French Polynesia Part 3A: Windward Island(s)

'Ia ora na friends and family,

Mauruuru for your patience. My (Denise’s) computer broke recently, and we decided to wait until we were in a place that could fix or replace it rather than try to write any posts on my phone–a task that would have taken more than a few night watches.

So the post here means our sailing season just ended, and we’re finally back in the crisp, cold Pacific Northwest. It’s cozy. No anchor to watch, no weather windows to obsess over, no hull to scrape. Just evergreen trees, time with loved ones, and the devastating and inescapable downward spiral of our democracy. Oh and Trader Joe's!

Despite our excitement for supermarkets, returning to the States this time felt uneasy. I’m worried about the implications our political climate have on the future of our environment and our humanity; so recommitting to this blog and reliving the happy islands we visited pre-election is a form of therapy. I can pretend we’re still there and hopefully, if I explain it all well enough, maybe you can too!

We’ve explored so many magical places since we last checked in: Suwarrow Atoll in the Cook Islands, Independent Samoa, the Kingdom of Tonga…but I’ll first start where we left off. This post explores the first half of the last island group in our French Polynesia series: The Society Islands, primarily Mo’orea. Huahine and Taha’a will get their own post.

Tahiti…Briefly

We left off our last blog post with our adventurous (read: scary) exit out of Taou Atoll. Crashing through big seas wasn’t the optimal start to our passage, but it was the safest option we had. While we chose the best window to cross in a two-week period, “best” was a low bar during this month of so many storms. With a forecast of stronger southerly winds on the second night, we were anxious to get protection north of Tahiti.

We knew we’d feel relief when Tahiti’s hourglass silhouette came into view. What we didn’t anticipate was the overwhelm of it all. After months at sea, our eyes learned the secrets of the dark and our ears, the quiet. Our still life of moon and stars was now engulfed with strobe lights from cars, buildings, street lamps, and planes. The capitol city of Papeete looked almost on fire.

Tahiti has always been the center of French Polynesian life–for culture, for politics, and more recently, for tourism. It felt powerful to be this close to it all. Hugging the north coast, we nearly felt the heart beat of Tahitian history.

For generations, sailors flocked here. From the 1950s onward, grand adventures became synonymous with Mai Tais and Tiki statues. Tahiti’s carefree attitude appealed to the wild abandon in every sailor’s heart, and boats arrived faster than they left.

Unfortunately, then the pandemic hit, stranding too many boats here and causing too many overstayed welcomes.

Since then, French Polynesia tightened its restrictions in this area. The island of plenty became the island of confusing bureaucracy, exorbitant berthing costs, anchoring restrictions or bans, and sadly–cold welcomes. The Tahiti of 2024 is not the Tahiti of the 1960s. It’s not even the Tahiti of 2019. From everything we’ve heard, too many boats detract from the charm and intimate connection Tahitians have with the sea. And, as in all communities, some bad apples ruin the reputations of all sailors. We’re unsure what the future of cruising will look like here.

In contrast, moving through the Tuamotus felt like wafting through clouds, like an out-of-body dream. We didn’t want the dream to end, so we sailed right on by Tahiti, straight to Mo’orea.

It wouldn’t be the last Dave would see of Tahiti. But that’s a story for the next blog.

Mo’orea

We believe we made the right choice. Though only eight nautical miles from Tahiti, Mo’orea carries the rugged charm and beauty of the outer islands. Imagine the turquoise waters and white sand beaches of the Tuamotus but with the sweeping volcanic mountains of the Marquesas and the well-kept trails of the Pacific Northwest. Now saturate each color. There’s a reason the movie South Pacific was partially filmed here; Mo’orea is paradise found.

We entered Avaroa Bay around 5 am and anchored at the head of Cook’s Bay. We don’t usually enter unfamiliar anchorages in the dark, but the northern bays are like everything on Mo’orea–welcoming and easy. Cook’s Bay was named after Captain James Cook for his voyage in the late 18th century. It wasn’t a very good name though as his party didn’t visit this bay; they visited the one further west. And Cook wasn’t with them. The laid-back locals in the nearby village of Pao Pao didn’t seem to care so we didn’t either.

We continued to feel the laid-back vibe in town. At the town halls in the largest towns we visited (Rotoava on Fakarava and Taioha’e on Hiva Oa), we were to pay a small fee for use of drinking water and garbage disposal, all on an honor system. Here, the official just smiled, said it wasn’t necessary, and did what all workers here do: closed her door and took a three hour lunch.

When Dave and I later ranked our favorite places in French Polynesia, Mo’orea topped both of our lists. We spent our days hiking through rainforests, snorkeling in reefs, scuttlebutting with locals and sailors at the dinghy docks, exploring new anchorages, and watching fishermen coming in with their catch. Every morning and evening, we sat out on our deck to listen to the roosters and greet the local rowers. Rowers were abundant in Mo’orea, their speed and agility passed down generation after generation from the best of Polynesian seafarers.

We stayed for two wonderful weeks before reluctantly moving on. If we had a long-stay visa, we would have lingered much longer. We had two weeks left on our visa and the Leeward Islands still to explore.

Photos!

Cook's Bay

Cook's Reef (Cook hadn't been here either)

Ōpūnohu Bay (the place Cook's party actually went)

I've mentioned this in this blog before: I often rank places by how friendly and healthy their cats are. Friendly cats= friendly people. Like Fatu Hiva and Mazatlan, Mo'orea ranks high.

Ōpūnohu Valley

The Ancestors' Trail cuts through the Ōpūnohu Valley and follows a historical path of maraes, or social, political, and religious importance. This marae was used for priests to perform rituals.

A council marae for chiefs and nobles to discuss matters of war and negotiation. This marae was used up until the early 20th century.

An archery marae overlooking Ōpūnohu Valley: Each chief would appoint their top archers to compete. The archers would use the groove in the basalt to lunge forward and aim their bows upwards. The aim was to shoot 230 m through a carefully cleared corridor. Men would stand alongside the path down the sloop of the mountain to confirm the arrow's landing. A marae stood nearby for worshipping the god of hunting.

Mount Rotui between Ōpūnohu Bay on the left and Cook's Bay to the right

Cook's Bay

Swing on Three Pines Lookout

Exploring underwater tikis just outside Ōpūnohu Bay.

Can you tell which boat De Novo is? Hint: she's the smallest.

It was fun to catch up with old friends in Mo'orea. We met Kevin on Andante first in Monterey on the way down the coast in 2022 and then later in La Cruz, where prepared for our passage together earlier this season. He took the ferry from Papeete to meet us for some hikes on Mo'orea.