Raroia Pearl Farm Tour (mostly by Steve from S/V Lady Carolina)
We had heard and read a lot about the black pearl industry in The Tuamotus before we got there and about how cruisers before us were able to buy pearls directly from the farms for very cheap, so we were excited when our friends on S/V The Beguine organized a tour of the pearl farm in Raroia for all of us. Paul and Celeste had been there the day before and spoken with the owner, so it was all arranged. There was a shanty dock that we all tied our dinghies to and some loud construction going on near the water. On the dock, two guys were pulling strings of scallops out of the water and putting them in wheelbarrows. Once full, they’d push the wheelbarrow into a large open warehouse type building, where most of the activity was going on. So, one of the first things we learned was that the black pearls come from scallops, not oysters.
We didn’t meet the owner that day, because he was away in Tahiti, but we spoke to the forewoman, and met several of the workers. They have quite an assembly line operation going on, even if on a small scale.
Steve, from Lady Carolina, did a really good write up on the operation, so I’m just going to use that here instead of recreating my own:
There were about 12-16 people processing the shells in total and another 5 or so people working on the surrounding structures. Some point form notes:
– I thought that pearls come from oysters however the shells certainly looked like scallops, so I am not sure what they were – The black pearls that they extract are about 12-14mm in diameter. – When they seed the oyster, they use a (guess) 10-12mm white ?pearl? (actually, some other shell from the Mississippi). This means that the black pearl is not ALL black pearl ?it’?s a thin coating on top. I never would have guessed that. Kind of like learning about Santa Claus – It takes the oyster/scallop 1 year from seeding to retrieving pearl – They do not harm the shellfish when removing the pearl in fact it is quite an operation as follows:
a) Divers retrieve large strings of oysters on a line. (15 or so on a ½? polypropylene line) that are submerged off on one of the many (argh!) buoys/lines that crisscross the atoll b) Oysters are brought to a temporary holding pen on the end of the dock of the processing plant. (In the water) c) Workers, as required, bring up strings of oysters, put them in a wheelbarrow and move them 75m to inside stage 1 d) Stage 1: Workers cut off the monofilament lines that attach oysters to ½? line with machetes and then use machetes to clean off numerous other smaller shells that are attached to the outside of the oyster. e) These cleaned shells are put in a crate and the crate put in a large blue (4m? diameter, 1m depth) ?pool? that is cycling salt water. f) Another worker drills/redrills the holes in the shells for the monofilament line. g) Oysters back in the holding tub h) Another set of workers remove the oysters from the tub and use a special wedge tool to just open the shell a little bit and then a small plastic wedge is placed in the shell to keep it open. i) The shells are placed upright, wedges up, in the same orientation in a single layer in another plastic crate and put back in the water j) The pearl extractor (we were told they make 100kUSD/year) takes an oyster shell and puts a set of handheld spreaders into the shell where the wedge was and opens up the oyster a bit more. Jiggles the oyster around to the correct orientation and then places the shell in a holder. k) When in the holder he uses to long tools similar to dental probes to cut a small incision inside of one of the organs to retrieve the pearl. Examines the pearl. Good paerl in one bucket, bad pearl in another bucket. If a good pearl the oyster is reused and another seed pearl is put in, if the pearl was bad, the oyster is put into the discard bucket. l) The whole operation that the pearl ?surgeon? does takes about 30-45 seconds m) The good oysters get new monofilament put through them and they are tied to strings n) The strings are taken to the temporary holding pen at the end of the dock and eventually put back out in the bay.
Everyone is happy that is working there (or so it seems but it is really repetitive assembly line work) but what is totally staggering is the VOLUME of oysters that are moving through the line coupled with the knowledge that it takes a year to culture a pearl?there has to be 100,000?s of oysters strung up just in this atoll!!! (That is assuming that the operation runs year round?.not sure if that is the case, either way it is a lot of oysters all over the place)
It is actually nice to see that they have a 100% sustainable business that is managed quite well. There are many pearl farms in each atoll and many atolls that have pearl farms.
On a sad note, we were not allowed to purchase any of the pearls as the ?boss? was not there. There apparently is a HUGE tax on the pearls and it is monitored closely. We hope to find someone that will sell us a bag of them under the table in the next atoll.
Pulling scallops from the water at the Raroia pearl farm
Coconut Crab Hunting (By Steve from S/V Lady Carolina)
Yesterday afternoon Tim, Craig, Louis and I braved the flies and went into shore to set up traps for coconut crabs. Apparently, whoever introduced flies to the Tuamotu’s did not want them to be alone, so he also introduced mosquitoes. I am not all that sure what the flies and the mosquitoes eat however they both have an impressively massive population. Perhaps they get together and potluck during the evenings. (I have not seen mosquitoes like this since being back in Calgary….they were pretty bad and we had to retreat for bug spray……well, and more beer of course.)
Given that we are not seasoned coconut crab hunters my only information was to split coconuts and stake them down to the ground with spikes so that the crabs do not drag them away. We spent about 1-1.5 hours finding crab holes, splitting coconuts and spiking them to the ground. There is no shortage of coconuts on this island. I bet that 99% of the vegetation is coconuts. We actually had a rough time finding trees suitable to make into spikes. After the traps were set, we returned to Exodus for our evening potluck.
A few hours later when it was dark, we ventured back on shore and quickly determined that flies cannot see well at night whereas the mosquitoes have excellent vision during any time of day.
After we bug doped up and started our trek with a 2.5-gallon plastic bucket, we walked towards the first trap. Perhaps the rum was the cause of the difficult walking, but I am going to suggest that walking on 1000’s of large ball bearings at night on uneven, rocky terrain was to blame. There are literally 1000’s of coconuts and associated palm leaves blanketing the forest(?) floor.
As we arrived at our first trap, we learned a couple of things.
1) Hermit crabs LOVE split coconuts. 2) There are as many hermit crabs on the island as coconuts.
Essentially, we spent 1-1.5 hours setting up hermit crab feeding stations. Well, just for good measure we threw a couple of the big ones into the bucket. You never know how good they taste until you try one.
After a little while we saw other crabs that were not hermit crabs. We have arrived!!! We found the crabs and they were relatively easy to spot and catch. There was some confusion and question as to whether or not these were coconut crabs however when we caught a couple they were running away with coconut in their mouths. Well, it was definitely a crab, and it was eating coconut soooooooo it makes sense that these are in fact coconut crabs. Off we go to catch more.
Soon the bucket was filling up with crabs that certainly did not want to be in the bucket. A 2.5-gallon bucket is not all that big, and the job of the bucket carrier was to shake, spin, beat down, chase and recapture the ones that got out. This was almost a full-time job and, in the end, if you could get the crabs mad at each other they would tangle up in a ball of pincers and hold each other down. How do you get a crab mad you ask? Personally, I found that shaking, spinning, beating them down and recapturing them did that plenty well. Every now and again one would spring free and had to be recaptured.
At about time that I figured out how to control the crab-mass Tim yelled out. “Holy crap, what is that?” At that point we all came over and he had his light shining on a fairly large 10-12″ long, 4″ wide vibrantly blue crab-lobster like thing! Aha!!!!! THIS MUST BE A COCONUT CRAB!!!!!
We all concurred that this WAS the coconut crab that we have been looking for. The only problem is that we did not have any bucket room. The solution? All of our work getting the other crabs was lost and we dumped the crab-mass. They did sit there in a pile for a few seconds until they realized that they were not in the bucket and then they scrambled for cover. A neat sight to see. They all put their opened claws up in the air and ran sideways while saying “aye, aye, aye!”
We then put the coconut crab in the bucket and proceeded to look for more. We looked for a while with no luck and then decided to cross the island to the windward shore to look for lobsters at low(ish) tide.
As we moved towards the windward shore the vegetation turned from 99% coconut trees to 99% brush. More like a wall. While traveling through the brush-wall we discovered another interesting thing. Whoever introduced flies and mosquitoes apparently knew that this was a mistake. I am not sure if he tried little mosquito traps or fly paper and got poor results or not but the end solution to the original mosquito and fly problem was to introduce spiders. Many spiders. 1000’s of spiders.
These are special spiders with HUGE abdomens full of silk. Or they used to be at least until they made their numerous webs. The webs were no match for our might, and we easily smashed through web after web after web with our faces.
On the other side we found the remnants of a (40-100′?) steel boat that was washed up really high (inches deep water). Pretty sobering to see such old thick plates of steel broken and twisted and laying in pieces on the reef that we were walking on. Mother nature sure is tough at times. Perhaps the guy that introduced the flies, mosquitoes and spiders was on that boat and this was his punishment? I certainly hope so.
On the other side we did not see lobsters but lots of eels, small fish and something big that splashed a lot and swam away. I did not see it, so I am not sure what it was. In any case, tromping through a shallow reef at night with a flashlight and seeing something big splash in the water and only seeing a shadow leave was an entertaining adventure. After that experience the files now have something to eat.
During this walk through the trees, brush, reef our brightly color crab hung happily on the bucket, right at the top just sort of hanging out.
We decided to make our way back to the boat. Instead of returning the way that we came we decided to try a different route. Great success, it took us 10 min to get through the brush and onto the leeward side back to the dingy. The island is shaped like a teardrop.
We took the crab back to the boat to let everybody see it. (Not exactly our original plan, arriving back at the boat with 1 crab for 12 people after 16-man hours) We took pictures of the crab (which is a really gorgeous animal….well, for a crab). Poked it for a while, played with it and since it was the only one we caught we decided that there are clearly not an abundance of them, so we returned it back to the jungle to let it do its thing. I am sure that he is at the fly/mosquito/spider potluck telling all of his friends “You are not going to believe what happened to me last night!”
We read about this in the Soggy Paws Compendium, and it became standard part of our anchoring process while in the Tuamotus. Basically, the bottoms of most anchorages are littered with coral heads of various sizes. So, even if you find a nice sandy patch to drop the anchor on top of, since the anchor chain lays along the bottom it can get wrapped around a piece of coral if the wind shifts a bit or even as you swing about on your anchor. So, in an effort to minimize the chances of this happening, Tim would attach anywhere from 1 to 4 floats along the chain to keep it elevated up off the bottom. The first few times he did it from the water after anchoring, and this could be quite a chore since you had to get the anchor chain and the float close enough to attach, and the anchor chain is heavy and the float is of course buoyant, so it would take some strength and a lot of kicking while breath holding to make this happen. Eventually, he figured out to just attach the floats from the bow as we are paying out the chain when anchoring. Much easier.
The “Soggy Paws Compendium” became our primary source of information and waypoints for the Tuamotus. Basically, this is an informal guidebook put together by a cruiser (s/v Soggy Paws). They have gathered input from various cruisers and blogs over the years and have organized it into a document for other cruisers to use. They have a compendium for most island groups in The South Pacific, but I had an abundance of guidebooks for The Marquesas, so I really didn’t delve into the compendium too much. That changed for The Tuamotus. All I had was Charlie’s Charts for Polynesia, which in general hasn’t been that helpful for anywhere because the chartlets are hand drawn and hard to read, the information is usually outdated, and the information on the passes are usually just worst-case stuff. Also, the French Polynesia guidebook I bought in Hiva Oa only covered the most heavily visited motus and didn’t even include the ones we wanted to visit.
So, the compendium provided us with a lot of firsthand accounts of the atolls, and in many cases even included anchor waypoints. We are grateful to the cruisers who came before us who took the time to write up their experiences and even more grateful to Soggy Paws who collected the information and made it available to everyone else.
Raroia was our reward for the awful bash down from Nuku Hiva. It is a large atoll, but not really one of the largest, which will give you a sense of just how big these things can be. It’s oval shaped and about 21 nmi long and 6 nmi across oriented in a SSW to NNE direction. It has a single pass for yacht transit called Passe Garue, which is situated on the NW side. This is good, because since the trade winds blow from the E or ESE the pass entrance is in the lee of the atoll, so the sea conditions were calm as we waited to go through. It is a deep pass with just a few exceptions, and according to Charlie’s Charts, “Tidal streams and currents can reach 8 knots and slack water is usually of short duration.” Eight knots would be tough for Exodus, but luckily, we were there in much more benign conditions.
There is a single village called Garumaoa, which again, according to Charlie’s Charts has a population of about 50. I’m guessing since the publication is slightly dated that the population estimate is on the low side. The village is located on the West side, down a well-marked channel about 1.8 nmi south of the pass. This is also the atoll where Thor Heyedrdahl’s Kon-Tiki (google it) grounded on the eastern side of this island, and supposedly there is a little “monument” and even though we had GPS waypoints for it, we never went to see it.
I don’t have great notes on all of this, but my recollection is that we arrived at the pass entrance just about when we anticipated slack tide to be, but a quick look with the binoculars showed that it was still an incoming tide. Since winds were blowing from the East we had the situation of current opposite wind, which every guidebook said you should avoid. So, we slowed down and pondered what to do. First, we radioed for “any station inside the Raroia lagoon” because we were told that when you pull up to a pass you can always reach another cruiser inside who can give you any necessary tips and intel about slack tide. All we heard were crickets. Well, after that we didn’t ponder too much longer, because Tim’s assessment based on the visual with the binoculars of the standing waves on the inside of the pass (they were on the inside since the current was flowing in) was that it was something Exodus could easily handle. Neither the wind nor current appeared very strong, so even with the opposing condition, it really didn’t look that bad. Me, I probably would have waited around for slack tide before going in, if for no other reason than we’ve never done this before, and even though it doesn’t look that bad, what standards are we really judging this by?
So, we went for it. Tim was at the helm, and I was drinking rum. No, not really, I was on the bow, and I’m not kidding, we were through the pass in about 2 seconds. We had about a 2-3 knot current with us, so we just zipped right through. Piece of cake. Tim was right. (He doesn’t read these essays, so don’t tell him I said that.) Our drama didn’t start until we were inside the pass, and we saw black clouds looming and we checked the radar and could see a huge squall approaching us from across the lagoon. I was seriously worried about lack of sunlight and our ability to see the coral heads as we tried to cross the lagoon, but we would deal with that after the giant squall passed over us. So, we held position just inside the pass, in amongst about 3 coral heads, charted luckily, for about 20 minutes as we sustained pouring rain and 20+ knot winds. It seemed like it would never end, but when it did, it did so rather abruptly, and the winds died and the sky cleared up and we suddenly had fantastic overhead sunshine, and the bombies were lighting up with the sun’s reflection. Before arriving, I was actually more nervous about navigating the coral heads once inside the lagoon than I was about the pass entrance. For some reason I was picturing us having to go like a half a knot with one of us on the bow giving quick directions to go this way then that way through a narrow winding lane of clear water surrounded by millions of coral heads. I laughed at myself when we got there. The coral heads were large and easily visible with lots of room, in fact Tim even used the autopilot and just changed 10 deg this or that way well in advance of a bombie that would be visible a half mile away. So, Tim made a joke that we had mastered the first two dangers of the fire swamp (Princess Bride reference for any losers who didn’t get it), and we all wondered what the third might be. We found it soon enough. It was the underwater lines and bouys of the pearl farm, and our route across the lagoon had us going right through it and we didn’t notice until it was too late. The boys and I had to be even more diligent on the bow and yell if we thought a line was going to be too shallow so Tim could put the engines in neutral as we skidded over it. We never wrapped a prop or anything, but it seemed to take forever to get through it all.
We had picked out an anchorage from the Soggy Paws Compendium, and when we arrived, it was jaw droppingly brilliant. It was out of a postcard or a professional photograph, not a place that you actually get to visit in real life. There was a white sandy beach, palm trees swaying, and crystal-clear turquoise water that beckoned you for a swim. We were totally protected from the ocean swell bashing against the other side of the reef, and the low lying motu and palms also provided protection from the wind, so the closer you got to shore, the glassier and clearer the water was. And there was absolutely no one else there. Certainly not in this anchorage, and since no one was on AIS and no one answered our VHF call, it’s possible we were the only cruising boat in the entire lagoon. It was amazing. We were sitting in a stereotypical remote tropical paradise with a slight breeze and water lapping on the swim step. The weather was a bit cooler than The Marquesas, having dropped so many degrees in latitude. Tim and I spent the evening on the net (Exodus foredeck) after sundown, and I was actually a bit chilled, a sensation I hadn’t experience since way back in San Felipe in October. The solitude lasted only one night, but that’s OK, we were joined by the rest of our “clan” Lady Carolina, True Blue V, and Eleutheria. We had a potluck on Exodus the first night after everyone arrived, and all the guys went stumbling around the motu hunting coconut crabs. Steve from Lady Carolina did a write up on this, which a must read and follows down below.
Speaking of Lady Carolina, having arrived the following day, earlier in the morning, than we did, their experience coming through the pass was, well, a bit different than ours. They arrived in the morning, near a slack tide, with the current flowing out of the lagoon. So, they went for it, and it was like treading water. Carolina said at one point she was pretty sure they were going backwards. The boat didn’t point where they wanted, and it was a pretty stressful operation. Then those showoffs on True Blue V passed them on the left. Damn Aussies. Now, Lady Carolina was following the path down the middle of the pass, just as we had done, and it had worked pretty well for us. But since we were going in on an incoming current, our experience was like riding the rapids in, while since they had an outgoing current, they had those rapids against them. True Blue V stayed further to the outside, where they ran the risk of being in shallower water, but where they also enjoyed less current flowing against them. Anyway, obviously Lady Carolina made it through the pass and across the lagoon in order for Steve to go hunting for coconut crabs.
One of my favorite activities in this anchorage was paddle boarding, as long as I stayed between Exodus and the motu in front of us. The wind protection was excellent, and the water was glassy and there were tons of coral teeming with fish life scattered around in shallow water, so that paddling around wasn’t that different from snorkeling around. It was serene to the point of almost being meditative. Then one morning I ventured a little too far south out of the wind shade of the coconut palms and towards a little gap in the atoll, a “mini-pass,” if you will. The current must have been flowing in that mini pass, because within single digit seconds I was blown well into the lagoon, well behind Lady Carolina, who, as usual, was anchored well behind us. The paddle back to the anchorage was the most difficult paddle I’ve ever had. More difficult than paddling upwind in a squall at Las Rocas (Mexico, northern Sea of Cortez) to be sure. I had to get down on my knees to decrease my windage and increase my paddling moment arm. Once back in the anchorage it was glassy and serene again, so I could go back to my meditation pretending I didn’t really know how ugly it was out there.
The snorkeling in Raroia was most excellent. Especially after spending so much time in the black sand and murky water of The Marquesas. Tim and Steve (Lady Carolina) did some advanced scouting to find the best snorkeling spots for the rest of us, and they did not disappoint. They found a little mini pass, further south than the one that almost swept me out in the middle of the lagoon on my paddle board, and it made for really fun snorkeling. You could ride the little rapids down the middle and jet past all kinds of fish and coral, and then swim around and do it all over again. Here is where I swam with sharks for the first time. It’s starts out a bit unnerving, but you learn right away that these reef sharks are more afraid of you than you are of them. As long as you don’t have a bleeding, gaping wound, and as long as you don’t have a wounded, struggling fish, they will totally leave you alone. They swim around simply ignoring you. On this dive, there were only about 3-4 at a time and they were the black-tipped reef variety, only about 3 feet long, so it didn’t take long for us to ignore them just like they were ignoring us.
Next up on the snorkeling docket, we officially achieved snorkeling bliss. We snorkeled on and around one of the bombies and it was the most amazing snorkeling I had ever done. Water clarity was infinity. (OK, I’m exaggerating, but in a relative sense compared to Mexico, it may as well have been infinity.) There was both soft and hard coral and thousands of aquarium type fish. My favorite part were the giant clams with colorful wavy “lips” kind of like in a cartoon. I just kept swimming laps around the coral head, and I was actually the last one out of the water and back in the dinghy, and that just never happens. I’m usually the first to get cold or bored or both.
And last but not least, the winds died down just a hair and we were able to move back over to the other side of the atoll in order to do some pass diving. The skies were a bit clouded over for our passage across, which made it a little nerve racking. The sun would be out, and you could see every bombie clearly in your path, and then the sun would hide and the bombies would simply disappear. We also had more pearl farm buoys to contend with, but somehow, we made it all the way across with very little drama. We thought we would anchor near the town, but when we got there, we found the anchorage pretty deep and close to shore, so we were just a bit concerned about swing radius and being on a lee shore. Also, it would still be a bit of dinghy ride to the pass, so we opted to go see if there were any better anchor spots closer to the pass. There weren’t. We ended up anchored on small coral pinnacles (Lady Carolina on one, Exodus on another.) Tim dove in and inspected before we dropped anchor, and then he got back in the water when we anchored so he could place the anchor exactly where he wanted it. This is a good example of how Alex and Brenden make us *not* a shorthanded crew, because we never could have done such a precision anchoring job without them. The wind blew about 15 knots steady the whole time we were anchored there, and since we had no protection from wind or fetch from across atoll, so was a bit bouncy. But the location was great for staging for the pass dives, of which there were numerous. I only went on one of them, and wow, what an experience. We arrived at the pass in the dinghies pretty much right at slack tide, and once the current started up again (flowing into the atoll) we drove outside the pass, jumped in the water (each having our own line tied to the dingy), and rode the incoming tide all the way in. The visibility was amazing, and we saw all kinds of sea life. I was especially captivated by all the sharks. Not because I was afraid, but just because I’d never been so near so many at one time. I saw my first white tipped ones and even a nurse shark. We did this three times, and I have to say Tim and the boys enjoyed the dive WAY more than I did, since they dive deeper and can hold their breath longer. But I had a lot of fun too, up until the end of each ride when we were in standing waves getting tossed around like a mixed salad. Anyway, it’s definitely one of those not to be missed experiences, and the boys went several more times, once even with the hookah.
Overall, Raroia was an excellent introduction to The Tuamotus. There were so many options of where to go first, but I think we nailed the decision and ended up in a place that had the best of everything. My only regret is that we didn’t visit the small village there, and the only downside of the whole place was the flies. I’m not kidding, they were everywhere, and they were numerous. It’s like nature’s cruel joke, and idyllic tropical paradise, but we can’t make it too nice, so let’s add flies.
Our pass exit was just as easy as the entrance. We rode a dropping tide, so we had the current in our favor again, and we were out in seconds. I even drove Exodus this time.
Sitting in Anaho Bay in The Marquesas we were making final preps for the four-night passage down to Raroia. We were delayed a bit because we had a leak in our dinghy, and it was taking longer than anticipated to locate it. This little delay meant we were still in the bay when a French Customs boat rolled in to do some inspections. They stopped at Lady Carolina first, and after boarding and being there about 15-20 minutes, they started heading our way. A brief VHF chat with Steve included the advice to declare all the alcohol we had on board up front, even if it’s more than you claimed on your check in papers. OK, no problem. They came aboard, declined any sort of drink or snack, brought out a copy of our clear in paperwork and asked if this is what we had on board. I said, “well, we may have a few more bottles of rum and vodka, and maybe some more wine too.” I really had no idea exactly how much we had on board, so I was just playing it safe. They started searching, but I quickly realized that they were only looking in the bilge compartments that have little finger holes to open them, and it just so happens we have only one of the three stashes of alcohol in a compartment with a finger hole (totally coincidental), so what they found matched pretty much with what was on our paperwork, and they were happy, and I was relieved. Additionally, when they were searching the salon, the boys were in the middle of a chess game, and they had to move, and their game didn’t survive the moving process. When they moved, they went down into Brenden’s cabin to play, so when the Customs Agents went to search that side of the boat, they just peaked in Brenden’s room, saw the boys playing, and moved on without searching so much as behind the door. Maybe they felt bad about the earlier chess game, who knows. Since our entire beer supply is in Brenden’s head, that meant we didn’t have to explain why we had more Pacifico than we declared either. They left happy that we had declared everything and moved on to the next boat. Afterwards, we learned that they found undeclared rum on Lady Carolina, but all they got was a lecture. So, it ended up being a net positive since the rum had been missing for a while. The silly thing, in hindsight, is that there was absolutely no reason not to declare everything we had on board when we arrived in Hiva Oa. No one boarded the boat and there were no duties to pay, so going forward, that will definitely be my approach. Declare everything.
Anaho is on the west end of the north side of Nuku Hiva. The wind was blowing pretty much due east, so we had the options of leaving the bay and heading west downwind and the get into the shadow of the island as we headed south, or we could head east upwind and motor just a short while and then have a beam reach as we turned south. I suggested the latter, it was agreed to, and, yeah, big mistake. The winds came more southeast as we turned the corner so we either had to motor longer or make a big, long tack. Plus, the seas were a mess from the reflection off the island. Anyway, once we cleared Nuku Hiva it was much better, but then we had to pass the lee of Ua Pou, so we were in an island shadow anyway, so there turned out to be exactly no redeeming aspects of turning right. So, from now on when asked which way we should go, the answer is always, “left, definitely left.”
The entire passage was a lumpy bumpy one. Our first night we had winds in the 25-30 kt range and we were hard into it on the port side. We weren’t really prepared for all the boat motion and things were rattling around and falling over. I hadn’t put the fiddles on the stove, and we really needed them in order to get dinner going, and I got myself a little seasick digging those out and putting them on. We were taking waves over the side, so we were appreciating our soft bimini around the helm as it kept that area nice and dry. The cockpit took a few waves all the way up onto the table, though, and the worst part of all was Alex’s cabin hatch started leaking. He came up while I was on watch, and he was clearly distressed, and he said water was pouring into his bed. I went down to take a look, but immediately realized there wasn’t much I could do without getting immensely seasick, so since Alex swore the hatch was actually closed, I asked him to wake his dad for help. Tim got up, took a brief look, came up and told me he thought the hatch wasn’t closed properly and that’s why water came in, and he promptly went back to bed. Of course, with the next big wave water once again poured into Alex’s bed, and I wasn’t much help to him in figuring out why, so he just “put a band-aid on it” and put a rag near the leak to guide the water and a large plastic bin on his bed under the rag to catch it. This worked OK for the rest of the passage.
The second day the wind moderated a bit down to 23-24 kts and then after that it was a pretty consistent 15-20. The worst part (other than the boat motion, of course!) was that we had to keep hatches closed due to water splashing onto the deck, so it was bloody hot in the salon and cabins. We encountered many squalls along the way along with a new phenomenon we hadn’t encountered before. On the backside of a squall after it had passed by us the wind would totally die. I mean dead calm. It was like the eye of a hurricane or something, and we even had to fire up an engine a few times to get out into the wind again. Even with all of these “squall shadows,” as we started calling them, we made really good time. We had planned for a four-night passage, and since timing our arrival for a slack tide was important for entering the pass, our fast speed early on was a bit concerning, and the rest of our buddy boats slowed down almost immediately. At that point, we decided to proceed without concern for our arrival time, just reef for safety as we normally would, and as we got closer if it became obvious, we couldn’t make it in three nights then we’d slow down. Going into the third night we were liking that decision because it looked like we’d make it at just the right time the next day if we could keep up a reasonable speed, which we did.
It was squally while we were waiting for a good time to go through the pass
Prior to leaving Mexico, I did a lot of research on the The Marquesas. I knew which islands and anchorages were on my “must see” list and I knew what the best route should be given the predominantly ESE trade winds. However, when it got close to leave The Marquesas, I was still pretty clueless about the Tuamotus. The options were endless, and it was hard to keep the names of the places straight since they were all so unfamiliar. Finally, I figured I just had to do some systematic reading, and I went through our two guidebooks and the “Soggy Paws Compendium” and made a list of each atoll along with a few other details like how easy the pass was, how big the village was, and what the fishing was like. Then I connected the atolls into logical possible routes for us through the archipelago and down the Tahiti. So, there were still a lot of options, but it was a bit more manageable, since I was able to eliminate a lot. We decided we wanted to go a little off the beaten path, but not have to transit any passes that were crazy hard. We also decided to just pick two atolls at this point, because they really are quite big, and there’s no need to rush. If we ended up with time for a third, then we would revisit our options at a later time. So, we settled on Raroia and Makemo. Raroia was listed in the guidebook as a good option for a first stop for those not wanting to go the usual route through the more northern atolls of Manihi, Ahe, and Rangiroa (the capital). We also liked the fact that it had a small village and the pass diving had been listed among the very best. Makemo caught my attention because the fishing was supposed to be exceptional, and there was no ciguatera. At one point I brought up the possibility of Kitiu, but that was shot down instantly by the rest of the gang. It has a very narrow pass, and you actually end up anchoring IN the pass, so the others thought that a little too risky. I’m usually quite conservative, but I was drawn to it by the write up of one other boat having an exceptional time interacting with the people in the village there. Oh well, there’s always next time. Tahanea, the third atoll we visited, was a last-minute decision after Makemo, and to be honest, I don’t even remember how that decision came about.
Between The Marquesas and The Society Islands (where Tahiti is) is an archipelago of over 70 small, scattered islands. Called The Tuamotu Archipelago, this group of islands was unofficially called “The Dangerous Archipelago” for centuries due to the high risk it posed to mariners. Unlike the young, steep, lush islands of The Marquesas, the islands in the Tuamotus are nearing the end of their geological life cycle. They are coral atolls, which are basically just a ring of coral, the fringing reef for a volcanic island long ago collapsed back into the sea. There are typically motus (or islets) along the reef on the northern and western sides, and if there are any towns or villages this is where they would be. The motus are totally flat with little vegetation except for palm trees and short grass. The southern sides of the atolls are often just bare, awash coral reefs, so, as you can imagine, they can be difficult to see visually until you are right on top of them. They don’t give off a huge radar signature, so before GPS this entire archipelago was mostly avoided by cruisers due to the risk of going aground and being stranded or worse, sinking.
Today, a small subset of the atolls have become common cruising destinations on the way from The Marquesas to Tahiti. Others, while less common, can still find 10-20 boats per season visiting them. Still, the majority are avoided either because they are way out of the route, because their passes are either nonexistent or too harrowing to consider transiting, or because they are too close to the restricted zone where the French used to do nuclear testing.
In order to get into the lagoon within the coral ring of an atoll, there must be a pass that is safe enough to transit. Before I say a little about the passes, I want to point out that some of the atolls are HUGE, like 10-20 miles long and 5-8 miles across. So, if you are like me, when you think of the word “lagoon” you are thinking of a small pool, but no, these “lagoons” are massive. The passes are basically just gaps in the coral and they come in all lengths and widths. Some atolls have more than one pass, but many have only one. As the tide rises and falls it affects the current through the passes as the lagoon fills with the incoming tide and then empties with the outgoing tide. The ideal time to transit a pass is at slack tide with little to no wind. The worst conditions would be with a strong current in one direction and a strong wind in the opposite direction, because this creates the condition of standing waves, and sometimes they can be huge and therefore quite dangerous. Among our buddy boats (and I’m sure among most other cruisers) a lot of effort and energy went into trying to predict when slack tide would be for a particular pass. We would take the tide tables for Rangiroa (The capital of The Tuamotus) and then estimate based on difference of degrees latitude and also what the prevailing weather has been like. For example, if the wind has been blowing hard from the south, the lagoon may be fuller due to water coming in over the reef, so the outgoing tide may be more predominant and slack tide in the pass would be offset from what is predicted based solely on the tide tables. In fact, we went to an atoll that never has an incoming current in the pass (but that story won’t come until we get to The Societies).
So, first we would all try to predict, then we would consternate, because of course we would all come up with different answers, then after more stewing and calculating we would reach some sort of agreement on when we thought the best time to transit the pass would be on the day we thought we might arrive. Then, we had to actually arrive at that time. That’s a trick. We learned we could predict fairly close, but nothing beats getting out the binoculars and observing the pass conditions with your own eyes to determine if you think it’s safe or not. I don’t think we ever transited a pass at exactly slack tide, and we did usually encounter small standing waves, but we never had anything close to a scary moment.
Inside the lagoons is what may at first look like a huge pool clear water to sail about as you wish without the ocean swell to roll you about. However, in reality, the lagoons are littered with coral heads, many, if not most which are not charted. So, in order to move about, you need good visibility and a constant lookout posted on the bow, or higher up, if possible. You want the sun out, not clouded over, and you want it directly overhead or slightly behind you. The worst sun condition is to have it shining directly in front of you. Generally, the coral heads, affectionately called “bombies,” are near the surface, large, and easy to spot. But you never know when that small one not right at the surface but shallower than your draft would find its way in your path, so you had to stay diligent and maintain a good watch. Alex and Brenden proved that standing on the bow watching for bombies for hours at a time was not exactly their strong suit. “C’mon Brenden! At least have your eyes pointed somewhat in the direction of the water!”
We left Anaho Bay on Nuku Hiva in the Marquesas late morning on 10 May, and we had an uncomfortable yet speedy 3-night passage down to Raroia (write-up to follow). We timed our arrival pretty well (totally lucky), and we made our way through the pass and across to the east side of the lagoon to a most spectacular anchorage. After a few nights, we moved just a bit south to yet another spectacular anchorage, but we stayed there only one night, since the weather was looking good for a pass dive, which meant moving over to west side of the lagoon near the town and the pass. We had a bit of trouble finding a suitable place to anchor, but we finally settled on the north side of the pass anchored on a bombie (a coral head) on a lee shore. Luckily, the wind cooperated and stayed under 20 kts, so we were comfortable staying there a couple nights before heading out the pass for an overnight passage to Makemo.
When we arrived in Makemo, we stern tied to the wharf at the village of Pouheva near the pass. We ended up staying there a full week, because we had so much fun with the people of the village. Afterwards, though, we spent two days at a more secluded anchorage a bit north of the village to decompress from all of our interaction. Finally, we moved near the northwest pass to do some pass diving, and once again we had a hard time finding a suitable place to anchor. It wasn’t the best anchoring situation, so we stayed only one night before leaving on a very slow overnighter to Tahanea.
We had to go intentionally slow, so we didn’t arrive to early, in fact, we were flying only a triple reefed genoa. We still arrived too early, so we waited for the sun to come up before entering the pass. Once inside, we decided that the sun wasn’t high enough to safely navigate the lagoon and all of its coral heads, so we anchored at a nice spot just inside the pass for a few hours. Later, we headed over to the southeast side of the atoll to a pleasant and protected anchorage where we hung out with a few new kid boats for a couple days. When the weather window looked right for the passage to Tahiti, we moved back to the anchorage near the pass for one night and the next morning we said good-by to The Tuamotus.
Our route through the Tuamotus – from right to left: Raroia, Makemo, Tahanea
This is actually an excerpt from an email sent out by Steve from Lady Carolina. He writes much more than Tim, so he’s given me permission to include things like this when he describes things he and Tim do together.
On a completely different note: Catching Lobsters. To tell you the truth, I am not much of a lobster coinsure, I can take them or leave them however Kyle and Carolina LOVE them. This means that we go lobster fishing every now and again.
There are several methods of catching lobsters. One, you dive during the day and look for their antenna sticking out of rocks, you then dive down and spear them in the face with a pole spear, drag them out and put them in a dingy. There are a few problems with this method. Firstly, they really do not want to be found and tend to hide really well during the day. Tim and I have dove on reefs for hours and never saw any signs that there were lobsters there. At night on a full moon, just before the moon rises however, they do come out a bit more and are easier to spot.
Secondly, when you stab a lobster in the face it’s pretty much game over for them and it is difficult to tell the sex before you stab them. Also, during the stabbing process the lobsters have a bit of a freak out (understandable) make a lot of noise and flop around violently. Freaking out, making noise and flopping around are the top three items on any shark’s ToDo list. In other words, spearing lobsters attracts sharks.
So, what Tim and I do is dive a night with flashlights. Search around for them clinging to walls or moving from den to den (they are surprisingly hard to see and are camouflaged very well) then you sort of gently swim up and try not to disturb the water around their antenna. If you do, they are gone. Right now. Amazingly super-fast. If you touch their antenna? Gone. It is quite a sight to see how fast they go from zero to out of grasp to out of your view.
We dive, locate and grab them. (The big ones take two hands to grab, and you seriously have to use your feet to pull them off the rock after you grab them.) After we have them secure in our hands, we straighten the tail to see if it is a male or female. Females we let go, males, well, sometimes it’s hard to be male. Bring them to the surface and put them in the dingy. Typically, 2 divers down and one person in the dingy floating along close to the rocks.
Oh, yes. And wear gloves, thick gloves. Those prehistoric spiney spear defenses they have are certainly painful……even with gloves if you grab them the wrong way!!!
Gresham Family Exodus 