Taking Flight, June 30

Yesterday Mark and I had helped Anson go kite boarding, so today was my turn. Unfortunately, Anson injured his big toe by jumping down on the dinghy anchor; Kim generously offered to come and help in the support dinghy instead. To my disappointment, there were no beaches nearby, so we had to go up and across the wind a quarter mile. We inflated the kite and led and attached the lines. When we had the kite in the launching position we did a final check of the lines and they were crossed! After a good bit of yelling and frustration we set the kite back down and re-led the lines.

My kite has five lines. You attach a line to each wing tip, two just inside the wing tips and one to the center. The kite is an arched curve about 20 feet long with struts attached to the inflated leading edge. There are countless photos of kiteboarding online if you are having trouble imaging it. My problem was that I had doubted myself and had re-led the inner lines until they got crossed over the outer ones. On the second attempt to launch the kite, my lines got caught on coral and mom had to wade out to free them. Finally, after an hour of stressful set up I had the kite in the air!

Kite boarding is similar to wake boarding, except you use the kite and wind instead of engines and fossil fuel. To get up on the board you do a power stroke. By pulling on one edge of the bar you make the kite dive, moving it into a place to catch more wind and create more apparent wind. That produces enough power to pop you out of the water and get you standing on the board. Then you have to do another power stroke to get going. If there is enough wind once you are up and going you can keep the kite in almost the same position, but sadly, I had to keep the kite moving for more apparent wind.

When I first began I brought the kite down in a power stroke, but it only lurched me partially out of the water. I tried again, slightly less timid and got almost the same result. It took me a couple more tries before I made a big enough power stroke to get up. After ten seconds I came back down. I mostly had rides like these, some lasting up to a minute but most less. A lot of the time I couldn’t create enough apparent wind and fell backwards but still kept the kite in the air. Two or three times there was a gust of wind and I wasn’t leaning back far enough, so I face-planted, getting pulled by the kite almost 20 feet. The rides may not seem like much but this was the first time I had really tried since my lessons, three months ago.

After almost two hours of kiteboarding I called it quits and set the kite on the water. Kim and Mark came over to the kite and drifted down wind where it promptly folded around them. After a minute of wrestling, they were able to deflate it and start hauling me in. During all this time I started thinking of sharks. During our snorkels we saw many 6-foot-long reef sharks but I thought about the size of their mouths and felt reassured. Then I continued onto great whites. I hurriedly lay on top of my board and tried to stop any limbs from hanging over. I tried to convince myself that they don’t eat humans and that they probably weren’t in water this warm. After making sure to point out to myself that I hadn’t seen any seals, I felt much reassured. Of course after all that, I thought about tiger sharks. Thankfully the dinghy was near and I got on as fast as I could. Back on Anthea I dried out my kite and drank a cup of tea. Hopefully I will have a repeat of that experience sometime soon.

Devon
Tahanea Atoll

Tahanea is fulfilling all our dreams and desires. From the pass we had another blissful sail, closehauled and pointing high in light winds, dodging coral and trimming the sails. This time Mark was the lookout while Anson trimmed the main and Devon the jib and I hogged the helm again. Diego was motoring ahead of us, so it wasn’t a race, but somehow the view of his stern and the inviting conditions put us all in racing mode. Anthea looked sharp and felt divine.
Once at anchor Anson and Devon raised the spin pole and twirled off the rope swing into the clear, warm water. The next morning we dinghied to a large coral head for a snorkel. The top layer of coral was vibrant and healthy, glistening white, yellow and purple, and large mushrooms of coral glowed with health six feet down. This was a welcome change after the mostly bleached coral of Raroia. Butterfly fish, trigger fish, parrot fish, and all the usual colorful suspects darted in and out of the coral, some nibbling at the edges, others establishing cleaning stations, and small ones seeking shelter from predators. Twenty feet down a large moray eel held court as large groupers swam by. Anson took the go pro camera and sat on the bottom nearby. Large Napolean fish (one 3 feet long), small reef sharks, and the groupers all came to investigate this new addition to their neighborhood. Unable to dive that deep, I waited for these large fish to swim towards the coral and then I followed as they darted into their favorite caves.
Another sail across the lagoon, this time under jib alone and with our awning up, took us to the NE corner of the atoll to find shelter from the strengthening Easterly winds. I perched on the bow pulpit to site the coral heads while Mark took a turn at the helm; once again we pointed high and slipped through the water with ease.
This side of Tahanea has a low lying reef keeping the ocean waves at bay, but allowing water to surge over. Streams of water emanating from the ocean deposit coral sand in long lines that meander by the motus (coconut covered mini islands dotting the edges of the lagoon) and form sand bars at the entrance to the larger lagoon. Deep water channels flow between the sand deposits, painting turquoise streaks between cerulean and white. Layers of color dazzle the eyes as the tradewind clouds dot the brilliant blue sky, the green of the coconut trees and shrubs blow in the wind, and the deep lapis waters abut the turquoise and cerulean shallows only 100 meters from shore.
Yesterday Mark and I took a dinghy excursion across these shallows and channels, drifting by one motu after another, Mark rowing when the wind blew us towards a coral head or shallow bar. Behind each motu another mini lagoon emerged revealing new patterns of color. White terns flew and dove, silver fish darted across the surface of the water, a small black tipped reef shark skimmed along the shallows, fins exposed. Occasional clumps of purple coral shone brilliantly against the sand. Surreal, dream-like voyaging led us to a motu far from others. We anchored the dinghy in the shallows and walked ashore with boobies flying above us. No foot prints marked this sand, only the trails of insects, crabs and birds. A booby flew up from the ground as we approached and hovered nearby, keeping watch on us as we spied its precious, down covered baby sitting in a nest where sand meets brush. We watched from a distance and walked on, relieved to see the parents return. A dozen nests made of twigs and leaves were arranged in the sand around this small motu, all but two were empty, not surprising as it is winter here. The second nest held an egg the size of a goose’s, and the parent flew nervously away and then back as we walked on.
The wind came up today, blowing 13-15 knots, a kiteboarding dream come true for Anson and Devon. Conditions were challenging at first. Devon launched into the lee of a motu and couldn’t find a steady breeze to lift him up on the board. Anson then tried and ran into the same problem, aggravated by some gear challenges, before it all came together. For the rest of the afternoon he had one brilliant ride after another. Devon and Mark followed Anson in the dinghy while he transitioned back and forth across the lagoon. I walked along the shore soaking in the visual feast of the play of land and water. From shore I spotted Anson by looking to the sky for the kite then searching the water for the brilliant streak of white spray he generated as he flew back and forth across the lagoon. It was epic kitesurfing, the stuff of dreams. The wind is up tomorrow too – time for Devon’s dream ride as well. Kim, June 29

26 June 2017 Night Crossing to Tahanea Atoll

About two hours ago (at 7am) we dropped anchor just inside the pass at Tahanea Atoll, completing our night passage from Makemo Atoll. The nature of our passage, and the different strategies of our cruising buddies to get here, illustrate the dynamics and complexities of atoll to atoll navigation in the Tuamotus. Our friends Diego and Marina (Beneteau 39) arrived here yesterday afternoon, after departing Makemo that morning via a pass with a raging 6 knot ebbing current, which gave them an astonishing speed over the ground of 11 knots. They had to make it to Tahanea’s pass by early afternoon to catch the flood tide. They knew they could make the 49 mile crossing even if the wind was light as they have a hefty Yanmar engine. Also, they anchored the prior night near Makemo’s pass, which enabled them to get an early start on the crossing. Given our limited motoring capabilities and not wanting to depart on a strong ebb current, we chose a different strategy. Yesterday afternoon we left our anchorage in Makemo Lagoon and had a delightful 8 mile downwind sail to the pass; the plan was to anchor near the pass for a few hours and transit it at low slack water at sunset, then sail the 49 miles at a snail’s pace throughout the night, arriving Tahanea for high slack water at 6am. Kim spends a lot of time calculating when the tides will be favorable for transiting; we sure appreciate her careful attention to navigation matters. Upon arriving at the anchorage near Makemo’s western pass, we were less than impressed by the extensive coral heads and reefs, and given the benign appearance of the pass, decided to just head out to sea a couple hours ahead of schedule. The pass crossing was uneventful, with only about a 2 knot ebb current carrying us out; it was not hard to motor faster than the current to maintain steerage. These days there is actually no flood tide through Makemo’s passes due to the current effect of the moon and the strong winds and waves that have pushed water into the lagoon from the east side. All this water going into the “bathtub” has to get out and so it overpowers any flood tide on the western edge of the atoll. Once we were out, it was a relief to be in deep water, especially as a large squall was racing across the lagoon from the east and enveloped the anchorage and pass with gusty winds, rain and reduced visibility just 10 minutes after we got out.

Then began an uneventful and slow night sail. Winds were less than the predicted 8-12 knots, so we motored under slow rpms until 9pm. We enjoyed another delicious Devon dinner in the cockpit (pasta with canned chicken, sun-dried tomatoes, olives, seasonings, etc.) and during post-dinner discussion made the decision to make the aft stateroom a “one boy” room, switching between Anson and Devon each week. This will provide them each with some much needed privacy. Kim and I then took turns on watch the rest of the night. With a double reefed main and frequent furiling and unfurling of the jib, we were able to maintain our target speed of 3.5 knots until 4am. Sometime in the wee hours of the night, I was astonished to smell on the warm night air the sweet fragrance of a flowering plant we’ve noticed on the atolls here. A glance at the chart told me that the fragrance was being wafted by the wind from Katiu Atoll, about 10 miles to windward. How amazing to imagine a flower’s fragrance carried so far over the water by a night breeze. Later, I was a little surprised and at first worried by the sound of falling or running water in the distance, to windward. Was it waves crashing on an unmarked reef? The sounds grew louder and closer and it eventually became evident that I was hearing the sound of raindrops on the ocean. Fortunately the squall didn’t last long and it did not pack much a of a wind punch. By 4am the wind pretty much shutdown and I started Mr. Perkins. We were on schedule for a 5:30 am arrival at the pass, when, about 2 miles out, the wind suddenly increased from dead astern. Not feeling comfortable with the increasing wind and its direction, especially given the pass that was still cloaked in darkness, looming ahead, I called Kim up. In the short while it took for her to get topsides the squall hit. Driving rain and wind in the low 20s. Suddenly the pass and north side of Tahanea had become a lee shore. We made an about face, motored slowly into the building seas, called Anson up, put out some jib and tried to determine which compass headings would most quickly put distance between us and the reefs. As we got our bearings and made some windward progress the stress levels declined and after 45 minutes or so the squall abated and the dawn light in the east grew brighter. The rosy light of the rising sun was especially welcome; how nice to be able to see what was around us. Back to the original plan, but now we were an hour later than planned. As we approached the pass, with the dark squall clouds still hovering ominously over the lagoon, Diego radioed us from the anchorage with some last minute tips about transiting the pass and said to hurry up and get through it as the tide had already turned and the ebb current was building. We unfurled the full jib to add speed and approached at the pass entrance at just under 7 knots boat speed. We could easily see the frothing river of ebb current, setting to the west side of the channel. With Kim glued to the ipad reading depths and suggesting navigation tips, I steered for the east side of the pass to avoid the greatest current but still far enough away from those shallow light blue areas. Anthea entered the pass at full speed. The opposing current lurched us from side to side and slowed us, but only down to 3.3 knots. Keeping the outgoing river of waves and whitewater off to starboard made a big difference. Gradually, we made our through the pass against the current. Eyes were glued to the knotmeter and the relief was palpable when we saw our speed begin to increase again – the current was releasing its hold on us. Off to starboard was the anchorage with 5 or 6 boats. After rounding the shallow reef, we entered and dropped the hook. After minimal gear storage, coffee was brewed and Devon made delicious pancakes. Soon after Marina and Diego kayaked over and presented us with banana pancakes – a nice Tahanea welcome. They will depart later today for a protected spot in the east of the lagoon and we’ll follow. Kim’s now fast asleep and the sun is shining brightly – what a beautiful day and how nice to be riding peacefully at anchor!

Max and Alex (Allesandra) left this morning from Makemo. They have a Beneteau 50, and like Diego, can motor at sustained speeds if need be, so can make the crossing in time for the favorable tide early this afternoon regardless of wind conditions.

Here’s hoping for some great kiteboarding, wonderful snorkeling, and beautiful anchorages with good protection here at Tahanea.

-Mark

June 22, 2017 Makemo Atoll

A Sunday promenade with Nolan and cross-cultural friendships on Napahere Motu, Makemo Atoll, Tuamotus

Earlier this week we befriended two remarkable Paumotuans, Nolan and Hubert. They left an indelible mark on us – one for which I am grateful and hope to never forget. It began with a shore exploration Kim and I made Sunday, after anchoring with our buddy boat friends on the remote northeast corner of Makemo Atoll; an area we had supposed was only seasonally inhabited by families coming from the village near the pass to cut copra. After anchoring the dinghy in knee deep turquoise water, we began to slowly walk south along the edge of the lagoon. Ahead, we saw an individual coming towards us, carrying a long staff with a sharpened, three pronged trident tip on it. We waved and our paths crossed in knee deep water as we both waded across an inlet. Friendly introductions ensued, and Nolan invited us to his house which lay in the direction we were going. We accepted and the three of us walked another bit before arriving at his open air home constructed of corrugated tin and rough timbers. There, we met his friend Napoleon, who lived in the village by the pass but was there for the day to help bag copra and take it back to the village in his skiff. Nolan immediately opened coconuts for Kim and me using the sharp metal rod protruding from the ground at an angle. He presented them to us; the coconut water (first of our cruise) was delicious and refreshing. We sat there with Nolan and Napoleon, engaging in polite conversation and taking in the scene. From a bucket came a clicking and clacking sound and upon inquiry learned it contained hermit crabs – bait for fishing. Dry coconut husks were smoldering on a piece of tin – local mosquito repellent. A simple, open air kitchen and one somewhat enclosed room for sleeping rounded out the scene. After relaxing a bit, Nolan excused himself saying he was off to get something for us. He returned in 20 minutes holding heart of palm in two large leaves. Millionaire’s salad, I believe it’s called, which we thoroughly enjoyed (I for the first time ever). Turns out that Nolan lives here permanently, by himself, and that he has a friend who also lives here permanently, about a quarter mile away. On Sundays, Nolan takes a break from copra cutting and goes on long walks. He asked if we’d like to join and we immediately said yes. Off we went, at a brisk clip, walking along the edge of the lagoon towards the atoll’s southeast tip. Along the way we carried on frequent conversation with Nolan, about the carefully managed copra groves we walked through, about the destructive storm events that occasionally wreak destructive havoc, and about what it’s like to live as he does. His demeanor was sweet, thoughtful, generous, and engaging in the extreme. At the southeast tip we marveled at the large swells that hurled themselves with great force on the reef and then made our way back to Nolan’s home; by this time we were feeling the heat and were somewhat tired after what seemed like a longish walk. There, we met his neighbor, Hubert, and sat a while longer, enjoying another round of coconut water. Hubert, probably in his 50s and a decade older than Nolan, is “quite something” as our friend Alex put it after meeting him. I asked if he went fishing that day, and he replied with a sweet smile that he had started to, but then thought better of it and instead just relaxed. We had passed Hubert’s compound prior to meeting Nolan that morning, and had wondered at what seemed to be the whimsical beach art of the area – floats and buoys suspended from trees, bottles (glass and plastic) upended on branches, benches and tables barely visible amongst the foliage, which seemed to camouflage a series of simple but inviting buildings. The prior day we had wondered at the coral walls and spires on the ocean side of the reef. Had the same person been responsible for all this whimsical construction and place-making? Meanwhile, back at Nolan’s, Hubert asked if the pomplamouse we had given Nolan was from the Gambier Island group. He was interested to know it was from the Marquesas and hoped it had seeds, which apparently those from the Gambiers do not, which they could try planting. Sensing that it would be rewarding to spend more time with Hubert and Nolan, we proposed a beach fire and dinner that evening, to which they readily agreed and suggested we meet at Hubert’s place.

That evening, just before sunset, Kim, Devon and I dinghied to Hubert’s place. Just to be sure we found it, Hubert and Nolan had ignited a good portion of the motu adjacent to Hubert’s compound, in addition to starting a large beach bonfire. Cleaning the brush and dead plant material from under coconut trees using fire is a regular practice, but seeing all those flames at dusk was quite impressive. As daylight was quickly fading, we immediately asked for quick visit to Hubert’s place. Words are not adequate to describe what he has created, primarily out of flotsam and jetsam. He’s an artist expressing his creativity using the materials at hand. The compound on the edge of the lagoon is probably a quarter of an acre. Narrow paths lace through the compound and connect one shaded living space with another. The paths are lined with carefully tended and bordered flowering shrubs. Hanging baskets made of coconut shells, seashells and other flotsam and jetsam contain succulents and more plants. Buoys, floats (including rare Japanese glass floats), bottles, even a hard hat and wristwatch, decorate the trees and driftwood. Under two trees at least 5 large hammocks make of washed up fishnets were suspended in an inviting fashion. The outdoor living space blended with the indoor spaces. There was an outdoor kitchen, well appointed with gas stove and pots and pans, and picnic table and chairs made of coconut trunks. This merged with his interior living quarters, which contained another well-appointed kitchen, living room with comfy-looking sofa and chairs, and two sleeping rooms each with a bed or two. Freshwater came from four large tanks that collected rainwater from the various rooftops of his residence. Hubert, as we later learned, has siblings and many many nieces and nephews who visit, as he said, when they are “pauvre” and need to earn some income cutting copra.

Hubert has created a whimsical, almost magical place in one of the most remote corners of the planet, on the edge of a lagoon where conventional wisdom says there are no permanent residents. We enjoyed the magic of his home, sitting around the beachfire with him and Nolan on seats of styrofoam blocks, marveling at the beauty of the sunset over the lagoon and the emerging starshow overhead. We baked potatoes with cheese in tinfoil in the embers, Hubert contributed delicious fried sweetbread he had baked that afternoon, and Nolan contributed some sort of shellfish which I was happy to avoid tasting using the excuse of possible shellfish allergy. We discussed lots of things, including the importance of speaking Puamotuan, which children in schools here are apparently not allowed to do (in contrast to the Marquesas and Tahiti), and the scourge of internet addiction amongst youth today. We also learned of Hubert’s large extended family and the chaos they cause when they come to stay. Hubert and Nolan both seem to have rejected the path of living in community and have instead opted to craft lives (almost Robinson Curusoe-like?) at the far end of this very large atoll. The possibility of cutting copra to generate income to purchase essential supplies enables them to “opt out” as it were. Kim and I, and Devon as well, were struck by their warm generosity, good sense of humor, kindness and sensitivity; Hubert had an effeminate mode of expression and interaction, which added depth to these characteristics.
After a memorable evening together we climbed into the dinghy and motored back home, waving a long while to our friends standing by the fire. Prior to leaving we had made a plan to visit Hubert the next day, this time before dark, to be able to really appreciate his artistic place-making.

We returned the next day, this time with Alex and Max, and had a last visit with Hubert. Nolan was also there, having walked to Hubert’s after a day of hard copra cutting labor. This time we were able to more fully appreciate Hubert’s creative genius, expressed in his outdoor and indoor living spaces. We also met his pet pig, “tatu” named after some sort of “boisson.” Hubert presented us with four loaves of fresh baked bread, made with coconut milk (which he made by extracting coconut meat, grating it, and then squeezing it in a cloth). Nolan inquired about our snorkeling trip we had made earlier, and asked if we had seen either sea turtles or sharks. He took pains to remember and use our names in these interactions. As the mosquitoes got a bit active under the trees in the late afternoon, we shifted to the edge of the lagoon, away from shrubbery, for our last bit of time together; the coconut husk smudge pots came with us. The afternoon/early evening light was exquisite. The coconut palms fringing the lagoon were iridescent green. The lagoon, extending as far as the eye could see, was mirror-like. The sky overhead, reaching from horizon to horizon in unbroken arcs, seemed to reach to infinity. There we were on the edge of the universe, (at least it seemed that way to us; perhaps it feels like the center of the universe to Hubert and Nolan). We confirmed Hubert’s mailing address by writing it in the sand and photographing it; we plan to send him and Nolan photos when we get the chance. At last it was time to say good-bye. With many wishes of well-being and safe travels, accompanied by the double cheek kiss, French style, we bid farewell to these two people. They stood there, side by side, at the water’s edge, waving, as we negotiated the shallows in Max and Alex’s dinghy. What an amazing set of gifts they had given us. I hope to never forget them, the unusual lives they have created for themselves, and the authentic experiences and interactions we had shared.
Mark

Anson and Devon had one grand kiteboarding adventure on the first day we arrived on Raroia atoll. The weather predictions showed decreasing winds over the following three days, so we put our exhaustion from the passage aside, rounded up the kiteboarding gear, and set out in the dinghy for the nearest beach. The wind was strong enough to get up on the water, but just barely. This meant they couldn’t edge the board to kitesurf on a beam reach to parallel the shore. So off Anson went downwind, looking glorious with the sail dancing through the sky to power him forward. Occasionally he’d sink down in the water then get back up again. Mark helped Devon to launch, buoyed by Anson’s success, and he too managed to get the kite flying and stand up for a few seconds at a time. Then before we knew it, both boys were down and not getting back up. Diego (from Meccetroy, a boat we are sailing with) and I set out in his dinghy for Devon, while Mark journeyed far from land to reach Anson. Devon’s kite had inverted due to the lighter than needed wind, so he bundled everything up as much as possible and worked hard to quell his fear of sharks, while waiting for rescue. Anson had inadvertently entered the buoy field of a pearl farm right as the wind died. He bundled his lines and managed his kite to prevent a macrame nightmare with oyster lines; he too fought the fear of sharks so far from land and all alone in the lagoon, with rescue far, far away. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins from an unintentional surf over a massive coral head. At that point the wind was so light that it took all his kite skills to harness enough power to skim the surface of the water over the flat top of sharp coral only inches below his board’s fins. He worked and prayed and fought to stay upright, and fortunately pulled it off.

Back on land we untangled the lines, dried the kites, and returned to Anthea to crash – no coral cuts, no shark nibbles, and hopes of another day of kiteboarding upon waking. On our second day at Rarioa, with the wind even lighter, Anson had only a short run and Devon even shorter. The ratio of gear management to kiteboarding fun was poor, and we all learned to wait for the wind before attempting more runs. With uncharacteristically light wind thus far, the gear has remained stowed, and Anson and Devon are managing their disappointment (devouring books downloaded on ipads) and diverting their attention to snorkeling, photography, and land exploration in these paradisical atolls where the sun shines and the water sparkles.

Kim
(anchored off the village at Makemo atoll)