Moorea 17 avril 17° 29.3'S 149°51.0'W
Canopus 3 on the Blue Water Rally
Jean Michel Coulon
Thu 17 Apr 2008 18:13
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We've been very lucky with the weather overall, so
perhaps the weather gods decided to give us a slight reminder on our Toau-Moorea
passage of what we might have experienced. The afternoon of 14 April and
throughout the night we repeated the prepare-for-squall drill: try to
determine if the looming mass on the radar will veer away, reef the sails once
the mass is within two miles or so, and stand by to reef more if necessary
(which was the case only once, when JM was in the cockpit around 1930 and I
called out the wind strength from the considerably drier chart table as the
digital readout peaked at 29 knots and rain blasted everything around).
The act of reefing or reducing the amount of sail exposed to the wind, a
burdensome chore on a conventionally rigged boat, is a bit different on
Canopus. We have been sailing with two headsails, genoa and large
ballooner, held out from the sides of the boat on poles. To reef, we turn
on the foredeck light if needed so we can see the reef marks on the genoa,
loosen the sheets, and push the genoa furling toggle switch; both sails furl,
and all that's left is to tidy up the sheets and turn off the light.
Needless to say, the ease of reefing makes it far more likely that we will not
take an ill-founded chance and end up damaging the ballooner. At one point
yesterday afternoon we got a break when a huge cloud mass separated into two
parts that proceeded to go around us one per side without pushing the wind high
enough to require reefing. Once the space between the two began clearing,
a full rainbow appeared, the first I have seen from Canopus--until then they had
always been fragments, not the full arc. The anchor was down in Cook's Bay at 1515 on 15
April, and a lovely place it is. The visual impact of the jagged mountains
surrounding the bay would have been even greater, of course, if we had not seen
so much similar scenery in the Marquesas. Clouds blocking our view of
mountain peaks were also a reminder of the Marquesas, but today was one of our
most overcast days; with luck tomorrow will be better. By the time we had
figured out the location of the nearest ATM machine (too far for convenient
access today, but until we get more FP francs we will have to limit expenditures
to those we can charge) we needed to focus on dinner arrangements. We had
planned to celebrate our passage by consuming an appropriate tropical beverage
at the local hangout of cruising sailors, the Club Bali Hai Hotel, but when we
phoned to ask about dingy access we learned that their once famous happy hour is
a thing of the past--apparently financial problems have cost them their liquor
license, and from the boat the place looked deserted.
Some serious study of guidebooks and a few
phone calls later, we reserved at what one guidebook calls the best French
restaurant on Moorea, which is on the water no more than a minute or two
from the boat. We left 90 minutes before our reservation, hoping to be
able to sit outside sipping a beer, but nobody was at the restaurant; we
ended up wandering around part of the nearest village, called Paopao,
which is definitely not high on the urban amenities scale. My dinner,
on the other hand, was excellent. I left nothing for the large number of
stingrays that wait for handouts at the base of the steps leading to the
water.
The morning of 16 April we moved the boat to
Opunohu Bay, which turns out to be even more scenic than Cook's Bay, and after
motoring around the bay and eyeing the Maltese Falcon, a three-masted hi-tech
monster that we saw entering the bay yesterday, we anchored in the lagoon at the
eastern side of the mouth of the bay a short distance from the reef. Being
able to swim from boat to prime snorkeling territory is very high on my list of
ideal circumstances, and the corals and fish did not disappoint either. At
one point a moray eel swam past me on its way back to its hole in the coral, I
saw two more of the quasi-Angelfish with brown stripes and yellow fringe along
the dorsal fin, a large (at least 18 inches) fish with two large fins, one each
dorsal and ventral, just forward of its tail that seemed its sole source of
locomotion, and several fish I have seen in the Caribbean but whose name I've
forgotten, with heads that seem to consist of boxy planes. The most
unusual feature of the reef and its creatures here is the variety and shapes of
the coral, including one type that resembles a cactus (but of course I can't
remember the name of the cactus type either). And as I had hoped, Moorea
indeed combines the separate advantages of the Marquesas and the Tuamotus--being
able to turn from reef fish and corals to gape at the mountains rising above
Opunohu Bay is very special.
Early on the 17th we will head for Papeete, or more
precisely Marina Taina, which is on the other side of the airport from
Papeete. I will not miss many aspects of standing watch at night, but I
have mixed feelings about this adventure coming to an end.
Nos aventures ne sont pas encore terminées, même si elles approchent d'une
fin. Et en tout cas pas les aventures gastronomiques dans lesquelles nous
entrainait Robby car il y a encore quelques jours ensemble à passer sur
Canopus à Tahiti, peut-être sans Jean-Michel s'il a la chance d'attrapper le 1er
avion Air France de jeudi soir...
Mardi soir, dans la baie de Cook, le restaurant de Honu Iti a été une
sorte de sommet dans nos diffférentes sorties gastronomiques. L'ayant repéré
depuis le bateau, nous nous y arrêtons vers 17h00, un escalier mène à la
terrasse, à l'intérieur, c'est le noir complet, pas un chat... à se demander
s'il n'est pas fermé pour la soirée.
On accoste un peu plus loin, on déambule le long de la route, où règne une
circulation presque incessante, on visite deux supérettes: on cherche, toujours
optimistes, du fil de pêche! On passe devant le collège de Paopao, sa mairie, le
TCM (Tennis club de Moorea), la salle de basket, on revient, on hésite devant la
roulotte "Chez ma poule" qui offre du poulet grillé à emporter, on continue
finalement jusqu'au restaurant, toujours aussi noir, sauf une lumière dans la
cuisine où s'affaire le plongeur de service.
Il est 18h. On s'assied à la terrasse dans le noir sans opposition de sa
part, arrive une deuxième personne, puis une troisième qui allume la moitié de
la terrasse, l'autre est en panne, on change de table pour se mettre à la
lumière, on demande une bière, mais "le serveur n'est pas encore arrivé" nous
répond-elle, en regardant l'autre côté de la baie comme s'il était sur la route
ou dans un bateau à ramer pour arriver à l'heure... Aux murs, toute une série de
tableaux aux couleurs stridentes (moins violentes côté terrasse resté dans le
noir) nous offre une variété de paysages et de scènes de genre d'inspirations
diverses, accrochés en rangs serrés et superposés. On aperçoit de plus en plus
de monde au travail, et même le patron d'abord torse nu puis en
chemise, puis le serveur survient et nous pouvons enfin passer commande de
nos boissons puis de nos plats. Et d'autres clients arrivent... la terrasse
s'anime, les spots qui éclairent l'eau en dessous où passent et repassent des
raies habituées de l'endroit, ne sont pas en panne eux. Nous dinons plutôt bien
mais assez cher. On s'est demandé si le patron qui est à la fois le chef et
l'artiste peintre ne pratiquait pas des compensations entre ses deux activités
économiques... mais on a oublié de lui demander le prix de ses toiles. Pourtant
il y a de la place dans le carré sur Canopus, un grand panneau encore tout nu et
qui réclame une tache de couleur. Ce sera pour une autre fois, tant pis!
Le 17, 8h: au moteur, à éviter les ferries entre Moorea et Tahiti, arrivée
à la marina Taina dans une heure. |