The South Seas
The Challenge of the Whaleboats
There are fifteen islands in the Marquesas. Only six are
inhabited. We are scheduled to visit all those where people live,
sometimes at more than one place in a day.
It’s 8 a.m. on our first day in the Marquesas, and I’m ready.
*Backpack with full water bottle. Check..
*Swim shoes with no-slip soles. Check.
*Sun block and visor. Check..
*Insect repellant with plenty of deet to keep away mosquitoes
and
nonos --those pesky tiny sand flies with a nasty bite. Check.
*Bathing suit and rain gear to prepare for any eventuality. Check.
I’m anticipating the worst, since my first dreaded whaleboat experience
is in the offing.
In a Lonely Planet guidebook the Marquesas are described as unprotected
blocks of lava rising abruptly from the vastness of the Pacific Ocean.
One glance at these “high islands” of needle-sharp spires, misty
mountains and precipitous rocky cliffs reinforces this realistic view.
Only three places--Nuku Hiva, Ua Po, and Hiva Oa-- have sites where the
Aranui can actually tie up on shore. More often, whether I like it
or not, “wet landings” are the norm.
So, it’s time for my first whaleboat trip to shore. “No problemo,”
I keep assuring myself-- as long as I can count on those muscle-bound
whaleboat sailors to grab me if I fall.
Four strong men are assigned to a whaleboat. Each is positioned at a
critical point. The biggest (I call him “the hulk”) stands on
the bottom
step at the end of the rectractible steel gangway ladder. When
it’s your
turn, his job is to grasp your arms firmly and guide you without
hesitation to step onto the boat’s narrow ledge.
Two others in the boat are poised and waiting. They’ll reach over
and grip your arms, waist or shoulders, and hoist, heave, lift or pick you
up –-- whatever it takes-- to help you step on the bobbing boat’s
plank seat, jump down onto the floor, and sit down safely. All in a
matter of seconds so the next guy can take his turn.
Meanwhile, the very important fourth crew member has to perform much like
a Polynesian Popeye in the muscle department. His job is to grab a
heavy rope attached to the whaleboat, tie it up to the ship when good wave
timing permits, and hold the rope as taut as possible so the boat remains
close to the gangway and passengers can get safely back aboard the ship.
The first time I watch him, I think this guy looks like a 90-pound
weakling-- until I see just what he can do!
When it’s my turn to descend down the gangway in line from the deck
above, I do exactly as they say, the moment they say it.
I step when they say step, jump when they say jump, and sit when they say
sit. So far, so good.
But when the seas are treacherous, and a creaking aged whaleboat is
rocking ominously in a churning white-capped sea, it’s a far different
story! A boat full of white-knuckled passengers tend to grip their seats
tensely, watch each passenger’s exit, and await their own turn to
disembark with some degree of uncertainty. But that was still in the
future for me.
Getting onto shore during a “wet landing” poses yet another challenge.
With the help of the crew, you’ve got to hoist yourself up onto the
seat, hop to the boat ledge, move onto often slick, moss-covered steps and
make it onto a wet muddy dock. This takes some agility, speed and
balance, and sometimes folks slip, trip, or fall. I witnessed several
close calls and a couple of cut legs before my own journey ended--and I
admit I slipped and fell once myself.
There is also potential for real disaster. I was a spectator from
the deck one late afternoon as a whaleboat ventured back toward the Aranui.
A sudden rainstorm had swept down from the mountains, bringing heavy rains
that were pelting down onto the slate gray waves. Only half way out
in the bay, the passengers were already soaked from the rain and
wind-driven whitecaps. Suddenly, without warning, the whaleboat motor
conked out. I watched nervously as the driver tugged at the rope
over and over. I could see he was in trouble and the motor wouldn’t turn
over.
Meanwhile, angry waves and a fast tide had started to pull the small
boat toward sharp rocky cliffs across the bay. I could almost
feel the anxiety of the passengers skyrocket. Then I saw the Aranui
barge. As always at a cargo stop, the barge was situated in the
water—fortunately, this time floating in a position between the cliffs
and the bobbing whaleboat. Quickly, the barge team saw the danger and took
over a rescue mission to head off the whaleboat’s drift. Getting
close, a seaman jumped aboard. Together, the two crewmen worked to restart
the motor. Shortly, all was well, and a bunch of drenched passengers
had another good story to tell over beer.
I had my own scary experience, though in comparison, it was a minor
event.
One afternoon as we returned to the ship in heavy seas, almost five-foot
waves were pounding us as we struggled toward an Aranui landing. Even the
passengers realized we wouldn’t be able to tie up to the gangway as we
circled to the starboard side of the ship. The boatman saw this and
told us it was too dangerous to attempt a landing on this side. We turned
about and headed for the more protected side of the ship. As we approached
the second gangway, the waves continued to slap up against ship’s side.
But the crew managed to steady the boat between each high wave and give us
each the right moment to disembark.
When it was my turn, I followed quick orders and jumped from the ledge
over to the bottom step of the gangway. However, as I made the move,
my wet swim shoe slipped on the first steel rung above the bottom
foot-square platform. Before I knew it, my legs slid out from under me and
became wedged into the space between the steps. I was pinned there
dangerously, my legs scratched and getting soaked from the rise and fall
of the waves. One leg felt twisted and I thought, “There goes my injured
knee!”
Friends watching from the whaleboat started to scream.
But a hefty
crewman didn’t miss a beat. He grabbed me under the shoulders with
great force, yanked me free from between the steps, stood me up and said,
move! I made my way up the stairs, gingerly. My whaleboat initiation
was over. I had survived a mini ordeal. Nothing about the whaleboats
could bother me again.
I had learned how to negotiate whaleboat landings. After several days, I
even grew to enjoy the challenge of the trip to shore.
On to the Next Dispatch
(All photos taken by Roz Hiebert
or at least with her camera under her direct supervision.)
(c) 2003 
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