MysticSail.com

I’ve officially settled back into domestic life on land though a piece of me still remains at sea. A nomadic call from the road shouts so I abide. As the Natural Mystic rocks in lagoons w/ more drama than a primetime (Un)reality show, I sprawl out into the wild west. It’s a warzone out here on the road.  My trusty steed propels me 6 times faster than the NastyM as I shed a salty skin so accustomed to constant motion.      

As I ramble through the desert where the navajo spirit still burns in the air I come across Canyon De Chelly.

After spending the day exploring Indian lookout caves from generations of war in wind and water carved sandstone, I had reached a meditated sense of where and how. This place is truly inspiring. Unlike the Grand Canyon’s feeling of untouched vastness, Canyon De Chelly reaches out to you.  

Thousands of years of erosion literally attack your skin. Sand blown from frigid pre-dawn winds are later sweat from your pours during the days solar assault.

This scrub-brushed tinderbox is a land where lightning ignights fires no one sees.

I arrive in Santa Barbara just in time for fire season. Poor SB has just been getting punished for Isla Vista’s kinky karma with a relentless firestorm

 I’m fine with the wildfire and earthquake scene in SoCal so I know where to go…

Another familiar retreat I have lies in the rugged snowfields of the Eastern Sierra’s. The lure of high altitude has been a driving force in my life since I was a grom. Even while bronzing in the tropics last year, Mammoth’s call from thin air rang in my ears.

So without hesitation I returned to my stomping grounds to tempt gravity.

When all the freshly deposited powder was used and abused, it was time to head southward. Departing the majestic mountains is hard but the possibility of snowboarding and surfing in the same day motivates us.  I am starting to miss my lil’ furball I had left behind in SB to guard the house. While I was exploring Arizona a feral desert dog found me and asked me for some jerky. After I showed her a taste of the good life that night in the Holiday Inn, she wouldn’t leave my side.  I return to Casa Del Russ- the palatial estate perched on Santa Barbara’s Riviera but my time there is fleeting.   

It’s high time I get to LA for some work.  

During one of my trips to Griffith Park, a short drive and welcome breath of fresh air from my friends crib off Melrose, I witness a classic Hollyweird moment: Two young gay guys describing there STD’s in an overly-awkward first date overlooking LA… OMG…TMI!!!

The nightlife is still thriving in Hollywood but with strikes and other economic drama looming, the work in scant. So I head back on the road towards my family and my Southern Belle.

I make it back in time to join the muddy mayhem of the Iroquois Steeplechase. 

 Thousands of Southerners put their Sunday’s best on to go play in the mud.

There’s a lot going on in Nashville. It’s a thriving city but it’s doesn’t take long before your out-there surrounded by wildlife.

 As I adjust to another locale I strive to shoot as much as I can while transitioning my business to this region.

I’ve made the full transition back to a land-lubber. I have tasted the fruits from far off lands but now I enjoy the local produce here in the South. I’ve been all over the country since leaving my mates in Tahiti, yet the Natural Mystic seems to be a permanent fixture in French Polynesia. I can only hope Kyber is still there when I get the urge to be submerged under the best waves in the world.

-Ben Anglin

Ru's lovley daughter

We arrived at the unique island store, looking for a refreshing beer or two after briefly visiting Ru’s family full of curious children and a couple of lethargic grandparents who never rose from their lounging positions.

We mingled with all of them in their quaint open air home, which everyone shared. It was conveniently located near the enclosed dingy harbor and after warm greetings all around and some explanations about local customs and misconceptions, like the large wooden cross we saw on the boat entering the harbor is actually a mount for a deep sea tuna fishing reel and not a tribute to God. I found, I’d promised we’d all go mackerel fishing with the little wooden poles I inquisitively inquired about, later that afternoon. But more on that in a bit.

We're on a Beer Run

Let’s focus on the beer for a second. Dom and myself climbed into the back of Ru’s little black Japanese pickup truck, seated ourselves comfortably facing aft on plastic picnic chairs, while I’m sure Dizzy jabbered Ru’s ear off in the cab and slowly we journeyed down the dirt road, proudly on display for all the islanders to marvel at. After a longer than expected parade route, past cute little homes, obvious government buildings all in various states of disrepair we came to the store or more accurately. Someone’s home with containers full of stuff in their lagoon-front yard they would open up for your inspection upon arrival and sell.

Main Drag Through Town

And wouldn’t you know it, most stuff that was available her, was cheaper then in Tahiti. The beer, Aussie VB, at a little less than a buck a beer was over half as cheap as Tahitian Hinano and so was most of the other tasty stuff, like New Zealand honey, jams and Weet-bix cereal. Its hard to believe, almost incredulous that on an island with no real modern infrastructure, sporting a coral airstrip built during WWII, by American GIs, with no scheduled flights ever and a supply ship that comes once every four to six months, if the islanders are lucky, most goods are much cheaper here than in civilized Tahiti, with its modern port and transportation infrastructure. That just seems more than a little backwards to me, but hey there must be some reason for it’s occurrence and I’m just hazarding a guess, but maybe it has something to do with the ludicrous amount of French bureaucracy and stifling taxes of French Polynesia.

The Store

The ultra nice store lady, speaking in a thickly charming New Zealand accent could only sell us on the beer, as we were still quite well stocked-up and was quite impressed we had New Zealand dollars in our possessions to pay with, as her husband runs the only money changing operation on the island and had yet to ever meet prepared cruisers coming from FP, armed with native currency. Leave it to us young bucks set the cruising preparedness bar a bit higher. So, with a case of VB in hand and most our change going to pay our reasonable Cook Island entry fees we bailed back to Natty M, to chill the tropical temperature beer in our growing roomier, post-passage fridge. So, after the onslaught of a rapid 740 NM, 3 day passage, straight into multiple immigration officials (we had to meet with the health official too, but I think we would all like to keep that confidential), a pile of paperwork, then a mission to get change and beer, we had a solid 20 minutes to rest up before we were suppose to return and pick up Ru. Just minutes before sunset for our mackerel fishing mission.

Mission Acomplished

While visiting Ru’s home, I discovered these maybe 3 foot long little fishing poles stored in the head bangingly low rafters and inquired about their use, as I had seen nothing like them before and love fishing. Beige in color, they are made from a slim native tree branch, which is stripped of it’s bark, then sun cured and it’s tip outfitted with a 6 inch peace of line, tied to a swivel, then attached to a custom fabricated, ultra thin diameter, ultra long shanked, tiny, sharp as hell hook, with a white piece of cotton lint permanently adorning its tip. Ru informed us they were made to catch the local mackerel, which he swore were absolutely delicious and invited us to go fishing with him and find out how. Even with thoughts of mackerel back home in California being a shit fish swimming through my head, how could I pass up such a nice offer and quickly accepted his invitation.

Ru's and his little fishing poles

Dom was feeling a little worn out (equals no photos of the hot action) after his first ocean passage and volunteered to stay behind, rest up and guard our yacht, but Kahlil and Dizzy were game and we picked up an equipped with a pole for each of us, Ru from the beach. Who promptly asked where our masks and fins were? I must have missed the part where you bring your mask and fins fishing, but apparently these tiny poles are meant to be used under the water. We jammed back to the mother ship, grabbed our snorkel gear and headed out the pass we came in through earlier that day. Traveling north to an inconspicuous spot just off the awash reef where Ru told us to stop. There was a short, maybe 200 foot wide bench, about 25 feet deep of the lushest coral garden you have ever seen, which we instructedly chucked our dink hook into, that dramatically just ends and plunges straight down into inky darkness. The consistent offshore winds hold your boat off the reef and we quickly snorkeled-up, as all around us flocks of Boobies and Terns dove at their prey and squadrons of flying fish burst forth from the sea, skillfully evading the yet unseen predators lurking all around us. My senses were overwhelmed. I’m thinking, the Sky is alive! The ocean is alive! I feel, for the first real time in my life I’m truly in a wild place, a place where man’s influence hasn’t overrun and obscured nature yet, and I absolutely love it.

Ru explains he uses shaved coconut for bait and promptly shoves a great wad of the stuff into his large mouth and disappears over the side with a pole. Quickly we all follow suit and are memorized by what we see underwater. Even in the dying light, multitudes of brilliantly hued corals radiate mesmerizing colors and large schools of fish are everywhere. Jack fish, reef fish, bait fish, tuna fish, shark fish; all appear and soon to, do our targeted schools of mackerel. Ru swims down a few times and spews some of the coconut out of his mouth, gradually doing this closer and closer to the boat and soon a cloud of coconut crazy mackerel surround us, greedily devouring what I never imagined would have been tasty to a fish. Everyone hung on to the side of the boat and took turns spiting out their mouthfuls of coconut, while plunging hooks, baited with coconut imitating white lint on the hook tip into the eagerly attacked coconut cloud and wham! Its fish on, then another and another! These mackerel are not too big, maybe 10 inches long, but plump, with fluorescent light blue and yellow stripes that run down their sides and they are just flying into our boat’s bucket about as well as Shaq shoots free throws, for we are catching them at quite a furious pace. With one hand clinging to the boat’s rail, you watch up close, underwater, as they strike the little coconut imitating hook, on your little pole, while you quickly set the hook in their tiny mouth and hopefully, in one fluid motion, dexterously fling them out of the water and into the boat, trying to catch as many as you can before the coconut cloud disappears into the mackerel’s stomachs and they quickly stop biting. Lets just say we didn’t find all the ones that missed the bucket, but a couple, nauseatingly found their way between my toes two days later.   

In maybe 15 minutes of fishing, we filled half of a five-gallon bucket with fish and were feeling quite proud of ourselves, even though Ru informed us we didn’t quite perform to island standards. What ever, we killed it! No one got bit by the numerous, highly inquisitive sharks (something we are all very use to now), everyone had a super fun time, while learning something completely new and now we had some tasty fresh fish to go with our beer.

Tasty Treats from the sea

With the faintest of light left in the southern sky and millions of stars starting to twinkle, we dropped Ru off on the beach, gave him half the fish and headed home for a little fish fry celebration. The well-deserved beers were cold, hugely refreshing and the fish cooked-up something wonderful. Fried whole in a little extra-virgin olive oil, with a dash of salt and pepper, they were totally unlike any mackerel I had ever tried before. A white meat easily separated from the bones, but super rich, oily and extremely well flavored. I have to say, I love to put copious amounts of sauce on almost everything, but all this fish needed was a squirt of lemon and it was deliciously perfect.

What a wonderful end to a great little journey and a terrific start to a new adventure in an unknown land. Our diet of fresh fish was now well under way and everyone toasted VBs, to a job merrily and well done, over an entirely new species of super tasty fish none of us had ever tried before, in a place where none of us had ever been before and as the evening wound down, with everyone drifting off into their passage, beer and food induced much needed catch up sleep. The entire crew of Natural Mystic had the feeling, this island was really going to be something special. Cheers - Kyber

Our first Cook Island Sunset

The journey was worth the reward.

After lounging around in Bora Bora for a couple bonus days, re-stocking our ship’s stores and re-fueling Natural Mystic we were finally ready to depart French Polynesia, eight months, two visa extensions and 10 unique islands later. We were headed for the Cook Islands, but unfortunately for our readership I’m not inclined to say exactly which one, as the Internet makes it way too easy to search for surf spots, that deserve to stay off the radar.

Only half of the $.04 Lamb Chops, F-Yea!

It all started Thursday evening after a tasty little dinner of the cheapest lamb chops you could possibly purchase at 3 francs or 4 cents for a giant bag of about 30 of the eventually BBQ’ed tasty treats. Some wonderful employee forgot to weigh more than just the bag when packaging them up, they scanned at the register just fine and we all enjoyed what had to be the best meal deal ever in friggin expensive FP and couldn’t help, but think about how my good friend Pete back home would have been so proud, as previously, he as far as I knew, held the record for the best meat deal ever. When he fortuitously scored 10 pounds of grade “Prime” hamburger meat from Costco for a whopping 13 cents if I recall correctly. But there was still one problem that didn’t sit well with me, and it wasn’t my scrumptious dinner. Everything was ready for us to leave the next morning, but it was a Friday.

Teiva and Jessica in Action at BBYC

I’m not the most superstitious person in the world, but still there must be good reasons behind hundreds and hundreds of years of seafaring lore and superstition and one little bit of sailing superstition says, to never leave port for a voyage on a Friday. This superstition goes back for ages and thus far on our journey we have never left on a Friday and I just wasn’t feeling comfortable about bucking that trend and when Jessica said the Bora Bora Yacht Club kind of goes off on Friday, with live music and dancing, well my decision was easy knowing that seafarers of old must have reserved Friday for partying, reveling and all kinds of shindiggery, as there are no Fridays out on the high seas. So, prudently we hung out for one more day in Bora Bora and partied the night away, with Kahlil even borrowing a guitar and jamming with the band for a couple of crunchy tunes, that had the place rockin’ and rollin’! What a fun time and as the night wrapped up, we all said our good byes to Teiva and Jessica, the wondiferous proprietors and rested up or more aptly passed out, for the 700NM passage to the fabled Cook Islands.

Saturday dawned with gorgeous sunny weather and breezy trade winds in the low to mid 20’s from the South East, absolutely perfect sailing conditions. We cast off our mooring, headed out the pass, fully hoisting our main sail as we skittered along, then unfurling our screecher from the bowsprit and soon we were smoking along, on a perfect broad reach, with jamming reggae music pumping on the stereo, doing a steady 10-12 knots and surfing into the high teens constantly on the 6 to 8 foot trade wind swells. At those speeds it was only a matter of hours before the mountain peaks of Bora Bora, and then Maupiti disappeared below the horizon behind us and it was just ocean, ocean and more ocean once again for, as far as one’s eye could see.

Buh Bye Bora Bora, Hello Fishies!

It had been quite a while since any of us aboard Natural Mystic had undertaken a real open ocean passage of more than a few hundred miles and everyone seemed to feel a sense of refreshment blow over and wash through them, no doubt arising from salty breeze, the intense sound of water whooshing rapidly bye our two hulls and the feeling of unknown lands lurking just over the horizon growing closer. For me this passage somehow felt different from all the ones before it, even though the vistas of an endless ocean full of white caps and tropical puffy clouds reaching into the blue sky were identical to almost every other passage I have ever undertaken. I had a feeling like I knew this sea and our ocean with just a bit more familiarly than I use to, like I was visiting with an old friend once again and somehow anywhere in the world I could wish to go, seemed only just over the horizon, merely a short sail away with my friend. My life felt in rhythm with the sea and the wind, and joyfully I and all that is Natty M, blew on, downwind.

A speedy sunset in the low teens.

Well the good breeze kept up for a day and a half, and we busted out 250NM or so in 24 hours with barely any effort. Dom was now further away from any land then he had ever ventured in his life and feeling fine on his first ocean passage and just taking it all in. As time wore on and everyone’s watches went bye, the wind grew calmer and gradually it seemed the sea birds were changing, signaling just that. Darker Tahitian Boobies started to be replaced with new lighter colored Boobies and even white Boobies started to appear every now and then, rarely ever glimpsed in the Society Islands. And the further away we got from Tahiti the better and better the fishing got. Wahoo and Tuna started biting and finding their way aboard and into our stomachs. We were into the fishy waters once again and loving it.

Water and clouds are what you see at sea.

By Monday morning the wind was now light, but still providing a good angle and we ghosted along making a steady 5 knots towards our destination until Tuesday dawned with no real wind to speak of and enthusiastically we throttled up both engines and charged the last 30 miles at full speed untill “Land Ho!” Was yelled. For, we were trying to make it to the pass by noon and by our calculations, estimated slack water at the reef pass.

Before noon on a blue skied, windless Tuesday we spotted the low-lying atoll from about 8 miles out. The highest point of land is maybe 8 feet above sea level on the entire island and the tallest thing anointing the sky are palm trees, so eight miles out is about as far as you can spot it due to the curvature of the earth. The atoll’s motus are completely surrounded by boat destroying reef and one such unlucky vessel even bestowed it’s namesake to the island.

With atolls, there's not to much to see before you run aground on reef.

Coming across the sight of land where it is suppose to be after three days at sea, while you never once saw another ship or any sign of human life even is always a welcome relief. Enthusiastically, birds flood the sky by the thousands, there are bait balls of fish boiling everywhere and as we approach the palm forested motus, the reef precipitously drops off to 6,000 feet deep, just feet from the barrier reef, crazy! Then Yellow Fin Tuna break the surface all around us, flying out of the water like stubby rockets, guided by their intense, high aspect golden fins. We try to capture them with our cameras and lines, but they prove almost elusive, however the joy of just seeing hundreds of 40 to 100 pound tuna jumping all around you is way better than even catching one.

As we cruised along the atoll’s pristine coastline, marveling at the beauty and unbridled nature all around us, we soon came upon the village and the pass into the lagoon beyond. Looking at the village from the sea, the village’s church is by far the most distinct man made feature of the island and a big clue the island is inhabited by some seriously devout Christians. I don’t think I will ever understand why these people so devoutly, even rigorously worship a religion, that was more or less forced upon them by a foreign culture, that tried to wipe out their own native culture and people and did so to an extent, but whatever they do and the result is a unique blend of ancient Cook Island Maori and Christian traditions the islanders keep fervently alive to this day.

The atoll looking a little more fun closer up.

There is very little swell running and the semi-narrow, shallow pass is found and navigated quite easily. We arrived with impeccable timing, just after slack water and with the sun high over head, illuminating the various bottom depths in their unique tell tail shades of blues and greens and the lethargically ebbing current just visible and distinctly marking the prominent coral features of the pass. Once in the lagoon we search for a suitable sandy spot to throw the hook near the pass, in the hopes of being closer to surf potential, but no such luck would have it. Coral and hundred foot depths everywhere around the pass and no nearby suitable anchorage. So, we embark on a self-guided lagoon tour that reveals just more of the same, absolutely no-good place to anchor. I spot a small fishing type open boat coming in the pass and it is sporting a big wooden cross mounted right in the middle of the boat. I can’t help, but wonder how crazy religious these people must be, but the boat guided by the power of god, weaves its way into the anchorage in front of the village, exactly what we were trying to avoid, but anyway we reluctantly trace the small boats holy path and chuck the hook in a more coral than sand bottom in 40 feet of water, after an exhausted Kahlil swimming down to the murky depths below multiple times proclaimed the bottom basically shitty anchoring everywhere.

I have gone to this church more than any other in the world now.

So, with little fan fare from the island, I couldn’t even see a person and the small boat had long since disappeared, we were anchored in what I shall refer to warmly as Polynesian North Korea, for reasons I will explain later. I try channel 16 on the VHF and an English speaking voice with basically a strong Kiwi accent replied and said a friendly hello, whoo hoo no more French! The friendly voice proclaiming he would tell the immigration official we had arrived and in no time at all immigration was on the VHF, asking if we could pick them up in our boat, as theirs was out of commission. “Operation, go go engine dink mount,” was quickly executed by all able hands and soon we were on shore and I was meeting my first Cook Islander ever.

A friendly Ru checking us in.

Ru was his name, not too dark a complexion, square features and solidly built, he was in charge of customs and immigration and was super friendly, happily smiling all the time and in no hurry to do his job what so ever. We ferried him out to our boat and we’re informed, we are the first boat of the season, they’ve had no visitors for the previous 6 months and are happy to finally see some fresh faces and what did those fresh faces have to offer? Questions of “Can I see your DVD’s and Fishing Lures?” and “Do you want to sell this or that were asked” and typically were replied with, “No, we need that.” So, with the cursory introductions, chit chat and promises to see “What we can do,” out of the way, it was on to the business of immigration paperwork.

This was the first time an immigration official ever processed the paperwork aboard Natural Mystic and it was basically standard. You fill the same shit out about you, everyone else aboard and the boat like four separate times, on forms that are basically the same, just formatted differently and BAM! The passports are stamped and fees paid, but wait no change for $100 New Zealand bills, so we’re informed we need to visit the island store to break the bill. Wait, your island has a store. What, your store sells beer, I think Kahlil, Dom, Dizzy and myself all deserve one of those for a job well done, so lets go!

I'm on a mission from God, for beer!

And while Kahlil ardently stayed behind on anchor watch guarding our floating home from unseen peril, Dom, Dizzy and myself set off with Ru to explore and mingle with the island’s inhabitants for our first adventure ever in the Cook Islands. On a distinguished mission to buy a much-deserved beer. For the passage went smoothly, with no problems, no one sick or injured, never once having to reef or shorten sail, Dom popped his open ocean cherry and for the first time ever in the history of Natural Mystic we didn’t break a single thing during a passage, I knew there was something to that not leaving on a Friday thing. Cheers – Kyber

Holy yellow Cook Island sunsets almighty!

Its a long story, but I’ll keep it short for now. After spending three or so weeks in the Northern Cook Islands and having an absolute blast, hanging with the locals, surfing fun undiscovered waves like the one above, spear-fishing our brains out and going to church more than I ever have in my entire life, somehow our prayers were answered and we made it back to French Polynesia. With no internet available for weather forecasts when we left, we were trying to sail to the Southern Cook Islands, but got caught in a rare wind pattern for the South Pacific. Where the trade winds die out, caused by a spinning low south of us and a high to the north and blow completely the opposite direction. So with no pre-knowledge of this weather pattern occurring, we sailed towards the Southern Cooks for two days before the wind switched and blew us downwind for, four stormy days, all the way back to beautiful Bora Bora. So, if we can get some new visas and the government lets us stay, its most likely down to Teahupoo for the ASP contest in a week, to root on Santa Barbara surf star, Bobby Martinez and see all our Tahitian friends once again. Thats it for now, but keep checking back and I’ll have a recount of our adventures in the Cook Islands published shortly and if anyone wants to get ahold of us, our Tahiti cell phone or as its know here, our Vini is working again, 689-24-31-37. Cheers - Kyber

Bora Bora, beauty every where you look!

Tranquil times trickle by for the “Natural Mystic” crew in Bora Bora these days. With the departure of our female friends back to their lives on the city island, we pulled up the hook and headed for the Bora Bora Yacht Club. Our new anchorage to re-water, de-trash, re-supply and explore the island. We were planning on just getting those chores done, maybe seeing a last sight or two and then sailing to the Cook Islands, but a low pressure system with potential for cyclonic development headed towards the Cooks, putting the brakes on our departure indefinitely, darn.

Quaint Bora Bora Yacht Club a perfect place to loiter in paradise.

Bora Bora Yacht Club, is located just to the north from the entrance of Passe Teavanui and has deep water moorings for you to pick up for the unbelievable price of just $50 a week, or maybe no charge if you patronize the restaurant and bar a few times.

The owners, a super rad Tahitian/American couple Teiva and Jessica make you feel right at home and are happy to provide you with water, BBQ’s to use (they ask you just buy beverages from their bar), a place to dispose of your trash and they operate one hell of a fine restaurant.

Thanks a million for the fun times Teiva and Jessica!

The food is some of the best on the island, quite reasonably priced for Bora Bora and the portions, much larger than typical French sized meals. These facts are evidenced by the numerous locals who frequent the restaurant and mix with the yacht crews staying on the club’s moorings, all while everyone noshes on tuna tar tare and sips fancy cocktails or the cold beer, and Kahlil jams on the guitar, rocking the house with the Friday night band. Fun times for sure and I highly recommend the fish burger, it a absolute gourmet tasty treat!

Some fish Kahlil speared are huge Lakers fans out here, all the way Baby! GO LAKERS!

Flat surf here, means decent spear fishing action and fun island tripping. Bike rides around the island reveal friendly locals and dramatic vistas. Fruit is abundant if you look and ask around and the locals all seem a little wealthier here, compared with other outer islands, as they have extracted money off tourists for years and years now.

But, like everywhere we seem to go, tourism is drastically down these days. Multiple hotels on the island have already boarded up their doors and we hear accounts of the supposed nicest resort on the island having not one single paying customer a midweek night, last week. A dingy trip around the lagoon reveals the extensive amount of resorts Bora Bora’s lagoon holds, over 15 and all look like ghost towns. Nary a towel hangs to dry from any of the over the water bungalow railings and sunburned sunbathers on the white sand beaches are completely missing. With the financial crisis in full swing around the word, its easy to understand how one of the most expensive vacation spots in the entire world must be taking a hard hit.

Just one of Bora Bora's seemingly empty resorts.

A trip to Robert Wan’s flagship black pearl store, known for having some of the biggest and best pearls in the business didn’t disappoint. I have grown quite fond of the shimmering spherical rainbows and enjoy checking out the different producers and increasing my knowledge of pearls every chance I get. Like most tourist businesses the store was devoid customers, but the friendly staff had me trying on some lengthy pearl necklaces and let me marvel at what had to be some of the most marvelous pearl jewelry I have seen yet.

Just a few of Robert Wan's gorgeous choker collection.

Chokers made of matched “A” quality, 16mm pearls (its hard to even imagine how many oysters you would have to go through to get matched sets like these) sparkled under the showroom lights for just a bit over $100,000 and a flawless 18mm unset giant is waiting for someone to pick it up for a bargain $40,000. Indeed Robert Wan seems to have the biggest black pearls of any producer, but you can’t help but notice how, as the pearl’s size increases, the colors of the pearls get less and less intense and personally I judge the smaller more intensely lustrously hued pearls make for more eye appealing jewelry and as another plus, are just a bit less expensive than the gargantuan perfect ones.

Big Pimpin.

The word expensive is synonymous with Tahiti. As food, gas, clothes and basically everything costs exorbitantly more than even in pricey Santa Barbara. So, I thought I might provide the readership dreaming of journeying here with a few French Polynesian money saving tips/cautions, as there are a few things cheaper here than in the United States. If you’re on a budget expect to live off of crusty French baguettes $.60 apiece and fine French cheese around $5 a pound, together a match made in heaven. Tyson frozen chicken quarters from the USA are the single best meat deal going, BBQ up great and are a true testament to modern industrialized chicken production, as 1 kilo or a 2.2 lb. box, costs a scant $5, hormones included I’m sure and easily feeds six hungry sailors. Foie Grais is also a great deal, as well a French sauciasse (salami), both bargains compared to America, as well as French Dijon mustard for all those sandwiches you’ll be eating (I swear after bleeding occasionally at first, your gums develop calluses due to eating so much crusty bread). What isn’t a bargain here is any produce except, garlic, onions and potatoes, which are mostly imported. Expect to pay high prices to eat healthy vegetables and fruits and only in Tahiti is it more expensive to by produce from the Farmer’s type markets.

The not so cheap Papeete Marketplace.

With locally farmed produce claiming some of the most ridiculous prices of anything. Local cabbage is approximately $8 to $10 a head, one melon at a road side stand was priced at over $30. Local cucumbers are cheap, tomatoes and peppers crazy expensive, but at least locally caught, fresh Tuna is quite reasonably priced, but still a bit costlier than Hawaii. For eating out the local roulettes, basically congregations of road side stands are the best deal going and my personal favorite.

Tasty food from the Roulettes is the way to go.

Where a tasty BBQ’ed steak, thin-crust pizza or plate of possion cru can be had for around $10, when an entrée at an average local restaurant is usually around $30 or more, even an un-super-sized McDonald’s Big Mac meal costs over $10. Unlike America, some of the high cost of a restaurant meal is displaced by the fact you don’t really tip here, which also means people might not serve you so attentively, just have patience, you’re on island time.

Stock up on booze before you come to FP.

And remember to bring all the booze you can legally carry into the country (and cigarettes for that matter, $10 a pack), as one cocktail at a bar is never less than $10 more like $12 and hot tip, whiskey is the easiest to trade for what ever your little heart desires, not rum, its worth the extra cost. And the most important rule, always have an exit strategy if you start drinking the booze you just gave away. I hope these hot tips might help make a future travelers trip here a little more affordable and enjoyable.

Newborn baby Kyla

Luckily for us the Bora Bora Yacht Club has great Wi-Fi service, so we have been able to actively keep a sharp eye on the weather and effectively use Skype to affordably call home and catch up on how missed friends and family are doing. Which is great, as I fortuitously called my brother just minutes after the birth of his first child, a gorgeous girl named Kyla and got to hear, her maybe not so soft cry in her first few minutes on our amazing planet; Super cool bro, way to go Trav and Lara, congratulations!!!

In the South Pacific sailing season, its still a bit early to be heading further south and west, as cyclones can still form in April (TC Len just formed over Tonga and is strengthening) with a higher percentage chance the further you move in those directions, but weather forecasts are starting to look less dicey. So, with some luck and a bit of work we should be well out of here by the time you’re reading this, but then again knowing us maybe not, I know the Las Vegas odds makers would not be kind with a track record like ours. The Cook Islands beckon from a scant 700 NM across the sea and the one in our sights, filters us stories of the most far flung perfect pearl outpost in the word and fish in an abundance not known in modern times, except you just have to land them before countless sharks devour them while they still struggle on your hook or spear. We’re headed to find out if these mythical stories really are true and we’ll let you know eventually, but please have some patience, as our very likely route of choice keeps us out of inhabited lands for quite some time, possibly months. Cheers - Kyber

A Tahitian sunrise points us west.

Bigger than the Tidal Wave

Today finds us chilling on anchor in Bora Bora. This island is world renown for honeymooners who come and find romance in what has been touted as the most beautiful lagoon in the world. The Natty M boys can attest to the amour potential of the shallow sandy lagoons here, as we all were blessed to be joined by our Tahitian lady friends and had a blissful few days snuggling in the sun and celebrating Kahlil’s multiple birthdays (precise dates escaped us and we swung into premature party mode a day early).

Pickin up chicks at Bora Bora Airport.

Bora Bora is a compact island, punctuated by the mountain that explodes out of the locals backyards, up into the clouds. The colorful and ever creative Polynesian legend decrees that an ancient thief, Hiro, was in the process of stealing the Motu of Toopua when his pet rooster gave the game away by squawking and was promptly hurled against the cliff face of Mt.Pahia to silence it, forever leaving a cock shaped imprint amongst the fractures and cracks, visible for those with imaginative minds. It is an eighteen mile road that circumnavigates the island, and with a brief stroll you quickly rotate around the imposing cliffs, and just a short walk will alter your angle of peaks.

Frodo's cousin Dizzy Baggins

To prepare for the upcoming ocean voyage, I spent the lat two days swiveling my view left and right of these breathtaking mountains riding about on a fruit hunt. I managed to stock the boat with bananas, star fruit, grapefruit, oranges, mandarins, mangos, butternut pumpkins, papaya, and guavas and finish my search liberally adorned in the mud from the various altitudes of the hills here.

Free fruit is the best fruit.

It was bittersweet to depart from our home and familiar routine of friendly faces and waves at Taina Marina. Before we departed Kahlil and I found ourselves caught up in the adrenaline shot of our first tidal wave drill. Recently there was an underwater seismic disturbance measuring 7.8 on the Richter scale off the coast of Tonga, the news of which we were alerted to from Kyber’s brother back in the states, who warned us of a tidal wave alert. Kahlil and I were on anchor watch later that day when gendarmes raced up to us on jet skis and told us that Bora Bora has just been hit and a wall of water was coming our way. We wasted no time in hauling up anchor and taking to sea, spreading as much pandemonium, bedlam and noise as we could generate. Within a rapidly escalating heartbeat the two of us were motoring Natty M for the first time without our captain (to our credit, it was a seamless and speedy escape) to the safety of the deeper water, and bellowing at all within earshot of the approaching wet destruction that silently advanced on the island. As on any given day the Tahitians were in number busily relaxing in the warm water, and must have been surprised and amused by the sight of our flapping arms and hollering in earnest of their mortal peril and the destruction and devastation that was sure to be here, so very soon.

Dramatic reenactment of the daring tsunami escape.

Turns out tidal waves still earn this fearful title even if they are 15 friggin centimeters high. After floating for an extremely uneventful hour about a mile off shore, expecting to see our adopted neighborhood be razed by the ravenous drenched death and the bloated remains floating out presented for our salvaging, we realized the gendarmes could have been exaggerating. In a somewhat much quieter and orderly fashion we made our way back to anchorage, and returned to our unwavering vigilance to keep Natty M safe from destruction and ever lurking freak natural occurrences.

Spear Fish not Hands

My exploits have been subdued of late after an accident a week ago with an over excited spear gun (gnarly, but healing fast), and have been trying to stay dry to maximize my mending. By my next blog, I hope to be as able bodied as I can manage in this rough and ready, battering sailing voyage and be back amongst the waves again.

More soon, Diz.

Moorea's Baie Paopao By Air, Baie Oponohu behind.

After one last fun evening surf on the right with Dom and Kahlil, a hearty dinner and last minute checks of all critical systems, it was a GO to Leave French Polynesia. We weighed “Natural Mystic’s” anchor one final time from our beloved Moorea anchorage of Oponohu Bay and on a dark moonless night, with searchlights scanning, we cautiously weaved our way through the lurking coral heads, unlit boats and out the wide and well marked/lit reef pass. The consistent breeze of the day, had now completely vanished and I was reduced to using the engines to slide or rather push along.

Early Morning Motoring

The other thing that vanished was the last bit of my French Polynesian currency, as earlier in the day I did find a bank to convert my returned bond money into New Zealand dollars, The Cook Island’s currency and Euros, because there is no loss on the exchange rate, as the Pacific Franc is fixed to the Euro. With the last bit of that hassle out of the way, a new one presents itself, as coming out of Bank de Tahiti Kahlil and myself spy Cristiano driving past, when out of the blue his girlfriend finds us, informing us Dizzy cut his hand loading the speargun and Cristiano was taking him to the hospital. I had given Kahlil a brand new deadly accurate Omer 110cm speargun, with a razor sharp stainless steel articulating wishbone for loading, as an early birthday present to share with Dizzy (Kahlil did go over the speargun operation with Dizzy before Dizzy’s first attempted use, but apparently with one fish already speared, Dizzy got greedy, as he witnessed the fact that a struggling fish attracts other fish of its kind, then trying to reload with a fish still on the retrieval line and Danger Never Do This!) and it was funny how I wouldn’t let Dizzy go off on his own across the island, as I didn’t want anything problematic to happen, as we needed to be leaving the country soon and by staying close to the boat now he was headed to the hospital, only Dizzy!

Dizzy always living and learning

Fortunately for us, Dizzy is a pro in Polynesian hospitals by now and no one was the wiser to his questionable immigration status. Three stitches and some pain medicine later and the gnarly flap of skin that was jaggedly cut into the palm of his hand, appears quite precariously held in place. I imagine more along the line of 7 to 9 stitches would have been a better number for the job, but oh well Dizzy is now Gimpy and not nearly as much help for a possible week long sail across the sea. Captain’s decision is made to sail the 100 NM to Tahaa and explore the island a little bit and make sure Dizzy’s debilitating cut is healing up properly, with proximity to professional physicians if that’s not the case.

Our Sailing Sunrise

The swell is mild, wind nil, stars twinkle by the billions and by the gentile rumble of our diesel engines we find Kahlil and myself falling back into our familiar three hour watch schedule, with the promise to wake the other up when the wind fills in. We sleep through all our night’s watches until dawn, when Kahlil always the optimist thinks maybe nows the time, but one groggy look out my porthole window tells me otherwise and I go back to bed. I made the right call, back up and still no wind, but in a little bit a puff, then another and around 8-am, with everyone up, the sails are hoisted and we’re sailing again, just a little faster than motoring on one engine; Yippy! I love the silence, only the gentile noise of the water gliding past our hulls, as we are once again sailing somewhere new, albeit at a very distinguished speed.

Just Cruising in the Shade

However, rhumb line is below our optimum downwind angle and it makes for a hot, slow trip to Tahaa, as Huahine to weather, robs us of more and more of the breeze the closer we get towards Tahaa. Finally we succumb to the allure of horsepower, drop the sails and gun it for Passe Tiare. As we arrive at the pass, the island, for all our first times, the rather tranquilly ebbing current of the scenic pass seems to carry on it, the entire vibe of the island.

A luxuriant calm descends upon “Natural Mystic,” everyone’s awestruck at the beauty presented before us, a lush mountainous island, practically devoid of buildings and a magical sand bottom turquoise lagoon that runs seemingly forever to the horizon.

The deep pass threads a gap between picturesque motus Vavaratea and Mahara and once through I immediately bank hard to port, onto a sand bar that extends north, as far as you can see and chuck the hook. Our anchor setting instantly in the fine sandy bottom, we swing lazily at anchor, memorized by what lies below in the crystal clear water.

Beautiful but Deadly Lion Fish named Frank

Refreshingly we all jump into shallow water and find out. “Wow” is all I have to say; the coral heads that dot the sandy bottom were teeming with exotic and colorful reef life of all kinds.

Deadly poisonous Lion fish lurked beneath many coral heads, poised to strike unsuspectingly from their lairs, while shy Clown fish hid in their protective Sea Anemone for cover, colorful Christmas Tree worms worked hard on their symbiotic relationship with the coral they grow in and bright Tropical Maxima Clams, shone like a jewels for all to see, unless you stared too hard and they clammed up.

Trapped Blue Fin Trevally, a good eating fish just not too big or maybe poisonous.

Exploration of a large local fish trap, located at the pass entrance revealed more than just trapped tasty Trevally. The main room of the immense trap was teeming with sharks too big to fit into the final fish holding chamber.

Nice Fishy Fishy

Up so close sharks always look mean and menacing and Dom and I both hoped they didn’t all learn how to swim back out through the narrow entrance, as we snapped pics from semi-safety. Also I couldn’t help but to keep checking my six, thinking a new shark could be making its way through the trap’s twisting net lined channels, into our narrow little entry way/cage, while we are paying all our attention to the shark fracas forward.

Maybe a Quarter of the Total Traped Sharks

Enthralled by what we had seen, but refreshingly cooled off and out of the water, we all just lounge around relaxing and unwinding from all the commotion and exertion of Tahiti, Moorea and our departure. Everyone was enjoying the peace and quiet of this amazing island.

Tama Always Smiling and Selling Some Damn Fine Vanilla Beans

When all of a sudden a jovial dude named Tama, who maybe not so skillfully but, enthusiastically ties up to the “Natty M” with his speed boat to say hi and see if we are interested in buying some vanilla beans or pearls. Pearls no, but vanilla yes! Tahaa is where most all of the Tahitian vanilla is grown and when you buy it by the kilo from the grower, wow! What a deal, as one Tahitian bean costs about $10 back in California, but in Tahaa its less than a buck for the best smelling, freshest vanilla you have wafted up your nose. No matter where you are in the world vanilla essence costs a lot of money, so I made my own, soaking five beans in rum for the long six month wait until aromatic perfection.

Tama, like most Polynesians turned out to be a choice guy. We quickly made friends with he and his family and they promptly got Dizzy to the local doctor to checkup on his now not so good-looking wound, not that it ever was. With that business out of the way and by doctors orders Dizzy now on antibiotics to prevent serious infection, Tama invited us around to check out his amazingly tranquil resort at the head of Baie Haamene,Tahaa’s largest bay, also considered one of Tahiti’s true hurricane holes. His mini-resort includes one waterside bungalow and one hillside bungalow, both with ample decks made for relaxing and enjoying the dramatic views, as well as plush interiors for your comfort. The two bungalows are separated by a lush vanilla growing garden and Tama’s open air home.

The place is absolutely amazing and if anyone is looking for a place to get away from it all and just relax, this is a great spot and I highly recommend it, check out his website www.tiarebreeze.com, there is no way you could go wrong bringing your squeeze here to get away from it all.

Tito's a Tahaan' Bro!

Tito, Tama’s right hand man, showed Dizzy and myself the ripening vanilla beans, a type of tree climbing orchid, explaining the labor intensive process of checking the vines every single day during budding season, as the delicate white flowers last just one day, then fertilizing every single flower by hand, while waiting 9 months for the beans to ripen, then still drying and curing them to develop their rich flavor, all factors contributing to the high cost of the second most expensive spice in the world, saffron’s the first.

Growing vanilla beans, still over a year to marketable product.

Tito is an absolute choice example of a true Polynesian, breaking open perfectly ripe chilled coconuts for you to drink and happy to show you anything, you show interest in.

Dizzy Now Sitting Down

Some of Tahaa’s highlights included blasting around in Tama’s speedboat, picking up a couple of his friends from the airport on Raiatea, just a 10-minute high-speed boat ride away. As you can blast his boat straight off his bungalow’s deep water wharf, he tells you to sit down, everyone listens except Dizzy who is found tumbling backwards eventually forced to sit, as 250 HP drives you abruptly forward, everyone laughs, and now Tama really punches it. We’re all mesmerized as we fly across the deep blue water that marks the channels, starkly bordered by immense jeweled turquoise lagoon shallows, set amongst the backdrop of raging green mountains. Topical wind blasts your face, the music pumps and everyone enjoys the visually stimulating ride. We pull the boat up at the airport, greet the friends and are off again. Raiatea’s airport impressing me, as yet the nicest boating friendly airport ever, where you can wait in your boat at the ultra-close uncolored curb/dock forever if you like, entertained by the crab security guards and no annoying voice or cop telling you about colored zones anywhere.

Groups of friends united we all enjoy an evening spearfishing session, with Kahlil nailing a nice unicorn fish we later turn into yummy fish pasta, OH YEA! With a good night’s sleep we are out of there the next AM, sailing out of another paradise, cruising between Tahaa, Raiatea, their shared barrier reef, headed for a pass on the western side. Tama and Tito caught up to us in the speedboat to say goodbye in person, how nice and soon we are out the pass and on to “The Jewel of the South Pacific.” Bora Bora.

Crazy turquoise clouds seen through my polarized sunglasses.

It’s an amazing daytime sail, as the clouds over both sets of islands are turned various shades of blue and turquoise by the reflected light of the immense lagoon waters below, like a giant natural kaleidoscope. The vertical rock faces of Bora Bora’s Mt. Otemanu and Mt. Pa’hia grow larger and larger, until you can clearly make out the imprint of the excited white cock that Hero, god of thieves hurled into its face, to shut it up, as he attempted to steal Toopua Island one night, long ago.

The trades were moderate, but perfectly angled for our screecher; with its new improved headstay tension and we lazily made 7 knots right into Bora Boara’s only pass, as the wind clocked right around with us. Who says no surf exists on Bora Bora, the pass can still throw some mean looking waves, in an amazing setting.

Bora Bora, Huba Huba!

Easily through the wide pass and we jam north, up to one of the largest sandbars on the Island and throw the hook in a scant four feet of water, where one can jump off the transom and be standing in chest deep water; Yea for catamarans! Conveniently located near the airport, this sandbar was to be our base for the next few days, as a bunch of our friendly girlfriends flew out from Tahiti to do some serious relaxing with us for the weekend. Bora Bora was instantly rated the new best boat friendly airport in the world by me, as you shirtlessly pull the dingy right into the middle of the crowd waiting for luggage and greet the hottest girls just off the plane, with all the JOJ tourists staring with looks like what the hell is this place, Bora Bora?

Epic times ensued all weekend, as we enjoyed Bora Bora’s sweet lagoon with perfect trade windy, sunny weather and mistakenly celebrated Kahlil’s birthday one day early, but whatever we made it past midnight anyway to erase that little temporal oversight.

Happy Birthday You Crazy Kiwi!!!

Kahlil must have had one of the best birthdays ever, as not only were grand times enjoyed by all, but he generously scored a Santa Cruz 6′2″ rounded squash-tail Tough-Lite surfboard he had been coveting from our friend Helene back in Papeete; Yea Dude!

Bora Bora Lagoon Sailing

One gorgeous day we took “Natural Mystic” down to what was suppose to be Bora Bora’s best snorkeling, but instead we’re greeted by OK snorkeling, but an absolute electric clam frenzy, as they were everywhere by the hundreds just waiting to be discovered by the locals whom eat the pretty creatures.

We Are Victorious!

Later that afternoon we sailed “Natty M” back to her anchorage and through Bora Bora’s lagoon channels, with Dom in “Red Rocket” snapping sailing shots and reminding him of his old Yacht Shots job back in the BVI. The sail through Bora Bora’s inner lagoon channels was a jibing fiesta due to the light wind and so gracefully we sailed back to our airport anchorage, as we silently slid through the flat water amongst the back drop of lush mountains and motus.

The weekend was a friggin blast, but sadly one by one the girls departed, with more sad good byes all around and soon we were reduced to all boys once again. With everyone’s minds still in the daze of the weekend, yet dreaming once more of far off lands, with tasty waves, new adventures and ready to go. Cheers - Kyber

We will be sailing towards the setting sun, soon.

Arrrrhhh maties. So you want to hear about me pearls?? This here’s a tale of four mangy, plundering seamen, one boat wench and a feline more frightening than any creature from the Deep.

Our time in the remote Tuamotu atolls in the South Pacific was totally unforgettable. In Faaite we had dropped the hook in the middle of the crazy reef pass, so this time we were going into the lagoon’s more placid waters to anchor. We made another memorable arrival when we finally sailed into Kaitu. After trusting Charlies Charts for guidance through the sketchy reef pass, we dragged our skeg and rudder across the coral to mark our arrival. Local’s welcomed us with BBQ and warm Polynesian charm. While in Panama, we had stocked up on “rare provisions” to trade in the Tuamotus. So we went to work with them to harvest the treasures of the lagoon. We started bright and early when Tikhei and Hao came to pick us up.  With our local liaison’s navigating our way to the secret buoy laced with blackened gems, we suited up for the dive. They told us that a good 13mm black pearl will grow in about 5-6 years. So, with morning eye-boogers still clogging my vision through “foggy goggles”  we plucked our ripened booty from the pristine waters of the lagoon. At first, I figured these oysters would be on the sea floor 30 meters below us and the dive would be brutal especially for Hao who had polished off most of the bottle of Rum from last night’s BBQ.  The harvest was smooth and went surprisingly well. We hooked our anchor around the buoy and pulled the oyster bags up to a good level to dive so that we could get them in the boat before asphyxiation set in. A near tragedy occurred when Dizzy attempted to untie the oyster bag but sent it hurling towards to sea floor. Luckily Kyber was there to make the save. The entire process ended up being streamlined with help from the experts who taught us a few tricks of the trade. By 11am we were back in town and ready to rock.

We brought a boatload back to the farm where we scraped off the crusted shells, extracted the black pearls then seeded them again w/ white pearls so they could grow for another several years.

 We swapped our booty of electronics and  booze for bilges of black pearls…    

” keep yur scurvy-crusted lil’ hands off my pearls ya scalawag”

We will miss you Moorea!

Unfortunately it happened. The government powers that be kicked us out of French Polynesia and so on a early Saturday morning March 21, 2009 we untied our dock lines from Marina Taina for the last time and shoved off for lands unknown. Our Zarpe (the official paper that’s created when you check out) says we are headed for the Cook Islands, but which island is anyone’s guess and Christmas Island, 1,000 NM to the north is still a possibility. “Natural Mystic” is in good shape to go anywhere, her problems sorted and her holds stocked with enough pricy French Polynesian provisions (we could probably live off sweet chili sauce for two months alone) to take us hungry boys across vast oceans.

Fruit Fiesta Time!

Not a single one of us wanted to leave French Polynesia and neither did any of our many Tahitian friends wish to see us go. We tried to get a letter stating there was something wrong with our boat, but no such luck, as everything was for the time fixed. On our last Taapuna surf session, when we informed all our friends in the lineup (we basically know everyone now) we had to leave, they were telling us not to worry they would help us out.

Our last Taapuna session was fun!

Enzo, a Tahitian ripper and all around great guy, has an uncle who is the head of immigration at the airport. On Thursday, our last legal day in FP he picked us up bright and early to go visit his uncle to see what strings he could pull. His uncle called the head port immigration official on our behalf and then it was off to visit the port immigration officials for their final determination.

Enzo, tried his best. Thanks Bro!!!

Well, it didn’t work. The port official stating, as there was nothing wrong with our boat, which is the only exception for a visa extension we had to leave. Enzo was in disbelief that he couldn’t help us out and so, with sad looks across our faces we proceeded to go through the checkout process. I have to say the FP government and their rules are not doing their country and favors. Everyone here is complaining tourism, their biggest economic producer is drastically down, but yet they force people like us who are just spending our money in their country, basically transferring wealth, to leave. And it just makes zero sense that we can all travel back to our home countries and apply at a French consulate for a one-year visa that is extendable here in person, but can’t do so while in their country. Its also a super great policy for the environment, sail here with basically zero carbon emissions, but in-order to stay for a while, you’re forced to burn tons of polluting jet fuel and all your crew does too, flying back and forth from your respective home countries, what an absolute environmental waste. Here, 90 days is the most time you can legally get, as a non EU citizen. I guess its good that it keeps people who are derelict sailors from camping out in paradise for too long, but the revenue stream generated from legitimate cruisers they kick out has to hurt their economy substantially, as we are not the only case. One wealthy couple on a yacht was forced to leave after 90 days and the dude was buying new jewelry and expensive items almost every trip into town, talk about biting the hand that feeds you. But, I guess who really cares about real economic viability and independence here, when France gives FP huge sums of money to keep the country afloat and operating. Maybe someday FP will have enough of the French and their nuclear testing based pay-offs and have a say for themselves about their own country’s economic viability.

The check out process went quite smoothly, except for one thing. As none of us are EU citizens, we had to post bonds here of equivalent value to an overpriced plane ticket back to our home countries. This amounted to $5,000 of my money one of their banks was holding for free, as you receive no interest. The first letter immigration gave us didn’t have all of our names on it, as I paid for all the bonds and so, the bank would only give me my money back. After a lengthy, unsuccessful argument it was back to immigration to generate another letter, this time with all of our names on it, then back to the bank and finally I got my cash back, but in Pacific Francs. As not to loose any more money than I would have to, on exchange rate spreads, we did all our last shopping and provisioning with the returned cash. But, when I went back to the bank and then another and yet another, none had any dollars or New Zealand dollars, the Cook Island currency to change the money back into. So, now we are leaving FP with a boat full of worthless currency that hopefully we can convert wherever we end up, what a pain in the ass! Maybe we will just have to come back to spend it.

An early morning good bye from Marina Taina, Tahiti.

Thursday, our last legal night here found us tied up to the dock right in front of Pink Coconut, the most raging night of the week for the bar. It was classic, most all our Tahitian friends who just came to the bar for a drink found us preparing to leave and all were wanting to have a last celebratory Manuia (cheers in Tahitian) with us and most did. They were all angry their government was forcing us to leave and hoped we would return someday. I know this will be the case, as Tahiti and it’s culture are a part of me now and I will return, but only God knows when.

As always there was a long string of sad good byes with all our many friends here and where usually I’m looking forward to the next land and ready to go. Here I easily could stay for much, much longer. The people of Tahiti and FP really make you feel like you are part of one big family and I will miss them all tremendously.

Thanks for hooking us up with waves like these!

A big list of Thank Yous or Merci Beaucoups goes out to everyone that made Tahiti and Moorea such a special place for the crew of the “Natural Mystic,” Charlotte, Alex, Vainui, Christiano, Myra, Virginia, Helene, Leilani, Jessica, Milan, Adam, Simon, Enzo, Herman, Nelson, Christian, Teki, Manu, Jamaican Mike, Mark and his wonderful family, all the Taapuna boys, all the Teachupoo boys, Michele of Tahiti Yacht Accessory (the man to talk to if you need to get your boat fixed), Patrick (a darn good yacht electrician), Philippe and Constance of Marina Taina (great people running a great marina), Domenic, Adrian, Eve, Tina and all the wonderful people I might have missed that truly made our stay in Tahiti such a wonderful experience and leaving just that much harder. Everyone onboard “Natural Mystic” wishes you all the best and we hope to see you all again some day soon.

Tahiti is truly a beautiful, magical land that holds great power and is filled with wonderful people who are the true gems of the South Pacific. I know I will return some day, as I have never traveled to a place that has infected me the way Tahiti has, Respect!

One happy lady and one happy bastardo!

But, one last stop in Moorea had to be made, taking care of two, last unturned stones. The first, to say “See ya in a little bit.” To our good friend Cristiano on “Mundo Vagabond” whom we have all shared many memorable times with here in FP. One last good dinner and a couple of beers with our mate and his girlfriend, as they are hanging for another month or so, before heading west hopefully to meet back up with us in yet another tropical paradise.

Some serious peaks and ridges.

Secondly, to journey on a Tahitian spirit quest of my own. Attempting to attain the summit of Rotui, the main monolith of Moorea, in order to garner a glimpse into my life, that is floating on the sea way down below.

Looking back on the way up.

The bright midday sun scorched my back, sweat poured forth profusely, as I climbed straight up the volcanic ridge, no switch-backs assuaged the elevation gain, as the narrow ridge was barley wide enough for two of my feet side by side. “Natural Mystic” and “Mundo Vagabond” sat peacefully anchored to a shimmering, sapphire sea below.

"Natural Mystic" and "Mundo Vagabond" sitting at a Tahitian anchorage.

Looking at us and the pass beyond.

Up and up I went, following the overgrown way, more than a path, constantly jabbing me with sticks and the endless pricks of thorny, fern type shrubbery in my raw exposed reef cuts. The pain purifying my intentions, as no one would do this just for fun, but only with a purpose, only driven.

An arch frames a dot of Pacific ocean.

The deadly consequences on either side resulting from one misstep were very real, but alas I was not to obtain the lofty summit nor enlightenment. My water was down to drops, as I reached the still high false summit viewable from the boat way below and knew continuing on, even though it was the home stretch, was not the prudent thing to do.

A blue view from above.

Still, from way up there you could see Moorea’s verdant land sweeping down from its craggy volcanic mountains to the Pacific ocean in all directions, Tahiti Nui across the channel to the east and the winds blowing silent whitecaps across the ocean on all sides of the island. I was looking at what could be the most magnificent place to make a home someday, but if I could have jumped off the precipice and let the warm currents of the tropical atmosphere carry me to whatever destination was next, I would have. But, as I can’t fly yet probably not too good of a plan! And I know for me, I still have to let our earth blow me along it’s ancient watery highway until one day I climb that mountain, look down on the tumultuous sea below and don’t feel like blowing in the wind anymore. Cheers - Kyber

One last crunchy Tahitian Sunset!

A big early morning Tahitian set sends everyone scratching.

Well our alternator parts arrived last in Tahiti last Wednesday, two and a half weeks after being shipped “express” from California by the unorganized and fuct shipping company DHL. We were granted one-month visa extensions in French Polynesia in order to fix our broken alternators and unfortunately we needed most all of that time to shock our system back to life.

Patrick, What's he doing with that thing?

Patrick, the local marine electrical expert, damn good too if you need one here, showed up Thursday afternoon and jumped right in with me to tackle the problem. By the end of Friday we had the new alternators installed, wired and working and the new “Centerfielder” regulator device installed between our to “smart” alternator regulators, to regulate them and voilà, problem solved. The instillation went way smoother than I was expecting and for the first time since I have been on Natural Mystic our charging system was working correctly when both engines were running. Also, making both tachometers work at the same time, a new occurrence and putting the full charging of both alternators into our battery banks for the first time ever as well. I was quite happy at having solved a problem that had plagued our boat for quite some time now.

Leprechuan's hide more than just a pot of gold at a rainbow's end.

As Friday drew to a close, an unusually intense rainbow pointed us towards the direction of Morea and we all knew it was where to head next. Coupling that manna, with the info my dad relayed about Hawaii being too big and stormy to surf on the N. Shore and I knew a couple of days later we would get a tamed down version of the same swell here.

Heading out the pass dark and early for Moorea.

An hour before dawn on Saturday we headed out the pass once again for the garden island. Immediately I noticed that our port alternator was not working what so ever and as a precaution switched only to the starboard engine, motoring through he pre-morning glass the entire way. Too say I was frustrated was an understatement! But, as its like paradise down here you can’t really get too pissed about it and as Dizzy started to pepper me with questions about the issue way too early in the morning, I simply asked him to drop it, I was going to forget about the problem for the weekend and just enjoy myself on our last weekend in FP. I knew the alternator instillation went way too easily for a boat and something had to go wrong, well at least we had one good engine to use and as a sign to just relax, our anchorage of choice greeted us with super fun surf and to our surprise our good friend Christaino on “Mundo Vagabond,” returned from his Tahaa trip and swinging at anchor. As we set our hook snow white sand, in 8 feet of crystal clear water everyone shared a good laugh at Dizzy’s expense, as he fell overboard when hooking up our anchor bridle and then promptly ate shit again, as he tripped over the jib furling line after climbing back aboard dripping wet, tumbling across the trampoline and no one at all was left wondering why he goes by that
name and not Brent.

Christaino immediately jumped on board and hugs and handshakes were exchanged, as well as thoughtful gifts he had gotten for all of us in Tahaa, what a great guy! As the commonwealth kids started to fry up breakfast, I needed to wash the frustration from my mind and immediately headed out for a surf with Dom. It was overhead, offshore and barreling with no one out. Dom and I surfed alone for a couple hours, and quickly the alternator problems faded like a bad hangover, replaced with feelings of intimate joy that only deep tubes deliver and marvelous beauty the island of Morea invokes.

Empty Perfection!

Jamaica Mike was supposed to join us latter in the day, after taking the ferry across, but the weather had other ideas and by noon, after a scrumptious breakfast of Kahlil’s by now famous Kiwi Potato Fritters a torrential tropical rain squalled in. Blowing out the surf for jus’ a lil’ bit, as well as, being quite bad for our planned BBQ and company, but eventually being damn good for the surf, as it obscured the wave from shore and we surfed the pumping swell all day alone, until all of our nipples, armpits and junk were thoroughly afflicted by surf rash, forcing us back to the boat and our waiting supplies of soothing Gold Bond Medicated Powder and slippery Vaseline.

Good times abound on-board "Natural Mystic."

The evening was still a little too rainy to BBQ, so I risked my health and let the commonwealth kids whip up another tasty Spagbol, thankfully with no side effects this time. While Christiano, his new chick Johanna and I watched Pineapple Express, laughing our asses off to the stoner comedy, that was graciously bestowed upon us by our Moorean friend Charlotte. It had been ages since any of us had a new movie to watch and boy what a treat it was to see a new movie and quite a hysterical one at that!

The next morning another Morean friend of ours, Adrian stopped by pre-dawn style in his boat, banging on my window early Sunday morning and without hesitation or morning coffee we were out there. Again surfing super fun offshore, overhead waves alone, with only the memento of wonderful memories to remind me of the fun super fun early session. Eventually playfully spoiled by famous Coco, the island’s marina manager and musician and his enthusiastic three boys who are just starting to rip. We surfed with them for a bit more and then handed it over to the upcoming generation of stylish Tahitian rippers.

Later in the morning we met up on Moorea for the very first time with our friend Charlotte, she had been trying to get us to come over and visit her for a long time, wanting to show us around local style. Her father, a French alpinist, is somewhat of a well known man on Morea, and as well as running a environmental education school for the youth of Morea, he headed the effort of constructing many of the hiking trails that run across the island and up its various mountain peaks. As a kid, Charlotte helped in the construction of many of them too, lugging wood and concrete for miles up steep slopes, helping create bridges over many of the narrow, but deep ravines that channel immense amounts of rain down from daunting mountain peaks, several of which nice bridges made our hike much easier.

Watch out, punking Pineapple can make the gods angry!

So, on a beautiful sunny day Kahlil, Charlotte and our friend Helene headed off for a cross island hike, from the North to the South coasts. What a hike it was, with stops along the way to pick some sweet pineapples, fresh limes and papayas that made for a super tasty lunch.

Majestic Mou'a Roa

Trails through dense jungle and forests led up and across the mountain’s flanks, along the way revealing ancient, sacred Tahitian burial grounds illuminated by tree filtered light and every now and then, the canopy breaking, revealing the slick, dark face of hulking stone mountains looming overhead.

L to R, Tohiea the tallest and Tamarutoofa, Moorea's mountains.

We crossed over the divide on top of “Three Coconut Pass”, where now only one tall ancient palm remains after a recent storm destroyed the other two, but where people steeped in tradition have replanted the missing two to eventually restore the pass’s namesake. The descent down the valley Vaianae was a refreshing, short and sweet one.

A cool refreshing waterfall massage!

As a cool waterfall massaged our sore bodies, Charlotte’s families home was the furthest one up the valley, perfectly positioned for us to avoid the timely afternoon rainstorm and her father, knowing we were coming, baked us a delicious Tahitian vanilla marble fudge cake with raisins. Which was just out of the oven, super tasty and eagerly consumed by all the hungry hikers. Her dad gave Kahlil and myself a ride back to the boat in the back of the family truck, depositing us on the other side of the island and BAM! We were back out in the surf. Adrian even showed back up and who-hoo! Everyone was sharing some last fun waves, before the long day vanished forever.

The view from top of 3 coconut pass, down Vaianae valley.

But the night was still young and the rain stayed away, the BBQ came out and so did Christiano, Adrian, some beer, and shitty Tahitian rum for a couple games of Shithead, while we waited for the chicken to get super tasty. I was narrowly able to avoid being shithead a couple of times, but I couldn’t avoid the call of my bunk and soon after gorging on peppery poultry I was off to dreamland, making up for a long week of dawn to dusk, nonstop days.

It tastes even better than it looks!

Just like everyone’s Monday’s around the world, it was back to work for me too. Getting out the multi-meter and test probes, checking fuses and all the electrical connections Patrick and I had just installed. I couldn’t find a burned out fuse or problem what so ever and was stumped. Our visas were all expiring on Thursday and I guess this was going to be our litmus test to determine if we really were meant to leave French Polynesia or not.

Unridable waves in Hawaii, equal fun waves in Tahiti.

Two hours of frustration later, I jumped out into the surf to wash away the grease of the engine room and Dom started shooting from the dink with our new long lenses, that my parents so graciously shipped out to us, thanks a million mom and dad! The swell was dying and smaller, but still provided Dizzy, Vainui and myself some fun waves to rip and pull into. By 1pm we were all out of the water, dropping Dizzy’s chick off on the beach and heading back to Marina Taina once again, to a waiting Patrick, who was astonished our alternator was not working, after we had both tested everything so thoroughly after the instillation. It was late in the day when he showed up and too was perplexed by the problem, informing us he would have to come back in the morning.

What would California be like with consistent "out of season" swells?

Tuesday dawned with solid south swell and everyone on the “Natural Mystic” wondering if we were going to get the problem solved or have to get another visa extension. While the waves pumped, we watched from afar, as we had real work to accomplish if we have to leave FP by Thursday. Patrick showed up bright and early and two hours of testing later we had the problem licked. It turned out there were hidden fuses, packed inside the engine start battery case, that either of us didn’t know existed. The fix turned out as simple as replacing a 10amp fuse and thankfully everything was working again. I asked Patrick if he wanted any more cash for his time and he generously said it was up to me, well he had taken all my cash last Friday, so that would have to wait, but it generally illustrates the attitude of many people in Tahiti, who are happy to help and share first and make money second.

Patrick, burried in the engine room trouble shooting.

There was to be no necessary letter from a Marine Repair Facility, to take to immigration stating we had another boat crisis and deserved a visa extension. Its looking like we really are leaving here now and everyone spent the rest of the day, ignoring the pumping surf and working on projects of all sorts.

I'm up a mast Mo Fo, Mo Fo I'm up a mast.

Kahlil checking the rig and discovered “Windy Spins” had broken her plastic mount which we can hopefully jury rig. Dizzy cleaning, organizing and getting water. Dom working on photos and our outboard, and me……Sweating more than I ever have in the mid day heat, working on already warm engines, in a small insulated space, flushing and changing both engines’ coolants, replacing the engines’ raw water pump impellers, tightening and replacing broken hose clamps and generally cleaning the engine rooms, trying to keep them, as grease free and tidy as possible.

I was still smiling this early in the morning.

Like a good mechanic I swore and cursed all day long as I covered my self in grease, but opted for a late Taapuna surf session instead of a cold brew to forget the drudgery of the day and Kahlil and I proceeded to use the spinning barrels of Taapuna like a washing machine to power wash away the grime of the day. Its truly amazing how frustrated or full of angst you can be, but once you jump out into good surf, with your friends and grab a few fun waves, all your troubles seem so distant and removed. Water both chemically and emotionally is truly the universal solvent.

Dom and I both nailing the tube.

Which brings us to today, our second to last legal day in FP. We still have much to accomplish before I will feel comfortable about going out into the unknown pacific, probably headed for the Cook islands, but as of yet still undetermined. Not to mention, we currently have cyclone Ken, currently 55 knots gusting 75, spinning just 500 miles to our southwest and kind of in our way, if we head there. Who knows, maybe its gods last chance to keep us here and so we will just see, where Ken is headed over the next day or so.

We don't want to leave this!

As the realization sinks in to all of us that our days in Tahiti and French Polynesia are numbered, I can’t help but reflect on our time here. French Polynesia truly changed my perspective on how I view the world. Here I discovered, that the nicest, friendliest, happiest people I have yet to meet in our world, seem to have the least amount of worldly possessions. They are happy to share with you what they do have and live day to day in a land that provides them with everything they need to survive and prosper. In the Tuamotus they say, all they need to be happy is the ocean and coconut trees, as together they provide shelter, food, water and a modest income for their families. In Tahiti a true land of plenty, Tahitians don’t know about saving or preserving anything except their culture, as the land and sea have provided them with all they have need since their culture came into being. Their culture developed no jams or jellies to preserve their bountiful fruit, food is meant to be eaten today and shared by all, as it comes. This permeates their culture, as a case of beer is to be drunk and enjoyed with everyone until its gone. Why would you save it? And as there has always been an excess of food here provided by both the sea and fertile soil, they share it amongst themselves and generously with the strangers that visit their land. Some of this might not always be applicable towards modern life, but much is and you can’t help, but be infected by some of the Tahitian’s ancient beliefs and philosophies. What all this really boils down to is Tahitians really know how to enjoy life and what good is life, if you don’t share it with the friends and family around you, lessons we all can benefit from.

Rugged Hiva Oa, Iles Marquises.

I reflect on all the good and bad that has occurred here and know that it is just the give and take of our earth. You can’t have one without the other and no place in our world is free from either. The worst thing that happed to us on this journey thus far was the disappearance of P Kiddy from Marina Taina in Tahiti. I never intended to leave here without finding him and it breaks my heart we will continue on, without our very loved, super cute, fearless feline. I know Tahiti must be a very scary place for a spoiled cat, I wish him all the best of luck in his new home and country and who knows maybe P will still turn up some day. The hardest thing is not knowing what happened, but I ask myself. Would I rather know if he was dead or not know and still have a chance of finding him some day? The answer is easy for me, I would take the hope he is out there and could still turn up some day. For this one reason alone a part of me will always feel like I left a piece of me in Tahiti and I don’t think I will ever give up the hope that maybe some day I will see my fur ball again. But one thing is for sure, when I do come back to Tahiti I will always keep looking for him, as I do whenever I walk, bike, drive or boat anywhere over here.

I love you P Kiddy!

Tahiti has truly been an educational, growing experience I will cherish forever. I learned so much about life, love, hope, disappointment and myself. In a way I would never have been able to grasp without, throwing myself into this land that seems to take the energy of our earth and amplify it like one of God’s Hi-Fi speakers. A land where the waves are the best you have ever ridden, the beatings more severe than any you have ever received and you can’t help but feel you are certainly living life to its extreme limits while in Tahiti. Cheers - Kyber

This Tahitian greasy double cheese is dedicated to Sir William