Change afoot.

I motored over to Evergreen in the dink as they prepared to weigh anchor and sail to Bora Bora. We were in a small cove on the northwest side of Taha'a. The sky was overcast, matching the sentimental drear that seemed to be settling over the anchorages of the leeward islands as boats whose crews had only three months before been strangers were diverging out of French Polynesia. Heather had baked chocolate chip cookies to pass on to the crew of Ardea before Evergreen departed. We had planned to see each other in Bora, but after that nobody really knew. Even then, I had come to report our most recent change of plans.

Ardea at the quay.

After more than seven months living together on little Ardea, Taylor and I had to acknowledge that we were tired of one another. There's not much more to say about it. We needed a change- this boat is really small. I'm proud of what we did together and I know that without him as a co-conspirator, I may not be out here. Nevertheless, we agreed it would be best to make a change while our memories of the trip remained untarnished and our friendship remained strong. In the end, I would have a chance to satisfy my growing desire to single-hand a few thousand miles and Taylor and Anna would be able to make it to New Zealand and add to the coffers for a change. We poured rum and raised our glasses, a tension relieved at having made a decision on a matter of growing importance. The final days as a three-person crew were merry aboard Ardea and, in kind with our ways, we did not skimp on a celebratory drink accompanied by some animated reminiscing.

Taylor and Anna decided that they would be best off taking leave in Raiatea, just across the large lagoon from Taha'a. After touring about a shallow bit of motu-laden lagoon known as the 'coral garden', we motored back to the town quay in Uturoa, Raiatea. There the others set about making plans while I set about what would be a three day process of determining the problem with my electrical system; the alternator was failing to charge again, an issue that came to light (ha) after several overcast days when the solar panels couldn't keep up with our energy consumption. With the help of a Canadian expat who offers marine-related services to yachties passing through, I learned that the alternator's voltage regulator was burned out. He replaced it, but when I put the alternator back on and spun it up, I was still getting less than 12 volts. It was a frustrating time, already emotional because of the departure of my crew, made worse by the concurrent confinement to the quay. Long story short, the batteries were shot. I ended up replacing my two AGM house batteries with new slightly larger ones and getting a separate starter battery. The prices for the batteries, fortunately, weren't much higher than they would've been in the states. This was the right island at which to run into this problem, but it was an expensive start to single-handing no less.

When I finally got everything put together and got a reading of 14.2 volts off of the alternator, I happily moved from the quay and took a mooring ball on the northwest side of Raiatea. There, in the meantime, had gathered old friends Desolina, La Luz and Bombalero. I was excited to catch up with that crowd while enjoying a now remarkably ample power supply (it was pretty much revolutionary to get a battery bank that takes a charge consistently and an alternator that works!). With the latter two I went for dinner at Lisa K., a Tayana 55 from Fremont, CA. I had a great time meeting several new boats' worth of sailors and relaxing away the stress of costly boat repairs and lifestyle changes.

The next day I released the mooring ball with the main raised and sailed off wing-on-wing through the lagoon toward Taha'a. After six or seven miles of beautiful lagoon sailing, I furled the jib and rounded up to a south by southwest course to exit the pass on the southwest side of Taha'a. The waves were large because the swell and wind were blowing parallel with the pass, but, once on the ocean, I set the windvane and read my book as Ardea carried me on my first single-handed passage at a pleasant 5 knots toward Bora Bora.

Bora Bora is for many of the sailor contingent, the symbolic closing of the era that was French Polynesia. In three months in these islands, we had all seen and done more than we could possibly have imagined, and made lasting friendships in the meantime. Though many of us would carry on to the small island of Maupiti, still technically French Polynesia, after checking out in Bora Bora, this was the final hub that virtually all of the yachties would pass through and at which we would conduct our departure formalities. As I sailed the twenty-five miles from Taha'a, I thought back to our crossing from Mexico; it seems like a lifetime ago that we spent a month on this boat. It hardly seems real. Those four weeks from the middle of April to the middle of May seem almost a blank when the mind's eye glances back at them. Then the Marquesas and the Tuamotus and these Society Islands. There was good reason to be sentimental. We had been through a lot, we had learned, and we had looked out for one another. Though for more boats than my own the exit from FP represents a new chapter in this adventure, I'm happy to say that we survived this one and are the better for it. For my valiant crew members, I wish the most rewarding exploits with apologies for my imperfect command and the deepest thanks for their countless worthy contributions to the health of my ship and our crew.

Hiking in an unsuccessful search for the rare endemic
flower: Apetahi raiatensis.

Hiking Taha'a