Minerva: Anchoring in the Middle of the Pacific
Updated: 2 days ago
Minerva South – June 5–10, 2025
For Mirko and me, this was already the second time we’d had the chance to spend time in this oasis. In the spring of 2024, we’d also stopped here before sailing on to Tonga. For the past few days, we’d been in waters with depths ranging from 2,000 to 4,000 meters. And now, in the middle of the ocean, hundreds of kilometers from land, we were suddenly able to drop anchor at a depth of 12 meters.
How does that work? The Minerva Reefs lie on an undersea plateau. This plateau is between 550 and 1,100 meters deep and stretches over a length of 45 kilometers. The reefs are atolls in the process of formation and have risen by one meter since 1916. At mid-tide, the highest points already protrude from the sea; only at high tide do the reefs remain largely below the water’s surface. Incidentally, an atoll is a coral island in tropical seas consisting of a ring-shaped reef and a lagoon. Since the Minerva Reefs do not (yet) have any islands, they cannot quite be described as a “fully formed” atoll.
Unfortunately, the weather wasn’t quite as kind to us this year as it was last year. It was windier, often cloudy during the day, and sometimes even rainy. Still, it was quite a bit warmer than in New Zealand—both the air and the water. Our sailing friends, who hadn’t had much faith in the weather window and had stayed in the north of New Zealand, even told us about an “Arctic Storm” that hit the Kiwis a week later and brought freezing temperatures—brrrrr. So it was a good thing we’d left the cold south early on.
Despite the weather, we naturally didn’t miss the chance to go snorkeling at the first opportunity—finally! Mirko and I only lasted about half an hour in the 24-degree water before we started to feel cold, and we scrambled up the swim ladder, shivering and out of breath, back onto the Yum Yum. Wrapped in a towel and a fluffy surf poncho, we agreed right then and there: We were clearly out of shape. Even with a shorty (short wetsuit), we quickly got cold; in no time at all, our cramped calf muscles started to act up—they’d only had to fight against the current for a few minutes—and I won’t even get started on the embarrassing 10 seconds I managed to hold my breath. From that day on, we worked steadily on our fitness. Every day, we explored the underwater world and its creatures, took our first real joyrides in the brand-new dinghy, went fishing, and tried out Mirko’s wingfoil for the first time.
The underwater world was as beautiful as ever. Colorful, towering coral columns lined the seafloor, providing shelter for a wide variety of marine life: Small schools of shimmering blue fish that deftly hid among the intertwined branches of a stony coral; a large grouper that eyed us warily—ready at any moment to vanish into the narrow coral ledge; blacktip reef sharks (which have incredibly poor eyesight) that circled us curiously with their round eyes; a laid-back whitetip reef shark (which can swim backward) gliding elegantly just above the seafloor, and, of course, all the colorful reef fish, mostly traveling in pairs, letting themselves be gently rocked back and forth by the blue-turquoise water.
One beautiful day, we even headed out toward the Pass to explore the underwater world there. You can think of the Pass as the “botanical garden” among national parks—excellent visibility, plenty of animals, and a wide variety of plants. Here at Minerva Reef, too, we weren’t disappointed in that regard. Right at the start, we were surprised to be greeted by two turtles that swam right alongside us, just a meter away, without any fear at all! Mirko and I were so fascinated that we didn’t immediately notice a shark (the largest reef shark we’d seen so far), which had also approached curiously and started teasing one of the turtles (see video).
When it came to wing foiling, we were both complete beginners. Time and again, someone with a board and sail in hand had zoomed past us in New Zealand or Fiji, and every time I’d been fascinated by how the athletes managed to glide so smoothly across the blue water on their foils (or do you say “sail”?—I don’t know). That’s why I was all the more curious to finally try it out for myself. The first challenge was actually putting the board together. But that was solely because we’d been sent the wrong screws—twice, no less. Why on earth would you order replacement screws if you can’t use them to replace the defective ones? Annoying. Luckily, Mirko found the right screws in his huge collection of tools—in one of his hundred boxes—so we could attach the foil to the board. First, we wanted to practice the basics—like steering, standing up, and lifting the board out of the water—with the dinghy and without the wing (canopy)—basically, just like wakeboarding. Steering and standing up went pretty well after a while, but lifting the board—so you’re surfing only on the foil—puzzled us. How is that supposed to work? It really wasn’t that easy. Neither instructional videos nor repeated practice had brought us success so far… but we’ll get there. Maybe we’ll meet a wingfoiler soon who’ll take pity on us and teach us.
Just like last year at Minerva Riff, each of us got to try our hand at being a top hairstylist this time around, too. While Mirko had complete faith in my cutting skills, I was shifting around a bit nervously in the makeshift barber’s chair. But I had nothing to worry about: he did a really great job with the short haircut—or what do you think?
On our second-to-last day in the southern Minerva Reef, things took a whole new—and exciting—turn. I spent the cloudy morning blogging on my laptop in the saloon when I suddenly heard a scream from the cockpit that made me rush upstairs immediately. Warning: this part gets a little gross. While putting away the fishing box, Mirko had driven a hook into his middle finger with full force. Of course, it was a nice, rusty one with those great barbs. The first attempt to pull it out failed miserably—the hook, which had burrowed a whole centimeter deep into the flesh, wouldn’t budge a millimeter. While Mirko—beads of sweat on his forehead from sheer inner stress—still calmly considered what the best solution was, all sorts of horror scenarios were already running through my head, and I promptly felt sick to my stomach—what a great help I was. Finally, we decided to make a small incision with a scalpel and carefully pull out the barb so as not to leave any rust or dirt behind that could cause an infection or even blood poisoning. All that remained was a small, inconspicuous scar—we got lucky!
Because the southern reef is slightly lower than the northern one, you’re not as well protected at anchor as you are in the north. It serves only to a limited extent as a breakwater, which means that it can get quite choppy inside the lagoon within the reef—especially at high tide. For this reason, after our fifth night of being tossed about, we decided to move on to the northern Minerva Reef, whose higher reef ring offers a bit more protection from the ocean.
Incidentally, the reefs were named by Captain Henry Mangles Denham of the research vessel HMS Herald. He named them after the whaling ship Minerva, which ran aground on the southern reef in 1829.
Minerva North – June 10–15, 2025
The other reef was only 22 miles to the north, a distance the Yum Yum covered in a few hours of sunshine at a leisurely speed of 5 to 6 knots. Of course, as soon as we’d gone a few meters, we euphorically cast out our fishing lines with our best bait, but not a single fish took the hook until we dropped anchor. Worse still: three times the hook was simply bitten off! On top of that, on the same day, a huge fish broke free from the line while we were towing it with the dinghy and dragged our favorite bait down into the depths with it. It really hadn’t been our day. The fish must have all known that Mirko couldn’t do the “dirty work” because of his injury and that I would have had to gut and fillet the fish this time. They probably wanted to avoid that at all costs (aside from their own deaths). Except for that huge jackfish (or something like that—I couldn’t identify it), which Mirko shot while surrounded by three sharks during our snorkeling trip in the pass (yeah, damn exciting 🦈🦈🦈), not a single fish took the bait during our time in Minerva. Luckily, Rachel and Adam had finally caught up with us on their boat Lady Annabelle (Sydney, Australia), caught a crayfish (a spiny lobster) during a snorkeling trip, and shared it with us that same evening. We spent a lot of time with the two of them. Every evening, we took turns serving appetizers and drinks on board. It was nice to have some company now and then, especially someone who always had exciting stories to share. For example, Adam—who, like half of all Australians, had once been a scuba instructor—told us about giant squids that nibble on sharks and about boats that were swept away by the wind during a hurricane and found days later in the nearby mangrove forest. Rachel added to these bizarre tales with (naturally Australian) caterpillars that, rather than giving up their habitat in a houseplant without a fight, preferred to become man-eaters and bite if you tried to remove them. They also told us about the thorough inspection of their boat when clearing customs out of New Zealand, during which the official claimed to be looking for stowaways, but they weren’t sure if he was actually on the lookout for little fluffy bunnies instead of people. During the search, he had discovered Rachel’s stash of carrots, which apparently amounted to several kilos (an unbelievable 6 kg!). Rachel just really likes carrots 🥕.
By the way, I had some pest problems on board—no, unfortunately, not bunnies. I’d set out to grow a little herb garden. In New Zealand, I’d carefully selected my favorite herbs and some matching little planters, lovingly filled them with some soil from the garden at Riverside Marina in Whangarei, and placed them in a sunny but sheltered spot in the galley, right in front of the window. Well… who’s spotted the mistake yet? Exactly. The garden soil. Not only did I bring back nutritious organic soil from New Zealand, but I also brought along a little snail, a caterpillar, and a few ants. Way to go, Daniela. It wasn’t until three out of seven plants had died that I discovered the deadly monsters.
Even at this anchorage in the crystal-clear waters of the northern Minerva Reef, we couldn’t resist going snorkeling every day in the 24.2-degree water. Interestingly, in the lagoon we found only a few scattered beautiful coral bommies and, in addition, two coral-covered shipwreck wrecks teeming with fish, while otherwise a sandy underwater desert stretched as far as the eye could see. We’d even imagined the snorkeling trip to the pass here to be a bit more colorful—but that’s really just complaining on a high level when you encounter two graceful eagle rays there, isn’t it? Rumor had it among the sailors that a four-meter-long tiger shark made its home here at the northern Minerva Reef… but no one had seen it in quite some time. The only incident was when a sailor was accidentally pushed off her SUP by a reef shark—which she’d inadvertently lured near the boat with fish scraps—and the shark had lingered for a few more hours, looking for more (usually non-human) treats.
The day before we set off for Fiji, another young sailing couple joined us for dinner: Merrit and Joost with their boat, Awa. The two Dutch sailors have been on the road since 2021 and plan to sail (almost) directly to Canada this year. They’ve even sailed through the Patagonian fjords in their steel, turquoise-colored Awa. That evening, we said goodbye to Lady Annabelle, who had decided to continue on to Tonga, and also to Awa, who were also sailing to Fiji but planned to clear customs at a different port. For us, the journey continues to Savusavu on Vanua Levu, and from there… well—we’ll see!
And then there was…
the string of lights debacle. It all started back in New Zealand. Mirko had come up with a great plan and had cheerfully gone shopping in New Zealand to get everything organized for the seamless installation of a new string of lights in the cockpit that would provide both illumination and ambiance. To provide extra protection from the rain for this colorful, glowing piece of wiring, he had even bought a matching, transparent tube to serve as a sleeve, through which we were simply supposed to thread the 5-meter-long string. Mirko had even had loops sewn onto the new bimini that fit perfectly, so we could attach the masterpiece afterward. The plan was actually perfect—and, of course, doomed to fail as a result. The tube was just a tiny bit too tight, making the whole process incredibly difficult. Neither dish soap nor a gentle touch helped. The whole project, which took us several hours spread over a few days, destroyed the idyllic atmosphere at Minerva Reef in the blink of an eye. When the second string of lights snapped after our twentieth attempt, we’d had enough and already considered the whole thing a failure, so I threw in the towel. I looked on the bright side: At least we didn't have to worry about “you eat with your eyes first” at dinner anymore… When I got up the next day and had already put the whole thing behind me, Mirko was already in the process of fixing the string of lights—more specifically, soldering it (yes, we actually have a small soldering iron on board!). He seemed to have had a flash of inspiration overnight, and voilà: After four days, the result is quite impressive!
Sunset at Minerva Reef Prosecco after the crossing Finally, it's back into the water. Let's go! Beautiful seashell Blue starfish Lionfish A squid came very close. It was cold after snorkeling. Mirko cleaned the entire deck. Our new tattoo on the stern. Banana cake or banana bread? Mirko flying the drone Crystal-clear water Yum Yum all on her own. Mirko assembling the foil. Hmm... and what do I do? The hair was cut, too. Our first crayfish Having risotto with Rachel and Adam Yum Yum and Awa at Lady Annabelle's Mirko with his finger injury shot with the speargun! Delicious sushi is being prepared. There was ceviche, too, of course. and homemade dumplings.
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