Discovery nestled into Raivavae

This trip goes down as the windiest of the expedition to date. We picked up our new group, Mick and Denise from Australia, Luc and Dave from Canada, and Bruce also from Australia right at the airport as we were anchored directly off the tarmac. The winds had been blowing 20 knots plus during most of the days we'd had during our re-provisioning and cleaning break, and the forecast called for more consistent wind than I'd ever seen in more than 10 years of sailing. We would not be short on kiting on this one.

Kiting off Discovery

A quick lunch followed our new guests arrival and Bruce, Luc and Dave quickly hit the water for a down winder to a spot that somehow escaped our notice on the last trip. Raivavae is firstly spectacular, ringed with a coral reef and small motus which provide for some of the most scenic flat water riding imaginable. With winds blowing strongly out of the west and winds stronger still in our future I opted to try to get Discovery tucked behind a sand peninsula on the inside of the reef that looked from a distance to be promising, and which would give us relief from the wind chop. Once the kiters were away we pulled anchor, Lars climbed up to the first spreaders to help us navigate safely through a maze of coral heads down a couple miles to the hoped-for anchorage.

The secret spot

Luckily the waters inside the lagoon are magnificently clear and with a high sun we were able to safely negotiate a way through. Our reward for the effort was sizable. While it's easy to say The Best Odyssey has taken us to some phenomenal areas to kite, this would be our best sand and shallow water stop yet. We very rarely kite spots suitable for learning- offshore conditions and plenty of coral are the norm and we aren't shy about publicizing this fact. But on this occasion Dave, who was just learning to get up on his board would truly luck out. And for the rest of us working on free style, it doesn't get any better.

Gavin goes for flat flat flat water

The next day the small kites came out- Denise on a 5m, Jody on a 7m, myself on an 8m- you get the point. Honking. Bruce, Luc and I had a jump-off at sunset after a very full day on the 10m HP which in 30 knots of wind I could barely hang on to. Bruce won hands down, soaring well over 100' more than 3 stories high. Not bad for day 2. That evening was an animated affair; plenty of stories surrounding wind, our remoteness- life in general. Why can't it just stay this uncomplicated? Then a feast of fresh sashimi, saffron seafood paella, and home-made berry sorbet kind of drove it home- it takes more than just wind to make it this good.

Bruce goes big

The next day Jody arose much later than usual (she's usually up with day break), owing to the previous full day of kiting and incredibly was still the first up (behind our chef team of course, who already had out a full breakfast). Even the young guns, Luc and Dave were feeling it today. In fact, for the remainder of the trip we would each go kiting almost out of guilt. Our bodies pounded and sore, but the wind relentless and you just had to go. One night Luc said, "this has got to be the greatest trip ever, no way could there be a better one." My reply was that they are all pretty incredible, the wind being only a small factor in the overall experience. The people are a much larger component of a successful journey, but on this one we did seem to be on a lucky run. If there is a negative it's that this far south, in the middle of winter (we're just below the Tropic of Capricorn) the wind bites and the water is much cooler than it was up in the Societies. A shorty wet suit is required for kiting, as is a fleece in the evenings, which is not something we're used to. The Canadians didn't seem to mind, but Denise and Mick were hoping for a bit more "tropical".

Raivavae from above

Opting for a change of scenery we moved Discovery around to the west side of the island on day 4 where we would spend a couple days kiting as well as exploring the island itself. Bruce, Jody and I were actually hoping the wind would ease and allow us to paraglide what would be one of the world's most incredible ridge sites. I'd tried to gain access to the ridge previously and been turned back by thick undergrowth, but with the help of the locals, who are among the most friendly people I've ever come across (not only does EVERYONE say hello, most will actually come directly up and shake your hand in greeting) we found a good trail. Indeed, the flying would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, but on this trip it was not to be. The winds continued to nuke, now out of the east and we needed much more tame conditions to attempt a flight. But the hike and view, as you can see- was stunning.

Bruce ponders a paragliding flight

A local says orana

With the winds now out of the east it was time to head off to Tubuai, some 100 miles to the west, where we hoped to find Humpback whales, which are "in town" this time of year. We headed out at 0100, after nearly 3 weeks in Raivavae in winds that were about as unsteady as they come- gusts to 35 knots, heavy squalls, separated by periods of almost total calm. But once we cleared the lee of the island the conditions steadied and we began making good ground dead downwind under reefed main and head sail.

Lars shows off some of the take

Bruce and Luc each did a short watch from 0400 to 0600, followed by Lars as usual on the morning watch so he could deploy all the fishing lines. By 0900 we had 4 very nice Mahi-Mahi on board (we had 4 lines out and actually landed 3 at the same time in what must have been a massive school), by 1000 we had our first of many sashimi, ceviche, carpacio, sushi...feasts over the next few days. OK, maybe this trip is charmed.

Lars and Hannah, post Mahi catch!!!

Tubuai appeared on the horizon hours before landfall, the most populous of the Austral chain with just 2,000 residents. Overcrowding is certainly not a concern in this part of the world. We saw two surfacing whales on arrival, but with winds cranking and the seas quite large stopping to check them out was not possible. One other sail boat lie at anchor off the town, which since we left Tahiti almost felt crowded. A small sand motu sat just across from us, which provided for scenic though choppy kiting the next day.

Dave shows off his new kiting skills

Luc perfects the grab

On our second to last day, another wind-filled affair we decided to have a go at finding some whales. Luc and Bruce launched off the boat with 9 M kites and we headed downwind, out through the reef, and around to the leeward side of the island where we hoped whales would be congregating in the calmer water. Bruce racked up some sweet and very entertaining runs on a beautiful left hander breaking off the reef until he snapped his bar in half, which ended up being fortuitous timing because as Lars rescued him I turned around to see three surfacing Humpbacks 200' off our stern. For the next two hours we tried in various ways to get closer, which were mostly unsuccessful but we did get lucky at one point when they came almost right at us, then dove under the boat which I was then swimming alongside. I could hear their singing and squeaks long before I got a good glimpse of one, but not close enough to call it interacting. But just seeing the whales was award enough, and a perfect way to finish an amazing adventure.

The Captain enjoys the surroundings

The view from above, paragliding Tahiti

I could have stayed in Tahiti for weeks longer, but our horizon lay south to an area which by what few accounts I could find, sounded as spectacular as Tahiti, but without any of its drawbacks- namely people. The Austral islands are French Polynesia's 5th group, one of the most remote and least visited areas of the vast Pacific ocean. Raivavae would be our destination, some 400 miles SSE of Tahiti which my cruising guide claimed was the most scenic of any island in the South Pacific. Remote, scenic, no tourists, lots of wind- sounded promising.

Gerry gets a taste of kiting Tahiti

Our group for the next 14 days arrived on Saturday, the boys who taught us dirty clubs a year ago in Los Roques. Dirty clubs has become the gamestay of the expedition. Each game, a combination of luck and skill has a forfeit that the loser must do. These range from something quite benign, like a swim to a nearby island, to something quite comical like singing from the top of the mast, to something not very pleasant. Like getting tattooed. The forfeit on our first game, not long after Rawleigh, Doug, Gerry and Craig arrived was just that. The next time we cross a tatoo artist I will be the not-so-proud owner of a jack of clubs tattoo. Stay tuned to the Captain's logs for proof that I serve my loss.

Downwinder in Moorea

We spent the weekend exploring Tahiti and visiting the local kite spot on the NW coast, which provided for a memorable 5 mile downwinder alongside Discovery, always a favorite of our guests. I imagine the locals were pretty blown away when we pulled in and anchored, launched everyone off the boat, then followed them down the coast. The benefits of kiting off a catamaran with a crew at your disposal are certainly enviable. We invited a fellow Best rider, Franz Heymann who I'd met over the weekend. As Franz had been following these logs since we launched a year and a half ago, we were psyched to show him what it's all about.

The boys check out Moorea

With the winds shifting to NE on Tuesday, a perfect direction for heading south we laid plans to depart from nearby Moorea, which gave us a day and a half to explore. On arrival, an easy 12 mile sail from Tahiti the winds picked up to a solid 20 knots. We repeated another 5 mile downwinder, again with Discovery on the kiters heels, although this time they were able to ride down the inside of the barrier reef as the crew and I took the boat around the outside. What a place to kite- the sun setting over the remarkable backdrop of Moorea, majrestic Tahiti in the distance. It was my turn to be envious. Note to self- teach Lars to run this boat ASAP! I want to play too!

Moorea

We left Moorea the next afternoon. With some luck we'd make it to Raivavae in just over 2 days. Heading SSE in this part of the world is not usually an easy endeavor and while I wouldn't call the passage easy, it certainly wasn't hard. Much of it a dead-calm motor, more of it a pleasant sail, and the last 6 hours a beat dead into the wind as a deep low arrived. We filled our days with dirty clubs and the evenings with star gazing. We made landfall at 0300, 56 hours after departure. With everyone asleep we motored quietly under a black sky to a peaceful anchorage where I did what I always do after a landfall- collapse.

Approaching Raivavae

The winds have only been one thing since our arrival- unpredictable. Raivavae, being just south of the Tropic of Capricorn gets blasted by the tradewinds, but is also near enough the roaring 40's that low pressure systems come through frequently, and sometimes with punishing force. So our days, as is so often the case would be dictated by the winds.

the Skipper takes a turn

When they were light the cards were dealt, when it was strong we'd kite til either our bodies or the light would give out. On our second to last day the boys hit the water for a final 2 and a half hour session which took them from one tip of the island to the other. Discovery sailed out in front, once again leading the way in a place that has never been kited. How many of these spots have we pioneered just in the past year? Once again we share the water with only ourselves and the fish.

Raivavae

Wink enjoys the sights

Surfing Tikehau

On the last day of the pro trip the boys got one last sweet surf session at Tikehau, when both a right and a left were working nicely. Mauricio was finally healed up enough to start it out showing everyone up on the SUP, then transferring to his surfboard and staying out solo for several hours after the rest had retired after a very full two weeks. The poor guy had to watch a string of perfect days and it was great to see him able to enjoy in the fun. Clinton and I saw everyone off at the airport then returned to what felt like a very vacant Discovery for an exaggerated sleep session. The next morning we motored around in zero wind back to Rangiroa, landing two lovely king mackerel on the way.

Clinton lands a nice one

The weather during our 5 days between trips was horrible. Never-ending rain and squalls kept the crew holed up watching movies and relaxing. Thankfully, the weather cleared the day before the start of our next trip, just in time for the boat to get cleaned up and our chef team to provision and prep more of their amazing food.

With the sun back in all her regalia, I picked up Cory, Patrece and their friend Augie at the airport. This would be our smallest group yet, and after 14 days with a dozen on board I know the crew was looking forward to a bit more leisure time. Whereas we had wind and swell for the entirety of the pro trip, this one would be desperately short of the one magic ingredient we need to kite. Luckily this group has fun no matter what the conditions, and we found ours early playing a drinking game called Liar's Dice, which is apparently just a means to polish a bottle of Patron in about 25 minutes. This was followed by some terrifically terrible rum punch, which then led to gratuitous nudity and antics our neighbors at anchor may not have fully enjoyed. Some of you may recall a log back from our second trip entitled "pole dancing under the lunar eclipse"- this was the same group, sans two of the couples, but Cory and Patrece weren't about to let the absence of people undercut the fun.

Clinton, partaking in the evening's festivities

The next morning we sailed a couple hours to the south end of Rangiroa, which is peppered with uninhabited motus and beautiful white sand beaches, with the added bonus of having zero chance of annoying neighbors as there would never be any. We spent the day exploring the surroundings, which were stunning, then settled in for a sunset bonfire and shark wrestling, as always performed by Clinton "Irwin" Bolton. Lars and Hannah made gorgeous little banana leaf pouches of fresh fish, black beans and herbs that they roasted on the fire to end a perfect day.

Cory and Patrece enjoying the solitude

With a continued no-wind forecast in Rangiroa, but what looked to be better conditions down by Moorea, some 200 miles south and our destination we departed early the next morning to make what would usually be a 24 hour run. This one turned into nearly 36 and became quite a gruel. For me, it was one of the more stressful passages I've had. We'd only been able to pick up 150 litres of fuel in Rangiroa, which nevertheless would be sufficient to get us down to Moorea if we had no wind. The first 20 hours of the trip were in dead-flat, windless conditions. A peaceful and even enjoyable motor, but I went to bed after checking the fuel gauges for the umpteenth time knowing we didn't have enough to make it without sailing for at least some of the run. Sometime around 0300 the wind started thankfully stirring, and from the SE, which allowed us to sail on a close haul and save precious little remaining fuel. As the hours passed the wind increased, which built the seas into an uncomfortable wind swell from the east, mixing with a large SW ground swell, making for bumpy and tiring conditions.

Approaching beautiful Moorea

We sailed hard into it for most of the day. Finally, with a wind veer even further to the south, making our port tack even further away from our goal of Cook's Bay on Moorea, I dropped the sails and prayed we'd have enough fuel to slog it out. I hoped the lee of Moorea would provide both swell and wind relief, but incredibly the winds kept building. As I'd been on watch all day the previous day, then up all night, then on watch all day again, my patience wick was burning low. With winds in excess of 25 knots directly on the nose, it took nearly 4 hours to cover only 16 miles. We must have arrived on mere fumes and anchoring that night felt awfully good. It doesn't hurt that Cook's Bay is easily one of the most arresting places I've ever sailed. We came here in 2001 and I was happy to feel the same joy in my surroundings as I did the last time.

Cory and Patrece enjoy Moorea

The next morning we fueled Discovery, probably the highlight of the trip for me. We hadn't been able to take on fuel by other than jerry jug since Hao Atoll, on the last full moon, some 35 days ago. As the fuel dock was nothing more than a 10' square we had to anchor out and back down to the pier. You can probably tell from the picture that we are probably a bit larger than their regular customer. Gordon, a semi-local from San Diego who's been coming to Moorea for the past 14 years to surf and more recently kite saw the Best stickers and came down to see what we were all about. I invited him on for the day so he could show us the local spots, which I think judging from the gushing thank-you's and smiles he gave to everyone for the rest of the day, might have made his trip. And we might have a new shareholder. Unfortunately this would be the only day of the trip for kiting. Both Cory and Gordon got about an hour of pretty solid conditions around on the windward side of the island. With Tahiti in the background and the green spires of Moorea overhead, it was a mesmerizing spot.

Discovery takes on badly needed fuel

So we can't always nail the winds but our chefs always nail the food; the locations speak for themselves; Discovery is a lovely platform to soak it all in from; so we can't complain. We've got a week to get some badly needed maintenance done in Tahiti before going south to the Australs for two months, a region very very few people ever visit. Fuel, food, and parts will be near difficult to come by, so it will undoubtedly be a busy week.

John and Alexis Bilderback join The Best Odyssey

When Jody and I started laying out the plan for The Best Odyssey our dream was to travel where no one else does and do what no one else has. I always define life as a string of moments- the more precious moments you can string together means life is being lived instead of passing you by. The last 8 days have been a continuous mind-blowing string.

First you've got to put together the right group- special moments are hard to have solo, and it's hard to have an "Epic" (which we call these 14 day trips because that's what we set them up to be) without highly motivated and talented people. Moehau Goold, Mauricio Abreu, Josh Mulcoy and Clinton Bolton- heavy hitters on all accounts, especially when it comes to waves are a good start. We've also been joined by legend photographer John Bilderback and his wife Alexis on video, Scott Wisenbaker, Nashara Alberico, Chris Smith and especially important to me- Jody. Then, after two weeks of almost no wind, we get a perfect forecast- for both wind and swell literally the day everyone arrived. We pull out the charts and make what we hope are educated guesses for what might work. There are no guarantees and there's no history to go by- these places don't exist outside of local knowledge, if at all. Our goal is to kite waves. We've still got 6 days left on this trip and the forecast continues to be perfect, but I can already say- our goal has been achieved.

First a forewarning. None of the places I'm about to write about are where I'm going to say they are or named what we've named them. The reason for this is twofold- one, we don't know the names of them anyway and two, we want to protect these spots for the locals, who have been unbelievably generous and kind, sharing in the stoke we're experiencing. Josh Mulcoy, who's literally surfed all over the world, from Iceland and Norway to the Mentawais and Fiji had the best wave session of his life yesterday. Moehau Goold, who surfs Teahupoo on a regular basis said the waves he got were among best of his life. Personally I've been at this for 8 years and I've never seen or found even a fraction of what we keep getting, at multiple locations. For some reason we've got karma on our side.

Chris learns to SUP

But first, how we got here in the first place. It all begins in Fakarava, the second largest atoll in the Tuamotus. We motor sailed down to the south end of the atoll in hopes the southern pass would present a wave with a building easterly swell. Operating inside this lagoon is no easy task as there are pearl farms strung across the only charted route. We left at first light and quickly got wrapped up in one segment, and that was following one of the locals. A quick dive below freed the rope though and we headed onwards. Unfortunately the south end didn't have a great wave- enough for the boys to get a few rides, and even a short kite, but the scenery more than made up for it. The pass here, as in all the others we've explored so far present perfectly clear waters and abundant coral and fish life. Add to that swaying palm trees, tiny sand motus and vibrant colors on every horizon and you've got a boat full of smiling people.

Clinton plays friendly with the locals

That evening Clinton got a dozen or so sharks interested in some left-over bonito we'd caught that day and went Steve Irwin on us (I think it's his South African blood) for a few hours shark wrestling. Those of us more interested in keeping our fingers kept our distance.

Moehau Goold shows his stuff in Toau

We pulled anchor at 0400 the next morning and sailed downwind back to the north end of the atoll, some 30 miles to pick up Moehau and head onwards to Toau, a nearby atoll. The winds were now blowing well over 20 knots and looked to stay that way for a week minimum. En route to Toau, an easy and fast sail with the gennaker Scott and Chris hooked into a 5 foot beautiful sailfish, which they landed and Lars prepared into an astonishing array of sashimi and sushi. We sailed into the pass, little more than a small bay on the west side of Toau just before sunset, just in time for Moehau and Scott to get some flat water kiting under their belt, and the photographers to get some work done.

Yes, this is for real

Another very early morning and another nice sail downwind to an atoll that will remain unnamed. We sailed into the pass, which was ebbing at 3 knots, a head-high left peeling down the reef with not a single person on it. Josh grabbed his board and jumped off the stern before I even knew what was going on. Moehau kept saying "what" and "oh my god" while frantically searching for his gear; Mauricio, Clinton and Scott in equal bewilderment. Unfortunately the wave was as perfect as it was dangerous. Within moments Mauricio made his first reef contact, splitting his elbow, then Clinton followed with a nearly full-body drag over the coral on his stomach, back, legs and feet. We wrapped up Mauricio's elbow, and scrubbed down Clinton all the while watching Moehau and Josh get one unbelievable tube after another. Incredibly, we could keep Discovery hovering right at the end of the break in perfect flat water so all those on board or with cameras could catch the action in full.

Josh Mulcoy enjoys the first of many, many barrels

Mauricio shows off his first war wound

The surfing continued until it all came down on Mauricio (aka "Morris") in a bad way. He went over the falls and cracked his head, giving him a concussion and the need for stitches. Josh and Moehau fished him out and we motored into town, which thankfully had both a wharf we could tie up to and a medical clinic nearby. As Morris kept asking the same questions over and over we figured he could use a bit of professional help. We were ushered down to the clinic by some locals, who wore happy smiling faces and the generosity to match. In no time the doctor had Morris sewn up and Clinton covered in pink iodine, but their days on the waves were going to be limited. We attempted an evening kite session on the waves but unfortunately it was too offshore and everyone opted for another perfect surf instead.

Mauricio, before going over the falls

On day two at our unnamed spot some of the locals came out to join those still able to ride and made tube riding look like child's play. One kid, no more than 14 years old in particular must have gotten 20 barrels in a row, with all of us screaming encouragement. Watching Josh and Moehau rip the waves up is a sight to behold, but god this little kid was "killing it", in verbiage the pros have adopted to describe something truly amazing.

Scott and Nashara take advantage of a short break

That night, opting for more seclusion than the wharf and town we motored against the wind up to a small motu behind the reef inside the lagoon. Arriving just at sunset the looks on everyone's faces was tribute to our surroundings. To describe it as "pretty" would be a wildly unimpressive adjective. It was perfect. Butter flat water behind the reef, long sandy strip for kite launching, palm covered motu in the backdrop. This was a kite surfers dream, and a photographers heaven.

Moehau shows how it's done

The small kites came out the next day with the winds picking up even more. Moehau and Scott got things off to an impressive start boosting and doing tricks over a strip of land just off our stern while I took to giving Chris his first taste of kiting on the trip. I got my own taste for a concussion some time later while bringing Chris back upwind and failed to notice Moehau (it was mutual) doing a Slim Chance right over my head, which then got a nice shot to the outboard motor when he came down on my back. There was no pain, but things got pretty fuzzy for awhile.

Clinton shows just how badly the reef hurts

Later that day we excitedly accepted an invite to join some locals for a pig roast at their pearl farm at the far side of the lagoon, one of the largest in French Polynesia, and a trip we'd promised Nashara since the beginning. It's hard to get in shopping with the winds and waves cranking but somehow we got them both this day. The pearl farm was situated in waters protected by a 10 mile strip of land no more than a hundred meters wide. The lee side of the strip was of course ripple-free, which Scott and I couldn't resist having a quick kite on. The others enjoyed a wander on the land, which included seeing photos of a 5 meter tiger shark that they'd killed just months earlier right where we were anchored. I was happy to have missed them, and even happier Scott and I didn't get eaten.

The gang enjoys the local transport at the pearl farm

After dinner we hoisted the sails again and ran off downwind across the lagoon under a moon-less and ominous sky. Everyone settled into bed for what was supposed to be an overnight crossing to Tikehau so Nashara could catch a flight home. But first we had to negotiate the narrow pass back out into the open ocean, no easy task even in full sun. With winds gusting to 30 knots and the ebb tide making for a current well in excess of 5 knots my heart was in my throat. I fired up the engines to have in case they were required, then put JB (John Bilderback) on my main sheet to control the impending gybe, and Jody on the computer so she could tell me where I needed to be. Then, without mincing words all hell broke loose. I suddenly saw a 3 foot standing wall of water from the current line, which as soon as we hit spun Discovery out of control. I gunned the engines, JB handling the gybe perfectly, then felt the adrenaline rage through my veins as the reef screamed by on both sides. Incredibly we ran through perfectly but god I think I'll be recovering long after this trip is complete.

Josh rips the next stop on the Best Odyssey

Safely back in open ocean it became apparent rather quickly that even with winds as strong as they were, we weren't going to make Nashara's flight the next day. Plan B was another close atoll which had a better flight option, but no swell. That is, none that we knew of. We flew all night, Discovery clearly enjoying the freedom of the black ocean. Arriving with time to spare Hannah and Lars hurried into town to get some provisions and fuel while Nashara said some sad goodbyes. We were pressing to carry onto to Tikehau so we could arrive with enough sun to negotiate yet another treacherous pass. But quite unexpectedly, on exiting the atoll for the run west a perfect, and I mean perfect right, with side offshore winds just appeared out of nowhere. A handful of surfers were already enjoying the goods, Josh and Moehau put their fins on in record time. And for the end of this log, let's let the photos do the talking...

Moehau, in his own world

Owner Scott Wisenbaker, obviously learning from the Pros

Hariaki on the charts- not exactly the detail you would like to see photo Craig Shrimpton

From Hao we had to cover some 325 miles to the NW to Fakarava. The charts showed a very small atoll named Hariaki half way that one of our guides said was uninhabited and reportedly had a shallow but possibly navigable pass on the southern side. In other words, no one ever goes there, and be careful if you do. Hariaki will forever be a defining stop on The Best Odyssey. After spotting a couple whales upon exiting Hao atoll we sailed all night, arriving early the next morning. Two fishing lines started zinging just as we were bringing them in. Tobey landed a nice Snapper and myself a very large Giant Trevally, which we let go as fish poisoning is prevalent in this type of fish in the Tuamotus.

Giant Trevally photo Craig Shrimpton

I sent Lars off in the dinghy to scout the pass, which looked dicey at best. 45 minutes later he returned and said he thought it was doable. I put Martin up on the first spreader, took a deep breath and followed Lars in. In short, we made it, with my heart in my throat. My log entry, once we had the anchor down was "I'm a fucking nut ball." I downed a beer, then told Lars that he and I would have to get together on what was "doable" in the near future. But god what a place. Once my pulse and breathing returned to normal I took the time to look around and found what everyone else was gaping at. This kind of beauty cannot be captured and is rarely seen. We had it all to ourselves. If this island was in the Caribbean it would have a marina and a line of high rise hotels. We had sharks, fish, sun, palm trees, crystal clear water and not a lot else.

Imagine negotiating this pass photo Craig Shrimpton

Craig scopes out the corals below

Knowing sharks would again be in play we headed out through the break to the outside in the dinghy to have a look around. Lars and I brought our guns hoping to get something tasty for dinner. I would put visibility at about 80' as we dropped in- awesome. Varying coral fish roamed, but not in great numbers and only a solitary shark or two. I speared a small mackerel, then we moved back into the pass. The current was strong enough that swimming against it was a bit of a challenge, but we anchored the dinghy to have a go. This area was filled with all types of reef fish, and plenty of sharks- mostly black tips. I began to hunt a very thick but wary snapper, briefly wondering if I shot anything what the sharks would do. Martin came around and the two of us tried to work the fish together, but then a nice parrotfish presented and I took the shot. It was a good one, just behind the pectoral fin, but it also presented quite a bit of blood. By the time I had the fish in hand a very large black tip made a run right at me. I turned on my back, flipping my fins in his face, banging at his nose with my gun. As my spear line was through the fish I couldn't reload the gun, and to be honest don't think I could have anyway- it's hard to reload when a shark is coming after you! Then for some reason the shark jerked away in telltale aggressive form and started after Martin, who was nowhere near my bleeding fish. I thought briefly my best move would be to get further away from him to draw the shark away, but at the same time I was the one with a gun and knife! Martin had nothing more than his fins, which he was using to pummel the shark in the face as best he could. Then just as suddenly as the shark attacked he went away, which had both Martin and I cheering in relief. The dinghy at this point was still 100 feet away and I yelled to them to get over to us. Then the shark returned, this time looking quite motivated. Again he went for Martin and as I closed the distance between us realized we had three more sharks coming into play. Now they were all around, coming at us from every direction.

Ours were unfortunately not this placid photo Craig Shrimpton

Martin and I were desperately trying to close the distance to the dinghy while keeping our fins between us and the sharks. It occurred to me I should drop the fish, but I wasn't quite ready to give up the goods. I yelled again for help from the dinghy, but they seemed to be having trouble with the anchor. Finally we closed the distance and I think in unison Martin and I literally flew into the dinghy, breathing hard. Martin and I looked at each other and just gave the universal high five. We'd made it and the adrenaline was coursing through our veins. He later told me this trip was the best of his life, and the shark incident the highlight by far. I couldn't have agreed more. No one was really all that psyched just then to get back in the water so we retired to Discovery to swap death stories.

Discovery in paradise photo Craig Shrimpton

That evening we built a bonfire on the beach under the nearly full moon. Lars and I scaled a couple palm trees, whose coconuts make for delicious rum drinks and also provided our chefs with fresh coconut for dinner- a mix of fresh fish and coconut rice wrapped in banana leaves roasted on the fire. The moonlight; the remoteness; the laughs and smiles; the amazing food; the beauty of our private paradise all came together to create a perfect evening. Well, that and a hysterical performance of "puff the magic dragon" by Iain, who had to serve two forfeits compliments of Dirty Clubs that night (the other a naked swim around Discovery, which given our shark encounter that day was not a light one). These are simply the moments that define our lives and these moments just can't be beat.

The skipper goes coconut hunting photo Craig Shrimpton

The gang in Hariaki photo Craig Shrimpton

Our schedule unfortunately forced us out of Hariaki the next day, which was as thrilling and scary as it was coming in. The forecast showed one more day of light airs but wind on the horizon to finish off the trip in style. We sailed 24 hours up to Fakarava, the second largest atoll in the Tuamotus. A few hours before arrival the wind kicked up as predicted and we punched it to get in early to take advantage of the day. The Tuamotus are all atolls and never rise higher than a coconut tree as they have almost no real estate. Their reefs circle sometimes vast lagoons, which no matter the wind direction present glassy flat water in their lee. We anchored under the north side of the island just inside the pass and wasted no time getting out the gear.

Shane takes advantage of the surroundings photo Craig Shrimpton

Everyone kited all day. Then again the next. And now today, the last day of the trip we're all a little bit sun burned, a whole lot worn out; and I suppose all feeling a bit like I am now writing this log. That we've tasted something few ever will and however life spins in the days to come this trip will always be a precious memory.

The skipper gets some hang time photo Craig Shrimpton

But first, we must rewind to find out how we got here in the first place. Everything about The Best Odyssey from an operational standpoint got a lot harder this year in the Pacific. In the Caribbean you have marinas, yards, places to buy just about anything you want on almost every island, in every port. Of course you also have a much more tame and crowded experience so while operating in the Pacific is a lot more challenging the rewards are as vast as the body of water, they just require a lot more effort. I know I'm not the only one on this boat thrilled to be back in a part of the world few ever see. From the Gambiers, a beautiful spot but unfortunately very short on anything for our chef team, and where we were only able to dig up 50 gallons of diesel (at a shocking price) we motor sailed in light airs 450 miles northwest to Hao Atoll, the start of our next adventure. Arriving at the crack of dawn on the 10 th and navigating through the narrow pass through the reef into the tranquil and spectacular lagoon was only partly clouded by the fact that we had almost zero fuel remaining. I knew nothing of Hao- but I was praying we'd find some fuel.

Every seen a port with water this clear? photo Craig Shrimpton

Hao was developed by the French to support the nuclear bomb tests on nearby Mururoa, which went on for 4 decades. The below and above ground testing thankfully finally ended in the 90's and Hao has dwindled in population from over 5,000 to a mere 700. It's a charming, clean and friendly place that has a pace that 'slow' doesn't do justice. Within minutes of our arrival most of the town's children and not a small amount of the adult population were ogling the strange newcomers (apparently Hao gets about 5 cruising boats a year, and we were the only ones currently there). Even though we were right in front of town the water was a magic clear blue, a nearby reef teeming with fish. I could tell we were going to like it here. And a local quickly arranged for the local Mobil truck to come down and fill our very empty tanks. Never mind the cost, when it comes to French Polynesia everything last thing is in the category of rip off, and you just have to shell out.

This reef is about 50 meters off the town's dock photo Craig Shrimpton

Our group arrived the next day. Shane and his friend Craig from Seattle, Martin and his girlfriend Lena from Singapore, Iain and Tobey from the UK. Iain and Shane were with us last season in the Caribbean, for the rest this would be their first go on Discovery. Hao abounds with friendly people, and their hospitality was just beginning to show as Cynthia and her husband, owners of the only pearl farm in Hao offered to drive me out to the airport. I was hoping that maybe one or two would be carrying a few boxes of fresh goods. I'd sent a desperate last-minute email to each that our chefs hadn't had any luck finding more than a few scarce supplies and we needed whatever they could procure in Tahiti. Unfortunately none received the email with enough cushion to get anything so we'd either have to catch a ton of fish, or send Lars back to Tahiti.

But for the time being our chef team felt they could make it work. There was zero wind, and none in the forecast. Usually this fact would suppress the mood on board, but it's hard to be down in such an amazing place and I think our friends were more than happy to take it in. The next morning we took a trip out to the pearl farm, something none of us had seen. Cynthia and her husband and a few others picked us up in their sizable skiff (I think the pearl business is a good one) and took us south some 15 miles, nearly half the length of the lagoon.

Shane enjoys the waters at the Pearl Farm photo Craig Shrimpton

Without going into great detail, I suppose the way to describe the day would be to say it was spent very slowly. Which is to say, just as it should be. Towering palms, white coral sand, turquoise warm water, cold beer and good company certainly helped. OK, so with some wind it would have been the most gorgeous flat water kiting any of us had ever done, but I think we were all just fine with the present reality. The day set the tone for the rest of the trip- a fine tone indeed.

Anyone for Yellow fin? photo Craig Shrimpton

The next day we spent searching for manta rays, which proved unsuccessful, but I was able to spear a few tasty fish for dinner and Cynthia gave us a beautiful yellow fin tuna which Lars expertly turned into mouthwatering sushi and sashimi the next day, so all was not lost. One more visit to town the next morning proved valuable as another supply boat had just come in, which our chefs took advantage of and cleaned house on just about every fresh good available. Craig had to serve his dirty club forfeit (a staple Discovery card game) by donning snorkel gear for a romp through town- very entertaining. And now, let us talk about sharks. Lots of sharks.

Craig learns the pleasures of Dirty Clubs

Back on my last trip to the Tuamotus we spent a bit of time diving the passes that most of the low-lying Tuamotu atolls have. Passes are narrow channels that are the only way water enters and exits the lagoons, some of which are over 30 miles from one side to the other. The passes team with life, as currents can reach upwards of 20 knots on the ebb tide, which create perfect conditions for coral growth. The coral of course attracts great numbers of fish- which of course attracts sometimes impressive numbers of sharks. Back in 2001 on one particular night dive that went very wrong my dive partner and I spent the better part of 11 hours (all night) in the water with a great number of reef sharks after we surfaced with no chase boat in sight. This time around I was determined to get everyone in the water to experience these incredible creatures, but for a relatively shorter length of time, in let's say- less demanding conditions. If you would like to read about that fateful evening some years ago, go here.

We get greeted by the locals on arrival photo Craig Shrimpton

So we moved Discovery just off the pass, spotting a few black tip sharks circling the boat before we even had the anchor down. This was going to be GOOD. Everyone tumbled into the dinghy (some maybe a little more hesitantly than others, it's true) and we raced off, going outside the lagoon so we could ride the flood tide back inside. I have to put this in some perspective. Many of this group had never seen a shark. Just a few months ago Shane went snorkeling for the first time with us in Panama and was fearful of even being in the ocean, now he was heading out to purposefully swim with sharks!

Anyone for a dance? photo Craig Shrimpton

Curious black tip photo Craig Shrimpton

With memories of the night dive gone bad some years ago I hesitantly proposed that we should do another run through the pass under the nearly full moon that night. I never thought anyone would actually take me up on it, but incredibly everyone was game. It's hard to explain the rush that comes from gliding along at such a rate at night, white eyes lit by your dive light, dark shapes lurking, how many there but not seen? It was a high-adrenaline day and I know there were some solid sleeps that night. But the adventure was just beginning...

The gang checks out the pass pulled by Discovery the next day photo Craig Shrimpton

Our winds faded somewhere shy of where we needed them to. Already low on fuel, with flights scheduled for Bruce, Bjorn and his son Kristian and still 800 miles to go things were looking desperate. We had maybe about 300 miles range on our remaining fuel, with a horrid forecast. After ripping for a week in near-perfect conditions it was a bit of a let-down. But after motoring for 30 hours with mounting stress unforcasted winds returned and with gennaker flying and full main the chess games began anew and the mood greatly improved. Our 3,000 mile passage was ticking away in good form- we even looked to arrive with plenty of time to spare.

Not that there weren't a few hiccups. The day the wind returned I flew our recently repaired light-air gennaker, while voicing very strict parameters to our crew for maximum apparent wind that the sail could handle. In other words- if the winds picked up, we'd have to pack it away. Of course shortly after, on my watch (oops), while reading rather than paying the attention I should have I failed to notice conditions were in fact picking up and all of a sudden- BANG, the gennaker blew at the head, the same place it did the last time we flew it, ages ago on our first crossing with Discovery leaving Lanzarote in the Canaries. Twice I've flown this sail, both times I've blown it up. But this time we had some added entertainment. 5/6ths of the sail went right under the bow while making over 10 knots. Lars and Bruce jumped to the task of hauling it out from under the boat, while I took stock of the situation. The head of the sail, now detached from the portion being keel-hauled was banging around at the top of the mast. Still 800 miles out, it would reek havoc on our mast and needed to be brought down. We weren't exactly in calm conditions, but as I was the idiot who blew it up in the first place, I had to retrieve the halyard.

We put a single reef in the main, detached the topping lift, tied me on and up I went. This video shows the circus act I went through to get it down:

Alas the winds took a nose dive yet again, although by the time they did we were in range on remaining fuel. We were going to make it. 16 days, 3100 miles all up- not a blistering pace, but all in all a terrific passage. If it hadn't been for the 5 no wind days our average would have been around 10 knots. The day before everyone's flights we got just enough wind to fly both the gennaker (the other one) and the genoa wing on wing dead downwind and sailed into the Gambiers with just enough light to spare. We put the anchor down at one of the outer islands (there are 5 main islands in the archipelago) and marvelled at our surroundings. I came to the Gambiers in 2001 and from what I could tell it hadn't changed a bit. They are one of the most remote and unspoiled island groups in the world. There is absolutely zero tourist facilities, as there are no tourists. Not a single cafe or restaurant. In fact the only internet in town is the same as it was back then- at the home of the village's friendly doctor Herve who had just moved here back in 01'. The 5 main islands are surrounded on 3 sides by a vast barrier reef, at times bare and at times dotted with sand and treed motus. The main island, Mangareva hosts the main village, Rikitea, home to some 1,000 people. The rest of the area is lush and left to little disturbance but the wind. It is stunning, made all the better knowing a bare handful of people ever get a chance to visit.

View from Mt. Duff, Gambiers photo (and poor stitching) by Gavin McClurg

Ah, but the Captain's reality was not one colored completely in magical hues. In fact, it would soon become one colored only in brown. On the final days of the trip, Kristian somehow managed to plug not one, but two toilets. Back before we instituted our "nothing in the heads but human waste" rule I was rebuilding the heads at an average of one per trip. This is not a pleasant task. You begin by detaching the various hoses, which then blast you with shit (literally), then you take apart a pump (impacted with shit), then clean the hoses and toilet (ditto), then soak yourself and head in bleach (ditto), then put it all back together. I find repeated and strong cussing is about the only way I can get through it. But thankfully since we instituted the rule some months ago the heads have been clog-free. As is often the case, the clients left the boat all smiles after a terrific time, while instead of enjoying a bit of respite after a 21 day trip I spent almost two solid days going through the above procedures. One head rebuild usually takes 3 hours, but in this case I had to actually remove the sewage outlet hose from the boat on both of them and crack the calcium deposits (nice way of saying hard shit) out of the hose by beating them on the back of the boat. To make matters worse, the reason both heads were plugged was because of toilet paper- which I explicitly demand doesn't go down the heads (we even have a plaque on the wall to remind people). Needless to say, Kristian is not on my Christmas list this year.

Lars enjoys the sights photo Hannah Grant

But yesterday things all came right. Hannah, Lars and I scaled Mont Duff which is not only a terrific hike, but provides a 360 degree view of one of the most awesome places I've ever been. We summited about 9 am, but the winds were already a bit strong for flying. Never mind, our chef team brought out a plate of salami, brie, sardines and rye bread and we were more than happy to enjoy the surroundings. My distaste for walking down kept me on the summit all day (Hannah and Lars smartly descended after lunch), until the winds finally backed off to a reasonable level at 4 pm and I launched. The people in town confirmed what we thought- that this was the first ever flight in the Gambiers. I soared in what would have to be the most stable butter conditions I've flown in for nearly two hours. Here's a little video of my view:

I landed at sunset on the local soccer field, dozens of kids screaming in hysterics coming up to me almost before I'd touched down. Their smiles and animated questions made the perfect flight even better, even though I couldn't understand anything they were saying (French is not my forte). Lars and Hannah showed up, cold beer in hand. It just doesn't get any better. My job often entails a number of "brown" days, but it always comes right and on these days I can't imagine doing anything else.

Only birds and crazy folks get this view photo Gavin McClurg

Galapagos penguin photo Bruce Marks

Rarely are the start of passages a calm and pleasant experience, and this one held to the norm. We lost our freezer to something I couldn't identify 10 days before our departure. San Cristobal has one refrigeration tech, and he and I struggled for 4 days straight trying to get her running again so the chefs could begin their provisioning for the 3200 mile passage to the Gambiers. I thought it would be prudent to have a backup in case we were unsuccessful, and hastily ordered a stand-alone freezer from the States to be shipped priority FedEx, which I was told would take 6 days, depending as always on customs. With nothing to do but wait for the freezer, and parts from the mainland, rather than pace around and let the stress build I took a 4 night trip to mainland Ecuador to paraglide in the hills of Ibarra.

Goodbye friends photo Bjorn Hvidberg

I returned to Discovery well-refreshed after three terrific days of flying, prepared to tackle the issues at hand. I'd planned 15 days for the passage, our departure set for the 9th of April, giving us a week of cushion for poor winds or other setbacks. Bruce, Bjorn and his son Christian were all on board, all of us anxious to depart. But the 9th came and went, the new freezer held up in customs in Guayaquil, the existing freezer still giving us the shits. Hannah and Lars were on continuous stand-by. Every few hours "Frio-San" and I would think we'd gotten the freezer running, only to have something else go wrong and the wait continue.

Please, take my picture photo Bruce Marks

The 10th ground by in frustration, FedEx promising delivery, as always "manana". Tiny gains were being made with the freezer, my only means of keeping the only tech in town glued to the boat through a continual deluge of gifts- sunglasses, t-shirts, shorts, food- whatever he would eye I would provide. By the 12th, after 4 very poor nights of sleep and mounting stress our luck broke. The new freezer came in on the only daily flight, and Frio San worked some magic on the compressor. We now had both systems operational. The shipping and customs duty cost double the actual cost of the freezer, but I paid the money without blinking- we didn't have the time to argue. The chefs ran off to the markets, I gave a hasty safety briefing, had a brief visit with Francis, who had just arrived solo from mainland Ecuador on his yacht; and we were finally underway.

Finally, success! photo Bjorn Hvidberg

For nearly 2 1/2 days we motored SSW in nearly zero wind. Burning precious fuel, it was beginning to look very bleak to arrive in time for our groups departure flights on the 29th. But it wasn't all unpleasant. On day two a huge Sperm whale surfaced near the boat, blowing great plumes into the air preparing for a deep dive (they eat the notorious giant squid, several thousand feet down). It was the first I've ever seen. Complimenting the Sperm whale we also saw a hammerhead shark, lots of dolphins, a pod of smaller whales (probably Pilots). And then when we finally got into the trades, about 3 degrees south. The wind gods just threw the switch and we were off, averaging 10 knots on a lovely beam reach. The knots in my shoulders disappeared almost as if I had a personal masseuse. This was what we needed- wind and speed. For the next week we would cover 210 to 245 miles each 24 hours, and cross the half way mark on day 8, which would have been right on schedule if we'd departed on time.

Halfway photo Bruce Marks

Lars is our most dedicated fisherman, waking before dawn each day to deploy two handline's and two rod lines. Thus far we've landed two mahi-mahi and a nice bonito, and lost who knows how many. We're easily spending more on lures than it would have cost to just buy the fish in San Cristobal, but it's a lot more fun. Lars hooked into what we're calling a 50 kg yellow fin a couple days ago. After a 45 minute fight I dropped into the blue with my speargun to hasten getting the monster on board, but each time I dove so did the yellow fin, showing incredible strength even after the long fight. A majestic beauty, the largest yellow fin I've ever seen. I never got close enough for a good shot and my dives were meager with a lacking air supply as I was struggling to keep up with the boat. After a half-dozen attempts I surfaced in dejection only to see an even more dejected crew, some 50 meters away on the stern of Discovery. The yellow fin made a dive directly under the boat and the line cut on the prop (the engine was in neutral, but nevertheless). We didn't hear a word from Lars for several hours.

Lars, pre-dejection photo Bjorn Hvidberg

Last night we passed the half-way point. Our days are filled with blue and white- blue water, blue skies, white clouds, white sails. The routine is simple indeed. Sleep, eat, nap, eat, fight a fish, lose a fish, eat, sleep. Bruce, Bjorn and I batter one another at chess while the chefs seem to out due themselves with every meal. Last night we had homemade ice cream. Ice cream- on a boat, on a passage. Clearly they are insane. You see why we needed the freezer to work!

You've got to be kidding photo Bruce Marks

I would call it thus far a near-perfect passage. Good winds, good sights, good food, good company. If we didn't have a schedule to maintain we could remove the "near" and just call it perfect. We'll need continued to luck to make it on time. And if we don't, I'm sure we'll survive.

Marine Iguana

We've spent the last week and a half enjoying the "Enchanted Isles", or "Islas de Colon", or more commonly- the Galapagos. As much as I've heard and imagined these islands and their non-human inhabitants, the reality is still sinking in. We began with a day tour of San Cristobal, where we're anchored and where we'll likely stay anchored until we depart for Polynesia on April 9. As it would cost nearly $2,000 US per day to tour the Galapagos on Discovery we've decided to go it with the local boats, which are in abundance.

What's up?

The tour consisted of a few stops to see tortoises, marine iguanas, a couple amazing vistas, a coffee plantation and some very nice surf breaks, which would be utilized in the days to come. I'm not much of a tour person, but as this one was just our own group, our taxi driver, and we got going before the other hoards, it ended up being a great start. You can't help but be in a bit of awe at the abundance of animals here, and yet its also sad to think of how much has been lost, as always- to humans. They say over 100,000 tortoises were killed on San Cristobal alone by the first immigrants for their oil and meat; most of the few remaining live now in a protected walled area much like a zoo. These days, tortoises are no match for the various introduced species and domestic animals that dine on their eggs and young.

Jeez man, cut your nails

Apparently March is the wettest month of the year, and as it was apparently particularly wet before we arrived, the first thing that grabbed our attention was how green the islands are. There's a green quilt of new growth everywhere, which seems in stark contrast the equatorial heat. It's also mating season, so we hoped to not only view all the "tame" wildlife, but maybe some coupling as well. A comment on the wildlife you'll see in the following photographs. These are not taken with a telescopic lens. These guys and gals- from the sea turtles, to land tortoises, to the boobies and sharks, pretty much everything just lets you walk right up and have a gander. Sometimes they get too close: I finally got tired of chasing the sea lions off the boat all night and built two planks of defense for our transoms which consist of a long board with a bunch of nails poking through, facing the sea. Don't worry- they are savvy and smart animals, we haven't hurt anything but my own foot, which I suppose I deserve. But it has kept the big ones off- the little ones can still balk in the sun on the lowest step.

Marine Iguana

For a few days we just surfed and enjoyed the laid back town and took little trips to areas close to home. One of these is a local dive spot called Kicker Rock, in hopes of seeing some hammerheads.

Kicker Rock

Jody, Scott and I each did two dives which I would call decent. The visibility was pretty poor and the water was cold, but we did get a brief viewing of a couple hammerheads and a few other reef sharks to make it interesting. The rest of the group opted to snorkel and saw even more than we did, including a host of sea turtles.

Sea turtle does a fly by

Scott, Tim and Gaby left after an evening of sad goodbyes. It has been an amazing couple weeks that none of us will ever forget. We've been joined by one of our owners, Bruce Marks, fresh from a paragliding trip in Nepal, and Marc Peterson, the man responsible for our website. Hannah and Lars continue to wow everyone with their cuisine. The Best Odyssey is becoming as much a culinary cruise as it is a kiteboarding expedition.

Sierra Negra Crater, Isabella island

Jody and I decided to check out Isabella for an overnight trip before her trip back to the States. A 45 minute flight to a different world. 5 volcanoes, 5 species and 12 sub-species of tortoise (many endangered), penguins, cacti, soaring frigates, flightless cormorants, marine iguanas, finches (one of the types of birds which Darwin based his theory of evolution). There is one sleepy town with three thousand people, sand streets and a long, gorgeous sand beach. Very few tourists and clean clear water were enough to keep me rapt. We hiked to see the second largest crater in the world, Sierra Negra, which erupted in 2005, then descended and visited more tortoises, one of which was enjoying what could only be described as a LOUD love making session.

Gettin' it on, tortoise style

The next morning Jody and I wandered onto a long walkway which led through a tunnel of mangroves and opened on a beautiful clear pool on the edge of the sea. As the sun broke the horizon we slipped into the cool water, reveling in the solitude and quietness. We dried off and realized we in fact did have company; a large group of marine iguanas wrestled for rock space. Yep, they are sometimes this thick:

Just another day in the Enchanted Isles

Jody is now back in the States and will rejoin us in July in Tahiti, some months off. No doubt these logs will be a lot less impressive as we're losing her photographic talent. Sorry folks, mostly words for awhile.

Blue footed Boobie

A shot of rum, in prep for the crossing into the Southern Hemisphere

We crossed the equator at 1700 hours on the 16th, just 14 hours out from San Cristobal, our destination in the Galapagos. Each of us had a solid shot of fine rum in preparation, then we slowed the boat to a mere two knots and counted down. Several hundred yards before the imaginary line was reached we all bailed off the bow of Discovery and swam laughing all the way into the Southern Hemisphere. My first time across the equator was back in 2001, when we did the same thing in the same ocean, although a thousand miles west of our present location, at that time heading for the Marquesas. The seas were as flat as they get, the "Pacific" owning up to its name.

Hope there's no sharks!

The rum probably helped, but each of us were in very good spirits. There's certainly nothing this far out from anything to signify even the slightest hint of the equator, but crossing it is momentous all the same. Everyone swam for as long as you can in 10,000 foot water before the mind begins to scream unfriendly thoughts like "SHARK", and considering we'd just seen a very large hammerhead not one hour before I think we did pretty well.

Smile, you're on the Equator!

Count them- 6, one taking the picture, the captain in the water. Who's driving this boat?

Sunsets are often extraordinary at sea, but this day and night will be one that will be remembered forever.

Equatorial sunset, last night of the 6 day passage

Each of us spent a long time staring long and hard at the water and sky, this our last night of the passage. Each reveling in the peace and calm of our trip. In the last log I mentioned my only concern was our arrival. While we were all excited to reach the Galapagos, I know I was not alone to be very sad that the passage was nearing its end. I know we all could spend more weeks out here in these conditions. Every day new animal wonders to see; each meal somehow more succulent than the last; each evening a shifting canopy of stars...and friends to make it all gel. Our arrival would shatter this calm. Immigration, tourists, customs, taxis, tours. I'll take the simplicity of the sea.

Jody snaps a shot of a playful Sea Lion

By 0300 San Cristobal was sighted, a looming gray shape highlighted by an almost-full moon. By sun break the hills and cliffs of the island could be made out, much greener than imagined. March it turns out has been a wet month and the typically arid landscape was covered in velvety green. A few miles out from port we got our first sea lion visit and decided to alter course to a small rock outcropping to have a swim with the playful creatures.

The Captain gets up close and personal with a sea lion

There are easily more sea lions here than people. Within minutes of slipping into the ocean we were all within feet of maybe a dozen lions, from babies to bulls. This was Hannah's first ever experience snorkeling. Imagine dropping into intensely blue water, no bottom in sight, three miles offshore with 500 pound lions (who's predators are sharks and killer whales) swimming right in front of your mask. I couldn't believe she could hold her cool, and at the same time- what a first go!

Very cool customer

Some time later we dropped anchor in Puerto Baquerizo Moreno. Two very nice surf breaks crashed to either side of us. Sea lions by the hundreds lounged wherever they could on unmanned Lanchas and unattended cruising vessels (this would be novel for about 1 hour- they are not the cleanest smelling creatures). Boobies and other sea birds dove and splashed in the clean water. A small, attractive town lay perched on the sea front, beckoning us to land. Maybe it's not so bad getting here after all.

Uninvited guests

Our new chefs, Hannah and Lars

We've got a whole new crew on Discovery, a decision made just in the last week before departure. I'd spent two weeks interviewing potential candidates to fill Jody's shoes as she'll be only joining us on select trips this season. At the same time Nico had fulfilled his 12 month contract with extraordinary success, but we all felt with a very difficult year on the horizon in the South Pacific (lots of miles, lots of back to back trips) some new energy on board would be a good move for all. With a week left before we sailed for the Galapagos I was suddenly faced with replacing our Chef, as well as finding a Stewardess/Mate. The Best Odyssey has turned into not just a kiteboarding expedition, but a culinary adventure as well, and we've all grown accustomed to truly world-class cuisine. How could I hire two people in a week and have them be remotely qualified or well-suited to what we're doing?

One of our new chef's amazing creations, Cauliflower Soup

By sheer luck. It occurred to me that a couple/team would be the way to go. We'd be using one less cabin for the crew, and single people tend to get very lonely out here. I found a team profile on one of the crew web sites and somehow knew they were the ones. Two days later we had an interview using the wonderful technology of video skype, and we suddenly had a new crew, Lars and Hannah, from the US and Denmark respectively. They both have formal training, (Lars the French Culinary Institute, Hannah the Copenhagen Culinary Institute), and have worked in some of the finest restaurants in the world. In fact they met cooking at the 3 Michelin star "Fat Duck" in the UK, but more importantly, they are both PASSIONATE about food. Lars and Hannah arrived Friday, spent the weekend provisioning and buying things like an ICE CREAM MAKER and completely overhauling the galley. As I write this five days into our sail to the Galapagos I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt that we are in for an amazing year. These guys are at a level I didn't know existed.

Ono sashimi, day 4

But I'm getting ahead of myself. The shipment with our chain and dozens of other goodies, including a new stand up board compliments of Surftech arrived Monday night. We brought Discovery into the fuel dock and worked until the wee hours. We've been joined by Scott Balogh, who was so helpful to us in Bocas for the all-pro event in January; a surfer friend of his named Gaby from Venezuela; and my good buddy Tim Ahern, who I grew up with in Lake Tahoe. Tuesday was spent tying up all the loose ends- changed the oil in both main engines, replaced the radar antenna, GPS unit, packing everything away, getting immigration clearance... Finally and thankfully we got underway by 1930 Tuesday night, just a day behind schedule, all of us tired but excited to put the city behind us. Once the myriad of tankers, cargo ships, and other boats (which all dwarfed us) waiting to cross the canal were threaded we had nearly 48 hours of light but sail able winds out of the north, perfect conditions for our new cruising gennaker, which powered us along downwind at a respectable 7-8 knots. The seas were calm, everyone in jovial and anticipatory moods. It's only a 1,000 miles to the Galapagos, but being right on the equator and thus the doldrums the conditions would likely be marginal for sailing. We caught a beautiful yellow fin tuna Wednesday, which Lars filleted expertly and had on the table within minutes in the form of mouthwatering sashimi. A nice start to what would become a perfect passage.

Scott and Gaby, enjoying the calm

By Thursday the charts showed the waters to be over 10,000 feet deep. We'd left the Bay of Panama, heading almost dead south towards Malpelo island, the only spot of land between the coast and the Galapagos. In hopes to hook into more fish and wind, we decided to sail right past the island before turning southwest on a rhumb line to the famous archipelago. We reached Malpelo just after nightfall, a lonely and stark dark form in a sea of black. All kinds of sea birds ducked and played in the rigging, and we'd seen footage on the BBC's "The Blue Planet" of abundant sea life around the protected marine reserve which made us seriously consider stopping for the night, but our charts were so wildly off what the radar showed (not uncommon in the S. Pacific) I was too uncomfortable trying for a blind anchorage and we carried on.

Oh, what a beautiful morning!

Seared Ono, wrapped in Nori, over green tea noodles and yellowfin boulabaise

As we turned SW our winds died and have stayed calm ever since. This is not something any of us mind. We've got plenty of fuel, we have a strong westerly current helping our speed, the ocean is almost pancake flat. The skies have been almost void of clouds and each day as we close on the Galapagos we see more and more wildlife. It has been in fact one of the most pleasant passages I can remember, and the only passage I've ever been on that I don't want to end. Huge pods of Spinner dolphins, Pilot whales, the elusive and rare Beaked Whale, a lone Hammerhead shark, and sea birds have visited, many on more than one occasion. We slow the boat each day to swim and refresh in the vast expanse of deep, clean blue water. We caught a 30 lb. Ono yesterday (which means 'delicious' in Hawaiian, and my favorite pelagic fish) which our chef team turned into breakfast, lunch and dinner- nothing short of culinary orgasms. Five days ago I was choking on the exhaust and garbage of Panama City. I can't begin to explain the difference of living out here. It is clean, pure, healthy, simple. Our lives are dictated only by what we feel like doing- eating, reading, sleeping, dreaming.

Beaked whale breaches next to the boat

Calm Passage

This afternoon we will sail into the southern hemisphere, my fourth trip across the equator by sail, virgin territory to all but Jody and Scott, who have both crossed once. In 24 hours we will reach the Galapagos, a place I've imagined and dreamt of since the sea became my home. My only anticipation is the next meal, my only concern is reaching our destination, which means this amazing journey will be at an end. And another begins.

Dead calm

Kiting on our own, Punta Chame Sandbar

But I've been excited to see the Perlas islands for years, and we were all excited to get out of the city and get kiting. Our guests were Dan Schneider, Brian Jacobs and his girlfriend Debra; and Michael Bigger, who joined us a few days after the start of the trip. We picked up everyone at the Balboa Yacht Club dock and sailed straight away for Punta Chame, the local kiting spot. The winds had been cranking all week, and by the time we sailed clear of the Bridge of the Americas and got the main and jib up we were cranking as well. Two hours later we anchored just off the beach in Punta Chame, with solid winds kicking up an uncomfortable chop (for everyone not kiting). We launched Dan and Brian off the boat, then with the sun sliding into the sea we brought up the anchor and headed around to the leeward side of the peninsula hoping to find calmer water for the night. The water around Punta Chame has ripping currents, with tides in excess of 18 feet. Sand bars are everywhere, and the water is murky, making navigation tricky at best, even in good light.

Local Parrot, John Wayne Island

We made it around the point, but even in the waning light we could make out breakers well over a mile offshore, which weren't on the charts. We motored slowly around, trying to find a way through, but with nearly zero light and nothing usable but the depth sounder, which just showed us getting in less and less water, I decided to play it safe and return to the windward side. Dan and Brian had been chasing us on foot on the beach and must have covered a couple miles by the time we got all the way back and had the anchor down. Needless to say, it was an uncomfortable night. Debra and Jody passed on dinner with wobbly stomachs and I don't think any of us got the greatest sleep. Not what the crew needed.

A friendly Tita Monkey says hello

For the next few days we had a similar weather pattern. Calm and hot all day, then wind late in the afternoon, which would mostly stay up all night. Punta Chame is the most reliably windy spot in Panama, and this is the perfect time of year. Our second morning we took Discovery around to the backside in good light, which made me thankful we didn't try it the night before- a sandbar did in fact go well over a mile off the point. The backside was more comfortable, but when the winds came up late (too late to kite unfortunately) a reverberating swell did as well, which made for another uncomfortable night. Small dinners again, another lackluster night of sleep. By day three I got smart. An island known locally as John Wayne island (there was a resort with the same name built just like a Hollywood John Wayne set, which we visited and all came away thinking...weird) lay across the bay at the foot of the mainland mountains. In front of it was a perfectly calm anchorage that we had all to ourselves. At low tide massive sand bars would "rise" out of the water like apparitions in the desert. With wind it would be one hell of a place to kite. Perfect flat water, all to ourselves.

A baby turtle smiles for Jody on a windless day

And thankfully, though the days remained stubbornly calm, that's exactly what we got in the afternoons. Michael arrived on Saturday and the wind came with him. We would launch off one of the sandbars, then if you liked butter flat water you would stay put, or if you were more inclined for a down winder, off you went across the bay to Punta Chame, about 3 1/2 miles. This wasn't an ideal arrangement for the crew, as one of us would then have to cross the channel with the dinghy to bring them back, but the smiles on the clients were worth it. Brian got his first front rolls and riding blind down, Dan got comfortable with staying upwind (this was about his 20 th time kiting)- in very challenging conditions as the currents were viscous, and Michael pulled his always crazy moves with his new Nemesis HP kite.

The sign says "John Wayne pissed on this tree". So did Brian.

By about this time my knee had gone totally seppo. My whole leg was about twice its normal size and hurt like hell. My knee cap was a red volcano, but hadn't yet erupted. I could barely walk, and the toxic doses of painkillers and antibiotics were taking their toll on my sensibilities. In one afternoon I managed to launch Dan with his lines backwards, scream at Michael for making me wait in the chop (long story, and thankfully the only time I've truly lost it in 8 years of operating boats), and damn near sank the dinghy in the shore break. Luckily Jody made an intervention and while I won't say forced, aggressively urged me to visit a hospital.

By mid day on Sunday I'd visited the doc, who subscribed injectable antibiotics and said it would soon explode and all would be well. As we were heading to the Perlas islands, our friend Moises Niddam, the local Best rep had to watch the doctor inject my ass so he could explain to Jody how to do it- as I had to take the shots for 5 days. I'm sorry Moises.

Monday goes down as the most incredible passage we've ever had, bar none. It was only 40 miles, and flat as a pancake with zero wind. But that's not what made it great. As Carnival was happening in Panama all the fishermen were on land. Which left the ocean totally to ourselves. Make that us- and millions upon millions of fish. I'm not joking, there were bait balls and sea life everywhere. Pelicans and other birds in the thousands, diving on the fish like lunatics. Tuna and other game fish slamming the bait balls, dolphins jumping and diving and getting their share. Turtles, rays- you name it, everything was on the move. We saw whole schools of rays swim right under the boat. Not one or two- dozens upon dozens, again and again. For five hours everyone hopped around the deck going "look at that!", "oh my god", "holy shit", "I've never seen anything like it." I had no idea there was still life like that left in the world. What a reminder of how precious and precipitous life can be. A long liner fleet could wipe this area out in a season.

Welcome to the Perlas islands

We then spent 5 days in the Perlas islands. Five days without a breath of wind, so the kiting was somewhat unspectacular, but that isn't the case for the area. The Perlas are striking, and if we'd had wind we'd have been among the very, very few to ever kite them. We basically circumnavigated the group, covering over 100 miles. We visited a beached submarine; swam with large schools of fish of varying kinds (puffer, snapper, mackerel, jacks) and a bunch of rays; saw a traditional island village; and even saw a couple very large salt water crocodiles on a river trip on the island of San Jose. That was pretty amusing. 8 of us in the dinghy, making our way up a narrow black river, anticipating getting ripped over the edge at any moment. I would say the overall mood was one of...curious trepidation. We all wanted to see one, just not too close.

Local Perlas boy gets a visit from the gringos

The anchorages were all spectacular, and by our last day in the Perlas my crew and I were finally recovering. My knee had erupted, which was fantastic and horrific in tandem. The swelling instantly subsided, my fever broke, my leg felt great but you can't believe what came out of there. Better left unsaid.

Vincent shows off the local Mahi catch

We'd been joined by a local guide named Vincent, who'd spent a lot of time exploring the islands. By the fifth windless day I pulled Vincent aside and said that while the islands were incredible, we needed to find wind to end on a solid note. Vincent pointed us north to San Miguel, where we could get cell reception so I could call Moises. Moises knows the kiting areas better than anyone in Panama and he said there would be only one place with wind- Punta Chame.

Dan tries the local canoe

So we headed back west, and arrived just in time for the afternoon winds to crank. And we did indeed end on a great note. We got three great days of kiting, and while at times very gusty, they were extraordinary sessions. As it was a spring tide, the sand bars on low tide were vast. One night with the winds gusting to 30 knots, even in our protected bay at John Wayne island the current was so strong that they held Discovery with her stern toward the wind. In all my years at sea I've never seen anything like it. For some hours of each day you could have walked over a mile from one side of a sand bar to the other. And at high tide you never knew they were there. The most incredible thing? Three miles away everyone who kites in Panama kited in onshore conditions in 4-5' chop. It's like a very scaled down Cabarete. And it's a very cool place, and an incredible community. But we had perfect glass, and we had it all to ourselves, but you couldn't get to where we were without a boat. Once again I realize the price we pay (in hours and work, not money) sometimes out here is dear, but it's almost always worth it.

We follow this guy

After saying sad goodbyes to the whole crew in Bocas we took two days trying to get some sleep, then departed for Colon. It was a fast, easy sail. With building winds out of the north Discovery took flight as she hadn't in weeks, covering the 140 miles in no time. We arrived the Shelter Bay Marina by late Wednesday afternoon and quickly began arranging our transit of the Panama Canal. We'd already lined up an agent, a giant of a guy named Stanley who doesn't waste time. We'd no sooner tied up the boat when he arrived, cell phone ringing incessantly, favors being called in, dollar signs adding up. But he got it done. Some boats wait for weeks to get through the canal. He arranged a slot for us Friday evening, 48 hours and closing.

Entering the canal

On Thursday we did as much to the boat as we could. Our windlass was down, I found water in the sail drive (transmission) of the port engine, the boat was still a mess from the Bocas trip. Nico, Jody and I were a collective disaster. Red eyed and worn out. We had to move off the dock to make way for a tide of incoming boats who were part of a blue water rally, which took us off water and power but no mind, we didn't have the energy to clean anyway. I changed our prop zincs, decided there wasn't anything I could do about the other problems, and just chucked the long list of haven't dones into my tired brain.

Second lock, going up

By Friday morning Nico and I still needed to visit immigration (we'd overstayed our visa by a month- a few greenbacks would solve the problem), and I needed to tie on the protective tires (6 on each side required for "lockage"), buy food for the crew, update the web site, order spares, organize Discovery, and try to calm down. You have to have 4 line handlers- we had Jody, Nico, Francis (who was waiting in Colon for a new engine and offered to help, which I gladly took), Dave and Erin (friends from the Bocas event). So we had plenty, but as Francis was the only one who knew what he was doing (he'd been through 6 other times) I also hired a pro, Rudy who had been through many many hundreds of times.

View from above

We sailed the short distance from Shelter Bay to the Colon anchorage at 1400 hours and waited for Rudy and our Advisor to board (every boat through the canal has a mandatory advisor stationed on board. This person is the liaison with the captain of the boat and will direct the line crew. He/she must be fed and taken care of, but will not take control of the boat unless the captain is incapable of the job.) By 1530 we were ready to go. Our advisor handed me all the paperwork and guidelines, of which one clearly states that if for any reason your vessel delays lockage or passage through the canal you must pay the full amount of the transit (in our case about $1200 US), plus a number of very heavy fines. Then of course, you have to arrange another passage.

Handling the lines

And that's when our windlass stopped working. Jody went forward to bring up the anchor with the winds blowing a solid 20+ knots, a large container vessel which we were to follow just heading into the channel. We had ten, maybe fifteen minutes to get the anchor up, otherwise we'd lose our spot, and pay the fines. With another trip heading out in 5 days (from the Pacific side), it was not an option I wanted to entertain. I urged my tired brain to come up with something. By hand? Would take too long, if it was even possible (180 feet of 1/2 inch chain is not a light endeavor). I tore open the control box, grabbed a screwdriver and just shorted the positive leads. It was a sparky, hair raising affair (at one point the screwdriver actually caught on fire- the metal part), but the windlass worked, albeit begrudgingly, and we got in line.

Massive eh?

I'm happy to say the rest of the trip was an absolute delight; a once-in-a-lifetime experience. We went through "center-chamber", which meant we would have two much smaller mono hulls tie up alongside, I would be in charge of driving our flotilla of boats, and our boat's crew would handle the lines. With a catamaran and two strong engines it was not a hard job, even with all of the wind. The locks are enormous- over 1,000 feet long and 110 feet wide. We had a large cargo ship in front of us and still had room to spare. By sundown we were in the first lock. Two guys on each side of the locks huck down monkey fists to the crew, who tie them onto our own 120' dock lines. My job was to keep us straight and centered, and moving at 2 knots. With a strong tail wind it was stressful, but the impressiveness of being in such a mammoth operation overshadowed my fear. When the chamber begins to fill up the waters become a cauldron of roiling water, churning in all directions. The waters rise very fast, the depth sounder lodging the height change like the clicks of a clock.

Humbling being next to these

Three locks carry you up 80 feet to the level of Gatun lake, the second largest man-made lake in the world. By 2000 hours we'd transited the first set of locks, untied from the other two boats and motored a gentle 5 minutes to a soft mooring ball and settled in for a night on the lake. The lake, which is indeed massive is a natural reserve and hosts a wide range of amazing flora and fauna. Howler monkeys, toucans, sloths, crocodiles...

Miraflores locks, Day 2

Our advisor de boarded and we all tucked into a nice dinner and an early evening under a vast canopy of stars. The Howler monkeys, we were told would wake us early and it would be a long day across the lake (5 hours) and down the other set of locks, which lower you into the Pacific.

40 of these pass every day

The remainder of the trip was equally as lovely. Many of our friends and family got to watch us descend the Miraflores locks on a live video feed the canal provides into the Pacific and we all agreed in was an extraordinary experience. We sailed past one massive container ship, cargo ship, car carrier, after another. The largest of which have to pay as much as a half million dollars for transit. Being right up against one of these hulks is a sobering experience. And a reminder of all the crap that gets moved around the world to satiate our burgeoning need for material goods. It is awesome and sickening at the same time.

Bridge of the Americas, we enter the Pacific

We finally motored under the Bridge of the Americas and took a mooring at the Balboa Yacht Club, which is nothing more than a very long dock (the tides here range upwards of 18 feet) and a small restaurant. Discovery will not see another marina for nearly 2 years, across all of the South Pacific and Micronesia.

Interviews

We've all made new wonderful friends, and we've all shared in amazing moments. Rami left us this morning and he was still wearing a perma grin that never left after his amazing kite session several days ago. He inspired every one of us. The boat, now missing Scott Balogh and Rami feels almost vacant, and its not because of the physical space gained, but because of what they contribute to our collective mental health.

The Bocas Crew

We got a late start today, but our swell forecast is the biggest its been, so we know we're going to find waves. Knowing the classic breaks would be packed with surfers we headed around past Silverbacks (grumbling but still not yet working) to Playa Larga. All the guys willing to take a beating headed for the surf while the rest of us settled in for another amazing dining experience at chez Nico. We arranged for a watertaxi launch to come out to get Raphael and Mika, who were also leaving a bit early on the afternoon flight. I know for a fact that every person on this trip was positively influenced by Raphael. I never even saw him grimace, let alone pout. He's been at kiting as long as anyone here and yet he's still like a little kid. He was our introduction to professional kiteboarding back in 2004 on our previous boat in Fiji (some of the footage from this trip is in our promo video ), and it was so fantastic to see and work with him again. And to see Mika kite is seeing perfection. At 110 pounds, he's like watching an acrobat with springs for arms and legs. I can't say for the others, but for me having them leave was very emotional.

The Riders, from left back row: Mika Fernandez, Amit Anbar, Raphael Salles, Scott Wisenbaker, Chris Wyman, Mauricio Abreu, Moehau Goold. Front row: Moises Niddam, Will James, Joao Pedro Simonsen

After lunch we headed back around to the Dumps. Our day was looking windlass, our hopes for a final session and some quality footage looking desperate. This was our last shot. On arrival there were maybe 4-5 surfers in the water and a large dark cloud to windward. And the wind, the graceless bitch that it has been, finally begrudgingly arrived. At first no one cared to ackknowledge it. It's tricked us like this before. But finally Moises and Mauricio and Joao all launched off the boat and we saw our first true wave riding of the trip.

Moises

Mauricio

To each of you who joined us on this journey, thank you. This week was one of the finest of my life and it will be something I will hold dear forever.

Getting Ready

We motored past the famous breaks at Ponch and the Dumps, which were big and carried on out to the north end of Colon island. We found a small gap in the reef, just wide enough to get the dinghy in through a cauldron of nasty rocks and breaking waves, which made for an interesting ride. I managed to run the gauntlet with the video crew, who set up on a shoreline that was very intimidating. Sharp volcanic rock went from the reef to the trees, no soft sand here. They all stepped gingerly out of the dinghy and hoped the winds would stay up long enough for us to get some riders off the boat.

Lo