{"id":643,"date":"2026-02-19T14:44:12","date_gmt":"2026-02-19T14:44:12","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/yachtersworld.com\/?p=643"},"modified":"2026-02-19T14:44:12","modified_gmt":"2026-02-19T14:44:12","slug":"south-pacific-sailing-niue-is-a-tiny-country-almost-no-one-has-ever-heard-of","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/yachtersworld.com\/?p=643","title":{"rendered":"South Pacific Sailing: \u2018Niue is a tiny country almost no one has ever heard of\u2019"},"content":{"rendered":"

Niue, a tiny island, captures Miranda Baker\u2019s heart after an adventurous South Pacific sailing passage via Minerva Reef, the mid-ocean refuge<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"Elliot
Elliot silhouetted on Fortaleza\u2019s bow against a beautiful South Pacific sunset in the west. Photo: Miranda Baker and Elliot Russo<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

It feels like a big deal to finally leave New Zealand\u2019s shores, after all the hard work we\u2019ve put into getting ready for this moment.<\/p>\n

Two years, including nine months living up a ladder on the hard in a dirty, rain drenched boat yard, spent stripping our 1985 48ft, steel Mason Fortaleza of all her systems and rebuilding her. I\u2019d like to take some credit for this refit but really it was Elliot who did it all \u2013 my best friend, captain and YouTube-taught electrician, plumber, rigger, mechanic and carpenter.<\/p>\n

And here we are, on the most iridescently beautiful New Zealand winter\u2019s day, pulling out of Marsden Cove Marina, waving and yelling to friends and family on shore as we head off to explore the world, very, very slowly. It\u2019s a monumental feeling of surrendering to whatever unfolds. A true letting go. We\u2019ve sold everything we own except for what is right here with us on Fortaleza. The plan is vaguely to head west until the money runs out.<\/p>\n

\"Isolated\n

Isolated Minerva Reef is barely exposed at low tide \u2013 otherwise it\u2019s identified from the sea only by the surf pounding its shallow circular reef. Photo: Miranda Baker and Elliot Russo<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Before we can begin to head west though, we need to get north to the South Pacific<\/a> tradewinds and what I\u2019ve been promised will be easy seas and sailing. I have no sailing experience other than our pretty hairy shakedown sail around the Bay of Islands and down the east coast of New Zealand. Elliot has thousands of nautical miles in his wake.<\/p>\n

We have decided to head to Tonga via Minerva Reef to begin with. The weather window we set off in allows for a slight easterly heading. A front has just passed and we\u2019re catching the tail of it. Our freshly painted hull and 20 knot winds have us hissing through the water on a beam reach occasionally hitting 9 knots. It\u2019s glorious and the sense of freedom is almost overwhelming. New Zealand shrinks behind us and open water stretches away on every side.<\/p>\n

Days and shifts pass in a boat-lag blur. We see one other boat, a yacht we know, who comes close enough while overtaking us for us to photograph them and radio a greeting. It is oddly reassuring to see human life out here. There isn\u2019t much else. Just eternal greys and blues.<\/p>\n

\"Yachts\n

Yachts can find some shelter inside Minerva Reef \u2013 but first they have to find it hundreds of miles from civilisation. Photo: Miranda Baker and Elliot Russo<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Wave after wave after wave, the only lumpy interruptions to the otherwise flat 360\u00b0 horizon. The occasional dolphin pod races against our bow, turning on their sides to eyeball us as we stupidly shout hellos. We awe at fiery sunsets and sleepily greet hope-filled dawns.<\/p>\n

Half way between Minerva and New Zealand, around 380 miles from each, we spend a day becalmed in the bluest water imaginable. There isn\u2019t a ripple, just a very slow, gentle, rolly under-swell.<\/p>\n

The closest humans to us are on the international space station, the nearest dry land almost twice as far again. There is 4km of water between us and the sea floor. It is completely quiet. We are alone and suspended, bobbing on our tiny boat-shaped cork, in a place so isolated, alien and weird it makes us dizzy to think about. The blueness is mesmerising, inky and terrifying \u2013 so we decide to swim.<\/p>\n

\"Two\n

\u2018Minerva is a monumental underwater mountain\u2019. Photo: Miranda Baker and Elliot Russo<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Our guiding intention for our cruising life is to \u2018throw caution to the wind, carefully\u2019. And so, with the Jaws theme tune ear-worming our brains and unhelpful flashbacks to the movie Open Water popping into our minds, we set Fortaleza\u2019s wheel hard over so she can only drift in circles, trail a 150m long floating line, put two ladders over, scour the water around us for megalodonic behemoth shadows and hurl ourselves, naked, into the indigo deep.<\/p>\n

It is exhilarating and, honestly, singularly the most mentally terrifying thing I have ever willingly done. I\u2019d like to say that we linger and enjoy the experience, but the truth is we\u2019ve never got out of the water faster.<\/p>\n

\"Fortaleza\n

Fortaleza sailing wing-on-wing while heading for Niue. Photo: Miranda Baker and Elliot Russo<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

South Pacific Sailing to the Minerva Reef<\/h2>\n

Four days (including 30 frustrating hours of motoring) later we arrive at Minerva Reef and find our depth sounder has given up the ghost. Minerva is not a place you want to show up to without a depth sounder.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s a monumental underwater mountain that rises suddenly out of 2,000m of water, named after one of the first ships that discovered it by sailing straight into it back in 1829. Easily done. It is hard to see if you don\u2019t know it\u2019s there and ships have routinely wrecked at Minerva ever since.<\/p>\n

\"Snorkelling\n

Snorkelling and diving in the crystal clear waters of Minerva Reef where the wildlife is abundant. Photo: Miranda Baker and Elliot Russo<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

We decide to trust the charts and enter its southern mountain-top lagoon to anchor up and rest, picking our way past bommies to join three yachts already inside.
\nThere is no visible land at Minerva except for some random rocks that show up at low tide, just massive surf pounding along the kilometres-long, invisible arc where wild ocean swell hits the reef.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s an odd place to anchor and a phenomenal place to explore because, while there\u2019s not a lot to see out of the water, under it is a whole other story. The snorkelling is spectacular.<\/p>\n

Cutting through the reef are 20m-deep channels that create laneways and a towering cityscape for diverse sea life. Groups of fat sea trout patrol like mafia bosses. Shoals of small bright things flash and dart, synchronised. Turtles startle and sidle away. Purse-lipped giant clams sporting garish lipsticks sit plump and patient.<\/p>\n

\"Beautiful\n

Beautiful marine life at Minerva Reef. Photo: Miranda Baker and Elliot Russo<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

White tipped reef sharks circle, their eyes on us, ours on them. Monster crayfish retreat into dark corners. For two days we swim among it all for hours, captivated, until we are frozen and pruney.<\/p>\n

On the third day we decide to leave. It\u2019s a hard decision knowing we\u2019re unlikely to ever visit this extraordinary place again, but the forecast has us excited. The wind has shifted around to the south-west, which is uncommon for June and, for sailors without a plan, it creates an opportunity. Off to the east of Tonga, about a six-day sail away, is a tiny country that almost no one has ever heard of, Niue.<\/p>\n

\"Yachts\n

Yachts moored near Sir Robert\u2019s Wharf at Alofi \u2013 Niue\u2019s main cargo supplies quay. Photo: Geoff Marshall\/Alamy<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Little-known Niue<\/h2>\n

Niue is a cauliflower head of coral, the largest of its kind, that sits on its own in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. It is just 45km in circumference, 70m high and home to fewer than 2,000 people. The sides of the cauliflower head drop straight into the sea, vertically to 2,000m.<\/p>\n

Migrating humpback whales are known to swim right up to the cliffs. One plane a week brings visitors from New Zealand, once a month food and supplies arrive by container ship. The depths around the shoreline mean there is no anchoring, but we\u2019ve read there are some mooring balls available for visiting boats.<\/p>\n

\"Aerial\n

Aerial view of the landing wharf and Alofi township on Niue. Photo: Miranda Baker and Elliot Russo<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

We have enough food, we have the right wind, we have no definitive plan and we really want to visit, so we lift our anchor, head out of Minerva and bear north-east.<\/p>\n

The sail to Niue is downwind all the way. Light to middling winds, a lot of rolling and infuriating sail slapping. Even tethered, the boom is bouncing as the sails empty with each roll and we experiment with every combination of sails we are carrying, ultimately breaking out our unused poles and sailing wing-on-wing for most of the trip. We make a mental note to invest in a spinnaker of some sort.<\/p>\n

On the fourth day, alarmingly, Elliot finds the clevis pin from the boom\u2019s gooseneck sitting on the deck.<\/p>\n

One slam too many must have sheared the split pin off. Somehow, miraculously, because the mainsail is up, the boom is held in place by our topping lift and hasn\u2019t crashed onto the deck. It is a sobering moment followed by some swearing, some at-sea MacGyvering, and some gratitude for what had seemed an absurd amount of spare everything we are carrying. We cobble together a new pin using a bolt and continue on our way.<\/p>\n

\"\u2018Niue\n

\u2018Niue is unique in so many ways \u2013 and wonderfully quirky\u2019. Photo: Miranda Baker and Elliot Russo. Photo: David Kirkland\/Getty<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

When Niue finally comes into view it has been 14 days since we touched dry land. We are excited to grab a mooring ball and head ashore, to clear in and find our land legs. Just as we arrive, the heavens open and a biblical deluge erupts, followed by monstrous winds. Elliot, drenched and holding on for dear life, manages to grab the ball and secure us, but within an hour we\u2019re wildly bucking into ugly on-shore waves.<\/p>\n

Pulling hard on the mooring ball, Fortaleza\u2019s bow nose-dives green water while our stern is only 50m from Niue\u2019s coral reef skirt. We aren\u2019t sure whether the mooring balls have been maintained, or to what ratings.<\/p>\n

Conditions, held tight to the mooring, are worse than open ocean. Reluctantly we admit there\u2019s no way we\u2019re going to rest here, or get to shore. So, exhausted and deeply disappointed, we drop the mooring ball and sail south to find shelter round on Niue\u2019s east coast.<\/p>\n

\"\n

Elliot takes time to relax and catch up with the world while some phone signal is available. Photo: Miranda Baker and Elliot Russo<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Niue only has mooring balls on its usually sheltered westerly coast. Anchoring is not permitted, nor is it possible thanks to the depths. So while the east coast provides us some cover from the onslaught, we\u2019re unable to stop.<\/p>\n

For the rest of the night we sail as slowly as we can up the east side of the island until, at dawn, we find ourselves in a quandary: the west side of the island is being hammered by enormous swells, which still make the mooring balls unusable; there\u2019s no place to drop our hook, and we are at least a week\u2019s sail from anywhere else. Samoa is north of us. Tonga is west of us. It is Day 15 at sea.<\/p>\n

Article continues below\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n

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How to plan a route across the South Pacific<\/a><\/h2>\n<\/header>\n
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We leave Tahiti with strong trades. Easterlies funnel along the side of the volcanic island, and Elixir tears downwind toward\u2026<\/p>\n<\/div>\n