Blackwattle in Moorea - No More Smoke

by Nancy Knudsen on 2 Aug 2007 There's no more smoke.

Smoke is a big problem on our cruising boat Blackwattle.

We have smoke from the engine when its injectors are not happy, smoke from the outboard when the carburettor is playing up, smoke from the toast because French baguettes do not toast very well, and the worst one of all, smoke from the ears of the Skipper and Chief Toastmaker about any of the above.

Broken watermakers, falling spinnaker poles, GPS's who are lost, recalcitrant alternators and chafed boom brakes are also all certain causes of Skipper Ear-smoke. Of course there are attempts to deflect the amount of smoke, as when the miscreant outboard motor won't start:

'If you hadn't let that drunken friend of yours fall out of Blackwattle into the folding dinghy and sink it, the outboard wouldn't be so temperamental.'
'Ted that was five years ago, and she fell ONTO ME in the folding dinghy, half drowning me and the dinghy both and breaking my rib in the process, so where's the sympathy? And anyway, if you hadn't been off probably also getting drunk with your evil cousin, it wouldn't have taken so long to get some fresh water into it before it rusted.' (following that old adage that attack is the best form of defense)
I don't get an answer to this, as the Skipper is now pulling feverishly at the rip cord on the outboard.
'You'll flood it,'No answer. More feverish pulling, together with a little quiet swearing.
'Ted I'll row' – I start reaching for the oars as I say this as we are rapidly drifting out to sea with the current.....

These stories always end before we are actually out to sea or somewhere worse, either by scrabbling onto a someone else's passing sailing boat, or by the sudden unexpected starting of the motor, or by the Skipper's grabbing of the oars and feverishly(still feverishly) rowing back to Blackwattle.

... and now, wonder of wonders, there's no smoke....not even in ears.

After the ongoing mini-disaster which followed our six hours of thumping on the sand in the swell in the Galapagos – one thing after another breaking down in the passage that followed - finally all is well. The engine is fixed, the outboard is fixed, the GPS has found where she is, the alternator is working, the watermaker is making water, the spinnaker pole is going what spinnaker poles do, and even the lazy jacks are lazily following their lazy routine.

So here we are in Moorea, more than half way across the Pacific, our last ocean, and finally, finally, the Skipper is relaxed. .This is the Baie dÓpunohu, one of the two deep bays on the Island of Moorea - the other being Cook's Bay. Captain Cook stopped here – what a wonderful find it must have been – easy passes through the reef, towering tropical jungle, plenty of water and fruit trees, friendly Polynesians. .

There are four metres of water beneath the boat, and even in moonlight we can see each stone clearly on the sandy bottom – the shadows of the boat and the dinghy are clear against the ghostly sea bed. Rays, in pairs, black with white spots, drift lazily past down there, close to the sand. In great excitement we see our first Moondog, with the green flash one of the world's magic sights.

Tomorrow I shall row again to shore in the silence of early morning, the coral and coloured fish so clear it almost feels as if I am low flying instead of rowing. I tie to one of the coconut trees leaning over the white corally beach and mooch across the soft grass to the tiny busy store to buy our fesh baguettes. Here the locals gather to collect their morning baguettes and have a chat. ' Yoranna' – they say – 'Hello'

What amazes me about Moorea is not the tourism development, although the five star hotels are pleasingly tucked away masquerading as thatched villages, and we think we deserve the occasional spoiling at one of these.

No, it's that there is so much remaining simple lifestyle of the local Polynesians. Here, in one of the most famous South Pacific resorts of the world, the locals are still leading an idyllic lifestyle.

The fruit trees still seem to be growing wild and the houses, which all seem to be beach front, are surrounded in coconut palms, brightly coloured bougainvillea, frangipani and papaya trees. Unlike on many coral atolls in the world, the Polynesians really seem to love their water. They swim and gambol – the mothers by the shore, the children screaming and splashing as children do, and everyone from lovers to whole families turn up at the weekend.

All our repairs fixed, we swim, snorkel among the rays and coloured fish, delaying our departure for the next French Polynesian island – Tahaa - day after day. Cruising friends come and go and we love their company of course. We enjoy a restaurant or two. Ted takes a diving course (basic). Moorea IS a place we'd like to return to. Let the pictures say the rest: