200 miles from anything else resembling land, Suvarov (or Suwarrow) is about the most isolated atoll in the central Pacific. Just eight miles in diameter, you probably won't find it in your atlas. Like all atolls it is a ring of coral reef just below the sea's surface, on which the Pacific swells relentlessly pound. There are a dozen or so tiny islets thrown up on the reef, none more than a few hundred meters long.

There are no permanant inhabitants, though the atoll is well-known to yachties as the home of the yachtsman and hermit Tom Neale, who lived here from 1952 to 1977. Two wardens live here part of the year, John and Veronica, together with their four sons, as Suvarov, which belongs to the Cook Islands, has been designated a national park. For migrating yachtsmen it is the only stopover with a decent anchorage on the 1,200 mile passage between French Polynesia and Samoa or northern Tonga, and so around 100 yachts visit here annually.

We had had a very pleasant 700 mile sail from Bora-Bora in French Polynesia, in easterly trade winds. However, the forecast was warning of a major cold front approaching from the west. Suvarov is in a region known as the South Pacific Convergence Zone, where during the southern winter particularly severe depressions in the Roaring Forties create cold

fronts which stretch well up into the tropics, eventually stalling out in what is known colloquially as the "squash zone", where they create periods of unsettled weather.

As we approached Suvarov on 26th August the wind went light and around to the west, a sure sign of an approaching front. We motored through the pass and anchored behind nearby Anchorage Island with 15 other yachts (see map).

During that evening the wind suddenly started to blow hard from the south. The anchorage, suitable for the normal trade winds, was exposed to the full eight mile fetch across the lagoon, and before long yachts were bucking violently in the steep chop, snubbing on their anchors. One yacht’s chain broke.

Andrew on Anchorage Island

It was becoming too rough to stay put, and next morning most yachts decided to motor across the lagoon to the eastern corner, which would offer some shelter from the waves behind the reef. The trip took less than an hour but was an incredibly wet and salty affair. It was not an anchorage we would normally have chosen, 15m deep among coral heads some of which rose practically to the surface. The anchor immediately snagged on one of them, and to avoid further tangling we laid out just 25m of chain despite the strength of wind. At least we were out of the waves.

Next day we went over to a tiny islet on the reef with Margaret and Brian from Gipsy Days, who are on their way back to Australia after a 15 year circumnavigation. We saw many fairy terns with young in their nests, some fat and fluffy baby boobies (looking just like Sesame Street's Big Bird) and a huge iridescent coconut crab.

But after that for day after day the winds just continued to rage so we were unable to get off Sentinel at all. At times it rained hard. We read lots of books, and the wind generator gave us loads of power to watch videos.

Eventually the wind moved to the east and we returned to Anchorage Island where there was now shelter. We thought we might have kissed our

anchor goodbye forever, dug in by six days of strong winds, but after yanking the chain this way and that for an hour we eventually unwrapped it from the coral heads and recovered it. The warden checked us formally into the Cook Islands, and gave us some fish one of his sons had caught. We gave him a can of bacon. Next morning we were on our way again, headed for Tonga.