We turned the corner into Taiohae Bay on April 17th and were stunned by the number of shroud lights ablaze up the bay. We thought we were headed to the remote South Pacific, but perhaps we had accidentally landed in St. Barths? What was going on? Turns out we had arrived just as three yacht rallies were passing through on their circumnavigations.
Despite the crowds, the bay is large and we easily set our hook, poured a large gin and tonic, and went straight to bed for more than four hours straight for the first time in almost three weeks. The following morning, the reality of arrival began to set in.
Mason and I do enjoy being on passage. We don’t need to be at sea for 18+ days again, but we enjoy the routine, the disconnection, and the clear tangible goal. You stand watch for your shift and watch the miles tick down as you reach your destination. After eighteen days of knowing exactly what we needed to do, arriving left us feeling unexpectedly adrift.
We wandered through town, drank coffee, and stared out at the busy anchorage. Completing the crossing felt incredibly satisfying, but with the destination finally reached, we were suddenly left with a different question: what came next? Back home, three of our close friends were expecting babies and two friends had just gotten engaged. It felt like everyone we knew was entering a new chapter while we sat on a rain-soaked island in the middle of the Pacific. Should we be building our own family and community instead of crossing 3,000 miles of ocean?
Fortunately, I’ve learned there are two reliable cures for my occasional cruising existential crisis: physical activity and good people. We hiked all over town, waving the Marquesan greeting, “Kaoha” to all passerby’s. One Saturday evening, locals gathered on the beach while five kids squealed while washing a horse in the shallows. What a place to grow up!
The water was often murky from rainfall runoff so land activities would have to suffice. In addition to hiking, we decided to try mountain biking for the first time (mountain e-bikes, so don’t get too impressed). At 7 a.m. we climbed into the back of a pickup truck and were shuttled 3,000 feet up the mountain. From there, the next 40 miles were up to us. The roads were so steep that my braking hand cramped on the descents, forcing frequent stops to shake feeling back into my fingers. As if that wasn’t enough excitement, groups of wild horses occasionally came thundering across the road in front of us. The ride took us offroad, through tiny villages, and past countless fruit trees. It was a great way to explore the island, wear out our sea legs, and try something new.
About a week after our arrival, the Ocean Posse group hosted a pig roast for all the cruisers in the bay. Each boat brought a side to share and we spent the evening eating roasted pig, drinking maitais, and swapping passage stories. More importantly, we started finding our people. We met Maggie and Evan on Acer (San Francisco), Craig and Rose on Relentless (Long Beach), and Mattie and Brenden on Eos (Seattle!). Before long, our paths seemed to cross daily as we explored the islands together.
The next day, Craig and Rose mentioned they’d spotted manta rays from a hike and invited us to join the search. We jumped in and almost immediately found ourselves surrounded by mantas. Five or six of them circled lazily beneath us, each with a wingspan wider than I was tall. Despite their size, they moved with a grace and agility that made me feel like a jelly blob by comparison. As the swim went on, they seemed to grow more comfortable with our presence. By the end, one passed so close I could have reached out and touched it. We climbed back into the dinghy absolutely giddy.
Back on land, Mason found some hydraulic fluid at the chandlery in town to repair our autopilot. We rigged up some spare hose and turkey basted the oil into the system as the air bled out. Once reattached, Auralia sounded better than she had in months. It seems we’ve just been chasing a slow leak and, hopefully, she’ll make it all the way to New Zealand.
That same evening, Craig and Rose had inspected the local brewery and invited us and Eos out for a drink. We shut the place down, skipped dinner entirely, and stayed up until midnight drinking Panamanian rum courtesy of Eos. We stumbled back to the boat and after our third rolly night in the bay, Mason and I decided we needed to GTFO. We had heard wonderful things about Fatu Hiva, so we decided to sail straight upwind there. This was an interesting decision considering we were extremely hungover and had prepared exactly zero food for the overnight passage.
Maybe the Pacific crossing had given us a bit too much confidence, but that upwind thrash brought us right back to reality. The conditions were rough enough that I couldn’t even convince myself to make pasta. Thank goodness I’d bought a $7 snack-sized bag of chips, which ended up being my primary food source for the passage. Upon arrival we agreed: we are cruisers, not racers. The fewer upwind passages in our future, the better.
Fortunately, Fatu Hiva delivered on its reputation. As we approached the anchorage, dramatic green cliffs rose straight from the sea, reminding us of parts of coastal Alaska. A rainbow appeared overhead while shafts of sunlight broke through the clouds and illuminated the valley. After a miserable night of beating into the wind, it felt like we’d arrived somewhere worth the sail.
Unfortunately, our fridge had other plans. The compressor wasn’t running at full power, and our carefully hoarded Mexican meat and cheese supplies slowly began to defrost. Mason tore the system apart and found nothing obviously wrong while I started mentally preparing for a future of canned food. A day later, the fridge mysteriously started working again. We thanked the Fatu Hiva Kon-Tiki gods, didn’t question it further, and celebrated with a waterfall hike.
We then sailed up to Tahuata to meet up with Eos and see one of the few sandy beaches in the Marquesas. We tried to bushwhack to a nearby peak but were easily deterred by a beach beer and splitting open our first coconut. We played Catan, swam with more mantas, and spent the afternoon snorkeling while they practiced with their dive gear.
We returned to the boat to find our fridge defrosted again. Mason searched all over for a culprit but came up empty. A day later, it was frost again. We thanked our lucky stars and crossed our fingers that the arrachera and parmesan cheese would hold on a little longer. Eventually, Eos set off for Fatu Hiva and we split for Hiva Oa. Watching them sail away, I had to remind myself that this life wasn’t forever. One day we’d have a stable community of neighbors, friends, and people who didn’t vanish over the horizon every few weeks. For now, this community of boats crossing paths in some of the most remote corners of the world will have to do.
