Tall ship Pacific crossing - part two

One of the most enjoyable locations is on the widow’s net at the bow. It’s just a few feet above the waves and, bar the sound of the water, very quiet. Here’s Bob from California and then my own self-portrait and ship's bow.

Here's what it's like having climbed the ratlines up the foremast. And this is only part of the way up. You can see one of the ship's officers looking up.

Two weeks between ship sightings and no contrails above. No news or email for virtually the entire voyage. Lots of reading, good conversation and looking at the sea. Much entertainment as a result of my cabin porthole. I took a number of pictures, but this gives an idea of a wave washing it.

I have occasionally wondered what might happen if someone was hurt or ill at sea. About a week out from Panama, one person broke her arm, but the doctor took care of it. That said, on her return home, it had to be re-broken and operated on for three hours.

A much more serious case was a crewman who went into severe diabetic shock and was comatose for three days. There were no other ships with appropriate medical facilities for hundreds of kilometres, so Star Flyer had to divert to an outlying French Polynesian atoll with a small airstrip. On a foul Christmas Eve afternoon, the still unconscious patient was transferred to a Zodiac and ferried into Fakarava. An air ambulance took him to Papeete on Tahiti. As of today, he is still in hospital, conscious, but with a shunt in his head, and unlikely ever to return to the sea. However, he is fortunate we were not in mid-Pacific. I confess that, as all this happened, my reporting instincts kicked in and there are a couple of pictures that I won’t show. Paula Westbrook from California and I took these shots.

The evacuation successfully completed, Christmas was celebrated in European style the evening of December 24. We had very good dinner, Santa Claus, present giving and carol singing. Midway through the meal, the captain got up to announce that the sick crewman was safely in Papeete’s main hospital.

At 0500 on Christmas morning, I got up early, as usual when at sea, to see the sunrise. Wandering out of my cabin, I was confronted by water pouring in from part of the deck on which new teak was being laid. Water was starting to splatter on a fine oil painting of Star Clipper, Star Flyer’s sister. I grabbed the painting and stuck it in the closest dry space, my cabin. Then, soaking wet, one of the crew and I stopped the leak as squalls (fortunately warm) swept across the deck. For a few hours, the painting shared space with my underwear. I thought about keeping it as a Christmas present for myself, but didn’t have space in my luggage!

Christmas Day, 2007: noon position - 16 degrees 58' 0” S and 148 degrees 22’ 5” W. The temperature was 28 degrees Celsius and depth 3,900 metres.

The next picture shows our first sight of the main island of Tahiti – other than the unhappy glimpse of Fakarava – first land after three weeks. Perhaps I am overly romantic, but the photo seems to express the sailor’s age-old hopes for the shore after a long voyage.

A few hours later, we arrived at Cook’s Bay, Moorea.

Far better writers have described the bay and, certainly, no tourist brochure can do it justice. As Star Flyer threaded the narrow channel through the reef, we lined the railings burning up digital camera cards.

The bay is surrounded by mountains resembling something from a fantasy novel. There are valleys and cliffs, ridges and passes, and a peak with a hole near the summit, which, as might be expected, is the source of a legend. Green rain forest plunges to the white of the surf and blue of the sea. Had the voyage been a disaster (and it was, for me, a great success), the arrival in such a place would have still made it all worthwhile.

The next day, we made the local papers and, eventually, even the President of French Polynesia (it only has a population of 250,000) came aboard to welcome us.

As we spent a week cruising through the islands, it was the traditional greetings, rather than politicians, that provided photo opportunities. Because it was Star Flyer’s first time in French Polynesia, we were welcomed at every island – on the water, on land and on the ship.

At each ceremony, leis, coconut water and fruit were offered. On Huahine, the performers' shy smiles, dancing, singing and band reflected a tiny island community. The welcome was on the grass and gravel verge of the village's main street. Locals paused to watch, youngsters tried to copy the older dancers and dogs wandered in and out of the crowd. It was (I think) reasonably authentic and certainly enjoyable.

New Year’s Eve was off Huahine. Just before midnight, champagne was served and on deck we counted down the seconds to midnight. Star Flyer's horn sounded a long blast for 2008. More toasts while sky and water were lit by fireworks from celebrations on the island. We partied on into the night.

Last picture. Anyone else would look delighted; I manage to look apprehensive!

A rare chance for an ocean crossing on a working sailing ship. After so many weeks continuously at sea, I rolled for three days – more than ever after other long voyages. Tahiti was never on my list for a trip; I only went for the voyage. Although Papeete was hot, sticky and noisy, French Polynesia is beautiful and the locals friendly. Many of the outlying islands see few visitors. But the place is expensive and the government is concerned about static or dropping tourist numbers.

A good way to spend Christmas and New Year!

Tall ship Pacific crossing - part one

It wasn't quite what I expected. I had thought Star Flyer's arrival in Tahiti would be in fair weather with tropical fragrances wafting from idyllic shores. Perhaps a welcome offering of coconut water, a lei of Tiare flowers and a lovely dancer or two. Instead, squalls were sweeping across the rolling decks and the first mate was shouting orders as deckhands struggled with uncooperative sails. With a seriously ill crewman, we were making a Christmas Eve mercy dash to a remote atoll with a basic airstrip. Fakarava is said to be beautiful, but, if so, its attractions were impossible to discern through rain and mist.

Some background: for five weeks in December and January, I was aboard the tall ship Star Flyer for her first voyage across the Pacific and passage through the Society Islands. There were only thirty-eight passengers, including two friends, as she crossed the 4493.9 nautical miles from Panama to Tahiti. Below is the ship.

Two years ago, I sailed Star Flyer’s sister across the Atlantic from Cannes to St. Martin, a four-week trip with a number of port calls in the Mediterranean, as well as Madeira and the Canaries. But this latest voyage was to be much different. We would be more than three weeks continuously at sea, only a few days shy of my 2001 container ship trip from New Zealand’s South Island to Lisbon, by way of Cape Horn.

Here’s a shot from behind the wheel.

We saw plenty of flying fish, some porpoises and whales. Our main bird sightings were between Panama and north of the Galapagos Islands – Brown Boobies, Wilson’s Storm Petrels and Wave Albatrosses. Near Tahiti, I saw some Red-Billed Tropic Birds. On the fifth day out from Panama, one of the crew caught the first fish. There was some dispute as it what it was – either Spanish Mackerel or a Kingfish. Anyway, it headed straight to the galley.

Speaking of the galley, food was superb. In fact, it was so good and in such quantity that, with little opportunity of exercise, my friends and I were happy to disembark for three nights on Tahiti and have some light meals.

Star Flyer had spent three weeks in a Panama dry dock, but a combination of manãna and heavy rain meant that much of the work was incomplete. So, we were able to closely follow something exceedingly rare in this day and age, the laying of a tall ship’s teak deck. It is highly skilled (and messy) work. As a souvenir, I have a piece of teak ("Number one wood from India," said one of the crew), which will serve as a paperweight.

In addition, much of the old varnish was stripped and replaced, and the ship largely repainted. A lot of work was also done on sails and rigging. Below is Victor, one of the riggers, up in the sky and on the sewing machine. Under full sail, Star Flyer carries 36,000 square feet of Dacron. If I remember correctly, that’s about half a million dollars of sails.

Here’s my cabin. Very comfortable with a little nook, panelling, sailing prints, lots of storage space and private bathroom. I loved the lights on gimbals.

Between crew and passengers, there were twenty-four different nationalities. I was the only Canadian. Many of the passengers had been - or were - keen sailors. One lady from California had sailed around the world on a small yacht in the 1970s.

First picture shows my friends, Don and Jode from Michigan, at sunset and the next is of Allan from Seattle. He’s getting ready to toss a message in a bottle into the Humboldt Current. By the way, some of the cast-off teak has found its way to Seattle where Allan’s making a hull model of the Flyer.

There was always lots to do. A number of lectures were given on subjects ranging from Nelson’s Victory to Pitcairn (the Bounty island) in the South Pacific. Many of the passengers learned knot tying. Below are Robert from Oklahoma and Bob from California varnishing a new pull for the ship’s bell.

The captain, a delightful Pole who’d sailed tall ships under Cape Horn, gave navigation and sextant instruction.

Most of the passengers and crew had crossed the Equator before, but this was the first time Star Flyer had. Glasses of champagne and orange juice were distributed; at 12:02 PM on a lovely tropical day, the ship's horn sounded and the captain announced, "Welcome to the Southern Hemisphere!" Cheers and toasts all around.

Below, I pretend I'm at the Equator, although it was actually ten or fifteen minutes previously.

Won’t bore you with umpteen sunrise and sunset shots, but will include a lovely rainbow seen just under the fore course.