Guest Blog by Warren – Part 3

Nick surfed the pass and we walked the circumference of two islands in the string that made up part of the atoll, examining the amazing collection of flotsam that had washed upon the seaward side of the island. We found a bamboo raft that had washed up and decided to rig it with a mast and yard and coconut frond square sail using the miles of gear washed up on the beach. We lugged the raft to the lagoon and at the last minute before launching voted Patti skipper and crew of this fine craft. We all wished her a fond farewell and set her off across the 10 mile lagoon.

All went well for the first few hundred meters and then an old sun bleached line parted and the mast came down. In true shipwreck style she had to fight off the sharks by untying the makeshift rudder and using it as a spear! Much fun and laughter!

We watched Patti and Nick kite surfing ( I even had a go and didn't break anything!) We joined some other visiting yachties for a bonfire ashore and swapped stories of passages made, experiences had and the inevitable questions about New Zealand from skippers who plan on visiting. However, we had the best story to tell - Just before we came ashore Marg and I had been swimming and arrived back to Pina Colada to see the now round (plastic) rum jar hanging from the stern of the boat. It seems that our precious store of Guava Jelly had fermented and built up such enormous pressure that it was in real danger of bursting. Nick and I sat in the dingy and discussed how we should dispose of the potential bomb. I suggested that we loosen the cap a little and Nick managed a small turn and there was a sort of fizz forming around the cap. "Hold it under water and loosen it some more" I said.

So as he lent over the dingy side we all watched intently. There was a bubble or two and then a flash of some sort and the rum jar disappeared...! Apparently from between Nicks hands and under his arm, over my left shoulder and gone at 45 degrees with such violence that by the time we turned to look it could no longer be seen.

Patti, who was on the stern deck tried to follow it with her eyes, but in less than a second, just a dot, it disappeared still traveling at 45 degrees. The exhaust trail of ever expanding guava jelly covering Nick and I and the dingy told the story and slowly the physics of the situation dawned on us all. The jelly was by far the largest mass in the projectile and it was being propelled out by enormous pressure sending the Mount Gay rum jug to the moon. Staggering!

How far did it go? Who knows. The mathematician's amongst our readers may be able to work it out and leave a comment. Here are the rockets statistics;
Weight of Guava Jelly - 1.5 kg.
Weight of plastic rum jug (without lid) - 100 gms.
Diameter of the exhaust - 20 mm.
Pressure - judging by the misshapen jug, well in excess of 100 lbs per sq inch.

The laughter was of coursed tinged with relief as we could have had a serious accident. We lamented over the loss of our precious guava jelly but we did have other supplies of it that had not fermented.

We dived and unhooked our anchor from the entangling coral and left Tahanea with fond memories. A short day sail to Faaiti, a small atoll to the north and discovered a great surf break at the pass. My memories of arriving at ski fields many years ago with Nick as a young teenager, so focused on the fun to be had, was revisited as he was suddenly prepared to forgo all to get into the water and catch some waves. Its great to see someone who doesn't let go of the teenage delights. (I wonder who he gets that from????......I'm so proud of him!)

Unfortunately the coral reef did a small peeling job on Nicks arm and shoulders that was to sadly keep him out of the water for the next few days.

Patti, Marg and I walked through he little village that was so typical of these remote areas of French Polynesia, where the only work was generated by the local government which in turn relies on the franc from the motherland. Everyone has satellite TV, digital cell phones and all the trappings of modern life so the traditional ways of life were somewhat redundant, more's the pity.