After timing our departure to be at Tahanea's pass at the optimum time, near high tide, with plenty of sunshine to sight bommies on our transit of the lagoon, our next planned stop at Fakarava was too far away to sail within the remaining hours of winter daylight. Doing an overnight sail to get there at dawn would require us to slow way down.
We had a fast reach across the relatively flat water of the lagoon and then used full sail to power out of the pass against a slight flood current. Once we were clear, we dropped the mainsail, rolled up half the jib, and slowed down for an easy transit between the atolls.
Maryanne had the first watch. With a slight current helping us along, she spent most of her time reducing sail to keep our speed at a target that would give us about an hour of bobbing around at the pass entrance before sunrise.
Birds flying all around, and eventually we reach the Tumakohua pass (at the south of the atoll) and in wonderful calms
I turned out to be lucky she had so much trouble slowing down. The wind decreased and decreased on my watch, until I had to pull out the spinnaker to maintain a 2.8 knot target. I couldn't even manage that, so we burned through our 'spare' last hour and made it just in time.
With both engines now running, the pass entry was uneventful, apart from losing a third of our speed to a slight ebb current as we weaved our way to the anchorage.
Fakarava has four moorings at the south pass. We were hoping to get lucky enough to pick one up, as we were the first time we came in 2017. They were all occupied now, plus there were another fifteen boats anchored in our preferred depth range. This left anchoring in the deep water adjacent as our only remaining option.
The bottom in this part of the lagoon is small patches of sand with lots and lots of coral. It is difficult to see to the bottom in the deeper water, so its tough to find a clean spot to drop the anchor. When you do, it is then necessary to suspend the chain above the coral bottom with floats to keep it from both damaging the coral and being fouled as the boat swings around. Being in the deep anchorage meant we needed all our chain, which meant we needed lots of floats, as well as a wide berth from adjacent boats. The final step is a snorkel to untangle any snags and make the final adjustments on the lengths of the float lines. This is such a hassle that we might ordinarily have considered just skipping the anchorage if all of the prime space had been taken, but we like the South Pass, it's been a while, and we are not sure if we will ever pass this way again, so we decided to suck it up and make anchoring our project for the morning.
The views from the near our boat aren't bad at all!
Since the anchorage is pretty far from the pass and since our dinghy was in 'lifeboat mode' for the passage (also, our electric outboard has had some sort of internal failure that makes it useful only as ballast right now), we decided to swim to the pass instead.
It wasn't as bad as that sounds. We swam to the near side of the motu alongside the pass and then walked across the island to an entry point on the ocean side of the channel. There was plenty to see during the swim along the edge, which helped pass the time and distance. The only anxious part was getting from Begonia to the shallow coral heads. There are lots of fast tour boats and dinghies zipping through the anchorage and it was necessary for us to swim in the fastest and most conspicuously splashy way we could until we were safely clear.
Swimming in the shallows and hopping between the motus to reach the pass
We had been secretly hoping to be able to pop into a café or one of the dive shop snack bars for a nibble on our walk across the motu. The bars/cafés were shut. The dive shops were all of the "Clients Only!" variety. Never mind.
We walked the trail until we were as close to the big breakers at the pass entrance as we dared to get. Then we entered the pass and let the strong flood zing us past the wall of coral beneath us.
My memory of Fakarava's South Pass is of lots of coral, but also the hundreds of sharks that accompanied us along the way. This time, we only spotted five or six, mostly in the distant, deep center of the channel, with only the occasional solitary one venturing into the shallows.
We weren't the only human visitors enjoying the pass
When we got to where the channel splits, Maryanne suggested we swim to the far, left-hand side of the right-hand channel. That plan was going great until the current swept us against our will into the deeper, left-hand channel.
Now we were being pulled away from the anchorage faster than we could counter. No problem. We came in this way in Begonia. It's far, but once we are in the wide water of the lagoon, the current should die off enough to allow us to get home. We had some unnerving moments when it seemed like our plan might not be working, but that was really because we were hoping to be able to take a shortcut from the full boat route.
Eventually, we rounded the last mark and were able to make our way back to the anchorage via the edge of the coral reef. We both agreed later that this off-the-beaten-path section was our favorite part of the day's excursion. Then it was time for the splash and dash back to a well-earned dinner aboard.
Snorkelling the reefs inside the atoll near the pass was just as interesting for us
We stayed aboard the next day for the show. Every day, musical chairs starts for the best anchor spots for new arrivals as departing boats struggle to unwrap their chains from the coral heads below.
A Fountaine-Pajot came in that was approximately the same vintage as Begonia. It wasn't exactly a sister boat, but was at least a close cousin. Just as I was starting to resist a swelling sense of fraternity with them, they came right towards us. Perhaps they were hoping someone would come on deck and give them a high-five as they went past.
Just before they got to us, they took a sharp turn, and then someone went up to the bow with a boat hook. They were heading for what they seemed to think was an empty mooring, but was actually our anchor trip line float. This happens occasionally, even though we have deliberately tried to select a float that is obviously too small and flimsy to be an actual mooring ball. Today, because of the depth, the ball was floating in a big, open spot eight boat lengths ahead of us. A clue was that there was also a line of chain floats heading directly from Begonia to the "mooring". These floats are much bigger because they must have enough buoyancy to support the chain below, while our anchor float only marks the location of the anchor, without supporting anything other than the backup retrieval line to be used in case the anchor snags.
After retrieving our trip line float (fortunately, they did not pull hard enough to pull our anchor off the seabed), they threaded a line through the handle and were about to secure it when the guy at the helm went forward. He seemed annoyed and pretty disappointed in the flimsy 1/8" thick line leading away below the ball. There followed about five minutes of discussion, before he eventually ordered the line retrieved. Then they left to continue their search for a good spot. After not finding anything, they were back half an hour later for another try. They hovered there for a long time this time, with the float half tied to their boat, before they finally apparently agreed the mooring just wasn't sturdy enough and left for good.
This sort of thing used to bug me more than it does now. If they had actually pulled our anchor up and started dragging us along with them, I would have been upset. Usually, though, if somebody does this, or some other affrontery like anchoring way too close, if you give them twenty minutes, they'll usually figure it out themselves and go somewhere else. Ninety percent of the time, that saves me from ruining the vibe by stomping on deck and being the "get off my lawn!" guy. They ended up anchoring so far away that there was no chance we would be mingling after that.
Anchorage location >> On google maps
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