Back to the Boil

A chance encounter with a little wave that held big potential left sailing nomad Bryan Metcalf-Perez with a lingering foil fever fantasy that he couldn’t get out of his head for a month. And with a passing cyclone leaving plenty of swell lying around – it suddenly became an achievable reality.

Words: Bryan Metcalf-Perez
Photos: Bryan Metcalf-Perez & Jonathan Pooley

It's hard to leave paradise, especially when that paradise is Fiji. The waves just are too good, and the people are amongst the friendliest on the planet. As we sailed out the pass, past Namotu Left on our port, Wilks Right on starboard, a beautiful set rolled through grinding down the opposing reefs as if to say goodbye, you’ll be back.

“20, 25, 28, 30…35!” – the wind instruments were going mad. The forecast had promised an easy sailing passage from Fiji to Vanuatu. Downwind and mellow breeze greens and blues on windy.com. Nope. We had found the one squash zone of accelerating wind, and our catamaran Escapade was all too ready to hit the ground running at full speed. 17, 18, 19 knots, the hulls cut through the beautiful Fijian waters, throwing caution out the window and into the rising seas.

With three days of sailing under our belt, the islands of Vanuatu appeared on the horizon. An impressive jungle canopy jetting up from the sea and extending into one very live volcano. This became immediately apparent as we were welcomed with falling ash, which had completely covered the decks of Escapade before the anchor was set. The other boats at anchor had a hint of “surviving nuclear fallout” too. With the hook down, it was time to head ashore to handle customs and immigration. Luckily the immigration officer had arrived. Unfortunately, the customs officer had not. It turned out that the officer’s commute from town was two hours of 4×4 driving, one hour of twists and turns, and the two officers always drove their own, separate vehicles. With no intent of questioning the bureaucracy, it was time to go with the flow and explore the island… thatched huts, dugout canoes, no electricity, and smiles for days. Humans living their light touch with the land, not just on it, was a truly beautiful and sight.

With only half of our paperwork complete, Escapade was stuck in place until we could clear customs. The immigration officer had explained our options the day before: wait for three to four days and maybe he will come next time, or hire a 4×4 and take the trip to town to track him down yourself. When living and traveling on a sailboat, the weather dictates your life completely and the forecast shapes your future. If a weather window pops up to head north, which we wanted to do, you drop everything and go! The idea of missing the perfect window for the sake of a customs officer maybe showing up needed to be avoided at all costs and thus our 4×4 adventure was booked.

The road, which had disguised itself as hiking trail, was just wide enough for one mini truck wheel to wheel. Two hours later we arrived at the coastline where a paved road would escort our sore booties the rest of way to town. Every bend on the coast would promise a perfect right hander or maybe a left. Sharp lava rock extending from the island into the water was a common sight. A couple of the reef passes teased with a small peeler to dry reef but nothing rideable, even for the most desperate of wave-starved board riders. If there was a perfect wave on this coastline, getting into the water would surely end with a popped wing or torn flesh. Maybe this island was just too gnarly to produce the waves we were searching for?

Having finally found the customs office and having sorted the paperwork, it was time to head home to the boat. Before setting off in the 4×4, I had studied the charts, hunting for wind and wave potential en route. So far we had come up empty handed. I begged the crew for one more stop as I knew the trade wind direction would make for side off wind at the island’s main harbor. Upon arrival, the wind was up and there was a small left hander breaking across the reef with a sucky boil in the middle. Success! Not perfect but fully rideable. Now if only we had our gear…

Back on the boat, all I could think about was that little unridden left. But, a weather window opened and it was all hands on deck, time to leave. So, into the treasure map the spot went, waiting to be pillaged another day. First we would have to island hop for 30 days and nights, soar over some of most beautiful flat water wing spots ever, drink some super cava, surf, climb a live volcano, experience a trippy fire dance, and run like a bat out of hell when a cyclone appeared and sharpened her claws into a category 5 near-miss!

We had chosen to ride out the storm in Port Vila, the capital of Vanuatu, as it was the best option for a well-protected anchorage from all angles. With the potential natural disaster out of the way, it was time to do my daily wind and swell check instead of an hourly frantic reload on cyclone watch. The storm had caused a disturbance in the standard trade winds which had opened up a window to head back to the honey pot island where we had stumbled upon that tasty left-hander a month earlier. Not only that, but a sweet long period swell was heading that way.

As we finally arrived, I couldn’t help but feel a touch nervous on the day to come. Did that storm really track far enough northeast? Would the waves skirt around the southeast side of New Caledonia? What about the wind? And that boil? We had left extra early to arrive near high tide with that boil and foil clearance in mind. As we turned the corners and it came into view, a long, large blob picked itself up and reeled across the boulders below. It was on!

The harbor dock, usually meant for unloading supplies by truck, was flooded, the ocean’s energy surging up and over, ready and willing to reclaim the concrete behemoth to its depths. Two hundred meters away, freight trains sets rifled down the reef. We were expecting a head-high forgiving mushy left to wing, with a bonus boiling section at the end. Turns out that cute boil had morphed into one fully psycho super slab. My friend JP quickly decided he was out, as even launching seemed a daunting task. The weight of the session was on my shoulders. Set after set, I couldn’t believe my eyes, the barrels just kept getting bigger and more square. It was the wildest wave I had ever seen, and I simply had to ride it. But how…

Another hair ball idea, “Ok, so we rush past the section of the dock getting flooded, you throw my board and foil off the end, and I’ll jump in after it with the wing and get going before being swept into the reef.” Scary simple and effective. I’ll never forget looking down and seeing the water being sucked below sea level off that slab and playing extreme cat & mouse with my foil and the reef. Up and riding, the bombs just kept getting bigger and the water shallower and shallower. When the friendly boil buddy turned to dry reef, it was time to call it day.

As we made our way back to the boat, suddenly there seemed to be hundreds of people walking down the road. Our driver had mentioned a tribal funeral of a great chief and it seemed the whole island was going! Straight out of a horror movie, we passed a women carrying a kitchen knife and a large rolled up leaf covered in blood, with meaty flesh clearly poking out one end. After passing hundreds of other locals walking on the road, young and old alike, it seemed natural enough to pass this one by as well. Nope – our driver hit the brakes and in she jumped, tossing her meat onto the board bags. And off we went with the smiling woman sitting across the bed of the truck, idly wielding her weapon.

Back on Escapade, a feast was waiting, and we had an amazing last evening in Vanuatu. The sun was down, the anchor was up and we were off to New Caledonia. Beating into the wind in search of deep water and a clear path, we could hear the crashing waves of one very special swell that I’ll never forget.