Baie du Prony

I could happily have spent a year tucked away at the Ile des Pins had not the feeling of time marching on got the better of me. As it was, I remained there for over a week without raising the anchor. So one fine morning I headed off, arriving in the Baie du Prony later that day.
I’d been very keen since poring over charts of the area many years ago to see Prony. On paper I drew comparisons with Pittwater, which I love so much, and in reality I was pleased to discover this similarity remained. It encompasses an area of many square miles and offers safe, secluded anchorages for every wind direction.

Prony is famous for its red sand and soil, a result of rich iron and nickel deposits in the area. New Caledonia is the second largest producer of nickel, and it is in the hills surrounding Prony that the majority of this nickel is mined. On the eastern shore is an enormous mine site run by the multinational “Goro”. Much of the land surrounding Prony is designated as national park, however this mine site dominates all. Were it not that I work for a nickel operation myself, I would express my dismay that so remarkable a landscape is being affected in this way. However I have learned some pragmatism from my experiences, and recognize here the necessity of this mine. Such operations are not the cowboys of old where environmental impact was not a consideration. I have seen former mine sites in Australia of a similar scale to this regenerate in as little as fifty years to the point where it is not easy to tell that any activity has occurred at all. I hold out hope that, here in New Caledonia, the outcome will be similar.

My first night in the bay I spent in the south east corner, anchoring close by to a track leading up to the phare (lighthouse) at Cap Ndoua. This I climbed the next day, as well as to a smaller peak where I erected a small tower of stones, as is done. Later I moved to the rade du nord, anchoring off the mouth of a small stream. On its banks are the ruins of a penal settlement, which I was keen to explore.

I find it a peculiar feeling to be amongst ruins such as these. There is the intrigue associated with the old and the connection to a very different period,as one experiences with any very old building. A prison is different though. Amongst these ruins, I tried my best to sense the sadness and destruction of dreams and souls that one feels must pervade all such ruins. But it is such a beautiful place. I defer again to my pragmatism and conclude that such spiritual experiences probably don’t occur. What I did experience was that great pride had been taken by those who built the structures, the sea walls, the courtyards. These were convict workers, yet they worked with such skill and with such care that it is this feeling, a positive feeling, which I experience here now. In spite of their hopeless situation, I can imagine these prisoners pouring themselves into their work so that, even as they endured so cruel a life, they could look upon the results of their labour and know that it was unquestionably their own; something their captors could not take from them. Here now, I can touch what they created and understand something about their lives.

Continuing further upstream I came upon a small cascade, where fresh water from the hills arrives finally at sea level. This was fortuitous for me, as my stock of water on board was running low. I returned the next morning with my water cans, and took the opportunity too to wander up a path which I had seen winding inland by the stream the day before. It opened up after a while to a bulldozed track and, further on, to sealed road. It occurred to me that it must lead to the mine site, which I was keen to see, so I continued along for some time until I was quite close to the compound. It was here that a truck full of security guards was sent to meet me. Whether it was because I was in a restricted area or whether because I was wearing a skirt (well, a lungi.) I do not know, but they expressed in no uncertain terms that I would be better off quite elsewhere. Very kindly, they offered to drive me there themselves. I returned to the boat with my water, and was on my way.
My next stop was the Baie du Carenage in the north-west of Prony. I had a wonderful sail with my big red spinnaker up, gybing back and forth downwind as I picked my way around headlands and reefs. It is so exhilarating with that sail up; the sloop comes alive. I am reminded once again what I would lose if I was to move up to a bigger yacht, something we are all tempted by from time to time. This little boat has such spirit under sail.

Carenage is as protected as any bay in dear old Pittwater. As its name suggests, it was once used as a location to careen boats; sitting them on the bottom so they dry out as the tide goes down. I was to learn too that it is a bay full of characters. Of playboys and polygamists I shall recount later. Four nights I spent in Carenage, such was its appeal.

I remained in Prony for another few days before finally succumbing to the pull of time. Before long I should think about sailing up to Vanuatu, so I am back now in Noumea stocking up with french wine and getting through my list of jobs. Depending on a very great number of factors, I hope to clear out from here before the end of this week.