Kapa Isl, Tonga
Well, as of yet, still no cabana boys delivering drinks to me while I lounge on the beach … Truth be told, I have not really given these phantoms a chance, since I have only been on land twice since we arrived. Yes, it is strange to think I have spent less than 4 hours in the last 2 months with my feet planted on terra firma: dinner ashore one night while we were in Neiafu, and a kayak over to nearby island Nuku’s beach as a reprieve from our home afloat aboard Kailani.
After tying up to the concrete container ship dock in Neiafu, the Tongan officials boarded and Harley filled out in quadruplicate the same information he had submitted online prior to our arrival. Some things never change! Customs still uses a large handwritten ledger for logging all visiting yachts, and relies on reams and reams of paperwork all hand completed to fulfill its officialdom duties, the same as it was 20 years ago when we first sailed here on Manu Kai, and as it had likely been for decades prior. This seemingly archaic system actually proves very smart considering the fact that just a week ago the undersea cable to Tonga was severed, resulting in a Kingdom-wide internet and telecom outage. Updates on the cruisers VHF net indicate it will be 6-8 weeks before internet is restored to the country. So hah– the necessity for all that paperwork triumphs as the smartest approach after all! There is something refreshing about this in the age of endless electronics.
Funny enough, on that day of our arrival into Neiafu we were greeted while waiting for customs by a good friend from New Zealand. He’d heard from another cruiser that they’d seen us come in, proving another constant about cruising these islands – this sailing community is a small world! We had last seen Nigel in 2015, and it was great to hook up and share a couple of beers and meals, a lot of laughs and the requisite batch of new sea stories. He was delivering a yacht to Australia, so he departed shortly thereafter, and it was just a fun coincidence that our paths crossed.
In addition to catching up with and making some new local friends, Harley’s short time in country before flying to the US was all about doing repairs from our passage carnage: the boom vang, wind generator, propane system and main engine all getting their proper due. Since Harley went back to the states I have been anchored here in Port Maurelle on my own. What DO I do with all my time? Other than keeping Kailani’s systems running, my time has primarily been about catching up on some much-needed post passage rest and relaxation, making the occasional new friends as cruisers come and go from this well-protected anchorage, and playing and exploring in these beautiful tropical waters. I swim or kayak every day and am enjoying reacquainting myself with the rhythms of life in these island gems of the South Pacific. I go to sleep with the Southern Cross peaking through the hatch above the bunk and wake to the chorus of roosters ashore.
Although the water is as clear and beautiful as ever, since our last visit 10 years ago Tonga has taken some big hits to its coral and shores. Cyclone Gita in 2018, then the tsunami following the volcanic eruption in 2022, combined with the coral bleaching that is prevalent in these parts due to rising sea temperatures, have killed most of the corals. Despite these, there is still some great nature to experience: I have kayaked over swimming sea turtles and these water’s trademark blue starfish, and under trees sporting hundreds of fruit bats squawking and swinging in the wind while hanging upside down in their daytime roost; I have marveled at the gyrations of the schools of fish that teem around our boat as I do my laps, their collective group flashing iridescent greens and blues seemingly in sync to my strokes; and I’ve chuckled at the ever-clever kingfishers who stubbornly stay aloft on their prime branches above the water whilst I kayak below, turning their heads away, as if saying “you can’t see me if I can’t see you!”.
And what about when it’s not all sunshine, rainbows and unicorns? Yes, indeed, it would not be a Kailani adventure without some drama … For the most part the weather has been great, but there was one night when things got quite hairy. Why does it always have to be at night? In checking the weather I saw there was a front due to pass through, which translates to major wind shifts, lots of rain, followed by stronger than usual trade winds. The forecast was pretty consistent for the days leading up, and the idea was light winds from the N for 24 hours, with lots of rain. Then the rain would clear, and wind would shift for the next 24 hours to the SE at 25 knots, gusting to 30 knots.
So in prep for this event, I put up our bow sun/rain cover, so that I could keep some hatches a bit cracked during the low wind/high rain period of 24 hours, especially since wind from the north when south of the equator translates to very hot and humid conditions. After “cruiser midnight”, aka 8 p.m., when most cruisers are sacked out, I heard three guys who sounded drunk swimming about the anchorage. Their language was foreign to me, but they were swimming around and apparently coming up to boats, as amidst all their laughter and whoops and hollers, I heard the occasional “el-lo!?”. Feeling a bit uncomfortable being alone on the boat in this situation, I decided to deploy “PrisonGate”.
What, you may ask, is that!? A twisted plot of absconded funds between the governor and a prison warden? A fake-news political scandal to launch online in hopes of going viral? Well, not exactly, and certainly not as scandalous … When we as a family were embarking on our journey to Indonesia and SE Asia, we had a special companionway hatch made of stainless steel, that could be locked from inside the boat, and still allow airflow through the boat. Its vertical bars do indeed appear like those in a prison cell. Basically, it’s an anti-boarding device allowing us to sleep less concerned, since Sophia’s cabin was all the way aft and ours all the way forward and the constant droning of fans in the oppressive heat would mask the sounds of someone boarding at night.
So as I fell asleep that night I anticipated at least another 24 hours before the big winds from the SE set in. Yup, I should know by now the weather forecasts have not been too reliable out here in the South Pacific. Instead I woke at 10:30 p.m. to the sound of BIG wind blowing from the starboard side and rain pouring into the two forward hatches. Kailani had a slight heel indicating that we were swinging dramatically to face the wind. I jumped out of the bunk, pulled down the two open hatches then ran aft to get up top. And yes, I smacked RIGHT into the PrisonGate. (It’s okay for you to laugh, I do in retrospect :)) Anyway, I quickly unlocked it, got up top and was met with an absolute wall of water hitting me in the cockpit from the starboard side. Kailani was being pushed from starboard and moving toward shore.
When we had set our anchor we marked it with a float mostly to notify all the boats anchoring after us of its location and by inference, the amount of scope we had out. This is designed to discourage new arrivals from anchoring on top of us, or at least on top of our anchor. Although we find that it doesn’t always work as designed with some folks inexplicably anchoring right where they shouldn’t. And sure enough there had been one small boat that had anchored upwind with over 230′ of scope. His dinghy’s motor and floating toys (which he left out each night) were always getting tangled up in our anchor mark.
When I came up top that night with my million candle power spot light, the first thing I identified was was him very close to my stern port quarter. Apparently as this dramatic wind shift hit and we were all swinging, his dinghy motor fouled up in one of the two mooring buoys which had been upwind of him when he first anchored, and its line was holding his entire retinue of boat and dinghy awkwardly in place. He had jumped in the dinghy and was struggling to free his outboard propeller from the mooring line. When he glanced up at my (ahem, blinding) light he appeared like a drowned rat raiding the larder, and for whatever reason, in all that rain and wind and chaos my mind flashed on a scene from that delightful novel The Wind in the Willows. Random! In terms of the relevant near term situation, at first I thought it was our anchor float he was tangled upon, a very worrying data point to take in. It then became clear that Kailani was swinging free of him, and we were about to drift back over our anchor.
A quick dash to the bow confirmed that the anchor was holding throughout and after this wind shift, so I ran back down below in the next lull, turned on all the instruments, and donned my rain jacket. We had anchored in about 42′ with 150′ of chain out. According to the gps chart the huge strong wind shift had moved Kailani 290′ and 180 degrees from our original position, all in the matter of a few short minutes. The wind was now coming from the west, putting Kailani (and me) on a lee shore with miles of fetch to the west. I prayed that our anchor still held, as a sudden 180 degree shift is recipe for breaking loose one’s anchor, and of course this is the only direction from which the anchorage has no protection from the wind and its resultant waves.
Meanwhile throughout the anchorage boats were dragging, some winding up perilously close to shore. Of the 10 boats in the anchorage most of the smaller ones had chosen to anchor close to shore where the bottom shoals quickly. Although I could not see or hear what was going on through the driving rain and wind, the nervous movement of multiple headlamps suggested that many of my neighbors were struggling to stay off the rocky shore.
I spent an anxious two hours as the rain poured down, Kailani swung through 360 degrees and the wind blew first from one direction and then another with gusts up to 30 knots. I kept going up top to see what was going on with our position, anchor, and the other boats. At one point in a slight wind lull, I saw our anchor mark right at our bow … it was all very confusing to figure out, and I was terrified we were going to wrap our chain and eventually drag. Finally, after about two hours, things settled back down to winds from the SE, with a steady rain. My nerves were jangled as I kept an anchor watch for another three hours, finally deciding at 4 a.m. that the worst was over and things were settled enough that I could collapse in my bunk.
The next day at dawn found everyone in the anchorage okay, although many crew members were going around the bay retrieving various pieces of gear that had come loose and blown overboard during the frontal passage. I noticed that we seemed much closer to our anchor than we’d originally been, and while the winds were now light, this did not account for the shortened distance. Once the sun was high enough for some visibility under water, I swam the anchor. Good news was that it did not appear to have dragged. But as a result of our whipsawing around and the whirling dervishes of winds, I found that the chain had gotten caught on some pretty big chunks of dead coral, zigging and zagging through them, and essentially shortening my effective scope to about 70′. Not ideal.
The weather forecast still showed that by evening the wind was going to reach 25-30 knots steady from the SE, and I wanted my full 150′ of scope back. I contemplated the situation, and decided to try to motor up on each zig and zag, retrieving chain as I moved forward. I used Kailani’s heft as I got to each snag to yank the chain free and managed to do it all without resetting the anchor. Once I let out chain to achieve my original 4 to 1 scope, since I had not moved my anchor I maintained my “stand on vessel” status as the first boat anchored in this bay (essentially important from a liability perspective if there were to be a collision with another boat).
Exhausted, I napped in prep for the oncoming evening. Keeping all instruments on, and crawling into my bunk with my tablet beside me tracking position, I slept. Slept great. The wind was never more than 10-15 knots, the rain abated, and all was quiet on this western front. Phew. Dodged another dramatic weather bullet. More grey hairs for my collection.
So other than that, dear readers, I’m still waiting for that phantom cabana boy to appear while I lounge under a coconut palm … In reality, I will be happy enough when MY cabana boy and daughter return to Kailani in a few days. All three sailing Earls reunited for the summer!
18 42.03S 174 01.85W
At anchor, Port Maurelle, Kapa Island
The Kingdom of Tonga
Thanks for sharing your adventure
Fortunately, you “are Jen Earl!”
Well done!!
My hair turns grey just reading your adventures…you are amazing! Love you, miss you!
Well done. A great story engagingly written. Had a similar experience with foreign weather forecasts, crowded harbors, and scope challenges in Belize many decades ago, so it brought back memories. Looking forward to your summer of family South Pacific enjoyment.
Another harrowing adventure !! Glad Harley & Sophia are back with you now. Safe travels the rest of the way !!
Rob R.
The future ‘Memoirs of Salty Sailor’ (..either of you) are getting ever more full and ‘exciting’. I hope the rest of the month has been less eventful and with lots of family fun. Chat soon.