Follow Your Dreams: The Voyage of the Southern Cross

By Michael C. Neitzel

The charm of this book is the Neitzel's exploration of local cultures and the relationship they develop with islanders during their voyage. The reader is allowed a glimpse into the lives of regular individuals on the islands, a priceless cultural experience rarely attained by pure adventure-seekers.
The author weaves such experiences together with island history, details of people's lives, and stunning physical descriptions. This rambling mode contrasts sharply with the current style of adventure travel, where tourists try to pack as many thrills as they can into a short vacation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael C. Neitzel
• Release date: Jun 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301951154

Michael C. Neitzel

An award-winning filmmaker and author, Mike has sailed over 50000 miles on his own ketch between Vancouver, B.C., and the south seas islands, Australia and Hawaii. Mike recently directed and produced a one-hour special for PBS titled SOUNDS OF HOME - MUSIC FROM THE OZARKS. Mike is currently working on his new novel WILLIAM, a heart-wrenching and gripping story about a young man growing up during England's dark ages.Just recently published on Smashwords is his novel "Black Pearls and Poppies", and just awaiting publication are "The Valencia's Last Ridy" and "Follow Your Dreams", about Mike's and his family's three-year voyage through the South Pacific.

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Follow Your Dreams

The Voyage of the Southern Cross

Michael C. Neitzel

Copyright 2013 Michael C. Neitzel

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

PROLOGUE

Dawn was still a long way off. Every ten minutes or so I would prop myself up on one elbow to take a look out of the starboard porthole on my side of the forward bunk, the sky remained dark. Only the harsh spotlights which illuminated the fantastic buildings of the Las Hadas Hotel reflected in the calm waters of Manzanillo Bay. Quietly I would lie down again, trying not to disturb my wife Christel, who was sleeping deeply on the port side of our small forward cabin.

But sleep would not come easy. Again I went over all the final preparations for our big trip: Fuel, water, motor and transmission oil, spare belts, impellers, oil and fuel filters, charts, clearance papers, ship’s documents.

I turned over, satisfied that we were as ready as we could be. We had filled up with diesel the day before, using our Baja Filter, a very fine mesh of nylon which even removes traces of water from dirty fuel. Our water tank was filled to the top as well, and we carried an additional eight jerry cans tied on deck, giving us almost 600 liters. The only thing that had me worried was the port side cockpit drain. Just the day before I had closed the through-hull valve too tightly, and something inside had snapped. Luckily the valve was stuck in a closed position, but as I now could not open it, we had lost half of the draining capacity of our cockpit. There was no way to replace the valve now without hauling the boat out of the water, and we were so primed to go, that any further delay was just impossible to think of. We were putting all our faith into the design of our centre-cockpit ketch Southern Cross, and hoped that we would not get too much water into the cockpit. We had installed an extra manual bilge pump in the cockpit just for such an emergency, and I was sure that the remaining drain and the pump would keep us out of trouble.

It had been almost a year now since we left our home port of Port Moody in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, with the South Pacific Islands as our destination. A combination of gear failures and bad weather along the West Coast had pushed our departure date uncomfortably close to the approaching hurricane season off the coast of Mexico and we had decided to remain in Southern California for the remaining part of the year. We sailed into Mexico at the beginning of November, and planned to leave on our big trip in the beginning of March. This way we would not arrive in the Marquesas before the end of the hurricane season in the South Pacific. And we were ready!

Our children were quietly sleeping in the aft-cabin, and my thoughts turned to them: Was it really right to have taken them out of school, and away from their friends? Would the new experiences make up for the lost time among their peers at home? Would the correspondence course they were both working on prove to be an enjoyable experience, as well as keep them up to date with the class work at home?

I should not have worried. As I write these lines I know that the wonderful and magical places, they have seen and the loving and generous people they have met along the way have more than made up for the shortcomings that were part of everyday life on a small boat.

Tomorrow was going to be the big day. We would leave for the islands of the Marquesas, truly beyond the blue horizon, far south in one of the remotest areas of all oceans. We had all read Thor Heyerdahl’s book on Fatu Hiva at least once, and had looked with awe at the photographs we had seen in books by people who had travelled there before. Now it was our turn. As I drifted off to sleep once more, I thought of how it all began...

Today travel by jet is the most common means of transportation for the tourist, and it allows us to cross time zones and continents in the comfort of an air-conditioned cabin, where we can expect refreshments at regular and predictable intervals. Travel writers and photographers are being catapulted around the globe on assignments from which they return with enticing stories and photos, which in-turn motivate others to follow in their foot-steps. Remote places become not so remote places, and if there is room for expansion and an opportunity to make money, tourists are soon to follow, spelling the end of the kind of place we admired to begin with. A vicious circle has begun.

And there is also one other disadvantage to this sort of travel, which is the lack of time to prepare for what we are going to see and experience. I would want nothing to do with this sort of thing, and my motto has always been: If you can get there by air, don’t bother going, it’s probably not worth the trouble. Needless to say many of my friends don’t agree.

We do things differently: My family and I travel by small sailing yacht, and the collection of photos and stories you are going to find in this book took us two and a half years to collect. We sailed to places which have not yet been discovered by the average traveler, and stepped off the beaten path whenever possible to look for a fast-disappearing paradise. We became friends with the native-islanders, were invited into their homes, and shared in their colorful history, culture, and way of life. Our time spent among the people and islands of the South Pacific was an incredible learning experience for all of us, and we returned much richer but also much sadder, as we could see the destructive forces of development taking hold on many of the islands already. Progress is a powerful beast, and once in motion cannot easily be stopped. The gentle way of life of the natives of these islands is changing and evolving into something else.

For over 200 years, from the moment the first reports came back to Europe from the early explorers, the islands of the South Pacific have come to symbolize paradise. White sandy beaches, crystal clear and turquoise colored lagoons, and palm trees swaying gently in the warm breezes are just some of the pictures that the names Tahiti, Bora Bora, and the Marquesas evoke.

And the islands of the South Pacific are still all of that, in places, but they are also much more. On some remote islands and atolls the warm and gentle people have retained their love of life and their great hospitality, and offer friendship to visitors from other lands, especially if they come by the sea as did their ancestors, who once settled this part of the South Pacific Ocean. Their easy and simple ways miraculously have survived, in spite of the often ruthless and shameless way missionaries for two hundred years and more have tried, and often succeeded, to destroy their pride, their society, their sense of belonging, and their unity with nature. All the islands of Polynesia and Melanesia, except the Kingdom of Tonga, have come under foreign rule in the past. Powerful examples of this are the islands of French Polynesia and New Caledonia, who endured 150 years of suppression by the French. Right now the southern atoll of Mururoa in the Tuamotus is being blown to bits, and the marine environment destroyed by underwater nuclear tests by the French.

Let’s hope that in the end, man’s urge for freedom and independence will prove to be more powerful than the forces of the suppressors from the outside, and that the gentle and peaceful people of the South Seas and their way of life will prevail for a little while longer.

CHAPTER 1- FINDING SOUTHERN CROSS

We moved to Vancouver from the Canadian prairies in 1985. We wanted to live close to the ocean which I had loved since I was a child, when the Baltic and North Seas of Europe were my playground.

During the winter of 1986, I kept looking for the perfect boat. Our son Andy was now eleven years old, and our daughter Caroline was nine. It was hard to imagine that they had been little kids just yesterday, at least it seemed that recent to us. We suddenly realized that they would not be children forever, and if we wanted to undertake an adventure such as this, it had better be now. We were so lucky; Andy was very athletic and determined in everything he did, while Caroline was much more easy going, with a good sense of humor. They were both excellent students, so an extended holiday should not be detrimental to them. But first we needed a boat.

For months I walked the dock of every Marina in the lower mainland. And finally my efforts were rewarded.

I think I’ve got something for you, Mike! our yacht broker Dan told me over the phone.

Really, Dan? Tell me, what do you have in mind?

She’s a 36-foot centre-cockpit ketch, Mike. Built in Holland, to Lloyd’s specs in 1976, a good blue water cruiser. You should look at her.

Sounds great, Dan, but can we afford her? I asked anxiously.

I think something can be arranged. But look at the boat first before you get all excited, okay?

I met Dan that afternoon at Mosquito Creek Marina. We walked down the dock together, and there she was – the most beautiful boat I had ever seen. She floated on the water like a swan, her lines at the same time delicate and confident. Her rigging looked strong, the stainless steel stays and turnbuckles sparkled in the afternoon sun.

On her graceful stern I could read the name:

Marodeur II

Workum

Holland

I stepped on board. Her decks were teak, strong bulwarks gracefully swept towards her bow. We climbed into the centre-cockpit, which was protected by a permanent windshield with a clear screen in the centre panel, to keep off heavy rain and snow when the going was rough. Dan had told me that the previous owner had sailed around Iceland in her. The more I looked, the more I realized the boat’s strength and seaworthiness.

The wooden wheel and the instruments were mounted to port against the bulkhead, the cabin floor was teak, and so were the cockpit seats on either side. Dan opened the companionway hatch and we stepped below. I could feel my heart beating in my chest. Somehow I knew that she was what I had been looking for.

Everything was finished in finely rubbed teak, the cabin floor of teak and holly shining like a mirror. To starboard was the navigation station with a quarter berth aft, and the husky green metal cabinets of a Sailor radio direction finder, shortwave receiver, and VHF radio were mounted above the chart table. Equipment of this quality was found normally only on commercial fishing vessels. Forward of the navstation to starboard was the galley with a double sink and a propane two-burner stove and a heater underneath. A small refrigerator was built into the sides, and the cupboards were well organized and hidden behind sliding teak doors. To port was the settee, with more storage cupboards behind. A barometer and ship’s clock were gleaming on the forward bulkhead.

Through a door one entered the head, the ship’s washroom and toilet compartment forward of the salon which featured the ‘head to port, and ample storage cupboards including a wet locker to starboard. There was a sink with running hot and cold water and a large mirror. The floor was made of varnished teak grating, to allow the water from the shower to drain into the bilge.

Through another door one entered the forward cabin or v-berth, with a wide comfortable double berth and bookshelves along both sides to port and starboard. A large hatch overhead could provide ventilation, and there was access to the chain locker through a teak door forward. I took a deep breath:

Dan, she is beautiful, but how much?

Just finish looking her over, Mike. Don’t worry, I’ve got something up my sleeve!

I returned to the cockpit. We lifted the forward floor hatch. There was the brand-new Perkins diesel. The prop shaft was almost two inches thick, everything looked strong and clean. Then I looked into the aft cabin. It was cozy, two full size bunks ran fore and aft on both sides, and next to each was a bookshelf. A door aft provided access to the wet exhaust and transom. In the centre underneath a teak hatch I inspected the rudder shaft.

This cabin was going to be the children’s. I climbed back on deck and inspected the sails. She had seven sails altogether, including a colorful tri-radial spinnaker, and all looked in good shape, no worn-out hanks, no ripped stitching, and no signs of previous damage and repair.

OKAY, let’s hear it Dan, what is she going to cost?

$75,000, Mike. What do you think?

$75,000? You must be kidding. I mean, I can see that she’s worth all of that, but where am I going to get that amount of money? I asked.

Well, the seller is really anxious. He is starting a new business, and does not have time any more for sailing. She just had a brand new engine installed, a Perkins 4108, and you know that there is no better marine diesel on the market. So the value is there. Let’s make an offer, I think the seller will carry you for a while. Until you can make your own arrangements.

And after a week of negotiations we were the proud owners of the prettiest little ship we had ever laid our eyes on. She came through her survey with flying colors, the surveyor calling her a strong boat built of first-rate material and capable of ‘extended blue water voyaging’. I still could not believe it, I was numb with pleasure, in a daze. The owner would carry a large part of the finally negotiated price until I could find some way to finance her myself.

One sunny afternoon in March of 1987 we all took the bus to downtown Vancouver. We were going to pick up our boat in North Vancouver, and bring her up Burrard Inlet to her new berth at Reed Point Marina, only 10 minutes from our house by car. Everyone was excited, the kids giggled, and Christel had a grin on her face from ear to ear. Once downtown, we took the sea bus across Vancouver’s inner harbor, and walked the few hundred yards to Mosquito Creek, where Marodeur lay. The name means ‘pirate’ in Dutch, and we didn’t like it very much, I preferred something more romantic. We had to think of some other name for her, but that could wait.

I stopped by the broker’s office and picked up the keys. I will never forget that afternoon, that feeling of happiness and excitement. After looking at her from the dock, with our arms around each other, we climbed on board. I opened the doors to the kid’s cabin and the main cabin forward, and turned the key.

The Perkins turned over just a few times, and belched to life, settling down to a reassuring low rumble.

Andy and Caroline, please look over the stern to see if water comes out of the exhaust!

Okay Dad!

They raced aft to the poop deck and hung over the lifelines, looking at the exhaust pipe, which emerged through the transom.

Is water coming out?

Yes, Dad. It looks like someone is spitting! and with a giggle they both looked at me. A wave of emotion swept over me, what beautiful children, how lucky we were!

And you are beautiful, too! I said, hugging my wife.

Okay guys, let’s go! Andy, untie the bow. Caroline, you untie the stern. Just guide her out and then climb on board. Don’t wait too long, you don’t want to take a swim in this soup!

I eased the transmission into reverse, and slowly we backed out of her slip, turned her bow towards the open bay, the kids jumped on, and we were on our way, alone on board for the first time.

There was absolutely no wind, so we let the engine do the work. The lines were coiled, and we tried the autopilot.

Works great! I cried with joy. We sat on deck, breathing in the rather polluted air, and felt free as never before. On this very body of water, we could sail clear around the world and come back to the place we started from! We were no longer tied to highways and byways, but were free to sail wherever we wanted! Sure, that afternoon we had no idea of when and how and if we were really going to get away. But the mere thought that we could gave us a feeling of utter happiness, hard to describe to anybody who has not shared this dream about sailing the ocean towards faraway places.

After only two hours we were safely moored at the marina. We checked her over from top to bottom until dark, and finally went home in our car.

Two years followed, during which we took every available chance to escape on board our boat to sail the Strait of Georgia. There was so much to see, we sailed up to beautiful Desolation Sound, to the Gulf Islands, and the San Juan Islands. We added more gear, all our spare money went into the boat. We gave her a new name. Now her stern read proudly:

SOUTHERN CROSS

Vancouver, Canada

Some people think it is bad luck to rename a boat. But her previous name had no meaning for us, and we hoped that she would understand, and not mind being renamed. And apparently she did not, because she carried us safely wherever we pointed her bow.

The crew of Southern Cross - Avatiu, Cook Islands

Living on the west coast of North America, the South Pacific lay pretty well at our doorstep. I studied other cruising sailor’s stories, pilot charts, and everything else I could lay my hands on. The choice was easy as prevailing winds and weather patterns indicated that a trip to the South Seas made a lot of sense. Soon I was buying charts of all those strange-sounding and magical places in the South Pacific, just as I had picked up the first Canadian Dollar bills thirty years ago. I guess just like back then, they helped me to focus on our goal.

Guys, got a new chart! I would call when I got home, and we’d all sit around and look at the strange looking names in wonder: Hiva Oa, Rangiroa,Tahiti, Bora Bora, Moorea.

Look, Dad, there’s Fatu Hiva! Wow, are we really going to go there?

One day I came home with a wonderful big blue book. ‘Ocean Passages of the World’, it said in golden letters on the front cover. There was also a folder with it full of interesting charts: ‘Sailing Ship Routes’, said one, ‘Climatic Chart – July’ another.

I read all the books I could lay my hands on. Hal Roth, Eric Hiscock, William Robinson, Thor Heyerdahl. And finally, I posed the question:

Honey (this always worked in the past!), I would really love to try a long passage. The kids are growing up, in a few years they won’t want to come with us anymore! Let’s just take a year off, and sail to Hawaii and back. Maybe then it will be out of my system. Please, what do you think?

And now came the surprise:

Okay, maybe you’re right. But, you know that I always get sea sick at first, and I have no intentions of getting sick just to get to Hawaii. Why not go for a little longer and go to the South Pacific? Would that be okay?

You must be kidding! Are you serious? You really mean it? Hurrah! I love you, honey! Let’s go and tell the kids!

We really get to quit school?

Andy and Caroline looked at each other with delight.

Well, sort of. You will have to do your work by correspondence, of course. You wouldn’t want to miss a year, would you?

Yuck, then I would be in class with that crazy Melinda! No way, sure, we’ll do correspondence, came Caroline’s reply.

Caroline turned to her brother:

You know, Andy, this will be fun. We can sit on deck and look at the ocean and everything and do our school right there!

They turned around to us:

Perfect! When do we tell the teacher?

The final three months before our planned departure in early April were hectic. I worked on the boat constantly, installing equipment I thought necessary.

Just for your safety! I would say, when Christel found the receipt for yet another thousand-dollar gadget. But I felt that if I took my family offshore in a small boat, I had to do my best to keep them safe. If that meant spending money, so be it. I installed radar, a satellite navigation unit, a single-sideband and ham-radio. All this equipment proved to be very useful, I would never leave again without it. I also installed a weather fax, which kept us out of trouble countless times. We added anchors, chain, ropes of all sizes and length, stainless steel nuts and bolts, spares for the engine, spare blocks, shackles, and pins. The list was endless. Christel started buying provisions, and began sorting through the kid’s clothes, trying to decide what to take. Space was limited compared to our home, so we had to be careful to only take things that were absolutely necessary.

We rented out our house, there was no way that the kids would agree on selling it, and this was a decision we felt all of us had to agree to. They apparently needed to have a home to come back to, and that was fine with us.

We found a temporary home for our dog Tanya with friends in Saskatchewan, but were unable to do the same for our cat Bobby. Caroline was heart-broken, when she handed Bobby to an older lady who had answered our ad in the local paper. We had heard so many stories about problems with pets in foreign harbor s, that we had decided against taking a chance. Little did we know that our resolve would eventually weaken.

Finally we stored all our furniture in the basement, and moved onto the boat in March, so we could adjust to living in such cramped quarters. After all the provisioning was completed, we sold our car and truck. Now we were stuck, there was no way back. We had $1,000 a month, and hoped that we could manage with that amount, and as it turned out, we did.

On the last evening before our departure, many of our friends came down to the marina to say goodbye. There were some tears, and promises to write. We turned in late, listening to the sounds the water made against the hull, and I did not fall asleep until the early morning. We felt a nagging uncertainty about taking Caroline away from her big love in life. She had become a very proficient gymnast, had spent four days a week in the gym, and finished second overall in the qualifying meet for the B.C. Championship. She was going to be moved up into the provincial A group, something she had worked so hard for. But she had told us that she would continue when we got back home, and wanted to go just as much as the rest of us. Andy and I played a lot of tennis, but we felt that we could keep this up during our trip without too much trouble. So I had some mixed feelings, now that we were leaving in less than four hours. But this was what we wanted, wasn’t it? I finally fell asleep just as the first grayness of early morning appeared in the eastern sky.

CHAPTER 2 - FAREWELL TO BRITISH COLUMBIA

It was time to get up and make breakfast. I enjoyed the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toast. I quietly sneaked out of my bunk and climbed up into the cockpit. This was going to be the big day! I took a deep breath. There was not a cloud in the sky, and a light easterly breeze promised us an easy sail to Victoria on Vancouver Island, where we were going to fill up our tanks and pick up Paul, a friend and member of our yacht club. He was going to accompany us on our first offshore trip to San Francisco. I stuck my head into the aft cabin:

Get up, sleepy heads! Have some breakfast!

Rubbing their eyes, Andy and Caroline crawled out of their bunks.

I am first in the bathroom! Andy announced before Caroline could say a word.

We had told our friends that we were going to leave at 7:00 A.M. sharp. We were all much too excited to enjoy a big breakfast, so the kids just had a bowl of cereal, Christel and I, a cup of coffee. We both had terrible hangovers, but in spite of all this were ready in time.

Some of our best friends were there to bid us a tearful farewell, and we left our marina in Port Moody right on schedule at 7:00 A.M. on April 25, bound for the wonders of the South Seas Islands. For months the strange-sounding names of places like Nuku-Hiva, Bora-Bora, Raiatea and Tahiti had occupied our thoughts day and night. Would our little ship be able to stand up in the real ocean, loaded down to four inches below her waterline with all our cruising gear, and food enough for our long trip from San Francisco to the Marquesas, plus fifteen days’ extra?

Our friends say good-bye

We cast off the lines and glided out between the logs that formed a floating breakwater into Burrard Inlet.

How do you feel? I asked Christel. My head throbbed, and I could hardly keep my eyes open after the lengthy farewell party the night before.

You want the truth? Awful! she said, Shouldn’t have mixed all those drinks, I guess!

And right she was. Everybody had kindly brought a bottle or two, and just thinking about last night made me queasy. But it had been fun, and how often did one leave on an adventure like ours? But still, not a good start! We did not even feel that we had the energy to put away all the boxes that still cluttered the cabin. That would have to wait until later.

I could not decide if it was my blurred vision, or if this was real. The boat wouldn’t steer a straight course. We were swinging from port to starboard, and back again. I cast an embarrassed look back towards our still waving friends.

Listen. There is something wrong here. We have to go back to the dock.

Back to the dock? But we just left! Christel looked at me in disbelief.

Yup. Sorry, guys. Boat won’t steer.

While I headed back I wracked my brain, painful as that was. Suddenly