Another Way to Haul-Out

A bit different than my last haul-out…

The wind was 15-20 knots hard on the nose as I beat my way 10 miles across the atoll. Sure enough, at a few miles out, I spotted masts sticking up through the coconut trees!?!

“It’s true! There really is a haul-out yard out here in the middle of nowhere!?!” I cheered into the wind. A smiling young man met me in a dinghy to guide Swell between the numerous coral heads to one of four mooring balls.

“Welcome,” he said. “Come ashore and check it out when you feel like it.”

Later that day, I went ashore to find the loveliest place imaginable to haul a boat. The ground was covered with round coral stones, the lagoon was sparkling turquoise, the coconut trees rustled in the breeze, and 5 or 6 boats were propped up across the wide expanse of land they’d cleared for storing boats.

Alfred Lau and his family ran this outback enterprise, a courageous endeavor I had to admit. But for the wandering sailor like me, the downside of lacking an easy place to purchase parts and materials, seemed to be well outweighed by the upsides of having a lovely working environment, virtually zero possibility of theft, and a casual, family-run operation. Plus, they carried the necessities–antifouling paint, brushes and rollers, tape and the likes. It was a three-generational family effort: Grandpa, father and wife, and son and daughter, Assam, Alfred and Pauline, Tony and Nancy, respectively, although grandpa stuck mostly to his own affairs—tending to his 200 egg-laying hens or splitting coconuts with his enormous hatchet to dry and sell as ‘copra’ to the large coconut oil refinery in Papeete. Despite knowing little about sailboats, I was largely impressed with their operation…

Alfred invited me for dinner that evening, and every evening up to my departure, for that matter, and it was clear that this haul-out experience would be bit different than my last…

“For Tahitians and Poumotu,” Alfred spoke seriously over dinner one night, “Our family land is the ‘pito’ (the Tahitian word for ‘belly-button’). Without your land and you are lost. The land is you and you are the land.” He picked up some of the rocks underfoot, and raised them to his lips as he spoke. He told that he had left the island, to work in the city in Papeete as a young man. Some years later, his grandmother had threatened to give the island to someone who would use it, rather than see the land go unused. So he had decided to come back and start a pearl farm. But now, with the flooded pearl market, and the current state of the economy, they’d drawn on the advice of a French sailor and bought a hydraulic trailer to haul-out boats…

They haul boats and know how to eat well, too!

As I let the night breeze push the dinghy back towards Swell after dinner, I looked up at the wide Tuamotu sky and pondered that my ‘pito’ must be made of saltwater and wind and stars and fiberglass…?

Over the next few days, I prepared Swell for my departure and then the three Lau generations hauled her out few days later, propping her up amongst the palms. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing I would have peace of mind to leave Swell alone when I hopped the next plane back to California for Barry’s memorial…