Boring Holes in the Ocean

Friday, October 5th – Everything is working great for our departure from Fiji to New Zealand. Lyn and John Martin arrived yesterday afternoon to join us for this passage and are enthusiastically eager to set forth. This morning, thanks to Fiji’s checkout process becoming more yacht-friendly and to The Captain’s perseverance, we are checked out of the country by 10:00.  Having expected not to have been processed out much before noon, we are delighted. The agent is told that we would be fully battened down and ready to leave in 2 hours. No problem! With time to spare, we head ashore for breakfast and a last few items to add to the ship’s larder.

1150 – Engine started, lines dropped, John, very professionally, backs Avante out of our slip. We’re off! Next port of call: Opua, New Zealand. Sh-h-h …. Not exactly true, for we are headed to Momi Bay, an anchorage just off Navula Pass, our final exit point out of Fiji. There, we plan to have a relaxed late afternoon and a full night’s sleep before passage. Though illegal to stop anywhere in Fiji now that we are cleared out, this anchorage is fairly isolated, and officialdom tends to look the other way. The main reason for stopping here is that the western side of Viti Levu usually experiences heavy winds in the afternoon as they whip around the end of the island. Cruisers in general do not want to head off on passage in 30-knot winds. Thus, Momi Bay has become a convenient spot for boats to spend a last night in Fijian waters, have a good night’s sleep and leave with the lighter winds of early morning. As we expected, 4 other like-minded boats join us at anchor throughout the afternoon.

We go for a last swim in the warm waters of Fiji, for we know for sure there will be no swimming in the cold waters of New Zealand. Wanting Avante to look presentable when we pull up to the Opua Custom’s dock, we scrub down the scummy sides of the boat and give a quick cleaning to the rudder and prop. Later, the Captain’s perfectly roasted chicken and a bottle of wine complete the evening.

DAY 1 – Saturday, October 6th – 0750 – Anchor pulled, we are really off this time! Motoring out the Navula Pass, winds are light, and seas are calm. Turning south toward New Zealand, sails are raised. The autopilot is set to 176 degrees magnetic to position ourselves on the straight line, the rhumb line, south to Opua, New Zealand. Under a bright sun in a blue sky sprinkled with puffy white clouds, we motor sail on peacefully.

Our weather window for this passage looks to be quite benign. Queried before committing herself to said crossing, The Captain had assured The First Mate that winds were to be light. In fact, he stated that only 2% of the time were winds predicted to be in the 30’s. Nordhaven Sue can live with that. The passage forecast that we received on Thursday from Commander Weather, our usual weather routing service based in the States, was even more benign.

One of our other sources for weather information is Predict Wind. Both The Captain and John, who is very knowledgeable about these computer forecasting systems and very experienced in the vagaries of weather patterns out here in the South Pacific, like Predict Wind because it will give them data from 4 different weather models. The only concern for this passage came on this morning’s download from Predict Wind where one of their 4 weather models shows a low pressure system reaching the New Zealand area next weekend. We are not unduly concerned, for if we keep our speed up, we should be comfortably berthed in Opua by Friday, well ahead of any bad weather. With both sails raised for assist and the motor on, we cruise along averaging almost 8 knots. Seas are calm with almost negligible swell. “This is truly delightful,” thinks The First Mate. John, working calculations on his computer, announces that if nothing changes and we keep this speed up, we’ll be in Opua in 5 days, 3 hours and 40 minutes! We all laugh because we know things will change. They always do.

Four people on board means that standing night watches is much less onerous. With just The Captain and The First Mate, our 2-man watch schedule has been 3 hours on followed by 3 hours off. With 4 of us, we can opt for 2-hour watches with 6 hours off. Anyone can easily stand a 2-hour watch at night knowing 6 hours of sleep comes next. “This is heavenly!” purrs The First Mate.

Day 2 – Sunday, October 7th – Other then an overcast sky replacing the bright sun of yesterday, the day proceeds in much the same pattern. Whenever the wind allows, we turn off the motor to sail quietly along, but maintaining a 7-knot speed under sail is allusive in these light winds. Though mindful of our fuel consumption, we are also mindful of the need to beat that potential low pressure system heading for New Zealand. We know, too, that in a day or so, winds should increase. We will then be able to easily sail at and above 7 knots.

Day 3 – Monday, October 8th – After two days at sea, it is time to get an updated weather forecast. To do this, we use our satellite phone to send an email to Predict Wind requesting the data we want.  Within minutes the phone is chirping away indicating that an email is coming in with our response.  That low coming into New Zealand next weekend is now showing up on two of the 4 different models, and, more ominously, it is arriving sooner than expected. This is not good! This storm looks quite ugly with winds gusting over 40 knots and seas of 20 to 24 feet! Nobody wants to be anywhere near that! Curiously, according to the other two weather models, there is no such low, and we should just keep right on trucking to New Zealand with a decent passage shown all the way.  Which forecast should we believe? The two men discuss our options and decide to send out a second request for more data.  Soon several responses arrive with the additional data.  Included with these responses is an an email from Commander Weather who does not like what they are now seeing either. They advise that we will not beat this storm into New Zealand and that we should divert to avoid it. They suggest going to New Caledonia, but that is 500 nm in the wrong direction. We certainly don’t want to do that.  Another possibility is Norfolk Island which is not as far out of our way, but after the low passes, we would be in miserable headwinds all the way from there to New Zealand. It is decided that the best plan is to stay in the general area where we are right now. We email our plan to Commander Weather. It’s sunny and warm here. The seas are calm. So is the wind. The low system will pass well to the south of where we are now so it will only impact us by delaying us, not by hammering us.  Forget about heading south to New Zealand right now. We’ll just sail around at our current latitude until it’s clear enough for us to head south again. We turn off the engine, adjust sails to a starboard tack, and in the very light winds, slowly glide unenthusiastically, though positively, EAST.

That evening, as if to emphasize our predicament, the sun sets directly behind us in eye-catching red glory. Not south we are heading where this brilliant sun should be setting off our starboard side, but due east. We joke about our next stop. Easter Island, anyone?

Day 4 – Tuesday, October 9th – A confirmation email arrives from Commander Weather. They agree with our plan. The two men do their own calculations. As things now stand, it will probably be three days before we can resume our southern trek which delays our expected landfall in New Zealand until next Wednesday. “Next Wednesday?’ exclaims The First Mate. That’s 9 more days at sea! We will have run out of dinners by then! Okay, we will not starve. There’s canned tuna and chicken. There’s pasta and rice. There’s dried veggies like corn & peas. “Ishkabibble” her mother used to call such meals. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. No, we wouldn’t starve, but it wouldn’t be pretty either. We set out the fishing line in hopes of something more appealing than canned tuna.

 

 

 

A quick glance at the chart plotter shows our greatly altered course. Four days into passage now finds us retreating. The First Mate decides not to look at the chart plotter. It’s just too discouraging.

 

 

 

 

Several hours later, now on a port tack, we are at least heading back in the right direction, 180° magnetic, and coasting along at 6 knots in 8 knots of wind. The one bit of really good news (and The First Mate knows she should “knock on wood” when she says this) is that the seas are so very placid. There she said it, and now she knows that bad luck will follow. She just knows it! She should have kept her mouth shut, her fingers stilled on this computer. She should not have even thought it, but she did. It’s out. Hopefully, King Neptune will see her words as an acknowledgement of gratitude for his beneficence. All that being said, none of us can remember the seas being this calm for this long.

Day 5 – Wednesday, October 10th – A peaceful night at sea is spent as we drifted along in 3 – 4 knots of wind going a mind-numbing 1 – 2 knots. Coming up for her watch at 0300, The First Mate is not sure whether we were going forward, backward or anywhere. No moon; small, pinpoint stars above; dark, fathomless ocean below — only the listless slapping of the sails mar the spooky quiet surrounding our little boat ghosting along through this vast sleeping blackness. This is one of those moments when one realizes how truly insignificant one is in the grand scheme of things.

Morning brought a slight increase in wind, and with the preventer in place to hold the boom out, we continued to ghost along quietly. With no particular place to go and no particular place to be, this form of locomotion is just fine with us. We continue our back and forth tacking across the ocean gaining a little southern direction with each port tack. Perusal of the weather data shows a slight change which, for once, is to our benefit or so she is told. The low is shown to be moving more south down New Zealand’s North Island which will create the wonderful effect of lengthening the isobars. Not being conversant with the implication of such weather-related terms as lengthened isobars, The First Mate asks of what this discovery portends. It means, she is patiently told, that the winds associated with this stormy low will be less. Does that mean the low will pass sooner? Can we now begin to proceed south? No and no. We will continue on as yesterday and as the day before. Having a mild headache, she goes back to bed.

Later on, a brown-footed booby attacks our fishing lure. The hook pierces its lower bill. There is no easy way to release the hook other than drag the bird to the boat, haul it up by its impaled beak and somehow, through flapping wings and kicking feet, fight to yank the hook out as cleanly as possible. Done! The Captain unceremoniously drops the wildly flapping bird back in the water before it pecks its anger out on him. The poor thing is at first dazed. “What just happened?” we can almost hear it wonder. It bobs its head up and down as if to see if its beak still works. Tries to fly. Thinks better of it. Paddles around for a bit, and then with its senses more fully recovered, takes flight. And thus ends our excitement for the day! Boobies, unfortunately, are attracted to fishing lures and frequently dive on them. This is not the first bird, nor will it be the last, we have caught in our vain attempts to catch a fish. Bird: 1 — Fish: Zilch.

Day 6 – Thursday, October 11th – Another absolutely beautiful Pacific day dawns with a bright sun in a blue sky sprinkled with puffy white clouds. What are these 4 souls doing out here day in day out? There’s no internet. Granddaughter Berlin and any other young person would be going through withdrawal jitters. Being members of the older generation, blessedly, we read books. The First Mate pecks away on this blog and thinks about finishing some older ones. She knits. The Captain updates all his various spread sheets. John works on the website for their company, Sail South Pacific.

 

 

Lyn gets into the pile of Time magazines we have on board in between working crossword puzzles. Philosophical discussions ensue, but who can truly solve the problems of this world?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                          Basically, we eat,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

we stand watch,

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                and we sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

Encompassed in a general state of lethargy, we endure the lack of activity, but we know it could be worse. We could be out here in miserable weather, turbulent seas and nasty wind unable to proceed south because conditions there are even worse. Bored, but thankful we are.

When we left Momi Bay, which seems like weeks ago rather than a mere 6 days, we anticipated pulling up to the Custom’s Dock in Opua sometime tomorrow. The First Mate goes to the chart plotter and does a little reckoning. Here we are 6 days into passage and a mere 375 miles from Momi Bay, not even half way there. Worse, we have 645 miles still to go to Opua! Avante, used to 180-mile days on passage, must be wondering what we are doing! John informs us that he, too, has done some calculations. In 6 days, we have meandered a total of 640 miles across the ocean’s surface. A quick subtraction tells her that we have spent 265 of those miles just boring holes in the ocean. If only we were 640 miles closer to New Zealand!

Day 7 – Friday, October 12th – Another gorgeous South Pacific Island day, though there are more clouds building ahead of us indicating that something is brewing out there. We did have some rain showers last night. A morning check on the weather shows that the low, which has just reached New Zealand, has lessened in fury. It is now safe for us to proceed on our way south. Though we are now fully committed to going south, our present winds are very helpful.  They are less than 5 knots from the NE.  The engine is turned on, main sail is out to give us a very slight assist and autopilot is set to 165° magnetic, straight line to Opua.  After 7 days, we can now say we are roughly halfway to New Zealand.

The weather update also showed a band of red/orange sweeping across our path in about a day. To The First Mate’s dismay, she learns that for a good 24 hours, we will be going head on into 20 – 25  knot winds and their accompanying heavy seas. Should we slow down to avoid it? No, as it is moving north toward us, and with New Zealand’s notoriously changeable weather, a further delay here could put us into another low. “Just 24 hours,” she consoles herself. Once through this dreaded band, winds should gradually die meaning we will be motoring on into Opua. It will be an uncomfortably wild ride for a while, but we have had worse and for much longer. Nordhaven Sue can endure!

1730 – With night coming on and the expected wind increase, we put in the 2nd reef and switch to a port tack moving the hydro-generator to the port side so that its propellor does not end up churning air instead of sea.

2100 – A passing squall ups the wind to 21 knots and our speed to 9.3 knots, but after it passes, we settle down in a nice beam reach at 12 – 15 knots from the WSW.

Day 8 – Saturday, October 13 – 0700 – Throughout the night winds have been been building and are now up to 18 – 20 knots from the SW. 

0930 – Another preparation we make for the bashing ahead of us is that we furl the jib and raise the staysail. This will reduce sail power and give us a somewhat smoother ride. Though the seas are not yet bad, winds continue to build and are now gusting up to 23 knots.

1300 – Captain’s Log – “The sky has clouded over and seas have picked up. Wind is 20 – 25 kts from SSW’”

1400 – “Wind has continued to build and is passing 24 – 27 kts from SSW. We pass 30°S.”

1500 – “Seas have gotten rough with a confused wave pattern. We are taking a lot of water over the boat.” The Captain sitting on the top step of the companionway gets a sudden cold bath when a huge wave crashes over the boat and down onto the roof of the dodger. So much water came right through the canvas dodger that The Captain thought that the dodger had ripped open somewhere. Sea water cascades down into the boat. Spluttering, he climbs belows to help with the sopping up effort.

1930 – Often at sunset, winds die, but not tonight. We are now up to 23 – 30 knots. With the winds slowly backing to the south, we are constantly making adjustments to our heading to maintain the desired wind angle.

2020 – When the compass shows a heading of 120°M, we know we are now going too far east. We’ll not find New Zealand this way. It’s time to tack. Three crew are called up for this night time maneuver. The First Mate climbs over what feels like a wildly tilting booby-trapped obstacle course to get to the helm where, with the engine running and her life vest clipped by its harness to the lifeline, she is ready to take control if needed. Whenever the staysail is raised, a line called the running back stay must be set up and cranked on. It runs down the opposite side of the boat from the staysail and is attached from the top of the mast to the rear of the boat. It helps stabilize the mast against the pull of the staysail. Changing tack now means that not only the sails, but that running back stay has to be moved. That, unfortunately, requires someone to get out of the cockpit and move forward to the mast. Working together like they had practiced this many times (which they had not), the 2 men quickly and efficiently remove one backstay, tack the boat and attach another backstay on the opposite side. Wet now from the ocean spray, we dry off as much as we can. The First Mate, at the end of her watch, removes a top layer and then pulls herself across her bed in the vain hope of getting some sleep.

2100 – Captain’s Log – “Conditions are pretty poor! Winds is 23 – 30 kts. We are heeling over and really banging into the waves. We are now on a port tack and several items have dumped onto the floor. The latches on two drawers have broken, and the drawers have come out. Also, the cabinet doors to Bill’s World (Tool and spare parts storage) will not stay shut.

Off watch, it is impossible to get into a deep sleep. Waves are hitting the boat from all angles causing it to shudder and twist. A sudden quiet in the tumult only means that the bow of the boat is airborne and soon to be smacking the oncoming wave with a resounding, numbing crash. In between crashes, a brief nap or momentary oblivion is possible only to have one’s body brought back to consciousness with a thunderous explosion or sudden body-turning careening of the boat. In The First Mate’s words,”This is totally, utterly miserable! What are we doing here?” 24 hours? The uncontrollable wildness can’t be over soon enough. This may be the stuff that separates the men from the boys or the women from the girls, but in this, it is painfully apparent where The First Mate stands — or doesn’t stand.

Day 9 – Sunday, October 14th – Tonight The Captain and The First Mate have the middle of the night watches, 1:00 – 3:00 and 3:00 – 5:00. The Captain takes the first shift telling The First Mate that it should be quieting down with morning’s approach. At 3:00 she gets up to take her watch, but he tells her that he’s fine. Go back to bed – as if there is something possible called sleep! She does. When he does call her for her watch, it is still pitch black outside, but in less than an hour, the sky will begin to lighten in the east. “Hope springs eternal,” she thinks. “It’s got to get better today.”

0800 – On watch, The First Mate notes that we are a mere 248 nm from our waypoint at the entrance to the Bay of Islands. Almost there! Almost! As The Captain had assured her, the winds have begun to die down. No more does she see the high 20’s showing up on the wind gauge. If only the seas would settle, too.

In the light of day, she surveys the disarray below decks. It looks like we’ve been through a bombing. Floors are wet. All the topside hatches have leaked to varying degrees necessitating the relocation of any articles (like computers) which do not do well with salt water. A drawer is out and braced on the floor since repairs have to be made before it can be locked back into its slot. Items in the forward head are scattered all over the floor and wet. Thankfully, the heavy-duty lee cloth on the owner’s berth holding all the stuff usually stored in the aft cabins where we sleep on passage did not break loose and cascade all the stuff onto the floor. It is a disheartening mess!

Our current estimate has us arriving at the Custom’s Dock in Opua in the wee hours of Monday night. Delighted, she announces that her food larder has held out. Thanks to a 1 kilo package of chicken drummettes found in the bottom of the freezer, we have had frozen home-cooked dinners every night.

Day 1	Chicken Broccoli Rice Casserole
Day 2	Lamb Roast
Day 3	Pizza Pasta Casserole
Day 4	Goulash Soup
Day 5	Beef Stroganoff
Day 6	Drummettes & Rice
Day 7	Mom’s Veggie Soup
Day 8	Saffron Rice wt Chicken & Peas
Day 9	Spaghetti Carbonara
Day 10	Beef & Zucchini Casserole

Not gourmet for sure. Just pasta and rice casseroles, but they sure beat canned tuna and dried peas!

As dinnertime approaches, we are still sailing nicely in about 15 knots of wind.  However, we are at an uncomfortable slant for cooking tonight’s dinner of Spaghetti Carbonara, The First Mate requests that the boat be leveled out a little. Sails are grudgingly let out, and the engine is turned on. That’s much more comfortable and safer for wielding a big pot on a slanting stove. In The Captain’s mind, however, her request was the kiss of death, for the wind died down so much by the end of dinner that the motor had to stay on.

Day 10 – Monday, October 15th – All night long we motor, mostly just with the mainsail raised, as the angle of the wind will not allow the jib to fly. Seas have definitely begun to calm down. The resounding crash of a heavy wave against the boat and the following deluge of water down the sides has stopped with only the occasional wayward thump.

We have not seen another boat out here in all these 10 days. It is normal not to see another sailboat on this vast ocean, but the sighting of a few passing freighters is common. Now, a mere 100nm miles off the coast of New Zealand, we are much more vigilant, for we know they are out there somewhere.

With the return of relatively calm seas and with the constant thrum of the motor, we have all returned to our previous lethargic state. The calmness also allows everyone to catch up on sleep lost during the previous bashing.

We enjoy a beautiful sunny morning.  We still have enough wind to keep the sails up, but the motor has been running since dinnertime yesterday.  We are motoring a little faster now than at the beginning of the trip, as we have more than enough fuel for the remaining distance. By the beginning of the afternoon, the sails are listless in the light wind, so we take them down.

 

 

A few tasks remain as we near the end of this passage. No longer needed, the hydro-generator is pulled up, its propeller is removed, and it is secured on deck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The transfer of fuel from our last 50-liter storage container to the main tank in the boat is completed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As if knowing that we are returning from distant shores, a pod of dolphins welcomes us into the Bay of Islands. Racing along with the boat, they dart under and around the bow as if daring this extra-big dark blue “fish” to catch it. One catches our eye with its showoff antics as it speeds through the water upside down showing off its bright white tummy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1700 – Earlier in the day, each of us tried to predict the time when we would first see Cape Brett? Land Ho! How wonderful! We all end up guessing within an hour of 1700. That time rolls around, but the distant horizon is shrouded in a low haze. Ah, New Zealand, it well deserves its Maori name: Land of the Long White Cloud. In the golden light of our last evening of passage and with the seas once again very calm, we break out the champagne and toast ourselves and a passage well completed. (Yes, we cheated a little regarding “completion”, but the champagne definitely tasted much better then than it would have in the middle of the night when we finally docked.)

1900 – The First Mate spots Cape Brett’s lighthouse beacon in the growing darkness. “Almost home,” she thinks, for returning to New Zealand, as we have now done so many times, does feel a bit like returning home.

We motor on into the night with the seas becoming glassy calm. It’s a beautiful evening with a new moon out but not so bright yet as to dim the stars. As lights of the coastline faintly glimmer in the distance, the fore and aft lights of a huge freighter can be seen coming down the coast. AIS has it pinpointed for us and shows that it will pass over 1 nm mile in front of us. Without AIS, we would have been anxiously watching it as our paths neared and crossed. Even with AIS, we still breathe a sigh of relief when the behemoth crosses our bow.

Tuesday, October 16th – 0045 – In inky darkness, we ease up to the Q-dock in Opua, New Zealand. Lines secured, engines stopped, all is well aboard s/v Avante. Her crew is ready for a good night’s sleep.

Our passage was almost 10 days, not the expected 6 – 7. Our total mileage 1378nm, not the straight-line 1050. Though we had 24 hours of head-wind trauma, all the other 9 days were extremely calm for an ocean passage. “Not at all bad,” thinks the ever-adventurous First Mate while she eagerly ponders ……. Can you guess? ……. It’s where to next, of course!