"From a certain point onwards there is no turning back. That is the place that must be reached. "       Unknown
 

On the Difficulties of Finding Crew

I use to sail alone by choice. Now, I am a singlehander by default. I bought Fellow Traveler in part so I would have the space to have others sail with me in comfort. The problem, though, is finding people to come along. There are websites where potential crew and boat owners hook up. My notices usually get lots of response on these sites. But, when it comes right down to it, usually 75% or more are dreamers: the idea appeals, but they will not follow through. Of the ones who actually show up, none have proven to be acceptable crew. For example, one such crew, whose turn it was to fix breakfast, prepared a huge bowl of granola and a pot of coffee for everyone....then left it on the galley counter as we got underway. The first wave, and it all went crashing, spraying coffee and soggy granola all over the galley and nav station! OK, not a disaster. Everyone, at some point does this, although usually not so messily! But said crew was aboard for the next several days, yet never found time to clean up the mess he made. Before  his planned departure several days later, he had plenty of time to do his laundry and update his website....but none to clean up. I am sorry, but I would rather not have such crew aboard.

So, one solution, whenever possible, is to get friends to crew with me. And indeed, this brings the "success rate" up to around 50%. And this was the approach I took when I planned this trip to the Pacific: my friend Jim was going to do the first leg, from Panama to Tahiti with me. He has been aboard twice before, for about a week each time. But, an ocean passage is very different from a week long cruise island hopping the Grenadines or the San Blas. Several days out from Panama, Jim was clearly depressed and unhappy. He was not sleeping much, being unable to adjust to the 4 hour watches. As well, just the emptiness of the ocean with little to distract you can be overwhelming. Suddenly, 30 days seems like an eternity. Sure enough, about 5 days out, he told me he needed to get off in the Galapagos, a few days sail further on. Well, I would rather sail solo than with someone who does not want to be "out there", so we made a stop and he caught a plane home. I continued on alone.

I was (I think) pretty understanding of his plight. In all honesty, I have been there myself before: on my solo trans-Atlantic crossing I remember at about day 5, with perhaps 25 more to go, studying the charts and my weather forecasts to see if I could turn around and go back to the Caribbean. I was feeling very lonely and missing my friends in the islands. But, weather was such that I could not just turn around. I could have waited out a low pressure trough, then sailed back, but I realized that did not make sense when instead I could be making time to the good for  the Azores. Of course, I did make it to the Azores (in 19.5 days, fast for my little boat I owned then), and spent a very happy summer in Horta, drinking Absinthe with the various crew from other yachts, exploring the island on scooters, and playing endless games of chess with people from all over the world. Horta in July is perhaps the friendliest sailor's port in the world. Further into the trip I met Alex, who has become part best friend, part the son I never had. So, clearly, pushing on was the right decision. I told Jim as much, too. But, I respected his right to make his own decisions. Early on I made it clear that we both had the right to "bail out" of the trip if we felt it was best. So, we parted as friends, and I hope it is a friendship that will continue. And I am updating this webpage mid-Pacific, as I sail along at 7 knots towards Gambier, in French Polynesia.

This time I do not think I will have the problems I did in the Atlantic. One thing that happens on a sailboat at sea is a change in your perspective: in part, your world becomes very small: contained within the hull of your ship. Outside, the sea looks more or less the same for miles and days. You tend to focus on things up close: watching you footing as you move about. The book you are reading. The meal you are cooking (it takes much more focus to cook when the stove is swinging back and forth and any moment the pot and contents could end up all  over you). Every movement is made slowly and cautiously as an injury could be disastrous out here. However, compared to Lobo, my previous boat, I am contained in a world of utter luxury: 100 gigs of music on the Ipod, 150 films on hard drives. A fridge full of meats and cheeses. A boat that stays dry in the all but the roughest of conditions encountered in the tropics. Mostly, though, I have come to realize that one month at sea seems like an eternity on day 5, but once it is behind you, it seems like a fair price to pay to be on my boat in yet another tropical paradise.

Pacific Solo

"Once more I experienced the relief and joy of being at sea again, free from the fetters of the land, with nothing ahead but an almost endless vista of carefree days, no bills to pay, no engagements to keep, no newspapers or telephones; the ship, a snug, secure little world, day by day bravely pushing her way over the trackless ocean."         Bill Tilman

Over the years I have read many accounts of the passage from the Galapagos to French Polynesia. It is one of the longest passages undertaken by cruisers without passing any possible stops, and crosses one of the emptiest sections of ocean on our planet (empty of land, that is. It is hardly empty of life). I have heard many accounts of vessels setting their sails a few days out of the Galapagos, and not touching them again until arrival in the Marquesas. I have heard of languid, peaceful days of fast trade wind sailing. Well, I have to report that none of this was my experience.

When I picked up the trades, a day or so out from the Galapagos, I quickly found them boisterous, requiring me to slowly reduce sail as they increased to keep the boat from bouncing too wildly off the waves. There was also a regular swell from the South that, early on in the trip, regularly rolled Fellow Traveler over on her side, making cooking and other chores about the boat somewhat difficult and, even in the solid breeze, rolling the wind out of the sails and causing them to flog. But, I was not complaining, as I was making fast runs averaging around 150 a day. Then, when about 2/3rds of the way across to Gambier, and beginning to contemplate an early arrival, of course, the wind had to quit. I had nearly a week of light winds or no winds, with nary a day over 100 miles, the engine running regularly to keep the boat moving, and the sails flogging themselves to much that at one point before I could quiet them, when the wind quit after a squall, the main ripped an 11 foot tear. I spent a lot of time restitching as anyplace where the thread had frayed quickly began to separate. Finally, with about 350 miles to go, some wind decided to make an appearance, and I began to sail nice and smooth for the first time of the trip, doing 5-6 knots under full main and spinnaker.

Day 25, and a dawn landfall (Mangareva and Taravai are just visible on the horizon in the picture above). Sweet!

Gambier

" We all travel 1000's of miles just to watch TV and check into somewhere with all the comforts of home. And you've got to ask yourself 'what is the point of that?' "
Leo DiCaprio's character, The Beach

If you have read this far into my website, then you know I sail in hopes of finding islands that are somewhat off the beaten path and as yet unspoiled by the tourist horde, seeking their TV's and comforts of home. Honestly, I did not expect too much from French Polynesia in this regard: Bora Bora and Moorea are pretty much synonymous with over-the-top pampered luxury resorts, and Tahiti, while still beautiful, is hardly the fantasy paradise it represented to the adventurous for hundreds of years. Now Gambier.... you don't hear much about it. I bet most readers here have never heard of it, actually. The descriptions sounded nice, so what the heck, I decided to make it my first stop in the South Pacific. And boy, was that a good choice! Indeed, it seems Gambier pretty much meets my ideas of paradise! Five high, volcanic islands and a dozen or so smaller ones, all surrounded by an atoll reef, with only 500 people scattered around the islands. And unlike the Marquesas, these islands get very few boats stopping in. The two weeks I was here I figured there was an average of 20 boats, with about half in the main anchorage and the others off exploring.

Polynesians have been known, at least since the days of the Bounty, for their warm and friendly welcome. And indeed, this hospitality is alive and well in Gambier. Nearly everyone smiles and greets you as you pass on the street. Other traditions are equally maintained: the women and girls often have a flower tucked behind an ear, as if waiting for Gauguin to paint their portrait. And every yard is spotlessly clean and beautifully gardened. This last is such a welcome change from Panama, where garbage seemed to be the primary feature of most yards! The picture on the right is the driveway entrance to a home, under the arch of flowering trees. Look closely, and you will see the porch behind the plants.

While anchored in Mangareva, the main island in Gambier, I met up with some old friends from the San Blas on the vessel Soggy Paws. David, the husband of the pair, and I hiked up to the top of Mount Duff, choosing a perfect day for it as there is often a cloud on top. Not only did we not have one, the air was particularly clear and the colors vibrant, as the photo to the left, taken at the peak, demonstrates. If you look close, you can see the barrier reef, which is not complete, out beyond the smaller island, looking like a strip of aqua water.

After a week in Mangareva, the main island of Gambier, I wanted to explore a little bit. I had hoped to get out to the barrier reef and snorkel some, but the weather got breezy and cold! Gambier is not located in the tropics, lying about 15 miles South of the tropic of Capricorn. So, I sailed around the second largest island, Taravai, anchoring in the lee in two beautiful, unspoiled harbors. Sailing along was Attitude, also friends from the San Blas. 

TUAMOTUS

The first mistake I (and no doubt many others) made was envisioning French Polynesia as a nice, compact cruising ground. Actually, these islands are scattered around a section of the Pacific that is larger than Europe! From Gambier to the next two islands with a secure harbor (skipping Muroroa, where the French conducted their nuclear tests) is 450 miles, or about the distance across the Caribbean from the Virgins to Grenada. Since few boats go to Gambier, few also make their way to these atolls as there are others closer to the Marquesas where most boats enter French Polynesia. Of the two islands, what few boats come this way almost always go to Hao. This was the base for the French nuclear testing, and is thus more developed. So, of course, I chose the other island: Amanu. A good choice for me, as it makes Gambier seem like the Mall on Thanksgiving weekend. No one comes here, it seems, so the locals are all friendly and glad to see a visitor. If I walk to town, I get invited into peoples yards to chat, despite the fact I speak no French. And, like the San Blas, I end up with a string of children following me, curious about the stranger.  The picture above shows one of the local kids as we watch the supply vessel exit the narrow pass from the lagoon. These atoll passes can get interesting as they sometimes have as much as 10 knots of current rushing through them, and can only be entered around the tide changes when there is a brief slack.

The anchorage near town in Amanu is shallow by Tuamotu standards, but small and with lots of coral heads. This would not be a problem if some mild trade winds are blowing. However, as I write this, a low pressure trough is crossing the Tuamotus, and the winds have so far gone 270 degrees in 12 hours. My plan, once the winds got to the South, was to up anchor and go to a spot I have picked out on the South side of the lagoon and reanchor where it would be pretty calm, as this anchorage is exposed to the South and SE. But, to avoid swinging into coral heads or reef during the night, I put two anchors out. It is currently blowing 20 knots in the lulls, and maybe 35 or more in the squalls. My chain, which is on my primary anchor, is wrapped around a small coral head. So, I would have to drop the rope rode and come back for it another day, then try to unwrap the chain by motoring the right direction while hoisting it, and then pull my anchor up and get out of here, all while dodging the reef and coral heads that are bigger, in strong winds. If anything went wrong, I would be on the reef before I could say Tuamotu. As my anchors are holding, and I was told that the worst of the squalls would be passing this morning, I would rather sit here, bouncing around in the 2-3 foot chop, and wait for the wind to shift more (when it would push me away from the coral heads and reef currently downwind from my primary anchor) or blow itself out.

Quite honestly, I have put my boat in one of the most dangerous situations I have ever had her in. I am safe: the reef behind the boat is shallow, and I could walk to town. But, it is entirely possible I could lose my boat, or seriously damage her here. For the first time in my life I have put together a "ditch" bag while at anchor: money, passport, etc. Normally, I am good at not getting into these situations to begin with....but what alternative did I have? I considered going the 16 miles to Hao, which has a small, enclosed basin. My friends on Alissa are there. But, this morning they reported that it was very dicey in there, and one boat had to leave as she was on the "wrong end" of the harbor, and came very close to losing the boat! And, once outside the basin, they either anchors in a situation as bad or worse than mine, or try to cross the huge lagoon, dodging coral heads, in rough squalls. So, that does not sound better than here.  I have a GPS track to follow the 5 miles to my spot, otherwise, I would never consider moving in this mess! Friends further up the chain are experiencing similar conditions, and similar anchorages, and one drug and had to re-anchor the night before the worst hit. My solution, once this is past, is get out of the Tuamotus, and hope to find better anchorages down the way.

I remember, when I was in second grade, a geography book that had chapters on children living in different places around the world and told about their lives. The only one I remember was a boy in Micronesia who lived in an atoll. I was fascinated by the beautiful aqua-marine lagoon with the sand and palm islands, the outriggers they sailed to get around. Honestly, I wanted to be that little boy. What a life! Ever since, atolls have held a fascination for me. My first taste of one, however, is proving less idyllic than I thought when I was 7 years old. Or 52 for that matter. What I would not give right now for a San Blas anchorage, with plenty of clear sand to set my anchor, and islands or reef in all directions.

Several hours after writing the above, the wind eased up (and thus the chop) and went further to the East, allowing me to fairly easily retrieve both anchors and move to my calm spot on the South end of the lagoon. Whew! That was close! I am now eager to sail on.

Tahanea

24 hours after the trough passed, I exited the pass in Amanu at full current. I had planned on waiting for the lull, but saw some local runabouts run the pass and figured I could manage it. And, indeed, it was not a problem, despite 5 knots of current. I just hit it full speed to maintain steerageway, and then exited the current once out of the pass before the worst of the boils and swirls. 48 hours of beautiful sailing brought me to Tahanea.

While sailing, both between Gambier and Amanu, and on this trip, I passed coral atolls within 3 miles in the dark, something that would have been very dangerous in the pre-GPS days. Now, however, with the very accurate French Charts on my computer, and the GPS, I feel comfortable running between the atolls at night. By day, I divert closer to them in hopes of picking up a tuna prowling a little beyond the reef.

Tahanea was on the short list of my desired stops in the Tuamotus, and it proved to be all I hoped. It is uninhabited, unusual for a large atoll with 2 good passes. The snorkeling is reported superb, but best of all is the anchorage in the SE corner, where one can anchor in 12 feet of water with enough room to swing without wrapping coral heads. The nearby motus have beautiful beaches on them (although more shell and coral rubble than sand) and between them are views of the Southerly swell crashing into the reef further out. Scenic and comfortable, and no other boat around...what more could I ask?

The pictures above show the anchorage at the SE corner, from the top of my mast where I was repairing my nav lights. The upper one shows a typical atoll, with the motus on the lagoon, and the rocky reef extended about 100 yards beyond, first as dry reef, then tidal pools, before dropping off very steeply to the sea floor. You also see the rather unusual wide, shallow sand shelf, relatively free of coral heads (the dark spots scattered about) that allows easy anchoring here. The motus are very close together in this stretch. There are other places on the reef that extend a mile or two with no motus, just the reef.

This picture is also a typical lagoon perspective: nice to meet the neighbors! Everywhere I anchored in the Tuamotus, I had a pair of juvenile black tip sharks hanging out, hoping for scraps. But, to REALLY see some sharks, I left Tahanea for Fakarava in order to snorkel the SE pass. And, as reported, there were indeed hundreds of sharks hanging out at the bottom of the pass, in about 35 feet of water, while I snorkeled by overhead.