August 5 – 26, 2024
We had arrived at Moorea to calm waters, lush green foliage covering the rugged peaks jutting up from the shoreline, and an electric blue sky almost devoid of even a single cloud. As had been the case twenty one years ago, the setting seemed magical.
Moorea and Huahine- The Society Islands, French Polynesia
However, this time our perspective, in the center of Cooks Bay, seemed quite different. Ironically, we found ourselves at anchor not more than a quarter-mile from the hotel we had stayed in over two decades ago. It was clearly visible from where we sat in Exit’s cockpit…it also appeared clearly to be no longer open (we later learned it was the victim of a land lease the local owners had refused to renew).
Very shortly thereafter were reminded that the conditions we had enjoyed upon our arrival were not necessarily the norm. Clouds, daily rain, wind shifts…much more typical.
Within twenty-four hours we had declared Cooks Bay as the trophy holder for #1 Location of Shitty Wind Gusts. Four knots of winds to thirty-four knots of wind. Boom…just like that.
Regardless, we were ecstatic that we were back in Moorea. The location was still stunning; just as we remembered it.
And we couldn’t wait to arrange a day of diving.
Twenty-one years ago, scuba diving was still quite new to us. During our time here we saw massive lemon sharks, endless numbers of black tip reef sharks, huge Napoleon Wrasse, and stunning fields of plate coral at a dive site called The Roses. It was where we first really began to appreciate the incredible bond you can develop and life altering experiences you can have when you encounter a dive shop that has such amazing people. Hanging out with the dive staff ended up being as magical as the dives themselves.
We truly hoped that Bathy’s Dive Shop was still in business. A reunion with our dive guides Guillaume and Laurent would have been fantastic. Alas, Bathy’s was no more; Guillaume and Laurent had obviously moved on long ago.
The dive shop we hooked up with was friendly enough, just not the same. We still wanted to return to The Roses, but even that was not to be. When we told the dive shop we had been there twenty years ago their response was, “Oh, we’re sorry.” We were stunned. They then explained that coral bleaching had wiped out almost everything there, and recommended we not return. Sadly, we took their advice. We did do one day’s diving with them, and saw massive lemon sharks again. But the lesson was unmistakable. Returning to Moorea by sailboat was truly a new experience to be savored, but trying to capture the magic of our first visit was an exercise in disappointment.
We also found that the people of Moorea, indeed the Society Islands in general, had a rather profound disdain for people who came visiting them on boats. There were too many of us. We invaded their paradise like locusts, acted rude, felt entitled to depleting their already very limited resources, and had a propensity to anchor just off of their front yards. We did our best to not be anything close to those people; however, being aboard a sailboat, we could understand why we would be grouped into that same general hoard.
Instead of dozens of boats experiencing friendly and hospitable receptions from locals like we saw in the Marquesas and Tuamotus, it was hundreds of boats being tolerated at best by people who would rather not interact with cruisers at all. We found the Society Islands also seemed inundated with French expat sailors, who we guessed probably also really contributed to this animosity.
Though it never happened to us, we witnessed other boats trying to anchor who were yelled at and given the middle finger by locals ashore. The hostility was palpable, but at times, understandable. We very conscientiously tried to avoid dropping anchor right in front of someone’s house. It didn’t even seem to occur to some people that might be frowned upon. They might bring their dinghy full of loud kids or pets to shore and expect to use someone’s front yard as a landing point. Some wouldn’t give a second thought about throwing food scraps or lime rinds overboard from their cockpit, which would inevitably end up floating ashore. Some would simply be loud in general with their conversations, music, and behavior. Mega-twats as we call them, the huge mega-yachts that are the worst of the worst, would drop their marine playgrounds into the water and, before you know it, would be zipping around the bays at breakneck speed on their stupid twat-skis (jet-skis to the less offended).
In the Tuamotus we had been surrounded by atolls. Here we felt surrounded by assholes.
We tried our best to not to be the shitty sailors and piss people off…tried our best to enjoy the beautiful surroundings we remembered from over two decades ago.
A day with a rental car was just what we needed to get off the boat and make exploring the island beyond the very limited range of foot travel possible.
Te Fare Natura – L’écomusée, a nature and conservation museum, provided some fascinating insight to understanding the geological and social history of Moorea. Our guide was actually one of the children of the island’s royal family.
Information regarding the Polynesians’ history of maritime exploration, nautical skill, and navigational expertise was both fascinating and inspiring.
Unexpectedly, we got a room full of sharks compliments of some pretty hip media technology they had installed that allowed a 360° panoramic view of underwater:
Later, the 360° panoramic view above water from a higher elevation provided an equally breathtaking sight for us.
That night, with our added mobility, we were able to take in a cultural show. Ironically, it was at the exact same cultural center we had attended the same show twenty one years prior, but it was still worth a second visit. Opting out of the buffet dinner this time made it that much more affordable.
After only one week, even though we had avoided incurring the direct wrath of any locals, we felt it was time to move on. We had done some diving, seen some sights, and eaten some incredible food.
Combining French Polyneisa’s global reputation for black pearls with our first ever tiger shark sighting in the Tuamotus, we couldn’t resist purchasing a black pearl / tiger shark tooth pendant we stumbled across. What made it so cool was the fact that the tiger shark tooth was actually carved out of bone…no shark had given its life for the jewelry, which sadly is typically the case.
Our lockers were once again full of provisions, our stores of fruits and veggies had been adequately re-stocked, and what had been days of high winds keeping us hunkered down uncomfortably at anchor, were finally giving way to sunshine and more pleasant breezes.
With a couple of days break before the next round of high winds were forecasted, we decided to make the eighty nautical mile overnight run to Huahine.
While we had really wanted to visit Bora-Bora, our experience in Moorea had made us re-think that idea. Bora-Bora, we felt, would be a picture perfect setting with all of the obnoxious people and bad vibes multiplied times ten. A perfect equation for experiencing a disappointing finale to French Polynesia.
We only had ten days remaining on our visa. The much lower key island of Huahine seemed like a much better bet for leaving the Society Islands with a pleasant taste in our mouths.
The overnight passage was calm as could be. Not more than two to three foot waves. No rain. Unfortunately, almost no wind as well. We never saw more than nine knots of wind, and much of it was more like six.
Even content with creeping along, we still had to run the engine for half the passage. That was okay though…along the way we had been visited by multiple whales and dolphins. By early morning we were nearing Huahine. The island provided a spectacular foreground for the striking colors of the rising sun.
Once inside the cut, as we passed by a fully restored three masted tall ship sitting at anchor, it felt as though we had gone back in time:
It had taken us a full twenty four hours to travel what ended up being ninety six nautical miles. But now we were enjoying ice-cold breakfast anchor beers on a mooring ball at Avea Bay with eagle rays swimming past us.
We were glad we had chosen Huahine over Bora-Bora. Not as sexy but also not as frantically crowded. Not empty but close enough for the world class view we were enjoying.
A day later we moved to the village of Fare to drop off our paperwork and start the process of clearing out.
The final ten days we spent in French Polynesia was a mixed bag. Thirty knot squalls both while we were at anchor and moving between anchorages. Difficult anchoring in water as deep as ninety five feet. Two separate visits by the police boat informing us once that we couldn’t stay where we were anchored and another time telling us we had to move within three days. We were struggling between weather forecasts to try to depart and finding places to stay until we actually could depart.
We had sailed three thousand one hundred twenty six nautical miles in twenty nine days to get to French Polynesia and then, during the subsequent three months, sailed another one thousand three hundred nautical miles visiting seven different islands stretched between three of French Polynesia’s island groups. Nearly four thousand five hundred nautical miles.
It was finally time to move on. A new country awaited us.
Only one problem…we weren’t sure where we were going to end up.
We knew we were headed west. Regardless of where we chose, it was going to be over a thousand miles before we reached land. American Samoa…eleven hundred miles and at least ten days? Tonga…fourteen hundred miles and thirteen or so days? Niue…twelve hundred miles in eleven days?
All options.
As is so often the case on a sailboat, multiple factors, many outside of our control or even awareness, would contribute to a final outcome. It turned out, this time it would largely be weather that would make the final decision for us.
sv-exit.com 