Makemo

Spent one night at the anchorage off the main village of Makemo, in the company of a French boat and what looked like a charter catamaran that came in through the pass at the midday slack tide. Just after we arrived, the French boat decided to re-anchor a little further offshore, but something didn’t go smoothly and they ended up very, very close to the reef, gunning the engine hard, man on the bow shouting “Avant, Avant!” and “A gauche! A droit!” to the lady on the helm. Fortunately they made it out. When we took the dinghy over that way later, there was only a few feet of water; they must have been scraping the bottom. It’s a lee shore here (wind blowing us towards the land) which is never a nice place to be, so after just the one night, and with a fresh stock of baguettes, we motored / sailed a few hours WNW to anchor at a spot three quarters of the way up the atoll (16 31.2 S 143 49.3 W). I’m also keen to get to uninhabited waters as soon as possible.

 

The lagoon is generally about 20m deep, with coral shallows rising up vertically from the bottom every half mile or so. The really shallow ones are easy enough to see when the light is good – when the sun is out and high above – but it gets a lot harder when it’s overcast, or if the coral is just a bit deeper. So Dave sits half way up the mast on the first spreader where he can see a bit better, acting as lookout. After a while, we get a feel for the area, can see that each reef is marked on the chart, and the chart is accurate, so we turn the engine off and drift downwind with just the jib up, winding our way through the shallows.

This anchorage is tucked just behind a bend in the motu (the land bit of an atoll), with a reef extending out from shore, which gives us much more protection from the easterly wind. There’s just enough breeze to send the kite up with a camera. Amazing colours – bright turquoise water, speckled with dark spots where there’s a coral head lurking below, then a hundred yards away a fringe of white sand before a thin strip of land, thick with green vegetation – mainly coconut palms, but also other stuff I can’t identify from the boat. Beyond that, the rich blue of the deeper ocean.

 

There’s a small ramshackle assembly of sticks and corrugated steel on the beach, it would be flattering to call it a shack, the only sign of human activity in what otherwise is a wild, uninhabited place. Amongst the trees there are piles of half burnt coconuts everywhere, and freshly cut palm fronds, can’t be more than a few days ago that someone was busy here. Looks like the meat and milk has been taken out of the nuts, maybe harvested for export? There’s the ruined foundations of a house – a low, square stone wall, coconut trees growing in and on it. Wonder when it was last lived in? Fast growing tropical bush reclaims abandoned dwellings so quickly, it might only be a few years. Nothing in the way of animal life other than the crabs and rats which scuttle around our feet. I hear no birds. It’s still damp from last night’s rain, upturned leaves holding tiny pools of water, sometimes with a bug in, having it’s morning swim. A bit further along the motu I discover a row of beehives, giving off an amazing smell of honey.

Back in the water we snorkel, but it’s a bit dead – not so much to see. Enough to catch a fish though, which breaks the line, snaps the rod and gets away! In the morning, we motor NW to find a place to anchor by the other (west) entrance to the atoll – Passe Tapuhiria. This time it’s my turn up the mast as lookout. We drag a fishing lure, but as usual it turns out to be just fishing, no catching. We motor around in the reefs and coral on the east side of the pass, looking for somewhere decent to drop the hook. Nothing looks great, so it ends up going down in 13 metres over coral. When the engine’s off I dive down and take a look. Ugh – coral heads EVERYWHERE. Tomorrow we’ll discover that this is going to make a tricky departure.

But first, time to see what’s under the waves. Amazing reef fish, SO many different sizes, shapes, colours and characters. And SHARKS! It’s a little unnerving snorkeling with sharks circling around, but these black tips are not known to be aggressive… we stay close to the dinghy anyway.

And of course the obligatory sunset photos …

 

Night brings rain and a stronger easterly wind, and because we’re on the western side of the atoll, there’s a good 40 miles of fetch for the wind to build up a reasonable set of waves. Soon Rafiki is bucking around viciously, the chain grinding noisily on the coral, every now and then catching on something and bringing the boat up short with a judder. I let out more chain and stretchy snubber line, which takes a lot of the jolt out, and lets me get some rest. But it takes us closer to the lee shore, and I don’t get a lot of sleep. Just before dawn, wind rises to 30 knots, and I’m looking forward to getting out of here, but worried that we’re not going to be able to get the anchor up.

 

Slack tide is due at 1300, and expecting it might take a couple of hours to untangle the chain from the coral, we start the process a couple of hours earlier. It’s a mission. And nasty, with the bow pitching up and down at least a metre, I’m concerned that when the chain comes up short, the anchor firmly hooked under coral, something’s going to break. Eventually, after an hour and a half of maneuvering backwards, forward, left, right, chain in, chain out, with me in the water with goggles giving directions and heaving on the buoy line, Dave driving the boat and Eva driving the windlass, the anchor comes free. More and more sharks are gathering to watch the action, so I’m glad to get out of the water and motor through the pass and out to sea!

 

Sails up, engine off, now 90 miles overnight to Fakarava.