Although both are part of French Polynesia, the Tuamotus are the inverse of the Marquesas. While the Marquesan Islands are wet and hot mountainous rocky crags, lacking in intricate coral structure, the cooler low Tuamotuan atolls rise up only six meters or so above the surface. Less rain falls here, and the oceanic lagoon water inside the containment of  a near- perfect circle of coral is  crystalline and warm. Open ocean navigation between these boat-killing low reefs was extremely hazardous before GPS made things safer; even on a bright day, you can't see the rim of shallow coral ahead until the last few miles when making an inbound approach. At night in a squall, you'd never see a thing before you felt the sickening thud of your keel grinding on  the coral in the breakers. In the days of sextant navigation, many cruises stopped forever one one of the "Tuas".For example, Thor Heyerdahl's Kon Tiki raft expedition originating on the coast of South America ended abruptly when his experimental raft wrecked on the shores of  Raroia, one of the Tuamotus.

Most Tuamotuan atolls have one or more tight passes through the reef wall through which a sailboat has to maneuver to go in or out of the lagoon. Often the current encountered in the pass is swifter than the speed of a sailboat under power, so you have to pick a time of slack tide, then race in under full power before the current resumes. Once inside though, it's like being in a lake, and after experiencing months of surgy rolling and plunging on the high seas, we never wanted to leave the sanctuary of a lagoon. For the remainder of our trip whenever we could, we avoided anchoring in anything except a protected lagoon. Down the road, Suwarrow and Niuatoputapu and Kelefesia islands offered a similar challenge as we sailed across the far reaches of Oceania.

  Black pearl farming is a vigorous economic engine for the natives of these sparsely populated rings of coral. The high calcium content and warm temperatures of the lagoon water supports fast development of  pearl oysters, which are grown on support ropes attached to buoys anchored in the lagoons by the thousands. Unfortunately for the cruising sailor, these operations often spawn a netlike maze of buoys and hawsers across navigation channels, complicating already difficult navigation inside the coral-studded lagoons. Storms tear into these rigs and litter the fragile coral reefs with broken shards of plastic floats and polyester ropes, adding to the synthetic debris threatening the fragile lagoon ecosystems.           A few cruisers who were befriended by villagers were given a handful of trophy pearls just for the friendship of spending time getting to know local families. You'd spend three or four thousand bucks in a New York or Papeete salon for a necklace of these gems. We were told by a local farmer that the standard approach is to microscopically inoculates each fledgling oyster with a chip taken from the fresh shell of a Mississippi River freshwater clam imported from the USA. In a year or two, a nacreous black pearl forms around this odd irritant. How did they ever figure out that one?

These islands offered us some surprises, like toxic fish meat, aloof natives who sometimes denied permission to use their piers when coming ashore, fierce maramu storms and a shark attack on our inflatable dinghy outside the lagoon at Fakarava. Between these highlights, there was always time to snorkle in the 84 degree water or take a long walk on a trackless beach.

     I've lost count, but there are probably 40-plus atolls in this group, with poetic names like Makemo, Ahe, Rangiroa and Takaroa that roll easily off the tongue. They stretch across the sea routes between  Nuku Hiva and Tahiti like a coral necklace. Kauehi was our first Tuamotuan destination.  Here we found  perfect solitude anchored next to a cluster of sandy motus (small islets)  down in the southwestern corner of the lagoon far from a tiny village across the wide lagoon. Now we had  time to dive the pass, beachcomb, let the tattoos acquired in the Marquesas soak up the sun, and mix a little rum with fresh coconut milk on the beach with friends while a campfire crackled under the Southern Cross. Later, in the quiet of the night under a kaleidoscopeic celestial theater there was only the roar of the sea surging up on the nearby reef while a resting little boat that has come so very far bobbed peacefully on her anchor.

We did our first drift dive  in Kauehi's pass, coasting on the currents through schools of nervous gray reef sharks, gliding by pastel coral walls and identifying new fish species we hadn't seen before in the swirling clouds of angels and butterflies. Finally on the surface again, we had to swim through steep six foot standing waves generated by a combination of current rip and strong tradewinds before we climbed back in our chase-dinghy.

Fakarava atoll was the next stop. A short sail away from Kauehi, this island was a universe to itself. It's a biiiggee; the lagoon is 28 miles long, and when the wind is calm, it's a glass slipper ride inside the coral rim down to the South Pass. You can get here by air by taking a small plane over from Tahiti, and down on the south end where we spent most of our time there are a few pensions, or guest-lodges that are superbly-situated next to the reef. Take a short walk off the pier and drop into a tropical aquarium swarming with parrotfish, bream,angelfish and a tame 250 lb. Napoleon wrasse that slurps fish carcasses from your hand. This is as rustic as it gets with a roof still over your head. Our particular roof was always anchored just a quarter mile away in a coral garden.

   The crystalline waters of Fakarava are astoundingly pure, especially down at the south end, where human impact is very low. Each day, millions of cubic meters of fresh sea water flows in and out of the narrow waterway. There are so many sharks patrolling this conveyor belt that you're guaranteed to have two or three of them following your heels around as you either snorkle or SCUBA dive in the deeper water just off the end of this dock.

SHARK ATTACK ON OUR DINGHY: ( Note- if you can round up a copy of Cruising World, Dec 2005, you'll find Gwen Hamlin's excellent article on this little foray)
  Here's a photo of Freebird's Inflatable, with a bite in the tailpiece of a pontoon. If you look closely, you will see two rips, representing only half the width of the shark's mouth, since the bite was a glancing blow. We estimate the jaw width at about 14 inches.
    After getting comfy with the well-behaved sharks in the pass, we decided to pioneer a new dive site about a mile down from the South Pass. As Freebird's owner-Dave- throttled back, a blur of glistening black shot up from the depths next to the outboard propellor and chomped our boat, which exploded with a hiss. At the time, I had both  fins already in the water and was sitting on the pontoon that blew out. All too close- about two feet away.
   We always use two dinghies while diving these remote locations, so we hurriedly transferred our gear to the other boat and watched Dave race for his mother ship on one float. We moved to a new location about a quarter mile away and jumped in the water for an uneventful dive. The consensus opinion was that the attacker was probably a small tiger shark, about eight feet long. We were told by local sources that attacks on spinning propellors are not unheard of, but this was the first assault against an inflatable the had ever heard of.

Gray Reef  Sharks rarely bother humans...well, there was that German tourist in the Red Sea who was picked bone-clean by an energetic packs of these coyotes, but maybe they have a fondness for bratwurst, who can say?  Often an approaching shark signals its territorial boundaries to a diver by arching its back and swinging those pectoral fins down in a "cat hunch". If we spot that behavior, we back off. The photo to the left shows a "nice sharkey" posture, in which the animal  shows only a hint of feeling threatened by extending its pectoral fins out from its body. We were always careful to avoid cornering sharks of any species up against the coral reefs. They have been known to "disarm" a diver-quite literally- in a mad dash to bite and escape in this situation.

Diving Fakarava's South Pass usually includes hundreds of these sharks in swarming schools. In one dive, we counted over four hundred individuals, all at least two meters long. Though we were often stunned breathless, we just let the current do its magic as it transported us effortlessly through the blue chablis waters of  the pass.

They glide past like jet planes on final approach, wheeling in a slow circle. Every now and then, one of the curious peels off and swims straight at you. At that moment it's particularly important not to swim away, nor to show any sign of fear or distress, since this may indeed provoke an attack. We found that just maintaining eye contact and sticking a camera housing or a flashlight in the shark's face at the last minute always turned them off.

The Nipper: Titan Triggerfish also pack a great set of choppers. If a diver gets too close to a nest guarded by a Titan flushed with parental concern, it is possible to that said underwater explorer will swim away from the encounter minus a chunk of neoprene or even have to visit a surgeon for a graft. Having been nipped in Papua New Guinea by these defensive fish in past years, I'll keep wearing my hot rubber suit no matter how warm the water.

Because we coalesced into an informal Puddle Jump fleet as groups of boats departed the North American coast, we found plenty of time to get together with new friends for  beach gatherings on deserted motus.  Ben and Lisa from Waking Dream had the knack-they set up a portable generator, rigged mini speakers and a CD player, string party lights in the trees and dug a couple of firepits. Then a dash of rum, some drums and liar's dice after the food disappeared. Late in the night there was time to talk about the incredible experience of coming so far under sail, and to paddle home under somnolent starlight falling on the shallow reefs. Another party in nirvana atoll.

   All this fun was throttled back later on in the sojourn when a maramu came roaring in on the edge of a low pressure cell. These storms often catch boats anchored close to shore a little unprepared despite weather forecasts available for this part of the world. Once you're in it, there's no moving your boat across the lagoon to better shelter, since that would probaly lead to a collision with one of hundreds of uncharted shallow coral heads in the lagoon. Now there's little to do except listen to the wind howl for days, attend to chafe, and try to keep ahead of the inevitable loss of your catenary sag as your anchor chain winds itself up aound dozens of coral bommies.To be sure about this, I often jumped in with SCUBA to detangle our chain- a strategy that paid off. a number of times. Besides, it's a lot sweeter down there on the bottom than it is up on deck. Our first maramu wind whacked us hard anchored at the north end of Fakarava. The prevailing wind reversed in a few hours, then quickly pulsed up to 35 knots for days. With a 13 mile fetch across the lagoon, a short steep chop began to slam into our anchorage. Wall-like 5 foot waves sawed incessantly at our anchor gear for four days, while cold rain hurtled at us like flying razor wire. Emerald was well-anchored, but the margin for error was very slim if anything had gone wrong.with our gear. A short ride to the rocky shore would have had our boat impaled on the rocky shores in less than a minute.

  There is wealth in Fakarava. Despite an abbreviated system of paved roads on the narrow coastal strip, most families living in Rotoava Village up on the north end own an SUV and a modern  fishing/waterski boat. The main street going through this village is engineered along the lines of the wide boulevards of Paris, and is a perfectly modern concrete tarmac as wide as an aircraft carrier's deck. Just out of town, though, this highway dwindles down to a pair of sandy ruts in the coral gravel.

  Time to move on again.  Our visas for French Polynesia were limited to the usual 90 days. Yes, there are strategies to extend this limit, but if we were going to sail all the way to Fiji or New Zealand by the start of cyclone season in December, we couldn't delay.  Besides, Emerald's radar needed repair, our provisions were dwindling, and the breathtaking Society Islands were just down the road. By now, we were just getting to know more about the SPCZ.

   From our log book, here's my first grader's concept  of the SPCZ: "The sun boils up humid air near the equator, which rises and slides off to invade cooler regions of the planet to descend again closer a little closer to the poles. It's like the interior of a tea kettle on a stove, in a way. This circle of convection drives the trade wind systems in both hemispheres.  In the northern hemisphere, the presence of the Central American land mass shapes the convection zone just north of the equator into a rather predictable shape downwind to the west of Panama. They call it the ITCZ . In the South Pacific, though, little land mass exists to morph the convection zone into anything predictable. Instead, there are massive moving bands of roguish  weather roving around randomly  northeast of Fiji. The SPCZ is a global kennel full of  very bad dogs-lightning storms, high winds and steep waves."

 We worked hard to track these systems with info received on various shortwave radio forecasts and GRIB files downloaded on Winlink. (We'll talk more about these later in our "links" section. ) In late June in the grips of a branch of the SPCZ, we set sail for a stormy three day trip to Tahiti.

LOOKING BACK: Navigating through this cluttered chain of reefs used to be a big challenge before the age of the GPS.  A year later, we kick ourselves for not spending another month in the Tuamotus, and if you are planning a trip in this direction, consider spending your entire cruising season in French Polynesia, storing your boat on the hard in Raiatea during the cyclone season between December and May.  Our friends on Tackless II and Antares I did it this way and they enjoyed a second round of exploration in what turned out to be the best part of the South Pacific.
    But back to the Tuamotus:The underwater world is at its vibrant best on the plunging abyssal outer walls of the atolls, and the usually incandescent mirror of the lagoon inside the reef is something you can't ever forget. It doesn't take long to push out of mind the 40 knot screaming gales that made us feel like we were hanging on by our fingernails through a few treacherous nights. If you come this way, you must have incredibly stout ground tackle and a good supply of snubber line. And don't forget to keep your insurance paid up.