Journal Entry August 17, 2005 The Legend of the Mountain Yachties

Author: Scott and Pam

A word of caution, if anyone ever asks “Would you like to go for a hike?” Ponder the offer with careful deliberation, know the source, and assess if they have local knowledge, or if they are possible health junkies caught in a frenzied Jack La Lane time warp. Bottom line; beware of the benign day hike.

Today we went for a little hike! It wasn’t going to be that bad of a hike, we were assured by the Warren on Mico Verde that it was billed by the guide book as “a moderate trek sometimes requiring the use of trees and rocks as handholds”. No problemo, we are fit world sailors and athletes, battling the raging sea for the past eleven months; we can handle a simple day hike up a 2,000 foot peak on Bora. After all, our blind comrade Erik Weihenmayer climbed up Mr. Everest a few years back, and we had to keep up the momentum. Erik old chap we are going to do you proud.

We had dazzling weather for our trot up Mt. Pahia (661 meters). The sun was glowing warm in the early morning with hardly a cloud in the sky. Pam and I were lean, mean, and ready to scream. We had spent so much time on boats lately that a good ramble in the bush sounded great. Our advanced climbing assent team consisted of Mico Verde with the renowned American climbers Warren and Stephanie, and Novia with the surly British team of Ann, James and Elysia (the visiting 18 year old whippersnapper). Our team consisted of Pam the goat and of course little old me, the agile urban climber meticulously trained twenty-five years ago as a youth conquering the streets and rooftops of Santa Monica. With an experienced expedition like this, we were in for a walk in the park, or so we thought.

We met Noiva at the Bloody Mary’s dock with plans of hitching into town, but unbelievably our elite crack unit was passed by time and time again. We sat on the roadside pumped with adrenaline, growling and scratching our toes in the dirt in anticipation of our challenge that lay ahead. Finally, a taxi approached and agreed to bring us into town for 1,500 francs for a ten minute ride. Our plan was to meet Mico Verde at the bank since it was a central landmark and to exist in Bora for more than a few minutes one needs to know where a bank is located. Soon Warren and Stephanie showed up looking frisky and ready for the adventure. Our first order of business was some reconnaissance, since not a single one of us had a clue where the trailhead was located. We asked some locals and learned the trail started near the snack bar that specializes in cheeseburgers (a very good sign). We made our way over to the trail and massed at together for the first assault. If you were to view our formidable team as a bystander, you would have seen seven energetic climbers, decked out in the finest mountain footwear, forget boots and crampons, those are for sissies , we were shoed in the latest flip flops, reef walkers and even a few pairs of high tech walking sneakers. Our substation provisions included a few bottles of water, an apple or two and at least two of us thought to bring a bag lunch, plenty of food, no one would be resorting to survival cannibalism on this trip. We were dressed in the latest wilderness clothing for battling the bush, I think that at least James was wearing long pants, the rest of us opted for the lightweight approach dressed in various sun wear, besides you never know when you might need your bathing suit on a mountain top.

Off we went up a gentle sloping hill, traveling through a back neighborhood of Bora. Gone were the fancy storefronts and rental cars, this was real Bora with dirt roads, wild fruit growing, dilapidated cars, and the occasional short, stubby, growling dwarf dog to threaten us. The trail was well maintained and winded on up ahead, that is until we reached the fork in the road. Which way do we go? At first none of us were quite sure what we should do, to the left was a safer looking level path, and to the right was a path making an abrupt turn uphill. Warren quickly studied his information and made the determination that of course we needed to proceed up the more intimidating option, so up we went. Quickly our trail deteriorated into a goat track, with switchbacks turning every twenty or thirty yards. It was about at this point we first started to use rocks and trees to pull ourselves up the trail, just as Warren’s guide book had promised, and on and on we went. Prior to the hike Pam had expressed some concern about hiking hills because of her poor depth perception seeing the terrain on the return trip, and I kept thinking about how she was getting far more than she probably had planned. I had also agreed to return with her at any point if the trip got to be too hazardous, but for now she was plowing ahead with gusto.

Up and up we went for what felt like hours and we had now adjusted to crawling on all fours as opposed to hiking as two legged creatures. Anything was fair game if it helped us to make forward progress, rocks, trees, roots and grass also turned out to be quite effective for pulling ourselves up the mountain. We were all doggedly making slow progress and we were resigned to crawling like lizards when we encountered our first rope to climb.

Hold on just a minute, now we may all be super studly mountaineers prepared for just about anything, but the guide book never said anything about scaling up nearly vertical rock faces using untested ropes of unknown origin. With none of us willing to be deemed wimpy chicken livers, we all took the situation in stride and started climbing the rope. Okay, so maybe we weren’t quite the mountain going Sherpas I have been billing us to be, because as we climbed the rope a number of less orthodox climbing styles immerged. There was the frontal press and hang on for dear life method, the wiggle and jiggle shimmy, and the one hand one leg inch at a time method, just to name a few of our elite climbing styles. If a helicopter flew over at that second they may have been a little alarmed at the not so Spiderman-like tourists pressed up against the rock walls or dangling in midair just seconds away from starting a chain reaction tumble down the hill with those unfortunate enough to be in the rear. In the end we all made it, but the path just kept on going up. We were all growing numb to the bumps scrapes and ever increasing exhaustion, we were all possessed with the drive to continue and finally we were rewarded with our first panoramic view of Bora Bora. We reached a small clearing with a fallen log that served as a perfect perch to look down on the white sandy beaches of the island’s motus and many different colored waters inside the reef. The ocean surrounding the island blended almost imperceptibly with the sky above giving us the feeling that we were goldfish swimming up our little rock formation inside of our big blue bubble bowl. Time for a water break and we all dipped into our precious stores of water, which in the heat tasted better and sweeter than the finest wine. We all drank greedily and I had the feeling that soon we may come to regret this luxury. As the hike continued our landscape started changing from the rugged jungle terrain to a more open rocky and barren surface. We had massive rock walls and narrow ledges to traverse, and unpredictable rocky steps jumping out without warning. One minute you might be walking along fine and the next you are shocked with a tongue biting lurch hanging on with one leg dangling down a few feet over a steep drop off below, pass the Tiger Balm because there are going to be some sore old dogs tomorrow morning. Just as we were slowing down, Elysia called back to us and asked if we were having a Mother’s Meeting (derogatory British saying). Energized with Elysia’s taunting we all picked up our pace, not to be outdone by the little Whippersnapper (a title she will hold forever). We continued to climb and encountered a second rope that we determinedly scaled with little regard for how we would ever get down, and still the trail continued on and upwards. We were now getting close to the top, we could see the top of the other peak giving us a perspective on our summit. The other peak is Bora’s tallest peak, and only a few meters lower than our goal. Then we came upon the treacherous third rope that continued nearly straight up for at least 150 feet. It was then that some of the group considered an early retreat. Warren, Stephanie, and I had already started up the rope and so we called down with the VHF radio to check on the others and that is when we learned that Ann, Pam and the Whippersnapper had decided to call it a day. Pam told me to go ahead and get to the top since she had Ann and Elysia to start the descent with, and I continued the journey up the mountain while the three ladies embarked on a new adventure of their own.

Scott’s Continued Story Up The Mountain (in Scott’s words) - There were now four of us continuing up the mountain. The new summit assault team consisted of Warren, Stephanie, James and I. After climbing the third rope we soon came upon a fourth and final rope that stretched up the longest vertical climb so far, all the way up to the first summit. Warren took the lead, I followed, next came Stephanie who almost turned back but bravely decided to continue, and finally came James in the rear making the whole climb look like a piece of cake. There we stood almost at the top on the lower summit, catching our breath and basking in the glory of accomplishment. Bora Bora stretched out below us looking like a tiny kingdom with little boats scurrying about that I could only see with a telescope. We probably would have been content staying right where we were draining our water bottles dangerously low and sharing an orange, but just then a group of hikers came down the trail from the upper summit and their guide said “you can’t quit now, it is beautiful up there”. Shame brought on our final burst of energy and we scrambled up the narrow path through dense scratchy bushes leading to the top of the mountain. At last we were there! We did it, we reached the top, and as we were promised, the view was spectacular! Just next to us we could see the spire of the peak that was just slightly higher than us, but all around us in every other direction was aqua blue ocean and sky. We could not have had better weather for admiring the dazzling scenery below. We weren’t there too long when the thought of descending this great beast crept into all of our minds. I guess whatever goes up must come down, but down was not going to be easy. I remember thinking to myself how odd it would be to climb Mt. Everest to only be allowed minutes to experience the accomplishment before the cold and lack of oxygen drove you back down the mountain to face a whole new series of perils.

We worked our way down to the first summit and met up with the other hiking group. On closer inspection we had a chance to see how varied their group was. One of their party was well into his seventies and looked a little peaked, but he had just battled his way up the same mountain. Giving his group no mercy the guide herded his flock together and they were off ahead of us. We took another few minutes to catch our breath, then we turned our back to the vastness and inched our way down rope number four. At this point Warren asked James if he wanted to take over as the leader and we continued onward. Not long after the change of the guard we all joined up together on the path and someone uttered those three words you never want to hear while trekking in the outdoors, “Are we lost?” Apparently, either before we switched leaders or after we had wandered off of the main trail. Looking back I can see how easy it was for whoever steered us astray to get lost, because the trail is certainly hard for anyone to see, however at that moment I mercilessly teased my group about how the sighted people managed to get the visually impaired hiker lost… It was at this point that we made our next error. We could have doubled back and found the trail but instead we thought that maybe we could get down quicker if we continued on, and so we did. By the time we knew we had made a mistake it seemed almost impossible to double back so again we continued on. Soon we lost any semblance of a trail and found ourselves wandering down a steep creek bed. If the trip up the mountain was difficult the trip down was surely treacherous, we had very poor footing with many loose rocks and a thinning number of hand holds. At one point we reached a cliff and thought we were completely out of luck when James realized that we could climb down a tree to get past the cliff. Down the tree we went just to find ourselves back in the creek bed with an increasing number of coconut husks to wade through and trip over. We now took a quick break to polish off the last of our precious water and then we trudged on through the coconuts. Time seemed to drag on and on at this point and I thought for sure that we would never get down the god forsaken hill. There were many false alarms that we had reached the end of our march, when we would soon realize we were in fact not at the bottom of the hill. But throughout all of this madness one of our group laboriously pressed on, and that was James the mule. From somewhere James drew on an unending supply of energy and urged us all on. At one point we were resting in a heap of dirty coconut shells, desperately trying to open a coconut for a drink of coconut water when James was the only thing that probably got us going again. It was then that James said he could throw a rock to the end of the trail, and that we would all be there soon. We burst forward with the thought of the end of the hike when we just continued on and on. I remember thinking that if James could throw a rock as far as we had continued since making his statement then perhaps he should join the English shot-put team, because we still weren’t there yet, and we were now reaching the point where we were all winging and whining. But at last we emerged out into a pineapple plantation. We were still lost, but at least we saw signs of civilization ahead. James was off somewhere ahead and I was hoping that if he found civilization then hopefully he would find some water. We rambled through the plantation, got even more lost, doubled back, crawled over a creek on a log on our hands and knees, but finally we came to a small house. James was already there and he was speaking to a woman who brought out a sparkling pitcher of the best water I have ever drank in my entire life. I just sat there on her porch, with her dog sticking his tongue in my face, drinking glass after glass of cool water. When my thirst was finally abated, I tuned into the conversation and learned the woman lived on the land and had never seen anyone come down the mountain the way we had. She seemed amazed we got lost in the first place, but we assured her that we were well qualified in this department. We graciously thanked her, and with some clear directions we made our way to the main road where we thankfully managed to hitch a ride in a pickup truck back to town. That was it, we did it, it was the most grueling hike of our lives, and we lived to tell the tale. When we reached town we almost immediately found the girls and we learned while we were off battling the mountain they had their own adventure as well.

Down The Mountain (in Pam’s words) – Yes, what goes up must come down, which is all I could think about on the way up. I had decided when I was 18 years old after climbing Beehive Mountain on Mount Desert Island (where I am from) that I didn’t like mountain climbing and it did not fit on my list of fun ways to spend my time. True to my word, I have not climbed anything steeper than the nice rolling hills in the Marin Headlands. When the third rock face with a rope was approached to my great relief Ann and Elysia announced they had seen enough of the magnificent view from the height attained and were ready to start the trek down. We sent James up the rock to meet up with the rest of the group. They were supposedly very close and would catch up with us shortly, so we slowly started slipping and sliding mostly on our backsides down the trail. Ann was the best guide I could have asked for, patiently pointing out roots, rocks, steep edges, holes, tree branches… I slipped several times and nearly careened over the edge as I not so gracefully grabbed for dead coconut fauna, I am sure I probably nearly gave her a heart attack. However, she remained her calm, cool and collected self and barely acknowledged the near tumble into the depths. There was not much conversation, just lots of concentration and the occasional whine from Elysia, as she was now focused on the cheeseburger she planned to have at the bottom. We kept a steady pace, but slow enough since we were sure the four musketeers would be nipping at our heels any minute. We thought for sure they would show up before the first rope descent, but there was no sign or cracking branches in the distance. Our combined experience was next to none, I have been rock climbing once, but that was with my very experienced friend Andy. Well, it was either sit and wait or go for it, so down we went and all felt quite proud of ourselves when we reached the end of the rope. The next one would be no problem. After swinging down the second rope, we were starting to wonder what happened to the others. It was a good time to start regretting separating in the way it all happened. Scott and James had the backpacks, leaving us with no water, food or handheld radio. I was dying of thirst and quite ready to be at the bottom of this bloody mountain, of course just about that time we made a wrong turn and ended up going down a very steep and overgrown rocky patch. Halfway down with the three of us at varying stages on our supposed path, we deducted this was not the way we had come up. We opted to go back up before we got further a field. Clearly some better decision making, but I won’t rub it in. Once back on what we believed was the trail we encountered three young local boys about 13 years old running up the mountain in their bare feet. A few minutes later while we were resting, now really wondering where the heck the thrill seekers were and practically dying of thirst we could hear a bunch of chopping noises and the sounds of falling coconuts. The next thing we knew one of the boys came along the trail and presented each of us with a young coconut to drink, it was better than any water I have ever had and immediately quenched our thirst. Next he presented us each with a cracked young coconut and “spoon” made out of a coconut shell, the meat was sweet and juicy. He was ready with more coconuts, but by this time I was full and quite satisfied. As we got up to leave he stood on the trail and as we passed him he poured the water from a coconut so we could wash our hands, full coconut service on the side of a mountain. We thanked him and I resumed my slipping, sliding and crawling on all fours position. A few minutes later our coconut saint joined us with his friends and he took my hand and led me the rest of the way down the trail. I was overcome by the generosity and kindness from this young man, I couldn’t imagine a young American boy being that comfortable to approach a complete stranger and offer such an act of kindness. Though holding his hand took away my ability to get low to the ground which is where I had spent most of the day, there was no better way for one of the most grueling days of my life to end. I am here to tell you this experience would not turn me back into a land lubber. The boys deposited us safely back exactly where we had started. We walked back by houses with growling dogs to send us on our way, out to the snack bar and much to Elysia’s dismay only to find it closed. Next disappointment, not that we expected to see them there was no sign of Scott and the troops. It was now 4:30 and the hike that was supposed to take four to five hours had taken seven. Elysia needed to immediately feed her hunger so she and I headed down the street to a nearby café where she did not find a cheeseburger, but was satisfied with ice cream and a chicken panini. After we had placed her order and bought some water, the man behind the counter asked if we had climbed the mountain. We were filthy, I haven’t been that dirty since I rode 60 miles on the back of tandem bicycle in the rain. We were very happy to finally see the weary hikers coming down the road from the wrong direction and to all share our saga which for this bunch of sailors will definitely make Bora memorable.