It’s like sailing on a lake. By the time you tuck up against the main town of Neiafu, there’s no line of sight to the ocean, the open ocean rollers have no effect on the local chop, and multiple layers of land knock down the trade winds. Nothing to compare to the feel of sailing around inside these islands since leaving San Francisco bay.

Karen and I spent most of our Tongan time in a cafe just a short dinghy ride from the boat. Coffee, kava, and alcohol, one stop shop for all-day beverages, and endless hours of reading. Jon spent most of his time in Tonga fixing the exhaust manifold on the engine, which had broken off during our passage from Beveridge Reef, filling the boat with exhaust.

Jon was very frustrated with spending his time on the engine repair, and I mostly left it to him to handle while Karen and I read books at the cafe. I shamefully admit that I was unable to muster significant sympathy for Jon’s frustration. My trials and tribulations—the months (years, really) of soul crushing boat repairs and projects that we did in the bay area were too fresh in my mind. Through no fault of his own (living in Denver instead of the bay area) Jon wasn’t around to suffer through that gargantuan effort, so this engine repair was his first real solo experience with the labor and frustration that it can entail.

After the extended engine repair/cafe sessions we visited a few other quiet, remote anchorages with phenomenal snorkeling, and then two different incredible underwater caves.