On edge in Moorea

It's 9.30pm. We are all on edge and sleep is likely to be light and interrupted. This new-to-us boat has already presented a few challenges in the short time we've had on board. There are many unknowns yet to be revealed; we hope tonight will not prove to be another unwanted lesson in the pitfalls of inclement weather and an ageing craft. 

Over the weekend we waited out the forecast monster south swell in Opunohu Bay on the north coast of Moorea. One of the postcard anchorages of the archipelago, it was idyllic and afforded me a chance to rest my battered ribs after a particularly violent encounter with the shallow reef at Vairao on Friday.  

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We motor-sailed westward around the island in perfect conditions yesterday, whooping our further good fortune in finding we had the beautiful stretch of water inside the Haapiti surf break to ourselves. We anchored politely to one side of the narrow channel about 1 mile south east of the pass and each made good with our various pursuits: surfing for Finbar, hiking to the Trois Coconuts pass for Paul and Marco, and rib-resting / easy boat jobs for me.   

After an increasingly blustery and overcast day today, the wind started to build past the forecast strength, gusting from WNW to 30 knots about an hour from dusk - too late to move to the other side of the island. As night fell, these "bullets" increased to nearly 40 knots, insisting on our increasingly concerned attention. We have been swinging wildly, yanking on the anchor as the north-setting counter current fights the wind, grabbing the rudder and sending Evenstar pitching and yawing from side to side of the channel. A far cry from our first visit, which involved cloudless skies and a windless glassy azure lagoon. 

We are bound by shallow sand banks a few metres to the west, and unforgiving coral reefs about 200 m to the south and east. Sailors call this a lee shore, with the treacherous coral ready to claim the boat in an instant if the anchor fails - a situation to be avoided if at all possible. But we are trapped for the evening. Night time navigation in these parts is not a sensible option. 

I'm at the nav station fixedly watching our track on the GPS. We scribe horizontal pendulum swings from one side of the channel to the other, perfect arcs around the anchor point. The anchor drag alarm is set to the smallest tolerance I can manage. But it remains silent; the massive Manson Supreme anchor, a medieval beast of a thing, is mercifully as solid as a rock. The red tracks of our GPS position run nowhere other than over it's last four hour's of scribble, blocking in the colour like a demented spirograph. 

The key is ready in the ignition; the red night lights are left on. We are on stand by ready to jump to  action stations should the GPS start beeping. But more so we await the amelioration of the wind later this evening as the forecasting models have indicated; hopefully they get this part right and a good night's sleep becomes a possibility.   

Steve