Challenged America volunteer sails to Tahiti, French Polynesia. Challenged America volunteer Marshall Lubin takes a break to sail to French Polynesia, a six week journey taking him from San Diego to Tahiti.

Voyaging thousands of nautical miles on a Beneteau 50, Marshall visits the Marquesas and the Tuamotu Archipelagos and the Society Islands.  The names alone bring out dream images of turquoise water, lush islands and magical lagoons with names like Tahiti, Moorea, Rangiroa, Bora Bora.

Part 3 The Marquesas

As the paucity of wind continued, our last day on the ocean was powered by Tutto Bene’s motor bringing us to Nuku Hiva on the morning of May 29^th.  We were now members of the Pacific Puddle Jumpers, an informal group of sailors that had departed the west coast of the Americas to travel nearly three thousand miles to the Marquesas.

We entered the island’s main bay and anchored the boat.  Needing to clear customs at the gendarmes, Bronte went ashore with our passports and associated paperwork so that we could properly enter French Polynesia.

Unfortunately, the tide was low and as he approached the grey concrete quay where dinghies tied up, the dinghy’s bow slid under a metal ladder.  A wave rolled in raising the level of all the boats and the next thing Bronte heard was air escaping from the dinghy where the ladder had punctured the forward inflated tube.  As the air escaped, sea water rushed into the dinghies interior soaking Bronte’s feet and entering him into the Village Idiots Club of Nuku Hiva.

We were now without shore transportation. We tried to not let that bother us.  However, I have to admit to fuming when I heard what happened.  We were now restricted to this less than idyllic bay and couldn’t leave until the dinghy repair was completed.   We hitched rides with others motoring in to the quay or out to their boats.  Higgo and I got as far away from the boat as possible; to cool off, get away from the ‘dim duo’, and to experience some joy of our recent landfall.

On the opposite side of the bay, we found a popular locals swimming beach.  We spent the next few days there only returning to Tutto Bene in the evenings.  We gave Bronte and company as wide a berth as possible while waiting for a change in crew.  Bronte had mentioned that he planned on putting our passenger ashore as soon as we arrived, however, a colorful, clinging dress and curves seemed to have him under their spell.  He had changed his mind!

At our newly discovered swim beach, snorkeling in the semi-clear water illuminated   beautiful bell shaped coral surrounded by small tropical fish.  With water falls flowing into the bay from the surrounding mountains, and rain falling almost daily, silt was constantly added to the bay water making the underwater view less than optimum.

Spotting a small home/restaurant adjacent to the swim area, we decided to stop for a meal.  To our dismay, as Higgo and I consumed a modest lunch, we were presented with a bill for 3800 French Pacific Franc’s, approximately $45.  It turns out a 12 oz. can of Ginger Ale cost $4 and we had consumed four of them for a charge of, yes, $16 plus the food.  We got the point, French Polynesia isn’t cheap.

Back on the boat it was time for some serious discussion.  First Higgo, then I, had a down to earth talk with Bronte.  The friction on the boat was palpable.  This was no way to cruise through paradise.  I told Bronte I was ready to leave tomorrow and would not continue on the boat as things were presently.  He responded, “I want the four of us to go on together.”  I thought he had suffered a brain aneurysm.  We had a dynamic that was working with the three of us.  The passenger was not a part of the functioning group; she was more of an observer, an unexpected, unappreciated, and unacceptable one.

I brought up the point that he had said, on two separate occasions, that he would put the observer off the boat when we reached land.  He responded that, “I have changed my mind.”  It was his boat so his rules were in effect.  Again, I stated I’m ready to leave, this won’t work as it is.”  He asked me to stay and I responded, “I’ll wait another few days to see what transpires.” That ended the night’s conversation.

The next morning I rose and washed my face, brushed my teeth and got ready to face another day in paradise.  Exiting my cabin, I saw Bronte sitting at the saloon table.  His first words were, “The passenger’s leaving.”  I thought, Bravo!  But replied, “Sorry it didn’t work out for you, but I think it’s best for us all that she leave.”  You could feel the tension dissolve.

Two mornings later Bronte helped his girlfriend hitchhike a ride ashore and then to a taxi that would transport her to the airport on the far side of the island.  From there, she could fly to Papeete and then on to Los Angeles.  The good news was she was out of our hair.  It was a shame.  An incredible opportunity had been wasted, lost to control and ego issues.  The voyage of a lifetime, visiting unknown lands and experiences that would probably never be replicated were thrown away because of?  See above.

On the second of June a big swell hit the harbor that was open to southerly weather.  A wooden community fishing boat, perhaps thirty feet in length was washed off its mooring on to the rocky shore.  Another fisherman moved in close to shore to see if he could help rescue the first boat and was also washed ashore.  Both wooden island vessels were pulled from the crashing surf by a crane but by then were a total loss.

Perusing the damaged boats on shore, I could see one prop was broken in multiple places, the boats topsides were ripped apart by the crashing waves and the engine was flooded with sea water as the boats were turned upside down in the swiftly moving, powerful swells that threw the small boats onto the rocks.  This was a bad day for the villagers of Nuku Hiva.

Finally, the dinghy repair materials arrived from Papeete and, three days later, the repair was complete.  Frustrated by ten days of hanging around Taiohae Bay, we weighed anchor and headed for the next bay to the west. Taioa Bay offered us some new views with mountains that jetted into the clouds thousands of feet overhead. We had read of a natural wonder that could be accessed from the bay.  We searched for and found the trailhead that would carry us onto a path that led to the 3^rd highest waterfall on the planet.  The bad news was, it was a two and a half hour walk, inland.

The next morning, the three of us paddled the dinghy to shore and pulled it up on the beach. We tied the painter to some plants in case the tide flooded during our absence. The trailhead led us inland on a well-marked path that carried us toward Vaipo Waterfall.   Our information book published that the waterfall had an 800 foot cascade from the highlands.

We had been told, by an Austrian woman we had met, that the walk was level, “easy walk,” she stated. Warning:  Never speak to an Austrian about walking in the mountains.  If it’s not the Matterhorn or the Eiger, an Austrian thinks the trail is level.  So…we hiked inland, the path starting out level and then inclining into the hills.  As we crossed the first river, river rock lined the pathway giving the trail a solid feel.  Obviously, someone had spent some time and energy laying those rocks, making our assent that much easier.

We passed through miles of tropical jungle, new trees sprouting from coconuts that lay on the lush plant carpeted floor.  Sweet grapefruit hung from trees that dotted the jungle. Mango grew wild, tree ferns were abundant and other exotic trees, including rosewood, filled out the canopy that was dense enough to close off the sun.  As we progressed up the hillside we were fortunate to get a glimpse of the full eight hundred feet of the waterfall and the three to four thousand foot cliffs that jutted toward the sparkling blue sky.

As we cruised up the trail toward the base of Vaipo we spotted trees that grew on a cliff overhead.  The trees had allowed their roots to trail over the cliff and fall 40 feet to where moisture was more plentiful.  Hibiscus added to the colors of the jungle and plumeria perfumed the moisture laden air.  We crossed two more streams on the path and finally broke out of the jungle reaching the basin created by Vaipo’s cascading waters.

The climb had taken two hours.  We were hot, fatigued, and disappointed to see only the bottom 100 feet of the waterfall.  The pool at its foot was bright brown from the sediment that washed down from the highlands.  It didn’t look especially inviting.  Not to be deterred, I ripped off my tee-shirt and cautiously entered the pool where I was delighted with the refreshingly cool water that descended almost a thousand feet from the mountain top.

We shared a mango that I had found on the trail and soon were heading downhill.  The return journey to the bay was thirty minutes shorter, but no less fatiguing.  Each of us slipped at one time or another on the path, the rocks being moist from the shaded humidity.

On the return trip we collected wild lime, mango, and a coconut for our salads.  Returning to the beach where we had left the dinghy, we all collapsed from our extended hike and allowed the wind to cool us.  I jumped in the ocean to refresh myself. Rested, we pushed the dinghy into the water and rowed back to Tutto Bene where a cold beer was waiting.