From the Society Islands to Tonga is about 1400 miles, but as we sailed out of the Bora Bora reef pass we didn’t feel the same apprehension that we had at the beginning of the last few. This passage was shorter than the big one from the Galapagos, and the navigation was easier than the trips in the Tuamotus. We would be passing through the Cook Islands but we didn’t plan to stop there. Our engine was very hard to start by this time, and none of the anchorages sounded easy to sail into. Time was flying, too. If we were to make Australia that year we had to move faster.
The weather was beautiful, with a good weather report. Blue skies, white clouds and gorgeous clear water framed one of the most beautiful islands in the world, and as we sailed away from French Polynesia I wondered when we would ever return. It is very difficult to sail from Australia to Tahiti because of the trade winds. Either you sail down in the roaring 40s to get east again and then sail north or you sail around the world, so there was a finality in leaving what is the acknowledged the ultimate cruising destination.

The trade winds were coming from the southeast at about 10 knots and there was a low swell so the boat slipped quietly along as we left the land behind. We were a bit sad to be leaving but Tonga, Fiji and the rest of the Pacific beckoned. Being from West Australia we had never been to the Pacific islands before, Southeast Asia is closer and cheaper, so these places were new to us too.

The area we were to cross contains a weather area called the South Pacific Convergence Zone, or SPCZ. Similar to the doldrums at the equator it is an area of unsettled air that moves around, but it is prone to much higher winds and foul weather with up to fifty knot winds not uncommon. The forecasts we had placed it well to the north at that time, but we listened closely to every weather forecast.
The good weather continued for the next couple of days and we settled into our normal pattern at sea. We were headed a little further south now, and the stars each night were brilliant in the cool, clear air. The sea was full of life. Our wake left a brilliant trail of phosphorescence behind us. Occasionally I could see the shadow of a bird flying by. On the long watches in the middle of the night I could sit for hours just watching the sky and ocean. It made me feel small but a quick glance down reassured me with the familiar surroundings of our home – the boat. I would sometimes look at the ships clock on the bulkhead and be shocked to see that an hour had passed. This was the best time for planning and decision making.

One morning I was checking the weather on the shortwave radio when I heard the forecast we all fear the most – a tropical storm warning. These storms are the only weather systems that pose a serious risk to a blue-water cruising boat. I called Alison and we carefully plotted its position. At first it sounded like it was close, but when we listened again the longitude given was west, not east. The storm was well away from us. It reminded us of the warning we had heard in June for Cyclone Gina, which passed close to Vanuatu in June. We had been sailing towards the Marquesas at the time. It did not improve our mood to hear of a June cyclone when they were meant to finish in March. It was August now, but after the drama of our last long passage nagging doubts were quick to surface.

We were in quite stable conditions and the days passed punctuated by only the smallest events. One morning I decided to rinse our best frypan over the side and let go. We caught a big tuna and lost it trying to get it in the boat after a half hour struggle, then the same day caught another one and succeeded in landing it. One morning a huge school of dolphins visited us for almost an hour. We sat on the bow in the light conditions as they took it in turns to ride the pressure wave under our bow. The small events and the steadily unwinding miles gave us a sense of quiet achievement. This was the way it should be.

We were passing through the Cook Islands now, slanting further south, and the weather became more variable. The trade winds started to come more from the south than the east and we soon found ourselves with the wind on the beam. The boat rocked more and the air was cooler. Clouds built overnight and in the early morning Alison called for me to come up on deck. The wind had risen to a near gale and the night was pitch black. I went forward and put two reefs in the main while Alison played the lines. We bore off a little and our motion eased under the reduced sail, and I went to bed again for an hour or so of fitful sleep.

I woke to a full blown gale. The sea had risen to about 4 meters and wind-driven spume filled the air. We dropped the main altogether and jogged along under the mizzen and reefed genoa alone. We were still making five to six knots in the right direction and while it was uncomfortable it was not too bad, but it reminded us that we were right in the middle of the biggest ocean on earth. For the next day we subsisted on muesli bars and water.
Gradually the wind settled and we soon had full sail again, headed almost directly downwind. We opened all the hatches to let the fresh air in and mopped and wiped up the salt water from where the sea had found its way below. During the gale water had found its way into the clothes locker in the v-berth and all our clothes were wet. I went forward to tie down the fuel can that had been trying to beat its way through the side of the cabin. From the noise it had made in the night I expected it to be sliding the width of the deck, but it had been moving only a couple of inches. When you are below any noises are amplified and prey upon your imagination until you think all sorts of thinks might be wrong.

The good weather held for the rest of the passage to Tonga, with light winds the rest of the way.
‘Land Ho!’, I cried, fully expecting Alison to rush up and look. As usual, though, she was not really interested. I thought after fourteen days of sailing she would be excited but Al seemed to wait until she was anchored to get excited about arriving. The low, green islands of the Vavau group grew as a whale breached in the distance, sending spray high in the air.

The wind dropped further. It began to look like we were going to be late to check into customs and it was Friday afternoon already. We didn’t want to incur overtime fees so we got the engine going and motored through the channel to the main town while we called our friends on the VHF radio to ask them what time customs closed. They laughed at us – it was Saturday! We had crossed the International Date Line and lost a day. We would have to wait until Monday to check in. They all assured us that it was OK to come ashore in the meantime.

We pulled into the main anchorage and anchored. The holding was not very good but the anchor finally held. We tidied the boat, had a wash and went ashore for a cold beer. Tyrene was there and we caught up with a few more of the Panama group. As I sat there feeling dislocated and bemused after the long passage it came to me that we were finally in the Western Pacific. The plants and limestone geology of the islands looked very much like Australia. We were nearing home.