… a place one can only arrive to by boat. Minerva Reef lays 260 nmiles from Tonga and 800 nmiles from New Zealand. Minerva Reef is completely inhabited and has for the most parts been left untouched. There are a few wrecks and as imagined sailors have been beach wrecked and stranded here throughout history. One story that comes to mind is a boat-full of men in 1962 who ran aground here and were stranded for months before found. If you’re interested to learn more there was a documentary made of this story, which sounds fascinating. I have yet to watch it.
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After receiving and installing the new B&G wind sensor, I finally pulled anchor at Pangaimotu Island, just outside Tonga’s capital, Nuku’alofa.
A family of four once ran a resort on this little island. Four years ago, a tsunami destroyed it. They are slowly rebuilding, piece by piece, but for now the resort is far from fully operational. The two sons run a small ferry between Nuku’alofa and the island, carrying visitors who come for the beach, the nature, and, perhaps most of all, the family’s warmth and hospitality.
Sundays are particularly special.
For the most part, Sunday in Tonga remains a day for church in the middle of the morning, followed by time with family and friends. As I understand it, there are also laws restricting work on Sundays, whether paid or unpaid. I experienced this myself at the boatyard in Vava’u when I was trying to paint. Every now and then, the police would turn up to make sure nobody was working on their boat.
The entire country seems to exhale.
Working life stops. People rest. They visit each other, eat together, go to church, and simply spend time together.
I like this.
Perhaps because it reminds me of growing up in Sweden, when Sundays were quiet and most, if not all, things were closed. It was simply understood that one day of the week belonged to family, friends, and being together. Children played. There was no expectation that everything had to be available all the time.
It amazes me how difficult the Western world seems to find this idea today. The thought of closing stores for one day a week, or giving employees a genuine day off, can seem almost radical.
Convenience, production, and performance have won the race.
But perhaps we have forgotten what we were racing towards.
Anyway, around 14:00 I left Tonga behind.
The next three nights and two long days were spent at sea, making my way towards North Minerva Reef. Eventually, I reached the pass.
There was no reason to rush the final approach, especially as it was dark. The thought of entering in to an unknown reef was not an option for me. I hove to, setting the sails and rudder against each other so that the boat almost stopped, gently balancing herself against the ocean. I went below and slept for five hours.
When daylight came, I woke to find that Silke, aboard S/V Maiden Ocean, and the crew of Cloud Atlas had arrived.
Together, we motored through the pass and into North Minerva Reef.
Inside the reef, the ocean suddenly felt different; no swell. We dropped anchor among six other sailboats, surrounded by the vast Pacific and the broken ring of coral that makes North Minerva such a remarkable place.
After days at sea, there was something almost surreal about being there.
I was here.
I checked the anchor and had a bath.
I slept for five solid hours.
Silke, my neighbour, invited me aboard her boat to give thanks to Neptune. She opened a bottle of prosecco, and we spent the next couple of hours talking as the conversation unfolded easily between us.
Silke is a solo sailor originally from South Africa. Sharing stories and comparing how we each arrived here remains one of my favourite things to do in life. There is something special about discovering the unexpected connections between people who have travelled such different paths. Often, the stories contain surprising similarities.
A week earlier, I had met a sailor from New Zealand aboard S/V Cloud Atlas. He told me that he had lived in Helsingborg, Sweden—not far from where I grew up—for a year. He had also spent several years in Campbell River, British Columbia, Canada, working as a photographer and filmmaker.
A large part of his story was remarkably similar to mine.
