Back in abundance

The Pacific Ocean is infinitely large. This is partly due to its expanse, but also because relatively short distances can extend endlessly due to little wind. That is why it is the silent ocean. The last third of my journey from the Marquesas to Tahiti is one such stretch of calm. No more than five knots of wind during the day, usually around three knots and then none at all at night. It's a new moon and once again I'm thinking back to a night watch in the Gambiers:

Anchorage Papeete, Tahiti

Night watch

Sitting there and looking into a deep black. An impenetrable black. Only the instrument lighting shines in my face (at least it did this evening). There is no moon today and only a few stars are visible. A cup of tea keeps me awake, and I run after my thoughts. Luckily they're all going in the same direction, otherwise I'd have a lot to do to catch them all again, out here in the deep black night. I read my notes about the Gambiers to Gaby for the first time yesterday. We are looking forward to Mount Duff, the highest point in the Gambiers at 449 meters. I look out at the dark wall, our buddy boat is about 130 nautical miles southwest of us. I wonder who is on night watch? What thoughts might be circling around there in the deep black night? Are they actually circling? Or have they disappeared into this deep black nothingness faster than you think?

Night watch!

Lull just before Tahiti

So far the squalls have all passed me by. Then, 70 nautical miles off Papeete, I do get hit. It's still night, but I manage to catch a bit of water. In the morning, the huge gray wall stands to the southeast of me, but is no longer a danger. Still no wind. I lose patience and start the engine. 17 miles later, I get another four-knot breeze and get everything I can out of the old lady, Katinka. Anyone can sail in strong winds, but keeping the boat moving in light winds is an art. A small loudspeaker, which I hadn't paid much attention to because I assumed it was part of an old alarm system that has long since been dismantled, suddenly starts ticking like a clock. The noise is annoying, and I look for the cause. The autopilot reveals a strange rigidity that can't really apply in this sea state. And it's only because I've pushed the trim to the limit and the boat are sailing straight ahead under sail that I didn't notice it at first, but the autopilot has secretly stopped working. 

When only the compass still works

This is actually a disaster for a single-handed sailor. But I was paying attention off Gibraltar at the time and remember that I can also reprogram the daughter instrument as an autopilot. The parameters are quickly found in the manual and the problem are temporarily solved. Unfortunately, the ticking doesn't stop as long as the navigation is running, and I can't find the switch to turn it off. And unfortunately, I have also somehow switched off the instrument lighting. But at least I have both hands free again. After another 20 miles, the island of Tahiti appears dimly. The mood lifts again, and soon I have a cell phone network again and can let Gaby know that I'm okay. Nevertheless, it still takes a whole night before I reach my destination. The channel between the outer reef and the island cannot be used at night. So I set course around the outside and reach the entrance to the channel in the early hours of the morning. The entrance is 50 meters wide and waves several meters high break to the left and right of it. That instills a lot of respect. The current picks up, and I struggle across the barge. I find a free buoy in the first mooring field and tie up to it. 

Taina Marina, Tahiti

Unfortunately, the marina office tells me that all the buoys are rented out and that I have to vacate my spot immediately. The waiting list is long, and it takes up to a year for a place to become available. This applies to both the marina and the mooring fields. So I have to give up the spot and anchor in an anchor field 2.5 miles away from the marina. So real life has got me back and the chances of getting to Germany are once again close to zero. To make the trip ashore worthwhile and to relieve my frustration a little, I quickly pop into the nearby Carrefour to do some shopping. I am overwhelmed and hopelessly out of my depth. We've been living on a shoestring for over a year now. We bought whatever was available from a limited range. The menu was often based on what was available at the time. In Carrefour, I was unable to decide which salami to buy when I was at the sausage counter alone, with seven different salamis to choose from. In the end, I buy a Brie. The shopping cart is hopelessly overloaded, and I wonder how I'm going to get it all to the dinghy. Somehow, partly on all fours, I make it to the dinghy. I immediately notice that the boats are all locked again. Mine is also locked with a huge padlock. Always nice, these caring people. With a great deal of effort, I attach the bowline of my mooring line and get to the dinghy. So I have to reactivate my locks, which are a bit rusty. We didn't need them back where we came from. Here on Tahiti, it seems to be necessary again.

Papeete by night, Tahiti

So I pack my things, untie the lines from the mooring and sail the 2.5 miles up the canal to get to the anchor field. In the meantime, the newly acquired beer in the fridge is getting cold, and I can enjoy the anchor beer after all. This morning was a bit too early for me. But a real German, and an Austrian anyway, can drink a beer at any time of day or night. With this in mind, cheers! As well as always fair winds and keep a stiff upper lip.