The Tuamotus are called the “Dangerous Islands”, with good reason. They consist of 77 coral atolls, stretching 800 miles in a NW to SE direction across the centre of the Pacific. Each is a circle of narrow coral reef on which the Pacific swells pound relentlessly, surrounding a central lagoon. They range from a few miles in diameter up to the largest, Rangiroa, 40 miles by 20.

On the north and east sides of the atolls sandy islands form on the coral, long and thin, no more than a few feet above sea level, hard to spot from more than a few miles away in daylight. The outer reefs, just beneath the water, are deadly. Some atolls have one or two narrow passes deep enough for a yacht to get into the central lagoon from the sea, but which invariably have fierce tidal currents.

We were to visit three of these atolls: Makemo, Kauehi and Fakarava. We chose to go to Makemo first because it was said to have a relatively easy pass in the prevailing easterly trade winds – at least at slack water since the tidal streams reach 9 knots. Just through the pass is an anchorage behind an island with a village.

Central Tuamotu Atolls

Imagine our dismay when closing the atolls on 11th June, the wind increased to force 6-7 and swung round from the east to the north-west, which would blow the large ocean swells directly into the Makemo pass. The weather forecast reported this was due to an unusual cold front passing through, which would bring stormy weather later in the day. It was not looking good for an easy entrance. Two other yachts had tried to get in at slack water around daybreak, but reported the pass was just a tumbling mass of white water impossible to approach. The next opportunity would be at 2 pm that afternoon, which we calculated on the basis of moon-set that morning. The wind eased for a while after mid-day, and at two o'clock, taking our courage in our hands, we went for it.

Sentinel entering Makemo Pass

There were breaking waves at the entrance to the narrow pass with shallow coral reefs close on either side, and she daren’t look behind as Lyn fought with the steering wheel to keep Sentinel from broaching. But soon it smoothed out and all three yachts reached the sheltered anchorage in the lagoon. It was none too soon as the stormy weather arrived at 4 pm and lasted all night. We were very pleased not to have to endure that out among the atolls.

The first thing to strike us was that the boat was still. It had been so long rocking and rolling, since we left Mexico over two months before, that we had almost forgotten what it was like to be at rest, and we had ten glorious hours of sleep.

Makemo

Makemo village was typical. It was at one end of an island about 10 miles long by a few hundred meters wide, made of broken coral just above sea level. The swells beat incessently against the coral wall on the outside of the island, while the lagoon side has a sandy beach, the picture of tranquility. Nothing of worth other than coconut palms grow in the arid sandy soil. It has always been a poor place, once dependent on copra but the emergence of cultivated 'black' pearl farming 20 years ago has made a difference. Generous subsidies from the French mean there is no poverty, and the population is expanding with many children.

The village store was quite well stocked, a couple of freezers of meat plus a fruit and vegetable table with some rather withered specimens, replenished only by the weekly supply boat. There were cockroaches scuttling all over the floor – the locals stepped round them but there were frowns when Andrew stamped on a couple. The post office was near the harbour and next door was a building housing all the officaldom including the policeman and the Mayor. There was a large school that served several of the nearby atolls.

There were three black pearl farms in Makemo. Most pearls are sent to the big jewellery stores in Tahiti, but some are sold to visitors. There is now a glut of these once very rare pearls and prices have fallen heavily to the producers, though a cartel in French Polynesia maintains artificially high retail prices through a strict certification system. So it is much cheaper to buy them loose in the Tuamotus. By visiting the grandest house in the village at eleven in the morning, Madame brought out several zip-lock bags containing hundreds of pearls for us to view. There were many perfect round ones and misshapes that had ridges or were tear-drop shaped. Their colours were amazing, especially the ones with a good lustre. There were golds, silvers, greens, yellows, and purples. We bought four.

After a few days, we sailed fifteen miles north-westward inside the lagoon, to a remote anchorage well away from habitation. The lagoons are full of coral heads just below the surface which must be avoided. It was strange to be in over 40 metres of depth and yet just a boat’s length away there could be a coral head rising vertically to just beneath the surface. If the sunlight is right, the water colour indicates these and they are not too hard to spot, but at other times it is tricky. At the anchorage we met two other yachts. Here were beautifully calm turquoise waters before a white beach backed by coconut palms. There were coral heads to snorkel over or just float on the warm water. In the evening we built a large bonfire on the beach, and gathered there with our drinks and food, some of which was barbequed. Numerous nocturnal hermit crabs crawled out from the undergrowth, as well as quite a few rats, both taking considerable interest in our food (see pic).

For the next two days we explored the narrow island between the lagoon and the ocean. We found evidence of past habitation, in particular an old graveyard overgrown in the jungle. The headstones and crosses were made of crumbling coral rock with faint Polynesian inscriptions with the latest dates in the 1920's.

Kauehi

Our next choice fell on Kauehi, 80 miles away. We left Makemo via the northern pass, with none of the problems of our entry. By early next morning we reached the pass at Kauehi in time for slack water, and crossed the lagoon to the village.

This atoll was the least developed of the three we visited, with no tourism apart from the odd yacht, and the locals were noticeably much more friendly than elsewhere. The lady who ran the tiny village store also sold pearls. She said she had an English father (but she spoke no English) and had lived in Tahiti until she married a local pearl farmer 8 years before.

We asked where we could fill a jerry-can of drinking water, and were directed to her neighbour. All the houses had large tanks collecting the rainwater from their roofs. The neighbour was a charming lady who invited us into her hut for a glass of iced water while the jerry can filled. We managed to converse a little in French, and then we thanked her and gave her a T-shirt. In exchange she gave us a couple of pretty shell necklaces she had made. The hut was typical of many in the islands – no more than a room under a pitched corrugated iron roof, walled partly with breezeblocks and partly with rough block-board. There was a curtain for a door, no glass in the windows, and a dirt floor partly covered with torn lino. A few wooden partitions divided up the internal space a little. It was not very tidy but presumably practical.

Pearl farm in Kauehi lagoon.

A young Kauehi family who we met on one of the boats.

Fakarava

Did I say the entrance to Makemo was rough? It was nothing compared with Fakarava's northern pass, the last of the Tuamotu atolls we visited.

We left Kauehi in a brisk force 6 with many white caps on the water, to sail the 30 miles to Fakarava. We were in company with two other boats, Pegasus and Canella, with three young Brazilians aboard. While reefing, Canella somehow got a rope round their prop and although one of the crew dived and cleared it, a risky venture in three-metre waves, their engine then was out of action.

We made good time and arrived at Fakarava two hours before slack water. With the wind still blowing strongly out of the narrow pass into the lagoon, it was a mass of white water. However, Canella was very anxious to get in, and with Pegasus standing by they asked us to go and take a look. So Muggins agreed. We shut down all the hatches, tied ourselves into the cockpit with our lifelines, started the engine and went for it.

These were standing waves, steep, very close together, and breaking hard, that we were going to hit headlong. We climbed the first, but as we pitched down its back we had no chance with the second. The front half of Sentinel disappeared as solid water swept the length of the boat and the engine screamed its complaints. As we surfaced, it seemed a miracle that nothing had carried away. But we didn’t have time to catch our breath before we were into the next one, then again and again. There was no going back with the current, and to turn risked instant knockdown. It was only about half a mile through the pass, but it seemed like an eternity. Never has Sentinel taken such a battering. At last we were through and began the five miles across the lagoon to the anchorage, though the wind was now howling at near gale force, and the waves tossed spray over us. Behind us, Canella did manage to sail in, risking the shallow side of the pass over the coral reef, where the waves were less steep.

Fakarava is famed for its dive sites and as a result has a sprinkling of tourists. As a result the village was larger and rather less primitive than the previous two atolls we visited. There was a store which actually accepted credit cards, a restaurant, jewellers selling pearls and trips to the pearl farms, and a bicycle hire shop. We had a day out with Ann and Keith from Ketchup II, hiring bicycles, and cycling the ten kilometres or so to the north pass that we had entered through earlier. They were real boneshakers and we were seriously saddle-sore by the time we got back. On the way we watched the weekly plane land at the toy-town airport. About 20 tourists arrived and were duly adorned with floral necklaces while collecting their luggage at the single check-in desk, before being whisked off by minivans to the half dozen pensions. We had planned to find somewhere to snorkle, but it is impossible on the seaward side because of the huge breakers on the coral reefs, though we found dozens of pretty cowrie shells tossed up by the waves on the beaches there.

Cowries from Fakarava

One evening we went to watch the locals practice their dancing for an inter-island contest. This is the famous belly dancing of Polynesia. There was a band of two drummers, two percussionists with special split logs they hit, and two ukuleles. Sixteen women lined up and started to gyrate their hips to the beat of the drums, all moving the same way, sometimes slow, sometimes fast. With their knees slightly bent, they keep their shoulders perfectly still while shaking their hips, the movement accentuated by the pareos tied below the waist. It was a mesmerising sight - even the most over-weight women seemed to manage it with ease. When we got back to Sentinel, Lyn tied on her pareo and had a go. Within a couple of minutes she’d ricked her back and spent the next day resting!

"Life's a beach"

Together with yachts Balu and Ketchup II, we decided to sail the length of the lagoon to the southern pass, where there was an abandoned village converted to a dive resort. The main ‘hazard’ on our route was not the coral heads but the numerous buoys marking the pearl farms, which crowd Fakarava's lagoon. But the passage is well-marked by beacons. We had an overnight stopover off by an isolated beach where we made a camp-fire.

The dive area was right in the southern pass, and it was also excellent for snorkling. We timed our arrival for slack water, so as not to get swept out to sea. What we saw was fantastic. We have never seen so many fabulous reef fish of all shapes, colours and sizes. We swam through and over shoals of them, and every so often a black-tipped reef shark would lazily come by. This with a beautiful backdrop of coral in every colour and shade. It was easy to understand the attraction of this place. After several swims, our picnic lunch and a foray on shore to see the ruined village, it was time to head back to our yachts.

That evening, 4th July, we prepared for our departure to Tahiti.