Ok, end of Phase Two complete. Phase One was to buy boat,
get it ready for sea and sail down to Chile for the paragliding competition. I
did it all right (not without issues) but missed the start of the competition
by one day. All competitors breathed a sigh of relief at my non-start. If you
can believe that…

Phase Two was to get my bones across the Pacifico in one
piece and I arrived in Mindinao, Philippines after 10,000 miles and one year.
After some lovely sailing in the archipelago and visits to small and large
islands and towns/cities/villages I am now safely on the hard in Subic Bay,
Luzon, Philippines. On the hard for non-sailors means lifted out of the water
and parked on dry land. The boat is supported by steel struts which are welded
together with rebar and since there are typhoons in this area of the world (3-4
per month at this time of year) la Rosa is tied down as well to large cement polyhedrons
buried in the ground and I hope she will be safe.

Nearby tropical storms have been hammering us with rain.
Flooding, power outages and landslides for Luzon but I am particularly
well-situated because I’ve rented a house in the Subic Bay Freezone, up on a
gentle hill with no threats that I can see. There is a ‘Caution­-Monkey
Crossing’ sign but the only place I’ve seen them is up on the power lines.
Maybe they know something I don’t.

So the plan is to do the necessary work on la Rosa and enjoy
the countryside from a clean, dry, rock solid night’s sleep. No more terrifying
noises in the middle of the night; no more falling asleep as we sail closer and
closer to the reef and no more sea water ruining the latest laptop. To be sure,
these are minor deals when one considers other and scarier situations and I am
thankful to have arrived with most body parts intact (some brain cells long
gone) and having used only two boxes of bandaids, gauze and hockey stick tape.

Subic Bay is an interesting place. It was the largest U.S.
Navy installation in the    Pacific and
was the largest overseas military installation of the United States Armed
Forces after Clark Air Base in nearby Angeles City. It served as a satellite
‘Costco’ for the military during the Vietnam War. Both facilities were both
closed in 1991/92 after negotiations between the Philippine and U.S.
governments collapsed with the final straw being the eruption of the nearby
Pinatubo volcano.

There remains now the Subic Bay Freeport Zone. It reminds me
of an abandoned mining town in Canada. Townhouses, good roads and weeds. Quite
a few of the residences have been rehabilitated—former enlisted men and
officers’ quarters—and it is a clean, secure and quiet/no traffic area and I’m
liking it here.

A few pics of the work in progress.

Cabin furniture apart to get at the engine, prop shaft, bilge pumps and other greasy, sweaty work.

This is a muffler box. Engine exhaust and cooling water go in one hole and out the other to spit out the end of the boat. Except when the weld lets go (where I'm pointing) and then the boat fills with steam and diesel exhaust. Always gets your attention.

This medieval device breaks apart the rusted/seized prop shaft from its connection to engine output flanges. Took me 3 days to free the shaft. Needed to remove shaft to get muffler box out and also must replace the cutless bearing. You don't know what that is and you don't need to.

la Rosa on the hard in Subic Bay.

You travel the world you see some strange signs.

Track from Palau to Subic Bay, Philippines.

I’ve bought a scooter to get around, found the machine
shops, the upholstery shops, the stainless steel welders and the anti-fouling
paint so I have no excuse to malinger anymore.

Well, wait a sec, I am back to Canada July 13 for a
visit to Charlie and Claire and of course family in Thunder Bay so I continue
to put off the hard jobs for a bit. Two years living on a 42-footer encourages
one to enjoy the house experience. Flat screen tv; large fridge; aircon; BBQ; wifi;
fresh market nearby; cleaning service; aircon; hot water; aircon and there is
NO noise at night. None of those wailing rigging moans that give you the
heebie-jeebies and the jim-jams too.

Hope to get underway again at the end of the year.

Dick 'Bubbles' Courtis checking for giant squid.

This is where the Spanish galleon put in back in the day,
hence the name.

Sabang, part of Puerto Galera. The dive shops are everywhere.

A fellow sailor and friend told me about this place when I
was in the Marshall Islands. Said if I got here I might never leave and he has
a damn fine point. Weather great. Check. Protected harbour with heavy
typhoon-proof moorings. Check. Motorbikes for rent $10/day. Check. Food cheap.
Check. Bottle of beer in bar, 90 cents. Check. Litre bottle good gin, $3.50.
Double check. People polite, friendly, very industrious and hard-working.
Can fix or make anything. Check. And in the main, all speak English. Whew.

Mr. Easy Rider on a 125cc 'You have more Fun on a Honda'.

Mr. Easy Rider punishes the suspension on a jitney.

The scenery is quite spectacular with the high mountains,
thunder clouds and tropical seas. I think I mentioned before that sailing here
is like sailing on Loon Lake with steadier breeze and no mozzies. No big
green scary waves. No hissing monsters sneaking up behind you in a 3 a.m. squall.  A guy could do a lot worse than play out the string here
in the Phillies. Hard to buy property but long term renting is the way to go.

Went to the shooting range behind the Montessori school. All
manner of handguns, M-16’s and AK-47’s. Gun rental $10 for the day but the ammo
is a buck a round. I just watched.

The vehicles round here are really something. Except for a
few imports, all are locally made. There is a Jeep knock-off low rider, there
is the Jeepney which is an extended Jeep and there are the ever-present trikes
or jitneys as I call them. Everything is made of stainless steel. Nothing else
will last in this maritime climate.

Homemade SSteel Jeep.

The Jeepneys are unwieldy, noisy, colourful, loaded beyond
belief and they charge down the skinny highway looking like a stainless steel
locomotive. One gives them plenty of room.

The 'Jeepney' at full speed. You, too, would give him plenty of room. Either that, or disocover how much a cow-catcher can make your eyes water.

I am moored in Puerto Muelle and 5 km east is the main
tourist/scuba-dive village of Sabang. Unbelievably dangerous road in disrepair and
all traffic moving at breakneck speed. All except me, that is. I have had two
offs on my 125 Honda. One time climbing a very steep concrete hill in biblical
rain with associated mud runnels. Bike lost forward mo, brakes would not hold
and the unit decided to reverse. Motos are tricky (impossible) to negotiate in
reverse and gravity had its way with me. Few scratches. Other off was
self-inflicted. Alcohol involved and front wheel slipped off concrete roadbed
(no shoulder) and 6 inch drop. Face was uglier than usual for a couple of days
but all well now. So, no more riding in mudslides and no more onboard booze. I
rode 100,000 km on my BMW in N. America with zero offs. I sailed 18,000 miles
with only one concussion. Must be more careful here.

Sabang is very popular dive destination with a lot of
Koreans, Japanese and others doing their thing. I don’t get it. Coral is coral.
Sharks are dumb and bitter and fishes could care less. Not for me.

Coming back from Calapan City (40 km south) I came upon a
field full of motos, jeeps, and jitneys. I slowed and heard a tremendous roar
coming from covered stadium. Had to check it out. Rooster beat-down with crowd
of about 400. All the yelling takes place before the duke-out as the men, touts
and bookies take the bets. No women except for cigarette girls. I can’t
understand what’s happening and that’s my last cockfight.

The rooster crowd. Place your bets.

Rooster taunting. One will be dead in 2 minutes.

The rooster vet is always handy. Warren Peterson would make a fortune here. Even the winners need ICU from time to time.

The killing blades that are woven onto the rooster's leg.$1000.00 worth of steel in a box.

A rice farmer and his Massey Ferguson.

Rice drying by the road. Sometimes on on the road.

Veggie market in Calapan.

The pineapple, spiral style.

Fresh corn on the knob. Does not come close to Ontario product, I'm happy to say.

Hate to leave this place but will let go tomorrow for Subic
Bay, 100 miles north and 20 miles north of Manila. Need to haul boat out and
get some work done. Should be delightful sail. No typhoons skulking around and
the wind is forecast to be favourable. And we’ve all heard that before.

I had to buy things. I flagged down a jitney driver (they
call them ‘Trikes’ here, but I’m using a word that is deep in my memory and may
come from India) and hired him for the day. First off—buy diesel fuel. One does
not pull up to the pumps with one’s yacht. One schleps jerry cans from the
yacht to the dock and schleps them via transport to the nearest gas station.

Fuel here is the same price as it is in Canada. At least it
was until the Conservatives took hold of the reins yesterday.  Maybe way better now in the old home town.

The fuel was easy to buy. Rode 7 km in jitney, shaking
kidneys all the way and filled jerry cans. On the way we stopped to replenish
the gin larder. A ‘twenty-sixer’ here costs $1.95. (One dollar, ninety-five
cents.) I loaded up.

Next stop: buy 2 roasted chickens for the sailing trip.
Spicy and peppercorn whole chickens. Total cost=$8.00.

The chickenmonger chops up my chickens.

Lifted anchor at 1pm and motor-sailed to Port Isabel.
Arrived in the dark, in pouring rain and dodged a few fishing spiderboats on
the way in.

Failures along the way:

1. new nav-warning lights that I bought in Danao.
   They cost .50 each and made in China. Ok, no big deal.
2. watermaker high pressure line (new 3 months ago)
   burst. Big deal.
3. new electric windlass (purchased in Tahiti 7
   months ago)—would not drop anchor. Will lift. Thank god for small favours.
   Still, a big deal.
4. One bilge pump. They fail so often I’m losing
   interest in the bilge.
5. Dinghy sprung a leak sometime today. Too much rain
   to patch it buy there are lots of water taxis so don’t need it. Minor deal.

I think I am well-anchored and in a much
better spot than I was if the typhoon picks up speed and heads this way.

I guess we will see.

I have no internet access on boat here so I called a friend,
Dick Courtis on my new cellphone and he dug up the latest info on the TRS for
me. Looks like it will pass well east of here. We are now experiencing 20 kts
wind and relentless rain but no drama and I don’t expect any.

I flagged down a water jitney and went into the market.

Water jitney driver, Jessie, holding the steering mechanism in his right hand.

Bought shoes ($10), chocolate cake, fresh oranges from Florida (!!), 2
pineapples from here, all manner of fresh veggies except lettuce, dozen eggs, 1
kilo fresh shrimp ($10), 2 kilos local rice (.95), and a Manila newspaper. When
I got back to the boat I had 7 eggs intact and a pretty squishy looking
chocolate cake. The joys of sailing/backpacking. I did have two offers of
marriage, though, which is not a bad start.

The fish market in Isabel.

And the veggie market. Nice tomatoes at last.

Hope to head north tomorrow or next day, depending on the
TRS track. The sailing here is wonderful. Just like on a big, warm lake. No
big, scary waves and you can see the next island when you set off. And
everywhere you park there is a village with market and friendly folk and a hell
of a lot of fish and seafood on offer. Small fishes, to be sure. These folks
have hammered the waters for centuries and continue to do so but there must still
be enough critters to go around. 84 million people don’t live on bread alone.

Next day update:

Made error in port selection. The wind got up at 7 a.m.
Saturday morning and the sea shortly thereafter. The rain got biblical. All the
spider boats moved across the harbour for better protection and I decided to
move also, but I left it too late. The driving rain made it hard to see
anything and the boat was hobby-horsing up and down so much it was too
dangerous to try and lift anchor. I need to put engine in forward to get it
moving, then in neutral, dash to the front of the boat, lift 20 feet of chain,
dash back to cockpit to get boat moving again. Just too tricky on wet, heaving
deck. I did start the motor and rode it out. Six hours of unpleasantness but
the anchor did not drag and I was fine. By 4 p.m. it had eased enough so I
could go into town in water jitney with my laundry. My jitney driver took me to
his house where his wife will do it for me. Pick it up tomorrow (Sunday). Also
will go to the next town where there is a proper bank that will accept my ATM
card and replenish wallet.

Winds abated nicely during the night so in the morning I
took a 12 passenger van into the city of Ormoc. There were 19 of us in the van.
Found a proper bank and was able to score some cash. I could see the wind
getting up in the Ormoc harbour so I turned on my heels and returned the 1 hour
to Isabel. It was Sunday morning and the great Filipino fighter, Manny Paquiano
was duking it out in Las Vegas. Wherever there was a t.v. there was a crowd of
men watching the fight. The guy on the van beside got a round by round text, so
I kept in touch.

Sure enough, in Isabel the sea was up. The water jitney guy
wanted double rate because of the big swells. My laundry was delivered to the
wharf just in time, still wet but clean. I started the engine on the boat and
waited. The rollers were coming in at 8 feet and moderate wind. The guy beside
me was a 500 footer general cargo ship. I watched him. He was dragging his
anchor. I put my binos on his bridge deck and no one about. I called him on the
radio. No answer. A couple of deckhands were fishing off the aft deck. I called
a couple of tugs that were cruising the harbour. No answer. I called all of the
8 big ships in the harbour. No answer. I finally said, “Ok, boys, you may not
care, but the ship beside me, the ‘Queen of Joy’ is dragging and will be
aground soon. “ Ten minutes later she broke loose and went hard aground. The
boys stopped fishing and looked puzzled. A tug came by an hour later and pulled
her back into deep water.

The 'Queen of Joy' goes hard aground and the tug, belatedly, comes along to pull her free. I warned 'em.

My anchor, the Bruce, was dug in well in the mud and
I did not drag an inch. I fled the harbour at nightfall as soon as the wind
dropped enough. So long Isabel. Never coming back.

I could see no pleasant place to stop for the night so I carried on with mainsail only, making 2 or 3 knots and getting up every 30 minutes or so to check on traffic. There is a LOT of traffic in these islands.
Fishermen, ferries, tankers and a lot of other ships I’ve never seen before.
The fishermen scoot about in their ‘spider boats’, a craft perfectly suited to
these lagoon-type waters. No big ocean rollers, no tough weather (until a
typhoon comes callin’, round your cabin door) and always warm, warm, warm.

I spied a collection of small islands north of Bohol and dropped anchor off Maumanen. I thought the little, isolated islands would be uninhabited. Suitable for a hermit like me, but no chance. 800 souls lived on Maumanen, fisherfolk all.

Most of the kids of the village turned out to see the strange guy

You can probably pick me out amongst my new friends.

I had two pockets full of bubble gum and hard candies so I was king for a few minutes. A group of ladies were keen for information and one of them, a fishmonger and mother of 4 took me around to visit the school, the principal and the ‘Capitan’ or head man of the village. All the men were out fishing.

Some of the smiling gals of the village. Smiling because their men are away or because their kids will soon be back in school? My guide for the day is at far left.

I had a bag of pens and toothbrushes for the principal and she invited me for lunch. All in all a very interesting day.

Lunch with the headmistress. Fish and rice, baby. You gots to love it. And you better because that's it.

Drawing water at the well. Now, I'm going to irritate some folks and say that it is women's work. But, look. That's a women and that is surely work.

After lunch I was invited to the graduation ceremony of the ‘VBS’. That is ‘Vacation Bible School’ and it was quite delightful. 8-year olds reciting chapter and verse. I did find that puzzling but they were happy.

The bible class. Maybe they're smiling because I am such a strange looking dude. Could be the good book.

It is really, really tough to smile when you've lost your two front teeth.

It seems to be a very religious part of the world and Roman Catholic all the way, except for some of the southern islands where a few pockets of Muslim extremists work their magic.

Made it to Port Carmen the next day and will stay here for a few days doing the usual jobs. Bilge pumps, pressure tanks, laundry etc. and then north, slowly, through the archipelago to Puerto Galera.

Typhoon cooking up 500 miles east of here (May 4). I don’t really know what to do but will figure something out.

This is what I mean about a mercury sea. I should know from mercury after 35 years in the little shop of horrors.

I went swimming once but the water is deep here. The Philippine Trench is 35,000 feet deep—deeper than Mt. Everest is high—and when the water is that much over my head I don’t like it. I motored during the day and let her drift through the night. There was a fair amount of north-south big ship traffic and I talked to a couple of them when they got close (less than a mile in one case) but invariably the Asian form of ship’s English does not make for much of a conversation.

This is how mad dogs and sailors hide from the sun.'Get your motor runnin'---out on the ocean'

When I got within 100 miles of the Philippine coast I was visited often by fishermen on their way home from the fishing grounds. They always asked for beer or cigarettes and I gave a few cans away. Never was offered a fish.

The fishermen in their spider boat about 100 miles offshore. Looking for smokes and beer.

So I reached the coast with almost no fuel left in my tank. Maybe 10 gallons and I don’t know how well the last few gallons will be picked up with the boat rolling so I was keen to find a spot to pull in and anchor for the night and buy a few jerry cans of diesel. On my chartplotter I saw a congregation of big ships in one suitable and nearby harbour so I started my engine and decided to motor the rest of the way, using up my last fuel. Surely, with seven, 700-foot general cargo ships at anchor there would be an off-loading dock and services for so many sailors. It did mean I would have to enter the harbour—a strange one—at night. Fine, done that before. I began to get nervous about 11:00 p.m. when I turned the corner to enter the harbour and the first two main leading lights were not functioning. I blindly followed my electronic mapping software. I saw all the big ships easily enough—they are lit up like small cities at night—but along the shoreline I could see nothing. No lights, no docks, no small vessels at anchor. At midnight the rain got biblical and I blindly (almost) staggered around the harbour, trying not to run aground in the mangrove flats or bash into one of the floating cities. Nothing. I didn’t have enough fuel to leave the harbour again and start looking for another place in the middle of the night. What were all these ships doing here anchored and with no other facilities available? A strange scene on a strange night. Alongside one of the giants I saw a tug tied up and after a couple of passes in the heavy rain (no wind and just as well) I managed to get myself safely snugged up. Whew! At 4 a.m. I hit the rack and at 6 a.m. the tugboat boys woke me up. I managed to talk one into helping me find diesel fuel. In the morning light it became clear.

There are two nickel mines within sight of the harbour—ugly, strip-mine types. These ships (Chinese-flagged) are all anchored here while they take on nickel ore from barges pushed back and forth by the tugs.  And you guessed it, I am the only sailboat in sight.

Taking on nickel ore for the big China machine. Steel, baby and lots of it.

There was a small fishing village tucked away in the palms, though, and I flagged down a passing fisherman who took me ashore. Off I went in a motorcycle taxi into town, 15 minutes away.

I knew I was in SEAsia when I saw the water buffalos, rice paddies and 6 people on a motorcycle. I love it.

I think the term 'spider boat' is pretty self-explanatory

Of course the bank’s ATM would not accept my card but I did have some US cash and after some arm waving I found a money-changer in the upstairs of a grocery store. Got my Philippine pesos at a usurious rate, my 25 gallons of diesel and now I’m ready to enter the main pass into the Philippines proper—Suriago Strait—the same place Magellan entered after his passage from Chile. He had no charts, no fuel and didn’t know what was around every corner. Poor guy was just looking for spices. I have a cupboard full of spices and a better sense of what a real adventurer he must have been. Sailing is like fun, only different. The adventuring is the attraction.

Some of the 300 islands of Palau

These islands known as the State of Palau are the most beautiful I’ve seen since Tahiti and her isles. The economy is a notch above the rest of the Caroline Islands, mostly due to a healthy tourist economy, better education and the helping hand of Uncle Sam.

Palau was part of the Trust Territory of the USA after WWII but split from the Federated States of Micronesia when the Trust was done away with a few decades ago. I can see why they wanted nothing to do with the rest of Micronesia. The Palauans are far ahead of their island neighbours. Quite a few visitors from Japan and divers from around the world. Apparently, Palau is one of the world check-off sites if you are a diver.

I’ve parked my boat close to a dive operation, known as Sam’s Tours. Spoke to Sam yesterday and his outfit did 350 tanks of air. There is a bigger dive operation on Guam, with the US military, but Sam’s has to be the biggest I’ve seen in the Pacific so far. I’ve joined the Royal Belau Yacht Club. First yacht club of my life. Liked the ‘Royal’ part of it.

Rented a car for the week. Went for a couple of scuba dives and got my mainsail fixed. I must say the highlight of the visit has been the helicopter tour I took last week. To see these islands from the air is to really appreciate their beauty and here are a few pics of Palau from the air.

My ride for the day. Ok, for the 20 minutes.

One of the channels into Palau. Narrow, coral-bordered and tricky when the tide/current is agin you.

Some snorkeleers sniffing through the coral.

The so-called 'Natural Arch'. After our scuba dive our boat captain roared through the notch at 25 mph. I had to duck my head, involuntarily.

A little island paradise.

They call this place the 'Milky Way'. Folks take the white mud and plaster it all over themselves. It's a spa deal. I don't understand it.

The mooring basin at Sam's Tours. Free moorings, shallow, clear water and a good typhoon hole. la Rosa is here somewhere.

I leave for the Philippines (Puerto Galera) in 2 days and that passage should take 8-10 days, insha’allah.

Away from town the Majuro atoll can be very pretty. And not too crowded.

A reefer in the Majuro lagoon, waiting for his next load of big tuna.

Had a lovely 2 day sail to the next atoll in the Marshalls, Jaluit. Small, sleepy place with about 800 folk not doing much. I arrived on a Sunday morning. There is a residential high school there with kids from many of the outlying atolls and most of them were sitting under the banyan trees and remained there for the day. No sports, no fishing, no swimming. No stimulation for these poor kids.

I took the dink exploring. A lot of WWII wreckage along the coast, very clear water inside the lagoon and not a soul about.

In the Jaluit lagoon. Was not hard to find a parking space.

If you can see from the grave, this would be a nice place to rest.

I was the only visiting yacht. They still use the Marshallese sailing canoe on Jaluit to get around. Light and tidy outrigger canoes with a simple sail system. Takes 2 guys to operate one and they move quite smartly in the smooth waters and steady trade winds of the lagoon.

The Marshallese sailing canoe. Deep, narrow and good for transporting a few folk and a few fish.

No need for a keel when your hull is like a knife.

And underway.

Left Jaluit after a couple of lazy days, thereby saying adios to the Marshall Islands. It was a very slow passage (7 days) for the next 400 miles to Kosrae, the first of the Federated States of Micronesia in the island group known as the Carolines. I found myself in the equatorial countercurrent and I knew this because one day, with no wind, I motored due west, then reversed course. 6 knots east, 3 knots west. So, there you have a 1.5 knot adverse current. I took a chance and headed north to get out of it and 75 miles later I was clear. A nice mahi mahi took some of the sting out of the slow trip.

When you see the white-headed black terns doing this you throw your line. There are fishes here feeding. The terns are scooping up the leftover bits.

Here is the white head resting on my bimini for the night.

This guy just wanted to stick his tongue out at me. Like Bart Simpson.

I’d heard great things about Kosrae, but it was no hell. The harbour was dirty water, filled with detritus. They built a causeway connecting a couple of islands and shut off the natural flushing of the harbour. No place to swim. I did meet Mark, hotelier and owner of a dive and sport fishing operation and we went for a scuba dive with the Attorney General outside the reef at the south end of Kosrae. The AG got seasick so it was just Mark and me and the coral was spectacular, as well as the 200’ visibility.

The trees of Kosrae. Where there's a will, there's a way.

You gots to be quick when a tuna strikes. This skipjack was on the line for less than a minute and his buddies ate him. Or some shark. Giant squid?

Kosrae to Pohnpei was an easy 400 mile haul. The anchorage there was well-protected and no bugs.

The guardian rock of Pohnpei.

Pohnpei harbour from Cupid's restaurant. I was sitting here when news of the Japan earthquake/tsunami events took place. Raced down to the boat and sat up most of the night, but no trouble. Whew.

There were 4 boats there for the first week and then just one besides me. We banged off some chess games (mixed success), had some nice dining and I did what I do best—waited for mail. My binoculars showed up, finally, but of my new 135 watt solar panel there was no sign. #$%^&*. Feeling that way, I went to a cock fight. First one of my life. There are quite a few Filipinos working in Pohnpei and it was their show. Feathers, knives and death in the afternoon. I lost $10 and don’t need to see another rooster-beatdown.

Young dancers. Nothing to do with the cock fights.

You gots to find small coconuts.

No beaches to speak of on Pohnpei, but some lovely mangrove swamps, if you like mangroves. I hooked up with the helicopter pilot I’d met in Majuro (he’d just been fired) and we kayaked one afternoon through something like a Louisiana bayou. No mosquitos, no bugs of any kind which was surprising for me, a muskeg kind of guy. No turtles, no snakes, no monkeys and no birds. Beautifully quiet and cool, though, in the mangrove bayou. Really enjoyed it.

Pohnpei bayou.

Rico Steger. Out of work and in the swamp.

The next Caroline group of islands is Chuuk (formerly Truk) but I’d heard nothing good about the place except for the wreck diving. I am not a wreck diver and was not interested in the violence and petty crime reputation Chuuk has so I set sail for Palau (now named Belau), 1400 miles west.

It was 13 days of perfect sailing. Light winds, smooth seas and cotton ball skies. Lost one lure when I got caught between a longliner and his lines and another when I hooked into a 4’ marlin. The idiot (ok, he is a fish after all) broke my line but I could still see my expensive lure in his mouth as he leaped (lept?) and tail-walked behind the boat for 2 minutes, thinking he was still caught. As soon as I went below to get the camera he took off. Of course. Lost two other lures to unknown giants of the deep.

Thirteen days brought me to 70 miles off the Palauan east coast where the wind took an evil turn. Right on the nose and 25 knots+. I zigged and zagged for 3 days fighting a vicious current and miserable (in direction) wind. Ripped my mainsail in half one night and spent 8 tough hours struggling on a heaving deck to sew it back together.

When I finally made it inside the reef, using motor and sail, I was so relieved and exhausted that I neglected to consult the tide tables. Arrived at the only entrance channel at maximum outflow and standing waves. I was not turning back and rode my way in like one rides a rodeo bull. I might add that I have never ridden a rodeo bull or any other kind of bull and have no intentions to do so. A few anxious moments and then all quiet on eastern front.

When I was checking in with all known officials (customs, immigration, dock authority, sanitation, health etc.) I met an Aussie who had just limped in from an attempt to sail to Philippines. He also ripped his mainsail in half and worse, broke his cable steering. He clocked winds at 38 knots in the same blow I had, but his were stronger on the west side of the island. He was able to steer the boat with his autopilot, which does not need any cables to confuse things.

So, now I am finished with the Pacific Ocean. It has been 10,000 miles from Chile (straight line) and there is no longer ocean crossing on earth. Alaska to South Pole does not come close. So what? From here on it is the Philippine Sea.

This is Palau and this is why I came.

Haven’t seen too much of Palau yet, but what I’ve seen beats anything I’ve visited since Tahiti. I spent a fortune on new fishing lures and stainless steel line. I’m not giving up without a fight. More on Palau after I get my mainsail properly sewn.

In these western pacific waters where the temperatures are warm, the tuna roam. And where there are tuna, there are men hunting them down. This place, Majuro, Marshall Islands, is tuna central. By that I mean a centre for offloading the catch and re-supplying the fishing boats. They are called ‘tuna clippers’ and whether Taiwanese, Korean, Japanese, Philippine or American, the design of the boat is always the same. The catching art is well-matured.

A typical tuna clipper in Majuro lagoon, Marshall Islands.

Here is a standard tuna clipper, this one Taiwanese with a ship’s complement of 34, including officers, fish master and helicopter pilot. A goodly bow and tall observation tower with an otherwise low profile distinguishes the boat’s appearance. A huge net stacked on the aft deck with its overhead hydraulic gantries and the silly-looking ‘skiff’ hauled up on the stern ramp.

Strange and silly looking skiff.

 There are eight such tuna clippers currently doing business here in the Majuro lagoon. Not fishing. They are rafted alongside larger freighters or refrigerator ships offloading their catch or alongside the main wharf taking on stores.

Rafted up to offload 1000 tons of tuna.

I met an American captain of the vessel ‘Cape May’ and he invited me aboard for a tour. Very impressive bridge deck with at least 4 types of radar that I could see. While fishing they are often all fine-tuned to pick up flocks of birds. All manner of communication equipment, including the very same singlesideband radio as I have. The difference being his radio was connected to a voice encryption device. These boys are secretive. Also on the bridge were sonar, various GPS’s and other instruments I did not recognize.

Just some of the telephones and radios.

The captain had a lovely suite with large flat screen TV, a separate bedroom and large washroom. Just outside his suite is a small, private office with at least 5 phones that I counted, including satphone. Off limits for all but the captain. He lives in some splendour. Also on this ship the captain had a mean and beefy fighting dog locked outside on the bridge deck—no riff raff like me allowed. The helicopter pad (not all ships carry a chopper but the ones that do use a Robertson piston machine or a Hughes 500 turbine) is on the roof of the bridge.

The main deck and engine room houses the main engine of 3800 horsepower along with 3 diesel generators for the hotel functions of the ship. Noisy and hot as hell. Impressive tool and repair facilities as well, including a metal lathe. Further aft is the galley and mess hall. Two tables, one for skipper and officers and the other for the workers.

The mess hall with no mess. Unlike mine.

Outside on the main deck is stacked the immense purse-seine net, barrels of fuel and oil and the various accessory boats. These include a ‘speedboat’ type with its 115 horse outboard, 3 or 4 larger wooden skiffs hooked to starboard side and the main skiff hauled up on its skid on the stern.

Below the main deck are the holds for fish, maybe eight, refrigerated rooms.

Ok, so how do you catch tuna fish with this thing?

First of all you must be in the Western Pacific where the waters are warm enough for the big schools of yellowfin tuna. There are tuna in cooler waters but these boats are going for the yellowfins. There are instruments aboard checking salinity, water temperature, depths and I’m sure other gauges for other esoterics. But the good old eyeballs are also important. There are 7 pairs of big-eye binoculars manned high in the observation tower. They are all looking for swarms of feeding birds, debris in the water, schools of dolphins and the different coloured water indicating concentrations of fish. The helicopter is also sent out with an observer searching for similar signs. The chopper pilot and his observer will search ahead of the ship for about a two hour flight. Debris fields are important. This could be a couple of tree branches, seaweed or any old junk that might attract little fishes. Because the little fishes attract bigger fishes. Any appreciable accumulation of junk will draw the helicopter down to hover height where the observer leans out and, with a speargun, attaches a radio-buoy with GPS transmitter. This now becomes an improvised ‘FAD’ or, fish accumulation device. The ship and her company sister ships will have also set out hundreds of other FADs of their own construction, all with an encrypted transmitter sending out its location.  In spite of the huge number of these FADs, I have never seen one. Of course, I didn’t really know what they look like. Now I’ll look a little closer—and cast my fishing line.

Once a school of tuna has been located the large stern skiff is launched off the back end, the net is attached and is paid out from the mother ship. Encirclement of the school is the objective. The net is set in a large circle and as the circle is closed, the fish naturally try to escape out the ever-shrinking opening. Here the speedboat comes into play, charging back and forth to try and wrangle the fishes back into the net. The helicopter, too, buzzes back and forth at wave top trying to scare those fishes into reason. In addition to the noise makers, the skiffs will dump a line of green dye into the water which also acts as an artificial wall for the tuna. Sometimes the school gets clean away. When the circle is complete (on the port side of the mother ship), the skiff releases his end of the net and moves to the starboard side. As the mother ship closes off the bottom of the net, as a drawstring on a purse the tremendous hydraulic forces want to pull the ship into the net. The skiff on the opposite side opposes this pull and helps maintain station. When the net has been cinched tight the fish can no longer swim and thus breathe. They die. The net is raised above water line and the fish are ‘brailed’ aboard. Scooped onto sluiceways on the ship and into the holds. The tuna are not alone. Sometimes the ‘by-catch’ can be a ton or more of other fish—mahi mahi, wahoo and all manner of other pelagics. A few hundred pounds will be earmarked for the ship’s stores and the rest tossed overboard, healthy or not.

The fish are cooled slowly in the water-filled tanks until their body temperature comes down to freezing. Once they are stabilized there, the temperature is then reduced in the brine solution to close to 0 degrees (F).

Pallets of salt for the brine solutions.

 The fish are not handled, or cleaned in any way. When the fish are brought to a cannery, such as the one at Pago Pago, American Samoa, they are slowly brought back up to the temperature the cannery wants and all processing is then completed in the cannery.

The average tuna clipper will have full holds when he has 1,000 tons and will make for a reefer ship to offload. This usually takes place in the protected waters of an atoll lagoon somewhere and Majuro, Marshall Islands is a popular place. Other locations include Kiribati, Kosrae, Pohnpei and islands in the Solomons and Papua, New Guinea. Refueling takes place at sea from a company bunker vessel. Cheaper than buying it ashore.

The full ship’s cargo of tuna is worth $1.5 million and it might take 30-35 days in good conditions—it could be 8 weeks—to gather. So, next time you tuck into a can of ‘chicken of the sea’ you will know how, and from whence, it came.

And this is how they used to catch tuna. A Kiribati sailing canoe in Tarawa.

The seas got unnaturally rough when I cleared the last of the Kiribati atolls and talking with other sailors, we think it must be the action of the equatorial counter-current, flowing east against the trade winds that kicks up the water. I passed through the squally weather of the ITCZ, or inter-tropical convergence zone (previously known as the doldrums) with no trouble.

Had some success with the fishing at New Year’s day when I bagged a tuna. I didn’t know he was on for a long time and when I pulled him in all I got was his head. Somebody else got to eat him.

As for the evidence, your Honour, I present the head and nothing but the head.

 I think a wahoo because when I reset the line, my squid bait was cleanly severed from the 300lb test line. Could be shark but I think the razor-toothed and vicious wahoo did the deed.

I had to dodge some atolls as I headed to Majuro, the capital atoll of the Marshall Islands, including sailing between two atolls about 10 miles apart and of course, the passage needed to be done in the middle of the night. I use a kitchen wind up one hour alarm clock. I slept through the alarm at the most critical hour but managed to miss the reefs. Just another gadget you can’t trust.

Mr. mahi mahi paid a visit on the last few miles into Majuro. Once again lovely sashimi and I gave a bunch away when I arrived at the anchorage.

Mr. mahi mahi. Come to papa.

When you pith him he becomes very co-operative.

There are about 25 sailboats here, hooked up to commercial moorings and the anchorage is nicely protected from swell and wind. A nice change from Tarawa. The local yacht club is quite active, with weekly dinners, seminars on route-finding, electronics and the like. I’m pretty sure they’re all waiting for a dental lecture.

Ulic is sending me a few needed items as are my kin so I’ll be staying here for at least a month. Just as well because I’ve a number of jobs to complete. My 2^nd reefing line parted like a pistol shot in the night, my high pressure watermaker hose burst, my transmission is leaking oil, a couple of winches are seized and on and on.

Today I got my AIS instrument back from the Florida factory. It still doesn’t work.

I am not complaining. The water is warm and the days are hot. And I’m not missing any meals.

Lagoon, Tarawa, Kiribati.

Samoa to Kiribati.

The quintessential South Pacific shot. Kiribati style.

15 days of pretty nice sailing.

Started off no hell with heavy rain out of Apia, Western Samoa. Lightning and booming all around me. My insignificance reared his head. Second night out, still in heavy rain and squalls (25 knot winds) I come across a fishing fleet. Four boats doing their thing. If there is one boat out in the ocean that has right of way, it is a fishing boat working his lines or nets. He is going slow, cannot manoeuvre and expects you to stay clear. Unfortunately, with all his working lights on –the bright halogen spots—it is impossible to see his running lights. Two in the morning and I am in the middle of this little fleet. This leads to comedy on the high seas. I decide to radio the nearest boat and ask him which way he is going.

‘Fishing boat, this is sailing boat 1 mile south of you. Which way are you headed?’ Two boats answer. ‘I am going 007 True’ one says. Other guy says, ‘Are you ahead of me?’ There is no way out of this muddle. Who is talking to whom? Or, if you like, whom to who? No way to explain my position and I realize it quickly. The only thing left to do is to stay awake for the rest of the night, steering away from bright lights. Listen—this is not easy in night squalls on a sailboat¸ singlehanded.

Two days later the squalls went away, the wind stiffened and I made good time. About 140 miles a day on beam reach. Then came Dec. 21^st.

One equator, one dateline, one lunar eclipse and the summer solstice. All in one day. This was auspicious. Next day I nailed a brace of Yellowfin tuna. The boys in Pago Pago explained how to land, dispatch, clean and prepare tuna. They make their living, and their millions, doing the tuna thing. Sashimi for me for 2 nights and another fine meal of seared ahe.

The pair of yellowfins, pithed and bled. Awaiting the high carbon steel.

After the thrashing and pithing and 8 hours of cooling the cuts in the fridge, one sits down to sashimi. Soy and wasabi sauces, cold rice and delicious tuna. And being a dextrous and effete kind of guy, I like to affect the chopsticks.

The fish made up somewhat for the technical setbacks on this fortnight haul. I list them in no chronological order and I’ve probably forgotten a few, that being the human response to tragedy and other pokes in the eye.

1. Two bilge pumps failed. Never to pump again.
2. My AIS anti-collision gizmo packed it in.
3. My chartplotter (main navigation system) began flicking off. Like your computer might. You know that’s bad.
4. My water tank sprang a leak.
5. Making water to replenish tank (after changing water tank bladders), my watermaker panel started smoking.
6. My propeller shaft started making really bad noises.
7. My backup GPS began shutting down for no reason. Another thing that you know is bad.
8. #2 reefing line parted in the night like a pistol shot in downtown Atlanta.
9. Because of a new bilge pump installation (yes, I had a spare), I had a flood whilst trying to make water. Nothing focuses the mind of a sailor like water over his feet.

10.  I make it to Tarawa, Kiribati, and fluff up the dinghy. Mount the brand new, 3,5 Hp Merc and there is no way that it will start. I cannot row into shore because the trade winds are stiff and the rollers about 4 feet high.

Ok, that’s enough. I overcame most of the above issues and anchored at Betio Island, Tarawa Atoll, Kiribati. Why, I don’t know. There is no good reason to come here in peacetime. In wartime either. The Yanks launched their second big offensive of the Pacific campaign (after Guadalcanal) here in 1943. In November the 4500 well-fed, well-prepared Japanese defenders lost their lives in 4 days of fighting. 1500 Americans, too. The relics stand sentinel on the beach.

The shore batteries were no match for the USNavy 16 inch cannons. This 6 incher came from Singapore after the fall.

Another one with the barrel spiked.

An ammunition bunker behind a gun emplacement. No one home. No spirits, that is. Just one kid sniffing gas.

This is what I think of when the word 'pillbox' is mentioned.

The barrel is separated from the turret. That spells bad karma.

The loading tray is still intact. Well, the bottom half that is.

 A bad day for Rising Sun Karma.

This place is dirty, dusty, filthy and without redemption. No phone cards. Public drunkenness. No internet on most days. No sidewalks. No ice. It appears to be an NGO state and a failed one. The Cubans are here. The Canadians, Americans, Japanese, and Taiwanese, Aussies and I’m sure many more. Taiwanese?

For example.

And another.

The anchorage is hell. Four foot rollers and 25 knot tradewinds, steady. Getting into the dinghy is a mug’s game. Getting out is unceremonious lurching, timing and luck. I dove on the prop shaft this morning and was lucky to see 4 feet in sandy water.

Some of my neigbours. All these boats are wrecked, having been blown ashore in adverse winds.

I was duped into coming here. Free of cyclones. Well, ok, but if I want 4^th world I can go to Pickle Lake. And I’ve been there.

Wait. I take it back. Well, some of it anyway.

I rented a car today (day after Boxing) and toured the island. It was a public holiday and things were slow, except for the dancing! And I mean DANCING.

It was a ‘feast day’–I know Catholics will understand–and each village put together their finest for the exhibition. Singing, drumming and dancing. The drummers were men, the singers were women and the dancers were the finest, nubile female forms that could be gathered from each village. They prepared for this day all year and the results were inspiring. Intense and passionate rhythms; melodic and harmonic singing and dancing that would bring a tear to any jaded eye.

I sat in on two dance halls and was floored.

I could not follow the pounding drum rhythms–too intricate–but the dancing was mesmerizing and these were not dance floors for a hotel. This was dancing for your village. Ok, the bishop was there as was a handful of his cronies. The bishop had his eyes closed and was clutching a fan, The presentations were for the people. Wow.

A few pics may help in the understanding.

The village elders gather in a group around their communal drum.

The men run things. Similar to the rest of the world.

And for the women, these sweaty guys might have some appeal.

The boys pound on their drumskins. And I mean pound.

But make no mistake. Everyone is here to see the youth. The female youth.

Mad and sexy.

Or, happy and sexy.

But, without question, intense and sexy.

Judge for yourself.

Kiribati graveyard. Surely, these folks didn't all die of alcholism.But no matter my opinion of Kiribati, I will never see the likes of this again.

But no matter my dislike of Kiribati, I will never see the likes of this again.