Rolling the Hard Six: Anchored Out in a Strong El Nino Cyclone Season, in French Polynesia

International combined (Cardinal-Lateral System) buoy indicates the preferred channel
where a channel divides. The cardinal marks on this buoy (the top triangle facing north,
the bottom facing south) indicates that the preferred track is to the east of the buoy;
and in this specific example, on a track of 25 degrees true.In this region of the world,
red buoys should be kept to port, when returning, as opposed to the system in the U.S.
and elsewhere, where red buoys are kept to starboard when returning.

A PATCHY GRAY AFTERNOON MIST had begun to creep in from the sea, lending the lagoon an unnatural glimmer.

An isolated thunderclap and delayed flash accompanied the vertical tower of cadet-gray cumulus, which had given way to intermittent convective squalls. Rays of scattered sunlight had threatened to replace the prevailing murk by illuminating a swath of seascape with a fringe of fluorescent, minty green. On shore, the smoke from burning coconut-palm fronds wafted to the west and seeped through the opened hatches on Anna's deck, as the steamy calms turned to a balmy breeze and occasional smart gust, which swung our bow around to the south before slowly drifting back to the east. Offshore, the waves at the boundary of the barrier reef rolled and briefly transformed into a shocking, icy turquoise-blue, before breaking up, cascading a spray of foam, which roared over the coral and white-sand shoals. And two clicks beyond the breakers, and sand and coral sea floor, and tropical fish of all sizes and shapes and colors that are not thought of as from the natural world, a stretch of sapphire-blue lagoon enveloped and protected the island's perimeter, insulating it in an aberrant calmness that the big swell, beyond, was unable to penetrate.

The lagoon and coral reef boundary at Baie Avea, SW corner of Huahine Iti.

***

Low-Confidence, Erratic Weather Forecasts
November had come and gone and December was threatening to do the same. Cyclone season had begun in earnest in the South Pacific Ocean Basin, and a strong El Nino pattern had finally set up after a year of anticipation and speculation - increased potential for cyclonic events and intense convection was the prognosis. The national weather services had all but guaranteed (ninety-percent chance) that one or more serious cyclones would hit French Polynesia this year at some point beginning as early as November or December.  And while this warning in itself is not without precedent, the magnitude of this year's El Nino event could be considered an historic anomaly.

It is now the end of December and we have already seen a tropical depression morph into a tropical storm, in early December, as it brushed through the Tuamotu archipelago, threatening to develop further into a category one tropical cyclone before dissipating, just to our east. And a cyclone has already swept through the western sector of the South Pacific in late November. It skirted French Polynesia well to the south, before continuing further south and east. And at least four to five other tropical disturbances that the weather services describe as 'Invests' (unnamed, but numbered,  tropical disturbances with the potential for developing into serious threats) are currently being tracked in the western sector of the South Pacific Ocean and eastern sector of the Indian Ocean (the spawning grounds of tropical disturbances). But as yet, we have had no direct threats in French Polynesia - warnings and close calls notwithstanding.

The bad news is that it only takes one category three cyclone, with sustained winds of 100 knots or better, to stray from its projected track, on the western side of the central South Pacific (near Samoa, for example), or develop out of the blue just to our north, and leave a devastating mess on its potential course toward the islands of French Polynesia. A situation can develop and change quickly here. And a tropical disturbance can deepen into a tropical depression a thousand miles away and rapidly turn into a tropical storm a day later, and a full-blown cyclone shortly after that. What was a thousand miles away yesterday, could be at your doorstep within 48 hours.

The better than bad news is that while severe-weather computer-modelling has improved over the years, and the long-range predictions for increased cyclonic activity this year haven't gone away, we don't necessarily believe that a direct hit in our area of the Central South Pacific is imminent. It is projected at a rather alarmingly high percentage (90%), but there are enough problems associated with projected forecasts of anomalies, to say nothing of accurately projecting the track of a cyclone in progress, and pinpointing its landfall, for us to hope against hope.

Our rationale is that we've been tracking the GRIB files (gridded-binary file) - computer-models based on raw weather data - for months now and have seen only a modest correspondence to real-world conditions in the Central South Pacific.This of course proves nothing in the big picture - atmospheric and ocean conditions are still precarious in terms of heightened potential for the genesis of cyclones approaching or developing in French Polynesia - but it does tell us that on a day-to-day basis, when it comes to modelling severe weather, nothing is guaranteed. A cyclone track can turn on a dime and often does as it approaches the boundaries of French Polynesia. In fact, we often find that the computer models are so unreliable that planning even a short to moderate distance ocean passage, based upon up-to-date GRIB file data (and this is what all meteorologists use as their starting point when analysing computer models), is frustratingly unreliable. Even when GRIB files are downloaded six to twelve hours apart, they can be wildly different and offer no consistency. And so by extension, looking at visible and IR satellite imagery (Dvorak method) to project the track of a poorly-formed tropical disturbance, or ultimately, a well-organised tropical cyclone, while a reliable real-time tool, still leaves a lot of speculation when trying to model the incredibly complex dynamics of severe weather 24- to 48-hours out - the minimal time required to prepare the boat for a serious threat.

The root of the problem this year, is unstable El Nino conditions that can best be described as an unprecedented anomaly. The computer models are only as good as the programmers and analysts that build them (and no doubt about it, they are very good at what they do), but the calculus is so unfathomably complex that the government and military Cray computers that run the simulations have a difficult time, at best, keeping up in such a hyper-dynamic weather environment. We have twice tried to time our departure from Tahiti to coincide with a good weather window for arriving at the Marquesas Islands - 10 to14 days later - only to get turned around within forty-eight hours of departing Tahiti, by unexpected and unfavourable wind and wave conditions that were difficult to negotiate. The GRIBs were way off the mark. The rule of thumb with a GRIB is that they can reasonably be expected to have a high confidence, if analysed correctly, for at least the first 24 to 48 hours. Then the confidence tapers off a bit from 48 to 72 hours out, and finally, at greater than 96 hours out it's any one's guess as to what will happen. So when a GRIB changes radically, only 6- to 12-hours out, any confidence in their accuracy is lost.

Observing real-world conditions and then comparing this to the GRIB data and local weather forecasts for consensus is the best you can do when it comes time to decide whether or not to go.  Taking a leap of faith that there is at least nothing truly bad on the near-term horizon before departing - and a good measure of luck - is what it takes when it comes to picking the so called ideal departure time for an extended passage. The GRIBs were wildly wrong both times we attempted to leave Tahiti for the Marquesas, but of course we couldn't know that until we ventured out and gave it some time. In a normal-weather year we most likely would have completed the predominantly upwind passage with less weather-related complications to deal with. But we're not talking about normal weather this year. Which brings us to where we are now, why we are here, and why not somewhere else.

Scoping Out a Cyclone Hole
First and foremost, we do not want to endure a severe cyclone. But we also know that we are now two months into a six-month season where the potential exists, and most especially this year where cyclone genesis is anticipated to occur further east in the South Pacific, that is, closer to the Central South Pacific, rather than further west in the South Pacific. In an El Nino-neutral year, formation of cyclones typically occurs further west at approximately 170E, tracking closer to Vanatu and Fiji and Samoa, than French Polynesia. Historically, and especially in a strong El Nino year, cyclones have had a tendency to develop farther to the east and even as far as the longitude of the Marquesas group at 139W. This, however, is truly atypical behavior. The Marquesas are considered reasonably safe from the path of direct cyclone threats in an El Nino-neutral year, and even in light to moderate El Nino cycles. We spent the last cyclone season in the Marquesas (in an El Nino-neutral cycle that was on the verge of turning to what it is today) and felt no effects of cyclones that had come close to, or brushed the Society Islands, 900 miles to the west. So with this in mind we thought that returning to the Marquesas to escape the potential for cyclones was a reasonably good idea, if not exactly bulletproof in a strong El Nino year.

Perhaps more important, however, is the reality: It turned out for us to be impractical to reach the Marquesas, because of the unusually unstable weather patterns that had occurred in November and December, when we wanted to go. Combined with unreliable forecasts, and El Nino-influenced sailing conditions  (unfavorable sea state, counter-current, and an on-the-nose prevailing wind direction, to say nothing of increased convective activity - which can bring heavy squalls and lightning strikes to the mix), Anna had a hard time escaping from Tahiti. If the timing is off by even 24 hours, things can simply fall apart in a hurry. The South Pacific weather patterns were messed up. And the Indian Ocean - spawning grounds for bad weather - was no better off, probably worse. A recent meteorological warning for the Indian Ocean had described the aftermath of heavy-weather and flooding, due to an exceptionally strong El Nino cycle as:  'A State of Calamity'.

Our choices were narrowing. We could go farther west, with the so-called flow, but at what risk? Increased tropical-storm formation? The volatility of the South Pacific Convergence Zone? Sailing east was temporarily out of the question, it was getting too late into the 'high-risk' season for further consideration. Sailing south into heavy, alternating, low- and high-pressure systems out of New Zealand, with associated high wind and sea states seemed like a non starter as well. Moving north would put us in the doldrums along with heavy convection and cloud-to-ground lightning strikes - no thanks, been hit by lightning in Panama and hope to never repeat it again. What was left was still risky this year, of all years, but in our opinion, an option that had something of an upside.

We could stay in the Society Islands, at 150W, for cyclone season and play the odds - roll the hard six, so to speak. Not a decision to be taken lightly but a hard decision taken, none the less. While the Marquesas offered a reduced risk of a direct hit from a severe cyclone, the increased convection this year, in that area (which is closer to the Equator), could spell trouble. Especially in the limited, exposed, and crowded, rolling anchorages that are typical in that archipelago, where the holding is questionable and where everyone needs to be packed in like sardines. Not a good situation if the weather falls apart, which it could in a heartbeat in this unpredictable year. By comparison, the options in the Societies are better, with regards to safe anchorages for riding out severe weather. The down side is the higher potential for severe weather, should a cyclone track our way. Would the hurricane holes inTahiti Iti (Port Phaeton), or on the small island of Huahine Iti, 100 nm to the north and west of Tahiti, in Port Bourayne, or Baie Haapu, on the west side of Huahine Iti provide adequate shelter in a category three (or heavier) cyclone? Well, it depends on the exact track of the cyclone and whether those hurricane holes become overcrowded with other vessels trying to escape the more exposed anchorages, near by. On the island of Tahiti Iti, Port Phaeton offers a large, excellent, sticky mud bottom in 25-45 feet of depth. The problem with Port Phaeton is that everyone in Tahiti will migrate there in the event that a cyclone is forecast. This could create close-quarter anchoring when increased scope and therefore, increased swinging room (more space), is called for. Worlds could collide. It's a calculated risk, but still probably a reasonable one, all things considered, in the event of a cyclone tracking toward Tahiti. The marinas in Tahiti and Moorea are not places that we think would fare well in a direct strike, from the wrong direction. The surge and violence of the water and winds, mixing it up with a stationary, overcrowded dock are at best, scary. Surge can destroy a dock and if that wasn't enough, sailboat masts swinging like two pendulums that are out of sync, can cause significant damage if they collide. And chances are they will.

Huahine Iti, where Anna is currently anchored.

On the island of Huahine Iti, where we are currently located, there are two protected bodies of water well behind (one nautical mile) the outer reefs. And behind the boundary of the outer reefs, lay a moderately deep lagoon that circles the island like a protective moat. To further break storm surf, surge, and fetch at the entrance to Port Bourayne is a motu (a low-lying islet), which itself is surrounded by a reef and shoal water. In addition, Port Bourayne is surrounded by low mountains on all sides, which in fact form a protective bowl.

Port Bourayne and Baie Haapu are the best cyclone holes in the area.

The wind from a cyclone can still howl through a protected bowl such as Port Bourayne or Baie Haapu, another potential cyclone hole, close by; but the elimination of severe waves and surge is a huge asset, assuming that a vessel's ground tackle is up to the task of holding the boat in place, under high wind loads, such as can be expected from a cyclone. High-wind loads will stress the ground tackle to the limit. But without waves to contend with, a boat might have a chance. The other positive benefit of the Huahine Iti cyclone holes, is that the bottom is not silty or fouled with coral, it is composed of volcanic mud and sand, which offer excellent holding. In addition, Huahine Iti has a lack of boats competing to find protection in a protected anchorage. There simply are not many boats here this time of year. There are a few, but the cyclone holes are big enough to accommodate the few that are here. The catch is that the depth of the water is very deep, and it requires a lot of chain/rode for an adequate scope - that is, the ratio of chain length to water depth. Typically, 7:1 to 10:1 scope is required in storm conditions. in Port Bourayne we have surveyed the bottom with our depth sounder and found that the only suitable locations for anchoring without the potential for dragging onto a shallow shelf (less than six feet) are in deep water with a level bottom, say 80 to 90 feet on average. This translates to needing 600 to 900 feet of anchor chain/rode in Port Bourayne.

Anna is anchored off the shoreline in Port Bourayne in 80 feet.

In Baie Haapu, less chain is required as the average maximum depth is about 45 to 50 feet (about 500 feet of rode would be required for a 10:1 scope). But it's not always possible to drop this much scope if the swinging room of a boat is limited by shoal water on the sides. This is the case in Baie Haapu in the NE finger where the inlet narrows. It's possible to let out 85 meters of chain in 15 meters of water over very sticky mud and get a 5.5:1 scope. We felt that this would be okay and rode out gusting conditions of 60 knots without dragging.

Swing room (blue circle) may be limited by shoals (gray area). Anna's track  (magenta lines) in 60 kts. of breeze from NE..

Mathematically, it can be shown that the effects of scope, i.e., catenary, or the curve described by a flexible chain or rope with regards to holding power, improve as the water gets deeper. For example, all things being equal, an all-chain anchor rode set in 15 feet of water requires a 10:1 scope for the same holding power as an all-chain rode set in 60 feet of water with a scope of only 5.6:1 - given the same parameters for the example boat, of wind force, anchor type, and chain diameter. Deep water works in your favor if you don't carry massive lengths of chain and nylon rode for excessive water depths. More scope (up to about 10:1) is always better than less scope (3:1), with regards to holding power, but in deep-water anchorages of say 70 to 90 feet, you may be able to manage with less scope than ideal, if necessary. This can be an advantage in a crowded deep-water anchorage, or in an anchorage, where it's protected from waves, but you don't have enough chain/rode for a 10:1 scope. You might get by on 5:1 or 6:1 in a lower-category cyclone.

Cyclones aside, Huahine offers a choice of anchorages that will be suitable for almost any conditions. Some of the anchorages have strong mooring balls that can be tied to as well,  at no additional cost. All the anchorages are protected by a barrier reef, and some are protected even further, as discussed, by a protective bowl of low mountains and motus. Another advantage to Huahine, is its easy access to shore, where excellent dinghy docks and fresh water are available. There is a very good local supermarket and fuel station in the main town of Fare, at the north-western end of the island. Internet access is possible in two locations on the island, and this provides access to up-to-date critical weather information (for whatever that's worth). The island's waters are some of the cleanest and most beautiful of any we've ever seen. And the water temperature is ideal, so that a casual swim around the boat, at anchor, makes cleaning the undersides practical and almost enjoyable. The sail to Huahine, from Tahiti was about one full day, a rolling, downwind sail through the night, but worth the effort. Getting back to Tahiti or Moorea would be a more difficult task under sail, and would require a wind shift to the north for a downwind, rhumbline ride. The waves are weird in this area, and somewhat confused, and so it would be best to time the run when the wind and waves were synced, that is, coming from the same direction, preferably from the north if headed south-east, from Huahine to Tahiti. The prevailing direction is E-ESE for wind out of Tahiti with a SW swell, and this creates lumpy, rolling conditions, especially when the wind waves meet the swell on the opposing aft quarter in a moderate breeze.

We can only hope that we've made a logical decision that at least, in some remote way, works in our favor insofar as choosing a location to ride out the cyclone season goes, given our limited choice of available options. Arguably the strongest El Nino cycle on record is now in full swing, and the not unrelated dismal forecast for an enhanced cyclone season, in French Polynesia, by every weather authority in existence, is expected to last until at least late spring 2016.  Lucky us!

Tracking Cyclones in the South Pacific
A tropical disturbance turns into a tropical cyclone:  The tropical disturbance update on 29.12 2015, from NADI RSMC, in Fiji (an official meteorological agency tasked with tracking tropical depressions, storms and cyclones, and providing timely warnings in our part of the world) indicated three deepening tropical systems (TD05F, TD06F, and TD07F). These three systems were picked up on 27.12.2015. All three of these depressions had a potential to develop into a cyclone within the following 24 to 48 hours. TD05F had been upgraded on the 29th of December, from low to moderate risk, to a high risk of developing into a tropical storm or cyclone within the following 18 to 36 hours. Two of these neighbouring depressions could twin up and morph into one intense system as well. All three of these systems were located in the western South Pacific and tracking slowly E-ESE. The next day (30.12.2015) TD06F dissipated, while TD07F slowly intensified. And near by TD05F, deepening rapidly, was upgraded to a category 1 tropical cyclone; it advanced from a numbered disturbance (TD05F) to a named cyclone: Ula. On 31.12.2015, 18 hours later, Ula was bumped up to a category 2 cyclone, and just 12 hours after that it met the criteria for a category 3 cyclone, with sustained winds, at the center, of at least 65 knots; gusts could push the velocity to 85 knots.  Both Ula and TD07F were on a reciprocal course near the Fiji, Samoa, Tonga triangle. They could potentially twin up. And they could also potentially cancel out. Alternatively, one or both of them could re-curve to the east, if the deep layer ENE flow, driving them to the WSW, diminished.

This is why we track a cyclone or any tropical disturbance if we are positioned within 500 to 1,000 miles of its center.  On 1.1.2016, TD07F dissipated and was taken off the watch list, but Ula continued to intensify as a category 3 cyclone with sustained 80-knot winds near the center, and gusts pushing it to over 100 knots.

Ula (visible sat imagery) begins to dimish but then re-intensifies two days later.

IR sat imagery reveals Ula's classic heat signature at night.

Tropical cyclone Ula re-intensifies and is upgraded back to a category 3 cyclone once again.

Tracking Ula:  her course and intensity can change in a heartbeat.

Ula was forecast to begin diminishing within 48 hours on her SSW course, but could recurve to the north-west and intensify once again. On 1.6.2016 Ula was downgraded to a category 1 cyclone diminishing to 35 knots on a north-west course (re-curved, but diminished). A couple days later Ula re-intensified with winds above 115 knots and showing no immediate sign of dissipating soon.

Meanwhile, further to the north and east another developing, serious low-pressure system began to intensify much closer to the Societies. It has forecast sustained winds pegged at 97 knots and gusting to 115 knots according to the GRIBs (5-7 days out). The difficult part is predicting the exact track. Yesterday the GRIBs had this system tracking to our north and east. Today they have it tracking to the west of us and then turning south-east. In addition, it appears to be twinning up with another deep low developing to our east. Huahine lies in a zone directly between the two systems. Only time will tell.

Intense low bearing down on the Society Islands (ZyGrib's projected track on Friday).

ZyGrib projected track of low has changed 24 hours later, as low splits in two.

Windity GFS GRIB projection shows the two lows straddling the Society Islands.

We will need to set up in the close-by cyclone hole at Baie Haapu, two miles away from where we were anchored, on the south-west end of the island of Huahine. We were here in the last big winds a few days ago. We set our 55-pound Spade anchor and 275 feet of 5/16-inch high-test chain in the north-east finger of Baie Haapu on Monday morning. We thought it had the most protection in a strong blow from the northern quadrant. Also, there were no other boats anchored in the bay and therefore no chance to collide with anyone else (a serious problem in crowded anchorages under storm conditions). Conditions were eerily calm when we arrived to set up. Gradually, the breeze filled in and the gusts started to pipe up in earnest. By Tuesday early afternoon we were seeing 40 knots of breeze, and by late afternoon and early evening 60 knots, off and on. The water in the bay was spraying in streaks, the waves were white-capped but small, and the palm trees onshore were bent and swaying impressively. Since we were anchored only about 100 meters off the shoreline in deep water, between the shoals at  the boundary of the north-east finger, the fetch had no chance to build. The wind, on the other hand, roared through the anchorage. Waves were not an issue but with 60 knots of wind pumping through, the ground tackle came under a heavy load. Anna horsed around in the heaviest gusts and healed over a bit in the higher, sustained winds but held her ground nicely. If conditions intensify further, we will need to drop a second anchor off the bow (a Hammerlock mooring) to slow down the rate of swinging (horsing) in the heaviest gusts, which can add to the strain on the ground tackle when the boat turns sideways to the wind and becomes less streamlined. Baie Haapu is surrounded by low mountains and the sea-floor is composed of sticky volcanic mud, and while we were stretched to the limits of our chain we never drug anchor.

We are now approaching the apex of the South Pacific cyclone season. Cyclones are named alphabetically; the previous cyclone, which occurred during the month of November was named Tuni. Ula followed Tuni in December. All of the tropical systems we've seen were picked up by the global computer model; and their trajectories and wind strengths were predicted with good accuracy, despite some difficulties with IR and visible satellite imagery, which had issues ascertaining an exact position and stage of formation due to the fact that it was obstructed in cloud cover.

Dvorak cyclogenisis graphic - T-number classification system matches sat imagery to above graphic.

Cyclone T-number's are matched up to sat imagery and provide the basis for category assignments.

Dvorak T-number and corresponding intensities.

Meteorologists in the South Pacific rely heavily on the Dvorak method when analysing a cyclone's stages of development and hence category strength. Visible satellite imagery reveals the shape (a cyclone has classic, developing stages or patterns) when not obscured by cloud cover, and IR satellite imagery can help to identify these patterns through their heat signatures. The emerging satellite imagery patterns are compared to the classic shape of a cyclone at a particular stage of development and assigned a designation (a 'T' number) - typically T-1 to T-5. When a cyclone reaches the T-5 stage it is well formed. The T-1 to T-5 cycle usually lasts 5 to 7 days - longer if it re-intensifies..

Our confidence in the latest round of analysis and severe-weather forecasts has risen somewhat; global computer models appear to be tracking well in relation to real-world weather, although the forecasts haven't exactly nailed the duration correctly: Ula's actual track has been close to what the GRIB model indicate, but she has persisted much longer than forecast and increased in intensity when she was expected to diminish.

The severe depression that was tracking toward Huahine, split in two just before reaching French Polynesia (see graphic above). One of the arms veered to our west (toward the Cook Islands) and the other to our north-east (toward, ironically, the Marquesas group), leaving Huahine in mild, benign  conditions. The arm that went west of us earned its new name: tropical cyclone Victor, as of January 14, 2016. It currently has sustained winds of 90 knots near the center and gusts to 115 knots. And, it's just getting started.

We rely on accurate analysis to determine our severe-weather strategy. For Anna, this means knowing when a cyclone is tracking our way and having the time to prepare the boat (and ourselves) should one become imminent. We figure the best strategy is to remain anchored out, either in, or close by a cyclone hole until the season of cyclones, coupled with this unusually strong El Nino cycle nears its predicted end, hopefully within the next few months. We believe at this time that El Nino may be reaching its plateau. The season of cyclones, however, typically peaks in February to March, before fading out by May.

***

We dinghied to shore one day, at Baie Avea, located at the south-western corner of Huahine Iti, to go for a walk on the island's narrow, low-key perimeter road where hardly a vehicle passed us by. We found a small, sparsely stocked magazin (general store) about a mile away from where we started. The main grocery store is in Fare, 16 kilometers away across the mountain pass...a long haul. Or an eight nautical-mile ride by boat along the reef and protected lagoon. To get there overland is also possible, by flagging down a ride by pick-up truck, at 7:30 am on the road near the anchorage, and returning a few hours later, at 11:00 am, for a nominal fee.

Wind Spirit ship ghosts past Huanine, en route to Tahiti at sunset.

While at the local magazin (general store) we found fresh baguettes, the most ubiquitous subsidized item in all of French Polynesia, at fifty-three cents per baguette. We also found a cluster of seven of the sweetest pineapples we had ever eaten. We bought them for 600 xpf (that works out to about ninety cents per pineapple - unsubsidised). These pineapples were smaller and sweeter than Hawaiian pineapples, in the same way that plantains are sweeter and smaller than bananas.

And while we were making our purchase we met an older, worldly, barefooted Polynesian man, with a long, gray ponytail, who began speaking to us in English (unusual), instead of his native Polynesian, or acquired French. From our looks, he assumed that we had a boat anchored out here and told us that he was staying here with his wife and child, off the palm-fringed beach, looking out onto the lagoon, reef and sea, beyond the breakers. His wife's mother, apparently, is the Queen of Huahine, and life was treating them well. To pass the time he went fishing at night on the reef with his trident. He could free dive (i.e., without  scuba gear) to forty-five meters. He learned his deep-breathing techniques over the years and routinely fishes this way. If he wants yellowtail tuna, he goes out beyond the reef into deep-blue water with a small skiff and uses a hand line. Of course, even hard-core Polynesian fishermen tire of fish every meal and break it up by going out for coconut-husk smoked pizza.

He had a very young daughter with him and he told us that it was his mission in life, now that he was retired, to pass along his acquired knowledge and ability to navigate the islands of the Pacific Ocean, the way his ancestors had done before him, in a Polynesian-style sailing craft. His skill was navigating primarily by the stars alone. This is a tradition that has been passed down from generation to generation in Polynesia.

New moon over Huahine: it's possible to navigate Polynesia by the moon and stars with no electronic aids.

He uses no sextant, or GPS, or electronic instrumentation of any sort. Only the stars to locate his approximate position on the globe to within 100 nautical miles. in addition to the stars he observes the natural signals offered by local tropical birds when they are within a couple hundred miles of a specific island group. Apparently, every bird has a unique characteristic that can be identified, which associates their presence with a particular location on the sea or near a specific island group. The currents and wave patterns also hold clues as to their general location.

I asked him what he does when he wants to pinpoint his exact position to an accuracy greater than a hundred nautical miles. And he told me that once he is within sight of an island, he will drift near offshore until he finds a local fisherman who can then tell him precisely where he managed to wash up - which, no doubt, was exactly where he intended.

The thing about Polynesia, as far as we can deduce from personal experience, is that if you begin the voyage, say, somewhere west of South America, eventually, whether you intend to or not you will slowly sail or drift and make landfall near a reef in French Polynesia, probably in the Tuamotu archipelago, a tough gauntlet of low-lying islands, islets, motus and reefs that are hard to avoid. The real trick after arriving here, as we see it now, is escaping to some place that isn't in French Polynesia, that is, in any direction other than west.

***