Circumnavigation by Sea Kayak of Tangaroa

By the time we reached the midpoint of our crossing, the wind began to increase noticeably. After an exceptionally powerful gust, I glanced over my shoulder in the direction from which the wind blew. An ominous mass of black clouds was racing straight toward us. “Let’s get our skirts on!” I yelled to Nadia. Though we always kept them on deck within easy reach, we’d grown accustomed to paddling without our spray skirts in the calm lagoon. We quickly snapped them in place, and just in time.

Wind-driven rain lashed our faces as the squall overtook us, and waves broke over our decks. Moments later, my straw hat was gone, swept away by the wind. I gripped my paddle more firmly, taking rapid strokes to avoid capsizing. Leo and Michael, as usual, were far out in front. The gap between us had grown wider when we’d stopped to put on our skirts. Soon we caught only glimpses of them in the rough water ahead.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the squall was gone. The sea quickly returned to its former tranquil state, and the sun reappeared in a fast-clearing sky. I was grateful that no one had capsized, and vowed to be better prepared the next time we faced an open-water crossing.

Everyone was still energized from paddling through the storm when we stepped ashore at Marina Iti on the island of Tahaa. We were greeted by a gracious French couple who were happily living out their dream of running a charming pension in the South Pacific. They served us a memorable lunch of poisson cru, the popular local dish of fresh raw fish garnished with salad and garlic sauce. Hearing about our stormy crossing from Raiatea, our host replied, “Oui, the little squalls like you experienced today are violent, but they pass quickly. We like the south and east winds here because they generally bring good weather. But when the wind turns and begins to blow from the northwest, no one tries to cross the channel to Raiatea.”

The next day we continued along the deeply corrugated western coast of Tahaa until we reached the mile-wide mouth of Baie Hurepit. The chart on Leo’s deck revealed a deep, rapidly narrowing bay that wound far back into the mountainous interior of the island. We had to paddle in and investigate. As the bay narrowed, we began to experience strong headwinds. I recalled warnings about dangerous katabatic winds that appear suddenly when the sun warms mountains around a coastal inlet. Fortunately, the same precipitous topography that encouraged the wind to blow so powerfully also allowed us to paddle close to shore and remain sheltered from its full force.

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Leo calculated that we had paddled more than 100 nautical miles in our circumnavigation of the sacred islands of Polynesia.

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Later, we landed on the dock at a pearl farm. The most beautiful pearls in French Polynesia are reputed to come from the broad lagoon that surrounds Raiatea and Tahaa. I selected a rare silver one that matched the color of my wife’s hair.

When we returned to our kayaks, an old woman was gazing out toward the open bay. Watching us prepare to launch, she made an unmistakable gesture with her hands to warn about rough water.

But the gusty winds from the mountains were behind us, and we raced across the fast-widening expanse of Baie Hurepit. Reaching the lagoon once again, we encountered a stretch of water where the wind waves reached shoulder height and rebounded against each other as they encountered the shallow coral bottom. We moved farther offshore to avoid the shoals. In spite of the chaotic conditions, I could hear Michael singing ahead. Then his singing ended abruptly, replaced by a shout from Leo. Michael had capsized.

As I raced toward him, he made several attempts to re-enter his unstable, half-flooded kayak. I came alongside, grabbed the hand pump off his deck, and began emptying his cockpit. Fortunately, the wind was pushing us north along the coast and not toward the island where waves broke across the deadly coral. Once again, we had been surprised by the normally placid lagoon.

On our seventh morning, we bid the quaint little fishing and farming community of Patio, on the northern end of the island, a fond au revoir. Soon we were back on the windward side of the islands, headed south on the final stage of our journey. Fortuitously, the trades had swung around to the north, and the wind and waves were at our backs. Even with a paddling style that had grown more languid and rhythmic, we made good time and crossed the channel back to Raiatea without incident.

Leo calculated that we had paddled more than 100 nautical miles in our circumnavigation of the sacred islands of Polynesia. To kayak even this small portion of the exploratory route of the indigenous Maohi had been memorable. We felt deeply connected to those courageous explorers who had traveled such vast distances to discover and settle these majestic islands. We understood why they considered Raiatea and Tahaa to be sacred. For a while at least, we had paddled among the children of Tangaroa and we too had become a tribe of water people—the Wasa Nui.

Michael Powers is a professional photojournalist who recently published a book of essays and photographs about sea kayaking around the world.