Non-Hyperventilation in Port Orly (again), Espiritu Santo Island, Vanuatu
Harmonie
Don and Anne Myers
Wed 16 Sep 2009 02:23
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15:01.948S 167:05.067E
Note: Scroll to the end for pictures and
descriptions.
On August 23rd, we left Waterfall Bay on Vanua Lava
Island early in the morning and headed south. This was the part we were
dreading. As we always say, sailing with the wind behind us or on the beam
(side) is one thing, but sailing into the wind is no fun at
all. Preparing for the worst, I joined Tracy in her sedative
stupor and downed a sea-sickness pill with breakfast. Billy stayed in
bed. The plan was to point into the wind as much as we could in an attempt
to make a course for either Lakona Bay on Gaua Island, or if we were really
lucky, all the way back to Port Orly on the big island of Espiritu Santo.
We figured if we didn't make it the seventy-five miles to Port Orly, we could
always sail as far as Lakona Bay, stay long enough for dinner and if it was
as rolly as it was the last time we were there, pull up anchor
and sail through the night to Port Orly.
We set off and almost immediately realized that the
wind gods were on our side. Must be that the gods took a liking to
our passengers because they aren't always that kind to us. Even though the
forecast called for wind from the southeast, what we got was wind from the
east-southeast. As the Kiwis would say, not too bad. The seas
weren't rough and although we were sailing as close to the wind as possible in
order to make our southerly course, there was very little going on in the
way of wave crashing or bow slams. After days of warning them about
the woes of sailing to windward, Tracy and Billy probably wondered what all the
fuss was about as we sailed almost effortlessly south.
After nine hours of relatively smooth sailing
at 7.5 to 8 knots, we ended up just a few miles west of the pass between two
islands that would take us to Port Orly. The sails came down, the engine
came on and we motored the last two hours almost directly into the wind and the
current. Why is it that the last few hours of a really long day sail are
always the most excruciating? (and the slowest at less than 5 knots?)
We were still about an hour away from the Port Orly anchorage when we ran out of
daylight. Normally we would never approach an anchorage in the dark in a
place where our charts are off by almost a mile, but because we had been to Port
Orly before, we knew the approach to the anchorage was clear - as long
as we didn't hit the reefs off the coasts of the two islands (one fairly large,
one tiny) we planned to anchor between. Tracy volunteered to island
watch with me on the bow while Don called out the depth readings to us and
kept an eye on the radar. We felt more confident after we identified
the big shadowy lump of Thion Island to our left and the miniscule shadowy
lump of the unnamed island to our right, but we still inched along at no more
than two knots. We counted five anchor lights shining
from boats at the far end of the anchorage and decided to keep our distance
in the dark - the anchor went down well away from them. A sigh
of relief went all around and we congratulated ourselves on a successful
instrument landing (in the absence of an accurate chart). If my memory
serves, that was only the third time we've anchored in the dark in over two
years of sailing. In the morning we were happy to see that we
were anchored just about where we thought we were. (It's always a good feeling
to actually be where you think you are, isn't it?) And there were indeed
five other boats in the anchorage, quite a distance from us. One of them,
Miami, is a Swiss boat that we hadn't seen since we met them a year ago in
New Caledonia. The boating world is very, very small. We've
calculated that at any given time, there are only about 250-300 sailboats
circumnavigating the world. It's no wonder we keep running into the same
boats and people we've met before.
Port Orly was as marvelous as we remembered from
being there the week before. We stayed three nights, giving Tracy and
Billy two full days to hang around the turquoise water and white sand beach
before we sailed back to Oyster Island and taxied them to Luggenville to catch a
flight to Port Vila. Our original plan was to sail with Billy and Tracy
all the way south to Port Vila, but that would have entailed at least two
overnight sails to windward and no one was really excited about the
prospect. In comparison, the one hour flight to Port Vila was
definitely the more humane way to go.
Picture 1 - While Tracy slept off her drug
addiction in the cabin below, Billy managed some shut-eye on deck.
Note the blue sky and flat water. Can't beat it. Speaking of
weather, aside from some rain when Billy and Tracy first arrived, every day they
were with us was perfect. Not too hot, not too cold, lots of sun and
just the right amount of wind. Since arriving in Vanuatu,
we've experienced no weather adventures. Zero. No complaints
from us.
Picture 2 - While Tracy worked out on the beach
like the ambitious, perfectly toned human that she is, Billy and I opted for
snorkeling. This is a relaxed, non-hyperventilating version of
Billy. No bloody coral-scraped knees and no leaking mask
in perfectly clear water with lots of fish and coral to look at.
We had heard that there was a reef shark sighting in the area, but we didn't see
one. If we had, this might have been a picture of the
hyperventilating version of Billy.
Picture 3 - A particularly nice looking crop of
cabbage coral.
Anne
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