Pacific – Page 2 – Road and Ocean

Niue

June 6, 2015July 6, 2018 Chris Tanner

After Beveridge reef we had a couple of days passage to the island of Niue. “The Rock” they call it – a lump of coral only a few miles across, raised up from the ocean gazillions of years ago. The country just consists of the one island, with only 1500-odd inhabitants. There’s nowhere (safe) to anchor around the island as the water gets really deep really quickly, so there are a number of moorings available by the island’s wharf. No fringing reef, and no shallows nearby, meant we could come in at night without too much stress. As usual, we had light winds – but this time just enough to keep us moving along gently without too much slamming of the sails. We arrived in the early hours of the morning, no moon, really dark. A few minutes of searching with a torch and we picked up a mooring ball. One other boat there, sitting in the black darkness like a ghost ship – no lights on at all.

In the morning we called up the island HQ on the radio and arranged for customs to come down to the wharf to check us in. The island just has one landing point – the wharf, with a crane to lift boats out of the water. So I rigged up a bridle on our dinghy and we motored ashore. Timing our actions between the big sets of waves, Dave and Eva hopped out and scrambled up the ladder, and I hooked onto the crane and was hoisted quickly out of the water, still sat in the dinghy. A new way to enter a new country!

As soon as I stepped ashore I had a feeling that it would be a welcoming place. The yacht club commodore came down to meet us, and I chatted with a few older fisherman sat in their car, in broken English. Customs and immigration was a simple enough process, and then we explored the small town of Alofi for the rest of the day. Only a few buildings spread out along the main road, everything very neat and tidy – apart from the abandoned properties destroyed in the last cyclone. Later in the day I overheard a French singlehander struggling to communicate with the radio HQ, offered to translate, and ended up going out to bring him ashore as he didn’t have a dinghy ready, and then going with him to customs to translate there too. We spent the evening aboard his boat – Ivitu – eating fresh Tuna and Wahoo that he’d caught on his way into Niue, drinking rum and wine, having a good chat.

Next day the French fella, Lionel, joined us for a ride in our rental car across the island to “show day” in one of the villages. Started early with lots of food for sale – a mix of local stuff and things flown in from New Zealand on the twice-weekly flight. Taro root, BBQ chicken, sausages, crab sticks. I stashed a plate away in the car to tuck into later for lunch. In one corner a spread of large vegetables and fruit was laid out on the grass; a competition. Huge bananas, taro, coconuts, and some root vegetable I couldn’t identify. Wandering among the veggies on lengths of string were some monster blue coconut crabs, being shooed away by the judges. Then speeches and dances from troupes of school kids.

2015 06 06 1000 Niue show day — Niue show day

Just before it finished at noon we busted out and explored the “sea tracks” around the north coast of the island – being a coral lump there are loads of caves, grottos, nooks and crannies. No bats though, which I found strange. Learnt what I believe to be the French word for bats – “chauve souris” – shaved mice … is that for real? Thinking about it now maybe it should be “cave mice” – but the word for cave is different … hmm I’m going to have to look this up later. The island didn’t appear to have much in the way of animal or bird life – likewise not many insects. Hundreds of miles out in the middle of nowhere and not very fertile; not so surprising I guess.

2015 06 06 1400 Niue — Cliffs and caves on the west coast

Evening was spent on “Max” – a French couple’s 54-foot Amele, eating more of the fish, drinking wine, and trying to keep up with the fast French conversation. They’d arrived in the afternoon while we were ashore. A big boat – plenty of freezers on board – which meant a wonderful freshly baked tarte-au-poivres for dessert! Hervé and Caroline are from Brittany, with a great sense of humour, I tried to give as good as I got as a Brit on the receiving end of the jokes. Lionel is a lean, blonde, curly haired sea vagabond, seeming much younger than his 53 years with a hip-hop baseball cap, board shorts and tired tee shirt. Very animated, enthusiastic and much as I imagine his precursors Bernard Moitessier and Jean Gau to have been like back in the sixties. Hervé – a robust, ruddy, short haired Bréton with an infectious “joie de vivre” and a mischievous look in his eye. His wife Caroline – smiling and open, and of course impeccably presented and stylishly dressed in the way of French women the world over. The two of them were clearly very comfortable on board together, seeming much more of an even team of two than many other couples I’ve met at sea. I like the French. They make me chuckle – almost every Frenchman fits the stereotype in some way.

Sunday – a day of rest in the very Christian community – nothing happening ashore, we stayed aboard Rafiki. Helped a large Aussie catamaran pick up a mooring in the afternoon – “Angels Wings”. Rob and Jo – who I later discovered we’d met very briefly on Bora Bora. Being light and nimble, I was winched up his mast to fix a strop to the head of his genoa to factor for a new, shorter furler that he’d had fitted a week earlier. While the weather was reasonable and the boat was flat, I went up Rafiki’s mast too, to check all was OK, a job I do every month or so. All good. Evening aboard Angels Wings chatting and eating.

2015 06 07 1000 Angels Wings arrive — Helping Robbie pick up a mooring

During the night the wind swung around to the north and swell wrapped around the island to make a bumpy, uncomfortable time on the moorings. Checked out with customs and immigration first thing in the morning, and then set sail for Tonga about mid day.

I enjoyed our stop on Niue – small and friendly. There’s a noticeable difference from French Polynesia in that we are now reaching the other side of the Pacific – closer to NZ and Australia – where boats are coming in from the west. The islanders speak English, which feels strange as we’re so far from home in every way imaginable. Looking at the globe, we’re pretty much on the opposite side now!

Beveridge reef

June 4, 2015July 22, 2018 Chris Tanner1 Comment

“Reported to lie 3 miles north east” says the chart. Which means they aren’t really sure where it is. Zooming in, there’s just a jaggedy mass of green reef symbol which screams “don’t hit me”. So it was with caution that I placed the approach waypoints into the chart plotter, knowing that our arrival was likely to be in the early hours of the morning, before good light. But the wind was light and seas gentle, the moon almost full – perfect conditions for approaching a mid-ocean reef, where there are no landmarks above water; nothing but crashing waves. Beveridge reef is a sunken atoll somewhere between Palmerston and Niue; its remoteness and inaccessibility making it an irresistible stop. But could we find it?

Wind light, again, so we arrived in the area later than expected. An hour or so after dawn I could just about make out breakers on the horizon through the binoculars. A few minutes later, the larger ones were visible with the naked eye. None of my official charts – paper or electronic – had any more detail than the green jaggedy reef symbol … but I’ve seen pictures of boats inside the reef, and have a sketch map from another sailor with GPS positions, so was confident we could find our way in. According to the sketch, the reef has a pass on the western side. Much closer to the reef, I saw the unmistakeable wavelets of a rip current, a tidal race – water pouring out through the pass as the moon pulls the tide off towards New Zealand. It’s always hard to judge the size of these tidal race waves; especially with nothing to provide a sense of scale. It’s easy to see which way the tide is flowing though, and with the water pouring OUT of the reef, we could approach closely and just get swept safely out to sea again if we happened to bump the bottom, or there was any other problem. Driving Rafiki along the foam line that marked the middle of the race (and the deepest water), I soon had us through into the lagoon where the current relaxed and the water got deeper. We saw minimum 6m depth through the pass (plenty), which in the ultra clear water, looked a lot less!

We anchored on the far side of the lagoon, on a band of sand that runs all the way around the reef. These lagoons all seem to have the same shallow sandy shelf, extending inwards from the fringing reef, sometimes only a few metres and sometimes for hundreds of metres. Pure turquoise water only a few feet deep, suddenly dropping off into deeper water in the middle of the lagoon, the ramp so consistent and perfect that it looks man made. You can see the change of colour in the water. I can now judge the depth just by the shade of blue. Almost nothing lives on the sand shelf; just a few isolated coral heads trying to make a stand. There’s nothing hard to bump into, and hardly any tide, so I’m happy taking the boat onto these sandy shelves to anchor with only inches below our keel.

The water is SO clear – I’m assuming because there’s no land and no vegetation. We took the dinghy out to the edge of the reef and snorkeled by the wreck of a small fishing boat. How unlucky – to hit the only reef around for hundreds of miles! Not much to see in the way of fish, but lots of live coral and a shark dressed up in an all-over dark grey suit – one that I’d not seen before. Was he harmless like the black-tips, coming in close just out of curiosity, or was he circling us getting ready for the kill? We all survived, anyway.

Nobody else here. I’d hoped we might meet another boat in this isolated corner of the Pacific, so we could swap stories and have a bit of new conversation, but we had the place to ourselves. Which wasn’t so bad really – the solitude reinforcing the fact that this is completely and totally the middle of nowhere. The only sound; a rumble of surf in the background. The only life; fish, sharks, rays, spiky urchins, squishy black sea cucumbers and a few sea birds perched on the wreck. Colours so vibrant and pure; above and below the surface; not a speck or waft of pollution (other than the rusting hulk of the boat of course).

I spent the afternoon fishing from the dinghy, losing lures, running aground, dropping a rod over the side while I tried to tie us to a rock… generally being Mr Incompetent. I did catch a decent sized spotted grouper, but I put it back as I’d heard they were ciguatoxic. Also caught a little spotted yellow thing which wasn’t big enough to eat. Giving up, I headed back to the boat with a line trailing astern, and hooked a Jack! A “carangue bleu” in French – the same as the one we’d been given for supper in Fakarava. So I figured we should be fine, no ciguatera. Fresh poisson for supper on the grill! But after reading more about the toxin – how one species can be fine in one place but toxic in another, and the severity of acute symptoms, I reluctantly decided it wasn’t worth the risk. Canned fish again, then. Which feels so wrong in a place like this.

I had a full night of calm, deep sleep under the full moon in a gentle breeze. Woke just before dawn to watch an incredible sunrise, tucked up in my sleeping bag on the cockpit seat. Temperatures at night are dropping; and we’re getting dew on deck too. We just nudged over 20 degrees south … only a couple of degrees until we’re out of the tropics!

Palmerston atoll

June 1, 2015December 6, 2016 Chris TannerLeave a comment

I’d best get something jotted down about Palmerston atoll before we make our next landfall, where new experiences will push old ones away. Traveling by boat, spending contemplative time at sea in between busier times ashore, is good for letting memories settle. Traveling by road, new sights and experiences come thick and fast, all day every day – which even though it is half the objective of traveling, means that the mind doesn’t have space to re-live things and cement them into the memory banks.

So, after a few days at sea, we made the final approach to Palmerston at dawn on the 28th – Thursday. The swell was huge. Monstrous hills of ocean, generated somewhere deep underneath the planet in some vicious southern ocean storm. By the time they get to our latitude they are mellow, but massive. At sea, that’s fine. But when they hit land, boom! Huge thundering waves crashing onto the reef. I could see the house sized white breakers miles away, and then when we got closer, a roar like a plane was going overhead. I’d had mixed reports about the accuracy of our charts for this island, which lies waaay out in the middle of nowhere, a single atoll poking up from the ocean floor many kilometres below – so I left plenty of sea room around the breakers as we maneuvered our way towards the moorings. There’s no pass into the lagoon big enough for a yacht, so the islanders have a number of moorings anchored just off the reef (three when we were there). And they really are “just” off the reef. Taking the boat within metres of yacht-killing coral always makes me nervous, and today there was a fair swell, and current, and wind. Our first attempt at picking up a mooring ended up with the boat hook being lost over the side, which of course started drifting towards the breakers… a few minutes of cautious driving allowed us to recover it, ready for a second, successful pickup, disturbing a sea turtle from his breakfast of mooring-line algae. Reminds me of the hours we spent in Weymouth harbour on Rancote, practising picking up a mooring under sail (without the turtle). Over and over and over… eventually we used the engine. Now I know various other techniques (like lassoing the mooring ball) which would make it much easier!

We radioed Palmerston Island, and got a friendly response from a guy called Bob who was going to summon Customs and Immigration, and send them out to us. Palmerston is part of the Cook Islands – a new country – so we have to formally clear in. A few hours passed and I thought hey, maybe they are being considerate and, understanding we’d had a long journey getting here, they were letting us rest a bit. Mid afternoon, still nobody. I didn’t want to be pushy, but by late afternoon we were wondering what was going on. I tried the radio every half hour for the rest of the day. No response.

When we first turned up I had a strong feeling of arriving in a new, far off, exotic land. One I’d not yet had, apart from perhaps as we arrived in Nuku Hiva at dusk, after the long passage from Mexico. For some reason, none of the islands so far have given me a feeling of something completely new. The tropical climate, flora and fauna is mostly familiar. The places we’ve visited have been fairly well developed, and I’ve been able to communicate with the locals – whereas an unknown foreign language always makes things seem new and exotic. And everywhere we’ve been so far has had an airport, with tourists … or else at least some other yachts around.

But here, the only way to arrive is by yacht or on the 3-monthly supply ship from Rarotonga. No tourists, no airstrip. It really is the middle of nowhere. We’re the second yacht to visit this year; the last was two months ago. Only 60 inhabitants on the island, all from the same family … but enough has been written about this strange place elsewhere so I’ll skip the history. Still no word back from anyone on land, and no sign of a boat coming to see us. My initial feelings of excitement were soon replaced by a distinct sense of being let down… I was expecting, from other sailors’ accounts, “boats rushing out to meet us and offer to host our crew … the last true Polynesian welcome”. Nope. Nada, not a peep. So we went to bed disappointed – admittedly under a stunning sunset, and I got to sleep outside most of the night without rain.

Next morning we eventually got through on the radio, and a small tin motorboat was soon on its way out to meet us. On board; a couple of smart chaps in lifejackets, the driver, and his son. The boat tied up alongside and the life-jacketed officials clambered on board; “smart” being a relative term; floral shirt, shorts and no shoes evidently being standard office wear here. While the boat was fumigated, we filled out some paperwork in the cockpit, handed over a few dollars, and all was done. Easy. Since the small-boat passages in the reef are dangerous, and the culture is that the local families host visitors, we don’t use our own dinghy. So we piled all our gear into the motor boat and charged towards the reef. The driver threw the small boat around the marker posts, over the waves in only inches of water, along a twisty channel surging with current – and then we were in the lagoon. He took us ashore to his compound, where his family will “host” us for the time we are here.

Walking ashore past the destroyed hulk of the yacht “Riri” that broke its mooring here a couple of years ago is a reminder that consequences of mistakes can be serious. I’d triple-looped the mooring line, and for extra safety left the anchor dangling a few metres above the sea floor; if the mooring went completely there was a chance that the hook would grab the coral before the yacht hit the reef. Pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind, I was introduced to the family. Everyone on the island speaks English – some with more pronounced accents than others. We spent a few hours with Danny and his family, chatting, having a short tour of the island, and him asking me how best to fibreglass one of his broken fishing boats.

The three families here seem to live in perfect comfort- even though it’s so remote. A solar plant was installed a few months ago which gives everyone 24/7 power, and means they don’t have to run their diesel generators unless they want to fire up heavy loads like welding gear. They have telephones and an internet connection. Plenty of fresh water in large cisterns that fill with rain, which seems to be pretty regular. Lots of fish and coconuts. A clinic with trained nurses. A school with enthusiastic teachers. Anything they might be lacking would be from a materialistic western perspective – which of course influences the atoll in the form of TV, radio, internet and via the regular trips that some residents make to the other Cook Islands and New Zealand.

Ever since the early days of researching this voyage, I’ve been well aware that most of the South Pacific has been irreversibly changed by outside influences – the days of Thor Heyrdahl’s “Fatu Hiva” are long gone. Supply ships come to even the most remote islands; lunch was canned meat, mayonnaise and white bread from the freezer. Modern life is here to stay. Especially along the route we’re taking, the shortest line from Mexico to Australia.

Still, as one of the more remote places we’re stopping at, it would have been interesting to stay longer, and spend more time chatting with various people. The island administrator (in the floral shirt) was keen to see more craft activity, and culture preserved. But without a local economy, no cash on the island, a limited market, and not much incentive he’s finding it a challenge.

In some ways I felt that the hospitality was a little forced; it’s supposedly “part of the culture” for islanders to host visiting yachties, and in return accept “gifts” of spares, fuel, old sails, ropes. Maybe I’m being a bit cynical, but it didn’t seem that we were welcomed with open arms and wide smiles – and also 24 hours without acknowledgement. Something about that smelt a bit strange.

Anyway. It was blowing like stink so I’d taken my kite gear ashore and had an awesome session in the afternoon, navigating carefully around the shallow, sharp coral heads, and timing my jumps very precisely to make sure that take-off and landing zones were not going to leave me shredded and skinless if things went pear-shaped. An amazing place to kite – white sand beach, every shade of vibrant blue in the sea, warm wind, clear sky… would have been best with a buddy to kite with though. Next time!

That night on the boat wasn’t so pleasant. About 7pm the rain started, and the wind swung around to the north, nearly putting the reef dead downwind of us. As long as the wind didn’t shift round further, I was OK staying on the mooring. Had it backed more and put us up against a lee shore, on a mooring that may or may not have been checked in the last year, I would have definitely left, sharpish. As it was I was awake most of the night, keeping an eye on instruments – it was too dark, windy and rainy to tell exactly what was going on any other way. We had a few hours of gale force winds in the early hours and the swell from the north was wrapping around the island making the boat heave and roll horribly. Ugh. As dawn approached things calmed down a bit, the rain stopped and I dozed off in the cockpit. Eva woke me at about 8 with a hot cup of strong coffee – top lass.

2015 05 30 0900 Ripped sky — Sky ripped to shreds during the night

We decided not to go ashore again; wind was still from the north and we felt we were ready to move on. Like all these places, you either skim through quickly and just get a taste of what they are like, or you stay for ages and really get into the community. We don’t have time for the latter, and the needs of the former are met usually within a day’s visit. It feels superficial – it is – but that’s the way we’re travelling this time. Danny and his gang brought back empty the diesel can I’d given him full the night before, my flip flops that I’d left under his porch, and a hard drive of movies I’d lent his son to copy. Then we were off! Westwards again – next stop either Niue or Beveridge reef, depending on how benevolent the wind and sea gods are feeling this week…

Cosmic dance floor

May 27, 2015 Chris TannerLeave a comment

I’d just dozed off, spreadeagled over the forward berth, Rafiki gently rolling along, the soft gurgle of the bow wave singing me a lullaby just on the other side of the thin hull. Fan whirring, breeze on my skin keeping me cool. Looking forward to a good few hours rest before my watch starts at 11…

Brain asleep but ears still wide awake (a sailors ears never rest), I hear the surge of water under the bow suddenly get louder. The boat accelerates, charging off down a wave, heeling over. Where there was silence on deck before, wind is howling in the rigging. I’m awake in a snap. Some instinct tells me that action is needed, NOW, dumping a load of adrenaline into my blood. We’ve been hit by a squall. A windy one. A sail is flogging wildy outside, a loud, vicious cracking and banging. Help is needed on deck, fast. Glancing at the instrument panel as I dash out I see we have 46 knots of wind. By the time I make it up the steps, only seconds later, it’s well into the fifties. Eva is struggling to roll in the jib – it’s crashing around at the front of the boat and even though it’s already half furled, it needs two of us hauling on the line to bring it in. Instinctively I’ve taken control of the helm with my free hand to bring the boat up into the wind to make the job easier. Now I need to decide which direction steer in. Only seconds ago I was asleep, and now I’m standing in the cockpit just in boardies, wind howling, in the dark, unable to see anything through the lashing rain other than a big white flogging sail. The rest of my senses are now fully awake, each shouting their messages at my brain, which is trying to decide what to do with all the inputs. It’s a bit disorientating. I spin the wheel to starboard to ease off the wind a bit, the main fills, and we’re back on our way.

And then suddenly the wind is gone. Back down to ten knots, just like that. Surreal. We’re left befuzzled. It can’t have been more than sixty seconds overall, from fifteen to fifty and then back down again. It’s strangely quiet. Heavy rain dampens the sea, and it’s not yet had time to become alive again. I spend some time untwisting the genoa sheets and checking all is OK, change into dry shorts and then head back to my bunk. Rafiki cruises onwards through the night.

I’m woken again some time after eleven by a quiet voice. “Chris … Chris … time for your watch”. Eva had to finish a line of knitting before finishing her stint on deck, so I got an extra few minutes’ rest. Bonus.

It took me ages to fall asleep after the squall, running through the action again in my mind, so I can’t have had much sleep. Feeling a bit groggy. It’s cool enough tonight to need a tee shirt, so I fumble in the dark for one that doesn’t feel too salt-encrusted and grab my lifejacket on the way up to the cockpit. We exchange the usual chit-chat between watches;

“No change in the wind, a few clouds overtook us, no rain this time, looks like the sky is clearing. All well. Have a good watch!”

“Thanks. Have a good sleep!”

In a few minutes, I have the boat to myself. We’re rolling along directly downwind like we have been for the past few days, but the sky is now clear. We’re chasing a bright half moon, dead ahead of us. The moon is chasing the sun, now way below the horizon. It’ll just be me and the stars in a couple of hours. Sitting on the cockpit seat, looking aft at the mesmerising waves, I’m struggling to stay awake. Can’t afford to sleep. Must look out for squalls. They sneak up in minutes from over the horizon, big dark clouds, with a mystery package underneath. Sometimes benign, sometimes nasty. Gotta be ready for each one. Just in case. Mustn’t fall asleep. Tired eyes…

Time for some tunes. For a sugar rush I stuff down some dried fruit. Still loads of pawpaw and pineapple left over from Mexico. The others won’t touch it it’s so sweet. For me, it’s perfect at the start of a night watch. I wrap my trusty big headphones over my ears, select a dance set from way back in the day, and hit play.

Sugar finds its way into my bloodstream, tunes are injected straight into my brain. Boom! I’m up and dancing under a huge sky of stars. The night is so clear that I can see them all the way down to the inky black waves on the horizon; a full hemisphere of wonder. The motion of the boat under the sky makes colossal creatures of the night gyrate around me, as I gyrate around the cockpit; Scorpion, Lion, Wolf, Bear, Swan, Dragon, Dolphin – and a load I can’t identify. The lurching deck also adds a random drunken motion to my movements … or maybe that’s the leftovers of the evening’s most excellent Gin & Tonic being flushed out of my system? It was a special one, with ice. It takes a week to make a drink’s worth of ice in our wee cooler.

Flickers of phosphorescence flash down the sides of the boat, ignited by the bow wave. Like tiny little fireflies rushing into the darkness. Every now and then a shooting star whooshes overhead, ending millions of years of interstellar travel with a beautiful blaze of light in the Pacific sky. Everything seems magically in time with the music as I wobble and wiggle insignificantly but enthusiastically.

The half moon grows as it nears the horizon, an orange segment on its back, sinking towards the sea. The reflection on the water almost as bright and colourful as a sunset. The backs of waves all the way to the west catch the last flickers of colour – a cold golden – and then the moon is gone, leaving behind the limited, beautiful, monochromatic palette of a tropical night at sea. It’s become a little darker, but not much – now the milky way splashes over the top of the sky, the southern cross at one end and some bright planet at the other. The light at the top of the mast – our own little star – is scratching haphazard patterns in the blackness as the boat plunges and rolls underneath… the ocean using the boat as a pen to write secret messages in the sky above. Or is it just playing “join the dots” with the stars? I jiggle and jive, soaking it all in.

Rafiki joins in with the tunes. Sails go slack and then boom as they fill with wind, like a drum. Each wave brings a squeak and a creak and a whoosh and a fizz – but I can’t hear most of it. Ihe volume is on max, I’m transported to a magic place by the music and motion. Feet planted motionless on the deck – can’t wake the sleeping crew members in the cabin below – I’m still throwing full-body shapes, the boat moving my legs for me. It calls for a lot of improvisation, moving in a way you can’t do ashore … I’m not going to win any points for style but there’s nobody here to watch! Every now and then the boat makes a big roll and I take a break from waving my hands in the air like I just don’t care to grab something solid, so I don’t end up in a heap on the floor. The movement of my muscles and joints feels so good after days of relative inactivity aboard.

The watch goes too fast, it’s past 3am, and soon Dave is moving around below, preparing for his stint. I was hoping he’d stay asleep and I could keep going for a while. But I need the rest so reluctantly say goodbye to my cosmic dance floor, hand over the watch and head below.

“No change in the wind, no clouds, no rain, the moon went down, not much else to report. All well. Have a good watch!”

“Thanks. Have a good sleep!”

Rolling along at 16 south

May 25, 2015December 6, 2016 Chris TannerLeave a comment

Yesterday morning the easterly trade winds arrived and blew the squally, variable weather away – yippee! Under a sky full of the little white fluffy clouds that are the sign of trade winds in the tropics, Rafiki blasted off downwind with a reef in the main out to starboard, and a three-quarter jib on the pole out to port. As the sun made its way across the sky, the 20 knot wind blowing us westward gradually added its own mix of waves to the southerly swell. By evening we were riding on an ocean of heaving water – large, but gently undulating blue, blue waves, not unkind – effortlessly lifting 7 tons of boat each time a wave passed underneath us. So different from that chaos of water we had a couple of days ago.

These waves come either from directly astern; the easterly wind waves, or from the port quarter; the southerly swell. Sometimes there’s a mix of the two wave trains, amplifying each other to make a larger peak or a deeper trough. A wave comes from behind. The stern lifts gently, we start to speed up as the boat slides down towards the bottom, the bow wave surges and gurgles, leaving a carpet of hissing bubbles rushing down each side of the boat. The wave passes ahead, we slow down as we slip down it’s back. A southerly wave comes along. The stern lifts again, but this time, pushed from the left hand side, it slides to the right as it lifts. We accelerate at an angle down the wave. The boat rolls over to starboard, tucking into the down-slope of the wave. The jib, out to port, is now almost side-on to the wind and ready to fall slack, but the autopilot has already anticipated this and the wheel automatically turns a few degrees to bring the stern around and the boat on course again. As the wave passes under us, the boat rolls back upright and slows down. There’s nothing to stop the roll so we keep going, over to the left, in the trough between the waves, ready for the next one.

When the waves are consistent, it’s a wonderful, rhythmic, peaceful yet powerful motion. 20 knots of breeze pushing hard from behind keeps the sails full, boat speed in the high sixes, and the steering responsive. A fast rushing charge down the front of the wave, a deceleration as the wave overtakes. The boat’s motion is significant; perhaps rolling 20 degrees to each side, non stop hour after hour, but it’s not violent or unpredictable. This is what tropical downwind sailing is about. The regular surge and hiss of water as each wave passes under us, making its way to the horizon … white clouds scudding across the sky above … Rafiki alone on the ocean, surrounded only by the white tips of the waves blown off by the wind.

Every now and then we get one of the mixed-up waves; a bit of east and a bit of south. The boat slides, skews and dips in a way that sets off a much stronger roll. Anything not stowed properly below falls with a crash. Usually it’s a carelessly placed mug or plate, sliding across the galley counter into the sink. At least it will be safe there. Lying on the cockpit seats, we dart out a hand or foot to steady ourselves until the boat sorts itself out. It’s almost always two rolls to each side, and then calm again. Sometimes the wind catches us at the bottom of the wave, pushing the boat further over and setting us surfing as the autopilot gets us back on track. What an incredible piece of kit- the autopilot learns from previous motion, a 9-axis gyroscope built into the computer detecting roll, pitch, yaw, rise, fall, turn, acceleration and deceleration, feeding all this into the drive unit to keep us going on an almost perfect straight course across the sea. It’s driven us pretty much all the way from Mexico.

Today, much the same. Roll left, roll right, chill out for a bit, bigger wave, bigger roll. And over again. Except today we don’t have the fluffy tropical clouds. The day started out with a clear sky which I thought meant another day of solid trade winds. A good 20 knot breeze pushed us through the morning to a passage record of 134 miles noon-to-noon, but now we have a succession of tall, billowing cumulonimbus clouds marching overhead, with variable winds. Clear blue skies are punctuated by periods of grey and a little drizzle under each beast. Every cloud that passes over kills the wind – but the waves and rolling keep going – and without wind to keep the sails full they slat and slam horribly with each roll. First the jib out to port, and then the main on starboard, going slack as the mast falls towards the water and then filling again with a slam as the boat comes upright. I feel for the poor things. And me. I just can’t rest when it’s like this. Thinking “there must be a way to improve things. Perhaps a couple of degrees course change? Or maybe sheet in or out a little?” … but often there’s nothing to do. It’s been a lot worse – and I’ve figured out that a reef in the main and a partially rolled genoa take a look of the slamming force away. When the wind fills in again after the rain, all is well again.

There’s a beautiful white tropic bird that seems to be chasing the back of the squalls. Maybe the fresh water brings some kind of food-creature to the surface? Each time the rain passes by, she comes around for another look at us. She’s pure white, apart from large black eyes, a long, slightly open curved red beak, two black paddle feet tucked underneath, and a long pencil-thin red tail. Quite a big bird. I’ve not seen this kind before. I whistle and try to attract her to the boat for some crumbs left over from crackers at lunch, but she’s more interested in diving for the fishing lines we have trailing behind. Luckily for her she misses, and flies onwards, somewhere… no land near here!

So the day goes on. Rolling, rolling, rolling. Tweaking the course a few degrees back and forth – each rain cloud alters the wind direction as it passes. My batten pocket fix a couple of days ago didn’t work. Next time the sail’s down I’ll spend more time on it. I’ve repaired two mainsail luff slides in the last couple of days; this slamming is rapidly bringing about the end of their careers. But we’re making good progress. 680 nautical miles to Niue. We’re passing over the top of the Cook Islands at the moment – Aitutaki is only 150 miles to the south – just over a day’s sail away. So tempting…. next time.

Checking out of French Polynesia

May 21, 2015December 6, 2016 Chris TannerLeave a comment

Just a quick update before we leave French Polynesia … and a few pictures while we have internet here in Bora Bora. Had an amazing few weeks with Rose aboard; Moorea for a few days, then an overnight sail to Huahine where we spent a few nights in various anchorages.

2015 05 11 Huahine paddling — Trying my hand at paddling a polynesian canoe

2015 05 12 Huahine — One of our Huahine anchorages

From Huahine, just a short day sail across to Taha’a, where we spent time on the east and west coasts. From Taha’a another day sail across to Bora Bora where we’ve been for the last week. Dave and Eva ashore, Rafiki to ourselves. A perfect time in each others company, could not have asked for anything better. Rose just flew out; I dropped her at the airport in the dinghy. Will miss her…

2015 05 16 1000 Tautau — Amazing snorkelling at Tautau, Taha’a

2015 05 16 1500 Tautau Rafiki — Self timer from a camera on a fender!

2015 05 16 1800 Tautau sunset — Sunset over Bora Bora from Taha’a

Tomorrow we check out with the Gendarmerie – to let them know we’re leaving the country. We’ll fill up with diesel and food, and set sail for Niue in the next day or so. It’s 1000 miles away, so we’ll be at sea for at least a week. Westward ho!

Opunohu bay

May 14, 2015December 6, 2016 Chris TannerLeave a comment

There’s a low pressure system trucking along from west to east, a few hundred miles south of Tahiti, which for us means rain, wind and unsettled weather. We’ve not seen the sun or stars for a couple of days. Only dark, wet clouds, and gusty wind. We moved over from the east side of the Opunohu bay pass to the west side a couple of days ago, a mile or two of winding through the coral reef, following channel markers to stay in the deeper water. The deep channel ends in a shallow patch of sand about the size of a couple of tennis courts, where we’re anchored now… in just 3.5 metres of water. Rafiki draws 2m, so it’s pretty close. But there’s no swell as we’re tucked behind the reef, there’s loads of room to swing as the wind and current shifts about, and the bottom is soft sand. The water is so clear we can see the fish swimming around the anchor when the sea goes calm.

2015 05 10 Shallow sea — Shallow anchorage!

First afternoon we were here there was a load of wind, gusting from all directions, up to 35 knots as it came rushing down off the hills. Anchor held and we didn’t bump into any of the other 5 boats squeezed in here, but one of the catamaran owners was a bit concerned about one of the other boats, and asked him to move a little further. I think he just swam down, picked up his anchor, walked along the sea bed with it, and dropped it a few metres away.

The rain and cloudy weather has kept the temperature down, which means that hanging out below decks isn’t like sitting in an oven, as it normally is during the day. We’ve managed to watch all three Back To The Future movies, Rose baked some muffins, we tidied up the boat, sewed up the rip in my hammock, and fixed one of my kites!

Yesterday it looked a little clearer so we clamped the outboard engine to the back of the dink and motored a mile or two along the coast into the wind and current, to a place where they feed the rays and sharks for the tourists. We arrived fairly early, only one small tourist boat there, and tied the dinghy to a rock. I hopped over the side and immediately came face to face with a large, grey stingray, perhaps a metre across… my heart was in my mouth for a few seconds before I remembered that these guys are not dangerous, and the tour guides have them crawling all over them at feeding time. Still, being next to a big creature in the water – very much their territory, not mine – is a bit unnerving. Rose clambered over the side into the water and we enjoyed an amazing hour or so of snorkelling – loads of rays, sharks, and many many coloured reef fish. Brave little ones swimming round our feet, taking a nibble wherever possible, timid ones hiding in the coral. Bright yellow and black inquisitive angel fish swimming up to the camera, shoals of long silvery pipefish hanging out just under the surface, sinister looking white suckerfish gliding along underneath the sharks, some only just a little smaller than their host. They have a strange sucker on the top of their head, to hold on to the shark belly, and where you’d expect a single dorsal fin there are two – one going out each side so as not to get in the way of the sucker.

Then on to the beach where it looked like there was enough space to launch a kite. I’d repaired my 9m, the wind was a bit light, but I could at least try and get it into the sky to see if all was OK. All bladders held air, and after a few tweaks to line lengths, it was flying! Overexcited and in hindsight more than a little rashly, I charged out into the bay, looping the kite to stay up on the board in the light wind. As soon as I was in the channel though, the current swept me downwind, taking a good few knots out of the wind speed. Not good. No way I was going to be able to stay on the plane to get back upwind to the launch beach. But I’d spotted another beach in front of a hotel further down the coast, so I threw the kite around the sky to generate as much power as I could and – only just about staying out of the water – I approached the reef between the channel and the beach. With the board as protection between my thin skin and the jagged coral I bumped and ground my way over the reef. Just a few inches of water underneath me – a great view of the colourful fish, but sightseeing wasn’t the main thing on my mind at that point. I felt the board get locked in coral, and just managed to wriggle free in time for the kite to power up and give me another surge of traction. Close call. In the channel, and directly upwind of the beach, I dropped the kite into the sea and wrapped up the lines, swimming the last few metres in to shore. Back to safety, and lesson learnt…

Sunday dawned clear and bright. The low has moved on, and taken the nasty weather with it. A good day to sail on to the next island – Raiatea – about 100 miles away so the plan is to overnight and get there in the morning. Picked up Dave, Eva, an ice cream and some baguettes from the little town ashore, and then headed out to sea in a light south westerly breeze.

To Moorea

May 7, 2015December 6, 2016 Chris Tanner1 Comment

Early on Saturday morning, a couple of hours before dawn, I left Rafiki tied to a mooring ball, took the dinghy ashore and walked a few miles to the airport to meet Rose. Yippee! So good to see her again – two months has been a long while…

Taxi back to the marina then out to the boat where Dave and Eva cooked a pancake breakfast for us all. Ate the last pamplemousse from the Marquesas today. Rose had a rest, while the rest of us spent a few hours re-provisioning for the next couple of months. Walking into the huge Carrefour supermarket my eyes were on stalks and my mouth salivating – so much tasty looking food. We filled three trolleys and wheeled them back down the road to the marina, and then shuttled all the goodies out to Rafiki in a couple of dinghy rides.

2015 05 02 1100 Provisions — Some of the two months’ of food

Dave and Eva left for a few nights in a hostel so Rose and I could have the boat (our home, after all) to ourselves for a while. We had a few things to do in town, including picking up the propane tank on Monday, so we hung around and relaxed. Early on Sunday morning the swell picked up. Boosted by the spring tide, sea poured over the reef into the channel, right where we had a mooring. I woke up to the sound of water rushing past the hull, as though we were sailing. A bit unsettling as we weren’t supposed to be going anywhere… poking my head out of the hatch I saw we were surrounded by foam and thrashing water; the instruments showed a 2 knot current, surging with each wave that pounded on the reef a hundred yards away. But the mooring was holding, so I just set the anchor drift alarm and went back to sleep. In the morning we could see all the other boats in the mooring field – perhaps a hundred – pitching and rolling in the waves, just like we were. Not dangerously, just a bit uncomfortable. It was a bumpy ride ashore in the dinghy to have a walk and fill up our diesel tanks!

We decided to head back to the marina in town for a night, which turned out to be two as we bumped into D+E again, who suggested a day touring the island in a rental car. So on Tuesday we all piled into a tiny Peugeot 107 and spent the day driving around the ring road of Tahiti. Papeete, on the north west corner of the island, takes up most of the flat part of the island. Around the rest of the coastline, there’s only just space for a couple of blocks of houses, the road and then another couple of blocks before the mountains rise dramatically and steeply inland, covered in dense tropical foliage. Tahiti is made up of two parts; two rounds joined by a narrow isthmus in the middle. The northern island has a road all the way around, but you can only get part of the way around the southern island. The road stops at Teahupoo; a small village that gives its name to one of the world’s most famous surfing waves. I really wanted to see what this legendary wave was all about, so we headed south, left the car at the end of the road and walked out onto the point to watch the surf through the binoculars. Just like the photos on the cover of every other surf mag, the wave was massive and hollow. Awesome, even from a long way away, and not even on a “big day”.

We stopped off at a really well kept botanical garden, with a huge variety of tropical trees, bushes and shrubs. Wandered up to a waterfall, stopped off at a couple of beaches, had lunch in an extravagant French restaurant overlooking boats at anchor in the waist of the island, and eventually made it back to Papeete in the evening.

Tuesday morning (yesterday) Rose and I paid up at the marina and then motored the 18 miles across to Moorea under overcast skies. Not enough wind to sail, unfortunately. After about 4 hours, we passed between the green and red buoys that mark the channel at the entrance of Opunohu bay, turned left, and anchored in shallow water just off the white sand beach. It’s not remote and unspoilt – there’s a car park and picnic benches ashore – but it’s still a world apart from Papeete. Steep ridges and peaks surround the bay, making a dramatic backdrop. There’s not much settlement (the hills rise straight from the shore) – only the road which runs all the way around the island lined with a few buildings. Further down the coast, there’s a hotel/resort – which in French Polynesia, out on the islands, means a load of thatched huts extending out into the lagoon on stilts. Tourist boats and jet skis buzz past every half hour, but it’s still beautiful. In the evening we watch lightning on the horizon, and prepare the boat for a windy and wet night.

The thunderstorm ended up passing south of Moorea, so we had a peaceful night. Today the sun is out and a cool breeze is keeping the temperature down, Rafiki bobs around peacefully in now-familiar turquoise blue water, a lush green palm-lined beach a stone’s throw away to starboard, and waves rolling gently onto the reef off to port. As we finish our breakfast of paw-paw and scrambled egg, we watch a fleet of Optimist dinghies skippered by tiny screaming French kids, following the coach boat like ducklings. Snorkelling this morning we saw sharks, a ray, loads of small fish and a huge barracuda-like fish hanging out under Rafiki. So, today we’re just relaxing, and enjoying time together.

2015 05 07 1000 Moorea Opunohu bay — Opunohu Bay, Moorea

2015 05 07 1300 Moorea Oponohu — Opunohu Bay

Tahiti

May 1, 2015December 6, 2016 Chris Tanner1 Comment

“Tahiti” – usually means exotic tropical islands, turquoise blue seas, Polynesian beauties, Captain Cook’s adventures – but for me, it’s where we meet Rose! I’ve been getting more and more excited over the last couple of weeks, haven’t seen her in two months, and she arrives at 5am tomorrow to spend a few weeks on board. The plan is to gently explore up through the Society Islands to Bora Bora, where we’ll depart for the 1,000 mile leg due west to Niue. Can’t wait!

Leaving Toau a few days ago for the 230 mile passage to Tahiti, we managed to fly the spinnaker for a couple of hours before the wind dropped completely. On with the engine… which hammered away all through the afternoon, through the night and into the next morning. Hot and noisy; all the engine covers were open to give it some cooling air, down below decks it was over 37 degrees. The alternator belt was cooking, slipping a little, covering the engine in a fine layer of black dust and filling the boat with smell and light smoke. But the adjuster is as tight as it will go. It slips each time the batteries need heavy charge, as the alternator works double-hard, nothing new – so I have enough spare belts to get to Australia. Will try and find a shorter one in town so I can keep it tight. On deck in the sun it was closer 42, so I lay on the couch with the cabin fans on max, trying not to move, but still sweating cobs. Every now and then I came up for a fresh bucket of Pacific splashed over the head to cool off. Eventually a gentle breeze lets us turn off the engine, get the main up, and fly the spinnaker again. Rafiki goes really well on a beam reach in 10-12 knots of breeze with the big red and orange sail up, charging along at over 6 knots, bow wave gurgling, bubbles fizzing alongside, and a gentle roll as the southern swell passes underneath us. I try to get a photo with the kite, but there’s not quite enough wind to get it up far enough without risking it collapsing, which would mean losing the whole lot in the sea.

Rafiki under spinnaker — Almost a great photo!

We spent the afternoon cleaning the boat, and doing a stock take on all the food we still have aboard. Apart from a few baguettes and a stack of Brie and Camembert we picked up in Taiohae, we’re still going strong on the provisions we loaded in Mexico two months ago. Pasta and rice is running low, and we’re out of eggs, cheese, meat and fresh veg – we’ll stock up again in Papeete for the rest of the voyage through to Australia, in the large French Carrefour, and the local indoor market. Just as we’re transferring beer and coke from the bilges in the bottom of the boat to the fridge, there’s a THUMP on deck, the sound of a line jumping on a winch, and then flapping around.

Skipper’s instinct immediately recognises it as “something gone wrong” … I jump over Dave and up the companionway, and see the spinnaker ripped all the way along the foot and up the leech, flying loose in the wind. Oh no! But it was cheap and old, and has done us well so far. I guess its time has come. With over 70 feet of stitching gone, it won’t be worth fixing unless I can get it done really cheaply somewhere, but even then I’m not sure how long the UV-degraded fabric will last. It’s not a sewing job I’m going to tackle by hand! Dave and Eva are quick behind me, and we get it down without any trouble, gathered away in seconds. There’s enough wind for the genoa now, so we unfurl that and get back to business with the beer and coke. A third of which have punctured and leaked their contents all over the inside of the locker under the floor – the tiny but constant motion of two months on board have worn through the cans which were lying on their side. Best get drinking that beer!

As the sun came up yesterday morning we pulled into Papeete, the capital, and docked in the brand new town marina.

2015 04 30 0700 Tahiti approach — Tahiti approach

There are a few other boats here but it’s pretty empty – early in the season. I spent a couple of hot hours trekking over to the propane station to leave our tank for a refill, and looking for spare alternator belts without success. Picked up some fish from the market, which I filleted and then grilled on the BBQ mounted to the stern rail of the boat for supper. Mmmm.

2015 04 30 1600 Fish — Dinner – can anyone tell me what fish this is?

The double lane main street runs along behind the palm lined quay, busy with noisy traffic. Behind that, a few kilometres of town, and then the soaring mountains of the island. Another incredible skyline, like the Marquesas, jagged peaks and vertical cliffs – but we can’t see much from here as it’s hidden behind apartment blocks. Last night joggers came out to pace the waterfront when the sun went down, glowing iPods strapped to their arms and fancy neon trainers flashing in the street lights. Two of Freddie‘s sons are somewhere in Papeete – I wonder what kind of lifestyle they lead. A cruise ship came in stealthily overnight and is sitting humming away on the other side of the dock – crammed full of thousands of tourists who will swarm into town today. Every half hour a small plane buzzes overhead, taking off from the airport just along the coast, taking another load of people out to one of the other islands. There are more people around than we’ve seen in months, but it doesn’t feel oppressive, overly polluted or crowded, which I am surprised about. Here and there is evidence of a typical tropical town – wonky pavements, sun-cracked paint peeling from buildings, sand on the road … but it’s generally much cleaner and neater than most.

We’ll move south, closer to the airport, once I’ve had a shower at the marina, and caught up on internet stuff. Now that we have a good connection, I’ve spent some time going back through older posts and adding some photos.

Anse Amyot

April 30, 2015December 6, 2016 Chris Tanner1 Comment

After another day in Fakarava, we left through the north pass for a short overnight sail to Toau. On the northern coast of the atoll there’s a small inlet, a half-pass that doesn’t go all the way through into the lagoon, called Anse Amyot that I’d read good things about. It’s only 40 miles from Fakarava, but leaving through the pass on a good tide meant we had to sail overnight to arrive in the light. Lots of wind meant we just had the genoa up, and were still making well over 6 knots, so we arrived off Anse Amyot before midnight and had to stall for hours, sailing back and forth.

A spectacular dawn was soon followed by gusty winds and strong rain. I made an approach to the inlet, but the rain was so hard we couldn’t see more than a few tens of metres, not great conditions for slotting a yacht through a narrow gap in the reef between rolling breakers. So I sent for the shower gel and enjoyed a fresh water shower. Later in the morning when we’d found our way onto a mooring ball, we hopped over the side to the most amazing snorkeling yet. The tide was on the way in, bringing pure, clear Pacific ocean in – so the visibility was stunning. The pictures just don’t do it justice. No wonder this is regarded as one of the world’s top spots for seeing reef fish.

Back on board we sat through another super-heavy rainstorm, and then explored the bay for a while. I took the dinghy to the nearby beach, but as soon as I’d set foot on the shore the no-nos started biting viciously. I think the rain had set them off. Much safer out on the water. I rowed out into the lagoon, and then drifted back to the boat over the coral, only a few inches below the bottom of the dinghy. Peering over the side I could see everything just as clearly as if I was in the water.

2015 04 27 1030 Squally day — Water still amazingly blue even with a grey sky

2015 04 28 Anse Amyot fish trap — Fish trap at Anse Amyot

Just the one night here, and then off to Tahiti in the morning! The forecasts show not much wind, but we have plenty of diesel and it’s only 230 miles, so we’ll go anyway, and take whatever weather we get. Looks like the rain has cleared away, so I’m going to see if I can make it through a whole night sleeping in the cockpit without getting wet…