Coconut Milk Run - More Cook Islands

Friends and Family:

Here's a little fairy tale I wrote about a dream I had last week. Hope you enjoy!

Once upon a time, a small group of yachties were pursuing their dreams of sailing their little boats across the South Pacific Ocean and hanging out in its beautiful tropical islands.

One morning along the way, they all had the same strange and fabulous dream. They were sailing along and came upon a beautiful, unspoiled tropical atoll, with a few small palm covered islands surrounding a lovely, emerald lagoon. This paradise had no airports, hotels, cruise ships, fast food stands or T-shirt shops. It appeared to be uninhabited. They checked their charts and found it to be in the middle of nowhere.

They sailed closer to get a better look at this paradise. Some friendly, dark skinned natives spotted them and came out from one of the islands in little boats to greet the yachties. In their perfect English they invited them to stay and visit their island and told them exactly where to drop their anchors so that they would be safe from the nearby coral barrier reef. They offered to return when the yachties were rested and ferry them in their small boats through the narrow and dangerous pass that snaked its way into the beautiful lagoon and to the little island where they lived.

Once the boats were anchored, the yachties noticed that below their little boats lay a beautiful coral reef, teeming with sea life. They could easily see to the bottom of the coral shelf thirty to forty feet below. There were lots of beautiful tropical fish, and occasionally, humpback whales come close by and breach, slap their tails, spout and give them a show. Their eerie whale conversations could be heard resonating through the thin hulls of their little boats. Beyond the little shelf, there was a beautiful underwater wall that plunged deep into the blue Pacific.

Each yacht had its own host during their dream. Each host explained that they would take care of their guest's every need until they awoke from the dream. They would be ferried ashore so that they didn't have to launch their own dinghys. They were invited to have meals at the host's home with his family. They would do their laundry and could even have a hot shower ashore. There was a volleyball tournament every afternoon and the yachties were invited to join in and play with the locals.

There were only fifty-one people on this fairy tale island. They all had the same last name. They were all descended from one man and his three wives who came to the island after the California Gold Rush to grow coconuts and live a communal lifestyle. They told the yachties that all who came to the island became part of the family, and were welcome to share in whatever they had. They asked nothing in return for their generosity, except to borrow the yachties' videos so they could watch them on their televisions late at night.

When the yachties arrived on the island they were greeted by George, the mayor of the little island. George was tall and slender with handsomely chiseled facial features, thick black hair, long sideburns and a big friendly smile. Other than his dark chocolate colored skin, he didn't have the features typical of other Polynesians that the yachties had met in the South Pacific. George welcomed everyone into his "summer home," a thatched roof building with no walls. It provided shelter from the hot island sun, but let pass the gentle island breeze, and had views of the village and lagoon through the palm trees. A couple of old Dacron sails were furled above, ready to block out rain or wind. On the floor were Astroturf and some comfortable quilts. George sat on a daybed, smoked hand rolled cigarettes, and held court with the yachties while his wife Tutai breast fed the youngest of their six children, George Junior. He told them about the island, of their customs and of other wayward dreamers who had happened along before them, while everyone sipped on drinks of rum and fresh coconut milk.

Each host took his yachtie guests for a tour of the little island village and then to their home for lunch. The homes were all simple and clean and the food, mostly unrecognizable to the visitors, was basic and abundant. They ate things like poi, rice, biscuits and honey, and raw parrotfish marinated in coconut milk.

The yachties walked around the village and saw the home of the first family, sturdily built from the huge timbers of an old ship, the new church and the graveyard outside with granite headstones all bearing the same last name, Marsters. They walked down a sand path by the radio shack and the power plant, a diesel generator that runs from 6 am to noon and 6 pm to midnight daily. They saw the water catchment system and the two large cisterns in which it was stored in the center of the small village. There were facilities for the processing and storage of copra (coconut), no longer used since the prices collapsed. Everybody the yachties saw along the way was friendly and invited them to stop and talk, offering coffee or cold drinks. Smiling children would come up and hold hands and walk along with the visitors.

Nobody seemed to be working much, so the yachties wondered how these wonderful people were able to live so well here in paradise. They were told that they would catch parrotfish and flash freeze the fillets. It was sold to the other islands and transported by a supply ship that came three or four times a year with provisions. They would get busy when they heard on the radio that a ship was on its way. There were no phones or email on the island. The only contact with the outside world was a sideband radio, a telegraph, one AM radio station in Rarotonga and the occasional visiting yachtie. In the meantime, the islanders would each pursue their own interests.

Melbourne raised pigs that were to be slaughtered and cooked for special occasions. Bill was building a "yacht club" as a place for the visiting yachties to gather and have a cool bevvy. He also raised sea turtles, which he released in the lagoon and were later harvested for food. George was trying to acquire a commercial fishing boat and was also looking into raising pearl oysters in the lagoon. He wanted to create more industry to entice the young people to stay in the island paradise.

There seemed to be a lot of leisure time. Time to chat. Time to play music and teach this yachtie a song or two on a ukulele hand fashioned from a coconut shell, plywood and fishing line. Time to play a card game called Euchre. Time nearly every day to play a spirited game of volleyball (pronounced Walleyball by the islanders.)

Some of the yachties took time in between island visits to go Scuba diving. Of course, since this was a dream, the yachties could dive right off the back of their little boats into the warm, crystal clear water. Right below their little boats, the shelf dropped off and formed a spectacular coral wall. There were many large, brightly colored parrotfish, a huge Napoleon wrasse, grouper and of course an assortment of small colorful tropical fish too numerous to remember in a dream. During a night dive they saw sleeping parrotfish nestled in coral pukas. Beautiful and dangerous lionfish were out en masse. Giant clams with undulating shells showed their multicolored iridescent mantles. A large lobster was caught to supplement the yachties' dinner. And at the end of the dive the yachties could just climb back onto their little floating homes, shower and relax.