At Anchor in the Middle of the Ocean

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This image, captured by satellite and brought to us courtesy of Goggle Earth, is of North Minerva Reef, and it is to this circle of blue out there in the middle of the ocean that we are going for a brief stop on our 1000nm passage to Tonga.

It can rightly be said that when one is anchored off any particular island in the vast Pacific Ocean, one is effectively anchored in the middle of the ocean.  So what is so different about Minerva Reef?  The difference is that there is no land.  This is pure reef.  We are looking at a completely submerged atoll.  Whatever land was once here disappeared into the ocean depths ages ago. There are a few rocks scattered here and there along the circumference and a few spits of sand do show up at low tide, but what defines the area is the froth of breaking waves against a barely visible coral reef, the last reminder of a volcanic island that once graced this spot of ocean.  The First Mate is told that upon passing slowly through what looks to her like a minute passage (See it at the top of the sphere?), one is encircled in an area of relative calm.  The ocean can be roiling and broiling outside, but inside the lagoon, the ocean’s force is broken by the reef, thus giving tired passage-making yachts a day or two respite before they continue on their way.

One cannot always put into Minerva Reef.  If the winds are too strong and the ocean too tumultuous, Minerva Reef can be a death trap for the unwary boat.  The First Mate wonders at all this. She does not like the look of that narrow passage, but she is still intrigued enough to be eager to go.

Friday, April 22nd – We have returned to Opua Marina after our nearly 2-week tour of the Bay of Islands and surrounding area to allow a week for the final preparations and provisioning of Avante.  We are also expecting several sailing friends from last season’s crossing of the Pacific to be showing up, and, of course, we want to reconnect and hear what everyone’s plans are.  There are so many routes, so many alternative destinations, for cruisers out here, that it is always interesting to hear what others have chosen to do.  Who knows?  A new idea or route may just alter ours.  That scenario happens often out here.  As cruisers say, “plans are written in the sand”, and everyone knows what happens to those wonderful sandcastles when the tide comes in!

This season, we have chosen to do something totally unprecedented and uncharacteristic for us:  we have joined a rally.  It is run by the Island Cruising Association, hereinafter called the ICA.  Cruising Rallies are run out of many locations all across our vast oceans.  As varied as their locations are, rallies differ just as much in structure and formality.  There is no set formula.  At the most basic, it provides instant companionship.  One is no longer an isolated little boat on a big ocean.  One has cohorts.  There’s strength in numbers.  There’s a combined wisdom and experience.  There’s help and support when needed.   Rallies are a boon to the inexperienced or timid cruiser.  Why then is the experienced and capable Captain interested in joining a rally?  Well, for one thing, the rally is going our way.  We had met the organizers, Lyn and John Martin, when we arrived in Opua last November.  We had joined the very informal “All Points Rally” which was organized by the Martins and sponsored by the local businesses in the area.  A land-based rally, it was put on for all boats arriving in New Zealand, specifically into Opua, New Zealand, from all points across the Pacific.  One got oneself there in time for rally week, and once there, organized activities in the form of barbecues and themed evenings, cultural and sightseeing trips and all manner of products, help and advice from marine suppliers were available for all those coming in from a season in the Pacific.  We were impressed by the way the Martins ran that event, and we found them a fun couple.  When they discovered that we were thinking of returning to Tonga this season before venturing on to Fiji, they encouraged us to look at the rally that ICA was scheduling this year for just that itinerary.  We promised that we would.  We liked what we saw.  ICA had worked with both New Zealand and Tongan Customs officialdom to streamline that whole check in and check out process.  In particular, in both New Zealand and Tonga, the officials were coming to us.  We would not have to track them down.  After the lengthy Customs clearance we had endured in Tonga last October, this was a huge benefit.  That may have been the biggest reason we joined, but we certainly came up with many more as the weeks we spent with the group unfolded.

It turns into a busy week.  There are several evening events with the ICA at the Yacht Club.  A favorite is a barbecue where everyone brings their own meat to cook and a dish to share.

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Several sailing friends pull into port.  We see s/v Kilkea, an Amel 54, motor into the marina, and we hurry over to help Marian and David Paul tie up at their slip.  A welcoming glass of wine on their deck becomes an afternoon of wine and cheese as heavy rains keep us marooned in the shelter of their boat.  Afternoon drinks turn into dinner offered on Avante.  We mesh together a repast.  We have lamb tenderloins.  They have pork tenderloins.  Add a few potatoes and carrots – we’re set.  Anamik and Ben (s/v Blauwe Pinquin) are invited to join us when we all see Ben walking by on the dock. 

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It is interesting to hear everyone’s plans.  Marian and David are not going back to Tonga as we had hoped.  They are going on to Fiji, Vanuatu and New Caledonia this season.  We will reconnect with them when we all return to Opua in November.  Anamik and Ben must continue on to their home in Holland.  Changing their plans from a passage up the Red Sea due to the recent political unrest and fatal pirate attacks, they have decided to return by way of South Africa.  A long, arduous voyage awaits them this year.

Betty and Herb Weston (s/v Sula) drive up to Opua from Gulf Harbor where their boat has been berthed.  We are saddened to hear that they will not be joining the ICA Rally as they had planned.  Sula has been plagued with problems since they left Mexico last year.  They spent months in Papeete awaiting parts and work on their engine.  Now major repair needs to be done on the keel.  They are disheartened by all the work and are returning to the States to take up another form of touring: a motor home.  Sula will be left in the boatyard where they hope she will eventually sell.  Such is the life of cruisers — plans written in sand always subject to change.

Our scheduled departure date of April 30th is put on hold due to a major storm front.  We have a few benign days of sun, and then the storm hits.  Winds up to 35 knots whistle through the harbor.  It feels like Avante is sailing even though we are secured by additional lines to the dock.  For 3 days, we sit tight in the boat venturing out only when truly necessary or cabin fever gets the better of us. 

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The weather may not allow us to take to the sea, but it is good enough for us to take to the land.  With Marian and David, we decide to drive the Million-Dollar View Road.  The First Mate’s guide book describes it as “the best, the most scenic bit of coastal road on the North Island”.  The Pauls had done this ride already; yet are eager to do it again.

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We drive down into Whangaroa whose harbor Avante had sought refuge in from the storm on our test cruise.  At that time, we had climbed the Duke’s Nose whose final ascent was by a rope of chain.  There is another pinnacle in this harbor, St Paul’s Rock, and to its trailhead, we motor.  The way up starts easily enough.  We stop to talk to a couple returning from the hike.

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Friday, May 6th – It is decided that the rally is leaving today. Weather is looking better, so they say. In the morning, the crews of the rally boats meet with Customs to check out.  Paperwork had been submitted ahead of time, and the process goes smoothly.  Some boats had already checked out and left the day before, and some leave right after checking out this morning.  We are in no hurry and are one of the last boats to get underway.

Off shore at last and on our way to Tonga by way of Minerva Reef!  This may be a good weather window for some, but it is not what The First Mate likes to see.  Squalls, heaving seas, heavy winds and close-hauled sailing with water regularly breaking over the boat are not what this sailor calls fun.  Our hatches are dry, but even with the dorades turned backward, they are dripping water into the boat.  The weather and winds are supposed to ease in a day or two.  That’s why we are out in this now, to get as much sailing in and distance covered as possible before the light winds arrive.  In the meantime, we endure.

One of the nice advantages to being part of a rally is regular radio check ins.  1900 is the time of the evening check in or sked, as it is called.  Since our rhumbline is mostly into the wind and not all boats sail equally well into the wind, our rally boats are scattered across the ocean all around us.   Each boat checks in with its longitude and latitude and describes the current conditions at its location, the state of its crew and any problems or concerns.  The Captain carefully notes the location of the boats ahead of us, for he knows that we will eventually be passing many of them.  Avante, racer/cruiser that she is, is probably the fastest boat in the rally and the one designed best to sail closest to the wind.  We know we will be passing boats in the night and want to make sure we know where they are.

Sunday, May 8th – The heavy seas and winds continue until the early hours of Sunday morning, and by the Sunday evening sked, all boats report that they are motoring in light winds.  According to the weather charts, we should have this calmer weather for the next day or so.

Monday, May 9th – Conditions are so calm that The First Mate wonders if it would be possible to barbecue a steak for lunch.  That we do.  Out in the middle of the ocean, we barbecue!  This is something neither of us would have expected we would be doing.  Our respite, though, is short-lived.  Winds have been freshening, and by the end of lunch, we are able to raise the sails.  By 1800, winds are up to 15 knots, and we decide to put in the 1st reef for the night. 

Tuesday, May 10th – Captain’s Log:  0100:  “Wind has picked up to 15 – 18 knots increasing our speed to 8.6 knots and making it a slightly ‘wilder ride’.”  The First Mate awakens to assume her watch and marvels at how quickly her world can turn topsy-turvy.  The Captain is delighted because at 0600, he is able to note in his log:  “Last night was our first high mileage period this passage – 100nm in 12 hrs.  Only 194nm to South Minerva.”  By daybreak, it is overcast and rainy, and we are beating into 20 – 25 knot winds.   Bashing into the waves is not only drenching us, it slows our forward thrust.  We are making progress, but it is hard-earned.  In the evening, we put in the 2nd reef to prepare for the night.  The 1900 rally check in reports that all boats are experiencing the same bashing in 20 – 25 knot winds.

Wednesday, May 11th – 0150 – A Night From Hell! The First Mate is on watch and below checking radar for any nearby friendlies.  Most of the rally boats have been passed by now, but one never knows who or what can suddenly show up on the radar horizon.  Radar can also track a heavy squall, alerting a boat to its arrival in the dark of night and maybe even giving the crew time to maneuver out of its way.  There is nothing out there.  Suddenly, a huge wave slams into us.  After it rolls on over the boat, an unfamiliar clatter is heard from the general direction of the bow.  Flashlight in hand, The First Mate climbs topside and scans the light forward.  The jib is flapping wildly, and its broken sheet is madly slapping against the side of the boat.  The Captain is awakened.  The jib will not furl.  Working his way forward in the pounding sea and getting totally drenched in the process, he discovers that the furling line is also cut.  We tack so we can control the jib with the unbroken jib sheet.  The Captain knots together the cut jib sheet.  Returning to the furler where working is “like standing in front of a fire hose”, The Captain discovers what had occurred.  The “furling cage had rotated and had chafed through the furling line.  This let out the small reef we had in the jib and caused the loosened jib sheet to chafe against the shroud.”  That last huge wave had come in with enough force to break the weakened jib sheet. 

0300 – Everything tied back together that needed tying, we tack back to our original position and continue on to Minerva Reef.  The Captain goes back to bed, and The First Mate resumes watch.

0500 – The Captain is awakened for his watch.  The First Mate goes into the forward head and finds water everywhere!  Alerting The Captain, he mumbles, “of course, there is water everywhere.  Whenever we are in heavy seas like this, water sloshes around and out of the toilet.”  “No,” she exclaims.  “Water is everywhere!  The floor boards are floating, and a steady stream of water is flowing down the wall.”  That gets his attention!  While The First Mate starts soaking up water with towels, The Captain investigates and quickly discovers that the boat seems heavy in the bow. He concludes that the water in the head is leaking in from the sail locker which has filled with all the water washing over the bow as we bash headlong into the sea. Even though the sail locker and forward head are separated by a bulkhead that is supposed to be water-tight, electrical lines for the anchor windlass and the saltwater wash down pump run through it.  It only takes one small wire hole.  Water will find it and beeline through it!   

Ocean water getting into the anchor locker during a close-hauled bashing into the waves is normally not a problem, as the forward bilge pump pumps it right back out.  Prior to the passage, The Captain had duck-taped as many openings into the sail locker as possible to reduce the amount of water getting into the sail locker, but with seas regularly running over the bow, water was finding its way in.  Set on automatic, the pump should be pumping all this water out of the locker, but it is not.  The bilge pump displays a bright red light when it is pumping, and we had not seen it on. Something must be wrong with either the bilge pump or the automatic switch. The Captain is aft by the Nav Station holding down the lever to manually activate the pump.  The First Mate is forward in the head wringing out towel after towel.  She understands about the bilge pump, but she does not know what is causing all the water to run into the head.  The Captain had not had time to explain his theory to her.  Has something in the sail locker cracked or broken in all the pounding?  Are we going to have to keep bailing out the boat all the way back to New Zealand?  Towel after towel, she sees no slowing down of the water running down the wall.  Finally, the inflow shows signs of diminishing.  A cascading line of water dwindles to 2 rivulets.  The Captain is told that his efforts are working.  He inspects the inflow of water, announces that all is under control, tells The First Mate that we are not going to sink and sends her off to bed.

0600 – The exhausted First Mate does just that.  The Captain assumes the watch, and we continue on beating our way north into 20 – 25 knot winds.  Every few minutes, he manually activates the pump and goes forward to check that the leaking water stays abated.  The problem is that the “waves are irregular, often close together.  The bow does not have time to rise before the next wave and digs in slightly.”  This means that those taped openings to the sail locker just do not have a chance.

0900 – Another huge wave slams into the boat.  This one hits the dodger full on and rips the stitching out of the starboard front window.  Later, on closer examination, we note that the reinforced stitching we had asked the canvas people to do back in Opua had not been done.

What a night!  We both feel like we have been up the whole night.  The First Mate knows that she has.  The Captain feels completely water-logged.  His only comment about his frequent dousings is that with each line of latitude crossed as we make our way north toward the equator, the water has gotten warmer.  Thankfully, none of this ever happened on our way to Alaska!

We cannot wait to get to Minerva Reef to rest our bodies and lick our wounds.  Minerva Reef actually comprises two reefs:  North Minerva Reef and South Minerva Reef.  The North Reef is slightly higher giving more protection from the ocean, and it is somewhat easier to enter.  Once inside the lagoon, the water is clear and free of boat-denting coral heads.  The South Reef is lower allowing more of the ocean swell to enter, especially at high tide.  It is dotted with coral heads that a wary boat must avoid.  The Captain decides to forego the South Reef.  North Minerva Reef will do just fine.

50nm to North Minerva reef and with a heading 20° off the wind, The Captain decides to furl the jib and motor on with the assist of the mainsail.  Let’s get there!  The First Mate is up and is asked to hit the bilge pump switch.  Forgetting that the automatic button does not work, she hits it.  The Captain reminds her that she needs to sit there and hold down the manual switch.  She calmly explains that automatic is doing just fine and that the red light is on.  The bilge pump is now working on its own as it should.  The Captain shakes his head in frustrated bewilderment.  The First Mate merely notes another example of the mindfulness of inanimate objects.  The Science of Physics may claim that such a thing does not exist, but she knows better.

1315 – Captain’s Log:  “Passing South Minerva.  24nm to North Minerva.  Sunny day.  (Alleluia!  – First Mate’s input)  Wind 18 – 22 kts. NE.”

1640 – Just off the pass into North Minerva Reef, we drop the mainsail and slowly motor toward that ever so small opening.  We find the entrance.  The chart proves to be accurate.  We proceed cautiously through the pass.  After such a rough, wild, wet passage, crossing the pass and entering the lagoon prove anticlimactic.  The pass is wide and deep. 

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We are hailed by s/v Katariana which had been watching our approach.  They are with the rally but had left a day or so earlier than most of the other boats because they have crew who are scheduled to fly home shortly from Nuku’alofa, Tonga.  Katariana will be leaving at daylight to complete the passage.

She wonders about the reef itself.  How many unsuspecting boats have found it?  The reefs were not formally named until after 1829 when the whaling ship Minerva, sailing out from Sydney, wrecked on what became known as South Minerva Reef. Most of the crew survived when they took to smaller boats and were able to reach the Lau Islands in Fiji.  Other boats have met a similar fate on these reefs and managed one way or another to get a boat or raft to Fiji for help, but how many others have not?  On a dark and stormy night, a poor sailor on lookout in the crow’s nest would not be able to distinguish the froth of reef from the storm of sea.  How many boats lie in the depths below, vanished without a trace, leaving loved ones at home to forever wonder?  It is a sobering thought as she sits in the early light on her gently rocking boat in this quiet lagoon in the middle of the ocean.

We spend 3 days relaxing in North Minerva.  Each day, a few more ICA Rally boats arrive.  For The First Mate, it is disconcerting to hear the tales of wow and mishap many of the other sailboats have also faced.  A water tank on one had cracked leaving them precariously low on water.  Another, unable to sail as close to the wind as needed to get to Minerva Reef, was further out to sea and running low on fuel.  It had not expected to be forced into motoring as much as the passage was demanding.  They had decided to forego Minerva Reef altogether for the more expedient alternative of trucking on to Tonga.  Two boats were dealing with water in their fuel tanks, which can be a disaster.  A saltwater line to the head in one boat had ruptured resulting in a flooding of storage lockers before it was noted and repaired.  Another boat, a small, single-handed one, decided to stop the uphill fight and bailed out altogether.  Turning west, he was last heard from on his way to Fiji.  The engine had to be shut down on another boat when the injector failed.  They did not want to ruin the engine by running on only 3 cylinders.  This boat just kept sailing on to Nuku’alofa where it knew it could cautiously sail into the anchorage.  Several others experienced broken halyards, ripped sails or canvas, a stanchion pulled loose … all requiring immediate tie-down in the boisterous seas.  There were multiple cases of seasickness and, of course, plenty of black and blues.  The list of wows is lengthy.   Competent sailors on well-maintained ocean-going vessels … these things happen, especially on the wet, wild passage we all just endured.

It must be said that our 3 days are not all relaxing.  We both have work to do.  Saltwater below decks has to be rinsed off floors and walls.  Left there, it would remain slick, sticky and wet.  All the saltwater wet clothes have to be washed and dried.  The Captain, however and as usual, bares the brunt of the work.  Our brand-new anchor windlass motor had failed to work when we went to anchor.  The captain had to manually lower that heavy anchor and chain.  He is apoplectic with frustration!  It turns out that the problem is not with the new motor but with the control box.  Awash in all the saltwater that had gotten into the sail locker, it gave up the ghost.  When The Captain removes the box in his attempt to fix it, the amount of corrosion inside makes it quite evident that this was not the first time the box had been submerged.  It also shows that it is absolutely beyond any kind of repair. 

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Much simpler but equally necessary tasks are to replace the slashed jib furling line and clean up the knot on the jib sheet.  While The First Mate is restitching our US flag for the 3rd or 4th time, The Captain repairs the stitching on the dodger with heavy waxed sail cloth thread.  Additional malfunctions that we either discovered on passage or shortly after arrival are that the cockpit Furuno chart plotter will not turn on and that the VHF cockpit microphone is inoperative.  Though we can live without both of these systems, it is going to be an annoyance to have to do so, but do so, we must, for there are no boat part stores around here or in Tonga.