An Expanding Skill Set

I've always considered myself a fairly technical person. I know how to program a VCR, change the spool on a weedwhacker, and tune up my bicycle. However, I never considered myself a mechanic of any sort. I went to Jiffy Lube for my oil changes and Walmart to swap batteries.

Living on a boat requires a certain broader know-how. Our starter seized up in Vanuatu and fixing it required a day spent with various mechanics and machinists. Luckily, we had easy access to knowledgeable resources (and a vehicle). Special thanks to our friends at Trans Atlantic Diesels in Virginia who guided us through the repair process via e-mail.

While coming into Galle, we ran into another problem. As we approached the narrow entrance to the harbor, with 20 feet separating us from a wall of jagged rocks, our transmission failed. We used momentum, wind, and quick thinking to successfully moor off the proper dock (as well as giving the Navy officers onboard a frightening shock).

This repair is proving to be more complicated than our starter repair. We've determined that the splines on the female portion of our drive/damper plate have been stripped. Fixing it is requiring a much broader skill set, including:

1) Mechanic (of course guided once more by our good friends at Trans Atlantic Diesels).

2) Contortionist - the space around our engine is very small, and we wouldn't be able to work on the engine if we hadn't lost weight on our last crossing.

3) Translator - many people here speak English. Some do not, specifically a mechanic we've employed to help us. So far I think we've been able to communicate the fact that we live on a sailboat.

4) Negotiator - there are many locals seeking to provide services to the few yachts in the harbor. The unfortunate assumption made by all is that since we're Americans, we're millionaires. I wish it were the case, but it is in fact not true. We spend a lot of time telling people 'No, we don't want to go buy gems at the jewelry store.'

5) Writer - every step of the repair process has resulted in a flurry of e-mails to Trans Atlantic Diesels. We appreciate all their help, even going out of their way to help us on Christmas Day.

If any of you at home have wise bits of wisdom on how to work around our current snafu, send them along to crew@eyeotw.org. All will be appreciated!

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Demand Driven Environmental Preservation

Traveling through the Straits of Malacca from Malaysia to Thailand, there is a gradual, yet distinctive change in water clarity and the number of tourists. From Pangkor to Phuket, the water has changed from muddy brown with shades of grey, to shimmering emerald blue with thirty foot visibility. Similarly, we've witnessed the change from struggling tourist resorts to bustling and booming islands full of bungalows and European travelers. It would be easy to assume that water clarity and tourism were positively correlated, if not causal.

In many recreational demand studies in the US, this relationship has been shown to hold. Researchers use a tool called a 'secchi disk.' This is a simple flat disk on a string with alternating black and white quadrants - water clarity is quantified by the depth at which the disk is no longer visible. Low and behold, with all else held constant, clearer lakes get more visitors.

In a part of the world where incomes are low and tourists are a valuable source of revenue, it is empowering to see the positive impact that tourism can have on the environment. In touristy areas there is markedly less trash floating in the water, new construction projects utilize stormwater retention ponds, and open greenspace is set aside for recreation or animal habitat. There are fewer fishing boats as well, possibly due to higher incomes available in the tourist industry, thus lowering fishing effort and increasing the stock of fish (re-read our 'Econ Week' post on the Gordon Fisheries model).

Tourism's positive impact on the environment has been visible in many places on our journey:

- Snorkeling in the South Pacific has led to extensive reef preservation programs.

- Scuba diving with sharks in Fiji has made these ecologically important animals more valuable in the water than as sharkfin soup.

- Orangutan tours in Borneo have led to massive tracts of land being set aside as wildlife preserves, in turn protecting many other types of fauna and flora.

Tourism, and eco-tourism in particular, need to be embraced as effective tools for environmental preservation in the third world. However, they are only an effective 'first step.' Any biologist will tell you that water clarity can be a misleading metric for ecosystem health, and tourist-driven environmental preservation will naturally place a higher value for 'charismatic mega-fauna' such as sharks, orangutans, and crocodiles, ignoring the feebler bugs and mosses of the world.

However, in eastern Indonesia, where magnificent volcanic landscapes and beautiful beaches were marred by a layer of garbage, a couple sunburned tourists wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.

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People Make the Place

Back in Indonesia, we noticed a slight knocking sound coming from the rudder whenerver we rolled in swell. After diving on it, we found out that a rudder bracket had worn itself loose and required a haulout and new bushing. This wasn't an urgent problem, but it was something we would need to fix before our next bluewater crossing. I began looking at haulout options and considered facilities in Bali, Java, Singapore, Malaysia, and Thailand.

This wasn't complicated work, but we would need a machine shop nearby (and price was an obvious factor). The yards in Bali and Java didn't have sufficient facilities, yards in Singapore and Thailand were far too expensive, and some of the Malaysian yards had disreputable operators. I did hear about a new marina near Pangkor called 'Marina Island.' They had the ability to haul us out of the water, but were new so I was uncertain of their capabilities.

Our experience there, however, was more than positive. James, the marina manager (pictured on the right, above), went out of his way at every possibly moment to make sure that everything was going smoothly. On his trips in and out of town, he routinely purchased little gifts for all the sailors at the marina (either local fruit or local pastries such as the ethnic Chinese 'Grandfather's Bread' pictured above). Not only was James always reachable by phone, his staff would stop by several times a day and check to see if there was anything we needed.

The account manager, Loi, took us into town several times to swing by an ATM, and since leaving, he's twittered us many tips on places to go and see in Penang. One of the property managers, Ali, was exceptionally friendly and went out of his way to help sailors, even though his job was unrelated to the operations of the marina.

There was a local British ex-pat retiree named Roger who kept a boat at the marina. He was a loquacious, friendly, and genuine person who made it his job to chat with all the sailors that came in and out of the marina. He gave us rides to town, filled us in on the 'down-low' of the area, and entertained us with his quips.

James set me up with the manager of a local machine shop (they call them 'foundries' in Malaysia) who did a very professional job on our rudder bushing, and even custom fit a new propeller for us for an excellent price. In the end, the work we had done on the boat could have conceivably been done at anywhere, but James, Loi, Ali, and all the staff at Marina Island were what made our visit there such a positive experience.

We were ready to untie our lines and leave once all our work was done, but we elected to stay another two days and spend Thanksgiving with our new friends. On the surface, it was just another marina, but at it's core, it was the people there that made it so much more.

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Impressions One Year Out

I spoke with my father on the phone the other day. We chatted about life and shared stories. He asked what I've been most surprised by during my journeys, and after thinking about it, this is what I came up with:

1) People Are Friendly.
- No matter where we've been, we've found extraordinarily interesting, courteous, and helpful people. Recently, for example, we met Chandrshakarkrishna (CK) who was working on Danga Bay's wifi network. The next morning, he came by with his wife and son, took us to breakfast, and dropped us off at the terminal to Singapore. It's much harder to find a dishonest person than it is to make a new friend.

2) Pictures Make The World Look Exotic.
- Before leaving on this trip, I pictured the remote and exotic scenery I would encounter. Maybe it's because the transition between countries and cultures is gradual, but looking around, nothing seems out of place to me. Looking through old photos the other day, even recent shots taken in Indonesia look more exotic than I remember them.

3) Bureaucracy Restricts Humanity.
- Many business management books talk about following your 'moral compass' when making decisions. Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote that "Nothing can bring you peace but the triumph of principles." It is without a doubt that society requires rules to function, but in so many parts of the world, rules are ill-founded and do more harm than good. India has stifling visa requirements and as a result, we have re-routed our journey. Although India's immigration restrictions are designed to prevent terrorism, they only serve to make it more costly and difficult to visit. Policy and rules need to be enabling; they must allow people to rely on their moral compass and principles to make good decisions.


But the one thing I am continually learning above all, is that the world is an interesting place.

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Avoiding the Embrace of Mediocrity

There are certain types of books that I'm drawn to more than others. While I tend to give romance novels a pass, I do enjoy reading non-fiction books on current events, history, or people. I find that I also have a particular interest in stories about professional cycling and its riders. I recently picked up a book which covers the 2005 Tour de France entitled "Chasing Lance" by Martin Dugard. At the bottom of page 123, I found this quote:

"You rolled yourselves into a ball in your genteel security, in routine, raising a modest rampart against the winds and tides and stars. Nobody grasped you by the shoulders while there was still time. Now the clay of which you were shaped has dried and hardened, and naught will you ever awaken the sleeping musician, the poet, the astronomer that possibly inhabited you in the beginning."

- Antoine de Saint-Exupery

The author uses the quote to describe why he thinks society admires people that have achieved greatness (like Lance Armstrong). Every human being has the potential to be great, but sometimes people find comfort in accepting simple mediocrity. However, by doing so, an individual's potential is limited, and unfortunately it is often self-limiting.

Professional cyclists like Lance Armstrong push themselves to extraordinary limits, both physically and mentally. When they achieve greatness, the effort exerted to do so is clearly visible. Perhaps by watching someone else push their limits, we are inspired to do likewise and break through Saint-Exupery's clay mold of mediocrity.

I've never met Lance Armstrong, but I've been lucky enough to meet a number of other inspirational people recently. From world travelers, to a young Malayasian man that started his own business, to cruisers raising families on sailboats, there are many people out here that have achieved greatness in their own way. What common trait have they all shared? They're bold; and although mediocrity may have been easily attainable, they were all driven to accomplish more.

Saint-Exupery's quote is a bit negative, and his allusion to hardened clay doesn't necessarily inspire hope. But don't forget, clay breaks easily - especially on a boat at sea.

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Traveling the World by Land

Two days ago, I got an e-mail from my mom telling me that a good friend from Poland is in Kuala Lumpur. I sent him an e-mail suggesting that we meet up, and received the following response:

"Hi Adam,

Sounds good! Actually I am in Malacca now, on my way to Singapore and probably Indonesia later. I'll go to Johor Bahru tomorrow morning and will give you a call. Where can I find you?

-Witek"

I gave Witek info on how to find the boat, and sure enough, the next afternoon he was standing on the dock.

Witek has been traveling for the past two months. Like me, he recently finished grad school and set aside some personal time to go see the world. Two months ago, however, he embarked on a very different journey.

Witek left Poland on a flight to Finland, traveled to St. Petersburg, Russia, took a train across Siberia, crossed Mongolia, traveled south through China, hopped on a plane from Shanghai to Kuala Lumpur, and now he's in Singapore planning his next move (most likely on a plane to Indonesia). He has one more month of travel planned, and he's trying to decide how to fit Borneo, Thailand, Cambodia, and Laos into his itinerary.

We sat and swapped stories from our respective journeys, and I think we both felt a little jealous of the other.
He carries nothing but a school-size backpack, travels by train and bus, and stays at hostels and cheap hotels. He said the only difficulty he encounters is finding good internet cafes; transportation has been very good and there are always hostels close to train and bus terminals.

Although the EYE of the World crew is seeing the world by sea, Witek is a prime example of another great way to travel.


Classroom Exercise:
Take a world map and trace out Witek's route. How does it compare to the EYE of the World route?



PS: We sent the above photo to both of our mothers.

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Creature Tourism

Want to go see orangutans in the wild? You won't have to sail around the world to do it (although you will have to travel halfway around the world). We've met many tourists from all over that have taken a grand trek to interact with the great apes of Southeast Asia. Here's how:

1) Get Here. Get to Kumai, Borneo. We sailed here, but there is an airport in a nearby town with regular flights to Jakarta (which has regular flights to anywhere else in the world).

2) Hire a Guide. Once in Kumai, arrange a boat tour with one of many operators. We've heard that some contract with travel agents abroad, so that it's possible to pre-book, but certainly not necessary (we booked a whole day speedboat trip at 4:00 PM the prior day). The guides are important. Aside from introducing you to the wild orangutans, they also have a much more important job: orangutan wrestler. Sometimes orangutans get aggressive, and without cages or barriers, there's little stopping one from attacking you. We witnessed several guides get physically involved when orangutans got grabby. Thankfully our guide explained how to prevent an orangutan from having interest in you (don't carry any food, bags, or have anything in your pockets). If an orangutan did grab you, submit (just as we did with Siswi as she reached out to hold our hands).

3) Decide What to See. There are many options for visiting the Tanjung Puting Reserve. We took a one day speed boat trip which included 1.5 hour trip to one camp to see a 9:00 AM feeding, then another 20 minute ride up to Camp Leakey. We were provided lunch and snacks, two boats and drivers, and an English speaking Guide. Another option is to take a slow river boat and spend from 2-6 days in the jungle. Each day you would visit camps, hike, and interact with orangutans. Each night you sleep onboard the houseboat, as a full crew cooks you meals and takes care of you.

4) Hang Out! It was wild (literally) to be within swinging distance of an orangutan. Each has a distinctly unique character, and watching them interact with humans and each other is something you can never get in a zoo.

If you're young and are more than just passively interested in orangutans, think about studying them professionally as a scientist. With hard work and good grades, there are ways to get your schooling and research paid for!

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Crossing Notes: Bali to Borneo

Before every crossing, we ritualistically clean, pack, wait for a weather window, settle into our watch schedule, and sail. Our most recent crossing was no different. We delayed our departure by a day to wait for favorable conditions (a healthy 5 day window with high pressure and 5-10 kt winds out of the southeast) and left before sunrise on Sunday morning.

Unfortunately, soon after we lost sight of the island of Bali, we found ourselves on 'Lake Indonesia.' Our forecasted winds were nowhere to be found. Hundreds of miles from land in all directions, and there wasn't a wave, swell, or even ripple to be seen. The Java Sea was a sheet of glass, and we crossed almost all of it with our engine running.

One afternoon, we took a swim break. We stopped the engine, came to a stop, and jumped in (with someone on the boat at all times). It was very refreshing.

After another day of no wind, we decided to swim again. As Alan, Halley, Amanda, and I jumped in the water, Matt stayed on the boat. He went down below, but little did the rest of the crew know that he went to use the head (our toilet).

We have a pump that flushes the head holding tank into the water outside the boat (called the macerator). Hearing it turn on while in the water next to the boat is rather unpleasant.

As those in the water were all screaming 'Matt no!!' someone noticed two sea snakes swimming nearby, which made the mad dash for the ladder even madder. On top of that, the first person out saw a shark while there were still people in the water.

The shark turned out to be a remora and although sea snakes are poisonous, their mouths are tiny and they're just curious, so it was ok. Matt now knows not to macerate when people are swimming, and he was quick to point out that he did, in fact, save our lives.

With less than 100 miles to go in a crossing, we usually get antsy and excited to step on shore the next day. On this crossing, with 100 miles to go, little did we know that we wouldn't touch dry land for another three days.

Our windless 'Lake Indonesia' suddenly turned into the land of lightning squalls. Each afternoon, we would watch the tops of puffy cumulus clouds soar upwards and form the definitive anvil tops of cumulo-nimbus clouds. The bottoms of these clouds became dark, bands of rain developed, wind began to blow, and by nightfall, the lightning would begin. Sometimes the tops of the clouds would glow bright orange; other times impressive bolts would streak down to the water.

But all of them were silent; without any thunder.

We carefully watched each cloud and successfully (yet anxiously) plotted courses of avoidance. The lightning would continue until 1:00 AM, and then pick up again at 4:00 AM until sunrise.

On our final afternoon, the wind filled in with coming squalls, but being within 40 miles of our anchorage, we pressed on and thankfully were able to navigate the river at night and set our anchor at a reasonable hour.

We are all relieved to be in Kumai. However, our most recent crossing is a bold reminder of the old saying: "Calm seas do not make a skilled sailor."

In a few days we'll have to leave again. There's a weather window a week away that should be free of lightning squalls; however, another old saying comes to mind: "A ship in port is safe, but that's not what ships are for."

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Quit Monkeying Around!

On our trip to the Monkey Forest in Ubud, a Monkey stole my water bottle.

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An Estimate of the Ojek Driver Wage Rate in Maumere

Like many of our other 'Basket of Goods' fans, I'm always curious about how much things cost around the world. Indonesia has so far been the cheapest country in our travels. Fruit, taxis, and haircuts are all very inexpensive. It's easy to observe these prices, but it is a little tougher to infer wages in an informal market. This is my back-of-the-envelope calculation of the wage rate for a motorbike taxi driver. The information was collected from direct observation, transactions, and discussions with local Indonesians. A number of assumptions are made based on observations and best educated guesses.

Background:

The primary method for getting around Maumere is either by overcrowded mini-bus called a 'Bemoh,' or on the back of motorbike taxi called an 'Ojek.' Anyone with a motorbike can be an Ojek driver (there isn't any specific designation), and all bikes travel at the same relative speed (frighteningly fast).

Revenue:

We routinely traveled the 25 minute ride between downtown Maumere and the Sao Resort where our boat was anchored for 10,000 IDR. Some rides were longer (about 40 minutes to the museum, or 60 minutes to our friend Nofi's home), yet we paid the same rate of 10,000 IDR for each of those rides. Throughout Indonesia, we have often paid higher prices than the locals (on account of being obvious tourists). Our 'Tourist markup' has ranged from 33 to 200%. 10,000 IDR for a 25 minute ride is thus an upper-bound.

On one morning ride into town, I counted empty ojeks out of a 10 bike sample every two minutes. I considered those carrying people, rice, baked goods, water bottles, or other cargo as 'occupied.' On this particular ride, I found an average of 4.2 Ojeks out of ten to be 'available.' Given this assumption of 42% of the driver's time spent looking for rides, a driver could fit approximately 11 rides into an 8 hour workday. Since many ojeks do not roam, but rather park and wait in central locations (such as the market), there are likely more empty bikes in the town at any one time than roaming the streets. Thus this estimate is similarly an upper-bound.

Using this information, the upper-bound estimate of a driver's expected daily revenue is 110,000 IDR.

Costs:

The following information was collected from discussions with staff at the Sao Resort, a taxi driver, and two different ojek drivers. The bikes used as ojek's are simple 50cc gasoline powered motorbikes. A bike might last 10 years and a new Honda or Yamaha costs around 50,000,000 IDR. A driver might put four liters of gasoline in the bike to cover a full day's worth of driving, and the maintenance costs of a bike are low (I am assuming 15% of the bike's value over its lifetime).

Using a ten-year time horizon with no salvage value, a 15% lifetime maintenance cost, and a 5% discount rate, the present value daily cost of owning a motorbike is 20,401 IDR. The cost of a day's worth of driving (four liters of gasoline at 4,500 IDR/liter) is 18,000 IDR.

It is unclear whether these costs represent a lower or upper bound. A different discount rate (due to fewer alternative investment options, uncertainty in the stability of the rupiah, or a high probability of accidents), lower maintenance costs, a higher salvage value, or alternative and cheaper brands of new bikes can skew this estimate in either direction. However, all of the assumptions made are based upon the best information available at the time.

The expected daily cost of operating an ojek is thus 38,401 IDR.

Results:

Using the above estimates for the revenue and cost over an 8 hour workday, an ojek driver's expected daily take-home income is 71,599 IDR. This equates to 8,950 IDR per hour. Using 8,817 IDR as the 1 USD equivalent, the expected value estimate for the hourly wage of an ojek driver is 1.02 USD per hour.

In comparison with the other informal low-skill jobs visible in Maumere (fisherman, market vendor, restaurant operator, bemoh driver), ojek drivers seemed to be on average wealthier and better dressed. Most had cellular phones and fashionable helmets. Becoming an ojek driver requires a significant up-front investment. Shop-owners, taxi drivers, bank employees, and government officials, in turn were clearly wealthier than ojek drivers. Within the context of the full labor marker, the ojek driver wage rate appears to be higher than most informal low-skill jobs, however certainly lower than the formal skilled labor market.

Please keep in mind that this is a back-of-the-envelope calculation in its truest form (I even did some of the math on the back of an envelope).

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The Lakes of Kelimutu

Indonesia is a chain of volcanic islands. Since arriving in the archipelago, we've sailed amongst giant volcanoes; some with visible steaming lava flows, others with plumes of smoke and steam rising from their peaks.

Although we missed the active volcanoes of Vanuatu, we were able to squeeze in a trip in Indonesia to a different, yet very impressive mountain.

Kelimutu is a tall, dormant volcano on the island of Flores with three craters at the top. Each crater has a lake in it, and although the lakes are very close to each other, they vary drastically in color. When we visited, one lake was dark blue, the other a bright teal, and the third was black. Over time, these lakes slowly and unpredictably change color.

The traditional belief on Flores was that when you died, your soul traveled to Kelimutu where a gatekeeper determined which lake you would enter. It is thus a very sacred and special place.

We hired a car and driver to take us up to Kelimutu for 750,000 rupiah, leaving at 3:30 AM in order to see the sunrise at the top. When we arrived, the mountain was shrouded in clouds, and remained so for the first two hours or so. We hiked to the rim of each lake, but could only see a thick white abyss below us. We also found a sign labeled 'feeding ground' but saw no animals to feed.

As we began to walk back, we stopped once more at the first crater, and slowly the clouds parted, giving us spectacular views of the three lakes (each of which was much larger and further down than we had anticipated).

And to top off a delightful morning, as we passed the feeding ground, we were pleasantly surprised to see a brand new creature for EYE of the World.

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Please Don't Burn the Koran

Before embarking on this journey, I was a current-events fiend. While working in my office, I would periodically check my favorite news sites to keep tabs on the latest news of the world.

Here on the boat, I don't have that luxury. I often won't get around to downloading my Google News feed until we're on our second or third day near shore. I therefore very much enjoy when friends and family send news updates via e-mail.

As we approached the island of Kisar, we checked our e-mails, and were disappointed to find out that someone in Florida was organizing a burning of the Islamic holy book, the Koran (spellings vary).

I don't know much more about the situation, but to whomever is organizing the event: Please don't do that.

Besides the insensitivity involved in any book burning (much less a holy book important to a large proportion of the world's population), it doesn't accomplish anything positive. Plus, it makes our lives out here more complicated.

As part of the EYE of the World crew, we serve as the eyes and ears of participating students in the US. However, we also serve as international ambassadors for our students (and oftentimes the United States as a whole). I'm very proud to be an American Citizen, but unfortunately, out here, we're sometimes wary about openly declaring ourselves as so.

Indonesians living on a remote island may have never met Americans before, but they do hear stories about book burnings in Florida. You and I both know that Americans are fun, honest, outgoing, good-hearted people, but you might not know that if you haven't met one personally.

I am happy to tell you that Bahamian, Turks and Caican, Dominican, Jamaican, Colombian, Panamanian, Equadorian, Marquesan, Tahitian, Samoan, Tongan, Fijian, Vanuatan, Australian, and Indonesian people are warm-hearted and good-natured. I can speak kindly of almost everyone we've met on our travels, and I hope that after their encounter with the EYE of the World crew, they feel positively about Americans too.

But for those of you back at home, please be aware of your actions and their implications. Things that happen in the US make the news world-wide. Things like a Koran book-burning don't reflect kindly upon Americans, and unfortunately, EYE of the World can't visit everyone in the world ... and show them that Americans are good people too.

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Half a World Apart ...

... yet so very much the same.

During our time here in Darwin, we found ourselves the willing guests, and unwilling source of amusement of the Dinah Beach Cruising Yacht Association. Although this club doesn't have much for an anchorage off its shores, it does boast a great floating dinghy dock, careening posts, a do-it-yourself work shed, great views, showers, and a fantastic group of yachties.

Our stay was very reminiscent of our time at Crown Pointe Marina, Coconut Grove Sailing Club, and Luperon Harbor. In each of our prior 'homes,' we met great people and had an excellent venue for us to work on the boat/explore.

For anyone following in our footsteps, stop by Dinah Beach and say hello - you won't regret it.

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Memoirs of a Careening Poling

So, as you may have read on the main page, we used a careening pole the other day to clean the bottom of the boat. It was great, as we normally have to snorkel to scrub, and the preponderance of man-eating salt-water crocodiles in Australia and Indonesia means that our bottom was to become quite the biological preserve.
Here's a lesson learned from my first careening experience:

Drive up only as far as you need to.

We tied to the careening pole on a high spring tide. Each successive high tide was lower. That evening, high tide was 8 inches lower than the morning's, and the next morning's was a further 4 inches lower.

Although being high and dry was great for scrubbing the bottom, that evening, despite our finest efforts, we did not get off the pole as planned. Further, we knew that if we didn't get off in the morning, we'd be stuck in front of the Dinah Beach Cruising Yacht Association for two more weeks.

That night we did everything to make the boat lighter; we dumped our water tanks, moved our fuel and water cans onto dry land, and lowered our anchor and 200 feet of chain into our dinghy. We hoped this loss of weight would help us float a little easier and slide off the careening post.
With high tide approaching, we ran our longest Panama Canal line from the stern to the wall, cranked it tight, and watched the water rise. At high tide, we began pushing, shoving, and rocking the boat to try and get her off and floating.

We were not successful.

Another idea had been discussed the night before, but not seriously considered ... until now. We could push the boat onto its starboard side and at the same time run a halyard from the top of the mast to the other bank, hopefully reducing pressure on the keel and allowing us to slide off. With the clock ticking, we decided to go for it.

We squared our backs against the careening pole and with all our might, leg-pressed the boat past vertical and rode it down until it was floating on its starboard side. Alan hopped in the dinghy, rushed to the far bank, and put all his weight on the main halyard.

This didn't quite work, but it did create quite a scene, thus leading to a fellow yachtie named Peter to join the fun. He drove his truck over to Alan and tied the halyard to the bumper.
With Alan and Peter at the truck and Amanda and I putting extra tension on the stern line, we slowly bobbed and slipped back into deeper water!

We ended up putting on quite a show for the members of the Yacht Club, I just wish we had set up the time lapse camera that morning.

So, if you're ever going to go onto a careening post, only go up as far as you need to.

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The Official End of All Physical Activity

The other day, Alan asked me "Whatever happened to 'The Cruiser's Running Guide?"

Before moving onto the boat, I fancied myself a bit of a runner. Not a very fast one, but I did enjoy running on a regular basis. I tried to keep that up on the boat. Be it Fort Lauderdale, Miami, the Bahamas, the DR, or Panama, I would scope out a decent route, put a couple miles in, and write a personal journal post about my run.

Then came the Pacific Ocean.

An interesting thing happens when you stop using muscles - your body decides you don't need them. Doctors and astronauts refer to this as 'atrophy.' During our crossing to the Marquesas, I probably walked no further than 80 feet in a day (at least one promenade to the bow and back). Upon arrival on Fatu Hiva, my running muscles were gone. We pulled an eight hour hike the next day, but certainly not without significant aches and pains. Walking a mile had become my new marathon.

In terms of physical activity, I did have one saving grace: rowing. We didn't have an outboard for our dinghy, so for almost every trip to shore, I got an upper body workout. It wasn't much, but it was something.

However, Nhulunbuy marks a new milestone in our journey. The yacht club here contains one of the finest boat graveyards we've seen. Not much in terms of large boats, but if you need a dinghy, this is the place to wash ashore. In the corner of the workshop, we found several 3.3 hp outboard engines. Jacques, an old man who seems to pass the time sleeping on an old minivan bench-seat, told us that if we could get any of them running, they were ours.

I don't know much about outboards, but I have a friend named Will Phillippe from my old college sailing team that does. Back in college, I observed Will bring many outboards back to life, and if I learned anything, it's that engines don't work unless the cover's off. Sure enough, with the cover removed, some broken looking parts replaced, and a few liters of fresh petrol, the engine mostly ran!

If this means anything, it's that my last bastion of physical activity has come to an end.

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Farewell to the Pacific Ocean

As we left the locks of Miraflores in Panama last March, we were set afloat in the Pacific Ocean. Five months and over 8,600 nautical miles later, we have rounded Cape York on Australia and have officially left its waters.

Sailing across the largest ocean in the world certainly sounds like a daunting endeavor - and at the right latitudes and wrong time of year, I'm sure it certainly is - however a tradewind ride across the tropics is actually rather pleasant. The winds stay at your back, and all the conditions predicted by our cruising guide came true: a fast shot to the Marquesas; squalls in the Tongan Trench; and blustery winter trades in the Coral Sea. Our route is commonly known as the 'Coconut Milk Run,' and is one of the easiest paths across any ocean.

A progressive visit through the islands of the South Pacific gave an insightful glimpse into the history of human migration. Polynesians settled the islands west to east, and each island culture developed in relative isolation with rather recent, common roots. Tracing this path backwards allowed us to notice trends and commonalities across language, food, and music.

Contrasts between European exploration and colonization attempts are also evident. French Polynesia, American Samoa, Samoa (formerly German), and Fiji (British Commonwealth) all have different political atmospheres nowadays - each owing itself to the residual impact of colonialism.

World War II left its mark on the South Pacific as well. Although much of the fighting occurred north of our route, Japanese and Allied forces jostled for many of the South Pacific Islands, each seen as a toehold for advancing towards the other's territory. We visited batteries built to guard the port entrances on Bora Bora and American Samoa, and we saw an impressive array of historical military equipment on Vanuatu.

At the far end of the ocean, we landed on our first continental landmass since Central America: Australia. Our hop north through the beautiful Great Barrier Reef and Australia's deserted north Queensland coast has been like a farewell party at an office job: enjoyable, fun, pleasant, yet bittersweet. We're saying goodbye to most of the other cruising sailboats (many of our friends will remain in the Pacific for several more seasons), the familiar routine of crossings broken up by island anchorages will cease (in favor of more land-based exploration), and the view from the window will change (for better or for worse). However, in the end, we're leaving the Pacific Ocean for the same reasons one leaves an established job - to chase new opportunities, to seek new adventures, and to explore new environments.

Southeast Asia, here we come.

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The Great Reef Comparison

We've traveled a long way, and seen many different reefs during our voyage. All pose a hazard to sailors, but many serve as quite the snorkeling attraction. Here's what I think of some of the reefs I've had a chance to snorkel on so far:

Bahamas - The reefs here seem to form themselves into tight coral heads. Each bunch grows up from the sandy bottom like a flower. The best snorkeling (in terms of quantity of fish and other sea life) was found inside the Warderick Wells National Park, where a fishing and harvesting ban is strictly enforced.

San Blas - The best snorkeling was found around an old shipwreck in shallow water. A wide variety of fish and coral had made their home on the old steel boat. The size of coral growth was smaller than in the Bahamas, however it was much more colorful.

Tuamotus - The perfectly calm water inside the atoll provided some exceptional sight-seeing. One coral ledge we snorkeled had some very colorful giant clams (about 4" wide), however the colors of the rest of the coral seemed muted. Some coral heads here grew from the bottom like giant chimneys, making navigation particularly exciting.

Moorea - The fringing reef we anchored inside had some interesting formations (as well as a few black-tip sharks!), but the diversity of coral was rather limited. It was, however, my first sighting of a wild clown fish (ala Nemo).

Great Barrier Reef - As Captain Ron proclaimed: "Huge! Ran the whole coast." The reef is indeed huge (although not necessarily continuous), and everything on it is similarly large. We saw giant clams (large enough to fit a small child inside), massive sea fans, parrot fish the size of watermelons, and an impressive variety of colors and coral species. At our last mooring, we tossed some moldy bread overboard and within seconds, a flurry of colorful fish were fighting over the scraps (including two fish the size and shape of a trashcan lid and one ugly, brown fish the size of a German Shepard - sorry, I still need to do some research to figure out the species).

Coral reefs throughout the world have certainly been beautiful, exciting, and marvelous. In my opinion, they're a resource certainly worth protecting - even just for their sightseeing value.

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A Visit From The 'Rents!

Here in Australia, I've enjoyed a pleasant visit from my parents! They are both well-versed travelers in their own right, and although I'm sure they'll tell you their primary purpose of their trip was to visit me, they're squeezing a bit more into their time here.

After four days in Cairns (including a trip to the Cairns Zoo, Great Barrier Reef, and Daintree Rainforest) they're flying to Sydney, spending a day there, then flying to New Zealand's South Island (where my dad hopes to squeeze a ski run or two in), then back to Sydney for four more days to visit a friend, then back to the US.

I almost think they're trying to out-do me :)

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Next Week on 'Dirty Jobs'

Dear Mike Rowe,

On your tv show 'Dirty Jobs,' you pay visits to regular people who have dirty jobs that make civilized life possible. In the past, you've visited sewer inspectors, meat packers, and shrimp fisherman. At the end of each show, you also ask viewers to write in and suggest other dirty jobs for you to try out.

In response, I am hereby suggesting you take a trip and visit a live-aboard cruiser. Although it may be the opposite of a 'job,' there are many opportunities to get good and soiled. Here's a short list of some of the dirty tasks we had to tackle over the last few days:

1) Not showering: Before Vanuatu, my last hot shower had been a week before in Savusavu, Fiji. Before that, three months before in Panama City, Panama.

2) Changing oil on a diesel: A messy job involving limited access, a weak oil drain pump, and a poorly placed oil filter. Changing the oil gives your hands and arms a distinctly grizzly flavor.

3) Offshore watches on a beam reach: Just as multiple coats of varnish build up a glimmering coat on top of wood, constant ocean spray evaporating off your skin and clothes leaves a massive coating of salt. Soft shirts become stiff, hair becomes coiffed, and everything else looks like it's been hit by a light dusting of snow.

4) Removing and replacing the starter on the engine: The starter itself is not messy, however the limited access in the engine compartment brings you back into contact with much of the aforementioned oil.

5) Rebuilding the head. Our 44 year old toilet finally got the best of us on the last crossing. Flushing (which was already a very physically and emotionally demanding process) ceased despite all efforts, thus requiring a full rebuild of the toilet. We had a rebuild kit, and the six hour process ended in success, but I have now vowed to never again own a toilet that requires screwdrivers, wrenches, and a hammer to maintain.

So as you can see, life on a boat can get (and stay) very dirty. I know it's merely a chosen lifestyle (and thus warrants no complaints), but if you have the time, feel free to stop on by.

We've got a bilge that needs scrubbing.

Sincerely,
-Adam

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Loss is nothing else but change, and change is Nature's delight

I hate losing things, unfortunately once in awhile, it happens: something I cherish gets forgotten, left behind, or misplaced. Luck would have it that most of the things I misplace, I actually used quite often. Oftentimes, I know exactly where I left them - but I usually don't realize that these items are gone until it is far too late.

Here's a running tally of things I've lost so far on this trip:

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- W&M Sailing Team Hoodie - black; embroidered with 'Doman' on the sleeve. Left at Karaoke night at the marina in Luperon, DR the night before our departure.

- Right flip flop - brown Sanuk, size 11. Fell off a bridge on Fatu Hiva and washed out to sea. I'm rather partial to the type and quality of my open-toed footwear, so thankfully, I had another identical pair on board.

- Wide-brimmed straw hat. The straw hat I'm often wearing in photos was left at the Yacht Club in Bora Bora. I'm actively searching for a replacement of equivalent prose while sporting my running cap more frequently.

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At the least, I hope these magnificent artifacts get picked up and appreciated for all their worth. I would in no way be offended to cross paths with someone wearing my hoodie, straw hat, and right flip flop further down the road. In fact, I would be honored.

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My Take on the BP Gulf Oil Spill

In 1998, my family and I took a trip to Alaska. We toured many spectacular places including Anchorage, Seward, Denali NP, and Valdez.

Valdez is the home of the southern terminus of the Trans-Alaska Pipeline, America's northernmost ice-free port, and the namesake of America's second-most devastating oil spill. The supertanker Exxon Valdez (named after the town) ran aground on its way out of Prince William Sound, spilling a massive amount of oil into the sea. There was a devastating environmental impact with iconic images of birds and sea-otters covered in oil (much like Conan O'Brien's "chocolate pelicans" seen on the news today).

As devastating as the oil spill was, Exxon paid the cost of the cleanup, lost fishing revenues, and environmental damage (the calculation of the latter is one of the milestones of Environmental Economics). Exxon damaged a public good, and should most certainly bear the cost of the damage. These costs were ultimately borne by the consumers of oil, but that's exactly how it should be.

The news of the BP gulf oil spill was first reported to us in a sat phone call with Mr. Poole's sixth grade class during our crossing from Galapagos to Marquesas. Since then, we caught little tidbits of the news, but didn't really comprehend the extent of the damage until we watched CNN in Pago Pago.

Water quality obviously hits close to home for me. I live on the ocean, and human impact is very evident - offshore, we can almost measure our distance to land by looking at how blue the water is. In the middle of the ocean, the water is unbelievably clear. It's amazing to jump in, look down, and see your shadow disappear into the depths. A clean ocean is a valuable thing.

I've never sailed in the Gulf of Mexico, but my brother has. He spent time in Galveston, Texas, and he's told stories of his many adventures and regattas. One story he's told is about a place called 'The Graveyard.' This is a part of the Gulf with many old oil rigs and well-heads, some only sticking a few feet above the water and posing a danger to shipping and sailboats. Before the BP spill, this was the one of the greatest negative impacts of offshore drilling.

One of the strongest points taught in Environmental Economics is that there is an optimal and acceptable level of pollution. This can be calculated using many of the econometric tools available to economists and policy makers (take a read through my dissertation at www.lib.ncsu.edu if you want to learn more). It is possible that skeleton rigs and well-heads are an acceptable byproduct of offshore drilling. A massive oil slick is another story.

I'm not familiar with environmental economic research that has looked at the impact of oil spills besides the Exxon Valdez papers (life on a boat keeps me out of touch from current events and new academic research), but I think it would be hard to show that the current oil slick in the Gulf of Mexico could be optimal.

The news we watched in Pago Pago showed BP getting a lot of flak (as they should for damaging a public good), but I'm also confidant in America's legal system and the academic economic community's ability to nail down a dollar value for the social cost of the BP oil spill.

Just as in the Exxon Valdez disaster, BP will end up spending a lot of money on clean-up, damages, and settlements. As a result of these and new drilling regulations, we should expect the cost of gas at the pump to go up.

We may flinch at higher gas prices, but watching the events occurring in the Gulf should help us to understand the total costs of drilling and transporting oil. The risk of environmental damage is extraordinary, and higher prices at the pump will reflect the cost of doing business.

And if higher gas prices pose a problem - you as a consumer have an easy alternative for reducing your expenditure on gasoline:

drive less.

The rest of the ocean will thank you.

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Back On US Soil

Everyplace I have ever been has been very similar. People are polite, helpful, and courteous. Strangers on the street smile and answer your questions. People eat three meals a day, relax in the evenings, and spend time with their families. Kids play sports in the afternoon, go to school during the day, and find every opportunity for mischief.

Aside from the language, the only way to tell that you're in another country is by the 'little things.' People own different cars, live in different types of houses, wear their hair differently, and root for different sports teams. The roads and sidewalks have a different feel to them, police officers wear different uniforms, and road signs use different fonts and colors.

American Samoa is indeed home to an indigenous culture. There is no tourism industry to speak of, and people here walk around town going about their daily lives. However, the little American things around us certainly make us feel like we're at home.

A trip to the post office is like any at home, road signs are cut from the same cloth, and police officers even walk the same way. Although we're still in a different world, American Samoa is home to a certain, vibrant familiarity. If only the sun weren't so hot.

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A Trip to the 'Canons!'

One thing I've been disappointed with on the Society Islands is the quality of the tourist maps.  When you pull up to an island, you see large mountains, waterfalls, and hiking opportunities.  A visit to the tourism office gives you a cartoony map of spas, restaurants, and boat tours.  Other points of interest are indeed labeled, but not necessarily in their right location, nor with instructions on how to access them.

 

Our Bora Bora map had an asterisk next to the road, halfway between our mooring and the main town.  Next to this * was the word 'Canons.'  We learned that during World War II, after the Japanese had abandoned Bora Bora, the Americans seized the island and built a series of canons to protect it.  The largest two were situated on a bluff overlooking the pass.

 

Besides being marked on the map, there was no obvious way to access them.  We attempted to follow one road up the hill, but that ended prematurely.  We eventually decided to ask a local family. 

 

We stopped into the yard of a home and asked the mother of the house for directions to the canons.  She promptly dispatched five elementary school-aged kids, and one older teenager to take us there.  The kids darted up the hill behind the house, and we in-turn, followed.  They all took their shoes off at the bottom, and we (thinking that this was obviously the proper procedure for finding the canons) did the same.

 

Our journey took us straight up a hillside, onto the crest of the hill, and through the woods until we saw them - two massive WWII era cannons.  These were never fired in combat, and the Americans abandoned them at the end of the war, but it was a very cool site to see.  The hillside provided excellent views of the island, pass, and town as well.

 

It was fun climbing up the hill with the kids.  We answered their many questions about the United States, and they answered our questions about Bora Bora.  The next day, the family invited us back to the home to feed us lunch - another example of the overwhelming Polynesian hospitality that we keep running into.

 

If our tourist map was any better, we wouldn't have had such a great time.

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Road Trip!

Being based from a boat, the little bit of land we see is usually limited to exploration by foot or public transit. With the desire to truly see all of Tahiti, we rented a car.

After several days of searching, we found and rented the cheapest and smallest car we could find. A Renault Twingo. About the size of a golf cart, Will at one point remarked that he felt like we were in a go-cart.

Leaving the city and rounding the island counter-clockwise, we stopped at any point that our cartoon-like map of the island suggested. We saw a number of cool things:

- A botanical garden with a waterfall. The first of many waterfalls on our drive, this one ended up being the least impressive. It also had several Tarzan vines that were unable to support my weight.

- The 'Grotto', a set of freshwater caverns at the base of the mountainside. Inside, natural spring water literally rained from the ceiling and the swim was incredibly refreshing. Gauguin claimed that the cavern was so large that he swam for an hour before touching the far wall. He must have been a slow swimmer, because it only took Will about five minutes.

- The Paul Gauguin Museum. So far my second Gauguin museum of the trip (the first being at his final home in Hiva Oa). This Tahitian museum had less paintings than the first (albeit they were all reproductions), but did a better job of telling the story of the man who quit his job as a Parisian stockbroker at the age of 35 and decided to become a painter.

- Teahupoo - the world famous surf spot and site of Laird Hamilton's famous big-wave ride shown at the end of the movie 'Riding Giants.' We met several Americans that had come down and had spent several months living there, just to surf. You can see the famous outer-reef curl from the beach. We spent time body surfing at the shore break with the local kids.

- The 'Trois Cascades' - a massive waterfall that begins as two falls at the top of a mountain, hits a ledge, and then continues to the bottom as one. This is the largest and most impressive waterfall I have ever seen, and the valley surrounding it is reminiscent of the opening scene in Jurassic Park. All the rocks are covered in thick moss and the air is thick with a cool mist.

- 'Venus Point' - we made it to this spit of land just after sunset. This point was made famous as the site where Lieutenant James Cook chose to observe the transit of Venus during his first Pacific voyage. Much of the land we are visiting was named by Cook (The Society Islands were supposedly named after the 'Royal Society of London' that funded his first voyage).

It was a good and productive day. It felt great to see things from a new perspective, but I must say it felt a bit odd being behind the wheel of something that was moving faster than 8 kts.

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Big City Life

We spent several days in Papeete, the largest city and administrative center of French Polynesia. We tied up to the yacht quay right downtown. Within walking distance, we had:

- The downtown market where vendors sell everything from island art, fresh fish, and ready-made food.

- Papeete's Cathedral.

- The ferry and commercial docks.

- Plenty of boat-related shopping including an ACE Hardware (which even sold American flags) and a 'NautiSport' (the local version of West Marine).

- The main square, home of the 'Roulettes' - vans that sold food. Similar to a hot-dog cart, except these were home to French chefs serving up gourmet meals.

- The Robert Wan Pearl Museum - showcase of pearl production and jewelry for sale. Here we saw cases with expensive 14,500,000 PF pearl necklaces.

- A Wal-Mart sized Carre-Four grocery store.

　

Despite all this, the city is anything but large. Almost everything was within walking distance and there are really only one or two main roads in town (and on the island).

However, if you talk to our friend Robert in Takaroa, he'll tell you that Papeete is like Hong Kong to him. In truth, the city is anything but a bustling metropolis, but if you consider the dramatic contrast between Takaroa and Tahiti, it's easy to see why he considers it so.

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The Real Pearl of the Tuamotus

In the town of Vaitahu on the Marquesian island of Tahuata, we met a very friendly shop owner named Jose. He told us a very impressive story about the black pearls of the Tuamotus.

On these tiny islands live pearl farmers who produce impressive black pearls in such great quantities that you can acquire them for next to nothing. What they don't have a lot of on the islands, is wine.

Jose told us that a one-liter box of wine (which he sold for 750 PF) could fetch 5 or 6 pearls. He instructed us only to look for perfectly round pearls ... the bigger the better. If we were lucky, perhaps we'd be able to trade for an R-20 (a perfectly round pearl 20 mm in diameter). Such a pearl would sell for perhaps 1,500 PF in the Tuamotus, but a jeweler in Tahiti would buy it for 2,000,000 PF!

We had heard similar stories before. In fact, many other cruisers stock up on wine and rum in Panama specifically for the purposes of acquiring black pearls.

We were suspicious. If it was possible to make that much money shipping pearls between the Tuamotus and Tahiti, why did Jose run a shop on Tahuatu? Why didn't he just buy a boat and start ferrying pearls himself? In fact, many of the Tuamotun atolls have airports - why didn't anybody just fly back and forth with loads of pearls?

Also, were the pearl farmers that oblivious to what they had? If one of them pulled an R-20 out of an oyster, why didn't he buy a plane ticket to Tahiti, sell the pearl and fly back (with enough money left over to buy a car?).

Nevertheless, we didn't want to miss a good opportunity, so we bought four boxes of wine from Jose and stowed them onboard.

About a week later we arrived at Takaroa and entered the pass just after sunrise during slack high tide. We anchoring, dinghied to shore, and began our ritual hunt for ice cream - but this time I had two boxes of wine in my backpack in case we crossed paths with some pearls.

We had no luck on the ice cream - there was no electricity in town and the person in charge of fixing it had a hangover from the night before. We were told he gets drunk every weekend (nevermind the fact that it was Tuesday). However, we did get directions to a house that sells pearls. We stopped in and were shown an unimpressive batch of oblong and discolored pearls that weren't legal for export. These pearls were priced for 1,000-1,500 PF each (certainly not the cheap R-20 we were looking for).

We soon realized our earlier instincts had been correct - round pearls are rare. When found, they're shipped right out of the country to the highest bidder. Also, the population of Takaroa is 90% Mormon and since they don't drink alcohol, our wine certainly wasn't going to do us any good.

We figured we wouldn't be leaving the Tuamotus with any pearls, so we decided to do some exploring instead. Five kilometers up the road, we were told, was a 200 ft steel shipwreck on the beach. We decided to check it out.

We began hiking up the road and the first car that passed stopped to give us a ride. Inside were four people in their twenties. Ruo, Jeanlou, (both males), Vehia, and Hinanui (both girls) are from Tahiti, but spend some of their time living at Vehia's family's house on Takaroa.

What followed was an adventure that we won't soon forget. After taking us to the shipwreck, they invited us to their home on the opposite shore. We moved the WTP in front of their home, but didn't spend any time on it during the next three days.

We slept in an empty house next door to theirs, ate every meal with them, and enjoyed their terrific company. They took us lobster hunting at midnight (no luck) and spear fishing during the day (lots of luck). We showered twice daily in fresh rainwater from a cistern. Every meal was a delicious feast on a porch over the water. We played with their dog, cat, two puppies, and one kitten, met their intriguing neighbor Robert (whom we feasted with on our last night - and even had ice cream for dessert); got a tour of the village, met a family of artisans who weave palm fronds, and learned a lot about Pumotuan culture, history, and language.

We left on the fourth morning for Tahiti. Before departing, Jeanlou gave us all necklaces that Vehia had made the night before. Mine is black with a single dark pearl in the middle. The pearl is about 8 mm in diameter and shaped like a football. It has two ridges, some divots, and a few scratches. It's the kind of pearl that isn't worth much in a jewelry store.

However, this pearl represents all the kindness and hospitality that Ruo, Jeanlou, Vehia, and Hinanui showed us during our short stay.

This black pearl that I'm leaving the Tuamotus with isn't an R-20. I can't trade it for a car, and it isn't going to make me rich. However, because of my visit to Takaroa, it's worth all the more.

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The Value of Time

I'm the kind of person that views much of the world in terms of investments and returns. I would consider myself a goal-oriented hard worker, and I enjoy being productive. I also value my time very highly.

To be completely honest, there are parts of our twenty day crossing that were difficult for me. There were times that I felt stagnant, unproductive, and full of useless energy. Twenty days was quite a price to pay.

However, the crossing was more than anything, an investment... with an uncertain return. Twenty days of anybody's time is worth quite a lot - and it is this cost that keeps many people from sailing across the Pacific. I wondered what our payoff would be. I had heard stories about the Marquesas ... but would it all be worth it? How many islands would I have to visit, how many sights would I have to see, how many days-weeks-months would it take... for it all to be worth it?

On May 1st, 2010, one minute after our anchor was set... it was all worth it. The payoff was immediate. We arrived at sunset. It was soon too dark to appreciate it clearly, but you could see that we were anchored in a tiny cove surrounded by towering cliffs. I could barely sleep that night.

The next morning I awoke before sunrise. I sat alone on the deck in total awe of the sight before me. Rocks shot out of the ocean, palm trees, grass, and forest barely clinging to their slopes.

And the smell.

Just as we had travelled over 3,000 nm, so does every bit of air and moisture in the Marquesas. Foreign particles fall out many miles earlier, and all that is left is the same unadulterated, moist wind that carried us from San Cristobal. This air suddenly crashes into a mountain half a mile high and gives birth to one of the purest rain forests in the works.

We were anchored on the lee side of the island, so we experienced the brunt of the most magnificent, lush, and pure forest air I have ever breathed.

Still in my pajamas, I caught a ride to shore with a French man on his way to fill up water.

Maybe it was only the foreign sensation of land, but stepping ashore at Fatu Hiva made the prior twenty days absolutely, and unequivocally... worth it.

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Counting Down the Miles

I'm no stranger to tests of endurance. I actually rather enjoy them. With marathons, an Ironman, and a terminal graduate degree under my belt, I've often tested my mettle over time. Given that I'm not an exceptionally swift runner, I feel my relatively slow marathon and triathlon times grant me greater experience on the endurance front.

So what is a 3,000 nm crossing like? Well, in our case it wasn't very demanding at any one moment. A beam/broad reach in 10-15 kts of wind across 5-7 ft seas is something any sailor can enjoy (especially with Beauregard, our self-steering windvane in control). Put that on top of a swift westward current and you regularly notch off 180 nm days that make you feel rather accomplished (regardless of the fact that you might have adjusted the sheets or wheel only three or four times all day).

So what is a 3,000 nm crossing like? In my mind, it's most similar to another endurance event I've participated in: The Krispy Kreme Challenge.

Let me explain...

I really only eat about 12 donuts a year, and for the past four years, that quota has been ceremoniously met at a running event held in downtown Raleigh, North Carolina. The goal is to run 2.5 miles from NC State's campus to a Krispy Kreme downtown, eat a dozen donuts, and then run the 2.5 miles back - all in under an hour. Over 5,000 runners participated in this last year.

The hardest part isn't the running, nor is it the 12th and final donut. The toughest part is donut number nine. The run out to the Krispy Kreme is mostly downhill, and the collective excitement makes the miles pass quickly. After receiving your box of donuts and settling into your personal space in the Krispy Kreme parking lot, the adrenaline in your body makes the first five donuts disappear remarkably quickly. You start to feel full as you force down numbers six and seven. By donut number eight, your body has figured out what you're doing and begins its protest in earnest.

Donut nine is by far the worst. At this point you've remembered that you don't even like donuts. You're wondering what prompted you to sign up for this very boorish display of Americana at its best. You've also probably heard the sounds of someone regurgitating their batch of donuts as other competitors scurry to an unsoiled corner of the parking lot. Worst of all is how wholey unappetizing the remaining three untouched donuts look.

But you press on, and you notice a dramatic change with donut number ten. With only two donuts left, the end is in sight and the task at hand is no longer as daunting. 'You can eat two donuts' you tell yourself. 'After all, you've just eaten ten' (the massive influx of sugar obviously clouding your logic). Donuts 11 and 12 disappear as quickly as the first five, and soon enough you're on the road again with an X on your race number signifying your recent accomplishment. The run back is tempered, but easier than you had expected, and you soon cross the finish line, oddly proud of your accomplishment (with all the earlier thoughts of despair now forgotten).

That's what sailing a beam/broad reach across 3,000 nm is like. Just like eating a single donut, a single day spent sailing in the tropics is a true delight - putting many of those delights end to end is what makes it a more difficult prospect.

And just like counting down donuts, so we counted down the miles. The first few days went by quickly. Days eight and nine dragged on a bit. By this point I had read all the books I had that were worth reading and began shuffling through trashy beach novels picked up at past book swaps. My ipod playlist was similarily well worn. We were out of fresh fruit. Worst of all, I had run out of dry underwear, and constantly sitting on wet cushions created a discomfort that I will not discuss in detail.

But once we had 1,300 miles left, the majority of the days were behind us and the end was now in sight. Will had baked a 'halfway cake,' we had gained significant ground against all the other boats on our radio net, and I soon began the mental math to figure out whose watch would make landfall.

In the end, the crossing was rather pleasant and featured many high points, including:

- All other boats on the radio getting out name right (no more 'Tippycat' or 'William The Cat').

- The Papaya on day three.

- Reading 'One Watch At A Time' By Skip Novak.

- Watermelon Day on day five.

- Halfway cake.

- Working through Will's collection of movies, specifically:

a) South Pacific - a recent BBC documentary series about its namesake. Shot in high definition, often in high-speed, this series got us excited about what is to come. For those of you following along at home, I would strongly suggest watching it. It presents the world we're sailing through in impressive detail. Apparently Oprah narrates the US version.

b) Breaking Away - a terrific movie featuring collegiate cycling in the 70's, it stars one of the bad guys from 'Home Alone' alongside a very young Dennis Quaid.

c) Out Cold - This irreverent and comedic snowboarding remake of Casablanca is directed by the Malloys and features Zach Galifianakis. What's not to like about that?

But most of all:

- Holding weekly sat-phone calls with several of our classrooms in Virginia! It was really fun to check in with you guys!

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The Cockpit Sessions: Volume One

With a little bit of spare time during our last crossing, we decided to record a couple of the songs that we play. We've chopped them up into four segments. Below is Volume One.

We call these, The Cockpit Sessions.

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Galapagean Scuba Trip

Yesterday, Alan and I went on a dive trip to Kicker Rock - a volcanic mass jutting out of the sea bottom several miles north of Wreck Bay. I had completed my open water scuba certification during my undergraduate days, but had never found myself with the opportunities to do any real diving. I suppose there's plenty of exquisite diving in the Bahamas, but for some reason, finding a shop and signing up for a trip never entered my mind.

What makes diving in the Galapagos different is the sharks. The deep water, sheer drop offs, and proximity to major ocean currents brings some incredible ocean species.

Back in Miami, we made friends with a diving enthusiast at the Coconut Grove Sailing Club. Robert 'Commanding Officer' Bondy told stories of his many trips to the Galapagos Islands to dive with sharks. The concept sounded like a reckless adrenaline rush at the time.

However, here on the island, diving to see sharks is one of the big things to do. It's not pitched as a thrill-seeking adventure, but rather as another opportunity to see exotic creatures. In truth, that's exactly what it was and it was certainly worth the trip.

We were picked up from our boat in the anchorage and taken out to Kicker Rock in the morning. Along the way we cut near shore and got to see some of the frigate birds performing their mating rituals (the males inflate a giant red pouch under their necks). We did a check dive next to a sea lion nesting colony and once at Kicker Rock we did two dives, both to about 80 feet. The first was a drift dive through a channel in the rock. The second was a wall dive around the northern tip.

EYE of the World doesn't have an underwater camera so we don't have any photos, but here's a list of the animals we saw:

Galapagos Sharks (~3 ft long)
Black Tip Sharks (~5 ft long)
White Tip Shark (~6 ft long)
Hammerhead Shark (~11 ft long)
Eagle Ray
Octopus
Moray Eel
Sea Lions

Not to mention the countless fish.

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Passage Notes ... or ... Too Many Mangoes, Not Enough Time

The area in which we spent most of our time in the panamanian pacific coast was part of the old, US administered, canal zone. Managed by the US Military, the Panama Canal was primarily a strategic asset for the United States. In the 1970's, the US signed two treaties that began the transfer of the canal, its operations, and its assets to Panama. That transfer was officially completed in 1999.

Most of the canal zone infrastructure remains today as it was in the 1970's. Uncharacteristic (for Panama) suburban neighborhoods, tree-lined boulevards, and administrative buildings carry a distinctly American flavor.

I went for a run (a new Cruiser's Running Guide post is forthcoming) through some of these empty neighborhoods. Duplexes and driveways on meandering streets felt no different than my neighborhood back home. However, instead of oak trees lining the roads, these streets were shrouded by grand mango trees.

Ripe yellow mangos lay strewn across the ground, while great bunches of green mangos hung within arms reach. I picked three green mangos for an experiment. This was three days before our departure.

Within two days, the green mangos had begun to soften and turn yellow. Cutting them open revealed that they were ripe and delicious.

The night before our departure, the three of us hopped aboard our folding bike and scooters and took a trip up to the mango trees. Jumping, standing on each other's shoulders, and hopping on garbage barrels, we collected over 125 mangos.

By the time we sailed our first 200 miles, the mangos began to ripen. We ate them raw (5 at a time), tried to make mango juice (not very effective), and even enjoyed them baked with onions and peppers over our fish steaks.

The fish is another story, but what really made this passage different from all the rest for me, was that we had an endless supply of mangos and fish - neither of which cost us a penny!

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