Bora Bora
The forecast wind was somewhat underestimated for our sail from Tahiti to Bora Bora. The sea state was also larger than expected, but nonetheless, the crew dug deep and we sailed our way through 20 hours to make landfall at 0800 yesterday.
The entrance to Bora Bora is very manageable, with a predicted outflowing current and in the lee of the prevailing winds and sea. We had planned to use a mooring buoy just off the Bora Bora Yacht Club, and there were plenty free when we arrived. As it transpires, anchoring is prohibited here and instead the Bora Bora mooring services manage five different sites, costing just the equivalent of $30 US per night.
The Bora Bora Yacht Club is a separate entity, but for a small fee allows dinghy dockage, showers, toilets, laundry, and rubbish disposal. The cost is subtracted from the bill if you choose to eat at the restaurant, which we did—and it was excellent.
Today the crew spent the morning ashore recovering from our fruity passage before a buffet lunch on board, then headed out to an organised snorkel safari. As I type this, I can hear them regaling tales of their adventure, which took them around the entire island and was seemingly a huge success for all.
Mary is prepping a dinner of fresh tuna steaks and new potatoes with salad as we make water and anticipate another spectacular sunset from Bora Bora.
- Emily
EmilyCaruso
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”For some things, we will never be ready.” - Moana 2
After 852 miles of open ocean sailing, the crew of Falken dropped anchor in Moorea's Cook's Bay—not with a quiet glide in, but surfing down waves in a squall, breaking speed records and cheering each other on through the rain. What started as a plan to "just dip a toe" into offshore sailing turned into something harder to explain: the worse the conditions got, the more alive everyone felt. Turns out the question was never whether the crew was ready—it was whether they even needed to be.
Kauehi conundrum
Kauehi atoll was always on the itinerary—until the forecast made it a gamble not worth taking. Squalls, bommies, a tidal pass, and no clean escape route: sometimes the hardest call in sailing is the one that keeps you out of a place, not in it. The Tuamotus will have to wait.
Hove-to!
Falken is too fast—a problem most sailors would kill for, yet here we are, tacking back and forth across the Pacific just to kill time. A rogue low pressure system south of Tahiti has stolen the trades and scrambled our timing for the tidal window into Kauehi's pass, leaving us hove-to 45 miles short of our target in the Tuamotus. Salt licorice, dream sandwich debates, and a philosophical question about mermaid reproduction are helping pass the night.