Fakarava South

Eva handed over the watch to me at 0400, saying we were getting close to land and maybe we should slow down a bit… the south pass of Fakarava was supposed to have slack tide late morning, and we were only 6 miles away, so yes, we needed to slow down. I spent my watch mainly hove to (sails backed and boat not really moving anywhere), waiting for the sun to peek over the horizon and give us the light we needed. Just before dawn, I put the helm across, set the sails, and Rafiki was back in action, taking us toward the pass.

Sometimes passes are OK with some outgoing or incoming current, so it was worth a look. As we approached, the wind picked up considerably, blowing the strong ebb tide into standing waves, so I decided to wait a few hours for slack. We tacked out to sea and back again a few times, the wind building all the time. It was gusting over 40 knots by the time we came around for our 4th peek at the pass. It was choppy – we had a fair bit of water dumped into the cockpit by short, sharp waves, but it looked OK just inside the outer end of the reef, so I went for it. Sure enough, as soon as we were just a bit closer in, the water flattened out and we cruised through. The water was so clear that the section 4m deep looked like we were about to hit the bottom – erk! – gotta trust those charts…

On the right hand side of the pass is the village of Tetamanu – now in ruins, but with the church still standing, supposedly the first church in the Tuamotus, built in 1874. A series of cabins made of palm and thatch line the waterfront, each one with a small deck jutting out over the water on stilts. When we walk around the village later, we discover that the village is now just some resort accommodation and a dive centre.

Once through the pass, we go left, around a large shallow patch, to anchor in clear, incredibly turquoise water. Here and there are darker brown freckles – coral heads. It’s so hard to judge the depth of each one, so we meander through the maze, and drop the hook in a space that looks mainly sandy. I dive down and set a float half way along the chain, so as we swing around with the wind, we don’t wrap it around any coral. A squall passes over, raining hard on the pass, but just missing us. The sun chases the cloud away and activates the colours – turning up the brightness and saturation dials to max. Wow. What a place. There’s only one other boat here. Upwind of us are three or four motus – low sand islands covered in green palms and bushes – flowing between them are shallow channels of incredible blue, where water coming over the outer reef makes its way into the lagoon. There are a couple of tiny islands separate from the rest, with just a few coconut trees on each, standing proud on a base of bright sandy colour sand. Their survival in this arid environment is a miracle. Just sand and coral … turned into trunks, leaves and coconuts with a little help from the sun and some water. Amazing.

There’s a guy out kite surfing! So I rush to get my gear out of the forward cabin and dash to the beach, buzzing. An epic place to kite. I pump up the first strut. Pssshh. Won’t go. Well, not ideal but maybe I can fly without that strut. Try the second. Pssshh. Arse. I need that one. Ah well, I have a second kite on the boat, it’s a bit big but if it flies, I’m sure I’ll be able to hold it down. Buzz back to Rafiki, pick up my 13m, and roll it out on the beach. Pump, pump. Pssshh. No! Try another strut. Pssshh. NO! Neither of my kites will pump up. Excitement turns into anger and frustration. I’ve brought my kite surfing gear half way around the world to one of the most amazing places to play, and it won’t work. I’m not a happy chappy. Later, I try and repair them back on the boat, but the repairs keep failing. It’s well after dark by now. I decide to go and sit on the foredeck, kept company by our last bottle of cider, and slowly my frustration dissolves into the stunning night sky.

We spend a few nights here, tucked behind the islands out of the worst of the wind. Even though it’s still gusting 30 at times, it’s so much more relaxing to be downwind of land. The water is flat, and Rafiki isn’t bucking around, feeling like something’s going to break at any moment. And if there’s a problem with the anchor, we just drift out into deeper water. Every now and then a stronger, rainy squall passes through. One wet morning I go into a baking frenzy – pineapple muffins, onion bread AND polenta bread, all in one go. We have a very carb-heavy lunch!

In the afternoon it cleared up, so we took the dink over to the pass, motored out into the swell, and hopped over the side. Wow! Over 30 metres deep and you can see the bottom like it’s only just beyond the end of an outstretched arm. Drifting back into the lagoon with the current was one of the most amazing snorkelling experiences ever. Grey shark were patrolling the middle of the pass, black tip shark being nosey and exploring around everywhere, always seeming to be behind you when you turn around, white tip shark hanging out on the bottom in sandy patches, gently swimming their sinister sharky side-to-side swim. By now we’re comfortable in the company of these fellas. None of them are much bigger than 4 foot, and they are all well fed on reef fish (so we’re told!). As we approach the shallower water, the coral and reef fish become the stars of the show. So many types of poisson, I try to count them, but I soon get confused.

We stop off at the cabins and dive centre on the way back to Rafiki, to see what’s going on. Have a beer, and end up deciding to dive the pass next day. In the evening, we hang out with Chris, Jess, Chris, Ari and 2 1/2 year old Isabel on the other boat in the anchorage – Namaste. These guys keep their boat here in the Tuamotus in the summer, going back to California to work for a few months each year. Not such a bad life. They say this is their favourite spot in the whole archipelago, and I’m not surprised. Back on Rafiki, I read the PADI dive book late into the night, reminding myself of how it all works – it’s been six years since I last dived…

The dive through the pass was amazing. Dealing with scuba gear and being deep underwater came back quickly (thank goodness). After a brief and slightly concerning splash around on the surface, first coming up right under the dive boat and then having my BCD vent air noisily making me think I had a leak, we descended quickly to nearly 30 meters, and then drifted back into the lagoon with the current. Half way through, we stopped and grabbed onto the reef to watch a “wall of sharks” just a few metres away, in the middle of the pass at the edge of a coral precipice. Perhaps 80 of them, just slowly swimming against the incoming tide. They say that when a “big guy” comes through, like a hammerhead or tiger shark, these fellas scarper. Not today though. I’m OK with that.

That was yesterday. And then today, we made a short trip ashore to explore one of the motus we’d not yet visited, then weighed anchor and headed north into the atoll towards the other pass, where we’ll exit in a few days’ time. Anchor comes up just fine – whoopee! Sky is clear, wind is light. Visibility into the water is good. Beautiful. Along the way, at a reef like the ones we usually avoid, I hold Rafiki on station, bow into the wind, and Eva jumps in to have a snorkel around the coral.

Just in time for lunch, we make it to an anchorage marked as Tukaega (16 20.3 S 145 29.7 W), again in mind blowingly blue water, a couple of hundred yards off the motu. Tucked out of the wind behind a dense thicket of palms and bushes, flat water, few coral heads, just how I like it. Nobody else here other than the fish and a couple of brilliant white tropic birds dancing around each other way above our masthead. They are so white that they reflect the bright blue of the sea on the undersides of their bodies and wings, like the yellow of a buttercup reflected under your chin.

We spent the afternoon exploring – seeing what’s in the water and on the land, soaking up the magic of the place. As I pick my way through the palms, big crabs scuttle away from every footstep, and tiny lizards scoot off into their hidy-holes. I tried to find some nice shells on the beach, but there’s nothing – just lots of dead coral. Sometimes there’s a little shell that looks OK, but it always ends up having somebody living inside.

It’s now late in the evening (for sailors- it’s just after 8pm); the nearly new moon is bright in the sky, but not so bright that it overpowers the other stars, and we can still just about see the milky way. Jupiter is shining brightly next to Leo, Orion is sliding drunkenly on his side towards the horizon, and the southern cross is happily saying “you’re way south the of the equator!”. There’s enough breeze to keep the mosquitoes away, and to make Rafiki jiggle around so that halyards knock and water slaps cheekily underneath the back of the boat as it rides up and down. Bellies now full of Thai chicken curry, we’re a happy crew.