The Second Leg - Penrhyn to American Samoa
By Tom Robinson.
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Cars, birds, trees, shops, wharves, restaurants and so much more - what a pleasure it is to be on a big island and experiencing all the sights, sounds and smells that go with it. But before we delve into any luxuriation, I had better take you back to the start, back to Penrhyn.
Never before has a departure been so difficult; of course, departures are not always easy, but this one was downright hard. The morning of the 14th of April started well before the sun came up; I was not up early to finish off any last-minute packing, although perhaps I should have been, instead I was getting dressed for church, as I did most Friday mornings. The service was just as they always are, with plenty of singing, but this time with a special mention of my departure later that morning. After the service, I went straight to the boat and continued to pack while the sun came up. I continued in this fashion until the clock struck eight - when the formalities began. Adorned with flowers and shells, I sat down at a large table covered with plates of fish, rice, sausages and bread; everyone in the village had made me breakfast. I sat there and ate in silence and trepidation as the village sang. Never before had the singing been so powerful and moving, it was an emotional morning for everybody. What followed was a heartwarming array of speeches, hymns, prayers and biblical recitations. It was then my turn to stand up and make a speech of my own. In doing so I thanked everyone for their kindness and showed my appreciation and love for Penrhyn and its people. I then made a firm commitment to one day return to Penrhyn, which was met with a round of applause. After the formalities had concluded I smiled for many, many photographs and was further adorned with shell necklaces - sincere gifts considering the time taken to collect, clean, drill and thread the shells. Among the gifts of the past 48 hour’s festivities had been many bags of food, a remarkably kind gesture considering the scarcity of imported foods on the island. I was truly touched by everyone’s kindness.
I then made my way to the wharf where Maiwar was tied up. I was helped to load the bags of food into her cabin, and by the time all was said and done there was literally no room inside. More photos were taken, the singing began, and I rowed away from the wharf, with Pakaiere, Papa Kirikava and Takahe as crew. We waited just off the shore as the island work barge was launched with a tractor and everybody jumped onboard. I threw them a towline, the singing once more recommenced, and we got underway - heading for the narrow pass through the reef. The singing was upbeat, hands were waving in the air, and everyone was smiling - but it wouldn’t last. We made our way through the passage, the powerful outboard motors on the barge began to rev as we pushed into the strong current. And then we made it, we were outside the lagoon and back into the mighty Pacific. I came alongside the barge, the men disembarked, the tow line was let go, and there I stood, looking out at a boat full of smiling faces, my friends, my Tongareva family. I gave one last wave then sat down and began to row, which was in fact the very last thing I wanted to do at that moment. For the first time ever, I departed with a real sense of sadness. For the first time ever, I thought about my bed and shower. For the first time ever, I thought about what I was leaving behind, not what I was heading towards. It was hard to keep pulling on those oars.
People often ask me why I’m undertaking this journey; they often suggest one of many reasons why I might choose to do something like this. Some suggest I may be running away from civilization, a notion I always brushed aside. But as I rowed away from Penrhyn that day, as the tops of the coconut trees became smaller and smaller until in a few hours they disappeared completely, I realised that I had found what I had been looking for all this time. I’d been searching for something better than the big city, and here on Penrhyn I had found it. To then be rowing away from this paradise seemed in that moment completely preposterous. I gritted my teeth and told myself I had to finish what I had started. I kept pulling.
I kept pulling. I really had no idea where I was going to end up, where the currents were going to take me, but I knew I wanted to get south. It took me a good while to get into the swing of things, it was a full two weeks before I got comfortable again. I really struggled with the heat in the beginning. Thankfully, the currents were pushing me south and the breeze, although light, was consistently from the north-east quarter. This trend continued for much of the next 37 days. Throughout it all, however, I never really got back into the swing of things. Despite having plenty of stores, I wasn’t eating well, and generally felt below average. Of course, I kept rowing, day in, day out, but it was more of a chore than a pleasure. Why I was not eating well I do not know, but I suspect that it had something to do with the fact that for the past four months I had really been relying on others for food. I guess one tends to subconsciously skimp when eating someone else’s fish and someone else’s rice. I believe I was just in a poor routine. All in all, things weren’t that bad, progress was steady and in the right direction. I was looking forward to making landfall in Fiji in about 60 days.
That is, until my legs began to break out in ugly, pussy sores that wouldn’t heal. At first it was scattered red dots, then they began to swell and redden and ooze puss, in a matter of days they spread over my legs, and to the back of my hands, growing larger and larger. My legs became painful. Thankfully, I had plenty of antibiotics in my first aid kit that did a wonderful job of fixing me up. But it was time to make a new plan. I needed to get to land. I needed to get well again. Samoa was not far away, no more than two weeks at that point, and I was headed in roughly the right direction.
At first, I made designs on Ta’u Island, the easternmost island in American Samoa. I then realised that this island, however beautiful, wouldn’t have the facilities and amenities I needed to reprovision and get healthy. I made a new plan to aim for Pago Pago on the island of Tutuila, American Samoa. Despite my change of plans, the current seemed bent on taking me to Ta’u. I then understood that with the variability of the current I was experiencing, I really had no choice as to where I would end up. On day 31, or was it 32?, I was rowing along pleasantly all morning: At about ten o’clock I stood up for a stretch and turned around; there it was! The clear outline of Ta’u island, the top covered in clouds, as clear as day at 50 miles away. It took my breath away. Not since leaving Peru over 10 months ago had I seen anything higher than a coconut palm. Not long after, a large oceanic white tip shark came up to the boat, there was a hook in its mouth. “Ah ha, I must be getting close”, I thought to myself. I later retold this same story to a cruising couple on a yacht in the harbour here. They were quite confused; that is, until I explained that I didn’t just spot sharks in the distance like they did, in my world the sharks come right up to the boat and repeatedly rub themselves alongside. When I’m feeling game I give them a pat or grab them by the tail. A hook is easy to spot.
After spotting Ta’u, the current continued to take me south for the next 24 hours. I continued to watch the current throughout the day and the next night. I awoke in the morning to find the breeze light, the current light, and Ta’u just 20 miles away. I rose with a smile that morning. As long as I kept rowing, I would make landfall in less than 24 hours. As the morning progressed things began to change ever so slightly, the breeze increased, then it shifted, the current increased, then it shifted. Within a few hours I was still rowing due south but heading west. This is when it gets scary. I instantly realised that I wasn’t going to make Ta’u. It was another 60 nautical miles to Tutuila and I was already very low considering the mean angle of the currents. It was going to be very easy for me to be swept through that 60 mile gap and miss Samoa completely. I turned the boat around and began to row north, I needed as many miles as I could get. The worst thing is that, despite the models and forecasting, NOBODY can predict in detail what the currents and breeze are going to be doing, so I had no idea where I should be to descend to Tutuila. For the next three days I found myself rowing hard north one day to counteract a strong southerly set, then rowing hard south the next day to counteract a northerly set. It was mind bendingly frustrating and completely exhausting. All the while knowing that it would take no more than 15 knots from the wrong direction for 24 hours and I would miss land completely. If I wanted to get to land safely there was no time for any more than a few hours of unsettled sleep. I was spent. Eventually, the day dawned when I knew I would make landfall, I had been rowing for most of the night before. My plan was to make it to Pago Pago Harbour, the official port of entry. As the day wore on, I got closer and closer to land, I saw cars, I saw big houses, I heard the sounds of land birds; all these things for the first time in almost eleven months, I was awestruck by the dramatic landscape and greenery. But I was failing, I wasn’t going to reach Pago Pago, I wasn’t sure I had it in me, I was exhausted. The coastline was for the most part pounded by large ocean swells onto foreboding black rocks. Thankfully, I was nearing a large bay, so I decided to head straight for that bay. What I would find I was not sure. As I entered the bay, I discovered smaller bays guarded by reefs with breaking waves. I looked into the first bay and saw a church. A church! I saw an outrigger canoe tied to a coconut palm and a man throwing a cast net under the shade of a large fig tree. I decided it wasn’t going to get any better than that. It took almost an hour for me to navigate the breaking waves on the reef and make my way safely into the bay. I rowed right up onto the beach, I jumped ashore and sat down. I was exhausted.
What happened over the next 24 hours was a complete blur. During my time in the bay and the adjoining village I met the nicest young man who had his family prepare some fish and rice for me, I showered, I was taken in, I was offered a bed. That night the tide rose and the swell that was breaking on the reef outside came right into the harbour, the beach disappeared and at eleven o’clock at night I was trying to kedge Maiwar away from the rock wall she was pounding against. I cried out in desperation and exhaustion. I had had enough. I managed to get a few hours’ sleep that night. The next morning, still far from recovering, I was kicked out of the village just as the sun came up, I was then told I was going to be spending the next night in a jail cell for not entering the right harbour. I got back on the oars and rowed for the next five hours to get to Pago Pago, I was in a bit of a state when I finally tied up to the customs dock. Upon my arrival I was greeted by a swarth of officials who were understanding enough to grant me entry into the country despite my uncouth arrival.
Thankfully that’s all in the past now. From that day forward I've had nothing but nice experiences. The people are exceptionally friendly, and after an online news article, I now get stopped in the street, people smile and wave, and some drive down to the dock to look for me and invite me over for dinner. Once again Polynesian hospitality and selflessness prevails. A few days ago, after sorting out my debit card and phone, I walked into a restaurant. I sat down and ordered a large plate of chicken, vegetables and rice. As my food came out a pop song began to play on the radio. After almost eleven months I had finally arrived in civilization. The feeling was indescribable. I must have looked a bit of a sight, as a woman came over to me and asked if I was alright. I told her I was much better than alright, and explained my situation. She paid for my lunch.
It’s been a week now, I’m feeling much better, and it’s time to get to work – reprovisioning, writing and catching up on emails. I really don’t have long to stay, as I must keep rowing to get back to Australia before the start of the next cyclone season in November. It will only be another week or two before I up anchor and get back on the oars. Next stop Fiji.
For background Tom’s journey visit the archives