Aitutaki

Changing Roles

Whether in a harbour, enclosed in in a tropical lagoon or cruising an ice bound, Greenlandic coast we are ultra-attentive to our boat’s needs. And, in recent months, she has been a needy mistress with lots of vital functions failing after a prolonged layup in the tropics! 

Three times in the last few weeks our anchor chain has snared a coral strewn seabed despite best efforts to float the chain. When raising the anchor the chain comes bar tight as it crunches against rock and the still-shiny new windlass grinds to a halt. There then follows a prolonged period of dodging and weaving with motor and rudder in an attempt to un-weave the submarine web. Sometimes it takes an hour to get ourselves free.

Always, within sight of land, we are wary about depth and intent on keeping Shimshal’s deep lead keel and fragile rudder away from rocks and reefs. Shimshal, strong though she is, does not enjoy contact with terra firma and her needs are always paramount.

But, once out of the pass and in the deep, blue ocean, the tables are turned and we become recipients of her care. Boats are built for the open sea and boat design has evolved over millenia to keep mariners safe. Shimshal is fast and solid and the three day passage from Maupihaa to Aitutaki gave her every chance to show off her capabilities in a variety of different conditions. All we had to do was point her in the right direction, put up roughly the right amount of sail and then let Shimshal do her bit.

Once out of the pass at Maupihaa we had a solid wind of 20 knots and a lumpy swell. The following wind meant that Shimshal rolled south west under one solitary, smallish headsail. 

Then came the calms and for a while we motored  in smoother seas until, as forecasted, a front passed and the wind backed to the SE and put us on a perfect beam reach. With Shimshal’s sails duly adjusted, she took off and flew south west through the night. When wind built she leaned a little but 5 tons of lead ballast kept her comfortably balanced as we surged into the night leaving a leaving phosphorescent wake. No jolting, no slamming or juddering. Instead just safe, solid and doing exactly what her designers intended. Together we ate the miles. 

Creaming through the waves at 9 knots under a bright, full, sturgeon moon is champaign sailing at its best. 

At dawn on the third day we glimpsed the mist strewn, low, solitary hill on Aitutaki and a light drizzle wet the decks and fogged our specs. Soon after we heard the surf crashing on the beach and then a humpback whale breached just a few metres to our starboard. 

Being so close to land it was now our turn to wrest control and make sure the needy mistress kept her keel coral free in the long, narrow, newly dredged pass that led to Aitutaki’s tiny harbour.

This time the current was not strong and the route was well marked so the stress levels were not too high as we neared the tiny harbour. Then, at the narrowest point a deafening shrill shriek came through Bluetooth headphones and a moment of panic as I thought I was about to put us on the reef. No need to panic as Sally’s enthusiastic outcry was her delight as she had spotted a turtle and not an imminent obstacle to collide with!

Thanks to the wonders of WhatsApp and the Aitutaki Welcoming Committee Group, the two boats already within the harbour were on standby to assist with our docking. Once through the narrow harbour heads we turned  to port, dropped the anchor, waited for it to sink into the mud before reversing to snub it and slide our stern alongside our neighbour. S/V Jandara’s dinghy  revved its outboard to give our stern a powerful shove to keep us clear of her mothership and then took 2 of our 40 metre lines ashore to tie off our stern to boulders ashore. 

Soon we were safely spread-eagles between anchor and stern lines and Shimshal was safely at ret without fear of grounding or collision. Our job was done and we had made it half way across the ‘Difficult Middle. Not so difficult after 

Nuie

 

Niue

Lit only by the stars of the Milky Way, Shimshal cut through the glassy, calm seas towards our designated mooring on the tiny island of Niue. Behind us lay a phosphorescent wake made by millions, perhaps billions, of bioluminescent organisms shaken into life by our churning propeller. The 580 mile passage from Aitutaki had been brisk at first but dying winds left us motoring for the last couple of days of our crossing. 

I went forward to prepare to moor and Sally steered us through the darkness on a precise bearing with her night vision destroyed by the glare of our chart plotter. Nevertheless, her aim was impeccable and Shimshal came to a gentle halt at exactly the right time enabling me to reach down with the boat hook and pick up the line that now connects us to 2 tons

of concrete on the seabed. At 0130 the engine went off signalling the end of our ocean passage and the beginning of a week or more of shore leave. We had arrived in Niue.

I knew that our time in Niue was going to be special because of its reputation but my first impressions exceeded those high expectations. 

A pod of silvery Spinner Dolphins sped under our bow as we approached our mooring. Lit only by the stars, the dolphins darted, ghost-like, on either side of our bow-wave as they guided us towards our resting place for the night. Then, once safely tethered to the seabed, the whales moved in. We couldn’t see them in the darkness but the noise of their spouting was all around us and they were so, so close. Every evening since our arrival, these gentle giants have visited the mooring field wandering, unperturbed, between the boats.

There can be no better welcome to a new island, a new country, a new culture and a tiny rock of coral and limestone perched on a lofty seamount rising 5,000 metres from the abyssal depths of the Samoan Basin. The island has no rivers and its porous rocks sieve out every grain of sediment making the water here gin clear. Perfect optics to view the annual humpback whale migration. We get to swim and snorkel with the whales on Monday after a forecast brief spell of inclement weather has passed.

The island is fringed with limestone pavements, weathered coves, caves and natural arches. Elsewhere there is thick, tropical vegetation dripping with ferns and fungus. Vanilla and ebony plantations add a little agriculture to this tiny spec in a big, blue ocean. 

Swimming in the coral strewn rock-pools and scrambling amongst stalactites was the perfect antidote to rolling down the 3m swells of the mid Pacific. Most important, is the warm welcome, the fine cafes, a relatively well stocked grocery and a meal ashore in the Niue Yacht Club decorated with burgees donated by visiting yachts. The OCC’s ‘Flying Fish’ burgee is, of course the most prominent one on display. What few land tourists there are here have been flown in on the weekly 3 hour flight from Auckland. All are here to revel in this pristine place.

Assuming that we avoid being bitten by sea snakes, whose venom is way more deadly than a cobra, we will be staying on this lovely island for another few days before raising the sails and pointing the boat 240 miles west toward Tonga. We are now 3/4 of our way across the ‘Difficult Middle’ and, apart from getting pended in an atoll for 3 weeks, we have had no dramas, scares or mishaps. The weather has been kind to us, the forecasts accurate and Shimshal has looked after us well.