A slice of tranquility
Mostly, our time at our anchorage has been in heavy rains or high winds. The wind turbine had no problem keeping the batteries full, day and night, even with both laptops running.
On our first mild day, we inflated the kayak and paddled about a mile upwind to the nearest island, which we circumnavigated on foot to give our exercise some variety. At the far end, we found another, smaller islet that is hidden from view at the anchorage by the bigger, intervening one. Maryanne immediately suggested we swim over to it to have a look, adding a second island and a third type of exercise to our outing.
On both islands, we were regularly checked out by many birds, who were obviously not used to being disturbed by humans. We made a point of staying below the high tide line to avoid damaging any possible nests, but were still treated to low passes by boobies, terns and noddies. Maryanne also spotted a small plover-looking thing that was trying to distract us with a broken wing act. She later identified it as a Tuamotu Sandpiper. It always feels like such a privilege to see something that exists nowhere else. We also were finally able to locate the leak in our new kayak. We hadn't found it before since it was way up in the inner bows. We found some shallow water and Maryanne sat on top the upside down kayak putting her weight at various points until I could see the bubbles escaping while watching from below (in the water with my snorkel mask). It's in a terrible location - no chance that we can fix it, but luckily it is still in warrenty so we'll see what the manufactuer responds with.
Exploring the local Motu (small island)
Exploring the nearby sand banks at low tides
We also, of course, did a fair bit of snorkeling. I am convinced that there is something hard-wired deep within humans that makes us universally think the turquoise color of tropical waters is beautiful as strongly as we think sulfur smells bad. Begonia is anchored on a shelf of white sand at the edge of a ribbon of water that is that color. To our south, the water shallows until it is tan and then practically white. To our north, the shelf drops off and the water deepens to a rich blue. It's hard to get up in the morning, go outside, and not think, “I have got to get into that!”
We found a few good bommies with a nice variety of healthy coral. In the sandy areas, there are rays and a few conchs. We also have three resident black-tipped reef sharks that seem to be especially interested in Maryanne. Our theory is that they expect most swimmers to be spearfishing, and are shadowing us in the hopes of stealing our catch. Begonia also seems to have been adopted as the mother ship for a large school of needlefish They scatter when we enter the water, but then immediately return to follow us around to see what we are doing.
Snorkelling about the scattered bommies (coral outcrops)
Lots of fish visitors
Our last few days in Tahanea, the wind shifted to a less-than-protected direction. During stronger periods, particularly at high tide, an uncomfortable chop would roll through. It was annoying, but not enough so for us to feel like it was worth the trouble to head to a different part of the atoll.
After peaking out at just above twenty knots, the wind finally started to taper off as the sun sank toward the horizon. We went to bed anticipating a more comfortable night than we have had in days.
It started out that way. Sometime around two a.m., we started getting more and more rolling again. Groan. It must be high tide, I thought. Then it got even worse and I decided I had better go out there and have a look.
When I turned on our instruments, they told me that the wind was blowing a steady thirty-two knots. What the heck? The forecast had been for ten, gusting to twelve. Worse, it was from completely the wrong direction. Instead of being protected from the swell by the sandbar ahead, that same sandbar was now directly behind us and we were pitching back and forth over one-meter waves. The wind was from a squall line of convective storms pushing north ahead of a cold front. It was moving slowly, which kept the violent weather right over us for hours.
I knew we weren't going to drag. During our time in the anchorage, our anchor and the first ten meters of chain had buried themselves under half a meter of hard sand. Our policy is to always back down hard on the anchor, and to put out as much chain as the anchorage has room for, which makes for a more cushioned, horizontal pull on the anchor. Sometimes it feels a little silly to be going to so much effort when the forecast says the wind will be calm during our whole stay, but waking up in the middle of a dark night to unforecast thirty-two-knot winds, we don't have to worry that we had cut corners.
My biggest concern was our depth. Begonia was now in the shallowest part of our swinging circle, with just aver half a meter below the keels. That was when the water was smooth. Now, with the boisterous pitching, I was worried how close our rudders were actually getting to the seabed back there. At this point, all of our preparations had been made and there was nothing we could do but ride it out, but knowing that didn't do anything to keep my heart out of my throat. Also, there was lightning all around us. We were about a mile from the nearest tree, which made the top of our mast the tallest thing around.
I decided I just couldn't go back to bed until I knew for sure that the system had left us behind. For the next three hours, I sat in the dark, looking out the windows while the din of the rain pelted the cabin top. I felt like I needed to be there so that I could keep the rudders off the bottom and the lightning away by mere force of will alone. By the time the first hint of twilight revealed the storm to be finally receding, I found that I was exhausted, not just from not sleeping through the night, but also from having every muscle in my body unconsciously clenched the whole time.
When we finally emerged from our berth a second time, we were in a different world. The lagoon was calm and clear and beautiful and we were now floating in deep blue water off the edge of the sand shelf. It was so nice, in fact, that for the first time since Panamá, I was able to climb the mast without getting thrown around, do a few little jobs up there, and give the rig a proper inspection. Twelve hours earlier, I was dying for enough daylight to get the hell out of here. Now, I was ready to stay another week.
Views from atop the mast
Anchorage location >> On google maps
