We’ve arrived Opua, New Zealand/Aotearoa! Got in to the quarantine dock at 10am this morning (Monday, 27/11), local time – a run of exactly seven days. Approaching New Zealand this morning was magical, the landscape similar to the beauty of Marin headlands, Tiburon, with many small bays and anchorages and lots of sailboats. We travelled 1065 nautical miles on a rhum line course of 1030 – so pretty good! Our average boat speed was 6.35 knots. Given that the first three days were on the slow side (light wind and motoring 17 hours), we’re pretty sure that the last three or four days were Anthea’s best daily runs ever. We were exceedingly fortunate to have wind all the way into Opua. Earlier predictions were for no wind from about 120 miles out, but a small smallish trough over the north tip of the north island created a bit of a pressure gradient that we were happy to utilize.

We’ve cleared biosecurity and are now waiting for customs to visit us. Many boats at quarantine dock, waiting for clearance; most seem to have just arrived from Fiji. We’ll get a slip here for a couple weeks or so.

Hard to believe we’re here, tied to a dock. New Zealand/Aotearoa has been a dreamed of destination for decades. We have a sense of accomplishment and thankfulness.

Mark

Who needs roller coaster rides, water parks, or reality TV, I thought, while sitting on the leeward side of the helm seat? It was pitch black at 4 a.m., clouds covered the brilliant southern stars, and only a small patch of sea was visible, illuminated by the white stern light. All around us the water boiled and frothed, waves rose up and smacked Anthea on her port side, others leapt onto the foredeck and poured a torrent of water over her bow and down her scuppers. Every fifteen minutes a roguish wave surged up and into the cockpit, splashing me from head to toe. Several times these wicked ones partially filled the cockpit with water, and I quickly lifted up lines and water bottles to clear the drains. The movement of the boat was equally wild and unpredictable, reminding me of a rollercoaster ride in a dark tunnel. We’d surge up the back of a wave one instant and then be flung sideways as we roared, surfing westward as well as forward. The waves slapped and pounded the hull, and I had to remind myself of Anthea’s stout construction to fend off fears of separation of the hull/deck joint or keel bolts snapping.

Earlier in the day we gave up on steering the rhumb line to New Zealand, a course that had us pounding on a close reach into the wind and seas, and bore off to a beam reach to keep the bashing to a minimum. My watch position back aft kept me clear of much of the spray and allowed me to adjust the windpilot to keep us on course and lower the traveler when the weatherhelm was overpowering. Peter (my father, and weather expert) warned us of these dreadful seas, 2 to 3 meters high and only a 7 second interval between waves. There was nothing to be done, but get through it. The wind and waves weren’t going away, as they were caused by a slow moving high pressure system to our south, squashing the pressure gradiant all the way to the tropics. The further south we travelled, the better the weather, so on we persevered, keeping Anthea moving at 6.5 to 7 knots with double reefed sails.

The next night the seas were a bit more organized and the wind abated to 20 knots. It was still a rollicking ride, as the seas remained steep and with a short period, and Anthea was constantly awash in streaming sea water. If the first night was akin to a post-Rugby game brawl, chaos all around and not knowing where the next punch was coming from and how hard it would land, the punches on the second night had a rhythm. I learned when to duck low so that spray travelled over my hood and down the outside of my jacket, rather than slapping me in the face and dripping down my neck. Anson, Mark and I each took our watches and each developed strategies for bearing up and getting us through the thick of it.

Meanwhile Devon was confined to his berth below. It was too dangerous for him to come topsides, one handed as he is. This passage is the only silver lining of his fractured wrist, and I for one celebrate each smile as he places an order for food or drink, or asks for an iPad or other entertainment. For him, this passage is like an extended airplane flight, with first class accommodations. At times the “flight attendants” are too busy to serve him, but we get round to meeting his needs ASAP. Even Anson agrees to serve his brother, knowing how important it is for Devon not to fall and reinjure his wrist (although Anson doesn’t take the same joy in evon’s satisfied smiles and occasional laughs). I’ve also been the main cook, as neither Mark nor Anson have the stomach, as Devon and I do, to dive into the fridge, chop vegetables, extract dry goods from cupboards without unleashing the entire contents, mix and stir, season and serve, under extreme conditions. In exchange, they’ve taken more of the day watches so I can feed the crew. I do so miss having our cook functional!

Yesterday morning the seas and wind diminished and life aboard Anthea felt manageable once again. Although it was already Friday here (we crossed the dateline), we decided to celebrate Thanksgiving. Devon made it to the main salon, and he and I turned a beautiful pumpkin into an exceptional pumpkin pie. It was a big project to take on, without a food processor for blending pumpkin and for mixing the butter and flour for the crust, but with patience and much finagling to keep the waves from tossing the bowls and ingredients from table to seat, we produced a masterpiece (special ingredient: brandy). The rest of dinner was quite simple, but tasty: French duck in a can, purchased months ago in Papeete, warmed with four types of mushrooms, Tongan sweet potatoes, sautéed in butter, and butternut squash. We gave thanks for this cruise, for family and friends, and for the worst of this passage behind us.

Now we just have to keep up our speed to arrive before a small trough showers northern New Zealand with rain. Devon keeps updating us on average speed to maintain, based on miles to go. Mark, Anson and I work hard to keep Anthea at top speed, with her bow pointing on the rhumb line to Opua (our check in spot in NZ). We’ve put in and taken out more reefs in the last few days, and made more sail adjustments than I ever recall. The wind backs and veers, gusts and lulls, as squally conditions intermingle with the high pressure winds. Last night’s watch was non-stop for me, sheets in, sheets out, traveler up, traveler down, all to keep our speed over 7 knots (or 6 in the lulls) as much as possible. I felt like I was a single hander in an ocean race. But with the seas a mere 1.5 meters, and the wind between 10 and 20 knots, and the southern cross shining brightly between squally clouds, I feel blessed to be here.

We have 306 nm to go; Devon tells me we have to average 5.66 knots to arrive before dark on Monday. It looks hopeful! Kim
30 degrees 38 minutes south; 176 degrees 58.9 minutes east (note: despite sailing westwards, we are now in eastern longitudes, having crossed the dateline)

Motoring while sailing is a new practice for us. Generally, if we can sail, we sail, and if there isn’t wind, we motor. We’ve been fortunate to hardly motor on passages since leaving Mexico, but this journey to New Zealand is different. The weather systems in this part of the world can be fierce – we need to get out of cyclone territory to our north and arrive in the south before a sub-tropical low comes spinning across New Zealand and churning up our passage with high winds and seas. Fortunately, the big scary stuff is predicted many days in advance, giving us time to maneuver to a safe “parking” spot in the ocean if a snug harbor is too far away. Right now we have a really nice weather window (may it continue). We departed Tonga just as a nasty sub-tropical low passed to the SE and as a blocking high pressure system off of New Zealand keeps the next sub-tropical low at bay. There are no tropical depressions appearing on the weather maps as of today; if one does appear, it takes time to develop into something serious (and only about 10 percent of tropical depressions develop into cyclones). So right now, the passage looks safe. But forecasters can really only speak with certainty 72 hours out, so things might change. What that means for us is that the faster we can get to New Zealand, the safer we’ll be. We’re sailing towards strong winds (in fact, we may be entering them as I type – the angle of heel has increased dramatically and spray just came down the center hatch). Our protocol is to keep a minimum speed of 5 knots throughout the 8-10 day voyage. We’ve had light and variable winds last night and today, often only 6-8 knots of breeze, and with a short, steep swell, we need 8-10 knots of wind to sail at 5 knots while beating to windward. So when the boat speed dipped below 5, on went Mr. Perkins, with sails a flying. (He’s not so thirsty at low rpms, so thankfully we aren’t flying through our fuel supply. Those extra jerry cans we procured in Tonga are part of the safety plan for reaching New Zealand fast.) Four times in the past 24 hours the wind picked up and Mr. Perkins went off, only to be turned back on several hours later. Thankfully, Mr. Perkins has remained off since 3 p.m. today and we have sweet sailing once again. Soon we’ll be having more wind than we need, but hopefully not more than we can handle with our standard practices of reefing sails. If we do get blasted, we have tricks up our sleeve – heaving to for starters and then a drogue all ready to deploy. Time to go and reef – the wind has arrived and squall clouds are on the horizon! Kim
25 degrees 13 minutes south; 178 degrees 14.4 minutes west (7:30 p.m. Tonga time)

We set off in a light breeze, sailing and motorsailing as we wove our way through Tongatapu’s reefs and through a western pass. We paralleled the coast to the open ocean, watching the waves break gently on the outer reef, and then feeling the swell of the ocean once beyond the protection of the archipelago. After turning to the SSW, the rhumb line to Opua, New Zealand, the wind soon died, and we motored our way through blue skies and gathering clouds. Devoid of any breeze, the ocean became an undulating mirror, the blue and gray of the sky reflecting like oil on water. We motored steadily towards grey cumulous clouds on the horizon, standing tall, uniform, and unmoving. An eerie stillness, hot and humid, permeated the air as we approached this wall. Fleeting cat’s paws flitted across the surface of the sea, vanishing as the whisps of westerly breeze evaporated in the intense calm. The clouds loomed higher until we reached a line in the sea where the flat calm on our side gave way to a sea ruffled by a 10 knot SE breeze. Through the clouds we travelled and into sailing winds, hours earlier than forecasted. We hoisted the sails and bounded forward at 6 knots and then 7 as the breeze freshened. Reluctantly we put a reef in the main for the night, slowing our speed to 6.5 knots and then down to 5 when the winds dipped to a mere 7 knots.
During my 0330 to 0730 watch I played the sheets for four hours to eek out every bit of speed in the light and variable winds, also scanning the horizon for Ata Island, a volcanic rock jutting 300 feet out of the sea. At first light Mark rose and shook out the reef, and our speed climbed again. The wind has now freshened and we’re sailing closehauled, in a 1.5 meter sea and a 10-12 knot breeze, making 6 knots for Opua. Ata Island recedes majestically in our wake, the sheer cliffs reminiscent of the Marquesan Islands. Anthea is in her element and all is well aboard.
Kim
11/21 0900
Lat 22 degrees 39.5 minutes S; 176 degrees 28.5 minutes W

Departure for New Zealand!

Tomorrow morning (20 November) we’ll depart for New Zealand, a journey of just over 1,000 miles on the rhumb line, though we’ll actually sail a longer course whose exact length the waves, wind speed and angle will determine. Emotions on board are a mix. They include tiredness from the last three days of work to prepare for the passage, a bit of edginess, perhaps due to the possibility of challenging weather ahead and maybe the cumulative challenges of all four of us living in a relatively small space for so long, exacerbated by the limitations Devon’s experienced since fracturing his wrist, sadness as our amazing time in tropical latitudes comes to a close, and happy anticipation of our longish visit to New Zealand and the wide variety of activities we are looking forward to (including a trip through the South Island with Kim’s parents and before that, visits with our friends Kathy and Yannai). We are among the last of the boats leaving Tonga for New Zealand this season, though our plan all along was to leave sometime in the third week of November and arrive New Zealand around the end of the month. Hurricane season officially began November 1, and while they almost never hit Tonga this early in the season, our weather router Bob McDavit did tell us that the chance of one doubles in December (relative to November). So we’re hopping on the current weather window, not waiting around for 2-3 weeks for the next one to open up.

Preparations for the passage have included the requisite customs and immigration office paperwork, taking on extra fuel (80 extra liters in 20-litre palm oil containers from Indonesia) in addition to full tank and our usual 6 decktop jerry cans, provisioning (this one word contains many hours of shopping, transporting, and stowing), food preparation to make cooking meals en route a bit easier (especially important as we’re minus our crossing cook due to his cast), rig check (Anson goes to the top of the mast and works his way carefully down looking for any problems – none found), bottom cleaning (was started a couple anchorages ago and Anson finished up here), general nuts and bolts tightening (especially of the mast, boom, gooseneck, windvane, etc.), engine preparation (oil and filter change, disconnect coolant hoses from engine to galley water heater to avoid catastrophic coolant loss if water heater blows, fixed return fuel line leak, identified and mostly fixed fuel pump fuel leak, top up transmission fluid level – fingers crossed that Mr. Perkins will be happy all the way to Opua as this trip requires motoring when necessary to keep up target speeds and get into port before nasty weather from the south causes problems), checking the steering cables, airing out warm cloths and blankets, exhuming the drogue and attaching it to the stern pulpit for easy deployment if necessary, collapsing the inflatable dinghy and stowing it below, plus lots of other stowage including transforming the v-berth where Kim and I sleep into equipment stowage, and organizing three berths (two in aft cabin and one pilot berth), navigation and weather analysis (thank goodness Kim is so good at weather analysis, and we have the support of Kim’s father, the Gulf Harbor Ham net, and weather router Bob McDavit (whose services we’ve contracted for). In addition to this, Anson has gone kiteboarding a couple times with a young person on a nearby catamaran, and went into town last night with her and a young Tongan man. Whew – no wonder we’re a bit tired at the moment.

Prior to our arrival here in Nuku’alofa Thursday evening (after a fabulous 40 mile spinnaker run with Anthea performing splendidly), we enjoyed many great days cruising in the Ha’api group of Tonga. We buddy-boated with Steve and Michelle on their home-made, performance cruising catamaran Citrus Tart. Anson enjoyed many kiteboarding sessions with Steve at Lifuka and Tofanga Islands, and they both helped me get to the next level (up frequently with many short runs but not yet consistent) while at Tofanga. We enjoyed snorkeling at Limu Island, and there Anson, using Steve’s spear gun, shot and killed two large Trevelli. The fillets he cut fed Anthea’s crew four delicious dinners. Anson’s kiteboarding has improved by leaps and bounds and his excellent diving skills contributed to his successful hunting trip.

Many of the islands we visited in the middle and southern Ha’api group were among the most picturesque of our entire cruise. Tofanga and Limu are small (20 minutes to walk around), uninhabited islands, the epitome of the South Pacific deserted isle. The snorkeling at Limu was extraordinary, with incredible water clarity; Kim and I dinghied across the shallow reef to the ocean side, near the pounding breakers, and then drift dove back across; the diversity of coral and the tropical fish was fabulous. The last island we visited was Kelefesia. We were the only boat in the small anchorage, enclosed by reef and beach. Booming south swells crashed just outside the anchorage and indeed made getting into the anchorage a bit hair raising. The island, another small uninhabited isle, conjures up images from childhood readings of Treasure Island – something about the palm fringed beaches and the steep cliffs and bluffs (unusual around here), sparked the imagination regarding places to seek shelter, find water, and generally subsist if marooned. Throughout all these activities and travels, Devon’s fractured wrist has severely restricted what he could do. While in the big picture all is well and soon enough his cast will come off, in the meantime it has really limited his range of activities. Throughout it all he has maintained a consistent positive attitude and upbeat perspective – far better than what I could probably muster and so hats off to Devon for putting up so cheerfully with the break.

In the meantime, here on Anthea (anchored off Big Mama’s Yacht Club at Pangaimotu, Tongatapu), Anson has been making cookies and it’s nearly tea time, after which Devon and I plan a game of chess. He usually beats the pants off me, but last time I would have checkmated him except he managed to turn it into a stalemate – so all bets are off.

And tomorrow we depart.

-Mark