RTW Leg 16: Society Islands to Fiji

Over the last few months, I have been enviously watching my friends and family catch covid and feeling a little left out. Afterall, topping up your third vaccination with a dose of Omicron offers a chainmail vest to rebuff future covid incursions, a handy defense whilst on our travels. Imagine our delight then when we both tested positive and we could look forward to a bright future devoid of contamination. Our ill placed smugness was quickly superseded by the misery of the illness as the symptoms took grip and set in. We had been quarantining on Broadsword in Bora Bora for two days and decided that the good weather window could not be ignored and covid or no covid we had to go.

At anchor in Bora Bora

Our objective was Fiji, 1800 odd miles west and nearly as far as crossing the Atlantic. With Tonga still closed with covid, there are just two route options, each with merit and each taking in an island or two on the way. You can head north west and stop at American Samoa at about the half way mark and this route tends benefit from safer more consistent winds. Or you can head south west, down to the Southern Cooke Islands, clearing in at Rarotonga. This route takes its energy from winter low pressure systems of the roaring forties delivering strong southerlies and big swells. Lucy and I had our hearts set on Rarotonga but a significant trough was building and we would not have enough time to get to the safe haven of Rarotonga before it hit. North it was.

We got off to a good start with nice winds and firmly put our fishing demons to bed catching a large and lively Dorado at sunset on day one. As the line whirled out, Lucy saw it leap clear of the water and exclaiming, “Dear god, it’s a monster”. Mercifully, I had not witnessed the leap, pre occupied as I was with my Robert Shaw persona, mentally strapping myself in and preparing the blue barrels for the inevitable run. We slowed the boat down and after a considerable battle, quite remarkably landed it with the help of our mini gaff (note to self, buy a longer one).

No one was more surprised than we were that we actually landed this monster!

Two days in and the wind deserted us. There is nothing more dispiriting than sitting on a sailing boat in low winds on a big swell with the boom crashing and the sails snatching with each breath of wind and tilt of boat. One winces at every bang and wallop nervously expecting something to break while no amount of tweaking of sheets or tuning of main makes a jot of difference as the boat lurches ponderously onwards with the hydrodynamics of a brick. There comes a point when enough is enough, to hell with it, and you reach for the “start” button and fire up the engine. Broadsword carries 620 liters of fuel, enough for around seven days or 1000 miles so after four days of motoring and with over a 1000 miles still to go, I was getting little concerned we would run out if we weren’t careful. After all, we needed fuel to run the engine to recharge our batteries and make water.

Wind and waves absent

I knew the wind would come in two days from the south so we switched of and sat back and enjoyed forty-eight hours of becalmed. This was an extraordinary experience of startling serenity. A gentle swell cradled the boat and with not a cloud in the sky or ripple on the sea Lucy and I retreated into our solitude surrounded by the gloriously azure blue empty space to think and contemplate, read and talk.

Becalmed and adrift.

The winds arrived and the sails were hoisted, the plan adjusted to visit American Samoa to refuel, reprovision and recharge our covid weary frames. After day seven I tested negative but poor Lucy insisted on failing her daily test until day twelve, the day before arriving in American Samoa. I’m not sure many doctors would recommend a shorthanded eleven-day passage across the Pacific as the optimal path to covid recuperation. By the time we dropped anchor in Pago Pago, we were utterly exhausted, on our knees and in desperate need of uninterrupted sleep that endured the night!

American Samoa, distinct from neighboring Western Samoa which was still closed, on the face of it did not have much to recommend it. The bay of Pago Pago is dominated by an enormous tuna canary and the noise and smell bombard your senses 24/7. However, the people could not have been friendlier, a joy to meet and talk to but by heavens, they are enormous. We play the Samoans at rugby and so we know they are born big, but tragically the nation is blighted by a terrible diet with no appetite for exercise and everyone with few exceptions are obese. This state of stature had the unanticipated advantage when customs boarded Broadsword to inspect. The officers found the confined space below all too claustrophobic, awkwardly squeezing past each other in the diminutive spaces, passing only a cursory glance here and there to satisfy the minimum requirement, then with relief, a return to the commodious deck.

The boarder inspection team

Pago Pago bay is open to the prevailing wind and worse, the wind is funneled into the anchorage creating an acceleration zone. Worse still, our pilot book warned “The holding is poor due to the soil which has been eroded off the hills to become soft silt. Expect your anchor to drag in any wind”. The wind happened to be gusting a boisterous 25 knots throughout, throwing a cloak of anxiety over our stay. Mercifully our anchor held, but not so lucky for “Lifeaholic”, a 50 ft cat who dragged onto a good-looking ketch close behind them. Dragging your anchor is a constant concern, particularly in high winds, and you do what you can to reduce the likelihood. The rule of thumb is that the chain scope (length) is four times depth, but in reality, you whack down more if you have the space for swinging. Swinging is not inviting your boat buddies round to put their keys in the bowl as they remove their budgie smugglers. The chance is that you’re surrounded by other yachts and you need to find a gap suitably big enough to get your hook down, reverse back on it, and have room to swing with wind or current change, without banging into your neighbors. In high wind, no anchor alarm or clever app will relieve the anxiety or risk of dragging and sometimes you dare not leave the boat and resort to imposing an anchor watch through the night.

“Dreamer” was also at anchor in Pago Pago with David and Jeanie and son Chris, San Franciscans who we had first met in Panama and enjoyed hanging with in Bora Bora. David impressed me right from word go, meeting him early one morning in Panama he was breakfasting on a tin of Balboa beer. Whatever the time of day, he clutched a can but never suffered inebriation or ill health and was stick insect thin. If only I was endowed with such a super power, imagine what I could achieve? Herhum.

We met another boat, typically French; pretty, petit and yellow, called “Bourinasse”, who mentioned that the French territory Wallis and Futuna had just opened. This sounded interesting, a little north of our route to Fiji, but another stepping stone to break up the journey. Three days after our arrival in American Samoa, we left for Wallis, the principal draw being fresh baguettes and Wensleydale Cheese. Wallis is an atoll and by definition has one of those terrifying passes as the front door in. My Admiralty Sailing Directions (Pacific Islands Pilot Volume 2) cautioned “Great care is necessary in navigating Passe Honikulu on account of the strong tidal streams and eddies which may be encountered, with rates of up to 6 knots”. I asked Lucy to go and find my big brave pants.

Having only just opened its boarders, Wallis was reestablishing a degree of normality but it was clear it had some way to go. There was a lot of covid on the island and without exception, everyone wore masks. The community was small and a little down on heel and the only shop was poorly stocked lacking the much-anticipated Wensleydale. But as with all islands, the people were incredibly friendly and helpful. The medical staff who cleared us in with antigen tests on the pier bent over backwards to offer any assistance of any kind. Lucy was running a bit low on some of her pills so up to the hospital she trotted the next day for a new prescription from the lovely Doctor Geneveve and a free supply was forthcoming, no questions asked. I’d like to see a French visitor try that trick in Britain.

After three relaxing days on Wallis, it was time to strike for Fiji. The winds were on strong side at 25 to 30 knots and the sea would be big but it would serve a good sling shot to get us going and eat up the miles. Nevertheless, I was nervous, in particular exiting the dreaded pass with 25 knots on the beam with the awful prospect of being pushed onto the corals on the narrow channel out. Low water was at 1600 and slack water was reported to be fifteen minutes after that. We arrived early and inspected with the Rommels, the pass looked okay but beyond the sea was a huge, angry, boiling froth. Lucy and I briefly contemplated going back to the anchorage for another night to let things settle, but such is our cavalier want, we both shrugged, agreed and said “Fuck it, lets go”. Fortune favors the brave and the pass was fine with two knots from astern encouraging us ahead. However, the sea was indeed immense with four-meter waves and that put it on the spectacular side of the spectrum when driving into them to get the main up. Imagine Monsarrat’s The Cruel Sea with HMS Compass Rose crashing through enormous seas, waves sweeping over the bows smashing unhindered into the bridge as the wide eyed crew hang on for dear life; you get the picture! Once hoisted and Broadsword turned to course and with sails set, she slipped into her reliable groove and took the challenging conditions admirably. This is what she was built for; proper sailing!

We crossed the international date line of 180 degrees at 0841 (GMT + 12) on 6th August 2022. Had we started in London on the Greenwich Meridian, and stuck to the equator, which we pretty much have, we would be half way round the world. This is a big milestone. Geographically and psychologically, we regard New Zealand as our half way point, diametrically opposed to the UK on the globe. We had left Scotland in August last year and here we were, 12 months on and by this measure, half way round.

Crossing the international date line. Half way round the globe.

Since we set out a year ago last August from Oban, this three-week leg from Bora Bora to Fiji has without doubt been our most challenging. Spending the first week with covid was not a good start but the weather has been all over the place, becalmed one minute, gales the next, engine on, engine off. Broadsword has performed well, no complaints there, but the crew are weary, just wanting to get to Fiji and go home and see our children. We write our blogs to be read through rose tinted glasses but the reality is that living on board a boat and sailing across oceans from country to country is hard, its tiring and it wears you down. We are of course enormously privileged to be doing this and thank good fortune for the laughs we have, the friends we make and the richness of the experiences we enjoy. But these highs are peppered with lows and one has to embrace a glass half full attitude to get through them.

First Mate preparing for first watch.

A final word about the First Mate and an observation of Lucy’s undoubtable courage. On our maiden voyage two years ago, we hit a gale 8 in the North Sea and that was indeed a baptism by fire for all the crew, truly scary at times. During the worst of it, Lucy uttered the discouraging remark which I will never forget; “I’m really not very happy with this”. A very British stoic understatement if ever there was one. When we left Wallis, we were heading into a Near Gale 7 gusting Gale 8 and for Lucy, it was all water of a ducks back, perfectly unperturbed by the mayhem unfolding around her, calm as a cucumber. I sincerely hope this does not come across as some clumsy faux feminist “praise” that will make woman readers’ toes curl. I am devotee to numerous sailing books and count those by Ellen McArthur, Tracey Edwards, Dee Caffari as inspiring favorites. No, this is about Lucy. And for those who know her well, may be surprised and hopefully impressed at how brave she is, needlessly and selflessly undertaking this fool hardy nonsense, often exposed to risk, sometimes dangerously so.

Into another sunset.

Foot note: As I publish this blog, I'm sitting at my desk at Hyne on the Isle of Coll, our home in Scotland. We have returned for six weeks to catch up with friends and family and attend to business. We will head back out to Fiji on the 28th September to prepare for our final leg of the year to New Zealand.