Author: Pete

Location: Passage from Marquesas to Tuamotus

Date: May 6 – 10

May 6th we spent all day prepping the boat and the crew to make the crossing from the Marquesas to the Tuamotus, also known as the Dangerous Archipelago. Once we got the bug to shove off it everyone jumped in, provisioning fresh produce, hauling water and diesel, cooking some meals for the passage, and getting the boat into fighting shape for the open sea. It came down to a flurry of activity just at dusk, I hauled the stern anchor out of the Hiva Oa mud, fired up Wendy and Belinda, and ran the gauntlet of boats anchored fore and aft. We pulled past the breakwall and into the safety of open water just as night fell. With enough light left in the air we motorsailed past the hooked southern tip of Hiva Oa and into the channel north of Tiahuata. We had some pasta in the dark and uncomfortable rolling, then turned south to 200 degrees and aimed for the Tuamotus. The wind was finicky for the first hour or so as we passed the wind shadow of Tahuata, but stabilized once we were clear to the south, though the beam-on seas made rough going. Everyone fell back into their programmed schedules for watch. On my watch the moon was bright enough to give you a tan in the perfectly clear night. Good to be back at sea.

May 7th, our first full day at sea, brought two meter rolling swell coming in on our beam annoyingly topped with chop in 14-20 knots of wind. We’re making good time towards Tuamotus, but are tediously regaining our sea legs. They come so slow and go so fast! Mostly the crew just caught up on podcasts and sleep from our first restless night on the rough seas. Quantity never fully outweighs quality on the sleep front though. We had prepared soup and stir-fry before leaving which was a lifesaver when everyone is hungry but no one has the stomach to cook. Throughout the day we saw red forms of big fish scooting under the surface next to the boat, and I saw two tuna jump high out of the water chasing prey. Didn’t think we’d be up for cleaning a flopping, bleeding fish with the current sea state, so we didn’t give chase.

May 8th, day two at sea. The weather during the day has been pleasant, blue skies, no squalls, 13 knots of wind from astern, and following 2 meter rollers, less chop than before. Happy campers. Lighter winds and more favorable, following seas today made for a much more comfortable sail. We’re trying to time our arrival at Raroia, an atoll in the Tuamotus Archipelago, so it coincides with slack tide. Atolls are generally rings of coral with a deep lagoon inside, only some of which have a pass, or an opening from the deep sea into the calm shelter of the interior lagoon. Raroia has such a pass, but entering and exiting the little channel between the coral islands is only possible when the tide is slack, neither going in, nor out. Since we don’t want to be waiting outside the pass twiddling our aquatic thumbs waiting for the green light to enter, we’re trying to slow the boat down to get there at the right time. Right now we’re sailing downwind under the mainsail alone.

Caught a fish today, but didn’t get it to the boat before it broke the hook off and zoomed away. Not even sure what kind it was, but for certain it was 9-10 feet long and a million pounds, just like all the others that get away, right Sheldon?

Another day whisked away toward the horizon. Listening to BBC World Service News on the SSB, its static-riddled signal cutting in and out makes me feel our distance from land, tiny spits of islands not included. As our friend Greg pointed out, “Even when you get there, you’re still in the middle of the Pacific Ocean!” Quite so. It’s dark now and I wonder what we look like to the dolphins or passing jets, not that we’ve seen many in the skies over the Pacific. Everyone is still up after dinner, and the boat is lit like a Christmas tree. In all this dark before the moonrise we are the outlier. It’s nice to have the light, but when we’re back to only the tricolor and moonlight I feel much more at home.

Tonight we just made a fifteen degree turn to port, now heading more south to skirt Tepoto and Napuka, two passless spits of atolls in a small chain aptly named the Disappointment Isles. We gave then a 20 mile berth, and could just see them on radar as we made the turn. 126 miles to go for Raroia.

May 9th, day three on the passage brought gray skies, abeam seas, and variable winds. We ran under a reefed main and jib for most of the day, alternating wing-wing and broad reach. Trimming the sails all day in response to the fickle wind and back-winding sails was annoying, along with the renewed chop coming in broadside and rolling the boat around. Heedless, Miranda made some great homemade bread in the oven for chicken salad sandwiches, and I made a pot of chili for dinner with biscuits. We have more grapefruit and mandarins than we know what to do with. I think my mouth is dissolving from the citric acid. Hard times. We certainly aren’t starving.

We were hoping to have fish for dinner though! Had a strike on a nine-inch blue and white squid lure. The hook must have set fine, the reel started screaming away. Once we grabbed the line (with appropriately gloved hands) and tried to hand line the big guy in, he ran and broke the line almost immediately. I need to start using cable or something. I put on a new leader and threw in Stumpy, a beat up pink squid who is missing half his legs from strikes, but no one seemed interested in ‘alternately-abled cephalopods’ for dinner.

Sailing into the dark tonight. Coming up for watch at 2AM Miranda shows me we’ve made it! Land Ho! At least on radar. The radar screen is lit up disconcertingly with surface contacts which have slowly engulfed us as we sail deeper into the low island chain of the Tuamotus Archipelago. It’s a brilliant night though, with flooding moonlight and few clouds. Great visibility should see us through until morning, when we hope to arrive around 8AM, an hour early for slack tide in the pass at Raroia. It’s no reason to slack on watch duty, so I’m heading back outside to keep my eye on the incoming horizon. More to come from Tayrona.