Little Islands You Don't Know About

Before owning my own boat, I crewed on a boat traveling to little known places.

I remember the day well. We looked at each other, both disappointed in what we had become: too settled, too wifi’d, too close to Carrefour and too in love with sailing to be caught with our pants down — in flagrante with our marina love affair.

It was time to cast off. Time to see what was around the corner, over the hill, around the bend and in our case, more than a day’s sail from Tahiti.

We decided to cast our lines from the docks of Papeete and head for the Australs, a chain of islands 300 miles SE of Tahiti. Off the beaten track, especially in November, the Australs are rumored to be fantastic. Well, Somebody Has to Do It, we decided. A Perfect Adventure, we said.

We congratulated ourselves on breaking through our marina malaise. We provisioned the boat like we were heading for the Antarctic — perfectly reasonable, we argued — Do they even have brie there? We set a sturdy bearing of 198 and saluted each other as though we were Jack and Stephen from Master and Commander.

Rurutu

Our passage was what one would expect — a true test of getting our sailing legs back in shape. Little squalls here and there blocked out the vast starry sky and one of us had the ridiculous idea to hand steer a portion of each watch to conserve batteries.

Nonetheless, on the morning of the third day we sighted the NE shores of Rurutu. The most northern of the Austral islands, it’s marked by hovering cliffs that either drop without warning into the sea, or slope gently upward into rounded peaks. Ahoy, we said feebly to one another.

Our arrival coincided with the off-loading of the provisioning ship that supplies remote islands with everything from food to cars to vast stores of fuel every two weeks or so. No brie though, we thought with satisfaction.

Like a small puppy, our 43’ Hallberg Rassy sniffed around the large provisioning ship anchored outside of the harbor; we were unclear if there was enough room to navigate the pass as the ship took up court on the pass’s northern edge. Terrified, we slipped past her port side and smoothly navigated the short harbor pass. We chose a Med anchor method — anchor down, two stern lines to shore. There! we said. It’s always exciting to look like we know what we’re doing!

As we settled in, the locals began to amble towards the quay; church was over and the explosion of brightly colored dresses, striking Polynesian floral shirts and beautiful hand woven hats charged our senses to such a height we grew inches taller. It was unusual for locals to see a cruiser this time of year — particularly a couple that seemed perplexed they weren’t in Tahiti anymore.

After a quick recovering beer and some cheese, butter and a little bit more cheese, we set ourselves on shore. There are three villages on Rurutu, with Moerai anchoring the largest (but small) harbor on the island. Three families ‘run’ this island, each family securing their own village. A French nurse befriended us (clearly no one warned him) and told us the backstory; not a lot of ‘new blood’ settles on Rurutu, and marriages between the villages secures peaceful relations. He continued: The locals change their name frequently, as the long arm of the law can find a few renegades here. All rumors of course, he assured us. We eat it up. After all, nobody wrote any of this stuff down!

After checking in with the Gendarmerie — a requirement after one checks out of Papeete — we were told, retold, then maybe out of exasperation, shown a series of grottos accessed via an obscure jungle trail. The coral surrounding the island lifted over time — in some places over 500 feet — creating tremendous caverns burrowing into the island landscape. For centuries, these protected caverns have been used as storm shelters and the locals huddle together here during cyclones. They are indeed beautiful! We looked at each other, impressed like when we launched the spinnaker correctly for the first time.

We stumbled out of the lush hillside, blinking and amazed. Our Austral Adventure had just taken on new heights. As we walked back along the paved road to the boat, It was possible to pick grapefruit, soursop, chilies, papaya, lychee nuts and mangos from the side of the road. We were too shy to do that, but we were often invited to. Eventually, we tenderly picked our first avocado during a hike. Then, more daringly some chilies. Then we found ridiculous ways to harvest papayas until our shyness dissolved and we began disagreeing how ripe a grapefruit had to be before we picked it. Things were getting out of hand.

And then we found out about the coffee. Rurutu has a coffee plantation nestled up in the hills, and we saw coffee plants heavy with unripe (which we argued about) beans. The coffee farm was closed, so we bought four pounds of coffee with the intention of sending it off to friends and family. They’ll Love It, we said, nodding our heads, pleased with our benevolence. After weeks of ‘test tasting’ the coffee we decided prudently it would be illegal to send this stuff abroad; It’s Good Stuff, Man, we said.

Weeks passed — a testament to the hold this place had over us. After school the kids wander down to the tiny port and jump into the water with their clothes on. We delighted in their exuberance and jumped in with our clothes on too! The adults seemed to be particularly fond of watching us during these ‘expansive’ times.

One day we rented electric bikes that took us high into the hills on over-grown forest roads. We were grateful for the electric assist as some of the inclines were steep, but really we were just out of shape. We rode the backbone of the hills, capturing views of the north and south ports of the island. The trails can be razor thin and in some areas we left our bikes against a tree (because would insurance cover this?) and hiked up. The views were stunning with the Pacific Ocean stretching for miles in either direction, a reminder of how unique and isolated this island is.

Near the last few days of our visit, we decided to solve a mystery we noticed during our stay; locals collected dead, white coral and piled them over a foundation of cut logs, forming huge lodge-shape mounds along the beach. We placed a bet with each other what these piles were about. ‘A shrine!’ I said, inspired by a documentary we saw the night before. ‘A burial site’ the captain said, probably thinking about what to do with me.

As it turns out, once a month a heat searing fire is set and the coral burns for days, eventually being reduced to a white, powdery substance used for whitewashing buildings, road barriers and other structures.

Tubuai

The winds turned in our favor blowing from the NE and it was time to depart Rurutu for its sister Tubuai. It was hard to leave, but mouthing Adventure to each other was like a whip to our flanks.

An easy overnight sail 115nm SE delivered us safe and sound to Tubuai’s shores. Her ring of coral reef opens up to an easy pass with ample locations for anchoring opposite the little village of Mataura. We followed the pass markers, then veered into open territory, dodging bommies with highly effective Oh My God yelps. We dropped anchor and took stock: Beautiful motus bloom around the island — some of them just strips of white sugary sand, others more developed providing shade and camping spots for the locals. We learned a ‘little lesson’ the hard way; seeking permission before exploring motus is akin to requesting the car keys — ask nicely and be home before midnight.

Going ashore, we discover our foraging habits thwarted. Adorable veggie stands ring the road selling everything we had become accustomed to picking for free on Rurutu. Fresh greens are plentiful as the climate shifts noticeably, creating an agricultural mecca here. Horses and friendly pigs tied here and there watch us amble by while two volcanic peaks hold court from above. Local homes facing the sea sit behind lush gardens, some with small shops where you can buy anything from fuel to flip-flops. We bought both!

Hiking Mt. Taitaa to the east was next on our list. The groomed trail lulled us until occasional bush-whacking and reignited our fear of ‘crawly things’. We climbed beyond the pine trees and into the mist of the clouds. We ate our lunch (mostly brie) on the peak of a rock overlooking the entire island. The view was magnificent with edged green peaks sloping down to arable land with creeks and valleys blending into the turquoise sea.

From there we continued our hike down the other side, towards the college. The altitude coolness gives way to a more static heat. It was here on the back trails that we assured each other everything ‘might’ be for the taking; like an old habit hard to break, we ‘foraged’ sun-warmed bananas, happy to be picking food with our own hands. It wasn’t brie, but we weren’t sure cheese of any kind was a contender anymore.

Not to be outdone, we also ascended ‘l’homme couché’, or ‘Sleeping Man’. This hike is more advanced — that is to say ‘don’t look down’ — with steep inclines and only branches and your guts to hold onto in some parts. The last few meters of the trail feels like you are hugging the mountainside, however my Swiss captain took it like a walk in the park. Damn him!

Ravavae

Reluctantly, it was time to move on. We provisioned with as much fresh produce as we could; there would be few fruits and veggies as we moved further south.

Ravavae aligns to the very idea of saving the best for last. We had been told this island rivals Bora Bora and is the Pearl of the South Pacific. After an easy overnight sail on NW winds, we spotted Ravavae’s jaw-dropping plush peaks. As if this wasn’t enough, we were escorted to her shores by an amazing display of trade wind clouds hovering over the water like epic portraits. All that was missing from this regal reception were kettle drums and trumpets!

The north pass was easy to navigate and we found anchorage near the provisioning dock in Rairua. Standing on the stern we looked at the village under grey skies; low government buildings slung like peasant legs across the shore and a huge satellite dish yawned like a dog. A stocky cement dock barely had tired charm. This didn’t add up to the Bora Bora vision we expected. Perplexed we asked each other, Is This The Right Place?

We hauled anchor and headed under engine power east around the island. As we rounded, Ravavae opened up in all her majesty —our awe and relief was louder than the engine! Soft, undulating white sands of ‘Motu Piscene’ flowed like wisps of seaweed through turquoise waters. Palm trees swayed and mixed with pine trees along the beaches. Isn’t That Illegal? we asked each other.

We anchored on the far eastern side of the motu and counted over twelve cruisers hunkered down for the hurricane season. Kite surfing is a draw here as the winds slide down the mountains, creating dependable drafts the kiters seize to skate the bay. But it wasn’t until we climbed Mount Hiro — more than 1400ft above sea level — that the full magnificence of the motu and of Ravavae stunned us into picture-taking silence.

Like any inspiring viewpoint, the path to the top is usually worth the climb. Mount Hiro was no exception. The trail on the south side is quite steep in the beginning and locals have secured ropes to help with the ascension — challenging but not scary. Ferns as tall as an average adult can make you feel like you’re a bug in the grass, — oddly curing us of our ‘crawly things’ phobia.

Once at the top of the peak, a full 360º view of the island and the surrounding reef confirms it is as beautiful as rumored. Verdant peaks and crests frame the gorgeous white sands and turquoise waters of Moto Piscine; deep blues of the sea surround the coral ringing the island, — the entire composition delivering a postcard beauty that one often ponders behind their desk in a nine-to-five job.

We headed east along the descending ridges, and finally dropped down the sloping flanks of the north face, the trail easing us gently into someone’s back yard. Or at least we thought it was the trail…

Days turned into weeks and our reluctance to sail away grew. Onward! we finally said, licking our fingers and testing the wind.

As we moved out of the north pass and back into the sea sailing towards the Tuamotus, it was clear the Australs had left a deep impression. Each island was an expression of its own charm and uniqueness against the constant backdrop of Polynesian generosity and beauty. Each island was hard to leave, and yet each new island whetted our appetite for more.

To the Australs! we said as we raised a mug of water — it’s all we had left. That and maybe a scrap of brie.

Did you know? In 2014 I quit my job and started sailing -an uncommon thing from where I’m from. Since then I have sailed Alaska to Australia (took me seven months!), all over Pacific Mexico, and spent several years sailing the Med, including Cyprus, Greece and Turkey. You can find my images on instagram: rubyatsea.

I now own my own boat and am circumnavigating single-handed, one of the few women in the world doing such a crazy thing.