Along the Merry Way....

We anchored for three days at the tiny island of Uoleva - a restful place with sandy beaches, ten inhabitants, and crystal-clear blue water. Pim, Josje and I decided to walk around the island, and on our way back, we encountered an American woman who was running a small resort of beach huts. She told us a story about when she was building the resort, and her Tongan employees started showing up with big heavy rocks. She asked them where on this desert, coral island they were getting the boulders, and they took her to a mysterious, pyramid-shaped ruin in the jungle (where she told them "For the love of God, stop dismantling this!"). We were pretty excited by her story, so the next day, we followed the lady's specific, but curious directions to find the ruins: "past the three small coconut trees, by the stump, under the arched vines, through the jungle" :) It was easy enough to find: a small pyramid, overgrown with trees and leaves. We scrambled up the steep side o...

You encounter many strange things at sea. Once during my night watch, when we were hundreds of miles from anywhere, the sonar kept going off indicating that the "bottom" was only 13 meters below, then 15 meters, then 12, then 17. Very strange. I told Uncle Kurt, who just smiled and said, "Yep, something's probably swimming below us." It was probably a whale, but I liked to picture something hideous and tentacled and extremely hungry that had ventured up from the Tongan trench (which is a part of the ocean that at it's deepest is over 10,000 meters deep). Another strange thing was marked on the chart as a "magnetic anomaly". This was a largish patch of ocean we sailed through between Tonga and New Zealand where our compass got all confused and pointed in the wrong direction. Fortunately for us, the GPS, was working just fine. I'm not sure what caused this--an enormous metal deposit on the ocean floor?

Tonight we saw something that I've wanted to see my whole life. It's an optical phenomenon seen by sailors at sunset. There must be a perfect horizon line and no clouds to see it. We were becalmed at the half-way point and the sky was clear: just the right conditions. We glanced every few seconds at the glowing red sun as it sank into the sea. Just miliseconds  after the last sliver of golden light disappeared, we saw the "green flash". It was a ball of greenish-white light which flashed and lit up the horizon, right where the sun had been. It was super cool!

Today, the day after the gale quieted, a couple of swallows have landed on the bow of the boat. We are over 1,000 kms from anywhere. We are in the middle of the freaking Pacific Ocean! Where did they come from? We named them Mr. and Mrs. Mirlos (mirlos=swallows in Spanish).They were quite fearless and perched right next to us. They looked very exhausted, poor things. No doubt they were seeking rest after being blown and buffeted by the storm. Over the course of the afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Mirlos were joined by five more. They flitted away at sunset, but after dinner, Josje came to tell me that a swallow had taken roost in my berth. Sure enough, there it was, looking very tired and very comfortable on the bookshelf--his feathers all fluffed up and comfy. I thought I was going to have to give him a serious talking-to about whose bunk it belonged to. He stayed there for quite a while. I half expected to come back and find him tucked in on my pillow, reading one of my books. Sadly I had ...

Today, we reached the half-way point: 755 nautical miles behind us (1,359 kms). We've been a week at sea and survived a gale. The winds have died down, and we are going an average of 2-3 knots, which is quite slow in comparison to the rest of the week. Uncle Kurt and Pim took out the water-tank that was leaking and drained it into a big plastic tub in the cockpit where we could bathe or wash our hair. It was heavenly!!!!! I've never appreciated a "shower" so much!! Then we had our half-way party, for it is 1, 316 kms to Beverage Reef, the next time that we will see "land", er...submerged coral. "Land" is a bit of a stretch when it comes to this incredible place, which is an old volcanic crater under the surface, which has grown a coral reef on top of it. Our party consisted in drinking port, eating cake,  and opening a card which Auntie Marie had given us for the half-way point. She had surprised us by getting it signed with well-wishies from a...

Happy Birthday Mary! A role model to me in so many ways. Thank you for passing on your love of Irish music, for teaching me to dance, and inspiring me with your courage, style and love!!!! We all take turns at night, scanning for ships and making sure that our boat stays on track. Eve (the wind-guided auto-pilot) does most of the work, but we check the compass and keep a careful eye on the horizon. My watch is from 9:00 p.m. until midnight. At first the time went by slowly, but then I really started to enjoy these peaceful hours. Sometimes, on rougher nights, the night watch means balancing with all my might on the seat of the pilot-house, bracing upright with my toes to keep from flying over and landing on Josje asleep in her bunk. At other times, however, when we are gliding over smooth swells at an easy 2 knots, I like to lie outside in the cockpit and look up at the night sky in between scans. It has an unreal feel to it (like Life of Pi, but without the grisly). Constant twinkle...

Happy Birthday Willie! To the first O'Brien grandchild - the coolest kid to make an auntie proud. The storm calmed and the weather changed in our favour, producing sunny goodness and Southerlies that started to blow us northwest towards the Kingdom of Tonga. We dried off everything, cooked and ate (for the first time in a while) and napped. It was soooo nice! I've discovered how lovely the ship sounds are. The ship sings to itself. Uncle Kurt thought it was me singing, but it wasn't. I've heard it too. There are the deep creaking noises of the hull and the sharp twanging of the rigging, but it's something else. You can hear soft, almost human-like sounds from various parts of the boat underneath all the other louder noises. It's like the boat is talking to itself. Perhaps it's the rushing water somewhere or maybe just the softest of creaks, but there are gentle, mysterious sing-song noises that accompany us. It's delightful to go to sleep to.

The first week of our trip was rough! The weather got choppy, and I woke up before my night-watch being shaken in my bunk like a popcorn kernel in a pot. Josje was on watch, and she was bracing herself in the pilot house to keep from flying to the opposite side of the boat. The Mehitabel was keeling and flying over the waves and landing with giant crashes. The rough weather continued today. On my night watch, I harnessed myself in the cock-pit. It was difficult to do scans for other ships because the waves were rising like small hills above my line of vision. Sometimes they crashed over the side of the boat. One moment I was looking down at a trench and then the next, the Mehitabel was lunging onto the top of a high wave, which gave me a terrific view. Pretty exhilarating!! The boat is made to float like a little buoy, so I didn't feel worried. She rides the waves marvellously. The weather got up to 40 knots (official gale strength), and we were zipping along at a terrifying sp...

The first two to three days at sea were spent fighting the horrors of sea-sickness. Imagine being on a wild amusement park ride that keeps going for 24 hours! After I started to feel better, however, I went outside in "foulies" (= rainproof gear) to enjoy the ride. We're always harnessed in, so I could safely sit on the centre-box of the cockpit and experience the bucking bronco of a little ship as it climbed and lunged up and then over the giant waves. There are two kinds of waves: the surface wind chop (about two metres high) and then the enormous sea-swells, which are the hills and valleys that make up the great undulating prairie scape that is the sea. Altogether the waves were 3, possibly even 4 meters at their highest. It is especially startling at night-time as the ship climbs (sometimes sideways) up these small mountains of water, obscuring the moon and the stars momentarily, and then diving back nose wards again into a trough. Moving about is difficult as you...

We've been sailing for 4 days -- straight East out into the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean. Our plan is to sail across the Pacific, south of the island nations and then head north to catch the Trade Winds, which are consistently strong, and consistently blowing westward. These would take us back N.W to Tonga. If the weather keeps up being ornery, we may have to be open to end up in any number of places: Fiji, French Polynesia, New Caledonia, or even the Cook islands. I'm rooting for the Cooks.

New Zealand is really a naturalists's wonderland: from the twisted volcanic rock formations to the mixed up trees, whose roots appear to have gotten all confused as they grow above-ground, hanging from the tree branches. Hilarious, awkward sea birds with long, orange beaks and a silly goose-step walk along the beach and red gooey creatures (probably some kind of anemone) grow here like gumdrops on the rocks. Yesterday we saw penguins swimming around the boat as we rounded Cape Rodney. These birds are ridiculously cute, paddling all chubby and happy-looking on their tummies near the boat. Chesterton got it right about the miraculous in the world. In the folk tales there are golden apples and flying horses, but here, there are glowing wakes of phosphorescence and flying fish (still to be sighted :) Last night was our first night sail. We took turns with night watch, waking each other up every three hours to look out for unusual lights or signs of other boats. We glided past a gi...