Statement from the International Solidarity Movement website:

American citizen critically injured after being shot in the head by Israeli forces in Ni’lin

Updates below Press Release

For Immediate Release

Friday, 13 March 2009, Ni’lin Village: An American citizen has been critically injured in the village of Ni’lin after Israeli forces shot him in the head with a tear-gas canister.

Tristan Anderson from California USA, 37 years old, has been taken to Israeli hospital Tel Hashomer, near Tel Aviv. Anderson was unconscious and bleeding heavily from the nose and mouth. He sustained a large hole in the right part of his forehead where he was struck by a tear gas canister. The heavy impact from the tear gas canister being shot directly at him, from about 60 meters, also caused severe damage to his right eye, which he may lose. Tristan underwent brain surgery in which part of his right frontal lobe and shattered bone fragments were removed.

Tristan was shot by the new tear-gas canisters that can be shot up to 500m. I ran over as I saw someone had been shot, while the Israeli forces continued to fire tear-gas at us. When an ambulance came, the Israeli soldiers refused to allow the ambulance through the checkpoint just outside the village. After 5 minutes of arguing with the soldiers, the ambulance passed.
– Teah Lunqvist (Sweden) - International Solidarity Movement

The Israeli army began to use the Rutger rifle and a high velocity tear gas canister in December 2008. The black canister, labeled in Hebrew as “40mm bullet special/long range,” can shoot over 400 meters and weighs 130 grams without the propeller. The gas canister does not make a noise when fired or emit a smoke tail and has a propeller to accelerate the weapon mid-air. A combination of the canister’s high velocity and silence is extremely dangerous and has caused numerous injuries, including a Palestinian male whose leg was broken in January 2009.

  

Tristan Anderson

Tristan Anderson was shot as Israeli forces attacked unarmed demonstrators, gathered against construction of the annexation wall through the village of Ni’lin’s land. Another resident from Ni’lin was shot in the leg with live ammunition.

Four Ni’lin residents have been killed during demonstrations against the confiscation of their land.

Ahmed Mousa (10) was shot in the forehead with live ammunition on 29th July 2008.  The following day, Yousef Amira (17) was shot twice with rubber-coated steel bullets, leaving him brain dead.  He died a week later on 4 August 2008. Arafat Rateb Khawaje (22), was the third Ni’lin resident to be killed by Israeli forces.  He was shot in the back with live ammunition on 28 December 2008.  That same day, Mohammed Khawaje (20), was shot in the head with live ammunition, leaving him brain dead.  He died three days in a Ramallah hospital.

Residents in the village of Ni’lin have been demonstrating against construction of the Apartheid Wall,deemed illegal by the International Court of Justice in 2004. Ni’lin will lose approximately 2500 dunums of agricultural land when the construction of the Wall is completed. Ni’lin was 57,000 dunums in 1948, reduced to 33,000 dunums in 1967, currently is 10,000 dunums and will be 7,500 dunums after the Wall is built.

Updates:
Orly Levi, a spokeswoman at the Tel Hashomer hospital, tells Ha’aretz:

He’s in critical condition, anesthetized and on a ventilator and undergoing imaging tests,” She described Anderson’s condition as life-threatening.

Israeli activist Jonathan Pollack told Ynet:

… the firing incident took place inside the village and not next to the fence. There were clashes in the earlier hours, but he wasn’t part of them. He didn’t throw stones and wasn’t standing next to the stone throwers.

There was really no reason to fire at them. The Dutch girl standing next to him was not hurt. It only injured him, like a bullet.

13 March: Anarchists Against the Wall reports on Tristan’s condition (volunteers with AWALLS were present when Tristan was injured and have been at the hospital to oversee his treatment):

The impact of the projectile caused numerous condensed fractures to Anderson’s forehead and right eye socket. During the operation part of his right frontal lobe had to be removed, as it was penetrated by bone fragments. A brain fluid leakage was sealed using a tendon from his thigh, and both his right eye and skin suffered extensive damage. The long term scope of all of Tristan’s injuries is yet unknown.

14 March: Gabrielle Silverman, Tristan’s girlfriend who was with him when he was shot, spoke to Bay City News and KTVU:

As of Saturday he was on full life support and heavily medicated at Tel Hashomer hospital in Tel Aviv, his girlfriend Gabrielle Silverman said today in a telephone interview.

“My understanding is that they are trying to let his brain rest as much as possible and do as little work as possible,” Silverman said. …

Palestinian medics immediately came to their rescue and attempted to place Anderson onto a stretcher. But even then, Silverman said, “The army began firing tear gas directly at us … again and again and again.”

“Tear gas was falling at our feet as were loading him onto the stretcher,” Silverman said.

When the medics had successfully situated Anderson, an Israeli soldier stood in front of the ambulance and would not allow it to move, Silverman said.

Silverman detailed with clear agitation in her voice the circumstances that followed, as Anderson was “getting worse, vanishing further.”

She said they underwent another 15-minute holdup at the checkpoint, the reason being, she said, that “Palestinian ambulances are not allowed to enter into the state of Israel from the West Bank.”

“Tristan’s life was in serious danger. He was bleeding terribly everywhere from the head,” Silverman recounted. “We had to just sit and wait until eventually an Israeli ambulance from God knows where showed up and we had to change to another ambulance.”

Once they had arrived at the hospital, Anderson immediately underwent surgery, Silverman said. Surgeons removed a portion of the right frontal lobe of his brain and used a tendon from his leg to seal up the area to help prevent leakage. They also “tried to put his face back together,” Silverman said.

Media Links:

• Oakland Activist In Stable Condition In Tel Aviv – Fox Reno
• Occupied Palestine: the horror continues – Effect Measure
• Israelis ‘firing live rounds’ at West Bank protesters – Guardian
• US Activist in Critical Condition; Shot By IDF – Fire Dog Lake
• Former UC Berkeley Tree-Sitter Injured in West Bank – Daily Californian
• Former Tree-Sitter Critically Hurt During Protests on West Bank – Berkeley Daily Planet
• US citizen in critical condition; four others wounded by Israeli fire in Ni’lin – Ma’an
• Israeli soldier shot American activist in face with tear gas can – Raw Story
• US citizen critically injured protesting illegal wall in Ni’ilin, West Bank – Amnesty USA
• American Protester Critically Injured by Soldiers in Ni’ilin – AWALLS
• Friend says activist’s life is ’somewhat at risk’ in Israel – KPIX
• Ex-Cal tree-sitter hurt in West Bank protest - San Fransisco Chronicle
• American Injured in Clash at Israeli Barrier – New York Times
• U.S. citizen critically hurt at West Bank protest – Ha’aretz
• US national badly hurt in anti-fence protest – Ynet
• American hurt in West Bank barrier demo – AFP
• American badly hurt in clash with Israeli military – AP
• US demonstrator critically injured at West Bank protest – Jerusalem Post
• US activist critically injured by Israeli troops during protest in Ni’lin village – IMEMC

Thursday, Feburary 26, after cutting out early from a trying week of work in Oakland, we made a mad dash for the Sierras.  By the time we reached the trailhead — on highway 80 near Truckee, CA ( just north of Lake Tahoe) — the forecasted storm had set-in, bringing gusty winds and a mixture of snow and hail. Loathing the idea of prepping our gear in these conditions, we celebrated when Luke had the ingenious idea of sneaking into the nearby Boreal base lodge and assembling our supplies in its warmth and shelter.

After ditching the car we put skins to skis, donned our packs, and huffed along the 2.5 miles up Castle Pass (OK, in the interest of honesty, I was huffing. Neither of my companions were the least bit phased by the relatively mellow approach. The least of whom, Amy, the marathon runner, was constantly pushing us to climb higher!). The forecast had called for 100+ mph winds on the ridgetops, and cresting over Castle Pass, as dusk set-in, one thing was sure—the forecasters weren’t wrong. It was whipping!

Visibility was quite low and with the new snow there was just a trace of a track leading the way. So, after checking our position on the topo map, and confirming it with the gps (my favorite new toy, which Luke and Amy would have to tolerate all weekend), we followed Luke dropping down off the ridge and took our first turns in the somewhat heavy Sierra powder.

Just as dark set-in, hoots and hollers abound once we descended upon the Peter Grubb hut, lying in the sweeping meadow of Round Valley. With the low visibility conditions of the storm, we could see nothing around us, but trusted Luke when he told us that we were in beautiful country, nestled along the Sierra Crest.

Packs off, we pulled ourselves into the second story of the aging winter shelter, as the depth of the maritime snowpack had completely burried the ground floor. Upon prying open the weathered door, we discovered we were the only ones there, and swiftly moved to celebrating our solitude amongst friends with hard earned wine and pesto around the crackling woodstove. After many satisfied sighs, it was off to stoke the fire, climb into our cozy sleeping bags, and let slumber overtake us.

Morning brought a great surprise. After assuming we’d be locked into a stormy low visibility weekend, we awoke to blue skies and a warm sun beginning to illuminate the surrounding mountaintops, which just so happened to be covered with fresh untouched powder from the night before! What luck!?

We scarfed down a breakfast of eggs, english muffins and oatmeal while discussing avalanche risks and assessing a safe plan of attack. We eyed the surrounding peaks and settled on ascending the west ridge and skiing a big line down the south face of Basin Peak, which towered over us to the north. By the time we began skinning across the meadow, the sun was blistering hot, requiring us to resort to spring-like fasion, skiing in t-shirts with our pant shells unzipped at the sides for ventilation. After reaching the foot of the mountain, it was up-and-away with Luke and Amy alternating breaking trail and me behind wishing I too was a marathon runner.

On the hard windpack near the top, Amy, (tortured by slipping skins) sidestepped up the final pitch; I popped out of my skis and bootpacked, kicking steps into the face; and Luke charged up on his skins. Reaching the peak we were greeted with sweeping views across the Sierras. Trying to block out the noise of the buzzing snowmobiles in the valley to the north, we picked our line down. We dropped in, one at a time, and scooted around the shoulder to skiers left. We then picked our way through the windpacked snowfield, stopping to regroup just above the cliff-band in the center of the south face. With glee, we dropped in, Luke first, shredding the chute that split the cliffband, and arcing out of the narrow exit, cruising the powder-filled glade down into the meadow below, hooting and cheering all the way.

After a quick rest in the meadow basking in the sun, with Luke doing snow angels in the soft fluff, we launched back up Basin Peak for another lap down the south face. After about an hour of climbing, we stopped in the snowfield a touch short of the summit, positioned in just the right place to hit the chutes again. Luke and Amy peeled big arcing turns shooting over the ridge on the right shoulder of the cliff-band, and I happily shot the chute again. Again, we glided through the powder filled glade below and landed in the meadow for lunch.

We then skinned back to the hut, melted snow, and refilled our water bottles for the afternoon. Amy, with boundless energy, declared we’d point our skis towards Castle Peak on the other end of the basin and focus there for the afternoon. After two runs up Basin Peak, I was exhausted and bailed out at the ridge adjacent to Castle Pass, while Luke and Amy plodded on up to Castle Peak. After a quiet rest listening to the snow cascade out of the surrounding trees, I dropped-in and blissfully plowed my way through knee-deep powder, carving turns amongst the steep trees of “Serenity Glade” (as Amy dubbed it). Spitting out into the meadow, totally blissed-out, I collapsed in the afternoon sun and spent the next two hours watching Luke and Amy, tiny ants above, plod their way up the summit ridge of Castle Peak. As the sun began to set behind the mountains, Luke and Amy removed their skins, locked their heels down, and prepared themselves for their final ski descent of the day. My cheers echoed through the valley as they dropped-in off the summit cone, carved big turns through the snowfields, and glided down through Serenity Glade, blasting into the meadow with glowing faces.

We shared the hut Friday night with six others who had hiked in during the day, and feasted on Amy’s homemade red curry with fresh vegetables and tofu. Quite a backcountry meal! More wine and stories around the woodstove, and we were lulled to sleep under the bright stars of a clear Sierra sky.

Saturday, we unexpectedly awoke to MORE sun. After a lazy breakfast of Luke’s amazing signiture fried eggs with cheese, we packed up our gear, and went out for another blissful lap through Serenity Glade on Castle Peak. Then, just as the dozens of weekend daytrippers descended on the valley, we climbed out of the basin, over Castle Pass back towards the road, congratulating ourselves on our impecable timing.

Always ready to charge, as we were coming over the Pass, Luke and Amy eyed the ridge leading up the north side of Andesite Peak, with its tempting steep lines dropping down to our outward track below. The peer pressure overcame my sore muscles, and up the ridge we went for one last glory run! Along the ridge we passed a large Search and Rescue team running drills and setting up camp for the night. After some huffing, we reached a nice steep face, and dropped off the ridge — one at a time — for our final untracked turns in heavy but rewarding powder. The face spit us into our skintrack down the valley towards the road.

We made the ski out in about 30 minutes, (in comparison to the 3-hour hike in), and ended the trip right where we started, at the Boreal base-lodge for beers, reveling in the afterglow of an amazing backcountry weekend.

You can view our route on the topo map below, or by clicking here.
View Larger Map

OK. So it has been way too long since we have updated you all on our voyage. And for once, we have no good excuse. Really, we have been just having too much fun (and dealing with too many issues!) to take the time to write. Sorry!

This will be a brief update, and more will come when we arrive at our next port of call (plus pictures galore, we promise!). We are currently in the Vava’u island group in the Kingdom of Tonga.

Since our last ship’s log update from Tahiti we have covered about 1600 sea miles and visited many incredible South Pacific islands. We spent two wonderful weeks in Tahiti, filled with making boat repairs, provisioning, visiting with many friends some of whom we hadn’t seen since Panama, surfing classic South Pacific reef breaks, and Michael and Josh marking the occasion of this 2007 Pacific crossing with traditional Marquesan tattoos.

From Tahiti we set sail for beautiful Moorea, whose jagged and lush volcanic mountains are visible on the horizon from the big city of Papette. Moorea was one of our favorite stops. We climbed mountains, swam with countless reef sharks, attended and sang with an inspiring and beautiful catholic mass, and ate ice cream at the local agricultural school. We enjoyed ourselves with the company of our friends on EMPIRE, SEA BERYL, DON QUIJOTE, and ADRIATICA. After a week or two in Moorea, EMPIRE sailed north to Palmerston, SEA BERYL went back to Tahiti for repairs, and BAHATI and DON QUIJOTE sailed northwest for Bora Bora.

Halfway to Bora Bora, we made an unscheduled stop in Huahine, lured by the tales of a classic surf break in the island’s reef pass. We arrived, and the sea was flat, though the island was lovely. We had a nice dinner, and awoke the next morning to firing surf! After the local surf crew had tired of the wave, Josh and a handful of fellow surfer/sailors took to the waves — very, very happily — and got continuously rocked for the next two days. One night while sitting on their boards just outside the pass they were approached by three breaching humpback whales. What a special moment! The swell passed, and it was time to move on! A lucky and fortuitous stop for sure!

After a slightly uncomfortable overnight sail, we arrived in picturesque Bora Bora, a classic South Pacific postcard. A perfect blue lagoon created by a barrier reef with a tall, jagged volcanic mountain rising in the center. It was also full of honeymooning tourists from the U.S., which was a bit of let down, though not at all surprising. These islands were the setting for the Mutiny on the Bounty….and one can easily see why Fletcher Christian and many other BOUNTY crew did not want to leave! After a week or so enjoying the island with DON Q (and celebrating their one year anniversary since leaving Norway!), we forced ourselves to push on, (taking our captain with us!) and leaving French Polynesia, sadly, behind.

We set a course for the Cook islands, and decided that we would see which way the wind blew us. After a couple of days out we were blown south, towards the island of Aitutaki. With light tail winds, we went about preparing to launch our trusty spinnaker. We pulled the giant sail out of its giant sock, and just as our speed jumped to seven knots Captain Biscuits proclaimed, “We’ve lost steering!!! Get the sail down before we lose it!!” After a quick scramble, the spinnaker was back in its sock, and we set out to assess the situation. Turns out our steering cable had snapped, and though we could still steer with the auto-pilot (which leads directly to the steering quadrant on the rudder), we had no use of our steering wheel. We set ourselves on auto-pilot and spent the rest of the night assembling our emergency tiller (which we were very fortunate to have….thanks again Tom Whitehead from Portland Yacht Svcs! ) We then sailed the remaining two days to Aitutaki without touching the wheel or the tiller until we were just outside the reef surrounding Aitutaki’s inner harbor. We then engaged the emergency tiller and steered her on in by hand! Exciting and a bit nerve-wracking for sure!

We had been told about the pass through the reef at Aitutaki by many a South Pacific sailor….the BOUNTY had stopped here as well. It is legendary for its shallows. We had been told that many boats were unable to make it through, but, if we were to hit bottom that it was only sand. We arrived outside the pass just before dawn, and were immediately greeted by a mother humpback whale and her calf, who swam directly toward BAHATI and when about ten feet away dove beneath our hull, giving us the experience of a lifetime, watching these enormous animals glide under us. The sun rose, and we were visited by the tremendous local sea turtle, George, who would be our ambassador to Aitutaki for our entire stay. Once there was enough light to see the beautiful lagoon just inside the reef, we decided we had to give the pass a try, and get inside to anchor with our friends DON Q, the Chilean boat, SURAZO, and fellow Mainers on HERITIC and OLD MANATEE, as well as our Bulgarian friends on MAGNOLIA.

Josh had calculated that high tide was at 10 am. We called Aitutaki Port Control on the VHF radio and the very helpful lady on the line corrected us and said that high tide was actually at noon. So we planned to attempt the pass with the rising tide at 11 am.

BAHATI’s specs claim that her keel is 6 feet deep. We have been pushing up our waterline with so much gear, water and fuel, so we knew that we were deeper then that. But the question was, how MUCH deeper? Captain Biscuits made the call that we were most likely 6′4″ deep. Armed with this knowledge Michael and Josh launched the dink and scouted the pass, testing the depth throughout with a pole marked at 6′4″. They discovered that at its shallowest point the pass was 6′8″. Great! We should make it!

We entered the mouth of the pass at 11 am — Nat on the stern steering with the emergency tiller (remember, our steering cable is broken); Michael in the cockpit controlling our speed with the throttle; Josh on the bow directing our path into the deepest parts of the pass. Captain Biscuits said our only way through would be to try and plow our way through the sandbar if we were to touch bottom. Halfway through the keel hit bottom, we bounced off and kept moving forward. Not much later, we hit again and pushed our way forward through the sand. The third time we hit, we accelerated to full power to try and force our way through. “Faster! Faster! We can do it!!” came the call from the bow. Full throttle for a good while and no progress. Damn! We are stuck. Our stomachs come into our throats, and we leap into the dingy with anchors to try and kedge ourselves off. We attempt pulling ourselves off with two anchors five different times, without any success. Our friends watch with binoculars from inside the pass and confirmed sadly to themselves that, in fact, we were not moving. The only progress we make is sideways with the rudder approaching the reef a few feet to port. This is a bad moment!

Friends came out with endless streams of advice. “Empty the water tanks! Offload the jerry cans of fuel!”… etc… etc… The water around us is dropping steadily at this point, and more and more of BAHATI’s hull is becoming visible as time passes. Our drinking water is being dumped overboard when we finally get a radio call from a local fishing boat asking if we’d like a tow out of the pass. “How much?”, is the next question. “How about $60?”… With the full knowledge that we will pay just about ANYTHING to be towed out of this reef at this moment, Captain Biscuits pipes back, “Kiwi dollars or U.S.?” — “Kiwi”, is the reply. “YES PLEASE!!!”. He could have said $1000 Euros and we would have paid it to get back afloat and save our rudder.

The boat comes out with our Bulgarian friends on MAGNOLIA taking pictures from the bow, and the fishing crew attempts to tow us out backwards. Even under full throttle, we aren’t budging. Finally, we try towing the bow around. BAHATI heels sharply on her side, freeing the keel from the sand, and while over on her ear, we slip off. But damn! The two anchors are still out. Michael and Josh leap into the dingy with the anchor rodes and pull up the anchors while BAHATI scoots out of the pass under tow.

Wow!, It feels great to be back out at sea. With many lessons learned! Turns out that high tide WAS at 10 am, and we entered the pass with a dropping tide. And perhaps, now, with all our extra gear, we are much deeper then we think! Later, we got ahold of the marvelous port log book, filled with the history and entries by hundreds of vessels who have passed through this infamous island over the years, and we find that we are one of probably 25 boats in the last two years to have run aground in the pass… It makes us feel a little better!

We spend the rest of the week anchored in the open ocean outside the pass, visited by sea turtles, and the fishermen catching flying fish at night with amazing butterfly nets in all kinds of weather under moonlight and flashlight! Over the course of the week, under Biscuit’s genius guidance, we jury-rig a new steering cable. We also fall absolutely in love with the island. Nights at the “Blue Nun” dance club. Soccer with the local team (who asked Michael and Josh to play for Aitutaki in a Cook Islands tournament). An island feast with traditional dancing. Visits to Bill, the local arborist’s amazing gardens with hundreds of different fruits and flowering plants. Scooter riding around the island. Snorkeling. And many late night navigations through the pass. When the week’s end comes to pass we are all very sad to leave and vow to return to visit again with some of the friendliest people in the world.

We push off with a functioning steering cable and make a pit-stop for three days in the tiny island nation of Niue. Sea snakes. Limestone caves. It’s a magical place… but it’s time to move on again, because now, after spending the summer with her garden in Maine, our much missed, Betsy, and our family friend Hillary Gerardi, who is on leave from Middlebury College in VT, are in Tonga already, waiting for us!

One day out of Niue, the auto-pilot dies! And after a couple of tiring days hand-steering, we arrive to reunite with Betsy in lovely Tonga!!! She and Hillary fly in together to sail in Vava’u and Hillary to do the New Zealand passage with us. And here we have been ever since! It’s been over a month now. What a wonderful place! We have spent week after week exploring the outer islands of the Vava’u group and loving every minute of it. Full moon parties on the beach. Kava ceremonies. Diving. Snorking. Spearfishing. Caving. Hiking. An amazing 21st birthday party for Hillary complete with an underground traditional Polynesian Umu oven that Josh created. Volleyball on empty islands. Reunions with many sailing friends. A long reunion with Betsy. And much much merriment and debauchery with new Tongan friends in town.

From Vava’u, Tonga, Captain Biscuits even flew to Singapore to work for a week!! The beard came off, and boy does this Captain clean up good. Nat was tested by the working world again, and Captain Josh and the crew were tested to see if they could fill his shoes and eat his allotted amount of cookies. The boat stayed afloat in his absence, and the crew even managed a number of days of lovely sailing! Unfortunately the Captain got stuck in Australia for five extra days after he hit a nightmare of immigration/customs red tape. Biscuits is now back aboard. Betsy has flown to New Zealand to await our arrival. And we are now five aboard BAHATI — Nat, Josh, Michael, Hillary, and Tim Barker (a good friend of Nat’s close friend, Jerry Knecht, who sent Tim in his place after having to change plans at the last minute.) Tomorrow we hope to leave our new friends behind and head off on what is popularly known as the hardest passage in many people’s circumnavigations. We sail 1200 miles almost directly south into the high latitudes where strong storms whip up quickly. We’ve been watching the weather patterns and think we’ve chosen a good window to depart. So with any luck, in a week or two’s time, we’ll have completed the Pacific Crossing for this year (new t-shirts to prove it!), and will arrive in New Zealand, where we will be spending the 5 month Pacific cyclone season. It will be time to overhaul the boat, find jobs, and settle into city life again. What a prospect. The crew’s feet haven’t seen shoes in almost a year. What will it be like??

After touching down in the North Island of New Zealand, Josh will be flying back to Tonga to help our Canadian friends on NORDIC make the passage to New Zealand as well. They are a wonderful family, and mother Dani had to fly home from French Polynesia after her father died. So it is only the father, Martin, and daughter, Catherine, aboard. On this tough passage it will be smart to have more crew, so it sounds like Josh will be doing the passage twice.

You’ll hear from us soon as we enter the wonderful world of New Zealand and back to a “real” working life for a stint.

Fair Winds and “have a good watch!”, with love,

the crew of BAHATI

Nat, Josh, Michael, Hillary and Tim

As we write you, we are approaching our first city since leaving Panama, more than two months ago, on June 8. As BAHATI glides through a clear night with brisk tradewinds and rocking seas, we prepare ourselves to enter the bustling South Pacific metropolis of Papeete, Tahiti. Once at anchor it will be a mad rush to accomplish a myriad of tasks, and catching up with old friends, before we kick out to the magical Polynesian islands of Moorea and Bora Bora.

Our last week in the Tuamotus was lovely. We spent our time relaxing in the giant lagoon at Kauehi, a giant atoll with a tiny welcoming village. While at anchor in the bright blue and green waters we spent lots of time visiting with friends aboard EMPIRE (Eivind, Heidi, and Peder, who just rounded Cape Horn) and DON QIJOTE (Inga and Johan, a young Scandinavian couple on a 28 foot sloop). We snorkeled together, scuba dived, ate and ate. One beautiful evening we celebrated Michael’s birthday (a free Bahati hat to the first one to guess his age!), with pizza, cake, and drink. We visited a local pearl farm, owned and operated by Tiaihau a Tiaihau (see photos), who we dubbed “The King”� since he also owned the local store and the concession stand at the airport where a small plane lands once a week.

It was a wonderful week of much relaxing, and we were sad to see our time in the Tuamotus be so short. But, it’s a big ocean to cross, and we have to be in Tonga by September to meet out incoming crew for the passage down to New Zealand. So off we go!

We have been promising you pictures for months now. We are finally in reach of internet, so here they are! There are four galleries. The Galapagos, The Crossing, The Marquesas, and The Tuamotus. You can visit them at this link: http://picasaweb.google.com/jwarrenwhite

In place of a travel memoir/history/political economy lesson of the area, this log we�?’??”?ve opted to share with you a more personal side of Bahati�?’??”?s crew. Michael Callahan, who’s been onboard since St Lucia about 7 months ago (with a stint with his family back in the US, while we were stuck in Panama), has been so gracious as to share with all of us some of his reflections of the last couple months at sea. Enjoy.

As always, we love hearing from you: wdd4252@sailmail.com

“Many a slip twixt cup and lip”

Out here in the South Pacific, life is elemental, expansive. We are a sliver of Archimedean quick math calibrating the cardinal directions with the sun, wind, undulating water, rhumbline and way point. Starting out there is always the Point A to Point B of things, but as soon as the anchor is weighed, the logistics of passage slowly unfurl into the unknown journey, the seeking of soul.

In this great amphitheater of sea and sky the captain directs his cast with lines and canvas that harness nature’s fickle virtuosity. He is a dramatist in setting the stage. He raises the curtain: mainsail, jib, staysail, spinnaker, and paces the foredeck deciphering signs, tracing friction’s genecology, reading the future in chafe, brooding over the unforeseen didactics of the sea, always teaching, always humbling. His mephistophelian eyebrows, an evolutionary trait passed down through generations of sealorn nomads, pique like a wind vane as the breeze shifts. “Come up five degrees, trim the genoa, tighten the boom break.” And so goes our floating production: an ensemble of improvisation, a comedy of errors.

Everything slips off the face of the horizon, unmappable, a turn out of view. At sea level the world contracts into a seven mile circle, sparkling with 108,000 deceptions. Atavisms present themselves in plain sight: why of course the earth is flat! Can I pierce the horizon, this thin corridor of language, my aquarium understanding of the sea, and raise the sheet on this infinitely varied monotony? Listen. Smell. Taste. Feel. Wait. There are counterpoints that blur and relieve the unfathomable oblivion of blue: the pale underside of terns, the wispy curtain of cirrostratus clouds, the silvery chimera of flying fish, the pearly froth of whitecaps, the yellowfin’s fading eye.

This desolate beauty, the plaything of Sirens, takes the shape of your desire. In its seduction there is always a shipwreck warning. As dusky clouds pile high, trimmed by an impossible shock of golden light, my city eyes linger too long, and that cathedral of airmount brilliance forms the running dog mouth of a squall. Bahati heels heavily leeward with bone drenched force then steadies in ballast. Even after crossing the Equator, I am still a pollywog conjuring a carapace.

Time peels off like a rotten banana. Thoughts decay, old skins molt, my most intimate stories slacken like a breathless spinnaker. And out of this burrowing shipworm solitude comes the play of Pacific light and hour, the rise and fall of the ship, the thermodynamics of convection, sail and airfoil, the phases of the moon. Am I a sailor? A vessel of I? Or just an eddy, a jetsam of thought, in larger pools of energy still.

As the days heap one on top of another my body becomes fallow, lion lazy, prideless. My hands and feet calloused, my face weathered a saline patina; the oceanic vastness tempered on the helot’s anvil of chore and watch. My movements reduced to their bare essential: I scrub, tie knots, cook, knead, bake, rig, hoist, trim sails, and study my mutinous thoughts, my barometric moods. I, too, am subject to the chafe of time. Scars heal in topographies of labor.

Incipient night: the diurnal sky closes its cranberry eyelid and rolls its orange iris in the back of its head. The universe sighs: its skin blushing crimson pleasure. As shadows amass, tradewinds whisper their blue-black Illiads. In the prophetic half-light, ancient memories surface in dirges of sorrowful whale song. The pelagic blue, so glacial and shafted in its high sun depths, darkens its material in the well of indifferent volume. Halyards chime.

Night watch marks my hours alone. The moon rises and prowls the length of gravity’s chain evoking its dark, tidal art. The sea licks Bahati with bioluminescent tongue. I peer over the side at the cold metal table of the sea. Its coroner’s glance the repository of my darkest thoughts, my deepest uncertainties. Ghost sharks circle my mind. How much do I actually know myself? Are things ever what they seem? Do I look at life the same way I gaze upon a dead star, only perceiving the bend of memory’s distant beam?

Watch ends, I go below deck, make a log entry, awaken Josh, and stumble to bed. I lay down in my forcastle womb to the lapping sounds of amniotic fluid. The bow-parted water loosens my grip one finger at a time, I sink into the long caress of night. I dream fallopian dreams. Faces float by in the flickering rays of a projected life. My eyes slowly register that the light is coming from a torch which illumines the ruined gate of a watery cemetery. The partially submerged sign at the entrance reads: “Each man kills the thing he loves.”

Tired of turning away, I descend, rootless, into catacombs of coral I’ve been too scared to enter. There I suck on the bone of sensation like a barnacle, but the marrow is not mine. The undertow takes me out beyond the reef, to the waking shark’s mouth. There I drift in the red glow of placental fear; a heart beats in the distance. Is life or death taking me? I am suddenly yanked back by the umbilical chord of the watch schedule.

At the helm I drift in a peri-conscious state. The constant motion, the in and out of sleep, and plundering sun reveal the porousness of I. The hot, bitter coffee makes me aware of the blood coursing through my brain. I scan the horizon for running lights, study the instruments, and confirm the nothingness of night. I step out from under the bimini and bleed out into a larger Circadian, my circle of Willis awash in structures of arterial light. At these moments I know grace.

Land falls heavy on my forgetful eyes. Faku Hiva’s precipitous cliffs descend from heaven in violent ferric slashes. Smoky volcanic protrusions guard verdant hibiscus valleys, like a black-lipped oyster its pearl. Coal-colored waves break aquamarine, leaving pools of jade in its wake. The scorpion fish fans its house of splendor. Above, white tropic birds create negative space with broad strokes of their long, delicate paintbrush tails: bringing out blues, greens, and siennas in the calligraphy of swoop and ascent. The anchor rattles over the bow finding ground that only yesterday was beyond its scope.

Many things are gone. The sea takes as much as it gives. I lay frangipani upon those shores lost, and with courage, begin, and begin again.

It has been a while since our last “Ship’s Log” update (exactly one month ago), and for once we have a very good excuse… we have been at sea. And guess what? We are STILL at sea! We are writing you this brief update, via shortwave (or SSB) radio, from 11�53 south, 140�16 west (plug that into “Google Maps” for a neat surprise!).

Since you received our last brief update, from the island of Isabela in the Galapagos, we have had quite an amazing voyage. Here’s the story, in brief, since we are limited by the amount we can send through this radio operated email system… as with last time, amazing photos are coming once we arrive at an internet connection in Tahiti.

DEPARTURE:
We departed the Galapagos the morning of July 5. We had been requested (or demanded) to leave the island of Isabela immediately by the port captain who was under pressure from the National Park, who we believe are under international pressure to reduce tourism in the reserve (and are strangely doing so by clamping down on the very few private boats who visit. Many more tourists visit the islands on cruise ships ranging in size from 15 passengers to 100’s but, of course, they are the source of much income, not the sailors!). We were lucky to be on the island at all, and only allowed to after Captain Biscuits complained to the authorities that we had sick crew who needed to rest and recover before continuing our passage on to the Marquesas (only a pseudo-lie given Michael’s recent bout with Dengue Fever and various intestinal issues Josh and Nat both faced while in Santa Cruz). We weighed anchor and set sail into a beautiful clear morning, planning our departure with the four other sailboats in the harbor who were also being told to leave. So there we were departing on a passage of epic (or pseudo-epic) proportions, alongside our now good friends on NORDIC (French Canadian), CHECKMATE (New Zealand), OUKIOK (French), FRICTION (Australian and Colombian, who had departed the day before), plus — DON QUIXOTE (a young Swedish/Norwegian couple on a 28′ boat who had transitted the Panama Canal tied alongside our friends John and Gudrun on SPEEDWELL) and, finally, EMPIRE (Norwegians who had recently rounded Cape Horn), who had departed from a nearby island within a couple of days.

So we all coordinated shortwave radio nets to stay in communication, when reception allowed, flew our various sail configurations, and headed southwest towards Polynesia, all of us making our first landfall in the Marquesas islands, a mere 3,000 miles away. BAHATI and her crew had an amazing passage, delighting in the trade-winds and the simplicity (most of the time) of life offshore. Days melted away, like a slow drip of honey, each one slipping into the next, our conceptions of time and space slowly eroding. Book after book was devoured. BAHATI’s bakery went into full effect as Michael and Josh discovered (or re-discovered) their love for the yeast life-form, creating many a loaf of fresh bread, along with english muffins, pizza, banana bread, oatmeal chocolate-chip cookies, Irish soda bread, and ginger bread. We happily proclaimed ourselves the best fed crew on the Pacific, with Michael and Josh’s creations of mango curry wahoo, fresh baked pizza (with sun-dried tomatoes, fresh olives, smoked muscles, and garlic), fish chowder, linguine with chopped clams and fresh parmesan, pan seared ahi tuna… etc… etc… even Captain Biscuits got into the act, baking some banana bread from our ever-ripening banana tree hanging from the arch on the aft end of the boat!

We learned the art of flying our glorious asymmetrical spinnaker (with a number of dangerously exciting moments amid looming squalls), and became one with our Monitor windvane automatic steering system (powered by nothing but the wind). BAHATI was graced with fresh fish on a regular basis, providing her eager crew with a cornucopia of wahoo and tuna. Dolphins graced our bow-waves, and pilot whales visited our “mother” hull. Through squalls and star-saturated skies, BAHATI gracefully glided her way west, ticking off the miles, loving every moment of the steady Pacific trade-winds. We could tell she’d been here before!!

We made 3,000 miles in 21 days, averaging between 180 and 140 miles a day, and on July 25, under the power of our beautiful blue spinnaker, Captain Biscuits spotted land in the form of the voluptuous overflowing green volcanic mountains of Fatu Hiva. Over the course of the day, as we ticked off the miles, with visits from eager boobies and playful pods of dolphins, the island slowly revealed herself as one sharp jungle-covered valley after another. By evening we were pulling into remote Hanavave Bay, surrounded by possibly the most spectacular scenery this humble crew has ever feasted its eyes upon. The fertile, green, volcanic mountains plummet down for thousands and thousands of feet straight into the water, creating the fjord that makes up this anchorage. All around us stood majestic rock spires, which look almost as though they could be alive. To the right is a lush palm tree forest, above which, wild goats (whose cries are clearly audible from our cabin) graze on a almost vertical green slope. In front of us, reaching its way up the jungle valley the small remote village goes about its daily life. Robert Louis Stevenson and Bernard Moitessier both called this their “favorite anchorage” in the South Pacific. What an initial landfall for BAHATI!

There are only two small villages on the whole island, totalling about 600 people. Both are set in lush valleys centered around a river for fresh water. This remote island is one of the few which still does not have any French officials (lucky for us, as we had not yet cleared through customs).

As we happily discovered, tourism is almost unheard of in the Marquesas. These are truly remote islands, as the expense and difficulty in getting there has kept tourist development (and the tourists!) away. The islands are basically only visited by people sailing westward across the Pacific and by monthly supply ships that bring fuel and provisions from Tahiti. The land is wild, rugged, and lush, featuring steep cliffs and valleys that lead up to high ridges. The warm and welcoming people live in small villages in the narrow fertile river valleys. The interiors of the islands populated only by wild pigs, goats, and horses which the people hunt for food.

This being our first landfall in Polynesia, some history is in order, which we’ll continue when we arrive in Tahiti, as the history of colonization and resistance is rich and fascinating… How did people get to live on these remote islands?? Through planned voyages in out-rigger canoes from south east Asia, we are told that Polynesia was settled around the 1st millennium AD. The voyagers carried with them, from island to island, everything they needed to start their new island lives, including plants and animals. Navigating by the stars and a keen intuitive sense of wave pattern (see “The Last Navigator” by Steve Thomas), these early ingenious mariners reached the Marquesas from Samoa around 300 AD, and around 500 AD some then sailed on to settle Hawaii.

Early religion on the islands was centered around open air temples with stone alters. Human sacrifices took place on important occasions and cannibalism was practiced in both the Marquesas and the Tuamotus. Museums around the world contain beautiful wood and stone tikis (remnants of which we found overtaken in the jungles of Fatu Hiva), that were stolen from the Marquesas (where the aesthetic and artistic senses were highly developed) during the ugly period of European missionary activity (during which many were also destroyed). During this period, European missionaries suppressed local spirituality, enforced the Ten Commandments through violence, and clothed the Polynesian women in dresses that covered their bodies from head to toe. Singing anything but hymns was banned, only puritan dancing allowed, and all customs that they found offensive to their puritanical senses were wiped out. As David Stanley says in his book The South Pacific, “Morality police terrorized in an eternal crusade against sin. Even the wearing of flowers in the hair was prohibited.” (Thanks goodness the flowers are back!) As in most colonies and former colonies, we found the spiritual life in the remote Marquesan islands today contained many contradictions, as people are both practicing Catholicism (the church playing a major role of social organization) and are striving to reconnect with their lost Polynesian spirituality through dance, chanting, ceremony, and the rebirth of the ancient arts of tiki carving and tapa cloth making — almost all of which we were lucky enough to be invited to witness.

Official political control of the Marquesas, the Tuamotus, and the Society islands (Tahiti… etc…) was seized by France in 1842, when they tricked four local chiefs into signing an accord while the ruling queen (who they later forced to accept the accord) was away. Later the next year, the French deposed the queen, who was still hostile to the French control, and occupied the territory. The Polynesians resisted this occupation for years. In 1847, when it became apparent that they were not going to receive any international support in their resistance, the queen and many of her followers reluctantly accepted their status as a French “protectorate”. During this early colonial period the economy in “French” Polynesia was based on the cultivation of cotton and vanilla, the collection of pearl shells, copra making, and phosphate mining. By the 1960s these were largely replaced by nuclear testing (more on this practice in the Tuamotus, and local and international resistance to it, soon…), tourism, and pearls (it should be noted that this is not so much the case in the Marquesas, who we witnessed still relying on fishing, copra making, and some very limited agriculture for their needs).

Our glorious time anchored in Hanavave Bay on the island of Fatu Hiva was spent:

Playing soccer with the kids:
Michael, Josh, and Catherine (from NORDIC) had the delight of building relationships with the village kids (and some adults) by playing soccer every day with throngs of eager young Marquesans. The large futbol field was situated right at the foot of beautiful rock spires and at the very edge of the lagoon — making it by far the most beautiful field we’ve ever played upon. We were horribly out of shape after being at sea for almost a month, and through huffing and puffing up and down the full field (the kids insisted on playing full field, even when the games were only 5-on-5), we quickly shook off our sea-legs. The young girls were especially talented soccer players, often trashing their male counterparts. As our time on the island passed our team became quite a crew — when we would land at the pier, the kids would start asking, “la fut? la fut?”… and off we’d go…except for the one day when no one could find the ball!

Snorkeling with Harry the hammerhead:
Michael, Josh, and Catherine had the incredible (and terrifying) opportunity of encountering a large hammerhead shark while snorkeling along the edge of the cove in which we were anchored. The first time we saw him, it was exciting and beautiful. Then he came back. The second time he came to check us out it was a bit more frightening. But the third time when he came back out of the blue, while the three of us were attempting to swiftly swim back to BAHATI, was down right scary as he passed very close, heading upwards from below. At Michael’s intelligent insistence we got out of the water on some nearby rocks and called for Captain Biscuits’ to rescue us in the dingy. As Catherine said, “three times and you’re out!” We also got to swim with beautiful spotted eagle rays.

Dinners with NORDIC and FRICTION:
While anchored in Hanavave on Fatu Hiva we had the delightful opportunity to build stronger relationships with our friends aboard the sailing vessels NORDIC and FRICTION. Many nights were spent delighting in our beautiful surroundings while feasting on fresh fish, chickens, and rum in on one of our various boat-homes. The conversation would always be a loud blustering of Spanish, French, and English as this international crew did its very best to share stories and dreams. Laughter was always filling the air. We were sad to say good-bye to these lovely sailors and hope to cross paths again in some island chain down the line.

Hikes up the mountains and to the waterfall:
We had the joy of hiking high into the valleys and up on the ridges of this beautiful landscape. One particular hike (which we did twice!) brought us to a gorgeous cascading waterfall, with a very refreshing pool the size of an olympic swimming pool at the foot. After sweating through the jungle and fruit groves to get there, the water was always welcomed with open arms. The second trip, a crew of local teens hiked up with us and showed Josh the best places to scale the high rock walls and leap off into the water with great delight and to the cheers of the lounging lunching crowd below.

Trading with villagers for fruit, chickens, fish, and bread:
On many occasions we found ourselves trading with people in the village for various foods. Often times we would offer to buy something, and given the remoteness of this island, folks were much more eager to trade for useful things then to sell them for currency which would be of little use. In the end we traded for piles and piles of fresh tropical fruit (including grapefruits/pomplomouse the size of your head), chickens, bread, and tuna. Captain Nat also brokered a trade of his old binoculars to the local shopkeeper, a village elder named Daniel, who was ecstatic to be able to now count his 5 cattle (which he shared with this neighbor) without hiking all the way up the mountain. Initially, Daniel offered a “cockadoo” rooster as part of the barter and Nat thought this might make a nice ships’s pet as well as a good watchkeeper/waker but the rest of the crew put the kabosh on this idea so we stuck to fruit, bread, and much goodwill! Josh got offers everyday for his spearfishing gun, which he managed in the end to hold onto so we could eat well in the lagoons of the Tuamotus.

Boat building:
The local boys spent many hours designing, testing for seaworthiness, and racing model sailboats made from coconut shells, scrap wood, odd pieces of plastic and other flotsum and jetsum. These boats were real works of art! One evening, as we sailed in the growing dusk back to our anchorage, about a mile offshore, we suddenly noticed one of these creations, a genuine two-masted schooner (!) sailing past us and headed out to sea! What a delight! It seemed she was sent out to greet us!

Refueling and dealing with trash:
Upon arriving on Fatu Hiva we had the dilema of needing to refuel our diesel tanks after having run the engine a lot on the last passage to charge our batteries. We asked around everywhere and no one could supply diesel. As luck would have it, one day the supply ship came in from Tahiti. This was of great excitement as it only arrives every month or so. The whole village was out for the occasion. After talking to dozens and dozens of people (struggling to communicate in French) we were finally introduced to the man who could get us the fuel. The only problem was filling our tanks was a drop in the bucket to them, and really more of a pain then a money maker. Eventually Captain Nat sweet-talked the guy into selling us fuel off the ship. We took the dinghy out to this massive supply ship, dropped Nat and the jerry-cans off, and Josh circled the ship while the crew filled our cans. Viola! Fuel! Now we could spend all of our time on Fatu Hiva and not have to sail 24 hours north to Hiva Oa, the larger town where diesel was available. Yippie! Our next quandary was what to do with the bags of trash that we had accumulated over our month at sea… it was quite heartbreaking to see how much trash one creates when you don’t have anywhere to dispose of it. It’s a real reality check! While the locals said they were happy to take our trash, we couldn’t stand the thought of ourselves sailing around the world leaving piles of trash in remote communities. So… the only other option that we had was to take it along with us to Tahiti, and leave it in a more highly populated, industrialized community. Not a very attractive option either, but somehow it seemed better then leaving it all in the Marquesas… So, our aft-deck has industrial trash bags cooking in the equatorial sun.

Surfing in Omoa:
One sunny day soon before we departed Fatu Hiva, we took a boat load of friends to Omoa (the other village on the island, which we had tried unsuccessfully to hike to through the high mountains — Michael was the only one to reach the high ridge which divided the two villages). Reportedly this village had ancient and newly created tapa cloths with designs hammered into bark,, which we were very eager to see, as Fatu Hiva is the only island which still makes them, but all the tapas in Hanavave had been sent to Tahiti for an exhibition. There was also reportedly a surf break there. So off we went, the crews of NORDIC, FRICTION, and OUKIOK, all aboard trusty old BAHATI towing 4 inflatable dinghies! Upon arriving there was definitely breaking waves… unfortunately they were breaking onto a violent shorebreak, making both for highly unfavorable surf conditions, and making landing the four dinghies almost impossible. The crews of the other boats went ashore by anchoring the dinghies off a stone pier on the point and swimming ashore. Captain Biscuits and Michael stayed aboard on anchor watch, and Catherine and Josh paddled into the break for Cath’s first surf lesson. Everyone had a beautiful day — the anchor watches had beautiful swims (aside from when Nat swam into the surf break, got slammed by a procession of waves, and lost one of Josh’s fins! and almost lost his suit to boot!), the various crews had a wonderful time meeting folks ashore (bringing back a beautiful carved tiki of a manta ray for BAHATI), Catherine stood up on her first wave in the white-wash, and sadly Josh broke the beloved surfboard that he had just picked up in Panama when the first wave he took closed-out into a violent shore-break. Needless to say, he is very sad, and desperately trying to figure out how to finance a new board in Tahiti. At the end of the day, Martin and Dani on NORDIC had problems retrieving their dinghy anchor and they ended-up having to skin-dive to 50 feet to release it from a rock (not bad guys!)… at that point the sun was setting, so we escorted them back to Hanavave aboard BAHATI and had one last shared dinner of local steak (ala Dani) and fresh fish (ala Michael).

Off to the Tuamotus…
In the morning, after our last dinner, we shook off the rum (and the last two Panamanian beers for thousands of miles [thanks Martin!!]) from the night before, hauled anchor (by hand, since our windless is currently not working), and pointed BAHATI again southwest in the direction of the Tuamotu Islands.

The Tuamotus are a remote chain of 78 islands encompassing a vast area of ocean. They are the largest group of coral atolls in the world… and what is an atoll you ask?? Darwin described the formation of atolls as high volcanic mountains that over the course of millions of years sink and subside, the tip of their caldron turning into protected coral lagoons. The island’s fringing reef grows into a barrier reef. When the last volcanic material finally disappears below the sea, the coral rim of the surrounding reef remains to indicate how big the island once was. This creates large circular reefs (actually former volcano craters) which enclose perfectly protected and still tropical lagoons. Where the reef sticks up high enough, some vegetation forms (usually palm trees) and some people live, surviving off of the abundant sea life in the lagoons and the harvesting of black pearls. There are often small passes in the reefs, through which small boats (very carefully navigated) can sneak through and anchor amidst teaming tropic fish and sharks in these coral oasis.

Over millions of years, the Tuamotus have eroded almost to sea level, making them extremely vulnerable to being totally wiped out as ocean levels rise with global warming. Island groups such as these are making strong demands against corporations who are pumping pollution into the atmosphere, and have appealed to the UN and launched international social movements to attempt and protect their community’s existence. Studies have also shown that increasing temperatures are likely contributing to the dramatic jump in the number of hurricanes in the South Pacific. For example, as recorded in David Stanley’s “South Pacific”, Fiji experienced only 12 tropical hurricanes from 1941 to 1980 but 10 from ‘81 to ‘89. And after a series of devastating hurricanes in Samoa, insurance companies announced in ‘92 that they were withdrawing coverage from the country. Demands must especially be made against 1st world industrial nations, those most responsible for the problem, and especially those led by United States who have strongly resisted taking any action to curtail the greenhouse gas emissions of their corporations.

Anyway, we are on our way to the Tuamotu Islands, where we will spend time diving and fishing amongst these amazing coral atolls. Variable currents, sudden storms, and poor charts make navigating this reef encrusted maze of islands extremely hazardous, which is why this island group is popularly known as the “Dangerous Archipelago”. Wrecks litter the reefs of many of the atolls. We’ll be very alert when making landfall, and relax when we arrive in the tranquil lagoons! Thanks to modern GPS and radar, navigation is easier today than in earlier times.

Keep an eye open for our next update, in which we are sure to have many incredible reef experiences to share, along with the fierce history of resistance to French nuclear experimentation in these islands… coming soon!

All our love,
BAHATI’s faithful crew
Nat Warren-White, Josh Warren-White, and Michael Callahan

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We appoligize for the lack of photos and fancy design elements in this update, but we are greatly limited by slow internet connections in the remote islands of the Galapagos. We promise to share the incredible collection of photos we’ve gathered at the next available high-speed internet connection (sorry, it is going to be a while).

WHERE IS BAHATI?

We are currently anchored on the island of Isabela in the outer Western islands of the Galapagos archeligo, preparing for our longest passage ever, from here to the Marquesas islands in the South Pacific. For years we have been staring at this enormous body of water on the maps… with both fear and excitement (probably more fear). We anticipate this next passage, (3,055 nautical miles), will take us between 20-30 days, with favorable winds. But with unfavorable winds it could take as long as two months. The winds are looking good, but keep your fingers crossed for us! The authorities on Isabela, under pressure from the National Park Service are demanding that we leave by tomorrow (having only granted us a 48 hour rest), so we are outa here!

Here’s the story up until now… nine days after departing Panama - full of evading the doldrums, desperately searching for favorable winds so as to be able to sail towards our destination and conserve our fuel reserves, and a characteristically bizarre equator crossing ceremony - we arrived at the island of Santa Cruz in the Galapagos.

Josh’s words as we approached the islands… “Today, at just past noon, we, the intrepid (if I do say so myself) voyagers aboard Bahati crossed the equator at 00.00 north, 89.30 west. It is an incredibly exciting moment (with champaign and dip into the sea). Not only are we now in the southern hemisphere (officially, the much fabled “south pacific”), but we are also a mere 61.71 miles from the island of Santa Cruz in the Galapagos (at our current speed, approximately 10 hours).

“What a moment!! We’ve now been at sea for over a week, having left the island of Taboga in panama last Saturday. The voyage has had moments of great joy and beauty and some real demoralizing moments as well. Its intense, ones swings of moods at sea on a difficult passage. One moment the sun can be shining and the seas are gentle, the winds are in your favor, and its just beautiful and everything seems right. Then a few hours later you can be hundreds of miles from land in all directions, in violent squalls, dripping wet and cold, taking waves over the deck, and fighting head winds that don’t allow you to sail anywhere near where you’re trying to go, and you just feel like, what the fuck are we doing out here??! There have been lots of those moments this passage… persistently unfavorable winds and currents, making it completely impossible at times to make any progress towards the Galapagos. There were many times at the beginning of the passage that I thought there was a good chance we weren’t going to make it, and we were going to be forced back to Ecuador, which would likely mean no pacific crossing until next March (given how late we are in the favorable season). But with a lot of strategic studying of weather charts, and very careful usage of our fuel reserves, we have placed ourselves in an excellent position to finish off this passage where we want to be.

“For the last few days its been absolutely beautiful. The sun has been out and the air has been crisp (the coldest we’ve seen since Maine, given to the Peru current bringing cold water up from Antarctica). We’ve been close to 1000 miles since Panama. AND the winds and currents are allowing us to sail on a course directly for Santa Cruz island in the Galapagos.

“Three days ago we caught two mahi-mahi. Its was great. They change color… its just incredible… from yellow to green to blue… wow. its heartbreaking to kill them… that is until you taste how good they are. The first night I made baked ginger fish, and the second night Mikey made an incredible mango curry fish. Damn.

“We’ve had white birds fly with us all night, every night, for the last five days. They just ghost along next to us, escorting us to the enchanted isles.

“We haven’t seen another ship in days and days. I think our last one was a visit from the US coast guard off the coast of Colombia wanting to know our identity and our next port of call.

“I’ve been reading a lot about the Galapagos, and am thrilled to get there and see all of these critters. Its sounds just magical. Blue footed boobies, white tipped reef sharks, leopard spotted manta rays, marine iguanas that can stay underwater for over an hour, giant 200 year old tortoises. Bring it on! 61.71 miles to go!”

THE GALAPGOS ISLANDS

The Galapagos archepeligo, 900 miles from Panama, and 600 miles off the coast of Ecuador, is a group of islands that have captured people’s imaginations for centuries. The islands are a biologists dream, and protect a bubble of life like nowhere else on earth. As you initially approach the islands, they are aren’t exactly beautiful. It is a bleak, barren landscape - but as you begin to look closer you can not help but be in awe. The animal life is just amazing - tortoises the size of armchairs, iguanas that swim, birds with huge blue feet… and none of them are at all scared of people… more curious then anything.

The history of the islands are fascinating. Their inhospitable nature has helped to save them from development and destruction for much of their history. In the middle of the ocean, with hardly a drop of fresh water, the islands left visitors unimpressed for centuries before permanent settlers managed to scrape a toehold in the volcanic soil. There are no indigenous peoples of these islands. During the 17th century, European pirates turned the Galapagos into a base for attacks on coastal ports and Spanish treasure. They would attack the ports, like Guayaquil in Ecuador, and then retreat to the islands to escape their pursuers. The pirates were the first to realize that giant tortoises on the islands could be stored aboard the ships to provide fresh meat for their long passages - stored upsidedown in the hold alive without food or water for up to a year. This practice continued on through the period of Pacific whaling until most of the population was decimated.

Charles Darwin’s visit aboard the HMS Beagle in 1835 gained the islands renown with the publication of his The Origin of Species in 1859. Although the visit itself didn’t actually give the budding naturalist an instant lightening-strike of inspiration, it did provide important evidence to his later theories. The islands and their creatures were instrumental in changing Darwin from a creationist.

BAHATI IN PUERTO AROYO

Anyhow… we arrived into Puerto Ayoro immediately after catching a massive wahoo (almost 5 feet long, and 40+ lbs). We dropped our anchor in the very crowded and rough harbor, full of eco-tour boats, met our agent (Peter Schiess, of Galapagos Ocean Services), put out a stern anchor to keep ourselves from swinging into the boats all around us, and made our way into shore.

We were all a bit land-sick, stumbling around this quaint tourist town looking for our first meal and drink. We plopped ourselves down at Peter’s family’s restaurant, La Garapata (they have been in the islands for 50+ years), and had some wonderful fish and well deserved beer. Michael was feeling a bit more ill then the rest of us, and after a short walk went back out to the boat to sleep it off. Over the next week, and he became extremely feverish and achy, it would become clear that something was seriously wrong with him. After many visits to many doctors, and every laboratory on this tiny island, just before we were going to send him to the mainland for Malaria tests, it was finally confirmed by the Red Cross that poor Michael had Dengue Fever - also known as “Breakbone Fever”. We had been reading up on Dengue as many people had been getting it in Panama, and Josh had been tested for it just before we left after complaining of fevers and aches. It is not a pretty disease. Needless to say, our range of activities while on the island of Santa Cruz were fairly limited, but, before we knew that Michael had Dengue, they did include a 10 mile hike in the blazing sun of the highlands walking through the hills with ancient land tortoises. Michael had strange out-of-body experiences the whole way.

Michael rested for two weeks, repairing his body, and we used the time to get the boat in shape and see the local sights, including amazing marine iguanas, blue-footed boobies, white tipped reef sharks, and sea lions, and we frequented a beautiful local beach called Tortuga Bay.

Josh took the opportunity to participate in more then his fair-share of the town’s nightlife, and met a wonderful crew of Ecuadorian’s with whom he surfed and partied to his heart’s content. Michael dubbed him the upcoming “Mayor of Puerto Ayoro” after he gained a level of popularity in the small town.

After a week in port, the Farley Mowat (of the Sea Shepard Conservation Society) came in, returning from their anti-whaling campaign in Antarctica, provided us with numerous raucus evenings in the bar, and allowing us to see amazing footage of their actions in the Southern Ocean. The read about their work you can check out this article in a recent issue of National Geographic Adventure magazine:

OFF TO ISABELA

After two weeks on Santa Cruz we did our final provisioning, passage preparations, and re-fueling, and pushed off to the western island of Isabela. After saying all our good-byes, we pulled up the anchor and set sail. To our surprise, and slight fear, we hooked a tuna leaving the harbor directly in front of the Sea Shepard boat, who had just returned from patrolling the marine reserve for illegal fishing. Oh shit! We weren’t spotted, luckily, and were rewarded with delicious grilled fish shared with friends aboard the sailing vessel Friction, also on their way to the Marquesas.

We had been told by the Navy not to go to Isabela, but we really wanted to see this magical island, so we went anyway. Upon arriving we told the port captain that given our recent illnesses we would like a courtesy stay of 72 hours to rest before pushing on to our next port (French Polynesia!). He reluctantly gave us 48 hours, and refused to put it in writing, saying that if the National Parks ask, he didn’t say it was OK.

We’ve made the most of our time here, renting bikes and riding out to the local lagoons where we’ve seen flamingos, Galapagos hawks (who allow is to get within 2 feet of them), and giant marine iguanas. This afternoon we’ll go snorkeling with manta rays, sea turtles, and white tipped reef sharks. Then first thing in the morning, at the demand of the Navy, its off to the Marquesas. A month a sea, here we come! We’ll be staying in touch with a number of boats, via SSB radio, who are doing the same passage on roughly the same schedule, including: Don Quixote, Friction, Miss Cath, Nordic, Veritas, and Check Mate.

Aside from some potential water contamination issues, the possible cause of a fair amount of bubble-gut and squirting onboard, Captain Nat (aka “Captain Biscuits”) is confident that the boat and crew are ready for their longest passage yet.

Ciao!
The Crew of the Bahati
(Captain “Biscuits” Nat Warren-White, Josh “Saddles” Warren-White, Michael “Dengue” Callahan)

Bahati’s Most Recent Words of Wisdom:

When queried by the crew if we should divert course to keep up a good hull speed: “I think its better to keep the boat moving at a good speed then to get where we’re trying to go.” ??”Captain “Biscuits” Nat Warren-White

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A special note from Captain Biscuits himself:

Although my overall and lingering experience of the last weeks, (since transiting the Big Ditch!), is one of an intense and often emotional “struggle to keep going”, I am grateful that we have a strong boat and a, finally, (please knock wood and keep all fingers and toes crossed) fit crew. (Josh and Mikey’s gourmet meals prepared and dished with gusto and great tastes have been a huge pleasure… I am blessed with good cooks… and they are happy when I prepare my famous Capt Biscuit’s Hash and Eggs!)

This most recent chapter in our voyage has been without doubt our most challenging to date… mechanically, mentally, physically… in every way and seemingly every day something has been thrown at us to make us step-up and “show our stuff”! And I am happy to say the whole crew, BAHATI, and the many wonderful members of our support network of fellow-cruisers, family, and boating pros from near and far have helped us do just that… and we now feel stronger, humbler, and ready to move on!

A few highlighted moments in recent memory for me include: our many encounters with wildlife here in these legendary island… close-up and personal with the Galapagos hawk who kept coming back to visit and give us a “look-see”, cocking his head and whimsically “grinning” at us as if to say “Who ARE YOU and what are YOU up to here?” (Stunning bird….great photos to follow!) Sea lions here in Isabella taunting the dogs on board our neighboring boats and crawling onto fishing boats in Santa Cruz for their afternoon naps! Similar startling experiences with ancient tortoises and sweet people… as well as the antics of boobies, the ethereal specter of white birds in the dark night shadowing us on our approach to Santa Cruz… and our wonderful connections with fellow-cruisers both in-person and virtually thru the wonder of SSB technology. A real highlight of this last experience has been our almost daily contact with “Fletch”, an Australian singlehander aboard MISS CATH who we met the day we left Balboa. His wife, Kerry, and daughter, Catherine, were flying home from Panama (following in Betsy’s footsteps! I have to say I miss Betsy terribly…she has been, and still IS, such a vital part of this crew and our voyage. 2 days ago we celebrated out 30th wedding anniversary with Green Pirate toasts in the sunset….farther apart than we have ever been on this day…and yet, in many ways, closer together….thank you Dear Betsy!).

We agreed to stay in radio contact as often as possible with Fletch setting a daily “sched” and frequency early in the morning. Since Fletch does not have e-mail capability onboard, we promised to keep his family apprised of his lat/long and current news… something we’ve been able to do more days than not! This has felt like a real service and a joy to accomplish and much-appreciated by Family Fletch! We look forward to finding them again in-person either en route (tho he is moving faster and on a straighter course for home than we are!)…or, hopefully, when we get to Perth one day down the line. So, a small taste of the pleasures and challenges of the cruising life! More to come….suffice it to say Capt. Biscuits is still happy to be out here and constantly learning what it takes and how to do it better! Thanks to all who have been in touch….your messages are SO important to us! Peace and love all round! “Have a good watch”.