Makemo First Stop in the Tuamotus 16:31.1S 143:49.3W

Seaflute
Mon 29 May 2017 03:09
First stop in the Tuamotus
We sailed away from Nuku Hiva mid-morning for a short five hundred and fifty
mile passage to the Archipelago De Tuamotus. It’s not that we are getting
blasé about these journeys but with our new found confidence, we set off on
these trips without the previous trepidation. It’s fair to say the
preparation is still thorough and we would certainly not leave unless I was
certain Sea Flute was fit for the journey, it’s just that this preparation
has now become routine to us.
As we sailed away from the Marquesas we also left the cloak of rain clouds
that hang spider like over the islands, delivering the frequent rainfall
that creates their wonderful lush environment. We had twenty five knots of
wind and slightly more swell than Lindy would have wished for. The upside
however is that we were flying along and crunching through two hundred miles
plus per day.
On this occasion we had a rather more precise arrival target time other than
the usual “daylight would be nice” approach. The Tuamotus are a string of
coral atolls running from north west to southeast across 600 miles of the
Pacific. Typically they are rings of coral not more than ten metres high in
some areas and often just submerged reefs that make them particularly
dangerous. The atoll is normally accessible by only one or two passes, or
gaps in the reef deep enough for us to navigate through and often only tens
of metres wide. However, because the tide has to run in and out of these
narrow passes, when the tide changes, there is an enormous amount of water
trapped in the atoll that has to escape into the wider ocean and hence the
ferocious currents that flow through them. The reverse is also true, as the
tide rises, the level in the lagoon has to balance and so the reverse occurs
and for the same reasons is equally fierce. Between the inflow and outflow
driven by the tides, there is a time of slack water. This should last for
around twenty to thirty minutes. The challenge is calculating when this may
occur. We don’t have the luxury of local “tide tables” and the admiralty
tide tables seem woefully inaccurate. We have tried taking moon shots on its
rising and also when it reaches its zenith to attempt to extrapolate times,
but to no avail. We quickly established the best and safest policy is to
arrive earlier than you expect favourable conditions and take a look. If it
looks bad, you wait.
The approach to Makemo was very different to our experiences in the
Marquesas. Rather than spotting the islands from thirty to forty miles away,
we were within eight miles before a fringe of palm trees serrated the
horizon. Another four before any discernible land was visible through
binoculars. Even here, the treacherous reefs were not visible and their
presence only apparent due to the surf breaking on this dangerous menace
just below the surface of the ocean.
So as we approached the northern pass of Makemo, having slowed our progress
through the night to ensure an 0800 arrival, the conditions looked perfect
to enter the pass. Although by our reckoning we were over an hour too early,
we motored steadily through the pass with barely a ripple to heed our
progress. Easy, nothing to these atoll entrances! I would soon live to eat
my words.
I had researched an anchorage eight miles away, tucked in a bight in the
north east corner of the lagoon and further protected by any surge from the
south east by a reef extending from the inner shore a mile into the lagoon.
To transit the lagoon safely, Tom was hoisted up onto the lower spreaders
(horizontal bars that span between the shrouds (wires that hold the mast up)
and the mast). Armed with polarized glasses, snacks, plenty of water and a
walkie talkie, he spent the next hour calling directions to the helm to
avoid crashing into the multiple coral bommies that littered the lagoon
floor. Although Makemo is one of the larger of the Tuamotus, as we motored
across the lagoon with the northern motus never more than four miles from
us, the surf breaking on the southern side was always clearly visible by
naked eye. We neared our chosen spot and horror of horrors there was another
yacht anchored there already, “how very dare they”! We nosed gingerly into
the clear turquoise bar spotted with dark patches of coral extending from
the shore, looking for a clear patch of sand to drop anchor. We settled in
six metres depth and dropped back laying the chain into slightly deeper
water. The rule with anchoring is generally that you let out an amount of
chain equal to three to five times the depth of water, this measure is known
as the “scope”. This can vary dependant on the initial depth and the
anticipated weather conditions. In this location, we tended to be fairly
frugal with our scope to avoid our chain getting wound around adjacent coral
heads. The potential danger here is in the event of a tangle, your boat can
become firmly attached to a natural anchor directly beneath the boat. If a
swell then develops, you have lost all of the catenary (springy) effect the
extended heavy chain normally affords you. We were never far from Sea Flute
and if we saw bad weather coming we could quickly lay more chain if we
needed to. Also our chain could be frequently inspected, (thanks Tom). It’s
a shame we couldn’t encourage the sharks that constantly circled the boat to
provide regular feedback!
Anchored safely, then as is usual, we cleaned Sea Flute thoroughly and sat
back to survey our new home. Not too shabby, blue sky, palm trees, white
sand beach as far as the eye could see and gin clear turquoise water.
We soon met our neighbours, Adam and Allesha, a young American couple who
had sailed their lovely old forty foot sloop “Black Watch” from Seattle,
coincidentally setting off the same time as we had left the UK. They were
amazed at the distance we had sailed in that time compared to them.
Interestingly when I quizzed Adam if his yachts name had any connection with
the famous Scottish regiment of the same, he had no idea what I was talking
about! Having discovered they were running very low on provisions and were
down to living out of cans, we invited them to a beach BBQ to share some of
the fresh produce we had brought form the Marquesas.
A quick sortie ashore revealed, aside from a magnificent beach, a rough palm
shelter complete with table and adjacent stone BBQ grill. Just to complete
things, a chicken came strutting up to us out of the bush, looking very
pleased to have some company. Unfortunately, my designs on this chicken were
very different to Lindy’s who immediately adopted her as a pet and began to
feed her and work out how to persuade me to take her on as a boat chicken! I
eventually convinced Lindy that the New Zealand and Australian immigration
and ministry of agriculture would take a very dim view of her presence on
Sea Flute and the other significant consideration was that chicken poop
would not be good for my teak decking.
A great night was had with our American cousins with Lamb chops and
sausage’s (no chicken), but most appealing to them was the salad and green
beans we brought along. It’s amazing what you start to crave when you can’t
get it for an extended period.
One other notable feature of this atoll was the large population of large
red hermit crabs. At night particularly, they would gravitate towards food
and usually by the end of an evening on the beach we were surrounded by
thousands of crabs who were even attempting to climb up the table legs of
our makeshift canteen. Should you have an aversion to crabs (of the six
legged hard shell variety) this place would have given you nightmares for
life. We became quite fond of our pinchy, scratchy friends and by the end of
our stay regular crab racing events were being held.
A few days after our arrival a number of other Oysters who had been anchored
in the south of the atoll came north to join us on what became known as
Pedleys Island. Although the tranquillity was shattered, it was great to
catch up again with old friends and the BBQ’s grew dramatically in scale…and
alcohol consumption!
Keen to visit a few of the atolls before we had to head south to Tahiti, we
bid farewell to Pedleys Island, Henrietta the hen as Lindy had christened
her, (she always came running when Lindy called) and a now significant
gaggle of Oysters.
Our passage out of Makemo was very uneventful. We followed closely our
original track line across the lagoon, on the basis we hadn’t hit anything
on the way in, we should be safe on the way out. Our assumption that the
tides were turning up to an hour earlier than Admiralty predictions was also
borne out as we motored out of the pass in flat calm water.
Our next destination is Fakarava one hundred and forty miles north west. An
overnight sail should see us there in time for slack water in the morning.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
Bye for now.
Skipper Peds (without pets).


JPEG image

JPEG image

JPEG image

JPEG image

JPEG image

JPEG image

JPEG image