Refitting and Upgrading 'Fantail'

I can't believe how long it is since I put anything on this blog!  The trouble is that I want to do it right - so because there always seems to be something else to do, I don't do it at all.  I have a draft here, that goes back months and I've decided that today's project is to bring it to a hasty conclusion and get it posted!!!

I had intended to haul Fantail out of the water in October, to do a quick antifoul.  At the same time I would build the new yard.  But life, as so often happens, got in the way and I ended up spending 7 weeks looking after a friend recovering from a couple of operations.  Most people would have been delighted to live in a beautiful house, surrounded by lovely bush, on a beach in the Bay of Islands.  There were projects to do, a garden to play in and a fine kitchen where I could spread my wings and cook to my heart's delight.  But I have to say that by the time I went back to Fantail I was more than ever convinced that I am meant to live on a boat and will only be happy as long as I'm living in this way.

By now my poor little ship was supporting the makings of a marine reserve, and there was now no debate about putting off the haulout any longer.  I had intended to go to Norsand in Whangarei, but they only had a few cradles small enough for my boat (!), so I ended up going to Riverside Marine, just downstream from the Town Basin.  This proved to be a good choice and they looked after me well.  But, as is increasingly the case, I was penalised for having a small boat.  This trend is becoming depressingly common.  While at first glance, it might seem fair for an 8-metre boat to be charged half of what a 16-metre boat pays, in fact it is far from just.  An 8-metre boat requires only 21 square metres of water, while her 16-metre long sister will need 85 square metres.  And that is only a part of the unfairness:  the larger boat will need a deeper berth - perhaps artificially dredged - a much larger turning area and more substantially moored pontoons with larger cleats.  And this overlooks the fact that it's not unfair to assume that the larger boat will probably be worth ten times as much as her little sister, so that the cost of mooring the boat will be a much smaller part of her general maintenance costs.  I find it sad, and indeed potentially rather stupid, that small boats are being discriminated against: many people start sailing when they are young and impecunious, only to gradually buy larger and more expensive vessels as their disposable income increases.  If these people had been unable to afford to moor their boats in the first place, then they might have decided to take up another sport instead.  And where would the yards and marinas be then?

It was explained to me that the reason that I was charged a minimum of 10 metres, is because the travel lift needs a certain amount of room to move and that this limits the number of boats that can be fitted in the yard.  Fair enough.  But why was I charged at the 10-metre rate for scrubbing off, for chocking up, etc, etc.  And why a minimum of 10 metres in an alongside berth?  But that was generous compared with the Town Basin, who insist that I pay as a 12-metre yacht if I wish to go alongside.  And I'm not talking about individual slips, here - I am talking about mooring alongside.  But I would bet that I wouldn't be allocated my full 12 metres of dock space if a further boat could be squeezed in!!  And this marina is run by a non-profit trust.  So why are small boats required to subsidise larger ones?

However, I didn't have much choice, so I bit the bullet, hauled out and set to work. There were a few bumps in the antifouling, which may, or may not, have been osmosis.  Supposedly the boat has been treated for osmosis in the past, but I've no idea whether it was professionally, or even competently, carried out.  I knocked the top off them all and only 2 or 3 showed signs of weeping.  I decided that as I'd be leaving the antifouling until the final job, I'd let these spots dry out and see what they looked like in a couple of weeks.

I had never had the chance to finish repainting the deck, so that was the first job.

When I had first bought Joshua, as she then was, there had been a considerable amount of maroon trim, which I disliked.  It had taken ages to get rid of the stripes on the white topsides, and the maroon paint all over the deck wasn't much easier to remove.  A heat gun seemed to be too savage because it lifted the gelcoat beneath, as well as the paint, which I found rather surprising.  In the end I resorted to paint stripper and various scrapers, followed by vigorous wet sanding.

Another job that I wanted to do was to varnish all the teak.  Fantail has a teak capping along the edge of the deck and I don't think this had ever been varnished.  I am not a fan of the so-called 'scrubbed teak' look, which actually means neglected, weathered, grey wood.  Teak can tolerate an enormous amount of neglect and still scrape up easily to a beautiful colour, but like all wood, if left completely unprotected, it will weather, and get damaged.  I was delighted with Fantail's paint scheme, but the grey teak disappeared into the alloy toe rail (not the prettiest thing in the world) and I felt that brightly varnished teak would enhance her appearance.  I had been told about a Kiwi product called 'Uroxsys' and decided to try this out.  The product consists of a clear primer and a clear topcoat.  You prepare the wood and put on one coat of primer.  Then you put on at least 6 coats of the second part.  This is a regime I would follow anyway, the primer being the equivalent of thinned varnish - although I'd usually put 2 or 3 coats of this on, with progressively less thinners in each coat.  Uroxsys has several advantages over the competition.  It is easier to use than two-part polyurethane - its closest competitor, because it doesn't need mixing.  It is more flexible, but like most two-part polyurethane 'varnishes', it is perfectly clear.  Because it is clear, you don't need to mask off or work super-carefully like you do with conventional varnish.  It is supposedly much longer lasting than conventional varnish.  Its clarity makes it a much more attractive finish that the stained finishes designed for doors and windows in houses, that so many people use nowadays.  You can apply another coat as soon as the previous one is touch dry, which means that the whole varnish job can be carried out more rapidly.  It is far too soon to judge its longevity, but even if it only lasts as long as top-quality spar varnish, I'd go for it again, if only for the ease of application.  It's not much more expensive than a brand-name spar varnish.  So, before I painted, I scraped and sanded the wee bit of teak that support the aluminium toerail along the deck.

I then sanded all the rest of the deck forward of the cockpit canopy and applied 3 coats of Altex primer.  On top of this I applied Altex two-pack polyurethane, finishing off with their non-skid compound.  This latter proved to be a serious disappointment, because in spite of following the directions to the letter, the result was very uneven leaving some areas of the deck slippery and others excessively rough.  And of course, the appearance was also disappointing.

But it was a lot better than it had been!

I hate washboards and Fantail had three of the things.  Why do I dislike them?  Well, for a start, there is never a proper place for them, in reach of the hatch so that you can drop them in at a moment's notice if it suddenly comes on to rain; and even if they do have a proper home, they rattle around and get in the way until they are stowed.  If you are sailing in the rain, particularly with a following wind, you are constantly taking them in and out as you go below to check the chart, make a cuppa, etc and again, they are a damn nuisance to put down while you climb in and out.  And they have an annoying tendency always to fall over with an awful clatter, if you prop them up 'for a moment' and I dislike sudden, loud noises!  So all in all, washboards and I do not get on.

F

For some time, I had been thinking of the idea of a fold-down companionway, to get rid of this problem.  Most people I'd mentioned it to, had shaken their heads dubiously and sucked their teeth pessimistically.  It's the sort of "what-was-good-enough-for-me,-my-father-and-his-father-before-him,-should-be-good-enough-for-a-foolish-woman" attitude that I am used to, but still a bit discouraging for all that.  However, I threw the idea out to my wonderful friends in the junk rig community (www.junkrigassociation.org) and someone in Queensland promptly came back with photographs of his companionway, which was very similar to what I was planning.  Admittedly, Arion has a sliding hatch and I have none.  On the other hand, I am a hobbit and this boat is being altered to suit me, not some putative buyer in the dim and distant future.  Anyway, armed with the knowledge that a least one other person had used 'my' idea and was happy with it, I bent what is laughingly-called my mind to the problem of creating it.

And now I'm going to cut a very long story, very short by simply putting a few pictures here so you can see for yourself what I did:

Preparing the cockpit sole for the new bulkhead

Making the pattern

Fitting the new bulkhead

Making a pattern for the locker lid, on which the new hatches rest.  See also that part of the lower washboard has been cut and glued in, in order to provide a sill.

Adding the framework on which the hatch boards will land.

Gluing in the additional framing

The completed 'washboards'/hatch

 

 

There now, that was nice and fast, wasn't it?  The extra locker provided by the new bridgedeck is a perfect place for a bilge pump (which, until then, I'd never found a home for) and I can also keep some collapsible water containers there, ready to take ashore.

I'm sure that you are awe-struck at my standard of woodwork, but I have to confess that most of the teak was fitted by a real boatbuilder.  I know my limitations and I know when to pay money to people who can do things much better than I!

As well as this job, I painted the hull with two part polyurethane and also repainted the decks and cockpit.  My little ship looks a lot smarter than she did.

I was very pleased with her when we came to re-launch :

and the care that Carl and his merry men took to keep my new paint in pristine condition made me feel that other people appreciated how much work I'd put in, too:

Another thing I'd invested in was a really nice self-adhesive name.  Being a thrifty soul, I attached it to some black acrylic and screwed that to the stern, so that I can take it off next time I paint the boat.

Back in the water,it was time to get on with the cockpit paint and finish the job, all of which - as ever - took longer than anticipated.  To add insult to injury, the only rain that fell in January, came on the day I put on the final coat of paint.  Still, it looks fine from a few feet away!

A few weeks later, Mark and Phil on Icebreaker took a photo of us sailing near Waiheke Island, and I could see what the new paint job looked like.  I was pleased with it.

One or two people have left comments on my blog asking that I come back to them.  For some reason, the end of such comments is often lopped off by Blogspot.  So if you want me to reply, I suggest you open your comment with  your email address.  I do try to respond to most comments that as for feedback.  But I don't check them that often, so please be patient :-)

I know there are some comments that need answering but I've been sooo busy upgrading Fantail.  I'll get on to it in the New Year.  In the meantime, have a

I am, generally, proud of this little country at the bottom of the globe.  I am immensely proud of the fact that so many Kiwis have tried to make up for the appalling environmental ignorance and vandalism of their predecessors.  Many thousands of people give generously of their time and money, to restore populations of endangered birds and to protect other species from the predators, so foolishly introduced.  In the past our Government have helped in this, setting aside vast tracts of land for conservation.

However the present Government seems to have no interest in anything but making money.  Not only does it want to mine coal (lignite at that!) on conservation land, it recently voted against doing anything more to help save our delightful Maui's dolphin from extinction.  These dolphin are unique to N Island, New Zealand and the threat is both unnecessary and, of course, man-made.  They have a cousin in S Island. Hector's dolphin, a cheerful and confiding little animal that bustles over to spend time with a yacht in its area, puffing and diving companionably, even when you sit at anchor:

Even the Hector's dolphin is hardly flourishing, but its poor cousin is now down to probably no more than 55 males and more are dying every year.  In nets.

I have personally written to members of the Government several times about this issue, but have only ever received an automatic reply. Our Prime Minister is also Minister of Tourism.  NZ sells itself on its 'clean, green' image.  You'd think that if nothing else, the fact that we might be the first country since China (see my earlier blog) to allow a cetacean to become extinct, would give him cause to think.  Apparently not.  If, after reading this, you feel as I do, please drop him a line and ask him to get his act together: J.Key@ministers.govt.nz

Maui’s dolphin is listed as critically endangered and the Government itself identified that 95% of the threat of Maui’s dolphin mortalities comes from fishing-related death, namely entanglement in nets (including set nets and trawl nets). Mining and oil activities, pollution, vessel traffic and disease constitute the remainder of the threat, on a much lower scale but still significant given the precarious state of the population.

Since the recent, alarming, population estimate there have been further deaths of Maui’s and/or Hector’s dolphins – including entanglement in fishing gear, and dead dolphins found outside the area previously protected. Reporting of dolphin deaths in fishing nets, with or without observers onboard, indicates that only around 1% of these deaths go reported. In other words, these may represent just the tip of the iceberg.

The International Whaling Commission's scientific committee, at its 2012 meeting, noted that bycatch in gillnet and trawl fisheries is the most serious threat to these dolphins, and recommended “the immediate implementation of the proposal by the New Zealand Ministry for Primary Industries to extend the North Island protected area ..."

In September, a similar statement was made at World Conservation Congress of the International Union for the Conservation of Nature. In a vote, the IUCN passed an almost unanimous motion urging New Zealand  urgently to protect Maui’s dolphin.  There were 576 country and NGO votes in favour of the motion, and two votes against it. Each country member has two votes, and the two "no" votes belonged to New Zealand.  Can you believe it?  This country, that depends on green tourism voted against 576 other countires and organisations who wanted to protect our own dolphin!  It's beyond madness.

New Zealand  has brought species like the black robin and the kakapo back from the brink of extinction and is rightly proud of these efforts.  And yet now we are complacently contemplating the extinction of yet another unique species.  It's incomprehensible. 

I still mourn the Yangtze River Dolphin, an animal I never encountered.  Having shared the sea with the lovely little Hector's dolphin, I feel incredibly close to their cousins from N Island.  I can't bear the thought of their disappearing for no reason apart from apathy and ignorance.

If you want to know more about it, just Google Maui's dolphin.  You will find no shortage of information to bear out my story.

Although my life is now firmly based in NZ, living aboard and sailing Fantail, May and June of this year saw me back in the Maritimes and sailing on Iron Bark once again.  Trevor had invited me to join him for a couple of months, and as he was planning to winter-over once again in Greenland, I thought he might appreciate some help with the preparations.

After spending two or three weeks in Halifax, we had knocked over most of what was needed to be done, so set  off for a short cruise to the S Coast of Newfoundland, a place I have visited only too briefly in the past. We made our way up the coast of Nova Scotia, through the Bras D'Or Lakes, locking in at St Peters

In the St Peters Canal

 and on up through the Lakes, stopping once or twice on the way.

Passing under the Barra Strait Bridge

After passing through the Barra Straits, we sailed onto Baddeck, where we stayed for a few days enjoying meeting old friends again.  Then we sailed out across the Cabot Strait in bright sunshine, which ended as we approached the Newfoundland, shrouded in fog, as one expects.
  

Newfoundland fog - much less than usual this year

 However, what we didn't realise, as we groped our way in to anchor, was that for most of the rest of our stay in Newfoundland, we would enjoy beautiful, sunny weather.

Our first anchorage on the S Coast was Culotte Cove, a place Trevor had discovered the previous year and wanted to visit again.  It was a delightful spot and we had some pleasant walks ashore.
 

Iron Bark at Culotte Cove

 I must be getting old: the first few weeks in the Maritimes I found I was cold all the time.  I had just come from late autumn in New Zealand, but it was considerably warmer than late spring in the Maritimes.  Ashore, out of the wind and in the sun, I could warm up, but on the water I felt completely chilled.  On the other hand, surrounded by sea at 3 degrees, maybe I did have some excuse!

Water Temperature on 29th May!

 We sailed on to nearby Burgeo, where we went to an excellent concert, with Jim Dorie from Pictou and Burgeo's own John Coffer, whose music I enjoyed so much that I treated myself to a CD.  Burgeo has a wonderful sense of community and Trevor seemed to know a lot of people from having been there the previous year.  He had stayed for quite a while and, because he was alone, got to meet many people and enjoy much hospitality.

We left Burgeo for pretty little Doctors Harbour where we stayed for the night before heading off to Grey River.  Grey River is the start of the astonishingly dramatic scenery that brings sailors back time and again to the S Coast.  This is also the only part of Newfoundland where some of the communities still have no road access.  Sadly, there is a lot of pressure on the inhabitants of these remote communities to finish the job that Joey Smallwood started half a century ago - and move from the outports to the larger towns.  Some people have stuck to their guns and refuse to leave and Grey River is one of these communities.  The entrance to Grey River is narrow and between very high cliffs

Entrance to Grey River

and the village is squeezed onto a narrow ledge of flat land at the base to the left-hand cliff as you enter.  We went to anchor in SW Harbour, where a lot more houses had been built since our last visit.  Apparently the good citizens of Grey River (Pop fewer than 200), find there is too much hustle and bustle in the big city and need to escape to the peace and quiet of the country!  As we sailed along the S Coast, we found a lot of new building going on, which while no doubt great for the locals, was a bit disappointing for us.  This startling increase in wealth is due to the fact that many Newfoundlanders work away from the province at the Tar Sands in Alberta, about which I will forebear to comment.  My feeling was that with so many people working away, the profound sense of community, which was such a cohesive part of Newfoundland society , has diminished.  I also felt that they were much less interested in visitors than they used to be.  Most people now have access to satellite TV and the Internet and no doubt their world is a much bigger place than it used to be.

We spent quite a time in the Grey River, exploring its several anchorages before moving along to Hare Bay, another impressive fjord.  One of its arms - Morgans Arm - has a most impressive series of waterfalls at its head.  We anchored nearby to go for a walk and I found a wonderful route up alongside the rushing water, which was truly dramatic.

The waterfall at Morgans Arm

From where the river started to fall down to the sea, we walked to the the top of the hill/cliff overlooking the harbour and waterfall, where Iron Bark was minified by the vast scale of the landscape.

Looking down at the anchorage at Morgans Arm

Trevor did a bit of boulder rolling and we both enjoyed a respite from the blackflies. 

Trevor and boulder

Then we tramped down again, by which time it was quite late, so we chugged back to our former anchorage drinking a glass or two of rum on the way.

Our next harbour was on Brunette Island.  We arrived there late in the afternoon and put off going ashore for the next morning.  There were half a dozen caribou ambling along the beach, their ankle bones clacking quite audibly, and I watched these for a while.  At one time there had obviously been a sizable outport - the reasonably extensive bay was surrounded by signs of houses.  If you reckon to half a dozen per house, there may have been as many as 1000 people there at one time.

After breakfast, we went ashore and wandered around.  The caribou, sadly, were a long way away - dots on the landscape.

Brunette Harbour

There was a graveyard, of course and three of the gravestones were for separate five-year old children: two boys and a girl, killed on the same day.  They had 'drowned in a pond'.  There is a barachois between the two sides of the settlement and I suspect that this is where they died.  The accident occurred in February and I guessed that they fell in through the ice.  It possibly wasn't strong enough to support the adults who tried to save them and by the time they had floundered their way across, the poor children had drowned.  What a shocking tragedy for the settlement.  Both boys had a long piece of verse on their gravestones.  The little girl didn't.

Graveyard at Brunette Harbour

Brunette Island is the largest in Fortune Bay and in 1964 an attempt was made to introduce bison to Newfoundland, using the island as a test site. One would have thought this a pretty barmy idea, considering the differences between the prairies and the offshore islands of Newfoundland.  Not surprisingly the experiment was a failure.  However, subsequent and more successful attempts have been made to breed. arctic hare, caribou, ptarmigan, and moose.  It is sad that in a vast and essentially underpopulated country such as Canada, these animals should require any help from humanity to survive in the wild.  But hunting pressures (past and present), so-called predator control, habitat decline, disruption of migratory routes and other stresses have had a dramatic and devastating effect on much of Canada's wildlife.

In the afternoon we sailed to Harbour Breton.  I had hoped to revisit St Pierre-Miquelon for a nostalgic taste of France - and its food - but alas, this was not on Iron Bark's itinerary.  Harbour Breton, though smaller than St Pierre, is still a sizable place, with several large - by local standards - shops. 

Harbour Breton

We went ashore and set off anticlockwise around the harbour.  Fortunately, before we'd gone too far, someone asked us if we were 'hiking' and when we said no, suggested we go back the other way.  If we'd looked at the chart before leaving, we'd have realised that the E side of the harbour was in fact a peninsula, with a deep bay the other side.

Just as fortunately, a passing driver stopped and drove us round to the supermarket, where I topped up our stores.  A quick visit to the grog shop, and then back on board and underway towards Jerseymans Harbour, just across the bay.  There were one or two new and/or rebuilt houses here and quite a few signs of the original settlement - particularly the surviving ridges from the potato patches.  We rowed ashore to take a walk along the old road to Bay de L'eau.  Although a bit boggy and overgrown in places, it was surprisingly easy to follow and we reckoned that it was probably cleared as a snowmobile track in winter.

Old wharf footings at Jerseymans Harbour; wrecked ship in background

Iron Bark anchored at Jerseymans Harbour

The next day we sailed over to Grand Bank for fuel - the unusually sunny weather that we'd enjoyed was accompanied by many calms, so we'd done a lot of motoring.  We only stayed overnight and set off early the next day for Little St Lawrence Harbour.  Not a particularly pleasant passage because when we turned on the engine to get around a headland, it stopped after a few minutes and when Trevor investigated, he found the filters blocked.  He had to change them and even then the engine sounded less than happy, but managed to take us into the pretty harbour in the calm of the evening. 

Trevor wasn't entirely confident about the filters, so first thing after breakfast, he sorted things out properly.  He was just tidying up when we were hailed from the shore.  We rowed over to the wharf.  I climbed up the ladder and a complete stranger threw his arms round me and said: 'Jerry - you remember me!  Great to see you again.'  I had to confess that I didn't and it turned out that he thought we were an entirely different couple.  His explanation was that 'the boats look the same'.  As theirs was a red, hard-chine, Bermudian ketch, one would beg to differ, but I guess all boats that aren't white plastic sloops look the same!  Anyway, Jerry was not daunted by this minor mistake and we went up to his house for coffee. He is rebuilding the old family home and although he works away a lot of the time, is hoping to settle there permanently.  He told us that the local climate has improved out of recognition since he was a boy, so that now he can plant a good vegetable garden.  I guess some people are benefiting from global warming!

Little Bay St Lawrence

After lunch we walked round to St Lawrence.  One or two people were farming in a small way, and it was pleasant to see a cow and calf, a couple of sheep, some ponies.  As with all these places, most of the shops have closed and everyone goes to the big smoke.  Hopefully expensive fuel will revitalise the local shops.  We strolled around the town - dominated as usual by a huge and ugly fish plant - in the sunshine.  The latest victim is the poor, unsuspecting whelk, which is now being 'harvested' in huge quantities.  Each boat brings in about 20,000 lbs each time it lifts its 500 pots, which it does several times a week.  Later I discovered that the quota for Ship Cove was 1 000 000 lbs!  And this is for a tiny harbour.  I find it hard to believe that such a fishery is sustainable, and even if it is, it must be at the expense of some other ocean dweller.  Maybe the scientists have done their homework properly and the politicians have listened to them.  And then again, maybe they haven't.

From Little St Lawrence, we sailed to our final Newfoundland outport before I left Iron Bark.  Burin was a lovely little town and a fitting conclusion to our cruise.  We anchored in Ship Cove, which obviously welcomed yachts because they had built a dinghy dock for visitors.  This was marked by a VW Beetle that had been made into a cute joke: a big key stuck out of its back and on the front was a snow plough and a pair of moose antlers.  On top was a light box with Burin written on it.

Iron Bark and Beetle in Ship Cove

The town is very neat with a lot of buildings done up as showpieces.  A beautiful boardwalk has been built along the waterfront, decorated with lights and with flags of the Provinces and those countries that have had the most influence on Newfoundland.  They have tried so hard that it brings tears to your eyes.  So early in the year, everything was shut, apart from the interesting little Museum.

We ambled down the road to the wharf and were warmly greeted by the Harbour mistress, who gave us coffee and biscuits.  She was quite happy for us to bring Iron Bark round to anchor, the incentive for us being a washing machine!!  So we went back and motored round.  We brought the laundry ashore and while it was washing, Marguerite kindly took me to the local shop - about 10 km away!  It was a much-appreciated kindness.

The following day we made a quick trip to Marystown, to stock up before heading back for Nova Scotia.  From there I flew back to New Zealand. while Trevor headed north again.

I managed to clock up 1000 miles in the Maritimes, but I have to say that after a season of sailing my wonderful junk rig, I am even less enamoured of gaff rig.  Once a junkie, always a junkie!  But  Iron Bark  is a great little ship and perfect for the sort of extreme sailing that Trevor chooses to do.  For my own part, I am happy exploring the New Zealand coastline on my own little boat.  All the time I was away I was thinking about her and planning projects and little cruises that I hope to do.  In my own way.  In my own time.

In North Island

I felt very pleased to have made it into Whangaroa when I did.  Even in the sheltered spot we were in, we experienced  the odd strong squall, but Fantail is a delight at anchor.  I don't think she has yet snatched at her chain, even during that gale we had at Adele, and she never heels to the gusts.  I kept wondering should I let out more chain, but the holding seemed good and we hadn't moved,  I was on at least 5:1 scope.  Fantail has 25m of 8mm chain and I tend to let it all out regardless of depth, unless I’m in a crowded anchorage and might swing into somebody else.

I stayed in Whangaroa for the rest of the day, letting the blow come through.  Some of the gusts were quite ferocious, but we never moved and barely heeled.  I turned in early and slept like a log until about 0800.  I decided to head on down to the Bay of Islands, to catch up with a friend who has a house there. 




It was flat calm in the anchorage, so we left under power, but after a couple of minutes we found a breeze and could turn the engine off.  It was a lovely, sunny morning, and I enjoyed the interesting scenery along the shores. Then we lost the breeze, so it went back on to take me out of the entrance and on for another half mile.  The rest of the day was on again off again as the wind came and went.  We ended up with a fine breeze, but it was too late to get to my friend's.  I should have left a lot sooner – it was further than I realised, having allowed myself to be misled by the small scale of the North Island chart.  My own fault, so I anchored in Twin Lagoon Bay on Roberton I, for the night

I was feeling tired, but forced myself to make ratatouille and pasta for tea and as I polished it off without difficulty, was glad I had done so.  As I sipped on a glass of wine, I felt it had been another great day and that I’d made the right decision to come north.

I spent the next two or three weeks cruising around the Bay of Islands, which is a wonderful, miniature cruising ground, with many bays and islands to provide a variety of anchorages.  However, we seemed to be having a particularly windy spell of weather and I got tired of dodging gales and listening to F10 winds howl overhead.

In between blows, I managed to visit several anchorages and enjoy a Royal Cruising Club meet, which gave me the opportunity to catch up with people I haven’t seen for ages.  We sailed to several different anchorages and had parties on each others’ boats.  Although the Club is based in the UK, the Membership roams far and wide and at any one time there might be several RCC boats in New Zealand.  As several Members also live here, a total of about 20 people turned up for the BBQ party ashore at a Members’ house.  Fantail showed off her paces and as everyone made nice noises about her, we felt pretty pleased with ourselves.

 A couple of weeks later, the Junk Rig Association planned a rally in Mahurangi Harbour, about 100 miles south of the Bay of Islands.  It fitted in nicely and I had plenty of time to get there.  I was in contact with other members in Whangarei, about half way between the two in the hope of catching up with them so that we could all arrive together.  The forecasts were far from reliable, changing from day to day and when I was ready to leave, it changed again with another gale on the way. Further south, in Whangarei, mehitabel and Pacific Spray made the same decision. Arcadian, also in Whangarei, had a new rig that had only been tried out twice. They too lurked, waiting on the forecast. A few days later I was sitting in a bay with Fantail getting hammered by gusts that must have been F10 at times. This storm was followed by several days of F6+, which I didn't fancy at all. Nor it seemed did anyone else: text messages and emails were flying and we even wondered about changing the venue.Two days before the rally was due to start, everyone was still cowering in harbour.

On the morning of 22 March, the weather finally gave us a break. Pacific Spray, Arcadian and mehitabel sailed out of Whangarei and Fantail, 50 miles further to the north, got underway at 0600, took the fair wind and ran with it. By tea time we were off Whangarei, with the others already in the Hauraki Gulf, and common sense suggested that I put in to anchor. But Fantail was going like a train and I decided to carry on, under reduced canvas so that I could find anchorage in daylight. However, this plan was thwarted by the wee ship who wanted to get there, and in spite of only having the top three panels of her sail, carried on at over 4 knots. At this speed I could risk catnapping (something I had never done successfully before) and we continued sailing, eventually bringing to in Christian Cove, a few miles into the Hauraki Gulf. It was Friday and we still had 12 hours before the rally was due to start. I felt quite pleased with myself and turned in for a few hours.

After a quick breakfast, I set off towards Mahurangi and had hardly got underway when I saw the unmistakeable shape of mehitabel come out from behind a headland. Of course now it was almost calm and our progress was far from fast, but light winds had been forecast and were one of the reasons I carried on overnight. mehitabel and Fantail arrived within a few minutes of each other and we brought to near Pacific Spray. Footprints could be seen across the bay, the sail going up and down as her owner tried to sort out his brand-new sail. Not long after I anchored, Tystie dropped her hook, followed soon after by Arcadian. I popped a bottle of bubbly and called them over to come and share it. The rally had begun.

The sound of an outboard advertised Pacific Spray’s dinghy returning with the ‘shore party’: The China Moons who had flown in rather than sail the 1000+ miles from Tasmania; a new member, also from Oz, who is exploring the idea of sailing and living aboard her own junk-rigged boat; and La Chica’s owner, who had not managed to meet her launching date (when do they ever?). They all piled on board Fantail, who was beginning to get a trifle crowded. Then another boat hove into view: a fascinating lug-rigged ketch, with a pram bow. (the general consensus was probably ‘so near and yet so far’!) beautifully constructed and full of clever ideas as we found out later. This was Le Canard Bleu, whose builder is famous in NZ for building the 64ft gaff schooner, Maggie. His crew was also considered acceptable company, having sailed around the world against the wind in his Lidgard 30, which has a junk mainsail, and a jib.

As we’d run out of bubbly, the party transferred itself to Canard Bleu, and in due course everyone was drinking and talking, and the odd person was even listening, while snacks were passed round and the boat admired.

The plan for Saturday, was to head north for Bon Accord Harbour on Kawau I, about 10 miles, as the crow flies, from Mahurangi. The day dawned fair with a good sailing breeze that would have us beating in flat seas, sheltered by offshore islands. About 1030, sails started going up masts, anchors were raised, dinghies brought aboard and the yachts sailed out into the main harbour, tacking, gybing, taking photographs and admiring one another. And all secretly wondering how we were going to compare. We had to beat out between an island and the mainland and it was a wonderful sight to behold: the seven boats – as varied a selection of craft as you are ever likely to see together – sailing in line ahead and each one tacking at the same spot. It was like something out of Patrick O'Brien, but it was disappointing that there were no other boats out on the water to admire the spectacle, despite its being a fine Summer Saturday.

Footprints, 32ft overall, is designed by Gary Underwood and had just fitted a new sail; this was its first real trial; the 49ft Arcadian was relishing the conditions: she and Fantail sailed tack for tack to Bon Accord Harbour; Le Canard Bleu was crashing along in fine style, her pram bow making plenty of noise; Pacific Spray was right behind her, making good progress but really wanting a bit more wind; then came mehitabel, her flat sails belying all the latest thinking as she inexorably worked her way through the fleet, finally being the second boat to sail into anchor.

It was fascinating to watch the different boats. Footprints and Fantail each had to reef, and Tystie dropped one later in the day, but the other boats were probably in their ideal conditions; apart from Pacific Spray who sailed at her best later in the afternoon, when the breeze hardened to about F6. Fantail felt a bit smug at sailing faster than Footprints, but as the battens from her previous sail were proving too flexible, this satisfaction was undoubtedly unwarranted.

Late in the afternoon, we all brought to at the east end of Bon Accord Harbour and the cooks got to work: at 1800 we were to assemble for sundowners on the beautifully-fitted out Pacific Spray, followed by a potluck supper. Although only 38ft long, Pacific Spray is huge and there was plenty of room for the thirteen people who eventually sat down to dinner and enjoyed a thoroughly convivial evening.

Fantail’s yard was made by a friend, to a similar design as that used by Arne Kverneland. At the time he gave it to me, Paul was thinking of putting wing sails on his boat, but subsequently changed his mind and wanted to use his original spars. Very kindly, he offered to make me a replacement, tailored specifically to Fantail, a much smaller and lighter craft than La Chica. I had intended to swop them on Saturday morning, but had run out of time. On Sunday morning, it was blowing a bit briskly and forecast to stay that way. The plan was to head back to Mahurangi, but I really didn’t want to beat back against F6, so I contacted mehitabel and asked them if they would be kind enough to collect the old yard from me and take it back with them. The skipper soon paddled across, not only to take the yard, but to help me remove and replace it, a much-appreciated gesture. I undid the lashings and as I started to slide the yard forward, he commented that it looked a bit odd. I went back aft where I had a better view and to my horror could see it was seriously bent – deflected from straight by about 6 inches! I had noticed it bending the previous day, when beating on the starboard tack, and was a bit surprised, as I’d never seen it do so before, but had assumed it would have straightened itself out as we went about.

After some debate, we decided to carry on and replace it with the new one, but the bad news for Paul was also bad news for me, too, because the new yard was significantly smaller and lighter. If Fantail could bend the heavy one, then the new one was obviously not going to handle much wind at all; but at least we had a yard to sail back north with. The only consolation was that La Chica has not yet been launched so the new yard can be made while a workshop and facilities are still available. Even so, I felt less than happy when Kurt went back the banana-shaped yard.

By now there was some debate among the seven boats at anchor. The wind was increasing and the anchorage was becoming less and less comfortable. Pacific Spray said they were off to Mansion House Bay to visit said house and get better shelter and four of us decided to follow and leave the following day. Footprints had to get back to Mahurangi and Pacific Spray nobly volunteered to take back those who had to get back for a flight and work.  Le Canard Bleu was also heading back. The rest of us carried on partying and rowing round paying visits before going over to Tystie for a drinks party, followed by another BYO on Arcadian. Our host kept producing bottles of wine, people kept filling their glasses, the conversation was convivial and general and the following morning everyone commented how that they’d got back on board and said: “Surely it can't really be twenty to two?!” But it was.

It was still blowing on Monday, so we stayed put again, and although officially over, the rally continued. But although we did have a drinks party - this time on Fantail – we forewent the BYO. On Tuesday, Arcadian stayed at anchor and the rump of the rally, consisting of Tystie, mehitabel and Fantail sailed back to Mahurangi. In the lightish airs mehitabel sailed like a witch making even Tystie sit up and take notice. Once in the harbour, the three boats anchored in different places and the rally officially came to an end.

A Passage North

Fantail sails towards Adele I

For some time, I have been planning to take Fantail up to North Island, where there is an abundance of interesting cruising. Left to my own devices, I would probably have put if off until 2013, but there were two good reasons to go now: once was a planned Royal Cruising Club Meet in the Bay of Islands, the second was a forthcoming Junk Rig Association rally. My friend David, had done a huge amount to help me get Fantail fit to go to sea, and as he was most certainly going to attend the JRA rally, I felt that the very least I could do in return for his help was to show him it hadn’t been in vain, So accordingly, in the middle of February, I left my home base at Motueka and set off north.

I had been working so long and so hard on the boat, that I felt I needed a couple of nights’ rest before heading off. I find that it’s sometimes hard to change my mindset from working through the jobs list to concentrating on things like pilotage. I’d made a couple of silly mistakes when I went away over Christmas and didn’t want to do the same again, so I sailed a little way up Tasman Bay to anchor off the Abel Tasman National Park and start thinking about the passage. I hadn’t even had a proper chance to look at charts up until then.

On the morning of 16th February, I got my anchor and sailed out. I felt a bit sorry to be leaving, because I had grown really to enjoy Motueka; I wondered how I’d manage several days of single-handing and a little frightened in case I couldn’t cope. Several friends had suggested I take someone else, but Fantail is not a large boat and with someone else on board, I should have had to consider their wishes and, possibly, even try to fit in with their schedule. Going on my own seemed by far the better option.

We started slowly, but soon got a fair wind. Early on a made a silly mistake and bore away when I should have hardened in, but an hour with the motor sorted that and topped up the battery, too. I think I was still a bit tired. I fretted about keeping well away from Farewell Spit and did such a good job of it that I never even saw the lighthouse! I tried every method I could think of to decide that we had truly passed it before I dared alter course, because although I have a hand-held GPS, I still don’t entirely trust it. The wind was about F4 and we were making good progress and once into the Cook Strait, it picked up to where I was thinking of reefing - we were doing 6.7 knots at times. However, although I felt pretty anxious (at the best of times I don’t really like going fast), Fantail seemed very happy, the self-steering was coping with only one link of weather helm on it and although the motion was pretty wild at first (possibly we had wind against tide) she was coping fine.

6.5 knots the first evening

 

As ever when one decides it’s finally time to leave, there were still jobs undone. I wired in a socket so that I could plug in the GPS and replaced the fiddle for one of the bookshelves, having cut the original too short; I thought about the bolt that I still hadn’t fitted to the lower washboard, but it was really too rough to start playing around with my drill and I was worried I'd get seasick. I took a Stugeron pill, just in case. The forecast was for the wind to ease later in the day but for gales by Sunday, so I pressed on to be well away from sea area Stephens. Later on I caught a new forecast, this one from a different repeater. Irritatingly, it gave forecasts for the whole of S Island, but nothing for Raglan – the next sea area north and I was to get no further forecast for several days.

I’d had a small glass of wine to celebrate rounding Farewell Spit and an hour or so later I decided that the mast might well survive the night, the sail wasn’t tearing itself apart and nothing had come adrift inside or out. Maybe Fantail could cope with F5. On this happy note, I decided to have another glass and I suddenly realised that far from being tense and unhappy, I was feeling hugely relaxed and contented. I felt so at home and we were making splendid progress in the right direction. I didn’t feel at all concerned about keeping watch. I had seen nothing since I left Tasman Bay, apart from the lights of a rig, or a large fishing vessel in the distance and couldn’t find it in myself to worry about being run down.

I cooked a lovely meal of garlic, onions and red peppers mixed in with fresh broad beans and pasta and ate it with appetite and another glass of wine. And felt quite happy about that other glass, too!

Cooking my first meal on passage

I washed up and put everything away and when it was dark, got undressed and climbed into my bunk up forward. It was still rough, but I was surprisingly comfortable and it felt so good to be in my real bed instead of camping out down a quarter berth. I looked out whenever the urge took me, but did not bother to be religious about it.  (In fact I saw no vessel at all until I was up near Cape Reinga.)  With the bottom washboard in, I can easily get my head out to look all round the horizon, but I fitted the second because it was a bit splashy at times, and wriggling round that is slightly more difficult.  The wind took off about 0400 and I got some good sleep. 

At 0845, 24 hours out, I put a fix on the chart and saw that we'd made 113 miles.  At this rate … My ‘chart table’ consists of a piece of half-inch plywood, cut to the size of a chart folded in two. It fits at the head of the starboard quarter berth and because it extends slightly into the berth itself, never slides off. Sitting on the companionway step I can work at it very easily. It’s a great success.

The 'chart table'

  We had lost the wind  and were ambling along, more or less on course, at about 2 knots.  I still had this uncanny feeling of calm and contentment.  There I was, barely out of the Southern Ocean, unable to pick up a forecast of any description and feeling wonderful.  For some made reason, my course took me 60 miles west of Cape Egmont: I hadn’t intended to. It must have been a Freudian slip because I had thought of going more like 20 miles offshore, so I could pick up a forecast, but now I had no chance of doing so. I just hoped the 7-day rain forecasts that I’d looked at before I left, were correct.  These seem the most accurate of all, and the little charts show predicted wind speed and direction, so are ideal for the sailor.  As it turned our, they proved reliable.

So gentle the motion, it was easy to make breakfast.  The cloudscape was very familiar - a very offshore, neo-Trade Wind collection of small cumulus, all lined up in rows; the odd early-morning rain shower slowly dying away around us as the air warmed.  

The cloudscape was very familiar

There was only a very small swell running - good news for me with still over 200 miles before I could turn east.  I continued to be astonished by this, waiting for the apprehension and worry to descend like a cloud again; wondering that I could feel so un-alone.  I was so enjoying my independence; and the only cloud on the horizon was the thought of bad weather.  I am absurdly scared of this - probably because Fantail and I haven’t been through any yet.  Of course, the obvious thing would be to go out and find some, but I’m too chicken for that!

The day’s wind varied from light to calm and I motored for a while.  Only 3.6 knots - a bit of a surprise that it must be the swell, slight though it was.  I decided it wasn’t worth using the motor unless the speed dropped below 2 knots.  We sailed into a light W, which in due course became S and stayed with us all night.  Miles and miles offshore so the only radio reception was on AM. I was still really enjoying myself.

I drank my usual ration of wine.  I cooked one of my favourite meals: a salad made with slightly cooked courgette, mushrooms, green pepper, tiny plum tomatoes and runner beans and thoroughly cooked potatoes.  Dressed with olive oil and lemon, and with some walnuts and a couple of handsful of leaves it was yummy, but far too much.  it made a lovely lunch the following day!

I washed up and turned in at 2100.  Again I got up whenever I woke up, to look around.  The wind picked up a little and I altered course a couple of times.  The self-steering that my friend, David, and I made, works wonderfully well.  It steers perfectly in the lightest of winds.  In the dark of the night, we had to gybe.  Oh, it was so painless!  It took me about 5 seconds.  How I love this rig!

By 0845 on the morning of the 18th, we had made 190 miles.  Considering how light the winds had been, I was pretty pleased.  We had motored about 6 hours in total, by then.  The breeze was still only around F2, but we pottered along at between 2 and 3.5 knots, enjoying the benign weather, with a steady glass and no immediate worries.  It was so good to feel relaxed and with nothing that had to be done, after all the work of the past few weeks and months.  Motoring seemed pointless as long as we were making over 2 knots, but we were obviously not going to have a fast passage.  I just hoped no-one would worry, after all the fuss I’d made about it. 

I tuned into Radio New Zealand on AM and got the long-range land forecast.  Northerlies filling in on Tuesday and I didn’t think I had much chance of getting to North Cape by then.  However, no-one was predicting gales, so that was a relief. 

In the afternoon, I sat down with a book and read in the hot sun, but the wind got lighter and lighter and I resorted to the motor. I didn't want to push my luck by staying out any longer than I need to - not on my first offshore passage.  It was a shame to spoil the peace, but on the other hand, better to have too little wind than too much.

The wind fell away completely

 

I turned the engine off about 2100 and turned in.  I couldn’t bring myself to leave the engine on when I was asleep, because I didn’t think a strange smell or sound would wake me up quickly enough.  We didn’t make much progress, but on the other hand, a girl needs to sleep.

In the morning, I motored again.  I shut down the engine for a while and turned on the radio to see if I could get the long-range land forecast on National Radio.  I did: they were forecasting more N winds so I decided to carry on motoring. 

By 1400, the wind had picked up a bit, so I shut down the engine. I looked out about 1700 and the clouds over the land had lifted: suddenly I could see hills! It was quite a shock and a part of me was a bit disappointed.  It had been marvellous being at sea and out of sight of land.  The wind was now a dead noser, but we were sailing well, and as there was no bad weather forecast, I felt I could lose a bit of my offing.  So we carried on sailing towards the land until midnight, when I tacked offshore.

Suddenly I could see hills!

I put a fix on the chart about 0300 on Tuesday, which told me that we were heading much further W than I wanted.  While I was up, I looked at my phone to see if it had a signal.  It did, so I sent a txt to a friend to say how we were going, and to my surprise got one back - he was enjoying a night sail. So knowing that he had a smart phone, I asked if he could see what the weather forecast for Kaipara was: N breezes continuing, but not strong. However, he said the 7-day rain forecast was looking pretty nasty for Thursday.  We were still 50 miles from Cape Reinga and I decided that come daylight, we would have to try and get north as fast as we could: I didn't want to get caught out in nasty weather around the top of N Island.

At first light I could see that Fantail was really doing quite nicely, close-hauled, in F2-3. making about 3.4 knots, which I thought very satisfactory.  On the other hand, we weren’t laying the course and I’d put all that diesel on board for just this eventuality.  I didn’t want to find myself beating round Cape Reinga in a capful of wind.  The barometer was still steady, there was no swell, but ...   So I apologised to the wee ship and wound up the engine.  With the sail sheeted hard in and the revs cranked up a bit, we were soon making about 4 knots in the right direction.  As it turned out, this was a lucky decision.  By Thursday it was blowing very freshly and the barometer had hardly moved. 

We plugged on all day and I put in another 5l of diesel at noon.  I should have topped up again, but it was a bit rough and I didn’t want to spill any.  Again, it had been a good decision to keep the tank pretty full for just such a situation.  Then I read, as that was about all I could do, heeling as we were and bouncing about a bit, too.  But by no means uncomfortable.

The land inshore of 90-mile beach is quite weird, with huge sand dunes running into what appear to be low mountains.  it looks a bit like golden glaciers in the distance.  And in the distance is where it stayed as I didn't

... huge sand dunes

  want to be anywhere near that beach.  At its NW end is Pandora Bank which looks as though it could be a distinctly nasty place to be in any sort of wind or swell.  We still had little of either, but I wasn't going to take any chances. On the other hand ... I moved my waypoint much closer to Cape Reinga, taking care to avoid the overfalls shown on the chart.  Even so, there were several miles of quite unpleasant jobble, 10 miles out.  I would give it a very wide berth in bad weather.  God forbid I should ever have to.  By 1500, it looked as though we might have some tide with us, as we were making very good progress.  The concomitant of that, of course, was that later we had it against us.

I was idly looking out, just after 4 o'clock, when I saw the most enormous flying fish I have ever seen in my life!  It was at least 2 feet long, with long, wide ‘wings’.  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  I didn’t think they lived round here.

Half an hour later, Cape Reinga was finally abeam and we could alter course.  Earlier, I had hoped that when this happened, we would be able to sail, but the wind seemed to be following the coast, and from being N x E was now E x N.   The water was still greatly disturbed by all the tidal activity and progress was slow.  But the good little engine went on chugging happily away. 

I had also hoped to have some dramatic photos, but it was generally overcast by now, and nothing looked very exciting in the general gloom.  It was dark by 2100, which is why I didn’t see the fish floats that Fantail drove over.  I heard them, however, and was just in time to put the engine into neutral.  They hung up on the self-steering paddle for a few seconds, before sliding off.  One was hard plastic, the other aluminium.  I don’t suppose they did a lot for the paintwork.  I still haven’t got any eyes painted on Fantail, so it’s not surprising the poor little thing didn’t see them.  I am really pleased that the prop comes out of the back of the keel and doesn't dangle off a P-bracket.  It feels much more secure.

By 2230, the wind had backed enough that we could start sailing again.  The engine was politely thanked and stood down.  It was blissfully quiet.  North Cape was finally abeam at 2325.  I wanted to tell someone this astonishing news, but there was no cellphone reception, so I had to content myself with congratulating me.  I also congratulated myself for taking the W Coast route: after seeing nothing for days, suddenly there was shipping about - fishing boats and the odd freighter.  I gave the land a good berth and at midnight, altered course finally towards the S - 132°.  I opened a quarter bottle of bubbly that I’d earlier put in the fridge and drank toasts to my boat and my friends who helped us get here. 

I hardly slept at all, which made me extra pleased  that I’d made sure I had ‘plenty in the bank’.  There were quite a few ships about and I think I was too excited at the prospect that we might actually get there in one piece! I still felt in control and was perhaps rather absurdly pleased with my decision making and navigation.  As the latter was by GPS, I’m not sure what there is to be so pleased about, but there we are.  For all that, I was very satisfied with how the passage had gone and that I hadn’t made any silly blunders. 

I was wide awake not long after dawn, which, with our now being so far E and N, as well as the sky being overcast, was at about 0700.  We were scooting along nicely under sail, with more than a hint that the wind was going to increase.  I was now in VHF  range and could get a shipping forecast, which also promised more wind in the offing.  At one point, a huge school of Dusky Dolphins came leaping and bounding across in front of us.  They were so full of life and joie de vivre, that they made me laugh out loud.

To get in, I had the chart of North island and the cruising guide chart which showed Whangaroa Harbour.  But I had nothing else.  It was a somewhat inadequate combination, especially for a tired sailor.  Knowing Whangaroa is not a particularly easy place to find, I was a bit stressed and the grey and murky conditions didn’t help. The sea was a rough, with quite a swell building, the wind shifting back and forth though about 40 or 50° and neither the wind vane nor the Simrad could cope, so, horror of horrors I was having to hand steer.  There’s a sizeable island off the mouth of the harbour, too far out to sea for the book’s chart to show.  In the poor, early morning light I didn’t see it on the small-scale chart, hidden as it was among pencilled waypoints, a light symbol and blue soundings. My carefully plotted waypoints appeared to be taking me into the wrong place.  

... the wrong place.

 

Eventually I did what I should have done sooner, and got out a magnifying glass and looked on the small scale chart. And there was the island.  I could probably have gone inside the damn thing and saved myself about 5 miles.  Never mind, all was clear now and I went on with much greater confidence.  Things only improved when a steady trickle of launches reinforced my estimate of where the entrance lay.

The entrance to the harbour is very narrow.  With the wind being up and down and unsure what the tide was doing - it can run fast, apparently - I didn't want to reef in case we lost the wind inside: from where we were it looked calm.  This wasn’t the brightest move, as it turned out, because as we approached the entrance, the waves started to steepen.  I suspect the tide was ebbing, but as the wind chose this moment to increase quite sharply – or was funnelled by the surrounding cliffs – we were blasting along anyway and it was hard to tell whether we had tide with or against us.  For once Fantail didn’t behave with her usual good manners and was being difficult to steer – probably due to tidal eddies – and the swell was breaking rather impressively on either side of the entrance.  

The entrance to Whangaroa

I'd hate to enter in real wind and waves.  It looked about 20 ft wide as we approached and while I knew I was in control, I wasn’t entirely convinced that Fantail wasn’t going to take over and leap onto the awash rocks on our starboard side.  We must have been making 6 or 7 knots through the water, but for all that it seemed to take an age to get through the entrance.  It was with a huge sigh of relief that I felt the pressure come off as we came into the harbour; the swell vanished and the sea smoothed. 

There were boats everywhere.  The harbour has two distinct characters: the N end is mountainous and often compared with fjord country, but in my opinion it looks more like Moorea; the S end is lower and more open.  I hadn’t come all this way to anchor among mountains and be blown hither and yon by katabatic winds, so I thought I’d make for the lower land around Totara North. Now I did what I should have done a lot sooner and dropped 3 reefs in the sail – the first ones of the passage – and things were much more relaxed.  Typically weird kiwi yachts were wandering about, and there were lots of sports fishing launches going out to harass the poor creatures.  The anchorage at Totara North is much more indented and roomy than the the impression I’d got from the chart.  Irritatingly, another boat took the spot I’d eyed up, but remembering how little room we actually need, I anchored a lot closer to the shore than I normally would, in a gratifyingly shallow 4 m or so.  Later, I stretched out the chain under power and was still miles off the beach.

By the time I had tidied up and washed the breakfast things, it had started to rain and I congratulated myself on our excellent timing.  The wind became quite gusty and even here, was funnelled a bit by the neighbouring topography, but I have learnt to trust my ground tackle.  I sat down and tried to take it in - the passage perilous was won and there I was safely at anchor in North Island. I got out the bubbly.

Totara North