A little video on an incredible experience we had in Opunohu Bay in Moorea, French Polynesia.
Author: Pete
Location: Moorea, Society Islands
Date: June 25, 2015
We decided to make the most of our down-time waiting for the autohelm part to come in by sailing to Moorea, three hours from Papeete. We had spent a few days ordering our autohelm part, salvaging data off a dying hard drive, and working on a dinghy cover. The sun does wicked things to the material over the years, so often canvas covers are put on to extend the lifespan of the noble work horse of Joe Schmoe Cruiser. Gringos call the covers ‘chaps’, but I like the Spanish equivalent, ‘pijamas.’ I love the idea that the dinghies tied up at the dock in their pajamas are really attending some sort of nautical sleepover with terrycloth robes, slippers, and night caps.
It was a lot of work; we made a pattern out of clear plastic in Galapagos and worked on the real thing on the mooring at Marina Taina. It’s tough to work on a project like that on a rolling boat with limited space to maneuver meters of fabric. At least that’s going to be my excuse if anyone calls me out on a few spots of rough tailoring. Most of the time we worked with the dinghy suspended from the davits and occasionally I had to get in it to work. I only once fell out of the tippy dinghy into the harbor. Miranda thought that was great.
Several of the days were pretty windy and rough when we were on a mooring ball in Taina. We had gusts to thirty knots and once breaking waves in the mooring field. One afternoon as we were working on the dinghy cover, a big catamaran broke free from its mooring and went zipping sideways downwind through a dozen moored boats. No one saw it until it was right next to us. I put the dinghy in the water and went tearing after it, without thinking about what I was going to do in my poorly idling, nine horsepower dinghy once I caught the 30 ton catamaran in 20 knots of wind. Miranda was smarter than me, as usual, and called the marina. They dispatched a launch and with the assistance of another dinghy we wrestled the boat to another mooring ball and tied it up. Miraculously, the vagabond boat didn’t ding a single other vessel out of the dozen it zipped by in the mooring field.
Then it was happily time to piss off to Moorea for a few days while we awaited the autohelm part. We motorsailed the fifteen miles across because the wind was on our bow. Of course it was the first day it had blown from that direction in a week. It was light and the going was easy. We passed Cook’s Bay, named after the popular Captain Cook who explored the area, and turned in at Opunohu Bay a few miles west. The two bays cut deep into the island of Moorea, making it look like a heart with two divots in it.
Had to hand steer the three hours over, which seems pretty easy, but is a chore when you’re used to someone else driving for thousands of miles. Motored easily through the pass with the backwards French buoy marking. The pointed teeth of Moorea’s peaks made for fantastic scenery.
Oop. That’s fanny-tastic scenery! We anchored just inside the protection of the coral reef in ten feet of water.
We put the dinghy down with gusto and took off to go snorkel. It had been three weeks since we’d been in the water. Well, except for the time I fell off the boat working on the dinghy cover. Three weeks?! We LIVE on a boat for crying out loud. How does that happen?! It was good to be back down undah. A couple chill sea turtles paddled by near the drop off and we saw some of our old friends from other boats out there too.
Came back to the boat in a nice flat anchorage and slept like babies.
The next morning we met up with friends who knew the low down of the island. Paul and Andy from Talulah Ruby showed us the secret snorkeling spots. The first spot hid seven sunken carved tikis. Legend has it that the first missionaries made the craftsman throw them in the lagoon when they came. Snorkelers keep them free of marine growth so they are in great shape. A little spooky to see under water!
Our next delight of the day was Stingray City, a sandbar in the lagoon where the stingrays (and reef sharks) congregate in the shallows. We anchored our dinghy in chest-deep water and the rays came out to play. They swam in and around us, looking for handouts. Apparently some dive operators feed them, so they were very cordial with us. They nose around you and are happy to be petted. Their skin is velvety, an unparalleled combination of smooth, slippery, and soft without feeling slimy. It’s a cool enough sensation and interaction to dissolve your speech into unintelligible, involuntary chortling. From all across the sandbar the sound of our group of friends giggling like school girls though their snorkels rang out. It’s a precious thing to hear a posh, collected fifty-year-old British man tee-heeing giddily at the thrill of a natural petting zoo.
We ended up going back the next day armed with tuna. The rays were really excited to see us then! Reminds me of a great Mitch Hedberg quote: “I find that a duck’s opinion of me is heavily influence by whether or not I have any bread.” That guy was a genius. We brought our gringo friends Rick and Lara from SeaKey, and Dutch friends Pete and Liz from Suluk.
The 28th we sailed back to Papeete with the hopes of picking up our much awaited part!
Author: Pete
Location: Papeete, Tahiti
Date: June 20, 2015
A few days ago we pulled into the beautiful protected harbor of… wait, what? Papeete? I thought we were out of here! Bah!
Clearing out of the country took several days of running around to immigration and customs office, one at this end of Papeete, one at the other, all by bus and in French (which I’m getting REALLY good at faking!) I jumped flaming bureaucratic hoops like a dressed-up, sweaty corgi in a circus act. It’s all part of the fun, or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.
To leave one must give notice three days in advance then get physical clearance papers from immigration on the day you’re to leave port. They’re so anal that they indicate the HOUR of your departure. We fueled and watered the boat at the Marina Taina and then headed out into the gray of the sea.
The sharp teeth of Moorea’s peaks loomed ten miles away in the distance. Scattered rain bands swept the horizon and the wind kicked to twenty knots. No problem, we’ll just rig Tayrona to sail herself around the point, then hide out inside and keep watch in the comfort of the salon, right? Wrong! We turned on the autopilot and it promptly shrieked the beeping death warning and flashed an ominous “AUTORELEASE” message. We tried it again. “AUTORELEASE” and more death beeping. I dove into the depths of the port engine compartment where the autopilot’s hydraulic ram is housed and fiddled with the rudder position sensor. It gives rudder position feedback to the autopilot brain so the system can be proprioceptive and correct rudder angle accordingly. Long story short, it was shot, but we didn’t know it yet. We turned off the “AUTORELEASE” function deep in the configuration settings and the autopilot turned to “AUTO” and stopped the incessant beeping! Hooray! We did a happy dance on deck, at least for a moment until the autopilot swung the boat hard to port, then hard to starboard searching for the right rudder angle but without any feedback. We put the kibosh on the autopilot and our happy dance and steered by hand while we tried to figure out what was going on.
We weighed the option of sailing for the next two months to Fiji by hand and decided we should probably fix the problem while we have civilization to help. I begrudgingly put the wheel hard over to bring us back to port. We picked up a mooring ball at the Marina Taina and sat there miffed for a while.
Now we were illegally in the country! Our passports were stamped out and everything! We found Tehani from the Tahiti Crew, who helped with formalities to get into French Polynesia, and she pulled some stings and got us back in the good graces of the law. We once again fly the French Polynesian flag.
In the next days we hunted down a friend of ours on a different boat in town. Paul on S/V Georgia is a sailing guru and we figured he’d be able to help. I described the symptoms to him and he concurred with my diagnosis of a rudder position sensor failure. He happened to have the same system and over the next couple days we pulled off his sensor, and installed in on my boat. The autopilot worked like a charm when we tested it out on sea trial. I was temped to take off right then and there but he’s a better sailor than me and would surely catch us.
They’re surprisingly inexpensive Raymarine parts! $250 is a steal for most autopilot failures. I’ll take it! Oops, no Raymarine dealers in French Polynesia though. Matter of fact, the closest place that has this part is New Caledonia, some 2500 miles away near Australia! We can order it from the US but it takes ten days and $400 in shipping and customs. Owwie.
We recalled a twelve-minute discussion on the docks a week earlier with an American cruiser who was heading to California to take care of some business and would be back in Tahiti in short order. In passing she casually offered to bring anything back if we needed parts. It’s one of those nonchalant proposals sailors put out there when they know that no one is going to be boorish enough to take them up on it. But hell, I’ll be boorish for $400 and no customs crap to deal with! We shot her an email and got the okay to order parts! Huzzah!
So that’s where we are now. Sitting in Tahiti awaiting a part to come in on the 29th with a good Samaritan sailor. It’s a pretty awful place to be stranded. The green peaks, blue lagoon, fresh papaya, and Miss Tahiti festivities are dreadful. Hard time aboard Tayrona.
