The Rose--Jumping For Joy
18 September 2013 | Ilot Brosse, New Caledonia
Patricia Gans
Dear Family and Friends,
Going with the wind rather than on schedule-- That is the lesson of the day and though it is not always the case, this lesson practiced today yielded the most enjoyable rewards. Although we had only been a day at our paradise of solitude, we realized mid morning that the wind was blowing us home and the weather predictions did not show that happening again for a good long while. So we stashed and stowed everything away again and off we went back to the Isle of Pines. And what a glorious idea that was because the whole day we rode the wind leaning back and enjoying her pushing us along briskly. It seemed no matter which way we wended and wound our way through the coral heads and breaking waves the wind followed us laughing and because she followed us we were able to fly our big beautiful blue and green colored sail all day long! The way that sail pulls way out in front is like a dream and the swell followed us too as though everyone-wind, waves, boat and people-were playing a game of follow the leader and the sail leading us all the way.
We threaded our way along making 5-6 knots at first with a sea so calm barely a white cap could be found. The tide was low exposing the myriad of reefs dashed by waves breaking so that mist hung suspended over patches everywhere. In the midst of this the sun dripped gold onto each cresting wave and drenched the white sand beaches of the tiny islands with light. We drank our fill of the beauty, intoxicated all day long by the birds and the horizon and the light and the sky and doing a few easy chores to the gentle surging of The Rose being pulled by the big sail. The wind slowly increased almost imperceptibly over a still gentle following sea until we found ourselves dancing along at over 7 knots merry and smooth as could be.
We rode that daydream all the way back to the Isle of Pines a full 6 hours of perfection and approached the anchorage which was neatly stacked with ten boats anchored side by side like eggs in a carton. What a contrast. We glided silently right into the anchorage still led by the green and blue of our colored sail with the crimson sun low behind us. Soaking in the last minutes of all that glorious color which seemed to wrap the finish of the day in watercolor painted tissue, we sailed on until we were almost upon the first line of boats at anchor. Smoothly we sheathed the sail, swung around into the wind, dropped our anchor and settled back on it in perfect order and placement ready for a relaxing evening. (This isn't always the way with wind and sea and boats so one must thoroughly yet humbly enjoy these things when they all come together in time and space.)
The next morning John was up early ready to go to Ilot Brosse a nearby island which was exposed to last night's wind but this morning made a protected nook for us to continue our hermitage. As John brought in the anchor chain from the bow, he spied over his shoulder a tuna jumping over the boat between him and the mast. I am not kidding you. We have a witness on the boat next door. The big tuna jumped all the way over our boat right across just forward of the middle! We sailed away shaking our heads in amused disbelief. Once anchored in the beautiful turquoise cove we were so well protected that the boat seemed at dock and we were completely on our own again. We enjoyed a coffee together in the cockpit lazily soaking up the warm early morning sunshine. As I looked out across the sea, a giant Manta Ray leapt forth from the water and splashed back disappearing into the deep. My jaw dropped and I sat momentarily stunned. I have seen smaller rays leaping into the air. In Baja we used to call them "flipping parties" when the small rays would seem to have acrobatic contests to see who could flip highest and the most revolutions or make the loudest "thwack" on re-entry. But I have never seen a Giant Manta jump out of the water before.
Shaking the cobwebs of incredulity from our motivation, we gathered our snorkel gear and headed out in the dinghy to explore. First was a walk around the island which is mostly surrounded by pristine white sand beaches dotted with sun bleached, branching white driftwood trees half buried in the sand. The smoothness of the sand at low tide was interrupted only by intermittent snake trails like flattened DNA double helices crisscrossed by the tiny foot prints -or perhaps I should say "toe prints"--of many hermit crabs. Some way along the sand gave way to big slabs of flat coral, worn and cracked convenient to the formation of tide pools brimming with tiny fish, shrimp and snails. I walked along the edge of one such pool gazing into a series of several small shallow basins separated by coral slab dividers. A fish, fearful of my passing, panicked and darted away at such a speed that on arriving at the wall dividing his pool from the next he propelled himself right into the air over the wall and into the next pool like a skipping stone. This is a very jumpy kind of day!
But not John and I. We are not in the mood to jump anywhere right now. We are just settling into a lovely day in a beautiful bay close to civilization but still on our own with room to breathe�... Not a cloud in the sky and the moon approaching full. And yes, there is a feeding frenzy going on in the bay as the sun sets with big fish feeding from below and birds picking from above and all the little fish in the middle jumping and jumping this way and that out of the water to get away. Perfect ending for the day.
All is well. --Pat and John S/V The Rose at Ilot Brosse, New Caledonia, 17 Sept 2013, 22 deg 42.082 S, 167 deg 27.771 E