Sailing Notes from the South Pacific for Ocean Voyagers
The Ocean Posse is working to bring three posses together: the Atlantic posse, the Panama posse and the Pacific Posse so that we will have better overlap to share information and benefits across the oceans that we sail. Some have crossed oceans that others are considering crossing. Here, I will share notes from the South Pacific for people considering sailing to the South Pacific, or for those that just want to vicariously enjoy the cerulean blues, coconut palms, island communities spread throughout the South Pacific.
Presently, SV WHILRWND is underway in the Tuamotus, the second of five island groups in French Polynesian that we have visited since making landfall from Panama in May 2024. The Tuamotus, are sometimes referred to as ‘the dangerous islands’ for all the low lying fringing coral reefs boats can and have run aground on which require careful navigation. So far, with a person on bow watch, the charts on Navionics, and multiple satellite overlays in OPEN CPN navigating the Tuamotus has been very fun. There is a timing element one must consider when entering and exiting the atolls, between atolls we are sailing in the open ocean with ocean swell instantly, and within the atolls we are sailing in lagoons with little to no waves navigating coral bommies looking for a calm spot in the sand to drop our anchor.
Over the past two months, We have had the good fortune to see an abundance of coral and undersea life, more blue hues than I knew existed, and a few of the Southern Hemisphere Humpback whales that come annually to the oceanic islands of the South Pacific to breed and calf. According to a cruising marine biologist friend the Southern Hemisphere Humpback whales will be turning back towards their summer feeding grounds off Antarctica in the next few weeks. There is a singular raised atoll in the NW part of the Tuamotus called Makatea where, in settled conditions, one can anchor outside the atoll on the leeward side and possibly see whales this time of year. Looking at the weather with this possibility in mind we saw a sweet weather window that looked perfect for an adventure: two days of downwind sailing from Fakarava to Makatea in time for the wind to die off for three calm days anchored in the lee of the island, followed by wind from the south to carry us north to Tikihau where there is a manta ray feeding station, and on Rangiroa the second larges atoll in the world. We have friends coming in on October 11th and as all cruisers know this hard stop commitment presents an added element into every sailing schedule. Guests visiting the Tuamotus fly into Tahiti and then take an inner island flight to the Tuamotus. Interestingly, many atolls have airports: Fakarava and Rangiroa being the two largest atolls have airports that are more frequented than others. So, (Option 1) we could stay in and around Fakarava until our guests come (very relaxing) or (Option 2) we could go on a little atoll tour and make our way to Rangiroa to meet them (an adventure). We decided that the weather window looked good for an adventure and the plan was sound.
We weighed anchor in time to catch the high water slack and sail through the exit in the southern pass. After exiting the atoll, one is in the ocean immediately and we noted a long slow 1m southerly swell. The conditions were great and we set our kite for a smooth downwind sail. A few hours in our buddies received an email from a French weather service sending out an alert to all mariners of a significant southern swell developing and moving north into the Tuamotus. We pulled up the weather and, sure enough, although the wind was still forecast to be settled in a few days around Makatea the swell was going to be too big to comfortably anchor on the outside of the atoll much less enter through the pass of an atoll. We decided to reroute to Tikihau and save Makatea for another time.
We arrived outside Tikihau in the night, hove to outside the entrance, and waited for the low slack at first light. Upon arriving in Tikihau the weather forecast changed multiple times over the course of the day. In the southern hemisphere winter has just turned to spring and now this northern hemisphere sailor can say the spring weather down here is as fickle as one might expect in the spring: changing so often it’s hard to hang you hat on much beyond the immediate conditions. There are significant blows coming in and out of the forecast and still a large swell coming with mixed forecasts on how long it will affect this part of the Tuamotus. Based on these changing forecasts and the expected conditions in the passes when the swell arrives we have now determined that today, seems to be the best day in the next ten (when our friends are to arrive) to make our way from Tikihau to Rangiroa, so we are underway once more.
No matter the ocean, the weather calls the shots. So far, sailing in the South Pacific has been nothing short of a dynamic adventure demanding that we constantly keep an eye on the weather and a sharp lookout over the bow. While on lookout this morning we saw manta rays entering the Pass into Tihihau and dolphins surfing our bow as we set out into the ocean to Rangiroa…and we still could see a whale.
For cruisers looking to the South Pacific for adventure; crossing the ocean to get here is an epic adventure in and of itself. Most people set sail for the South Pacific from points west in the late winter/early spring. Presently, many cruisers are beginning to rub their palms together, eyeing up routes and weather patterns, running through their inventory of parts and spares, making lists, reading about storm tactics and high sea debacles, and/or taking care of a host or pre-departure maintenance or upgrades. Shaking down our fears can also be a big part of mentally preparing for a ocean voyage. Some, like my friend, may be wondering, “What were your scariest moments on the passage (to French Polynesia)?”
In jest, my husband and our captain said, “the day we realized we didn’t bring enough rum.” That was more sad really, but nothing we can’t get over.
More sincerely, he said, “The day the autohelm and went a little wacky and (he) had visions of the rudder breaking loose.” Terrifying! Indeed, one of our worst nightmares. That ‘wackiness’ was rectified at sea with no major drama. And we installed a back up autohelm before leaving Panama Bay.
In my most sincere and more lengthy response, I shared: We spent 30 days at sea: they were both utterly glorious and unexpectedly difficult at times. A huge realization for me was that the infamous Coconut Milk Run starts west of French Polynesia….or maybe in French Polynesia…or maybe to the east…it’s the Eden out there somewhere, the Fair Winds and the Following Seas of every sailors dreams. As we set out to cross the Pacific we actually thought we were on the Coconut Milk Run from Panama to the Marquesas. So when we got out there and spent far longer in confused seas than we ever imagined could be part of a ‘Coconut Milk Run’ we joked, desperately at times while tossing chaotically in a confusion of seas and open sky, saying “this is coconut milk!? I imagined something sweet and smooth not a frothy mess” Or, “If this is coconut milk, I’ll stick to beer (or rum)!” Crossing the ocean can easily be romanticized…in my experience it is with the adventure ahead of me or behind me that I can romanticize really well about it. When I am in it, it is usually….well…a Whirlwind of calm joy, uncertainty, chaos, thrill, or somehwere in between.
In preparation, I tried hard to be realistic, to plan for the worst and hope for the best, to be ready for the voyage and not simply long for the destination, to pack the boat full of provisions and spares, to check everything twice sometime thrice. While the dream to cross the Pacific was years in the making for us and I had years to consider the magnitude of this voyage, still he scariest moment for me was somewhere SW of the Galapagos when I realized how far offshore we were, how much further we had to go, and that there would be no real rest until we were in French Polynesia. It was nighttime and I woke out of a sleep to my husband, Mike, and our 13 year old son, Russell, reefing the main in sloppy seas and having a heck of a time. I hopped up to help and the sky was SO big and SO black, spotted more stars than I had ever seen. I could not immediately see Mike or Russell but somehow the wavetops were illuminated, so swift and heaving. I was struck with a desperate feeling knowing there was no turning back, still so far to go, and only us to make that happen. In that moment reefing the main felt goliath, possibly insurmountable, and I had to have a serious talk with myself! I had to take the task at hand for just the task at hand, not the hundreds of miles we had come or the thousands of miles to go. I had to just focus and reef the main. ‘Stay calm. Stay Steady. We got this,’ I reminded myself. Finally, we prevailed. For whatever reasons, reefing was more than difficult that night and with some mighty cursing and some steady determination we did it. And then we just moved right along. The boat settled nicely due to the reef, mind you the seas did not miraculously settle, but the motion certainly improved. The boys went back on watch, and I to easily slipped back into bed. For whatever reason, that was my scariest moment. Basically, when the breadth of what we had set out to do actually hit me like it never quite had before – we were in the middle of the ocean and I felt like an absolute imbecile for only then realizing what I had gotten myself and my family into?! I thought I had thought it through but in that moment I did not think I had. I felt enormously overwhelmed by how easily we could get swallowed up. I also felt that there was no turning back. (Now in hindsight I know that is not entirely true, but it was certainly how I felt and continuing west was certainly the best option.) Still, I felt I was stuck and incomprehensibly vulnerable which was truly scary. The other side of these completely humbling feelings was how absolutely beautiful the stars, the ocean, and the sky were. Steering away from the overwhelm of fear I definitely made a point to take comfort in the grandeur and holdfast. It is wild when terrifying can also be infinitely impressive. There is no doubt the ocean is mighty! The colors and the expansiveness are nothing short of awe-inspiring making the trials of the adventures worth it….especially when I am on the other side of that particular part of this adventure and can romanticize all about it.
SY WHIRLWIND 🇺🇸 Maurisa, Mike, Russell & Josea – Alajuela 48’
