Zachary!

If life were like an ultra-absorbant boat towel, then it’s safe to say Zachary, Michael, and I just spent ten days ringing out every last drop of water.

Zachary arrived, Fantasy Island-style, in a small plane. The scent of frangipani flowers filled the open-air terminal as the site of him—tall, thin, and strikingly handsome, took my breath away. After a forever moment, I let him slip from my arms into Michael’s bear hug and felt my cheeks bloom from the buds of my smile.

Provisions were scarce in Fakarava earlier that week, to the point that our meal plan for the next two weeks included fresh-caught fish, even though we had caught notta one since June. We reassured ourselves that Zachary could survive on nuts alone, and we were smart enough to buy plenty of those before we left Tahiti. We had mapped out the sails, anchorages, and activities for the entirety of his stay. So, regardless of the well-known proverb, A sailor’s plans are written in the sand at low tide, Zachary’s visit with us would be a predictable piece of cake. 

With a smooth sail to Toau (15 knots on the beam), two successful atoll pass navigations, and endless hours of incredible snorkeling behind us on day four, there was no reason to feel otherwise, except for the weather report.

Squalls, squalls, and more squalls were forecast in bands followed by strong North winds, making our plans untenable. So, the Captain suggested we go Northeast to Aratika. Michael reasoned that this small, remote atoll would offer us the protection we would need from the wind and fetch. We had never been, but Zachary is an adventurer. So, we raised the main, unfurled the jib, and sailed into the unknown.

Ominous clouds loomed, but I remained focused during our journey. My goal was to continue protecting my firstborn from the sharks of French Polynesia. In Toau, I valiantly fended off black tips, white tips, and even a large gray reef shark.

If it weren’t for the invention of speed rummikub and endless hours of chit-chat, I might’ve thought it wasn’t worth the risk. Still, my duty to defend was unwavering in the name of remedial coconut hacking, paddle boarding, and preparation to catch that ever-elusive fish. I was the best (and only) woman for the job.

We arrived in the Northeast corner of Aratika, dry and fishless. Wondering how we would entertain Zachary for the next three days, I nudged Michael. He said our options were to snorkel the pass (sharks!), check out a house that might double as a store, or walk to town. We started with the pass, a cavernous underwater playground with death-defying drop-offs and oodles of adorable humphead wrasse fish. Then we dinghied to shore. There we met Ana from Anaa. She insisted on giving us a ride to a festival. What type? We had no idea, and it took us the entire journey to understand that Ana’s name and birthplace (Anaa) were remarkably similar!

After eating waffles topped with chantilly in a hut restaurant, Michael decided to check on the dinghy in the rising tide (which was actually falling), while Zachary and I stayed in town to meet Mayor Sylvia and bide our time before the big event.

It was a riveting coconut toss competition. And to think we watched this nail-biting event while Michael did nothing but get himself thrown off the dinghy when the throttle slipped from his hand! He was going upwind at full speed, intending to meet us at the games when it happened, so obviously, his brief time alone was clock-watching-dull compared to ours.

Michael really needed to turn things up a notch, don’t you think? So he decided we should leave Aratika through the less-traveled, skinny, Z-shaped East pass (complete with an in-your-face shipwreck for our viewing pleasure) and sail to Fakarava under an on-again-off-again rainy sky in wack-a-doo seas. It was all fairly nauseating until, you guessed it, he caught THAT fish. 

I can barely remember the blood, the mad rush to the emergency clinic on the Sunday evening before Christmas, or the four stitches to his thumb. Zachary can attest that Michael and I never argued because he refused to get in the dinghy before calling Ralf on SV Flora to come over and clean his precious fish. All I recall is dinner. The three of us ate fresh tuna poisson cru, prepared with mango, nori, and black sesame seeds over sushi rice on Gerty. Yum!

Our time with Zachary moved at the speed of the stars we watched shoot across the sky one night from Gerty’s bow. At the final hour, the anchor wrapped around a bommie. We couldn’t get it unstuck and I took it as a sign. We can keep him, I thought, but we couldn’t. We had to bring him back to that open-air, frangipani smelling airport terminal and watch him trace his footsteps on the tarmac. We had to feel the burn of tears welling up in our eyes, say, good-bye and let him go do what twenty-six-year-olds are meant to do…

And we had to squeal and do the funky jiggle-jumping dance when he said he would be back.

Last remarks

• Thanks to Maggie and Scott for having us over for Mexican train dominoes and fresh bread. Zachary officially joined the cruising culture on your boat, SV Adiona.
• A thousand Thank Yous to Ralph SV Flora and Ralf SV Lille Venn for taking Michael’s frantic call, cleaning THE FISH and the boat. What a mess! Now we’ve all got another story to tell!!!
• Last but never least. Thank you to Zachary for making the trip. There is no blog, nor words to express how much we appreciate you taking the time to adventure with us.