Here we are back in Fiji for the umpteenth (I’ve lost count) time. Fiji offers a reliable starting off point for a tropical vacation with nonstop air service from Los Angeles, an excellent marina for the boat to hang out in comfort and safety while awaiting our arrival, abundant shops for stocking up, friendly people, traditional villages, 5-star resorts, balmy breezes and beautiful scenery above and below the water. After some of the convoluted trips we’ve made, especially the last trek to Raja Ampat, a nonstop 10 hour flight seems like no more than a hop skip and jump! Another sign of our frequent travels – our laptops remembered the password and logged us in automatically to the Air Pacific lounge wifi in Los Angeles!

The real target of this trip is the Kingdom of Tonga, about 400 miles away. We look forward to swimming again with the humpback whales that congregate there this time of year to calve, raise their new babies, and mate before heading back on a 10,000 mile migration to Antarctic waters for the winter season. But we are taking our time in Fiji before crossing over to Tonga, visiting a few select anchorages before heading out to sea.

Right now we are anchored in a scenic bay by the island Yadua (pronounced Yan-DU-a). The main body of this moderately sized island is hilly with volcanic outcroppings and a single village, Denimanu, situated on the northeast coast. At the southern end the geography tapers off to a slender curving spit of land that dips under water at its end for a few yards and then pops up again to form a smaller island, Yadua Taba, like the tassel at the end of a lion’s tail. Yadua Taba is a wildlife sanctuary for the protected green crested iguana, a rare species that exists only on this one small island. In years past there has been trouble with lizard poaching, presumably for some illegal exotic animal trade, and for a few years the entire area, not just the small island, was off-limits to visiting yachts. That restriction has since been lifted, however, and we are able to once again enjoy this appealing island.

The long slender tail separates two bays from each other. We are anchored on the west side, and on the east is a beach named Nautilus Beach after the chambered nautilus shells that regularly wash up from the deep. Living chambered nautiluses swim at great depths, around 200-300 meters, out of range of recreational divers. They navigate like little hot air balloons, using a gas mixture in the chambers of their shells to control their depth. When it comes time to spawn, they move into shallower water and presumably when the shells wash up on the beach, the living animals are long dead and gone having died after spawning. For whatever reason, Nautilus Beach is a frequent graveyard for the vacant shells.

In 2006, before the restriction was put into effect, we anchored here in Raven and I went shell seeking with Elize, a crew member at the time. We each had the good fortune to find a shell in good condition. That shell has been one of my more treasured souvenirs of all our cruising. So of course the first order of business upon arrival this trip was to try our luck again. Mike and I went ashore at low tide and scrambled up and over the ridge that divides the two bays. This involved a steep upwards climb along the edge of a cliff – made more difficult by the fact we were wearing Crocs as shoes instead of hiking boots. Then some major bushwhacking through head-high grasses and scrubby trees to get to the beach on the other side.

Here the tide was at very low ebb, the turquoise waters receded far out leaving behind tidal flats laced with shallow ankle-deep pools and exposed sea bottom. Schools of mullet splashed away when we startled them, a baby black-tipped reef shark only some 18″ long swam by, and the feathery tentacles of hundreds upon hundreds of small brittle starfish waved out from under their hiding places in crevices. Dozens of small moray eels were foraging in the shallow puddles. They undulated along, poking their heads down every likely hole and crevice. I actually saw one get lucky and snap up a small fish and then lay over on his side to work at swallowing it whole. I suspect the low tide creates optimal hunting conditions for the eels, cutting off the escape routes of the small fish by the limiting puddles of sea water. The morays themselves sometimes end up out of water, but they just exaggerate their writhing locomotion and propel themselves forwards into the next puddle.

Mike and I spent a couple of hours wandering up and down the beach peering at the activity in the tide flats and keeping an eye open for shells. We were about done, having wandered fruitlessly both up and down the entire length of the beach, when finally I spotted a nautilus shell lying exposed, bright and foreign-looking, in full view on the beach. It was in perfect condition – not a crack or chip. I stowed it in the cargo pocket of my hiking shorts and took great care, as we bushwhacked back to the other side of the ridge, not to trip and fall and crush my prize! For dinner last night, it formed the centerpiece on the dining table along with our battery-operated candles.

Hot and sweaty, a dip in the bay seemed inviting, so we donned our snorkel gear and topped off the afternoon exploring a bommie (underwater pinnacle) within swimming distance of AVATAR. It was a beautiful spot, aquarium-like with clear water, bright corals, and a variety of colorful fish. Our attention was caught by a small school of squid performing some kind of interesting ritual most likely related to spawning. One pair in particular allowed us float to within arm’s length of them, unusual in that squid are usually shy and quick to dart away into the distance. They hung suspended in the water, their entire bodies bordered by a translucent fin that undulated ceaselessly to hold them in place. Their bodies were iridescent in colors of rose and turquoise, but then one or both of the pair would dart down to a crevice on the bottom a few feet below where their colors would instantly transmute to blacks and golds, and then a moment later they jetted back to us in full reverse, again taking on the rose/aqua coloring of before. At one time I saw the larger connect to the smaller with his  (her?) tentacles.

Late in the day a sailboat joined us in the anchorage and their Fijian guide came over in his dinghy and shared a generous portion of Spanish mackerel that they had caught on the sail over. We offered a bundle of just ripening avocados in return, of which we have an abundance due to the fact Rod had ordered 8 avocados from the market and received 8 kilos instead! Guacamole is on our breakfast, lunch and dinner menu!

We were also visited at dusk by a local Fijian man named Peter who had motored over from the village in a government launch – he introduced himself as the ‘park ranger’ and had come to be sure we understood about the restricted status of the protected iguana habitat. He was quite taken with AVATAR, exclaiming that we had a ‘floating palace!’

The night ended with all of us watching the pilot of Battlestar Gallactica on our flatscreen TV. I brought with me to the boat DVDs of the entire series, so our evening entertainment for the rest of the trip is pretty much cut out for us. And when the show ended we went out on deck to take a look at our own galaxy on a stunningly brilliant night just after moonset – the Milky Way overhead so intense it looked like a cloud in the obsidian black night sky, hung with the bright individual lights of countless stars.

And then it was early to bed, worn out by hiking and swimming and our out-of-whack time zone, only to be awakened in the middle of the night by a sudden squall and accompanying fierce deluge of rain and lightning flashes. Mike sleeps directly under the hatch which is open to the sky at night to catch the tropical breeze – and he is the early warning harbinger of rain as it pelts through the opening and splatters him as he sleeps!

This morning, blue skies again and a fresh breeze, with a possible scuba dive on the afternoon’s agenda.