Voyage from Kavieng, PNG - Green Island - Bougainville - Ghizo, Solomon Islands
600 Nautical Miles

Dolphins ride the bow waves upon our departure from Kavieng.  The wind builds up.  We are heading straight into the south east trade winds and after a night of a steady force 5, there are obvious strains on the rigging, noises we haven't heard before and lines beginning to suffer damage.

We pass the islands of Tabar and Lihir, the latter having a gold mine.  We heard disturbing reports while in Kavieng of their dumping cyanide, an enemy to coral reefs, in the open ocean.  We make a stop at Green Island to explore its reefs.  It's an atoll with two entrances, only one of which can accommodate the Heraclitus.  The manoeuvre in is heart-stopping.  The weather picks up even more once we're inside, forbidding us an exit, so we resign ourselves to diving this incredible place until conditions calm a little.

The reefs here are a non-stop fish frenzy, sharks galore including one feisty silvertip that pins Michel to the wall.  He gets tangled in a seafan.  There are floods of big eye trevally all over the reef top and flocks of paddletail snappers cascading down the edge.  Unicorn fish gather in large numbers and block the view for moments at a time.  Vast tunas cruise by, mackerel, kingfish, jacks hunting and snapping, black snappers.  There are crowds of anthias, plenty of groupers - flagtails and red coral trout - red snappers, a harlequin hind.  An unusual angelfish - the Griffis angelfish - appears.  I've never seen one before and there are several all over the wall.  We only go about 15 metres down the wall and spend about ten minutes there but it feels like forever.  We come up to the reef-flat and the visibility drops dramatically.  The beautiful blue has become cloudy immediately, partly due to the munching of two enormous bumphead parrotfish.  The reef flat is crowded with fish too, it's hard to know where to look.  The big eye trevally continue to roam, there are schools of emperor fish and more black snappers, and rainbow runners.  The waters are crowded and everyone is looking for a meal.

The wall is a sheer vertical drop to about 50 metres.  On another dive, we descend in crashing waves, further along the atoll but the same fish are here, cruising the outside of the reef.  Massive schools of all sorts again.  One lone eagle ray comes straight towards me when he catches sight of Michel filming him.  A 2 metre silvertip shark is verging on aggressive, it's the most intimidating encounter I have yet had with a shark.  The four of us end up pinned against the wall, fins at the ready to strike out at him.  He comes straight for us unlike the other sharks around that merely investigate us from a distance.  As the silvertip subsides in his approaches, a school of four eagle rays grabs our attention, then the baby grey reef shark that has been wiggling frenetically reappears and to top it, a white tip shark snakes up the wall beside me.  This is one of the most intense underwater moments I have ever had.  There are mackerel, rainbow runners, fusiliers, the paddletails, the big-eye trevallies.  The paddletails flock down the wall together with redgill emperors.  The emperors take up hiding places in crevices along the wall, at depths around 20m and I pass many who have taken refuge, waiting for passing prey, hiding from something coming?  The dive ends on the reeftop where around 200 small barracuda school in two groups.

This reef is incredible and it is an intense feeling to be diving in such wild waters.  It's been a long time since we were in practically unexplored territory and there is a marked difference in the behaviour of the fish between here and Albatross Passage which receives liveaboard divers on a regular basis.

The entrance/exit continues to foam in a boiling rage and the sea outside pushes its giant swells towards us.  The wind laughs in our faces.  The anchor drags but letting out more chain gives us good holding again.  After a few more days of being on permanent standby to leave, we wind abates a little and we start the engine, preparing to continue our journey to Ghizo.  There is a strange noise.  We investigate the rudder and propellor but can find no source.  We head out of the atoll and find the calm to have been an illusion - the sea is still rough outside and the battered feeling returns to ship and crew in no time.  We make frequently less than one knot, burning up our fuel and going practically nowhere.  At five o'clock one morning I hear an almighty noise and the mainsail immediately being lowered.  A bolt holding one of the starboard shrouds has sheared under the strain.  We really are limping now.  We need to take refuge from the weather, anchor at the first opportunity and wait for calmer winds and seas.

We pull into Machlin Passage, between Buka and Bougainville Islands.  We are at the end of the chain of Papua New Guinea islands.  The rigging has suffered enough and so have we.  Our nerves are shattered from the continuous pounding into the swells and the invisible wall of the wind dead ahead.  We are now in a no man's land, Bougainville being an island of territorial dispute, a rebel's country, fighting for independence from PNG but with no resources and no real allies.  A drunken police officer calls on us just after dawn on a Saturday morning to harrass and intimidate in a style learnt from American cop movies.  He is actually harmless but encourages us to fix our rigging and get on our way.  We concur whole-heartedly.  Twenty four hours later we raise our anchor, leave the passage and make our way once more towards Ghizo.  The wind is perfect, we start to sail almost immediately and the recent pressures seem a little unreal.

Melon headed whales and roughtooth dolphins play on our bow in a cetacean spectacular.  The sea is kind to us and we reach Ghizo three days later.

We anchor in the harbour of Ghizo, familiar sights along the shore, the market, the smart looking yellow telecom office, the Gizo Hotel and of course, PT109.  The town seems relaxed and it's a good feeling to be back here.  Two years ago we left Ghizo and the Solomon Islands in a rush after the government coup in Honiara and a shooting in town here.  But things seem reasonably settled now.

We find a large film crew hanging out at the hotel.  They are here with Bob Ballard, the deep ocean explorer involved in locating the wreck of the Titanic.  He's here with a crew from National Geographic television to make a film on the search for the PT109 - JF Kennedy's boat that was ripped in two by a Japanese warship.  As part of the documentary, they are re-enacting the night of the strike and three of our crew - Mark, Justin and Aurelio - are asked to take part as US Marines.  They flail in the dark harbour waters with explosive effects and high-definition cameras, repeating and repeating these moments of struggling just after the attack.  The film crew find parts of the sunken wreck of the PT109 using remote operated vehicles and complicated technics.

We move the ship to Mbambanga, where we spent so much time two years ago - an island settled by a Gilbertese community when so many of them left their homelands years ago during severe droughts.  They invite us to dance in the afternoon, the beautiful Polynesian girls and boys luring our crew with their gentle movements.

We return to the reefs around Sagharughombe Island.  We nicknamed it One Tree Island since from a distance it looks like a single bare tree standing on a rocky pedestal, perched just above sea level but the tree has now gone and the landscape looks different.  Two years ago we did an extensive satellite study here, confirming local reports that a bleaching event was in progress.  We held our breath on our first dive to see if the event had turned into an epidemic.  Bleaching is still going on but in very localised areas and the algae-covered remains of the coral heads that suffered two years ago remain as a reminder that the underwater scenes could have been a lot worse.  We will return later this year to repeat the satellite study and gather hard data on the condition of the reef.

Eddie Zuna, a young man from nearby Simbo Island, reconnects with the ship.  He almost sailed away with us last time we were here but with the troubles in Honiara, he couldn't get his passport in time.  Now he has all required documents and clambers aboard the Heraclitus, ready to give a go to a life at sea.  We're thrilled to have him as part of the crew.

Michel and I take a trip to Munda on New Georgia Island, a half hour plane ride away over spectacular reef scenes.  People from all over the Western Province are gathering for the centenary celebrations of the arrival of the first missionaries.  There's singing, dancing, a theatre performance and a very startling re-enactment of the arrival of the missionary ship.  A tomoko - war canoe - thunders across the water to meet the ship, the village chief stands defiant on the dock, rousing the warriors into action.  The war canoe moves at a lightning speed, the shouts of the furious paddlers heard from a long way off.  It's ironic to feel the strength of these men and these very moments that the missionaries brought to an end, tailoring the culture of the Solomon Islanders to something more serene, less threatening.

But unfortunately it's not all joy and excitement back in Ghizo.  We discover the source of the strange noise when running the main engine - our cutlass bearing around the shaft is shot to bits.  There are only a couple of millimetres of protection now between the shaft and the cement hull.  To replace the bearing, which is essential in order to run the engine any more, we must take the ship out of the water.  It's less than a year since our last drydock and we weren't planning on another for several years, but we have no choice.  The only problem now is to find a shipyard that can cope with the dimensions and weight of the the Heraclitus.

After much investigation and debate, our options are narrowed down to one - to sail to Rabaul in Papua New Guinea and slip the ship there.

So we leave Ghizo, hoping to make it to Rabaul without using the main engine.  The wind which was against us for so long on our way to Ghizo has now practically abandoned us completely.  We spend a crazy thirty six hours circling the bay between Kolombangara and Vella Lavella Islands.  Ghizo remains in sight for what seems like forever.  We tack endlessly to avoid going backwards.  We eat a prize dinner of ten oceanic triggerfish, caught with a line off the stern in the still waters of the bay.  Finally the wind arrives and whisks us on our way northwards.

Our fishing becomes even more ambitious a few days later when there is great drama trying to reel in an Indo Pacific sailfin fish.  It's a beautiful creature with its spear bill shooting skywards as it thrashes about on the line.  The fish is almost on the deck of the Heraclitus, we spear him in the side hoping to weaken his fight.  We can touch him, see the scar in his side from a previous attempt at landing him, almost taste him in the frying pan.  A mighty splash, and he's gone.  This cunning animal has eluded capture for a second time but he is bleeding quite heavily this time and will probably make a feast for the sharks.

The wind abandons us once more, we drift a little, try to sail when we can.  We stop to swim in the beautiful blue water, crowded with plankton.  The swells look bizarre from underneath, carpets of particles moving towards us like flying carpets in slow motion.  But eventually we begin to drift in completely the wrong direction, a current drawing us towards Bougainville but more threateningly, towards a patch of reef about a mile and a half away.  The current changes and we start to drift south then finally west.  Bit by bit, inch by inch we make progress in this test of patience.

Finally we arrive at the tip of New Britain.  As a breeze picks up and steadies itself, a rainbow spreads across the land, stretching across the sea.  Its ends inch closer to the ship until they're just half a mile off.  It's raining lightly, the sun is beaming, the golden glow illuminates the three swathes of canvas.  We're nearly there.  Dolphins herald our approach to Kokopo the next morning, streaking through the moonlit sea, phosphorescent fire trails in their wake scooting under the hull and around the bow.  As the sun throws light upon our arrival, we look for billowing puffs from Turvuvur, the volcano that decimated so much of Rabaul in 1994.  But all seems calm for now.

Rabaul is a shadow of its former self, but Simpson Harbour is still an important shipping centre and lively bay.  Toboi Shipyard knew we were coming, we had made contact from Ghizo.  On our day of arrival, Michel and Ferdi cleared us into Papua New Guinea and raced to the slipway to make final arrangements.

'Aha' exclaimed Tilak, the Sri Lankan manager.  'Did you get my fax when you were in Ghizo?'

A resounding 'No' from our Captain and Expedition Leader.

And Tilak describes the state of the slipway, which they see with their own eyes before them.  It is not long enough for the Heraclitus.

'No problem,' says Tilak.  'We'll extend the cradle, won't take long, let's slip on Tuesday'.

Great, great, great, go, go, go - get Laser and Gaie in the loop, ask them to come as soon as possible, can they arrive Monday, day before slipping?  Yes, push, rush, scramble, tempo, boogie, yes - we'll make it - see you Monday.

Monday arrives, and with it Gaie and Laser exhausted from a marathon circumnavigation of Australia.  But hours before they land, Michel gets news from Tilak.  They don't have enough blocks to support the ship.  This means trekking to the forest to cut down the tree to make the blocks to hold the ship.  In other words, a delay.  The earliest he can offer us to slip is high tide on Thursday night/Friday morning.

So Tuesday and Wednesday become check-days, preparation days, meeting days and time for reconnections.  On Thursday we eat early and make presentations - Ferdi on the manoeuvre to get us out of the water, Laser on the tasks at hand for the drydock, Orla on the logistics of how we will live.  Early to bed, it's like Christmas Eve, and the fairy wakes us up at three in the morning.  Tingles of excitement amongst the crew.  The conditions could not be more perfect - the bay is glassy, there is no wind to affect our manoeuvre to shore and the full moon makes the operation a little less bizarre.  By four the engine is on, and we are in wait mode for instructions from Laser who is on the dock.  By 4.30 the anchor is up and we are drifting very slowly towards shore.  Laser calls us in, come on we're ready for you.  We make our approach but the ship is not steady and at the last minute we make a severe turn to port, spinning out of the approach and coming back at it for another attempt.  This time we are more steady, we are almost there in fact.  The starboard lines are on their way back to the ship from their posts at the dock, Eddie is pushing us amidships with the Beagle, the crew are supercharged with focus.  Laser's voice comes in on the VHF - 'pull out, pull out, head back and reanchor.  This is a no go.'  Then the ominous words 'we have a problem that we cannot fix'.

We pull out, reanchor and wait for news from Laser.  And the news is pretty devastating - the winch controller delayed in reacting to a command, he allowed the cradle to go too far down the rails and it came off.  We will try again tomorrow morning, Tilak smiles.

After two hours of rest, we awaken at what would be our normal time and begin a run around town to check other drydock options if there are any, to communicate with Australia, to check on the state of our dismantled railway etc.  We make calls around the country in the knowledge that Kavieng and Madang are the only ports within sailing distance and that we might face a repeat of our current scenario after struggling to get there.  By late afternoon, Tilak reports that the back end of the cradle is on track again, just the other end now to raise and remount.  It's clear we will not go up tonight but tomorrow is another day.  We discuss fate and faith.

Saturday is indeed another day but unfortunately it has another weather pattern too - it rains so much that they have to stop working on the cradle.  The rain silts up the shoreline, the waves washing dirt into the shallows, gritting up the tracks once more.  Tilak jokes with Laser, 'You might want to think about living in Rabaul'.  Laser smiles, just.

It's Sunday morning and Tilak goes to church, purportedly to pray for our drydock.  His workers continue in the rescue mission of the cradle.  The last wheels are back on rails so all is fine.  But five minutes later it's not.  The block for the steel cable breaks.  No problem - we'll put a new block on.  We send over our lift bags to help.  When the new block is on, the shackle to the block for the steel cable breaks.  No problem - we'll find a new shackle.  Then the steel cable almost (but not quite) breaks - but apparently they can live with that.  So we're almost in go mode once more but there's one thing putting a halt to it - force 5 winds.  It's a battle just to dock the Beagle in front of the slipway - there is no notion of trying to bring over the Heraclitus.  So the day ends with a plan for the next day - we'll watch them lower the cradle and raise the cradle one more time in the morning, then we'll be ready to go and they'll be ready to receive us as soon as the wind abates.

It's Monday and according to our original plan, we were to slip back into the water today.  Tilak is on the VHF radio at 7.15 in the morning.  'Come when you can, there's no rush.  Nature is not with us today.'  The wind is still a steady force 5, perhaps this is what he is referring to.  But as we get closer to the dock and see that the tidal waters are now undulating waves of floating pumice stones, we become aware that there is more at work here.  There are two men with shovels, scraping washed up pumice from the rails.  The steel cable from the cradle disappears into the shallows, buried in pumice stones.  The volcano peers down on us from the other end of the harbour.  The wind continues to gather the pumice and land it on the shipyard's shores.  Today fact is stranger than fiction.

Johnny and Robyn arrive from Australia and the dramas continue, the theatre of the absurd playing in front of our eyes.  Turvurvur smokes in the background, smirking a little?  Hard to say but we leap about in the sulphurous fumes at its base.

The pumice is finally cleared away, the wind finally calms enough for us to make another attempt and ten days after the first attempt we are reapproaching the drydock.  We are in position once more, the Heraclitus tethered by its docking lines once more.  The ship is deftly wrangled until it sits just above the cradle.  The ship is almost on the cradle, but no good, in fact potential disaster.  After all this waiting, the tracks are not deep enough to enable the cradle to support the length of the ship's hull.  And just as well - the pillars supporting the tracks begin to quake under the weight of only some of the ship.  The possibilities do not bear thinking about - Laser calls an immediate abort and our attempts to drydock the ship in Rabaul are definitely over.  We must move on once more, sail again, this time to Madang where we can only hope that our fate is more prosperous.

Gaie, Laser and Johnny go on ahead to Madang to prepare for the ship's arrival and secure a drydock facility.  We immediately head out of Simpson Harbour, paying our respects to the volcanoes guarding its entrance as we leave, and encountering a dolphin and tuna bonanza just outside.  Unfortunately we don't catch a single fish but the dolphins clearly do.

The initial burst of wind that sets us on our way dissipates almost immediately, as soon as we are a safe distance from land.  And we spend a week drifting slowly in the right direction but wondering if we are ever going to make it to Madang.  Time pressures hang over us - we expected the voyage to take us ten days but after seven we have only made 130 miles.  We watch sperm whales fishing at the edge of the rain, listen to mysterious splashes in the silent seas around us and stare at our own reflection in the water mirror beneath.

Bang!  The sea rises, the wind rages and we find ourselves in huge conditions.  The ship heels hard over, the sails fill themselves til they can take in no more and we race, sometimes at a steady five knots but sometimes peaking at ten.  Madang is in our reach now but we must make our moves carefully in these conditions.  We watch another ship sway and roll in the swells.  For three and a half days, we race through the force 7 winds, hanging on to a solid structure of the ship as we manoeuvre ourselves both above and below decks.  Our bodies ache, our faces are wind-thrashed and salt-coated.  Gaie and Laser watch the seas roll in from their room at the Smugglers Inn Resort in Madang.  And finally we meet again as the ship's docking lines are safely tied off at the Bismarck Shipyard - our new drydock.

Arthur, the marvellous Filipino who runs the candy pink floating dock, concerns himself with fixing his pumps so that three days later the ship is miraculously being hoisted out of the water.  And finally we can put our attention to the problem of the cutlass bearing.  Our major worry is that the shaft has become badly misaligned and will require hefty recasting before we can return the ship to the water.  So with bated breath we pull the shaft to inspect the damage - and with great relief we find that it is not drastic at all, at all.  In our five days out of the water, we achieve an extraodinary amount of work.  A rotten through-hull fitting is replaced in the galley, the rudder is stripped, painted and given a fresh set of zincs, the hull is painted above the waterline, the anchors are de-rusted and painted a bold shade of red, the shrouds that had been continually weak since our emergency repairs in Bougainville are firmly bolted down with stainless steel rods, and the propellor given a thorough polishing.  The ship returns to the water in fine fettle, its eyes bright and shiny and its crew delighted and relieved that the issue that had hung over their heads for so long is now in the past.

Gaie and Laser finally return to the States and their pre-drydock plans after one last party including a kava-kava ceremony on board.  We stock up in town, fuel up and move to Paeowai Island to return to our former life of diving and exploring.

We reacquaint ourselves with our underwater dreams at a dive site called Magic Passage.  Mobula, whitetip shark, barracuda, big-eye trevally, stacks of fish, a beautiful sand gulley with soft coral, barrel sponges and tubastrea lining the slopes.  There are plenty of napoleon wrasse, a healthy sign for the reef.  When we try Barracuda Point off Tab Island we find a school of barracuda on top of the reef, remaining in formation but 3 or 4 breaking ranks to drop down to the cleaner wrasse below.  A 3 metre silvertip shark passes us twice.  Grey reef sharks patrol.  There is a rain of fusiliers, schools of black snappers, rainbow runners charging.

We put our newly restored engineering systems to the full test as we leave Madang and enter the vicious Vitiaz Straits.  We have a four knot current raging against us and we are burning up our fuel to make just over a knot.  One hundred and thirty miles long, this strait.  We realise fairly fast that we have to stop for fuel before we can continue to Ghizo.  We had intended to cruise a little in the Trobriand Islands but our cruising becomes limited to anchorages with potential diesel supplies.

We arrive in grand style - a swarm of spinner dolphins leap all around us for about an hour, as we are passing south through the channel west of Kiriwina.  We are heading for a tricky anchorage, the south east monsoon is raging (and has been for the last 5 days, causing an uncomfortable ride in heavy swells).  A village on the beach on starboardside, and I catch a glimpse of the people sitting behind the stilted huts with their backs to the sea.  A sailing canoe sits in the shallows, its blue tarp sail raised - but no sailors.  At first we think they may be coming to greet / inspect us but there is no motion towards us.  I take the helm and argue with the wind and current to allow me to steer the ship to the anchorage.  Even when we are secured, it feels like we are still at sea, reminiscent of our anchorage in Karang Kapota - ship tethered by a chain but rocking madly in the wind and swells.

So we find ourselves here in the Trobriand Islands, at the heart of the Kula Ring - the custom trading ring of sailing canoes, shell necklaces and arm bands and sorcery.  We find ourselves at the mercy of a fuel crisis in Kiriwina.  Supplies have not been coming in from Alotau for the last two months, the island is crying out for diesel but more for kerosene.  So we sit and we wait.  And we wait and we wait.  In the meantime, we undertake repairs on the mizzen sail which is slowly falling apart beneath the yardarm.  By the time the sail is back up, there is promise of diesel arriving.

We spend a day hiking across Kaileuna Island, to the west of Kiriwina.  There is a gathering in one village for the death of a small child but we head up the coral strewn path to the other side of the island for a festivity.  We pass groups of people carrying grass skirts, baskets of food and yams who are heading to the wake.  Sadly the famous yam festival is over, the wild celebrations of yam harvesting passed for another year and the sing-sings and dances that go with it now a memory again.  But after our five mile march through the yam and taro gardens to the shores on the west side, we sit and watch the men and young boys pass the gathered food into the beautiful wooden huts that hold their bounty.  Particular care is taken over the positioning of the yams that protrude between the heavy logs.  Exactly the right size of tuber must be found to make an aesthetic presentation of this harvest.  The chief of the village chews betel nut beside us, using his bone stick to spoon lime into his toothless mouth.  His yam house will be filled next Tuesday with great pomp and ceremony.  We drink coconuts at every rest break and feast on greens and sweet potatoes when we return to our starting point.

After a week, the diesel finally arrives, but not enough to take us safely to Ghizo.  In fact, just enough for us to make it to Alotau where we will have to fill up completely again.  We had intended to stop at Egum Atoll in our cruise of the Trobriand Islands but when we get there, the conditions are a little too rough to enter to the lagoon.  We satisfy ourselves by diving at Egum Rock, an above-water pinnacle outside the atoll.  The ship drifts all the while, slowly making its way towards the rock.  As we approach the birds become more and more numerous, terns and boobies, frigates and many others dive bombing the water all around us, a few flying low overhead and peering into the rhadial inspecting its strange wet-suit clad passengers with great scrutiny, and satisfied flapping on over the waters.  But as we approach the crazy green-topped rock, with great curly tendrils of foliage hanging from its crown and spiky angry looking trees clinging to its dark cliffs, the birds just take over the skies.  Normally when you approach a dive site, all eyes are down looking into the blue for a preview of what might be seen in the minutes ahead underwater.  But this morning, we are all spell bound by the commotion rushing around our heads.  It feels like an aviary plague.

We press on with our journey and arrive to the gentle slopes of Alotau early one morning.

In Alotau we meet interesting folk, including an Australian who has now spent several years in the Milne Bay area, doing his best to protect the sea cucumbers and working on policies for the fisheries industry both here and in other parts of the country.  We fuel up to the maximum and resume our passage to Ghizo but again, with the intention of cruising a little and exploring the reefs of Milne Bay, an area famous for spectacular diving.

Our first stop at Killerton Islands is upsetting - the reefs here are in a terrible state.  The underwater landscape is alluring but the close-up view is sad.  It's impossible to pinpoint the cause, but the corals are diseased, bleached, algae-smothered and drowning in sediment.  There are no signs of destructive fishing practices, but something has gone awry here, perhaps a couple of years ago.  But between the large patches of devastation are smaller areas that could almost be described as pristine.  Soft corals flourish and there is plenty of fish action around.  A beautiful twinspot goby dances on a small patch of sand, fluttering his pectorals beneath his body, his two ocellations giving him the vague appearance of a sideways scuttling crab.

We are nervous about diving at Sullivans Patch, a famous site in Milne Bay just a few miles from Killerton Islands.  We wonder if the rave reviews are now out of date but we are thrilled to find that here the reef is blooming.  I was also thrilled not to meet the tiger shark that apparently appears here now and again.  We drop down a steep slope to about 25 metres.  There are anthias, multitudes of butterflyfish, groupers, small schoools of fusiliers.  The corals are in perfect condition.  Whatever happened at Killerton Islands didn't affect here in the slightest.  We move along the wall and come to an outpost of table corals surrounded by a sandy skirt.  Around the corner lies the 'action spot' - snappers, mackerel, a school of bannerfish, another of surgeonfish.  This is the point receiving the current and where the fish are most densely clustered.  We will return here hopefully later in the year, but for a taste of a dive site, this was perfect.

We move on again to the north of Tahiri Siga.  We drop the anchor without realising that we have just parked ourselves in the middle of fish city.  Our diving over the next few days includes some of these reports.

We dive on a shallow reef patch, a small one practically a stone's throw off the port bow.  It's a beautiful reef - the corals are in perfect health and the fish are just teeming all over it.  Fusiliers charge madly on the reeftop then down the gentle slope that leads to a sandy valley.  Anthias are hovering quite frantically, there really are clouds of fish everywhere, the reef packed with life and hustle and bustle.  There isn't a patch that's not absolutely smothered in small spots of colour.  An emperor angel fish comes right up to my face as we round a corner.  And then I look up to see an eagle ray who slowly circles around us, his big beaky mouth pointing to the surface, his wings slowly curling up and down and then he glides, making a large arc before propelling himself up the reef slope and over the crest.  From here on in the dive takes a much more mellow feel - I revel in the colours and scenes until I can bear the cold no longer and surface.  Michel comes up later, he spotted a wobbegong under a ledge.  Really beautiful spot.

At the edge of a reef that became known as 'The Spot', there are fish just everywhere, at times it's impossible to make out any blue between them.  At one moment I am totally encircled by small yellow striped fry, in turn encased by mackerel and jacks and with napoleon wrasse and snappers and so many other fish in the background, set off against a spectacular slope of corals and all the tiny reef fish bombing around on their surfaces, not to mention the groupers that seem to be lurking in every hole and the sweetlips that hang in the current on reef crest and the school of batfish that make synchronised moves down the slope in a triangular formation - it really is the dive of dives!  And the big stuff that Michel saw this morning is missing - the grey reef shark, black tip and silvertip.  I see a substantial white tip on the sandy bottom.  As we turn to face into the current and make our way back to the boat, I find five minute leatherjackets (Rudarius minutus), graduating in size, all bobbing about in the pink broccoli soft coral, Dendronephthya.  It's an eyeful and a headful and beautiful.

We tear ourselves away from these diving nirvanas to move the ship through Ravens Channel, a tight passage.  But on the other side of it we drop anchor at Hibwa Island, a reef-enshrouded sandbar and bird's resting place.

There are more underwater delights here - a gentle drop to a sandy gulley and then another small reef lies outside that.  As soon as we enter the water, there are fish teeming everywhere but it gets really interesting around the coral outpost - one big tuna, a mackerel, schools upon schools of fusiliers, rainbow runners, spotted unicornfish, surgeonfish, snappers, just so much beautiful stuff.  I see the small blue boxfish and am transfixed by the movements of the schools.  A white tip snakes its way down the drop off as I pass over him.  A stingray darts out of its sandy hiding hole.  The colours on the reef are super intense, a little reminiscent of some of the dives in Malaysia - soft corals fluorishing.  A very intense fish dive.

We move to Nuakata Island where we are met first by a pod of striped dolphins who are resting just beneath the water's surface, then by the villagers in their canoes, coming out to greet us with their fruits and vegetables for trade and sale.  We are keen to load up on as much fresh food as we can and do deals for bananas, papayas, coconuts and kalamansi.  We invite the children's choir on board in the evening and they sing us their church songs in their slightly chaotic fashion.  The tradesmen return at the crack of dawn the next morning until we can take on no more food - we have a small banana plantation below decks now and will never eat them all before we arrive in Ghizo.  We head off and this time, we are finally on our way to Ghizo.

After flying across the Solomon Sea towards Ghizo, we slow down gracefully as we approach Simbo with Ranongga behind and Vella Lavella beyond.  Ghizo welcomes us once more.