the anchor into the middle of the channel where he dropped the anchor.  Back at the boat, with Karen at the helm, it fell to me to pull us through the mud towards the anchor.  Pulling us primarily forward would allow us to use the engine to help propel us forward, assuming the mud wasn’t all the way up to the prop.  When I had pulled as much as I possibly could, we then wrapped the line around the anchor windlass and with Karen tailing, I cranked away, pushing and pulling the lever on the anchor windlass with all my might trying to pull us closer to the anchor Matt had dropped, and hopefully not simply pulling the anchor closer to us.

We were inching closer when we caught a break.  A mid-size troller was exiting from the marina through the channel.  We tried hailing them to warn them of our anchor in the middle of the channel but they didn’t respond.  They did however, increase speed which through up a larger wake.  The larger wake allowed our boat to rise and break free of the mud.  As we rose, I desperately cranked the line as fast as I could go to get us over deeper water.  And then we were free.

It was over in less than ten minutes, and Matt was particularly proud of our fast reaction that led to getting freed.  But we got stuck in the mud.  How embarrassing.

(this post refers to events that happened on September 6th)

I have a litany of electronics that I have ruined because they were not waterproof and I took them near water.  Two video cameras, one camera.  Two phones.  A jump drive.  So I was overjoyed to have purchased a waterproof camera to use on this trip, where I’m surrounded by water.

The Olympus Stylus Epic 1030SW.  Waterproof to 10 feet.  SHOCKPROOF to 6 feet.  It was awesome!  No worries about getting it wet.  Spray from sailing was no concern.  Wet trips in the dinghy no concern.  Swimming on the surface was no concern.

I failed however, to properly be concerned about diving down to beyond ten feet to take pictures.

And so the last pictures my camera managed to take were of Swallows Cave.  Which was spectacular.

And almost worth the price a new camera will cost.  Allison brought one out that was quite enticing… The Olympus u-tough 8000, only available outside America.   And Olympus has another, its newest version, the Olympus Stylus tough-8020!  Shizamm!

Anyway, here are pictures from Swallows Cave.

(this post refers to events that happened on September 6th)

In between going to Swallows Cave and Mariners Cave, we went out to the coral gardens west of the reef between the islands of Vakaeitu and Nua Papu.    The founder of Moorings, a world wide sailboat chartering company, was quoted as saying the following upon snorkeling here:  “Any reef I look at after this one will appear dead to me.”  Apparently it was going to be colorful.  I figure she has done a fair bit of snorkeling in her day in exotic locations, what with setting up a world wide sail-chartering company and all.  So we were determined to see it.

And we needed to be determined, because it wasn’t easy.  As we approached, the tide was low and you could walk across drying reef from Vakaeitu and Nua Papu.  Waves were hitting the western side of the reef where we needed to enter the water.  Now, this wasn’t like walking down a gently sloping sandy beach through waves to enter the water, maybe a few obsticles around.   Water was surging back and forth across deep channels cut into the reef, creating a strong tidal motion back and forth.  Later, when in the water, the tidal surge would push you towards the reef edge sometimes upwards of 6 feet and you would zoom along with the fish who were also pulled by tidal surge, the coral below you skimming by showing your nearly uncontrollable progress, only to be tugged back away as the tidal surge drew away, and you and the fish would again go zipping along back out to where you started.

Matt was the first to attempt to enter, walking out a peninsula of reef as far as he could.  Waves pushed water all around his feet, and balance on the slippery wet reef was precarious.  Spray from larger waves would kick up around him occasionally.  The timing needed to be just right, and when a surge came in, raising the water level within the slots between the reef, Matt stepped off the peninsula of reef and into the water.  He immediately began swimming quickly away from the reef as the surge receded to avoid being unavoidably pushed back into the reef when it surged back inland again.

Karen and I followed repeating the process.  She and I had both worn our Chaco sandals, as opposed to Matt cavorting around in his bare feet, which I think made walking the reef slightly less painful.  Carrying the sandals while snorkeling was a small price to pay for less damage to the feet.  How his feet weren’t covered in cuts I don’t know.

The snorkeling was worth it, not just a spot of coral here and patch there as is typical of most places.  This was a huge continuous tract of coral unbroken the entire third of a mile between Vakaeitu and Nua Papu and which looked to go on longer in both directions.  From five feet in depth, as it slowly angled down to 75 feet in depth, there was beautiful coral the entire way.  It was unfortunately partly cloudy but when the sun cut through the clouds and shown onto the coral, it burst with color, a vibrancy we had not seen anywhere in the South Pacific.  It was a stunning display.  Coral fans stretched 12 feet wide, larger than I had ever seen.

We lazily swam the 1/3 of a mile from where we entered at the edge of Vakaeitu.  I had never enjoyed snorkeling for so long.  Then once reaching near the Nua Papu shore, we turned around and pushed back to our entrance/exit point, hoping that getting out of the water would prove easier and less scary than getting in.  It was not.

I initially tried taking off my flippers to put on my Chaco’s, reasoning that with footwear I would more easily be able to get my feet on the reef and walk out.  Walking with flippers is best done by clowns with experience in such things, and while I may be clownish, I have little experience in such things.  But once I took the flippers off, I had no mobility and propulsion in the water, and I needed both to judge the surge as it pushed you towards the reef and then pulled you away.  So back on went the flippers.  I edged closer and closer to the reef, and on a final surge put my feet up on the edge of one of the peninsulas of reef that jutted away and grabbed on with my hands.  Water was at my waist and was in the lull between the surge in and the draw out.  I tried to move my feet up higher, but the flippers tripped me up.  And then the water turned and drew out.  Water rushed out the slot in the reef of which I was on the edge of and moved with a terrific force so that all I could do was simply hold on.  At the lull at the bottom I again tried to move and the flippers again tripped me up.  A larger surge then the one I landed with came in; the higher water pushed me off balance knocking my hands off the reef causing me to reflexively grab at anything I could hold.  I moved up the side of the reef bit, half crawling, half climbing up a couple of feet.  Another surge drew out and then came back in, sucking at my legs trying to pull me away from the reef, then pushing me off balance towards the slot in the reef the tidal surge pushed into each time.  I was desperate to be able to effectively move my legs and so took one flipper off and then another tossing them to Matt who was on higher ground.  With flippers off, I endured another larger swell knocking me off balance and then pulling me hard.  At was on top of the peninsula of reef at this point, effectively horizontal ground, but the tide was higher and water easily washed over the peninsula point and so despite being on all fours, crawling, when the tide drew out, I was holding on like I might while rock-climbing, such was the force of the water sweeping out.

Once Karen was out as well, I assessed the damage.  A half a dozen coral cuts on my hands, a couple more on my ankles and knees.  A price to be sure for the best snorkeling we’ve done.