The Ashen Plains of Tana

S 18°44.422 E 168°57.672 SOG 5.1 AWA 120 TWS 8.9 AWS 4.8

We’re sailing downwind, and it’s peaceful—so long as I avoid looking at the chart plotter. We’re well off course, destined to jibe our way from Erromango to Efate simply to keep our speed up.

I feel a pang of guilt over David, the Ni-Vanuatu man who paddled up to Gerty yesterday afternoon in his outrigger canoe. “Won’t you visit my yacht club?” he offered, smiling. “I can show you the skull cave and our village.” But the anchorages up north were calling us, and we had stopped only to rest for the night. As cruisers often do, we left a bag of flour, rice, and a soccer ball in our wake: a modest gesture of gratitude for the privilege of dropping anchor in David’s ancestral bay.

Truthfully, we couldn’t have managed much more than a swim yesterday. We were still tired from our overland trek across Tanna Island two days prior. Getting to Lenakel and back meant a ninety-minute haul each way in the open bed of Seth’s pickup truck—an epic adventure, but exhausting nonetheless. 

We started at Werry’s house, drove past the school, and the giant Banyan tree. Then up and down the pitted hill, along the black sand beach, where the children were walking to school. A brief stretch of smooth Chinese-built tarmac gave way to an ashen plain at the base of Mt. Yasur. From there, the route morphed into the aptly named Snake Road. 

Grateful for any distraction from the sheer drops, I focused on my conversation with Mari, the young woman who was riding with us. In Vanuatu, Mari, like all students, had to choose between English and French schooling. She chose to learn French in addition to the seven indigenous languages she already knows. So, I tried my best.

We arrived in Lanekal and headed straight to the bank. We had to pay customs, biosecurity, and immigration in cash to complete our check-in clearance. All went according to plan, except for immigration. They were still out sick. It had been a week. 

Then, Seth announced his truck had a problem. He went to the auto mechanic while we went to the market. The vegetables were beautiful and curious. Why were they sold in bulk? 8 cabbages. 12 bok choy. 10 heads of lettuce—all packaged in woven palm baskets. Patty and I decided to divide each of our bountiful purchases between us.

An hour later, the truck was still not fixed. So we stopped for Tanna coffee—a special nutty-flavored delicacy. We stayed for banana and soursop smoothies. The truck was still not fixed. Then we ordered chicken curry.

In the end, the pickup truck stayed broken, but we drove home anyway. Past the Banyan trees, marking each town, and the children walking home from school. Snake Road was no less terrifying the second time around, and when we reached the ashen plains, the wind was not in our favor. So, our eyes and mouths filled with pumice grit. Onward anyway. Up and down the pitted hill, across the black sand beach and finally, home.

It was a whirlwind day for the record books—or for this blog post, at the very least.

Last remarks

• Patty & Gary SV Earendil, I can think of no better people to share our Tanna adventure with. So many laughs and discoveries. Tanak Asori!