A Week Aboard S/V Sabado: 9/29/2024 – 10/06/2024

Bonjour! Have you seen our latest YouTube video?

Last Sunday, we decided to run the generator out of convenience rather than necessity. We used our high output watermaker to top off our tanks and catch up on laundry. 

Around lunchtime, when all the tour boats disappear for an hour, our friends Bryan and Jen came by in their dinghy to pick us up for a snorkel. We still had the genny on, so Ray stayed home to keep an eye on things while I eagerly tagged along. The three of us went out past a nearby resort, the kind you see in magazines with huts on stilts over the water. The current was ripping over the beautiful reef. We jumped in and began drifting, watching the sea life fly by beneath us. Drifting is a different kind of magic- you get all the rewards of snorkeling with basically none of the work. You surrender to nature, letting the ocean control your speed and direction. Most of the time, I like to float vertically in the water, twirling around, trying my best to take it all in. 

On our way back to the mooring field, we decided to circle through where we had spotted a fever of eagle rays. We all kept an eye out and eventually noticed a gray patch… it seemed to expand and shrink, expand and shrink… Bingo! We had found them; we slipped into the water and watched in amazement. 

Seeing them on a bright sunny day with friends rather than in the rain with 15 strangers and their tour guide yelling at me (like last week) was nothing short of amazing. We swam above them for a while, watching others join from all directions. Everything I’ve read about spotted eagle rays suggests they are predominantly solitary animals, only gathering in groups to travel long distances through the open ocean. I’m not sure why so many of them stay together inside this lagoon, seemingly in the same area day after day. Are they alright? Are they being fed as a tourist attraction?

We parted ways for the rest of the afternoon. Ray and I finished up some chores, and I showed him the stingray footage. I baked some buns and took them to Bryan and Jen’s at sunset for dinner. The four of us had sausages and grilled vegetables, exchanging stories and travel tips. I always have a great time with them, like Nick and Megan. The common denominator is that they’re all from Portland, Oregon. Do I have a type? 😉

We spent Monday cleaning, defrosting the fridge, restocking groceries, and picking up some gasoline. Bryan and Jen left that morning for the next leg of their adventure, and we were leaving tomorrow, going in the opposite direction. Hopefully, our paths will cross again soon! We watched our last sunset in Bora Bora; it felt bittersweet.

The next morning, we ditched our mooring ball and motored out of the pass. It was bright and sunny, and the pass was pleasantly calm. We turned toward Taha’a, and our apparent wind speed was 0kn. We motored on, taking in the magnificent outline of Mount Otemanu.

Our apparent wind speed grew once we exited the island’s shadow, and we hoisted the main and jib. We still didn’t have enough wind to sail, so we kept an engine on, and motor sailed the rest of the way. 

We found a secluded spot to anchor in the turquoise water and dug out a couple of pearl floats to place after the bridle, keeping our chain off a small coral cluster in an otherwise sandy spot. We haven’t floated our chain since the Tuamotus! I jumped in and double-checked our anchor, floats, and depth of any surrounding bommies. We were in the clear. We spent the rest of the day soaking up the sunshine and relaxing. 

We hammered through the rest of our to-do list on Wednesday, finishing an interior deep clean/termite inspection, tech projects, and baking a loaf of sourdough. It felt good to be alone, on anchor, being productive. We had a healthy dinner and then went to bed. We were jolted out of near-sleep by a grumbling sound. I assumed it was our chain rubbing up against something on the ocean floor, but was proven wrong by a bright flashing light: our first lightning storm in French Polynesia. We begrudgingly went upstairs, checked the weather, and began timing the lightning/thunder to see which way it was moving. The wind picked up, and we got a bit of rain, but we were back in bed just an hour later. Unfortunately, that, too, was short-lived. After the storm had passed, the wind had died entirely, leaving us at the mercy of the current. We had been pushed forward on our anchor, and one of our floats was bashing into the hull. The pearl floats on our chain are hard plastic, and we knew it could beat up Sabado. We waited, hoping it would correct itself, but ended up having to pull up our chain and reposition the floats in the dark. We finally went to sleep around 1AM. 

With high winds in the forecast, we decided to move to a different spot the following day. We pulled our anchor and began motoring toward an area with more than a few palm trees for protection. I was keeping watch on the bow, but visibility was poor since it was overcast. I saw something dark in the water, but it didn’t look near the surface. “How deep are we?” I shouted back to Ray. “20ft under the keel.” He responded. Then our depth alarm went off, and I felt Ray throw the boat in reverse. Had we hit something? I ran astern. Neither of us had felt anything concerning. Our depth alarm goes off when we have 3ft or less under our keel. We took a deep breath, adjusted our heading, and proceeded slowly. I took the helm while Ray triple-checked the charts and satellite images. There was no indication of any obstacle, and we were barely off our track from when we came in. Plus, we had another boat’s tracks to go off as well. You must stay vigilant here, and you cannot trust your charts.

We reached our next anchorage, and I immediately jumped in to inspect the bottom of the boat. There was no indication that we had hit anything; even the soft green beard Sabado had been growing was undisturbed. I sighed in relief and checked our anchor and any surrounding bommies. 

It rained intermittently for the rest of the day, so we stayed inside, periodically napping to compensate for our lack of sleep the previous night. The wind began to pick up after dinner, so we were up late again, listening to the waves slapping our hulls and the wind howl. By morning, our anchorage had become pretty uncomfortable. The wind had continued to shift around, bypassing any protection the motu ahead of us could provide. We were bouncing up and down, side to side. We decided to move into another nearby anchorage, with some mountains and a mud bottom. The sea state was dramatically calmer, but the wind was oddly gusty, going from 5kn to 30kn and then back to 5kn. We spent the day finishing up our latest YouTube video and watching TV. 

We realized we had dodged a bullet on Saturday morning. A boat in front of us had dragged all the way to shore overnight, just narrowly missing Sabado. They had grounded in the mud but managed to re-anchor safely. Spooked, we discussed leaving but didn’t really know where else to go. This was our “plan C” anchorage! We had held strong all night and kept a tight (and incredibly loud) anchor alarm on. So, we went about our morning, eating breakfast and sipping our coffee while watching a new boat coming in. It was a solo sailor on a monohull. He couldn’t get his anchor to set after his first drop, and instead of bringing it up, he powered forward while it was still down. Alarm bells began sounding in Ray’s head- he kept a close eye as the guy dragged his anchor around and tried to reset right in front of us. His hull turned perpendicular to the wind and, with one of those 30-knot gusts, began dragging rapidly toward Sabado. Ray and I ran out onto the bow, yelling and waving our arms, trying to alert the captain that he was dragging. The guy stayed seated at the helm, throwing his arms up in defeat. He had given up. Maybe he had a long, rough passage to get here, or his chain had wrapped around his rudder, and he couldn’t steer… Either way, giving up is irresponsible when other people are at risk. We leaped into action. I started yanking fenders out of our forepeak, then sprinted back into the saloon to grab the windlass remote. Ray started the engines, and like a well-oiled machine, we pulled up our chain and got the hell out of the way. I am so thankful we didn’t have floats on at this point. I have no doubt the added time to remove them would have led to a collision. 

We shouted over the wind to the dragging boat, asking if he needed help or something was broken. He just waved us off, so we left the bay and motored around the island, searching for a new spot. This would be our 4th anchorage in 4 days- our fifth this week- not our preferred cruising pace. Our next two options were jam-packed with boats, but we found a suitable spot on the leeward side of the island. It was deeper than we would have preferred and still blowing 22kn sustained, so we put out all our chain and backed down hard. We didn’t budge. We set our anchor alarm and checked the latest forecasts: it looks like we’ve got at least five more days of these conditions… Hopefully, they’ll be less eventful than these past few days. 

I hope you had a great week. ❤️