Looking into the heart of the earth

here are times when paradise offers a little of the unexpected- sometimes the unexpected is an oasis of good fortune; other times a nightmare of anguish. This is a story of both.

We made our way west across the Pacific from Tonga to Fiji for provisions in late May, then onwards another 600 miles to the remote jewel of Vanuatu, which most of the people I’ve told about have never heard of, let alone know where it’s located (myself included four years ago when the plan to come here first began to take shape). Our purpose: to find and hunt large pelagic fish (tuna) with spearguns. To hunt these fish with what amounts to an underwater bow and arrow on a breath-hold (i.e. freediving- without aid of scuba) is like hunting bear or cougar with a hand spear. You are in an environment that cannot be tamed like we have done to the land. It is a world few humans venture very far into without some serious trepidation and a world that we will never truly know. It belongs to animals with far greater strength and ability to survive than humans have. The big game fish- and the sharks who eat those fish roam their kingdom with absolute power and authority, we are but a trespasser who moves more slowly, less efficiently, and infinitely less confidently. I am not, and never have been a “hunter”, preferring to buy my meals off the racks of convenience stores like most people in western society. But to experience eating from it’s true beginning- whether from the sea or land, like growing an organic garden- is an addictive and totally waste less way to live. The people on the outer islands of Vanuatu create little to no garbage. Everything eaten is grown or caught by their own hands- and everyone is well fed. No little handy snacks in plastic, no msg, no bovine growth hormone, no pesticides- just good ole’ food. There is no power, no TV, no cars, no pollution, no concept of time, and is void of stress. It’s a place one grows to like.

But sometimes even when life seems so simply rewarding it throws you a curve ball. Ours came in the form of malaria. My First Mate, a woman named Vicki Pearson from Vancouver, Canada joined Saoirse in Tonga and quickly became an extraordinary asset. Our clients raved about her cooking, and Saoirse took on some custom refurbishments no guy like me could ever hope to accomplish. I prefer to bang on things with hammers and get my hands covered in caulk and epoxy, then spread it to every possible corner of the boat, cussing all the way. Aesthetic is a word I can barely spell, let alone create.

Marc doing a VB commercial!

Our first Vanuatu charter, with two spear fishermen from the States found us up in the northern group called the Banks. We made landfall on Mere Lava, a small steep extinct volcano that was apparently last visited by a cruising yacht over ten years ago. Pretty remote. When we came into the anchorage the local people went crazy- you would have thought we were carrying the Pope. But we were carrying a young man (Kim) from the village who hadn’t been back in ten years. It was something to have a dozen young kids swim out to the boat after we anchored- one of them Kim’s brother whom he had never met. So Mere Lava welcomed us with open arms and that night gifted us with a kava ceremony. Kava is a root the people of the south pacific mash into a liquid that looks and tastes distinctly like mud. When consumed in some quantity it has the curious ability to separate one’s head from one’s body. In other words, you talk and think clearly, unlike being drunk but try to stand up and you’re in for a doozy. The other thing of interest Mere Lava gifted us with was mosquitos. Three days later, just after we landed a nice Yellowfin tuna, followed by an equally tasty Mahi-Mahi Vicki said she wasn’t feeling well and asked if I would prepare lunch. By 6 p.m. she was completely incoherent and hallucinating. All she said over the course of the next three days in between a bout of nerve-damaging soaring fever (the time it took to get her to a hospital) was “make sure you make the pineapple cake.” I’m a fair cook, but I neglected to fulfill her wish, thinking the thoughts she was having about baking might have been induced by the “baking” going on in her brain. I had never witnessed malaria and I now hope to do so never again.

Some weeks later we discovered the fever she suffered in those early days had done some damage to her nerves, so while the malaria ran its course Vicki is somewhat permanently on “kava”. I’d take a gander that she would prefer to drink it for the effects however, mud water taste and all. So Vicki has left us to heal at home in Vancouver and Saoirse and her new crew, a young guy named Francis who has grown up in such places as Angola, Guatemala, Lesotho and now Vanuatu has taken her place. I am now the cook, and he is our multi-lingual (Francis, 18 years old speaks 7 languages fluently) everything else guy- including putting much of our dinner on the plate as he is an avid spear fisherman himself. The aesthetics are already suffering around here with two fish nuts onboard and we’re both missing Vicki and wishing her a speedy recovery.

Champagne Beach, Vanuatu

So Vanuatu’s first curve ball has for now been assimilated, but her surprises haven’t stopped there. A few weeks ago we decided a glimpse at one of the active volcanoes in the area would be in order. Four of us- Francis, myself, Marc and Russ (Yank and Aussie) decided to give one of the more active and therefore threatening volcanoes a shot. From the anchorage you could see the eerie glow from within the massive crater at night and the way it lit up the sky made further investigation a must. We packed a small bit of food, fleece jacket and two tarps, got ourselves a guide (all land and water is owned by a particular village in Vanuatu- so if you want to do anything within its territory it must be done either with a guide or with permission. In this case if you climbed the volcano without a guide the village chief would put a curse on you and apparently strange things would happen to your body parts, so we chose to have a guide) and headed UP. Our guide, Obed had four things- a hatchet, small rack of crackers, t-shirt, and pants. On the way up we learned about vines you could cut and drink water from, how to climb 50 foot coconut trees, what plants you use to comb your hair, what plants kill you (which look almost identical to the ones that you use to comb) and how tough feet can be as Obed never wears shoes. I have not worn shoes other than for a quick foray to town in the last four months, but this was impressive. 11 kilometers over ash and volcanic rock would prove tough in $400 dollar hiking boots, let alone bare feet.

We made two ascents of the volcano- the first by day the second in the middle of the night. I’m not sure words are colorful enough to describe looking into the center of the earth so I think my best recommendation is for those of you who get a chance to do so please do not pass it up. The sound is deafening, the smoke painfully stringent and acrid, the sea of lava an angry tumultuous roar of superheated rock and earth that seems pissed off that gravity exists. A rocky coastline getting pounded by a mid-winter gale by raging seas could not match the power of this phenomenon. At night the sight was exponentially more impressive and if it weren’t for the freezing cold (Obed never complained in his t-shirt, which made me feel a little less proud of our 3 a.m. ascent in polar fleece and cushiony shoes) and suffocating smoke I might still be standing there in awe of its frightening splendor. Looking down into this crater was comparable in steepness and beauty to standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon, but instead of meandering river, you stared at a cauldron of fire.

For these things, for the anguish and the triumph, we travel this planet and await the next pitch.