September 14, 2010
10:25
Last night, Leeway weathered her first strong gale at our hands. A strong gale is force 9 on the Beaufort scale: 41-48 knot winds and our particular one mounted force 10 (storm) gusts of 55knots. For the past 3 days the weather has been dismal. Gray, overcast days with slight drizzles throughout. 2 days ago altocumulus stretched across the sky and was followed by a blanket of altostratus. This announced the offing of a warm front or occlusion. The drizzle helped us discover all of our leaks by the time the gale moved in, so we were prepared with buckets in all the right places. The night before last we got a taste of what was to come as an arm of the system swept over the anchorage bringing 30 knot southerlies for 3/4 of an hour. But the ominous dark clouds cleared and we were left with the drizzle once more. Not expecting much from yesterday, we paddled over to Brian and Amanda's for dinner. The gray days:
As the chili simmered in the pot, it imbued the cabin with the aroma of cumin, wine was just beginning to flow. Then came the low hum of the rigging. This barely grabbed our attention as we had weathered 30 knot winds the night before and no unforeseen events had occurred. Rather quickly the wind picked up even further. The hum turned louder attenuating a slight whistle. We popped our heads out of the cabin to meet 40kt winds and eye-stabbing rain. It held for over 5 hours at this velocity, lulling and gusting as it pleased.
Even in the shelter of the lagoon two foot wind waves streaked across the anchorage. Cresting and spilling over itself, waves filled the anchorage with white spindrift. Boats pitched through the landscape of steep waves, bows breaking through like they were on the high seas. In the beginning of the blow, a constant eye was kept on the boats upwind, including Leeway. Leeway held fast, but a nearby boat began to drag. Its crew were able to up anchor and find better holding for the duration of the blow. After vigilant and reassuring anchor watches, we settled in for hot chili. The bowl was a godsend. By the time we all sat down for chow we were soaking wet from admiring the power of nature outside. The warm bowls warmed our bones and our hearts. We hung around Clara Katherine drinking wine and playing a little music pretty late into the night before deciding to brave the gale to get back to Leeway.
The wind had lulled, but it was still blowing at least 30kts as we hopped into the 'station wagon'. Streaming our tenders aft (my kayak and Dan's rowboat) we motored dead into the wind. The going was slow as we climbed and fell off the 2ft chop. It was slow going and soaking wet, eventually we made it back to Leeway, pleased to confirm she hadn't budged an inch. I ran around topsides making sure everything was shipshape for the rest of the blow. I found some chafe on the nylon anchor rode, the only thing keeping us from the reef. Dan helped me to let out another foot, more difficult than this sounds, and I secured a better chafe guard to it. Eventually we settled into the sounds of the boat in storm and fell asleep.
I woke up with the sun in my eyes. Sun in Tahiti? Who would have thought? The wind had ceased and the only evidence of it in the sky was long altocumulus streaking away. Further evidence was seen looking around the anchorage at the boats that had weathered the gale. Not all fared as well as Leeway and Clara Katherine. Brian had to help another boat tame an unfurled foresail. During the blow, a gust had caught it and ripped it open. The sound of it flogging and tearing itself to pieces could be heard over the howl of the wind last night. The skipper and Brian were able to tame it by lassoing it with a couple of spinakker halyards, but the damage was already done. Even more depressing evidence of the gale can be seen on the lee reef. A boat lay wrecked upon it, surely a casualty of a poor anchoring technique.
The day is once again clear. The veil of gray is being lifted and I'm beginning to see sky blue peeking through it. I've even broken a sweat just sitting here. Back to the good old days in Tahiti, it seems.
13:06
I take it back, the drizzle has set in again, preventing any joyful onshore operations. What's going on here? This isn't Seattle. Hopefully it will pass soon. Crazy pirogues going at it in heavy rain and a shot from the cockpit:
September 15, 2010
14:40
It looks as if the weather is finally looking up. We had a partially sunny day a couple days previous, but it deteriorated once more and left us in the sulk. I'm currently soaking up the rays on the foredeck. The sun is shining through a veil of thinning altostratus which indicates the passing of the front. We've been warming up a new spot in Maeva Beach due to a forced eviction by Port Control.
They knocked on the hull the morning after the gale. I popped my head out of the hatch in a pre-espresso state (I must have been a terrifying sight). Apparently Leeway's stern was just barely hanging out in the channel and we had to find a new location. Not thinking too sharply (remember, pre-espresso), I failed to plead that we had no engine and just agreed to do the deed. We then took up the use of the 'station wagon' to execute an anchorage scouting sortie.
September 17, 2010
17:30
We scanned the anchorage for possible spots, but none had opened up during the day. Everything was too close to either the reef or another sailboat and we were hesitant to snuggle up to either of these considering the previous night's blow. But on a venture around the lagoon we found a nice open spot near McDonalds. The McDonalds has a nice waterfront property with a quaint little public beach to land our tenders on. The spot was a little close to shore, but the forecast predicted no further blows. We settled on it.
I went forward to crank up the 200 feet of rode I had set out a week prior. The windlass instantly gave out leaving me to hoist the rode up by hand. I got the chain up to where we were tightly strung between the buried anchor and the surface. The Rocna had buried herself deep during the gale. Time for some teamwork. Dan and I managed to work together to pull her from her sandy bed while Brian stood by on the dunghy. As I hoisted her the rest of the way to the surface she came as a cloud of while coral sand. With a couple of dunks and dips I had her clean and on the foredeck.
We began putting away with Brian in the 'station wagon' strapped on the starboard side. A little spin for good measure and we were on our way to Mickey Ds. Past the yacht club, around a little bend, and we were set. A warm sunset greeted us from behind Moorea, finally, and we had hopes of good weather.
The last few days have been pretty uneventful. Once settled into our French-compliant niche and with some sun finally shining on our backs, we went to work on Leeway. Dan tackled the malfunctioning windlass while I went to work on the halyard winches that give me trouble every time I want to douse a sail (usually already a stressful situation due to the wind piping up). We also said farewell to our lovely buddy boat, the Clara Katherine. With them running out of time on their visas and not needing any further items from Tahiti, they'd decided to move on to the more rural shores of the Leeward Islands. First they plan to hit the honeymooner's island, Moorea, then cast off for Huahine (the garden isle) in the Leeward Group. They'll kick around there before heading to the Cooks on their way to New Zealand. We already miss our accordion-filled nights aboard the Clara Katherine. Hopefully we can get Leeway refitted and catch-up to them before they depart the country. But, if not, bon voyage Amanda and Brian! Catch you back in the Northern Hemisphere. An exposure to remember them by:
Where was I before I went on my poignant aside to Clara Katherine? Ah yes, boat work. Captain got the windlass crankin' like new, with the kind help of a Frenchman ashore. I got the mast winches spinning like tops. Not, of course, before getting up to our eyeballs in solvents and marine grease. Another minor event: I rescued a mangy, old dog who had taken a tumble out of his yard and into the lagoon. He had perched himself on a sharp coral edge, looking hopefully up at his yard by the time I got to him on the 'yak. His masters couldn't be roused by voice, so I plopped his smelly butt onto the 'yak and we paddled around a bit. He seemed pretty content to be off the coral and into the arms of a strapping young paddler such as I. I eventually managed to get his owners attention via a canal on the side of their house and, working together, hoisted his fat, old butt over the fence and back home. The owners have a big yard overlooking the lagoon with no fence between it and a 6 foot drop into the water. They have a lot of dogs scurrying around and no way for them to get back up if they take an accidental dip. Sadly, they didn't seem to be overjoyed to have this pooch back in their hands. Fervent believers in natural selection? Dan lounging on his dumpster-dived toy for a deserved rest after windlass repairs:
Today we tackled the sheet winches, a more thought-filled job considering their complication. By the end of the day, with winches finely greased and oiled, the workspace was covered in grease, paper towels, solvents, and assorted tools. Cleaned up and smiling with self congratulations, we've rallied at McDonalds for some Coca-Cola sundowners. Refreshing as advertised. Winch dismantling:
September 20, 2010
12:20
Being stuck in Tahiti surely hasn't been the worst thing to happen to me. I've gotten to go out and enter myself into brand new adventures and experiences. Segue; (picture in your mind) the sun falling on a typical South Pacific lagoon on a typical tropical evening not too long ago, I'll say yesterday. A kayak paddle around the lagoon felt appealing. Going into it, little did I know that I would lose my glasses and my relative disinterest in surfing. It started out like any other late-day paddle, but a twist was introduced with the decision to check out the surf just outside the pass. I remember seeing it as we came in and it looked like good waves for a beginner (that would be me).
As I reached the surf, the sun was low and it streaked the sky with a vertical, rosy palette. Occupying the waves were a few other beginners on stand up boards (which they could barely stand up on) and a pretty good young-un' who was throwing out 360 degree spins. I watched the swell for a bit and figured out its pattern: 2 small and a bigger, the bigger being no more than 3 feet in height (about max height for my comfort on the 'yak). Deciding to err on the side of caution, I took a couple of safety measures: I tied the kayak to my ankle and strapped the paddle to my right wrist just in case something tried to separate us. Then I paddled into the surf and started catching waves. What a rush it gave! Careening across the translucent waters, just a few feet above the submerged reef, plunging my left paddle in to pull me out of the curl before it crashed onto the barrier reef. I was able to do this just a couple of times before something extraordinary happened.
I had just rode in the second wave of a three wave set (at about 2 feet high) and looked back to assess the bigger one that I knew was coming next. What I saw was a massive trough developing behind the usual break line that signalled something much, much bigger than usual. I began paddling as hard and as fast as I could to get out of the break line. A seemingly futile choice, reflecting on the consequences. I paddled and paddled with my eyes transfixed on the mounting giant behind. It wasn't long before it started to suck me back into its increasing tower of water. Just before it began to crest, a guy on a stand up paddle board (not one of the beginners) slipped over the top giving me reference to its size. I'd say easily 13 feet. Oh how I wished I was that guy. The wall of light blue water, illuminated through by the setting sun, presented a magnificently terrifying sight. The beautiful turquoise rapidly turned a frothing white as it began to tumble. I was engulfed in a split second. With nothing left to do, I grabbed my face (where my glasses were), clutched onto my paddle, and submitted to its course. Smack! Spinning, tumbling, underwater. When submersed in white turbulence, which way is up? I felt the kayak snap off my ankle, but figured it was better than my ankle snapping off. Crackling of bubbles, the tumble of broken coral, the gurgle of twined and twisted water. How long I was submersed? I don't know. I did know that I'd have to stop tumbling before I'd be able to make it to the surface. Even to know where the surface was. My body wanted to breathe NOW and for some reason it figured sea water was better than nothing. Terrified by my nostrils inspiring the ocean, I kicked towards what I perceived as up as fast as possible. Surface! Air. Breathe. Breeeaatthheee. Cough up some water. Breathe.
Alright, damage control. I'm blind. My hand was quickly ripped off my face along with my glasses and 20:250 vision doesn't allow me much farsighted ability (thanks mom and pop). My kayak is an unknown somewhere else, but I still have my paddle. Luckily for me, the hotshot surfer kid spoke some English. He was able to guide me to my kayak by yelling “left” or “right” as I swam towards the barrier reef. I eventually found the 'yak (unscathed) 150 feet up on the reef (you know, I'm glad we got detatched from one another). After walking across the sharp reef (able to avoid the black balls of spiney urchins by keeping my eyes close to the water), I picked up the 'yak and walked into the, once again, two foot waves to paddle home snorting and coughing briney sea the entire way. But what a rush! I know I'll soon be right back out there, this time a little more prepared for the unexpected.
September 21, 2010
17:00
The day after my little tumble in the surf I went on another adventure: find a new pair of glasses. I took a 6 kilometer walk down to Tamanu accompanied by soothing, strollin' tunes. I got there, received an estimate on a new pair of specs, and proceeded to take a stroll down to the beach. There I found a beautiful resort and some good, light surf (which I will hit soon enough). Here are the pictures from that escapade:
At the moment we're sitting in a restricted anchoring zone (unbenounced to us initially) waiting for an offshore wind to leave on. We'll probably head over to Moorea while awaiting packages, returning to Maeva Beach to take reciept. With no motor, we are closely reviewing weather, navagational charts, and tide tables to ensure safe and secure arrival and anchorage.
10:25
Last night, Leeway weathered her first strong gale at our hands. A strong gale is force 9 on the Beaufort scale: 41-48 knot winds and our particular one mounted force 10 (storm) gusts of 55knots. For the past 3 days the weather has been dismal. Gray, overcast days with slight drizzles throughout. 2 days ago altocumulus stretched across the sky and was followed by a blanket of altostratus. This announced the offing of a warm front or occlusion. The drizzle helped us discover all of our leaks by the time the gale moved in, so we were prepared with buckets in all the right places. The night before last we got a taste of what was to come as an arm of the system swept over the anchorage bringing 30 knot southerlies for 3/4 of an hour. But the ominous dark clouds cleared and we were left with the drizzle once more. Not expecting much from yesterday, we paddled over to Brian and Amanda's for dinner. The gray days:
As the chili simmered in the pot, it imbued the cabin with the aroma of cumin, wine was just beginning to flow. Then came the low hum of the rigging. This barely grabbed our attention as we had weathered 30 knot winds the night before and no unforeseen events had occurred. Rather quickly the wind picked up even further. The hum turned louder attenuating a slight whistle. We popped our heads out of the cabin to meet 40kt winds and eye-stabbing rain. It held for over 5 hours at this velocity, lulling and gusting as it pleased.
Even in the shelter of the lagoon two foot wind waves streaked across the anchorage. Cresting and spilling over itself, waves filled the anchorage with white spindrift. Boats pitched through the landscape of steep waves, bows breaking through like they were on the high seas. In the beginning of the blow, a constant eye was kept on the boats upwind, including Leeway. Leeway held fast, but a nearby boat began to drag. Its crew were able to up anchor and find better holding for the duration of the blow. After vigilant and reassuring anchor watches, we settled in for hot chili. The bowl was a godsend. By the time we all sat down for chow we were soaking wet from admiring the power of nature outside. The warm bowls warmed our bones and our hearts. We hung around Clara Katherine drinking wine and playing a little music pretty late into the night before deciding to brave the gale to get back to Leeway.
The wind had lulled, but it was still blowing at least 30kts as we hopped into the 'station wagon'. Streaming our tenders aft (my kayak and Dan's rowboat) we motored dead into the wind. The going was slow as we climbed and fell off the 2ft chop. It was slow going and soaking wet, eventually we made it back to Leeway, pleased to confirm she hadn't budged an inch. I ran around topsides making sure everything was shipshape for the rest of the blow. I found some chafe on the nylon anchor rode, the only thing keeping us from the reef. Dan helped me to let out another foot, more difficult than this sounds, and I secured a better chafe guard to it. Eventually we settled into the sounds of the boat in storm and fell asleep.
I woke up with the sun in my eyes. Sun in Tahiti? Who would have thought? The wind had ceased and the only evidence of it in the sky was long altocumulus streaking away. Further evidence was seen looking around the anchorage at the boats that had weathered the gale. Not all fared as well as Leeway and Clara Katherine. Brian had to help another boat tame an unfurled foresail. During the blow, a gust had caught it and ripped it open. The sound of it flogging and tearing itself to pieces could be heard over the howl of the wind last night. The skipper and Brian were able to tame it by lassoing it with a couple of spinakker halyards, but the damage was already done. Even more depressing evidence of the gale can be seen on the lee reef. A boat lay wrecked upon it, surely a casualty of a poor anchoring technique.
The day is once again clear. The veil of gray is being lifted and I'm beginning to see sky blue peeking through it. I've even broken a sweat just sitting here. Back to the good old days in Tahiti, it seems.
13:06
I take it back, the drizzle has set in again, preventing any joyful onshore operations. What's going on here? This isn't Seattle. Hopefully it will pass soon. Crazy pirogues going at it in heavy rain and a shot from the cockpit:
September 15, 2010
14:40
It looks as if the weather is finally looking up. We had a partially sunny day a couple days previous, but it deteriorated once more and left us in the sulk. I'm currently soaking up the rays on the foredeck. The sun is shining through a veil of thinning altostratus which indicates the passing of the front. We've been warming up a new spot in Maeva Beach due to a forced eviction by Port Control.
They knocked on the hull the morning after the gale. I popped my head out of the hatch in a pre-espresso state (I must have been a terrifying sight). Apparently Leeway's stern was just barely hanging out in the channel and we had to find a new location. Not thinking too sharply (remember, pre-espresso), I failed to plead that we had no engine and just agreed to do the deed. We then took up the use of the 'station wagon' to execute an anchorage scouting sortie.
September 17, 2010
17:30
We scanned the anchorage for possible spots, but none had opened up during the day. Everything was too close to either the reef or another sailboat and we were hesitant to snuggle up to either of these considering the previous night's blow. But on a venture around the lagoon we found a nice open spot near McDonalds. The McDonalds has a nice waterfront property with a quaint little public beach to land our tenders on. The spot was a little close to shore, but the forecast predicted no further blows. We settled on it.
I went forward to crank up the 200 feet of rode I had set out a week prior. The windlass instantly gave out leaving me to hoist the rode up by hand. I got the chain up to where we were tightly strung between the buried anchor and the surface. The Rocna had buried herself deep during the gale. Time for some teamwork. Dan and I managed to work together to pull her from her sandy bed while Brian stood by on the dunghy. As I hoisted her the rest of the way to the surface she came as a cloud of while coral sand. With a couple of dunks and dips I had her clean and on the foredeck.
We began putting away with Brian in the 'station wagon' strapped on the starboard side. A little spin for good measure and we were on our way to Mickey Ds. Past the yacht club, around a little bend, and we were set. A warm sunset greeted us from behind Moorea, finally, and we had hopes of good weather.
The last few days have been pretty uneventful. Once settled into our French-compliant niche and with some sun finally shining on our backs, we went to work on Leeway. Dan tackled the malfunctioning windlass while I went to work on the halyard winches that give me trouble every time I want to douse a sail (usually already a stressful situation due to the wind piping up). We also said farewell to our lovely buddy boat, the Clara Katherine. With them running out of time on their visas and not needing any further items from Tahiti, they'd decided to move on to the more rural shores of the Leeward Islands. First they plan to hit the honeymooner's island, Moorea, then cast off for Huahine (the garden isle) in the Leeward Group. They'll kick around there before heading to the Cooks on their way to New Zealand. We already miss our accordion-filled nights aboard the Clara Katherine. Hopefully we can get Leeway refitted and catch-up to them before they depart the country. But, if not, bon voyage Amanda and Brian! Catch you back in the Northern Hemisphere. An exposure to remember them by:
Where was I before I went on my poignant aside to Clara Katherine? Ah yes, boat work. Captain got the windlass crankin' like new, with the kind help of a Frenchman ashore. I got the mast winches spinning like tops. Not, of course, before getting up to our eyeballs in solvents and marine grease. Another minor event: I rescued a mangy, old dog who had taken a tumble out of his yard and into the lagoon. He had perched himself on a sharp coral edge, looking hopefully up at his yard by the time I got to him on the 'yak. His masters couldn't be roused by voice, so I plopped his smelly butt onto the 'yak and we paddled around a bit. He seemed pretty content to be off the coral and into the arms of a strapping young paddler such as I. I eventually managed to get his owners attention via a canal on the side of their house and, working together, hoisted his fat, old butt over the fence and back home. The owners have a big yard overlooking the lagoon with no fence between it and a 6 foot drop into the water. They have a lot of dogs scurrying around and no way for them to get back up if they take an accidental dip. Sadly, they didn't seem to be overjoyed to have this pooch back in their hands. Fervent believers in natural selection? Dan lounging on his dumpster-dived toy for a deserved rest after windlass repairs:
Today we tackled the sheet winches, a more thought-filled job considering their complication. By the end of the day, with winches finely greased and oiled, the workspace was covered in grease, paper towels, solvents, and assorted tools. Cleaned up and smiling with self congratulations, we've rallied at McDonalds for some Coca-Cola sundowners. Refreshing as advertised. Winch dismantling:
September 20, 2010
12:20
Being stuck in Tahiti surely hasn't been the worst thing to happen to me. I've gotten to go out and enter myself into brand new adventures and experiences. Segue; (picture in your mind) the sun falling on a typical South Pacific lagoon on a typical tropical evening not too long ago, I'll say yesterday. A kayak paddle around the lagoon felt appealing. Going into it, little did I know that I would lose my glasses and my relative disinterest in surfing. It started out like any other late-day paddle, but a twist was introduced with the decision to check out the surf just outside the pass. I remember seeing it as we came in and it looked like good waves for a beginner (that would be me).
As I reached the surf, the sun was low and it streaked the sky with a vertical, rosy palette. Occupying the waves were a few other beginners on stand up boards (which they could barely stand up on) and a pretty good young-un' who was throwing out 360 degree spins. I watched the swell for a bit and figured out its pattern: 2 small and a bigger, the bigger being no more than 3 feet in height (about max height for my comfort on the 'yak). Deciding to err on the side of caution, I took a couple of safety measures: I tied the kayak to my ankle and strapped the paddle to my right wrist just in case something tried to separate us. Then I paddled into the surf and started catching waves. What a rush it gave! Careening across the translucent waters, just a few feet above the submerged reef, plunging my left paddle in to pull me out of the curl before it crashed onto the barrier reef. I was able to do this just a couple of times before something extraordinary happened.
I had just rode in the second wave of a three wave set (at about 2 feet high) and looked back to assess the bigger one that I knew was coming next. What I saw was a massive trough developing behind the usual break line that signalled something much, much bigger than usual. I began paddling as hard and as fast as I could to get out of the break line. A seemingly futile choice, reflecting on the consequences. I paddled and paddled with my eyes transfixed on the mounting giant behind. It wasn't long before it started to suck me back into its increasing tower of water. Just before it began to crest, a guy on a stand up paddle board (not one of the beginners) slipped over the top giving me reference to its size. I'd say easily 13 feet. Oh how I wished I was that guy. The wall of light blue water, illuminated through by the setting sun, presented a magnificently terrifying sight. The beautiful turquoise rapidly turned a frothing white as it began to tumble. I was engulfed in a split second. With nothing left to do, I grabbed my face (where my glasses were), clutched onto my paddle, and submitted to its course. Smack! Spinning, tumbling, underwater. When submersed in white turbulence, which way is up? I felt the kayak snap off my ankle, but figured it was better than my ankle snapping off. Crackling of bubbles, the tumble of broken coral, the gurgle of twined and twisted water. How long I was submersed? I don't know. I did know that I'd have to stop tumbling before I'd be able to make it to the surface. Even to know where the surface was. My body wanted to breathe NOW and for some reason it figured sea water was better than nothing. Terrified by my nostrils inspiring the ocean, I kicked towards what I perceived as up as fast as possible. Surface! Air. Breathe. Breeeaatthheee. Cough up some water. Breathe.
Alright, damage control. I'm blind. My hand was quickly ripped off my face along with my glasses and 20:250 vision doesn't allow me much farsighted ability (thanks mom and pop). My kayak is an unknown somewhere else, but I still have my paddle. Luckily for me, the hotshot surfer kid spoke some English. He was able to guide me to my kayak by yelling “left” or “right” as I swam towards the barrier reef. I eventually found the 'yak (unscathed) 150 feet up on the reef (you know, I'm glad we got detatched from one another). After walking across the sharp reef (able to avoid the black balls of spiney urchins by keeping my eyes close to the water), I picked up the 'yak and walked into the, once again, two foot waves to paddle home snorting and coughing briney sea the entire way. But what a rush! I know I'll soon be right back out there, this time a little more prepared for the unexpected.
September 21, 2010
17:00
The day after my little tumble in the surf I went on another adventure: find a new pair of glasses. I took a 6 kilometer walk down to Tamanu accompanied by soothing, strollin' tunes. I got there, received an estimate on a new pair of specs, and proceeded to take a stroll down to the beach. There I found a beautiful resort and some good, light surf (which I will hit soon enough). Here are the pictures from that escapade:
At the moment we're sitting in a restricted anchoring zone (unbenounced to us initially) waiting for an offshore wind to leave on. We'll probably head over to Moorea while awaiting packages, returning to Maeva Beach to take reciept. With no motor, we are closely reviewing weather, navagational charts, and tide tables to ensure safe and secure arrival and anchorage.
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