Tuamotus - Societies: Day 2: Uneventful

Not sure what happened to the weather, but are we ever, here in the Pacific? The stationary front NOAA has been predicting for days either did not exist, or we sailed right  through it without noticing... Instead of the 20-25 knots from the east which we were anticipating, it has been blowing about 10 from the east-southeast, varying about 30° to keep us on edge. The drop in wind started last night - with some annoying boom banging and sail flogging - and is still present. We flew the spinnaker during the day, which pushed Irie forward at 4-5 knots. At the same speed we are now slowly closing in on Tahiti. No need to purposefully slow us down anymore; we plan to reach the coast at daybreak before moving on to Taina Marina. And, no need to complain in these mellow and comfortable conditions!

Other than some sail changes, mealtimes and naps, there is not much going on at sea. Oh yeah, we did catch a decent size mahi mahi (dorado) close to sunset, the cleaning up of which took some time. While the moon is getting fuller and the sky is as bright as ever, I can see the first lights of Tahiti. The hustle and bustle of Papeete, French Polynesia's capital, will soon engulf us. Mark and I plan to go crazy in the Carrefour Hypermarket (We haven't seen a big - and affordable - grocery store in 15 months), are looking forward to eating out (which we have done only once this year, right before we left Taiohae in Nuku Hiva) and plan to accomplish a few important and outstanding boat projects. We can't wait! :-)

Tuamotus - Societies: Day 1 - Speedy and Salty Start

:lat=-17.173750:lon=-147.634700:
Time: 1730UTC, COG 260T, SOG 5.0kts, Distance Remaining: 123nm

It was 6am and Mark and I were up and ready to go to Tahiti in the Society Islands. But first, we had to wait and debate for two hours... Wait for the sun to get higher, so we could see enough to safely leave the coral strewn anchorage; debate whether we should go or wait yet another day for better
conditions. The weather predictions - I should really start calling them weather contradictions - were less than ideal for our 260 mile trip to Tahiti. After some contemplation and the realization that the forecast is never spot on (Hey, things might actually turn out better than we are led to believe - the front between us and our destination might dissipate or move instead of being stubbornly stationary...), we decided to lift anchor. We are out of food and have things to do in the big city!

The pass in South Fakarava can be a tricky one, especially when it has been blowing 15-20 knots out of the SE, the way the cut is faced. An outgoing current would oppose the wind and means standing waves and dangerous conditions. We knew the tide was coming in when we left and we had about 2 knots of current against us. Not a problem. Back in the ocean, the seas were big and lumpy around Fakarava. The first thing I did was have a wave crash over me while we sailed around the south part of the island. A salty start of the journey. The second thing I did, once on course, was puke over the
side of the boat. I guess I have gotten used to those slow, mellow conditions during previous passages. Back to bed I went.

We received a call on the VHF and saw some sails approach behind us. It was the Swiss born Frenchman on Ma Louloute, who we had seen the morning before in the lagoon of Fakarava and who was practicing and testing some things on his small Hobie Cat-like boat near us in the afternoon. We chatted with him on the radio a bit and hope to meet up again in Papeete, Tahiti's capital. He is on his way around the world in an open 20 foot catamaran, trying to set the record as "smallest boat to sail around the world" and "first sailboat to do so without a cabin". I'm sure if you google this boat, you
will come up with some interesting facts. I forgot his name, though. He passed Irie at 12-14 knots, twice the speed we were doing!

After that entertaining talk, I stared at the horizon for the rest of the day. The wind blew 15-20 knots from the ESE (behind us), the waves were about 7-10 feet and Irie sped along at 6-7 knots, pretty much on course. She was doing OK, despite getting hit by a shark the evening prior. One of our
grey pets bumped against a rudder when fighting for a piece of chicken skin that ended overboard. Ouch!

At night the conditions mellowed down a bit and our progress slowed to around 5 knots. We expect the trip to take about 48 hours, but we might have to slow down once we approach Tahiti as to avoid going through the surrounding reefs at night. By the time we arrive in the Taina Marina area, Ma Louloute will have beaten us by 24 hours!

Anse Amyot in the Toau Atoll

The things we do for internet! In the Caribbean we would move anchorages and make sure there is WiFi before we would stay a bit, but here, WiFi being VERY rare if not non-existent, it works differently… On Fridays, the post office in the village of Apataki is only open from 7:30 to 9:30 am. And, the post office is the only place where one can buy phone cards (“Vini cards”), which Mark and I use to get on the slow and unreliable 2G network. Even though it works poorer than in the remote Kuna Indians territory of the San Blas islands (believe it or not!), it is our only option of staying connected out here. We pay about $5 for 100Mb and depending on our location and the quality of the signal, this will last us two weeks or 2 days!

On this particular Friday with light winds, we left the boatyard area at 6am to slowly sail directly downwind to the village. We had to go east (to leave the lagoon) to go west. Within half a mile of the dock, before reaching the pass, we dropped the dinghy in relatively choppy waters and I quickly jumped in and drove to town to buy a few phone cards and highly needed supplies. Only, the store was closed, a frequent occurrence, so – for the first time ever – we relied mostly on cans for food the following week. Once the dinghy was strapped back on and the boat ready for another sail, we crossed the SW pass at slack tide and entered the ocean, while locals were wishing us “bon voyage”.

Based on weather reports it was supposed to be a comfortable, easy, 3 hour sail, in 10-15 knots of NE winds - upwind in one tack - to reach Anse Amyot in Toau. Sails up and engines off, we pointed Irie’s bow to our destination, only to find out that this was definitely not going to work! The wind came from the SE, the exact direction of where we needed to go. What followed was a seven hour sail tacking back and forth (all the way to the back or ocean side of the boatyard!), covering another 50 miles, instead of the required 17. The weather was lovely, the wind speed perfect and the sea conditions comfortable, but, at the end, we still needed to motor for an hour to make the mooring field before dark.

Anse Amyot has a very easy approach, with no pass or currents to worry about. You have the option of picking up one of the dozen or so mooring balls for about $7 a night (or acceptable and favored goods by the owners of the balls) or for free if you eat a meal ashore when their restaurant is open, or of anchoring between the coral heads. Since we have decided to go for “easy” wherever possible in the Tuamotus, we grabbed a mooring ball, which, because the wind died the next two days, took off some of our fresh paint immediately and kept going bang bang bang against the pristine blue hull. Still better than being surrounded and splattered by an oil slick like the previous two times after we put antifouling on, though! The flies were horrendous until the wind picked up again.

Irie on a mooring ball in the reef strewn waters

During the calm days, the sea was flat and of the clearest blue. The water of the lagoon so azure that the underside of the wings of white birds appeared to be blue from the reflection! Snorkeling was amazing, with healthy corals – whole “forests” of it - and a multitude of colorful fish; the occasional reef shark sneaking by, big groupers strolling about and sucking remoras favoring Irie’s bottom. When the weather turned nasty again, the place was well protected and comfortable enough to sleep at night. The fresh breeze filled our boat batteries; the rain our fresh water tank.

Coral gardens

Over the weekend, the owners of the mooring field (Valentine and Gaston) and their neighbors (four people in total living on this motu) left to go vote in Fakarava, one of the biggest atolls in the Tuamotus. Mark and I cooked meals for the dogs and split coconuts with an axe to feed the pigs. We made sure all the animals had enough to eat and, on the hottest day, took an extra trip ashore to “shower” the panting pigs and piglets with rainwater from the barrel. It felt great to take care of the property and the animals and it made us long for a simple life ashore.

Mark splitting matured coconuts near the pig pen

Once the weather clears up and the wind has a northern twitch to it (in the forecasts anyway), we will try to reach Fakarava, about 45 miles from here and hopefully no more than a day sail away. There, based on written and personal reports, a few stores, “decent” internet and world class snorkeling await us. It is one of the highlights in the Tuamotus and we hope to spend a decent amount of time there.

Greeting Rocky on the dock of Valentine and Gaston

Fish abound in the Pacific!

Healthy coral is easier to find than in Caribbean waters

Group of Remoras living with and under Irie

Pigs and piglets love coconuts (or don’t know of any other food)

One of Gaston’s fish farms

The resident dogs of Anse Amyot awaiting our arrival

Going for a walk with the dogs in the palm rich interior, on the sharp coral ground – we haven’t seen any sand in the Tuamotus yet!

Marquesas - Tuamotus: Day 5 - Almost There

:lat=-15.651167:lon=-146.338750:
Time: 1730UTC, COG 270T, SOG 3.0kts, Distance Remaining: 18nm

The squalls have disappeared with most of the wind and we have had some lovely night skies and beautiful tourist weather. The 2 foot following seas - with regular waves for a change - make life aboard Irie very comfortable and allow us to do whatever we feel for. It's almost like being at anchor.
:-) Just jumping in the ocean is still not recommended. Even though we only move at about 3 knots (yes, we managed to keep this magic speed up), with the spinnaker in place, there is no way for one person to turn the boat around if the other accidentally lets go and stays behind in the water. For
the last 24 hours, the trip has been slow, but quite enjoyable and we are almost there. Thank Axel for our spinnaker!

Apataki, like all atolls - islands consisting of a lagoon surrounded by motus (low laying islets) - with passes ("entrances"), cannot, or better, should not be entered at just any time of the day. It would be foolish and reckless to attempt this at night, what with all the reefs, wrecks, narrow passes and lack of navigation aids, but even during the day, one has to time it right. The tides are not the problem in the passes; the currents are... Because all the water has to come into the lagoon during flood and leave the
same way during ebb, through narrow entrances, the current at those times - taking up most of the day - can be as strong as 10 knots! The best time to enter or leave the lagoon for a sailboat is therefore right around slack tide, which happens every six hours. Of course, the South Pacific being the South Pacific, still a frontier is many ways, there is no reliable or accurate information to be found, and cruisers use something called the "current guestimator".

Because Irie could not make the afternoon slack tide yesterday (Thursday) and we did not want to enter the lagoon at night, we had to "stay out" for an extra 18 hours to make the first slack tide on Friday. The wind being very light (3-5 knots) made us put that time to good use with a leisurely
sail. Entering an atoll is a new experience for Mark and I. We hope for good light and gentle waters. At least the wind should not cause any issues. In a few hours we will find out how well this "guestimator" works!

Marquesas - Tuamotus: Day 4 - No Wind

:lat=-14.957350:lon=-145.346767:
Time: 1740UTC, COG 230T, SOG 3.0kts, Distance Remaining: 89nm

When we left Ua Pou on Sunday, we knew the wind would become lighter towards the end of the trip. That's why we needed to make some decent progress the first couple of days, and why we were disappointed we didn't. But, it can always get worse... the wind could die. Totally. Not something we expected.

After a pretty crappy night, we took the mainsail down and put the spinnaker up at first light (5:30am). The wind was light, but - by then - we were happy to do 3 knots. Most of the squalls went around us, until the one at noon. It was a big and nasty one, messing with the wind direction, creating
contrary winds, and dumping a lot of rain. Down came the spinnaker and on the engines. The massive cloud refused to move and we became trapped in it, until we decided to slow the boat down, so it could get ahead and leave us alone. That done, the bright sun came back.

The sky turned blue - not another cloud to be seen - and the ocean had an ever deeper hue of blue. It was hot. And... there was no wind. The squalls had taken it all with them. The prediction was still for 10 knots of wind, but instead there was zero. Nothing. Not a hint of breeze. The spinnaker hung limp on the foredeck and had to be taken down. Irie was floating on the calm water and it was quiet. No rushing of the waves, no spinning of the wind generator, no creaking of the lines, no whooshing of the sails. We were done!

Since the forecast called for ever lighter winds, this was not a good sign. We still had 130 miles to go and had come to terms with not getting there in four days. What we couldn't come to terms with was not getting there at all! We drifted for a few hours. Then, we turned the engines on. It was loud, super-hot and smelly. A sense of despair came over us. Motoring for 25 hours would empty the fuel tank, wear the engines down tremendously - and us even more - and would get us to the Apataki lagoon about 17 hours too soon. Off went the engines, and peace returned.

The slightest wisp of air was felt. A smile returned to our faces. The spinnaker showed her colors and - at 3 knots - we moved forward again. How happy one can be with such a small commodity as 5 knots of wind! And that is what it has been blowing ("fluttering" might be a more appropriate word
here) since last night: 2 - 5 knots. Irie is sailing towards Apataki at barely 2 knots an hour. We still have about 100 miles to go and need to do an average of 3 knots to make it there by tomorrow morning!

Marquesas - Tuamotus: Day 3 - From Fun to Frustration

:lat=-14.079483:lon=-144.466200:
Time: 1735UTC, COG 214T, SOG 4.0kts, Distance Remaining: 162nm

The first two days of a longer voyage are always the hardest. You have to get used to constantly being in motion, having to hold on to something at all times and staying up half of the night. All you really want to do is sleep; there is not much interest in anything else and the night shifts take forever. On day three some kind of routine has been established and you feel more inclined to do something productive, like taking a shower, making more fruit salad, or fish, for example.

From the moment the sun came up, we flew our spinnaker (colorful light air sail), while being able to keep the main sail in place. We managed to maintain five knots of speed in ten knots of wind and stayed on course. Not bad! It was a lovely day with sunshine and blue skies, void of squalls. The
sea was as comfortable as it gets, while still being "sailable" and we both enjoyed the ride. We did have to run the engine for a bit to charge the batteries, a necessary evil, but easier than rigging our little generator up.

In the afternoon, Irie drove through a big school of tuna. We did hook one: a fat and tasty yellow fin! But, from the moment we hauled him aboard, he got off the hook. No sushi for us - what a shame and disappointment. Luckily, we still had other food, which we cooked ahead of time. And, lots
of fruit, of course. :-)

Because of the light winds, we wanted to fly the spinnaker as long as possible during the day. Just as I finished up the dishes and we were ready to take the sail down, a squall surprised us with some wind and lots of rain; the exact situation you try to avoid when the spinnaker is in place (and the reason we take it down at night)... With fluky winds, it might end up in the water, where you can run over it, or in heavy winds, it might rip. In this case, we saved it from dipping in the salty ocean and managed to take it down. Everything - us included - was soaking wet, and enjoying turned into annoying.

The wind never restored itself and with the jib instead of the spinnaker we lost speed regardless. During Mark's shift, we moved 10° off course at 4 knots. At midnight, it was my turn at the helm and I was welcomed by a radar screen cluttered with squalls. One rainstorm after the other arrived, sucking out the little wind we had. For hours I sat in the rain and wished for the wind to come back. Floating on an ocean doing less than 2 knots is frustrating to say the least. Not only are you not making any progress, but - no matter how calm the sea - the incessantly flapping sails and erratically banging rigging would drive the most patient person crazy! Plus, no sleep for the person off watch either.

Finally, some breeze arrived, albeit 50° more northerly than predicted, which had us sailing 35° off course. Not something we could make up easily. I watched the phenomenon for another hour and then decided to get rid of the jib all together and adjust course. We had lost enough time and ground. And that's where we are at right now: sailing along at 3 knots and still 15° off course. When the sun wakes up at 6am, we will hang our spinnaker out to dry, if it is not too squally. The mainsail will have to come down and then there's hoping for another fun sail and making Apataki in time...

Halfway to the Galapagos

After all these years, I have finally discovered a way to write short blog posts: buy a satellite phone, head out into the ocean and send a position report with a limited amount of characters for the cheap rate of 50 cents! Of course, after a few days, writing withdrawal happens and the desire to turn my computer on – which, by the way, broke today typing this blog; it must be too long again - and touching those cute keys of my keyboard becomes imminent.

Mark and I left Las Perlas and Panama for the Galapagos Islands last Saturday. We were ready, but had to wait a bit for the breeze to fill in. This 900-ish mile journey is seen as a difficult one. Not so much from a safety or stormy perspective, but from another weather occurrence. The winds are generally (too) light, change direction at some point, become variable and disappear completely in the ITCZ ("doldrums") area. So, you better have some wind to start with. In our case, the second and third days were predicted to become VERY windy – not Mark's idea of an ideal first long distance sail. It was a reason we wanted to begin the journey a day "ahead", to try and avoid the worst of the system.

Day 1 had us fly the spinnaker, doing a speed of about five - six knots. A few other sailboats left with us and soon disappeared behind the horizon. We had VHF radio contact with two of them during the day. Irie, with her 35 feet overall length, is small compared to other cruising boats around. She is not labeled or "certified" as an ocean going vessel. We trust her, however, and she is a great and safe little catamaran that has not disappointed us yet. We just have to be a little more careful and take into consideration her smaller size and lighter design. What this means on the Pacific Ocean is that we should reef conservatively and not surf down waves at 13 knots! She does stand her ground, though, and is sailing majestically.

The first evening, we concluded just having the mainsail up would give us the best downwind progress. Unpredicted, the wind piped up to 35+ knots at night and when we were surfing at over 12 knots (with a new Irie record of 13.6 knots), we decided it was time to put two reefs in the main. For the rest of the night, with only a double reefed main up, we were sailing at well over 7 knots. Day 2 had a decent amount of wind as well, and we changed our course so we could use our main and jib. By the following evening, we had learned our lesson and started the night shifts with a double reefed main, no jib, to make more southward progress (downwind). When a similar scenario of the previous night occurred, with winds topping 35 knots and waves bigger than Irie, we had yet to make another adjustment in the middle of the night, centering the main sail to reduce speed. All it would take is surfing down one massive wave and having our bows dig into the water first, to have our house flipped over. Did I mention we have a small and light boat? Which is a tad heavier than usual with all the extra provisions?

The first days and nights, we were constantly slowing Irie down, making the gap between us and our larger, heavier peers bigger. On day 3, another downwind haul, we started with a full main up. The wind blew a steady 30-35 knots and we were moving along nicely, at 9 knots. (I have to admit, we have been having 1-3 knots of current with us.) Frequently, we would surf down the waves and saw our speed over ground top 12 knots. "Fun and invigorating" says Liesbet. "Scary! I'm not liking this!" says Mark. And reefs appear in the sail again. For this, we unfurl the jib a little bit, head into the wind and gigantic – wet – waves, drop the main a bit, put the two reefs in and haul her up again, considerably reduced in size. It made the ride more safe and comfortable, and we were still doing 7-8 knots. It was great, even though we couldn't really do much more than sail on the bumpy ocean.

Last night, the wind dropped big time. But, you never know; the previous nights it blew pretty hard from the moment the sun went down… So, we started off with a double reefed main, in 15 knots of wind, and made slow progress. Maybe it would be a quiet and comfortable night, once the waves settled down? Or maybe the wind would pick up just enough? Kind of a waste to go so slow… In between our shifts, we went to the trice daily procedure again and took the reefs out. For the next four hours, the sails and boom slapped and banged around, while the wind speed reduced to less than 10 knots. Not wanting to deal with all the work involved putting the spinnaker up at night, we resigned to … motoring for four hours. Darn!

First thing this morning, we "installed" our saving grace, the spinnaker, which is a light wind sail. With it blowing barely seven knots (apparent wind less than 2 knots), it is the only sail we have that will get us moving, albeit relatively slowly. Thanks again, Axel!  The seas have settled down and today's ride has been very smooth indeed! We finally got to do some "different" things than usually. Distance-wise we are over half way to the Galapagos at this point, but time will tell how much progress we can keep making in the light winds. We will fly our colorful sail tonight as well. At least we'll try.

Being out on the ocean for four days now, Mark and I have developed a certain routine. The day "starts" at 8:00, when we write an entry in the logbook, check the old weather report, (re)consider our course and (re)adjust the sail(s). Then we have breakfast of homemade granola mixed with cheap cornflakes and milk or soymilk. At 9:00, the daily Pan Pacific net starts on the SSB radio. We listen to the check-ins from "vessels underway", plot our friends' positions and track their progress towards the Galapagos. If we are lucky, we receive a decent and current weather forecast of "our area". We can't check in ourselves, since we don't have an SSB transmitter, only a small receiver. We also don't have a water maker, a freezer and a life raft. Together with our small size this makes us very special! :-)

During the day we keep ourselves busy with sailing the boat, staring at the horizon – without getting seasick! – figuring out routing and weather (Mark spent days on end doing this before we left and still spends many hours a day figuring everything out. He's doing a great job interpreting and incorporating the grib files, but the forecasts are never right, unfortunately. The wind directions seem to be pretty accurate, but the speeds are way over or underestimated.), and resting. We have yummy sandwiches for lunch around noon, after I do a "manual" log and plot our course on a paper chart of the Pacific Ocean, which is… big! The ocean is.

At 17:00 the evening procedures start. Not with cocktail time, but with reeling in the fishing line and figuring out a (new) course and sail trim. We do this before the sun sets, to avoid the cold, windy, pitch black and slippery decks at night. Haha! Then, we have one of our six pre-prepared and tasty dinners and do the dishes. Mark installed a salt water pump and spigot in the sink recently. One of the best additions to an always improving Irie! We have interesting conversations, like "What time did the sun set?" "18:34" "What time is it this evening? She's going down right now!" "18:39" We write another log on the computer and at 19:00 Mark grabs the new weather forecast and grib files and takes all the new information into account. More than likely – by then it is dark – we adjust the sail(s) again, and another time at some point during the night. Around 20:00, we start our three hour night shifts: Mark until 23:00, then me until 2:00, Mark again until 5:00 and me again until 8:00. Whoever is off shift, tries to sleep in our bed downstairs.

What do we do during our night shifts? Mark is all alone with his tablet. He listens to music and watches something on the screen. I am all alone with my thoughts. I listen to the sounds of the boat – whooshing of the waves, wind generator, creaks and bangs – and watch the twinkling phosphorescents in our wake and the bright stars in the sky. We keep an eye on the instruments and the sails and every fifteen minutes we check the horizon. It is inevitable that we "knikkebol" (doze off) more than once in a while.

We haven't seen any wildlife worth mentioning yet, except a helicopter checking us out. We also haven't caught any fish yet. Mark did put a second fishing line out today, but I expect them to catch each other, before they catch something edible! The previous days have been chilly during the day and cold at night. We dug out long pants, sweaters, socks, hats and the comforter to sleep under. The heavy winds and cool air has not been very conducive to taking showers. Luckily, there is no one around, for hundreds of miles… Today, the sun came out, the wind disappeared and the sky was a beautiful blue. The highlight of the day was a fresh water sun shower in the cockpit and … a change of underwear. And so, there is some special event every day on the water. One day soon, it will be crossing the equator – which will have to be celebrated in Irie fashion – another day, we will catch a fish!

Now that the conditions have settled down (let's hope we will keep having some wind), I could see us do this forever. The new auto pilot has been performing splendidly and so have Mark and I. We have not beaten each other up yet and the atmosphere is one of team work, a daily chat, having meals together and enjoying quiet time. It is so nice not to be stressed and busy anymore. Today was a bit tougher, after three "rough" nights in a row and trying to keep the boat moving, but once we kept going, spirits lifted. We are pretty tired, but other than that… all OK! :-)