We returned to Wari Island (11 deg 16.26 S, 152 25.54 E) exalted but not knowing quite what to expect, given that since our visit to this special island with Geoff and Tess on the luxurious cruiser Andante, in October 2008 a lot of things could have changed. Had the pallet of school library books that we had shipped from South Australia really got to this remote Isle? Would people from the community really remember us? We were soon to find out, as soon after our anchor had gripped abeam of the village and school, the word of our arrival had spread and canoes with old friends aboard were soon streaming out from shore. Jacob, with hugs and moist eyes, Richard, Roger, and on sunset our great friend and community leader Mark Laveape with Roger's brother Jimmy in company. It was as if days, not years had passed.
Next day heading ashore saw hordes of kids lift our duck beyond the tide and we were soon swept up in the wonderful world of reconnecting with families all around the village, and hearing of all that had been happening in their lives. Roger, master of inter island trader MV Kaka proudly introduced us to his charming young wife Monica and their new baby… wait for it …Cookie (!!!) You could have felled us with a feather! We have pics of Cookie1 actually holding Cookie 2 to prove it.
Mark and Wari School Principal Banny were eager to have us see the new Library, complete with books, for us to meet with classes and to attend a community ceremony re the Library Project that would also farewell local Reverend Rex who was leaving for study in Fiji. We were also guests at a christening of the new MV Cathy and at the dinner that followed. It was a social whirl.
The afternoon ceremony - always daytime because the community has no electric lighting - was an occasion that we will never forget. We received a hand written invite that clarified "afternoon" as the time (Island time!) and ultimately were summoned from the shore. After a sumptuous feast of local delicacies [Red Emperor in a Soy baste - courtesy of Mark who is handy on the griddle - was a sensation] we moved to the village square under the banyan tree where a throng of locals had gathered. The Church Minister explained in local dialect (PNG has 700 local languages although English is common to most) our role in providing the books that had come from across the seas. The four village sectors of Wari put on items of song and dance and amongst the merriment we were given gifts of local pottery and weaving and made to feel very special. We had a ball. Only the setting sun drew a halt to the festivities.
Next day we returned to Wari School to see the books in the new library, talk to classes and to get some photos that Mark wanted for an article in the national press about what had been achieved by our joint venture at Wari. We crafted a letter to the Australian High Commissioner in Pt Moresby seeking inter-government support that Mark hopes can lead to similar projects across the archipelago. There are so many second hand texts binned in Australia that would be treasured here.
Ultimately we prized ourselves from the social rounds, got in some snorkelling, and walked the length and breadth of the island to see the excellent gardens and the view atop Mt Budi. On our last day we attended the John Wesley Church Father's Day service where the magnificence of the singing seemed in synergy with the waft of frangipani from the gardens outside. Then, after a visit on board Calista by Rev Alfred Moabie, it was ashore on a round of heartfelt farewells that underlined the reality that we were leaving at first light on the morrow.
Then in the evening whilst checking our satphone - email and weather system - came some awful and shattering news from home. Cookie's Mum, Peg had passed away, having succumbed suddenly to pneumonia in a nursing home in Adelaide. We had been monitoring her general condition as we sailed up the Australian coast, but from here it was not possible to do anything except for Cookie to make some melancholy calls to her family at home. The hard reality was that for Cookie at least, getting home for her mum's funeral was not going to be possible. The nearest feasible airport at Misima was at least three days hard sail away, but this facility was still closed following a terrible crash that had claimed the lives of three Australians just days before. Calista was a sad ship that night and in the morning with the sun barely abreast of the horizon a large group of locals gathered to bade us farewell, waving until we were nearly out of sight. We both struggled to get a clear sight of the passage to sea with eyes that swam under our glasses. It was hard to leave Wari.
We were bound for Itamarina Island in the Conflict Group (10 deg 45.68S, 151 deg 46.02E), on our way to the curiously titled Pana Pom Pom Island in the DeBoyne group where at the Marine Pilots Ship (the Pilots now guide ships bound for Hay Pt off Mackay via the Jomard Passage in the Louisiades, across the Coral Sea and through Hydrographer's passage in the Great Barrier Reef) we could find a PNG Customs Officer who could officially clear us into the country. After clearance we would still need to head another day to Bwagoia Harbour in Misima for the Quarantine portion of our arrival. Some visitors don't bother!
Our course to Itamarina was intended to allow us to sail, but the wind backed to the East from SE and then proceeded to blow to 25 knots, allowing us no better than a hard slog over 46 miles with motor and reefed main alone. With spray flying and Calista pounding, it was a day without end that had to be endured. Somehow. Inside the Conflict Group through jaws of reefs that crashed and foamed we made the lee of Itamarina Island, exhausted, as light faded. We struggled for an anchoring spot amongst the bommies in patches of coral marl that fell into an abyss beyond. Our first attempt to hold failed and our last chance gripped something, and we paid out all the chain that we had to get through the night. We had no "Plan B" if we dragged free into the depths in the dark. Then, to add to our misery, our stereo system that could have provided at least some musical solace went on the blink, not to recover (probably during the day it looked out of a porthole and was now on strike). Cookie's Diary written that night said it all…"rain squalls, wind, not happy Jan…bring on the morning. A melancholy day; can't stop thinking about my family".
After a fitful passage of time - not sleep - we emerged to a sickly dawn with wind howling above the forecast, and somehow we extricated our ground tackle from amongst the coral and got going on the almost 50nm to Pana Pom Pom. It was clear that if yesterday was bad, today was building as a doozie. Out of the lagoon, conditions were so hideous that we contemplated bearing away and making the 25 odd miles to Bramble Haven, but that angle was no better. Again we were back to motor and reefed main, and as sheets of water swept over us we were glad of the care that we had taken with the new motor, new sails and standing rigging before we left home. Below we discovered leaks that we did not know existed, but that in Calista we had a tough little ship that took squalls to 40kn in her stride. At one time a giant ship emerged out of the gloom making for Jomard - thanks to AIS we knew it was coming - but we could not see it until under a mile away due to the driven spray in the air. Finally after negotiating the currents protecting the DeBoyne entrance, we made our way to the lee of Pana Pom Pom (10 Deg 46.28 S, 152.22.73E) and dropped anchor in the calm by the pilot ships at 15.15hrs. It had been some journey from Wari, and feeling the way that she did Cookie performed as magnificently as did Calista. They are legends, both!
It was almost surreal that having emerged from the tempest, within the hour we were completing administrative Customs formalities as though the Gates of Hell did not exist. Then one of the Pilots strolled by having earlier arrived on their "Mother Ship" from Port Moresby. "Blew 35 knots - a shit of a passage" was his nautical assessment. He needed to be in an 8 tonner!
That night having an anchor well set in sand, and feeling totally secure had us lost in a comatose sleep before waking to dry out our ship, trace and plug leaks - a major source needed the coach house dismantled to get to the problem - and removing the cabin ceiling lining to get things in order. Then Cookie set about the task of writing and sending a beautiful eulogy to be read at her Mum's funeral. It explained the faraway look that I had seen in her eyes as she steered us through the storm. Rest now Peg, we are with you.
The afternoon arrival of the cat Mojo with Kel, Helga, and their friends Chris and Gilly (owners of a 75 year old wooden Tassie classic) was just the tonic that we needed. Some days you feel a long way from home but you would not trade where we are for anything.
Our departure for the majestic island of Misima was an anticlimax for although the pestilential wind still found our bow, compared with before, the 32nm to Bwagoia was a doddle. With the forested peaks of this imposing island on our port side we eventually rounded the beacons at Bwagioa (10 deg 41.25S, 152.50.75E) and dropped our anchor alongside Pandana with Derek and Bela waving from the wharf. Bela you treasure! If we found John the Quarantine man before day's end, we could complete our official entry into Papua New Guinea. It would be the most northerly point of our voyage. Some people clear Customs by walking through a turnstile at the airport. We have done it via Wari. The hard way. Wouldn't have missed it for quids.
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