Avoiding Fiji’s Many Reefs

Wednesday, October 5th – Leaving Savusavu, our route will first take us to the island of Taveuni known for its excellent diving sites and scenic waterfalls. To get there, we must make several overnight stops along the southern coast of Vanua Levu before we cross the Somosomo Strait to Taveuni.

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Viani Bay is our destination, so we head northeast toward Somosomo Straight where we will turn west and cut through a reef to gain entrance into the bay.  Though our charts are limited in detail, they do show that we will be going through the reef at a spot where the depth should be between 30 to 50 feet.  The weather is overcast with occasional light rain which is not ideal for reef spotting.  We have a GPS waypoint that is supposed to mark the center of the pass.  We reach the area and turn toward the waypoint, motoring slowly with The Captain on watch at the bow.  We reach the waypoint.  It is still 200 feet deep, and there are no reefs visible nearby.  We creep on for a little more but see nothing. Is there nothing to see or is it the poor visibility?  This can’t be right.  It does not agree with the charts and our guidebook.  Time to abort!  We make a tight 180° turn and head back into Somosomo Straight following our inbound track.  Safe here, we decide to turn off the engine to drift while we have lunch and wait hopefully for better visibility.  The sun does come out after lunch. With better visibility, we head for the pass again, motoring cautiously along our previous track.  Again, we see no reefs, and the depth never goes below 200 feet.  Motoring slowly on, it soon is evident that we are through the reef.  The pass through the reef was wide and deep, and so very different than the charts and guides had led us to expect.  It turned out to be innocuous, but one can never be too cautious with reefs in poor visibility.  A year later, we learned that a sailboat sank after hitting along this same reef.

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Our next stop is Nasau Bay.  We are looking for an interesting place to spend a few days, and this may be it.  There’s supposed to be a colorful reef with excellent fish located along the outer edges of the bay.  Shortly after we are anchored, a panga motors into sight from around a bend in the bay.  A local couple with 2 small children are in the boat.  They pull next to ours.  As is often the case, and not an unwelcome one either in these isolated spots, we wonder whether they have fruit or vegetables to sell.  No.  Instead, they give us 2 coconuts, welcome us to the bay and invite us to visit them the next day at their beach house which we can just see around the bend in the bay.  Delighted, we accept the coconuts and the offer of hospitality.  We’ll see them tomorrow.

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After breakfast, we go out to the reef and find it truly is a special place.  The colors are bright and beautiful, and there are more fish than we have seen in quite a while.  We enjoy ourselves drifting with the current surveying the underwater world around us.

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We find out that this is not their permanent house.  They live on the mainland (Vanua Levu) and come out here on the weekends.  Sia is Fijian, and she has a spot of land further up the bay which she has planted.  They come out here every weekend to tend the crops and harvest what they need.  In addition to what they grow on their plot, breadfruit, papaya, lime and coconut trees are scattered here and there, ready for the picking.  We had read that a large amount of the land in Fiji is communal land for native Fijians only.  This land cannot be sold, and every Fijian is given a parcel somewhere to cultivate as they please.

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We have a delightful visit with this family.  Upon leaving, Sia insists that we take a small pumpkin with us.  One of her boys runs off and hacks down 2 more coconuts for us.  One must admit that it is quite nice to have one’s sustenance right at hand ready for the picking!

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We had read that Taveuni is one of the must-see islands here in Fiji with some of the best diving spots and 3 impressive waterfalls.  Unfortunately, from a cruiser’s perspective, the island has few good anchoring spots.  We anchor off Naselesele Point on the northwest end of the island. 

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We decide to lower the dinghy to explore ashore.  Since our guidebook noted that the nearby resorts discouraged boaters from using their beaches for dinghy landings, we must go around the corner to the local’s beach where there is a dinghy area.  Going around proves to be an undertaking.  We cannot take the most direct route because of a long stretch of reef running out from shore.  Another stretch of reef running out from an island grouping in the middle of the bay also blocks the way.  We have to go all the way around both of these reefs and then carefully wind our way to shore through a long shallow area.

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Returning to the dinghy, we find that, now at low tide, the dinghy beach is a long way from water deep enough to run the outboard engine.  This means we will have to haul the dinghy through sucking, yucky mud until she is able to float free.  Then we will have to pole the dinghy with our oars for several hundred more yards until it is finally deep enough to lower and start the engine.  Talk about mud flats —  most unpleasant!

Tuesday, October 11th – The next morning we again head ashore.  There are a few staples The First Mate would like to pick up at the small store.  It was closed yesterday.  Further up the street, we notice that one of the resorts advertises a gift shop.  We decide to try our luck and there meet a gentleman who tells us that seeing the waterfalls is a full day trip.  One must hire a taxi and be ferried from place to place.  This does not sound as interesting as we had imagined.  We had envisioned a nice hike up to a waterfall as we had done several times in the Marquesas and often in Telluride.  Being dropped off by cab is not what we had in mind.  We also learn that the best dive spot, Rainbow Reef, offers no suitable anchorage.  The best way to get there is with a dive company.  Again, a full day trip.  The problem with this full day trip option is that we are not comfortable leaving the boat floating amidst the surrounding coral reefs.  Wind is up, and conditions are anything but favorable for leaving a boat unattended for a long period. 

10:00 am — We head to Audrey’s for our morning coffee and for some of that information she so willingly dispenses.  She is closed — again — her cat had bitten her, and she is down for the day!

Stymied, we head back to the dinghy.  The tide is not as low as the prior evening, so we do not have to haul the boat that far out before it floats free.  The Captain starts the engine, and we motor on out — for a short while.  Then while lifting the outboard to get over a shallow patch of coral, the engine dies.  It has done this before.  The Captain restarts it.  It stops.  It will start but will not keep running.  We are marooned out in the middle of the bay — in the middle of nowhere with Avante a very far way away.  We take turns rowing and rowing.  Slowly, Avante becomes more than a blip on the horizon.  Slowly, we get there.  It takes over an hour. 

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Our next destination is Albert Cove on the north side of Rambi Island.  It is not far as the crow flies, but we have to go all the way around a reef called Texas Reef, and with a name like that, it obviously is not a small one.  Due to the delay caused by our recalcitrant dinghy motor, it is past noon by the time we are able to lift anchor, and we are well aware that we are going to be cutting it close to get through the reefs into Albert Cove with decent light.  The wind is blowing nicely, but it is coming from the northeast, the direction that we first need to go.  We tack neatly back across Somosomo Channel staying as close as we can to the wind direction.  There is a point of land we have to go around, but we just cannot make it on this tack and with this wind.  Ordinarily, we would simply make 2 more tacks to go around the point, but with time running short, we decide to turn on the engine, harden up the main and bring in the jib.  Finally around the point, we are able to turn off the wind enough to sail.  We enjoy some great sailing for the next several hours, but by the time Albert Cove is in sight, we are running out of good light.

Albert Cove is a fine Fijian example of reefs within reefs.  There is an outer reef, and once inside that, some shelter is offered, but it is through the inner reef into the smaller, protected cove nearer land that one wants to go.  We will have no problem getting into the outer cove as the reefs guarding it are clearly defined by breakers, but we have run out of good enough visibility to get through the low-lying reefs that heavily guard the inner cove.  Well … no problem.  The weather is forecast to be only light winds.  We will just spend the night in the large outer cove and move into the inner cove the next morning. 

Anchoring, however, ends up adding more angst to our evening than we had planned.  We knew we were going to be in deep water but not as deep as we encounter.  Our charts only show one depth for the entire outer cove, and that is 75 feet.  Circling around the cove, the shallowest spot we can find is 120 feet just downwind from the protecting reef on the west side of the cove.  Some 75 feet that is!  We drop anchor putting out almost 400 feet of anchor rode.  By the time this is done and we can breathe a sigh of relief, the sun is setting.

Dinner done, we head to bed looking forward to the morning when we can move into the greater security of the inner cove. 

1330 – Beep, Beep, BEEP! The anchor alarm is sounding.  This means the boat has moved a certain distance from the spot where we had set the alarm.  The Captain gets up to see what is happening.  Usually it’s nothing more than a wind shift which merely means that The Captain has to reset the anchor alarm.  Not this time.  An explosive expletive from the direction of the Nav Station propels The First Mate out of bed.  The wind has not shifted a mere 30 or 45 degrees.  It has shifted a full 180 degrees!  We are now upwind of the nearby reef.  With the wind reversal, we are slowly being blown back along the anchor chain and right over our anchor. With 400 feet of chain out, we are going to be on the reef if we don’t do something. We have to raise the anchor NOW and get out of here even sooner.  We both run up on deck.  It is pitch black out there, no moon, no stars, not a light on shore to define its existence and nothing, absolutely nothing, to show where the reef is located.  Normally, this would not be that big a deal.  Turn on the chart plotter at the helm, and thanks to modern technology, the little lighted screen will show our boat, the shore, the big bad reef.  What more could one ask for?  Modern technology be damned!  Our Chart Plotter had failed on the passage over from New Zealand.  At the helm, all we have to go by now is an old-fashioned compass.  Thankfully, its bit of technology, its illuminating light, has not failed us!

We start the engine.  The Captain takes a minute to help orient The First Mate to what is happening, to compass and to what we have to do.  Then while she mans the helm, he runs forward to start raising the anchor.  400 feet of anchor rode is down there.  It will take a full 8 minutes for our anchor windlass to haul up all the chain.  At the helm, The First Mate’s job is First to keep us off the reef and Second to hold position so we don’t get messed up with the anchor chain.  It is easy to hold the boat to the right compass heading, but with absolutely no visuals, it is hard to tell where we are in relation to the reef.  Depth is about all she has to go by, and depth is rising as the light wind slowly blows us toward the reef.  She puts the engine into forward.  Depth is still rising.  She does not know where the anchor chain is and does not want to run over that.  When 35 feet suddenly appears on the depth meter, The First Mate, who does pride herself on not panicking in tight situations (and we’ve had some) gets as close to panic as she has ever been.  This is too close, and cement hard coral is not what we want to face in the middle of a dark night!  Hoping the anchor chain is anywhere but under the prop, she really guns the engine forward until the depth meter starts moving comfortably upward.  Then she eases back on the motor, but it is a fight to stay oriented in the blackness.  Finally, the anchor is up, and we slowly creep west toward the center of the outer cove.  This is the area where we originally had not wanted to anchor because it is way too deep.  In the darkness, it is now our only option.  When we are a safe distance from the reef, every inch of anchor rode we have follows the anchor down into 175 feet of water.  This is definitely the deepest spot in which we have ever anchored!  We set two anchor alarms this time, hope that the wind stays light for the rest of the night, and head wearily back to bed.

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There is another boat already in there, but we cannot make out its name.  To our delight, we discover, when we finally motor into the cove, that it is Doug and Angela on s/v Solstice.  They are from Nederland, Colorado, and we had met them last May on a hike in the Bay of Islands in New Zealand. 

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The instructions are minimal, but it is fairly obvious what needs to be done to blow the thing up.  The main trick is to make sure all the many valves are screwed on properly and secured.  It would be no fun to start loosing air out in the middle of the bay.  The manufacturer suggests that one pack a pump along on any venture off shore.  The First Mate looks at the innards of the kayak and realizes that small though the pump may be, it would take up a whole seat by itself.  Better to check and double-check the valves.

Bumping it up with the foot bump takes no time and minimal effort despite what The Captain had warned. She ties one end of a painter to the bow of the kayak, ties the other end to a cleat and lifts the kayak overboard into its first dip in the ocean.  It looks just perfect floating out there.  She is thrilled.  The Captain’s comments are unwarranted (All it needs is shark’s teeth to look like a pool toy!) and unfitting (Sea Cow he christened it, and Sea Cow it shall remain).  Ignoring his critique, The First Mate pulls the kayak to the stern of the boat and gingerly slides into it.  Pleased that she and it have not turned bottom side up, she asks triumphantly if the paddles could please be handed down to her. 

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She arrives alongside Solstice with no problem and hails her friends.  They appear from below deck where they had been changing the engine oil.  That was all the hammering?  Well, a few things needed a little percussive persuasion she is told.  We catch up a little, until The First Mate invites them over for dinner so we can catch up a whole lot with The Captain in attendance, too

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That evening aboard Avante, we learn that Angela and Doug had sailed directly to Fiji from New Zealand back in May.  They listen to our frightening anchor incident of last night.  We listen in shocked silence as they describe a nightmare experience they had had earlier in the year when Doug had badly lacerated his hand trying to fix a runaway wind generator.  They had been on the island of Kandavu at the time and were lucky to be able catch a flight to Suva, the biggest city in Fiji, where surgeons were able to save his hand.  Needless to say, the healing and subsequent therapy had disrupted their sailing plans, and Doug’s hand still had a way to go to full recovery.

Like us, they are now cruising the north coast of Vanua Levu but in the opposite direction, and it is here in Albert Cove that our paths have crossed.  They tell us that we are the first boat that they have seen in two weeks!  Since we are traveling in opposite directions, we swap our Fiji experiences sharing things to do and things that could be skipped.  With cruising guide books so limited and so very out of date, this is one of the main ways cruisers obtain information.  Call it an ocean Swap Meet!

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