|
|
We now have good email
access here in NZ, for the next 5 months or so. We are sending this to
all interested parties. Feel free to pass it on if we've not listed
someone. But we have intentionally omitted Sarah's parents (gwynfryn) from
this particular story for the time being.
===============
We were surrounded by paradise - Kelefisia,
a tiny island in Tonga, off the beaten track, with a tiny anchorage,
beautiful scenery and fantastic snorkeling among colorful coral heads all
around the boat, There were four friendly fisherman camping on the island
who brought us five fresh fish every afternoon. We had to leave as
cyclone season was upon us, but taking the plunge was so hard. The talk
for the past month had been weather, weather, weather and how to tackle
the NZ trip. The topic had gained an ominous flavor, and we spent hours
hashing it around with other yachties. The challenge was to leave the
tropics before a cyclone hit, but miss the frequent spring and early
summer storms off the NZ coast.
Some opted for high fee five day
forecasts, or had connections with BOC weather forecasters, others spend
hours tracking weather faxes and planning strategies. The boats currently
enroute were hit by a storm down by NZ as we waited, and one woman on a
British boat was lost, another boat was lost, and two more boats lost
their rigs. Many boats had a very uncomfortable time. We patched
sails, checked the rig and did what we could to prepare for rough
weather. We talked with friends on "Freya" in Nuko'alofa about when to
jump off. " Why are we so psyched out by this trip, we've all handled 40
knots before?" But big storms were known to hit with little warning, like
the Queen's birthday storm of 94. We checked in with Des on Russell Radio
based in New Zealand, and got confidence from his friendly laid back
voice, wanting the perfect 10 day weather window he couldn't give us.
Trying to put it in perspective we enjoyed the peace with our friends on "Fledgeling"
- the only other boat anchored at the island. They tempted us to stay
another night with some cold G and T's. We borrowed their kayaks to
circumnavigate the island and think about our departure. Back on
Margarita a light breeze stirred and suddenly we decided to go. We called
the kids in from the beach, had a last swim in glorious tropical water,
hauled anchor, sailed around Fedgeling yelling good wished and headed out
through the reef pass.
The first couple of days were calm, too
calm. Good for stomachs, we hardly knew we were in the deep ocean
offshore. We poked along at three and four knots. No autopilot and not
enough fuel to motor the whole 1050 miles meant we didn't want to motor
flat out, but slow speeds meant using up our clear weather period, so we
constantly wrestled with the decision of how much to motor. At night we
were content to drift along at two knots, but 80 mile days did not give us
peace of mind. We checked in daily with our cruising net of friends
heading south from Tonga, and with the ham Seafarers net. We also talked
twice daily with Des. His approach was to give weather as he saw it, and
prognosis for the next day - no promises for next week. We reminded
each other that the peacefulness of the passage was good, better than a wet
pounding and it gave us time to adjust to the tiring watch schedule
which always made us feel like dogmeat for a couple of days. We fell into
a rhythm, making handicrafts for Emma's birthday, reading, plotting,
sleeping, making bread and growing sprouts.
Two days before Emma's birthday talk on
the radio centered on a low pressure system forming off Australia. In the
evening we checked in with Des." You're in a bit of a tight spot" he said
" can't tell where the low will track, you may sail right into it, go
slowly, try to get a good night's sleep and we will talk in the morning".
HELP. Get a good nights sleep. We all huddled around the radio trying to
see the weather fax printouts and predict what would happen. If the storm
hit us the timing would probably make it "Emma's birthday storm". If we
got lucky that meant our friends further south might get hit. However,
lows sometimes melted into nothing. Next morning Des reassured us that it
looked like the storm would track well east and we could proceed on down.
All canvas up we sailed as fast as we could in the light wind.
During the day we made VHF contact with
two other boat friends, Hio Ave, who we had been in touch with on the SSB
radio, and "Sara" , who had no HF transmission capabilities and who people
had been worried about for a couple of days. We reported their position
in to Des so he could pass it on. It was cozy to be able to call friends
at odd times during the day to discuss conditions or sail repair, exchange
jokes, whatever. Cass on "Sarah" had dengue fever, and so Skip was
single handing and sounded very tired. The stress was fraying
everybody's
nerves too.
That evening checking in with Des he again
told us to sit tight. The low had altered course again and was
unpredictable. Also it was stacking up against a large high, so the large
pressure gradient indicated very strong winds. Whew, having this weather
forecasting was a mixed blessing. Back off Easter Island when we had no
way of predicting weather beyond clouds and barometer we dealt with the
gales as they came. Here we had days to prepare and sweat. So we plodded
along at 1 to 2 knots, going nowhere and obsessing. The next morning the
weather check-in was good news for us, but not for others. The storm was
tracking south, off the east coast of NZ, and was going to be strong,
passing over several boats in the fleet that were close to making
landfall. Advice was to seek shelter (hard to do 100+ miles out) or
prepare for heavy weather. In the evening things sounded more grim. On
the southbound net our friends on Freya did not check in. Word was that
they were going to lie to a sea anchor and wait for the storm to pass.
One boat, "Destiny", sailed by a delivery skipper and mate, had taken
evasive action for the last day by sailing north, away from New Zealand.
Two other boats, only 30 miles out, were going in to Opua, expecting to
anchor by midnight. We could hear the tension in their voices as they
reported conditions, already blowing over 40, one boat had blown out their
Yankee jib, and was sailing along with just a staysail at 8 1/2 knots. We
felt for them, with their two toddlers on board, and could imagine so
well how they felt. Making landfall on a lee shore in a storm at night
would not be easy. We went to bed with a knot in our stomachs worrying
about everybody, and relieved for ourselves that we were not in the
centre. Winds were expected to exceed 70 knots and it was blowing 50 in
the bay of islands by the time we went to sleep. And these boats had left
when the weather window was supposed to be good!!
In the
morning we checked in early with Des, and he reported that he was worried
about Freya as they had missed a 6:00 am radio sched with him that they
had been very keen on making. That might mean they had lost their SSB
which might mean a lost mast. He asked for names of the crew on Freya.
The 13 year old boy was a friend of our kids, we had spend time buddy
boating with them in French Polynesia, so we felt very concerned. Other
news through the day was not good. By late afternoon we were getting a
fairly uncomfortable swell from the storm, even though we were 500 miles
away. Finally we overheard Des talking about a helicopter rescue to
another boat. We called him immediately to ask if that was our friends.
Apparently the crew had been lifted off Freya in 80 knot winds and 45 ft
seas. The conditions were so bad that it was at the limits of the rescue
crews' capabilities. Apparently the boat had been rolled 4 times and
lost the mast and hatches and was taking on water. Everyone on board was
OK!! Another boat did not fare so well. They had issued a Mayday, and a
container ship had been called to attempt a rescue. The skipper was able
to make it on board, but the female crew was lost, and the boat
disappeared, presumably from a collision with the container ship, all
that was found was floating debris. We had read countless stories of
terrible storms and tragedies at sea, but knowing the people on Freya
well, and having spent hours on the boat that was now presumably sunk put
a whole different light on things. We all imagined over and over what it
had been like out there. It was too awful to contemplate. The difference
between 50 knots and 80 is enormous.
We called the boats in VHF range to talk
it over. Hoi Ave were going through a front at the time with 35 knots and
uncomfortable seas and felt very low. Shortly afterwards we hit the same
weather, we reefed down and got the boat going ok, but our confidence was
shaken, and we didn't feel like dealing with it. Luckily only a few hours
later we passed under the edge of the line of clouds into clear blue and
the wind dropped. The seas remained lumpy for a couple of days but
nothing bad.
After that we felt desperate to get this
trip over with. The storm, reportedly the worst fisherman had seen in 30
years, slowly passed to the south and we felt we had a few days clear
before another would blow up. We kicked the engine in when our speed fell
below 4 knots, and the miles seemed to crawl agonizingly by. Emma had her
birthday successfully, complete with cake (which was close since the
propane for the stove ran out the next day with two lovely loaves of
bread ready to go in the oven.) We talked ourselves back into a positive
mood. It felt so good to share the ups and downs with the crew on Hio
Ave, who felt exactly the same as us. We felt fortunate we had dilly
dallied in Tonga, and they felt relieved their propeller had come loose
there, causing them to wait two extra days. It sometimes feels like a
real crapshoot out there.
Two days out of NZ we starting feeling
safe. The future looked clear, and the lows seem to take at least two
days from inception to the time they start causing trouble. At last we
were within reach. Finally we motored into Opua at 1:00am in beautiful
calm with a full moon and grabbed a quarantine mooring buoy. Douglas
woke up and helped with lines. The girls stirred and asked why the engine
was off ..."we're here, Hooray!!'. We sat in the cockpit with a nice
large scotch and relished the truly euphoric feeling of being here, the
passage over, and no passages for months. New Zealand seemed such a
friendly place.
Sarah
|
