# Rangiroa to Tahiti.



## Cpt Dick Brooks (May 13, 2013)

Tipata village, in Rangiroa, was well laid out, with blinding white crushed-coral roads, and white coral walls surrounding each property. The place had an air of peace and tranquillity, slumbering under the shade of the coconut palms. As soon as we got our inward Customs clearance, everyone was in the sea for a swim, or to dive for fish. They wouldn't have splashed about so vigorously if they'd seen the number of sharks swimming around on the sea-bed below the ship.
Two days after our arrival, we got under way to explore the lagoon. Rangiroa is the third largest coral atoll in the world... next to Kwajalein in the Marshal Islands, and Christmas Island in the Line Islands. The lagoon is 43 miles long and 17 miles wide, like an inland sea in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Inside the palm-clad, pristine white sandy beach of the fringing reef, the lagoon changes from aquamarine to indigo to jet, and back again.
While anchored off a small palm-studded moto at the southern end of the lagoon, Rekus' brother, Jan, and his girlfriend, Coby, arrived from Holland to join the ship. A single-handed sailor we'd met in Fatu Hiva on his yacht, Spirit of VDO, brought them down the lagoon from the small landing strip by the passage into the lagoon. When we returned to the village a fortnight later, Leif re-joined the ship from Sweden, with his friend, Bjorn.
It was while we were anchored at Rangiroa that some of the crew came down with ciguatera fish poison. As the lagoon is rich in fish of every type, the lines were always out and the frying pan constantly on the go. To safeguard against fish poisoning, we refrigerated each day's catch, giving small pieces of each fish to the ship's cat to try out first. The next day the fish was eaten, if the cat was well.
But some of the crew fried up the fish from that day's catch while it was still fresh, and paid the price of doing so. They were then thankful for the studies of the two doctors on the bear and the ship's cat when they were inflicted with fish poison. Nick had an article published in the British medical journal, The Lancet, about his observations and treatment of ciguatera fish poisoning on his return to England.
At 1310 hours on 24th November, 1980, we left Rangiroa Atoll bound for Tahiti. Ten hours later, Makatea was five miles off the port beam, and at 0700 hours the next day, Tahiti was sighted dead ahead of the ship... right on the bow.
By the time Début arrived at Rangiroa Atoll, she had aroused the curiosity of the French military. They had intelligence about a large fishing-vessel being used as a replacement for the yacht, 'Frier', by Greenpeace to hinder their nuclear tests at Muroroa Atoll. When Début entered the Tuamotu Archipelago they started to regularly overfly us with their Orion reconnaissance planes. After being escorted into Papette Harbour on our arrival at Tahiti by a warship on either beam, the French administration were somewhat disappointed to find that Début wasn't the Rainbow Warrior after all, but one of her sister-ships.
At 1445 hours, Début anchored in a 100 feet of water inside Papeete Harbour, with four shackles of chain. The harbour master was a little perturbed by the French Navy bringing us into his harbour without permission, but was somewhat mollified when we accepted his services to pilot us to the main wharf. With a tug fore and aft, Début was taken to the Quai D' honneur, used by the cruise ships when they visited the island. The brass band was practising in the bandstand, as if in welcome.
Although we were made very welcome in Papeete Harbour by the authorities, it was far too expensive for us to stay there. The harbour master even cut our port charges in half to U.S.$25 a day, but that was still way out of my pocket. The crew voted to spend five days alongside the main wharf, so we could explore the town and island in style, sharing the cost of mooring the ship between us.
Papeete is like a little part of Paris dumped down in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. With overcrowding and noisy traffic-jams, and air polluted in the streets. The small kerb-side cafés and bistros push their tables out on to the footpath, with smart uniformed waiters hovering around their seated customers for their order.
In the evening, the town really comes to life, with an assortment of night-clubs and gay-bars. The Piano Bar has mirrors covering all the walls, and the little queers and ******* dance with their own reflection while looking for dates behind them. When a six foot three bearded transvestite asked me if I'd like to dance, I thought it was time to leave. He wore a pink ballerina's tutu, and spoke in a falsetto voice.
One of the fruit-boys came on to Jan, and he told him to bugger-off, raising up his fists in front of him. The gathered crowd started to pay particular interest to us, so I encouraged my crew to drink up, and we got out of there while the going was good. There were less than a dozen of us from the ship, and there were more than sixty of them. That's not much of an even fight, despite them being poofters.
During breakfast on our first morning in port, the crew were seated around the mess-room chatting, reliving the events of the night before. There was the slam of a car door out on the quay-side, and someone jumped down on to the deck. All eyes were looking at the mess-room door when Fritze walked in.
He was heavily made up with rouge and lipstick, and his neck was covered in love-bites. Around the crown of his head and neck were leis of wild flowers and sea-shells. He turned bright crimson when the girls wolf-whistled and addressed him as Fritzie-Baby, then asked him if the guy was cute, and that he'd had a nice time.
It was while we were moored alongside the main wharf in Papeete Harbour that an American survey ship tied up ahead of us on the quay. The University of Washington was crewed by many students from the campus of the university of that name, and I spent some time drinking with her captain ashore in the many bars.
It was one of the women seamen in her crew who came with us when we sailed to Moorea, at the end of our stay. She was at the helm when the anchor splashed down in Cook's Bay, after the pleasant two and a half hour journey to the sister island of Tahiti. I would have gladly signed her on my crew, but she wanted to return to her ship.
Big-Anna stayed behind in Papeete on board the University of Washington, having formed a romantic liaison with Peter... one of her stewards. The captain thought he'd have to put to sea with Big-Anna in exchange for his sailor, but they changed back before he was ready to sail for Hawaii.
Many of my crew left the ship while we were anchored in Moorea, to head back home to their families, or to continue with their journey around the world. Fritze flew out to Singapore to meet his mother, and Nick and Alex returned to England to take up their next medical posting. Andy, my previous chief engineer, turned up on the little yacht on which he'd crossed the Pacific Ocean, and got a job with Rekus at the shipyard in Papeete Harbour. Rekus later flew back to Nuka Hiva with Marie, to sail the Trans Nuite to Tahiti.
Before Big-Anna left to fly home to Norway, she received a proposal of marriage from Peter in Hawaii. After sending a telegram accepting his offer, she flew to Honolulu with Lillann and Carrie as her bridesmaids, on her way home to Hamar in Norway with her new husband. All the best, Cpt Dick Brooks.


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