Moorea —Third Visit

August 28 to September 4, 2009
Tahiti to Moorea;Meeting the Germans; Swimming with the rays; Girl’s night out; The storm; Last Zulu shuttle to Tahiti

Tahiti to Moorea

No wind! That is disappointing. You cannot say you sailed the South Seas if you motored. But it is still an adventure to cross from Tahiti to Moorea. So we sit back and enjoy.

Both Rondy and Paul take seasick tablets to prevent the dreaded woozy, nauseating experience. Rondy is sharing North West news when I see signs of the pill taking effect and the drowsiness taking over. I give her a cushion and show her where my favourite spot is to lie down on deck. Paul enjoys the view from the cockpit.


Rondy finds the horizontal as the seasick pills take effect crossing from Tahiti to Moorea.


Paul is relaxed and enjoying the view from the cockpit.

In retrospect, as I write at this later date after Rondy and Paul have long left I, too, lay down in the very same spot as Rondy as we motor sailed from Tahiti to Bora Bora the second time. The rubber dinghy was turned upside down with one of the tubes close to my head.

I had fallen asleep, when I felt the end tube of the rubber dinghy hit the side of my face and I woke up with a fright. The spinnaker pole had come loose from the mast and fallen inches from my head, fortunately hitting the tube of the rubber dinghy. If that dinghy was not there, as in the case of Rondy, Russ says the pole could have killed me. Oh boy, I quake at the thought of the pole hitting Rondy. Near misses are reminders to routinely check the gear.

Paul makes a few radio calls below as we approach Moorea, and Rondy has gained her equilibrium and is refreshed. Coming through the pass and into the anchorage at Opunohu bay never ceases to excite me, and we are now all on deck to take in the beauty. We drop the hook into the pale turquoise waters and have lunch. Nap time and swim time. We feel bad this must be disappointing for Paul, who says the reefs in St. John are alive and well. It is disappointing for us too, to see that they are barely alive, and how the lagoons are so overfished. But not to put a dampener on things, the water is so beautiful. It calls me every day to swim.

Meeting the Germans

Tonight we meet the Germans off the S/V Lop To. Helmut and Kirsten from Hamburg made a date to meet us on the beach for a sundowner. He makes New Zealand his base during the cyclone season, and every year sails back up to ‘the islands’. This time, though he will make the long, long run to Hawaii and perhaps Alaska thereafter. There are other cruiser Germans on shore, and Austrians, and a southerner from Virginia, whom Rondy says she would not want for a son-in-law. Smile.

“Swimming with the sting rays is a religious experience.” He opined with a slow southern drawl when we discussed going together to do just that in the morning. He is off the boat Gallivanter and was in Pago Pago, American Samoa later in September when the devastating Tsunami hit. Fortunately, he and his Australian wife and son escaped with minor damage to their boat. They were some of the lucky ones. His sweet little son rescued a small kitten in the aftermath of the Tsunami and named it Lucky.

Helmut talks us in to going to New Zealand for the Hurricane season. He makes sure we go by giving us his shower key, for which we are forever grateful. Hot water cascading over parched bodies in New Zealand sounds heavenly.

It is time to take leave of the beach and dinghy back to the shelter of Zulu.

“See you in the morning at 8:00 AM sharp to see the rays.” I call back to them and take leave.


Helmut off S/V ‘Lop To’ gives us his shower key to lure us to New Zealand for the cyclone season.

Swimming with the rays

The next morning it is dinghy city roaring off to swim with the sting rays. Our dinghy brings up the rear as the Germans tear off ahead. I don’t really like the idea of invading the rays’ space or feeding them. But the tourist boat and the Germans will already have fed them. So we come in from the side wings and Rondy and I watch them from the dinghy.

These rays are gigantic and somewhat alien looking up close. One is seemingly trying to slither up the dinghy tube. I stand up, as does Rondy to take pictures. Here are some shots I caught that speak for themselves.

Rondy gets some excellent shots of large black-tipped reef sharks, too, which I miss, because I’ve ventured into the water by this point. Russ and Paul are in the water with the Germans. Paul even gingerly strokes a ray. Meet the rays.


Hello Mr. ray. Please don’t slither up this dinghy!


The one-eyed people eater. Ok, I’ll keep my distance. Amazing creature.


Looks like a mom and her little one.


Let us get together and try to make sense of these creatures in dinghies all around us.


Rays moseying around the dinghy out of curiosity. See the spiracle for water intake close behind the eye?


Whoops! Pardon moi. Let’s avoid a collision here.


Turbo ray time. I’m not feeling comfortable. See its light brownish colour.


Paul gets brave and gently strokes a ray. See the tails are longer than the bodies. Watch out for the poisonous spine!

I’m going to guess--from the brownish colouring, square appearance, and whip-like length of tail--that these species are the Brown Sting Ray. Also known as Lu-pe or Hi-hi-ma-nu. The sting ray family contain between 90 and 100 species!

I’ll chance a description of the Brown Sting Ray from a Handbook of the Marine Fishes of Hawaii and the Central Pacific Ocean by Spencer Wilkie Tinker. This will suffice in adding interest and I paraphrase--

“This ray has a large, flat, disc-like body composed of enlarged pectoral fins. These fins are somewhat angular at their outer edges--also where they join in front of the head--and give the large flat body a somewhat square appearance. The eyes and the spiracles, through which the water enters the gills, are located on top of the head. The tail is slender and usually longer than the body. It lacks the caudal fins and the dorsal fin, when present, is very short and small.

This species bears a poisonous spine in the usual place, on the upper side of the tail, and a fleshy longitudinal ridge or keel on the lower side only. This fleshy keel or ridge of skin is very useful in identifying the species.

The teeth are very small and lie in a broad band in both the upper and lower jaws. The skin, which is smooth over most of the body, is colored a uniform brownish above and whitish below with pale brownish markings on the outer margins of the pectoral fins. It is believed to reach a width of at least three feet.

This species is a bottom dwelling form; it may be observed swimming about, lying half concealed in mud or sand, or digging with its ‘nose’ in the sand for the shellfish on which it feeds.

In its reproductive habits this ray is ovo-viparous and retains the developing young within the body of the parent until it is fully formed.

The distribution of this species extends from Hawaii southward through the tropical Pacific Ocean to Australia and doubtless elsewhere in the tropical Indo-Pacific area.”

Of note to us water wader bathers, if you step on a sting ray it usually drives the spine of its tail into your foot and can result in a seriously painful wound. I saw a photograph of a cruising yachtsman’s foot in Sayulito, Mexico after he stood on a sting ray and it was absolutely horrible. Beware. Take care. Lastly--

“Aristotle is reported to have said that ‘nothing is more terrible than the spine that arms the tail of Trygon.’ Odysseus (Ulysses), the famous mythological king of ancient Ithaca, was reported to have been killed by his son, Telegonus, with a spear tipped with a spine of a ray.” Beware. Take care.

I feel privileged to have been with the rays and the big reef sharks in their beautiful blue water environment. No charge for this aquarium. Not the religious experience Gallivanter described, but I definitely feel a sense of awe and am reminded of my boundaries as a human and land species.

We are all back in the dinghy now and Russ motors over the shallow waters to motu Tiahura. We each go on a walkabout of our own design. I lie down, as I always do on motus, and dream dreams of being in the South Seas. Listen to the wavelets break on the shore, see the little hermit crabs showing off their shell houses, see a little gecko in the sun, see the fallen coconut tree, and far horizons. Doze. Sleep deep.

We converge from our walkabouts to find Paul fast asleep in the dinghy. He, too, has South Sea fever, conducive to total relaxation—an idyllic scene to behold.


A little Gecko next to me, sunning itself on a fallen palm branch on motu Tiahura.


A palm takes shape in its fallen state.


Looking back toward Moorea from motu Tiahura.


Paul asleep in the dinghy with South Sea fever—total relaxation. An idyllic scene.

It is time to dinghy back to Zulu. Russ does the honors. Dodge the shallow spots. The low gas reality tells us perhaps we should have waited to fill up in Tahiti, but we make do. There is no easy place on Moorea to get gas without a car. On we go to our home afloat on the azure lagoon of Opunohu bay. Lunch time, swim time, sundowner green-tea-come-chardonnay time, dinner time. The light of another beautiful day in paradise fades.


It is time to dinghy back to Zulu and Russ does the honors.


Rondy enjoying Chardonnay time of day aboard Zulu.

Walk to Belvedere

The morning is fresh, if not a little gray. I love to walk and do not mind hoofing it up to Belvedere again. Surprise! Welcome to Moorea’s Grand Prix! The hairpin turns await the drivers. We stand at the side of the start line. Rev, rev, rev, allez, vite! Off goes the car, driver in the semblance of a proper racing suit zooms by. He is Moorean. The sound of a hollow booom. Smoke. The driver’s young wife runs up the narrow tarred road with the ‘organizers’ at her heals to see what has happened. The car has gone over the edge. Oh no! Is he hurt? No thank goodness. Perhaps just a touch of damage to his pride.

Next in line a yellow sports car pulls up at the start line. Rev, rev, rev, allez, vite! Zoom it goes by.

“Pardon monsieur. C’est d’accord a marche en haut?” I ask if it is alright to walk to the top. Sure it is OK to walk along a race course. Take your own life in your hands. “Oui, c’est d’accord.” Yes it is OK. “Non, c’est pas d’accord.” No it is not OK.

Who to believe from the laid back organizer’s response? Whatever! Use our common sense, not our best sense this day. We walk on the side of the narrow winding road, uphill, at a good lick to the top and don’t linger there too long.

Things seem to be on hold until the crashed car is pulled back onto the road. We don’t hear or see any more cars heading for the precipices.

“I think we should go back down to the picnic tables sooner than later.” Paul advises.

OK. We start downward at a good pace. Don’t want a racecar in the face! Safety? What is that at the Moorea Grand Prix? We get down to the start line and the little car has been pulled back up from its coconut tree bush landing. The young driver is with his wife and sweet little boy having a cold drink and some cookies. Russ goes over to him and wishes him bon chance—good luck. He has a lovely smile and thanks Russ.

We have a small respite at some picnic tables and head back. Who knows how far we have walked. We try to calculate--7 miles or 7 kilometers? We rest awhile on the flat home stretch. I walk on and pick some flowers for the boat. What? Russ is already at the beach? How so? He got a ride from some drunk Polynesians. Way to go! Not.

Girl’s night out

It is raining today. We have been snorkeling on the not-so-inspiring reefs. I still love the water, rain or shine though and will take what I can get. Rondy braves the waters too and enjoys the schools of electric blue fish, which are some of my favourites too.

The gray does not go away, but we feel refreshed from the swim. On with the kettle. It is hot coffee mocha time with a touch of Meyers and some butter biscuits--something sweet to bide time on the gray day away. Read. Relax. Rest.

“Lets go to the dance show at the Sheraton tonight.” I propose. The chaps seem totally deflated at the idea. So Rondy and I go alone. Russ dinghy’s us ashore. My skirt is in my handbag so as not to get it wet. We wash the sand off our feet at the beach tap. Put on our show clothes, climb the fence which we did not need to do, find a flower for our hair, and walk to the hotel. I’m wearing my pearl.

People are dining and outside on the patio a trio plays some South Seas music. It is quiet and relaxing. We walk around the gardens, see the lovely pool lit up, and the bungalows built out over the water, and the little wavelets lapping up on the manicured beach.

It is a lovely evening. The rain has stopped and we make ourselves comfortable on the patio and order a wine and a Baileys with coffee. It is people watching time. See the diners going to and fro from tables covered with white linen table cloths and candlelight to make selections from the buffet. I see the deserts displayed and have half a mind to order a French apple tart, but think better of it for all the croissants and pain chocolate I’ve been indulging in of late.

Then come the musicians adorned in most creative costume. Decorative crowns made from palm leaves and grasses and Tiare flowers behind their ears. Young and old are ready to beat the drums for the Tamure. They have the diner’s attention.

The drum beats start and in come the dance troupe in all shapes and sizes dressed in beautiful native costume. Faces clean and shining and fresh, hair long and black down to their waists. Their hips start to sway. Tahitian dancers have amazing flexible hip movement, and can swivel like side winders. The most gorgeous little girl comes to the front to show her talent, beautiful enough to be framed. I have no camera tonight.

The rain is gently falling and the show is over. Time to walk back along the narrow road to the beach and radio el Capitan to fetch us mermaids. It has been a lovely break from Da Boat!

The storm

The wind is picking up this night. Zulu is swinging wide on the hook. The knot meter is reading 30 knots. It is time to hit the deck and take stock of reality. Rondy and Paul are below in the main cabin. Oops it is up to 35 knots.

I hear a scream and see that the S/V Kestrel, with the Germans Isolde and Gabo on board, have pulled up anchor. They are too close to the reefs. They are coming close to us now, but we know they are seasoned sailors and will avoid T-boning us. We hope!!! I hear the chain being released and hope their anchor holds. They are close to us!

“Marilyn!!!!! The dinghy with outboard engine has capsized.” Russ shouts out for help. I hit the deck like a kangaroo and see what Russ is up against. We absolutely cannot lose the dinghy or the outboard motor. The lines are straining. The lagoon water is white-capped in this night and the wind howling in the rigging.

“Paul come and help!!!!!” I echo. And poor Paul hits the deck pronto. What happened to paradise?

The wind is now up to 39 knots. We have experienced 60 knots before in Tahiti, where a boat dragged anchor into hotel bungalows over the water. But this wind is bad enough with the outboard upside down and at risk of becoming detached. At one point I nearly get blown over!!! The three of us go into action mode by pulling, tipping, pushing, levering the dinghy; and tying, untying and retying lines.

Voila! The dinghy is upright with outboard still attached, but all else that was lying loose is at the bottom of the lagoon--only about 15 ft. The rain comes pelting down and we go below where Rondy is holding down the cozy fort. Tea anyone?

“Rock and roll!” These are Paul’s first words the morning after the night before. He adds that he does not think the Coast Guard would be impressed that we were not wearing life jackets last night. His point is well taken.

Well who wants to go swimming for lost and found items? This time it is more than the coffee plunger. Most dinghy items are recovered in the lovely clear, shallow waters. A few small tools are lost. Lesson learned--or not learned--to leave things lying lose in the dinghy or on deck. Sailing 101.

I swim over to Kestrel and ask if everything is alright and inquire about the scream in the night.

“I can scream sometimes when it is dark and the wind is blowing and I can’t see or hear anything when trying to anchor with boats all around me.” Isolde says.

What a night!

There were no photographs to take in the night. Here are some taken in Tahiti’s lagoon during daylight to give you an idea of similar conditions with winds just above 40 knots. They topped 60 knots at one point.


Storm while anchored in Tahiti’s lagoon off Taina marina. Winds were 40 knots.


Russ tying things down in the storm.


A boat broken from its anchor against hotel bungalows. Winds top 60 knots.

Time to say goodbye

Put the suitcases into the dinghy. Squeeze in for the trip ashore. We all walk single file to the Sheraton Hotel. This is where Paul and Rondy will catch a ride to the Sofitel hotel. They are spoiling themselves for a few days of luxury. We retrace steps taken on ‘girl’s night out’, along the narrow tarred road alongside the lagoon. Pass the little houses with curtains blowing out the windows. Pass the gorgeous varied coloured hibiscus. Pass the handmade shell turtles at the entrance to the hotel. See the lovely gardens and pool. Paul organizes a ride.

We say goodbye in a half-hearted way. I am hoping to see our friends again at the Sofitel. Take in another dance show and sip on some Bailey’s and coffee in a luxury milieu. The captain, however, has spoken.

“Ve must leave! Agtung!” He commands. He does have a point. Our visas will expire tomorrow. We have to return to Tahiti for the fourth time to do laundry, get water and fuel and stock the boat for a month. We have to be in Bora Bora by tomorrow to get our bond money back. That won’t be possible. Reality strikes. So with a feeling of disappointment we take leave with not many words spoken. Thank you Paul and Rondy for all you shared.


A sweet local home on the way to the Sheraton with curtains blowing in the wind.


Gorgeous varieties of hibiscus on the hotel grounds.


Handmade shell turtle at entrance to Sheraton hotel, Moorea.


The pool at the Sheraton Hotel, Moorea.


Mountain backdrop to the pool at the Sheraton Hotel, Moorea.

Leaving Moorea for the last time

We walk back to the little beach at Opunohu Bay without much to say. Of course I do not want to leave. I wave goodbye with palm trees as background. I take the last picture of the lagoon.


I wave goodbye with the palms of Moorea as background.


I take one more picture of the Opunohu lagoon.

We raise the anchor and head out the pass. It is blowing 35 knots!! Russ is towing the dinghy, not a good idea. We are getting a good beating. Much to my surprise he comes about and pulls into Cooks Bay.

“We’ll wait the night out here and leave in the morning when the wind has died.” He says. I am actually relieved. Russ is tired. So we call it a day and I rest my case.

In the morning Cooks bay is like glass. Smoke from coconut fires spiral into the skies. The volcanic mountains are drenched in green. All is very still. Reflective.


Cooks bay, Moorea.


Smoke from coconut fires spiral to the skies.


The volcanic peaks are drenched in green.

I have time to ponder how fleeting life is. The images of the journey turn through the kaleidoscope lens. They fall into place and out of place. They fragment and morph.

I think of the line from the poem Summer, by Dafydd ap Gwilym: “Paradise. I’ll shape its song.” I’m not sure what season I am in. Winter into Spring? I let go all thought. There is a welling up inside of me that only silence can assuage--thoughts of family facing the height of life's challenge. I’ll find that glorious Moorean sunset, and drink it in one more time. "Paradise. I’ll shape its song."


I’ll find that glorious Moorean sunset, and drink it in one more time. “Paradise. I’ll shape its song.”

Last Zulu shuttle to Tahiti

The last shuttle to Tahiti from Moorea is uneventful. We are on a par with the ferry, so familiar with the southern entrance into the lagoon. It is whirlwind exercise of doing laundry, shopping at Carafour for a long time ahead, trying to get an outboard engine part, refueling and filling the water tanks.

I sit on deck until the last light is overcome by night. Music from the Pink Coconut Restaurant starts up. The songs are Hawaiian. Kind of corny but south sea soothing: Tiny Bubbles etc.

In between these songs, I hear the drum beats from the locals on shore. I hold on to the rhythm, look up at the stars, and feel the gentle rocking motion of Zulu anchored out toward the reefs. I am still in Tahiti and feel its magic.

In the early morning we cut through Tahiti’s lagoon with butterfly emotion and sail around the southern end of Moorea. Retrace our passage to Bora Bora without our sweetest girls as crew: last stop to collect our bond money before leaving French Polynesia.