Leaving the atolls behind
16°37.0’S 145°48.9’W // course 275° // speed 6.6 kn
Like a black-and-white photograph, the shadow of the mizzen and the Dutch flag is cast onto the white of the mainsail. The moonlight is so bright that the outlines are sharp; every movement of the waves and each change of course is instantly visible. It is the absence of light, yet it stands out as if it carries its own glow.
We are underway again. After a stop of about 26 hours on Tahanea, we are now on our way to Moorea.
Arriving late in the morning, we were a little early for the tide, but decided to try the pass anyway. The middle pass—one of three—is fairly straightforward, easier than Amanu, but with equally strong currents running out. The deep blue water, shifting to turquoise over the shallows, made it easy to read our way in. We entered at 3.5 knots, with just over 2 knots of current against us—not too bad.
We headed for the old pass, Passe d’Otao. After anchoring, we prepared the dinghy and our swim gear, and the first group set off. Some chose to snorkel from the beach, but the real highlight here is drifting through the pass with the current, watching fish and coral slide by beneath you.
We spent hours in the water and exploring the remains of the old village. Abandoned years ago, the church and two other buildings are still used occasionally by fishermen or copra farmers. The church had a fresh coat of paint since my last visit, the Bible inside still dry and ready for use. A path leads from the buildings toward the sea, and that is where we agreed to meet again just before sunset.
With the crew we brought back a box with cold drinks and snacks, including marshmallows, as we intended to make a small fire. At the edge of the island, pieces of coral—formed by nature—had been arranged by hand into simple seats. There was space for at least six, but we made room for all of us. As the sun slowly set and the fire caught, we sat there together, quietly toasting to a perfect day on Tahanea.
The next morning, we started with an early swim from Tecla, then returned to the pass for another snorkel. This time, the current was stronger, and even with flippers it was hard to get into it. The dinghy, expertly handled by Sandrine, moved constantly—picking people up, dropping them off again. Some reefs offered pockets of calm water on top, filled with fish. I spent three hours with my head underwater and could easily have stayed three more.
Around lunchtime, we returned on board and prepared to leave. The wind had picked up, and I wanted to catch the beginning of the incoming tide. An outgoing tide against wind and swell would have built steep, uncomfortable waves.
We crept out slightly later than planned, meeting a current of 3.5 to 4 knots against us in the narrowest part. I joked it gave us more time to admire the island, but I was glad we timed it this way—the swell outside was already choppy.
We set the staysail as we exited, raised the mizzen, and prepared the jib on deck. Once clear of the land and turning downwind, we brought the anchor up and set the jib. The mainsail followed, with a first reef, and off we went—6 knots, then 7, a small course change, and suddenly 8.5 knots over the ground as we passed the end of the island.
We chose a route between Fakarava and Faaite, threading our way through the last ring of Tuamotu atolls. And just like that, we were out—leaving behind this remarkable world of atolls, motus, and current-swept passes.
Now we sail into the night. The moon is bright, the stars dimmed by its glow. It is beautiful sailing. We are holding a slightly higher course than our waypoint at Moorea, anticipating a shift in the wind to the north, perhaps even northwest.
As we sail on, I am still processing our time on Tahanea—the colours, the company, the long hours in the water, and the beginning ache in my calves from fighting the current. Muscle ache is waiting to happen. A little sad that this part of our voyage is over, I do love the new memories we made. What a day. One I will not forget.
All is well on board,
Jet
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