Caribbean

Windward Islands

Tropical rainforests, barrier reefs, secluded anchorages: In the Windward Islands, you’ll get a taste of all that the Caribbean has to offer, and plenty of fine trade-wind sailing to boot. For sailors, there are multiple choices for your Windward Islands adventures, and from any of them, you can choose to make your sailing vacation as laid-back or as challenging as you’d like.

Read More

Leeward Islands

The Leeward Islands are full of cruising hot spots, with much to offer to sailors, making passing through the Caribbean. lush scenery, vibrant reefs and a laid-back vibe make for the ultimate sailing destination.

Read More

Lesser Antilles

The Lesser Antilles, in the Eastern Caribbean, are among the best charter destinations on the planet. Why? Diversity and conditions. The winds, seas and harbors in the Lesser Antilles are nearly ideal 99 percent of the time, and landfalls are perfectly spaced. In many of the most popular chartering waters, destinations are 30 to 40 miles apart — or less. This means you can get up at a reasonable hour, have a thrilling sail, and still manage to clear customs by happy hour.

Read More

Cuba

Cuba is one of those mysterious destinations for US-based cruisers: close, intriguing, but seemingly out of reach. In 2017, when regulations were a bit more relaxed for cruisers, Cruising World hosted a rally to the island nation. The verdict? Cuba is everything we expected, and so much more.

Read More

USA, Canada and Atlantic

Bahamas

The islands of the Bahamas are a cruiser’s playground — clear water, colorful communities and great sailing. The Bahamas offer endless islands to sail between and explore; from the Abacos to the Exumas, each island is unique.

Read More

Intracoastal Waterway

Those with a mast height under 64 feet can also take advantage of the beauty and convenience of the Intracoastal Waterway on their trip north or south through the East Coast. While navigating the ICW requires lots of motoring, when conditions are good, the sailing is spectacular.

Read More

Southern New England

Cruising through Long Island Sound, anchoring in the Great Salt Pond of Block Island, exploring the coast of Cape Cod – there are endless opportunities to enjoy a romp through Southern New England.

Read More

The Great Lakes

Some of the best freshwater cruising in the world, the Great Lakes offer endless opportunities for exploration. Each lake offers unique cruising grounds, ports and conditions, from uncharted rocky inlets on the Canadian shores, to bustling cities.

Read More

Bermuda

For as long as ocean-going sailors have been sailing the North Atlantic, Bermuda has been the crossroads and a popular race destination. But Bermuda is so much more than just a waypoint—it’s also a wonderful cruising destination.

Read More

Nova Scotia

Packed with geologic and cultural history, the beautifully quiet coast of Nova Scotia is a nature lovers dream. Spruce trees, granite, grasses, sea, seals and terns, there is no shortage of excitement here.

Read More

Europe

Greece Isles

The sailing can be challenging, but the landfalls — full of history, diverse towns and tasty cuisine — are worth it. Greece boasts thousands of islands, spread across an enormous geographical area stretching from the Aegean to the Ionian sea. Four of Greece’s five island groups are prime cruising areas: the Cyclades, the Saronic Islands, the Ionian Islands and the Dodecanese. Each group has its own unique character and charm, making each one worth exploring.

Read More

South Pacific

Fiji

Cruising yachts from all over the world come to Fiji to anchor in the crystal-clear waters of the South Pacific. This Pacific crossroads is a refreshing break, with world-class snorkeling, beach combing and hiking.

Read More

Marquesas

Smack dab in the middle of the South Pacific, the remote and untamed Marquesas are an unforgettable sailing stop – if you can get there. The topography of these young islands ­reflects the dawn of time; the exquisite drama of the islands’ violent, volcanic origins has not yet been smoothed and worn, with towering peaks rising above anchorages.

Read More

Tasmania

Tasmania offers world class cruising, friendly, welcoming people, and a rich sailing history. The beautiful anchorages are uncrowded and private, and the sailing is world class. Just ask anyone who has ever sailed a Sydney Hobart Race.

Read More

Whitsunday Islands

Pristine white sand beaches begging for footprints; the Great Barrier Reef Marine Park just waiting to be snorkeled; and our charter catamaran tugging on her mooring lines, ready to set sail. Who could resist such a tempting welcome from the Whitsunday Islands? Not us.

Read More

Southeast Asia

Phang Nga Bay

Towering rock sculptures rise out of the water in Thailand’s Phang Nga Bay, providing a surreal backdrop for cruising. Anchor among the hongs and hope into a dinghy for an unforgettable experience exploring hidden caves and uncovering secrets from the 10,000 year history of the bay.

Read More

Africa

Cape Town

From the blustery southeaster that can blow 45-60 knots for days on end, the “table cloth” on Table Mountain, to the waterfront with all its great seafaring tales and bars and the beaches of the suburb of Clifton, Cape Town has it all. The weather is like Southern California; you can stay active in the great outdoors year round.

Read More

Madagascar

Madagascar is a true cruising gem. Its culture is a delightful convergence of Europe, Africa and the Middle East, as evidenced by the gourmet French meals, baked goods, mélange of rum drinks, vibrant materials for both traditional and modern dress, and the combination of French and local Malagasy language.

Read More

South America

Chile

The Cape Horn archipelago conjures images of heroic voyages through inhospitable landscapes and harsh, raw conditions, the true beauty Chile is that it’s remote enough to be pristine, but not isolated enough that you feel completely cut off from the rest of the world.

Read More

Antarctica

Antarctica

Cold, unforgiving and a challenge for even the most seasoned sailor, there isn’t quite any place on earth like Antarctica. Just ask anyone who has been, though, and you’ll find that the journey to the bottom of the world was unforgettable.

Read More

The post Top 20 Cruising Destinations for Your Bucket List appeared first on Cruising World.

When it comes to securing our boat in an anchorage, we usually prefer setting our own, reliable anchor instead of grabbing a mooring. But in the bay of French Polynesia’s southernmost island, anchoring is a real challenge. The few sailboats that make it to remote, storm-ridden Rapa Iti have the choice of anchoring in 80 to 100 feet of water with bad holding in mud mixed with coral rubble and a good chance to foul the gear, or anchoring shallow in live, fragile staghorn coral. 

During our three visits to Rapa Iti, we worked with the local community to install two sailboat moorings to protect nature and ensure the safety of visiting cruisers.

Not that many cruisers come here; those who face the challenge of the rough ride are rewarded with more bad weather, but also wonderful nature and Polynesian hospitality. Rapa Iti is a little gem with steep volcanic mountains, sheer cliffs, a wonderfully protected main bay and friendly, welcoming locals. About 500 people live in two villages that stretch out on both sides of the wide, main bay, Ahurei, that reminds me more of an Alpine lake or Norwegian fjord than the South Pacific.

My partner, Christian, and I visited Rapa for the first time in December 2017 on our Sparkman & Stephens 41 Pitufa. We had read that the anchorages had dead coral with bad holding. We anchored in 50 feet of water and were horrified when we dived on our anchor and saw the destruction our chain was doing to the staghorn coral. We usually take care to anchor in sandy spots and float our chain, but that was simply not possible here. That’s why we approached the community with a plan to build a mooring. We had a piece of chain, a rope and some swivels we could donate. We hoped to find the rest ashore. 

First, we had to persuade the mayor. We went to the post office (the mayor works there as a second job), expecting a long discussion. Much to our surprise, the mayor agreed immediately when he saw our underwater photos, but he didn’t want a temporary solution like we had had in mind. He wanted a sturdy, well-made mooring.

Life on Rapa is still more traditional than in the rest of French Polynesia, and many of the islanders lack formal education, but the people of Rapa are very aware of environmental issues and sustainability. They have a strict rahui, or ban, on fishing on the whole eastern side of the island. The fuel station has a containment basin to prevent contamination of the bay. Trash is separated for recycling, and the smallest kids learn at school how to keep the island clean. Our mooring project matched their mindset nicely.

 We started brainstorming with a man named Alex, the head of the community workers. None of us had ever installed a mooring, but after some research online, we agreed that a 2.4-ton cement block with extra-sturdy mountings (we cut up a decommissioned digger) would accommodate most visiting boats.

The ordered parts took their sweet time getting delivered from Tahiti, but when we returned to Rapa in December 2018, everything had arrived and the block was ready, too. We assembled the mooring, and then thought about how to transport it more than a mile out in the bay.

Alex got out welding gear, and we built a raft of empty diesel barrels and iron bars. The advantage of this construction was that we could lower it together with the mooring in a controlled way to exactly the spot we had chosen: a hollow on top of a coral head in only 25 feet of water—shallow enough for the islanders (and cruisers) to check and maintain the mooring.

Just after Christmas 2021, we sailed back to Rapa to spend yet another cyclone season on our favorite island. The mooring was still there, numerous sailboats had used it, and the villagers greeted us with friendly smiles—they had not forgotten our labor for the sake of their coral. During our first stroll ashore, the community workers waved us into the maintenance depot with mischievous grins. They had found old mooring blocks that were meant for fish aggregating devices, but were never installed. They weren’t big, but there were two of them. The attachments had rusted off, but couldn’t we make another sailboat mooring out of them? 

Friends from the sailboat Garulfo arrived soon after, and together, we got cracking, again with Alex supporting the project. We bent rebar “cages” for the two blocks. There was still a piece of chain left from the first mooring, and we and Garulfo’s owners donated missing bits. After some sweaty workdays at the maintenance depot, we were ready to go. Again, we would set the mooring in a shallow spot; tied together, the two blocks would weigh enough to hold a medium-size sailboat. 

Unfortunately, the raft we had built for the first mooring had been disassembled and used for other purposes, but as we’d be able to transport the blocks separately, we simply went alongside the dock with Pitufa. Alex lowered the block into the water with the digger, we tied it to our bow, and we held our breath as the lines over the bow roller took the weight with a creak. Sturdy little Pitufa hardly bowed with the 1,600 pounds dangling from its nose.

We moved slowly across the bay, and then lowered the first block over the bow roller to the chosen spot with divers to guide us. Back with the second block, we tied the two together with chain, added a strong line and floats, and voilà: second mooring made.

Moorings Location and Specs

Mooring 1 is suitable for boats up to 25 tons. It is a 2.4-ton weight with oversized chain, shackles and rope. It’s located at S 27° 36,808′ W 144° 20,034′.

Mooring 2 is recommended for boats up to 15 tons. It consists of two 1,600-pound blocks linked with 14 mm chain and a 25 mm rope. It is located at S 27° 36,700′ W 144° 19,872′.

Birgit and Christian have been cruising on their Sparkman & Stephens 41 Pitufa for 12 years from the Mediterranean via the Atlantic and Caribbean to the South Pacific. Visit their blog www.pitufa.at for information. Their book Sailing Towards the Horizon is available on Amazon.

The post Installing Moorings in French Polynesia’s Rapa Iti Bay appeared first on Cruising World.

When we arrived in French Polynesia in May 2013, we saw the island group as a stopover on our way across the South Pacific. We’d heeded the advice of Jimmy Cornell’s World Cruising Routes and arrived after the end of the cyclone season, but we found lots of contradictory information in our research about everything from temperature to ocean swell to rainy seasons. 

As it turned out, there’s a good reason for all the confusion. French Polynesia is a big place. It has 118 volcanic islands, makateas (raised atolls) and atolls that stretch out over an expanse as big as Europe. The five archipelagoes—Society Islands, Tuamotus, Gambier, Marquesas and Austral—have different languages, different cultures and quite different climates. 

Based on our pre-arrival research, we expected to find a tropical climate year-round. That turned out to be true for the Society Islands but not the Gambier, where we shivered in temperatures below 68 degrees Fahrenheit. In August, we fled northward from the Gambier to escape the cold Southern Hemisphere winter, only to roll miserably in the Marquesas during the season with the highest swell.

Despite these rookie mistakes, we fell in love with French Polynesia and decided that we needed more time than just one season to explore this vast and diverse cruising ground. The temperatures and seasonal variations can be quite different across the five island groups. If you know your way around (like we do after eight years), you can find a pleasant corner for each season.

The distances between the archipelagoes are considerable—sometimes 800 to 900 nautical miles. What we’ve learned during our years cruising the region is that you can use the weather patterns to your advantage for fairly comfortable, easy passages. 

With the benefit of hindsight, we would plan our arrival and itinerary for the first year in French Polynesia quite differently from what we did in 2013. Wind patterns and seasonal shifts play a major role in planning west-to-east passages between the island groups (see sidebar on page 55). Here’s more of what we have learned about each archipelago.

Marquesas

Sailboats crossing the Pacific in December or January from Central America or the Galapagos Islands should have fairly reliable wind on the way to the Marquesas. The northernmost group of French Polynesia, the Marquesas ­archipelago lies outside the cyclone belt, so there is minimal risk of running into a developing storm underway. 

An early start means that you will arrive before the fleet of puddle jumpers starts crowding the anchorages. The islands’ high, rugged mountains are great for hiking, but the often murky, dark water discourages snorkeling—even though you may have impressive encounters with manta rays, pelagic sharks and groups of dolphins around the anchorages. Southerly swell, which makes the open anchorages very uncomfortable during southern winter, should not be a big issue at this time of the year. 

With a bit of luck, you’ll spend quiet nights even without a stern anchor. No-nos (biting little flies) are always a nuisance, but the situation is better during the dry season from October to April.

Tuamotus

Continue toward the Tuamotus in April after the end of the cyclone season, when the region is still warm and not too windy. That’s a good time of year to explore the motus and lagoons, and to enjoy snorkeling the spectacular passes. The low atolls give access to an incredible underwater world (take nothing but pictures; the resources of atolls are limited), and from June to October, humpback whales are often sighted on the outer reefs and even in the lagoons. 

Cyclones are rare in this archipelago, but sitting one out in the unprotected anchorages would be a nightmare, so we avoid cruising here in the cyclone season. During the strong trade winds in July and August, it gets quite cool. High waves and swell fill up the lagoons, so the currents in the passes are faster. Snorkeling is less fun, and the choice of anchorages is limited.

Society Islands

Head to the Society Islands in July, in time for the Heiva i Tahiti festival, which is filled with spectacular dancing and drumming events. The pleasantly dry, breezy winter weather (Southern Hemisphere winter) is ideal to go hiking on the high, mountainous islands of Tahiti, Moorea, Huahine, Raiatea, Taha’a and Maupiti. 

Unfortunately, the coral in the lagoons is mostly dead, but there are some nice dive spots on outer reefs. Humpback whales roam the area between July and October.

Before the onset of cyclone season in December, it is time to leave again. The following months will be hot, humid and oppressive in the Societies. During an active South Pacific Convergence Zone, many lows pass over the islands and bring a certain risk of cyclones. 

Austral Islands

Start looking for weather windows to sail to the Australs in October and November. The islands of Rimatara, Rurutu, Tubuai, Raivavae, and Rapa are spectacularly beautiful and have a thriving culture. 

They are also the least-visited islands of French Polynesia. While southern summer between December and March would be the most pleasant time there, it’s also the cyclone season, and these islands are right in the path, particularly when the South Pacific Convergence Zone is active. The best time to visit is November and December, when it’s already warm but the cyclone season is only in its beginnings.

After March, it’s already southern autumn, when frequent depressions start moving by, sending high swell, strong winds and cold air masses. 

Gambier Islands

Finding a weather window to sail to the Gambier Islands with favorable winds might require some patience. Convergence zones often bring northerly winds that facilitate easting. If you arrive in the Gambier in December or January, you can spend the pleasantly warm summer months exploring the numerous anchorages. 

The Gambier has a mixture of high, mountainous islands with clear lagoons, healthy coral reefs and low-lying motus on the barrier reef. For us, it is the highlight of French Polynesia. 

This archipelago has well-protected anchorages and a low risk of cyclones, particularly during El Niño-neutral periods, when the temperatures can rise to the mid-80s Fahrenheit, but the days are usually pleasantly breezy (there can be rainy days or even weeks). 

Leave before the southern winter hits from July to September and the temperatures drop to 60 degrees, which feels much chillier than it sounds when it’s blowing hard and raining.

On the way west, there is still time to see more of the Tuamotus and Societies before heading on in the next sailing season, or you might even decide that you need another year or two to enjoy French Polynesia, just as we did.

Wind Patterns of the South Pacific

As a general rule, the trade winds blow predominantly from the east between February and April, from the east to southeast between May and November, and from the east to northeast in December and January. Disturbances are common: During southern winter, fronts of strong low-pressure systems move far in the south. During southern summer, convergence zones influence the weather patterns.

Sailing westward in the trade-wind belt is most comfortable during a stable period of easterly trades. Frequent troughs interrupt the trade winds in the Pacific, which is annoying during a long passage westward. It’s best to have a series of possible stopovers in mind in case the window does not last long enough to reach the planned destination.

When sailing eastward, we use those interruptions to gain easting. When a trough passes, the wind shifts from east to northeast, then north/northwest, followed by a calm period and sudden southern wind (when the convergence passes over your location), or back to east (when the trough moves by to the south). With some patience, it’s possible to sail from Tahiti eastward to the Tuamotus and then hop from atoll to atoll. The predominant southeast wind facilitates passages northeastward to the Marquesas from May to November.

Passages southeastward to the Gambier archipelago are better undertaken later in the year, when phases of northeast wind become longer and more predominant from December on. —BH

Birgit Hackl and Christian Feldbauer have been cruising for 10 years, eight of them in the South Pacific. They have explored westward to the Cook Islands and Tonga on their 41-foot S&S-designed Pitufa, but French Polynesia is their home base. They are currently in Fiji. Check out their blog for weather information, cruising guides and more.

The post How to Use Weather Patterns and Seasons in French Polynesia to Optimize Regional Cruising appeared first on Cruising World.

French Polynesia is big. An overseas collectivity of France, the region’s 118 islands and atolls—the Society Islands (Tahiti is home to the capital city, Papeete); the Tuamotu Archipelago; and the Gambier, Marquesas, and Austral island groups—are spread across more than 1,600 square miles of the South Pacific. From the West Coast of the US, the passage stretches 3,000 to 3,400 nautical miles to the Marquesas, the northeasternmost islands. And from the Panama Canal, it’s a 3,800-mile voyage. The last thing you want is to sail all the way there and be denied entry, which happened to a gaggle of yachts in 2020 when French Polynesia locked down. Cruisers had few choices—peel off north to Hawaii, look for a sliver of a weather window to sail back against the trade winds to Panama, or come up with another option.

But all that was pre-vaccine. Going into the 2022 May-to-October cruising season, over 70 percent of French Polynesia residents have had at least one vaccine dose, and testing and treatment are available across the region. Still, to clear into French Polynesia, you’ll need to observe the French government’s requirements.

Do It Yourself: It’s possible to do all the legwork and the clearance process on your own. Cruisers are allowed to enter the territory provided they follow the steps listed on the government’s Entry Maritime flyer, a one-page PDF (see box). The document lays out the conditions of access, and steps to follow before your departure for the region and for the steps needed 48 hours before and after arrival. In general, if your crew numbers fewer than five people and everyone is fully vaccinated, you can enter French Polynesia without the need to quarantine. If your boat has more than five crew, there are options.

Official ports of entry are Nuku Hiva in the Marquesas, Tahiti in the Society Islands, and Mangareva in the Gambier Islands. You’ll need to contact the French Polynesian Authority for Maritime Affairs (DPAM) and the Department for Maritime Affairs of French Polynesia (SAM) and send your vaccination certificates. You’ll also need to email a Maritime Health Declaration 48 hours before making landfall. See the box above for information.

Upon entry into French Polynesia, the maximum allowable stay is three months. But there is much to see and do. On Ocean, our Dolphin 460 cruising cat, we applied for a Long Stay visa at the French embassy in Panama City in hopes of securing a six-month stay. This is a ­multistep online and in-person undertaking. See the box for websites and contacts. 

Use an Agent: Employing a yacht agent costs money, but their expertise with the clearance process will spare you some hassles and help non-French speakers navigate the language barrier. Yacht agents such as Tahiti Crew (tahiticrew.com) offer an array of services for different boats, budgets and cruising plans. 

Pacific Puddle Jump: The Pacific Puddle Jump is an offshore sailing rally with a cruiser-friendly entry fee of $125. It has been drawing boats from US West Coast ports since 1997. Rally founder and director Andy Turpin notes, “The government’s maritime agency, DPAM, has approved a special arrangement whereby participants in the 2022 Pacific Puddle Jump may obtain advance approval (several months before arrival) to enter French Polynesia, regardless if the maritime borders remain officially closed.” The Pacific Puddle Jump website offers lots of up-to-date clearance information for cruisers.

The post Clear In To French Polynesia With The Help Of An Agent, Or Follow the Do-it-yourself Route appeared first on Cruising World.

Part of the preparations for any cruise to the South Pacific is considering what to bring for gifting and trading. We’re expecting to visit two countries in the South Pacific this year—French Polynesia and Fiji—so we are going to tailor our trading plans for those two distinct cultures.

In the Society Islands of French Polynesia, there’s access to “stuff.” As a result, local people want cruisers to deal in cash, not goods. The kind of trading romanticized in the pages of decades-old cruising memoirs mostly doesn’t exist anymore. The Society Islands are well-connected to the population hub of Tahiti. If you can’t find a product in Papeete , it can be shipped or flown in, and then shuttled out in a mail boat.

Now, if we were heading to Fatu-Hiva in the Marquesas Islands, our plan for trading would be different. Fatu-Hiva is 125 nautical miles upwind from Nuku Hiva, and the locals prefer to trade goods instead of cash. Cameron Vawter, visiting there aboard the 43-foot Ta Shing Banyan, recalls how a boat in the anchorage that could trade received copious amounts of fruit for days on end. “It just kept showing up,” he said. He was happy to accept the trickle-down extras.

And no matter the location, there’s a difference between gifting and trading. Gifts from visiting cruisers show appreciation and build bridges, while other goods that cruisers keep on board are for bartering. 

A model for understanding the idea of gifting as a cruiser can be found in one of my favorite memories from our month in the Marquesas in 2010. Anchored inside Baie du Contrôleur, we followed the sound of church bells into Taipivai with our bungee boat, Capaz. After the service, a family invited us to their nearby home. We broke out a deck of Uno cards, and we played a game with the Marquesan kids. Then, we gifted them the deck. Small stowage required, priceless memories, good feelings all around.

Aboard the Allied 39 Jacaranda, Chuck Houlihan says, “we quickly came to realize that we wanted to have nicer gifts for folks that invited us home for dinner, took us fishing and just befriended us.” He and his wife, Linda Edeiken, recommend trading practical items, such as Luci lights, jiggle-hose fuel transfer devices and carving tools such as Dremels and sandpaper. 

Greg Bridges aboard the Gulfstar 50 Beach Flea has also learned that carving tools, as well as multihead screwdrivers, pliers and hammers, are local favorites. He finds that 90- and 60-degree V-gouges and small skews are the most useful.

Our favorite gift to trade

Our favorite icebreaker gift (and occasional trade item) is a soccer ball. We started engaging in Soccer Ball Diplomacy—trademark pending—after leaving Australia in 2012. From Papua New Guinea to Madagascar, the soccer balls we brought to shore replaced carved, ball-sized fishing floats. Our gift amped up many a dirt field game. I cannot emphasize enough the joy these brought.

Something else I am excited to stash for literally brightening lives is headlamp-style utility lights (they snap onto a solar charging block and turn into a flashlight). Yes, the same folks who make those awesome Luci lights make these. In more remote communities in the North Pacific, lights like this can have a meaningful, positive impact on everyday life for a family.

What’s a trade item worth?

One of the big questions a new-to-trading cruiser in the South Pacific has is: How do you establish relative value? 

Back in the intensive trading culture of Papua New Guinea, I came up with a way to think about establishing a fair trade. Some thoughts adapted from our 2012 post: 

Think about what you’d pay to buy something if you could, and what it cost you to get what you’re offering. Is that pineapple, which might be $5, a fair trade for the 1 kg bag of sugar that might have cost you $1.50? You can think about it in terms of the value of the items, but think of it this way, too: When the only way for you to get a fresh pineapple, and the only way for them to get a bag of sugar, is to trade, that’s a way to estimate how close or far you are from what’s reasonable. I remember giving a guy in Kavieng, Papua New Guinea, a 2-kg bag of rice for a couple of lobsters one day. He was thrilled and insisted it was too much, then showed up the next day to give us three huge, beautiful papayas from his garden. Wow!

Trade items to bring

For the list-makers (cough “me” cough), here’s a summary of what to stow: Dremels, diamond bits and other carving tools; commonly used hand tools; rope that still has life in it (just maybe for a horse instead of a halyard); headlamps and solar-powered lights; fishing gear, such as big hooks for tuna, little ones for reef jigging; small-woven line for fishing (not fishing nylon); snorkeling masks and fins; soccer balls (and pumps with spare needles); perfumed lotions, nail polish and lipstick (these can add value to a trade for pearls in the Tuamotus); and fuel and jerry cans.

More on trading

If you’ve liked reading about trading in the South Pacific, where actually there’s not so much trading going on (sales for cash are vastly preferred), you might enjoy reading these other posts about the trading we did in Papua New Guinea. In those islands, trading with the latest dugout to tie off your transom is part of everyday cruising life.

What to bring to Papua New Guinea. This list that diverges a bunch from other South Pacific gifting and trading lists. It’s based on real need and lack of access to what we consider basics, such as flour, sugar and yeast.

What you’ll be trading for in Papua New Guinea: Sometimes, the ability to trade what islanders need is what matters most. It can also be the only way to get fresh produce in islands without stores.

Alternative trading: When a new friend wanted flour and yeast, we had to trade, but with nothing to exchange, I traded for a cooking lesson on how to cook coconut-steeped yams. This strategy would work great anywhere.

The post Sailing Totem: A Cruiser’s Guide to Trading in the South Pacific appeared first on Cruising World.

On the fifth morning of our soggy upwind passage, a green smudge took shape on the horizon. The spray from the confused seas coated every surface on deck with a crusty layer of salt, and wormed its way through every portlight and hatch, dripping onto the berths and settees with irritating persistence. The unpredictable upwind motion tossed us around like a snow globe in the hands of a rambunctious child. We were bruised and exhausted. The anticipation was palpable.

This upwind bash, while uncomfortable, had always been part of the plan. After crossing the Pacific on our Valiant 40, Halcyon, my husband and I started cruising the South Pacific in the Gambier Archipelago, in the southeast corner of French Polynesia, then slowly explored north and west through the Tuamotus. From there, we could have sailed downwind to the Societies, but we were not willing to miss the striking beauty, abundant fruit and friendly people in the Marquesas. So we turned northeast and sailed 800 miles upwind. We were soon rewarded for our determination.

Precipitous volcanic spires dotted with audacious mountain goats embraced a lush green valley that sloped down toward a sheltered lagoon big enough for only a handful of boats. We dropped anchor in this embracing niche of Ua Pou, celebrating first with a refreshing swim and a long nap, then a long, slow meander through the tiny town of Hakahau. Every tree seemed to be overloaded with ripe mangoes, papayas, bananas or lychees. Everyone we saw stopped to welcome us with a warm smile. With each step, the fatigue and distress of our upwind clobbering melted away, and was replaced with wonder and contentment.

Looking for more information on Pacific route planning to the Marquesas and beyond? Start here:

Reflections on Marquesas by Michael Robertson

Celebrating Polynesian Culture at a Marquesan Festival by Neville Hockley

Sailing into Paradise by Michael Robertson

Pacific Passage Planning by Alvah Simon

Pacific Weather Routing by Birgit Hackl

The post Marquesas Magic appeared first on Cruising World.

July is festival month in French Polynesia. Outrigger canoe racing, artisan fairs, food stalls and, most of all, dancing and dance competitions. Traditional dance, called Ote’a, is very much alive throughout the South Pacific, and arguably reaches its pinnacle at the Heiva i Tahiti, the competition that draws dancers from all over Polynesia every July. The dances—and the stunning costumes—are highlights of a voyage across the Pacific: Indeed, many sailors time their cruising to reach Tahiti at some point during the Heiva. But all over the French Polynesian archipelagos, smaller Heiva festivals take place featuring local dance troupes.

Rather than heading to Tahiti itself, my husband, Seth, and I had chosen instead to spend most of our cruising season in the Tuamotus, the immense chain of atolls that stretches southeast to northwest between the Marquesas and the Society Islands, of which Tahiti is a part. The atolls—with their clear lagoons, coral walls and swarms of sharks—are a wonderland for scuba divers, which was the major draw for the two of us. But we also love traditional Polynesian dance and song, and so were delighted to find a Heiva already swinging into action upon our arrival at the end of June. Women were decorating the town square, weaving palm fronds over the facades of the post office, the town hall and a series of pop-up restaurants that had been constructed for the holiday month to come. The restaurateurs were pasting up menus featuring poisson cru in different variations, as well as chicken, pork, and sundry cakes and pastries. After stretching our legs around the village and surrounding coconut groves, we made our way back to our cold-molded wooden cutter, Celeste, where it was tied up, secure and calm after the passage, to an old wharf.

We hadn’t been sitting over our sundowners long before the steady rhythm of a drum, loud and close, broke us out of our sunset reveries. Swiveling around to face the wharf, we saw two musicians seated on plastic chairs before their lovely wooden drums. Another musician next to them was just taking up his ukulele and soon began to sing. People trickled in from the paths that led to the wharf from town. Women, girls and boys in their casual everyday clothes—T-shirts, athletic shorts, skirts and pareus—shook off their flip-flops and took up positions in three lines facing the musicians. And started to dance. The girls swung their hips in the classic Polynesian style, made famous in Hawaiian hula, and the boys made a characteristic knocking motion with their knees. They stepped forward and back, turned and turned again, ­changing positions in the lines. Their arms and hands formed graceful circles and curves in the air. They knelt and then stood again. Often they were out of sync or someone went to the wrong place. Then the young woman who was clearly the teacher would call out to correct them, or walk over to show them.

She made them go over and over the toughest sections, practicing, practicing, until they were together in the choreography. Sometimes she spoke the local language and sometimes French, reminding them several times to pay attention, that the competition was taking place in only three weeks. The sun went down below the palms and then below the sea. The sky turned deep blue; the brightest stars appeared; darkness fell; the dancers dispersed, laughing and chatting; and the musicians picked up their instruments and chairs, and wandered back up the tracks to the village.

They all reappeared on the wharf the next evening, and every evening thereafter, practicing for the big event, the competition that would crown the local Heiva. Day by day they got better, in closer formation, in more tightly choreographed movement, until it was nearly impossible to focus on just one dancer because watching the whole troupe together was the true effect. Seth and I got to know the songs that the ukulele player sang, even if we understood only a few of the Polynesian lyrics. We loved the singing, but the fast, dynamic dancing that accompanied the drum-only numbers was our favorite. We got to know the dancers, especially the children, who started to arrive early so they could come on board Celeste and visit with us. The girls discovered our wedding album and pored over it; the boys found endless amusement critiquing Seth’s fishing lures and swapping fishing tales. They taught us the local names for things, especially fish, and they all urged us to stay and watch their competition.

In the end, we did. We stayed three weeks in that one spot, every night watching the sun go down behind the dancers. The competition itself took place in the decorated town square, refreshed that day with new, green palm weaving. “Our” troupe went first, decked out in beautiful costumes sewn from colorful pareus, and decorated with shells and gleaming dark mother-of-pearl. We cheered them on and hummed along to the now-familiar songs. After them came another troupe in equally fabulous costumes, topped with immense woven headdresses. They were just as good, in our opinion, but we couldn’t help but be pleased when the judges came down in favor of our troupe, whom we’d befriended over our three weeks at the wharf.

The post Dance Practice in Polynesia appeared first on Cruising World.

“Should we skip Tahiti?” A question I never thought I’d hear was asked seriously over sundowners last week as we discussed 2020 plans.

The popular cruising destination is sending a strong message that cruisers aren’t wanted anymore. Last week, a local cruiser reported that police began clearing boats from the busy Taina anchorage in Tahiti. This is overwhelmingly where transient boats anchor when they visit the largest island in French Polynesia. There was little notice for the meeting called to discuss plans, and no alternate option offered; the marina in Taina is typically booked in advance and not a ready option.

Tahiti isn’t the only spot in French Polynesia that’s tightening regulations and forcing out boats. Bora Bora has banned anchoring entirely. Moorea is expected to follow suit soon. There is a wider trend in French Polynesia to grow restrictions: local press report that the goal is to regulate anchoring throughout the islands. Meanwhile, in Tahiti, the port authorities clearing the Taina anchorage stated clearly that “there is no Plan B” for relocating the cleared boats; particularly unfortunate timing and tone given that cyclone season begins there this month.

Maybe it’s not a big deal to be required to use moorings or marinas. But it’s more complicated than just planning ahead and budgeting a little more. Ask the Hynes family on the Outremer 51, Archer. His family returned to the mooring field in Bora Bora where they’d left their boat to go ashore for dinner in July. Archer wasn’t there: a search found the boat blown downwind until it hit the unforgiving structure of a resorts’ overwater bungalow after the mooring (about $30/night) they secured their boat to broke, causing massive damage to the vessel.

“It’s really sad what happened to our boat,” Seth reflects, “but even sadder to see what’s happening regionally. I think it’s great the locals want to protect their islands, but I wish they would have worked with the cruising community to do this safely rather than rush in change. By enforcing the “no anchoring” law before the infrastructure was in place it has put all of us in a very dangerous situation. I’m glad no one got hurt on our boat or at the hotel as things could have been much worse.”

Bonaire has done a fantastic job of protecting their fringing reef by requiring boats to pick up affordable moorings. It is magical to swim under your boat on a vibrant, thriving reef at snorkeling/freediving depth that this setup makes possible.

Cruisers all know the mantra not to trust a mooring until you’ve been able to check it. Easy in Bonaire, and we replaced the fraying line. But how could Archer have realistically been expected to check the shackle at 85’ of depth that broke? Of course they can’t, they have to rely on the integrity of the owners/managers, and that chain in Bora Bora clarifies a motivation for profit over vessel security.

Why is this happening?

The move in Tahiti is due in part to a development plan, but read the local press articles about restrictions and local sentiments come out. It hurts to know reader comments indicate they’re happy for cruisers to go away, angered at the lack of respect they feel is shown for the local community and environment.

In Huahine, a youth group staged a protest that included floating a big mainsail painted with “no anchoring” – and gave press pictures of the coral damage caused by careless boats. Here, at least, is a positive move to direct boats to anchor in a boxed area away from the reef and vulnerable coral (fantastic, but sad they had to take this in their own hands). In Raiatea, the next most populous island after Tahiti, there were problems this past season with local boats aggressively threatening cruisers, with tactics ranging from verbal assault to cutting anchor rode.

Are there just too many boats? A couple of factors combined to significantly increase the number of boats in the area. A few years ago, French Polynesia began allowing vessels to remain three years before requiring importation (previously, boats were limited to just a few months). Then long-stay visas became easier to acquire, so not only visiting boats but their crews can readily spend more time in the islands. There are simply more boats, and enough of those boats are not respecting the local mores. This is a response to a perceived invasion of disrespectful cruisers. The complaints range from cultural to environmental, and they are not for you or I to judge as the guests in a place; it’s for the hosts, who seem ready to stop playing that role.

All this played into that conversation over sundowners a few nights ago, as we sat under Totem in the not-so-romantic shipyard with visions of much-more-romantic tropical anchorages in mind. Should we consider a major re-route and skip French Polynesia altogether? Hey, I’d love to visit my family in Hilo. The off-track destinations of Kiribati hold deep appeal. We want to skew towards places we haven’t visited before, anyway.

We were dead serious for about 20 minutes, then snapped back to reality. Of course we’ll go to French Polynesia! There are MANY islands, and we plan the least amount of time in the areas most subject to restrictions.

I’m keen to find the lesson in any situation. What’s the lesson here? That we (cruisers) need to lose entitlement and gain perspective for our negative impact, real or perceived. It’s incumbent on us to proactively be good citizens. Helping in this regard is AVP (Association Voiliers Polynesie); they’re meeting with authorities to represent cruisers and find a bridge to educate cruisers and charterers on visiting responsibly, while boosting local confidence that these boats contribute to rather than detract from their community. Anyone can join the organization and help them advocate for the cruising community. Visit the website for details.

My friend Holly Scott sails her boat out of Raiatea, and rightly pointed out – these islands pushing out cruising boats are both the least interesting and the most touristed. They are exactly the places we prefer not to spend much time in. But they are the popular names that are familiar to outsiders, and have a historical draw based on beaten paths and accessibility. There are many nicer places to explore in French Polynesia. And hopefully, as they are visited by those with a keen eye for respect to local customs and environment. We’ll keep an eye on the situation, spend less (or no) time in the Society islands, and always be mindful that we’re guests in their home.

My facts will not be perfect here, in great part because the situation is changing so quickly. Big thanks to Linda Edeiken of Jacaranda, amazing ambassadors for the cruising community – I first learned about this from Linda; to Ryan Levinson, for his work in FP representing cruisers with AVP; thanks Seth Hynes for contributing, sorry your lovely Archer had to be the canary in this coal mine!

The post Sailing Totem: Time to skip Tahiti? appeared first on Cruising World.

When the organizers of the annual Tahiti Pearl Regatta contacted us in Hawaii to ask if we’d like to photograph their event between the Leeward Islands of French Polynesia, my wife, Kyoko, and I were so overjoyed that we couldn’t resist telling a few friends. Their response was pretty much uniform: “You suck.”

Tahiti has the reputation of a South Pacific paradise, even among those of us based in Hawaii. Since the late 1700s, when Adm. Bougainville and Capts. Wallis and Cook first visited, stories of these lush islands and their gorgeous people have circulated in popular culture. One even feels a certain sympathy for Fletcher Christian and his fellow Bounty mutineers for dumping mean old Capt. Bligh in a longboat so they could make a U-turn right back to their girlfriends in Tahiti.

Raiatea, French Polynesia’s charter base, has a long history of Polynesian navigation. A priest and navigator named Tupaia, who trained at the great navigation temple Taputapuatea (“most sacred to the gods”) on Raiatea’s east coast, sailed with Cook. He drew Cook a chart detailing more than 200 Pacific islands, including Hawaii, all from memory. Many voyages of exploration in Polynesia began at Taputapuatea, and its ruins are a must-see for anyone remotely interested in history or sailing.

The Leeward Islands of Raiatea, Huahine and Bora Bora are truly a paradise for cruisers. Only a day’s sail apart, they lie about a hundred miles leeward of Tahiti. All of the islands are surrounded by extensive lagoons, with crystal-clear water and hundreds of possible anchorages, many without a single yacht. Raiatea itself is joined to its neighbor island, Taha’a, by an immense lagoon, so it’s actually possible to sail to the next island without even going to sea.

It’s common, and even ­preferable, here to anchor over sandbars near the outer reefs and islets. Holding is excellent in these shallow anchorages, as are the diving, cool breezes and amazing scenery, and unlike the deep bays close in to the islands, there are few insects.

Tides in Tahiti are so small as to be almost negligible due to its charmed location on what is called an “amphidromic point,” or tidal node. Tides here are influenced mostly by the sun rather than the stronger gravitational attraction of the moon, so the tide is generally slightly higher (by about a foot) at noon and lower in the evenings.

The climate is typically hot and humid here, and there are periods of strong trade winds and frontal systems, so it’s important to keep an eye on the weather. In general the Northern Hemisphere winter is Tahiti’s summer (November through April), and brings a greater chance of rain, frontal winds and hot, muggy weather. It is also the cyclone season, although hurricane-force winds are rare.

We had the full charter ­experience with a bareboat before the regatta, and crewed charters during and after. Our bareboat was a Sunsail 404 catamaran, build by Robertson and Caine in South Africa. As a lifelong monohull sailor, I was reluctant to charter a catamaran, but it took only one look aboard our Sunsail 404 to see the benefits: absurd amounts of space and comfort on a shallow-draft cat that’s rock-solid at anchor. It was like having an overwater bungalow that sailed. And the sailing was surprisingly good. The anchorages were uncrowded and jaw-droppingly stunning, and the diving superb.

RELATED: A First Cruising Adventure in French Polynesia

One near miss of an uncharted coral bank reminded us of the cardinal rule here: Sail only in good light—especially when you are within the reefs—and trust your eyes, not just your chart plotter.

For the weeklong festival of sailing and parties that is the Tahiti Pearl Regatta, we boarded a spacious Lagoon 52 from Tahiti Yacht Charter. Despite a deep loathing of group travel, it didn’t take me long to adjust to having Fred, a capable captain, navigate us to neighboring Huahine, while Heeniti, our five-star chef, created raw tuna masterpieces and divinely inspired fresh-baked desserts.

After the spectacular race, Kyoko and I boarded another Lagoon 52 from Dream Yacht Charter. Once again amazed at an enormous, new, well-run vessel, and ridiculously well-fed, we visited a fascinating pearl farm, and a phenomenal snorkeling area called the Coral Garden, where we were swarmed by hundreds of bold exotic fish as we floated gently in the current along a coral reef.

Hard as it is for a salty, bluewater monohull sailor to admit, I thoroughly enjoyed cruising the lagoons on Sunsail’s catamaran, and being feted like royalty on the crewed charters with Dream and Tahiti Yacht Charter was splendid. I recommend Raiatea as one of the world’s best charter locations—with one last word of caution: Don’t tell your friends you’re going. They’ll only hate you for it. —Tor Johnson

The post Chartering in Raiatea appeared first on Cruising World.

The anchor splashes into the gin-clear water as if to proclaim, “We’re here.” Not that there’s anyone around — and that’s fine by me. We’re the only boat on the east side of the lagoon in Tahaa, one of the quieter spots in French Polynesia’s Society Islands. Everyone else is making a beeline for honeymoon favorite Bora Bora, where you have to jostle with the charter catamarans for an anchorage. We’ll get there soon too. But for now, we gaze upon Tahaa’s vanilla-clad peaks, mesmerized by how the ever-changing light casts shades of violet and ochre upon them — as if Mother Nature were putting on a show just for us.

I’m a far cry from Toronto, Canada’s largest city, where I grew up and started sailing on chilly Lake Ontario. Scattered across the South Pacific like a string of broken pearls, the 118 islands of French Polynesia are home to fewer than 280,000 people, the majority of whom live on Tahiti. And the farther you go from the “big” island — a bit of a misnomer since you can drive around it in a day — the wilder things get. Forget fast internet, well-stocked grocery and hardware stores, and places to fill up on fresh water and diesel.

Forget also the cruel jolt of the alarm clock, the darkness, the cold and snow, the obligations that await back home, half a world away. Cruising the South Pacific is a world apart. And after seven weeks sailing these waters aboard Nanami, an older 30-foot Contest sloop belonging to a good friend, I know it’s not always easy. On this trip alone, two of three water tanks have failed, along with the head. Patience has sometimes run thin, and spirits have ­fallen along with the barometer. Yet despite, or perhaps because of, all this, I know cruising is where I’d rather be.

The Te Pari coast in the south of Tahiti Iti is accessible only by boat. Rolling green hills sharpen into jagged cliffs with waterfall after waterfall tumbling down them. The anchorages are deep, the bottom imperceptible against the black volcanic sand. The water doesn’t exactly beckon — who knows what’s swimming around down there? (If you’re looking for powdery white sand and the visibility it affords, try any other island in the archipelago.) I’m beginning to wonder why we came here in the first place, beating against the trade winds and triggering a seasickness so debilitating I thought I’d rather die. Now that I’m able to keep my food down, we’re out of fresh meats and produce. It’s canned petit salé or cassoulet — upmarket French equivalents of Spam — until the next provisioning.

That’s not to say that I regret coming here. Most boats don’t bother, which is a shame because the lagoon is dotted with uninhabited motus, small coral islets ripe for exploration. Standing in the shallows of one motu, I watch in awe as seven reef shark pups circle slowly and deliberately around me. I want to call National Geographic — surely this is a rare occurrence to be documented for posterity. But no, they’re just sharks doing as sharks do, nature taking its course. Nothing unusual around here.

A day’s sail from Tahiti is Moorea, where we meet Francky, a fellow sailor and French expat who first came to Polynesia a lifetime ago with the military. These days, he runs four-by-four tours of the island, and lives with his beautiful Tahitian fiancee and their daughter aboard Tiare, a 38-foot Lagoon catamaran he named after the national flower of French Polynesia. A variety of gardenia, its white blossoms infuse the moist air with a gentle sweetness. C’est mon rêve, “This is my dream,” Francky says, and I believe him. He takes us under his wing, showing us around the island and hosting l’apéro, or cocktails, in Tiare’s spacious cockpit. Together we down many a ’ti punch — a delightfully easy mix of rum, fresh lime juice and simple syrup — the perfect cruising tipple. When it’s time to weigh anchor, Francky presents us with seashell necklaces, the customary Polynesian farewell gift. In true cruiser fashion, he doesn’t say goodbye (for there are always too many, too soon) but à la prochaine, “until next time.”

Eighty-three nautical miles northwest of Moorea lies the island of Huahine. It’s a cruiser’s darling, that rare place where you can anchor just off the charming town, Fare, and take the dinghy over to take care of business. Get cash from the ATM, pick up groceries, rent a bike to explore the island’s many marae, Polynesian archaeological sites, or down a frosty glass or two of Hinano, the local beer, at happy hour. Tired after the passage, we’re grateful it’s all so easy. Yet for all its convenience, Huahine is nearly devoid of tourists.

I get the feeling that Philippe, the guardian of Hana Iti beach midway down Huahine’s west coast, is a little lonely. Rowing out to greet us in his bright-red va’a, a traditional outrigger canoe, he shows us to a mooring. Later, on the coconut-covered beach, he tells us either his life story or a tall tale, I’m not sure which. Phillipe shows us the path to the ruins of the Hana Iti Hotel, up the hill and ensnared by verdant jungle. We climb up and up, until the trail opens onto a dreamlike view over the sparkling azure cove. From high above, I spot a white speck in the water, my floating home for the past several weeks. I think of my yellow brick house in Toronto’s west end. Sure, it’s comfortable. But unlike a sailboat, I can’t take it with me on my adventures. It’s starting to dawn on me, what I’d like to do with my life.

In the end, what better way is there to spend an evening than swimming with some of the ocean’s most glorious creatures? We’re on the hook in Avea Bay in the southwest of Huahine, and I’m hoping to catch a glimpse of the area’s resident manta rays. The guidebook says they like to swim along the edge of an underwater cliff where plankton, the ray’s main source of food, tend to congregate. I grab my snorkeling gear and dive in. Out of nowhere, it appears. Charcoal gray on top and white on the bottom, so large and yet so graceful. The manta ray glides along about 15 feet beneath me, doing backflips. With each turn, the ray’s gills expand and I can literally see right through it.

Approaching Bora Bora from the ocean, I wonder what all the fuss is about. It looks a lot like the other islands we’ve visited. Lush emerald peaks rising from crystal-clear waters, an earthly Garden of Eden. As if on cue, a shadow emerges from the water about 10 meters away. It’s a whale and her calf, and I’m no longer blasé. They swim alongside us for 20 minutes, mom playfully spraying water through her blowhole.

RELATED: On Watch: A Festival in French Polynesia

We spend a couple of nights at the ­legendary Bora Bora Yacht Club, luxuriating in long, hot showers and proximity to some of the most breathtaking yachts I’ve ever seen. There’s a supermarket and gas station down the road, and we head there on foot, red and blue jerrycans in hand. A car pulls over in front of us. Bonjour, says the driver, a plump young woman wearing a lime-green pareo, a Polynesian wraparound dress, and a hot-pink hibiscus blossom tucked behind her ear. According to local custom, a flower behind the right ear means the wearer is single, while a flower behind the left means she is spoken for, like our new friend. She smiles and gives us a lift the rest of the way and back. This would never happen in Toronto, I think.

Eventually, I learn it’s the east side of Bora, as the locals call it, that inspires all the fuss. Immense, shallow and clear, the lagoon here offers up the most dramatic views of the mountains, and some of the best inshore sailing around. It’s also where most of the development has occurred — those extravagant over-water bungalows you see in Condé Nast, the magazine for well-heeled travelers. I get a kick out of sailing within feet of the bungalows, encroaching on their guests’ very expensive privacy. It’s what they deserve for disturbing the peace with their helicopter and jet-ski tours. Later that night, I think about how cruising verges on the lifestyles of the rich and famous, the ultimate freedom, for a fraction of the cost. I’m sold.

Yvonne Palkowski is a writer from Toronto, Canada, where she is a member of the National Yacht Club. She is always looking for her next crewing opportunity, at home and abroad.

The post A First Cruising Adventure in French Polynesia appeared first on Cruising World.