Author Archives: Gerhard Malan

Sailing to the Tuamotus

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We spent a very pleasant four days here at Hanamoenoa Bay on Tahuata Island, only two hours mototoring from Atuona, Hiva Oa. Our main objective, scrubbing Sunny Spells’ bottom, was achieved in the first two days. It was not as bad as I had feared, but she still has a big bottom to scrub! The diarrhoea-yellow algae above the waterline I had rubbed off while we were still in the harbour at Atuona.

The snorkeling here was a little disappointing. Visibility was about 10m over sand, and the reefs are very degraded. There is virtually no coral in the bay. I headed out towards the northern headland where there is said to be a few manta rays, but stopped short as there was a bit of a current running out to sea and I did not have the dinghy with me.

I went up the mast to check out the rigging and lubricate all the stainless fittings with a thin film of WD40. Fortunately, everything checked out fine. I was treated to this drone-like view from the top of our 18m mast.

The plan for our next leg to Fakarava was to do a little detour south of the rhumb line to give us a better wind angle the last day or so when the winds are forecast to be a bit stronger.

The passage started with motoring as there was zero wind. I nearly turned back to Tahuata as the prospect of 3 days motoring, as forecast by two of the models, appeared to have materialised. Fortunately, the wind soon picked up and we were reaching with just the large #2 genoa for a few hours before setting the two poles as the wind started going aft of the beam.

The bottom scrub has paid dividends, as Sunny Spells is quick to accelerate in the light breeze. The sea state was generally very pleasant, with a long period ground swell of about 1.5m from the south on our starboard bow and very little by way of wind wave on top.

The weather on this passage turned out to be flaky, with both wind speed and direction changing a lot and quickly. We are in a transition zone between the southern winter weather nasties and the equatorial trade winds. There’s also a weak trough in this area, so lots of little cumulus that upset the wind direction and speed and threaten to rain. Here, we are between two squalls with 25 knots of wind on a broad reach, making 6 to 7 knots, only have 58 miles to go to the north pass at Fakarava Atoll.

We arrived at the north pass into Fakarava Atoll around 9:30AM, and just motored straight in without any current, turbulence or other nasties. We proceeded to the town anchorage at Rotoava village and briefly went ashore (after inflating the Zodiac) to pay the tourist tax.

Around midday we started motoring south inside the atoll and anchored at Kaukuraroa for the night, about halfway to the south pass anchorage. I’m hoping to arrange a drift dive through the south pass for Saturday, so that’s where we’ll be heading tomorrow.

We are the only boat here in the anchorage and we cannot see any other boats out in the atoll or buildings/people on land. Quite surreal after the crush of boats everywhere in the Med, Caribbean and even Hiva Oa. We sat on the back watching the sun set in the west, with a couple of manta rays surfacing over the reefs about 250m away. The real deal…

Landfall in the Marquesas

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It’s done. The anchor is down in Atuona Bay, Hiva Oa, and Sunny Spells is at rest after 3,100 nautical miles of Pacific blue. I’m writing this from the cockpit, a bit weary, but full of that landfall glow — the deep kind, the earned kind.

The last few days, from the 5th to the 9th, reminded us that the ocean always has a final test. After more than a week of almost dreamlike sailing in the trades, we had to start making our turn to port to line up for Hiva Oa — and that meant putting the wind and sea more on the beam. Not uncomfortable exactly, but a bit more lively than we’d gotten used to.

The swells picked up a little — long, lumpy, and off-angle — which meant a lot more motion and the kind of interrupted sleep that makes you feel like you’ve been sailing for weeks (which, of course, we had). But the boat just kept trucking. Even with the shifting seas and slightly fresher breeze, Sunny Spells held 6 to 7 knots like it was nothing.

Screenshot as we hit 10 knots SOG on a nice long surf. We are not having trouble keeping the pace up at the moment!

By the morning of the 8th we could feel it — that almost physical sense of arrival. The air smelled different. The breeze felt warmer. There were birds again, real ones, not ocean wanderers but locals. One tiny land bird even flew aboard for a quick inspection before flitting off toward nowhere. We knew land was close.

Then, just before first light on the 9th, there it was: a jagged silhouette on the horizon. Hiva Oa. Real land. We were still 20 miles out, but it was as if the crossing had ended the moment we saw it. Everything after that was ritual — sail trim, coffee, unlashing the anchor, switching off the ocean mindset and thinking about land and shoal water.

We rounded into Atuona Bay around 10AM. Mountains rising behind the anchorage, lush and sharp-edged, like something drawn from memory. The shoreline was dark volcanic rock, fringed with surf. A few other yachts gently swinging at anchor, and the smell — damp greenery, woodsmoke, soil. It’s always the smell that hits first.

We dropped anchor in about 9 metres, engine off, boat still. Just like that, the Pacific crossing was over.

There’ll be more to come — check-in, laundry, fruit, a baguette if we’re lucky — but for now we are just soaking up the stillness.

Sunny Spells carried us well. And now she rests.

Back in the Groove

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We’re finally sailing again — properly sailing — and what a relief. After the chaotic stillness and squall-dodging of the past week, Sunny Spells is back in her element, humming along with 10 to 14 knots over the beam and a big blue swell behind us. The trades have returned. The days from 28 April to now have been, in a word, restorative.

It’s that glorious stretch of ocean where the wind is just enough — not too much, not too little — and the boat settles into its stride. We’ve been mostly on a beam reach or broad reach, full main and big genoa, averaging 6.5 to 7 knots with barely a hand laid on a winch. The autopilot is content, the sails are happy, and so are we.

We’ve passed a few waypoints that felt more symbolic than geographic — halfway from Galápagos to the Marquesas, 1,000 miles to go, 750… They’re just numbers, but they change the mood. The South Pacific feels real now, not just an idea on a chart.

With good sailing comes better living. We’ve been sleeping deeper, eating better, and catching up on all the small tasks that pile up when you’re too exhausted to care. A few more firmware tweaks to the displays, some overdue cleaning. Amazing what you feel like doing when you’re not battling squalls or running on 3 hours of sleep.

The sea is calmer now too — long, slow swells and the occasional splat from a flying fish. We’ve had a few bird visitors again, though not as bold as the Galápagos gang. Just a noddy or two doing fly-bys at dusk, silhouetted against soft pink skies.

The miles are slipping by now. Most days we’re making between 155 and 165 miles, helped along by the South Equatorial Current which has been kind and steady. We haven’t seen another boat in days, but AIS has picked up a freighter or two far off on the horizon. Mostly, though, it’s just us and the endless roll of the Pacific.

We’ve both commented that this is the kind of sailing we dreamt about — peaceful, purposeful, and quietly exhilarating. It won’t last forever, of course, but for now Sunny Spells is doing what she does best, and we’re just hanging on for the ride.

The Doldrums Don’t Always Look Like the Brochure

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After days of smooth, near-effortless sailing westward in the North Equatorial Current, we are now transitioning across the Equator toward the South Equatorial Current, and traversing the doldrums, the horse-latitudes, squall alley – pick your own name if you will.

Currents around the equator

For a few days there, it looked like the wind had simply lost interest. We had long periods of nothing — not light breeze, not “gentle airs” — just nothing. The kind where sails flap lifelessly, rigging slaps in protest, and you can hear your own heartbeat. Every breath of wind was followed by a squall. Every squall was followed by a wind shift. Every wind shift meant another sail change. And every sail change meant dragging heavy sails around a rolling deck. We motored, quite a lot.

We’re tired. The kind of tired, where even simple decisions take effort and tiny mistakes compound into big ones. Deciding when to reef with squalls about is driven by apprehension, rather than sailing the conditions. I managed to drop the genoa in the water during a sail change. Nearly pumped our diesel overboard while transferring to the main tank.

But… the sea state has mellowed, the South Equatorial Current has taken hold. We’re making miles again.