July 4-23, 2018

The Passage 7/4/18

Hooray. This morning, we weigh anchor around 0630 without a bit of trouble. No "log" of coral this time! We are motoring towards the Makemo northwest pass when we notice a sailboat behind us. It must be one of the two boats that joined us in the north anchorage yesterday. This time, Don has calculated his own time for the pass. When we are in position to catch a glimpse, it looks a bit rough, so Don drives us in a circle to pass time and get another view. Meanwhile, the sailboat following, sv Hobah, moves ahead of us and drives through the pass. We see him bounce in the waves, but it looks fairly controlled. Don is ready to put us through once Hobah clears the entrance. This pass is narrower than the one near the village, so we do expect to feel some current. Still, it is vastly better than our entrance into Makemo due to better timing.

The passage to Fakarava begins easily, a nice breeze allows us to be under full sail for most of the day. Not only that, but the seas are gentle with 1.5 meters or less of swell. It is wonderful. So, when the time comes to put on the engine, the seas are still pretty mild. Now, even as we motor-sail, it is still easy going with this relatively calm sea. We need to maintain an average of 4.5 knots SOG (speed over ground) to arrive around this same time tomorrow for slack tide at the Fakarava pass. It is a very conservative pace, so we can rest easy.

My sleep is so much better tonight. When my shift comes at 0600 the next morning, I have a nice surprise of internet access on my phone even before we are inside the atoll. Better yet, we glide through the pass around 0815 without so much as a slap of water against us. So, the passage ends just as easily as it began. Wow, I say to Don. We deserve this.


The Mooring 7/5/18

Like all the other atolls, Fakarava has coral heads with which you must contend when anchoring. However, off the north village of Rotoava, there are about six moorings set in deep water. Oh, how lovely it would be to be free from bommie-worry. Just the same, since I am the one who must grab the mooring line from the bow of the boat, I am quite nervous at the thought.

Why? For one thing, I simply have not had a lot of practice. In the Northwest, there is so much good-holding mud in which to anchor, Don and I rarely chose a mooring even when available. Then, there is the issue of my first experience with a mooring ball in 2005. We had just graduated from our cruising sail course in the British Virgin Isles and were given the 49' Beneteau sailboat for a solo overnight. But the anchorage mandated use of mooring balls to protect reefs. Don was driving, and I was on the bow with the boat-hook. He made pass after pass for me; I simply could not reach the ball below in the water, unless I wanted to hang by my toes off the lifelines, that is. Mind you, all my attempts are in front of other graduates on their boats. Finally, I went back to drive the boat, and put Don on the bow with the boat-hook. Even he had to reach way down to pick up the mooring line off the ball. Turns out, the boat-hook was supposed to be telescoping and was not, so it was too short for even regular sized people --- not just short-girl-Joy. This is the emotional baggage I am carrying into Fakarava with me.


Knowing my reluctance, Don bought a specialized tool for me to use. The pole has a boat-hook head with a clip that closes on the target and does not let go. A line is also attached to the head, and that is tied to a cleat on the boat. As you grab the buoy, the top releases from the end of the pole, and now you are connected to the mooring via the line on the cleat. Two bow lines must still get secured through the loop of the mooring line, but the temporary line gives time to do so calmly. This sounds great in theory, but I have never practiced with this new boat hook. Also, I need to be sure to hold onto to the pole, not fall in as I reach over the water, etc, etc, etc. I am nervous as hell.

Duckbill mooring pole and hook

About an hour after transiting the pass, we have our headsets on and I am on the bow with my new handy-dandy boat hook; Don is driving. After so much time worrying over coral, it sure would be nice to have a mooring. Who am I kidding? Fakarava is a very popular cruising destination, so what are the chances there would be one available? Turns out - pretty good.

As we get close, lo and behold, we each spy a free mooring float; it looks like one of our pearl-farm floats. Don drives to make our approach when a man on another boats calls to us: You cannot use that! You can use that one, he points, the one with a big Styrofoam float! Not sure what the problem is, nonetheless we steer over to the one he indicates. Hmmm. I cannot see where to grab this; it seems to have a bunch of sea junk on the line. Just then, we see a boat vacate the adjacent mooring. The line looks clear and straight forward. Don moves us to it, I reach down with my hook, and..... I got it! First try!

Hey. What do I do now? The head of the boat-hook did not slide off as expected, but the clip caught the mooring line, and I have a death grip on the pole. Don brings the boat to a stop and comes forward to help me. Together, we get two bows lines attached and now we are sitting pretty on a *free* mooring.

We later learn the reason we were shooed off the first mooring. It belongs to the onshore dive shop and is only rated for 1 ton. They use it for their diving boats when the water is too rough to tie to a dock. Yes, waves can kick up because Fakarava is 30 miles long, and that means a very long fetch for buildup when the wind direction is aligned with the atoll length. This just another reason to be far away from coral heads. The six or so moorings for larger boats are rated to 30 tons. Relying upon a mooring anchor set by someone can be problematic, but we also learn a Tahitian official inspects them every year. Over the course of our stay, we must help guide other large boats away from that smaller mooring, unless we want someone breaking free and drifting into Huaka'i.


The Village of Rotoava

Of course, we are anxious to explore ashore, particularly the grocery shops and Fakarava Yacht Services (FYS). Just like the yacht services in Nuku Hiva, FYS is a great resource for cruisers. But, which way to go? There is a catamaran anchored in front of us, and we see a few people outdoors attending to something on the boat. We drive the dinghy over and ask for directions. Their names are John and Ankelien (imagine a sing-song way to say "anchor line" and you come close to pronouncing her Dutch name). They are from New Zealand, and very nice. Anyway, they give us a general idea of where things are, and we are on our way.

After dealing with the treacherous sea wall in Nuku Hiva, we are pleased to find a number of sandy places to land a dinghy. There are waterfront dwellings, too, but still plenty of open spaces. The trick is finding a place where you can weave through the coral heads on your approach.


From the water, we see a small beach in front of an old church steeple; we pull up the dinghy, hop off, and tie off to a tree.

Don tying up the dinghy

It is a lucky location choice. Two grocery shops are a few steps away. One is a Boulangerie Havaiki, a bakery that has other supplies including a fair selection of produce. The other, Magasin Rotoava, is run by a super-nice lady; she speaks a little English, and is always cheerful. Unfortunately, both shops close down around 11:30am, and do not open up again until 3:00pm. So, if you have some boat chores to do early while it is cool, you will likely miss open hours until later in the day. Of course, a single proprietor needs midday time off, it is just so hard to get used to. Just the same, our gal at Magasin Rotoava has opened a little early for us when she sees us quietly waiting outside.

The main quay is a bit north of us. We keep an eye out for supply ships, for we know fresh produce will be stocked the following day. For small boats and dinghies, there is also minor harbor with a ladder in which to access the quay. Since it is protected from wake and swell, the seawall presents no problem of dinghy (or personal) scrapes. We must come to this area for the trash receptacle, but it has the advantage of going ashore via deeper water, i.e. without coral dangers. There is a 7-11 type store on this end of town, and they are open throughout the lunch period. They do not carry beer or wine, but it is air-conditioned!

Fakarava Yacht Services (FYS) is a bit south, so we usually make our way by dinghy. Still, the village has one main road, and it really is not too far to walk most anywhere. We typically move our dinghy to make a faster escape when the afternoon thunderstorms crop up. Still, FYS has a nice covered porch, and for the price of a beverage, there is free WiFi, so we can also wait out a blow. Owners Stephanie and Aldric are pleasant folks and helpful to cruisers and other visitors. Among their offerings are: rides to and from the airport, laundry service, fresh farm eggs, bicycle rentals, fuel runs, and water runs. The internet access seems to be the biggest draw, and that is certainly true for us. And it is fast; well sort of, if you go by our usual mode.

FYS porch

Our first experience with restaurants was La Pailotte. Run by a woman named Florence and her husband; they also have a small dock where dinghies can tie up during open hours. The restaurant offers beverages - adult and otherwise, crepes, and paninis. The view makes lingering over a beverage delightful.

The view from La Pailotte

However, the restaurant with the best view is attached to the hotel which is just south of FYS. It seems to be open when others are closed, but it is really pleasant experience all on its own.

Hotel lunch cafe

And the view!

The Dead Parrot, I mean, Computer

My computer is dead. Defunct. Done for. No more. Bereft of life. Alcohol was involved, but not a drop passed any lips. Don accidentally spilled a full glass of wine on my computer. He feels terrible, but I know it is a mishap I could have easily caused myself. We try letting it dry out, but nothing doin'. The very good news: Don had just finished backing it up to an external hard drive. He vows to buy me another laptop as soon as feasible, but I still miss having my files for recipes, blog posts, notes, etc. It also served as our backup computer for all our boat programs. This misadventure took place when we were in Makemo. Now, however, Don partitions his computer to give me my own workspace with my restores files, and he shares his computer with me. It is not the same as having access whenever I wish, but it sure is nice. Thanks, honey.

Social Life - Part 1

We enjoyed the solitude at Raroia atoll, but were ready to interact with other cruisers at Makemo. However, our brief chat with Jean Luc was the only opportunity on that score. That all changes in Fakarava, definitely a destination atoll with cruisers.

We know our buddies on sv Un Mundo are in south Fakarava for some diving, but they plan to come north again before heading out to Tahiti. In the meantime, it is easy to chat up other folks at Fakarava Yacht Services. Therefore, some folks we know quite casually -- a hello, where-are-you-from, where-are-you-headed sort of thing. Still, we are glad for the interaction. One evening, as we sit out in the cockpit, a young woman comes over to Huaka'i on her paddleboard. Yanni and her husband Matt are moored next to us on sv Louise, and they are from Seattle. Now, that is fun - speaking to someone from home. Yanni gets about on that paddleboard of hers. We run into her often at FYS because she has a long-distance job writing lesson plans for a private education firm.

A few days after our arrival, here comes sv Un Mundo to the north anchorage. Geoff and Omar leave for Tahiti the end of the week, so the four of us meet at FYS to catch up and spend some time together. They had a wonderful time exploring Fakarava South, including a drift dive with Guy and Melissa on sv Aiki, another boat we know. Remember how Geoff and Omar helped us haul jerry cans and fill our fuel bladder in Taiohae (Nuku Hiva)? Well, Don finally has a chance return the favor. Geoff has trouble with his SSB radio on Un Mundo, and requests Don's assistance to figure out the problem. It is our first visit aboard lovely Un Mundo, a classic Formosa 50 sailboat. Since "Un Mundo" is "One World", Omar shows us verification of such.

Omar showing us the world

Omar and I chat while Geoff and Don get their heads together to check out the radio. When the SSB seems straightened out, we watch a video that Guy (sv Aiki) made of the drift-dive they made together. What is a drift-dive? You go outside the atoll pass just before an incoming current. When you dive in, the current takes you into the atoll over the coral reefs so that there is little swimming required. I do not dive, but they say you can do it snorkeling as well. Well, we shall see.

As Don and I take the dinghy back to Huaka'i, one of those south winds has whipped up some rough water. So much so, we cannot safely haul the outboard motor onto the boat. It is worrying to leave the dinghy and motor in the water overnight, getting tossed about in the waves. Still, it is safer than Don balancing on the swim platform as he helps me hoist a hundred-pound motor up to the stern rail. In the morning, all is well, and things are much calmer. Whew.

The night before Un Mundo departs for Tahiti, we have Geoff and Omar aboard Huaka'i for a Happy Hour/Light Dinner. At the appointed hour, the late afternoon sun is bright and hot in the cockpit, so we begin in our salon. Sunset takes us into the cockpit for some cool night air. There is laughing and talking, and I have no idea what nonsense we are carrying on about. It really does not matter, does it?


Planning "The End Game"

Before leaving Mexico, the end point to this great journey of ours was left open. It is not a matter of reversing our path, you see. Dominant winds and ocean currents make direct eastbound headway all but impossible with a small(ish) pleasure craft like ours. For better or worse, we made a conscious decision to decide along the way; we simply did not know how our priorities would shift. Now, it is time to consider our options. After Fakarava, our next stop is Tahiti, and going further west changes our options dramatically.

So, here are the choices and how we now see them:

1. Keep going west - Using known cruising routes, we can continue to other ports of call sailing westerly. We would make passage around the world, sailing across the Atlantic Ocean, through the Panama Canal, and wind up back on the west coast of the Americas. Whew. Too long. This is not for us.

2. Go as far as Tahiti, layup for cyclone season, and then make two ocean passages with Hawaii as the middle point. -- The angle sailing to and out of Hawaii makes the difference; it is going easterly without directly into the wind. Make two more ocean passages that are nearly as long as the one we made to get here? No thank you. Oh... we think about. If it can be helped, we prefer to avoid two more long passages unless there is no other good option.

3. Pay a delivery captain to make the voyage described in option #2. - This would make Captain Don uneasy. He is the captain when anyone else sails his ship. But, here again - two ocean passages. If it comes to sailing back via Hawaii, we will do it ourselves. A delivery captain is no help.

4. Sell the boat in Tahiti - We have heard of an excess of boats for sale in Tahiti. Let's face it. Every other cruiser making the Pacific Puddle Jump is faced with the same decisions we must make. If the boat does not sell, we will be right back where we started. Besides, we thought we would be more prepared to sell Huaka'i. Fact is: we are not quite ready emotionally.

5. Sell the boat in Australia - Many people do just this. It requires a passage to Australia next season since it cannot be done before the onset of cyclone season. We would have some of the same issues trying to sell Huaka'i, and this option also makes the possibility of sailing our way back to the Americas extremely more complicated.

6. Move Huaka'i aboard a transport ship - This idea is enticing, although we wonder about the cost; it must be expensive. There are limited number of ports available by transport, but Mexico is among them. The concept of keeping our boat in Mexico for use during Seattle's winters is very attractive. Don has made some preliminary inquiries, but we need to explore further. This is the most appealing option.

Unfortunately, there are only two yacht transport companies with the type service we require. The reply we receive from the first has fees too high for serious consideration. Don sends out a request for quote to the other firm, DYT. DYT does delivery to Ensenada, Mexico, so that is good. We would still need to sail Huaka'i into the Sea of Cortez, but we have done it before and would be glad to do so again.

When we receive a proposal/quote from DYT, the cost is one we must consider carefully. It is expensive, but much better priced than the first quote. In fact, if we are certain we want to make this our South Pacific exit plan, it is workable. The closest pickup point is Papeete, Tahiti, and the next closest would be Australia. Going further west to get to Australia would add to the costs and timeframe significantly. Ship dates for a Tahiti sailing comes the end of this year; Australia would mean a layover this year and more westward sailing next year. We opt for a conclusion this year. Our South Pacific adventure has been pretty awesome even if it ends at Tahiti.

Aside from the price, DYT representative Anna has been responsive and helpful, and the company reputation is good. After some back and forth Q&A, Don and I decide to reserve our spot on a "float-on, float off" ship. It will require signed documents and a payment in full within 10 days. Don gets the documents signed and sent off in short order, but our most secure means of sending a large sum of money is a check issued through our bank. That may take 5 to 7 days, so Don initiates that promptly.

Social Life - Part 2

We have our VHF radio tuned to channel 16 the morning Un Mundo departs for Tahiti. As they are exiting the atoll, we hear a familiar voice hail them. It is Russ and Lisa on sv Tumultuous Uproar, who are now approaching Fakarava. Geoff informs Russ a little about the anchorage and the fact that Huaka'i is within.

Knowing there is some time before they reach Rotoava village, Don and I wait to hail Uproar until they have a chance to get through the pass and on their way. When we do hail them, they do not reply, so we stay in the cockpit to watch their approach. Russ and Lisa wave as they see us, and drive close enough to exchange a greeting. They anchor south of us, closer to FYS and La Pailotte. Before long, our two friends come by in their dinghy, saying they hope to find a restaurant open in town. We have no idea what kind of options they have: it is Bastille Day. Off they go to see what they can find; we plan to go for a walk ashore and hope to run into them.

Later, when we tie up our dinghy at the beach, we see Uproar picked the same place to go ashore. We go for our walk, and discover the fairgrounds where some games are being played by local teams. I only wish I knew what was going on; it looks like obstacle course challenge of some sort. Not understanding the setup, we do not stay long, but wander back towards our dinghy and linger awhile by the store to see if we run into Russ and Lisa. Before long, here comes the pair returning from the fairgrounds themselves; they found a great home-cooked meal there. Wow. We saw nothing like that; clearly we did not explore far enough. Russ and Lisa decline our offer of Happy Hour aboard Huaka'i, but instead invite us to meet them at La Pailotte where they plan to meet up with other cruiser acquaintances. We accept, and extend our invitation for another time.

At 1700 hours, we are the first to arrive at La Pailotte. Not knowing who all is expected, Don and I find a seat and are soon joined by Russ and Lisa. Russ is having beer, so Don joins him in that beverage, while Lisa and I split a bottle of white wine. And then another bottle. I have no idea why I am doing this: I really hate to drink much because it makes it so hard to sleep. I guess Lisa and I are just having a great conversation, and so on we go. Good thing Don is driving the dinghy back. The four of us never did join the group who originally made the suggestion to come to here, but no one seems to mind.

The next morning, Don sees the mooring next to us become free. He calls Uproar on the VHF, and pretty soon they show up to nab it. Excellent; this will make visiting easier. Russ and Lisa stop by on their way into town and say they are ready to cash in the rain-check for Happy Hour later this evening. Wonderful. This is a good incentive to clean the boat today, so we do so, stopping only to enjoy some chicken wings from Rotoava Magasin. Of course, the Huaka'i Happy Hour (H3 - haha) this evening is filled with talk and laughter; Russ and Lisa share their history of sail racing. They both have won awards, separately and together.

Another morning, a man in a dinghy comes up to Huaka'i. His name is Steve - he and his wife Lili sail sv LiWard. Steve is wondering if we have plans to leave our mooring anytime soon; if so, he would love to get a heads-up so he can move onto it. We say we are planning to go to South Fakarava, but not sure which day. Since this is their fourth year in the South Pacific, Steve shares some tips on South Fakarava. We figure he is after a way to connect with us so we will help him get this mooring. That is fine with us. We tell Steve we would be happy to make sure he can get the mooring when we depart.

Don has been itching to do some bottom cleaning on Huaka'i, so after Steve leaves, Don gets his hookah set up. I make it a policy to stay in the cockpit when Don is diving, so I am just hanging around as he goes under. Off the stern, I see a reef shark show up. We have seen them before while snorkeling, although never very close by. They say (yes, the infamous "they") reef sharks shoo off easily, so we have never been overly concerned about them. However, I am beginning to get troubled now because several more sharks show up, and then more and more until there are about a dozen. What's worse than the number of them is the fact that they seem to be agitated, darting about, splashing, and running into one another. I am inches away from signaling Don to come up when I see him pop up and quickly clamber into the boat. Was it the bubbles? The bubbles in addition to his cleaning motions? Don't know. Don't Care. Bottom is clean enough!

After a couple of days of nasty weather, we need to get off the boat. Perhaps we will take a long walk today. When we see Russ and Lisa on our way into shore, they have a better idea. Why don't we take their bikes for a ride? The bikes are locked up near La Pailotte, and they would be happy to supply the lock key. Later, Russ wants to cook dinner for the four of us aboard Uproar. Dinner sounds good, and I welcome a bike ride for a change of pace. The atoll is flat as can be, so the going is easy and it feels great to glide along. These are nice bikes.

Selfie on my bike ride

As we return the bikes to their lockup tree, we run into Steve and Lili. Steve has purchased some home grown tomatoes from a local lady; he tells us to be sure to get one he left for us with Uproar, to whom he has also gifted a fresh tomato. Well, that's nice. And another thing: Steve is musician and is playing at the Rotoava Grill this Friday; he is reserving a front row table for Huaka'i and Uproar to attend. We were considering leaving for South Fakarava that morning, but decide not to pass up a night of live music. We will be there.

With a lovely end to the day, we are aboard Uproar for Russ' meal. The main dish he calls "boeuf sauvage", simply "wild beef" in English. He purchased the meat fresh from a local man back in Nuku Hiva. It was a bit too wild (as in tough) to cook via searing as he did, but we all appreciate the novelty of the dish and Russ' attempt to try something new. The side dishes are sweet potato and Midwest wild rice (yum). My contribution is a big green salad. It is a big hit since produce is premium foodstuff in Tuamotus. And, yes, don and I leave with our prized tomato gift from Steve.

Technology Advances! I am lamenting the loss of my computer when Don suggests I try it again. No... I did try it after a long drying period. Wait. What if it wasn't charged? My laptop has a terrible battery life. I plug in the AC adapter, and voila! It works. I am overjoyed! Here's another success story: Russ and Lisa come to consult with Don about the weather programs he uses; well, Lisa really -- she is Uproar's expert. Lisa is pretty techy smart, but this stuff is complicated by the fact that information comes in from various sources. Don's has a good way of moving between sources easily. So, Lisa leaves happy that she sees how to make it work the same on her computer. She is back the next morning for more help, but only because she missed one small one step. It is easy to incorporate, and voila again.

Music Night

Uproar is taking the four of us in their dinghy for tonight's performance at Rotoava Grill. We decide to tie up at the small hold at the quay. This way, we can find our route back to the boats without worrying about coral heads in the dark. It is a short walk down to the restaurant. When we arrive, we see folks inside, but the gate is closed. We open it ourselves and act like we are supposed to be there. Turns out, we are. The restaurant is not open yet, but Lili is at our table while Steve and his friend Lulu set up.

Steve plays guitar and sings. Lulu, a longtime friend of his, plays a washtub bass, and they complement each other well. I can tell that sometimes Lulu watches for a minute, then starts playing. Lili confirms it is because he does not necessarily know each song, but picks up the rhythm from Steve. Amazing.

Steve and Lulu

Meanwhile, our table is enjoying each other and the music as the restaurant fills up. Stephanie and Aldric who own Fakarava Yacht Services (FYS) are there with a large group. In fact, Stephanie tells me the guest sitting next to her is from Lonely Planet guidebooks.

Stephanie, Aldric and guests

Steve has brought his sound equipment, and wants to share the stage with other singers tonight. One group is a family that is staying at the local Catholic Church, although we understand their music has nothing to do with their presence there. Which is strange because the entire family - four boys, one girl, and the parents - all play multiple instruments remarkably well. One would think they are touring to play, but that is not the case. Although French, they presently have their home in South America.

Talented family

Then, there are locals Steve has invited. I like these performances especially for the Polynesian songs they sing. There is a lovely girl who sings with her father, both of whom have wonderful voices. An older girl, perhaps early teens, is very accomplished and surprises us with her ukulele playing and singing. We learn later that she is a contestant of the French version of "The Voice" competition; she is waiting to hear if she will be invited to go to Paris for the finals. I love it when the two young ladies join the local men in one of my favorite songs from the movie Moana.

Local music

At the end of the evening, our "Steve Group" poses together for a commemorative photo. I tell Lili it has been one of the best times I have had in French Polynesia.

Our group: Don, Steve, Joy, Lulu, Lili, Lisa, and Russ

South Fakarava

We spend one more day in North Fakarava, hoping to hear that DYT has received our check for our transport reservations. We do hear from them, and they have not seen it yet. We decide to leave for South Fakarava the next day anyway, believing we will have cell reception there (hope it is true). The deadline is six days away, so we will need to stay on top of this business.

Our first stop in South Fakarava is Hirifa, five hours down a well-defined channel within the atoll, and just a short distance from the south pass. We heard anchoring is easy here - not too many bommies with plenty of space, and we are happy to find this true. Unfortunately, the internet connection is spotty.

The next morning, we decide to move to the anchorage beside the pass, again with the hope of a decent internet connection. We also want to get in some snorkeling; this location is a highly rated diving and snorkeling spot. There are six mooring buoys here, but we did not kid ourselves that we would find one free. And, sure enough, all the moorings are taken by other boats. So, we drive around and around trying to find a place to anchor. All I can see are coral heads below us. We even see one boat trying to weigh anchor who is stuck on a bommie; that is disconcerting. Finally, we put down beside one of the boats on a mooring. I am still not happy because I think our chain will tangle up in the bommies. But here we are. Fingers crossed.

We start to settle in, and I am below when Don suddenly he calls me up to the cockpit. A boat is leaving their mooring ball. Can we grab it in time? It is right beside us, but who knows who is lurking with a motor running, ready to nab it? No time to waste.

I pull off windscreen shade covers and Don takes the snubber off the anchor chain. I go get our headsets. Don goes back to the helm and I am bringing up the anchor. But there is a problem with it. I call Don up to help me because the chain is twisted and is jumping the gypsy wheel. Great.

He gets it straightened out and I am bringing up the rest. Wouldn't you know? Another problem. The chain has bunched up and tangled as it is going in the locker. At least I managed to get the anchor above the water line, so we decide to let it hang a little and start moving on the mooring buoy.

There is no time to get out my new handy-dandy duckbill boat hook. I make do with the one I keep in the anchor locker. First pass, Don does not get me close enough to reach it; he cannot see it when we get close, so I must point to it. With the next pass, I get it on the boat hook. Don waits until the boat comes to stop and comes forward to help me. I am tugging the thing like nobody's business; the wind is pushing against me. So, with much ado, we get both lines on the buoy and then get the anchor onboard. Whew.

I am much happier to be on the mooring, and my mood improves greatly. We get an idea. Let's snorkel from the boat right now. After all, there are plenty of coral just inshore from us. So that is what we did. We saw sharks when we first got here, but none while snorkeling. It is a big success; there are so many colorful reef fish, even as we are within an easy swimming distance of Huaka'i.

A catamaran came in and took a mooring buoy behind us that became vacant. When we were back from our swim, a man from the cat came by with an offer of fresh tuna steaks. He caught a big one on the way here and had too much; in fact, he has enough to make rounds to many of the boats here. I vacuum seal three large pieces for later, perhaps to share.

Later that evening, as we are enjoying a time in the cockpit, we finally get a chance to see the infamous "green flash" at the very end of the setting sun. While we have heard lots about it from other cruisers, this is our first time catching it. Cool. Check out one of the many videos on YouTube about this phenomenon.

Just before the green flash

As we talk into the evening, we realize it will be necessary to leave for Tahiti on tomorrow's afternoon outgoing tide. DYT has still not received our check, and we have no idea what the problem is. Our internet connection here is too weak to make any phone calls to our bank via Skype, and our payment deadline looms. By the time we make our two-day passage to Tahiti, we will have just one and one-half days to address up any problems. There is still a possibility of our check arriving while we are in route, but clearly the prudent thing to do is leave and take care of business.

Now, I am really happy we had such a great time snorkeling today! I have loved every minute of my stay in Fakarava.

Makemo - June 27 - July 3, 2018

The Passage

Cruisers have longed shared information with one another by word-of-mouth. And now, the internet has greatly increased first-hand reports. On one particular website, a group of sailors created a very helpful compendium of facts and finds from their personal experiences in the South Pacific. Within that material, a posted "Guestimator" is a small calculating spreadsheet that takes known tide points and estimates slack times for those atolls without such information (too many, I say). No claims of perfection were ever made, but from need, many cruisers have tried to use the Guestimator. We have heard reports of varying success using it-- good, bad, and in between. Our experience using it for Makemo pass was not positive.

We begin our departure from Raroia around 1pm for the outgoing 3pm slack. By simply tracing back over our path coming into the atoll, we know we are threading through the reef-lets safely. The pass is calm as expected, the only out-of-ordinary detail is the presence of a French Navy Warship attending a disabled cargo ship outside the pass. They are both well away from the entrance, but we want to be sure the waterway is clear. We hail the navy ship, and they tell us our exit can be made safely so long as we do not approach the vessels. This we do and make our course for our second atoll in the Tuamotus.

It is only an overnight passage to Makemo, barely 18 hours away. Slack is calculated to be about 6am; we arrive a little early, and it is still too dark to visually confirm the pass conditions. We slow down and wait. In a short time, our timing should be about right, and the sun rises enough to get a look. We do not like what we see. The Guestimator has put us there too late and choppy waves can be seen within the entrance. Our choices? Stay out here for another 6 hours or so until the next slack water, or try to go through against the current. Don believes he can drive us through safely, and he does. With 3 knots of current against us, it is lively all right, but Don has a pilot's touch at the helm and he takes us through with more ease than one would expect. Just the same, Don does not want to be put in that position again.

The Village Anchorage & Pouheva Village

In a couple days' time, we need to be anchored with protection from a strong south wind. For now, we should be able to stay close to the local village along the northern shore. As we make our way to the anchorage, there are a number of boats already there. Slowly, Don drives Huaka'i and I search the water below from the bow. What I see, however, is only small patches of sand in between a mostly coral-head strewn bottom. Oh, dear. There is one boat tied up at a huge, high concrete pier, but this will not work for us without help.

We discuss the issue via our headsets, and decide to find a place to anchor in shallow water in case Don needs to pry us loose from a bommie when we weigh anchor later. But, if we go shallow, we also need to make sure all the coral around us is deep enough so that our rudder does not hit as the boat moves at anchor. After a few attempts, we believe our anchor is secure.

Later, while out in the cockpit, I see a man from an adjacent catamaran take off in his dinghy. He winds his way into a shallow channel, obviously heading into town, but not in a direction I was expecting. We wave to him on his return and he drives his dinghy over to chat with us. Jean Luc knows the area well and tells us about his dinghy route into town and where we can tie up. We have the coming weather on our minds, so we ask about the southern anchorage. Jean Luc admits, yes, that area is protected from the south winds, but it also very shallow and probably better suited for catamarans.

There are not many anchorages in Makemo, but there is one other option (and only one) which may work for us. Northwest of here, a shoreline indent has a large sand spit that stretches out from shore to form a bit of blockage from the southern fetch. We will move there when the time comes.

We decide to get in the dinghy with Don's portable depth sounder and scout out all the bommies around the boat. They appear to be deep enough to not interfere with our rudder or keel, so that is good. We then take a little tour of the boats around to say hello. Not much success there: there was either no answer or the people we saw spoke only French so our conversation was short.

Even though we are somewhat satisfied with our position around the bommies, Don gets on his snorkel gear and swim to check our anchor. He learns we are caught on a piece of coral, but there is nothing for it. He sees no other place to hook into sand alone. Sure hope it holds; even before the bigger blow comes in, there is a fair bit of wind here. We will set our anchor alarm and hope we will not have a middle-of-night issue.

The next morning, we launch the dinghy to go into town, taking the same route Jean Luc described. We walk into town across a nice-looking bridge; it's side rails are made of white-painted cement with a purple top. Actually, the rails continue into town alongside the roadway as a fence, still with the same painted colors. It makes for a very neat, quaint look to the village. It is around 9:30am, and there are not too many people about, but you get the idea that it is a relaxed lifestyle most of the time anyway.

Walking the length of the main road, it terminates at the long pier, a post office, and some other buildings. Now, with a view of the water, we see Jean Luc's catamaran and two others sailing off to the southern anchorage.

In town, we were hoping to find a grocery store, and expected to see it on the main road; if it was, we missed it. Don sees a man in a truck parked outside the post office and conjures up his French to ask where the store is located. The man helpfully describes how we must backtrack, and off we go with our thanks. We are not too far down the road when the same man, now with his wife in the truck, stops beside us and offers a ride. We accept. Nothing is very far in this village, but as our driver turns into a small dirt road, I am glad to be shown the way. The grocery store is tucked away where I would have not expected it. The goods are ample by village standards, and we buy a few items to take back to the boat.

The nice folks who gave us a lift to the grocery store

Back at Huaka'i, Don wants to move into the space vacated by Jean Luc. It is deeper, and we will rest easier about the probability of hitting a coral head. We don our headsets and get into position to reset the anchor. However, I am having trouble bringing it up. Don moves the boat forward so I can have the windless pull from a forward angle. With a big tug, I have the anchor above the surface of the water, except a large "log" of coral is firmly stuck on the point of the anchor.

How in the world will I get that off? The anchor looks like an axe in a tree trunk. I cannot have Don's help: since we are free from the bottom, he needs to drive and keep us steered away from other boats. I must do what I can. As I try to haul the anchor in closer, the chain jumps the gipsy wheel on the windless, and the anchor is speeding down towards the water freely. Quickly I step on the chain to stop it. I see I must put the chain back on it windless, but the only thing keeping all the chain paying out completely is my foot (well that, and my weight which good for something at last). Fortunately, this sudden jolt has released the coral from the anchor, so the weight I am holding with my foot is less. Keeping my foot firmly set, I bend down and pull on the chain and somehow manage to get it back on the windless. Now I am able to pull up the anchor properly.

Of course, now we need to get the anchor set again. Don drives us over to the spot that was vacated by Jean Luc. It is deeper, but not too deep, so that is good. Nevertheless, it has the same amount of coral as everywhere else in this place. I can find a sandy spot, but by the time I get the anchor to the bottom, we have drifted over coral again. Even when I can tell the anchor hits sand first, it does not dig in, leading me to believe the layers of sand may be a light layer of sand over coral or rock.

We make numerous attempts; it is wearying. Just when we think we are set, Don snorkels the anchor, and the hold is not adequate. We try again and again. Finally, Don sees we are stuck on a solid looking piece of coral, and there is space in front of it to pull free by driving forward as we weigh anchor. It will have to do. It is getting late in the day, and the wind is picking up. We need to be settled for the night.

The Northwest Anchorage

Happily, the next morning is very calm. We are moving to the northwest anchorage in anticipation of the southerly winds due tomorrow. When I go to weigh the anchor, it comes up without a problem when we pull from a forward angle. Thank goodness; it was a worry.

It is only a three hour drive to the other anchorage. I am encouraged that there are large swatches of sand, although still a fair amount of coral too. We try a few shallow spots, but do not like the depth of the surrounding bommies. Going deeper, I find a larger patch of sand, and actually see the anchor drop on top of a sandy spot. Notice I saw on it, not into it. While it is typical that we wait for an anchor to catch and dig in, it is not happening here. Slowly, Don puts the engine in reverse to back down on the anchor. At last, I feel a skip and then a tight tug.

After the reef sharks have satisfied their curiosity about us, Don hops in the water with his snorkel gear to check the anchor. Yep. We are caught on a coral head. Fortunately, it is a sizeable one that can hold us; it is also clear of others so we have hopes of an easy exit. This time, Don sees an opportunity to use a float over one small group of bommies in the path of the anchor chain. I tell you, this kind of anchoring is nerve-racking. Fortunately, by moving to this location in the atoll, we are closer to the northern pass and we plan to leave as soon as that strong system has passed. So, now we know the dirty little secret: boats in the Tuamotus anchor on coral heads. Hopefully most boats stick to recommended anchorages which limit the impact. I just never expected to always be caught on one.

The next day, the southern blow comes in at 15 to 20 knots - not too bad. There is a chop to the water, so our activities reflect that reality. Still, we feel much better here than in the crowded anchorage off the village. The following day, we put on our snorkel gear and swim from the boat. I have my first view of how the anchor is stuck, and this will help me when we are ready to leave. We swim a bit further and have a nice view of fish. At the moment, the reef sharks are not around. Supposedly, they do not bother swimmers, but still... Most fascinating to me in the remoras that attach themselves to the hull of our boat. Do we look like a shark to them?

Don has been watching the weather, and there is a good opportunity to make a passage to our next planned atoll -- Fakarava. We have word from other cruisers that the atoll is delightful. The northern town is easy to access, and the south has some wonderful reefs to explore. We hear the anchoring is not too bad, and there are a few moorings available, if you are lucky enough to happen on an unoccupied one. We will depart July 4th, a good celebration as ever.

Raroia -- June 16-26, 2018

The Passage

One would think that after enduring 23 days at sea, that a four day passage to the Tuamotus would be (pardon the pun) a breeze. Well, it was not. When we departed Taiohae Bay on Saturday, around 4:30pm, we expected some nice sailing winds to take us on our way. We did not see them all that night, nor the next day.

Here is the complication: we figure on an average 5 knots speed over ground (SOG) in order to arrive at the atoll pass before or at slack tide. If we arrive too late, we must wait another 6 hours for a tide change. That is, we must time it well unless we want to power through standing waves to get inside the atoll. These choppy waves at the entrance occur from complex forces I do not fully understand; it has to do with the volume of water flow, configuration of the atoll, the size of the pass opening, wind, tide phase, etc. Suffice to say, you want to transit the pass with as much control as possible, so the relative calm at tide changes is when you want to be there. If only there were accurately published tables for these times, it sure would be helpful. This is a big discussion point of boaters cruising the Tuamotus, I can tell you.

So, yes, the motor goes on to keep up our modest 5 knots. But after twenty-four hours of motoring, Don nervously begins to calculate if we could keep this up for the entire passage; of course, it comes down to fuel consumption. I pull out the guidebook to see where we could resupply diesel - not every atoll has fuel for sale, and sometimes even villages who sell it can be out of supply. We were hoping to refuel after arriving in Tahiti which is some distance off yet. We work up a contingency plan, and think we will be all right, but where is that wind? Sure would hate to motor then entire distance.

Let's pile on another complication. Late Sunday night, just in time for my 10pm watch, we see light flashes in some distant clouds. No sky-to-earth lightning, but we must watch for this development. Lightning is bad. We take my computer (with its back up navigation programs), mobile phones, and our mobile VHF radio and stuff it in the microwave. Cruisers sometimes use the microwave as a Faraday box to keep electronics safe, so we shall try the same. My watch shift now consists of watching the clouds in the distance, and timing the flashes I see within them. No cat naps for me this time. I want Don to sleep as much as possible in case we have more serious issues to deal with down the road, or water, I should say. If there is nothing more than flashes in the clouds high above, perhaps we can proceed on schedule.

However, when I see an actual bolt come down from the clouds in our path ahead, I call Don up. The captain decides no pass timing is worth getting into a lightning storm, so we turn off course and slow way down. I send him back off to bed and watch the lightning carefully. If I can only get to 0200 hours, he will have a semi-good rest. I get close. By 0130 hours, the lightning has ceased, but the associated clouds are now overhead and in every direction. Conditions have changed enough that it is time for the captain on deck.

We may as well get back on course if this mess is in every direction, avoidance no longer an option. My off-watch time usually begins at 0200, but instead going below to sleep, I take a catnap in the cockpit to be on hand for Don who keeps a sharp eye out for advancing squalls. At 0300, Don sleeps in the cockpit as I watch the radar. By 0500, Don sends me down to sleep. There is nothing more to be done. We have been motor-sailing, and we are fully reefed in case of any squirrely gusts. I go to sleep with the understanding I am ready to help at a moment's notice. When Don wakes me at 0830, he has been driving through squalls the entire time. However, right now the sky is clearing. Furthermore, there is a good sailing wind, and we gratefully get the sails flying.

Over the next two days, we are able to sail at a good pace; all worries of fuel consumption are gone, and we anticipate a well-timed arrival at the Raroia pass. Now, the issue is safety and comfort in the midst of agitated seas and stiff winds. We maintain our good attitudes - you simply have to - but know we there are more big hurdles at the end of the ocean passage. Our first transit of an atoll pass is not to be taken lightly, and even once inside the lagoon, we still must contend avoiding coral heads. Yes, that is another complication: you need as much overhead sunlight to spot the coral heads that are awash or submerged within the atoll. And, no, the tide and the sun will not speak to one another to coordinate this for us should we ask.

The Pass

With good piloting and a bit of good fortune, we arrive at Raroia Pass at our planned time, just before 10am. Still, a prudent sailor observes the pass before plunging ahead. I have the binoculars and I am looking for standing waves. Do you know what they look like? I do not either; I know what I imagine them to look like. I do see breaking waves, but is that on the outside of the atoll reef, or is that what a standing wave looks like? Don says we will get closer and take a peek. If he has to keep driving along the outside, he will. As we get closer, we see the white wash is on a sand spit, but the pass itself looks clear. Don takes us in without a problem.

Don has picked a good day for slack time accompanied with overhead sun so we can spot coral heads. Our anchorage is 10 miles across the lagoon from the entrance, and we must find our way without running aground. Some coral heads, called bommies here, are submerged and some are awash the water's surface. Actually, bommies are of all sizes, but there are big clusters that can even be detected by Google Earth, thanks to the super clear waters. In fact, Don has used Google Earth images to mark his charts and plot the biggest of them. Some people call these larger bommies "reef-lets", and it is these I will try to spot from the bow of the boat as Don drives us through the lagoon. I have been very nervous about this. First, I know nothing about what standing waves look like; now, I have no clue how to detect bommies.

We have our headsets on; I stand on the bow, and Don is at the helm. From his marked chart, Don calls out where I should spot a bommie, and it all comes clear to me. In the water, the color change at the reef-lets is dramatic - a bright gold in the center, then rings of emerald, aquamarine, turquoise, and finally the bright blue lagoon water. Some ovals are very large and easy to spot, others more subtle. Our preparation pays off, I am able to spot every one Don calls out, and we find our way to the anchorage without incident. There is one other boat here, and another further off to our right. We deploy our anchor not far behind the first boat.

Bommies photographed from above. At the water level, you first see a bright blue line, and then other colors are revealed as you get closer. They really look like this!

The Anchorages

Ready for another complication? Bommies, large and small, are also submerged in the anchoring locations. You want to avoid these in order to be well secured in the sand, but also for the health of the coral. Another big reason is the potential of wrapping your anchor chain around a solid piece of coral and it becoming permanently lodged there. How would you like to lose an anchor that way? Oh, there are ways to weigh your anchor and work it free, but we are very mindful of our inexperience with this. To ward off problems from anchoring around bommies, cruisers will often use a float on their chain at a few points, the hope being it will lift the chain off bommies. This tactic always confuses to me because we put out chain to provide scope, but what do I know? Very experienced cruisers do the float thing.

Here's another thing about cruising an atoll: the anchoring locations are just places where you can "hide" behind an islet that makes up the ring of the atoll. Some islets, called motus here, are big and give a bit of protection from the sand, coconut trees, and brush. That is, if the wind is coming from that direction. But some parts of the atoll consist of a simple sandbar. In Raroia, we anchor on the windward side of island in order to take advantage of motu "protection". If only the wind knew it is supposed to always come from the prevailing direction...

Hiding behind a motu

Anyway, at this first anchorage, we are fairly deep but we feel we have a good anchor set. We stay just a couple of days, however, because we feel it would be imprudent to be anchored for very long without being able to check if we are clear of bommies. It is just too deep here to dive it and find out.

By the third day, we ventured south of the pearl farm to anchor in 20 feet. At this depth, we can tell the anchor is secure, but there are clearly bommies beneath our chain, so it is time to do the float technique. This creates a little problem because we have not been able to locate a float to use. In our cruising notes, others have advised that we can find round fishing floats all over the place. Well, there were none in the Marquesas, and the only ones we have seen here were on the pearl farm docks as we went by. Don repurposes one of our fenders and that does the trick. For now. Sure would be nice to avoid using one of our good fenders.

The black blob in the water is one of our fenders, floating the chain

At this location, we are behind a bigger motu and closer to shore, so it is much calmer. But, we can hear the roar of the surf along the outside of the atoll quite easily. As we look out from the boat across the lagoon, there are places to see the ocean whitewater crash onto the low-lying bars of the reef areas devoid of trees. But when you are so alone - and we are - the noise of nature is actually quiet. Oh my, it feels so good to have this quiet. And, after the rambunctiousness of Nuku Hiva, the serene setting and water are very welcome.

We play some - I like to get my "Lazy Buns" water toy and just bounce around in the water. It is "almost" play for Don to get his snorkel gear on and check on the anchor and chain. One day, we take the dinghy out for a ride around. We go ashore and walk along the motu. Then, we explore further in the dinghy and, lo, what do I spy? There is an abandoned fishing float on shore. Don drives over to the shallows and I hop out to retrieve it. There is an old line attached that tangled in the foliage. Further along, I spy another; now we have two. The next day, Don experiments with using these floats. Before long, he opts for using just one. Before we leave, we use none.

Me hanging out on my "Lazy Buns". Literally and figuratively.

With a second swim ladder, we rig it to the dinghy so we can practice boarding from the water. It works pretty well, and we think this might help get to good snorkeling places. Fun thing: we were able to tie up the dinghy ashore and just walk out to some bommies for a fine snorkel day. Never did use the dinghy for deeper water snorkeling. No need, really.

We worked some too. Main focus: laundry. Yes, that again. It is easy to build up laundry in this lifestyle. Still, we wash early and get it out of the way. We have to. Every afternoon, rain showers sweep by. They typically do not last long, nothing would dry if we did not capture that pre-rain sunshine each day.

With dramatic sunsets almost every evening, we linger in the cockpit until dark. Don brings his phone out to capture whatever internet access can be had from the village ten miles off our stern. If he leaves the phone on for a very long period, he can sometimes get an email or two. What a life.

But changes are coming. Don watches the weather each day, and discovers a strong weather system which will shift winds to the south. This is one direction for which we have no protection. Time to leave for another atoll and find better protection. We are learning this is the game of the Tuamotus. Where can you go and when?

Rob, Geoff, and Omar aboard sv Tribasa Cross

Taiohae Again - June 8-16, 2018

We begin our Friday journey back to Taiohae Bay on a calm morning. Even as we enter the ocean, a gentle breeze is all we encounter. As we turn the northeast corner, we feel a stronger eastern wind, although it is much less than on our trip to Anaho. On our last turn around the island's southeast corner, we see dark clouds ahead. The rain appears to be soaking Taiohae Bay at the moment, so Don slows the boat to let it move on. Sure enough, we arrive dry. Rain moves quickly through this area.

This time, when we choose a spot to anchor, we consider the depth needed to deploy a stern anchor. At the moment, the bay is fairly calm. We get our main anchor all set, and launch the dinghy for the next step. However, we realize there is another consideration. With two anchors set, one fore and one aft, we will stay in one position; other boats without a stern anchor out will continue to swing. Will they get too close when they swing and we stay in place? We decide to sleep one night without the stern anchor and watch to see how close the other boats advance on us. In typical Taiohae fashion, that calm daytime turned into a bouncy, restless night.

It Was Great Until it Wasn't: The Stern Anchor Situation

Today, Saturday, we need to go ashore to find some internet, but first we must address this stern anchor business. The concept is to keep your bow pointed into the swells. That way, the boat can glide over them instead of getting hit broadside which results in a side-to-side roll. Don gets everything set to go, but there is a problem. Right now, the boat is pointed into the wind coming off the mountains, not the incoming sea swells. Can he pull the boat around with the dinghy? Nope. We wait and leap into action when Huaka'i swings and points out to the sea.

I am in the cockpit with the end of the anchor line on a cleat; Don takes the anchor out in the dinghy to drop it in a spot he has predetermined. There is a trip-line and a round float fixed on the anchor for retrieval. Once in position, Don deploys them both and returns to the boat. However, as he tugs on the line to feel if the anchor set, he can tell it is not. The anchor comes all the way back to the boat. Aha. We see that the trip-line is tangled on the anchor so it would not set. Time for a second try.

Don goes back out in the dinghy, and I pay out line as needed to allow the anchor to be pulled back into place. Don assures the float line hangs free. Success. We make all adjustments, and sit in the cockpit to make sure the setup is stable. It is. Now, we can go ashore for some lunch and internet.

For five days, we are delighted to have the stern anchor provide a calmer boat. We notice other boats without a stern anchor out, and they are rolling side-to-side something fierce. It is about to get worse. A big blow is expected in the region, and we know wave action will increase in this anchorage. Don helps Rob on sv Pauline Claire get his stern anchor out. Rob is a single-hander, so he is happy to have an extra hand as he prepares for wind increase.

When the system arrives on Thursday, the wind registers around 20 knots. We watch large swells come in and crash up on the shoreline with a huge upward splash of water. With reverse energy, the swells bounce back for another go at us.

We ride the surf coming and going, much like this boat beside us. The red float marks our stern anchor which will come free, much to our dismay.

Earlier today, we declined an invitation to go have some pizza with friends. It is a good thing we stayed behind. For one thing, climbing up the seawall ladder is hard enough in mild conditions, and this water is just too rough. More importantly, we are onboard when our stern anchor releases hold. We give it a moment to see if it will reset. It does not, and we unknowingly created a bigger problem for ourselves by delaying action.

Don tries and tries to haul in the loose stern anchor and line, but it is not cooperating. When he detects alignment with our main anchor, he has a new concern -- there is a very good chance the anchor line and/or trip-line have wrapped around our main anchor or anchor chain. One thing we know: we need our main anchor holding well in this high wind situation. It is dark now, so we are left with little choice. Don pays out a good deal of line on the stern anchor, hoping the additional slack will prevent tugging the main anchor loose. Tomorrow, Don will need to dive to discover how to free the stern anchor. This is one sleepless night, I can tell you.

Friday morning, the bay is a bit calmer, although a light rain is falling. Don gets out his hookah gear and swims beneath us. A small bit of good news: only a minor amount of trip-line was caught on the prop shaft, and Don was able to free it. He cannot see the main anchor deep in the water, but he has a plan. We will try to maneuver the stern line up to the front of the boat, and then haul it up with the main anchor and the power of our windless. Hopefully, we can untangle everything from above the waterline. Of course, this means our main anchor will be up and we will be drifting in the bay until we resolve the issue.

Sure enough, when we haul up the main anchor chain, the stern anchor and its trip-line are solidly wrapped upon it. Some other strange bit of trash-rope has joined the group as well. Don and I are both hanging over the side of the boat, trying to untangle the mess while watching our drift toward other boats. Don dashes back to the helm to move us further away and gain more time. Good thing too, because we realize Don needs to hop in the dinghy to fuss with it from below. Finally, we get it all sorted and hoist the stern anchor, its line, and the trip-line up on deck. Our last duty is to get the main anchor down and make sure it holds well in this bumpy anchorage.

The lessons learned? A stern anchor can provide good comfort, but the potential for failure outweighs the benefit in all but the most benign places. We had five days of enjoyment, but a different anchorage makes a better solution. Trouble is - in The Marquesas, there are not many choices for calm bays. By the way, Rob had his stern anchor let go as well. Something about a manta ray entangled that he needed to cut free.

Great it Worked Out: The Outboard Motor Situation

On the day we set up our stern anchor, we treated ourselves to lunch ashore. Hopping back into the dinghy, we decide to reconnoiter the fuel dock. The quay has a high bank built for commercial vessels, making it a difficult approach cruisers who want to take on fuel directly. We plan to use jerry cans to then empty them into our supplemental fuel bladder. Unfortunately, transferring fuel by jerry cans and dinghy is not much easier. One must tie up on the seawall and climb up a ladder (straight up) to the quay. It is one thing to clamber straight-up a seawall, but you need to deal with jerry cans (empty, then full) as well. We will have to think about this.

We know our friends on sv Un Mundo are somewhere is the bay, so we decide to look for them on our return to Huaka'i. We spot the boat, and Don powers up the outboard motor, only to have it sputter and choke. It dies right as we get next to Un Mundo. Don tries unsuccessfully to get the motor started again, as Geoff and Omar look on and offer help. Fortunately, Huaka'i is not too far, so Don takes out the oars and rows us back. Geoff says he will watch to make sure we get back okay.

Back at the boat, Don fidgets with the outboard and gets it going, but it is still pretty rough. What is so disappointing is that the darn thing was just serviced in La Paz. Since this is a Saturday, we wait until Monday and limp into shore to speak to Kevin at Yacht Services. On Monday, Don and Kevin discuss the problem, and they believe it may be a carburetor issue. Kevin says he can work on it in an hour or so, and would be happy to let Don watch to see how it is done.

In the meantime, we heard that the post office finally has Vini data sim chips. We dash there, knowing they run out quickly. Right now, the internet is down for the whole island. We do not care; we want to be ready as soon as it is available. Furthermore, it is what we will need around French Polynesia, not just here. Hooray! We are in time to purchase one each for our phones. Later, we heard they had indeed run out.

When Kevin is ready to work on the carburetor, it is time to get the outboard off the dinghy. Remember how we have to climb a ladder to get up on the quay? Now a 100-pound motor has to come up the same way. Don is below in the dinghy, connects a rope to the motor harness, and Kevin actually hauls it up using his feet and shoulders. Wow.

Later that morning, we have our outboard back in service. At first, things seem better - until they don't. Darn. Don posits there is a cylinder not firing. He has one spare spark plug, and decides to randomly pick a plug to change out. Aha. This is much better. Now we wish we had more spare spark plugs. We talk to Kevin the next day. He has a couple spark plugs, one which might be made to fit, but nothing exact. We learn there are a few choices on the island to purchase spark plugs. So, in the heat and humidity, we trudge up and down hills to find one. No dice, but let's just say our exercise program is complete for a week. Well, at least the motor runs much better now, so we will wait until Tahiti for another spare spark plug.

Always Great: Cruising Friends Doing What Cruisers Do

Geoff and Omar want to invite us along to a Happy Hour aboard sv Tribasa Cross; the welcome is cinched when we meet the hosts, Gary and Kathe, onshore and enjoy a nice chat. We noticed this boat in Anaho while there, but we were tied up with boat chores and failed to do much visiting. Tribasa Cross is a 55' steel boat, or as Gary would put it - a floating home. Suffice to say, they have lots of room for company. Besides the two of us, there is Geoff and Omar (sv Un Mundo), Rob (sv Pauline Claire), Manzi and Rob (sv Lalamanzi), and of course, Kathe and Gary. It was a wonderful evening, evident by the fact that we did not get back to Huaka'i until 9pm. That is unheard of with this crew.

Another day, Don invites Omar to come to Huaka'i to select a few movie files to copy. We have a large library, so it works better to look at our catalog and pick out a few personally. While we are waiting for Omar, we are hailed by someone outside the boat. It is Lisa and Russ from sv Tumultuous Uproar in their dinghy. They have purchased a large beef roast and invite us to share it with them tonight for dinner. Sounds wonderful. We accept.

When Omar arrives, he comes aboard and checks out the movie selection. There is something easy about his company, and even just this short interaction is full of laughter. A selection is made and transferred, and soon Omar is on his way.

We get ready for dinner on Uproar. We get two of our Lucie Lights, one for the bow and one for the stern, and set them to blinking. This is a trick that Marie and Guy showed us. It is one thing to leave an outside light on, but with so many other lights from boats and town, the blinking really helps. I pack up our wine in cups to take, and my contribution to the meal - a desert of cookies. Well, it may not seem like much, but these were name brand Oreos! Dinner was fantastic, and Lisa and Russ have interesting stories to share. They will be going south in the Marquesas before heading into the Tuamotus, but I hope we cross paths again.

We are preparing to leave for the Tuamotus soon. Don has the fuel bladder positioned on deck. Omar and Geoff have kindly offered to help us transfer the jerry cans to the boat to fill it. Yacht Services is supplying extra jerry cans and transportation by truck to the fuel station. This way, we will not have to climb the steep seawall ladder at the commercial quay at all, and we will have all the fuel we need in one go. Annabella, Kevin's wife, is the driver for us, and we now have 11 jerry cans ready to haul back to Huaka'i. We put some of the cans in our dinghy and Geoff and Omar take the balance. The guys handily transferred the full cans up on the deck of Huaka'i, something I find arduous when it is just me and Don. This was nice enough, but Geoff and Omar insisted upon helping us get all the fuel into the bladder as well. And I mean they took a firm stand. It was very nice, but I am not surprised. They are very nice folks and I hope we can stay in touch with them.

As Don checks weather and calculates timing, we have some decisions to make about departing for the Tuamotus. To enter the atolls, it is imperative to time your approach for slack tide. With a four day passage, that is a little tricky. When Don figures a plan based upon an average speed of 5 knots, it strikes me as a good option. The winds may show we can make 6 knots, but you never know. This being the case, we decide to leave tomorrow evening.

In the morning, we do some last minute shopping, then prepare the boat. We will stow the dinghy forward in its canvas wrapper. It needs to be deflated and tied up. In the cabin, there are covers for shelves. Most importantly, I get our sea berth ready for sleeping underway. Around 4:30pm, we bring up the anchor and drive out of the anchorage. A big wave to Tumultuous Uproar, and a pass to Un Mundo, and we are on our way.

Anaho Bay: May 29- Jun 07, 2018

Its Popular Here

It is around 8am, and we are on our way to Anaho Bay on the north side of Nuku Hiva, said to be "The calmest anchorage in the Marquesas." I sure hope so. There are things to do, and it is hard to accomplish much in rolly Taiohae Bay. Of course, once we leave the anchorage, we are in the Pacific Ocean swells again. If that is not enough, our easterly course along the south shore takes us straight into the wind and waves with a bounce-bounce-bounce of our bow. Then, as we turn the corner heading north, the waves are rocking us side-to-side. This is a longer stretch to go, but we have some company to escort us. There are dolphins feeding here; lots of them. We see them swimming all around, sometimes leaping up out of the water. I can only capture a little of it with my camera. Anyway, it is nice to be so entertained. One more turn west, and the waves are thankfully coming from behind. We arrive in Anaho Bay around 1pm.

With the top billing the guidebooks give this place, I suppose we should not be surprised to see a fair amount of boats here. We make number seven, but it seems we have a good spot to anchor. Sv Aiki is here, and a few other boats we recognize from Taiohae Bay. The water is calmer here, so hooray, but the wind blows continually through a mountain saddle from the East, the predominant wind in the Marquesas. Still, the boat motion is much gentler for which we are both grateful. This wind is a consideration for my trip aloft to retrieve and reinstall the wind transducer if Don can fix it. We decide to go about our other boat chores and watch to see if there is a pattern for calm periods.

Huaka'i Laundry Service?

One such task is to hand wash some laundry. I know; we just got some laundry done by Yacht Services. However, we did not give them everything, and in fact, our clothes get stinky pretty fast. First, Don puts up a clothes line on the arch. Lots of folks use their lifelines, and we do too sometimes. However, the two-line setup under the bimini holds a lot and looks much better. As much as it can be, it is more seamanlike, if you will. We just topped off the water tanks with the watermaker, so we fill our largest bucket with some fresh water. Add a little laundry soap, pretreat the stains, and we are almost ready.

The magic comes from a tool to agitate the water. It is an overlapping two-cup plunger that lets air in and it pushes the water through the fabric as you thrust the handle up and down. It is made specifically for this purpose. In use, it sort of looks like making butter the old fashioned way. We have never used it before, but it appears to work well. The two of us wring out the soapy water, and wash up another batch or two. Then we put everything through a rinse the same way. Amazingly, we washed things like sheets, lap blankets, rags, t-shirts, and the all-important underwear. Obviously, it takes several cycles of this to make progress, so we spread it out over a couple of days. I go out in the cockpit in the morning - its cooler then anyway - and get the wash up to dry for the rest of the day. I guess you could say that is one good thing about the wind here; it is useful to dry the clothes.


Finally: The Wind Transducer Project

We notice the wind is calmer in the mornings, but it does not take long for it to pick up. Clearly this is the best time for me to go aloft since I must go all the way to the top. One morning, we allow ourselves just one cup of coffee before we dash out to get set up. We put on our headsets, remove the dodger shade-covers, and get out the bosun chair. This first day, I will only retrieve the transducer so Don can look at it and hopefully fix it. It is early - around 7am, but I can tell I have an audience from the other boats. No matter; I am now pretty comfortable doing this these days.

Once I get up there, I see that nothing looks broken, but the transducer is upside-down (which we could see from below). The female end of the device is fastened to masthead (wired to a readout below), and a screwcap covers the male end that plugs into it. The male-end section has the arm, wind feather, and anemometer cups attached; it is the piece I will remove. I tie my messenger line to the stem before I begin unscrewing it. My bird-spikes are on each side of the instrument, so I must maneuver around them. Birds, again. Figured they would be part of this somehow; clearly, I am still peeved with them.

Anyway, I get it off and try to send it down to Don via the line. Alas, the line is tangled and now I have the (very expensive) transducer hanging partway down. Here is my defense: It is very cramped up here. My bosun chair is on a halyard that is as far up as it can go. There are other halyards there too, all coming to into the mast. I have two folding mast steps out, but they line up right under the shrouds on the sides and my knees are squished under them. The genoa wrapped on the forestay is there too, so to get at the messenger line in my chair pocket/pouch, I must twist behind and below me to reach it. So, yeah, I messed up the messenger line that Don so neatly coiled. No, Don is not angry, but we both are concerned about potentially banging the transducer on something. So now I am leaning over trying to figure out how to untangle the darn string. Finally, I do so without incident and the part gets to Don below me. There is a rubber cap that goes over the female end when the arm is not attached, so I get that secured.

I have one more job to do. The head of the inner stay is squeaking in its fitting, so Don has given me some grease in a plastic syringe. I shoot some in as best as I can, and then have Don belay me down.

When he examines the part, Don can tell that the connector sleeve is loose. The glue has failed, and it spins around the arm. This is probably the reason a Booby was able to invert the whole thing. Don would simply re-glue it, but he must use a permanent or semi-permanent material for this application. He also needs to know for sure it will still operate before taking this step. That is when he cleverly devises a way to test it. When he purchased the new transducer, Don also bought spare wire which came with a corresponding female fitting attached (like the one on the masthead). After rewiring the boat's instrument to this wire, he is able to get a readout from the arm with the taped-up connector sleeve. I go on deck and hold the arm unit in the wind, and Don is able to verify that it registers properly. Great. He gets out the glue, and gets it set. We will let it cure overnight. The wind has picked up again anyway.

The next morning, we are back at it. I go up in my chair and send down the perfectly coiled messenger line to Don. (Okay. I admit to one little loop I had to pull free.) He ties on the transducer, and I pull it up. I will not untie the line until I know the part is set in place, and all is well. So, I get the prongs and notch lined up, push it in, and Don lets me know it registers properly. So far, so good. But I run into a problem. Screwing the arm-cap fully is proving difficult. It appears to go on, but I cannot get it tightened all the way. Also, the arm wiggles a bit. That cannot be right.

Perhaps I need a pair of pliers for the last bit. I reluctantly remove the messenger line from the stem and send it down to Don for some pliers. When I get them, I need to be very careful not to break that glue seal Don just applied. When Claude installed our new transducer in Los Cabos, perhaps that last bit of tightening caused the problem. In case that is true, I do not want a repeat.

I try using the pliers a little, then think better of it when I meet resistance. I must have cross-threaded the cap; that has it be it. I need to start over. The arm section must completely come off and get reinstalled. My theory: the situation requires me to lift and hold the arm section better while screwing on the cap. This unit is light on the connecting end, but heavier out in front of the boat where the anemometer and wind feather is located. I have been using two hands all along, lifting myself up on one of the mast steps, but I admit I do not stand long. Since the mast steps are offset - one is higher than the other - I end up putting full weight on my left leg as the right is used for stabilization on the other step. For sure, it is a tiring position, but I need to muster up the strength to be above the unit for the entire process.

With determination, I extend my left leg, keep it tight, and hold my position above the masthead. I take connector end in one hand, while holding the feather end with the other. Once the connector is plugged in, I use that same hand to screw on the cap while maintaining my grip on the opposite end. This was the right decision. When lined up well like this, the screwcap goes on fully with the first try. Since my hands are not super strong, I gently use the pliers on the last turn. Don makes sure once more that it registers, and we are good. Hooray!

My last little tasks are to try to spread that grease around better on the inner stay. This time, I remember to tell Don to take the tension off it first. He also has me adjust the windex flags. They were off just a little, although that tool got us sailing all right.

After coming back down, Susie from sv Baloo came over in her kayak. She wanted our boat card with an email address so she could send me a photo she took. It is one of me aloft with the mountains in the background. Nice. Sure hope I get it to use with this blog post when I have internet.

Anchoring Drama

On the last morning of May, there were eight boats in the anchorage. Over the course of the day, that number increased. Sv Baloo made number nine; it settled between us and Adamek. Then a large British boat came (no boat name displayed) and put down right in front Huaka'i. We were concerned because they seemed very close to where our anchor is located. Before long, however, the crew hopped in their dinghy to go ashore and stopped to chat with us. They said they were aware of our anchor's location. Yes, it was near their boat, but their anchor and chain was not encumbering it. If we want to depart before they do, just give the word and they will happily move to make sure we have no problems. We appreciate that.

Our first bit of trouble comes when sv Little Wing comes into the bay. A young woman is at the helm, and her male partner is on the bow with the anchor. She drives the boat to the middle of Aiki, Baloo, and Adamek and he begins to deploy the anchor. Susie on Baloo is outside and cautions Little Wing that their anchor is near that location and they have 120' of chain out. To their credit, Little Wing ups the anchor and moves to the other side of Huaka'i. As they begin to deploy the anchor here, however, another boat comes on VFH 16 to warn them of a live coral reef in that exact location. Time for Plan C.

By now, most boats are watching to see what Little Wing will do; she is driving around the anchorage and is not certain where to put down. She seems to want to be in the section where there are already five other boats. I can hear sv Hedonism trying to be helpful by calling out some suggestions. Meanwhile, a catamaran - the 12th boat-- has come into the bay; they are wisely waiting until Little Wing is settled. Finally, Little Wing snugs into a spot with the other boats on the south. And with a shallow draft, the catamaran finds a spot over by Adamek. All is well.

The real drama begins in the late afternoon when the thirteenth boat arrives - sv Julo with a German ensign (flag) flying. I can almost feel the concern of all the other sailors as Julo comes in at a speed much too fast. This bay is already full, and Julo is weaving his way through the boats looking for a spot. There are two anchors swinging below his bow, which looks odd. A woman is on the bow, and a man is driving. He makes several loops and then, when it looks he is about to drop his anchor, he aborts the attempt and makes another round. This happens in a couple of places, and then the boat drives out to the other side of the bay near the entrance.

Anaho anchorage is at the end of an inlet somewhat shaped like a "J". The top of the "J" is where the ocean is, so at the end of the hook is the calmest area. Julo is now located at the beginning of the hook, and they appear to be drifting. We are monitoring VHF Channel 16, but hear no hail for assistance from Julo. We watch to see what happens. In my binoculars, I see the man go out on the bow with a boat hook and reach over to one of the anchors dangling. Obviously, they have a problem with their anchor(s). Still they drift. Then, they drive the boat around some more; thankfully, they are still far away because things are clearly not in control yet. They drift some more.

This goes on so long, it is very nearly dusk. With or without a request, this must have prompted the three crewmembers of the British boat (all men) to launch their dinghy to go help Julo. Two men hop from the dinghy and clamber onboard, while the other tries to tie up to Julo. At this time, the woman is driving, and she dashes to the stern to catch the line from the dinghy. Unfortunately, she has left the helm and the boat is moving pretty fast. She scrambles back to slow the boat, and then helps the dinghy tie up. If it were not so serious, it would be funny. Right now it is worrisome. If this boat does not get anchored, they could put us all at risk of a collision in the night.

As Don and I are watching, darkness comes and the Brits are still not back to their boat. Obviously, they did not expect to be gone so long; their boat is dark. We decide to wait for them, and help with some lights. Don takes one of our hanging solar lights and clips it on to our bow, and another in the cockpit. He switches one to blue and one to white. Then we wait. We see lights on Julo way out there, and hope that is good news. At one point, I wondered if the guys would bring Julo back and raft them up to their boat. I am glad they did not. Eventually, the British men come back to their boat and tuck in for the night, so we assume Julo is okay. Relieved, we haul in our solar lights and go below ourselves.

We find out the next morning that Julo had the anchor chain caught in the windless. Until other men arrived, the couple had not figured out how to remove a cover that would allow access to untangle it. If we are generous, we could say that the problem caused a bit of a panic, and the crew needed a fresh perspective. Realistically speaking, however, sailors need to be able to be calm under stress. This is especially true if you take your boat to faraway places. More importantly, this is not the first time Julo carried on in this manner. Don and I watched them in Taiohae Bay, doing the very same fast driving, hanging anchors, and deploying their ground tackle carelessly. I do not know this couple, and they may be very fine people. However, we plan to steer clear if we ever encounter them boating again.

Sick Sailors not Undone

I swear, as soon as we get around people, someone gives us a cold - it must have happened in Taiohae Bay. Don arrived in Anaho with one, but he managed to work with me on the transducer fix and do a couple of other small tasks. One thing he did not do right away was dive the boat. However, after several days, he got in the water with his fins and snorkel and cleaned the bottom of the boat. It was in remarkably good shape; the gooseneck barnacles were only on the rim of the swim platform. I think it the right decision to paint the bottom of the boat just prior to our departure.

Thankfully, *my* cold developed after the big transducer project. About this same time, a weather system came through the region that brought some strong winds for several days in a row. I can tell you the wind speed now, thanks to our handy-dandy fixed instrument: 25 knots, with gusts higher at times. Ha! Well, if I had to be sick, best it be on days where we were hunkered down anyway.

Slowly, in between coughs, I worked on my provisioning. I learned an important lesson on the big passage: it was fortunate I had a certain amount of ingredients within easy reach. Without a pantry, you learn to stash food in all sorts of weird places. I placed some things in my galley cabinet, but other foodstuffs are in bags under floorboards, behind seat cushions, under seat cushions, and even in a space under some bunk drawers. This follows advice I read before leaving, and I am glad I took it. With rough seas, there is no way in the world I would have been able to retrieve items from some of my "long-term" storage.

It is time to replenish the galley pantry and reorder storage. And, there is no better time in which to take a full count of everything. My shelf-stable inventory is on an Excell spreadsheet on my computer. Since I may have a particular food stashed away in several places, I make entries in such a way that I can sort by either item or location. When I am looking for a certain thing, I go to the item sort; when taking inventory, I use the location list. I have printouts of each method, which I adjust by hand most of the time. That way, I have a good idea what's on hand without turning on the computer. Obviously, this is a way to get miss-counts, so I periodically make a full accounting.

Soon, we are headed for the Tuamotus of French Polynesia. Without much to offer in terms of grocery stores, we will make a last provisioning stop in Taiohae. I complete my count, and Don makes fresh printouts for me. With this under my belt, I am halfway to a good shopping list.

Tomorrow, we return to Taiohae. We have not been ashore at Anaho, but we have accomplished much while here. We completed boat projects, quietly nurse our head colds, and got some good sleep. Our mates from Jocelyn's tour, Russ and Lisa, arrived in the harbor a couple of days ago, so we take a last look around Anaho by dinghy and make a visit to Tumultuous Uproar. We finally get to meet their beloved dog. Sophie is a 17 ½ year old Jack Russell Terrier, hard-of-hearing, mostly blind, grayed, and as sweet as can be. It is a nice way to end our time here - a friendly chat with nice people, and a cute animal to admire.

Taiohae - May 19-28, 2018

It sure feels good to finally be here. We are determined to be in Nuku Hiva as long as it takes to rest up from that long passage. We get the anchor set, I move everything off our regular bed, and down we go for a nice long nap. When we awaken, it is late afternoon and we get out that champagne we did not drink at the equator. A toast to our passage: "May we never do another like that." The good news: from here west, there are only 4-5 day hops at the most.

Actually, we have business to accomplish here. When completed, we can devote time to touring and recuperation. First up: we need to check into the country. This being the weekend, however, we feel sure official offices are closed. I use this time to clean the cockpit windows and get the shade covers up. I wash the salt off the cockpit cushions and seating area, while Don gets out his list of checks to make. It is a matter of putting things back to normal living style; that is, in non-passage mode.

The dinghy will need to come off the bow and out of its canvas wrapper so we can go ashore Monday. That is a big job, so we first take a little rest in the cockpit. That is when I spy an Island Packet boat come into the harbor. I tell Don, "Maybe that is Guy and Marie on Notre Reve." It would be surprising since they made their ocean passage some time ago, but it looks like them to me. Suddenly, I see a big wave from the woman on board. That's Marie! Calling across to one another, we promised to monitor VHF channel 72 to have a conversation about meeting up later. This is wonderful!

Now it is really important to get that dinghy launched. There is just one problem: Don cannot locate a fitting he needs for his electric pump. If he cannot use that, it will take forever to hand/foot pump those pontoons. We look and look and look. Its nowhere to be found. Did he fail to notice it go overboard last time it was used? We have no idea, but we cannot dwell on it. Don will need to "MacGyver" a fitting because Guy and Marie have been in touch; we have an invitation for Happy Hour aboard Notre Reve this evening. Of course, Don is just the man for the job. His invention is not perfect, but it is good enough and the dinghy is made ready to go.

We arrive at Notre Reve right at 5pm with our only bottle of white wine in hand. I still had some soft herb cheese and Ritz-like crackers to add to Marie's offerings. She pulls out some additional white wine because we have a lot to discuss! We learn they are back in Taiohae because a spare part is being delivered for them. Notre Reve will leave from here to the Tuamotus as soon as they can make ready. What a happy bit of luck to run into friendly faces so soon after our arrival.

We are up early on Monday, thinking the gendarme will surely expect us today. Guy has clued us in about where to land the dinghy. It is tricky -- there is no dinghy landing dock, just a crumbling concrete sea wall and ladders attached. There are some stairs near a boat ramp, but no hand-holds of any sort. There are numerous dinghies already tied up to the u-hooks anchored in the seawall. In fact, it is fairly hard get to our dinghy close enough to the ladder to climb out - we have to shove dinghy after dinghy aside to make our way. Hmmm. This is a drag. More so when we return later to find our chaps have ripped where it has rubbed against the sea wall. Well, that's no good.

On shore, there are a few fish-cleaning areas near the sea wall for the local fishermen, then a parking lot, and some buildings. One is clearly a restaurant with outdoor tables under a canopy, and one is Yacht Services, the business belonging to the agent we employed to assist us check in. Yacht Services is not open yet, but we discover Kevin nearby anyway. He informs us that today is a holiday in French Polynesia (Pentecost), so none of the official offices are open. Still, Kevin suggests we come back later to prepare all the paperwork for tomorrow. That sounds good. Don and I walk through town, finding one of the grocery stores open. We buy a baguette and some butter, then make our way to a park to enjoy this treat and the view. By 9:30am, we are back at Yacht services filling out forms and having Kevin look over everything. He asks us to return at 7:30am tomorrow when he will escort us to the gendarme.

The next morning, there is a gathering of cruisers at Yacht Services. Kevin has scheduled all check-ins at the meeting time he gave us. We begin to meet other folks as we parade over to the appropriate office and wait out turn in line. Soon, we are finished with the gendarme, and back we go to Yacht Services to fill out more paperwork to start our approvals for our long-term visas. Once that is done, we are asked to return at 10am when Kevin will escort a number of us to the government official who works with the visas.

Nuku Hiva Yacht Services

Since Kevin is an ex-pat American, it is very easy to communicate and get information. Well, it is not just the language - Kevin has made it his business to offer a multitude of services for visiting boats. On top of it all, he is pleasant and helpful no matter how many people line up for his attention.

Friendly Kevin of Nuku Hiva Yacht Services

One thing on our minds: internet service. Kevin tells us that what little internet is here is extremely slow and unreliable; broadband service does not exist. He advises us to try some free Wi-Fi spots around town; Kevin needs to charge for access at Yacht Services, and it is often no better. Don has banking to do, and I need to enroll in Medicare. There is also post mail to check; images are placed online by our Seattle mail service for us to review, so that can be important. We want to buy a phone data card to be more self-sufficient, even while realizing it will be the same slow access, but apparently they are sold out in all of the Marquesas.

The closest free Wi-Fi is Café Vaeaki, right next door to Yacht Services. We connect to their network, but there is no internet - slow or otherwise - for days. Don decides to pay for Kevin's and try that. It is predictably a slog, but it is active. It takes several days, but Don finally gets caught up. The café is definitely a cruiser hang-out, and we begin to meet others. And it is a decent place to while away the time, so we often order a little food or beverage and take our leisure. The food is pretty good, too, and not just compared to my "seafaring offerings".

On Nuku Hiva, there is an abundance of roosters, chickens, and chicks roaming free wherever we go. We learn later (see tour with Jocelyn below) that they belong to no one and everyone. You are free to take one, but they are pretty tough if you plan to eat it (all that exercise, it would seem). They crow every day from just about everywhere; at least our boat is out in the bay, so the sound is muted. Shout out my sister Jan, where a neighbor's rooster violates her peace. Be glad you don't live here. Must be one of those instances where you hear it so much, you don't hear it.

Laundry. Now there's a dire need. Luckily, Yacht Services can do that too. There are some other places in town, but frankly, it is all we can do to bring our big bagful up the dock and across the parking lot to Yacht Services. They have a machine, but they line dry. With the rain that springs up each day, it is a number of days before we get it back. We find everything has been returned nicely folded into our dry bag, but a couple of things have stains. Looks like rust from the washer. Oh, well. After this, we will be hand- washing, so I am glad for the headway.

By the following Saturday, we are ready to take the inland tour recommended by Guy and Marie (arranged by none other than our man Kevin). Jocelyne Henua Enana Tours has a van that stops at archeological sites, cultural places, natural features, and other points of interest with explanations all along the way. The furthest stop is a village called Haitheu on the north shore where we have lunch. Jocelyn is of French origin, but has lived in the Marquesas over 20 years, many of which she has provided tours just like this one. Her guests today are two cruiser couples and a woman from France who is staying at a local guest house. So, there is Russ and Melissa of sv Tumultuous Uproar (aka Uproar), us, and Marie. The cruisers have their tour in English; Marie has hers in French.

Jocelyne

Russ and Lisa are from Wisconsin; they sailed out the Great Lakes, down the Eastern US coast, into the Bahamas, over to South America, through the Panama Canal, out to Galapagos, and now here. I'm exhausted just writing about it. They are interesting and we enjoy chatting with them, but there is not a lot of time for that because we are obliged to listen. Yes, listen. And it is best not to ask questions because they are answered later on.

Huh, you say? Well, its Jocelyn, you see. She has her way of delivering explanations, and she is a bit of a tyrant about the structure of things. If we are generous, we realize she has escorted so many tourists, she knows all the questions, and has inserted the answers into her routine. If we are less understanding, we say, "Yes, but to show interest and attentiveness, one asks questions." Also true. If we ask a question, she lets us know she is repeating an answer, or it the answer is forthcoming on the tour. So, Jocelyn is not refusing us, just strict about sticking to her script. If we chat among ourselves, she grabs our attention back sharply. It might feel like herding cats to her, so who could blame her?

Jocelyn knows her facts whether it refers to the past sacrificial beheadings of enemy captives (and cannibalistic consumption of sacred organs), or the flora and fauna of the island. As we overlook one of the bays where the television series *Survivor* was filmed, she tells a first-hand experience of the impact upon life here. In the valley where coconuts are harvested, she describes the process and shows us local people at such work. She is not unkind, but just different from what we Americans expect. For example: While stopping at a large historical site, Don heads over to an information board while Jocelyn is explaining something to Marie in French. He has not heard her say that the kiosk will make more sense after we walk the site. Jocelyn says, "I said... we should walk the site first!" Don promptly hightails it back to the rest of us who thankfully have not yet followed him. These awkward moments notwithstanding, it was a wonderful day and I would recommend the tour to anyone who comes here. Jocelyn really knows stuff.

As the days pass, we realize this is one *rolly* anchorage! It is a break from the sea, but it is not exactly restful. Ocean swells find their way in here, albeit less so, and even at anchor, the boat pitches side to side. Some boats put out a stern anchor, and probably we should too. Still, we are anchored in 50' of water - the spot available to us when we arrived. We feel we should move the boat to more shallow water before deploying a stern anchor in case of any problems retrieving it. Don's hookah cannot go that deep, and we already know of others who have had issues.

Geoff on Un Mundo lost his stern anchor, and now we find out Guy on Notre Reve lost his too. After one hard day of a dive search, we have Guy and Marie over to Huaka'i for a Happy Hour and hors d'oeuvres. Fortunately, Geoff was able to collect his stern anchor, and Guy was able to find his and retrieve it as well. So, we go about our business and think about whether we will move the boat and put out a stern anchor, or move to another bay altogether.

Guy and Marie of sv Notre Reve aboard Huaka'i for Happy Hour

One reason to move elsewhere is the still-pressing need to go aloft to fix the wind transducer. With the constant side-to-side pitch in this bay, we are not going to send me aloft to retrieve it. Kevin tells us of a cove in Controller Bay, just east of here, which is pretty calm. We have also heard others talk about Anaho Bay on the north side of the island; it is one bay over from where we lunched on our tour. The guidebooks proclaim it the "calmest anchorage in the Marquesas". Sign me up. We decide to move after one more try to obtain a Wi-Fi sim card and some groceries. No joy on the internet, but I am taking four baguettes with us.