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BACK TO PANACHE: 1 of 3 THE ROAD TO REUNION

Back to Panache 1 or 3 Road to Reunion

I would love to write a blog post for my time in New Zealand, but realistically it’s just not possible. The destination is too beautiful, I have too many good stories and, most importantly, I have too little time at the moment to give the country justice in the space I have here for words and images. Just trust me when I say New Zealand is a great place. This series of posts is dedicated to my winding and eventual trip back to Panache, and ironically it starts in New Zealand.

After working a wine vintage in NZ, I decided to stick around the country for a bit longer and work the ski season at a resort down in Canterbury. My working holiday visa was good for a full year, and if I had followed through with my original plan of returning to Panache at the end of cyclone season – mid May – I would have only utilized half of the visa! I also hadn't been skiing in forever, primarily because the tropics don’t offer many options, but also because in the lead up to my departure in 2011, snow sports were expensive extra-curriculars that I could easily do away with. Needless to say I had a lot of reasons to stick around, or a lot of excuses to not go back to Panache to continue sailing west.

It’s not that I didn’t want to go sailing again. I definitely did. Time had worked its magic, and all the daily annoyances of cruising had transformed into cute stories. It’s like only remembering the good things about a past relationship. Despite deluding myself, I understood what a logistical nightmare getting back to Panache would be, let alone getting her ready to sail again. People would ask what my plan was, and I had a nice canned response about when and where I would go, acknowledging some level of boat work to be performed prior, but I didn’t go into much more detail. It was too easy to steer the conversation back to the past rather than the future. After all, my immediate future was in New Zealand, far from the 80% humidity and major neglect that was crippling any future I would have with Panache.

My ski job was short lived for many reasons. Firstly, I wasn’t as into the job as I thought I would be. I worked in the transport department and got to drive a sweet Toyota Land Cruiser (fitting) that could seat 12 people. Bouncing up the access road while sandwiched in with the rest of the passengers, you couldn't help but feel like you were going to war or something. Secondly, the employee season’s pass I received didn’t receive enough use. Due to a small department, I was working six days a week, and on day seven I sometimes would rather do nothing than go back to my place of work. Thirdly, I smashed my knee trying to be a badass in the terrain park. I’m not, and never will be, a badass in any terrain park. Fourthly, I had an opportunity to go back to Seattle, my hometown, for several weddings. This was obviously an offer I could not refuse, and my boss at Mt Hutt understood completely. You would have to be an idiot not to accept a free ticket home. To make sure I would continue my trip west with Panache, I made sure my ticket was round trip. At the time of purchase, I thought I would continue working at Mt Hutt upon my return, but ultimately it made more sense to just head back to Panache.

I hadn't been home to Seattle since October 2011, and contact with most all of my hometown friends was non-existent with the exception of a Facebook “like.” I don’t resent anyone for the lack of contact – that door obviously swings both ways – it just makes homecoming a bit strange. I don’t think many people really get what I am doing out here, and I’m not sure how many people actually care. I’m not bitter about not getting more attention – everyone has a life to live – it is just strange to counter stories of grad school and marriages with those of shipwreck and snorkeling. I guess I just realized how little in common I actually have with some of my old friends. I had to fight the feeling that I wasn't stacking up to my peers in society’s eyes. “So when are you coming home?” “What are you going to do when you are done traveling?” Done Traveling? It was like being told Santa Claus wasn’t real! How can my travel days be over? I had stock answers to provide these questions, but the reality is I had no idea what I was going to be doing a month from now. This might sound a bit like an anxiety attack, but giving any answer while smiling seemed to satisfy, and this anxiety was in reality a very secondary feeling. I was overjoyed to see all the friends and family... And Amazon.

So many boxes, so many toys! Gotta love Amazon.

So many boxes, so many toys! Gotta love Amazon.



I unknowingly abandoned all the lovely conveniences of the United States when I set sail. If you want anything, anytime, you can find it with little effort and pay a minimal cost. Amazon was one of my best new friends. Every day I was buying something new from the online superstore to accompany me on my second siege of the Pacific. But with great conveniences comes great responsibility. Bella Star, my buddy boat from the Americas had finally reached Vava’u, Tonga where Panache was moored. They emailed me.

Hi Zack, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Panache is going to need some TLC in order to get under way. I went aboard today... I brought my meter and verified that there is no voltage on the batteries so I wasn't able to start the engine. I also verified that good solar voltage output is getting to the controller. So it looks to me like the batteries are shorted out or shot. There's considerable water damage at the panel, and it looks like most of the breakers will be non functional. There is a spider infestation and most corner surfaces are covered with nests. The bilge needs to be pumped out. The exterior looks okay, no chafe on the mooring lines...


The letter went on. I re-read it landing on every keyword. TLC. No voltage. Engine. Shorted Out. Water damage. Spider infestation. Woof. I was expecting some work when I got back to Panache, but this was a bit more than I had planned for. Shot batteries! A serious re-wiring of most circuits! Spider infestation! What the hell happened!? Time is what happened. A boat is something that needs constant attention and Panache had none for the better part of a year. In a perfect world, I would have paid someone to come on board and check things out periodically, but money being what it was, I didn’t have enough – or so I thought at the time. Obviously paying for a monthly check-up was worth it, and the sinking feeling that can only be realizing a huge mistake was tainting my free trip back stateside.

So I was posed with a problem that I didn’t completely know how to solve and simultaneously didn’t completely understand the complexity of. The exact extent of the damage was unknown, and without paying someone, the whole truth would not be revealed until I boarded Panache myself. I essentially had to solve a problem without knowing what the problem was. Amazon to the rescue! I effortlessly bought a hundred feet of two-strand twelve gauge marine wire that would go a long way to re-wire the essentials for cruising. Panache was already pretty basic, but this fiasco was definitely going to push her systems back a decade.

What did I absolutely need? This is a question I have been asking myself ever since I started cruising. Typically it came in a more broad sense of the question, but it was totally fitting to apply it to Panache finally. I had bought Panache as a complete package, and never really had a say in the set up of the systems. Tony, the previous owner had essentially answered the “What do I absolutely need” question for me. In this unfortunate situation, I had the fortune to re-visit this question and augment Panache’s utility. Could this be the bright side of a bad situation?

Panache’s current distribution panel was totally shot. This was a problem because it is the terminal that routes power to the necessary areas of the boat – navigation instruments, lights, the bilge pump and, of course, the engine. Getting this in working order was paramount, and the easiest way to do that was to just buy a new panel. I would have replaced the shorted breakers, but they were all military surplus parts, and I had no idea if I could match new ones. I had spares on board but was uncertain if I had enough to get the whole panel functioning. Furthermore, it just seemed right to re-do the panel entirely. West Marine sold a six-breaker panel that would be more than sufficient. Buying two of them would leave me with three fewer circuits to wire, but that would be a nice place to save energy. The energy-hungry fridge was an easy target to do away with. A handful of connectors, and my repair kit was starting to look adequate.

With no true idea as to whether these items would actually alleviate my Panache problems when I returned to Vava’u, I set out about enjoying my hometown. Meeting new people is always fun, and I was introduced to a fair amount during my Seattle stay. I was no stranger to the “So, what do you do?” question, but I ran into it more frequently while milling around the city. In the regular world it’s a simple litmus test for compatibility. The answers aren't necessarily important, but the way one answers is. I kinda resent the question because I think its a good way to put yourself in a pigeon hole, but most people don’t ask for cruel judgments sake, its just typically an easy question for small talk. However, I was always careful to answer the question just in case it was. To soften the dread of the inevitable question I made a little game of timing how long it usually took to be asked. I usually never ask the question myself but made a conscious choice to completely avoid it. I prefer to ask people what they like to do and what they are passionate about. The answer can sometimes revolve around work, but for most people it doesn't. In the odd moments where I have asked the question my immediate follow up question is “what do you want to do?”Anyways, the look on the question asker’s face is always priceless when my response is “Nothing slash sailing through the Pacific Ocean.” People seem to accept this answer quite well, but only because surprise is not the most socially acceptable reaction. Gradually the questions start flowing and my story unfolds. I have lots of stories, and I like telling them. The conversations always make me feel proud and a little guilty that I’m talking so much. This moment makes me stammer to reassure the listener that the trip is a huge pain in the ass.

Cruising is essentially the most inconvenient way to do things. Its slow, things break all the time and nothing is straightforward. Add a language barrier, the assumption that you are a millionaire for owning a boat (ahem, yacht), and things can really be shitty sometimes. I watch a smile creep over their face, and I start to smile too, because I really like the challenge. I like testing myself. And I like the freedom. Nothing satisfying is ever easy.

These conversations have led me to some truly unique tests on land. An adventurous spirit can identify another, and my stories have gotten me invited to several hikes in the beautiful Cascade Mountain range of Washington. I have never done alpine climbing, but after my trip home I can now check it off the list. Send me across an ocean, and I have very few instances of discomfort, but send me across a glacier sloping at 45 degrees with gaping crevasses below and I can’t help but feel like my circumstance is terribly flawed. I loved it. I haven't been that scared in a long time, but like being able to sail to any old place you want, scaling mountains gives you the brief feeling like anything is possible. This clarity is always short-lived and is the drive for most things labeled too dangerous by the mothers of the world. My mother was not thrilled after seeing some of my pictures of an attempted north ridge summit of Mt Stuart. If it wasn’t for rain, my climbing partner and I would have continued to the top. It gave me just enough feel for alpine climbing that I think I have caught the bug. From that moment forward, my stock answer for “What are you going to do when you get back?” is now climb mountains. Sorry mom.

My friend James and GP sailing on the sound.

My friend James and GP sailing on the sound.



The Enchantments

The Enchantments



Glacier crossing.

Glacier crossing.



A nice view of Stuart glacier and beyond. The weather coming in halted the assent.

A nice view of Stuart glacier and beyond. The weather coming in halted the assent.



Log jam in Colchuck Lake, WA

Log jam in Colchuck Lake, WA



A dramatic view of Dragons Tail while ascending Aasgard Pass to the Enchantments.

A dramatic view of Dragons Tail while ascending Aasgard Pass to the Enchantments.



Close up rock

Backlit Hike

Only half my time in Seattle was dedicated to northwest sports and online shopping. The other half was spent catching up with friends and family. There were entirely way too many people to see, and all those people were way too busy, so my apologies to all the people I failed to catch up with. I was also impossibly busy, and time caught up with me. Even with extending my flight to accommodate another wedding, I still felt like I was only visiting and didn’t have enough time. I was never truly home. My big duffle bag remained half packed, nothing I owned had a place of its own and I was essentially sharing my old room at my parents’ house with my sister. My transient existence in Seattle lacked personal space, but I was happy to be sharing it with the people I came home to visit.

Wedding wine and food

Wedding wine and food



I'm a jackass. Single-handedly ruined this wedding memento.

I'm a jackass. Single-handedly ruined this wedding memento.



Weddings best with a mason jar beer.

Weddings best with a mason jar beer.



Playing some corn hole.

Playing some corn hole.



Largest water balloon fight world record attempt.

Largest water balloon fight world record attempt.



Remains from the massive water balloon fight.

Remains from the massive water balloon fight.



BBQ time with a side of Seattle.

BBQ time with a side of Seattle.



Drinking + elevators = photographic magic

Drinking + elevators = photographic magic



Brew dogs and river floating.

Brew dogs and river floating.



Quintessential foot shot.

Quintessential foot shot.



Big Mikey T living the dream.

Big Mikey T living the dream.



A view looking back during a ride on the Burke Gilman Trail.

A view looking back during a ride on the Burke Gilman Trail.



Not so serious photo during a bike ride to the Red Hook brewery.

Not so serious photo during a bike ride to the Red Hook brewery.



Packing up was an issue. I was carrying everything I originally was carting around the Pacific then an additional lump of boat kit to get Panache in sailing order. I was a human camel and terrible at carrying my own weight. Sailing has really spoiled me in many ways, and most obvious was my inability to cart around my own stuff rather than letting Panache do all the heavy lifting. So much easier in a boat. It was hot when I arrived at Seattle International Airport and my clothes were already starting to cling to my body with a thin film of sweat. That clean feeling from my morning shower was already disappearing, and I hadn’t even taken my bags out of the car. Even with help from my dad, thinking about the burden of carrying them with me made me sweat even more. Maybe dad could be my bag handler all the way to Tonga? I thought about how much my dad would charge for such a job, but this pointless train of through was broken because I had to say goodbye.

Goodbyes are not something I’m good at. I always appear apathetic about leaving, but the truth is that I never truly realize I am leaving until I’m already gone. This must be frustrating for my departure party. My dad started crying when I hugged him, my mom slipped me a twenty dollar bill when I hugged her and Kayla, my good friend from Whitman College, told me I should look into cloning myself. One last wave goodbye and I entered the air conditioned airport.

What happened next was the most irksome 26 hours of travel reality could dish out. No serious challenges, just a mind-numbingly long time to be traveling. Seattle to Los Angeles I sat next to a massively fat Mexican dude who ate three tapas meals that inspired me to buy pita chips. My overweight latino neighbor was eyeballing my snack the whole time. Los Angeles to Sydney was the long haul. Watched several movies and noted when I passed over Tonga. In a matter of hours I had covered the distance it took years for me to cover with Panache. Sydney to Christchurch was a cinch after the last flight. All legs of the trip had layovers, and I slowly accumulated a body odor that could be bottled. True Travelers wear Airport Stank, the new scent from Calvin Klein. The advert would probably feature some sweaty five o’clock shadow everyman. Maybe with a flight attendant (man or woman) wrapped around his arm. My ripeness could have been worse if I’d had to carry around my baby hippo-sized duffle bag. Even so, carrying my twenty-pound backpack, an awkwardly long box containing everything from a VHF antenna to sailcloth, and a large duty-free bag of whiskey wasn't easy. Upon arriving in Christchurch I was running on fumes and ready to tackle the last leg of the first portion of the trip back to Panache; a four-hour bus ride to Blenheim. For this last push I did have the pleasure of manhandling my hippo duffle bag.

Pals in Blenheim

Pals in Blenheim



My layover in Blenheim was specifically crafted for a reunion with friends and to gather any last minute kit for Panache. Like traveling back in time, I had traveled back through New Zealand the exact reverse way I had traveled through it, and I was now at the very first place I visited, Windsong Orchards in Renwick. For three months in early summer I remained there, picking blueberries four hours a day and working a farmers market on the weekend. I didn’t get paid with NZ dollars, but I had great accommodations, delicious food and all the real milk I could drink. The experience and friends I made were more valuable than any hourly rate. And the dairy of NZ is mind-blowing on any level, but especially when you come from an all powdered milk landscape that is the South Pacific. Jennie and Bob who run the place were shocked at how much milk I drank, and they considered getting a cow to make my dairy consumption financially reasonable.

A stopover in Renwick. The flowers are pretty, but the fruit is better.

A stopover in Renwick. The flowers are pretty, but the fruit is better.



I had ended up in Renwick of all places because the owners’ daughter was on a similar sailing trip down the Americas, and we crossed paths in El Salvador. She told me, “If you ever end up in New Zealand, look up my parents.” After my affair with the reef in Niue, I started setting my sights on New Zealand and promptly got in contact with Windsong. Being a farm, my visit back wasn’t immune to work. I helped Bob reinforce the kiwi fruit trellis just outside their house. It feels good to be useful and this kind of work is always a good time to catch up. Politics, Panache plan of action, the Americas Cup and even a story of recent shipwreck in the Pacific. A massive catamaran named Blue Marble had managed to find itself bashed up against the same reef I found myself on last season in Niue. While I’m sure the circumstances were similar on how we ended up on the reef, the outcome couldn't be more different. I had repaired myself and brought Panache to Tonga, and Blue Marble was so damaged it was sold in a fire sale and the crew dispersed from Niue on other boats. It was insured, but the season was over for the vessel.

Love this old school drill at Windsong. Yeah, it still works.

Love this old school drill at Windsong. Yeah, it still works.



With that story of woe in my back pocket, I said goodbye to my Kiwi family and set out on the next leg of my trek back to Panache; getting to the capital island of Tonga, Tongatapu. I had a small hitchhike between Renwick and the Nelson Airport. I had made a cardboard sign that said:

NELSON
NEED TO CATCH
FLIGHT @ 1PM


Bob joked that I didn’t have enough information on the sign, and I was almost convinced when I found a similar cardboard sign discarded in the neighboring lawn. Holding a cardboard sign made me feel homeless, which is ironic considering I am very much homeless. Forty-five minutes later I had my ride. He was a Kiwi who had spent most of his working life in Australia and was now back in the motherland looking for a place to call home. He was looking in Nelson and ended up driving me right up to the front door of the airport. He made no comment on how much stuff I was carting around, but I must have looked funny hobbling to the door.

Nice sign.

Nice sign.



My sign is better.

My sign is better.



Nelson Air Strip. My flight up to Auckland.

Nelson Air Strip. My flight up to Auckland.



Inside I ran into several problems. First off, my yellow hippo bag was overweight. Shocker. My backpack was overweight, and my additional “bag,” the oblong box thing, was going to set me back $120 NZD to be checked. I had managed to carry the oblong box all the way from Seattle to Nelson, but Air New Zealand refused to let me hang onto it. I used every excuse, but it was clear they wouldn't budge. Fair enough, it now contained a spear gun I picked up in Blenheim so I guess it’s probably best to check it. Head down, I handed the nice man at check-in my credit card. After some snappy keystrokes we both looked up and he asked me, “So when do you plan to return from Tonga?” This was a loaded question. Since I had no proof that Panache was in Tonga, I had to have some proof that I was planning on leaving the country. My boat registration was not enough proof, and I once again I lowered my head and handed him my credit card to buy a one-way refundable return ticket. I know it wasn’t this guy’s policy, but it was hard not to go ballistic.

Despite all the hassle (or my ineptitude) with flying, Air New Zealand does a fantastic job at providing top notch flight entertainment and service. After flying with Air NZ, stepping on an American-based airline was like stepping back in time. The planes are just a bit older, as are the flight attendants, things have that plane smell and free drinks are a pipe dream. Not on Air NZ. I think I have fallen in love only a handful of times, and two of those times were with the hot flight attendants who happily offered me complimentary beers. I’m a simple creature. Once in Tongatapu, I had a 24-hour layover before flying to Vava’u. I stayed at a guest house outside of the capital and spent the night exchanging stories with a Scottish couple over some beers while watching a massive stick insect get incapacitated by a herd of micro ants. It was a good show. They flew out to Vava’u the next day, and I spent my time searching for deep-cycle batteries. That night I went out with another couple to a “Traditional Tongan Feast.” It was a super touristy thing to do, but it was a really good time. Amazing food and a sweet fire dance. That night when I got back to the guest house, I lay in bed cataloguing all the things I needed to do once I arrived. The list was long.

The evening entertainment: watching an army of ants destroy a massive stick insect.

The evening entertainment: watching an army of ants destroy a massive stick insect.



Sweet Tongan fire dance. Dragon breath.

Sweet Tongan fire dance. Dragon breath.



The morning was overcast, and the airport was busy. Extra cash to check my extra bag, and I was walking across the tarmac to board my flight to Vava’u. I remember the NZ check-in guy in Nelson making some crack about the Real Tongan Air planes and didn’t really get it until I was standing right in front of one. While it looked old and had the exact aesthetic you would expect from a South Pacific airlines, it was obviously not a Boeing creation. Airbus? Nah. It was some kind of Chinese plane. The shit-talking was probably political to some degree. I wasn’t worried, if Panache could get me to Tonga, this Chinese plane should get me to Vava’u.

The flight was fast. Vava’u was overcast and rainy. Not very tropical looking, but it was surely helping my body acclimate to the temperature change. Winding my way to Neiafu Bay via taxi, I could see Panache in the distance. Holy shit, I’m finally here. Bella Star was sitting at the Aquarium Cafe with a smile waiting to have a reunion coffee with me. This reunion was so dramatically different than my reunion with my land-based friends. They understood my drive and my situation to a T. They were, after all, doing the same trip, facing the same problems and repairing some of the same systems. The hugs lasted a bit longer. Aaron, who always joked that I needed to get a haircut and a job, was now the one who needed the haircut, and Nicole was now tanner than me (a hard thing to accomplish for a ginger). Coffee at the cafe, then breakfast on Bella Star and it was time to go aboard Panache. Man, I was not ready for this.

Looking over at Panache EeEk! Time to go aboard!

Looking over at Panache EeEk! Time to go aboard!



Bella Star had prepared a nice return package of supplies to jumpstart the battle to jumpstart Panache. Complete with spider spray, rubber gloves, Jet (Costa Rican energy drink we enjoyed way too much while cruising together there), and snickerdoodles for sustenance. I was geared up to make that first hardest step. I could have avoided this moment a bit longer. As I stepped off Bella Star’s dinghy and onto Panache I was finally reunited. Standing on deck a little unsure of where to start, I watched Aaron zoom off back to his boat. Lines dyed with mold scattered the cockpit. Moving them to one side of the boat revealed a similarly colored moldy green tattoo on the fiberglass. Not a priority right now.

Gearing up for the big clean.

Gearing up for the big clean.



I opened up Panache’s hatch and an invisible cloud of stale air washed over my face and into my nostrils. I stood back and squinted my eyes. A second go and my eyes were scanning the scene from outside the companionway. It looked like someone had left in a hurry. The floor was sticky and all the floorboards were swollen. The base board to the stuffing box (the gland that the prop shaft goes through so water doesn't flood into the boat) was so misshapen that it needed to be discarded, and the floorboard for the bilge was in a similar condition but just barely fit. As I walked down to the front of Panache, peeling my feet off the ground as I went, I became more and more discouraged with what I saw. Spiders had in fact taken over the boat. Upon closer inspection I couldn't actually find any living spider. The windows were covered in hundreds of little curled up eight-legged skeletons, and most surfaces had at least one web cluster defining little communities, but there were no spiders. I was witness to a mere shadow of a once prosperous spider metropolis that outgrew its once plentiful resources. Like the fall of Rome, spider land Panache was history. My face was slumped in an unhappy grimace.

The last remains of the great spider civilization.

The last remains of the great spider civilization.





Water damage :(

Water damage 🙁



Face mask on, eye protection protecting, and I let the spider spray rip into every cranny of Panache. Just because I couldn't find spiders doesn't mean they don’t exist. Like with any fallen society, there will always be survivors, and they will inevitably be stronger than their ancestors. Holy hell, Panache created super spiders! Have you ever watched the movie Arachnophobia? Well, this experience made me regret watching that movie. My return to Panache had set in motion a very aggressive timeline to get Panache back to Australia. Back because Panache had made this trip in the early 80s. I was returning her. Breathing life back into her. My reason for heading for Australia was as romantic as any prospective cruiser’s dream of sailing. Even knowing the romance was a complete fallacy I still couldn't help but want to re-trace Panache’s original steps. I had to have the boat ready to get to Fiji by October 15th when I would meet crew. My crew then has a month or so of time to sail before heading back to the States. Mulling over my timeline, de-spidering sped up. First things first.

De-spidering like a fox

De-spidering like a fox



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Beautiful Disaster: How Panache Finally left Niue with a Newly Repaired Rudder.



Beautiful Disaster Cover Image

I’ve had my fair share of trouble aboard Panache, but nothing quite as somber as my fractured rudder. The accident left me unable to carry on, literally and figuratively. Looking into a mirror I knew I had seen this before, although I barely recognized it through my bearded face. I had seen it in Costa Rica, when I had the misfortune of watching my friends aboard Bella Star suffer a lightning strike that rendered their Hans Christian void of electronics. The only reasonable play anyone has in a situation like this is to try and move on, to embrace your situation and understand that sometimes the best of times come from the worst. I learned this lesson the way I learn most things as an American, from watching movies. This Hollywood teaching is not an easy one to swallow, but both Aaron and Nicole did so without haste. Within days I watched hopelessness turn to acceptance, and a plan was in motion to get Bella Star back underway. As Hollywood promised, the accident gave all of us an opportunity to do some seriously amazing inland travel.

Looking in the mirror, it was now my turn to swallow the same rationale. The Hollywood special. It’s harder than it sounds, and no matter how hard I tried, I could see no silver lining. Vlad was leaving, and the rudder repair was moving at a snail’s pace, partially because of the intermittent rain Niue needed to break its drought, but mainly because sitting on the internet was an easier reality than being shipwrecked. When Facebooking lost its appeal, I surrendered to looking longingly out the Niue Yacht Club window trying to figure out my next plan of action. Would Vlad and I be able to fix the rudder? Even if we could fix it, would we even be able to put the rudder back on Panache? Where would I go? And the biggest question, would I have enough money once I got there? My bank account was looking bleak, my camera equipment was starting to show signs of fatigue, and I could barely recognize myself in the mirror. New Zealand seemed impossibly far away, which left me with the option of leaving Panache on a “cyclone-proof” mooring somewhere in Vava’u, Tonga or Fiji or hauling the boat out in American Samoa. Or maybe I’d just say “To hell with everything!” and leave Panache right here in Niue. I had options, but I was unsure if I had enough money to execute any of them, minus abandoning Panache. Abandoning Panache? Was I really thinking like this!? I didn’t want to stop cruising, but it was cyclone season and I had to put the boat somewhere. At the beginning of this trip, I told myself I would be more decisive, but there are still moments where I wish I could just have someone tell me what to do. I can see the advert now: Like telling people what to do? Do you lack the emotion apathy? Email me if you’re interested in the position.

Delicious desert up close.

Delicious desert up close.



Papayas are always a welcome snack, but they sometimes involve a little climbing.

Papayas are always a welcome snack, but they sometimes involve a little climbing.



Free Fruit

Chicks are too adorable. The dog was interested.

Chicks are too adorable. The dog was interested.



Ever since I arrived in the South Pacific, people have been saying the cyclone season is going to be violent this year. They told me in the Marquesas, in Tahiti, in the Cook Islands and now in Niue. “Yeah man, this year is going to be full of crazy strong cyclones. This is a great season for mangos. Mangos only have good years when fierce cyclones are on the horizon. Cyclone Heta was during a good mango year.” Great, if I didn't have enough to worry about. Cyclone Heta was a category 5 cyclone that practically wiped Niue off the face of the earth in late-December/early-January 2004. You can still see some of the damage from the cyclone in palm trees that were blown down 90 degrees and then started growing back towards the sky creating a huge L-shaped kink. The palm trees were constant reminders that Panache was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and if this rain kept persisting, there would be nothing I could do about it.

When the rain finally let up, Vlad and I managed to sabotage our own project by accidentally adding more epoxy resin to the epoxy resin instead of the hardening agent. The next morning we had the enjoyment of discovering our filling compound hadn't dried one bit. A day lost, and a big mess to clean up. This was the low point.

Between working on the rudder and waiting for our latest weave of epoxy and fiberglass to dry, we spent lots of time talking with Brian and Ira (the couple who run the NYC), and whomever wandered in. The news of our accident spread quickly as any gossip would on an island that’s home to 1400 people. Everyone was interested to hear our story, and I would joke that the reef hit us, not the other way around. That reef came out of nowhere!

I had crashed my way into a seriously friendly, tight-knit community. This was a pivotal point for my morale, one that truly allowed me to embrace my circumstance. Yep, I am shipwrecked at the moment, but as my uncle Curtis pointed out, I am “Stranded on a beautiful tropical island in the South Pacific,” with friendly people willing to help repair my spirit and my rudder. In Curtis’ words, I may “never get another chance to live this dream again. The future will bring bills, children and commitments ... [my] voyage has only just begun.” Curtis definitely helped me find the bright side to escape my funk, and after one big night out with some locals, my spirit was repaired. The morning was hazy from too many Steinlagers, regardless, we had enough sense to add hardener to our epoxy mix. We were finally starting to repair Panache with a healthy outlook.

Lion Red

The internet in physical form.

The internet in physical form.



Failed attempts to play games.

Failed attempts to play games.



After a night of heavy drinking, the safest thing to do is jump off high rocks into the dark sea at one of the many sea tracks.

After a night of heavy drinking, the safest thing to do is jump off high rocks into the dark sea at one of the many sea tracks.



Putting the rudder back on the boat was a bit of an engineering challenge with no room for error. Panache was sitting in 50 feet of water, and if the 100ish pound rudder were to drop to the sea floor, it was unlikely that we would get it back without a diver. Vlad and I lashed a thick line around the rudder and slowly lowered it into the abyss. This was a tense moment. We looped another line into the water and attached it to either side of the boat to act as a saddle for the rudder, allowing us to guide the rudder post into the steering column. Vlad was on deck as a line handler, and I was in the water cowboying the rudder into position. When aligned, Vlad pulled up on both saddle lines and bolted on the tiller. It’s an easy explanation, but the actual job was much more tedious and involved lots of swearing. In the middle of the commotion, Vlad and I got into one of the few arguments we had during all of our time together. The focus of the argument centered on color, specifically what constituted “gold.” You see, we had two lines in the water. The one attached directly to the rudder was cream-colored, and the one attached to the boat (and used as the saddle) was gold. Or so I thought. I asked him to pull in on the gold line, and thus the questions and argument began. All my arguments tend to be laced with stupidity, but this one will go down in history. After coming to a forced understanding of what the color gold looks like, Vlad pulled on the correct line, and Panache’s rudder was repaired – and right on time, because Vlad was flying out the next day.

Out with the old, in with the new.

Out with the old, in with the new.



It might not look pretty, but its pretty darn strong.

It might not look pretty, but its pretty darn strong.



Tightening the last bolt!

Tightening the last bolt!



Our last day on Niue was spent with Mike and Hine, two New Zealanders who manage a noni farm on the SE side of Niue. The noni looks like an oblong baseball that transitions in color from light green to white as it ripens. Oh, and it smells and tastes like blue cheese. Some people call it vomit fruit. I happily tried it, and it does strangely taste exactly like blue cheese (or vomit, depending on how much you like blue cheese). The farm grows the fruit and processes it into a juice that’s sold to the Chinese as a health elixir. The exact health properties of noni are not that exact, but there is no question that they are there. I have heard many applications of the fruit, even as a topical antibiotic. Who knows.

Mike gave me the complete lifecycle of a noni fruit. When mature, a plant can produce about 10 pounds of ripe fruit every month. Harvests are sent through a cleaning machine and then directed through a combine to create a mash. After a large slurry of noni mush is created, it is slung through a massive centrifuge filter and then stored in vats to let the larger particles settle out before the juice is flash pasteurized and bottled. Most of the equipment was purchased second hand from winemakers in New Zealand. The whole process uses a fair amount of water collected from the rain-collecting system that funnels water off the roof and into huge silos. Fun fact: during droughts, huge barn owls in search of water get trapped in these silos and die a watery death. I hear the cleanup is a pain. I poked my head into one of these water tanks, hoping I could save a silly owl, but was strangely disappointed that the tank was owl-free. Looking around, my first thought was, “What a wonderful place to go swimming.” My next thought was, “Wait, how the fuck would I get out of here?” I guess that’s what separates us from the owls.

The Noni fruit.

The Noni fruit.



The Noni farm house.

The Noni farm house.



Phone Home

More of the noni plantation.

More of the noni plantation.



Everything is breaking down, including my electronics. Woof.

Everything is breaking down, including my electronics. Woof.



Red trees make me go nuts.

Red trees make me go nuts.



Brandishing super-human noni strength, we set out to explore some of the freshwater caves hidden deep within Niue’s interior. The first cave was a secret spot Mike stumbled across in an old Niue travel guide from the 70s. A short drive out of Alofi, and we were out of the car and bushwhacking through the spider web laden forest. I felt like I was walking though the opening of an Indiana Jones movie, carefully planting my feet to avoid stepping on some forgotten booby trap. The forest eventually washed against a huge wall of limestone with a deep, scar-like chasm at its base. As we casually descended into the cave, the temperature and sounds of the surface world dampened to an inaudible murmur. We were beyond a screams reach, but all we could do was giggle. Yes, giggle. My whole body and mind was telling me this wasn't possible, but it was, and for some reason this made me laugh like a little girl who just met Justin Bieber. Down and down we went until we saw a crystal-clear blue lagoon, just barely visible by the ambient light slithering into the cavern. The water was cool and fresh. Our torch smeared shards of light throughout the cave and illuminated our surroundings just enough to navigate. The length of the cave was unimpressive, but the depth appeared to be bottomless. I don’t consider myself claustrophobic, but after testing the depth of the cave I couldn't help but feel a shred of confused spatial discomfort. Where were we? Fifteen minutes after entering the cave, Vlad was starting make shadow foot puppets against the cave wall. More giggling and then it was time to move on. We resurfaced to the sticky atmosphere of land dwellers, and the heat and humidity rushed us to our next cave.

Industrial Climbing

Palm Plantation

Industril Side of Niue

into the jungle

Super Cave

The Cave view up

More Cave Diving

Cave Diving Light

Cave or Pool

Before continuing our subterranean tour, we had to drive through an off-road trail that cuts the Huvalu Forest, an environmentally protected area, in half. Mike explained that the area was dangerous because of how turned around you can get. If that wasn’t enough, the many sinkholes that can literally eat you alive would make even the most veteran bushwhackers pause. On a couple of occasions, tourists have gone missing here for days before reappearing in Alofi looking like an extra from Michael Jackson’s Thriller music video. For an island that’s roughly only 120-square miles, the place packs quite an impressive spectrum of landscapes.

Taro Field

Taro Field



Taro Leaf

Taro Leaf



Huvalu Forest Niue

To arrive at our next chasm we had to walk through Uga country. Ugas are coconut crabs also called robber crabs. They look like hermit crabs on steroids, can cut your finger off with their pinchers and love the taste of the rich coconut meat. Pacific islanders conversely love the taste of Uga and actively hunt them for a delicious snack. I have never eaten an Uga, but I am told the meat is strangely sweet. Every coconut we passed had a claw-drilled hole in it, an absent reminder that you are in the Uga’s domain. The landscape was surreal: jagged mounds of raised reef so sharp you could shave with it, palms sprouting left and right out of the ground and marble mounds from the drilled out coconuts filling every nook and cranny. Every 10 meters or so, a halved coconut hung from strings. These were “Uga traps.” When night falls, the Ugas emerge in search of coconut and other snacks. The traps are easy pickings, and the Uga use one claw to hang onto the rock and the other to pick at the coconut trap. With one of their claws being used for support, these normally speedy land crabs are sacked by the adventurous hunters. Good, easy eating – as long as you keep all your fingers.

The landscape was too much to handle. I had to rest my warped mind.

The landscape was too much to handle. I had to rest my warped mind.



Just a little guy. They get much much bigger.

Just a little guy. They get much much bigger.



After counting all my fingers and toes to make sure I still had them, we reached the opening to the chasm. An endless set of tiny steps led down so far the darkness enveloped their destination. I was the last in line to make the descent, and watching Vlad, Mike and Hine descend into the massive crack gave me a little more perspective. They were engaged in some intense conversation about travel and barley acknowledged that they were walking into the earth. Add 10 surreal points. When I couldn't see them anymore, I heard an out-of-sight Vlad say, “Wow.” I couldn't have said it better. There were so many stairs, light just couldn't follow me down to the bottom.

The view below

Down we go

The pool was similar to the first but much longer and narrower. We started to climb up the walls and jump into the barely visible water. Mike discovered that we were not alone in the cave. A huge milky-eyed eel was poking his head out of one of the cave walls and taking tabs on his new visitors. Hine wanted nothing to do with this and promptly got out of the water; however, all the boys rushed over to check out the eel. Sure enough, our huge eel friend, with a head the size of my thigh, was eyeing us. No worries, these eels are friendly and celebrated throughout the Pacific because they filter out contaminants in the water. Thanks, buddy.

Bare Light

Cave Diving

Exiting the cavern was equally as impressive as entering, like re-emerging from a deep sleep. It was time to check out the east coast, the stormy cost, of Niue. It was only a short walk down to the water’s edge, but as we moved along the trail you could hear the pitter patter of coconut crabs scrambling around deep within the rocky forest. Daylight was starting to fade. The shoreline, which was normally quite a spectacle of waves and whitewash, was calm and opened up an endless waterfront of tide pools.

I sat and watched each wave attempt to crush me as its force dissolved into a friendly ripple that slapped against my ankles. Coral fingers extended out into the breakers, and being bold (or stupid), I sat down on one to feel the power of the ocean shake my new limestone throne. I might be at a loss when it comes to a plan, but watching the repetitive waves while being completely still gave me an unexpected serenity. I bluntly asked the ocean what I should do, “Where should I go now?” Half expecting a serious answer, the gargles and growls of the waves were my only response. Maybe in time the ocean will tell me. Or maybe I should just start being more decisive.

Vlad in Silly hat

The rough coast

Tide Pools

Sea Watch

Sunset and Coast

Pod Pool

Our day last day in Niue was coming to a close, and back on Panache Vlad and I talked late into the night, knowing this would be the last time in a long time that we could have a conversation like this. Things were going to change. And gauging by our almost urgent need to chat, I guess things had already changed. We had always had time, but as the sun started to rise, we both knew time was no longer limitless.

The next morning was rushed like any travel day. Brian from the yacht club raced me and Vlad down to the wharf, and for the last time, we launched Buoy, my dinghy, into the sea. We hugged goodbye with Vlad firmly on land and me bobbing awkwardly in the water, and then he was gone. I was officially alone. Again.

Goodbye Vlad. You will be missed.

Goodbye Vlad. You were an incredible crew member, and a great friend.



The view behind Panache as I sail to Tonga.

The view behind Panache as I sail to Tonga.



I had been alone for eight months prior to Vlad’s arrival in Tahiti, but this feeling was different. I wanted to do a solo passage then, and now I want nothing more than company. I decided to wait until the next morning to shove off, and opted to watch Point Break. This was my last ditch effort to ignore the miles ahead of me. My passage to Vava’u was short, only two days, but Vlad’s absence was a real shock to my morale. Vlad was intelligent, competent and as entertaining as crew can get. To burn as much time as possible on the passage, I watched movie after movie. I was avoiding my trip. I was avoiding the present. I knew this was a sign that I couldn't possibly continue on this sailing trip and enjoy myself.

When I arrived in Vava’u, I was ready to give Panache to the first Tongan that looked at me and fly back to the United States. It just didn’t seem worth being alone again, no matter how amazing my surroundings were. Once attached to a mooring ball, and after several deep breaths, I regained my senses and started musing on ways to continue on.

I talked with Eliot, gave them the full rundown of my disaster on Niue, and described how radically my plans have been changed. Lots of Oooooohs and Aahhhhhs later, they described how their plans have also changed. They were no longer going down to New Zealand. Their rational was purely financial – it would cost more to do their boat work in New Zealand than in Fiji. So Fiji it was. They had zero problem with changing their original plan. I thought about this a moment and concluded it was foolish to be so caught up in my ego about not making the passage to New Zealand. Firstly, a prudent sailor is a good one, and if I wanted to cruise further south to explore Fiji, Vanuatu, the Solomon Islands and Papua New Guinea, it would ultimately be easier to leave Panache in perfect position to continue on instead of making a 2,200 nautical mile detour. I would love to cruise New Zealand, but I needed to take a break from cruising in general. I need creature comforts, I need convenience, and most importantly, I need to make a little more money to keep cruising. I need to miss cruising to regain my original drive.

If I stayed here in Vava’u, I would pay a minimal cost to dangle on a cyclone mooring, pay premium cost to get to New Zealand and pay zero cost while finding work and WWOOFing on a friend’s farm in the south island. I was starting to have a plan.

Eliot and another French boat opted to check out some of what Vava’u had to offer, which according to my cruising guides was quite a bit, before they departed for Fiji. I decided to stick around town, suture up my cyclone mooring situation and start my land vacation early. I ended up getting a great price for a private mooring and planned on flying to Auckland sometime in early December. Come May I would be back in Vava’u and ready to see everything my Tongan Cruising guide gushed about.

Panache sitting a little low at the pier in Vava'u, Tonga.

Panache sitting a little low at the pier in Vava'u, Tonga.



My first chapter of the Pacific was practically over. I was going to see New Zealand regardless of not sailing there. Richard from Latitude 38 emailed me about my aforementioned “failure” in getting Panache to the land of the Kiwi bird:
Listen dude, you didn't fail at all! What you've accomplished is incredible. Everybody has fuck-ups and setbacks. Give me a couple of days and I'll list mine. The important thing is you charged after your dream. You probably don't even realize that in the last year you got the best 'bang for the buck' real world education you could have possibly gotten. All the responsibility you had, all the decisions you had to make, all the squeezing of finances. I don't care if you stop tomorrow, you're a much smarter, wiser, self-sufficient person than when you left San Diego ... Keep the chin up, man, be proud as hell because you should be!
Richard wasn’t the first to scoff at my declaration of failure, and he will not be the last. Knowing I am entering a break from sailing my body is calm and my mind is particularly clear. I am reclined in a comfortable patio chair in Tonga. I look behind me and have to squint because I am looking back 8,890 nautical miles to California, to where a version of me stands on the edge of exactly what I was looking for a little over a year ago – adventure. As I turn my head back around to take a sip of my New Zealand beer, everyone’s words of support start to make a lot more sense. I’m smiling because I got exactly what I wanted.

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