This was supposed to be an easy passage to the Tuamotus

Sailing from Nuku Hiva, Marquesas to Rangiroa, Tuamotus, French Polynesia

I spent a few days resting and recovering in Nuku Hiva, but it was time to get back on with the journey. I need to get to Tahiti the first week of May. The Admiral is flying in, and I don't want to miss her. I have been contemplating whether to continue straight on to Tahiti or whether I should stop at one of the Tuamotus. I feel like I'd be remiss and have tons of regrets if I skipped the Tuamotus. Who knows if and when I'll have the chance to visit these islands again? I've narrowed my selection to Rangiroa or Fakarava. I didn't have a strong bias for either, except my friends on Paso Doble are headed to Rangiroa. Rangiroa is also larger and likely to have more services available, so that's where we will go.

We had strong thunderstorms during my last night in Nuku Hiva, so I was a little short on rest. Taiohae Bay was now a muddy brown color, and it was filled with debris from the rains. After finishing my coffee, I sleepily worked my way to start the dinghy. I had to make a stop to pay the mechanic who helped sort the fuel line issue on my main engine as well as clean my outboard carburetor. I also planned to drop off a bag of garbage and pick up some fresh baked goods from the boulangerie. As I sat down in the dinghy and pulled the starting cord, I felt a sharp pain in the back of my left thigh. It felt like a hornet sting, but more intense. I stood up on the dinghy and looked behind me. I was bitten by a huge centipede! I almost jumped out of the dinghy. Once back on the boat, I immediately washed the bite and googled centipede bites. The site said one of the symptoms is shock and anxiety - I'm pretty sure just the visual would cause that. The other symptoms could include anaphylactic shock, difficulty breathing, and rapid heartbeat. My symptoms turned out to be just some local pain and swelling that did not last for much more than a day.

Hauling the anchor and getting underway were pretty uneventful. I motored for about an hour and a half before I cut the engine and started to sail on an amazing beam reach which lasted 2-3 days. As I cleared the bay, I saw that my friends on Paso Doble were already underway and a few hours ahead of me.

After about three days of sailing with winds in the mid-teens, the winds finally settled and shifted a bit aft. I started motor sailing to maintain speed and top off the batteries. I was more relaxed about using the engine since we solved the fuel line issue back in Nuku Hiva. The cure for my fuel line issue was incredibly simple, but the diagnosis was difficult. I knew I had some kind of obstruction in the fuel line and suspected it was near the fuel pickup tube in the tank or at the top of the tank where the pickup tube meets a shutoff valve. The problem turned out to be an obstruction on the front end of the priming bulb. The offending debris was a very small piece of Teflon tape. Dear mechanics, using Teflon tape on fuel line fittings is a big NO-NO! Anyway, my newfound motoring confidence was shattered when the engine abruptly seized right at dusk. However, this was an engine sound that I've heard before, and I immediately knew we had fouled the prop and/or shaft on something. I turned on my headlamp and looked past the stern. We were dragging some discarded fishing line. It looked like a ghost net, but it would be better described as a long line with many large hooks that was twisted and fouled such that it looked like a piece of net. There was nothing I could do that evening but sail on and try to deal with it in the morning.

I had a restless night. In the morning, while drinking my coffee, I came up with my plan to dive overboard in an attempt to cut the fishing gear free and clear my propeller. This is a dangerous maneuver in the open ocean and even more dangerous to do it single-handed. We still had 1.5m to 2m swells, so I knew it was going to be an adventure trying to do this on a bouncing boat. I organized a tether/safety line, got the Blu3 hookah compressor ready, grabbed my fish cleaning gloves, and found my serrated knife. I contacted my shore team and told them I would provide updates both when I'm going into the water (Diver Down!) as well as when I was back on the sailboat.

I abandoned my first attempt. After going overboard, the boat movement was just too much. There was about a knot of current, and it was too difficult to get under the boat to start clearing the prop. I clung to the swimming ladder as it pulled me out of the water and then plunged me back in with each wave surge. I had centered the helm, and I noticed it had the boat going directly downwind with following seas. What if I turned the helm hard over to port? To my surprise, this actually helped with the motion and slowed down the drift of the boat quite a bit. I made my move for attempt #2.

Once in the water, I was a little more comfortable with the motion. I did my first dive with the Blu3 hookah compressor (a battery-powered compressor with a regulator and a long air hose). I started to make a few cuts on the line but quickly became 'winded' while underwater and had to come back up to the surface for air. I found the Blu3 just didn't deliver quite the air that I needed while I was exerting myself underwater. That was all compounded by my lack of diving fitness. I also think I had some residual fatigue from the bout of flu I had just before I departed Mexico. So I made several iterations of diving to clear the prop and coming back up for air - hyperventilating as I clung to the swim ladder and tried to catch my breath. I was getting more tired after each dive and was about to call it quits. I mustered all of my remaining strength to get down and finally free the prop. What a relief! My plan B, if my attempts to clear the prop failed, was to sail on to Point Venus, Tahiti, and clear the prop while at anchor. Glad I did not have to resort to this! Sadly, I later discovered my GoPro video of this whole ordeal was corrupted. At first, I was disappointed, but as I reflect back, I'm glad I do not have to relive it!

Not long after clearing the prop, my Hydrovane vane knob broke and rendered my mechanical wind vane inoperative. That sucks, but I still have an electronic autopilot below decks. I turned on the autopilot and attempted to engage it. Fail. I suspected the issue was one that I encountered a few years ago. There is a single bolt that connects the mechanical linkage of the autopilot to the steering quadrant which has worked itself loose on a few occasions. I cleared out the starboard lazarette and prepared to dive into the cave. The main was still up, so I turned the boat hard to port. This didn't exactly heave to, but it put us in a fore-reaching course that settled the boat as I went down below. Yep - that single bolt was loose. A quick fix and we were back in action. My only concern at this point was wear and tear on the autopilot that I hoped to avoid. There's only so much stress these autopilots can take before they need to be rebuilt or replaced. I'd much rather rely on the Hydrovane wind pilot when we are sailing.

The rest of the approach to Rangiroa was uneventful. However, I still had one more obstacle ahead - navigating the pass into the Rangiroa lagoon. Rangiroa and the rest of the islands in the Tuamotus archipelago are atolls. They are shallow reef islands with interior lagoons and narrow passes where the tides flow in and out. The currents in these passes can be extreme; some may have currents upwards of 8+ knots at times! The best plan is to make your approach during local slack tide, when the currents in the passes are minimal. The challenge here is that the floods and ebbs lag behind the published tidal charts. Lots of factors can impact the amount of water being held within the lagoons, and these impact the timing of slack tides. One tool, called the 'Guestimator', has been developed to better predict the best time to approach the pass. I followed this tool, and it was showing a published slack tide of around 7:17 with a guesstimated local slack tide of 7:27. I made my approach at 0730 local only to find a 4-knot current outflow and very turbulent waters at the Avatoru pass! A larger sailboat made their exit with the following current and told me they had talked to a local dive shop that suggested slack tide would be two hours later. So, I abandoned that first attempt and stood off the coast another 2 hours. I made my approach at 0930. While conditions improved, I still faced 3.5 knots of outgoing current. I revved up the RPMs on the motor and crossed my fingers that it would not randomly stall! We made it through the pass! I motored down the fairway inside Rangiroa to the anchorage towards the Tiputa pass. I did not take the Tiputa pass, and I've read the currents there can actually be stronger. I dropped anchor in 50 feet of water. There's some concern about wrapping your chain or damaging coral bommies below, so I placed three fenders on carabiners to float my chain. The fenders are not ideal because they compress while underwater, but I did not have an alternative. I'm not even sure there are many coral bommies of concern at this anchorage, but I felt better about floating my chain a bit. I took care of the first order of business when the anchor is down - Captains' Hour. I shotgunned a well-deserved victory beer and took a delicious nap. I finally made it to paradise, and I was stoked to go snorkeling at a nearby reef called "The Aquarium."