A Glimpse of Lucidity

Anna's final approach to Moorea, from the Tuamotus.

THIRTY BLACKTIP SHARKS CIRCLED Anna as we released her anchor chain in Anse Amyot, just inside the entrance pass at the northwest corner of the coral atoll, Toau, in the Tuamotu archipelago. It was the vibration of the chain as it ran out into the bluest of blue, blue water, which had attracted the sharks as sure as the scent of blood. And in the evening, after filleting two fresh fish, we tested the theory by tossing the bloody heads, guts and tails over the side, and within seconds we were once again visited and surrounded by six-foot long, black-tip sharks with glowing yellow eyes, this time, competing with one another in a wild, tail-slapping feeding frenzy. This sort of wild animal behavior didn't help our confidence level for the upcoming job of replacing the sacrificial zinc on the drive shaft, a routine maintenance job that required us to dive on the hull to remove and replace the old shaft zinc that was ninety percent eroded - and doing its job. But it did need replacement and the job would need to get done, sooner rather than later. 

The reefs at Toau, Tuamotu Archipelago.

There's no kind of good that can come of getting into the water with sharks unless they're oblivious to humans in the confines of their territorial space. And this is a matter of knowing, through experience, whether or not the sharks are partial to humans, or not. This was a situation that would require some local knowledge of the reef and its inhabitants. And a visit was in order, to one of the occupied thatch huts in Page Page: a patch of coral, sand and coconut palms, with a couple of scattered pig pens, a copra drying rack, and a few chickens running around through the scrub, perpetually chased and plucked by a couple of happy-go-lucky bird-dogs who instinctually scrambled after them, but probably more for lack of anything else to do on the low-lying motu that surrounds Toau. We would inquire with one of the locals as to whether it would be suicide to venture over Anna's side. The islander we spoke to had come to visit the Tuamotus (from the Marquesas, where he was born) thirty-seven years ago and never left. He would know. Grinning through his long braided beard and big space between his missing front tooth, he told us that the reef sharks on Toau were no problem for humans, in fact, they were friendly, despite their seemingly aggressive behavior toward their own kind. At least that is what we thought he said with our limited understanding of French-Polynesian. And so, it was with great trepidation and a leap of faith in our interpretation skills, and basically a lot of trust in a wayward islander with thirty-seven years experience on Toau's coral reefs - and still standing, still alive, all limbs in tact - that we entered the deep sapphire water upon which Anna floated. 

Anna's anchorage on Toau.

With a new sacrificial shaft zinc in hand, and an allen wrench, a wire brush, and claw hammer, the last item to serve double duty as both tool and last resort, feeble weapon, we commenced the job. And as it turned out, the sharks basically ignored us while zigzagging ten feet below Anna's keel. This inspired us then, after completing the job, unscathed as it were, to snorkel the astonishing aquamarine reef just a hundred meters away. The water clarity was seemingly limitless. 

Tropical fish as seen from Anna's deck at Toau.

And so were the prodigious numbers and varieties of subtropical fish and healthy coral that were everywhere we looked. We could see at least sixty feet ahead of us in a depth of ten feet or less to the rippled and corrugated white-sand and vivid coral heads below our antiquated, classic, ScubaPro fins.

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Horse and rider at anchorage, Ua Pou, Marquesas.

We veered out of Ua Pou, in the Marquesas, in the last week of March, got the sails up and slipped along for six hundred nautical miles to the south and west. After spending two months in the Marquesas a nonstop, seven-day passage would give us a chance to sea trial our latest repair efforts. We arrived at the Tuamotus with dusk in our wake. And with a waxing gibbous moon that set early, the sky was starry but otherwise black under a passing squall. We couldn't enter any of the reef passes at night under these conditions, so we slowed down in the open water between the atolls of the archipelago until twilight's evanescence revealed our surroundings. When we could see where the reefs were breaking - and spot the range markers beyond the entrance pass - we proceeded to our most splendid of anchorages: Anse Amyot, where we spent the following week simply gaping at the astonishing water colors and the creatures contained within. 

Anse Amyot's reef entrance pass .

Range markers leading into Anse Amyot, Toau, Tuamotus.

Nevertheless, our primary objective was to reach Tahiti-Moorea, which lay yet another two hundred and seventy miles further to the south and west of the Tuamotus. It was still tropical cyclone season and risky to make a thousand-mile passage from the Marquesas to the Society Islands in March, a particularly volatile month at the tail end of the cyclone season. Tropical cyclone Pam had just ravaged the South Pacific islands a little further to the west of Tahiti, just two weeks before, with two hundred mile-an-hour winds and two more tropical storms had already developed in the South Pacific Convergence Zone (SPCZ) in Pam's wake. The dynamic SPCZ can dramatically affect the islands of French Polynesia, and so any sense of complacency is short lived, as one gets closer to the Society Islands between the months of November through April. 

Hiva Oa anchorage on northwest side.

After a discussion with Bob McDavitt, a frank and knowledgeable New Zealand meteorologist and "weather ambassador" to sailors in the South Pacific, so to speak, we concluded that with his expert advice, if cyclone Pam spawned a couple of other tropical cyclones in her wake, in the SPCZ, in late March, then the weather pattern was likely to calm down for a period of time after that occurred, and it would create a weather window that we could use to continue on to Moorea, where we wanted to moor Anna, in a safe haven, for the three months that we would need to leave French Polynesia to renew our visa, which was about to expire. Since our visa expires on April 20, which is technically still within the season of cyclones, in French Polynesia, we were between a rock and a hard place. That is, we didn't want to leave Anna unattended, in the Marquesas, where there were no safe anchorages if a cyclone or tsunami were to hit. On the other hand, risking a thousand-mile passage to Moorea (in late March, during a particularly vulnerable period within the cyclone season) wasn't an attractive alternative - it isn't until May that the threat of cyclone activity is considered over. We calculated the risk factor after consulting with Bob, and decided that a late March passage was perhaps still our best option, after all. So we took a leap of faith and, as it were, arrived safely in Moorea in early April, after a wonderful stopover in the Tuamotu archipelago. We had generally good weather (with just a few squalls in the mix). A couple of deep low-pressure systems had developed in the SPCZ while we were en route, but their direction shifted to the south of us, and so we only received the fringe effects of occasional squalls emanating from far enough away to make the passage uneventful.

To keep up with our tradition of making repairs in every exotic location that Anna visits, after completing our repairs in the Marquesas, of both our self-steering device (we refitted a replacement wind vane rudder and hinge assembly for our Monitor, which had been lost to the sea on our eventful ride from the Galapagos to the Marquesas) and, the repair of the ripped seams on our headsail, which Cat completed with a hand sewing awl, we had yet one more important repair to complete, which we would tackle once we were anchored in the Tuamotus. 

Cat completes a headsail repair with hand awl at Hiva Oa.

We had noticed that the raw-water pump on our venerable Perkins 4-108 diesel engine had developed a slow, dripping leak of salt water. Either the pump's water seal was damaged or the pump's shaft was scored and allowing seawater to escape. Either way, there could be no good outcome for our engine if the leak got worse and the pump wasn't repaired; the engine would overheat and then we'd have real trouble. We had a spare, rebuilt pump on-board, and so we removed and replaced the damaged pump while at anchor. We tested it out and felt that we were good to go if we needed to use the engine while underway (that is, if the wind went calm, which it did on our last day before arriving at Moorea). But no problem, our repair job was okay, and so we puttered deep into the spectacular Baie d' Opunohu on Moorea's north side where we slid to a stop at the end of the line, threw out a hundred and fifty feet of chain and a fifty-five pound Spade anchor, in the deep, still, still waters a mile beyond the coral-reef entrance pass. Surrounded by extremely steep, vertical walls of lushness, verdant beyond all comprehension, we had completed the thousand-mile passage from the Marquesas, almost exactly three months after completing the thirty-four hundred nautical-mile passage (forty days), from the Galapagos to French Polynesia, while diverting from our initial route to Patagonia, in southern Chile. 

Ua Pou spires overlook anchorage in the Marquesas.

And it is because we ended up in French Polynesia, by chance, and without a long-term visa in hand, that we are now heading to New Zealand, for three months, to obtain a long-term visa for French Polynesia. Anna can stay safely in Moorea until we can legally return to French Polynesia, once again.  Our short-term visa allowed us (as holders of U.S. passports) to visit French Polynesia for only 90 days - in a six-month period. That is, we could stay for a maximum of three months in French Polynesia and then we'd have to leave the country for three months before we could return again and receive a new 90-day visa. A long-term visa on the other hand allows one to stay for six months in country, with the ability to renew the visa while still in French Polynesia, an important difference to the short-term visa, which requires that one leave the country to renew the visa. Ironically, Anna can stay for up to three years in French Polynesia without having to leave the country. For us, on the other hand, it's three months on the short term visa. No exceptions. It can be a logistically complicated business to cruise the island nations of the South Pacific - and not just French Polynesia. In fact, anywhere in the world, from remote island nations to first-world countries, we can get entangled in screwed up international politics, which appear to know no bounds. 

Well, the closest place outside of French Polynesia, where we could find a French embassy and apply for a long-term visa, in person, was Wellington, New Zealand. And that's where we're headed on April 19th. One day before our current short-term visa expires. And while we're in New Zealand, with three months before we can return to Moorea, we decided the best and least expensive way to spend time there would be to rent an off-season, deeply-discounted "south-to-north" camper (land yacht) and explore the country, in depth, which includes both the North Island and the South Island - two worlds apart. We did this in Chile, and we truly loved our time there. We are approaching the off season, now, in New Zealand, where it is fall and turning to winter in the southern hemisphere. We look forward to the contrast in climate, between New Zealand's mountainous, stormy, high-latitude South Island, and the subtropical, equatorial weather of French Polynesia.

Anna, relaxing at anchor, Toau coral atoll, Tuamotu Archipelago.

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Science, my lad, is made up of mistakes, but they are mistakes which it is useful to make, because they lead little by little to the truth.  

- Jules Verne