Chapter 39

New Caledonia is a long lean island chain bordering the Coral Sea. A French Protectorate, Noumea, New Caledonia is 1150 miles from Auckland ... as the crow flies. Tacking is not crow flying ... best guestimate?... 1850 miles of back and forth of our base line of 344 degrees true. New Caledonia is your basic atoll writ large ... really large. From Ile Nëkanmué on the southeast to Ile Pott on the northwest and beyond the atoll covers NINE thousand square miles. 9,266 actually. Biggest atoll on the globe. Extensive reefs, many wrecks ... and there's this island, Grand Terre, in the middle.

Grande Terre trends northwest-to-southeast; its area is 16,321 square miles. The island is 220 miles in length and 30–40 mi wide in most places. A mountain range runs the length of the island, with five peaks over 4,900 feet. The highest point is Mont Panie at 5,341 ft elevation.

We sailed between South West and Three Kings islands and headed for Norfolk Island.

Interesting place, is Norfolk Island. Settled, abandoned, settled, abandoned, penal colony, abandoned, taken over by Pitcairn Islanders, resettled by Australians, assigned to New Zealand, taken back by Australia ... oh yeah ... interesting place.

Tahitian women and British sailors spawned some of the most beautiful women and handsome men in the world.

We replenished our vegetables and meat at Kingston Wharf ... and explored. Some day, this will make a great place for tourists. Spectacular views, interesting and historic ruins, abandoned machinery, evidence of prehistoric occupation. For sure!

We were assigned a buoy and had to use the one of the ships boats for most of our stay, but there was one nice day, calm and flat, that we motored in and tied off. Pallets of fresh produce, and half sides of local cattle for the freezer. We had a picnic and a roast pig on the beach at Emily Bay. We invited the island and most of them came. The imports wore white lace and fancy hats ... the Pitcairners wore what they wore

Everybody went swimming in Emily Bay ... all of us and all of those spectacular women. This is where the tiny loincloth and toplessness struck.

The girls ... our girls ... seldom wore much more ... everywhere.

The Vellamo III, as standard equipment, carried a treadle Singer; one never knows when a sail needs repair. 17 year old Channet Saduntytär had just such a sewing machine at home in Jyväskylä.

Inkeri ... now 14 and graduated to her mothers estate..."huge tracts of land," ... got together with Channet and the pair spent two days in the hold, sewing.

It fit ... what little there was of it ... it fit.

"Daddy?" Inkeri asked one morning as I was shaving my face.

I rinsed the blade and looked at her.

"I need a shave," she said.

I looked again, she was looking down ... so I did too ... and back up quickly.

"I see," and I did. "If you're going to wear that," I motioned towards the scrap of cloth that covered ... just barely ... covered the promised land, "You're right."

"You know, daddy," she sighed, "I prayed for hair ... there. I thought I'd never grow ... it. And now I have this ... marsh ... I can't wait to get rid of it."

"And?"

"Shave me?"

"Ask your mother."

"I did," Inkeri said.

"And?"

"That's why I'm here," she said.

"Oh," I sighed.

"I could ask Artturi," she said, "He shaves."

I spilled the basin of rinse water and cut my chin.

"You're bleeding, daddy."

"Tell me about it." Pure sarcasm.

She took it as fact and said, "Well, it's about an inch long ... and pretty deep..."

"Okay, I'll shave you."

She looked at the cut ... it was beginning to sting, "Never mind." She left.

Wendy came into the head, "Inkeri said ... Ouch, that looks bad."

"Do you want me to shave you?" I asked her.

"I thought about it ... I have a real forest going ... but," she looked at my chin and the drip ... drip ... drip ... of blood, "I changed my mind."

I started to try and catch the drip.

"No," she fished around in the bag she carried every 28 days, "Use this ... it's made for it."