The portion within the lagoon was slightly unnerving, as the sun wasn't quite high enough in the sky to make bommie spotting easy. I was careful to follow our inbound track as closely as possible, minus one spot I had marked on the way in as being a little too close for comfort.
Unlike our high tide arrival, we planned our outbound transit of the pass to be just before low tide. This was less than ideal, because shallower water tends to make for bigger waves, but the difference in height between the two tides here is only about a foot. Our main worry was the current.
Currents in the atolls are notoriously hard to predict. Theoretically, slack water should occur at mid tide. This seems counterintuitive because it seems like slack should be at high and low tides, when the most, or least, water is present, as it does in most river systems.
Atolls are different, because they act like a bowl with a big chunk missing at the pass. As the tide rises on the outside, water spills in through the gap, raising the level on the inside, but with a lag, because it takes time to fill the lagoon. At high tide (on the outside), the difference between the two water levels is greatest and the inflowing current is highest. As the tide starts to fall again, the water still continues to flow in until it reaches the height of the water on the inside. That's when slack occurs. Then the same thing happens going the other way for the low tide part of the cycle.
That's the theory, anyway. In reality, all of this is complicated by the geometry of each atoll. Porous atolls, as in ones with few motus and lots of gaps, will tend to spill most of their water over the sides, leaving a smaller portion to create current in the passes. That also makes slack water closer to high and low tides. Less porous motus, of which Toau is one, can become more porous during heavy weather, when unusually big waves can throw water high enough to top the fringing reefs. For this reason, atolls are more porous at high tide than at low tide. Pass orientation is also important. Ones facing the waves let in more water than ones that don't. Also, some tide stations report the height of the water on the outside of the pass, some on the inside.
All this makes figuring out when to transit a pass a lot of guesswork. Ask three cruisers what time they have figured out for transiting the same pass and you will likely get three answers covering a span of a couple of hours. The best way to figure it out is to ask someone who is there right now what they are seeing. Second best is to copy what worked last time. If two hours before high tide worked the day before yesterday and the conditions outside are pretty similar to then, two hours before high tide today has a good chance of being okay too.
All this being said, and knowing we were going to be the first one of the day to try the pass, Maryanne and I decided that if we didn't like the look of it, we would loiter around inside until things calmed down.
As we approached the pass, we could see small standing waves (below deck height), with a flat patch of swirly water to the right. We watched it for a while and decided to give it a go, with a plan to go through the flat water, then do a long end run around the breakers once we got to deep water.
By the time we got to the flat patch, it was gone, replaced with more deck-high breakers. We tried to skirt the edge, but pretty soon, the edge was gone and the waves were building fast. A few seconds later, the waves were above the tops of our lifelines, crashing onto our decks and sending walls of water to submerge the cabin windows. The steeper waves, which were increasing in frequency, were big enough to stop Begonia cold. Everything in the boat got thrown to a different location. With 2500rpm on both engines and the speed reading zero or almost zero, I spent a harrowing few seconds not being sure if one or both of our propellers had come off. We did not want to get sideways in this. The good thing – the only good thing, was that the current was taking us into deep water. If we could hold on and wait it out, we would be pushed clear of the waves.
Our propellers turned out to be fine. We slowly nudged Begonia to the right-hand edge of the breakers. As the waves decreased, we picked up speed and were soon in the gentle roll of the deep ocean. We did our end run around the rest and were soon making good speed in following seas towards Apataki. It took us another thirty minutes to calm down and enjoy it.
A couple of other boats that we could see on AIS exited the pass. The first one reported the pass to be “fine". The next one called it “nice". Had we gone through ten minutes earlier, when we first saw it, it probably would have been the same for us. The same two boats entered Toau twenty minutes after we did on the same day. Our entry was smooth. They reported theirs as “boisterous" and, “scary". You just never know what you are going to get with these damn things. The big lesson seems to be to always be prepared for the worst.
After the morning's departure from Toau, we were a little nervous about entering the pass at Apataki. We hadn't been fast enough to arrive at what we expected to be the ideal time for a crossing. We were hoping it would still be okay when we got there, because we didn't have much daylight left for waiting. Neither of us wanted to be hove-to overnight, waiting for morning.
It turned out to be fine - better than fine. The water of the pass was completely flat, with only a few eddies as the current rushed out to sea. The only motion we had was a little yaw as the eddies slewed us left and right. There was no pitch, no roll, no heave, no surge, and only the barest amount of sway. Had we built a house of cards on the cockpit table, it probably would have survived.
That ended a little further in. As the water of the lagoon squeezed over the shallow patch at that end of the pass, it formed a region of small standing waves. They jiggled us around for a few seconds and then we were in. Whew! From there, it was an upwind bash to the protection in the lee of a sandbank near tiny Motu Rua Vahine. We had just enough time to run the checklist before the sun plunged through the horizon. The next morning, we donned snorkel and fins to swim over to the nearby reefs to see what's what.
Anchored in the south end of Apataki Atoll (near Motu Rua Vahine)
There didn't turn out to be too much to see. There were a few scattered coral heads, but not much else. Mainly, the current coming over the reef gave us a chance to have a good, long swim. We decided seeing it once was enough for us.
As we were coming through the pass the day before, the town there, called Niutahi, looked really nice. Rumor is that they will let cruising boats tie up to the supply ship wharf of the ship is not in. We could see no masts by the town and as far as we could tell, there was no supply ship within a hundred miles. We decided to go have a look.
The wharf did turn out to be both available and free of charge. There was room for about three boats our size, so we tied up at one end in case anyone else showed up later. Then it was time to step off and enjoy Niutahi.
Niutahi is laid out in the shape of a coffee bean, with an elliptical perimeter road and another that runs straight up the middle to bisect the village. Begonia was at the wharf end.
Apart from being pleasant and quiet, the village has little in the way of attractions. The restaurant is closed, the snacks are closed. There only seems to be one pension (inn) in operation and it seems to be temporarily closed for renovations. They do have a store, which opens a few hours per day (not now, come back later) and they are home to the atoll's airport. We made kind of a double figure-eight of the roads and managed to eke out a 5k walk.
Exploring the village of Niutahi, where the main mode of transport is tricycle
On the way back to Begonia on the middle road, a man called out to us and waved us over. He introduced himself as Nikolo. Over very broken French, he told us his story and how he and his wife, who grew up in Huahine, met. She then disappeared, and then returned with a whole big bottle of cowrie shells, which she poured into our hands. She made it apparent that our choice was to catch them or let them fall on the ground. Nikolo then gifted us a giant breadfruit, which may have been to keep it from falling on Maryanne's head, as she was seated right below it. Now we have starch for three days. As we were leaving to return to Begonia, he also attempted to teach us the entire Tahitian language. It's a lovely language, but our capacity for learning new words is about three at a time. No one will be asking us to translate anytime soon.
Back at the wharf, we saw that another, newer, slightly bigger Fountaine-Pajot had arrived. Magic lists their hailing port on the stern as Minnetonka, Minnesota. The owners, Dan and Kelly, clarified that they had actually started in the Pacific Northwest in Puget Sound. With them were two friends, Fred and Jill, who were joining them from Minnesota for a few weeks. They asked us if we would like to come over later for drinks.
"Actually, we've got quite a lot to do tonight. Maybe some other time."
"Wait a minute! No we don't. We'll be right over!"
They all turned out to be lovely company. After hearing that I grew up in Denver, Fred mentioned his brother, Karl. Karl Mecklenburg is world famous in Denver. I didn't actually know much about him, but I recognized the name of the Denver Broncos football player. My brother Darren is a much more dedicated fan and I could only imagine his slight amusement at his brother having drinks with Karl Mecklenburg's brother. Fred and Jill were having their last night aboard before getting tomorrow's flight to Tahiti, and then ultimately home.
Ouch! Maryanne and I had just been remarking to each other, as we walked past the airport, how amazing it would feel to leave for a vacation away from the Rat Race, and to eventually, after many connections in busy airports, end up here, where the walk from the bus stop-sized terminal to your pension takes five minutes, and then there's nothing left to do but let out a big sigh and relax. This place definitely feels like it's on the other side of the world from anything that produces stress. We hadn't considered how terrifying it would feel to go the other way.
Jill and Fred seemed fine with it. Perhaps they like their jobs and are eager to get back, or they have cute pets or something.
With the hatches shut, it wasn't bad for sleeping – just imagine you're on a long flight and let the drone lull you to sleep. Dinner conversation in Magic's cockpit was one step down from trying to make friends on the floor of a dance club. Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad, but I wouldn't be surprised if we were all a little hoarse the next morning from trying to project to the back of the auditorium.
Since we didn't have to leave until afternoon for the overnight sail to Rangiroa, we took the opportunity to jump in the water and snorkel the pass. Like most passes, the varieties of coral and fishes is much above average for the atoll, as the nutrients are concentrated there. In addition to the usual stuff, we also got to see the underwater parts of both working and disused pearl farms, where the oysters are hung below freestanding processing shacks in net bags. On the way back to Begonia, we encountered Fred and Jill, having one last swim before their flight leaves.
For our whole time tied to the wharf at Niutahi, we had a clear view of the pass and never saw it be anything other than perfectly flat. That eliminated our worries about timing our exit for any particular state. Instead, we could focus on about making sure we were close to our guess for the right time to enter Rangiroa. We started both engines, just in case, but once we were into the deep ocean, Maryanne remarked that we could have saved the engines and sailed off the wharf.
Snorkelling the pass and adjacent lagoon shallows
Southern Anchorage location >> On google maps
Niutahi Town Dock location >> On google maps
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