Coconut Milk Run - The Dream Continues

Family and Friends:

One evening, George and his son Lehigh took the yachtie men on a crayfish (lobster) hunting expedition. They went in his small aluminum boat to a remote motu on the other side of the lagoon. The group walked about a mile through swamp land to the barrier reef. Along the way, they saw nesting bosun's birds and flying kiwi birds. Bosun's are so called because in the days of Captain Cook, the ship's bosun's mate could easily gather enough of these succulent little fowl to feed a hungry crew who had grown tired of salt pork. George told us of the wonderful flavor of the bosun's and invited us to try some. As the kiwi birds flew by, their unique call told why they are so named.

As it became dark, George said a long prayer, asking that the group be protected during the hunt, be rewarded for their efforts and safely returned later to their families and homes. The group, clad in gum boots and carrying a Coleman lamp and flashlights, spread out across the hard pan barrier reef. An hour later, they had snatched up nine good sized "bugs" that were just wandering along in the knee deep surf. As they were headed back through the swamp to the boat, George showed the yachties how he easily caught mullet. He picked up an ironwood stick and skillfully whacked a number of them on the head as they swam by in the shallow water. Stunned, he would snatch them up with his quick hand and toss them in the big rice sack full of lobster that Lehigh was schlepping.

The women yachties stayed in the village with the hostesses and helped them prepare a fabulous dinner. Late that evening, at a large picnic table by George's summer home, they had an unbelievable feast. The fare was of course lobster with sauces of drawn garlic butter or coconut milk, poi that had been boiled in banana leaves with a coconut cream garnish, parrotfish and garlic seasoned breadfruit wedges. All washed down with some rum and coconut milk cocktails.

Barely recovered from the feast the night before, and since it was nearly time for the yachties to awaken from their dream, George planned a final dinner for the group. He wanted them to try the legendary bosun's bird. In the middle of the day, the fire was set in a little thatched hut behind his house. Later, the pot full of birds was placed in the umu, or stone oven that the natives use to cook various fish, fowl and meats. It was covered with banana leaves and cloth, allowing the meal to cook slowly, holding in the juices and imparting a lovely smoky taste.

That evening as the sun fell low over the beautiful little island paradise, the group sat outside at a long table and supped on the feast of bosun's bird, tuna, rice, a mixture of coconut, arrowroot and sugar served in coconut shells and some fine Australian and Kiwi wines. The savory dark meat literally fell off the small bones. The bird was the richest and finest fowl the yachties had ever tasted. The bird and the wine induced a euphoric food coma and the yachties were ready to return to their floating homes before dark.

After dinner, George skillfully ferried the yachties through the narrow and dangerous pass out of the lagoon back to their little boats. He came aboard one yacht for a nightcap and while chatting away a pod of humpback whales came up alongside the boat for a visit. They surfaced and spouted and made their eerie whale sounds. It was a befitting finale to a great evening.

Since no dream lasts forever, the following day the yachties went ashore to have one last look at the island paradise and give thanks and say good-bye to their wonderful hosts. The children were there to greet them and held their hands as they walked through the little village. Everyone said a warm and friendly good-bye and welcomed the yachties back to the dream any time they wished. Some even gave beautiful, hand made baskets made from seashells and coconuts to some of the yachties. This yachtie walked around the perimeter of the little island, enjoying the shade of the palms, noticing the millions of sea shells lying on the beach, visiting with some nesting bosun's birds, and capturing a last image of the remote emerald lagoon. He wondered what it would be like to live in this dream for an entire lifetime, never seeing a building with more than one story, pavement or an automobile, never hearing a phone ring or going to an office.

The yachties weighed anchor and sailed away, destined for points west. The rocking of the sea awakened them out of their dreams. They wondered if there really was a fairy tale island called Palmerston - until they saw the little baskets sitting on the shelves of their little boats.

Sweet dreams, George, Paula and MaiTai