Weather Helmed

We couldn’t see them, but we heard their plaintive cries early in the morning and each evening.  Goats, which have taken over several of the Marquesas Islands  (seriously, the guidebooks say stuff like “the anchorage is satisfactory, but there is no town and no facilities… the island is overpopulated with goats and pigs and is otherwise currently uninhabited.”), have free reign of the rocky hills surrounding Hanamenu Bay.  We arrived in Hanamenu mid-afternoon, somewhat surprised to see how rocky and barren Hiva Oa was.  In the background, in the interior, we could see tall mountains, greener and with more vegetation than the hills in the foreground, but overall, the island (on the northwest side) was very dry and brown.  Nonetheless, the anchorage was really lovely; small and pleasantly breezy, with a sandy beach, lots of palm trees and not 100 yards inland, a gorgeous crystal clear pool of fresh water perfect for a refreshing bath.

There was one other boat at Hanamenu with us, and we were happily surprised to see that it was S/V Magenta, the Canadian couple who had cast off our lines for us as we departed Mexico for our Pacific Crossing.  We had radio contact with them all the way across as they left just a day or two after us, but we hadn’t seen them since Mexico and it was fun sharing stories and chatting over a couple of beers later that evening.

Our second day in Hanamenu, we met Larry and Kim on shore and they eagerly told us of the beautiful fresh water pool.  They, smarties, had brought shampoo and soap with them and they graciously left us alone for 30 minutes so we could strip and bathe too!  The pool was at the foot of the hills, surrounded by palm trees and ferns, wild mint, and clover.  There were two narrow pipes funneling the water into the pool, providing an ideal way to rinse my hair, and a small waterfall off of to one side.  The family who lives near there had also fashioned shelves out of rocks and wood for easy placing of bottles and soap dishes, and a small wooden bench a few feet away shaded by palm fronds.  The water was too cold at first, but as the sun came from behind the clouds, it felt instead like we were in a movie, soaping up under the palm trees, birds singing and chirping, small fish swimming around our feet, rinsing off under a waterfall…  and, of course, the sound of braying goats in the distance.

We walked around a little bit after our bath, following a trail towards a house, the only family living at the bay, and into the interior a bit, but found nothing of real interest.  The land was extremely dry and, unfortunately, the only fresh fruit we could find were a few unripe limes.  We attempted to meet the locals, but succeeded only in getting the two little girls in trouble when they moved some timbers in the newly-painted fence for us and got black paint all over their bathing suits, faces and hands.  I spoke french to them, but they didn’t say anything in reply, so I’m not sure how much they understood.  Magenta left that afternoon and we made plans to leave the following day after re-filling our water tanks with that delicious spring water and taking another bath.

So, the next morning, bright and early, we loaded our water jugs into the dinghy and headed for the shore.  After three trips of filling the jugs, Matt lugging them back to the dinghy, and emptying them into our water tanks, we were finally all filled up.  This was a relief to me, because it seems that good fresh water is hard to come by in the islands and our water maker is not yet quite up to the task of replenishing 150 gallons.  Now, we are good to go for another 6 weeks or so.  On our final trip with the water jugs, the local men were returning in their dinghy from an early morning excursion.  We stopped them and said hello and thanked them for the water – though they don’t technically “own” it, the spring is on (well, near) their land.  They said no problem and then one of the men lit up with a big smile on his face.  He started digging into a bucket they had and I’m thinking – sweet! fresh fish for dinner!  Instead, he victoriously pulls out a bloody, meaty goat leg.  He hands the leg to Matt who thanks them, and then Matt stands up and throws his arms up over his head like a gladiator wielding a sword, and just when I think he is going to start beating his chest and shouting like George of the Jungle, he sits back down and thrusts the goat leg at me.  With nothing else to do, I cradle the goat leg in my hands, and try not to notice the fresh blood and bits of coarse hair still sticking to the skin.

Guess what’s for dinner tonight?