s/v Field Trip

Our first night at Roncador Reef, I kept having these crazy visions of desperate, emaciated fishermen from that ship coming to our boat in the dark. The hatch over our bed was open (sailor’s a/c) and I kept imagining a hand reaching down to grab me. Then I envisioned the entire crew climbing aboard like a zombie invasion - not coming up the transom steps like anyone else would, but slowly hauling themselves up the sides of the hulls and up the anchor chain, then slithering over the life lines and across the deck, clawing at all the hatches to find a way inside, moaning and seething. Of course, once they got in and tied us all up, they’d sail away in our boat to escape this mid ocean hell they’d been wrecked in for who-knows-how-long. There we’d be, the four of us, sitting back to back in a tight little circle on the salon floor, a stiff, itchy rope wrapped tightly around our chests, watching as the zombie fishermen ransacked all of our cabinets and gorged themselves on our recent...

It doesn’t have a fancy automated trunk or bluetooth capabilities, but it does get us from point A to point B. Our dinghy is like our car. So much so, that when we visit the US and rent a car, many times, Mark or I will mistakingly call out, “Okay, let’s go! Everyone hop in the dinghy!” (Yes, it is always a big adjustment to living on land again!) Well, today, Elizabeth, Mark and I decided to dive down to check out the anchor and the red snapper that we had seen hanging around beneath the boat. As we ascended from below, approaching the stern ladder, we were all careful to watch our heads - a habit that has formed to avoid hitting our heads on the steel bottom or sharp propeller of the dinghy.  Usually it is tied up behind Field Trip during the day when we’re anchored. I was the last to surface, and on my way up, I saw Mark casually holding onto the frayed end of our dinghy painter. Something wasn’t right here. I looked behind him - oh no!  Where’s the dinghy?? I hurried...

Drone shot with Field Trip anchored in red circle Satellite images have changed sailing dramatically. Roncador Reef (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roncador_Reef) is a perfect example. While looking at the satellite images months ago and planning our stops on the way to PNG, Mark noticed a small reef just between Ontong Java and the Arnavon Islands. Zooming in, he could see a clear entrance to the circular reef, and that was the tipping point. This little spot in the middle of nowhere suddenly found its place on our agenda. It reminded him of Minerva Reef, the remote reef between Fiji and New Zealand where many cruisers stop for a rest if the weather permits. Fish and lobster are abundant and enormous, the water is crystal clear, and the diving is pristine. These are places that you won’t find on a travel brochure or in any cruise itinerary. Our trip here was not a long one, but it was tough. I think I’d lost my sealegs after months hopping between the Solomon Islands, and unfo...

Eight months.  Nearly eight months.  It’s the longest we have stayed in one country since we’ve been sailing.  If you’d have asked me when we started this trip which country we’d likely spend the most time in, Solomon Islands would not have even been on the list!  I don’t even know if I’d heard of it at all before we got further across the Pacific.  But our time here has flown by. Today we need to do all the last minute provisioning and paperwork with Customs and Immigration.  Of course, government agencies are on their own time schedule, so when we climbed the stairs at 8:30 in the morning, all ready to check out, the office was closed.  There was, however, a sign which provided a phone number, so Mark dinghied back to the boat, dropped off the bread and garlic we’d bought, and called the number to see when they’d be open.  Meanwhile, the kids and I perused the fresh market to stock up on produce.  This would be our last chance for a w...

By Elizabeth This is a story with a moral, That doesn't smell like floral! I was so excited to go,
But little did I know! Down my heart went, When I smelled the awful scent. 
Lower it still dropped,
 When hundreds of fish flipped and flopped. Then it hit me,
 The truth I didn't see:  ''This is why we don't eat, Any fresh fish meat!!!  ''All of the fish; small and large, 
Get scooped up in that barge!
 Why do people overfish,
 So they get money like greedy men wish?''  We then started walking,  Wondering, whispering and talking.  Then the guide led us into a room,  That filled my heart with doom!  White boots, hairnets, orange jackets and cloaks,  Made me almost choke!
'' Why do they want to make,
 All of us do it for their own sake?!''  Laughter and giggles soon cured My feelings of looking obscure.  Michael then made our giggles sail,  With his newly done ponyta...

One of our absolute favorite spots was in Morovo Lagoon near a village called Mbili (pronounced Billy).  In fact, we couldn’t stop going back there each time we had the chance, and by the time our Solomons time was up, we had returned three times, all the visits adding up to over a month’s stay.  The village itself consists of the children and grandchildren of Chief Luten, a short, spunky man with kind eyes and a great sense of humor.  He always made it a point to come greet us when we came ashore, and was truly excited that our family had come to visit his. Because we came back repeatedly and stayed for a while, the kids had time to overcome the initial shyness and make some memorable friends.   Eventually, the connections that they made with the children caused them to be rushing to get school done so that they could go back ashore to play.  Every afternoon, they would engage in some new Michael playing 'rubbers' game or activity with the kids.  ...

“Velcome to dee Vaater Taxi. Vhere vould you like to go, Madame?” Michael, oars primed and ready to go, was my chauffeur for our sunset tour. He said he was from France, but his accent sounded a bit more Transylvanian… I called out countries as he started rowing. “France.” “Okay, you vant to have a baguette? A crepe? Vhere vill ve go next?” “Um... Argentina.” “Yes, yes. Vonderful choice, Madame. Argentina it is.” His oars hovered just above the surface of the water as he figured out how to push one and pull the other in order to spin us around and head for the southern hemisphere. “Ve are on our vay. Ve vill have empanadas and see glaciers and penguins!” We continued our role play as he guided me to Fiji and New Zealand. “Isn’t it crazy that you have actually BEEN to most of these places already? Do you have any idea how lucky you are? Think of all the people you know from around the world! And the foods you’ve tried! It’s amazing!” He sh...

\ The winds changed, and then everything changed.  Oftentimes we joke about how much of our lives are dictated by the wind.  We go when the weather says go and hide out in a protected spot until bad weather passes.  During cyclone season we run north or south to steer clear of the cyclone belt, and we wait until the weather gurus give the ‘all clear’.  Anchorages that our friends tell us not to miss turn out to be miserable just because the wind direction is different than it was for them.  Our lives are weather dependent, whether we like it or not. These truths were made more evident recently when we had to return to Honiara to retrieve a package we’d ordered.  If you read my previous blog post entitled “Honiara Hell”, you can imagine how thrilled I was to return (ha!).  All those memories came flooding back and plagued me as we motored back to the nation’s capitol.  But, the winds had changed. What had been a swelly, choppy mess of an a...