Some voyages are easier than others. Jenevora Swann narrates a challenging Sail Across the South Atlantic…

Sailing the South Atlantic: The road less travelled

When our friends asked if we’d help them sail Tourterelles, their brand new Knysna 500SE catamaran on her maiden voyage across the Atlantic from South Africa, we jumped at it.  We’d sold our own catamaran a year previously in Australia and were missing the cruising lifestyle and the challenge of sailing into pastures new.  

The trip was also the perfect opportunity for Fergus, my husband, to complete the practical part of his RYA Yachtmaster Ocean qualification. He’d already passed the theory, but the final requirement was to do a passage of a minimum of 600-nautical miles, using the ancient art of astro-navigation. Sailing as part of the crew, instead of his usual position of skipper, meant he could complete this task without monitoring the GPS.

Having never been to Cape Town before, we were delighted the boat was moored in the popular V&A Waterfront Marina. Its central location gave us the opportunity to visit a few tourist attractions including the iconic Table Mountain and the penguin colony at Boulders Beach.  

The marina is home to a sizeable selection of seals, sealions and a rather large Cape otter who, as we discovered, has the tendency to board boats at night, seeking out any items of food that may have been left unattended!

Our plan was to head across the South Atlantic, aiming for the Caribbean, via the two remote tropical islands of St Helena, and Fernando de Noronha – an archipelago off the northeast coast of Brazil. 

We couldn’t rely on the ports we were visiting to have much fresh produce, so we provisioned with seven weeks’ worth of food. Luckily, this beautiful and spacious catamaran is fully equipped with two very good freezers, large fridge, integrated cockpit cooler box and extensive space for tins, dried foods, UHT milk and cartons of juices.

South Atlantic Crossing: Departing Cape Town

Finding the right weather to leave Cape Town proved a challenge.  We hoped for light winds for a few days to get offshore, then we could seek out the trade winds, once clear of the land.  Finally, after a week of waiting, the GFS/ECMWF forecasts showed a brief, but favourable, window. 

Casting off from the dock, we navigated our way through two lifting bridges and left Cape Town. With 11kts of wind from the north, we hoisted the mainsail and genoa and sailed out past Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela was once imprisoned. 

When the wind decreased, the Code G sail was put into action and, running at 6 – 7kts with calm seas and under sail, we were all happy as we settled into our first night on the 1,700-nautical mile sail to St Helena.

With four of us on board, our night shift patterns were very civilised, especially as we were sharing them per couple. On the leg to St Helena, Fergus and I were doing the ‘sunset’ shift of 8pm to 2am, while Ian and Ann had the ‘sunrise’ shift from 2am to 8am. 

Swells & Sails

While we started with the planned low winds, they filled in more than expected, building to 20kts from south/south east.  Under the main and genoa, we sailed well at an average of 6.7kts with one reef in the main.  

Then, without warning, the light sea state changed and became rather confused.  With a 2.5 metre swell at an 8 second interval on the beam, it became incredibly uncomfortable. Thankfully, the confused sea state didn’t last too long and after a few days it settled down and the wind all but disappeared. 

At the start of our second week at sea, we finally had the wind behind us and it was perfect conditions to drop the mainsail and get the Oxley Bora winged sail out to play with. 

This gorgeous sail was like nothing we’ve sailed with before. Cut like a symmetrical spinnaker, it had a wing-shaped kite that is self-inflating. Flying high above the bow of the boat, the sail seemed to dance from side-to-side in the breeze, moving us along so quietly, it felt like we were floating above the ocean.

Seeing Stars in the South Atlantic

Sailing offshore, hundreds of miles away from land and civilisation, isn’t for everyone. You can go for days without seeing another vessel on the chart plotter and it doesn’t take much to realise you’re on a very small boat in a very large ocean.  While this can be scary for some, we find offshore sailing really peaceful and relish the serenity and change of pace. 

Being on night watch adds another element to the tranquillity. With a night sky clear of cloud and no moon to take centre stage, the stars and constellations come out to play, carpeting the sky in bright dots, sparkles and different shades of white. 

Fergus’ newly acquired skills in astro-navigation came into its own.  He had an amazing grasp of the night sky, pointing out the brightly lit planets of Mars, Neptune, Jupiter and Uranus – as well as detailing many of the 88 constellations.

We also had our fair share of shooting stars that zipped around the stratosphere as if on an Formula 1 race track. But our highlight was seeing the occasional meteor streak across the sky; each visible for three or four seconds before disappearing. This is when sailing offshore at night can be simply magical.

St Helena

After 12 days at sea, from 27 miles out we could see the mountainous landscape of St Helena looming on the horizon. Situated almost halfway between South Africa and Brazil, it’s one of the most remote islands in the world. 

Steeped in history, it’s Britain’s second oldest Overseas Territory, after Bermuda. It was once an important port of call for ships sailing to Asia and Southern Africa from Europe and it’s also where Emperor Napoléon Bonaparte was exiled to in 1815, until his death in 1821.

The island was a joy to discover. Walking around the capital of Jamestown was like stepping back in time to an old Cornish village, with its Georgian architecture, typically English street signs and currency, which is pounds sterling.  

On a guided tour around the island, we met Jonathan, a 191-year-old tortoise, who is the oldest-known living land animal in the world. We also snorkelled with whale sharks, who can be seen in St Helena’s waters for three months of the year.

But it was the topography of the island that surprised us the most. From a craggy black volcanic exterior, to an interior beautifully full of colourful flowers and a lush green landscape of trees, flax and grazing animals.  It’s well worth a stopover if sailing this route across the South Atlantic.

Dramatic Times

Our visit was curtailed as a large swell was heading towards St Helena, resulting from a storm thousands of miles away, off the east coast of Canada. The harbourmaster advised the anchorage would be uncomfortable and landing at the dock untenable. So we checked out and set off on the 1,733-nautical mile trip to Fernando de Noronha in Brazil.

Little did we know we were about to face a journey of extraordinary challenges and drama.  

Heading north west, it wasn’t long before we experienced large swells and fickle winds. During the first day, we went through a series of sail changes before settling on the Oxley Bora winged sail. Adding persistent rain and a broken impellor into the mix, it wasn’t the best of starts. 

We settled into a rhythm, with the Oxley sail flying well in winds of 15 – 22kts, giving us an average boat speed of 6.2kts. Shortly after sunrise on day three, a 27kt gust of wind hit the sail hard. 

As the boat slid down a wave in the heavy swell – now at 2.7 metres – the autopilot dropped out, causing everyone to be up on deck very quickly to rescue the sail and steer the boat back on course.

It was a fight to get the Oxley down as halfway through snuffing it, another large gust caught it, refilling the sail and taking the sock back to the top. As the sock line pulled through Fergus’ hands, he got a nasty rope burn as, in the urgency of the situation, he’d forgotten to don his sailing gloves.  

Persevering and in pain, he eventually managed to snuff the sail, but spent the rest of the morning with his hand stuck in a bucket of ice to quell the effects of the throbbing rope burn.

After a few hours of light winds and slower speeds using the genoa, the Oxley was hoisted once more.  Sadly the weather gods hadn’t finished having their fun with us yet and we were subjected to a second large cloud, that crept up behind the boat in stealth mode, bringing 25 – 34kts of wind. 

Ian, our skipper, didn’t want to risk damaging the Oxley by getting it down in such gusty winds, so started the engines and motored forward to reduce the apparent wind on the sail.  

With the uncertainty of the situation and the speed – which topped out at 15.6kts –  compounded by the roaring noise of the wind, I was momentarily terrified.  It didn’t help that the boat was rolling in the swell and there were some very large waves roaring up at the back of the boat.  

A plan was formed to put the genoa out to blanket the Oxley Bora, which could then be wrestled down, this time by Ian as Fergus was operating with only one hand.  Thankfully, within seconds of the sail being snuffed, the dramatic situation ceased; leaving us all in an exhausted, windswept heap for the second time that day.

That was enough to put the Oxley sail away for a while, as the winds were just too unpredictable. So, we ran downwind with just the genoa out, then added a reefed main on a wing-on-wing basis.

Extraordinary Challenges 

A week into the second leg, another much more challenging day loomed.  

Shortly after breakfast, the autopilot malfunctioned, this time, switching off completely.  Fergus was by the helm so put the boat onto hand steer while we got the sails down.  It was difficult to fathom out why it had malfunctioned, but Ian had fitted the boat with a second autopilot, which was put into play.  

We settled back into the day, and were rewarded by a large pod of Atlantic spotted dolphins that swam along in front of the boat, happy to escort us for part of the way in this great big ocean. 

But our joy didn’t last long. At sunset, just as we were making a sail change, the boat’s second autopilot stopped working. With two autopilots malfunctioning in one day, there was clearly something badly wrong and we were 800-nautical miles away from land.

Ian and Fergus went through all the normal diagnostics to try to resolve the issue, but as darkness loomed, we were left with no alternative but to hand steer the boat all night, taking turns on a rota basis.

The next day, we checked all possible causes, trying to understand whether the autopilot fault was electrical, hydraulic, operating system or just a loose connection. The boat was brand new, so to have an issue affecting two autopilots was extraordinary.

Chains of communications commenced with marine engineers, the manufacturers of the boat and of the autopilot. We also received email help on troubleshooting from family and friends as well as from another yacht – and fellow Ocean Cruising Club member – who was sailing nearby.  He had a Starlink connection delivering high-speed internet in the middle of the Atlantic and offered to watch some technical YouTube videos in case he could find a fix. His kindness and support meant a huge amount.

We were now faced with our worse-case scenario – to hand steer the remainder of the way to the island of Fernando de Noronha. Between us, hand steering for six days would be doable, but tiring, especially in the heavy swells. 

Digging Deep in the South Atlantic

36-hours into the issue and we were very tired and incredibly frustrated, but not beaten.  This leg had become a marathon and we were having to dig deep to keep focused, while getting used to a new gruelling shift pattern.  

Each couple did a four-hour helming stint at night as well as individual watches during the day. Taking time out to sleep or rest in between watches became imperative.  

During a spell of calm weather, we launched the Oxley Bora, but it quickly came down when we spotted a small tear on it, probably sustained from its earlier exploits. So we sailed with the two head sails up – the genoa and the Code G – trying to keep a speed up of 5kts. 

When we made landfall in Fernando de Noronha, it was a huge relief. It had been one of the most frustrating and stressful trips we’d ever had. 

Beautiful Island

In between trying repairs and fixes, we got to explore a little of Fernando de Noronha.  At seven square miles, it’s the largest of 21 volcanic islands and islets that are situated 220 miles off Brazil’s north-east coast. Because of its beaches, diving and surfing, it’s very popular with the Brazilian jet set.

We wished we could stay longer, however, it was also one of the most expensive islands we’ve ever anchored at, costing £65 a day.  

Frustratingly, we couldn’t fix the boat’s issues, so instead of hand-steering 2,000-nautical miles to Tobago, the skipper decided we would to go 238-nautical miles in the opposite direction to the Brazilian mainland port of Cabedelo. With engineers and parts more readily available, the boat would rest up at Marina Jacare Village until it was ocean ready again.  

But we end this tough journey with a smile. En route into Cabedelo, Fergus and I were just finishing our final night watch, when there was a strange wet slapping noise, quickly followed by Fergus yelping and jumping up.  By our feet there was a surprisingly large flying fish, which had flown into the helm station and walloped him in the face, leaving a slimy trail of scales from his cheek to ear.

We’re well-versed to flying fish landing on the boat, but this was the first time of being hit by one. Perhaps it was Neptune’s way of just touching base!

South Atlantic Fact Box

St Helena – We stayed for six nights on one of the 25 mooring buoys for £2 per night. Harbour dues were £35.  Due to the swell, it’s difficult to land a dinghy at the dock, so use the ferry service which is £2.50 per return trip.  The St Helena Yacht Club costs £5 to join, which has a very sociable bar and offers use of a washing machine, toilet and showers.  

Fernando de Noronha – While an official port of entry, only immigration can be undertaken via the Port Captain. Boats travelling onwards to mainland Brazil will need to organise a visit to customs. 

Jenevora Swann and her husband Fergus Dunipace were liveaboards on their catamaran Two Drifters for eight years. They sailed halfway around the world from Greece to Australia before pausing their circumnavigation in 2022.

For their latest cruising and adventures visit the Two Drifters Facebook, or the Two Drifters Travel Website.

Tourterelles 

Knysna 500SE Catamaran Owners Version (2022)

LOA: 15.2m (50ft)

Beam: 7.95m (26ft)

Draught: 1.40m (4.6ft)

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The post South Atlantic Cruising: Sailing Cape Town to Brazil appeared first on Sailing Today.

Jenevora Swann narrates an adventurous trip to the Tuamotus in the heart of French Polynesia

With a multitude of coral reef atolls encompassing aquamarine water, secluded anchorages and miles of low lying coconut palm trees, you could be forgiven for thinking you’d arrived in a tropical paradise when sailing in the Tuamotus, in the heart of French Polynesia.

Save for one thing.  When it comes to exploring the South Pacific, the Tuamotus has a reputation among sailors that has long since earned them the nickname of the “Dangerous Archipelago”, due to the shallow, sharp reefs that surround the atolls.  

Lying 930 miles north-northeast of Tahiti, the Tuamotus form the largest group of coral atolls in the world, covering a total area of 772,204 square miles, but with a land mass of just 328 miles.  

Barely rising above sea level, all but one of the 76 atolls are low-lying and are made up of large fringing reefs and tiny motus (islands) that encircle a lagoon. 

They are so difficult to spot, especially at night, it’s no wonder their reefs and currents caused many a shipwreck in bygone days.  Famous British explorers who ventured into the Tuamotus include John Byron, James Cook and Robert Louis Stevenson.

Heeding their ‘dangerous’ reputation, some cruisers sailing French Polynesia barely deviate from the well-marked passes of the two largest atolls of Rangiroa and Fakarava as they make their way south westerly to the Tuamotus from the Marquesas or north easterly from the Society Islands.  Both of these popular atolls have marked channels to the main village, good provisioning and access to a 4G network.  

Atoll Advice

For a skipper sailing French Polynesia, the lack of landmarks and need for eyeball navigation, especially in locating narrow passes, can make entering an atoll tricky. Timing arrival to coincide with a slack tide is recommended as the difference in water height between the inside and the outside of the lagoon creates strong currents, which can result in standing waves in the channel. 

While extra care must be taken when passage planning in the Tuamotus, especially when sailing at night, a confident skipper is all it takes to venture further afield and away from the mass of boats that gather in Rangiroa and Fakarava. 

Once safely in through the various atoll passes, it’s a different world in the protected lagoons beyond.  But the dangers haven’t finished yet!

A good light and someone on the foredeck are essential when crossing the lagoons to the anchorages, as there are many unmarked coral heads (known as ‘bommies’) just below the surface.  From the flybridge of our Lagoon 440 catamaran, we had incredible visibility, making it easier to spot the bommies from the helm. But even so we had a couple of very close calls.

We have always had an intrepid curiosity for adventure, so armed with Google satellite images of the atolls, approximate tide and current times for the passes and reasonably accurate charts, we set off to explore the Tuamotus.

Sailing French Polynesia: Makatea

Departing Huahine in the Society Islands, we motor-sailed 167-nautical miles to Makatea.  It’s not an easy angle from the Society Islands to the Tuamotus, but we timed our journey well and enjoyed flat-calm seas and starry skies. 

Makatea is unique in the Tuamotus as it doesn’t take the form of a typical atoll. Instead, its spectacular cliffs soar 80 metres above sea level to reach a flat plateau, where the island’s incredibly friendly inhabitants live. 

Anchoring is impossible due to the depths and lack of a lagoon, but there are three free mooring buoys.  Their proximity to land is quite close, so this is not a place to visit when the winds are in a strong westerly direction.  Also, if there are no mooring buoys left, be prepared to head onwards to Tikehau.

Makatea spans just over nine square miles and offers great hikes and rock climbing.  In addition to fabulous views and miles of sandy tracks, we discovered a large underground cave with a freshwater pool, which made for a very refreshing pit stop on a hot day!

Tikehau

We enjoyed a fast 50-nautical mile sail from Makatea to Tikehau, with the well-established trade winds giving us a constant 17 kts on the beam.  Entry into the atoll is via a single pass which, due to strong currents, can be difficult at times, but we sailed in and out on more than one occasion without batting an eyelid.  

Tikehau encompasses a large oval-shaped lagoon that spills out onto endless motus with coral-sand beaches, sheltered anchorages and little picnic spots accessible by dinghy.  It’s a charming atoll with a small tourist infrastructure, complete with a couple of supermarkets, restaurants and an organic working farm which sells fruit and vegetables at a reasonable price.  

Rangiroa 

From Tikehau, it was a pleasant 40-nautical mile day sail to Rangiroa, helped by a lovely 15 kts of north north-westerly breeze. This atoll has two entrances, many favour the Tiputa Pass, which is close to the main anchorage.   This pass is also famous for its dolphins who love to play in the large waves caused by the fast flowing ebb tide.

Boasting its own horizon, Rangiroa is the largest atoll in French Polynesia and comprises 240 motus that string together for more than 110 miles, completely encircling a deep lagoon.  

Aside from its laid back lifestyle, the joy of Rangiroa is in the abundance of activities.  Its vast marine life includes diving and snorkelling with sharks, manta rays, eagle rays and dolphins.  At the villages between the two passes, there are a few restaurants, bike hire and a pearl farm.  Excursion boats offer day trips to a beautiful Blue Lagoon, Les Sables Roses (pink sands), sunset dolphin watching and to a six-hectare vineyard based on a nearby coral motu.

With a lull in the wind, we set off on our boat to explore some of Rangiroa’s highlights for ourselves.

Our first stop was Blue Lagoon on the west coast, which is the epitome of a Polynesian paradise.  A small set of motus and coral reef make up a natural inner lagoon, which is no more than five metres deep.  Its beauty is in the water colour, which is an amazing palette of blues, offset by sandy beaches and pretty palm trees.

Not many yachts venture here as the anchorage is unprotected and can be rolly. We arrived just as the last excursion boat had left, so were lucky to have this little slice of paradise all to ourselves overnight.  

The next day, the wind picked up so we sailed across to the east coast which has a wide selection of comfortable anchorages, perfect for hiding from the wind and the swell during the trade winds.  A dream to photograph, Les Sables Roses in the south-east corner is well worth a visit to see some of the most beautiful pink sandbanks in the Tuamotus.  

However, the highlight of our visit to Rangiroa was snorkelling in Tiputa Pass with a friendly pod of bottlenose dolphins.  They swam over and played around us like puppies, nudging and frolicking with each other and then posed for the camera.  It was simply magical.

Fakarava

Fakarava, the second largest lagoon in the Tuamotus, is designated by UNESCO as a Biosphere Reserve.

The Garuae Pass on the northern side is 130-nautical miles south east of Rangiroa.  The entrance is wide enough for cruise ships to enter and in light winds, it seemed easy enough to navigate at all states of tide.  There’s a pretty anchorage just inside the pass which is good for north winds and offers a degree of protection during westerly winds.  

A few miles away is the village of Rotoava, which has a few small supermarkets, restaurants and a petrol station with a large dock.  When the supply ships are due in, the anchorage gets busy as it’s one of the better places in the Tuamotus for provisioning. 

Fakarava is a world-famous diving and snorkelling destination, a gem when sailing French Polynesia.  On the south side, the Tumakohua Pass offers an exhilarating underwater experience as it’s home to the Wall of Sharks.  Diving 24 metres down, there’s a narrow underwater valley, heavily populated with lemon, whitetip, grey and hammerhead sharks.  

Every year, around the full moon in June or July, groupers gather by their thousands to spawn in the pass. The sight is a spectacle in itself, but the activity draws out hundreds of sharks, all there to feed on the grouper.

While it’s a vast atoll, Fakarava has some idyllic scenery with some of the most photogenic palm trees we’ve ever seen set against a backdrop pink-sand beaches.

From Fakarava, there are several options on where to sail to next, pending on the weather.  Either wait for a favourable wind and head to Tahanea from the South (Tumakohua) Pass, then you are well positioned to sail on to Makemo.  Or take a day sail from the North (Garuae) Pass to Aratika, Toau or Kauehi.

At Toau, there’s a convenient false pass on the Leeward side, offering a well-sheltered anchorage with mooring buoys, and access guaranteed at almost any time as there’s no strong outflow of water.  

Sailing French Polynesia: Aratika 

Aratika is 36-nautical miles north of Fakarava. We got to the narrow West Pass – the only safe entrance for yachts – two hours before slack tide with the current flowing out of the pass, which was a little vicious.   Being gung-ho we decided to go for it, which was quite exciting, but, it’s the first time we saw how it could go wrong and were grateful for our two powerful Volvo Penta engines as we did 3kts speed over ground in through the pass with the outgoing tide running at 6kts against us.

There are a dozen large yellow mooring buoys – in good condition and free to use  – scattered between the two passes and at the village. 

Surprisingly few venture to Aratika, which is a shame as it’s got so much to see, especially underwater. This atoll was responsible for my newly acquired love of snorkelling! 

Drift Snorkelling

Drift snorkelling and diving are hallmark experiences of the Tuamotus. In much the same way as boats time their entrance in and out of passes at slack tide, those wishing to drift snorkel or dive will plan their trips on an incoming tide – partly as it’s safer to drift into a lagoon rather than out of it – but also because the incoming currents are rich in nutrients, which is rather appetising for the underwater world.  

I’m a strong swimmer but a very reluctant snorkeler. So, when I agreed to snorkel the East Pass at Aratika, I was well and truly out of my comfort zone. And yet, my experience was exhilarating. 

Jumping into the dinghy, we headed outside the pass and got into the water with our snorkel gear.  Towing the dinghy behind, we were swept back inside the atoll on the incoming current, with the most wonderful below-surface scenes whizzing by in full technicolour.  

It was like being weightless in space as we drifted effortlessly on the beautiful but fast-running, turquoise water. Peering down was fascinating as we saw canyons, crannies and healthy coral, home to rays, turtles, sharks and a multitude of fish of all shapes, sizes and colours. They weren’t remotely bothered by us, yet it felt oddly rude to be so intrusive, staring at them as they fed and interacted.  

With the current moving us swiftly on our insight into their life was fleeting. Blink and you could miss a moray eel sticking his head out of his hidey hole; a white tip shark slinking along in the shadows; a manta ray gliding across the seabed, or a colourful parrot fish sashaying from side-to-side.  

Ordinary snorkelling had never appealed, but this type of turbo-charged underwater voyeurism completely got me hooked! 

Tahanea

A 48-nautical mile sail east-south-east of Fakarava South (Tumakohua) Pass is the beautiful atoll of Tahanea.  With no inhabitants or phone signal, there’s nowhere better to enjoy an ‘off-the-grid’ experience. 

Tahanea is encircled by a fringing coral reef, 30-miles long and nine-miles wide.  Once a designated nature reserve, it’s now only visited by cruising boats.  Many staying for weeks on end, enjoying the peace and quiet, rare bird life, beaches and pristine diving and snorkelling.  

With the anchor set, we surveyed our surroundings. Tall coconut palm trees swayed in the breeze, the crystal-clear water glistened in the shallows and a school of black tip reef sharks swam around the boat, eyeing up their new neighbours.  With no land noise, the tranquillity was spellbinding.  

In pursuit of a Robinson Crusoe experience, our first task was to forage for coconuts. We could use the milk in our drinks and porridge, and eat the coconut meat as a snack – delicious raw and sprinkled with herbs, toasted, or lightly fried.  We also went out at night with a local farmer, visiting from a neighbouring island, to catch coconut crabs and lobsters for our supper.

Without phones and the internet to distract us, we suddenly had much more time on our hands – which took a little adjusting to – but we fell into an easy routine of cooking, reading, yoga, paddle-boarding and exploring.  Not forgetting snorkelling – and we soon discovered Tahanea offers the best drift snorkelling in the Tuamotus. 

With no light pollution, at night we would lie outside on our catamaran’s trampolines, mesmerised by the planets, constellations and shooting stars. 

Tahanea delivered the perfect desert-island adventure. For a short time, the topsy-turvy world we currently live in seemed a million miles away, and our lives exploring this beautiful atoll felt incredibly simple, relaxed and trouble-free.

Makemo 

Makemo is a little further afield in the central Tuamotus and an overnight sail from most islands, but worth the effort. 

It was a 48-nautical mile sail from Tahanea to Makemo’s Tapuhira pass, on the north-west side. There are a couple of anchorages within a few miles of the pass.  Otherwise, it’s 25 miles to the village of Poeheva, which is by the other pass on the east side at Arikitamiro.  

At Poeheva, there’s limited anchoring but boats can med-moor to a long quay without charge.  The village is one of the most charming and pretty we’ve seen in the Tuamotus and the people so friendly and welcoming.  We also found a small pearl farm with a treasure trove of affordable black pearls.

On the eastern tip of the atoll, we discovered several anchorages with an impressive backdrop of deserted motus, swaying palms and incredible pink sandbanks that would appear at low tide.  

Makemo’s relaxed way of life and excellent provisioning – including fuel – meant we stayed for several weeks; venturing off-the-beaten-track to discover uncharted deserted anchorages, which was incredibly rewarding.

Jenevora Swann and her husband Fergus Dunipace were liveaboards on their catamaran Two Drifters for eight years, including sailing French Polynesia. They sailed halfway around the world from Greece to Australia before pausing their circumnavigation in 2022. www.Facebook.com/TwoDriftersTravel 

Two Drifters

Lagoon 440 Catamaran Owners Version 2008

LOA: 13.61m (44.65ft)

Beam: 7.70m (25.26ft)

Draught: 1.30m (4.27ft)

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The post Sailing French Polynesia: The Dangerous Archipelago of Tuamotus appeared first on Sailing Today.