As I had mentioned in the previous post, the weather this season has been problematic. I couldn't find a weather window that would allow us to make the whole sail from Maupiha'a to Beveridge Reef in one system. The best solution I could find was downwind sailing on both ends with an uncomfortable day or day-and-a-half in the middle where we would have to beat to weather.
Our sail started out milder than planned. Despite thinking we would need to be conservative and fly only our jib, conditions were well within the range for our spinnaker, so we deployed that instead. When the wind started decreasing even further, it was a tremendous help in keeping our speed well above our plan.
Passage of sunsets and whale visits
On our third afternoon at sea, as we were about 150 nautical miles from Mupiha'a's nearest island of Manuae, we were gliding along at about two knots when I was jolted out of my reverie with the unmistakable blast of a Humpback whale spouting. From where I was sitting at the helm, the blowhole was closer than some parts of Begonia. The whale then slowly submerged again, without so much as a ripple.
At this point my instinct was to wake Maryanne, who would not want to miss such a thing, but it was right in the middle of her off-watch and she really needed her sleep. Also, sometimes a spouting is a one-off. I didn't want to interrupt her sleep for a false alarm. I tiptoed downstairs, stuck my head into our berth and whispered, "Hey Maryanne, whale!" just in case she wasn't really sleeping. She was. I tiptoed back to the helm.
Five minutes after the first spout, the whale did it again, this time, it was just barely on the other side of the boat. That was right next to where Maryanne was sleeping. Maybe it woke her up. I snuck back down the stairs and checked on her again. Nope, still out cold.
After another five minutes a third spout came. This time it was ahead of us, as if towing us with one of our dock lines. Sorry, Maryanne, you're going to have to get up for this one.
She was delighted at the news, if a little bleary. She emerged to an empty sea and gave me a skeptical look. "Wait for it." I said, "We should have about ninety seconds."
Right on cue, the whale spouted a fourth time and then submerged again, but stayed so shallow that we could clearly see it under the surface. Maryanne was thrilled.
The whale then stayed in company with us, easing along at two knots, for the rest of my watch. For an hour and twenty-one minutes, it spouted twenty-one times and never got more than four boat lengths away from us. A couple of times, I even picked it up with our depth sounder. The display went from displaying dashes in the five-kilometer-deep water to six meters or nine meters. We have never had a whale shadow us for more than a few minutes.
It left us almost exactly when it was time to start preparing dinner. It spouted three more times over the next twenty-one minutes. The last was one was too far away to hear and was only visible as a telltale plume of spray near the horizon.
Our heavy use of the spinnaker had kept us far enough ahead of schedule that we made it all the way to Day Six before running into the headwinds that we had originally anticipated on Day Four. That was good, because each new forecast was predicting that the tailwinds on the other side were going to be stronger and stronger. It was now looking like our last night at sea would be during the brunt of what was shaping up to be a decent storm. If we were able to keep our speed up, though, we just might be able to make it into the protection of the reef and be anchored before the worst of it.
Our headwind day was not fun. Begonia pitched and rolled and lurched around in the confused seas so much that it was impossible to move around without a hand or two for the boat. Sleeping was also pretty much out, so neither one of us was able to get more than a few minutes of it on our off-watches. It was good to know our troubles would only last a few more hours, instead of days.
When the easterlies returned, the higher-than-expected winds had us arriving at the pass entrance at nine a.m. on Day Eight. We headed to our old spot inside the northeast edge of the reef and dropped our anchor and all our chain on the ledge of clean, white sand just north of a long-wrecked fishing boat. It was at this very spot that we shared a meal with Cap'n Fatty and his wife, Carolyn, in 2018, before circumnavigating the whole globe and returning to the same spot today, seven years later.
This day, there were three other boats in the lagoon, all catamarans and all separated by a mile or more. We all kept to ourselves. It wasn't until two days later that radio silence was broken when one of them got on to tell one of the others that their exit of the pass was uneventful during their departure.
We spent some of our time working on small maintenance jobs - with a view. Here Kyle is servicing a footpump for our galley sink
I like Beveridge Reef. It certainly has nothing to do with its lack of mountain scenery or waving palm trees. I just find it extraordinary that there are places in the ocean that are hundreds of miles from land, where it is possible to drop anchor in a patch of relative calm and be relieved of most of the worries of being way out in the ocean. It feels like an ideal place to take a couple weeks' vacation from our busy retirement.
Since there are no hiking trails around, our main form of exercise at Beveridge Reef is snorkeling. We went to the wreck of the fishing boat Liberty. It has been slowly breaking up since we first visited it in 2017. We also made several long swims to the inside, and then along, the reef edge, poking into various indentations to look for interesting fishes or bits of coral.
The environment at Beveridge Reef changes pretty dramatically four times a day. At each of the two high tides, the fringing reef only blocks about half of the outside ocean swell. This swell is often at an angle to the wind-generated waves inside the reef. This makes it pretty rough at anchor and also allows a strong current to run across the shallows, which is pretty tough to overcome while swimming.
The low tides, on the other hand, are nice and calm, with good water clarity and almost no current. The best days are the sunny ones when low tide is in the middle of the day. After a few days, we were so used to the cycle that we could tell what was happening just by the motion. It wasn't uncommon for us to wake up in the middle of the night, mutter, "the tide must be going up" to the other and then roll over to go back to sleep.
[Maryanne]We snorkelled the wreck of the 45' steel fishing vessel we understand is the "Liberty". Over our 3 visits even we can see the wreck is slowly decaying and breaking up (most readily seen in the cabin roof - which is now gone). It also is slowly moving as the waves slightly lift it and the currents nudge it westwards.
Liberty Wreck as seen in 2017
Liberty Wreck as seen in 2018, the separated fishing spool remains even in 2025
Liberty Wreck - on this visit in August 2025, at low tide much of the wreck is exposed
There have been many, many wrecks at Beveridge Reef, and most are long gone (either removed, or completely destroyed/lost), but the Liberty has been there on all our 3 visits, and the only one apparent to us in 2025. For many years (even when we visited in 2018) the charts had the position of the reef off by 2-3nm, so that can't have helped, but wrecks still happen even with perfect charts and modern satellite location systems.
- 1918 - the schooner "James H. Bruce" bound for Austalia with 750,000 feet of lumber aboard, (per the 1919 "The Seamen's Journal, Volume 32, page 11 (per wikipedia Beveridge Reef Page)
- 1932 - an American whaler run on ground and was broken in two parts (I have notes for this, but now for the life of me can find no reference to verify it, nor recall where I'd seen the initial information!!).
- 1956 - the Australian cargo-ship "Big Whale" ran aground on the north-eastern extremity and sunk. (Per Wikipedia, but again, I've lost the link.)
- 1992 - the "Nicky Lou" of Seattle, a fiberglass hulled fishing vessel that ran aground on the reef near and could be seen near the sandy islet to the NW. The wreck became in 1993 home to the Beveridge Yachting Club. This club was closed by the Newzealands Marine in 1994. By 2004 it was reported that the trawler had become invivisible
- Sometime on or before 2008 - Blue Steel 45' Fishing Trawler, reported as named "Liberty" (with a ZM Registration), a Niuean boat- per Noonsite. With more and more cruisers passing this way there are plenty of blogs and photos with details of the wreck; it was initially reported as on top of the reef (and stayed on the reef until at least 2015 but slowly bounced over and now sits in the shallow sandy shelf inside the reef. I've not been able to find any reports of the actual date nor details of the situation that cuased the wreck. The first reference I can find to it is in the 2008 book "Dangerous Middle" By Captain John M.Wolstenholme of the British yacht "Mr John VI", his hand drawn map shows it on the coral and refers to it as a "new wreck" (from previous wrecks reported).
- August 27th 2017 - 60' Catamaran Avanti hit the atoll with parents and two children (11 and 13) aboard aboard and bounced across the reef a few days before we arrived at Beveridge (see our 2017 blog. Thankfully there was already a boat at anchor in the atoll that was able to rescue them.)
- 1st June 2022 (or 31st May, reports differ) - Taiwaneese fishing boat FV CHUAN I SHIN - all 11 crew rescued. The wreck was later completely burnt out by fire (no apparent remains).
Snorkelling in NE Beveridge Reef (within the atoll)
[Kyle]During the calm before the next storm, we moved Begonia to a new spot on the southeast side. The weather and mid-day high tides had us hunkered down inside for a few days. As the last of the wind and rain left to the west, so did all the other boats in the lagoon. It was now just us.
We managed to get in another snorkel during a lull before the next blow. There wasn't much that was new, although we did see a few more stingrays and a Gray Reef Shark. Beveridge Reef is reported to have the world's highest concentration of these. We have seen groups of them here before, but this time, it has only been isolated individuals.
The next two days were the second heaviest rain and the second strongest winds of our whole visit. After being awakened in the middle of the night by the motion of high tide, I popped outside briefly for a quick survey. For all I could see, we could have been inside a cave, particularly one of those under a waterfall. The only light was the little indicator LEDs on our electrical panel. I was getting around the boat almost entirely by feel and muscle memory. How strange it is, I thought, and also amazing, that we were likely the only two people in at least a two-hundred square-mile patch of dark and stormy ocean. The reef was blocking half the swell and everything we own was depending on our anchor and every link of a single chain between it and the boat.
I had an image in my mind of one of those end-of-the-movie zoom-outs that started with a dim image of me peeking out from under the bimini. Then the view backs away until Begonia is a mere speck, disappearing into the rain and surrounded by a small ring of reef. Then the reef itself becomes too far away to see. Here we were, a speck inside a speck, hidden under a thick blanket of clouds on a moonless night, far from anyone or anything. I remember having the distinct feeling that, under the circumstances, it wouldn't be unreasonable at all for me to feel a lot more nervous than I was about the whole situation. Instead, I felt a certain peace, or maybe even what could be called comfort, in knowing that we were as secure as we could make ourselves, and that we had perfect, unbroken solitude. No one was going to drag into us. No ship was going to run us down. We weren't going to hit any uncharted rocks. It could pour all it wanted and we were inside, warm and dry and cozy, drowsily giving up on the fight to keep our eyelids open, and then sleeping the night away while the tide drops and the motion gradually stops.
We spent nearly the next whole week in this manner before we were able to finally sleep with all the hatches ajar and then wake to a clear, blue sky. Ahhh, that's better! As we were kitting up for a long-overdue snorkel, three monohulls entered the pass and then anchored in the far, northern side of the lagoon. It looks like the next wave is about to arrive.
I don't imagine they will stay as long as we have. Monohulls don't seem to have nearly as much fun at Beveridge Reef. At high tide, we can see them through the binoculars as they roll from gunwale to gunwale. The calm, flat part of the two low tides probably only adds up to six or eight hours in a twenty-four-hour day. After their first swim, I imagine they spend the rest of their time wondering how soon they can get out of here. Also, what's wrong with the people in the catamaran way over there?
Snorkelling the inner reef at the southern end was very similar to the Eastern side
We had three beautiful, flat, clear, windless days. We took the opportunity to anchor by the pass to see if the snorkeling would be any different there. It was, but not exactly better. The coral was generally in worse shape, but there were a few dense schools of curious reef fish, some Gray Reef Sharks, and some Spotted Eagle Rays. The currents were much stronger, which kept us more on edge, since getting flushed out of the pass into deep water would be bad.
The corals of the inner western side of the atoll seems a lot less healthy, and we were more wary of the currents, but there was still plenty to see
We got up super early the next day, with a mind to be in the water as soon as it was light enough. It was low tide then and the pass was flooding just slightly. We ranged further, but still didn't find anything of particular interest. We headed back in the direction of Begonia as soon as we noticed the current turning again.
We had originally planned to stay another night, while the calm weather held, but decided it would be a better deal to return to our previous anchorage, where we could enjoy better swimming in healthier coral and milder currents without fear of being swept out of range of our boat.
Just to be sure we hadn't missed anything, we took Begonia to the pass and Maryanne had a good swim around while I shadowed her. If conditions had been amazing, we would have traded off, but she came back with a report that it was less interesting than the anchorage we had just left, if anything. She also said the visibility wasn't nearly as good, so we decided to move on to where our private square mile of clean sand was waiting for our return. Since we had snorkeled all over the place here, we felt much more confident. Instead of gingerly picking our way in and dropping anchor as soon as we had a clear swinging circle, this time we charged right over to the far edge, much closer to the reef. That gave us a little more protection from swell during yet more forecast storms, but mostly made our swims to the interesting part of the reef about a third as long when it was nice.
In the wide pass, others had reported huge schools of barracuda and gray reef sharks, even some giant wrasses, but my pass snorkel wasn't quite so impressive
Our first day back was marvelous, calm, clear weather. At low tide, Begonia looked and felt like she was sitting on top of a thick layer of clear acrylic, above the white sand below. We headed for the reef and found lots of sea life that also seemed to be enjoying calm water, bright sunshine, and a break from the current. After a few hours, I was feeling the chill of the water. Maryanne was having too much fun and told me she would meet me at home later. She stayed out another two hours until the high tide current flowing over the reef gave her a fast trip across the sand flats back to Begonia.
The next morning was not as nice, but it was looking from the forecasts to be possibly the last decent one we would have left. Maryanne volunteered to swim back to the reef while I stayed behind having fun cleaning the accumulated bottom growth off our paint. After seventeen months in the water, it seems to be rapidly losing its anti-fouling properties.
Back in the south of the atoll we have a few days of sunny calm conditions
While I was goofing off, Maryanne saw much of the usual. As she was just about to turn for home from the main reef via a few of the intervening bommies, she spotted a GIANT giant moray eel. She said it was probably eight feet long and as big around as her waist. Our sea creature guide book lists that as about maximum size for that species. She said that, unlike the smaller ones, which are always so timid. This one didn't seem to be afraid of anything and swam right out in the open, diving in and out of coral tunnels, and when in the open she could chase it with her camera (and with caution).
And more snorkelling too... The reef has a really rugged edge, creating plenty of inlets and canyons to explore with easy shallow snorkelling
It was especially cool to see this giant "giant moray" out and about on the reef, the pictures do little to show its scale, it was longer than I am tall, and had quite the girth
We had been hoping to leave within the next few days, but the weather was shaping up to be too awful to be out in the open ocean if we could avoid it, which of course we could. We had a week of howling winds, heavy rains, and holding on as Begonia bucked her way through each high tide cycle. Every now and then, we would go out on deck, lean hard into it, and marvel at our private patch of at least slightly calmer water.
Anchorage location - NE Beveridge Reef >> On google maps
Anchorage location - S Beveridge Reef >> On google maps
Anchorage location - S Beveridge Reef (once we were confident we could nudge further along the sandy shelf and nearer to the actual reef >> On google maps
Anchorage location - Inside Pass to North in Beveridge Reef >> On google maps
