A passage, success with the bureaucrats, and cooking at Cooks.
Since 1991 I have been quietly and intermittently worshipping at the altar of the true religion. I refer, of course, to the search for the remote and uncrowded surf break.
It has not been a single-minded pursuit. In more recent decades, the joys and satisfaction of marriage, family and career have taken precedence. But it is this underlying dedication to the faith, coupled with an uncomfortable (but not necessarily recent) realisation of my mortality, which has driven me to secure a well-found offshore sailing vessel, a set of surfboards, and to find my way to these islands.
At Tikehau I felt that I had finally and properly resumed this most holy of pilgrimages; albeit that the surf break at Passe Tuheiava was a teasing miniature vision of perfection, rather than the high octane rush I was looking for. It may not be the best surf break in the archipelago (although I suspect on its day it might be) and certainly it was not the biggest during my tenure there. But it is certainly one of the most remote.
The anchorage just inside the pass afforded a great view of the wave through the binoculars. As I relentlessly squinted through the eyepieces, every now and then I would spy a glimmer of what might finally be the onset of the long period boomer sets coming through from the south.
However, despite a lot of wishful thinking, each time I raced out in the dinghy all that eventuated were a few micro sets... But I'm not complaining. The solitude and natural beauty made up for any lack of oomph. There were a couple of tiny walls that had to be 50m rides, races against the teetering lip of foam, the quad fins pumping to make the sections. I had to be careful at the ends when flicking off the wave; the very jagged reef was less than waist deep at this point. There were no swan dive exits. The twinges from my yet-to-fully-heal ribs and toes were reminders to treat the reef with respect.
We needed to get back and get the broken and unwieldy boom off the boat before the crazy forecast swell hit, and made handling it off the boat impossible to manage. Zac and my upcoming returns to Oz were also looming. So it was time to call an end to out Tuamotus sojourn.
So on Sunday morning we set off for our overnight sail with a moderate nor-easter. After motoring out with a 4kt following current through the pass we found ourselves in a benign sea; farewell Tikehau.
Once again we deployed the spinnaker, toying with the idea of a night time downwind run. Alas it was not to be. The snap shackle at the top of the spinnaker halyard critically failed, ignominiously depositing the whole sail into the water. We leapt into action to retrieve it from the brine, disabling the autopilot and heading to weather. Luckily, the wind was light and everything was manageable. A disaster was averted and the sail was retrieved without damage.
With the jib deployed instead, we motor-sailed on, our makeshift mainsheet led to a snatch block tethered to the aft cleat. Easso deployed the handline, dreaming of a Mahi Mahi dinner. Sadly, he was not lucky on this occasion.
After an up-to-the-minute weather forecast via the Iridium Go satphone, it became apparent that the wind was going to stay soft for the rest of the trip.
It was time to see if we could deploy the "overdrive" mode on the Gori Propeller, a high gear mode designed to augment the power of the wind rather than provide the primary grunt you normally need from the iron horse. It's a complicated exercise, not something you can activate with a switch or a lever from the cockpit. Setting up overdrive mode requires the boat to be reversed then carefully put back in forward mode. It then engages the prop at a different angle to normal. I'd not had success with this on Ragtime, which has the same prop. However, with a bit more patience we got it going this time.
It really is an amazing piece of engineering, the boat geeks can check it out here.
The sunset was compelling. We were in one of the most remote places on the planet, navigating one of the most well-regarded sailing vessels in the world through the Pacific Ocean. Tres Bon.
It was an amazing and uneventful passage. With only 1100 RPM ticking over on the motor, we smoked it back to Papeete, arriving just after dawn.
Once again we removed the boom, and in the by now familiar absence of an available marina berth, we craned it down onto the dinghy and ferried it ashore. The extra grunt provided by a couple of Aussies who happened to be moored next to the little dock was appreciated. We collected our replacement raw water pump and headed back to the boat. The boys crashed, but I needed things put to rights before I could relax. I installed the pump, replaced a couple of O rings, got the fridge and freezer going again, and made sure there was beer cooling (in the freezer works best).
On Tuesday, Easso and I rose early and took the dinghy into town to visit the office of the High Commissioner. We desperately needed to finally resolve our visa status before we became illegal immigrants in a couple of weeks time. It was about a 20 minute journey, north past the airport and into the CBD, the 15 horses in the Yamaha outboard skimming us over the glassy lagoon in style. We were getting the hang of this cruising thing.
This time, after taking a number and exercising some patience, we met with success. We now have a 12 month Carte De Sejour, renewable 3 more times with a minimum of fuss.
It certainly gets a fellow thinking about possibilities.
After this successful dabble with French bureaucracy, we hightailed it back to Evenstar and headed out through Tapuuna Pass. We were headed to Cooks Bay on the north side of Moorea, with a plan to enter the pass before dusk, away from the lurching craziness of a giant south swell smashing into the lagoon at Papeete. As Tim Bonython says, it's a Code Purple event: Nautical Activities are substantially forbidden for 24 hours throughout the archipelago. They'll be tuning the jet skis for tow-ins at Chopes tomorrow.
As we headed for the pass we noticed the super yachts had all moved away from the outside dock at Taina, the professional crews recognising the danger the big surging swells presented for a boat moored against the unforgiving concrete piers at the marina. The other boats anchored in the Papeete shanty-town lagoon have stayed put; for them the worst of it should be no more than a couple of sleepless nights rolling and pitching in the lagoon.
But most of the other boats in the marina have also stayed put, complacent perhaps, their faith placed in the enclosing arms of the concrete and timber structure. I hope it is not misplaced; certainly our experience in recent, less extreme swell events was confronting. The surge can become trapped inside the marina, amplified in fact. I think the road less travelled is preferred; much better to be away from hard surfaces.
As we arrived in the now familiar and very protected surrounds of Cooks Bay, we were greeted by the presence of the largest of the super yachts which had vacated Papeete, here to escape the damaging swells, their presence validating our choice of anchorage. The almost-full moon rose over the giant illuminated masts, while we enjoyed yet another of Easso's amazing dinners, which he effortlessly whips up from the dregs of the fridge and pantry.
Evenstar will be out of the swell here, which is both a relief and a disappointment... We'll have a couple more nights before Zac and I leave. Easso will then spend a couple of solo weeks snugged up while I return to the bosom of my family, hopefully to convince some or all of them to return with me. Surely one or more of them will; you'd be mad not to.
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