Latitude 3: Papua New Guinea, Dreams from my father

I remember my family watching David Attenborough’s Papua New Guinea special on PBS television when I was a child. Attenborough’s funny way of narrating, the footage of the birds of paradise and the possibility that there were still cultures that had not encountered the outside world, fascinated this small-town-Modesto girl. At the time, I couldn’t even dream of going there. And now I have.

We spent 15 days there in total and got a good sense for the diverse terrain, cultures, bird life and diving. With very few roads, we took six flights to get to more remote areas. There are often horror stories (and we heard some of them when we were there) about traveling in Papua New Guinea. So, this was the one part of the trip I decided to use a tour company. I worked with Trans Niugini tours which has been working in the country for the past 40 years. They have created their own mini-infrastructure to get tourists around.

For me, more than anything else, the people we met were wonderful. They were kind, friendly and willing to share their traditions with us in a very open way. They were also curious about us. My long blond hair interested the little girls. They would giggle and come behind me to take a better look at my pony tail. Many were eager to see the pictures I took of them. Those who spoke English, were also interested in talking about Obama when they found out I was from the US. I was reading, "Dreams from my father" while I was there. The tour staff asked to hear more about his life story when they saw the cover of my book. I took time too, to reflect on the dreams my father had shared with me. This was one that came true.

Latitude 20: Single-handed-showering

After Sydney, we flew to Hamilton Island to sail for a week in the Whitsundays. By contrast to the tranquil solitude in Raiatea and Tahaa in French Polynesia, we joined throngs of Australian tourists in the Whitsundays. It was peak season for a sailing holiday but it didn’t dampen the fun.

Despite anchoring every night near twenty, sometimes forty boats, I enjoyed sailing from island to island. Humans weren’t the only company. Daily we saw large sea turtles swimming at the surface. At anchor, I would watch the sulfur-crested cockatoos fly in to roost for the night. The snorkeling consisted of brightly colored coral, giant clams and interesting fish.

We docked at Hayman Island Resort for a night and enjoyed the lovely grounds. A giant groper (aka grouper) was something I had never seen. At the baby weight of 178 Kilos, the groper was only half the size of what he would be as an adult. “Groper” the grouper, as we named him, hung out under the dock at Hayman Island marina and swam out when humans arrived. Though his homely grey baby-fish-fat, big lips and tongue that protruded with his underbite, made me think he looked harmless, I was assured by the dive crew he was a force to be reckoned with. At three-times my weight, I decided against snorkeling with the baby to get a better look. Here's a picture I found of one on the Internet.

With only two of us sailing the 32 foot Catalina, there was always something for one of us to do. We got really good at anchoring because there were very few mooring balls. I am proud to say, we never came unhooked, which wasn’t always the case for our neighbors. One night at 3 am I awoke to the sounds of motors starting and our boat rocking dramatically. The wind had picked up and switched directions causing several other boats to lose their hold. Because others had come unhooked, we started an anchor watch at 3 am until sunrise. Our boat stayed put but we were pretty tired. Crew fatigue is always a concern and with only two of us, it became even more relevant that morning.

A basic rule of sailing is to keep all appendages-toes, hair, clothes, hands, away from the biting teeth of the anchor chain and winch. The anchor windlass is a large, motor operated, chrome piece of equipment that lets heavy-anchor chain down to set anchor or pulls it up to set sail. My job was to set or raise the anchor. Teddy was at the helm, motoring the boat forward and backward depending on where I signaled the anchor was.

That morning, we had successfully unhooked. Teddy started to motor out of Tongue bay, headed for Whitehaven beach. I began adjusting the anchor chain which had popped too tightly around the windlass. I stopped paying attention-lulled by the fact that we were successfully under way and, no doubt, fatigued. Suddenly, I felt a piercing CRUNCH and saw my gloved hand crushed between the anchor chain and the winch. In one of those out of body moments, I realized I had just made a big mistake. Luckily, I had the presence of mind to release the anchor chain, pressing the “down” button, to unclamp my hand. Hand pulsing and bleeding, I walked back to Teddy at the helm and let him know I needed medical attention. I then quickly went below deck and stuck my hand in the freezer.

After I calmed down a bit, I used my handheld VHF radio to call into the charter office, while Teddy steered us past Whitehaven beach, careful to avoid “French shoal” to our port side and the sandy shallows to starboard. The charter office quickly confirmed I could get medical attention at Hamilton Island, a four hour passage from where we were. I ungloved my hand and found a pulsing, crushed middle finger-still attached. Relieved, and a little queasy, I pounded four ibuprofen and gathered ice in a bag so I could go above and be of some help navigating. We worked extremely well as a team. Passing through a narrow, hard-to-navigate channel and into high wind and swells for the next few hours. We made it safely to Hamilton Harbor.

We stayed at Hamilton Island for the next 2 days. The clinic was outstanding and treated my crushed finger to prevent bacterial infection. I started a course of antibiotics and pain killers. The doctor said that usually this would be a case for amputation-but I had been very lucky. The safety measures I had taken, like bringing a back up VHF radio, paid off. The experience brought home the fact that sailing with two people could quickly become a situation where you are single handed sailing. In this case though, I was fortunate to only have to single-handed-shower for the next few weeks.

Here are some highlights (pre-finger-incident)

Latitude 34: Captain Cook’s loss, my gain

We decided to concentrate on Sydney and its surrounds for a week after covering a lot of distance in New Zealand. I remembered traveling in Africa after college, and making a point to avoid Australian travelers. I was pleased to find that the rowdy, loud, beer guzzling travel culture I had observed was, of course, a gross generalization. I liked the self-effacing humor I encountered and found a kindred spirit in the former British colony. I learned a new acronym, POME. The Australians, ironically call the British tourists POME’s, for Prisoners of Mother England.

Poor Captain Cook passed Sydney Harbor, which looked unremarkable to him from the sea. He missed a beautiful, natural treasure. We attended opening night for Aida at the Opera House, wine-tasted in Hunter Valley and explored the city.