#7. FALKEN | Marquesas to Tahiti | Kauehi

Saturday, 17 May, 2025 | 1835 Ship’s Time | Approaching the Fakarava Channel, bound towards Tahiti

The contrast between the chaotic anchorage at Taiohae in Nuku Hiva, to the tranquility of Kauehi village couldn’t have been any more stark. Where in Nuku Hiva FALKEN rolled heavily in the unbroken swell which backwashed against the seawall, we sat perfectly still inside the protected lagoon at Kauehi atoll. The mountains in Nuku Hiva blocked any sign of the tradewinds, and instead created excessive convection, turning the sticky humidity into torrential rain that dumped on us for days. ‘No-nos,’ those horrendous tiny sand flies, gave us no quarter in the Marquesas. In Kauehi, the bugs were nonexistent (instead, the coconut crabs ran rampant). The near-zero elevation of Kauehi allowed the breeze to blow freely, and crystal clear water was highlighted in spectacular shades of turquoise and deep blue, occasionally disturbed by the odd yellow-tinted lemon sharks that swam by the boat.

Kauehi was exactly what I needed. Having spent more than two weeks on anchor in Taiohea, it felt like I was just enduring the Pacific instead of truly enjoying it. Don’t get me wrong — I enjoyed it too, immensely, and made the best of our time there. But it wasn’t the idyllic South Pacific from the brochure. Granted, I’m positive that Taiohae is probably one of the worst anchorages in the Marquesas for myriad reasons, but by nature of what we’re doing at 59º North, it was our home base between trips. It was a relief to leave the bay in our wake that day we sailed off and pointed the bow towards the Tuamotus.

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After biding our time to let the daylight come, we sailed down the lee of Kauehi and past the pass into the lagoon, doing a little ‘recce’ to check out the current and get a look at what we were up against. The wind was blowing 15-18 knots from the east, and the tide was running out through the pass at 2-3 knots. It looked doable enough, nice and wide, the water colors clearly indicating where deep and shallow was, and the digital charts dead-on accurate. We dropped the main just west of the pass and motored in, Emily doing the conning and watching the nav while Jim was on the helm. The run up to the village took about an hour and a half under power, as it was too close to the wind to sail, and this being our first time in an atoll lagoon, I wasn’t interested in short-tacking up the channel while dodging coral heads.

Just two other boats were anchored off the beach by the tiny village, really just a smattering of small corrugated roof houses, a short concrete pier, and a gorgeous red-roofed church, which, standing amongst the coconut palms truly made the scene. We dropped the big 120-lb. Mantus anchor in a sandy patch in 30-feet of water and immediately got to work launching the dinghy.

The Tuamotus remind me of the Bahamas, where I went cruising as a ten-year-old with my family for a long winter. Low-lying sandy islands, incredible blue colors and palm trees galore. Except here the islands are spread over a larger area of ocean and there are WAY fewer boats around.

We spent two blissful nights in Kauehi, chilling and exploring. There was no cell service at the village, so refreshingly nobody was on their phones. We spent the days collecting coconuts and seashells on the ocean side of the motu, and the evenings stargazing from FALKEN’s cockpit. Both mornings Ryan and I got up at 0600 to go running ashore, first north on the paved road towards the airstrip, and then today south, with Pim & Sheli, along the dirt path through a coconut grove along the lagoon. Afterwards I swam back to the boat, 800-meters of great exercise basically inside an aquarium, watching all the coral heads and fishes swimming around underneath me.

We met a handful of the villagers, but as they spoke French, didn’t exchange too many words. The crew bought the last of the fresh baguettes from the tiny grocery story, and Grant made friends with a boy on the beach who he ended up giving rides to on his back, the kid pretending Grant was a horse and driving him around the sand by tugging on his ears, first left then right. When Ryan and I test-flew the drone from the pier, the little boy kept asking us to chase him with it — I’d fly it along the beach towards him and he’d run off into the palms trees giggling and asking to do it again.

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The time was too short really, but alas, that’s the nature of our trips. We cover a lot of distance in a short amount of time, getting a glimpse of these amazing places along the way. Heck, it’s only 5 months ago that we were back in Portugal getting FALKEN ready to start the season. That was nearly 10,000 miles ago!

So we weighed anchor around noon today, after a big brunch of ‘mung’ (eggs, potatoes, onions, sausage and cheese, all scrambled up and cooked in a big pan on the stovetop), plus those fresh baguettes and creamy, yellow, New Zealand butter. The wind direction was perfect — we hoisted the main just in front of the village and beam-reached straight out the pass at an easy 7 knots, passing a local fishing boat at the cut who was working the currents, and a catamaran that had anchored in the lee just outside the pass, perhaps waiting for the tide to change or just enjoying the solitude of that part of the atoll.

As I write, we’re heading into my second-to-last night at sea on what’s been a very long stint away from home — I joined FALKEN in the Galapagos on April 2, so I’m almost 7 weeks into this and missing Mia & Axel, but trying to stay present because it may be a very long time, if ever, that I return to this part of the world. Before coming down below to write this, I laid in the cockpit and watched the Milky Way. The Southern Cross is high in the sky off our port beam, and at any given time, some 3-4 satellites were visible at the same time, moving across the night sky.

// Andy