13 April 2010
David is a magician. During the course of our last night at sea he had calculated our arrival at the Passe Tairapa on Manihi, not by the ETA given on the electronic chart which changes constantly due to the variation in boat speed, but by planning to be at a certain distance at a given time, ie 135nm to go by 11am, 100nm by 5pm, 70nm at 11pm and 35nm within six hours of entering the passé. He planned to be there half an hour after low water, in other words at slack water. It was all timed to perfection or so we thought. We had been in email contact with Xavier who runs the Sailmail transmitter in Manihi who had given us the time of low water. Yet there was a little fly in the ointment in all this calculation. Our computer tide table was completely at odds with what Xavier had told us. Who was right? Xavier as it turned out. Twenty minutes after low water we went safely through the passé, Ronja following just behind.
With the sun high we could clearly see the reefs and coral heads of which there were many. Then it was a case of turn left or right. A Lady was to the left at anchor in front of the Manihi Hotel and Thetis and 1+1 were at an anchorage six miles to the east in the lagoon. In the end we did both. We headed over to the where A Lady were at anchor. No sooner than we had dropped the hook, a local boat came by and told us we could not anchor there and had to move. It was right in front of the hotel! Easier said than done.
We were caught round a coral head and it was with great reluctance that the anchor finally came up. Welcome to the Tuamotus! We moved further away but were still not convinced of our holding so we opted for the other anchorage to the east for better holding in sand. This proved to be an idyllic spot. Thetis and 1+1, from WARC the only two other yachts there. We tried to book dinner ashore in the Motel Manihi Paradise but they just could not cope with our numbers. This is not surprising as they are so unused to seeing anything more than just the occasional yacht. A Lady who later joined us in the anchorage invited Jan and Vibeke, David and I for dinner on board. I excused myself early. I was tired, ever so tired.
Our last night at sea had not been like the others, beautiful, clear, starry, soft, Voyageur creaming along on flat seas under full sail. About midnight dark squall clouds rolled over, the wind piped up. David jumped to reef the genoa, closely followed by the mizzen as Voyageur gathered speed. Soon she was doing over 8knots. As torrential rain followed, I found myself having to move from my favourite sleeping place in the cockpit to retreat down below to the sea berth. Why it is always on my watch! It is infuriating, maddening but it happens every time. Then just as suddenly as it had begun, the wind died to nothing. Sails slapped, sheets snapped. This cacophony of sound is always so exaggerated below decks. Finally, the inevitable.... the engine roared into life. Not a wink of sleep for the rest of my off watch. Two hours later David calls me up. Grrrr!
Susan Mackay