Month: December 2025

September 21 – October 17, 2025

Since first arriving in Fiji in May, we had only explored a remarkably small area. Ninety five nautical miles across and twenty five nautical miles top to bottom. Our own self-imposed Fiji Triangle. A tiny portion of the entire country.

It was now three weeks into September. About nine weeks remained before we would reach the December 1 deadline imposed by our insurance company to be north of 10°S latitude for the cyclone season. A direct sail to the Solomon Islands was only about a week to ten days away…nine hundred nautical miles. However, we hoped to make a detour to Vanuatu along the way. West to Vanuatu would be around eight hundred miles and then another five hundred or so miles to the Solomons. Not that much farther, but it was obviously going take substantially longer if we planned to spend any time enjoying Vanuatu, which would be the entire point of going.

The ticking of the clock hadn’t reached a distracting volume, but it was certainly becoming more noticeable. We weren’t in a hurry, but we needed to get moving.

From the mooring ball at Waitui Marina in Savusavu, to Nemena Island, and then Yadua Island, we had sailed around eighty four nautical miles. Already about a quarter of the way around Vanua Levu.

Before departing Yadua Island, we plotted a number of anchorage options into our Navionics electronic chart on the iPad. Nothing was set in stone, but it gave us a sense of distances and options. There were always other possibilities. However, we already knew that some of the chart information would be either inaccurate or incomplete; consequently, we wanted to make sure we were only moving during hours of decent light.

We left Yadua under flat calm conditions. An hour later, by the time we had poked around the east side of the island, we were reminded just how sloppy the Bligh Waters could quickly devolve into.

Not really that bad, but we were sure relieved to not be stressing over a leaking rudder seal. That was for damn sure.

Working our way around the northwestern tip of Venua Levu, we enjoyed conditions which permitted us to sail without having to burn diesel. The farther we progressed around the north side of the big island, the more we would learn that wind conducive to sailing could be quite fickle on this side.

Between the uninhabited bay we had anchored in just north of Nokanoka Point on the northwestern tip of Vanua Levu and Uluidawani, another random location just over thirty nautical miles to the east, we saw winds that shifted from dead downwind at four knots to between twenty five and thirty knots directly on our bow.

The forecast had been seven to ten knots on our beam. Instead of a forecast, we began to joke it was a two-cast at best.

Uluidawani turned out to be a calm and peaceful spot for us to drop anchor for the night. Though it was only another ten miles to our intended destination, Nukubati Islands, we had arrived at Ulidawani at just after 4pm. With questionably accurate charts, especially regarding depths near shore, our strategy was always to try to arrive at a potential anchorage with good enough light to be able to see possible hazards lurking near the surface, shallow areas and shoals, as well as what we were dropping the anchor on. Floating the chain always helped, but peace of mind really depended finding a clear spot we had been able to verify with our own eyes.

By the time Exit reached Nukubati Islands and dropped anchor, we had already made contact with the folks at Nukubati Island Resort via email. At the time of our arrival, they had no guests.

As we were becoming more and more aware of, the entire northern coastline of Vanua Levu is rather undeveloped and isolated. Not only were cruising yachts rare in the area, apparently so were tourists in general.

Curiously, Savusavu, whose population was reported as less than 3,500 people in its most recent nearly twenty year old census, is much more of a cultural, tourist, and commercial focal point than nearby Labasa (pronounced Lambasa), the actual administrative hub and largest town in Vanua Levu with a population of 28,000 people – more than eight times the size of Savusavu.

Jenny, one of the owners of Nukubati Island Resort, met us on the beach as we pulled our dinghy out of the water. During our conversation, she revealed that she had been born in Labasa, less than twenty miles away, before adding it was a dirty town she didn’t miss and wouldn’t recommend visiting.

With her Australian husband Peter, Jenny opened Nukubati Island Resort many years ago. Though Jenny and Peter still run the resort, they have begun passing the torch to their daughter Lara and her husband Leone, who run the resort’s dive shop while raising their young child at the resort, who will mark the third generation of the resort’s legacy.

Nukubati Island Resort boasts of being the only resort with direct access to the Great Sea Reef. Not only that, Leone (also born and raised in the area) has achieved a legendary reputation of being one of the most experienced and knowledgeable scuba divers regarding the Great Sea Reef.

Only a month earlier, Leone had been utilized as an expert guide for a research expedition to study the Great Sea Reef and surrounding marine environments aboard the expedition vessel RV Argo.

Strangely, we had first learned of the work being done aboard Argo while we were sitting out the cyclone season in Tuvalu, six hundred miles to the north. They were there at the same time, doing research dives on the outer reefs of the atoll. During subsequent conversations with Leone, he conveyed to us just how stunned the research team aboard Argo had been upon witnessing the devastated condition of the coral reefs and marine ecosystem around Tuvalu – something we were already all too familiar with from personal experience.

On the other hand, we were currently sitting on the doorstep of the world’s third-longest continuous barrier reef and supposed home to 74% of Fiji’s coral species and 80% of its reef fish. Considering what we had already experienced at Rainbow Reef, Namena Island, and Yadua Island, we were literally salivating to put on tanks and start breathing some bubbles again.

Diving the Great Sea Reef with Nukubati Island Resort

On the morning of September 28, with no one other than the dive staff aboard, we hopped on the resort’s dive boat and headed to the outer side of the reef. After motoring through one of the passes and assessing the conditions as perfect, we donned our scuba gear, took a giant stride off the stern of the boat, and with the area’s most experienced legend Leone Vokai as a personal dive guide, explored the Great Sea Reef.

Absolutely extraordinary. Grey reef sharks; white tip reef sharks; bull sharks; eagle rays; large bull and blue spotted stingrays; octopuses; large barracudas, tuna, and Spanish mackerels swimming above us; endless varieties of brightly colored reef fish; massive expanses of plate coral covering sloping walls that plummeted into the depths, unbelievable fields of incredibly healthy and diverse coral of every type; sheer wall and canyons; staggering clear visibility in water that seemed to contain every shade of blue imaginable.

The water conditions were so good that Leone took us to a sight they had never dived before. He said the location had always intrigued him, but currents and surface conditions in the area had never been favorable to explore it. We jumped at the opportunity and were not disappointed.

He later informed us that, since we were the first to dive the site, it was up to us to name it. Eventually, we settled on a name… EXIT’S SECRET. Evidently, our own legacy on the Great Sea Reef had been established.

We had such a phenomenal time that we returned the following day. Though Leone was unable to guide us on the second day, we were still well taken care of by the same staff we had enjoyed getting to know the day before.

As is so often the case, even having experienced mind-blowing dives, we had to make the hard decision to move on. A finite budget had to be conserved and, despite the fact that September was about to come to an end, we were still less than half way through our circumnavigation of Vanua Levu.

We had hoped to potentially do some dives on our own after gaining local knowledge and information. However, the reality was that the logistics would have been excruciatingly difficult. We concluded it was better to pack away the experience we had just enjoyed as the best we could hope for and be content with that.

After an uneventful stop fifteen or so miles to the west, near an abandoned resort called Palmlea Farms Lodge (apparently currently for sale for anyone in the market for Fiji property), we ushered in the arrival of October sailing another twenty nautical miles to Blackjack Bay.

Although there was no village or houses anywhere nearby that we could see, a lot of local small boat traffic passed by us while Exit sat at anchor in the small bay.

Most of the occupants of the local boats simply smiled and waved enthusiastically as they passed by. A few stopped at the transom of Exit, briefly inquiring where we were from in the most welcoming and friendly manner.

One boat that stopped, filled with a group of women and children, seemed particularly intrigued by our presence. After a few moments of reserved curiosity and tentative looks, we invited them into the cockpit. A barrage of smiles and questions ensued, complete with requests for photos and selfies.

Concluding a brief and truly entertaining exchange, the group climbed back into their small boat. With warm heartfelt smiles and waves, they untied from Exit’s transom, disappearing around the corner of the peninsula as they headed towards their village on the tiny nearby island of Druadrua. Classic.

For as many cheerful and benevolent exchanges as we have, inevitably there’s gonna be a few duds. The only real uncomfortable moment occurred when a local boat filled with ten or so people stopped and identified themselves as either Mormons or Jehovah’s Witnesses. In short order, it seemed to us that they were making references to sevusevu (the gift presented requesting permission to remain as visitors). When we happily offered a bundle of kava, the ginormously overweight guy who identified himself as the pastor frowned and informed us that they did not drink kava…nor did they drink alcohol…nor did they smoke. After a number of questions including asking what we did for money and why we did not have any children, he asked if we had any Tylenol for the pain he was experiencing (obviously from carrying around three hundred or so pounds of extra flesh) for which we gave him an entire bottle of Ibuprofen. His demeanor seemed lukewarm warm, at best, to the idea of accepting a bag of rice we had offered them. Finally, they seemed done with the exchange and continued on their way. Awkward…to say the least. The righteous and religious can be so fucking weird.

After a few lazy days, which included quietly celebrating the forty-third (:-o) anniversary of our first date together, as well as the seventeenth anniversary of our departure from the USofA (both falling on October 2), we picked up anchor and continued another twenty six nautical miles to another uninhabited speck of mostly mangroves, Tilagica Island.

The following day started before sunrise. It was a big day. Halfway through the nearly fifty nautical mile journey that was in store for us, the northeastern trajectory we had been following for the past two weeks would shift to due south. Today we were rounding the northeastern tip of Vanua Levu making for Albert Cove on Rabi (pronounced “Rambi”) Island.

The upside was it was a gorgeous day. Clear bright blue skies with matching clear electric blue seas. The downside? No wind at all. It would be eight hours straight of motoring.

Albert Bay turned out to be a postcard perfect location. The bay is nestled on the northern side of Rabi Island, between a sandy beach and a massive reef just offshore with only a narrow channel for access into it.

Some areas of the reef are rocky. Others are covered with impressive and very photogenic coral colonies.

The unfortunate reality of Rabi island is the history of its current five thousand inhabitants. They are not actually Fijian, but rather the descendants of the Banabans, the original indigenous landowners of Ocean Island, in the Gilbert Islands over twelve hundred miles away.

A depressing story that perfectly encapsulates the fucked up nature in which indigenous people so often get shafted by the “civilized people of our planet”. In a nutshell…

During 1941, after ravaging Ocean Island with the devastating process of phosphate mining in support of WW2 efforts, Great Britain (colonial rulers of the Gilbert Islands) decided to resettle the island’s existing population. Incomprehensibly, they decided that the best solution was to purchase Rabi Island (in Fiji) for £25,000 from an Australian firm (that had a plantation on Rabi and somehow owned the island) so they could ship them there. After WW2 ended, and all of Rabi’s existing population were themselves relocated to Taveuni Island to the south, most of Ocean Islands population was moved. Among the even more fucked up details…the original group of barely alive Banabans sent there (some 400 adults and 300 children) who had been collected from Japanese internment camps were not given the option of even returning to Ocean Island on the false pretense that Japanese troops had destroyed their homes; the refugees were dropped at Rabi Island in the middle of cyclone season with nothing more than tents and two months worth of food (despite being told houses had already been constructed for them); and even worse, it eventually was uncovered that the £25,000 Great Britain paid to the Australian firm had actually been taken from reparations due to the Banabans for the damage caused by the phosphate mining.

Corporate and political profits at the expense of moral bankruptcy…the way of a civilized and developed world.

Apparently the Banaban citizens of Rabi currently exist in some kind of gray area, simultaneously holding both Fijian citizenship and Kiribati passports with some degree of political and legal autonomy.

Whatever foggy definitions of authority they fall under, whoever is in charge of policing the area proved to us to have their own challenges regarding basic maritime competence.

Less than twenty-four hours after dropping anchor, we watched a local boat that appeared to be an official patrol boat of some sort motor through the pass and into the bay. After dropping anchor along the edge of the inner reef, the boat’s two occupants waded ashore and disappeared into the trees. There were a couple of people on the beach who seemed to make no effort to engage them.

Less than a half hour later, we noticed the still unoccupied patrol boat start to drift towards us. Evidently, the anchor had not been properly secured, and the boat had freed itself with the rising tide as the wind started picking up. It was currently headed for the rocks of the outer reef. As it drifted past us, the two patrol guys appeared on the beach. They looked visibly confused.

Our dinghy was already down. The guys had started wading out into the water, despite there being no way they could possibly chase down their boat. There was almost a thousand feet between us and them. By comparison, there was only about three hundred feet between us and the reef their boat was drifting towards, with their boat splitting the distance right in between. The wind continued to pick up.

Instead of attempting to go get the two idiots wading through the water, I hopped in our dinghy and headed straight for their boat. By the time I reached their boat and got tied off to it, we were only about thirty feet from the reef. The rocks could clearly be seen right at the surface. I gunned the outboard, struggling to control the dinghy which was now attached to a heavy fiberglass boats nearly three times its own size.

Somewhere between comical and super sketchy.

Kris, who immediately regretted not jumping in the dinghy with me, managed to capture a few photos of the whole debacle. Eventually, with the patrol boat serpentining wildly back and forth and me desperately trying to keep from getting the lines caught in our outboard’s propeller, I was able to slowly tow the patrol boat back to the two guys, who by this time were standing at the outer edge of the reef just off the beach, trying not to look as stupid as they must have felt. They did thank me, though when they passed by us on their way out of the bay, it appeared that they had both made a very conscious effort to not look over our way. Funny how embarrassment and humiliation can make even authority figures try to be invisible.

If you are fortunate, goodwill can sometimes be a two way street and positive karma can bounce right back almost instantly.

Not only had we been in the right place at the right time to help out the patrol guys who had misplaced their patrol boat…we also were more than happy to oblige a young man who paddled up in his plastic kayak over a number of days and requested we charge his phone during the day.

We expected nothing in return, but were more than happy to accept a bundle of fresh and delicious lettuce from his garden when he came out to pick up his phone at the end of the day. Sweet.

Beyond the patrol boat drama and daily visit from our new friend with the depleted battery cell phone, it was a relaxing and unremarkable few days.

On the south side of Rabi Island, we found a small nook to drop anchor in. As it turned out, not the best anchorage – a deep and narrow area that our anchor had trouble setting well in, plus we ended up with the anchor getting hung up on something at the bottom. In addition, a never-ending parade of trucks, seemingly affiliated with some kind of a nearby biofuel station, passed back and forth on a tiny road hidden just behind the trees creating a continuous background hum. Oh well. Every stop can’t be a gem.

Departing Rabi Island, instead of returning to Viani Bay where we had dived with Dive Academy three months earlier, we chose to duck into a small bay just to the north called Naqajqai Bay.

Great holding. Protected. Quiet. Beautiful.

And yet…

We’re on a boat for fucks sake. Living the dream is a phrase uttered by spiteful dirt dwellers and gloating boat owners who only spend only a fraction of the year afloat. Without having an inkling of regret, in reality the fact is when you live on the ocean 24/7, one of life’s cockroaches is always lurking somewhere in the cracks.

As we prepared to leave, while picking up anchor, I noticed our windlass began having a great deal of trouble bringing up the chain. When the anchor appeared at the surface, lo and behold, it became obvious why. We had snagged what seemed to be a hose of some sort. Or holy shit…it occurred to me we may have actually hauled up a power cable. Yikes!

With a great deal of apprehension and care – the kind you tap into when you want to avoid either electrocuting yourself or causing a power blackout for an as of yet undetermined area of Fiji – I grabbed one of our boat hooks and very gingerly hooked onto the line. Then, as I lowered the anchor slightly, Kris reversed Exit a few feet and I released the line. Fortunately, whatever it was slowly sank and disappeared back into the depths.

Sometimes it’s just best not to dwell on what could have but didn’t actually come to pass. It was a relief to start breathing again.

Having escaped Naqajqai Bay without requiring the assistance of either the Fiji Power Company or a defibrillator, we headed for our last destination before returning to Savusavu – Taveuni Island.

We had passed by Taveuni Island both upon first arriving in Fiji as well as when we were sailing from Namena Island to Vianni Bay to dive the Rainbow Reef, but we had never stopped there.

Now we planned on picking up a mooring ball at Paradise Taveuni Resort, which we had heard was very cruiser friendly.

About halfway there we were ecstatic to see a pod of dolphins approaching Exit. As it turned out, we were in for an even bigger treat.

The dolphins were actually escorting a pod of what appeared to be over a dozen pilot whales! We had seen pilot whales briefly before from Exit’s deck, but only from a distance. This time, we were able to shut off the engine and drift, where they cautiously approached us. As we lowered the GoPro into the water, we discovered even a grey reef shark (either an odd friend or a nefarious stalker hoping for a young pilot whale snack) swimming below alongside the group.

The water was so calm and clear that the visibility was amazing. At times, it was like looking through a window at them. Absolutely unbelievable!

Eventually, they decided they had other business to attend to and slowly swam away.

For us, it was one of those highlights you never can anticipate that, in the end, exceeds any experience you can even hope for with a paid tour.

We arrived at Paradise Taveuni Resort and secured Exit to a mooring ball, still wearing ear to ear grins on our faces.

Though we didn’t do any diving with Paradise Resort, we thoroughly enjoyed our time there. The restaurant was excellent, the drinks were inexpensive, and at times we seemed to be quite the celebrities with a group of Americans who had come to Fiji as a dive club and were staying at the resort. As is often the case, they vacillated between outright fascination or admiration that we had sailed all the way here and not quite being able to wrap their heads around the whole concept of living on a boat.

Those conversations can be either very entertaining or painful…or both.

One individual was completely enthralled to have a conversation with us after confessing he had spent years dreaming of doing exactly what we were doing. With a great deal of emotion, he informed us that his mother had grown very ill, and he had watched that dream evaporate after he chose to take long-term care of her instead.

Others peppered us with more typical questions. “What’s the worst weather you’ve ever experienced?” “Do you worry about pirates?” “Have you ever feared for your life at sea?” “How long did it take to get here?” “Where are you going next?” “Do you have kids?” “Are you rich?”

On the wall of the resort were two beguiling photos. One of a 19th century Fijian chief named Ratu Udre Udre, who reportedly ate between 872 and 999 people. Apparently he kept a stone for each body which still reside alongside his tomb on the island of Viti Levu. The second photo was labeled as Lutuna Soba Soba, an ancestor God who is credited with leading his people across the seas to the newly discovered Fiji in the 1800’s. It says his necklace in the photo is made out of Sperm Whale teeth.

Next to the photos were a handful of other captivating tidbits that, based upon the “Exit” sign at the bottom, seemed to speak directly to us – a local artist’s rendition of what appeared to be a traditional Fijian sailing canoe; a profound quote from Jacques Yves Cousteau which said “The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in a net of wonder forever“; and slightly less poetic though no less profound words of wisdom to live by: If life hands you lemons grab the salt and tequila.

True dat.

Without having to pay a nightly rate for a private bungalow, we had the privilege of being able to reap the benefits offered by the resort, while remaining only a two minute dinghy ride from our home at the end of the day.

As a strange twist, we particularly enjoyed the dive shop’s equipment dunk tank…someone had the brilliant idea of designing it as a huge kava bowl. Awesome.

Just like our experience at Dive Academy in Vianni Bay, once again we were able to partake when the resort hosted a lovo, the traditional Fijian barbecue where various meats and vegetables are slow-cooked over hot stones for hours using an underground earth oven. Yum!

In the evening, our view of the sunset over Fiji was completely unobstructed. Oddly enough, for us, another sailboat infringing on our view can be a point of contention.

For many of the resort’s paying customers, their sunset photos had a sailboat in the foreground…us. Ironically, I’d like to think that it added to the ambience of the moment for them. Hmmm.

Sadly, after four days, it was time to get moving. September was more than half over.

After an eight hour sail, we found ourselves once again back in Savusavu.

We had been gone almost six weeks. Twelve anchorages and three hundred forty nautical miles to circumnavigate Vanua Levu.

It turned out our closest call would be on the Waitui Marina mooring ball after returning to Savusavu. A ninety foot aluminium sailboat moored right next to us just about knocked our dinghy Bart off the stern davit when it randomly swung opposite us. Missed us by only about a foot.

Not necessarily their fault…but we had already had a bad experience with these guys less than a week earlier when they arrived at a mooring next us at Paradise Resort, only to learn they hadn’t cleared into the country yet and just wanted to rest using the cheeky excuse they were having engine trouble.

From a customs standpoint…a big no-no that can potentially get you thrown out of the country if you get caught. Assholes.

We laugh that it is only fitting that cruisers who bend the rules with fake excuses of engine trouble get slapped in the balls by Karma when the problem really occurs as a reward for their dishonesty.

We spent the next nine days prepping Exit for an offshore passage, enjoying restaurant food and bar drinks, as well as provisioning as we always do – as though the Apocalypse is arriving.

This included a final visit to the Nawi Marina Bar for Kris’ birthday. Great food, cold beer, and a surprise cake compliments of the kitchen staff. The bartender even informed us of a new drink being offered on the menu…a Perfect Storm – Kraken Black Spiced rum with ginger beer, named in Exit’s honor. Wow!

With November just around the corner, we had over seven hundred nautical miles to sail in order to reach our next destination…Vanuatu.

On October 27, the day after Kris’ birthday, we visited both the customs and immigration offices first thing in the morning. By 10am, we had stowed the outboard engine and secured the dinghy. Fifteen minutes later, we freed the lines from our mooring and set off.

We expected to be at sea for about a week.

Maybe a bit more…maybe a bit less. Really, it didn’t matter.

Exit was rearing to go. We were full of fuel, water, and provisions. The forecast was promising. And a new adventure was about to begin.

August 7 – September 21, 2025

Three days after arriving at Bua, we picked up anchor and headed for Yadua Island, a tiny amoeba shaped speck of land sitting just off the western tip of Vanua Levu. Not more than about half a mile across, its heavily vegetated, craggy surface has a maximum elevation of just under two hundred feet.

After a quiet four and a half hour sail, we slipped through the intimidatingly narrow pass into Navi Laca Bay, on the eastern side of Yadua Island.

This would be the first place we were visiting that required us to present sevusevu, a Fijian custom in which one must request a blessing from the village chief to visit the land and surrounding waters of an area. Basically asking permission to anchor, swim, dive, and fish. The offering is usually a small bundle of Kava, which we had purchased earlier from the farmers market in Savusavu.

However, in order to present sevusevu, we first had to get to Denimanu, the larger of two small villages on Yadua. It turned out to only be a fifteen minute or so walk along over the hill…but that time frame assumes you know where you are going.

For people who had never visited the island before, this required finding a landing site at the beach for the dinghy over a quite shallow bit of rock and coral…

…followed by a meander up the hill until we stumbled upon small gardens of some sort – what we assumed were farming plots that belonged to the village.

…followed by a wander through the forest and brush, attempting to best ascertain at times whether or not we were still on an actual trail at any given time.

Here and there, the path became more defined and easier to follow. Eventually, after twenty or thirty minutes, a clearing appeared in front of us. Through the trees, plants, and brush, we could see buildings.

We had reached the village of Denimanu, where most of Yadua’s population of less than two hundred people live.

The structures ranged from what appeared to be very simple thatched roof single room huts with corrugated metal walls to a very modern and sturdy looking church, complete with glass windows and tar paper roof.

As we steered to the beach and began to walk along the sand, avoiding walking through what we could only imagine were peoples’ yards, a young man came up and greeted us. After we explained we had just arrived aboard our sailboat in the bay over the hill, he offered to take us to the chief, where we could present sevusevu, a bundle of kava given as an offering to ask the chief for permission to visit the island and anchor in the bay.

The chief Ratu Joni, a big dark-skinned guy with frizzy hair whose substantial belly protruded prominently from under a rather tattered t-shirt that was far too faded to make out, was a man of few words. With the young man who had led us to Ratu Joni’s house acting as interpreter, we were asked a handful of polite questions before Ratu Joni gave us his blessing to anchor, swim, and explore the area as long as we wanted. He even invited us back to the village the following day for a Hundred Day Celebration. One of the village citizens had recently passed away and, after one hundred days, they have a final farewell celebration. We gladly accepted.

A couple of days later, we moved Exit to the other side of Navi Laca Bay, just off of Motubua Islet.

It had been quite some time since we had flown the drone, so we launched SpaceX-it, which provided quite an extraordinary view of the surrounding area. As the drone pans from left to right, the very narrow pass used to enter and exit the bay is easily visible. As the drone pans up, the main village of Denimanu is also barely visible over the hill at the back of the bay we were anchored in.

Just around the corner was another small beach that made for an afternoon exploration.

One way to instantly remind oneself of, not only one’s age but also their delicate mortality – try to shimmy up a coconut tree. A task that in my teens or twenties could have been done in seconds now took on a comic perspective.

The following day was spent relaxing and celebrating our thirty fourth wedding anniversary – an achievement which becomes more and more amazing with each passing year, given who Kris has to put up with.

Yadua boat cuisine in August? An anniversary surprise for Kris consisting of a spinach breakfast pie complete with improvised tortilla crust…the bacon is my own personal indulgence. On a different day, a similar spinach and egg concoction Kris put together in individual tortilla cups. And, another indulgence for me…massive one inch thick steak grilled on the BBQ…yummy!

We spent a day in Talai Bay, hoping to get a closer look at Yadua Taba Island. The island is home to a critically endangered crested iguana, endemic to only a couple of places in Fiji. Yadua Taba has been designated as a wildlife sanctuary for forty five years in an attempt to protect the iguanas, and going ashore is strictly prohibited.

Unable to spot any iguanas from our dinghy, after a day we opted to picked up anchor and work our way around to the east side of Yadua, where we anchored in picturesque Cukuvou Habour.

Without being exposed to the prevailing southeast wind and swell, Cukuvou Bay had much flatter surface conditions. However, with time we would learn that strong winds tend to come right over the top of the hills. We would also learn that Bligh Waters, the body of water Yadua Island sits in, acts as a funnel, actually accelerating the winds coming between Fiji’s two biggest islands, Vanua Levu and Viti Levu. Consequently, we found some of the strongest winds we would see while looking at Fiji wind forecasts to be passing directly over Yadua Island.

Cipu, who we had met in the village earlier, is the acting park ranger for Yadua Taba. He showed up in his boat one day, recognized us, and spoke with us for a while on the beach where he passed on some locale knowledge abut a path that led from this beach over the hill to Talai Bay, the bay we had been anchored in previously.

Obviously, we misunderstood where he indicated that path was, as it took us nearly an hour of bushwhacking and trailblazing to find the other beach.

While exploring the beach over the hill, we began to come across chambered nautilus shells. These strangely super cool creatures normally live at depths of 300-2300 feet, but they make daily vertical migrations to shallower depths of 200-300 feet to feed at night. For some reason, we found them all over the beach, right at the high tide line. Oddly enough but fitting, we later learned that the word “nautilus” in Ancient Greek means “sailor, or seaman.”

Regarding Cipu’s earlier directions to the path we couldn’t find, it turned out he obviously hadn’t misdirected us…we were just being stupid. We stumbled across it on the other side, and our return journey took a mere ten minutes. Locale knowledge is great, but only if you get it right.

While land excursions certainly provided adventure and entertainment, we were really salivating to get in the water. The underwater world at Namena Island had utterly blown us away, and we hoped that Yadua, even more off the beaten path, could possibly also deliver the goods with some additional stunning dives.

Initially, we took the dinghy out with snorkeling gear to suss out the point just south of the bay we were anchored in.

As soon as we got in the water, we knew that Yadua was going to be something special as well, potentially even exceeding what we had witnessed at Namena Island. The water was so clear…and the variety of coral, fish, and topography was staggering.

Two days later we returned, with dive gear, and started exploring. It was absolutely astonishing.

It became apparent Yadua Island not only could go toe to toe with but, in some ways, even rivaled Namena Island and the Rainbow Reef.

Our own private dive oasis.

Unbelievable varieties of coral in a rainbow of vibrant colors: yellow, purple, white, orange, green.  Massive fans.  Huge boulders of brain coral.  Thick tangles and  webs of intricate of branching coral.   Blankets of strangely patterned encrusting corals stretching across the rocks.  Delicate soft corals with extended polyps undulating in the currents. Schools of tiny fish so dense it was impossible to see the reef behind them.  Endless numbers of larger reef fish ducking around the coral structures.  Large tuna and trevaly swimming above the reef.  Turtles. Sharks.  Even a leopard shark!  Rays. Even eagle rays! And amazing topography ranging between sheer walls, huge bommies, swim-throughs, canyons, and sandy plains.

Day after day, we took out the dinghy and did multiple dives over the course of the day, exploring multiple locations along the point.

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Decisions and Distractions

After nearly three weeks at Yadua Island, we found ourself in a bit of a quandary.

During our past two months in Fiji, since we had first departed Nawi Island Marina, we had ventured less than fifty miles (as the crow flies) in any direction from Savusavu. In fact, our explorations had been limited to a small triangle only ninety five miles across and twenty five miles top to bottom.

We had trapped ourselves in a Fiji Triangle of our own making!

Not that we had any complaints whatsoever.

During that two months, we had done over a dozen of what could easily be considered some of the best dives we had experienced since moving aboard Exit. More than we had done in any other country we had sailed through.

As is so often the case, the preliminary strategies and initial plans we formulate when arriving at a new country quickly evolve into something quite different. Par for the course.

We had realized quite some time ago that getting to the outer islands of the Lau Group was a stretch. As enticing as the remoteness seemed, the reality of how many other boats were there, as well as the fact that the SE trade winds were going to make getting there require us to burn a lot of diesel, made us rethink things.

Likewise, heading to the Viti Levu Group would land us smack in the middle of more people – both boats as well as the population centers of Fiji.

The Yasawa Group, to our west, was still inviting. However, a huge cruisers rally in the southern area of the Yasawas was just about to get underway and, before long, a hundred or more visiting boats would be spreading out throughout the islands. In addition, the Yasawas are quite remote as well. Food, fuel and supplies would be scarce. After a month away from Savusavu, we were already getting down on petrol and some food supplies. Heading straight there would not be the smartest move.

We chose to head back to Savusavu to top up our stocks and then make a final decision to either head directly for the Yasawas or return to our Fiji Triangle for more fabulous diving. The latest round of relentless winds that we learned was the norm in Yadua had finally started to subside, and a window for us to make our move had cracked open.

With dark gray skies that threatened to unleash copious amounts of rain all around us, we picked up anchor and pointed back towards Savusavu.

When we got back to Savusavu, after traveling through some rather unpleasant following seas, to our dismay we discovered a shocking amount of water had once again accumulated in the bilge at the bottom of our stern lazarette.

It was a flashback to exactly one month earlier when we had discovered the same thing and found ourselves bailing water from a leak whose source we were unable to definitively pinpoint.

Once again, we tried to discern the origin of the water ingress. There were a handful of possibilities, but the whole area was so hard to access that we simply couldn’t be sure. It became obvious that we would have to monitor things closely and start shortening the list of possibilities soon. The fact that it was salt water eliminated some things right away…it wasn’t rain water, it wasn’t a fresh water plumbing leak. But it was still a mystery. Did it happen when the engine was running? When the water maker was running? In rough sea conditions? A leaking hose? A loose clamp? A failing weld? Some possibilities were much more disconcerting than others.

We left Savusavu a week later; topped up on fuel and provisions as well as temporarily satiated by a large amount of restaurant and bar food. The source of our lazarette leak was still undetermined.

Our immediate destination was back to Nemena Island, where we planned to do some more diving. We made it there without trouble and found only a small amount of water in the lazarette by the time we dropped anchor. Yet, having ran the engine for nearly an hour in addition to slightly rough sea conditions, we still hadn’t been able to pinpoint the source of the incoming water.

That was about to change.

Regarding diving, the weather simply wouldn’t cooperate. We got in one dive off our transom in the anchorage which, more than anything, showed us the extensive damage that had resulted from unaware, unconcerned, and unconscientious anchoring practices of other boats. Sad.

On the up side, we were treated to a phenomenal sunset rainbow one evening during happy hour in the cockpit.

The following morning, as the sun was just starting to rise, we picked up anchor in winds approaching thirty knots and pounded through the narrow southern pass . Once through, we turned downwind and headed for Yadua Island, nearly sixty miles to our northwest.

Within a few hours the wind had steadied in the low twenties, which wasn’t bad considering our wind angle was 130-140°. However, the following seas were messy, and we continually had swell coming over our transom, at times even washing over the lockers on either side of the transom.

By 1pm we had been underway for nearly seven hours. And even though we had been sailing almost the entire time, only running the engine for a brief period first thing in the morning, our solar charge had been good enough that we decided to run the watermaker.

It was a fortuitous decision.

After turning on the water maker, I always check to make sure that fresh water is actually being fed into the tanks (to verify that the automatic switch has engaged when the salinity level drops below a certain point). I lifted the floorboard to check, and was instantly shocked to find the bilge full of water.

After some panicked rummaging about, I realized it was not coming from the water maker…which led to one conclusion. Despite the challenges of troubleshooting while rolling back and forth in obnoxious sea conditions, we had to see what was going on inside the lazarette. So we commenced with pulling a bunch of things out of one of the lockers and I climbed inside with a torch.

The water was higher than it had ever been. And, even though we started bailing water with a portable electric pump we had rigged up previously, the water was still coming in at a much high rate than ever before.

This time the stern lazarette had filled enough that the water had reached a hole through which plastic conduit tubing passed, feeding electrical wires from the outside solar panels to inside the boat. It was how water had ended up in the bilge under the water maker.

With most of the water pumped out, I could start inspecting more closely to try to isolate the location of the leak. It didn’t take long this time…

Holy shit! We now had our definitive answer.

Once the water level in the lazarette was under control, nothing more came inside the boat. Two hours later, after many more return trips into the lazarette to pump additional water out, we sailed into Cukuvou Harbour at Yadua Island and dropped anchor.

It had been a harrowing day, to put it mildly.

The following couple of days were spent doing research and making hard decisions.

We determined that the rudder seal, a rubber boot that creates a water barrier between the aluminium rudder tube and the rudder stock itself had developed a hole. It was almost invisible at rest, but turning the rudder while underway caused the boot to flex, and the hole opened wide. Because the boot is above the waterline, water only came in when we were motoring and the stern lowered slightly, or in big following seas.

Extensive online correspondence with other, more experienced Garcia boat owners led us to the conclusion that this repair was actually doable while we remained at anchor.

Normally, replacement of the rudder seal would have required two things. For that type of seal, the entire rudder itself would actually first have to be removed to slip a new boot onto the rudder stock. Possible, at anchor…or so we had been told. But it would add a lot of extra complications. There were other variations of seals that might alleviate this necessity. But, in any case, we would have to have a spare seal of some sort aboard. Back to the old wisdom that had again been validated less than two months ago with our compressor — You gottum broken shit and no parts…you gottum big problems.  You gottum spare parts…you only gottum little problems.

Ultimately, our saving grace turned out to be an anonymous guardian angel who had stepped in years before.

At some point in Exit’s past, someone had the foresight to actually put a spare rudder seal, not only on the boat, but on the rudder stock itself. We discovered the seal sitting atop the steering assembly…right where it had been sitting for at least a decade.

Things immediately had gotten much simpler. Instead of having to procure an obscure part in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, as well as needing to go through the much more complicated process of removing the rudder itself, we now just had to disassemble the steering system that was preventing the new seal from slipping easily into place once the old seal had been cut off.

One of the other Garcia owners we were corresponding with poignantly pointed out that, “Whoever is the person with the foresight to have placed that spare rudder seal where it currently sits, deserves a post card and a really nice bottle of wine.” True dat…words of wisdom.

The new challenge became understanding a system that, up to this point, we had experienced zero interaction with. This involved a shitload of looking at things and taking of photos, learning exactly what needed to be done and in what order.

Taking things apart is almost always relatively easy; it’s getting things back together that can be particularly tricky. If we got our entire steering system disassembled, and were unable to get it back together correctly, we would find ourselves stuck fifty miles from civilization without any ability to steer the boat…potentially a much bigger problem than a leak.

We almost decided against undertaking the task. Limping back to Savusavu, where we could haul out the boat and sort out everything under more secure conditions seemed like the safer bet. However, in the end, our support group of Garcia owners reminded us that, if it was easy, everyone would be doing it. With a plan formulated, by taking it slowly, we could succeed. In other words, man the fuck up and grow a pair…just get ‘er done.

After a great deal of discussion, we concluded that we would attempt to the repair exactly where we were currently anchored…after we did a few more dives to get our minds in a happy place.

BACK TO DIVING DAMN IT…

This time we chose a slightly different area, the other side of the bay working our way toward the northwestern tip of Yadua. Just like before, we geared up in the dinghy, found a spot we could securely anchor without damaging coral, and started exploring.

Once again, we were not disappointed. Slightly different topography with less sheer walls and more canyons and ravines, but just as stunning.

Back to the “fixing shit in exotic locations” part of boat life…

After a couple of days of unbelievably stellar diving, it was time to re-focus on the repair at hand, our rudder seal.

The task seemed pretty straightforward. #1 and #2: disconnecting the autopilot; #3: disconnecting the two steering cables (the second cable exactly the same on the opposite side); #4: remove the four bolts connecting the large radial steering assembly to the rudder stock (two identical bolts on the opposite side).

That would clear the way to loosen the two boot clamps, cut off the old rubber boot, and slide the new one into place. We assumed the area under the old seal and clamps would require some cleaning and sanding to get the aluminium surface pristine and smooth, facilitating a good seal.

The challenges we anticipated?

Access to the whole damn thing…keeping the steering cables organized and snug enough that they would not misalign our whole steering system during reassembly and be able to be re-tensioned to exactly what they had been…supporting the rather awkward and unwieldy radial steering assemble so that it didn’t collapse entirely and become a nightmare to reassemble back on the rudder stock… the possibility of finding aluminium corrosion issues on the surface that the rubber seal made contact with.

We had a plan…slow and steady progress…no worries.

Oh ya. And the thirty five knot wind gusts that had kicked up. If we dragged, we wouldn’t have any steering to help get the anchor reset.

Piece of cake…hmmmm.

After two days of endlessly contorting (often upside down, inverted, and folded) to fit in a locker fit for a Leprechaun, running through my full vocabulary of swear words (plus a few new ones) multiple times, coordinating maneuvers involving both of us in both lockers simultaneously…oh ya, and more than a little patience, tenacity, and perseverance, eventually the old rubber boot was out and the new one was in. Everything went back together exactly as it had been before the whole ordeal began. It certainly hadn’t been easy, but it had been successful.

And to top it all off, our ground tackle (with the anchor chain floated) had performed flawlessly. We hadn’t moved an inch outside of the normal swing of our anchor arc during the whole blow.

Victory was ours!

The next day we had a triumphant celebration of pizza and vino. How sweet it was.

In total, we had spent nearly a month at anchor at Yadua Island during our two visits.

The diving had been remarkable. Astonishing. Legendary.

Still, we had come to the conclusion it was time to break outside of the self-imposed Fiji Triangle we had existed in for the past three months. We weighed the options. We could continue to the Yasawas, where we would inevitably encounter dozens of other boats, intending to eventually make our way to Denarau or Nadi, where we would have to clear out of Fiji in unfamiliar territory. Or hatch a new plan…the sea less travelled.

We decided to continue working our way around Vanua Levu in a clockwise direction, actually circumnavigating around the entire island. In total, just over three hundred nautical miles. Eventually, we would make our way back to Savusvu, where we could easily re-provision and clear out. We already knew our way around Savusavu which would make things easy. And we had noticed almost no cruisers ventured around the northern and eastern areas of Vanua Levu. Isolated anchorages to explore and our own adventure to experience. Perfect.

In addition, the Great Sea Reef, the world’s third longest continuous barrier reef system, stretches for some two to three hundred miles across northern Fiji, from the northeastern tip of Venus Levu all the way to Vanua Levu. We were literally at its doorstep.

Despite the lack of studies and research available for the Great Sea Reef, considering how good the diving in Fiji had been so far, it seemed reasonable to assume we wouldn’t be disappointed. And the reef snuggled right up next to almost half of the northern coast of Vanua Levu.

We were confident our rudder seal was now fully watertight.

And so, with one final trip ashore we said farewell to the amazing island of Yadua.

Our course was set for the northwestern tip of Vanua Levu, only about twenty nautical miles to our east.

It was time to explore outside the Fiji Triangle. A new adventure awaited.

May 5 – August 7, 2025

“Fijians are not interested in interacting with anything they can’t eat.”

Not my words. Rather, the musings of Jenny, a Fijian woman and co-founder of Nukubati Resort and Dive Shop, whom we met during our circumnavigation of Vanua Levu, one of the two main islands that make up Fiji.

Jenny’s observation was a response to a question she had once been asked by a diver as to why the extensive variety of nudibranchs (a very popular marine creature and photography subject in the scuba diving world) present in Fiji are not more talked about?

Her answer addressed not only the nudibranch conundrum, but possibly also addressed how Fiji had been a culture of fierce warriors who practiced cannibalism until the mid-nineteenth century. Ratu Udre Udre, a powerful warrior chief (Ratu means chief in Fijian) of the 1800’s has been credited with eating between 872 and 999 people! Obviously, he was quite fond of interacting with outsiders.

Why the same first and last name? Apparently…a Fijian tradition. We cleared in at the town of Savusavu. When you see someone, nine out of ten times you are greeted with “Bula bula” (technically bula is a wishing of good health, but is universally used as a substitute for “hello”). When you arrive at a new anchorage, you go straight to the village chief and present sevusevu (a gift requesting permission to visit). While circumnavigating around Vanua Levu we anchored in a bay called Nokanoka. We would pass by Bukabuka Reef on our way out of Fiji.  When one is good…obviously, two is better.

Given Jenny’s insight into Fijian thinking, I couldn’t help but ponder why, despite Fijians having forsaken feasting on other human beings for nearly two hundred years, it appeared that they had still maintained an insatiable appetite for interacting with visitors.  In fact, over the course of more than four months, we found the friendly enthusiasm and unbridled hospitality we encountered time and time again in Fiji surpassed almost every other place we had ever visited.

If our previous time in Tuvalu had felt like existing at the edge of the world, this certainly felt more like the end of the rainbow.

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After first arriving in Fiji, we had one week at Nawi Island Marina to get Exit settled in before our scheduled departure to the States. We hadn’t been off the boat for more than a few hours in fourteen months – since we had splashed after a five month haul out in Puerto Peñasco preparing for our Pacific crossing. 

We hadn’t visited family and friends in even longer.  Consequently, we were enlisting a much more efficient mode of transportation to whisk us all the way back across the Pacific Ocean for a five week return to the Palouse.

Ironically, the initial inter-island puddle jumper we hopped on was not much bigger than Exit… 

…however, it did give us a vastly different perspective and view of the area we would soon be exploring once we returned to Exit.

Fortunately, the planes that actually carried us between Fiji and Washington State were substantially larger and had just a bit more legroom…even if some had a distinct lack of design class or taste.

After five weeks with family and our dearest lifelong friends —- as well as a detour to a well timed rally allowing us to vehemently declare to our current orange colored, sex-pest, tax-evading, business fraud, insurrection-stoking, self-entitled, felony convicted, twice impeached, history-rewriting, psychopathic, malignantly narcissistic, chronically lying, vindictive, petty, moronic, uninformed, cankle afflicted, whiny bitch of a leader and his imbecilic, boot-licking, authoritarian-empowering, cult-following drones that: WE ARE NOT FUCKING AT ALL OK WITH THE BULLSHIT THEY ARE ENGAGING IN ON A DAILY BASIS (I had to edit down the list for space) — it was time to return to Fiji so we could set Exit free and set out on a new adventure.

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Once back in Savusavu, it was time to (yet again) re-provision.  By US city standards, Savusavu would certainly qualify as remote and limited.  By South Pacific standards, we found it to be quite a Mecca of shop-portunities and provisioning options.  

And, as always, there were repairs to be done. The manifold system connecting our two propane tanks in the bow locker to the galley was at least ten years old, probably closer to thirty. It had slowly rusted and disintegrated into oblivion and the relay would no longer switch on and off our propane from the galley. Instead of just replacing the relay, it was time for an overhaul.

Anticipating the inevitable, and having spares already aboard before stuff breaks, is a key element in the strategy of minimal headaches and short downtimes. In truth, we should have a completely equipped spare boat in tow for backups, but that would place us in the same category as pretentious mega-twat. But contraire mon frere…we are not twats. We are sea gypsies. We just try to be prudent and well prepared sea gypsies. Cruising is, after all, repairing shit in exotic locations.

Despite the fact that Nawi Island Marina, a fabulous new business with great staff and facilities, had a bar that continually beckoned to us, eventually our fuel tanks and lockers were once again full, and we were ready to get back to anchoring.  By this time, it had been seven weeks that Exit had been leashed in the marina slip.  Tied to a dock in a boat parking lot, acting as the corrosion anode for every other object in the marina, is as against her nature as can be imagined. So to say she was chomping at the bit, rearing to go, would be a brazen understatement.

To be fair, we too were ready to get out and start exploring Fiji outside of the marina and the town of Savusavu.

The Republic of Fiji, an archipelago in the South Pacific Ocean volcanically formed 150 million years ago, has been inhabited by people for over 10,000 years.  It can be broken into six current main areas – Vanua Levu, Lau Group, Koro Sea, Kadavu, Viti Levu, and finally Mamamnuca & Yasawas.  

Seventy five percent of the nearly 900,000 people who populate Fiji live on Viti Levu, a round-ish island approximately 60 miles in diameter and one of the two major islands on which the capital city of Suva is located.  Around 120,000 people live on the other major island, Vanua Levu (almost 100 miles long and 30 miles wide).  The remaining 100,000 or so people are scattered among the more than 330 islands (only one third with permanent residents) and over 500 islets that make up Fiji.

An abundance of minerals, forests, and fish have helped Fiji to become one of the most developed countries in the Pacific, although it’s main sources of contemporary revenue come from the tourist industry and sugar exports. 

Picturesque islands, lush forests, endless anchorages, stunning marine life, friendly and welcoming people – all of the pre-requisites for a perfect cruising destination…aside from the menacing, and often poorly charted, array of coral reefs that not only lurk just below the surface of the waters throughout the archipelago, but create an actual barrier encircling nearly the entire country.

After clearing in at one of the two main islands, most cruisers soon head for the outer islands of the Lau Group or the Yasawas, seeking the remote and isolated paradise experience that those areas are legendary for.  However, the reality is often that, while these sparsely populated and undeveloped regions are truly the remote corners of Fiji, they are also the areas most highly overrun with visitors. Ironic, to say the least, that some of the most off the beaten path locations also contained the highest density of visiting sailboats.

While our initial plan, like so many others, had been to spend a bit of time in all six of the aforementioned areas, it became apparent that following that strategy would require a lot of: wind cooperation or diesel consumption, schedule keeping and adhering plans, potentially having to share anchorages with lots of boats, as well as far more engaging in social interaction than suited us.

We had arrived at Vanua Levu and, in true Exit fashion, by the time we cleared out of Fiji we had never left the area.  While the island is the second highest population base of the country, we managed to find numerous remote areas that were just as stunning and isolated as anywhere else.

The fact that nearly everyone clears in and out at Viti Levu and the fact that Suva has all the comforts and luxuries of urban sprawl seemed irrelevant.  Savusavu is a port of entry as well.  With a population of only about 3500 people, its small town charms and limited dining options were exactly what we needed; it had far more provisioning variety and abundance than we had seen since leaving Mexico.  Almost everything seemed surprisingly inexpensive, as well.  Things appeared pricey only until you remembered to do the currency conversion – the Fijian dollar is only forty cents in US currency…so that $50 meal that included plenty of drinks actually only cost US$20.  Nice.

The fact was that, as far as civilization was concerned, Savusavu had everything we needed.  And, as for adventure, the area around Vanua Levu had plenty of places to explore as well.  We never regretted our decision.

Just four nautical miles outside of Savusavu is Jean Cousteau Resort. While it seemed intriguing to dive with them (we had dived at one of (sp?) Jaques Cousteau’s original crew member’s dive shops at Rapa Nui, or Easter Island, and found him a fascinating person), the diving rates at Jean Cousteau Resort were astronomical.  Nevertheless, it made for a good anchorage stop and launching point into and out of town.

Twenty three nautical miles from Cousteau Resort lies Namena Island, inside the Namena Reef. The one resort on the island was wiped out in a cyclone and, consequently, the only current inhabitants are a handful of workers and caretakers that are in the process of attempting to rebuild.  It is far enough away from Vanua Levu and quite exposed to the weather, so the number of visitors are very limited.  Accessible only by boat, the anchorage is quite tricky (a minefield of coral bommies in the shallows or eighty to one hundred foot depths), and often uncomfortable due to swell and winds that wrap around the island.  Any winds over ten knots or so make even moving around in the dinghy very difficult.  On the plus side,  Namena has been a marine reserve and no-take zone for nearly thirty years, and is considered to be one of the country’s premier diving locations.

It was here that we got our first taste of the underwater magic that is Fiji.

Our first visit was a period of acclimation.  We learned the subtleties of anchoring there and grew to respect its challenges.  Picking the anchor spot carefully, floating our anchor chain, anticipating and coping with wrap around wind and swell as well as shifting currents, respecting the coral by recognizing the damage that could be inflicted by careless behavior. All these became factors that helped us to form a better understanding of how to enjoy Namena.  

Time and time again, we watched boats simply drop their anchor and dump out a pile of chain without even getting in the water to inspect their gear.  Very few bothered to float their chain.  Others insisted on being near the shore or were only satisfied with shallow depths, only to end up too close to a bommy or the shore.  So many boats ended up requiring two, three, four, five, even six attempts before getting their anchor properly set…each time causing untold damage to the coral and marine life below them.  Even worse were the ones that found themselves hopelessly stuck, chains wrapped around who-knows-what. The careless destruction was mind boggling, especially given that they were in a marine reserve.

Given the often depressing shows we witnessed in the anchorage, we were certainly glad that the number of boats visiting were as limited in number as they were.

The recognized dive sites are actually a mile or more away from the anchorage, on the outer side of the reef that surrounds the island, as well as in and near the passes that allow access through the outer reef into the lagoon.  Very few of the dive sites are even accessible to anyone other than dive boats that occasionally venture out from Cousteau Resort or Savusavu, or potentially the Fijian dive liveaboard that can be seen out there regularly. 

From the anchorage, the areas around the passes are truly the only feasible options.  And by dinghy, even these are a real challenge in the most benign of conditions.  Consequently, during our first visit to Namena, we chose to play it very conservatively and only dive around the island, near the anchorage.  

Despite all of the logistical challenges, Namena would not disappoint us in its underwater glory.  In fact, we savored our time so much that we would end up visiting Namena on three different occasions – in July, August and September. 

As our baptism into diving in Fijian waters, our first dive Namena was spectacular.  We were absolutely blown away by the health and diversity of the coral as well as the volume of marine life.  It had been nearly a decade, since SE Asia, that the diving was so impressive.  After sailing through dozens and dozens of countries, in the Caribbean, Sea of Cortez, and across the Pacific Ocean, only the Caymen Islands had come close to what we were now seeing.  Especially after nearly five months in the desolate lagoon of Funafuti, Tuvalu, we found ourselves back in a diving paradise. 

Of course, we had not brought our GoPro in its underwater housing on this dive, so the entire experience was recorded only in our memories.

Unfortunately, as the weather began to kick up and threatened to deteriorate even further, we were forced to abandon Namena to find better shelter.  However, we vowed that we would return. The diving was too good to pass up. 

We had only been anchored at Namena for three days; one of those days had been wasted after another sailboat had motored right up next to us and dropped anchor, forcing us to remain aboard Exit to make sure he didn’t swing into us.  Idiot.  We ended up relocating the following day; having to move ourselves because he was either too stupid, too oblivious, or just too much of a dickhead to care. It’s hard to overemphasize just how much we fucking hate snugglers.

It had only taken one day of diving, but we had the fever again – we were instant converts to the Dive Church of Fiji.  We urgently needed to revive our compressor.  Our old friend Craig, aboard SV Russula, had kindly brought the needed replacement cooling pipe when he sailed all the way from New Zealand, and had left it for us at Nawi Marina. We could sort out the compressor in a day, but we had no control over the weather.  We needed to leave.  Still, we already had something else in mind.  We’d just have to come back.

The colorful reefs here had reminded us of a rainbow.  And yet, just sixty miles away, lay another reef system even more famous and well known than Namena.  World renowned even.  Actually called Rainbow Reef.  Home of “The White Wall“. Could it even be better? 

We picked up anchor and, after sailing through the northern pass of Namena Reef, bashed our way through an area we would learn is almost always riddled with steep, confused swells and uncomfortable seas.

Our destination?  Viani Bay, on the southern side of Vanua Levu, where we would hook up with the fine folks at Dive Academy.

Even with all the dive gear, tanks, and compressor aboard Exit, sometimes we find it is simply better to ante up and pay to go diving with a dive shop.  The complicated logistics that accompany every dive all become someone else’s concern, you gain the benefit of local knowledge from people who dive the area every day, and you support a business and community that, hopefully, has the same diving passion and conservation mindset as you.  A win, win situation.

Such is the case with Dive Academy.  

Right away, we got a good vibe from Marina, the German instructor who owns and runs both the dive shop and small eco-resort.  Likewise, the dive and resort staff, all locals, were exceptionally friendly as well as hard working.  As ex-managers of a dive shop and resort, we always maintain a critical eye of the daily goings on, but also recognize the challenges and are quick to appreciate a well run business.  As with Scuba Junkie, Dive Academy seemed very professional and passionate regarding not only their diving, but also marine conservation, as well as commitment to giving back to the community and offering opportunities for locals. 

Less impressive was having billionaire Eric Smidt, owner of Harbor Freight Tools, appear in the bay with his nearly four hundred foot $350 million mega-twat. What is the other behemoth next to it, you ask? Why, it is his other $40 million support super-twat, of course… the vessel that accompanies your ridiculous testament to excess when it can’t quite fit all of your obnoxious toys, like a helicopter and submarine. Basically, a $40 million floating garage.

What do the most disgustingly entitled and richest parasites on Earth do when they realize they have far too much money to spend in a lifetime or three? Share their wealth? Give back to the planet? Hell no. Are you kidding? Apparently they conclude they just have to start spending more money even faster.

A giga-twat on his mega-twat with a super-twat in tow. Unfuckingbelievable. At least they were gone by the following day. Good riddance.

On the other hand, as for the Rainbow Reef…once again, Fiji (as well as Dive Academy) did not disappoint. 

Over the course of ten days, we did far more dives with them than we ever anticipated, which is always a good sign.  The legendary “White Wall”, a sheer cliff face covered with white soft coral and one of the most famous dive sites in Fiji, was phenomenal.  In fact, none of the dive sites were disappointing.  

One  day the resort held a conservation presentation complete with a tour to their coral transplant area and tridacna clam nursery, where we were able to participate in the actual transplant of some young coral.  It felt reminiscent of our days at Scuba Junkie. Ironically, the tridacna clams were the same species we had been searching for in Tuvalu on behalf of the Fisheries Department. In Viani Bay, we saw more clams in the first sixty seconds underwater than we saw in our entire five months at Tuvalu.

As a finale, that night they hosted a feast of local foods prepared in a traditional Fijian cooking pit, called a Lovo, complete with kava drinking and live music.

Kava, a root that is ground up and turned into a beverage through the process of passing water through a cloth sack filled with the kava powder until the sacred kava bowl is full of a muddy looking concoction ready for consumption.  The resulting drink can cause slight numbness of the mouth and is mildly intoxicating, though nothing as powerful as alcohol.  It is a South Pacific tradition, used both for  celebrations and social gatherings.  We had first tried it in Tonga, but this was our first evening of drinking and playing music with the locales.

Over the course of many days at Academy Diving, we developed a good enough rapport with Marina and the dive staff that we were even invited to go for a complimentary day’s diving to assist Marina with the final training dives for two of the divemaster candidates, who had to actually guide divers at a dive site. Our job?  To be problem divers, challenging the DM candidates to respond and react to various issues we randomly introduced.  Not only a hilariously entertaining prospect, but also a great dive when they shine, as both DM candidates did in this case.

During a brief period of down time while in Viani Bay, we made it a priority to get our compressor up and running again.  After minimal coaxing and swearing, the new cooling pipe was installed and the compressor was ready to test.  Hallelujah!  It fired right up and…voilà, we were filling tanks again.  It reiterated what we already knew.  You gottum broken shit and no parts…you gottum big problems.  You gottum spare parts…you only gottum little problems.

Not surprisingly, at the end of the day, we frequently found ourselves in the resort’s small restaurant/bar, either just for drinks or even the occasional dinner.  

While in Viani Bay, we even got to reunite with our old friend Craig, of SV Russula, who had brought our compressor parts to Nawi Marina earlier.  After Honduras, Guatemala and Panama in the Carribbean, Mexico in the Sea of Cortez after crossing the Panama Canal, five thousand nautical miles across the Pacific Ocean would now make Fiji the fifth country in which our sailing orbits had once again randomly intersected.  It was a reunion celebrated with numerous drinks, laughs, stories, and dives – including accompanying Craig on his first night dive experience

The good times in the bar that night were shared with not only Craig, but also the first wine drinking Gekko we had ever encountered…

However, after nearly two weeks, our bank account said enough is enough.  One of the difficult balances of cruising as sea gypsies – the constantly swinging pendulum of knowing when to cough up a few extra freedom chips to maximize your experience while also knowing when to call it quits so you can retain enough of those freedom chips to keep going.  Traveling with a tourist budget and mindset is either for people on a short term time frame or an unlimited bank account.

It was time to return to Savusavu.  It had been nearly a month and, once again, the task at hand was topping up the provision lockers and fuel jerry cans.  

Our return was slightly delayed by a stop at the Cousteau Resort anchorage.  A month previously, we had said farewell to two other cruising friends Owen and Tara, aboard SV Solstice Tide.  They had undertaken the massively ambitious adventure of sailing non-stop from Fiji all the way back to Canada.  However, some five hundred miles into what would be something like a seven thousand mile journey, equipment problems had forced them to turn around and return to Fiji.  We stopped and waited at Cousteau while they precariously sailed back towards Savusavu in minimal winds that threatened to leave them adrift near Fiji’s menacing reefs.  Able to offer more morale support than actual help, we could only wait, prepared to try to provide concrete assistance if they got into trouble trying to enter Savusavu Bay.  In the end, tenacity and skill helped deliver them to the Nawi Marina doorstep where they were towed for only the last mile or so.  What a relief.  

From Cousteau, we headed back to Savusavu. However, as Solstice Tide’s experience had emphasized, boat life is not entirely unicorns and rainbows. Though much lower on the drama scale, we had our own challenges…the recurring fixing shit in exotic locations situation. One of our winches had completely seized up, requiring disassembly and servicing.

Even more elusive in terms of a solution, and certainly more concerning regarding our well being, was a not insignificant volume of water which seemed to keep reappearing in the bottom of our stern lockers. This would turn out to be a much longer term project, both in terms of determining the source of the water incursion as well as the means to resolve it.

For the time being, this would have to remain a “monitor the issue and bail as necessary” situation.

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After another provisioning re-run and one more farewell to Owen and Tara, who were now opting to fly home, we once again pointed Exit towards Namena Island.

With full tanks and a functional dive compressor, this time there would be no holding back.  Conditions were perfectly calm two days after our arrival.  Neptune and Poseidon were being generous.  We decided to take the Mothership to the edge of one of the passes on the reef’s west side, about two miles from the anchorage, where we would attempt to find a spot to anchor close enough to dive.  Either we could dive straight off Exit’s transom, or use the dinghy for a nearby excursion.  

It only took about ten minutes to get there, but an hour later we were still struggling to get the anchor set in a place that was clear enough to not damage any coral but dug in enough to feel confident leaving the boat unattended. Cautious patience and persistence eventually paid off.  With Exit securely anchored, we loaded the dinghy with dive gear and headed through the pass. 

After a substantial amount of time repeating the process of assessing and locating a secure location, this time to anchor the dinghy, we were ready to go diving.

This location was even more spectacular than near the island, where we had dived during our first visit.  And this time we brought the GoPro.

It was now already August.  Three months since we had first arrived in Fiji and nearly two months that we had been on the move after departing Nawi Island Marina.

With another spell of high winds forecasted, it was time to once again depart Namena.  We had only been able to get Exit to the edge of the outer reef for one day of diving, but that day had been staggering.  Here in Fiji, each day of diving seemed to outdo the previous days.

Our next destination would be Yadua (pronounced Yan-dua) Island.  It lies about the same distance from Namena as Viani Bay.  However, in this case it is in the opposite direction, just off the western coast of Vanua Levu.

On the way to Yadua Island, we stopped in Bua, a large bay on the western edge of Vanua Levu about forty five nautical miles from Namena which gave us a very sheltered anchorage to spend he night before making the final jump to Yadua Island, about eighteen miles off the western coast.

It was so sheltered that the water looked like glass at the surface, giving us the opportunity to see exactly what it looked like when the sky melted seamlessly into the sea.

As the sun began to set, the view was no less stunning. You could literally watch the transition occurring across the horizon…

Moments later, the entire sky looked like it was on fire. Just when you think you have seen the most breathtaking sunsets ever, Mother Nature reminds you that she is always full of surprises.

Two days later we departed Bua bound for Yadua Island. As it turns out, Mother Nature would have some surprises in store for us there, as well.