The trade winds set up brisk seas, 4-7 feet tall curling waves that break into a mess of foam. Sometimes the larger curls slap the side of the boat sending water everywhere. In the cockpit it varies from a light spray to a bucketful in your lap. On deck the water rushes the length of the boat washing away the Marquesan black sand.

Reflection on that land of volcanic black sand around rattle in my head as we head southwest. Islands whose ecology and history are formed by how hard it is get there. Floating or flying long distances are the only way to get there. Unlike the Galapagos where South American rivers spew giant vegetation rafts into currents that flow the right way, the Marquesas are a long way from a continent. It will be three more months before we reach Australia. The islands are home only 10 endemic bird species and no endemic mammals. Polynesians brought the chickens pig dogs and rats. The Europeans brought the horses, cats and goats. These are the creatures the live in the green valleys. As the animals mix so have the cultures. The Polynesian sharpening stoned and poi poi pounded rocks built into the walls in the Catholic Cathedral in a town where the church still holds the best land. The priest and the Virgin Mary looking up with exaggerated rolled eyes that look more Mauri than Roman. The young woman balancing the civil and religious marriage ceremonies and whether the traditional dances are only “entertainment.” The power that revolves around the limited resources, water in dry years. Those deep poi pits were built to tide communities over and now the water is just turned off when the rain does not fall. An isolated community of 10,000 on islands that once supported 100,000 people. Stores full of the global food supply system: peanuts and bagels from the US, Maple syrup from Canada, cream, duck and cheese from France, orange colored snack foods from Malaysia, rice from Vietnam and chicken wings from South America. Local fish caught in the rich convergent currents off the islands and goat meat shot by camouflaged hunters routinely served at restaurants. So different than the tourist focused Galapagos and the islands we are heading towards.

The island ahead are low and difficult to see from a distance as the ocean and the atmosphere has returned these volcanos to the sea. No source for black sand. All that remains are circular reef, atolls and white beaches. We had not intended to stop here we have little guidance. An energetic email from a friend at Columbia written as she was recovering from covid and dreaming of these islands provides sharp two-line description of her favorite islands. We have insights from two friends currently in the northwest passage. We also have some notes from other sailors. We are intrigued by the blue lagoon, dolphins, cliffs and stone weirs but cannot do everything. My friend who sailed here after college in the 1970's had a very democratic approach for the crew deciding where to go. The young woman from the Norr boat was surprised that we just decided to go to Rangaroa as we sat at the table with her. The fast sailing has let us make impromptu decisions. We will sail for the biggest atoll with white sand.

On Fatu Hiva the last tribe war ended with the losers being exiled to the Tuamotus, the land of white sand. A frigate bird circled the boat this evening. A sign of land approaching. We are 128 miles from the closest island. Halfway cake served today was made from the last butter from Jamaica, flour and chocolate from Nyack and bananas from Moi's garden in Nuka Hiva. If we keep on moving so quickly the leftover hallway cake might serve as an arrival cake to the islands with white sand.