To say that Port Watch was excited to go ashore at Palmerston is an understatement. In the 24 hours prior, after our arrival, the official paperwork and documentation had been submitted and, finally, approved while we waited at anchor watching the island over the reef. At the appointed hour, the island’s boats pulled up alongside, our bags were inspected by Juliana (the biosecurity officer) and off we went, some in Bob’s smaller aluminium skiff, most in Tikiroa’s large and seakindly multipurpose island workboat.
Once through the small passage and into the lagoon, things started to sink in: We WERE here. The surrounds were amazing. The colours. The setting. Motus in the distance, but Home Island right ahead, and close. The landing place was reached by following a narrow pass through the reef that continued onwards through large coral heads until opening up just off the beach.
We were ushered up the beach towards an airy shelter surrounded by coconut palms. Here, the island’s dignitaries had come to welcome us to their island, their homes, their families, in a touching ceremony. Then, the watch was quickly divided up between households, and small groups left in various directions, led by their hosts. What would they find?
They would find open homes. Open hearts. Gracious hospitality that seeks its equal anywhere in the world. And crisp sheets stretched over the best beds in every house.
Soon, guided island tours were underway and the watch started to get their bearings. Introductions were made and friendly greetings were to be seen and heard all round. Most importantly, so I was told by Bob, one needed to slow down. “Here they are, those yachties, you know” he said, “Racing across the seas. Then they get here and they race across the island and, before you know it, off they race again in their boats to some other place, to do it all again. They think and they say that they have seen it all. But they see nothing.” And Bob Marsters, Deputy Mayor of Palmerston, knows these things. We try to take it slowly. But this visit we are on a time limit.
An afternoon swim on the beach, followed by a friendly game of volleyball on the island’s sand court. Starting out as a Palmerston team taking on a Picton Castle team (which they comprehensively dismantled), team boundaries commenced to blur after a few matches when mixed and morphing teams made up of men and women from the ship and the island played out the friendlies deep into the fading daylight.
Seven strikes of the church bell reminded one and all that time had come to return home.
After a delicious supper (fish, ika mata, you name it), lessons in island dancing were given to the Picton Castle crew, all in preparation for planned festivities the following afternoon and evening. Then, the evening settled into an informal gathering at Bob’s place for some string band music until it was time to go home.
During the night, a deliciously quiet time devoid of any man-made racket, the beautiful and starry tropical skies clouded over, and the breeze picked up a couple of notches. The palm trees rustled with greater intent. Then, in the wee hours, squally showers of rain descended on us who were mostly sleeping in roofed-over shelters without walls to make the best of a cooling breeze after a hot day. The best beds in the house are not necessarily found inside the house, see? Nice and dry, snug in our crisp beds, we just pulled up the sheets a little more as the rain cooled down the temperature somewhat.
Soon after sunrise, after a strong and hot cup of coffee, we were ready to take Bob’s boat across the lagoon to Kitsap Bank, located at the Northeastern fringe of the atoll, to feed and water the chickens. WAIDAMINIT! Chickens across the lagoon? Why not keep them on Home Island, close to the houses?
Remember Juliana, the island’s bio security officer, who so thoroughly inspected our overnight packs for unwanted hitchhikers (pests) and had given us a clean bill? There is more to that story. Over the past many months, in conjunction with specialists from Rarotonga, the Palmerstonians had developed and then implemented a rat eradication program which had now come tantalisingly close to be called a success: barring surprises, Palmerston is slated to be declared “rat free” in the coming weeks. A huge success, and a just reward for months-long tenacious perseverence. And Palmerston is set to become the first inhabited atoll so declared in the South Pacific, all going well. A proud achievement. Rats, introduced by European ships, cause all sort of damage in the islands.
Due to the bait’s planned deployment across the entire island, all livestock had to be removed. That’s how the chickens ended up on Kitsap, a small sand bank with a few palm trees on it, three and a half nautical miles (six and a half kilometers) from Home Island. A perfect chicken pen, no fences needed, albeit somewhat farther away than practicable. Extra work to be shouldered, all for the good.
So we packed the boat with stuff to feed the chickens with, and large water jugs, and then Bob, John and I set out in still squally weather across choppy lagoon waters towards Kitsap Bank. After an uncomfortable and bumpy ride, we arrived at the sandy island to find the chickens very well indeed. They were still in food and water, so we simply replenished and collected a bucket full of eggs. Little chicks, barely the size of golf balls, were quite abundant, a good sign. Also to be seen were a pair of frigate birds, circling the air overhead. Not a worry for the chickens, Bob said. The frigate birds wouldn’t harass the chickens, or eat their eggs. They would simply roost here overnight.
After 20 minutes or so, we boarded the skiff for our downwind run back home, anticipating breakfast that could well contain an omelette. Or so we thought.
Halfway back, Picton Castle‘s familiar shape was again discernable through the squally murk, still pointing her head to the NE, spanker set.
After a couple of minutes, however, the spanker disappeared, and the main topmast staysail was set, her head now pointing North. She was clearly off her anchor, and not just swinging to the breeze.
Back we came to the beach, there to be met by our packed bags and a ready ride in Tikaroa’s heavy boat out to the ship. John and I got there just after nine o’clock, the last of the Port Watch to make it back on board.
PART 2
Port Watch hove-to
Luckily, the squally weather subsided. The weather forecast promised light NE breezes and a couple of warm and sunny days. Increasingly stable conditions. On the back of that, the Captain decided to keep the ship hove-to, and to send Starboard Watch in for a deep taste of Palmerston while Port Watch would remain aboard to look after the ship while she was hove-to.
Once the Starboard Watch, and therefore half the ship’s complement had gone, a gentle quietude settled over the ship. I decided to just let the day go and allow Port Watch time to reflect and contemplate their short but immersive stay at the island while Picton Castle drifted out to the NW at a rate of half a knot in slight seas. We settled into watches and focused on the ship.
By morning, the ship had drifted just under six miles out to sea. After breakfast, Julien fired up the engine and I pointed the ship’s bow back towards Home Island, still very clearly distinguishable on the horizon. Close to Small Passage, a repeat of the previous day: turn the bow west of north, set the main topmast staysail with the wheel hard right and shut the engine down, then drift away from the island again.
The watch on board settled into a light work day led by Bosun Line, with much spot painting going on while I caught up with the Captain over the VHF radio to discuss our ongoing stay at Palmerston. And a plan was hatched.
Meanwhile, engineer Julien and mate Dustin (who is clearly turning into the ship’s outboard whisperer) had a good go at giving a seized up Palmerston 25hp 2-stroke outboard a once-over. By the end of the day, they had the engine just so: screaming at high revs and purring at idle. Just like a two-stroke should. Good again for service.
The people of Palmerston had planned a barbecue and bonfire for the afternoon, with singing and dancing (also from the Picton Castle crew) strewn in for good measure. In these calm and stable conditions, we would maintain Picton Castle‘s regulated safe and common sense manning level and allow all others to attend the festivities. Before dark, all of Port Watch who were sent ashore would return to the ship. And so it happened.
By 1830, I had the ship positioned back at the boat passage, and there came Tikiroa’s skiff in the fading light, loaded with those of the Port Watch who had been ashore for the afternoon.
Again, the ship settled into watches, hove-to, slowly drifting westward, while videos from the festivities were shown to those who had remained aboard.
Another calm night, Picton Castle gently rolling to a slight South Pacific swell. And in the morning? Well, we’ll see…