Position: 16 degrees, 30 minutes south; 145 degrees, 27 minutes west (Atoll called Fakarava)

The alarm went off at 0130. Not as bad as I thought it would be. We’re getting used to getting up with just four hours sleep. We had planned to leave our anchorage at Tahanea no later than 0200 to catch the slack tide out the pass through the reef. We chose this time because we in turn had to catch the mid-day (around 1200) slack tide at Fakarava some 45 miles away, which at 5 knots average speed would take us 9 or so hours. Entering and leaving these atolls at other than slack risks some unpleasant tidal situations. Huge currents, standing waves, and other not good things.

It seemed like it was going well. We both popped up ready to go, got the lights on and the engine started, but the plan was foiled very early on. The anchor was fouled. Turned out to be caught on coral in at least two places. Surprising because I had cleared it just a day prior. During the day we could see down 40 feet through the clear water that after three days it had wrapped around a couple coral heads and we were able to maneuver Charisma in such a way as to un-wrap the tangle. BUT, fixing it in daytime is one thing when you can see the bottom. Getting the anchor unwrapped and up at two in the morning in the pitch black darkness when you can’t see which way it’s wrapped or what it’s even wrapped on is another thing entirely. Let’s just say it took a LOT of patience and some skill from Ann who was back at the wheel. We have developed into a really good team and between us, using hand signals we can maneuver the boat backwards, forwards and sideways pretty well. That and two hours of work finally got us unwrapped and the anchor finally came loose.

Once up, we were faced with the next step. Getting out of the cove we were in that was surrounded by coral reef, then following our previous entry line (on the GPS) back around the reefs and out through the pass between other very treacherous reefs and into the Pacific. Our GPS/Chartplotter is in the cabin (in the quarterberth) hence not visible to the helmsman. Ann was stationed at the GPS and called out; “turn left” or “turn right” or “now go 020 degrees”. I was at the helm and blindly drove where Ann told me to go. On top of this, there was minimal moonlight-you could just make out the palm trees, but not the reefs- and even though I had Charisma throttled for 4 knots, the knotmeter was showing 7.5, meaning we had a 3.5 knot current shooting us out the pass. No time for mistakes!

We successfully followed our entry path out of the cove, and even set up on the pass, but once in the pass things started moving very, very fast. The ebb tide (which by now was no longer the slack tide we were hoping for) had developed “boils” which threw Charisma left and then right, followed by standing waves where the outgoing current was fighting the incoming ocean swell. The resulting waves were burying Charisma’s bow as she dropped into each one and then struggled to lift back up in time to meet the next one. Finally in one final lurch we were spit out into the Pacific Ocean where it suddenly turned fairly placid with the long period ocean swells. The crazy nighttime reef ride now turned into the long slow motion of the ocean rollers.

Phew!

Once offshore, things were pretty nice. We had stars, wind and waves. After a couple hours we also had some sunlight and we set the pole, turned on course (due west-270 degrees) and ran wing on wing with the jib out on the whisker pole doing 6-7 knots for about 6 straight hours. This allowed us to make up some of the time lost getting the anchor up. We might just get into Fakarava in time to make slack water and have an easy ride into that atoll.

So, most of the morning Wilson, the wind vane, was steering and we were enjoying some prime sailing. Squalls were behind, in front and on both sides of us-some were very large-but it was our lucky day in that none of them hit us. Despite seeing the black clouds a couple miles across, dumping buckets of rain, we stayed dry and didn’t have to reef more than the first reef in the main.

Then-more excitement! We were sailing along, even relaxing a bit after the early morning adventure getting out of the atoll in the dark, when suddenly Ann yelled; “WHALE!” I jumped up and looked. A very large-perhaps 30 foot-humpback whale was almost right in front of us. I released the wind vane and took the wheel in case we needed to maneuver quickly to avoid hitting it. It was so close, we were “on it” in a few seconds and could do little but watch it slide by about 30 feet off the port side. IT WAS ASLEEP! We almost hit a sleeping whale. That would have made for a very unpleasant event for both the whale and us. Much too close for comfort. You have to wonder; how in the middle of the Pacific Ocean can you come so close to hitting a sleeping whale. (I think he was snoring too. He was just breathing through his blowhole and not moving at all. We didn’t even wake him).

You would think we had enough adventure for the day, but you’d be wrong. We still had to enter the Fakarava atoll (SW entrance). First off, you have to find it. It’s on the winward side of the island, so you’re approaching an atoll which is a lee shore with Pacific Ocean waves crashing against the reefs. You have to trust that you have the right entrance, because the opening is relatively small and only revealed when you are about 200 yards off the reef. Then we were about an hour late. That meant no slack water. We were fighting an ebb tide that was pushing the relatively modest ocean waves up to attention getting height and steepness and as we passed those to get into the pass we were hit by the outgoing 3 knot current. At one point I had full throttle and we were only going 2 knots over the ground. Then lastly, you’re navigating through a place you’ve never seen, with currents that demand fast reactions and choices that commit you to a direction. The wrong choice can send you down a path that ends in a dead-end reef. It was exhausting, after the previous 12 hours of fun, but with Ann once again on the GPS calling out course suggestions we made it through the reef entrance and into the comfortable depth of about 45 feet inside. There are still many coral heads you have to watch for and avoid, but you at least have time to breath. We found the spot where a couple other boats were anchored (including our friends on Orcinius) and dropped the hook. Whew!

Time to rest, I’m exhausted. But at 2100 as write this, it’s gusting over twenty knots outside. I have the anchor alarm set, but there’s a reef behind us so I’ll be on edge until the wind eases. Oh well, the price one pays for the beauty, fun and adventure we’re having. Worrying about whether the anchor is going to drag down on a reef is just another part of cruising.