Oh, my God,” the local kids shouted and giggled. One by one, they jumped into the water from the side of a concrete boat ramp and came to the surface, repeating what they had just heard us say as we did the same thing to cool off after a long afternoon of chart and boat briefings at The Moorings charter base on Raiatea, a gem of a destination in the Leeward Islands of French Polynesia. 

From the water, I watched their mothers chatting the late Sunday afternoon away in the shade of a stand of trees. To the north, I took in the unfamiliar shapes of the daymarks lining the channels, and the coral between our harbor swimming hole and the island of Taha’a, a couple of miles away. It was all but impossible to keep my eyes off the iconic rocky peak of Mount Otemanu, shrouded in tropical haze on Bora Bora, some 20 miles to the northwest. I’d seen it in pictures hundreds of times as I read South Pacific adventure tales. 

But now, oh, my God, indeed: Here we were. We were going sailing. In Tahiti.

It took three days to get there from ­wintry Boston, with an evening stopover in Los Angeles and a second night spent in a hotel in French Polynesia’s capital city, Papeete. From there, photographer Jon Whittle and I, along with the trip’s organizer, Josie Tucci from Sunsail, and one her friends from Florida took a morning flight on a small commuter plane to Uturoa, Raiatea’s main commune. Our travels ended with a short cab ride to the Sunsail docks nearby. For the next few hours, eight more sailing and golfing friends of Tucci’s wandered in, ready to help celebrate her big 5-0 aboard two roomy cruising cats: a Sunsail 505 for the birthday girl, and Magic Dancer II, a Sunsail 454, for Whittle, me and overflow guests.

Most of the sailing we’d be doing for the next 10 days would be around the large islands that sit inside extensive coral barrier reefs, so the chart briefing was quite detailed. A local skipper went over aids to navigation, points of interest, anchorages and the like. He stressed to us North American sailors that Lateral System A is used in this part of the world, with red marks left to port, not starboard, when entering passes from the open water. Inside the lagoons, square red daymarks designate dangers toward land; green triangles show hazards along the reef; and various configurations of triangles atop poles indicate whether to leave obstructions to the north, south, east or west. We took detailed notes on large paper charts and downloaded a cruising guide PDF that would be consulted frequently throughout the trip.

There are four main islands within the group. Two of them, Raiatea and Taha’a, are quite close and within the same barrier reef. Between them lie well-marked shallows and coral beds, so sailing back and forth is fairly simple. 

Bora Bora and Huahine are another story. To reach them, open-water passages of about 20 miles are required, with a long slog upwind either going or returning, depending on the island. Early-morning departures are required so that upon arrival, passes can be navigated while the sun is high. An eye on the weather is also recommended because conditions can get boisterous.

Midafternoon, the briefing formalities were put on hold for nearly an hour when a troupe of local musicians and dancers came to welcome us. They handed out leis and headbands made from colorful local flowers, including tiare apetahi blossoms, which grow only high in Raiatea’s mountainous interior. The men sat with their instruments and played Polynesian tunes while the dancers, a mix of women and children, twirled and shimmied their grass skirts in lively routines handed down from their ancestors.

It being a Sunday, all stores had closed at noon, so provisioning had to wait until Monday. Early in the day, a couple of us from each boat took a taxi to the Champion market in downtown Uturoa, a bustling urban area where the cruise ships dock. Though all of the islands in the group have grocery stores of some sort, we were advised to get the bulk of our provisions here. The market was well-stocked, but with all goods needing to be shipped in across the vast Pacific, prices were steep.

Back at the boats, we loaded supplies and topped off water tanks. By late morning, it was time for the adventures to begin. First stop: Passe Rautoanui, an opening through the reef on the northwest side of the island. 

As we approached, we picked out the cardinal marks indicating the opening. White waves crashed on the coral reefs to either side, but the water between them was dark blue and deep. Outside, we rounded up into an offshore breeze gusting to 20 knots or so. We went with a single reef in the main, unfurled the genoa, and settled in for an easy reach south to Passe Punaeroa, about 8 nautical miles away.

Ashore, the mountaintops disappeared into the haze and clouds. The colors—blue sky, green jungle, white breakers on the reef—were spectacular and everything I’d imagined French Polynesia would be.

Back inside the lagoon, Tucci’s boat led the way along a narrow channel around the southern end of the island to a tiny anchorage behind Motu Nao Nao. We’d been told during the briefing that there’s room for only three or so boats, and there was already a large monohull there, so we aboard Magic Dancer II opted for a mooring a mile or so away in deep water off another small motu, or island. We took the inflatable across to join the festivities underway aboard what already had become the party boat. Nao Nao was the perfect place to spend a hot afternoon with a cold beverage and snacks. A few of us took off snorkeling over the nearby coral heads. It was an excellent transition to island time. 

With evening approaching and the sky clouding over, I hopped into the dinghy alone, figuring I’d make better time motoring solo back to Magic Dancer. I didn’t make it far from the swimming hole, though, before the sky turned black. Time to turn back to the cat that stayed at anchor to ride it out? Nah. I pressed on and almost at once got gobbled up in a white squall that came rolling through with ferocious gusts, stinging rain, and lots of lightning. That was a dinghy ride to remember.

Tuesday, we continued the counterclockwise tour of Raiatea, the largest island in the Leeward Group. Late morning, we anchored in about 30 feet of water, deep in Baie De Fa’aroa, a fjord located about halfway up the island’s eastern side. From there, several of us took two inflatables up the Apoomau River. We were told that it’s the only river trip in all of French Polynesia, and we soon discovered spectacular glimpses of Mount Tefatuaiti with its towering rock walls and deep valleys shrouded with mist. Our destination was the botanical garden near the headwaters. 

It was slow-going, with many sunken trees and shallow spots to dodge. Along the way, we met a local man who, for a modest fee, paddled his faded orange kayak ahead of us and gave us a guided tour of the gardens. On the way back, we stopped at his camp, where his wife and daughter wielded machetes to cut up coconuts, red papayas, grapefruits and bananas for us. We ate so much fruit that we almost didn’t need the lunch of shrimp curry and rice that Tucci’s sailing mate, Paula, had cooked while we were gone.

Later that afternoon, we tried to visit the small village of Marae, home to an ancient Polynesian temple, but the holding was poor and evening was coming, so instead we found a sandy spot to anchor on the reef off Pointe Tamapua. The crew voted to go ashore for dinner at the Opoa Beach Restaurant, where the ginger tiger shrimp were indeed a delicacy, as ­promised on the menu.

Early Wednesday morning, the big-boat crew set off for the airport in Uturoa to pick up a late-arriving guest. We lingered a bit for a swim and breakfast before hoisting sails and reaching across flat water along the shore. At the top of the island, we found the marks for a channel skirting Grand Banc Central shallows, which lie between Raiatea and Taha’a, and crossed for a lunchtime rendezvous with the big boat in Baie Apu, an anchorage on the southern end of Taha’a. 

From there, we motored up the west side of the island until we spotted the Motu Tautau and a cluster of luxury bungalows built out over the water, the La Taha’a by Pearl Resorts. We anchored just south of them in a sandy spot with about 7 feet of water. The breeze was brisk, so I stayed behind to watch the boats while the rest of the crew took the tenders and motored past the resort to a channel between a pair of small motus. Once they secured the boats, they walked up-current along the shore of one of the islets, and then jumped in for a fast snorkel back to where they’d started. Everyone returned raving about the ride.

For me, the highlight of the trip came the next day, when our little armada set off for Bora Bora. After a brief motorsail south to clear the reef through Passe Papai, we killed the engines and started off on what would be our longest day of sailing. 

Out of the lee of Taha’a, Magic Dancer lived up to its name, slicing and surfing through big trade-wind swells. According to the chart, our desired heading was 293 degrees, but trying to steer that in a blustery southeast breeze of 15 to 20 knots proved nearly impossible because of the constant threat of an accidental jibe and the jib being blanketed. Instead, we crisscrossed the rhumb line on a series of broad reaches—each one bringing the towering peak of Mount Temanu more clearly into focus—until we finally spotted the iconic light that marks Pointe Te Turi Roa on the southeast corner of the reef surrounding Bora Bora.

Along the way, we spotted flocks of birds diving for baitballs roiled up by tuna and other big fish. Occasionally, an interisland freighter or fishing boat came into view, but for the most part, we were on our own, out on a great big sea, surrounded by whitecaps and having a ball. Or at least some of us were. The others, well, they spent the time nursing cases of mal de mer.

The birthday boat was ahead of us at the light, but by radio we called them back so that Whittle could launch a drone and get photos of the two cats sailing along the edge of the reef. It was a surreal scene: the boats side by side on a deep blue ocean, a long line of frothy white surf where the swells piled up on the coral, the tranquil lagoon just beyond with the lush green island in its center. Overhead, the white clouds had greenish-blue bottoms because of the sunlight reflecting upward off the water. It was a lot to take in.

There is only one way in and out of Bora Bora: Passe De Teavanui, which is about halfway up the island’s western shore. It was midafternoon when we arrived, and once through it, we had a straight shot to the mooring field at the Bora Bora Yacht Club. We went ashore to the club for dinner and topped off the evening playing Boule, a bowling game, on sand courts near the bar.

Friday morning, a few of us walked the shore road to an ATV trail cut into the jungle-covered hillside. It was a steep climb to the top, but the reward was a stunning view of the lagoon below and a couple of cruise ships that had just arrived.

That afternoon, we got underway and followed a twisting channel inside the reef across the top of the island and down the eastern side. Though it was windy, the breeze was, for the most part, on the nose, so we motored. To be honest, it was a nerve-racking trip through shallow water teeming with coral heads. Off to port, numerous resorts were built on stilts over the water and reef. They were well-marked on the chart and helpful as we tried to keep our bearings straight. 

Anchoring is not allowed within the reef at Bora Bora, but mooring balls are plentiful all around the island. We grabbed ones off a sandy beach at the southeast corner of the lagoon and settled in for an afternoon of swimming that slowly faded into star-filled night. Overhead, the Southern Cross and Orion kept us company.

In the morning, a few of us jumped into the inflatables with snorkels and fins and went exploring in a marine park by two small islets a mile or so away. There were a couple of tour boats from nearby resorts when we arrived, but soon they cleared out and we had the place to ourselves. We found fish and coral aplenty in 10 to 12 feet of water.

That afternoon, the trip back around the island was simple: All we had to do was follow the track we’d laid down on the chart plotter the day before. Near the north end of the island, a kayaker fell in behind us as we motored by at 6 knots. He hitched a ride on Magic Dancer’s wake for 2 or 3 miles. It was an impressive paddling demonstration that the fellow put on.

For lunch, we made a stop at Bloody Mary’s, a popular shoreside bar and restaurant. As we ate, a band appeared on stage and locals started to wander in for what seemed to be turning into a Saturday-afternoon ripper. We took it in for a while, then headed back to the boats and went to find a mooring out near the reef on the western edge of the lagoon.

The original plan was to head back to Raiatea on Sunday morning, and from there, sail to Huahine for a day. To pull it off, we’d need to keep moving, and personally, I was looking forward to three more long open-water crossings. But some of the others who’d suffered on the way up weren’t so keen. On any charter, and especially one with a large contingent of nonsailors, keeping the crew happy is ­paramount. So, it only made sense to scrap the plan. Instead of spending Sunday at sea, we’d play. Hard.

The next morning, we explored ­nearby sandy motus. In the shallow waters around them, we swam with small blacktip sharks and searched for rays. After lunch, we all kicked back on the big cat, where a couple of techs from the charter company appeared with a motorboat and wakeboard. The scene only became more festive as more powerboats filled with locals zipped by, many of them pulling tubes loaded with screaming kids.

Along toward sunset, as a dinner of chicken curry simmered on the stove, Tucci’s friends decorated the boat for the birthday bash that turned into a ­laugh-filled night of music and revelry.

Monday started slow. We motored back to the mooring field by Bloody Mary’s and made a provisioning run for supplies to last us to the end of the trip. Then we took the tenders across the shallows at the southern tip of Bora Bora that keep big boats at bay. Besides seeing the southern tip of the island, we wanted to check out the good snorkeling area we’d visited earlier. It was a long, wet ride in the small boats, but well worth it once we got there. Visibility was better, and the fish were easier to spot and more plentiful.

The sea was glassy and the wind was initially calm for our return to Taha’a on Tuesday. As we passed the lighthouse on the corner of the reef, a breeze began to stir, so we raised the main and motorsailed closehauled, pointing as high as we could. Then, with 6 miles to go, the wind suddenly kicked up to near 20 knots on the nose and brought with it waves that made it a slow slog the rest of way to the pass back through the reef at Taha’a.

Inside, we motored north again along the island’s west coast and picked up a mooring in Baie Tapuamu, across from where we’d anchored a week earlier. The big cat arrived soon after, and following lunch, we headed ashore for a tour of Domaine Pari Pari, a local rum distillery. The white rum had a raw taste to it, not anything like the Caribbean rums most of us were used to. But it was ­drinkable enough, poured over ice on a hot afternoon.

Wednesday was our last full day aboard the boats. In the morning, we took our snorkeling gear and went by inflatable a short way up the coast, where we were told we might find rays. Just when I thought we’d been skunked, I watched a single manta ray come up from the depths. It had about a 6-foot wingspan and wild-looking markings on its back. Most everyone got a glimpse of it gliding along the shallows before it disappeared back into the deep.

Back in the tenders, we pushed a bit farther north until we spotted a dock and buildings where we thought we might find a spot for lunch. Instead, we’d landed at the Iaorana Pearl Farm, said to be the largest in French Polynesia. The farm manages some 2 million oysters in the waters surrounding the island. 

We were introduced to a man whose job it is to sit at a desk and implant small pebbles taken from the Mississippi River and sent to Taha’a via Japan into some 300 oysters a day. The oysters are then affixed to strings and returned to the water for 18 months, when the pearls are ready to be harvested. Several of the crew purchased necklaces and such. It was hard to pass up such unique souvenirs from an unexpected stopover.

Midafternoon and back at the boat, it was time for one last motorsail, so we set off for Raiatea, where we dropped anchor on the reef, not far from the charter base. There was still swimming to be done and merriment to be had, but I could feel my sense of island time slipping away as we checked plane reservations and packed. That evening, we went ashore to the Fish & Blue restaurant for a last team dinner. And of course, we sat up a little too late for a last glimpse of the Southern Hemisphere’s night sky. What else would anyone do on their last night in the Society Islands?

Mark Pillsbury is a CW editor at large. 

If You Go

Our flights to Papeete, Tahiti, were booked on Air Tahiti Nui, which has regular flights from Los Angeles. From the US East Coast, it was easiest to plan an overnight at a Los Angeles hotel. Our flight across the Pacific was aboard a clean and comfortable plane, decorated in soothing tropical pastels. It’s a long flight but endurable.

From Papeete to Raiatea, we flew Air Tahiti. Flight time is just under two hours; a four and a half-hour ferry ride is a cheaper alternative.

Provisioning at the base in Raiatea is straightforward but expensive. Eating out is even more so: A $50 bill for lunch per person was common for our group, and a hamburger cost $15 to $18.

Most charter boats come equipped with chart plotters. Still, I found that having an iPad loaded with Navionics cartography was a great help within the reefs. It allowed us to have one chart zoomed out and the other zoomed in for details. When the onboard chart plotter stopped functioning one morning as we traveled along the south coast of Raiatea, we were able to carry on by iPad until I could reset the recalcitrant equipment. —MP

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At the dawn of Chinese New Year in February, Jennifer and Peter Francis were hiding out in the Marquesas aboard Saphira, their 70-foot catamaran named for the strong, loyal blue dragon in the book Eragon. Saphira is their second cat designed by Chris White, but it’s a whole different species adapted for their current phase of life. On the first morning in this Year of the Dragon, Jennifer says, “It should be a good year for Saphira.”

The Marquesas wasn’t in their plan for this cruising season, until El Niño generated rougher weather than usual in French Polynesia. “We decided to leave Tahiti and sail 750 miles northeast to the Marquesas to avoid a busy year for tropical storms,” Jennifer says, adding that they made landfall at the island of Fatu-Hiva. They had just set Saphira’s anchor when a dinghy came by—a Vancouver couple they’d met in Mexico’s Sea of Cortez, cruising on another catamaran from the same designer.

White is known for his Atlantic series of cats, and for innovations such as the MastFoil rig and forward-positioned cockpit. The Francises’ previous cat was an Atlantic 55 (their first Saphira). Their 70-footer came to life starting in 2010, the year that White says Peter told him: “When our kids head off to college, Jen and I are going back to the cruising life. We’ll be in touch later.” The next summer, Peter visited White’s shop in Dartmouth, Massachusetts, with broad ideas for a cat that could do it all. “Their concept was a boat with the space of a 40-footer built for two people to sail easily by ­themselves, but with hulls of about 60 to 70 feet to safely make 300 miles in a day,” White says. “Anything less than 250 would be a failure. And they were interested in a free-standing rig. More than most clients, they had deep experience and knew what they wanted.”

Combined, Peter and Jennifer have logged around 100,000 miles on the oceans. Peter started sailing as a kid, when his family had a Cape Cod 30. At age 12, he’d cruise to Cuttyhunk, Massachusetts, and the nearby islands with friends. At 16, he raced trans-Atlantic and was on the US Admiral’s Cup team. He completed three trans-Atlantic crossings by 20. In 1974, he met Jennifer, a local gal and fellow sailor. That same year, Peter and his friends sailed his first boat, the 50-foot Aage Nielsen sloop Nunaga, through the Panama Canal and beyond to the Galapagos, French Polynesia, Hawaii, Alaska and Seattle. Jennifer joined them in Alaska.

At various times since then, the couple has spent years together—alone and with their children—living aboard boats. In 2009, Peter retired from his position as a corporate CEO, and Jennifer took a sabbatical from her job as a ­professor of atmospheric sciences at Rutgers University. They pulled their children out of seventh- and ninth-grade classes, and sailed their first Saphira for 14 months from Massachusetts up to Nova Scotia, then south to Colombia, and finally back home. Ever since, they’ve lived in Massachusetts—or wherever they’ve pointed the new Saphira’s bows.

Conceptual work for the 70-footer began in earnest in 2011. First, they bought two 23-foot Stiletto catamarans and modified one to take various rigs. For three summers, they hired a friend who was a good sailor to evaluate each rig. They also invited sailor friends to match race—singlehanded, to emphasize ease of handling. White also tested his MastFoil rig on the Stilettos. 

“First they tried two masts positioned fore and aft, then with them side by side,” White says. “They experimented with normal booms as well as wishbones.”

Peter says that 14 sailors tested all the rig configurations. Each day, after collecting performance data, the couple asked those sailors to rank the setup on a scale of 1 to 10, for how likely they would be to recommend the rig to an older couple going offshore cruising. 

Then they plotted the results. On ease of handling, the biplane prevailed. They also found some unexpected sailing characteristics. 

“Catamarans don’t tack particularly well, especially not light ones,” Peter says. “When sailing the biplane, we trim the leeward sail more than the windward one because the breeze ‘bends’ around the windward rig and presents a narrower apparent-wind angle to the leeward sail. When they tacked, the prior leeward sail became the windward sail and started earlier to ‘sail’ the windward hull around.”

Another advantage appeared when sailing dead downwind, Peter adds. “You can wing-on-wing with both sails out at 90 degrees because of the full mast rotation, making for a very stable rig and also allowing you to steer up to 80 degrees on either side of the course without jibing.” 

Nevertheless, the initial biplane Stiletto lost in the first trials. It didn’t match the standard rig’s performance. The team realized, however, that the biplane could handle longer booms than the sketch, and thus larger sails on same-height masts.

At first, this switch didn’t help ­performance, but once they made larger daggerboards to counteract the leeway from the increased sail area, the performance significantly bested all other rig configurations. 

The couple preferred this setup too, especially for safety in the event of squalls. 

The masts rotate 180 degrees each way but can rotate up to 270 degrees, so if you do need to release them to 180, nothing can break.

 “With no standing rigging, you can depower on any point of sail by quickly easing,” White says. 

The masts will rotate into the wind—what sailing instructors call safety position. When the couple tested the biplane again with larger sails, it blew away its competition.

“The final version on Saphira is a ­biplane with two big mainsails,” Peter says. “The masts rotate 180 degrees each way in normal operations but can rotate up to 270 degrees, so if you do need to release them to 180, nothing can break.”

Jennifer adds: “We have unreal ­visibility from the cockpit. There’s ­nothing to ­obstruct the field of view.” 

Having settled on the rig, they focused the design process on three concepts: the biplane rig with fully rotating masts for safety and maneuvering; 70-foot-long narrow hulls with a beam, weight, and righting moment about the same as an Atlantic 55; and only two staterooms, to free space for comfort and ease of maintenance.

Saphira’s wing-shaped masts make up 7 percent of her sail area. At the first reef, the mainsails are normal in size, but when fully raised, they have the total area of an Atlantic 55 with its main and largest spinnaker flying. “Hull length leads to higher hull speeds and also seakindliness,” Peter says. 

Combined with the narrow 28½-foot beam, this design also allows access to slips and Travelifts that often max out at 30 feet. And the extra length allowed White to design the hulls’ interiors
similarly to the Atlantic 55’s but with more space. For example, Saphira’s engine rooms occupy areas where aft staterooms would normally be, and four adults can stand with full headroom around the engines.

To balance speed and comfort, the couple assembled a team from the racing and cruising worlds, including experts from Doyle Sails, Southern Spars and SDK Structures.

“We’d sit at their dining table for hours, the room full of experts who have worked on America’s Cup boats for decades,” White says. “I was the mom-and-pop cruising boat designer guy.”

Peter says that the couple wanted White’s deep experience from decades of designing and building multihulls. 

“We valued this for many reasons,” Peter says. “One additional design criterion was to make the living space practical and focus on ease of maintenance, given that Jen and I would be sailing on our own or with friends.”

The couple’s 750-mile passage to the Marquesas is the longest they’ve ­completed alone aboard Saphira, and it reconfirmed some goals that went into the design. With the cat’s stability at speed and shallow draft, it can go most anywhere. If one of French Polynesia’s tropical cyclones had whipped up, the couple would have been able to sail quickly to safer waters. As Peter says, “With our 11-knot average speed, we could escape the cone of probability in just two days.” 

Recently, amid the craggy Marquesan coves and bays, they were treated to a shark feeding frenzy about 20 yards from their stern. They’re not entirely sure what’s next, but they love knowing that they can spread Saphira’s wings and take flight to wherever the weather looks fine and their whimsy desires.

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Why were we in French Polynesia during cyclone season and an El Niño year? Well, our plan was to sail to New Zealand after six months of cruising in Tahiti, but we fell in love and stayed. So, we ran into cyclone season, which is from November through April in the South Pacific.

The behavior of cyclones changes during El Niño because of differences in sea surface temperatures and atmospheric conditions, influencing the frequency, intensity and paths of the storms. El Niño started in 2023 and continued into 2024, giving the central and eastern parts of the Pacific Ocean warmer sea surface. This can shift the cyclone formation zones eastward. Islands that are typically less affected by cyclones, such as the Southern Cook Islands and French Polynesia, have higher risk.

The Marquesas Islands are outside the typical cyclone belt; their only close call was Tropical Cyclone Nisha-Orama in February 1983. It developed north of the Marquesas during an El Niño year and had sustained winds of 115 mph in the Tuamotus. Areas more frequently affected by cyclones include Australia, New Zealand, Vanuatu, Fiji, Samoa and Tonga—but it is not impossible for cyclones to affect the Marquesas if conditions are right, such as during El Niño years.

Preparation in Tahiti

After a wonderful time diving with humpback whales in Mo’orea, we went to Tahiti to prepare the boat for the journey east to the Marquesas. Wanderlust, our Seawind 1600 catamaran, is equipped with daggerboards. It adeptly sails upwind. This feature, combined with the robust design and comfortable living space, has made it the ideal vessel for us in our long voyages across challenging waters.

In Tahiti, we inspected the rigging and systems, and unfortunately found cracked wires in the cap shrouds and the cross-beam cable (the martingale). The good news was that there are excellent riggers in Tahiti, but the bad news was that the cable had to come from Australia with a lead time of at least two weeks that turned out to be a month. By then, the easterly trade winds would be in full force and on our nose.

Meanwhile, we stocked up at the island’s markets, which are brimming with fresh produce. At every visit, we packed our bags, ensuring our boat was ready to face whatever the ocean had in store.

Papeete Marina

Papeete Marina is on the northwest side of Tahiti, which means it’s open to northern wind and swell. Large waves enter the basin, creating a significant commotion, chafing and breaking dock lines, ripping off docks or surging them over the pilings. In cyclone season, when the northern swells are more frequent, boats are often asked to seek shelter at anchor. As the inclement weather was approaching, we could already feel some of its effects. The monohulls started to behave like bucking broncos.

Finally, our cables for the repair arrived, and Wanderlust was ready.

Strategy

We tossed the lines on December 4 with a plan to sail to Fakarava, setting us up for a good angle to the Marquesas, but the next round of squalls was hot on our tail so we decided to pull into Tikehau, 150 nautical miles to the northwest. The atoll’s sparse population and natural beauty provided a serene backdrop and time to plan the journey ahead. We were held by the weather, but it wasn’t bad at all.

A couple days later, the weather changed, and we had a spectacular sail during the day. Wanderlust chugged miles quicker than expected, and we realized we would arrive in darkness—when it is unsafe to enter the atoll. We furled our screecher and set the jib to slow down a knot or two. A few hours later, the wind disappeared and was replaced by torrential rain. We had to motor and arrived at the atoll’s pass almost two hours after the desired slack tide. Not a real problem with two 80 hp engines, but it could have been with a smaller boat.

Fakarava greeted us with the rare convenience of a fuel dock. However, we did not make use of it, thinking we would be fine with the fuel we had. Rookie mistake. This amenity would have allowed us to bypass the cumbersome process of ferrying fuel in 5-gallon jerry cans, saving time, effort and my rotator cuffs, which I later destroyed in Hiva Oa by shlepping more than three dozen of them.

Fakarava hosts a vibrant underwater world and UNESCO-protected status, with unbelievable diving at the south pass, the famous wall of sharks, and the grouper spawning under a full moon in July. We were fortunate enough to enjoy that during our previous stay. This time around, the squally weather continued, and we did not even take a dip in the water.

Final Leg to Fatu Hiva

With a northwest wind, we sailed close-hauled for three days. Then the wind disappeared, and we motored in flat-calm waters that are unusual for that time of the year. The silver lining was that we were able to land a 143-pound yellowfin tuna that fed us and our friends delicious sushi and tuna tartar for months. And we learned another important lesson: While trying to lift the tuna using the main winch, I may have used the wrong size rope (I admit nothing). The winch stripper arm broke. It was a most expensive tuna, too.

On day four as the sun was starting to set, the southernmost island of the Marquesas, Fatu Hiva, presented its rugged landscape: the perfect gift on Christmas Eve. Giant clouds resting on jagged peaks, the sun’s evening light casting a golden hue on its face. A distant squall reminding us of what we’d been through. We had navigated Wanderlust about 1,000 nautical miles from Tahiti, upwind, to this Jurassic-like sanctuary for cyclone season. In the day’s final light, we anchored in the stunning Bay of Virgins, a spot already marked on the chart plotter from our previous visit.

Fatu Hiva

This land boasts a rich cultural heritage, friendly people and breathtaking landscapes. After spending some time on the island, we found ourselves reverently walking paths surrounded by raw beauty. Eventually, we stopped trying to articulate our awe, and we became part of the larger tapestry of life and nature. Gently running our fingers on the leaves of holy basil to release the magical scent, inhaling the pungent whiffs of drying copra, and bowing over gardenia flowers to take in their exhilarating aroma. Long-tail tropical birds circled above us in the backdrop of lush volcanic peaks.

Kahoha was the greeting we exchanged with the locals. Even Yoda, our dog, became a beloved figure on the island, responding joyously to calls from across the river. We made friends, bartered rope and other items for fruits, and for wild pig and goat meat. We felt a profound connection to this island.

Getting there was worth every bit of effort it took. We lived an unforgettable adventure that brought us closer to each other.

The post Dodging Storms, Chasing Thrills in French Polynesia appeared first on Cruising World.

My interest in the global movement of cruising boats goes back to 1987, when I published the results of my first survey on this subject. I have since conducted follow-up surveys every five years. The latest was done in 2016. During this time, the world experienced two major phenomena that seriously affected offshore cruising: the (hopefully short-term) Covid-19 pandemic, and the longer-term climate crisis, whose consequences are expected to get worse.

The pandemic had an immediate impact on the international cruising community and caused havoc among sailors on long voyages. As many popular cruising destinations closed their borders, sailors had to postpone their plans or leave their boats unattended and return home. Those who were allowed to stay had to remain at anchor. There were several reported cases of hostile, unsympathetic attitudes from authorities and local people, even in areas where visiting sailors were previously welcomed. 

In several cases, the planned voyages were abandoned. International cruising traffic came to a standstill, and my own plans for a follow-up survey in 2022 looked like they would suffer the same fate. Even if I managed to get figures from places that had supplied data in the past, in most cases, the figures would be meaningless. 

To get at least a rough idea of the real situation, in early 2022, I contacted some of the most-frequented hubs on the world cruising circuit, such as Panama, Bermuda, Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, Tahiti and Noumea (in New Caledonia, South Pacific). The figures I obtained showed that while some places had fared better, others had seen an unprecedented reduction in the number of visiting boats.

Las Palmas, in the Canary Islands, recorded its highest ever influx in 2021, with 1,256 visiting boats. As the starting point for the annual ARC trans-Atlantic rally, as well as being an important transit hub, this location proved its lasting popularity thanks to the tolerant attitude of the local authorities. A similar situation was experienced in the port of Horta in the Azores, a favorite landfall at the end of a trans-Atlantic passage from the Caribbean. Horta Marina recorded 1,102 arrivals in 2021, compared to 465 in 2020 and 1,132 in 2019. 

But the figures from these traditional Atlantic hubs were not indicative of the situation in other parts of the world. Panama Canal transits of pleasure craft decreased in 2021 to just 806, down from 1,122 in 2020. The drop-off was even more drastic in countries where pandemic restrictions continued into 2021, such as Tonga, New Caledonia, New Zealand and Australia—all of which recorded no arrivals. In Tahiti and South Africa, like at the Panama Canal, numbers were considerably lower than in previous years.

During 2022, as the pandemic appeared to be under control, most countries lifted their temporary restrictions. I resumed my survey by contacting officials in the most significant cruising hubs or transit points in every ocean. I requested the number of foreign-flagged yachts that had passed through those ports in 2022.  

These figures let me construct a picture of the current movement of cruising yachts.  

Atlantic Ocean

The port of Las Palmas in the Canary Islands has a larger concentration of boats preparing for ocean passages than any other place in the world, with the majority of sailors setting off toward the Caribbean. The port authority recorded a total of 1,237 visiting boats in 2022, flying the flags of 44 countries. The largest contingent was from France (266), followed by Germany (194), the United Kingdom (83), the Netherlands (49), Sweden (42), Switzerland (38), Denmark (27), Norway (24), the United States (19), Belgium (17), Poland (16), Finland (14), New Zealand (13), Spain (12), Australia (11), Italy (9), Russia (8), Czechia (7) and smaller numbers from other countries.

Approximately 75 percent of the boats that called at Las Palmas were bound for the Caribbean, either directly or via the Cape Verdes. An increasingly popular intermediate point for a trans-Atlantic passage is Mindelo Marina on São Vicente Island; it recorded a total of 1,120 arrivals in 2022. Located in the northeast trade wind belt, this is now considered to be a better starting point for an Atlantic passage to the Caribbean than the direct route from the Canaries, as the chance of consistent favorable winds is higher, and the distance is shorter. 

Most of the European boats that sail to the Caribbean cross the Atlantic after the middle of November or early December, and complete their Atlantic circuit by sailing to the Azores the following April or May. Horta, on the island of Faial, Portugal, continues to be the preferred landfall at the end of an eastbound trans-Atlantic passage. Horta Marina has been keeping detailed records of visiting boats since 1985, and the latest data made it possible to extract a raft of interesting facts about the boats, their crews and their routes sailed. 

While the total number of boats (1,131) that cleared into Horta during 2022 has not changed significantly, the data confirmed that the majority of boats on passage from the Caribbean to Europe now sail directly to the Azores, rather than via a detour to Bermuda. While Horta has overtaken Bermuda in overall number of visiting yachts, Bermuda continues to be an important transit point for North American boats sailing between the mainland and the Caribbean or Europe, as well as for boats returning from the Caribbean to the United States or Canada. 

The number of boats that called at Bermuda in 2022 was 838, confirming a steady decline since 2000. This drop-off is mainly due to the large number of American boats that bypass Bermuda and sail directly to the Eastern Caribbean. The situation is reversed in May, when more boats returning to the US mainland call at Bermuda. 

More than half the boats that arrive in the Caribbean from Europe or America used to spend at least one full season in the islands, but in recent years, concerns about climate change creating bigger storms have led more sailors to limit themselves to a one-year circuit, be it from Europe or North America. Those who stay longer in the Caribbean usually have their boats stored on land in a secure place during the hurricane season. 

The island of Trinidad has set up several boatyards for this purpose, with 478 boats spending the summer there in 2022—a significant reduction from 2,664 in 2000 and 1,367 in 2010. According to Donald Stollmeyer, former president of the Yacht Services Association of Trinidad and Tobago, ‘The explanation is the gradual decline in the number of sailors who are prepared to keep their boats in the tropics during the hurricane season.” An even more significant reason is the fact that many insurance companies will no longer cover boats during the critical season in the tropics.

Overall, the total number of boats that spend the winter season cruising in the Caribbean has remained relatively stable in recent years. Cuba was expected to see an increase, with hopes that US restrictions on American boats would be lifted, but this has not happened. Even so, Cuba’s eight marinas recorded a total of 284 foreign-flagged yachts in 2022. According to Commodore José Miguel Diaz Escrich of the Hemingway International Yacht Club of Cuba, “We are always happy to welcome and offer our friendship to all those who love the sea.”

A good distance from Cuba, cold-water cruising is becoming more popular as sailors strike out for more challenging destinations. Two high-latitude destinations in the North Atlantic that cruising yachts regularly visit are Spitsbergen, Norway, and Greenland. The former has become the most popular high-latitude destination in the Atlantic, with 52 visiting boats recorded in 2022. Greenland is poised to become more frequented—as an attractive cruising destination in its own right, and as a base for Northwest Passage preparations. In 2022, 14 yachts called at Nuuk, the capital of Greenland, with most of them limiting their cruising to the spectacular west coast. The more intrepid sailors struck out west to brave the Northwest Passage, which has become more accessible in recent years as a result of climate change and ice melt. Four boats completed a westbound transit to the Pacific, while another four boats made a successful eastbound transit. The total of eight successful transits in 2022 compared to zero in 2021 and only one in 2020. 

This newfound success may not last, though, with concerns about pollution from additional cargo and cruise ships, and the impact of cruise-ship passengers on local communities. Small boats may also be affected, as in recent years, there have been a few cases when the authorities have had to assist sailors. All those factors may result in restrictions being imposed on any vessel planning to use this waterway. 

Such restrictions are already imposed at the other extreme of the Atlantic Ocean, where voyages to Antarctica on private yachts are only possible with permission from the national authorities, and the boats must abide by strict environmental protocols. The Argentinian port of Ushuaia, at the tip of South America, is where boats planning to sail south to Antarctica or north to the Chilean canals prepare and provision. The 38 arrivals in 2022 were down from 64 in 2015, and down from the peak figure of 105 in 2000.

Across the Beagle Channel from Ushuaia is Puerto Williams, a Chilean military outpost and the southernmost settlement in the world. The small port is only a short distance from Cape Horn. The Chilean authorities have jurisdiction over the Antarctic Peninsula and parts of Tierra del Fuego, so any boat planning to sail that way must complete formalities here. The movements of all vessels are monitored by the Chilean Navy, which reports that the total of 77 yacht movements in 2022 was well below the 143 recorded in 2015. There was also a significant reduction in the number of private yachts that sailed to Antarctica, from 43 in 2019 to 12 in 2022.

From Puerto Williams and Ushuaia, most cruising yachts heading for the South Atlantic call at Port Stanley in the Falklands, which saw 12 yachts in 2022 compared with 29 in 2015. From there, the routes diverge and either follow the contour of the South American mainland or continue nonstop to the island of Saint Helena or to Cape Town, South Africa. Both of these have seen an increase in the number of visiting yachts, initially because of piracy in the North Indian Ocean, and then because of safety concerns caused by political uncertainty around the Red Sea. 

 The majority of yachts on a world voyage are sailing the Cape of Good Hope route, with 126 yachts calling at Cape Town in 2022. This was a considerable decline from 2010, when 358 yachts stopped there. With the exception of a few boats that sailed directly from Cape Town to Argentina or Brazil, most boats headed north and stopped at Saint Helena, which was visited by 95 yachts in 2022.

Pacific Ocean

The Panama Canal is the most valuable indicator of yacht movement between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, and on a global level. The latest figures show that the steady increase in pleasure-craft transits peaked in 2010, when 1,177 yachts transited the Panama Canal compared to 919 in 2022. Some 725 were Pacific-bound, and 354 were Atlantic-bound. What has remained unchanged are the Pacific destinations after the transit, with one-third of the boats turning north toward the west coast of Central and North America, and the rest heading for the South Pacific.

The Galapagos Islands used to be a favorite stopover en route to French Polynesia, but restrictions on visiting yachts, complex formalities and associated expenses now deter most sailors from stopping there. There was a record high of 395 in 2010, but the figure for 2022 dropped to 66. 

For those who decide to bypass Galapagos while on route to French Polynesia, the logical option is to sail directly from Panama to the Marquesas. A somewhat longer but potentially more attractive alternative is a detour to Easter Island and, from there, the Pitcairn Islands to French Polynesia. Easter Island, one of the most remote sailing destinations in the world, recorded the steepest decline highlighted by this latest survey. According to the port captain of Hanga Roa, the main settlement and port, “Compared to a record of 79 yachts that called in 2015, only seven stopped here in 2022.” Most of them continued west to the Pitcairns, once the hideaway of the Bounty mutineers, whose descendants live on this remote speck of land and welcome visitors. One descendant, Brenda Christian, emailed me to say: “In 2022, we were pleased to welcome 122 yachts.”

The majority of boats bound for the South Seas, whether from Panama or North America, make their first landfall in the Marquesas. Arriving at those spectacular islands after weeks spent at sea is an awe-inspiring and unforgettable experience. Some 264 boats arrived there in 2022, the majority at Atuona on the island of Hiva Oa. Total arrivals for all of French Polynesia were 404, a significant drop from the record 826 reported in 2010. 

Sailing west from Tahiti, several detours can be made from the main trunk route, such as to Suwarrow, an uninhabited atoll in the Northern Cook Islands where a caretaker is based during the peak arrivals time. Only 16 boats stopped there in 2022 compared with 69 boats in 2015. Another popular place, also in the Cook Islands, is Palmerston Atoll, which was visited by only three boats in 2022, with none in the previous year. This was also the case in neighboring Tonga, which didn’t lift its pandemic restrictions until early 2022. The northern island group of Vava’u, a longtime favorite among sailors, welcomed only 14 arrivals compared to an all-time peak 424 in the previous survey.  

The above places are close enough to the main trans-Pacific route not to entail much of a detour, which may explain why only four boats called at Tuvalu. This small Polynesian community is threatened by rising sea levels from climate change.

Fiji is an important cruising hub in the South Pacific, and its capital, Suva, welcomed 83 yachts in 2022. From there, most cruising boats leave the tropics before the start of the cyclone season and sail to New Zealand or Australia. Both those countries closed their borders at the start of the pandemic, causing mayhem among sailors. The restrictions were only lifted in 2022, when 324 boats were welcomed in New Zealand and 330 in Australia. After no arrivals in 2021, New Caledonia was visited by 241 boats in 2022, a hopeful indication that the situation is gradually returning to normal.

There has also been a considerable decline in the number of visiting boats in the western North Pacific, where weather conditions are noticeably affected by ocean warming. The Philippines now endure tropical cyclones every month of the year, but continue to attract visiting boats, most of them in less-affected areas. On the Asian mainland, the expected boom in visiting cruising boats has failed to materialize, and the figures from Hong Kong show a considerable decline compared to previous surveys. The few foreign yachts that visit Hong King are participants in races organized by the Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club. There has not been much more movement in China, either, since formalities for visiting yachts continue to be complicated and expensive. 

A small number of cruising boats make it as far as Japan every year, with an estimated 12 foreign yachts passing through Osaka in 2022. Most of them continued east, with some stopping at Alaska’s Dutch Harbor on their way to Canada or the US West Coast. Dutch Harbor is a busy fishing port at the eastern edge of Alaska’s Aleutian Islands, and nine yachts visited there in 2022. Provisioning and repair facilities in Dutch Harbor are excellent, making it a good base for an eastbound transit of the Northwest Passage.

Although rarely affected by tropical storms, Hawaii still sees relatively few foreign-flagged yachts. The authorities do not keep a record, and the best guess is that about 20 foreign yachts called at the islands in 2022. Hawaii does attract many mainland boats for cruising and racing. Some sail from there to French Polynesia, and a few continue west toward Micronesia and the Asian mainland. Some of them were among the 14 arrivals recorded in the Marshall Islands, which is a fair estimate of the number of boats visiting the Micronesian islands.

Indian Ocean

The number of foreign-flagged boats has shown a steady decrease in the North Indian Ocean, with most boats on a world voyage sailing the Cape of Good Hope route to reach the Atlantic Ocean, rather than the Red Sea and Suez Canal alternative. By contrast, there continues to be significant coastal traffic, with more local and regional boats racing, cruising and joining the rallies and regattas during the winter season in Western Malaysia and Thailand.

For sailors undeterred by the Red Sea who continue west across the North Indian Ocean, a convenient port is Galle, on the south coast of Sri Lanka, where 23 arrivals were recorded in 2022. Some further detoured to Cochin in southern India, which welcomed 11 boats last year. Djibouti continues to be the only safe haven to prepare for the arduous transit of the Red Sea, and 29 boats stopped here before heading north. All of them made it safely to Suez, Egypt, which recorded 36 arrivals in 2022 compared to 2010, when 171 yachts transited the Suez Canal.

Approximately 250 yachts transit the Torres Strait between Australia and New Guinea every year, and half of them continue west into the South Indian Ocean. The others explore the Indonesian archipelago, where formalities have eased in an attempt to attract more visitors. Even so, in 2022, only 46 foreign vessels obtained the required cruising permit issued by the Indonesian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, compared to 236 in 2016.

Significantly fewer boats stopped at Darwin in Northern Australia, which saw 23 arrivals in 2022 compared to 72 in the previous survey. The Australian outpost of Cocos/Keeling, a popular stop on the world sailing circuit, was also affected by the pandemic, with only 31 arrivals in 2022 compared to 99 in 2015. From Cocos/Keeling, the westbound route splits into a southern branch to Rodrigues in Mauritius, and a northern branch bound for Chagos in the British Indian Ocean Territory. The latter recorded six visitors, a significant drop from the 23 boats six years earlier, as the British authorities now limit permits to those who can justify the need for a stop. The most popular stop along the southern route is Port Louis in Mauritius, with 242 arrivals recorded in 2022, a definite proof of the predominance of the Cape of Good Hope route among boats on a world voyage. 

When discovered as a cruising destination, Madagascar was expected to become the major cruising attraction in the South Indian Ocean, but the lack of facilities and cumbersome bureaucracy dashed those hopes. Nosy Be, an island on Madagascar’s northwest coast, has established itself as a modest base, but few world voyagers bother to make the lengthy detour from Mauritius or La Reunion. Only eight visiting boats were recorded in the Nosy Be area in 2022.

On the eve of the cyclone season, all boats make their way south. In 2022, Richards Bay was the favorite South African landfall, with a total of 103 arrivals. The number of boats that called at Cape Town was 126, of which 123 were bound for the South Atlantic and three for the Indian Ocean. Thanks to the Ocean Sailing Association of Southern Africa, this was one of the few countries that didn’t close its borders to visiting sailboats during the pandemic. 

Sailing Hubs

In addition to highlighting the drastic reduction in the number of cruising boats on world voyages, I noted three other trends: the small size of crew on long voyages, with many couples sailing on their own; the number of couples with young children setting off on a shorter or longer sabbatical leave; and the steadily increasing proportion of catamarans among cruising yachts.

These trends may be related, so I widened the scope of this survey to find out more about the type of boats undertaking long voyages, such average length, crew size, whether they were monohulls or catamarans, as well as the predominant nationalities on board. 

Figures obtained from Panama and Las Palmas de Gran Canaria made it possible to calculate the average length of the boats. To arrive at a realistic figure, only boats under 60 feet were included. The average length of monohulls in Las Palmas was 12.97 meters (42.6 feet), and multihulls were 13.80 meters (45.2 feet). In Panama, the average for monohulls was 15.20 meters (49.8 feet), and for multihulls it was 15 meters (49.1 feet). The average length of boats over 60 feet (18 meters) in Panama was 34 meters (111 feet). 

In Las Palmas, multihulls made up 10.1 percent of the total number of boats, whereas in Panama it was 17.2 percent. The proportion of multihulls was even higher during the ARC 2022 from Las Palmas from Gran Canaria to St. Lucia. Among the 140 boats that sailed this classic route, more than a quarter (36) were multihulls, with 33 catamarans and three trimarans, equivalent to 25.7 percent. The average length for monohulls was 15.7 meters (51.4 feet) and 14.1 meters (46.3 feet) for multihulls. The size of boats taking part in the ARC has been steadily increasing over the years, and in this latest edition, 31 monohulls were bigger than 50 feet, with 22 multihulls more than 60 feet long.

More-efficient and better-equipped boats with reliable autopilots, electric winches, furling gears and other accessories have resulted in fewer crew. This was evident from the crews of the boats that called at Cape Town, having an average of 2.9 crew, while in Saint Helena it was 3.2. In Cocos/Keeling it was 2.5, and in Tahiti, the figure was 2.8. In the latter two cases, more than half the boats were crewed by just a couple.

Another interesting trend is the change in the predominant flags of the boats on a world voyage. Statistics obtained from Gran Canaria, the Azores, Tahiti, Cape Town, Saint Helena and the Suez Canal show that US-flagged yachts have lost the top spot to French-flagged boats, with British and German boats competing for third place. 

Conclusions

Since my first global survey in 1987, the cruising scene has seen important changes. This survey found that in a few places, there has been an increase in the number of visiting yachts, but overall, the figures from Las Palmas, Bermuda, Panama, Tahiti, Cape Town, New Zealand and Australia indicate that the popularity of long-distance voyages peaked in 2010.

The reasons all seem related to safety concerns. Climate change, for instance, is affecting offshore weather conditions. In my latest survey among 65 experienced sailors, I asked how they would plan a world voyage today. Without exception, each one stressed that they would take changing weather into account, but would still leave on a long voyage. They all agreed that proper voyage planning was now even more important, and they were confident that a safe voyage could still be accomplished. 

This global survey also confirmed that since 2010 in some of the most popular cruising destinations, there has been a steady reduction in the number of boats undertaking world voyages. The pandemic had a significant negative impact, so it will be interesting to see whether that changes. After all, boatbuilders are reporting full order books with waiting times as long as three years, and the brokerage market is enjoying an unprecedented boom. Carpe diem!

Described as the bible of cruising sailors, Jimmy Cornell’s book World Cruising Routes is the definitive reference book for long-distance navigators. The latest completely revised and updated edition has drawn on the latest weather information and other recent developments to provide the most comprehensive aid to planning a safe voyage to any part of the world. Get it HERE.

Visit cornellsailing.com for information on Cornell’s Ocean Atlas and Jimmy Cornell.

The post Global Movement of Cruising Boats appeared first on Cruising World.

Part of the preparations for any cruise to the South Pacific is considering what to bring for gifting and trading. We’re expecting to visit two countries in the South Pacific this year—French Polynesia and Fiji—so we are going to tailor our trading plans for those two distinct cultures.

In the Society Islands of French Polynesia, there’s access to “stuff.” As a result, local people want cruisers to deal in cash, not goods. The kind of trading romanticized in the pages of decades-old cruising memoirs mostly doesn’t exist anymore. The Society Islands are well-connected to the population hub of Tahiti. If you can’t find a product in Papeete , it can be shipped or flown in, and then shuttled out in a mail boat.

Now, if we were heading to Fatu-Hiva in the Marquesas Islands, our plan for trading would be different. Fatu-Hiva is 125 nautical miles upwind from Nuku Hiva, and the locals prefer to trade goods instead of cash. Cameron Vawter, visiting there aboard the 43-foot Ta Shing Banyan, recalls how a boat in the anchorage that could trade received copious amounts of fruit for days on end. “It just kept showing up,” he said. He was happy to accept the trickle-down extras.

And no matter the location, there’s a difference between gifting and trading. Gifts from visiting cruisers show appreciation and build bridges, while other goods that cruisers keep on board are for bartering. 

A model for understanding the idea of gifting as a cruiser can be found in one of my favorite memories from our month in the Marquesas in 2010. Anchored inside Baie du Contrôleur, we followed the sound of church bells into Taipivai with our bungee boat, Capaz. After the service, a family invited us to their nearby home. We broke out a deck of Uno cards, and we played a game with the Marquesan kids. Then, we gifted them the deck. Small stowage required, priceless memories, good feelings all around.

Aboard the Allied 39 Jacaranda, Chuck Houlihan says, “we quickly came to realize that we wanted to have nicer gifts for folks that invited us home for dinner, took us fishing and just befriended us.” He and his wife, Linda Edeiken, recommend trading practical items, such as Luci lights, jiggle-hose fuel transfer devices and carving tools such as Dremels and sandpaper. 

Greg Bridges aboard the Gulfstar 50 Beach Flea has also learned that carving tools, as well as multihead screwdrivers, pliers and hammers, are local favorites. He finds that 90- and 60-degree V-gouges and small skews are the most useful.

Our favorite gift to trade

Our favorite icebreaker gift (and occasional trade item) is a soccer ball. We started engaging in Soccer Ball Diplomacy—trademark pending—after leaving Australia in 2012. From Papua New Guinea to Madagascar, the soccer balls we brought to shore replaced carved, ball-sized fishing floats. Our gift amped up many a dirt field game. I cannot emphasize enough the joy these brought.

Something else I am excited to stash for literally brightening lives is headlamp-style utility lights (they snap onto a solar charging block and turn into a flashlight). Yes, the same folks who make those awesome Luci lights make these. In more remote communities in the North Pacific, lights like this can have a meaningful, positive impact on everyday life for a family.

What’s a trade item worth?

One of the big questions a new-to-trading cruiser in the South Pacific has is: How do you establish relative value? 

Back in the intensive trading culture of Papua New Guinea, I came up with a way to think about establishing a fair trade. Some thoughts adapted from our 2012 post: 

Think about what you’d pay to buy something if you could, and what it cost you to get what you’re offering. Is that pineapple, which might be $5, a fair trade for the 1 kg bag of sugar that might have cost you $1.50? You can think about it in terms of the value of the items, but think of it this way, too: When the only way for you to get a fresh pineapple, and the only way for them to get a bag of sugar, is to trade, that’s a way to estimate how close or far you are from what’s reasonable. I remember giving a guy in Kavieng, Papua New Guinea, a 2-kg bag of rice for a couple of lobsters one day. He was thrilled and insisted it was too much, then showed up the next day to give us three huge, beautiful papayas from his garden. Wow!

Trade items to bring

For the list-makers (cough “me” cough), here’s a summary of what to stow: Dremels, diamond bits and other carving tools; commonly used hand tools; rope that still has life in it (just maybe for a horse instead of a halyard); headlamps and solar-powered lights; fishing gear, such as big hooks for tuna, little ones for reef jigging; small-woven line for fishing (not fishing nylon); snorkeling masks and fins; soccer balls (and pumps with spare needles); perfumed lotions, nail polish and lipstick (these can add value to a trade for pearls in the Tuamotus); and fuel and jerry cans.

More on trading

If you’ve liked reading about trading in the South Pacific, where actually there’s not so much trading going on (sales for cash are vastly preferred), you might enjoy reading these other posts about the trading we did in Papua New Guinea. In those islands, trading with the latest dugout to tie off your transom is part of everyday cruising life.

What to bring to Papua New Guinea. This list that diverges a bunch from other South Pacific gifting and trading lists. It’s based on real need and lack of access to what we consider basics, such as flour, sugar and yeast.

What you’ll be trading for in Papua New Guinea: Sometimes, the ability to trade what islanders need is what matters most. It can also be the only way to get fresh produce in islands without stores.

Alternative trading: When a new friend wanted flour and yeast, we had to trade, but with nothing to exchange, I traded for a cooking lesson on how to cook coconut-steeped yams. This strategy would work great anywhere.

The post Sailing Totem: A Cruiser’s Guide to Trading in the South Pacific appeared first on Cruising World.

Sun rays beamed down into the deep blue ­water, illuminating the faded rope that ended in a small weight, hanging just barely in sight in the clear Fijian sea. I held onto the buoy the rope was tied to, floating at the surface and staring at the weight 20 ­meters below me. I was familiar with this depth as a concept; I’d scuba-dived around it and Cayuse could ­anchor in it, but I’d never thought about sending my body down there unaided, willfully.

I’d been sailing with my parents on Cayuse, an Outremer 51, for a year at this point; we were circumnavigating with the World ARC. After graduating college I had joined them, and while sailing itself took up most of our time, I needed a new hobby to give myself a sense of purpose. Matt, my boyfriend and our other ­crewmember, and I had signed up for an SSI Freediving course at Mantaray Bay; I wanted a challenge, and Matt saw it as fun and a useful skill for cruising.

A siren wailed from shore after we dropped ­anchor in deep water off the Mantaray Island Resort, an eclectic hostel and hotel next to a narrow cut between two islands in the Yasawas. It was the manta ray alarm, which went off daily when manta rays were spotted swimming through the channel. The strong currents whipping through made it an ideal feeding ground for the gentle giants, and the namesake of the resort. We dinghied ashore as guests frantically gathered rented ­snorkel gear and rushed to fiberglass runabouts manned by locals to take them out to glimpse the graceful rays.

RELATED: Freediving in Tonga

We walked over to the dive shack and were greeted by a tall, suntanned Australian man in a tank top and mirrored sunnies. A little weathered around the edges, he had long hair that was blond-streaked and shoulder-length; he could have been 35 or 50.

“Bula! Are you guys the yachties here for freediving?” he asked, staggering a little.

“Yeah, we’re here for a few days, so we thought we’d try it out,” I said.

“Well good on ya! My name’s Ryan, and I’ll be your instructor. Here are a couple of workbooks, and let’s get started!” he said, tossing us two worn Scuba Schools International textbooks.

We soon learned that he was the co-owner of the resort, which he had built from the ground up in 2002 with his then-girlfriend.

Ryan instructed us to lie down on the sand so we could practice “breathing up.” Breathing up is a one- to two-minute period of breathing before a dive that focuses on relaxing the body and mind in order to spend a period of time without breath underwater. I breathed in and out for several minutes with my eyes closed; lying under the palm trees on a beach in Fiji, I immediately felt pretty Zen. Then Ryan told us to breathe in deeply and hold it, starting a timer once we stopped breathing. I gasped for breath after a measly 45 seconds, while Matt held his for one minute, 15 seconds. He told us how if we focused on breathing every day, we’d increase our lung capacity and ability to hold our breath for longer; Ryan was up to five minutes.

Over the next two days, we did more breathing exercises and swimming challenges, and studied the science of freediving. We learned about the mammalian dive reflex, which happens when the human body submerges underwater; the body responds by slowing down the heart rate, redirecting blood to vital organs to preserve oxygen, and releasing red blood cells from the spleen. Humans were built to swim underwater.

All of our studying and exercises were leading up to the final dive, in which we had to freedive down to 20 meters. Ryan reiterated that the key to successful freediving was being utterly calm, making slow movements with elongated fins, and not rushing. Overexerting yourself underwater could lead to losing oxygen and having to surface sooner, or even blacking out. It was hard to imagine not freaking out while swimming slowly into the deep, away from fresh air and sunlight.

Floating next to the buoy, I timed ­myself for a two-minute breathe up, breathing normally until taking three final deep breaths before I duck-dived down.

I kicked my legs slowly, trying to ­maintain a leisurely pace following the rope down, seemingly into oblivion. I couldn’t see the bottom. My thoughts drifted to how I could check the anchor at new depths, rescue lost items overboard, or swim next to sea creatures without spooking them with oxygen bubbles.

Within seconds, I reached the weight and looked down at the seafloor, now within sight. What if I kept going? I looked all around me, blissfully surrounded by pure blue. Time slowed down as I undulated with the ocean, neither sinking nor floating. I felt the first urge to breathe and turned around, taking deliberate strokes toward brighter water, Matt and Ryan floating above me. I slipped through the water to the surface, elated, gasping for breath and squinting in the bright equatorial sun. I felt my need for a new purpose slipping away, down into the deep blue depths.

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Verdant mountains plunging into a blue sea, dark basalt spires piercing the clouds, jungle vines growing over stone ruins: the Marquesas Islands of French Polynesia have an almost mystical aura about them. At the far eastern end of the South Pacific islands, only 9 to 10 degrees south of the equator, they are remote, hot and humid. They are high islands, volcanoes that have eroded into deep valleys and vertiginous ridges. In some ways, they are the ultimate South Seas idyll: secluded, tropical and ruggedly beautiful. But in other ways, they are far from the postcard picture. Because of their geological newness and because they are on the outer edges of the cold Humboldt Current, the islands have not developed extensive barrier reefs. So they don’t have the lagoons and consequent calm, protected bays that many other Pacific islands boast.

For sailors, this means anchorages exposed to the rolling ocean swell. Even though one finds protection from the strong southeasterly trade winds on the leeward sides of these islands, the swell inevitably rolls its way in. Most sailors don’t consider this a problem. After all, to reach the Marquesas, most voyagers have spent three weeks to a month sailing across the open ocean, in swells much bigger than what one encounters in the islands’ leeward anchorages; we’re acclimated to the motion and hardly notice it. But the fact remains that there is nothing so peaceful as a flat-calm anchorage, sheltered on all sides—especially after a long ocean passage.

Enter Anaho Bay. On the north (leeward) coast of Nuku Hiva lies this beautiful, calm bay, encircled by hills and headed by a bare basalt peak. In all but a north wind, it is perfectly protected. The necklace of beach ashore is soft, white sand, and there’s even a coral reef (a rarity in these islands) that’s built itself along the edges of the bay, home to the colorful and often unique reef fish of the Marquesas.

Read More: Lessons from the Sixth Circumnavigation

There are no roads into Anaho Bay. One can reach the place only by boat, or on foot or horseback along the trail that leads across a little mountain pass to the neighboring village of Hatiheu. The only sounds in the bay are the quiet lapping of water on the beach, the rustle of wind in the trees, the splash of a fish, and the thunk-thunk of the locals cutting copra. A few people do live in Anaho Bay, fishing, farming, and even running a small restaurant for sailors and any other tourists who hike over from Hatiheu. At the time of the lockdown, when the Nuku Hiva government was ordering cruisers to sail to the main town of Taiohae (where the police could more easily keep them under surveillance), the locals in Anaho Bay refused to let their cruisers be taken away. Those at anchor there at the time had been helping the locals with all kinds of projects on their houses and fishing boats. So the lucky sailors stayed in Anaho for the whole lockdown. While I wasn’t among them, I was thrilled to hear the story after the fact, a wonderful instance of the mutual generosity of visiting cruisers and their local hosts. That, even more than the stunning scenery, is what makes the South Seas such a special place.

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Fiji set a glowing example for other Pacific countries this past sailing season by successfully opening its borders to cruisers. The country consequently welcomed over 90 foreign boats, over 300 crew and an estimated $10 million to its shores.

The Blue Lane initiative, launched in June, set strict guidelines for pleasure craft to follow in order to enter Fiji. This protocol involved sailors having to activate their AIS for their entire trip so that the Fijian navy could confirm uninterrupted sailing, along with quarantining crew on board their vessels for a total of 14 days, including passage time. Additionally, all crew had to take a COVID-19 test and obtain a negative result within 72 hours of leaving their original country and again two days before their 14-day quarantine was up.

While Port Denarau is currently the only port of clearance in Fiji, once finished with their quarantine, boats are free to cruise the different island groups as usual.

Though small in number compared with the usual 750 boats that visit Fiji every year, the cruisers that arrived have helped contribute toward Fiji’s suffering tourism industry. They’ve provided the sailmakers, mechanics, electricians, taxi drivers and dive operators with a much-needed income, without which they might not have been able to survive the past few months. Due to a lack of onward destinations, the majority of these boats remained in Fiji during the 2020-21 cyclone season, providing further income for the industry.

United States Ambassador to Fiji, Joseph Cella, invited cruisers who’d participated in this initiative to a buffet brunch to celebrate its success, and there he highly commended the Fijian government for the way it has contained COVID-19. With only 35 cases in total, and no community cases for nearly 6 months, Fiji has handled this pandemic extremely well, with its Blue Lane initiative being a testament to its success. Let’s hope more countries follow suit next season.

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This story originally appeared on Sailing Totem.

Route planning is something we geek out on a little. During the last year, it gave me an outlet for escapism during the pandemic. Improbable routing across the North Pacific? Great daydreaming while isolating on Totem, not even swimming off the boat while in view of closed beaches on shore.

What were the distances we could voyage between destinations (open to us during the pandemic) in the Pacific? What seasonality did they introduce? We might not be going anywhere, but I could ponder the possibilities! Getting smarter on route planning is something that’s readily researched ahead of cruising, too.

There are three levels of routing: first, the most zoomed-out big picture view, second, pre-passage plan, then finally, routing once underway. Each one has different dynamics.

Many sailors are dreamers, so dreamscaping destinations comes easily. Covid reduced the options for Pacific stops; an imagined route was challenging, but not impossible, for this dreamer. Hawaii? Family in Hilo to visit! (~2,600nm) Guam? Friends landing there and found a welcoming safe harbor. (~3,300nm) From there, on to Okinawa, southern port of entry for Japan. (a mere ~1,200nm) It’s open to American nationals; perhaps we’d be lucky enough that Taiwan – which I dearly love, thanks to finishing high school and spending time in college there – would open by the time we made it that far. In three big passages, we’d be back in the western Pacific: it is a goal for the years ahead.

Big picture routing might start with a wide-open imagining. Making it into a real plan starts with seasonal constraints. What are the best times for these passages? Does the full distance allow a reasonable pace, and time to enjoy stops along the way? When would it be better to hold off for a month? Where would you want to meander slowly for a season? From there, the planner considers other features of the journey and destination to create a sensible trip framework. Seasonal weather, security, legal, and practical considerations.

Planning For Weather

Weather defines life on boat. Trip up the inside passage sounds fine! In July, that is, but not January. Or to Caribbean islands in search of the last bottle of rum – best outside of hurricane season. The deterrent factors of cold and hurricanes are plain, but there are other weather seasons to consider, based on location: gales (higher latitudes), lightning (Central America and Southeast Asia), squalls (tropics), and monsoon seasons. Monsoonal regions bring seasonally changing winds that blow in the right or wrong direction depending on your timing. Plan weather patterns that makes sailing easier on the boat and crew. My dreamscape is complicated by seasonal conditions layered over distance. Arrive in Guam before cyclone season in the western Pacific: that means leaving for Hawaii… now-ish, and without time for more than a break on the way.

Researching Safety Issues

Security during the journey and at the destination requires research. Skimming along the coast of North America doesn’t carry much threat to personal safety, but still good to learn if your outboard could sprout legs in a given anchorage. When we sailed north from Australia to Papua New Guinea, we were given dire warnings about the dangers that awaited. And like many countries, while it can be painted as dangerous – it is not reflective of the entire nation. I mapped a route based on first hand reports, and it remains among our favorite places. I’ve written in more detail about how to research both regions and destinations for safety issues in “Is Cruising Dangerous?”.

Learning Legal Requirements

Legal procedures for traveling to and from countries can be surprising, and limiting if not prepared. Last year we planned to get a 90 day visa on arrival in French Polynesia; there was also a long-stay visa available through application at French embassies overseas (currently, these are not being issued). We looked further out in 2020 and discovered we’d need proof of measles vaccinations to legally arrive in Samoa. Jamie and I don’t have our childhood vaccination records, and were looking into titer tests and re-vaccination options… and then covid happened.

Making Practical Plans

Practical route planning is a common pitfall of the new cruiser: to dream a big picture route spanning an unrealistic range of places. It’s hard to know until you live underway at sea level, one nautical mile at a time, what those distances really mean. Passage making can be a joy (I’m craving it right now: a glorious respite!) but constantly being on the move to meet an unnecessary objective (Trinidad to Halifax and back this year!) is exhausting. For folks planning from the fast lane of modern life, it’s hard to imagine life at six knots.

Stopping short of an overzealous objective might leave a disappointment in failing to achieve. But achieve what, exactly? We’re here for the experiences, and not the notches in a logbook. Making a plan helps that dreamscape evolve into an achievable future.

Let’s Talk!

TOTEM TALKS: what makes a bluewater boat? This Sunday, Feb 28, at 3pm PT / 6pm ET we’re hosting another open forum on Zoom. There’s a lot of conflicting information and misinformation about features of a bluewater boat. Let’s talk about it! Register to attend.

Clubhouse. Join us for a chat sometime on this newish platform! We came on this week thanks to the other Jamie (from Follow the Boat), finding it fun to engage on this new platform to talk about cruising and help the enthusiastic on their way. Find me lurking around Salty Vagabonds and Sailing Club. The app is iOS only but that should change soon.

Coho Hoho kickoff. March 16. The Best Awaits: Southbound on the West Coast. Sharing information for safe planning and fully enjoying their voyages south for the rally runners! Register at Coho Hoho / events.

Cruising sails seminar. March 25, 4pm Eastern. Sail fundamentals, part of Salty Dawg Sailign Association’s winter webinar series. Jamie’s covering materials, terms, and loads; sail repair basics and common causes of problems; self-inspection before going offshore; observations to make while underway. Fee paid for non-members of SDSA; register on their site.

The post Sailing Totem: Route Planning—The Big Picture appeared first on Cruising World.

What are they thinking?

That’s my first reaction, anyway. To be clear, there are some scenarios that make sense. I’ll get to that: more generally, it does not make sense for most boats at this time. But it seems that the hope of vaccine availability, and perhaps unbridled or uninformed hope, has prompted many plans to head that way regardless.

Stepping back: right now, there are exactly two countries conditionally open to foreign yacht arrivals in the South Pacific. Both require advance permission, which is not assured. Let’s review.

First: some context. The Pacific Ocean is ^%#*ing HUGE. When people get to French Polynesia and crow “we’ve crossed the Pacific!” – no. They are about one third of the way. There’s a lot of ocean not yet “crossed.” Ballpark, in very round numbers: it’s about 9,000 nautical miles across, and Panama (or Mexico) to the Marquesas is about 3,000 nautical miles.

Second: let’s look at those two countries that offer the possibility of arrival: French Polynesia and Fiji.

French Polynesia’s maritime borders remain officially closed. Permission to enter is by application to DPAM (a department for maritime affairs; not related to the consulate). Many have been allowed, but plenty boats from a range of flags have been declined. (It does seem that local yacht agents may have better luck with the process. We had a great experience with an agent in 2010, and had contacted Tahiti Crew for services last year before COVID blew up. Kevin Ellis at Yacht Services Nuku Hiva has assisted others.)

For crews who obtain permission to arrive in French Polynesia, the duration of stay allowed is based on nationality. 90-day visas are granted; French Polynesia stopped issuing Long-Stay Visas (LSVs) last year. EU nationals are able to stay longer. In our experience those 90 days will fly by, although that’s not unreasonable for a boat planning to get all the way across to Australia in one non-cyclone season.

Fiji’s Blue Lane initiative has, like French Polynesia, provided for conditional access to cruising boats. You must apply and have approval before embarking for Fiji. Application is made through one of few approved yacht agents. Crews must provide an advance COVID test (and another after arrival) and meet other requirements such as insurance, visa, and biosecurity. At least sea time is counted towards the 14-day quarantine! It adds up: for our crew, I priced the cost to enter at $2,140 (not including the additional required marina stay).

SO we’ve got French Poly, and Fiji. That means some big @$$ passages. It skips Tonga and the Cook Islands, Samoa and Niue too, on the way to Fiji; it means no stopping at Vanuatu and New Caledonia. All shuttered for arrivals. And then… where do you go from there? This leads us to…

Third: hurricane season options.

Since the pace of vaccine distribution suggests that 2021 will not reach levels allowing other countries in the Pacific to open their borders 2021, destinations for hurricane season are limited. But let’s focus on typical off-season cruising destinations for the South Pacific: Australia and New Zealand. Both offer distant possibilities, neither can be counted on unless you are a repatriating national. For the non-nationals:

• Hope that Australia provides “emergency” access again. After the scare of a big cyclone tearing through Fiji this season, some boats did go on to Oz. They were required to quarantine in a hotel room selected (and serviced: here’s breakfast!) by the government, at the yachties’ expense, while the boat is (also at their expense) in a marina. Expensive.
  
• Pony up for a New Zealand refit. Commit to spending $50,000 NZD (about US$35,000) in New Zealand on vessel refitting and maintenance work, and you can apply for entry. It is not a guaranteed pay-to-arrive, boats have been turned down; but it is one gating factor that opens it as a possibility for non-NZ crews. Damn, this is actually near the level of our annual budget!

Why are people going?

I mentioned at the beginning that there are a few circumstances where it makes sense to set off. Below are the scenarios, but the crews I read about looking to cross … mostly don’t fit into the criteria for following through on them. Basically: the options aren’t horror shows, but they are either quite expensive (fine if you’ve got it), quite inconvenient, or quite significant passages.

• Exit and return to French Polynesia. Leave the boat at a marina French Polynesia and fly out. After 90 days outside the country, your visa clock is reset and you are granted another 90 days. This may be a hardship for many ‘typical’ cruisers who don’t have a land base waiting for them, but it is an option.
  
• Route to Hawaii (if immigration status permits) and from there, back to the North American mainland – or back south to French Polynesia again after spending the requisite 90 days outside of the country. Must have immigration status that allows entry to the USA and love long passages. And once you’re there, anchoring permits cost more than a marina in Mexico and marina waiting lists are real. So not many choose this path because, well, it’s harder.

• Make a North Pacific loop to Japan. Friends on the Leopard 384, Maple, have made plans to sail from French Polynesia to Japan (then, onward home to Canada), which frankly sounds pretty sweet although it may be thwarted by a leaky fuel tank. We’re rooting for them!
  
• Nationals repatriating as is the option available to Aussies and Kiwis – who are still subject to quarantine. (That’s over $6k per person in New Zealand!)

Since the rest of the South Pacific (and most of the North Pacific) is closed, and offers NO indication of opening anytime soon (regardless of protocol, regardless of vaccines – in fact, Vanuatu and New Caledonia just doubled down to be 100% clear on their we’re-not-open status), it is baffling to me that there’s so much murmuring about plans for the Pacific.

I suppose that’s a little like wondering why back in our home country so many activities are opening up despite transmission risks being pretty much worse than ever. Pandemic fatigue is real! If one were to believe that vaccination distribution will occur widely and quickly (despite all evidence to the contrary), it might be possible to have this hope. But it’s not happening quickly, and vulnerable countries have no more incentive to take the risk now than they did in 2020. I really don’t know what most people making plans are thinking.

Here on Totem, we just keep on keepin’ on. You bet we want to be back in the South Pacific, and into the North Pacific, but… oh well!

Our 2021 plans? Safe to say… they don’t include any big Pacific passages. Even if it weren’t for my view on the probabilities of countries opening up, we’re staring down big engine work.

Meanwhile, this week the memory care home where my mother is a resident had a COVID outbreak. Seventeen cases, hopefully no more, but it remains to be seen. Every single one of the residents who tested positive for COVID already had their first vaccination shot. There is plenty of reason to remain more cautious now than ever. And four known COVID variants… We hope every day to see this through without the pain in our family, as we have seen in our friends and their families, to suffer from the disease’s direct impact.

So much going on!

Join us this coming week at the Seattle Boat Show! You can register for as little as $5; Jamie and I are offering several seminars and joining the salty crews from Mahina and Kaiquest for our annual offshore panel.

Diesel engines – coming to TOTEM TALKS: Register here for Sunday, Jan 31st at 3pm Pacific / 6pm Eastern. What does a dumb sailmaker know about marine diesels? Come find out! The truth is that after 13 years of full-time cruising, it’s a surprising amount – and that’s out of necessity. A reliable engine is part of safe cruising, so cruisers should all know about engine care and maintenance. This session will start with a zoomed-out view of component parts, then discuss DIY maintenance including priority and commonly overlooked procedures.

Thanks to everyone who joined us for the Toronto Boat Show this past week! If you registered for seminars, ours can be replayed at leisure.

The post Sailing Totem: South Pacific Cruising in 2021 appeared first on Cruising World.