Peter Chappell taking in Norfolk Island

s we begin our third seasonal decent from the tropics to the safe haven of New Zealand, which lies far enough south to be free from cyclones I find my mind wandering to this year’s adventures in Vanuatu, where we sailed for the span of five full moon’s, which defines our time better than a calendar which I cannot follow or a watch that I cannot wear. Increasingly when I look back on a place or certain memorable events that define our perceptions of a place I am becoming aware that it is not the beauty, location, weather, marine life- it is not our environment which is what you take with you- it is the people. Again and again when I reflect on a circumstance that brings a smile or laugh it has come through a chance meeting with someone who shares some fleeting time with us on our wandering path.

A few examples:

We met a village chief on the island of Maewo who when questioned about two recent shark attack victims on a nearby island told us: “well you see, the two victims were missionaries (said with not a little disdain as missionaries have a somewhat bleak history in the South Pacific). One night while the missionaries were swimming the chief turned himself into a tiger shark and ate them.” Suppressing laughter at what I thought was surely a joke I realized the chief was being deadly serious. I will never forget the look on his face, and then the looks on all the white people’s faces that surrounded us. The last recorded case of cannibalism on the island of Malekula was in 1969. Recent history. On Erromango some villagers killed a visiting Reverend and then before cooking and eating him they plastered him to a rock and chiseled out his frame, which still stands today as statue and symbol of a very commonplace practice only very recently expunged. Vanuatu is one of the most lovely and certainly least violent places we have visited. Yet we hear the word cannibal and notions of great injustice and gore scream through our minds. Like all things though, it is a matter of perspective. To the people of Vanuatu and for that matter most of the South Pacific cannibalism was simply a very immediate way of getting justice- and I suppose, protein. To steal a pig, which is considered a God and is a sign of great wealth to own was and remains one of the greatest crimes. You steal my pig, I eat you. Pretty simple. Saves a hell of a lot of tax dollars.

In New Caledonia our landfall was on the island of Lifou, an outer island in the ‘Loyalty’ group. On our first shore exploration we met a man and began a conversation. We asked him what he did, to which he replied, “nothing”, and then grinned. I laughed all day. Nothing. Why not?

The writer Paul Theroux visited the actively volcanic island of Tanna, Vanuatu while sea kayaking. After meeting one of the village chief’s he asked him what the people liked to eat. To which the chief replied, “roots, leaves, pigs.” When I read that a few years back I thought it must be a bit of authorial fiction. But it’s true. We ate quite a bit of roots, leaves, and pigs and I always acted like it was good. We got invited one night to a chief’s home for some roots leaves and pigs on Ureparapara. Before the dinner he and his family sang us a few songs, of which most were horribly out of tune Christian hymns, but which ended with the Disney song “the lion sleeps tonight.” In da jungle, da mighty jungle, da lion sleeps tunite. To witness five adults belting out the lion sleeps tonight in complete seriousness and with utter lack of harmony is to witness perfect comedy. I had to hide the noodles from coming out of my nose. At some point a missionary no doubt got a little bored with songs of Jesus and decided to have himself some fun by teaching a pointless children’s tune. No wonder they got eaten from time to time.

Taking in Norfolk Island

Now we have 1,000 miles of tempestuous ocean between New Caledonia and the Land of the Long White Cloud. Before every passage there is anxiety, anticipation, preparation- will Mother Nature be cruel or kind? We’ve done all we can- practiced man overboard, abandon ship, fire, emergency signals, emergency radio procedures. We’ve reefed the sails, done all the drills, practiced and prayed to whatever Gods might listen. We download unending weather faxes and listen to weather reports, but eventually we just have to go. We size one another up, wondering how we will handle the boredom, fear, closeness, inevitable exhaustion. Each day the ocean will cool one or two degrees as the chance of storms raging off the Tasman increase. They say if the opportunity to leave a ship half way through a passage became available no passage would ever be completed. This is in my experience is true. But fortunately there are moments out here in this enormous blue expanse that leave you in such wonder and awe that once you arrive all the struggle and strife are replaced with a smile and sense of accomplishment and the next passage is already being planned.

Francis and tonight's albacore tuna

Five years ago if asked why I wanted to give up stable ground and lead this nomadic lifestyle my response if limited to one word would have been “challenge”. I imagined in every detail dealing with freakish storms, ship breakdowns, unseen reefs, loneliness. While these things continue to surface as obstacles and I am in every way fallible to these realities I have come to realize the true challenge lies within. Nothing I have done bears witness to who you are as a person as does sailing. Every single attribute one has will surface at sea - the good, the bad, and sometimes- the ugly. There is no end to the day, no one to go home to at 5 p.m. for sympathy after a scrap with the boss. No getting in the bathtub to let off a little steam. No stop button- no escape. Whatever comes up that drives you mad must be dealt with or it will destroy you- or those around you. Egos are trounced and humility reigns as our personal mirrors pursue us into every nook, waiting patiently to expose illusions of self at every opportunity. The true challenge out here has nothing to do with sailing, but in having one’s eyes and mind open enough to learn from the teacher’s who cross our paths outside the classroom. Some turn themselves into sharks, some like to eat leaves, some do nothing at all, but they all have a bit to offer. I suppose we all reside in the school of life. I hope I can absorb the lesson plan.

Somewhere in the South Pacific, October, 2003