Outdoor Adventures – Page 2 – On the Horizon Line

Riding the Mae Hong Son Loop with 2 1/2 in Thailand. On the Horizon Line Blog with Brianna Randall and Rob Roberts on motorcycle.

Part One – Riding with 2 1/2 on Thailand’s Mae Hong Son Motorcycle Loop

Last week, we put the two-and-a-half of us, one small duffel and our beat-up Panamanian guitar on a motorcycle for a week-long road trip in Southeast Asia. We were ready for smaller towns and some Thailand scenery. The 800 kilometer Mae Hong Son motorcycle loop has over 2,000 turns. Most of them are hairpin. It climbs and then descends an astonishing 1,000 meters (3,000 feet) in 20 kilometers (12 miles) … several times. We had planned to spend about five days on the road, but ended up riding for eight.

This video was made entirely on the iPhone using iMovie. It features Bri as the star during the first half of our trip, which included visits to Buddhist temples, birding at the highest peak in Thailand, and playing guitar with locals in the street.

Stay tuned for Part Two in a few days. Also, watch for Bri’s post next month in Mamalode about riding on a motorcycle while pregnant.

Community and Culture, Family and Friends, Fishing, Hiking, Ocean Tales, Outdoor Adventures, Sailing, Traveling

Top 10 Photos of the South Pacific

As we leave the Pacific for Southeast Asia, it seems like a good time to reflect upon what we’ve seen this past year. Here are a few of our favorite photos, which give a taste of sailing, swimming and living across the South Pacific islands. Note: This Top 10 album is also available on our Facebook page.

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Satellite photo of Cyclone Ian approaching Tonga.

Ocean Tales, Outdoor Adventures

Nature’s Engine – A ripple that spins.

A cyclone looks remarkably similar to a single ripple spreading slowly over calm water. Except that the ripple spins and grows, a wild engine powered by wind and water. We saw that natural engine spin a little too close for comfort here in Vava’u, Tonga, this past weekend.

Cyclone Ian came and went like a spinning top, the brunt of it’s force narrowly missing us here in Vava’u. We saw sustained winds of 50-60 knots for 24 hours, and gusts from 80-100 knots (up to 120 mph). It was a big storm, but the eye stayed about 30 miles off the coast of Vava’u.

Unfortunately, the island group to the south, Ha’apai, was not so lucky. These flat volcanic atolls took a serious pounding, and it’s estimated that 75% of all home were destroyed as the eye of the storm came directly over the islands. Click here to see photos of Ian’s devastation south of us.

Here on Fetoko, we were spared much damage, and the sailboat and island we call home with our friends, Ben and Lisa, fared well, thanks to intensive cyclone preparations for the two days before Ian arrived. The biggest injury was a few sea urchin spines that lodged in Rob’s butt while he was anchoring one of the motor boats (yup, it was low tide!). The most adventurous part was a mid-storm rescue of a German couple camped on a nearby island — Rob and Ben took the boat right before dark to investigate the flashlight signals we saw from across the water, returning with two very wet passengers. They stayed with us on Fetoko for the brunt of the cyclone.

Rob and I are writing a longer post now detailing the steps we took on the sailboat and on the island, so we can share with fellow sailors and travelers what worked and what didn’t. Stay tuned for the details, along with a full before/after picture slideshow of our preparations.

Click here to see a full photo album of Cassidy's visit to Tonga!

Family and Friends, Outdoor Adventures, Traveling

Farewell to our First Visitor

It was a typical Randall sister reunion, full of music, good food and lots of novel-reading between the many outdoor adventures. Cassidy left yesterday after a month with us here in Vava’u. I cried tears of joy when she arrived, and tears of sorrow when she left.

If you’re a visual person, check out the full photo slideshow of Cassidy’s month exploring Tonga here. (I still haven’t figured out why some of you can’t see pictures on our blog. Apologies for the inconvenience, and visit this outside link to see some photos while I keep working on the problem.)

For the more prosaic among our followers, read on to see the Top Ten highlights from hosting our very first visitor, who happens to be my favorite person in the world:

1. Rob taught Cass how to scuba dive, and she rocked the underwater world on 4 different dives.
2. We spent a week on Fofoa, an outer island on the west end of Vava’u, kayaking and snorkeling every day.
3. Cass was lucky enough to have close-up personal encounters with a sea turtle, a spotted eagle ray, a couple of sharks, and thousands of cool fish.
4. I took her on a triathalon slog across the main island, which consisted of 4 hours of bike-riding, hiking straight down (and then up) a slippery muddy trail, swimming in a washing-machine current created by huge waves, and getting deyhydrated enough to think that warm Sprite bought in a tiny village was the BEST thing EVER..
5. We took our slow, slow dingy six miles south to Fenua Unga, where we sat in seawater pools and swam under waterfalls created by the cascading waves.
6. Seahorses. Pregnant male ones, even.
7. The “Waking Dream Cavalcade” released its first album, with Rob on guitar, Cass on ukelele, and me on mandolin — new instruments for all of us!
8. Cass spent an afternoon doing ocean donuts in Ben and Lisa’s power kayak, one of the awesomest water toys out there.
9. We ate daily doses of local pineapple, avocado, papaya and mango, along with fresh giant trevally caught on Rob’s fly rod from the sailboat.
10. Cass attained her goal for this vacation: watch every sunset. And there were some glorious ones, too.

Of course, like all of life, there were lowlights, too: rainy days in a leaky boat; all of us getting sick around Christmas; the boat’s solar panel blowing overboard in a storm (and minimal electricity aboard afterwards). But the lowlights tend to accentuate the good parts. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself, now that I’m facing six months apart from my sister. The distance will make our togetherness even more special when next we get to adventure together.

Click here to see sunset picture of a beach in Tonga.

Family and Friends, Fishing, Ocean Tales, Outdoor Adventures, Reflections on Life, Sailing, Traveling

2013 – One Incredible Year in Review

6,000 nautical miles
26 tropical islands
8 countries
7 sailboats
6 months living on the sea
3 months living in Tonga
2 careers put on hold
2 big backpacks
1 incredible year

In some ways, it feels like 2013 was the longest year in ages. Probably because a lot happened. We quit our jobs, packed up our house, kissed friends and family goodbye. We sailed one-quarter of the way around the planet, and met countless new people living a range of different lifestyles. Here are some highlights from our journey this year:

Favorite Places:

Palmerston Atoll, an island in the Cooks with only 60 people divided into three governing families, no roads, and abundant fish. Fakarava, for its unspoiled wildlife where we dove with 200+ sharks. Bora Bora for its sheer beauty and sandy anchorages. Niue, the smallest country on earth, where Rob saved a woman’s life (stay tuned for that story!) and every resident waves as you pass by. The Kingdom of Tonga, where we have taken up temporary residence, for the sense of community, the accessible water sports, and the local culture.

Favorite Wildlife Moments:
We’ve spent hundreds of hours underwater and thousands of hours floating on top of it. The most memorable sightings include: a lone Orca whale breaching alongside our boat; floating next to 7 sea turtles in the Galapagos; snorkeling with sea lions in Baja; diving with manta rays in Bora Bora; jumping into the deep blue and seeing dozens of curious sharks; listening to the humpback whales sing underwater and watching a mama and her baby play; cheering as dolphins ride the bow wave of our sailboat; and swimming at night through bioluminescent plankton that glow and sparkle.

Biggest Challenges:

Nothing is ever still while sailing from place to place, which means dealing with seasickness, a rocking stove while you cook, and always having to brace yourself as you sit or walk or sleep.
Tight quarters and communal living arrangements can be tough at times.
Wind, waves and currents control when and where you go, testing your patience and flexibility.
Bringing the right stuff with you and anticipating what you need during long passages at sea.
Reconciling the illusion of paradise with the reality of bugs, heat, storms, and the inevitable list of chores and repairs that come with living on a boat.
Meeting like-minded people and finding friendships as close as those we left behind.

Best Parts of Living At Sea:

Nights where the stars are endless and bright.
Shades of infinite blues.
Syncing your daily life with the rhythm of the sun, the wind, the moon.
Watching birds and fish and dolphins and whales from the bow.
Visiting remote and spectacular places that are inaccessible by plane or car.
Spending time with yourself and each other.

deserted island paradise tonga vava'u brianna randall rob roberts travel blog

Ocean Tales, Outdoor Adventures

Bird Nerds on a Deserted Island

Imagine a place where hundreds of birds fly overhead. Where baby birds squeak from every branch you can see. Where eggs litter the ground you walk on.

Imagine a place ringed by white sand and coral reef, a place you can circumnavigate in under ten minutes.

Imagine a place where the wind can push the waves and the moon can push the tide as easily as a man knocks over a cup of water.

Imagine putting your tent too close to those waves and tides.

Imagine a deserted island where 6 friends arrive with tents, a cooler, ukeleles, some water toys, and a lot of papayas.

Imagine hermit crab race courses, twirling flaming poi balls, reading books beneath hatching seabirds, cooking over a fire, collecting colorful shells, swimming in against a stiff outgoing tide.

Imagine camping for a weekend on an outer island in the south of Vava’u in Tonga, and you might just see the vignettes described above. We did.

Fonua Fu’o and Fonua Unga are spectacular places, almost untouched by humans. Brown noddys and fairy terns use these islands as rookeries, and blacktip sharks as nurseries. Boobies and frigate birds dive for needlefish. The ground all around moves and wriggles, since almost every available shell is filled with an industrious hermit crab. The waves push and pull more strongly on the outer islands, evidenced by our wet campfire the first night. And the sun seems to shine more brightly, evidenced by our burnished skin when we returned home.

Special places, for sure…especially for bird-nerds like Rob and me. Well worth the very hard ground we battled with very thin mats, the mildewy water bottles, the sunburned lips, the crab pinches, and the inevitable bird poop bombs from above.

brianna randall rob roberts resort tonga beach vacation hunting goats

Food and Drink, Outdoor Adventures

The Great Goat Hunt of 2013

A few weeks ago, just before dinner with some friends on Fetoko Island, I heard Rob telling hunting stories. He was re-enacting past elk kills, and explaining how he stalked ungulates through misty Montana mountains each fall. I suddenly realized it was opening day of hunting season back home. Rob was probably a bit nostalgic — no deer or elk to shoot in Vava’u.

The next day, we left for a party on Mounu Island in the southern part of the Vava’u group. “It’s probably the best island in Vava’u,” Ben told us. I think he’s right. Mounu is owned by the Bowe family, palangis who started the very first whale swim business. In fact, they helped write the rules that allow people to swim with whales here in Tonga, which is one of only three countries where humans can swim beside these magical mega-mammals. The Bowes leased Mounu and run an exclusive resort on the sandy beaches. Check out the sperm whale bones that washed up this last month.

Their daughter, Kirsty, had her 40th birthday party on Mounu, and we managed to snag an invite. Rob and I set up our borrowed tent and yoga-mat-sleeping-pads, and promptly joined in the dancing and water fun. Little did we know that The Great Goat Hunt of 2013 was in store for Day 2.

Kirsty decided we should divide into teams of four, and head across to Ovalau, the deserted island just across from Mounu. Ovalau has a lot of goats. Too many, according to the Tongans, who agreed we should get a couple for dinner. Rob was psyched. So was I, actually…sounded like a hilarious adventure, and I always prefer eating local free-range meat.

Our team: Rob, me, Billy and Leonati. Billy is the lead ukelele player in our band, Riff Raff, and grew up performing in circuses all over Europe. Leonati is a native of Vava’u, loves to eat any type of animal, and has worked on Mounu for several years. We were the dream team.

Once ashore on Ovalau, the teams split up. The only rules: no guns allowed, and the first team that arrived with a goat wins. The dream team moved fast through the thick undergrowth, heading toward the eastern shore of the island. Rob wore perfect hunting attire: tight Speedos with a hole in the butt and a bright white shirt. Billy came a close second: long jeans, broken shoes with a flapping sole, and a button down shirt. I had faith.

Here’s how The Great Goat Hunt went down:

1) We heard the goats mewing close by. The men split up and moved fast (and not noiselessly) through the trees (which is when I lost them and wandered aimlessly for about 10 minutes).

2) Rob, Billy and Leonati came upon two goats. “Which one should I get?” Rob called to Leonati, the goat hunting veteran. Leonati pointed at the plumpest one.

3) Rob tackled the goat. Billy pointed out the swollen teats, which meant she was pregnant. “Shit. Wrong choice.” They let her go.

4) The men began stalking once more, heading toward the cliffs against the sea where they could corner more goats.

5) Rob and Leonati came upon another goat and herded her against the rocks. They crept toward her slowly, until Leonati could reach out and grab her leg. Done.

6) Leonati promplty slit her throat. Rob found a branch and tied its legs around it.

7) I followed the blood trail until I came upon Billy and Rob flapping back through the woods carrying a dead goat. The dream team reunited for the trek to the beach.

The whole thing took about 14 minutes. Our team was the first back, though the other teams arrived quickly. One other team caught a goat, but brought it back alive and then decided to let it go when we already had one to eat. No need to be greedy. We stuffed the dead goat in a giant tupperware box and took the boat back across to Mounu. On the short ride, we saw a tiger shark swimming that could have eaten about 8 goats in one swallow. It was BIG.

Back home, Rob and I followed Leonati back into the bush, to see how he’d prepare the goat for our dinner. Turns out it’s easy: use a Tongan blowtorch (flaming palm fronds) to scorch off all the hair, gut it, then put it back on the stick-spit and roast for a couple of hours over a coconut-husk fire. Voila.

I can’t say that goat was my favorite meat to eat, but I appreciated the adventure. And The Great Goat Hunt soothed Rob’s hunting jitters out here in the tropics, far from Montana’s roaming elk.

rob brianna sail travel voyage explore tonga grass skirt kayak

Outdoor Adventures, Traveling

Charmed, I’m Sure

We’ve now lived in the Kingdom of Tonga for one full month. It’s awesome here, and I say that after exploring only 3 of the 170 islands. We plan on staying in Vava’u through at least January to see a few more, and to soak up the sights and sounds of this special spot.

That means we’ll soon be waving goodbye to most of our sailing friends. Most yachties head south to New Zealand and Australia by November, steering clear of the hurricanes that spin through the tropical latitudes during the southern hemisphere’s summer season. Since we don’t have to worry about a storing a sailboat out of cyclone-prone areas, Rob and I plan to stay put as the air and water heat up. Plus, Rob rigged up this awesome trash bag sail on our friends’ double kayak, so we have some sweet wheels now.

We’re looking forward to experiencing the storm season, when the trade winds die, the tourists head home, and the locals flock to beaches for summer feasts. Here are just a handful of the reasons Tonga has charmed us into staying on her pretty shores:

The kids all say “bye bye” instead of hello as you pass by.
Baby pigs squeal and scatter as you walk or drive down the main street.
Tongan feasts are weekly events, and include a LOT of meat, which is cooked in an umu with stones heated in a coconut-shell fire. Lamb and chicken are favorites, but puppy is not unheard of.
Everyone sings aloud – and in harmony – to any song nearby, whether it’s rap, pop or church music.
The cops drive people home from the bars when they close.
Boundaries are fuzzy and the culture is communal, so people “borrow” what they need. Rob likes to “Tongan borrow” fruit, for instance.
Tonga is the only kingdom in the Pacific, and the only country that never gave up autonomous rule.
Only 40 of Tonga’s 170 islands are inhabited.
Both men and women wear skirts with woven grass mats called ta’ovalas tied around the top of the skirt.
The Kingdom has dozens of chiefs and nobles, along with the royal family. Commoners must speak a different language to nobles, and yet another separate language to address the royal family.

paragliding in montana - rob roberts on the horizon line

Hiking, Outdoor Adventures

First Descents

Last year, I soared off Hogback Mountain over Rock Creek, a blue-ribbon trout stream in Montana. This article about the first paragliding flight off the mountain appeared in the October 2013 issue of Hang Gliding & Paragliding Magazine. Click on the photo below to zoom in and read on.

dinghy travel sail south pacific travel rob bri

Ocean Tales, Outdoor Adventures

El Coche: Our Dinghy/Kiddie Pool

It’s always an adventure in El Coche, the nickname Rob dubbed upon Compass Rose(y)’s 10-foot inflatable sidekick. We rely on El Coche for getting to shore to buy supplies like food and fuel, visiting neighbors, and exploring reefs. Basically, the dinghy is like your car at home: not essential to basic survival, but integral for your general sanity and daily well-being. El Coche gives us freedom. She gives us autonomy. She provides a much-needed escape from a very small vessel in a very big sea.

So its a real bummer that she leaks like a sieve and deflates like a burst balloon.

I try to tell myself that we’re lucky: not only do we have a dinghy, we also have a swimming pool to splash around in! That’s the rose-colored optimist view. Most days, I take the realist view: we have a dingy that loves water more than air. Occasionally, the pessimist comes out: this dinghy is sinking, and I’m f&%$ing sick of pumping and bailing.

It wasn’t always this bad. But it wasn’t ever good, either. Before Rob and I started as crew on Compass Rose(y), we would watch Mark and the owner motoring through anchorages, one of them constantly pumping up the nose. When we later agreed to crew, Rob told me determinedly: “I’m gonna try and patch that dinghy first thing.” And try he did. Again, and again. And again. And one last time.

The rubber on the bow won’t hold the patches. The patches on the floor don’t keep the ocean from pouring in. Every time he fixed one hole, a new gash appeared somewhere else. So, we’ve given in. We’re allowing El Coche a graceful and slow demise. It’s kind of like signing a “Do Not Resuscitate” order from your 98-year-old grandmother — she lived a good, long life, and it’s time for her to pass on peacefully.

Meanwhile, we have a half swimming pool/half boat, and provide plenty of comic relief for our fellow cruisers. El Coche is usually the butt of many jokes when she’s tied up at the dock. Hell, she’s the main source of our own daily amusement, since the best cure from pessimism is to joke while pumping and bailing.

Several people watch our labors with the pump nostalgically (did I mention the foot pump has broken twice, and you have to cover a whole with one hand while you pump with the other?). They say, wistfully, “Oh, that reminds me of our old dinghy.” And then they watch us bucket out 30 gallons of water from the bottom and revise their statement, “Wow, ours was never that bad.” If they actually brave a ride in El Coche, they marvel at her squishy-ness, and exclaim at the novelty of riding in a wet taco as the nose folds in. If the motor manages to plane the boat and unroll the taco, the floor becomes a swimming pool where random snorkels, shoes, ropes, groceries, and other random flotsam bang into toes and ankles.

At least the motor works … after 12-16 pulls on the starter cord. Usually. Except for that one time Rob and I were coming back from a snorkeling expedition in Tahaa across a 3-mile-wide channel with 25 knots of wind in our face. First it cut out because the gas tube was cracked. Rob patched it with his dive knife and his teeth, as the wind pushed us toward the reef and away from our sailboat. Then in the middle of the channel, the outboard died again and wouldn’t restart, even after 86 cranks of the starter cord.

That was the first time I’ve seen Rob lose his cool. He threw up his hands, yelled some swear words, and then said, “That’s it! We’re done for. We’re drifting toward Bora Bora, and there’s no way we can get back to the boat. This is EXACTLY why I would never have a boat without oars!”

I replied (cautiously), “Well, maybe we can at least use something as a rudder to steer toward the reef as we drift? Or use something to paddle…” This elicited an incredulous, “With what, Bri?!? Our hands? Oh, wait…” Rob ripped off the two blue plank seats, handed me one, and said, “Paddle HARD.”

Paddling with a heavy fiberglass plank is not ideal. But given the alternative, I followed orders. We paddled HARD for about 45 minutes until we made it to the other side of the channel, where we tied up on a reef to wait for the motor to recover from overheating. We managed to get back to Compass Rose(y) unscathed but really tired. The next day, Rob made a paddle out of a broom handle and piece of plywood he scavenged from a trash heap on shore.

We never leave the sailboat in El Coche without the paddle. Or without the bucket, the pump, the seats (emergency oars), and a handheld radio. A dry bag is a must, and we often pack an extra set of clothes inside it so we don’t have to sit through a dinner party as a salty wet mess. In fact, the prep checklist for our dinghy excursions is almost as long as our checklist for passage-making.

Ah, the joys of cruising. All told, El Coche still works to get us from Point A to Point B. Sure, you can see the turquoise water through the floor, but some people pay a lot of money for see-through boats. And my arms are nicely toned from the pump-and-bail routine. One thing is certain: even when I’m the most pessimistic about El Coche’s suckiness, I still know deep down that the freedom she provides is priceless and worth every ounce of frustration.