Southwest from Polynesia

Most sailors who’ve dreamt of meandering their way through the South Pacific, pushed by the trade winds, allocate fairly equal portions of the voyage to the island groups and their cultures. We’ve known eight waves of travelers who have passed through on this highly touted route. For many, it’s a one-time thing, due to all manner of constraints. Others stay for a few seasons before continuing on circumnavigations. Some return home via the North Pacific or sell their boats at the end of the downhill sleigh ride in New Zealand or Australia. A few get caught like plankton in an oceanic gyre and keep recirculating. It’s a small community, despite the huge area, and everyone seems to know everyone else, if only by HF radio.

   Image Credit: Scott Bannerot

Until recently, we were anachronisms among this recirculating community. First, we returned aboard our 41-foot aluminum centerboard sloop Élan to the Marquesas on successive seasons, visiting the Tuamotus and the Society Islands three times in the process end to end (see Cyclone Strategy Issue 87, Jan./Feb. 1998). Next we bounced between the Samoas, Tonga and New Zealand, somehow managing to get hung up in Tonga six times. The plan was always to sail on to Fiji, but we never tore ourselves away. Two cyclone seasons in Micronesia rounded out our unbalanced history (see Cyclone-Free in the Marshalls Issue 120 March/April 2002 and Southeast from Micronesia Issue 122 May/June 2002).

By now we spoke a little Tongan and understood our Polynesian friends intimately. We were acutely aware of what really went on in these societies, good, bad and indifferent, often contrary to impressions gained by visitors passing through. Yet if we knew something of Polynesia, we certainly knew nothing firsthand about Melanesia. An end to this state of affairs was long overdue.

Finally we were poised to make this happen. We were two-thirds through the austral winter South Pacific sailing season and were well-rested in Vava‘u, Tonga. We had arrived after successfully adventuring from American Samoa, west through Samoa, and south to Niuatoputapu, Tonga (see Voyage to the real Samoa Issue 132 Sept./Oct. 2003).

Wendy, afflicted two years earlier by parasitic meningitis, was still enduring chronic arm pain from cranial nerve damage. She’d passed these recent sea trials thanks largely to our immensely helpful crewmember and longtime friend Paea Tavake, wife of famed Tongan bush doctor Lea‘aetoa. Paea’s largest contribution was protecting and entertaining our three-year-old son, Ryan. This season also featured several chance reunions with old sailing friends. We’d now been in Vava‘u seven weeks, hanging out with local “family” and old buddies Ken Larner and Ilene Byron of the 47-foot aluminum schooner Silver Ruffian. The usual charms of the Kingdom of Tonga were out in full force, whispering “oh, just one more week” — nope, not this time. After 2 1/2 years at sea, Élan needed a minor going over. This was most convenient in a storm-free setting in a developed country. This would also be ideal for Wendy’s continuing rehabilitation. We would at long last traverse Melanesia en route to Australia.

The El Niño condition of this winter sailing season beset normal voyage timing with abrupt tempests of convection. Thus, the unexpectedly benign backside of a weakening high spurred us into quick arrangements for an inaugural trip to Fiji in company with Silver Ruffian.
 

New horizons

A single young humpback whale waved goodbye to us, tail flukes soaring gracefully skyward, as we glided gently out of Vava‘u’s Faihava Pass in the bright sunlight of late morning. Silver Ruffian headed southwest for an end run around Fiji’s Lau Group, diverging gradually from Élan in light northerly breezes. We’d chosen a direct shot to Suva via Oneata Passage, and we passed the 1,684-foot volcanic cone of uninhabited Late Island to port at twilight. A thin sliver of moon disappeared off the bow as we motorsailed westward in very settled though overcast conditions, pregnant with the promise of rain. Midnight brought light tropical showers, the breeze dancing from north through the westerly quadrants by the first gray light of dawn, then settling at southeast 12 to 15 knots by 0800 — the seam between highs had passed. By noon the wind was so light that we helped the sails with 1,300 rpm of diesel power, staying in this mode over the next 24 hours. The distant hump of 585-foot Mothe, belonging to Fiji’s southern Lau Group, peeked over the horizon at 1400 on our third day out.

We worked Élan carefully into narrow Oneata Passage in late afternoon, using radar and eyeballs to split the difference between Oneata Island and light breakers marking a submerged reef to port. Scott took a quick break from navigating to fire out our wire trolling line with a big orange, black and yellow Marauder swimming plug near a midchannel pinnacle, and was rewarded 10 minutes later with a vicious strike that tore through the wire leader wraps near the plug — very likely a real moose of a dogtooth tuna.

Sunrise found us well out in the Koro Sea, accompanied by a raiding party of hefty skipjack tuna, their explosive attacks on flying fish punctuating calm, opaque seas. More tuna accumulated over the morning, attracting bunches of white and sooty terns and a handful of tropicbirds. Ryan couldn’t get enough of the spectacle, the fat skipjacks flying vertically out of the sea after violent upward rushes, alternately arcing through the air to pounce downward on hapless prey. Cloud cover increased, and at noon, light, variable conditions abruptly gave way to southeasterlies from 20 to 25 knots. Off went the engine, and we accelerated into the last night of the passage to Suva under a piece of genoa.

The following dawn found us steering around Suva Point and picking our way into the harbor in intermittent heavy rain showers. A friendly passing tuna longliner captain alerted us on the VHF about a low stake marking a reef southwest of an inner harbor marker. The port authority directed us to the quarantine anchorage — it was Saturday, and they’d be out to clear us Monday morning. We nestled in beside Silver Ruffian for some rest and relaxation, reading, napping and playing with Ryan, the patter of rain on the decks overhead soothing to the soul.

Fiji’s warm embrace

We highly recommend Ken and Ilene as your one-stop guides to Fiji. Veterans of many visits, they seemed to know everyone in Suva. We whipped through clearance procedures smoothly and immediately felt at home around the friendly environs of the Royal Suva Yacht Club, running into old acquaintances and making new ones. Ken guided us to the public market. The exotic mixture of East Indians and indigenous Fijians, not to mention the radiant smiles and great sense of humor, reminded us of Trinidad. We savored hot curry dishes and loaded up on fresh spices. Fierce war masks, ornate war clubs and special forks for eating cooked human brains commemorated the days of cannibalism.

Ten days passed in Suva, the last portion spent in the scenic sheltered anchorage off of the Tradewinds Hotel. We checked out at the main wharf and exited the channel near sunset for the overnight trip to the western side of the main island of Viti Levu, bound for a restful interlude on one of sailor-friendly Musket Cove Resort’s moorings at Malololailai Island. The only dark cloud over Élan was the refusal by the Australian High Commission of Paea’s visa application in Suva. It looked like she might have to fly back to Pago Pago, leaving us with 1,500 nautical miles to go, and with only a three-year-old and ailing mom as crew. We’d already purchased Paea’s ticket home by the time we mentioned the problem to Jude Hale aboard Checkmate at Musket Cove. She was familiar with our situation, and like the other Aussie sailors in the fleet, enraged at the decision. Little did we know that she was once a powerful politician — she whipped out her mobile phone on the spot and was in the next instant giving some poor member of parliament an earful. Now we embarked on a complex re-application, at Jude’s insistence. In all fairness, we were sympathetic to the Aussie station chief in Suva — he’d never met us personally, and it was his duty to act on the statistics, which reflected an overwhelming percentage of South Pacific islander overstayers in his country.

These proceedings percolated while we all had a ball enjoying the amenities of Musket Cove Resort. Ryan spent countless hours frolicking with other kids in the lovely swimming pool. Scott took Jude’s 11-year-old grandson, Oliver, a keen aspiring fisherman, out on a dinghy fishing expedition. We think the capture of a 25-lb giant trevally was a watershed experience for him. Scott completed a tax return and took a ferry to Nadi, shipping that off, and then a taxi to Lautoka to check out. Ken and Ilene had arrived some days earlier, and we enjoyed every evening together. Musket Cove was clearly a place we could stay blissfully for months — with great surfing, diving, fishing, hiking, beach-combing and simple relaxation all at our fingertips, not to mention the free nightly use of barbecue facilities at the resort marina’s Two Dollar Bar. (They even provide dishes and cutlery, which they clean for you afterward!)

Meanwhile, the late-winter trade winds were puffing away offshore, though we couldn’t feel them in the sheltered cove at Malololailai. We’d had no response yet from Suva regarding our fresh application, when the breeze tapered slightly. Jude egged us on to take the plunge regarding Paea, as she’d instigated an entirely separate process in Canberra, warning only that we must stop at the High Commission in Port-Vila to finalize paperwork before proceeding to Australia.

This sounded shaky to Scott, but with Wendy’s condition, we really needed Paea to keep Ryan safe while Scott handled the boat. We cashed in her ticket home, and fueled up and lashed down, exiting Wilkes Passage in fresh conditions at midday for the downwind run to Vanuatu.

Deep in the heart of Melanesia

The well-traveled 522-nm passage from Musket Cove to Port-Vila is an easy one, provided the trades aren’t excessively strong. Despite a slight drop in wind speed, 20- to 30-knot easterlies still piped over the area on the day we left. That was okay, and we knew from our passage between Suva and Malololailai that the winds accelerated considerably as they squeezed around the corner of Viti Levu. Nevertheless, we soon entered a band of shrieking wind gusts and steep seas, some with heavy breaking tops, a condition that certainly commanded our attention.

We had a little too much genoa rolled out as the breeze kicked into the 40s off and on. The current seemed to be running to the southeast, exacerbating the sea state. Scott was alone working on furling in sail with a foot braced on the tiller when we crested an oversized wave and caught the brunt of a particularly harsh wind blast (the anemometer briefly hit 57 knots). We heeled sharply, veered, and the breaking wave topspun Élan about 120° to port, pushing the starboard rail underwater, ripping our lifesling overboard.

 

Wendy came up and took the helm so Scott could finish furling and retrieve the horse collar. Conditions soon settled as we escaped the area of accelerated wind flow and current shear under a small piece of genoa, steered well by the wind vane. By midnight, gusts into the high 30s and low 40s became less and less frequent. Sunrise found us enjoying smoother sledding in brisk, steady trades, progressively increasing sail area as the wind gradually abated. Seventy-two hours later, as we approached Vanuatu’s main island of Éfaté, we were running under full sail, wing and wing in delightful conditions.

We skirted the rugged southern coast of the island over the course of the late afternoon, then motorsailed into the broad mouth and flat waters of Mélé Bay under clear stars and glittering moonlight. The Port-Vila range light was obvious, the radar data unequivocal, so we eased into the harbor and dropped anchor at 2130 off the quarantine buoy for a good night’s rest.

At the last minute, after a flurry of emails, faxes, return visits, purchase of another plane ticket and more fees, the Australia High Commission relented, providing Paea with a special one-month visitor’s visa. We didn’t blame the Oz officials — after all, the United States has the same problem. Yet we couldn’t help noticing the difference between being from a developed power versus a poor island nation. Meanwhile, a perfect weather window was opening for the voyage west.

Onward to Oz

The prevailing El Niño was sending strong signals of an impending active storm season, though this was only the third week in October. Part of our conservative strategy for the crew was to be safely ensconced in Australia by the November onset of hurricane season, even though many Coral Sea veterans don’t worry much about cyclones until mid-December. From the closure of the visa issue, everything clicked into place. We set a course for the northernmost tip of New Caledonia and across the Coral Sea to Bundaberg, Australia, a 1,000-nm passage that was possibly our most idyllic yet, floating along with the wind and current.

I did manage to poke a downwind pole right through the spinnaker, a long overdue event with my 10-year-old habit of high-risk “running sets.” And after hauling out at Bundaberg, I started off by missing a grab for a top ladder rung with a heavy load under one arm, plummeting down through scaffolding onto the hardstand in an impossibly lucky butt-first landing that delivered only a massive bruise. Both incidents resulted from casual disregard and taking unnecessary shortcuts, something to guard against as the years of one’s voyaging career accumulate.

Before we knew it, a highly productive and pleasant 2 1/2 months had passed, and we were steering out the mouth of the Burnett River at 0200 under a clear, star-studded sky. Élan, slick with fresh bottom paint, slipped easily through standing waves in the channel and surged out into Hervey Bay. We’d decided to hole up a bit farther south in Mooloolaba for the major hurricane months, and we were looking forward to sailing down the western side of Fraser Island through the Great Sandy Straits, past the mouths of the Mary and Susan rivers, Tin Can Bay, and out over Wide Bay Bar and into the ocean for the remaining stretch to our destination.

Paea had long since returned home to Pago Pago, and we were back to our old team of Wendy, Ryan and Scott. Brilliant morning sunlight illuminated clean, green-tinted bay waters, the mainland a low line to starboard, reminiscent of sailing down the middle of Biscayne Bay toward the Keys from Miami. My trusty alarm clock had failed, and we’d pay for the extra sleep by bucking the tide down the first half of the straits between Fraser and the mainland. By the time we nosed into the entrance, the tide had just turned and was already beginning to pour out against us. We still made 3.5 to 4 knots over ground at 2,000 rpm, so we settled in to enjoy the spectacular sand cliffs and wild forests of Fraser Island to port, and the complex networks of mangroves and low islands to starboard.

Sailors can anchor off of Kingfisher Bay Resort and access the interior of the island with a rented four-wheel-drive vehicle. The resort also welcomes them to use their swimming pool and other facilities. We reluctantly passed on this opportunity for the time being and continued south, anxious to capitalize on the pause in strong southerly winds for an easy trip to Mooloolaba.

Mooloolaba magic

We’d motored marker-to-marker halfway down the Great Sandy Straits to the mouth of Deep Creek by late afternoon, dropping the hook off the wreck of an old steel barge and the remains of a logging camp for a peaceful night’s rest. Ryan and Scott got up early the next morning and sat together in the cockpit, reveling in the morning sounds of the wilderness and the splash of a diving brahminy kite snatching a mullet scant yards from Élan.

“Listen, buddy, I know you’re only three —”

“Three and a half.”

“Sorry, three and a half, but do you think you can handle the helm for me while I raise anchor? It’ll be our first time, and you’ll have to do exactly as I say, or this current could get us into trouble.”

He answered with a solemn, “I can do it, Dad.”

The engine purred to life, and our little helmsman performed flawlessly as Scott manned the windlass, swinging perfectly onto the course for the narrow groove in the sand banks while Scott secured the anchor. He returned to the cockpit, shook Ryan’s hand, and told him what a great job he’d done. Ryan said nothing, though as he gazed up at Scott, he thought he might burst with pride.

Now the tide was with us, and we went flying down the winding, mangrove-lined channel to Wide Bay, past Tin Can Inlet, and out over the bar to sea by early afternoon. Once clear of the steep waves, we swung south along the breathtaking beaches and rugged promontories of the eastern Australian coast, entering the well-marked Mooloolah River inlet in the early evening darkness. We steered past the main port area of Mooloolaba and made our way through the canals to protected Lawries Marina.

They call this the Sunshine Coast with good reason. Like everywhere we’ve visited so far in Australia, the locals are laid back and exceedingly friendly, very down to earth, mirroring the sun-drenched disposition of the shoreline. We can’t say enough good things about the people of this country. Sailors have every amenity and service available, and those not yet addicted to sun and surf soon yield to the pull of the magnificent beaches a short walk from the marinas. While the area is understandably more congested and hectic than a country town like Bundaberg, that comes with the convenience of being able to walk to large, inexpensive stores, pubs, a great public aquarium and a variety of restaurants.

Wendy and Ryan had a blast attending a weeklong surfing school, and Ryan’s wave-riding career is off to a blazing start with two boards and a confident swagger.
 

Scott had long wanted to spend time in an area of safe beach breaks in order to come up to speed on this front himself. The beach and surf at Mooloolaba eventually yielded the opportunity to experience the exhilaration of rocketing along on a large unbroken wave face, the roar of white water just behind, the tickety-tack of the board skimming over the sea, a big smile stretching his face … another childhood dream come true thanks to the voyaging life.

The marvels of Australia, and the opportunity to give Wendy more time to heal, have lured us into remaining here for the season. After more explorations of Oz, however, it’s straight back to Melanesia. Those fleeting tastes of Fiji and Vanuatu whetted our appetites for much, much more.

 

Contributing Editors Scott and Wendy Bannerot are the authors of The Cruiser’s Handbook of Fishing, published by International Marine.

 

For the Bannerots’ sailing directions from Melanesia to Mooloolaba, including currents, weather, useful maps and guides, and protected harbors, click the Web Extras button.

 
 

Finally we were poised to make this happen. We were two-thirds through the austral winter South Pacific sailing season and were well-rested in Vava'u, Tonga. We had arrived after successfully adventuring from American Samoa, west through Samoa, and south to Niuatoputapu, Tonga (see Voyage to the real Samoa Issue 132 Sept./Oct. 2003).

Wendy, afflicted two years earlier by parasitic meningitis, was still enduring chronic arm pain from cranial nerve damage. She'd passed these recent sea trials thanks largely to our immensely helpful crewmember and longtime friend Paea Tavake, wife of famed Tongan bush doctor Lea'aetoa. Paea's largest contribution was protecting and entertaining our three-year-old son, Ryan. This season also featured several chance reunions with old sailing friends. We'd now been in Vava'u seven weeks, hanging out with local "family" and old buddies Ken Larner and Ilene Byron of the 47-foot aluminum schooner Silver Ruffian. The usual charms of the Kingdom of Tonga were out in full force, whispering "oh, just one more week" &mdash nope, not this time. After 2 1/2 years at sea, élan needed a minor going over. This was most convenient in a storm-free setting in a developed country. This would also be ideal for Wendy's continuing rehabilitation. We would at long last traverse Melanesia en route to Australia.

The El Ni�o condition of this winter sailing season beset normal voyage timing with abrupt tempests of convection. Thus, the unexpectedly benign backside of a weakening high spurred us into quick arrangements for an inaugural trip to Fiji in company with Silver Ruffian.

New horizons

A single young humpback whale waved goodbye to us, tail flukes soaring gracefully skyward, as we glided gently out of Vava'u's Faihava Pass in the bright sunlight of late morning. Silver Ruffian headed southwest for an end run around Fiji's Lau Group, diverging gradually from élan in light northerly breezes. We'd chosen a direct shot to Suva via Oneata Passage, and we passed the 1,684-foot volcanic cone of uninhabited Late Island to port at twilight. A thin sliver of moon disappeared off the bow as we motorsailed westward in very settled though overcast conditions, pregnant with the promise of rain. Midnight brought light tropical showers, the breeze dancing from north through the westerly quadrants by the first gray light of dawn, then settling at southeast 12 to 15 knots by 0800 &mdash the seam between highs had passed. By noon the wind was so light that we helped the sails with 1,300 rpm of diesel power, staying in this mode over the next 24 hours. The distant hump of 585-foot Mothe, belonging to Fiji's southern Lau Group, peeked over the horizon at 1400 on our third day out.

We worked élan carefully into narrow Oneata Passage in late afternoon, using radar and eyeballs to split the difference between Oneata Island and light breakers marking a submerged reef to port. Scott took a quick break from navigating to fire out our wire trolling line with a big orange, black and yellow Marauder swimming plug near a midchannel pinnacle, and was rewarded 10 minutes later with a vicious strike that tore through the wire leader wraps near the plug &mdash very likely a real moose of a dogtooth tuna.

Sunrise found us well out in the Koro Sea, accompanied by a raiding party of hefty skipjack tuna, their explosive attacks on flying fish punctuating calm, opaque seas. More tuna accumulated over the morning, attracting bunches of white and sooty terns and a handful of tropicbirds. Ryan couldn't get enough of the spectacle, the fat skipjacks flying vertically out of the sea after violent upward rushes, alternately arcing through the air to pounce downward on hapless prey. Cloud cover increased, and at noon, light, variable conditions abruptly gave way to southeasterlies from 20 to 25 knots. Off went the engine, and we accelerated into the last night of the passage to Suva under a piece of genoa.

The following dawn found us steering around Suva Point and picking our way into the harbor in intermittent heavy rain showers. A friendly passing tuna longliner captain alerted us on the VHF about a low stake marking a reef southwest of an inner harbor marker. The port authority directed us to the quarantine anchorage &mdash it was Saturday, and they'd be out to clear us Monday morning. We nestled in beside Silver Ruffian for some rest and relaxation, reading, napping and playing with Ryan, the patter of rain on the decks overhead soothing to the soul.

Fiji's warm embrace

We highly recommend Ken and Ilene as your one-stop guides to Fiji. Veterans of many visits, they seemed to know everyone in Suva. We whipped through clearance procedures smoothly and immediately felt at home around the friendly environs of the Royal Suva Yacht Club, running into old acquaintances and making new ones. Ken guided us to the public market. The exotic mixture of East Indians and indigenous Fijians, not to mention the radiant smiles and great sense of humor, reminded us of Trinidad. We savored hot curry dishes and loaded up on fresh spices. Fierce war masks, ornate war clubs and special forks for eating cooked human brains commemorated the days of cannibalism.

Ten days passed in Suva, the last portion spent in the scenic sheltered anchorage off of the Tradewinds Hotel. We checked out at the main wharf and exited the channel near sunset for the overnight trip to the western side of the main island of Viti Levu, bound for a restful interlude on one of sailor-friendly Musket Cove Resort's moorings at Malololailai Island. The only dark cloud over élan was the refusal by the Australian High Commission of Paea's visa application in Suva. It looked like she might have to fly back to Pago Pago, leaving us with 1,500 nautical miles to go, and with only a three-year-old and ailing mom as crew. We'd already purchased Paea's ticket home by the time we mentioned the problem to Jude Hale aboard Checkmate at Musket Cove. She was familiar with our situation, and like the other Aussie sailors in the fleet, enraged at the decision. Little did we know that she was once a powerful politician &mdash she whipped out her mobile phone on the spot and was in the next instant giving some poor member of parliament an earful. Now we embarked on a complex re-application, at Jude's insistence. In all fairness, we were sympathetic to the Aussie station chief in Suva &mdash he'd never met us personally, and it was his duty to act on the statistics, which reflected an overwhelming percentage of South Pacific islander overstayers in his country.

These proceedings percolated while we all had a ball enjoying the amenities of Musket Cove Resort. Ryan spent countless hours frolicking with other kids in the lovely swimming pool. Scott took Jude's 11-year-old grandson, Oliver, a keen aspiring fisherman, out on a dinghy fishing expedition. We think the capture of a 25-lb giant trevally was a watershed experience for him. Scott completed a tax return and took a ferry to Nadi, shipping that off, and then a taxi to Lautoka to check out. Ken and Ilene had arrived some days earlier, and we enjoyed every evening together. Musket Cove was clearly a place we could stay blissfully for months &mdash with great surfing, diving, fishing, hiking, beach-combing and simple relaxation all at our fingertips, not to mention the free nightly use of barbecue facilities at the resort marina's Two Dollar Bar. (They even provide dishes and cutlery, which they clean for you afterward!)

Meanwhile, the late-winter trade winds were puffing away offshore, though we couldn't feel them in the sheltered cove at Malololailai. We'd had no response yet from Suva regarding our fresh application, when the breeze tapered slightly. Jude egged us on to take the plunge regarding Paea, as she'd instigated an entirely separate process in Canberra, warning only that we must stop at the High Commission in Port-Vila to finalize paperwork before proceeding to Australia.

This sounded shaky to Scott, but with Wendy's condition, we really needed Paea to keep Ryan safe while Scott handled the boat. We cashed in her ticket home, and fueled up and lashed down, exiting Wilkes Passage in fresh conditions at midday for the downwind run to Vanuatu.

Deep in the heart of Melanesia

The well-traveled 522-nm passage from Musket Cove to Port-Vila is an easy one, provided the trades aren't excessively strong. Despite a slight drop in wind speed, 20- to 30-knot easterlies still piped over the area on the day we left. That was okay, and we knew from our passage between Suva and Malololailai that the winds accelerated considerably as they squeezed around the corner of Viti Levu. Nevertheless, we soon entered a band of shrieking wind gusts and steep seas, some with heavy breaking tops, a condition that certainly commanded our attention.

We had a little too much genoa rolled out as the breeze kicked into the 40s off and on. The current seemed to be running to the southeast, exacerbating the sea state. Scott was alone working on furling in sail with a foot braced on the tiller when we crested an oversized wave and caught the brunt of a particularly harsh wind blast (the anemometer briefly hit 57 knots). We heeled sharply, veered, and the breaking wave topspun élan about 120� to port, pushing the starboard rail underwater, ripping our lifesling overboard.

Wendy came up and took the helm so Scott could finish furling and retrieve the horse collar. Conditions soon settled as we escaped the area of accelerated wind flow and current shear under a small piece of genoa, steered well by the wind vane. By midnight, gusts into the high 30s and low 40s became less and less frequent. Sunrise found us enjoying smoother sledding in brisk, steady trades, progressively increasing sail area as the wind gradually abated. Seventy-two hours later, as we approached Vanuatu's main island of éfaté, we were running under full sail, wing and wing in delightful conditions.

We skirted the rugged southern coast of the island over the course of the late afternoon, then motorsailed into the broad mouth and flat waters of Mélé Bay under clear stars and glittering moonlight. The Port-Vila range light was obvious, the radar data unequivocal, so we eased into the harbor and dropped anchor at 2130 off the quarantine buoy for a good night's rest.

At the last minute, after a flurry of emails, faxes, return visits, purchase of another plane ticket and more fees, the Australia High Commission relented, providing Paea with a special one-month visitor's visa. We didn't blame the Oz officials &mdash after all, the United States has the same problem. Yet we couldn't help noticing the difference between being from a developed power versus a poor island nation. Meanwhile, a perfect weather window was opening for the voyage west.

Onward to Oz

The prevailing El Ni�o was sending strong signals of an impending active storm season, though this was only the third week in October. Part of our conservative strategy for the crew was to be safely ensconced in Australia by the November onset of hurricane season, even though many Coral Sea veterans don't worry much about cyclones until mid-December. From the closure of the visa issue, everything clicked into place. We set a course for the northernmost tip of New Caledonia and across the Coral Sea to Bundaberg, Australia, a 1,000-nm passage that was possibly our most idyllic yet, floating along with the wind and current.

I did manage to poke a downwind pole right through the spinnaker, a long overdue event with my 10-year-old habit of high-risk "running sets." And after hauling out at Bundaberg, I started off by missing a grab for a top ladder rung with a heavy load under one arm, plummeting down through scaffolding onto the hardstand in an impossibly lucky butt-first landing that delivered only a massive bruise. Both incidents resulted from casual disregard and taking unnecessary shortcuts, something to guard against as the years of one's voyaging career accumulate.

Before we knew it, a highly productive and pleasant 2 1/2 months had passed, and we were steering out the mouth of the Burnett River at 0200 under a clear, star-studded sky. élan, slick with fresh bottom paint, slipped easily through standing waves in the channel and surged out into Hervey Bay. We'd decided to hole up a bit farther south in Mooloolaba for the major hurricane months, and we were looking forward to sailing down the western side of Fraser Island through the Great Sandy Straits, past the mouths of the Mary and Susan rivers, Tin Can Bay, and out over Wide Bay Bar and into the ocean for the remaining stretch to our destination.

Paea had long since returned home to Pago Pago, and we were back to our old team of Wendy, Ryan and Scott. Brilliant morning sunlight illuminated clean, green-tinted bay waters, the mainland a low line to starboard, reminiscent of sailing down the middle of Biscayne Bay toward the Keys from Miami. My trusty alarm clock had failed, and we'd pay for the extra sleep by bucking the tide down the first half of the straits between Fraser and the mainland. By the time we nosed into the entrance, the tide had just turned and was already beginning to pour out against us. We still made 3.5 to 4 knots over ground at 2,000 rpm, so we settled in to enjoy the spectacular sand s and wild forests of Fraser Island to port, and the complex networks of mangroves and low islands to starboard.

Sailors can anchor off of Kingfisher Bay Resort and access the interior of the island with a rented four-wheel-drive vehicle. The resort also welcomes them to use their swimming pool and other facilities. We reluctantly passed on this opportunity for the time being and continued south, anxious to capitalize on the pause in strong southerly winds for an easy trip to Mooloolaba.

Mooloolaba magic

We'd motored marker-to-marker halfway down the Great Sandy Straits to the mouth of Deep Creek by late afternoon, dropping the hook off the wreck of an old steel barge and the remains of a logging camp for a peaceful night's rest. Ryan and Scott got up early the next morning and sat together in the cockpit, reveling in the morning sounds of the wilderness and the splash of a diving brahminy kite snatching a mullet scant yards from élan.

"Listen, buddy, I know you're only three &mdash"

"Three and a half."

"Sorry, three and a half, but do you think you can handle the helm for me while I raise anchor? It'll be our first time, and you'll have to do exactly as I say, or this current could get us into trouble."

He answered with a solemn, "I can do it, Dad."

The engine purred to life, and our little helmsman performed flawlessly as Scott manned the windlass, swinging perfectly onto the course for the narrow groove in the sand banks while Scott secured the anchor. He returned to the cockpit, shook Ryan's hand, and told him what a great job he'd done. Ryan said nothing, though as he gazed up at Scott, he thought he might burst with pride.

Now the tide was with us, and we went flying down the winding, mangrove-lined channel to Wide Bay, past Tin Can Inlet, and out over the bar to sea by early afternoon. Once clear of the steep waves, we swung south along the breathtaking beaches and rugged promontories of the eastern Australian coast, entering the well-marked Mooloolah River inlet in the early evening darkness. We steered past the main port area of Mooloolaba and made our way through the canals to protected Lawries Marina.

They call this the Sunshine Coast with good reason. Like everywhere we've visited so far in Australia, the locals are laid back and exceedingly friendly, very down to earth, mirroring the sun-drenched disposition of the shoreline. We can't say enough good things about the people of this country. Sailors have every amenity and service available, and those not yet addicted to sun and surf soon yield to the pull of the magnificent beaches a short walk from the marinas. While the area is understandably more congested and hectic than a country town like Bundaberg, that comes with the convenience of being able to walk to large, inexpensive stores, pubs, a great public aquarium and a variety of restaurants.

Wendy and Ryan had a blast attending a weeklong surfing school, and Ryan's wave-riding career is off to a blazing start with two boards and a confident swagger.

Scott had long wanted to spend time in an area of safe beach breaks in order to come up to speed on this front himself. The beach and surf at Mooloolaba eventually yielded the opportunity to experience the exhilaration of rocketing along on a large unbroken wave face, the roar of white water just behind, the tickety-tack of the board skimming over the sea, a big smile stretching his face … another childhood dream come true thanks to the voyaging life.

The marvels of Australia, and the opportunity to give Wendy more time to heal, have lured us into remaining here for the season. After more explorations of Oz, however, it's straight back to Melanesia. Those fleeting tastes of Fiji and Vanuatu whetted our appetites for much, much more.

Contributing Editors Scott and Wendy Bannerot are the authors of The Cruiser's Handbook of Fishing, published by International Marine.

For the Bannerots' sailing directions from Melanesia to Mooloolaba, including currents, weather, useful maps and guides, and protected harbors, click the Web Extras button.

By Ocean Navigator