A Calculated Risk

Anna's guiding star keeps it a secret where she will take us next.

THE EFFECTS OF THE WEATHER CYCLE commonly referred to as El Niño, can be observed across the South Pacific Ocean Basin. It is increasing in strength, and it is forecast to continue into at least late spring 2016. Weather patterns have been chaotic and rather unpredictable. One result of El Niño is that weather is driven towards the Equator, from the poles. In some regions this results in increased frequency and strength of tropical storms, cyclones and hurricanes. In addition, the tracks of these significant weather events shift from their normal positions in an El Niño-neutral year. The Equatorial area known as the Central to Eastern Pacific region, is currently seeing a significantly wetter 'dry' season with unstable weather patterns. The latest NOAA status report on El Niño suggests that increased convection will shift toward the east, from its normal location in the west, resulting in increased thunderstorm and squall activity in an area that is typically stable and benign. New Zealand has been hammered by intense frontal systems from the south and west; the Hawaiian Islands have seen a train of near-miss hurricanes/tropical cyclones brushing past its northern and southern shores; and in between these two places lay the South Pacific island nations, where weather systems have been fluctuating in intensity and location, since June. What all this means to, Anna, currently located in an area where the season of cyclones usually begins around November and lasts until April, is that it is time to look for a weather window out of Moorea/Tahiti to head farther north and east, and away from the area of increased cyclone activity.  And to do this means backtracking to the Marquesas Islands via the Tuamotus archipelago; essentially, the reverse of what we did when we departed the Marquesas for Tahiti last March. And while the risk of tropical cyclones is reduced in the Marquesas it is not without its drawbacks to return there in a strong El Niño year. For one thing the prospect of increased convection can be unpleasant. For another, to return to the Marquesas, Anna must learn to swim like a salmon - against the prevailing current and against the prevailing wind and waves. Anna goes well to wind and we enjoy an upwind sail when conditions are moderate to moderately light. When the wind and waves increase in strength and size, it is another matter. And in an El Niño year there is no real way to know for sure what the conditions will be like or whether or not good conditions will prevail after the first twenty-four to forty-eight hours of a forecast. Our general plan for leaving the Tahiti area - and going the wrong way - is to wait for a moderate Maraamu - a Maraamu is a southerly wind. It occurs when a low-pressure system develops just to the south of Tahiti and shifts to the east. This causes the wind to shift in a clockwise direction (opposite to that of the lows in the North Pacific) as far as the Tuamotus.  East of the Tuamotus the winds are primarily easterly give or take a few degrees. And so waiting for a SE breeze is probably as good as one could hope for when making the upwind passage from Tuamotus to Marquesas (probably gaining as much easting as possible in light southeasterlies, before turning to the north to make our approach to the southern Marquesas on a moderate southeasterly starboard reach). The Maraamu in the Tahiti area occurs once every few weeks, as far as we have been able to observe, when a low is positioned in between two strong high-pressure systems, which typically pass far to the south of Tahiti. When this occurs, the wind and waves will shift direction from prevailing easterlies to NE, then continue quickly to N, NW, W, SW (stay there for a few days) then continue to the S and finally SE. After the low passes to the east, well beyond the longitude of Tahiti, and the highs take over, the prevailing easterlies return and shift slightly north or south of east from day to day, but pretty much remain in place until the next Maraamu cycle. So it is a calculated risk as to when to depart, where to go, and what conditions will prevail (and for how long) in a strong El Niño cycle, as we are currently experiencing. The weather patterns in our part of the globe, at present, are becoming increasingly more complex and as a result, the computer models are less reliable. The one consistency we have noticed lately is that there are about ten computer model indices that are used when determining the consequences of El Niño, and at the moment, they all appear to be in agreement - that a strong El Niño is setting up. We've made the decision to try and return to the Marquesas until next spring when we shall have to decide where it makes the most sense to go. Our decision will be driven, in no small part, by the prevailing conditions at that point in time. It is simply impossible to know until then. On a final note about weather and natural phenomena, we had a tsunami alert here about ten days ago after a major earthquake jolted Chile's coast. The OPC (Ocean Prediction Center) warned that a ten-foot wave would arrive in French Polynesia about twelve hours after the initial earthquake (midnight, local time), traveling across the ocean at about 350 mph. It was an anxiety-provoking moment, when we received the warning, however, the wave that did arrive weighed in at three inches. Even a small wave can wreak havoc in a shallow harbor. But we detected no effect. The French researchers were more accurate in their prediction of a a wave height of less than a foot, and therefore sounded no alert sirens in the harbor. We're happy that the French were correct in their assessment.

Since our return to French Polynesia, from New Zealand, we have managed to stay pretty busy with maintenance and repairs to Anna. The Tropics take their toll on equipment like no other place we have even been to. And this destruction is not limited to UV degradation. One of the most remarkable consequences occurs to materials like rubber, neoprene and some plastics. We all know that metals will corrode (even stainless) in a salt-water environment, but rubber, neoprene, and some plastics will delaminate, disintegrate, melt or become sticky. One alarming example of this were a couple pair of sturdy hiking boots we had had for years in the Pacific Northwest. They were stored in a plastic bag, contained within a dry locker aboard Anna. When we opened the bag they looked as good as new, but upon closer examination the Vibram soles had detached from the boots and crumbled in our hands when they were touched. This can happen to other more critical items such as engine hoses, or o-rings, and impellers within water pumps. We need to keep an eye on things that outside the Tropics would be no problem at all. Another issue we were seeing was that the anti-fouling paint, which we were using over the years (a hard epoxy formula), was not effective in warm-water Tropical climates. The bottom became fouled with barnacles and slime within days or at most weeks, after a new coat or two was applied at previous boatyard haulouts. And it wasn't just one particular brand of paint. We had used at least three different brands of hard epoxy bottom paints over the years. It was time to try something new.

And so with this in mind we visited the yard, Technimarine, in Tahiti. What was to be a four-day stay turned into ten dirty, dusty days ten feet in the air. Yards are like that. And at yards in the Tropics, where sanding and grinding are permitted without vacuum bags attached to the sanders and grinders, the dirt and dust accumulation in the air, from the removal of toxic anti-fouling paints, is impressive. Air pollution aside, there is always the potential to open up a can of worms. In our case, we planned to change the bottom paint from a hard epoxy to a semi-ablative paint. This required that the bottom be sanded - in fact, ground down to the gel coat layer or fibreglass in some places. Then two coats of epoxy primer and two to three coats of semi ablative anti-fouling paint to cover the primer would be applied. A dirty, dusty job with the hope that the change over would result in less growth on the bottom in the warmer waters of the Tropics (even warmer in an El Niño year). Ablative paints slough off and are self-cleaning and seem to work better than hard bottom paints in warm-water environments. So far, we have seen no sign of growth on the bottom after two weeks.  A promising indicator. But, the can of worms turned out to be a worn-out cutlass bearing. This is a hard rubber bearing contained within a bronze tube and it runs through the fibreglass stern tube (allowing the propeller shaft - which extends from the propeller, on the outside of the keel, to the inside of the hull within the engine compartment - to turn freely and, more important, without seawater finding its way in and flooding the boat. The cutlass bearing had begun to separate from the inner walls of its bronze, tube housing. This would eventually become a serious problem if left unattended, and so it needed to be removed and replaced, while Anna was out of the water. To do this the propeller shaft had to be removed, then the new cutlass bearing could be installed properly. Once the cutlass bearing is in place, the shaft and propeller can be reinserted and hooked up to the transmission which turns the shaft. Part of the reason that the cutlass bearing failed, is because the engine (the transmission is connected to the rear of the engine) had fallen out of true alignment with the propeller shaft, over time. It is about a six-foot run from the engine/transmission to the entrance of the stern tube and the shaft needs to be perfectly aligned with the center of the tube so that it can pass through without any excessive friction - friction will cause premature wear and tear on the bearing. So the engine needed to be realigned (shifted, minutely, on its motor mounts) so that the shaft ran true through the cutlass bearing. We also took the opportunity to rebuild the engine's raw-water pump and change some of the hot-water hoses on the engine that had begun to leak after deterioration in the Tropics. The leak had become apparent after we noticed the antifreeze disappearing into the bilge, due to a crack in one of the rubber coolant-system circulation hoses. It wasn't obvious at first where the leak was coming from, but after very close inspection we could finally trace the path of the slow drip. Another advantage of being at the yard in Tahiti was that we could find hard to get parts nearby, within walking distance. We decided to remove and replace the stainless roller bearings that had corroded in our trusty Aero4Gen wind generator after ten years of reliable use. We removed the wind-gen from its pole mount in the cockpit and brought it to a generator repair shop nearby with our spare set of bearings. The shop did a fine job of replacing the tricky-to-install bearings. We then rewired and replaced the wind-gen atop its pole mount and it has been humming along and adding energy to the battery banks, nicely, ever since. We left the yard after ten long days and returned Anna to the water, for a sea trail. When we were satisfied that all was well the weather piped up with steep seas and strong winds from the wrong direction to return to Moorea. So we decided to take a slip at the new marina in Tahiti for a few days to wait for conditions to turn around. While we were there we noticed that our photovoltaic panels were not providing the output that they ought to be providing. A few of the panels were getting on twelve years old. As it happens, Tahiti is a wildly expensive place, but there are a few perks for people like us. One of those perks is subsidized $0 .53, one-meter long baguettes. The other is subsidized photovoltaic panels. The warehouse for Sunzil, a solar panel distributor in Tahiti, was a few blocks from the marina and around the corner from the boatyard. We found two, quality, Kyocera 70-watt (4 amp) panels that would fit perfectly over our aluminum dodger and bought them for $150 USD each (normally $500 each) with the alternate energy subsidy. We wired them up and they are extremely efficient, even in cloudy conditions. They help us to keep up with our electrical demand. We have lived off the electrical grid for over four years now. We never plug into shore power, partly because we don't have to, but also because we rarely visit marinas.

The weather turned around and we were able to sail back to Moorea to finish up a few things and begin our provisioning for the upcoming passage to the Marquesas. And of course, we found a couple more things that the harsh marine environment was unkind to.  Corrosion of the electrical connections had stopped our electric bilge pump and automatic switches and high-water alarm from working. We ripped all the connections apart rewired the switches and alarm and pump, cleaned it all up and reinstalled the system back in the bilge to do its job, as intended. It works well once again. Buying a small container of oxalic acid powder for about $10 at the hardware store in Tahiti was a good investment as well, as it helped us to remove some tough rust stains that had set up in the fibreglass over time. Making a 5:1 to 10:1 solution (water to oxalic acid) is nothing short of miraculous. We've seen cleaning products selling for $60 per bottle that work well, too, but their primary chemical ingredient, in fact, is oxalic acid. Oxalic acid powder is a fraction of the cost without the marketing hype. We finished up with a stitching repair to our old, small, Yankee jib, and packed it away as a spare backup to our new, more powerful, 90% roller-furling, foam-luff jib. We lost our original one to a storm off the coast of Mexico, in 2011, and have been making due with our smaller than ideal jib ever since. We love a small Yankee headsail, because it's so easy to use, but realized that it didn't have the power necessary to move us at decent speed on long-distance ocean crossings - and we envision a couple coming up. The new sail arrived, by FedEx Global, from the sail loft in China a couple of weeks after it was specified (FedEx Global Air, hands down, is the best carrier for fast, efficient logistics in and out of French Polynesia - they even handled complicated 'boat-in-transit' paperwork to satisfy duty-free Customs clearance - this saved us the need to use an expensive Customs shipping agent or to have to pay a high import tax on boat equipment). The sail fits well, built to specs as designed, and we look forward to putting it to work soon.

What we are writing about here, is the ongoing effort of trying not to break anything critical. Keeping up with the time-consuming, constant stream of maintenance and repairs just to stay afloat in the ocean, the harshest environment on earth. We are also talking about getting from point A to point B, without getting crushed by fierce weather. And, trying to communicate technical details to complete a boat project successfully, in a language other than English, and in a culture other than what we are most familiar with. Occasionally, it's an exercise in futility. Technically, we are living, at the moment, within the protection of a spectacularly beautiful coral reef, in a laid back South Pacific island nation, eating fifty-three cent, meter-long baguettes as a food staple, because it is simply what you can get here.  Generally speaking, we try not to sweat the small stuff - there aren't enough hours in the day for that sort of thing. And yet, somehow, we find ourselves working hard on projects geared toward allowing us to escape French Polynesia, rather than luxuriating in it. We haven't been to a beach, or in the water since we returned from New Zealand a couple of months ago with our long-stay French Polynesia residency visas in hand; although we do hope that swimming behind the stunning reefs, in the Tuamotu archipelago, will become a reality once again when we finally depart Moorea/Tahiti for the Marquesas, via the Tuamotus, in October. Most people, we have come to understand, would kill to be here. And we can understand why...that is, when we're not consumed with the realities of staying afloat. Yet here we are, compelled to leave for some place, let's say, less desirable?! And this, for us at least, is the strange paradox of living in paradise, as people so often refer to life here, in French Polynesia, on our small, venerable cutter, Anna. Voilá.

Papeete, Tahiti, as seen from Anna's moorage in Moorea.

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