With friends to see and holiday festivities to rev up, we decided to leave the Bay of Islands and get a few more miles under our keels, working our way south towards Auckland through the comical sounding ports of Whangaruru, Whangamumu, and Whangarei. Rounded Cape Brett under the lighthouse and inside Motukokako Island with its iconic arch. Apparently some yahoo sailed though it once, but we though it unwise and opted against it.
Cruising the coast has been a pleasant change of pace from big open water passages. There’s more free time to play guitar, learn to splice line, and make new friends. Our finny mate below is likely a Bronze Whaler interested in the chum slicks off of the fishing boats no doubt. Sky-blackening flocks of gulls and turns show up for the slurry banquet as well.
Craggy coastline makes for an impressive sail heading south. A narrow channel leads out of the tumultuous sea to the protected harbor of Whangamumu where the ruins of an old whaling station lay waiting to be explored. The old rusting boiler and cement vats where they processed the blubber are slowly being consumed by the brush. The station was used on and off right up into the 1940’s. Strange to think at that rendered whale fat was still being burned in lamps at the same time that Oppenheimer was splitting atoms for nuclear energy in Los Alamos. Miranda and I also have been taking advantage of the well marked hiking trails abound in the area much to the chagrin of our atrophied legs.
Whangaruru is the next big protected bay south. Lots of campers enjoying the calm bay. There’s a rain of plunging gannets. Gannets and boobies are very similar, making up the Sulidae family. So in a strange way, it rains boobies here.
Pulled into Whangarei Heads and spent a few days on anchor hiking the bulbous green hills before making our way south into the Hauraki Gulf.
Winds from the south-southeast imposed a westward course upon us for two days as a trough blew over, pushing us more west than we would have wanted.Velocity Made Good (VMG) is a nautical measure of how fast you’re going in the actual direction of your waypoint based on speed, distance to target, and a little trigonometry.It doesn’t particularly matter if you’re rocketing at eight knots heading east if your destination is west, right?For two days our VMG oscillated between 0.5 and -0.7, meaning that we were going places, but often it was away from New Zealand.Yikes.Our wayward westing allowed us to later catch the favorable southwest winds which would zip us in to New Zealand after the front muscled through.Long story short, we’ve been pretty happy in the recent days sailing a beam reach southeast at a rejuvenating clip and enjoying our last days offshore.
The temperature has been dropping steadily as our latitude increases and is especially notable on night watches. Even curled up in the salon with a blanket and a mug of tea while keeping a lookout through the windows, the damp of the sea can put a chill in one’s bones. I’m becoming convinced that we’ve sailed right past New Zealand and are quickly approaching Antarctica. Miranda and I have been layering all the long pants, sweatshirts, and socks we can find. With our patchwork garb, stumbling locomotion about the boat, and itinerant living habits we might not be out of place on a New York City street with the folks screaming at passing cars. It’s a glamorous life on the sea.
The morning of the 8th dawned clear with light winds.In the late morning the jagged spine of North Cape rose slowly out of the sea to the west.Almost as if on cue the wind kicked up to twenty knots on our beam and we hurried the last hundred miles at a happy clip as sea birds swooped welcome loops around the boat.The scent of land greeted us forty miles out, light but distinct to our noses, acclimatized to the olfactory-neutral open ocean.At twelve miles out we hoisted the yellow quarantine flag, which indicates that you need to clear in with customs and aren’t trying to sneak in like bandits in the night.And night it quickly became.The sun dove behind the bulk of New Zealand spattering the cloud layer in reds and golds.As we approached the entrance to the Bay of Islands the conglomeration of pummeled seashore and rainy sheep pasture wafted over us and invoked memories of a year of bivouacking on the windswept coast of Ireland many moons ago. A young seabird hitched a ride in to port, plunking himself unceremoniously on deck for some shut eye.
The moonless and overcast night offered no aid in ducking the few freighters, navigating the ten miles into the bay, amidst the shallows, and up the Opua River to the customs dock.Land, sea, and sky blended together in charcoal gray and wood smoke hung in the air.Though dead tired, an hour nap before pulling into the bay and a cup of tea renewed us both, and picking our way through the beacons proved straightforward with a lookout on the bow.Moored vessels slid past in the mirrored water like specters as we motored up the river in a glow of blue-green seafire.On the 2AM slack tide we sidled up to the Q-dock, Cowgirl Miranda lassoed a cleat, and we wrangled Tayrona into her berth.I don’t even remember going below to rack out. Happy to be in New Zealand!
We set sail in the morning from Somosomo Bay heading north along the west side of Yanggeta and Matathawa Levu islands keeping a wary eye on all those poorly charted reefs.The charts are so contradictory that at one point the chart plotter showed us sailing over a reef that was supposed to be ‘awash’ (think ankle deep), but really we were in 150 feet of water with the reef clearly visible 300 meters to our port.We were exceedingly happy to be sailing in so much sunshine.Cutting into the island chain, we anchored Tayrona in the excellent protection of the Blue Lagoon.
We were again invited to Sunday church service in the village on Matathawa Levu. Seems to be a good way to meet locals and buy fresh fruit.Also, we haven’t hit any reefs yet, so I guess its worth getting up early for the 10:30 service.The church was similar.Following the congregation, we took off our shoes, brushed most of the sand from our feet and padded in to the pews.Little kids looked at us like we were aliens.Heck, so did the adults.The service was again in Fijian.We sat behind the choir and one of the guys passed us a hymn book.The melodies are easy enough to pick up and it was fun to try and guess the pronunciation of words.How does one sing, “Ke’u sa tag tikoga” without sounding like a tenor in Jabba the Hutt: The Musical? With their stunning voices and intricate harmonies, the Fijians pull it off with impressive fluidity and grace.
Their doctrine varies slightly from most versions of Christianity in that Jesus’ place on the cross is taken by a crucified lizard.I attributed this to the distortion of the message of God in the decades it would’ve taken missionaries to cross the Pacific, much like a theological game of telephone.I had to watch this guy for a while before he resumed catching bugs.
The next few days passed exploring the island’s coral reefs and mangrove swamps.In our wanderings we were invited to dinner with Sami and Lie who lived on Nanuya island in front of our anchorage.They made a traditional feast with cassava, fish, and chicken wrapped in palm-leaf bundles and baked on coals buried in the earth.The spread was ample and delicious, smoky from the coals.There was coconut sauce for the fish and papaya for dessert.We brought a couple bottles of wine to round out the meal.After dinner, Sami busted out the kava, chanted the traditional prayer and brewed the pulverized root in a sawed up fishing buoy.The cup, much like Patagonian mate, is passed to one person who drinks all of it and gives it back to the brewer.Upon accepting the cup of kava on is supposed to clap, say “Bula!” loudly, drink all the kava in one go, then clap three more times.Kava is a plant root which is ripped from the ground, questionably washed, pulverized with a big stick, then brewed in a cloth sack in tepid water.As you’d expect, it tasted like exactly like standing water from a hay field.A few bowlfuls does give one a placid, thoughtful demeanor.Maybe everyone is just thinking, “Hmmm… why am I drinking this again?”
Sami and Lie asked us about life on the sea and in listing the boat systems that keep us safe and happy aboard, we revealed that we have a sewing machine and operate it with some dexterity.We ended up mending a kava pouch, a scarf, and a shredded pair of shorts for them and also gave them needles and thread for when my seams rip open in the near future.They gave us fruit and a gorgeous cowry shell for the help.Why can’t all transactions came down to fruit, shells, and practical goods?
Poor dinghy had been prop-less for a week.Miranda and I eventually tracked down a chandlery in Nandi on the big island of Fiji.The new prop was shipped in from Melbourne then sent out to us on the Yellow Flier, which hauls passengers though the Yasawas to various little resorts out here.We had to tell them which bay we were anchored in and our friend Paul zoomed Miranda over to pick up the part.Despite the annoyance of the down time in ordering a part from Australia, I was impressed that the whole thing could be orchestrated from a cell phone in the middle of nowhere.I love technology.
Miranda picked up the new prop because I was busy up the mast replacing our tricolor navigation light, which has been doubling as an anchor light, with a new stacked housing that has both tricolor and anchor lights built in.Many a salty sailor has given me a hard time about using a tricolor at night because it implies that you’re sailing along or a navigational buoy.Now with a real anchor light up there I can’t find the boat in the anchorage because it’s usually red or green!The first night driving back to the boat in the dinghy felt like trying to find a parked rental car.Now what color was that thing? I was pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn’t necessary to run new wire to install the light.Things are looking up.Miranda eventually let me down from the mast too, which is a plus.
It had been almost a month since our last provisioning run to the Lautoka market.Half of a sad carrot and a couple soft potatoes haunted our pantry, but we had been running on cans for most of a week.We did ward off scurvy with fresh local fruit, but the situation turns dire when you’re hankering for the last of the cabbage.We heard rumors whispered on the airwaves about a local farm on a nearby island.The Yasawas aren’t often able to grow real crops because there are precious few springs on the rocky islands and there isn’t enough tanked rain water to use as irrigation.Miranda and I took off in the dinghy with instructions to find a certain bay only at high tide and follow a murky inlet through a mangrove maze to it’s termination.With bags on our backs and hope in our hearts, we set off to the supermarket.
We found the parking lot in a muddy pool and parallel parked next to a little boat.A dirt trail ended at a wooden house where we were greeted warmly by Toki and his wife Miri.As we walked down a trail to the clearing cut into the jungle, Toki explained that the farm had been in his family for generations.When we indicated that we’d buy anything and everything they had, Toki and Miri led us up and down the aisles picking veggies and dropping them into our bags.We were thrilled.
Toki also showed us the natural spring that made it possible to irrigate the land.When we could carry no more, we hiked back up the trail to their house and paid them for the produce.I brought an extra machete that I had aboard and gave it to them and they threw in a dozen eggs and a bunch of oranges.Back at the ranch, Miranda and I washed all our new goodies and made a salad that would make a vegan swoon.Not bad for twenty bucks.
There’s a tropical low forming and the weather has been deteriorating for a few days. We’d really like to keep moving north but the wind was forecasted to kick up to thirty knots and rain.So for the last couple of days we’ve been aboard doing odd jobs, cooking, and reading, punctuated by blustery hikes around the island and kiteboarding sessions in horrid, squally conditions just for the hell of it.On the other side of Nanuya we found two standing shacks, one of which was a tea house.A lady came down from an even smaller shack on the hill to open it up and make us lemon leaf tea and cakes.Pretty darn cute.
After a couple days of wind and rain we’re ready to move on from the protection of the Blue Lagoon and keep venturing north!
