Herding coconuts

With a music blasting from the cockpit speakers we headed slightly east of north out of Tonga (15 degrees magnetic) bound for Samoa on Monday just before noon.Then the music died.

It didn't matter. We had planned to lay-up in an isolated cove on an outer island and have a quiet afternoon, swimming, doing a little maintenance and washing the dust from the island off the deck. In other words - loafing. We found the perfect cove and anchored in 16 feet of clear water on a sandy bottom. The beach was a couple of hundred metres away and fringed by a shallow reef Robbie Vaughan swam in with me and we crossed a beach of powdery white sand to bordering shade of undergrowth through which coconut palms pushed their feathery tops, rustling in the gentle breeze. Picking through the fallen nuts we found a couple of heavy green nuts and some lighter, drier brown ones and lots which appeared to have been eaten into either by ants or some sort of rodent. Though we didn't see any animals there were some piles of horse dung on an overgrown trail just a few metres in from the beach and someone had a lit a camp fire in recent months. We tossed the nuts we collected down to the beach and between us we herded them back to Van Diemen, the lighter ones floating faster, the green ones heavier to lob on their way. The green nuts weren't too successful but we all broke chunks of fresh white meat from the older nuts, chewing contemplatively as we sipped sundowners of rum and fruit juice, topped with fresh limes. The water temperature was 28C but over the next three days it rose 2C as we sailed up to 'Upolu, the main island of Samoa. We are running two hour watches, but in practise, the person coming on watch is back-up for the person he will relieve, so as I follow Bob Story, I am either on deck or in the saloon in case he needs a hand in a hurry during his watch. Robbie follows me, Wizza Wise follows him and he is relieved by Ross Sellens, and so on. During the day an eclectic selection of music is played, Fleetwood Mac (Stevie Nicks has quite a following aboard), the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, a variety of Hawaiian, Jimmy Buffett, and in the evening, some classical, perhaps, until the boat quietens down and the watch listens through headphones to whatever he pleases or just enjoys the swish and chuckle of the wake. I like the night watches, looking at the night sky (the moon is waxing and is now more than halfway to full), picking out the constellations, watching the Southern Cross roll over. Sometimes lines from old hymns find their way into my mind "Short as the watch that ends the night, before the rising sun ..." from O God, Our Help in Ages Past, or something more ringing "He who would valiant be 'gainst all disaster, let him in constancy follow the Master. There's no discouragement shall make him once relent ..." from John Bunyan's hymn To Be a Pilgrim. Do kids get exposed to this music today? Their loss. With little but the compass course, wind strength and set of the sails to think about, thoughts wander to family, friends, those who would enjoy being here, in the moment. During one watch I was thinking of Peter Ruehl, the funniest columnist Australia has read possibly since the late Ron Saw. Pete would have loved to be with us, his wife, Jenny Hewett, one of the last people I spoke with before leaving the office told me how much he envied us this excursion. I had a drink with Pete at the Centennial as we watched the Superbowl in January. When we came close to Samoa, I received an SMS saying Pete had died, hope he knew he was with us in spirit. Speaking of spirits, we had to wait to six hours for immigration officials to arrive before we could go ashore in Apia. Aggie Grey's famous hotel is within walking distance, we can see it ... it is waiting. I guess I'll have to forego a Vailima beer and have a serious cocktail to salute Pete's passing.