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Polaris's second leg, from the Marquesas to Rangiroa in the
Tuamotu Archipelago, began pleasantly, but then produced its
own puzzling, even frightening moments. After four days of
sailing in sunny weather, at times reaching at 8 knots, the
winds suddenly shifted to the southwest. "We were then
hard on the wind, forced to sail 20 degrees off our interided
track to Ran-giroa," Connolly remembers. "In
essence, the trade winds were reversed." On the fourth
day, the skip-per was below when he heard a tremendous thunderclap
followed by a blinding flash of light in the cabin. "What
happened'" he yelled to the crew on deck. "Electrical
storm, John," said Ken Kelly. "I saw an eerie
blue light jump from the starboard primary winch to a stanchion,
and then it spread along the toerail before it disappeared."
Fortunately, there was no damage to Polaris's electrical
system, although the GPS stopped functioning for a few hours,
then inexplicably began working again. After a landfall at
Rangiroa, Polaris set a course for Pa-peete, Tahiti. Only
a few miles farther on, the seas built rapidly and soon became
"one of the three worst storms I've ever experienced,"
said Con-nolly. "By evening we were battling confused
35-foot seas against 40- to 50-knot winds under triple-reefed
main. The blow lasted 40 hours." What puzzled Polaris's
crew wasn't the storm's intensity but its mere presence where
and when it was completely unexpected. Connolly attrib-uted
this "twilight-zone" me-teorology to El Nino. "There
wasn't a word about that blow on either Station WWV or any
of the other forecasts," he said, baffled even to this
day. The storm, however, helped per-fect what became a standard
Polaris steering tactic. "Sailing upwind," said
the skipper, "we'd steer off the wind 20 to 30 degrees
and allow the stem to rise to the waves, dissipating some
of their energy. Then, as soon as the waves slid under Polaris,
we'd tuck to-ward the wind and the next approaching wave.
Steering was exhausting, but thankfully the tactic worked."
If the events up to that point weren't frightening enough,
the night of April 23 made believers out of the most diehard
El Nino skeptics. The weather report had been a bit ominous,
warning of questionable conditions near Bora-Bora, but there
wa's absolutely no hint of the intensity of what actually
lay ahead in the next 24 hours. As Polaris lowered sail in
front of the Bora-Bora Yacht Club, Connolly dropped
two CQRs, a 65- and a 75-pounder, 75 feet apart. Al-though
the depth was 90 feet, he reasoned that 300 feet of chain
and the good holding ground of mud assured reasonable protection
from whatever was to come. As a precaution, Connolly
also had anchored well away from other boats. The following
afternoon,
Polaris's crew learned from the French Polynesia weather office
and from Station WWV that Tropical Storm Alan, ahead of the
normal seasonal schedule, was arriving in their area. The
next morning, how-ever, French weather forecast-ers reported
that the eye of Alan had moved south and east of Polaris's
position, miss-ing the anchored cruising fleet in the harbor.
When the winds diminished to 10 to 20 knots, Connolly
heaved a sigh of relief. That's when he announced to his crew
that he'd reward their patience with a dinner at the Bora-Bora
Yacht Club. It was a meal never eaten. It was also the begin-ning
of a very long night.
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