Last Days in New Zealand

24. Apr. 2016
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New Zealand, Passages
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2 Comments

Author: Pete

Location: Bay of Islands, New Zealand

Well, it’s time to go. We’ve been drifting around New Zealand for almost six months and the time has come to head for Australia. Half a year seemed like a long time to stay in Kiwi-land when we were planning the trip, but so much has been packed in that the time has flown and all of a sudden it’s time to go. Plus, it’s getting to be fall and the weather is oscillating between gorgeous and rainy, and I my wimpy blood just can’t handle that kind of climate swing.

Standing in our way is the mercurial Tasman Sea. Somehow in my mind the Tasman looks like an ogre with a boar’s head, jealously guarding Australia’s golden shores. It’s late April now, and the highest chance of finding Taz in a pleasant mood. This is the sweet spot after the hurricanes stop threatening to drop in from the north and before hellacious winter storms roll up from the south. The window seems to last about four weeks and we’ve been watching the weather patterns closely as they develop over “The Ditch.” For the crossing, we’re enlisting the services of Bob McDavit, a local weather router guru who we used coming down from Fiji. The reassurance of an extra pair of eyes in the sky with current meteorologic data cannot be over exaggerated. I’d seriously sell my left kidney for it.

In the last couple weeks we’ve been working to get Tayrona gussied up and ready for sail and sale. After two years of salt abuse, some of the woodwork looked road-rashed like it fell off a Ducati. The varnish on the cockpit table was completely gone and the brightwork around the boat had dings and scuffs. Brightwork is commonly known in the non-anal-sailor community as ‘wood.’ We brought the two tables to a good local carpenter, and then I sanded and varnished everything else myself. It was a lot of dust in the boat, but now it looks sparkly and new. Hot showers in the marina take care of the dust even though you have to pay for them. I love the adage passed down from our friends on Pao Hana that, “Four dollar shower is more than twice as good as two dollar shower.” True dat.

We also took the bimini off and replaced all the zippers, enjoying our convertible for a couple of days in the process. Predictably, we got a good deal of rain just about that time. I also went up the mast and polished the upper rigging, changed the oil and engine mounts, replaced the sink faucet and refrigerator latch, replaced head mirrors, and ejected tons of redundant equipment. Four anchors? Who needs four anchors? Tayrona is sitting a good six inches higher in the water.

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Although a host of projects filled our time from dawn to dusk, but we did get to spend time with friends. Most of our cruising buddies are gathering in Opua, staging here to provision before sailing to foreign shores. Our intended trajectories spread out in all directions, and it’s bittersweet to talk about everyone’s plans for the next months. The end of this entire trip is showing itself on the horizon. I’m taken aback by the realization that we likely won’t see some of our good friends again after we leave here. There are only a handful of boats that cross the Pacific Ocean every year, and in sharing stories and libations over thousands of miles of ocean crews form a unique bond. Sailors are brought together by mutual love of the life aquatic, the freedom of the boundless ocean, and more than a touch of masochism. Sailing friends celebrate the stunning experiences and bemoan the sorrows of sailors together, leaning on each other for support and camaraderie in some of the most beautifully inhospitable places on earth. Then, as it always happens in life, especially ours as expatriates, paths diverge. You have to say goodbye, wish each other fair winds and following seas, and know that your courses may not cross again. It’s sad, but part of the deal.

On a positive note, we picked up Denny from the Kerikeri airport after five flights from Traverse City. I expected to see a trickle of midwesterner come oozing out of the airplane door and puddle on the tarmac when the hatch was opened, but he showed little signs of travel wear. That’s a good sign for crew! We all went out for ribs, and in the next days got a few more things done around the boat and introduced him to friends we’ve been sailing with for the last year and a half. Watching the weather we got dire news about the conditions in the Tasman. Our weather router predicted winds and seas to be “VERY HIGH”, so we sensibly opted to let the trough pass the north island before venturing out to Brisbane. No sense getting needlessly pummeled.

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It worked out well, actually. We had some down time to explore the old whaling town of Russell and get out to the islands for a couple of days.

Now, before shoving off, we’re checking out of the country and replacing the lost ballast with provisions, water, and fuel. Can’t get too greedy about the speed. Looks like the passage weather will be good, worth the wait as a big ugly trough is ripping through The Ditch right now. Taz seems to be in good spirits.

So now it’s time to go. That’s the short of it. Hauling anchor in the morning and out we’ll go on the falling tide. Back to the sea with Tayrona one last time.

Blue Lagoon, Yasawas, Fiji

17. Oct. 2015
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Fiji
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2 Comments

Author: Pete

Location: Blue Lagoon, Yasawas, Fiji

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.

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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?”

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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!

Niue, Rock of Polynesia

04. Aug. 2015
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Niue
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1 Comment

Author: Pete

Location: Niue

Ever heard of Niue? I hadn’t either. We wouldn’t have stopped here but for our faulty autohelm, but in retrospect, the memory of a couple days of hand steering fades quickly in the shadow of the island’s charm. Niue is an isolated island country, in free association with New Zealand. Many people here are Kiwis, and apparently 95% of Niueans live in NZ. They must have exported all of the grumpy, sour citizens, because everyone we run into here is overly welcoming and amicable.

We checked into the country, a strenuous task involving calling Radio Niue on VHF 16 and meeting the van at the wharf. We sat in the back of the van, tailgate party style, and filled out the forms using knees and windows as writing surfaces. We are one of three cruising boats in the anchorage. It’s the only anchorage on the island, so I guess that makes us one of three boats in the country. Needless to say, the officials weren’t too worried about us smuggling contraband or illegally immigrating. Formalities were painless and the fifty dollar clearance fee was the least expensive we’ve seen in a long time.

It’s too deep to anchor here. Ten paces from the cliff shore the seabed drops to one hundred plus feet. The Niueans have graciously provided robust moorings for we poor cruisers for a modest fee of $15 New Zealand dollars a night. I don’t know the exchange rate, so it’s pretty much free in my book. The bay is open to the west and gets some sizable swell at times. The unprotected wharf would shred the stoutest dinghy tied along side, so all the boats and hoisted awkwardly out of the sea by an odd crane and plunked unceremoniously on the pier. It’s standard operating procedure here I guess; even the locals coming back in respectable offshore fishing boats sling their craft in a harness and crane them onto trailers.

We got in the water right away after clearing in. The topography is amazing. The reef shallows extends fifty feet out, then plummets into deep blue. It’s a little spooky swimming out to the edge. Closer to shore, the coral is regenerating after getting shredded by a hurricane in 2004. There are also a species of sea krate that live only in Niue. They’re like a sea snake, but need to breathe air. It’s very exciting because they’re a fun combination of plentiful, highly curious, AND extremely venomous! They say that the krates can’t bite humans, but since they have jaws, venom, and a brain the size of a raisin we decided to throw on the long wetsuits and gloves. We’re pretending it’s because of the cooler waters here.

There are also myriad sea caves to explore, both above and below of the water. You need some good reef shoes, but it makes for fun exploration, a mixture of swimming and spelunking. The crabs clamber out of the way and the booms and sloshes of the swell echo through the passages.

Back on Tayrona, between visits from humpback whales and outrigger fishermen, I pulled out the autohelm drive piston, a Raytheon Type 1 Linear Drive. Removing the plastic front cover exposes the motor which I peeled apart. I pulled off the stator housing and cleaned the rotor and commutator of fine black dust from wearing of the brushes. Thanks to Mr. Woods for making me tediously build an electric motor from scratch in high school. You never know when you’re going to use some of the things you learn. The clutch seemed to be working well when connected with reliable power but not when installed below, so I ran new wiring for the system and she fired right up! We went for a little sea trial to verify that all was in working order and then came back to our mooring. She’s back baby! Good-bye hand steering and good riddance!

Tamakautoga (yeah, say that 10 times fast), is the next little village south of the anchorage and was having a festival with dancing, food, music, and such that we found our way to. There were a couple gringos there, but mostly it’s a local celebration. Apparently there is a tradition that the youth put on dances for the community, so we were delighted when six young, shirtless boys in sarongs and grass necklaces came out to dance. The music revved up and for a few minutes all seemed normal until an older gentleman walked out of the crowd and tucked a dollar bill into one of the boys’ loin cloths. What?! Then another person came up and tucked more money into their breeches. The boys kept dancing like nothing was out of the ordinary. Several other youth groups got up to dance, boys and girls, and the crowd kept tucking money in their cloths, for the girls the bills often went straight down the front of the shirt. It was a little distracting, not to mention illegal where I’m from! Also it was pretty windy, and notes kept falling out of they youths’ undergarments. Helpful revelers chased the wayward bills down, and re-stuffed them where the sun don’t shine. It reminded us of our friend Elizabeth. The Polynesian dancing… not stuffing money into the undergarments.

Niue is a perfect example of a raised atoll. The ancient coral has been cut by rain and sea for millennia and now the island is pocked with caves and chasms for the exploring. We followed a trail off the road to get to Togo Chasm and Anapala Chasm. Trees have figured out how to grow directly out of the rock on Niue. We weaved through sharp teeth of coral that tough vegetation was happily thriving on. The chasms were deep cut ravines near the sea. Seemed like a good place for a hermit to hide out.

Went to church on Sunday to hear the Niuean hymn singing. I really wanted to take some shots of the church, but was enraptured with the choir. And I didn’t want to look like a schmuck. The bibles were written in Niuean and the service was given in Niuean as well. I think they said something like, “Be good to thy fellow man, and to the pius give free sinus medication.” Still working on my translations. It was a lot of fun getting dressed up in our Sunday finest, driving to the wharf in the dinghy and hauling it out with a crane. Sea spray on one’s vestments seems to be standard operating procedure for the faithful ‘round these parts.

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The humpback whales that frequent these waters feed in Antarctica all “summer” (Nov-March) then migrate to this area to berth their calves in the warm water in “winter” (May-Sept). Regulations in Niue prohibit snorkeling with the whales from your dinghy. It’s an understandable effort to keep impact on their behavior to a minimum by reducing the number of idiots buzzing them with outboards while they’re trying to give birth. I wouldn’t want some jerk flying one of those new fangled helicopter drones around my neonatal hospital room either. Creepers. Long story short, we went with the island’s only dive operation out to snorkel with the big guys. Notice the crossed krates on the dive company’s insignia. The whales were pretty active the day we went out, swimming fast and diving deep and often, which is bad when you want to chill with them on the surface. We saw a fantastic breech but only snorkeled with them while they ran deep. Still, the vibrations from their vocalization vibrates in your chest, airways, and sinuses. Floating atop a two thousand foot column of water pulsating from these monsters’ vocalizations is enough to make you tremble in your wetsuit. Or pee.

A few days later, we woke up the morning of our departure from Niue and Miranda wasn’t through with the whales yet. We went ashore and arranged to go out again that morning and try our luck one more time with Buccaneer Dive. This time the weather was calmer and sunnier which prompts more tranquil behavior from the humpbacks. We motored up to the ‘footprint’ of one that had just submerged. They leave a flat, glassy patch of water where they were on the surface previously. Following our guides we slid into the water and saw this big guy floating near the bottom in about 100 feet of water. He’s well camouflaged from the top; you can only see his white scarring. We waited in the water about ten minutes and he came back up. The first movement you could see was his four-foot pectoral fins rolling him almost onto his back so he could see us, revealing his white belly. He was 12 meters long and moved with an otherworldly grace for something so big. He came up and checked us out, blew with a jarring percussion and cruised slowly by us back down to the bottom. We hung out a bit, then took the launch to find others and give him a rest. Ended up snorkeling with him again later on. It was a great vibe on the boat; our Kiwi companions giggling with us like school girls. What is it about sea life encounters that does that?

The shots above are Shannon’s shots, he owns the Buccaneer dive operation and came with us to spot whales, bringing his gorgeous DSLR dive camera. The shots below are ours, still, not terrible for a point-and-shoot.

When we left shore that morning, Shannon assured us he had a good feeling we’d have great whale encounters that day. He claims that the whales can always tell when they are good people on his boat and can sense the “buena onda” aboard. Those kiwis we went out with must have been extra good folks to make up for our sorry tails. Either way, he was right, and Poseidon’s blessings were certainly with us that day.

Niue was an accidental stop for us. We didn’t plan on making landfall here. Our four days of hand steering were made worth it after the experiences we had and good people we met in Niue. Just goes to show that it’s always best to follow the winds of fate that guide the boat. Itineraries are to sailing as calculus is to mollusks- just plain silly.

With that, we’re off to Tonga.