Gresham Family Exodus

It is difficult to write about Minerva Reef, because no matter what words I choose, I can never adequately describe this place.

I had started to wonder if maybe I was becoming numb to the amazingly beautiful places we get to visit, but if so, this place really shook me back to my senses. Many times I found myself just sitting in the cockpit and soaking it all in, totally undistracted. It is basically just a ring of coral out here in the middle of the ocean. From a distance you can see that it is there by the waves crashing against the reef. This sort of place was definitely a navigation hazard prior to GPS as it would be virtually invisible at night with nothing to give off a radar signature, unless the surf was really big, I suppose. But since we have GPS and accurate charts and waypoints from cruisers who came before us, we entered the pass into the reef and plopped our anchor down just inside.

We were fortunate enough to be here during very sunny and calm weather, so we felt better about burning all the diesel to get there. The water inside the lagoon is shallow, and it’s like sitting on a giant swimming pool with the most beautiful turquoise water you’ve ever seen. Our first day there we were all entertained by a huge tiger shark that made it’s rounds visiting all the boats as they cleaned their fish, and I didn’t see this, but I heard that occasionally he would get really riled up and start ramming the dinghies. The squeals from all the kids as he was doing this must have been audible from quite a ways away.

Our first night, two of the kid boats went out lobstering on the reefs, and again, the squeals were quite entertaining. Tim and Jack didn’t go that first night, I don’t know, I guess they were tired from the really tough passage we had. Anyway, they collected 75, I’m not kidding, 75 lobsters! They shared them with the whole anchorage and then had a lobster and cocktails party yesterday evening to celebrate Julie’s birthday on Nirvana. It was a lot of fun.

We went out snorkeling and spearfishing as a family, and as soon as Brenden was in the water, he shot a really nice-looking fish. Tim was so excited, he was yelling, in that proud/excited dad way, for me to throw him the go-pro, “just throw it!” Turns out it was a big eye trevally, not so tasty, so after Brenden cleaned it and we realized what it was, he fed it to the shark. I didn’t see this one, but Brenden keeps talking about it, the one that got away. Apparently, he shot a huge Almaco Jack, but it was stronger than him, and it took his spear. I think he probably dreamed about that fish at night. (Spoiler alert: He talked about that fish all summer long in New Zealand, and he WILL redeem himself when we stop again at Minerva Reef on our way back north.)

The snorkeling was pretty amazing. The colors of the coral, mostly hard coral, rivaled anything we’d seen so far, but there were so many more fish. And not just the tiny reef fish, it was like back in the Sea of Cortez where the huge parrot fish and groupers aren’t afraid of you and they just swim right up to you. The only downside is that it was cold. Air and water temp are just a couple degrees cooler here than in Tonga. Alex and Tim and a successful lobstering night our second night and came home with 12 lobsters. Even more importantly, by setting a good example they were able to influence the rest of the fleet to not take the females with eggs. Tim said he shared his philosophy with a couple guys, and they must have talked to others, because by the time they were getting ready to head back in the dinghies, everyone was throwing the females back. I am very happy and proud about this, because it is so important for the health of the population.

We were so grateful for the couple of days we had at Minerva with such settled weather and also to be there with a group of friends that was clearly becoming closer knit. This group of boats that we were with in Tongatapu and now Minerva were really great, and for the first time in a while I was feeling like we’ve really forged some lifelong friendships. Slowly the boats started trickling out over the course of a couple days with Exodus somewhere near the middle of the pack.

Many boats leave Tonga on their way to New Zealand with uncertainty whether they will stop in Minerva or not, because if they have a good window to keep going to New Zealand, they don’t want to miss it. Well, it was a little different for us, and we knew we would be stopping in Minerva regardless of what the window looked like to keep going. It was a destination for us, and we were hoping for lots of tasty fish and lobsters.

The morning of departure it was raining, but the forecast still looked good to get to Minerva, even if the winds would be light. I was up before everyone else to bake biscuits so we would all have something to munch on as we navigated out of the channel. About half the fleet at Big Mama’s was leaving that same morning, some had left the previous night, and some were going to wait a few more days. Leaving when we did was going to mean motoring the last bit to get there, but our strategy was to try to get there while we would still have a couple days of light winds for the diving and spear fishing. The distance was 260 miles, and we hadn’t been on a passage like that in some time, and I was not really looking forward to it.

Here’s a quick summary of the passage:

First 18 hours – fast and furious. Winds 15-22 kts close hauled, boat speed 7-8 kts. We didn’t reef the sails going into the night like we usually do because 1) The weather wasn’t squally and 2) The wind was supposed to die.

Next 12 hours – slow and determined. As expected, the winds died in the night, but mostly we were able to sail, with just a couple dead spots where we ran an engine, also to charge batteries. The seas calmed down and the boat was much more comfortable.

After that – engine up. We finally engined up when we were going only about 1/2 knot. I told Tim there would be mutiny if we actually started to go backwards (we had a 1.5 kt current against us). This was the only time in our journey that I’d seen the open ocean so calm and glassy.

The boys stood night watches for the first time on this passage… Brenden 8-10pm and Alex 10pm-midnight with Tim sleeping in the salon. This made a HUGE difference for me. When we arrived in Minerva I wasn’t as dead tired as I usually am after a multi-night passage.

Yi and Johnny taught us the game of Resistance when they were visiting us in Vava’u, and we really started having fun with it with Iguana during our time in Ha’apai. However, it was here, during our idle time at Big Mama’s, that we really upped our game. This is when Jack hatched a plan for a “Season of Resistance.” We would keep stats over time and at some point in the future, a Resistance champion would be named. Of course, keeping stats wouldn’t be sufficient without an ultra-complicated spreadsheet that sliced the data 57,000 ways, developed and maintained by Tim. So, the season began. And during our time in New Zealand, we would have some absolutely epic games and we would recruit new players and get them hooked. You’ll just have to wait for a future installment to find out who the champion was (hint: it wasn’t Jack!)

If you aren’t familiar with the game of resistance, you can learn about it here:https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Resistance_(game)

Originally posted on November 13, 2014, by cruisingrunner

I’ve been especially clumsy lately, but hopefully my clumsiness can become your entertainment.

#1: It was wicked humid here for a few days. The kind of humid where all the surfaces of the interior of the boat seem to have a continual layer of dampness on them. It would rain off and on, so we had to keep playing the close the hatches/open the hatches game after each rainfall would come and go. And with the hatches closed it seemed the heat and humidity inside would get even that much more worse. I warned the boys more than once about how wet the floor was and that they needed to be careful going down the stairs. Yeah, unfortunately that was foreshadowing. One morning, before anyone else was up, the rain started abruptly and I rushed around the boat closing all the hatches. I stepped a little too quickly down the companionway to mine and Tim’s cabin and I took a rough tumble hard into the companionway door, breaking the plastic rollers that keep it on its track. Luckily the door was closed or my spill down the stairs could have been much more disastrous. It was a noisy affair and Tim was jolted awake by the clatter. Bless him though, he only started grumbling about us always breaking stuff for him to fix AFTER he made sure I was OK.

#2: On one of my runs about Nuku’alofa there was a very short stretch where I was running on the asphalt between a parking lot and the street, which were separated only by a shallow concrete gutter. A car started to make a turn from the road into a parking spot right in front of me (pedestrians most certainly do NOT have the right of way in Tonga, but that could be a blog post all its own…) So, I made a quick move to my left in order to run around the car as it turned. This quick move brought my left foot right onto the slope of the gutter, which was surprisingly smooth, and my foot went right out from under me. I hit the ground with a thud and a splash of water as my water bottle cushioned my hand from the impact. I laid there a bit stunned for probably not more than 5-10 seconds then I stood up slowly and was able to run on. I’ve got a bit of road rash on my left hip, but other than that I came through it unscathed. No, there was no concern displayed by the driver.

#3: Yesterday afternoon, Tim was out spear fishing, the boys were playing on shore, and I was waiting to get picked up by a friend to go to shore for the potluck. I grabbed my flip-flops out of the basket and carelessly tossed them onto the back deck. One of them tottered on the edge for a bit before rolling down the steps into the water. My initial reaction was to look around for one of my heroes, because protocol on board Exodus is that if something goes into the water, even if *I’m* the one who dropped it, I am *not* the one who has to retrieve it. But, oh crap, this time I’m on my own. The paddle board is already in the water, and the flip-flop is floating rather than sinking, so I figure I can just jump on the board and go retrieve it. But it was still fairly near the boat and if I just lean out and can reach it with my toe… and maybe if I lean out just a bit more… *SPLASH* I was already showered and dressed and now I was wet and salty. And yes, two glasses of rum may been part of the root cause of this one.

I really hope clumsiness comes in threes and only threes.

-D.

Originally posted on November 13, 2014, by cruisingrunner

As we continue to wait for weather to sail to Minerva Reef, we are keeping busy with school, little projects, and, of course, socializing. In the social realm, the cruising lifestyle can be one of extremes. You can find yourself at anchor by yourself on a fairly remote island and you can find yourself in the midst of 30 (or more) other cruising boats at a relatively major port. The latter is where we find ourselves right now. And last night we had a huge potluck on shore and the kids ran around and played while the adults chatted about everything from our jobs in our former lives to that bilge pump that needed repairing to home school tips and tricks to next season’s cruising plans. There’s quite a diverse crowd here with boats in all sizes and shapes, and people from all over the world. However, while I was eating dinner and having a really fun time with a table full of boisterous people a curious fact all of a sudden dawned on me: Everyone at this table is from California. Four boats worth of people. All from California. I wondered whether it was just some sort of coincidence or if we all subconsciously selected each other due to a sense of familiarity.

Please don’t get me wrong. There’s no way I would have consciously thought, “I’m going to sit at a table with all people from California and only people from California,” and I doubt anyone else would have thought that either. And I had great fun chatting with other friends throughout the evening. For example, our dear friends from Halifax that we cruised with in Mexico are here. We’ve also met another great family with four kids, and the dad is German, the mom is French, and they’ve lived in both Spain and the U.S., so the kids can speak all four languages. Our friends from Sweden are here as well and also an interesting young Czech single hander who all the kids love. So, with all of these great people around, why did I find myself at the California exclusive table? It’s an interesting question to ponder.

And once again, don’t get me wrong, the people from California are pretty great too.

-D.

Truth be told, this delay waiting for a weather window turned out to be a blessing. We were able to relax and have a little fun, and with several kid boats in the anchorage and lots of play space around Big Mama’s, the boys were loving it. The kid boats in the anchorage were Fluenta (our friends from Mexico) and Breeze (met briefly in Papeete), and three new ones: Lumbaz, Nautilus, and Nirvana, and we would go on to have lots of fun with them in Minerva Reef, New Zealand, and even Fiji. Some of the favorite activities of the kids were swinging on the rope swing into the water and playing lots of volleyball and dodgeball. And there was enough space at Big Mama’s for them to run around and play all sorts of games like hide and seek and capture the flag. There weren’t any boys the same age as Alex and Brenden, but there were several just a bit younger. And there were girls their age, which at this point might have been even better for them.

One night we had a big pig roast at Big Mama’s. One of the other cruisers organized it, and we all paid in advance for the pigs, and while Alex and Brenden and I were on shore doing school yesterday a boat pulled up and we could hear the squealing of the three little pigs. The guys promptly took them out back and slaughtered them, put them on spits, and put them over the fire for slow roasting. We didn’t watch the slaughtering, although if the boys had shown any interest I might have let them, they are old enough after all. The party started at 6 and went at least until midnight, which is when Alex got home, and he said some of the kids were still there even that late. They were all having such a good time. Big Mama even got up and danced to Abba.

So, why were we doing school on shore the day the pigs got slaughtered? It’s because Tim took Exodus and 4 other guys on a field trip to a small island called Tau about 12 miles away to do some spear fishing. They came back with about 5 fish, but unfortunately no tuna. More importantly they had a great time, and they even made it back to get served one of the pig heads, which apparently, according to the Tongans, is the best part.

We were ready to go, but we were at the mercy of the weather. This is a serious passage. It takes you out of the coconut milk run and into the temperate latitudes, where storms in the Southern Ocean can be fierce as you approach New Zealand. Timing your departure is paramount, because you want to depart with good weather and reasonable winds for sailing right off the bat, and, more importantly, you want to time your arrival sufficiently in between cold fronts, so you don’t get smacked in the face with a brutal southwesterly right when you are starting to feel like you are almost there. I spent a fair amount of time reading and studying the weather patterns for this passage, and it seemed that picking a good weather window for arrival would mean spending a fair amount of time on passage transiting through a high pressure, which would mean light winds. But we understood that this would be no time to be miserly with our diesel, because the longer you’re out there the higher your chance of getting hit by a severe storm.

What was keeping us tethered to Tonga so long was not New Zealand arrival considerations, but rather departure considerations and our desire to stop at Minerva Reef. There was actually a low-pressure system that was going to blow right over Minerva causing strong winds all around, including a strong westerly that we had to endure while at Big Mama’s. We had 30+ knot winds from our unprotected side so we were bouncing around on the 2–3-foot wind chop that was building over the entire width of the harbor. But we all just hunkered down on our boats, and we all got through it with minimal drama. After it passed, it was eerily quiet. The skies were clear, there was hardly a breath of wind, and the water was like glass. After that low pressure system passed, we were sitting on a high-pressure ridge. What a difference a couple days makes. All in all, we were in Tonga an extra week or so as we waited for the storm to approach, pass over us, and then move on.

Originally posted on November 8, 2014, by cruisingrunner

We arrived in Nuku’alofa, the capital of Tonga, a week ago Thursday, and we figured it would take us about a week to prep for our passage to Minerva Reef and then to New Zealand, which will take us out of the tropics just in time to avoid cyclone season. A week was the perfect amount of time, because our visas were going to expire. Our goal was to be all cleared out of Tonga and ready to leave this weekend. And for once, we made it, we met our goal. Engine inspections? Check. Rigging Inspection (Tim up the mast)? Check. Steering cable inspection? Check. Hull clean? Check. Sails repaired? Check. Propane and gasoline? Check. Provisions? Check. Cleared out of Tonga? Check. Duty free diesel? Check. Beer/rum? Check. Weather window for departure? … *crickets*

So, we are ready to go, along with about 30 other boats anchored here with us, but the weather simply isn’t cooperating. As I type this, the wind is blowing 20+ kts and it’s pouring rain. A low pressure system is approaching and will pass us just to the southwest. After this ugly stuff passes us today, we will see further effects of the low by way of light westerlies, which means if we left for Minerva, we’d likely have to motor most of the way. Since the entire trip to New Zealand is over 1000 miles, we’d prefer not to use a bunch of our diesel on the first 250 miles to Minerva, which is a passage that we should be able to find a good window to sail the whole way. So, we played the hurry up and wait game, and we will likely not leave until next weekend. However, over the past year and a half we have developed a solid appreciation for waiting for a good weather window, so we understand that this waiting is just part of our lifestyle now. We’ve developed the ability to wait without frustration. Mostly.

Patience extends pretty much to all aspects of life now. For example, yesterday I decided to go for a run in town rather than run on the sand here at the island where we are anchored. Gone are the days when I could just lace up my shoes and step out the door. For this run I had to catch a ferry to the mainland. Although there is a schedule for the ferry, it can never be counted on. Most of the time it leaves late, but just often enough it leaves early so that you can’t just assume it will be late and plan accordingly. So, I drop our dinghy, grab my shoes and water bottle, head to shore, tie up the dinghy, and…. wait for a half hour for the ferry to leave. I made sure I made it back from my run in plenty of time, and… then I waited for another half hour for the ferry to leave for the return trip. So, an hour long run required in total about a 2.5 hour process. Not every run requires so much overhead, but at a minimum it requires a paddle or dinghy ride to shore, and in most cases it involves an advanced shore scouting mission to confirm there is an appropriate road, trail, or beach to run on.

The run in town was a magnificent one, though. There is a sidewalk path along the waterfront that stretches for, well longer than 3 miles anyway, so it was reminiscent of my runs along the La Paz Malecon back in Mexico. Near the wharf where I disembarked the ferry it is quite industrial and crowded. The “malecon” is lined with vendors selling everything from fish to fruit and veggies to clothes and electronics. Since it was Saturday, everyone was out of the woodwork, and I was weaving back and forth to avoid all of the other pedestrians. Once I passed the city center area and the royal palace, it thinned out rather abruptly. All of a sudden I was mostly alone along with the occasional group of kids playing in the water. One thing is for certain: For the entire distance, 3 miles out and 3 miles back, I was the ONLY person running.

My running in general is also taking patience these days. I’m still not running often enough to make any sort of progress in my pace. Yesterday, when I turned around and headed back, I *felt* like I was running quite a bit harder, but upon return I looked and saw I had actually run back 2 minutes slower. I didn’t take my garmin, so I’m leaving room for the possibility that I made an error in my mental accounting of the minutes (I did go far enough to have runners mush brain, after all.) I am trying to extend the aptitude for patience that I’ve developed in other aspects of my life while cruising to my personal expectations for my running. And I am mostly successful. Mostly.

-D.