August 30, 2023 at Rikitea, Mangareva, Gambier Islands of French Polynesia at the extreme southeast of the Tuamotus Archipelago.
Day is done and the evening is a balmy calm here aboard Picton Castle at Rikitea, Mangareva. Barely even any waves lapping heard from the reef. We have most of a waxing moon hanging over Aukena to our east and enough stars aloft to make us feel good. The road dogs are friendly and well fed. A few mama chickens shepherd their small chicks about, pecking for bugs. The chow mein stand is keeping some wandering crew in calories. Not that they need any…
In the deepening night of this ancient South Pacific Polynesian island, we hear what certainly sounds like the far off ominous war drums of a band of muscle bound and oiled up tattooed warriors working themselves into a frenzy to go on the war-path for some serious pillaging. However, this is, in fact, the school kids giving a dance recital down the road on the lagoon. With wild pounding drums to start your heart pounding, on your toes and jumping. These kids and their teachers came to the ship today alongside at the town wharf for a ship tour followed by a big dance on the wharf for us. And, of course, at the last dance they grabbed our crew and hauled them all up to dance with them. It was wonderful. And ageless. 200 years ago, and more, the crews of ships like the Bounty, Astrolobe and Endeavour were treated much the same way. Plus ca change, plus c’est le meme chose. Everything changes, everything stays the same… Mangareva dance has its own particular style, unlike that of Tahiti, Marquesas and the Cooks, but to this untrained eye, similar to Tonga and Samoa.
The ship remains well moored alongside the solid town wharf. Last night the winds howled with gale force in a frontal passage. You can expect these hereabouts from time to time. At about 1900 (7:00PM) the light winds from the NW shifted suddenly to the SW and built up swiftly to a buffeting gale force. The stinging rain blew viciously sideways for almost two hours. This of course was why we were alongside in the first place, to be ready for just such shifts in weather. The anchors would have had trouble holding for long against that sort of wind force in this small lagoon. This would have meant main engine fired up, with the wheel manned in the rain and dark, clutched in and out as we might push against the violent onslaught of such conditions – until these winds had passed, or we had piled up on the coral reef astern. Better to be nicely secured to a fine wharf, which we were.
Over the weekend some local kids asked if they could swim off the ship, and most particularly if they could swing off a rope from the fore yard – of course, the answer was “yes”. It seems they remembered doing this on our last visit some five years ago. They showed up at the appointed hour and swam and dove in and did back flips all afternoon. Looked like fun to me. The lagoon water was 70 degrees F. Warm to a Nova Scotian, cool enough to the islanders. More kids showed up to join in – and a good time had by all.
On Sunday Chief Mate Dirk, the Engineer Julien and I stood by the ship so all hands could walk down the road to attend the church service at the enormous and famous cathedral here in Rikitea. This was a highly recommended activity. Afterwards the gang reported the most magnificent singing they had ever heard. South Pacific churches are famous for such singing. The congregations are often seated by their voices, sopranos here, tenors there, men here, women there, that sort of thing. The entire congregation is the most amazing choir. The priest was truly welcoming and gracious with our gang, handshakes and pictures all around. Tammy took Dawson who liked it but thought that the singing was a bit repetitious. I pointed out that it was a church service, not a concert, for his benefit, but not necessarily for his entertainment. He is a good singer too. As all the crew returned to the Picton Castle in a mass of bright clean clothes walking back down the wharf after the service towards the ship, I could see the glow of their halos shining just a little bit brighter… and no reports of lightning strikes.
Work onboard goes on. The topsides are painted white again. Looks nice. Better than before too. The municipal garbage truck came by and picked up our bags of carefully sorted trash. While collected all the way from Panama, it was not that much. Not even a dory full. There may be a couple hundred large white cargo bags of clean plastic island trash at the head of the wharf awaiting a ship for Tahiti and recycling. I think it gets recycled. I hope so. Old plastic ropes and gear from the pearl farming we are told.
We have our port anchor almost fixed. You might remember it broke at Pitcairn Island in tough conditions. It would take a lot to break the stock of such a robust anchor. Dirk, Dustin, Julien and Julian have been working on it. We should have a usable anchor again on port by tomorrow afternoon. Good job.
The longboat, our beloved 1930s Monomoy surf boat is all rigged up and kitted out and ready for launching. Spring and Clara have been all about that under Dirk’s teutonic supervision. The Monomoy is essentially identical to the old copra boats they used to have at every island hereabouts in years past. On my first pass through these islands, most of a lifetime ago, double ended wooden pulling boats were rowed by islanders through the surf, laden with people and goods, often getting swamped or capsized in the breakers, all getting soaked, but life went on. Anything and everything went in these boats; sacks of rice, flour, potatoes, coconuts, casks of rum, goats, missionaries, grandmas and grandpas, little kids, young lovers, traders, old preachers going, new ones arriving, beach-combers, misfits, schooner sailors, demi-johns of red wine, fancy church dresses from Papeete, cows, chickens, sacks of pearl shell and black pearls, plantains, banana, kumara, mattresses, radios, goats, pianos, tin roofing, bricks, timbers, rope, chain, anchors, suitcases, beer, farm tools, model-T cars, tinned bully beef, colourful pareau cloth, machetes and all to keep the traders store stocked, dancers, students back and forth, to the trading schooners at anchor or hove-to just outside the reef. Now, one more time, such a boat cuts through the coral passes of the Gambier Islands.
One sweet thing here at Mangareva is the boulangère, the bakery, making fresh baguettes every morning for 80 cents each. Nothing much better than getting a loaf of French bread or two, add some cheese and fruit, something to drink and head off to the lofty hills for a hike and a picnic to gaze down at the colourful reefs of the lagoon and our tiny ship far below.
We have said our sad goodbyes to some fine crew only signed on this far. But we have six new arrivals to make welcome to bring in to our sailing ship island world. And two new little furry crew as well. More later on them.
As we wait for a fair easterly wind for Tahiti, soon come, we must get off the dock and back to anchor in the lagoon to make room for the next supply ship, now on her way from the atoll of Hao. Also soon come. No fronts in the forecasts and good holding to be found here for our anchors.
