“We did very little sailing.”

Julian Croxall, owner of the Kirkland Sailing Club and organizer of the trip, said with a subtle, playful smirk.

One night he was watching Martin Clunes drift through French Polynesia on Islands of the Pacific.

Members had been talking about going somewhere new for their annual summer trip, away from the usual Caribbean or Mediterranean waters.

Croxall thought: I wonder if there’s a charter base there. That was enough. The trip began. 

“We wake up, have an idea, and think, that might be fun. If a few members want in, we make it happen.”

The Society Islands: Cruising from one Postcard to the Next

This was the club’s first run in French Polynesia. Twenty members, three catamarans, one week chartered via The Moorings. 

Its lagoons are the draw: warm, clear, alive with marine life. They’re also the reason most boats you see there are catamarans. The anchorages sit inside reef-lined lagoons, coral heads scattered everywhere. A catamaran’s shallow draft gives more safety, more room to breathe.

The trade-off is the sailing. Don’t expect to heel and grind through heavy weather. The boats stay flat. It feels less like sport, more like drifting from one postcard to the next. But for island hopping, it’s perfect.

From sea level the islands look remote, scattered. In truth they’re volcanic peaks breaking the surface, the bones of giants under the Pacific. 

French Polynesia counts 118 islands, 67 with people on them.

The islands are organized into five archipelagos, one of them, and the most famous, is the Society Islands. 

The Society Islands are divided into two groups: the Windward, which includes Tahiti, and the Leeward, where we spent our time among three islands: Raiatea, Taha’a and Bora Bora.

Island Hopping in Paradise

From the deck, the horizon stretched wide and blue, the green slopes of the islands breaking the blur between sea and sky. Along the white-sand edges, overwater bungalows clustered so naturally they seemed part of the shoreline. Beneath them, the coral gardens worked as architects of havens, drawing life into their walls, and slipping in with a mask felt like crossing to another world.

Through the passes into more open water, the catamarans grew competitive. As the boats returned, slipping back into sheltered waters, they were greeted by dolphins playing like a welcoming party.

On shore, the welcome feeling was just as vivid as the scenery. People stopped to help, to smile, to talk.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere where everyone is just so helpful, friendly, and nice,” said Croxall. He laughed about practicing his French. He explained how in France the locals discouraged him and didn’t want to speak to him. But here the locals encouraged him, helped him along and wanted him to try.

Meals were their own reward. Fresh fish at lunch, often caught that morning. Poisson cru, raw tuna marinated in lime and mixed with coconut milk and vegetables, served straight from sea and land to plate.

For those working, the T-Mobile 50-gig travel data pass turned phones into makeshift modems. Not 5G, but good enough. You could sit on the deck, watch the horizon, and still send emails.

The Magic of the South Pacific

In proper Clunes style, the trip wasn’t a technical guide to sailing. It was about people, places, and the quiet magic in between.

“When we do these trips, we want to make sure there’s a bond before everyone leaves. Otherwise it’s just a bunch of strangers dropped into a small space for a week,’ said Croxall.

To set the tone, Croxall usually hosts a barbecue or some gathering beforehand, and makes sure at least some members have sailed together.

“It’s a bunch of friends going away, not strangers trying to make friends once they’re already there.”

That spirit, combined with the balance of cruising and leisure, gave everyone room to shine.

“Everybody had their moment,” said Croxall.

Each person contributed something: a dish, a drink, a gesture. The crew spanned generations: energetic eighty-year-olds to thirty-somethings and everything between.

One member, a former swimming and diving instructor, spent an afternoon teaching others how to dive from the boat. One night aboard, Croxall and a member cooked seafood, steaks and mixed cocktails. One morning another member hosted a breakfast.

Without realizing it, Clune’s playful, curious, lighthearted, human-centered perspective became the unwritten mantra for the trip.

Very little sailing might have been done, but maybe that was the point. This wasn’t about tacking hard into the wind, it was about slowing down, laughing, and letting the islands unfold. 

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