Cruising - It’s All about the Weather

“Sailing means freedom” is a misconception that Mark and I have realized over the years. Don’t get me wrong, you have a lot of freedom when you live on a boat and cruise the world; you just don’t have the freedom to choose when to leave, where to go, how long to stay or when to arrive. The comfort of an anchorage is also not to be taken for granted. All this is determined by the main domination in a sailor’s life: the weather.

Even when keeping a close eye on the forecasts, here in the Pacific, doesn’t necessarily mean that you “get what you ordered”, like during our trip from delightful Huahine to the metropolis of Tahiti. In between bouncing at anchor and being suffocated by poisonous smoke (which appeared to have been from an accidental fire in the recycling plant of Punaauia) in the Taina Marina area, we dealt with some errands on shore and ran from one doctor to another, and from one lab to the next, not forgetting about our initial appointment at the hospital. Without finding an answer to one of our health issues and having to decline a birthday drink invitation, both because of another unfavorable weather forecast, we crossed the channel to Moorea – under motor – to hide for the predicted 30-40 knot NW winds.

The anchorage areas on the east side of Moorea, near Vaiare, were new to us and – based on reviews of friends - we had been looking forward to spending some time on the eastern faced reef anchorages, in shallow, clear water over a sandy bottom. Facing outward, meant no mosquitoes, no smoke and a refreshing breeze. The current, however, is very strong here and from the moment we arrived, Irie didn’t stop moving about, the water rushing along the hulls as if we were underway. But, we did find a big spot for ourselves, with plenty of swinging room and none of the other boats close by, to sit out the inclement weather.

The storm from last weekend, albeit short in duration – just one night – would become the strongest one we have experienced in eight years of cruising. The wind gusts made the seawater airborne, and topped at over 50 knots. The lagoon was filled with white caps and all the anchored boats resembled hobby horses. Irie behaved splendidly, however, and was not one of the four cruising boats that dragged that dreadful night. The holding was great, we had 10:1 scope out in 7ft of water, and our Manson Supreme anchor, once again, performed perfectly.

The following afternoon, the sun stood bright in the sky as if nothing had happened. Life returned to its usual business, and taking a shower in the ocean was preceded by a snorkel with stingrays and colorful fish and coral in the clear waters of the lagoon. Another depression was looming on the weather charts. A day before it was predicted to hit us, we moved to the northern reef anchorage of Vaiare. And, good we did, since the nasty weather system arrived a day earlier than planned (always at night), having us pinned down on the boat again.

This time, the wind is supposed to keep coming out of the NNE and, as I write this, it is blowing a steady 25-30 knots, with gusts to 40 knots, and we can see the seas building in the channel between Tahiti and Moorea, on the other side of the fringing reef. The wind generator is happy, and so are our computers. Plenty of electricity and based on the forecast, plenty of rain to come as well. This, we welcome, since our fresh water tank needs filling. As long as the anchor holds – the bottom is less trustworthy here – we’ll be fine for the next four days or so… Then, more fun activities can fill our days again! If the weather cooperates. :-)

Marina Taina anchorage

Sunset over Moorea, seen from Tahiti

 

Mark fixing some rips in the sail bag, after the major storm

One of our geckos, surviving the salty trips and the bad weather

The "best thing" about being in Moorea: It is Tahiti on the horizon and not Moorea! :-) Tahiti at noon...

Tahiti at dusk...

Tahiti at sunset...

 

Tahiti at night!

Motoring past Vaiare and its marina...

... being accompanied by playful dolphins in the lagoon.

Beach near the Sofitel resort, north of Vaiare

Tahiti, on the other side of the channel

Fishing in the lagoon

 

And It Did Get Worse

Didn’t I say we were safe at the dock of Apataki village? And that we could sit this weather system out over there? Well, I was wrong. And, didn’t I say that things can always be worse? Here, I was right!

With all the rain, the dock was a bit cleaner, and with a steady north wind, the mosquitoes stayed away, while we were pinned to shore. Every three hours – day and night - we needed to adjust our fenders, because of the tides moving Irie up and down and the funky currents moving us forward and backward. But, it was flat and comfy. On our first day of planned rest, we discovered that our credit card was used fraudulently, somewhere in the US. Great… This seems to happen to everyone at least once, but how do you deal with it from the middle of the Pacific?

The advantage of “living” in a village is that you can just walk off the boat and enter the one phone booth. Unfortunately, in French Polynesia, you cannot call an operator for a collect call from public phones, as we found out soon enough. To make a long, tedious, patient and frustrating story short: it took us ALL day to get through to an operator from a landline of a friendly villager to call our US bank collect. After the last hour, we understood that they would send new cards to Mark Kilty, Poste Restante, Village Niutahi, 98762 Apataki, Tuamotus, French Polynesia! We will see if and how that materializes!

During the night that followed, a massive squall hit us. 30+ knots of north wind smashed us against the dock and churned up the channel. Generally a pretty well protected spot from the North, East and South, the combination high winds and funky currents created chaos and Irie was wildly pitching attached by four lines to a cement dock. Again, not a good scene and this time, there was no getting away, even if we wanted to. Luckily, the storm only lasted half an hour, but we learned our lesson.  

When I jumped ashore to fix the fenders again at 4:30am – straight out of bed, so buck naked – there was already a fisherman on the dock. Oooops.  In the morning – after retrieving the latest weather forecast with 20 – 30 knots of predicted northwest winds (add 5 knots to be more accurate) – we decided to leave once more. Just imagine 48 hours of what had been crazy and dangerous during 30 minutes. The only other alternative was an anchorage at the north end of the atoll, 15 miles away. We hoped to get there in three hours…

Since we needed to leave immediately, there was no way of waiting for less wind or slack tide. A few strong guys pushed us off the dock and there we went! In strong opposing currents of 4 knots, Irie was jerkily pushed left and right. Mark did a great job steering us through the eddies (little whirlpools) and preventing us to turn sideways. The small engines were on full throttle, while we tried to get out of the pass and into the lagoon. What followed was an even more hair rising experience to head north to safer grounds. We ended up having to motor for many hours, and it wasn’t one of those “turn the engines and the auto pilot on and relax” kind of trips! We don’t even like motoring in the first place.

No, the event was slightly more exciting. Maybe interesting to the adventurous spirit reading these posts, but less so for the ones being in the midst of them. Mark and I had to drive into the wind and into the waves the whole time with 100% concentration. He had to hand steer (the autopilot could not manage these conditions), while I was vigilantly on the look-out. No time to eat or drink, get sun protection or a rain coat. Before long, the full on storm and weather system was upon us. This is when a cruiser is usually safely holed up somewhere comfortable… We had left too late.

The wind was blowing 30 – 40 knots; the lagoon waves were 6 feet high and close together! During the constant squalls – with even bigger bursts of wind – the rain was driving down and pelting our faces and bodies. Waves were crashing over the bow and into the cockpit, swamping us. I was on deck, fully exposed to the elements (which included enough sun to filter through the clouds and burn my skin and scalp – I lost my bandana overboard early on - during those hours), with little visibility. While Mark focused on the instruments (our luck was having accurate charts of the Tuamotus!), I stared ahead, looking for pearl farm buoys, waiting to foul our propellers. And, this way we continued on, missing reefs and maneuvering around floats, while shivering from being cold and tasting salt water. For six hours! That’s how long it took us to cover those 15 miles. Do the math… I will not repeat here what either of us screamed during this dreadful day. All we wanted upon arrival in Apataki was to have some rest before starting work in the boat yard.

What we learned the hard, Tuamotu way is that from the moment there is any kind of north wind, you motor north, into wind and waves, and, if there is any kind of south wind, you do the opposite. Point is, you always end up motoring head into anything blowing, because that’s where you will find protection. Or, you have to be really good at knowing what the weather men mean with their ambiguous forecasts and plan well ahead! At 4pm, we had enough light to drop the anchor away from the reefs – there might be some coral heads underneath us since we are anchored in 58 feet of water and can’t see the bottom – and had breakfast, lunch and dinner all in one. Then, we went to bed for our first decent night of sleep in ten days! At least we are safe and comfortable – for now! And, it seems to be pretty here as well! 

The Wrong Atoll at the Wrong Time

Mark and I seem to be on a streak of bad luck with the weather these days. During our five day crossing from the Marquesas, we barely had enough wind to get here (the reason: a suddenly popped up weather system not too far away) and now, well… you’ll have to read on.

Arriving in the Tuamotus

The last day of February, the wind slowed us down enough to arrive in Apataki close to slack tide. Once we found the cut into the lagoon, entering the SW pass was easy. The “Current Guestimator” was pretty accurate. The tranquil setting of the pearl farms, the abundance of palm trees, the clearest water we have seen since Bonaire, and a few people greeted us. A supply ship had just left the village dock, where we planned to tie up and stay one or two days to rest up a bit and do some internet and shopping. We lucked out on that part: space at the dock and delivery of fresh, expensive food. Internet? That’s always a problem. So, please, bear with us when the layout or the pictures on the blog are a bit crappy.

Motoring through the SW pass in Apataki

The people of Apataki are extremely friendly and we are greeted everywhere and handed food, fresh produce and fish based on who we meet and where. The ripe bananas we had left were given in return. The initial relief and happiness to be in the Tuamotus was tempered a bit by life at the dock. We have not tied up to anything in years and now we remember why. The cost is not an issue here, since being at the village quay is free, but the dock is filthy, the big black bumpers leave nasty marks on Irie’s hull, the lines and fenders need attention because of the tides, we have zero privacy, there is the threat of rats boarding and the mosquitoes are a pest. The constant noise of the village generator, right next to the boat, makes talking difficult.

Irie at the village quay – it looks pretty enough :-)

The first night we were here, we barely slept because of some of these reasons. The locals hung out next to our cockpit, until 11pm, once in a while interrupting us for conversation. At 5am, fishermen were surrounding us on the dock and were swimming under the boat, banging there flippers and floats onto the hull. Good morning! We really wanted some peace, some beautiful surroundings, and were sick of the dock life already after one day (which was an enjoyable day nevertheless), so we decided to leave for an uninhabited motu on the south side of the lagoon for two days of beauty and relaxation. Bad idea.

The water is like an aquarium, with fish eating the algae we already collected during our last sail

We knew there was wind predicted from the north (usually there are east winds here), which meant no protection (these atolls are big!), but it was only supposed to blow 5 knots and once it would get worse (there would be some crappy weather later on, because of the same system), we would go to the boat yard – the reason for us being in Apataki. That was the plan. Based on our experiences in the ocean, light winds were super light winds and squalls did not have any wind in them. We thought we would be fine. We should have known better.

It was extremely cloudy, but we lucked out with a sunny period, right at around slack tide, which allowed us to leave the dock, enter the lagoon and motor the 7 miles to motu Ruavahine. Surrounded by squalls, we dropped our anchor in 16 feet of amazingly clear water accentuated by the last rays of sun above us, and settled in with our butt towards the beach. It was beautiful here and I couldn’t wait to snorkel on the reefs behind us, an activity we hadn’t done in over seven months! Yes, that’s how long we were in the murky waters of the Marquesas… As soon as we had finished lunch, however, we were in trouble.

Ruavahine surrounded by squalls

First, the wind shifted 180°, coming from the south and putting Irie in 52 feet, towards the depths of the lagoon. Safer than in front of land, but we did not have enough anchor chain out for this change in depth and couldn’t let out more, because once we would turn back, we would hit the reefs with a longer rode. Sitting at the shortest scope ever (an unsettling 2:1, instead of our usual 5:1), we sat tight and held our breath when the first of many squalls needed an hour to pass. Not sure what to do – there are no good options for anchorages in Apataki – and it becoming later and later, we watched the instruments. Slowly, the wind turned back north and the depth decreased. The predicted north wind was back. And… picked up. With a 5 mile fetch, the waves quickly built and Irie started to pitch up and down. Not liking the idea of being on a lee shore (butt towards land) in bad weather, we felt like we could just manage the uncomfortableness. Then, the wind turned to the northwest and the distance of the land in front of us was 20 miles! That is a long way for the waves to grow before they reached us! Did I mention yet that these lagoons are big? A bad scene indeed. 

Not much later, the anchorage became a nightmare. One squall after another passed, with winds of 25 knots in it. Irie wildly jumping up and down, 3 foot waves smashing against the hulls and hitting the bridge deck, everything was tossed around and the place became untenable. But, we were stuck and had to sit it out. Needless to say, we did not sleep a bit last night as well. It had been calmer out on the ocean and the movements of the boat were comparable to sailing upwind in choppy seas. It was a very stressful and dangerous situation and we also figured out they would not be able to haul Irie out of the water in these conditions. It was by far the most uncomfortable anchorage we have been visited in seven years and the most dreadful day and night. Mark would probably agree if I say that it was his most awful birthday ever as well…

So, now we are back at the village quay, with our fishermen friends, the generator as background noise, and the mosquitoes as company. We will wait here until this system passes. It is raining hard and the wind has pinned us down against the dock, so we couldn’t leave even if we wanted to. But, it can always get worse! At least we and the boat are safe and it is flat calm – the boat has not been so stable in many many months. We are alive and comfortable. What more do we need?

There is the SW pass!

Celebrating our arrival in the Tuamotus

Our friend Irwin in the boat basin, with engine trouble

This picture is taken above the water, and – yes – the ray and fish are in the water!

Going for a swim off the village on the day of our arrival

Church of Apataki village

Mark is cleaning the fish, given to us by the fisherman next to him

Sunset over the SW pass in Apataki

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 2 - All about Wind

:lat=-12.562500:lon=-143.258133:
Time: 1735UTC, COG 220T, SOG 6.0kts, Distance Remaining: 276nm

We had to ask our fellow traveler to leave. He spent the night on one of our solar panels and was still cleaning his feathers there, when the sun rose higher and higher. Any shadow on the panel - even the one of a bird - restricts its input greatly and we need all the electricity we can get. The wind generator is hardly doing anything in this kind of breeze. Yes, we should have charged those boat batteries before we left...

Today, the wind was lighter than predicted, but its angle being 30° off - in the "wrong direction" (more behind us) - had bigger consequences for our speed. We did manage to keep both sails up, but moved slowly towards our destination. We have always said "It's better to have a comfortable trip that takes a bit longer, than a fast and bumpy one!" On this journey, however, if we don't make it in four days and six hours, we will have to "stay out" another 16 hours. I will explain why in another blog. It might be time to fly that spinnaker when the sun comes up!

When you sail, it is all about the wind. Forget the rain in squalls. Sure, it is wet and inconvenient, but it is the wind in them that messes things up. The same goes for waves and swell. The sea would be dead calm if it isn't for the wind. The harder it blows, the more uncomfortable the ocean becomes and the choppier the anchorages get. The wind decides how fast you sail and where you can go. And, how comfortable the ride is.

I realize the weather is not always perfect in the Caribbean, but at least the predictions are pretty accurate and the wind consistent. Often, we arrived at our destination quicker than planned and the trips were straightforward. That might have had something to do with the fact that we never had the wind behind us going up and down the island chain, but, nevertheless, unobstructed by land, the wind was reliable. Downwind sailing is easier, but slower, and we have been looking forward to it on this ocean.

The wind can be your friend, your enemy or your acquaintance. When we plan our trips, it is based on the wind promising to be our best friend, if not a good friend. That's why we leave when we leave! Once at sea, reality kicks in and the wind becomes more of an acquaintance. It pushes us along and is
friendly enough to help us out, but it doesn't go out of its way or really cares about us getting there fast or direct. At some intervals it becomes our enemy, working against us with annoying shifts, becoming fluky or dropping out altogether. Or by going crazy, blowing hard and kicking up the seas. Luckily that doesn't happen too often and - knock on wood - real storms have stayed away.

As for tonight, the wind seems to have freshened a bit. It appears to do so after the sun is down and we hope to make up some speed during these twelve hours. After a few squalls, I am settling into my nightly routine. In the Caribbean, a squall meant shortening sail and picking up speed. Here in the Pacific, a squall causes wind shifts and then sucks up everything, leaving the boat bobbing aimlessly, sails flogging, boom banging, until the previous conditions resume. Usually.

All our fruit has turned yellow. Maybe I should have specified our preference of unripe fruit when asking for it? No scurvy for us, and if someone would like to share our 70 ripe bananas, 4 full-size papayas, 8 sweet and juicy grapefruits or 10 massive mangoes, you know where to find them: about halfway between Ua Pou and Apataki!

Marquesas to Tuamotus - Day 1: Slow Start

:lat=-10.929183:lon=-141.668017:
Time: 1735UTC, COG 220T, SOG 5.3kts, Distance Remaining: 411nm

As a side note I want to apologize for the crappy quality of the photos in the previous blog (I will improve them in the future) and for the old location status "Ua Pou" to the right. Blame the lack of (decent) internet in our last anchorage. We are underway now and Mark will update our position on the map daily.

The weather looked promising when we lifted anchor in Hakamaii, Ua Pou around 8am this morning. While the villagers went to church, I hauled Mark up the mast to check the rigging and by the time the service finished, we were underway. The land effect kept our progress to a minimum for quite some time. A massive pod of dolphins sent us off towards the Tuamotus. Floating in the water, swimming back and forth, they got slightly bored with our idleness in the water, but they didn't give up. When we finally gained some speed, so did they. It was a sight to behold.

Ua Pou became smaller, while the distance to the atoll of Apataki slowly shortened. By 1pm the last island of the Marquesas was gone, swallowed up by the clouds. We were all alone in the big, wide ocean. We checked the instruments. We adjusted them. We checked the sails. We adjusted them. We ate fruit. Lots of fruit. As usual at sea, we need to consume bananas as quickly as possible. They are turning yellow as we speak! When the sun makes us drowsy, we take a nap.

A few hours into the trip, the weather did its own Pacific thing again: it changed without any reason. The wind speed dropped five knots and later on even ten (!) knots, the direction became less favorable. At one point, it shifted 60°! All of a sudden we couldn't stay on course anymore. Our speed dropped from an expected 6 knots to 5.5 (required to get there in four days), to 5 and less. By 4pm we were sailing under main sail only and barely doing 3 knots. Half a knot of that was current. Now what? And, today was supposed to be our fastest day, since the wind speed is predicted to go
down...

We hoped for more wind. We asked for more wind. We screamed for more wind. All the while wondering how the breeze could be so inconsistent and unpredictable on this ocean. There were no squalls nearby and we were far from the equator! Our only explanation were the gray clouds in the area or a weather system further away. By 6:30pm, my bedtime, our situation had improved some and we were sailing under full sails again. A boobie (brown and white seabird) landed on the solar panels and joined us for the ride.


Fast forward six hours. Irie is cruising along at more than five knots. The wind keeps fluctuating a bit, there are some squalls around and a skinny moon tries to pop out. Wherever not obscured by clouds, the stars twinkly. Our winged hitchhiker is still here, taking a nap, and so is Mark. We are comfortably sailing for now, so no complaints! :-)

Rolling, Rowing and Rambling in Ua Huka

Not many sailboats visit the smallish island of Ua Huka in the Marquesas. The only anchorages are on the south coast and reputed to be uncomfortable, in turn making landings difficult as well. Marks’s first comment “These bays should not be called anchorages!” sums up our time onboard. Even though we planned to be there in pretty calm conditions (NE winds 10-15 knots, swell under 2m), the wind was very gusty and fluky, turning Irie around and around and having her sit on a lee shore regularly, when the wind followed the land and, accelerated, came into the bay from the south. The swell still managed to enter as well, so we rolled and jerked the whole stay. The constant flow of seawater onto our bottom steps turned them green, just like Irie’s water line and bottom! Our recommendation to visit Ua Huka by boat is to wait for a forecast with winds less than 10 knots from the northeast and a swell of less than 1.5m – it will be as calm and comfortable as it ever gets, but you have to get there first…

Rowing to shore and parking the dinghy in Hane Bay

 

Luckily, once onshore, it is comfortable and there is plenty to see and do. But first, with no dock or big sandy beach to land, there is some exercise to be had. Every morning, we dropped our engineless inflatable dinghy and clumsily rowed the half a mile to shore, which took about 20 minutes. Then, we had to haul the awkward thing over some rocks and above the high tide line to a level “parking spot”, where we left it, unlocked, and set out for half a day or a day. The islands of French Polynesia are very safe and the people – especially in the Marquesas – are extremely friendly. They all greet you; some of them shake your hand, introduce themselves or have a chat. Others invite you over to their house or give you a stack of bananas. The result of that is that we have about 100 bananas, all turning ripe as we speak!

Students carving tikis out of rosewood

 

On our first encounter in the small village of Hane, we met the principal of the local vocational school. He gave us a tour of the buildings and the garden, introduced us to teachers and pupils and encouraged us to chat, in English, with some of the students. After checking out the little store (no baguettes – they had been out of flour for three weeks) and church, and waiting for an hour long rainstorm to pass, we headed for Vaipaee, the biggest village on the island with about 200 people. This town lies only 2 miles away over the water, but, by winding road it is about 10 miles. We started the walk through the barren, but fascinating landscape, enjoying the views and the good, paved street. It was cloudy, so not too hot and the road was leveled against the rocky cliffs, so not too steep. This is my kind of walking!

South coast of Ua Huka towards Vaipaee

 

About halfway, near the airport and the nicely erected structures at the site of the upcoming December festival, we hitched a ride with one of the few cars, hoping to avoid the next rainsquall. A friendly lady picked us up and gave us a tour through the village, before we got out to inspect the narrow, canyon-like bay of Vaipaee. We both agreed that Hane is the better place to anchor. The small town boasts an interesting museum – called “the best of the Marquesas” in a few guidebooks, a nice church with all its statues and scenes depicting facets of the bible carved out of wood, and a few stores. We easily hitched a ride back to Hane in the afternoon.

Church entrance in Vaipaee

Vaipaee museum

 

The following day, we walked the coastal road to Hokatu, passing a viewpoint and some wild goats and horses. These animals outnumber the local people by 10:1. Once in the beautifully located town, we braved the heat and the humidity, to hike up a few hills to see what we could find. We were looking for artisans, willing to sell or trade for their wood carvings. These are known to be the best and most affordable ones in the Marquesas. It was very quiet all around (the Taporo cargo vessel was in Vaipaee, attracting everyone to pick up goods, especially flour) and in the end, we found someone with a key to the artisanal building near the water. After looking around and choosing and comparing some pieces for an hour or so, Mark and I went home – by car – with $100 worth of wooden treasures. It had been a while since we spent some money; believe it or not, but life in the Pacific can be cheap! :-)

Hokatu’s waterfront

 

A day of rest, while rolling, was in order, after barely sleeping at night, and on our last day in Hane (Sunday), we set out towards the hills. One of the church going villagers gave us good directions to reach the local archeological site. The walk was uphill the whole time, but doable, albeit the high level of humidity and the gallons of sweat we had to shed.  We took our time and easily found the ruins on a flat part up one of the hills. Three ancient, weathered tikis stood on the edge of it. Once back in town, we watched the quiet Sunday scene for a while before rowing home, into the wind once more, since it had changed directions… again.

Archeological site in the hills behind Hane

 

One last row and carrying the dinghy ashore on Monday, to pick up some anticipated baguettes, before we slowly sailed to Haavei on the SW corner of the island. We passed two interesting looking islands with hundreds of birds circling around them, before entering the idyllic looking bay. A sandy beach with heaps of palm trees lured ashore and the dry features of the rocks and cliffs around filled our view. It was quiet and attractive, but … rolly and with fluky, onshore winds. Again. Kind of ready for some sleep at night and some chores to be done in a non-moving boat, we decided to pass on this anchorage and – even though it was already 11am - sail on to Nuku Hiva. There, in Baie du Controleur, we found an incredibly flat and peaceful anchorage (no crashing waves!) after a fun and smooth five hour sail. Ah... the pleasures of not bumping our heads and toes anymore!

Haavei Bay

Tikis carved in stone in front of Hane’s hospital

Church in Hane

Stone carved statues in front of the Vaipaee museum

There are tikis everywhere on these islands; here in front of Vaipaee’s town hall

Hane Bay – with Irie – seen from the viewpoint towards Hokatu

Picturesque rock at the mouth of Hane Bay

Interesting looking “bird islands” off Haavei Bay

Dorado (mahi mahi) for dinner, once in Nuku Hiva