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V216 Easter Island to Pitcairn 2005 -
First Time Voyage Crew Paul Eyton-Jones recounts the start of his adventure:

"You’re being downright foolhardy and reckless in my opinion,” said my friend Jo when I told him that I was joining the square-sail ship Soren Larsen to voyage across the South Pacific. “You have responsibilities here,” he added as an afterthought. My first sight of the ship was as it bobbed at anchour off Easter Island’s capital Hanga Roa. “They can’t be serious” I exclaimed under my breath. The 105-foot long boat looked far too small to cross the English Channel let alone some of the remotest parts of the Pacific. Jo was right this was reckless. Fortunately after just a few hours on board I realised that my fears were misplaced.

I had arrived at Easter Island on the 25th April. There are two flights a week to this remotest of islands. I met Fred at the airport. He was the first of my fellow paying voyage crew that I got to know. Shortly after checking into our hotel we decided to take a walk into Hanga Ro the tiny capital where almost all of the island population lives. Soon after leaving the hotel we found ourselves in quiet back streets. Imagine our surprise and alarm when we heard the clatter of horse’s hooves racing towards us from out of the pitch dark. Its Polynesian rider, sporting a garish bandana, sat bareback and proud on his mount. He nodded politely in our direction as he raced past. A little further down the road two drunken Easter Islanders crossed the road and sauntered towards us our direction. Expecting trouble we were surprised when they grasped our hands warmly and welcomed us to their island.

Over the days that followed it was obvious that Easter Island, just 15 miles by 5 miles big, was an exceptional place. At first sight Hanga Road and its corrugated roof buildings looked like a Third World shantytown. But there was no begging or propositioning of tourists. Shops were clean, and the roads free of litter. Even the ubiquitous stray dogs were friendly and scrupulously well behaved. Well at least they were until I applied some locally purchased deodorant. I don’t know what was in the ingredients but at one point eight dogs of all shapes and sizes were followed me in single file. Two took an interest in me that was more than just friendly leaving my fresh clothes covered in muddy paw-prints.

The following day Fred and I took a tour round the island to look at the world famous carved stone statues –Easter Island’s moai. We climbed to the crater of Rano Ranaku volcano and admired a moai quarry and hundreds of moai that lined the slopes of the mountain. [insert photo of Fred]. We took plenty of photos at the famous Ahu Tongariki where fifteen moia stand on a platform next to the sea. Our tour ended at my favourite spot -the idyllic beach of Ovahe. The guidebooks described this as one of the most beautiful beaches in the world and for once we were not to be disappointed. A group of 5 moia, backs to the sea, dominated this palm-fringed beach. There was not a single beach café or piece of litter in sight.

Our Soren Larsen joining instructions said that we should meet at the reception of Hotel O Tai at 10am on the 29th April. Since arriving I had been trying to pick out my 13 fellow paying crewmates from the myriad of tourists on the island. Now I would know for sure. I was relieved to find that it was a diverse group, of both sexes and all ages comprising fellow Brits, German, New Zealanders and a token American.

We were met by a contingent of Soren Larsen crew who were to take us to the boat. Ominously they warned that there was a strong swell running and that transferring us and our belongings to the boat could be ‘interesting’. I was really excited when they told me that the Soren Laren was now anchored off wonderful Ovahe Beach. But my enthusiasm quickly vanished as we turned a bend in the road to see Soren Larsen bobbing like a cork in a heavy swell. But I placed my faith in the professionalism and seamanship of the crew and we managed to transfer aboard without getting too wet. We were greeted by Captain Jim Cottier, first mate Mikkel and second mate Astrid all of whom were sporting crisp whites. They introduced us to the rest of the 12- strong permanent crew who drawn from Britain, Denmark, Australia, Canada, Holland, South Africa and the US. [insert photo of 15 moia]

The first thing you notice when you board a square-rigger is the spaghetti of lines (ropes) crossing each other from all conceivable directions. The second thing is the noise as the ship rides the waves. ‘Splash’, ‘crump’, ‘groan’, and ‘creak’ are all ingredients in this indescribable cocktail. Naturally the din seemed even louder at night - its volume easily smothered the snoring of my German cabin mate Christian. But after the first evening you quickly get used to it. You also get used to the rolling and pitching of the boat. At times you can feel your blood sloshing straight to your head and then straight back to the tips of your toes as the ship rolls. One or two of the voyage crew, as we paying guests were referred to, were seasick, but again within a couple of days we had all gained sea legs which sustained us through the constant rolling and pitching.

Early the following day as we waited to be cleared by Chilean customs I dived into the clear turquoise water of Ovahe. I watched as black and yellow fish swam under the Soren Larsen’s hull and around the anchor cable. I had to pinch myself. Here we were riding at anchor off an impossibly stretch of golden sand, crowned by moai. The beach was completely deserted. It was my first Soren Larsen ‘moment’ - a perfect moment in time that can only be enjoyed from a boat. [insert picture of ovahe beach]

We weighed anchor and set sail. Easter Island shrank and then disappeared behind us. Only 1100 miles to our next destination of Pitcairn Island. To assist in working the ship the voyage crew were organised into three watches, 8 to 12, 12 ‘til 4 and 4 ‘til 8. These four-hour watches are carried out twice a day, both morning and night, while the ship is making passage. My watch comprised of Second Mate Astrid from Germany. Her infectious bright smile has done much to keep my spirits up on those watches where exhaustion takes over or it pours with rain. Astrid was supported by charming Marita from Australia and by hilarious Nate from America (someone should sign this man up, he is a born entertainer). The voyage crew was entirely British. Retiree Rod from Berkhamsted; Lee a banker from London; Chris an IT Manager from Poole and nurse Audrey from Leicester.

Watches consist of sweating (heaving) on lines to raise and shape sails, steering at the helm, safety rounds and keeping a look out for other vessels. Since leaving Easter Island a week ago we have only seen one other vessel. It is hard to imagine just how remote this part of the world is from people. At night our watch makes the ships fresh bread.

Initially I thought I was unfortunate to get the 12 ‘til 4 watch. Although this meant that I would get the best sunshine during the day it also meant the least sleep at night. You can get very tired. The compensation is the atmosphere –literally. I had never realised how beautiful the night sky can be. Far from land and light pollution the stars in the night sky burn so brightly that in places the space around them seems almost milky in their light. I have learnt to spot the Southern Cross, Jupiter, Orion’s Belt, and the Northern Crown.

Scientists think that the universe is 100,000 light years in diameter. The sheer scale of its dimensions is so hard to grasp. As Bill Bryson puts it in A Short History of Nearly Everything, if we reduced the scale of the Earth to a pea then Jupiter would be over 300 metres away. On the same reduced scale Proxima Centauri, our nearest star, would be 16,000 kilometres away. Our solar system is just one of a hundred billion in the Milky Way galaxy, and this galaxy is just one of about 140 billion in the overall universe. If they were all peas they would fill the Albert Hall.

Safe in domesticated urban England I had found it impossible to put these awesome dimensions into any perspective. But on the night watch on Soren Larsen it is much easier. On my second watch alone I saw two shooting stars within the first ten minutes. During the next half an hour, Nate found a flying fish that had beached itself on deck. Later that same night a particularly bright meteorite lit up the night sky as it crashed down through our atmosphere. The white trail it left behind floated in the dark sky for several minutes. As many as 2000 meteorites like this regularly cross earth's orbit and there are hundred of thousands of these in our solar system alone, far too many to track. Even a small meteorite the size of a house could destroy a city. It just shows how insignificant we humans are in the overall scheme of things.

Back home in ‘civilisation’ we spend each day live in what we call reality. We rush through our days in such stress and intensity as if we are here to stay and the serious project of the world depended upon us. We worry and grow anxious; we magnify trivia until they become important enough to control our lives. The Soren Larsen experience prompts you into realising that we have forgotten that we are but temporary sojourners on the surface of an unknown planet spinning slowly in the infinite night of the cosmos.

Every night, night after night the eight of us stand on the deck of this small brigantine beneath 7000 square feet of sail stretching 98 feet into the air above. Masts and beams alone weigh tens of tonnes. In spite of nautical explanations about ballast and keel it is hard to understand why the whole edifice doesn’t just topple over into the sea. Every now and then the mainsail empties of wind and swings across the deck before slipping back with a loud crack as the canvas and preventer lines attached to it take up the strain once more. Clumps of phosphorous glow in the water streaming along our hull.

Captain Jim decided to dispense with satellite positioning on this voyage. Instead he is relying on celestial navigation so Astrid must take regular sightings with a sextant. To calculate our speed we throw a piece of wood, the log, off the stern and count the seconds until the line runs out. Nothing quite compares with Soren Larsen’s moonlight wake on the glassy sea as we meander silently through the South Pacific at 6 miles per hour. Back home in Britain the ceaseless din of chatter and noise has killed our acquaintance with silence of this quality.

It is perhaps the pace on a square ship such as Soren Larsen that is so special. When you aren’t sleeping you tend to be talking, reading or watching the angle of sails or the set of the waves around you. Every now and then this torpor is interrupted by a brief period of intense activity, as sails are set or reset.

“Paul you’re going up to the Flemish Horse” Nate announced. It sounded like a form of medieval torture and in a way I suppose it is. Sails are held in place by yards. Sailors need to get on to the yards in order to let out or pull in the sails. They inch their feet along a bouncy rope with for once the logical name of ‘footrope’. The Flemish horse is a small and separate piece of particularly bouncy footrope rope at the end of the yard. And Nate wanted me on it. I climbed thirty feet up the standing rigging, gripping on for dear life and then leant out into space to catch hold of a line that would help me transfer onto the yard. Then I shuffled across the footrope and onto the Flemish Horse. It was exhilarating to be high up in the bosom of the sails with the sea churning below.[insert picture of me on Flemish Horse] While I was admiring the view Nate spotted two pilot whales following the ship. Two or three times the size of a dolphin these mammals followed us for a mile before disappearing. On the Flemish Horse I had the grandstand view. Along with my shooting stars this was my third Soren Larsen ‘moment’.

Sleep, friendship, contemplation, food, and humour –it doesn’t take much to be happy on board. As Thoreau said, “man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can do without”. Apart from my family of course the only aspect of home that I miss is dry, clean clothes. As Christine one of my fellow voyage crew put it in this humid sub-tropical atmosphere there are three kinds of clothes: wet clothes, damp clothes and drying clothes.

A recent BBC survey of 20,000 viewers ranked the top 50 experiences in order of ‘must do’. Top of the list was swimming with dolphins, scuba diving on Australia’s Great Barrier Reef, whale watching, diving with sharks and learning to skydive. In just a single week on Soren Larsen I have seen shooting stars, flying fish, whales and Easter Island. And my voyage has just started and I have Pitcairn Island, the stunning Marquesas and Tahiti to experience in the next six weeks. Swimming with dolphins may have topped the BBC’s poll but for sheer variety and richness of experience, combined with outstanding value for money, my vote goes to the Soren Larsen.

Love to all at home

Paul Eyton-Jones