The Day That’s Not to be Remembered as the Day I Stepped on a Bee

(Bay of Virgins, Hanavave, Fatu Hiva, Marquesas, French Polynesia)

Who would be dense enough to step on a bee one might ask? Me. I stepped on a bee. One of the large, yellow ones that have been flying around the boat since the day we made landfall. Flying around and harming absolutely no one. Then Gregory, provoked by nothing but some innocuous buzzing by his ear, launched a full-fledged assault on their kind. The tea towel became his weapon of choice and bees began dropping like flies. Upon a successful assault Greg would round up the fallen soldier and flick him unceremoniously off the back of the boat. Which brings me back to the bee in question. The bee I stepped on. A bee that could have very well been an injured fighter in a war he never asked for. Left for dead on the back step, not quite reaching the water when his merciless attacker swept him away without a care. In comes me, the innocent bystander, walking about my home as I would any other day. When all of a sudden normal comes to a screeching halt and I feel as if my District Health Officer Auntie Laurie is administering one of her infamous inoculations to the instep of my foot. Just like that Gregory’s unnecessary war has brought hardship and death to two souls who never asked for any of it.

Not to have this day remembered as the day I stepped on a bee, we loaded up the laundry and headed for a nearby cliff side. Today will be remembered as the day we did our laundry in a waterfall.

We filled our buckets at a small, fresh water stream and hauled them back to our laundry station. The first station we set up turned out to have the potentially to get very wet. Flooded in fact. As the tide rose, the swell threatened to wash away everything, dirty and clean. After a better thought out reposition we completed our chore and felt very much one with nature. (Insert inappropriate Native American comment by Gregory here.)

Don’t let that sound like I wouldn’t happily load my hamper into a washing machine any day of the week though. I’d give the forward cabin, all Greg’s fishing supplies, and my first born for the convenience and efficiency of a real live washing machine. But don’t tell Gregory, he’d be upset about the fishing gear.

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A pano view of our waterfall laundromat and the anchorage.

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Innocently washing away…

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… and the swell comes up to offer a not so helpful hand.

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Gregory ferrying fresh water back for the next load of duds.

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Our final sunset at the spectacular Bay of Virgins in Fatu Hiva.

One comment

  1. Mick Loch · · Reply

    Glad to see you guys posting again……keep it up you two!!!

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