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There is only one word that can describe the last four months-UNBELIEVABLE! They have contained some of the best of the best-two wonderful months in Zihuatanejo Bay, a wonderful and safe 16-1/2 day passage from Mexico to the Marquesas with one of the most beautiful landfalls in the world (Fatu Hiva) and some experiences with the native Tuamotu people that were nothing short of incredible. They also contained the worst of the worst-being shipwrecked on a remote Tuamotu atoll. I spent most of January and February in "Camp Zihuatanejo," getting Moonshadow ready for the passage west, hanging out with some wonderful people (both cruisers and locals) and even giving some sailing lessons to some of the cruising wives. It was great fun and I could write a whole letter about that, but enough about Mexico for now. Zihua friends Heather, David and Will jumped aboard at O dark hundred for the day sail to Acapulco and had arranged for me docking and first class treatment at the Acapulco Yacht Club. There I met the crew for the passage-Cort de Peyster, a 747 pilot and our navigator, Eric Strasser, a former Club Nautique student of mine and our bosun, and Fred Miley, former Moo Crew and "snacktician." We made some last-minute repairs, including replacement of the water heater (Eric schlepped the new one down from the U.S.), filled the boat with provisions and headed out just two days behind our scheduled departure date.
This is not a test!! Cort, Eric, Fred MaiTai and I are headed for the Marquesas! We shook off the lines from the Acapulco Yacht Club at 0900 CST this morning. As much as I hate to leave Mexico, the smog, glitz, congestion, violence and high prices of Acapulco make it easy to say adios-for now. After a couple hours of motor sailing, a northwesterly wind filled in and we are now fully canvassed, averaging eight knots toward the southwest.
The last week has been very hectic, taking care of last minute repairs, provisioning, clearing customs, provisioning, maintenance and provisioning. We put some 360 meals on board plus staples to last six months. Imagine figuring out how much of virtually everything you need to live (toothpaste, shave cream, plastic bags, kitty litter, Band-Aids, etc.) And buying all of it at once! NO FUN. If Acapulco didn't have WalMart and Sam's Club they could leave it off the chart.
We're all a bit lazy-it will take a few days to adjust to life at sea, but it's exciting to finally be underway.
We didn't see any good restaurants along the way last evening so Fred whipped up a great chicken curry. We got into the spirit today with cheeseburgers (in paradise, of course) for lunch.
The fishing has been lousy so far. Had a good one on the line yesterday afternoon but it seems a shark beat us to our dinner and stole our lure to boot!
MaiTai is not liking Eric and is grouchy to the rest of us. . .guess she hasn't gotten her sea paws yet.
Lots to read and do, and sleep to catch up on. . .the hours are going by quickly. Hope you have a nice weekend and think of us while you are commuting.
Eric and I just woke up from the afternoon lunch nap. We've got to sleep whenever we can. Fred is still fishing. . . he's tried six different lures. . . no luck yet. . . guess we have to eat steak tonight. Cort says that we covered 148 miles noon to noon and that if we divert our course a few degrees left, we can do a low pass by Clipperton Island. I will give you a full report if we see it.
We were plagued by "ghosterlies" or very light winds last evening and had to motorsail for seven hours. Winds picked up a bit this morning and we set a spinnaker after a lunch of guacamole and tamales. Now we're making six to seven knots in 10-12 knots of breeze. The seas are calm in a four to 6 foot swell and not much sea life but occasional flocks of sea terns and flying fish.
We speak to other boats making the passage on our single sideband radio each day. Conditions are a mixed bag along the course ahead-everything from calms to gales (winds more than 35 knots). MaiTai has a better attitude and Eric's scratches are healing. Cervezas are chilling for happy hour. How's the stock market doing and who's Slick Willie's latest girlfriend?
Day 4 and we are falling into a routine. . . eat, sleep, read, sleep, stand watch, etc. Except MaiTai. . . eat, sleep, rest, eat, sleep, rest. Nobody is having trouble relaxing and the hours seem to race on by. The breeze continues to be light-from four to 12 knots from the North and there are gentle rolling swells on the azure blue water. Our speeds are from 2.5 knots to eight knots and our day's run was 144 miles. We were able to sail all night without using the motor, but even though we see the tropical trade wind clouds, the trades are one and a half days further west according to radio conversations with other boats en route.
As we close in on the equator it gets warmer. . . Today's temperature was in the low 90's. We heard there was snow on the Bay Area hills. . . what is snow?
No fish caught yet, so canned tuna for lunch. Keep changing the lures Fred!
Eric is reading The Perfect Storm. . . Every boat needs someone to do the worrying.
Cort wants to stop at Clipperton Island for a Luau. He heard there were some pigs left on the island, but we may go by in the middle of the night. . .we will keep you posted.
Happy April Fool's Day! We're feeling pretty lazy today. Too lazy to play an April Fool's joke on you, but the fact that all that we are wearing is swimsuits and sunglasses is bad enough. Very lazy 138 mile day in light winds, but HOOWA we're in the trade winds now. 10-15 knots of wind out of the northeast. We set the three quarter ounce spinnaker this afternoon so we could hold a better angle toward our way point at the equator and 132 degrees west longitude and picked up some nice boat speed.
Fred cooked up a killer dinner of pork loin with black beans and rice last evening. Eric finished The Perfect Storm and is now reading And the Sea Will Tell. I see a trend but I don't think there's of copy of Dead Calm on board. Cort makes coffee in the morning that is strong enough to raise the dead and corrode the stainless steel mugs. Fred is very frustrated as fish swim next to the boat but don't bite the lures. . . is there a net? MaiTai is waiting patiently for a fresh meal. I dug out the drag generator, hooked it up and am happy because it cuts the genset run time in half. Diesel is $.85 per liter in the Marquesas. The crew are catching up on their sleep. Bliss is starting to set in!
It's a slow commute this morning--8-10 knots. The sea is congested with flying fish and we almost hit a sea turtle! How was your commute?
Cort, the naviguesser says the day's run was 188 nautical miles and that we are 721 miles from Acapulco or one quarter of the way to Hiva Oa. Fresh northeast trade winds are pushing us at 8-11 knots with the big spinnaker flying.
The crew is getting along well. Cort, Fred and George can all use the same reading glasses!
If you would like to know what it's like out here, you can try a few things: Eat dinner on a roller coaster and sleep on a shelf in your closet. When taking a shower, shut off the water while soaping. Set the alarm clock to go off at random times during the night. When it goes off, go outside and sit for a few hours. Have a fluorescent light installed on the bottom of your coffee table and lie under it to read books. Put on a raincoat, stand in the shower and tear up $100 bills.
The drag generator popped out of its mount this morning and hit the barbeque. We think a shark hit the propeller in the water. We lost a drive prop, torque line and the barbeque grill. Imagine 14 days without a barbeque!
There's nothing like trade wind sailing! Cort says that our noon to noon run was 218 nautical miles or an average speed of more than nine knots. Today was wash day and I'm sure that all those sheets, shirts and shorts hanging on the windward lifelines added to our boat speed. Eric had the 0200 to 0400 watch this morning and saw bioluminescent trails, a dozen shooting stars, a few satellites and a huge electrical storm 20 miles to the south. He thinks he will try to choreograph music to it tonight for a light and sound show.
Fred is receiving a lot of jokes and insults about his fishing, but still no luck and the crew and MaiTai is longing for fresh sushi. He did lay out a killer pasta dish for dinner last evening to help make up for his lack of fishing luck.
In the cruising guide to the Marquesas, I read that the French artist Paul Gauguin traded an old Singer sewing machine to the parents of a 13 year old Polynesian girl for the right to live with her. I wonder what I can get for the brand new electric job I have on board? MaiTai is enjoying the occasional flying fish that lands on board, but she only eats the head. . . what's up with that cat?
We've been out just over a week and Cort says we can expect to pass the halfway mark tomorrow afternoon. Our day's run was 214 miles.
The weather has been squally since 0230 this morning. Rain has washed the deck and sails and given us a bit of relief from the sun and heat. Each squall passing leaves us with light winds and lumpy seas. We're looking closely at the weather reports to find the right point to cross the equator and intertropical convergence zone, also known as the ITCZ or doldrums, without getting hammered by thunder storms.
Fred reports that a large fish has stolen a second lure. . . there are now two fish out three with "hook-in-mouthÓ disease. No worries, we continue to eat well. Last night was an excellent lentil soup. Cort and I finished the evening with snifters of rum and cigars on the aft deck. Tonight is Mexican night-chicken mole poblano, rice and beans with a flan for dessert and, of course, cold cerveza.
The biggest excitement of the day was a dolphin sighting this afternoon with a great show of acrobatics.
Eric is trying to wean himself off of seasick medication. . . lots of sack time.
OK, here's some statistics for you. According to our navigator, Cort, we will reach our halfway point of 1410 nautical miles from both Acapulco and Hiva Oa in the Marquesas right around happy hour today. Cervezas are chilling. The day's run was 237 nautical miles. We are now in the Pacific Standard time zone and just about 2,243 miles due south of San Francisco in case you want to pop into our halfway party this evening. . . there will be plenty of beer, wine and vittles, so don't bring a thing.
Last night was comedy night--comedy of errors! Squally conditions and a number of "operator errors" resulted in a shredded spinnaker and not much sleep for the crew. Everything's going much better today. We're averaging 10 knots with white sails trying to pick our spot to drop through the equator (I wonder how it's marked?) below thesquall lines.
Eric and MaiTai both had mild cases of mal du mer yesterday as a result of lumpy seas, but there's evidence that their appetites are returning. Eric scarfed pancakes and bacon for brunch and MaiTai devoured an entire flying fish. Fred is cooking a turkey dinner and apple crisp for tonight.
Greetings from the doldrums! It's a very poor description of what we've experienced. We started the morning with rain and 20 knots of wind on our back. Then we went "motor slogging" into driving rain and 25 knot "noserlies" (wind on the nose.) We just popped out of the other side of the system and now have 17 knots of wind on our beam, thank you. Our day's run was 217 wet nautical miles, but after four sunless days, it looks as if clear skies are on the horizon. We're looking forward to opening the hatches and ports, drying out, and living outside again.
We were teased by a school of tuna yesterday afternoon. We hooked at least four fish, but due to boat speeds from 9-11 knots, we couldn't get them to the boat. At least MaiTai gets an occasional flying fish that has practiced an aircraft carrier landing on the deck.
We are all feeling well and getting just enough (not plenty) of rest. Thanks to Fred's cooking, we are eating well and thanks to Evert Fresh Bags we still have fresh lettuce, fruits and veggies after 10 days.
Tomorrow night, the equator!
We woke up to a gorgeous, sunny day. The squally "doldrums" are behind us and blue skies, gentle breezes and seas are ahead of us. We gybed (intentionally for a change) over to port tack and headed due south to the "Big E." Within a couple of hours the boat resembled a garage sale with gear drying out all over. With the spinnaker set and the wind and waves behind us, we are enjoying trad wind sailing at it's best. Cort says that the day's run was 190 nautical miles and that tomorrow while you are enjoying your morning coffee, we'll stop for a swim at the equator and photograph the "goose eggs" on the GPS screen.
Last night we saw another vessel for the first time in over a week. Eric, our onboard Sherlock Holmes, is searching for a small elusive source of fresh water finding its way into the bilge.
With just over a thousand miles to Hiva Oa, Fred is desperately trying not to make this a fishless passage. It has to be El Nino!
With the boom vang added to the list of broken gear and the sideband radio on the blink, I am feeling like I'm in the shower tearing up $100 bills.
Greetings form the southern hemisphere! I awoke this morning at 0630 excited to cross the equator for the first time in a sailboat. As I walked through the salon, I heard the sound of small metal parts hitting the deck overhead. On deck I discovered that the nut for the goose neck (holds the boom to the mast) had come off and the bolt was about to fall out as well. It could have been ugly! Some quick teamwork corrected the problem and we averted disaster just in time for the equatorial crossing. We dropped the sails and took a swim, but the water was too deep (14,000 feet) to see the line on the bottom.
Eric saw a group of fishing boats last night off to port. . . wonder if they were having better luck than us? Ahoy there, what're you guys using for bait? We had another lure swiped by a large fish-the teasing is endless.
Our day's run was 146 nautical miles in light winds. The quotation of the day came from Cort when asked if we should check the radar to see the weather ahead, he said "why bother, we're going anyway." We sailed through a very rainy squall and now are motor sailing in calm seas and very light winds.
We've decided that since we are ahead of schedule, we will make our first landfall at Fatu Hiva, supposedly one of the most beautiful and seldom visited islands in the Marquesas chain.
Equator party tonight!
We finally found the real doldrums, but a few hundred miles south of where they were supposed to be. Could it be because this is our 13th day at sea? We have been motoring on and off for 26 hours in two to five knot winds, but we're sailing in the squalls because the winds get up to eight or nine knots. We get wet, but they're free miles. The weather report says we should have 15 to 20 knot winds from the east to northeast-sure! Our navigator, "Graybeard" says the days run was 195 nautical miles and that we're less than 700 miles from Fatu Hiva. Help us pray to Aoelus, the wind god, to get us therewithout burning up all of our diesel. The good news is that the watches are easy and we can steer straight to the mark. After a round of rum punches last evening, Fred served up a great Tuscan minestrone soup and a dessert of spice cake with pears and ginger custard. We finished with rum and cigars on the aft deck. Just making the best of a tough situation.
Geez, the time is flying by--can you believe we've been out here for two weeks! We continue to motorsail in "ghosterlies," winds of 1-1/2 to five knots. When we hit an occasional squall or wind pipes up for a bit, we sail for an hour or two. The quotation of the day early yesterday by me "we ain't going anywhere, but we ain't burning any diesel." Cort says the day's run was 161 miles. His quotation of the day later was "the only time you have too much fuel is when you are on fire." With more than 500 miles to go and little prospect of wind, fuel may become an issue.
This morning we got word that "Leviathan," a 32-foot sailboat about 200 miles ahead was stranded in the calm with a blown engine. We diverted to assist and probably will tow her to Nuku Hiva. Just when you think you've got problems!
We finally caught a fish, a very small bonito that we released in the hopes of better luck. OK, we could have lied!
HOOWAA! We are sailing again! The trades filled in this morning and we have been reaching in 10 knot easterlies ever since. Just what we wanted for Easter. Having received the same wind, our friends on Leviathan (the boat in distress) are sailing on without our assistance.
Last evening was the most beautiful of the passage. The sun setting amidst the puffy cumulus "trade wind" clouds left an intense crimson glow on the horizon. You can only experience these breathtaking sunsets at sea. The glassy windless sea reflected the clouds above. It looked more like Lake Tahoe than the ocean, not a welcome sight for sailors. On my watch, the clouds parted to reveal the Southern Cross constellation (a southern version of the North Star.) On his four to six a.m. watch, Eric saw a simultaneous sunrise and moonset.
The navigator's report is that the day's run was 162 nautical miles and we are now less than 400 miles fro Fatu Hiva, our planned landfall.
Having run out of Bimbo Bread (Mexican Wonder Bread), Fred is making some killer scratch breads. Looks like we won't starve before we get to paradise.
While you were out looking for Easter eggs, we've been blasting across the South Pacific Ocean life a freight train, except we're rolling 20 degrees side to side in the beam swell. The trades have come in spades blowing up to 25 knots in the peaks. We're broad reaching, hitting speeds up to 13 knots. At this rate we'll be at anchor in Baie de Vierge (Virgin's Bay), Fatu Hiva, by mid day tomorrow.
Sometimes I know how Herb Caen felt when I'm running out of material to write. Wait! FISH ON! I'm back and we've just boarded a six foot long, fifty pound spearfish, which is related to the swordfish and is purportedly good eating. In fact he tried to spear me in the leg, leaving a little bruise. The pork loin is back in the freezer and we're having sushi and fresh fish for dinner. . . yum-yum. Did anyone bring sake? MaiTai is in a food coma from the scraps. We'd better start fishing again-it could be another 15 days before we catch anything.
As the sun rose this morning, we started seeing coconuts floating by and more and more birds. Those are good signs I thought. At 0700, I spotted the island of Motane off the starboard bow. Two hours later, we had Fatu Hiva right off the bow. HOOWA! All this cool electronic stuff really works! As we got close, we realized that we were in a very different world than the one we had left 16 days ago. The water is bluer and the young volcanic island before us is covered in palm trees and dense foliage. As we approached Virgin's Bay, it looked just like in the book, except the photo in the book had been reversed. As we slowly approached, we were all in awe-steep cliffs plunging into the sea, numerous spires jutting out (some with goats climbing on them) and greenery everywhere. Someone should have been there singing Bali Hai.
At 1:30 p.m. local time, exactly 16-1/2 days after we left Acapulco, we set the hook in the most beautiful anchorage I've ever laid eyes on. After putting the boat away and a bite of lunch, we launched the dingy and went ashore where we were greeted by a small army of kids, who gave us fruit and hounded us to see the boat. They spoke Marquesan and French so we didn't understand most of their chatter. We walked aimlessly for about an hour or so, mostly because we hadn't walked in so long, with the kids trailing along.
The natives are friendly and their homes are clean and simple. The local grocery store is poorly stocked, but the prices are high. For example, a swim suit was $40, a jar of mayonnaise $7.
Tomorrow, we will do some serious exploring while school is in session.
We're on the move again. After two days and nights in the breathtakingly beautiful Virgin's Bay, we're headed northwest up the Marquesan chain to Hiva Oa, where Paul Gauguin was laid to rest.
We spent the morning yesterday applying some spit and polish to our little floating home and then ventured ashore for some sightseeing. Two Marquesan children, who spoke no English, appointed themselves as our "guides" and we hiked for an hour or so deep into the tropical rainforest to a spectacular 200 foot waterfall. Along the trail were awesome vistas of the rugged terrain as we made our way across what appeared to be an extinct volcanic cone. After a refreshing swim in the cool pool at the waterfall and a few Kodak moments we headed back to the village and checked out some local crafts and chatted a bit with the natives. The village chief told us that a tourist had gone to the waterfall and disappeared a week ago. He advised us not to swim there because of a large, strange fish that was there (a bit late for us.) Guess he thought the fish ate the tourist--we think the guy just liked the island and decided to punch out and stay. Anyway, he asked us to put up a sign in English and German to warn other cruisers.
We had a quiet evening on the boat, watching goats hang out on the jagged rock formations above the bay. Later the moon and clouds provided an eerie lighting to the landscape.
We're back! We had a rather quiet weekend on the Island of Nuku Hiva, but then again there's not much going on here. We sampled some of the local food, which was excellent, but quite expensive. It's not hard to spend $25 a head on lunch or $50 on dinner. A beer is four to five dollars everywhere. The only bargain is baguettes, which are excellent and only 35 cents each.
We performed some necessary maintenance, repair and provisioning on Saturday and had a local meal with some live Marquesan music along with buddy boaters Ruth and Buddy from Annapurna, who arrived the day before from Acapulco.
Yesterday, we rented a four-wheel drive (all vehicles here are four-wheel drive) to do some exploring of the island. The roads are poor and the best one can do is about 10-15 kilometers per hour. We visited Typeevai, the valley Herman Melville wrote of in his first book, Typee. It is very lush, tropical and quiet. Archaeological sites abound and we hiked up to one that had tiki heads carved from volcanic stone.
We stopped for lunch at the only "snack" in the village owned and built by a Marquesan named Thomas. The food was good and inexpensive and Thomas gave us limes, local apples and bananas from the trees on his property. He then played his ukelele for us and told us that in addition to Marquesan and English, he speaks Spanish, French, Tahitian and is learning German. His is also the village priest. This kind of hospitality is typical once one gets out of the "big towns."
We are presently underway, motor sailing to Takaroa in the Tuamotus island group, about 439 miles from Nuku Hiva, where we hope to do some diving.
We departed Nuku Hiva in a flurry of last minute activities. We were able to pick up some great food (a turkey, some veal and asparagus) from a hotel that was closing to remodel, and of course fresh baguettes from the boulangerie. The rental car returned, awnings down and stowed, dinghy up, etc. and we were off by 0930. Fifty-seven hours of uneventful motor sailing on calm seas and we were in the Tuamotus.
Actually, we had two events: First we hooked two large marlin that did some cool tail dances before taking off with our lures and then we boarded a small tuna. A shark took a bite out of it while it was on or line but left enough for two sashimi meals. . . yum-yum, meow meow.
After we made a white-knuckle entrance through the narrow pass into the lagoon and dodged all the underwater lines (pearl oyster farms) we anchored in a glassy calm spot near the village. The Tuamotus consist of 78 islands, mostly coral atolls. The flat islands or "motusÓ are covered with palm and other trees. The village of Teavaroa is a small Mormon enclave, friendly and quiet. After an 1-1/2 hour grand tour and visit to the magasin (grocery store), we were invited aboard to tour the Picton Castle, which is an early 1900's three masted barque (tall ship) that is circumnavigating. She has all the latest gear such as canvas sails, manilla rope lines, coal stove in the galley, GPS and satellite phone.
We dove this afternoon in the pass to the ocean, experiencing an abundance of fish, including lionfish, barracuda and reef sharks. . . all friendly, of course. . .and the visibility was more than 100 feet.
Tomorrow, we will make a short sixty mile daysail to the Manihi Atoll.
The following account is from Cort's journal of the trip, written by him in the first person. I have added a few things to fill in some blanks. Thanks Cort, I was in no mood to write at this point.
Awoke this morning to wind. Are the trades finally back? Our plan was to weigh anchor at 0830 local time as the tide table for the area showed low slack water at that time. WRONG! The tide was still at a slight ebb at 1115, but with the skill of our skipper, we made it out through the pass to the open sea. The winds were fresh and easterly at about 12-15 knots. We were able to sail a direct course to Manihi, our next port of call recommended by friends and in various publications as a great place to dive, with a safe anchorage and an easy pass to navigate through.
I had calculated our ETA (estimated time of arrival) to be about 1600 based upon an 0900 departure, leaving us plenty of daylight to find an anchorage. However, with our late departure, it looked like it would be very close for us to make it through the pass by nightfall.
The day proceeded uneventfully, with a smooth broad reach flying a full main and the 2.2 ounce spinnaker, laying the mark.
As afternoon approached, it became increasingly evident that we would not reach port until after dark. Our choices were to heave to offshore for the night, or continue past Manihi and Ahe and on to Rangiroa Atoll, about 12 hours ahead, which would get us there at daybreak Saturday.
The consensus was that as long as we had to be on watch all night, we may as well press on to Rangiroa, as it had been touted as the best of the Tuamotus. It is the second largest atoll in the world, with great diving, lagoons, beaches, some restaurants and small hotels. We figured that if we grew tired of it we could proceed to the Society Islands (Tahiti & Bora Bora) and spend some time in Moorea before sailing to Papeete, the largest city in Tahiti.
I plotted a new course to Rangiroa, setting a way point giving us approximately 2 miles of sea room southwest of the island of Ahe. From there it was a clear shot to Rangiroa, with no charted obstructions within 28 miles of our course.
It was dark now and I felt uneasy about being close to islands and reefs so I checked and rechecked our progress by Ahe and requested to turn on the radar for a positive ID and to watch the squall activity which was becoming more prevalent.
We had dinner as we passed southeast of Ahe and could see some lights from the village in the distance.
We passed the way point and set our new course of 243 degrees to Rangiroa. My watch was to be from 0400-0600 so after doing the dishes, it was time to turn in. George was really tired and had the 0200-0400 watch and had already gone below. I did a last plot of our course before bed and told Eric, who was the first evening watch, not to sail below 210 degrees for any length of time as there was an island to the south that could be a problem. Albeit way south of our course, he acknowledged and I hit the sack. Shortly after falling asleep, through my earplugs I heard Eric call for George (Eric was having trouble steering in the shifty squally winds and George went up to help out). I could hear their voices and waited for them to call me, but figured they probably wanted me to rest and possibly come on watch an hour early at 0300 to help Fred with his watch.
I did not sleep well at all. It was hot and humid and the hatches had been dogged due to the squalls and my fan was on the blink.
At 0205, Eric came to my room and said they needed me up early as it was very squally out.
I groggily got out of my bunk, put on my shorts (inside out) and made my way to the cockpit and said what's up? George said that he didn't want Fred on watch alone in these conditions and that they were about to gybe to starboard tack and needed my help as it was really squally with winds up to 35 knots and would I mind being on watch two hours early as he and Eric were dead tired. I said no problem and asked when we were going to gybe. George said in the next lull. I said that while we're waiting, why don't I check our current position and he said fine. I went below and found our position to be 15 degrees, 11 minutes south latitude and 146 degrees, 48 minutes west longitude. In my stupor, I erroneously plotted the 11 minutes of latitude to the north of 15 degrees instead the to the south as one does in the southern hemisphere. This incorrectly plotted position put us approximately six miles to the south of our rhumb line course to Rangiroa. This seemed reasonable to me in view of the fact that we had been having difficulty holding our course due to the winds clocking to the east and squalls driving us to the south.
I came back to the cockpit and George asked how we looked. I replied we looked a little south of course but no problem. I asked him what course we were steering and was told about 210 to 220 degrees and the course to the mark was 276 degrees. This didn't make sense to me that we could be just slightly south of course with an angle like that. I was wanting to recheck our position when suddenly all hell broke loose. We hit something! At first I thought perhaps it was a whale or a container. The boat bucked and heeled. The sea was full of breaking waves and foam and we could hear surf pounding.
It was like a nightmare! We all exclaimed that we must have hit an uncharted reef as there are rumors of such in these islands. I put on my life vest and went below to send a Mayday. I wrote down our position. The boat was heeled over about 50 degrees and movement below was very difficult. I tried the sideband radio but it was inoperative. I tried the VHF and was able to reach Walkabout, the boat that we had assisted some days earlier. I quickly checked the chart along our route and could again find no charted reefs. Eric said he could see land to starboard close at hand through the night vision lens. The only island anywhere near our route was Arutua, some 28 miles south of our intended track and it should have been to our port side. Nothing made sense. The boat was in chaos, the waves and wind pushing her harder onto the reef. George and Eric deployed the EPIRB (distress signal transmitter), got the abandon ship bag ready and dropped the sails. I attempted to get an E-mail distress message off but was unsuccessful. George came below and was able to get an E-mail off to his mom (the NOAA would call her first when we set off a distress signal) to advise her that we were not in grave danger. I replotted our position (correctly this time) and found that we were indeed 28 miles off course and had struck a reef at the very north-northwest tip of the Arutua atoll.
I surmised we must have hit almost perpendicular and then the wind forced her to lay to starboard explaining how we were now 180 degrees away from our course heading and how the island was to starboard.
I continued to call Walkabout to give them our position and predicament. They offered to come to our aid, but George was hesitant because he did not want to endanger them.
Moonshadow was being pounded unmercifully against the reef and we could hear cracking and groaning against the strain. We were afraid we would lose her as the wind, waves and reef took their toll.
Meanwhile, Walkabout said she would come and stand by, that she was only five miles from us. Through the night vision we saw a light on the horizon to the north and assumed it to be Walkabout. We never saw or heard from them again (until we met them in Papeete.)
We proceeded to shut everything down and secure the boat as best we could, then waited for daybreak. The time passed very slowly but light finally came about 0500. With the aid of night vision we could make out a shore line about 30-40 yards in. I lowered myself gently to the reef and found a solid coral bottom about 2 feet deep. I slowly waded ashore to check it out. It was indeed terra firma with a crushed coral beach with scrub jungle followed further inland by coconut palms.
As the morning progressed we took valuables and personal effects ashore and set up "Camp Moonshadow." The awning was our tent and shelter, suspended with driftwood and bushes. It was quite warm with lots of bugs and hermit crabs everywhere. Eric and I set out to look for signs of habitation or ships-Eric inland and me up the beach to the west to a point of land. Upon reaching the point, I observed a small bay to the southwest, but no ships or village. We attempted a Mayday call on the hand held VHF to no avail. On returning to camp I tried my aircraft radio, but 121.5 MHz was blocked by the EPIRB signal. At least we knew THAT was working. I tried a Mayday on 128.95 MHZ, the frequency guarded by high altitude jet on Pacific crossings, again to no avail.
I took a look at the chart and saw that a village was indicated southeast of us about 17 miles across the atoll. We took inventory, licked our wounds and waited. We speculated by whom or when we would be rescued.
Moonshadow appeared to be stable, but water was leaking through a crack in the starboard side. The hours dragged by and no boats, aircraft or people were sighted. About 1300, I decided to take a hike up the beach again to the west to look for passing vessels or a search party. I had walked about a half-mile when in the distance I saw two men walking my way. As they drew closer, they appeared to be islanders carrying a fishing float, so my first thought was that they might just be out fishing. However, it turned out that they were indeed our rescue party. They had received our distress call about 0730 from the Gendarmes in Rangiroa, who in turn got it from Papeete, who got it from the NOAA in the USA from our EPIRB. We were saved!
I was still overcome by shock and disbelief as our rescuers arrived. I kept trying to wake myself from this horrendous nightmare. I was not going to wake up, I was going to just have to deal. They say that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. . . man, this ought to be real strengthening!
One of the men who rescued us happened to be the village chief. His name is Tetai. He was just the first of many incredibly warm, friendly, helpful, and generous people we would meet through this ordeal.
Cort and I decided to go to the village to arrange for assistance. Eric and Fred kept watch at "Camp Moonshadow" to insure that Moonshadow would not be looted. Tetai led us about half a mile through the jungle to the inner lagoon, where his boat was. He drove us to his village, took us to his house, fed us, gave us clean clothes and a shower and put us up for the night. He and his wife Veronica made us feel right at home.
We went to the city hall and called Papeete to arrange a tug to pull Moonshadow off the reef. Because of storms in Raiatea, to the west of Tahiti, the tug had to stay there for at least a few days to assist in pulling a number of boats that had gone aground there. With the prospect of 15 foot seas coming in our direction, my heart sank. The thought of losing my home was too horrible to consider. Tetai felt that he could get some of the large and powerful boats from the village to pull her off.
By the next day, he had mobilized 25 villagers, four boats, chain saws (to cut logs to help roll the boat off the reef) and at least a thousand feet of heavy line. Instead of church that Sunday, the group came out and gave it their all to get us floating again. Unfortunately, Moonshadow's 26 tons proved to be too much against the resources of the village. It was a huge disappointment, but at least the seas continued to be fairly calm.
We changed the watch at "Camp Moonshadow." Fred and I went to the village and I again begged and pleaded to get the tug from Papeete out as quickly as possible. They said maybe it would leave Monday. Fred and I passed the time in the village playing pool on one of Tetai's two tables, reading and enjoying the hospitality of our hosts. Just being with such wonderful and interesting people helped to take the edge off a bit.
Tetai took us out to Moonshadow again on Monday. We changed watches and Eric came into the village for a little R & R. More phone calls to Papeete. The tug boat outfit then informed me that before they would even dispatch the tug, the salvage company would first have to see the boat. More setbacks. More worrying that the seas may build and do more damage to Moonshadow before we could get her afloat. Our hosts continued to do anything they possibly could for us and would not let us help pay for anything with the exception of fuel for the boats on the failed rescue attempt. We were told that the tug would come possibly Wednesday but Thursday for sure. I had begun to lose faith in them.
After breakfast on Tuesday, I again made more phone calls to Tahiti. They said that Wednesday was out of the question for the tug, but that on Thursday both the tug and an expert in pulling boats off the reef would be there bright and early. The salvage expert, Warren told me later that he had pulled 140 vessels off of reefs in French Polynesia in 10 years-an average of more than one a month! We continued to marvel at the hospitality and helpfulness of our hosts. They would not allow us to pay for any food or lift a hand to help with anything. Tetai took us out to "Camp Moonshadow" in the afternoon. All was still well, albeit boring for the duty watch. Cort returned with me. That night we attended a wake of a friend of Tetai's. It was actually quite an uplifting event with food, drink and festive Polynesian music. After, Tetai opened the "casino" on his front patio. They play a game that is sort of a cross between roulette and craps. At one time I saw equivalent to $1000 U.S. on the table! Even though these pearl farmers are not really busy, they seem to enjoy a decent standard of living and a fair amount of disposable income.
The waiting game continued. On Wednesday, Tetai, sensing our impatience arranged a fishing day for us. In the morning his son took us out spear fishing. I shot a parrotfish and when I jumped in the boat to drop it off, it swamped, getting water in the fuel, gasoline on us and ending the short expedition. Tetei's son and his friend did get four nice grouper, though. I did get confirmation late in the morning that the tug Aito II had left Papeete and was on her way to rescue Moonshadow. After lunch, Tetai took us out in his boat, a 20-odd footer with a 150-horse outboard, in search of Mahi Mahi. This boat was designed for navigating through reefs, with a standup control station up forward and joystick steering. He took us out through the reef-strewn passes with precision skill. We banged around in the open ocean for about 45 minutes before we spotted some birds diving for baitfish. Tetai sped to the scene, spotted a Mahi and started in pursuit. He was hot on its tail as it leaped out of the water and zigged and zagged to lose us. After a few minutes of high speed chase, the Mahi slowed down and Tetai extended his right hand behind him. His son handed him a loaded spear gun. He continued to maneuver closer to the Mahi until he had a clear shot. Like a cowboy on a bucking horse shooting a rattlesnake on the trail, Tetai speared this fish. As soon as the Mahi (a female) was on board, he took off after the bull. Within minutes the scene was repeated. Cort and I were amazed. Do these guys know how to fish or what! Needless to say we had a great dinner of fresh fish that evening.
I woke up early Thursday morning and my anxiety was running high. Would we get Moonshadow floating that day or would she be mortally wounded coming off the reef? After a typical breakfast of coffee, fresh baguettes, fried steak, chicken and fish, we headed to the airport to pick up Warren and the salvage team from Tahiti. We arrived at "Camp Moonshadow" and the Aito II was already standing offshore. The seas were calm and I felt optimistic. Warren began barking orders to everyone and arranged a harness around the keel of Moonshadow. It took them a couple of hours to get everything ready. They moved Moonshadow slightly to get her away from some bad spots on the reef. We packed up "Camp Moonshadow." In his matter-of-fact way, Warren said "a bad boat, she breaks up, a good boat, she comes off."
Around noon, we were ready to go. Cort, Eric, and I jumped on board along with some of the salvage crew. Fred was coming from the village on another boat with MaiTai and our valuables -- just in case. Warren gave the order and the Aito II pulled. The scraping sound was horrendous, but in a few moments, all was silent and Moonshadow was dead flat in the water-FLOATING!! The crew was mobilized. The salvage guys put some epoxy patch over the crack in the hull while we manned the bilge pumps. Within minutes the bilge was empty and the leak was just a minor drip. I donned a mask and went over the side to have a look. XShe had come off pretty well. With the exception of the original crack, the scratches she incurred coming off were pretty much just in the fairing. Her keel was fine, but the bottom two inches of the rudder were mangled a bit. Moonshadow would be OK!! She would go to Papeete on her own bottom. Fred, MaiTai and our bags joined us on board. It was time to say so long to our friends in Arutua. My eyes welled up as we waved goodbye and I thought to myself, how fortunate we were to have been in the care of these wonderful people throughout our ordeal.
Other than the towing harness breaking once along the way, we had an uneventful 28 hour trip to Papeete. Fred and Cort left on Saturday and Sunday, respectively and Eric hung out for another week to help me with the massive cleanup job. We got Moonshadow in dry dock on Monday, and on Tuesday afternoon, Eric and I popped over to the island of Moorea for three days of R & R at Club Med. Saturday, we jumped on a Corsair 747 for a quick eight-hour flight to Oakland.
I thank all of you for your messages of support. It's great to know that I have so many wonderful friends out there at a time like this. I will be in the Bay Area for at least a couple more weeks working from this end gathering boat stuff and sorting out the best way to effect repairs to Moonshadow. On a sad note, I am looking for a new home for MaiTai. Although she's a great cruising companion, the laws of French Polynesia and New Zealand make it impossible for me to keep her through the repair process. I hope to see you while I'm here, but if not, perhaps in the South Pacific, or on my next visit.
All the best,
George and MaiTai
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