Maupiti - Bora Bora’s Subdued Sister

About 30 miles east of Bora Bora in the Leeward Society Islands, lies another, little known atoll, also with a mountainous interior. It is called Maupiti, which has one village, Vai’ea, and about 1200 inhabitants. The Polynesians say it is like Bora Bora was 30 years ago, for some cruisers the island is one of their highlights in the Pacific, but most sailors skip it on their way west, mostly because of its notorious pass to access the lagoon and safe harbor.

The Pass

The only pass (cut in the outer reef) to enter Maupiti’s lagoon is located on the south side of the atoll. This is also where the surplus lagoon water leaves through on an always outgoing tide. With the predominantly south west swell of the Pacific Ocean coming into the pass, this combination can be very dangerous, causing standing waves and making the pass inaccessible and deadly at times of high winds and big swells. Needless to say this is a tricky pass and a quite narrow one at that! All the guidebooks warn that entering the pass should be attempted in less than 20 knots of wind and a swell lower than 6ft. Mark and I waited for such a moment in Bora Bora, but as we have long known since being here: the weather predictions are rarely accurate.

Leaving from the leeward side of Bora Bora, it was dead calm the morning we decided to sail to Maupiti. The forecast called for 10-15 knots of wind and a 4ft swell: ideal! “If there is no wind, we are not going!” Mark said, when we lifted anchor at 7am. Not wanting to motor for six hours, I grudgingly agreed, hoping that we could at least make another attempt later in the week if we had to turn back that morning. It is always a double edged sword: no wind meant not getting there under sail, but perfect conditions to enter the pass. But, we wanted a decent amount of wind to sail there swift and comfortably… If the wind and the swell would be too high, however, and the pass therefore inaccessible, one would have to tack and beat back into that strong wind (no fun and a tiring and long effort) all the way to Bora Bora, getting in at night!

We didn’t bother setting any sails, since we had no idea what the ocean conditions were and, if we needed to fly the spinnaker, the mainsail would have to be dropped again anyway. Once outside Bora Bora’s pass, we motored for half an hour, when the wind cleared the island and filled in. For the first bit, we managed to stay on course with both sails, but then we had to furl the jib in and let the (bigger) main out to collect as much wind as possible from dead behind us. A preventer was rigged to avoid an accidental jibe. We considered rigging the spinnaker, but were too lazy at that moment and our decision proved to be a good one. At times the wind was blowing over 20 knots and we were happily cruising along at 5 knots with one sail! Of course the waves started to grow with the wind increase, to about 6-7ft, and we began to realize the downside of our steady progress: what would happen at the pass?

We gave the southeast corner of Maupiti a wide berth as recommended by the guides and started to approach the pass dead on under motor and with a tightly trimmed mainsail. The conditions had mellowed a bit and the visibility was OK. Our concentration was solely on the pass. Forget about the charts; navigation is purely visual here! Lining up the first set of range markers perfectly, Captain Mark did a great job steering us through the entrance, in between breaking reefs. At the first set of green and red markers, we lined up the second set of range markers to guide us into the dogleg of the channel. From there on, the water was calm and the rest of the way very well-marked and straightforward. We had safely arrived in Maupiti! We dropped the hook in front of the church and took a breath, while grey clouds gathered and the rain began to fall. Even though Mark said the whole experience was a bit nerve racking and not something he’d want to do again, through the photographer’s lens, it didn’t look all that scary! :-)

The Mainland

Maupiti is relatively small and encircled by one road of about 7 miles. Most of the people live along the south and east coast of the mainland, while five motus and exposed reef frame the lagoon. One cloudy day, Mark and I set out to walk around the island and see what we could find. Not much, but it was good exercise. Except for a few churches, a school, some small grocery stores, a covered market place, a bakery and one government building, the village of Vai’ea consists of private houses and friendly locals. We passed high cliffs, tons of breadfruit, coconut, banana and mango trees – all in season! – and lots of empty space. On the west side of the island, we ventured out to the only beach, a white sandy stretch called Tereia, to take a break in the shade, before returning to our dinghy at the conveniently located floating dock in town.

The View

This last Sunday, we woke to blue skies at 6am and decided to tackle the mountain top in the middle of the island. About an hour later, our “Kiwi” friends Monique and Garth (from New Zealand) on SV Heartbeat (now the second sailboat in the atoll) joined us for this endeavor. In the span of roughly two hours, we climbed the nearly vertical trail and steep rocks, where help was provided by knotted ropes. While we sweated like crazy (the heat and humidity are not to be underestimated in the tropics), drank heaps of water and took a couple of breaks, the view improved with every step we took! When we finally arrived at the top, the surroundings looked awe-inspiring; truly breathtaking. Mark and I agreed it was right up there as the best view we’ve seen in the Pacific. Photos were snapped, snacks were eaten and enjoyment was had, while gazing at the expansion underneath us. High up, the breeze cooled us down enough to spend about 45 minutes on the top, but the sun was still burning like hell. The descent was as challenging as the hike up, and brutal on the knees and other joints. It took us a good hour to head all the way back down, but we all agreed this incredible experience was worth every huff and puff!

View from the anchorage

Town hall on the lagoon

Irie at anchor - the only sailboat in Maupiti

Market place in the village

Breadfruit - every yard has at least one tree!

Vegetable stand along the road around the island

 

Motus on the northern edge of the lagoon

 

The mangoes are finally in season!

Messy, but yummy!

Different stages of the banana

Tereia Beach on the SW point

Walking on the (quiet) road around Maupiti

Bounty of the day

Thanksgiving dinner on Irie - just the two of us this year :-(

And a BLT as a birthday lunch the following day

Vai'ea town and the church, with the steep mountain top behind

Climbing to the top of Mt. Teurafaatiu

The view keeps getting better!

Monique pulling herself up with one of the ropes

Maupiti's airstrip extends from Motu Tuanai into the lagoon

Best view in Maupiti, and French Polynesia!

Maupiti's only pass, between the southern motus

Garth admiring the magnificent view

Maupiti's NE side

Posing in front of the reef-filled western part of the lagoon

This view made the challenging hike more than worthwhile

Interesting reef pattern in the western part of the lagoon

Mark and Monique taking a break on the top of the mountain

Church of Vai'ea underneath us and the rickety airport shuttle

Heartbeat and Irie at anchor in the lagoon of Maupiti

Rio Chagres: Three Day Oasis

Since the moment Mark and I reached mainland Panama again, a month and a half ago, we wanted to check out the Chagres River. The plan was to anchor there for a few days on the way to or from Bocas del Toro. We all know how that adventure went… After the productive days in the Colon city, we exited the breakwater and motored ten miles west for three days of refuge in nature. The entrance of the Rio Chagres was a little bit tricky – not to be done in big swells – but once inside, the surroundings were serene and beautiful solitude awaited.

Fuerte San Lorenzo towered above Irie, when we passed by close to shore. Seven years ago Mark, Darwin, Kali and I visited these ruins at the end of a jungle road with our camper. Back then, we could see a sailboat anchored in the river underneath. Who would have guessed we would do the same thing one day. Only, we skipped the beginning of the river, which was quite choppy and ventured further upriver for about three miles. On the way we passed one other catamaran, anchored in peace. We would be the only two boats there. Our first anchoring attempt seemed to be in one of the narrower parts of the river – we are new to this river cruising – and we ended up pretty close to shore. We wanted to be near the rainforest, but not being part of it! So, we moved a mile further up and found a perfect, wide spot in a river bend.

It was quiet and peaceful. The water was fresh and flat. What a spoil. Taking showers felt clean and awesome; the water less cold than expected. We took turns washing up. While one person jumped in, the other watched for approaching crocodiles. They stayed hidden and I even managed to scrape the long green beard off Irie’s bottom without being eaten. I have to say, it is a bit more tiresome to stay afloat in fresh water than in salt water.

We paddled the dinghy up and down a small river near us, being swallowed up by the jungle and the quietness. Egrets, kingfishers and herons were the passers-by and a herd of howler monkeys made a loud ruckus from time to time. We never managed to spot one. The absence of interesting wildlife was compensated by the amazing night sounds of the jungle. Once it was pitch black outside, we looked for red eyes along shore with a strong flashlight. Only once did we spot a set, belonging to a crocodile. When we wanted to venture closer the next evening, the creature was gone.

With our dinghy we followed the Rio Chagres until it dead ended at the Gatun dam, where car traffic was sparse. We followed the banks of the river back and forth to spot crocodiles, but they all looked like logs.  Rowing up and down the short side rivers was magnificent and the highlight of our stay. Being one with the jungle in such a peaceful environment is magical indeed.

But then, one morning another streak of bad luck hit us. After a short visit to shore, while clambering back into the dinghy to avoid mud getting all over it, my (underwater) camera slipped unnoticed out of my pocket… into the deep, fathomless and murky water. Gone! The Rio Chagres absorbed my dear, expensive camera (which was a previous birthday gift from Mark) and with it a bunch of unreleased pictures and movies. What I felt was indescribable.

Once back on Irie, Mark slipped on our step – the one without anti-slip material since we fixed a hole there – while trying to rinse something in the water. He fell hard on his tailbone and hurt his back as well. Right before our boat yard visit where we plan loads of heavy work. At least we had a couple of nice, enchanting days before it is back to reality and to a less fun part of boat ownership! We wish we could have stayed longer.

(PS: Reduced amount of pictures due to loss of them and their apparatus)

Barbuda: A Peaceful Place in the Caribbean

When Mark and I left Guadeloupe northbound, we had two options: go “through the middle” with a visit to Montserrat and a short stop in St. Kitts and Nevis, or sail to Antigua and Barbuda for a few weeks. The volcano on Montserrat was acting up, with ash being spit out on boats in the vicinity, followed by days of cleaning up for the owners. That, and the fact that visiting Antigua and Barbuda on the way north is easier than on the way south, made us decide to go this route.

We had heard a lot of nice things about Barbuda and this island was our main goal, but first, we spent two nights in Antigua, where it is easier to check in and out. We anchored in Falmouth Harbour with the big objective to visit Nelson’s Dockyard National Park. This Heritage site of restored colonial buildings houses shops and businesses and creates a good feel for the old days. There is a short walk to fort ruins from where you have a nice view of English Harbor and its many anchored boats. This area is also very popular with the mega yachts and mega they are. During the day your neck gets stiff from looking up the immense, tall masts and at night the sky is dotted with red lights so planes don’t crash into them.

The day we sailed to the sister island Barbuda, was pretty much perfect for this. We followed the west coast of Antigua, noticing quite a few attractive bays near shore and once we hit open water, the wind was a steady 15 knots on the beam (side). Our little Irie was pushed forward at about 7 knots and life was Irie! After cruising along for a couple of hours, our clothes pins snapped, meaning we caught a fish, or some other big thing. When Mark reeled the heavy hand line in, we saw a huge barracuda appear. In his struggle to get free, he had caught our other hand line, creating a giant mess. We managed to get the extra line off him, but needed to release him by cutting the hook. Nobody wanted to get close to those giant teeth and take the hook out. Then, when I pulled the other, damaged line in, something tugged on it… Totally unexpected, we had captured a tuna! Within a minute, we let go of one fish and caught another. Thank you, Mother Nature!

The tuna came in handy the following days, since we didn’t provision in the expensive French islands before visiting “remote” Barbuda. It fed us for three meals, including a sushi dinner. Barbuda is one of the few places in the Caribbean that is very low and therefore hard to see from a distance. While other, more mountainous islands are visible from 20, 30 or even 40 miles away, we didn’t spot Barbuda until we were within 5 miles of its shores. Once safely anchored, all we could see was sand, brush and water.

We spent our first night near Cocoa Point on Barbuda’s southwest coast. The long, quiet beach there has very soft sand in which you sink up to your ankles. When the wind picked up, we moved to the south coast, where the water is very protected. We had to maneuver through some reefs to find our preferred spot and got settled for about a week. Walks on shore revealed nothing more than barren land with sand, rocks and brush. There are a couple of salt ponds and nice views from a sand dune. Spanish Point offers a good look out over the crashing waves. Wild donkeys, horses and chicken roam the area and make up the other life to be found in the vicinity.

Low Bay on the west coast of the island is situated along an 11 mile stretch of pinkish sand. We expected other boats there, but in contrast to the other areas with a maximum of five boats, there was only one here: Irie! The beach was ours and we thoroughly enjoyed the solitude and the long walks with Darwin. Mark and I needed this little vacation away from it all to prepare ourselves for the busy times to come in St. Martin. Our stay in Barbuda truly charged our batteries and the fact that we were out of propane gas, fresh food, toothpaste, paper towels and other necessities didn’t matter that much. At least not for a few days.

On the first day of February we sailed our last long trip in pretty light winds. We made it to St. Barth before nightfall, saw jumping whales along the way and caught our first mahi mahi (dorado). The following day, we reached the familiar lagoon in St. Martin and reunited with many friends, eager to join the fish feast on Irie. It is great to see this whole group of sailing friends again and have a good time. Another working era has arrived and we will be doing just that for about three months before picking up the cruising life again. And, in the evenings, there are plenty of opportunities to socialize!