Anna Visits the Shark Pools of Suwarrow

Anna visits the Suwarrow Atoll, northern Cook Islands.

THE PASS WAS SHROUDED IN OBLIQUITY. The way twisted along through subtle gradients of aquamarine, turquoise, mint, sea foam green, purple, sapphire blue and an array of other colors that we had not known to exist in the sea. Unaided by navigational buoys of red or green or yellow or black, to delineate the safe passage though the reefs, and with only the occasional upright stick or reed to mark the boundary of the shoals or an isolated coral head, Anna slipped along, tentatively, for one nautical mile - the distance from the open sea, through the pass, and out of the rolling swells to the protection of the balmy calms and crystal clear waters behind palm-fringed Anchorage Island, at the northeast side of the Suwarrow coral atoll. We had arrived at Suwarrow after eight days and nights, the last one, hove-to under a controlled drift, to time our entrance at the pass for a daylight approach. We found an anchor spot in twenty feet of water over a sandy patch, between some scattered coral heads, in the lagoon behind the protection of Anchorage Island. And just six hours after our arrival, a front had pushed through delivering steady winds of 45 knots throughout the night. The seas outside the lagoon were white-capped and confused and we were happy to be exactly where we were.

We had opted to take the roundabout route to Tonga, adding hundreds of nautical miles to the run, but with the benefit of moderately strong winds (20+ kts) from the aft quarter, which would carry us entirely under sail from civilized Tahaa, in the land of baguettes, in the Society Islands of French Polynesia, to uninhabited Suwarrow Atoll, in the northern Cooks - territory under the protective umbrella of New Zealand. A little under a thousand miles away and a world apart. Suwarrow is isolated, remote, out there. It's basically a protected wildlife sanctuary, populated by large manta rays, assorted tropical birds and curiously colored and patterned fish, giant sea turtles, humpback whales, coconut crabs, live coral, and a couple species of reef sharks, including black tips and the larger, menacing, gray tip sharks, which make you think twice about getting into waters that are overwhelmingly inviting: hundred-foot visibility, stunning arrays of color, perfect temperature, and filled with diverse life forms just under the placid surface, which hardly justifies the use of snorkel gear for observation. The gray sharks are territorial and will attack if provoked. They are most dangerous on the outer reefs and at night and when aroused by the scent of blood. In the lagoon, during the daylight hours, they are not out to hunt, and so they are less of a threat. But if they congregate in small groups, and stare you down, and begin to show signs of aggressive body language, such as shaking, they may be preparing to attack. And this is your signal. You must go now; get out of the water and be quick about it. 

Black tip shark glides through the natural pools of Suwarrow - Anchorage Island.

And with this in mind, we thought to ourselves that we would simply not enter the water if a gray shark appeared out of the deep blue, no matter how tempting the surroundings. But sometimes the water can be a bit too tantalizing, and you lose sight of common sense, and the next thing you know, you're swimming under a blazing hot tropical sun, in a cool, smooth, natural limestone pool, recessed into the privacy of a coastline cul-de-sac. The color of the water is pristine minty-aquamarine, and it looks out over the close-by tropical reefs where large and small colorful fish of infinite variety slip through the coral heads. Outside the lagoon, across the barrier reef, closer to the swells, the sapphire waters of the South Pacific break and blend with the aquamarine reef. And if the sun is overhead it is easy to see the gradients of dark blue to light blue water that define the depths. And by using the colors (dark blue is deep water, and light blue is shallow water, and dark patches in light blue water are coral heads or reefs) as a guide, you can thread your way through a tricky pass with a full-keel boat, distinguishing the deep water channel with safe passage to the lagoon.  

Color gradients define the deeper, blue water channel through the reefs.

And while you're floating in this idyllic environment, thinking about this sort of stuff, something will every now and then catch your eye. A glint in the water. A nearby shadow glides smoothly past, sometimes it circles slowly, and sometimes supernaturally fast. It could be a group of black tips cutting the surface with sharp fin tips. No problem. Or, it could be a solitary, or group, of gray tips. Probably no problem...we're in the lagoon, during the day, we haven't cut ourselves on coral and therefore no scent of blood, and the sharks typically hunt at night. But do we really want to test the theory of probabilities? We figured that we had probably been in the water long enough.

Enjoying the shark pools at Suwarrow.

And that is what we loved about Suwarrow. It has extraordinary raw beauty, it is a healthy, alive reef (the abundance of sharks are proof of that), it is remote enough to feel that you are really out there, and it is far enough out there and hard enough to get to that you can truly appreciate the difference between civilization and the natural order of the things.

We had a splendid visit at Suwarrow and might have been the last sailing vessel to visit there this season. But our continuing journey west would be driven by the weather. And the weather was looking favorable for a light-air run, dead-down for five hundred fifty miles, to the south and west, all the way to the small island nation of Niue, lying two hundred fifty nautical miles east of northern Tonga, and a similar distance to the south and east of Samoa.  This was a challenging run. Trying to keep a fifteen ton voyaging boat moving in fives knots of breeze with intermittent squalls required an unusual sail configuration for Anna, who is more used to being driven down wind in 15-20+ knots. 

Anna's light air/intermittent squall sail configuration.

What we found effective in very light air with intermittent squalls, was our poled-out 90% Yankee headsail and either a storm staysail or a drifter (depending on how benign the skies appeared) set wing and wing. We ran a storm trysail as well, to balance the storm staysail during the squalls. If a squall approached we would roll in the headsail and run on the trysail and staysail alone until the squall passed. No drama this way. When the air stabilized, we would roll out the headsail once again and the poled-out sail would power us along at a modest speed in the very lightest conditions, that is, anything short of actually being becalmed, which occurred on the final twenty miles into Niue where we took the opportunity to run the engine for a few hours to top off the batteries and run the watermaker to help top off the water tanks.

We drifted slowly once again, in a controlled direction, waiting until daylight to make our final approach into Niue. In retrospect, we probably could have made a night approach. The entrance was easy, no tricky pass through a reef, but we had to pick up a mooring ball and preferred to do this in daylight since the mooring field was unfamiliar to us. Anchoring at Niue was out of the question. The bottom was mostly coral or rocky patches with very small patches of sand in between. A sturdy, hurricane-strength mooring ball was available and we happily took it. 

Tropical fish in crystal clear Suwarrow waters require no snorkel gear to observe.

The first thing that is remarkable about Niue is the water clarity. We were impressed with the waters surrounding Suwarrow, but Niue was unprecedented. We were moored in eighty-five feet and could see every rock and sandy patch on the bottom from the deck of our boat, and not just at high noon, late in the day as well, and even slightly after the sun set. Impressive. The next thing that was impressive about Niue, was the friendliness and helpfulness of the islanders. Niue is the smallest island nation on earth. It is self-governing, totally independent. It is about eleven miles long by nine miles wide and has a total population of about 1,100 islanders.  

A stroll through the jungle island at Suwarrow Atoll.

Once we got on shore we tried to walk the perimeter road to visit some of the spectacular sea caves and chasms along the solitary coast road and couldn't get more than a hundred yards before someone would drive by, stop, and offer us a lift. One local woman of about seventy years old took us out of her way to drop us at the far end of the island where one of her favorite fresh water pools and chasms was located. She had offered to provide us with a seafood feast of fresh coconut crab, shrimp, mussels and clams that we could eat on a picnic after a swim. We found a stunning chasm with ochre and red walls, green foliage and palms growing from the cliff tops, and a deep, turquoise and sapphire freshwater lagoon with cool waters for bathing under a hot sun. When we were ready to return to the boat, about eight miles away we began to walk down the dirt road in the direction of the main port town of Alofi. It was a Sunday and there was very little activity on the road. It was looking like we'd be walking for a long time when a car stopped and asked us if we'd like a ride into town.

The next remarkable thing that happened, on Niue, was when we were getting ready to clear customs for our departure to Tonga. The customs agent met us in town and drove us to the customs building ten minutes away, to process our paperwork (usually, when it comes to customs, it is your responsibility to get to the customs building and back to wherever you are going, regardless of the distance, inconvenience or cost). Not in Niue. We were picked up by a very friendly, very big guy wearing a traditional sarong - the uniform - and long black hair twirled up sumo wrestler style. That was the customs officer. He drove us to the customs office, processed our paperwork with a big smile that wouldn't quit, and then when we were done, drove us back to wherever we wanted to go. We said in passing that we needed to go to the fuel station to fill up a jerry can of diesel, and he said that would be a long walk from our boat. He then asked us if he could drive us with our jerry can to the fuel station, wait for us while we filled the can, and then drive us and our jerry can back to the wharf where we left our dinghy to get back to our boat. A customs official who just happened to be a guy who felt inclined to act like a good friend as he carried out his official duties. Niue is just like that. What a remarkably genuine and hospitable place.

The down side to Niue, from the perspective of a voyaging boat, is that it offers no protected anchorage. The mooring field is located on a rolling roadstead and on the best of days it's pretty rolly.  On the worst of days it's untenable and dangerous. There was a big swell approaching Niue and expected to arrive in a couple of days from the remnants of a storm in the Southern Ocean. With nothing to block the waves and a fetch of thousands of open ocean miles we had to depart Niue for the open sea where it would be safer. It was time to head for Tonga, two hundred and fifty nautical miles to the west-northwest. We were headed to the Vava'u group of islands in the northern part of the country. There, in Neiafu (the port), we would find a very good natural harbor, sheltered from the ocean swells, one of the best safe havens in all the South Pacific islands; 500-foot cliffs (mountains actually) surrounding a landlocked bay. So we set off for Neiafu, after reluctantly clearing out of Niue.

The Niue to Neiafu run was virtually dead downwind, and once again, in very light air. And that was okay except for the fact that we were trying to arrive at Neiafu ahead of a severe weather forecast that had winds predicted at 45 knots with gusts to 60 knots. This was because of a low-pressure system and front that was moving from Fiji, southeast, toward Tonga. These tropical systems are difficult to predict with accuracy, so on the conservative side we planned for the worst and hoped for the best. And as it turned out, the predicted system moved off to the west of Tonga and the winds remained light throughout our passage. The storm didn't materialize en route, but we had another problem developing.

About midway to Tonga, or about thirty hours out, we noticed that the automatic bilge pump had switched on. A red LED lit up and an alarm went off. We looked in the bilge-well and noticed the that the level of the water had risen high enough to trigger float switch and set off the alarm and pump. At first we thought that there might have been some excess water that had collected in the bilge and due to the rolling, in some of the larger wave sets, had sent rain water from the mast, migrating toward the bilge. This would not be unusual. And certainly no call for alarm. So we pumped the bilge dry and let some time pass before checking it again to see if once the bilge was dry it remained that way. It didn't. After an hour or two the water level was high enough to trigger the automatic bilge float switch yet again. We had a seawater leak working its way in and we had to isolate the source. It was now three o'clock in the morning, the late night watch. After a careful check under all the floorboards and finding a dry bilge we moved our search to the stern of the boat where the propeller shaft and rudder post were located. The propeller shaft was okay. But the rudder post showed signs of a slow drip where it entered the hull. And a slow drip can accumulate one gallon an hour. We found the source but could do nothing about it. It was under the waterline and to inspect the rudder post and bearings (most likely the cause of the leaking seawater) the boat would need to be hauled out. This could be done in Neiafu, at a boatyard that had recently opened up. The good news was that we could get hauled out if we could make it to Neiafu, only a hundred nautical miles away. The bad news was that we didn't know if the leak would get worse over the next twenty hours or so at sea. We could easily keep up with pumping out a slow dripping leak. A fast flow would be another story. The leak remained constant at about a gallon an hour over the next twenty hours. And as dawn broke we could see the towering cliffs of the Vava'u group of islands at the northern end of the Kingdom of Tonga. 

Anna heading to Tonga ahead of the low-pressure system.

On our final approach to the entrance passage to Neiafu we radioed the boatyard to let them know that we needed to be hauled upon arrival, even before clearing with customs. The boatyard notified customs officials that we had a situation and required a haul-out before officially clearing into Tonga. The officials were cooperative and said they would arrive at the boatyard to clear us in once we were safely on the hard. Within an hour of our arrival at Neiafu Anna was lifted out of the water and set upon blocks and supported by stands and ready to receive the customs officials, who arrived in their sarongs. We completed the paperwork for immigration and quarantine and welcomed to wander around as we liked, as we were now officially checked in to the Kingdom of Tonga. It would be a few days before any work could begin on Anna, as it was the weekend and work is not permitted in Tonga on the weekend as Sunday approaches. They take this very seriously...it is actually illegal to make any noise or work or swim or walk around without a shirt on or do anything that would disrespect the local customs regarding religious observance on Sundays.

Nonetheless, while the bells were ringing throughout the day on Sunday, we took a hard look at the rudder and the rudder post and knew immediately that it would be a trick to remove the rudder assembly. And removal of the rudder would be required to inspect the rudder post, bearings and rudder tube. Any one of which could have been the cause of the problem. The first step would involve figuring out how to get the rudder off since at some point in time the fittings that support the rudder were faired down to provide a smooth surface for water flow (fluid dynamics) - efficient but short-sighted (everything on a boat needs to be maintained and anything preventing maintenance is a bad idea). The bolt heads on the fittings which hold the rudder to the keel had been removed. This means that there is no elegant, non-destructive way of removing the fittings that hold the rudder in place. And removal, of course, of the rudder assembly, is the first step in determining what must be done to fix the problem. So a solution to step one must be found before we can move on to step two - determining what must be done to stop the leaking. And that brings us to the fact that we are in Tonga. We may be able to fabricate a part if needed, or repair certain types of damage, but if materials are needed and not available locally (and this is probably the case) a shipment of materials or parts might be needed from either New Zealand or the U.S. And that could take time.  And Anna will need to remain out of the water until she is repaired.

So we don't know yet what we will find, or what is possible in terms of creative repairs here in Neiafu, but we are hopeful that we can get this sorted out and be on our way once again as we had envisioned, with the help of the boatyard where we are now sitting. There is fiberglass repair, welding, and mechanical services here, which didn't exist before last year. Maybe we can come up with a solution. We are still a month or two away from the start of cyclone season. If we can make the repairs within the next month or so we could carry on to New Zealand as we had planned. Otherwise, we'll have to keep Anna in sheltered Neiafu for the next six months, until the next cyclone season is over.  Not at all what we had in mind but sometimes long-distance voyaging demands extraordinary patience and a Plan B.

Today, the remnants of a tropical storm stretching from Samoa and Fiji to the south of Tonga are sending heavy rain and thunder and lightning our way. Being on boat at sea, in a lightning storm, is no picnic. We are sitting on the boat on dry land at the moment. We are surrounded by high cliffs (lightning is attracted to high objects) and so there is no reason to think that we are an attractive target for a bolt of lightning with other higher objects close by. Never the less, we've been hit before, albeit on the water, with higher, more attractive objects close by. And what have we learned from all this? Never say never.

Since departing French Polynesia, one month ago, we have sailed 1,700 nautical miles, making stops in the northern Cook Islands (Suwarrow), and the small, independent island nation of Niue, while en route to northern Tonga's Vava'u group. New Zealand's north island remains 1,200 nautical miles to our south and west and we hope to make it there, via the central and southern Tonga island groups, and further to the south of them, the N. Minerva Reef, before the earnest start of the next cyclone season in the South Pacific - probably after mid-December.

Greetings from Anna, sitting high and dry at the boatyard, in the Kingdom of Tonga.

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