December 20 – 24, 2025
Author’s Note: Having shared (in the previous two blog posts) our personal experience with AI as well as my own two cents worth regarding what, at the moment, suddenly seems to be the hot topic in every form of media and information source (I thought this was incredibly important, though I didn’t realize I would be part of an avalanche), we can now travel back in time and resume our previously scheduled programming…
During our travels through Vanuatu, we experienced very little difficulty regarding communication. While there are technically hundreds of local distinct indigenous local languages spoken across its eighty-three islands (apparently the highest per capita linguistic diversity in the world), its three official languages are English, French, and Bislama (the national creole language, or pidgin).
On our last day ashore, stopping at one of the restaurants, we got a big laugh trying to decipher the sign hanging above the restroom sink which explained, in pidgin, the proper way to wash one’s hands.
While initially quite confusing, if you literally read the words as they appear, the translation largely happens on its own.
This had been the case on numerous occasions – at Uli Island, when we saw the translated instructions for staff dealing with customers posted at the fuel station, as well as a sign outside the small village we helped out with some repairs that indicated catch restrictions for fishermen; a sign on the door of a business reminding people to pull on the handle, not the glass; and even on one of our beer koozies at a bar that said “this beer cooler belongs to me!”
Not sure if that meant me or the bar…regardless, translating the pidgin was almost always good for a laugh.
There wasn’t much provisioning to be done before clearing out of Luganville and heading towards the Solomon Islands. A small amount of fuel, some fruits and veggies, and a few other minor things. All in all, a relatively painless endeavor.
In theory, the passage didn’t seem daunting at all. Less than four hundred nautical miles in all.
However, we have learned repeatedly that complacency is almost always the predecessor of a major shitstorm. Best to be cautious and pleasantly surprised.
Studying our Predict Wind and Windy weather apps, it also appeared that the weather might be less than cooperative along the way.
We often joke that often these weather “forecasts”, in actuality, are nothing more than a “two-cast”. This is most typically the case when things look optimistic. In this instance, it turned out that we were looking into a very accurate crystal ball.
As we departed from Luganville the morning of the 20th, the only wind moving the flag flying below our lower starboard spreader was being generated by our forward momentum…and our forward momentum was being generated only by our diesel engine.
We skirted along the shoreline exactly in the opposite direction the SS President Coolidge had motored over eighty years ago, right where it had struck two friendly mines. Looking back towards the shore, we could see the exact spot that it now rests, where we had dived only a couple of days earlier. Just beyond that was the famous “Million Dollar Point”, where WWII American forces spitefully dumped millions of dollars worth of military equipment into the water when they left rather than leaving it for the English and French troops who remained.
Fortunately, there were no uncharted mines still floating in the water to endanger our vessel and we passed without incident.
Also fortunately, a rather ominous looking cloud off our port bow which appeared to bring a nasty squall in the distance provided us just enough breeze to raise our mainsail and help us along.
The downside of that same cloud became apparent moments later, when our wind indicator began to freak out erratically, showing what appeared to be a cyclone force wind building instantly around us.
Obviously, this was not the case. Some sort of electrical static voodoo field was wreaking havoc on our wind indicator. We immediately shut down the electronics, fearful that we had already fried something. Thankfully, when we tentatively turned things back on a short time after the sinister and belligerent clouds had passed, we were lucky enough to see everything come back on, functioning exactly as it should…whew.
All indications in the forecasts had been that we would have minimal winds to sail with as we worked our way up the coast of Espiritu Santo. But, once we cleared the northern tip of the island, we expected decent winds of ten to fifteen knots from just behind the beam. Nothing to gloat about, but adequate enough to keep the sails up and the engine off.
The second half of our projected trajectory didn’t look promising, but that was still at least a couple days away. We hoped things might fill in a bit by then.
Amazingly, we ended up sailing more than motoring during the first day.
Still, within twenty-four hours, the forecasts on Predict Wind looked pretty dismal. No wind at all for over a five hundred mile patch…the exact direction we were headed.
The forecast models on our alternate weather forecast app Windy looked just as depressing for both the 21st and 22nd.
However, things looked much more hopeful by the 23rd.
We just needed a place to kill time for a little while until some kind of winds returned.
We had decided a month ago that we would not attempt to clear out of Vanuatu at the tiny town of Sola on the island of Vanua Lava, just north of Espiritu Santo, because we were worried that the process would be impossible to organize so close to Christmas at a location that really didn’t get that much yacht traffic.
Now, despite having already cleared out at Luganville, we decided to try and anchor quietly on the west coast of Vanua Lava, the side opposite Sola, and wait for wind of any sort to fill in. Technically, questionable from an immigration standpoint. But this was weather related, we would not go ashore, and there were no communities or probably any patrol boats nearby that we thought might raise a fuss.
We chose to quietly sit tight and chance a random encounter with someone, planning to plead ignorance or ask forgiveness if it became necessary.
Ignoring any indications of potential anchor spots on our electronic charts, we chose an isolated spot just in front of a massive waterfall and simply dropped the anchor. It turned out to be a perfect private anchorage with an absolutely breathtaking view.
Amazing how some of the best and most incredible locations are the ones you find all by yourselves.
We didn’t even approach the shore, although we did jump in the water briefly to check our anchor and chain…as well as capture a quick shot of Exit floating peacefully in front of the densely forested backdrop. Fortunately, no boats carrying either locals or authorities passed by, and we enjoyed our private anchorage without incident.
After a quiet night at anchor instead of a noisy night motoring, we were ecstatic to wake up the next morning not only to an incredible view, but also to winds that had filled in to between ten and fourteen knots…better than we could ask for and sooner than we had hoped for.
Not knowing how long our good fortune would last (the forecasts had improved since the night before but were obviously finicky and fickle), we chose lift anchor and optimistically press on.
Part of our decision to head out may have also had slightly to do with the fact that we had also briefly looked at the forecasts further ahead. Now, to be fair, we recognize that weather forecasts that often only amount to “two-casts” become even less certain the further into the future you look. As a matter of fact, even though some of the weather models may make predictions more than a week or ten days in advance, we typically go one step further call those “no-casts”…inferences of what may come to pass that almost never have any chance of happening. We look at these primarily as self-scare tactics to remind ourselves just how fucked up things have the potential to get if you grow complacent, not necessarily what is actually coming.
Anyway…the “no-cast” gently prodded and reminded us what time of year it was. And it whispered a rumor of shit potentially hitting the fan from Port Vila all the way up to where we were currently anchored in ten days time. It was as if the powers that be were telling us that the Solomon Islands was the place to be…not here.
We didn’t necessarily believe…but we listened.
By afternoon, Exit was cutting through indigo waters five thousand feet deep sailing brilliantly with a full main and solent sail under an incredible blue sky filled with a scattering of puffy and unthreatening white clouds.
Another one of those “can’t beat that” moments.
By dusk, the water had darkened and the blue sky had begun a color change as well, though not in an ominous way and certainly no less beautiful.
To the contrary, the sky became even more magical as the sun dipped lower and lower on the horizon. Above an ocean that now appeared almost pitch black, as the last glimmer of sunlight disappeared, orange, red, and yellow streaks cast across the sky quietly shifted and evolved, transforming into a vision that would have made Bob Ross proud.
It had been a great day, and the sky seemed to promise it would be a great night as well.
Fourteen hours later, it was rinse and repeat.
Another day of sailing in conditions you couldn’t hope to improve.
We weren’t breaking any speed records, but who cared. Things were exponentially better than we had expected before departing Luganville and we were already more than two-thirds of the way to Lata.
Before anchoring in front of the waterfall at Vanua Lava, we had motored for thirteen of the twenty-six hours we were underway. Now, twenty-four hours after departing Vanua Lava, our trusty Perkins had been resting for all but one of those hours. Nice.
On the morning of day three after departing Luganville, we had just over one hundred nautical miles remaining of our passage to reach Ndeni (also called Nendo) Island and the Solomon Islands. The winds had been quite variable, between six and seventeen knots depending on passing bands of breeze, since our overnight stop. However, our overall progress had stayed consistent under almost entirely sail power. It had turned out our decision to stop briefly and await better winds had been sound.
As the afternoon progressed, it was looking more and more like we might arrive just before sunrise on Christmas Eve.
We had been skeptical of being able to clear out of the tiny town of Sola in Vanuatu near the holidays. Arriving to the Solomons on Christmas Eve would be just as uncertain as far as the authorities being available. Lata is a small community as well. The primary difference in this case being that we would be arriving instead of departing. Much easier to sit on the boat with a “Q” (quarantine) flag raised relaxing after a passage and await being able to clear in than being all revved up with no place to go if we couldn’t clear out.
We’d just have to see how things played out once we had the anchor down.
At 5pm, we had the unique pleasure of sailing beneath blue skies and barely ominous clouds with no rain coming down on top of us, and yet a rainbow both behind and ahead of us. Perfect.
Just before sunset, we had to fire up the engine for ninety minutes when the wind briefly disappeared and we nearly found ourselves adrift in under four knots. But other than that, after the sun dropped below the horizon and a light breeze returned, we experienced another silent night with nothing more than an occasional noise from the breeze in the sails or rigging.
And speaking of silent night, the rising sun of the following morning heralded that it was Christmas Eve, and we couldn’t have asked for a more glorious welcome to the day.
The following photos are completely unedited. What you see are the unaltered best attempts at a digital capture of an absolutely amazing sunrise.
How does a sunrise generate such stunning colors? I don’t know…but the video shows how they can shift instantly just from one’s perspective.
Directly underneath the stunning skies of a Christmas Eve dawn awaited Nendo, the largest of a small cluster of islands on the far eastern edge of the Solomon Islands.
By 8:30am, we were motor-sailing through the large bay which was completely quiet except for a few individual fishermen sitting in their dugout canoes, who waved at us from as distance as we passed by.
We dropped anchor at Shaw Point, a beautiful little cove across the bay from the town of Lata, and sent an email to the immigration and customs officials, wishing them both a good morning and Merry Christmas, as well as letting them know we’d just arrived.
Honestly, we didn’t expect to hear back from anyone for a couple of days, which was fine with us. A bit of time to rest and recuperate from our 350nm passage with a quiet and private Christmas celebration would suit us just fine.
The timing of our arrival couldn’t have been better. Less than thirty minutes after dropping anchor, the skies opened up and a deluge of rain unleashed upon us. Exit was happy…she needed a shower after the passage to wash off all the salt.
As for clearing in, we assumed the rain would make it even less likely that we would see anyone.
To our surprise, we received a remarkably quick response to our email. Not only that, the customs and immigration officials (three of them) hopped in their small boat shortly after the rain had subsided, motored from the small town of Lata across the two mile bay, and cleared us in before afternoon had even arrived!
Understandably, there was a small fee for clearing in on a holiday in addition to the nominal clearing in fees. The funny thing was they weren’t the ones who would receive it. How did we know? Because we couldn’t pay them any money at all.
Having just arrived on a sailboat, we had no Solomon dollars!
Hmmm.
In fact, we learned there was not a single ATM in Lata nor was there one on the entire island. The locals just use the bank.
“Not a problem,” said the officials. “This happens with all the sailboats that clear in here.” The officials simply log the information in their computer system and we would settle up when we cleared out of the country farther west in the Solomons.
Not only did that simplify things. It also meant this was more than likely going to be the least expensive holiday we had ever experienced aboard Exit. And that was truly something that deserved a hallelujah!
