Jul 13 2008
The Big Circumnavigation
Sounding Free spent several long months in the boatyard having her damaged hull repaired after coming up onto the beach during a big storm last year. I began to notice Scott gazing out into space on more than one occasion. He assured me that this was his way of designing the best way to keep this from happening again. 
Thick wood posts that broke in half under the constant pressure of 60 knot winds was replaced with a huge stainless steel cleat bolted through the deck on the bow. The mooring line attaches to this monster, and will keep SF floating with enough water under her keel in a big blow. Scott also installed new electronic equipment to make our life easier, and encourage us to use the boat more. For the past twenty years Scott has raised the 45 lb anchor attached to three hundred feet of thick chain with no more than a heavy metal handle stuck into a gear that ratchets the chain and anchor up a couple inches at a time. This was done by elbow grease alone and could take a long time if anchored in deep water. We now proudly own an electric windlass that brings up the anchor at lightening speeds. If the wind shifts to a dangerous direction, it allows us to raise anchor and be gone in a few minutes. There have been times throughout our illustrious sailing career when I have watched from the helm as Scott raised the anchor with the hand driven windlass and disappeared from my sight when the bow dipped into oncoming waves. My job was to drive the boat into the waves keeping pressure off the anchor chain. With this new windlass Scott has only to step on a button and the anchor magically zooms up to the surface before I can get the tiller untied in the cockpit and the engine in gear.
Also included in Sounding Free’s extreme makeover was the installation of the Navman system. This little modern wonder does everything but the dishes. It is a small device, but amazingly houses a depth sounder, colored charts for all New Zealand waters, GPS, boat speed and most exciting of all…a fish finder! When we are underway I forget to look at the scenery because my eyes are glued to the fish we are passing over. The little fish icons with their depth written right next to them float across the LCD screen teasing me with their clusters. I mentally figure out how much line to let out. Needless to say we were very anxious to plan a sailing trip to try out all these new bells and whistles.
Our chance came last Easter when Scott decided to take some time off from his job at the University of Auckland. We ferried several dinghy loads of provisions out to Sounding Free for our first sailing adventure in a long time. Waiheke has spectacular secluded coves for anchoring and it is right in our own backyard.
Circumnavigating the island would help Scott and I to get back to our true passion and get over the air travel blues that have dominated our lives for the past three years. We have truly missed our sailing lifestyle and admit that there can be no more excuses for not using this beautiful little boat that has taken us half way around the world. Plus we have all this new fangled stuff aboard to help make it easier to manage.
Planning a two week voyage brings out the Julie McCoy, Love Boat Activities Director in me. If there is anything Scott hates it is my Julie McCoy routine. He would rather open a can of tuna and plop a giant spoonful of mayo into the center and call that dinner. I on the other hand want special cheeses, wines, and don’t forget candles. It is true, I am an ambience junky, and if Scott catches the least little whiff of the gathering of items related to ambience, the trip might well be compromised, so I make my satisfying little lists from a distance, safely ensconced in my studio. I even dared covert activity for my cause, asking Stoney to give me a lift in out to Sounding Free in his boat while Scott was at work. In this way I have smuggled special items out to the Love Boat without raising any unnecessary red flags. Scott enjoys the treats when we are finally aboard sitting under the stars in the bean bag chairs, but getting him to assist with the assembling of parts can push him to the dark side. After twenty years of marriage I have learned to curb some aspects of my Julie McCoy fetish. I have given up on candles as they are just not worth the pain of conflict, but there are some things though that a fifty two year old woman should not be denied. For example, several choices frozen bait which requires a cooler filled with ice. You never know whether the snapper will go after sprats or squid, so it seems important to me to make the effort to have both, since catching fish for dinner is as Jen says, “blows my hair back.”
On the first day of the big trip we set off late morning, and made it to our fist overnight stop at Chamberlain’s Bay on the northeast end of Ponui Island without a hitch. Our passage took us a whopping thirty minutes, which is barely enough time to top up the batteries. Scott settled into the cruise differently than I. He loves nothing more that rotating between playing guitar in the cockpit and doing small chores around the boat; a testimonial to his love of all things nautical. I on the other hand want to explore beaches and study the patterns wind makes on the water, and oh yeah, did I mention that I love to fish? Our first day out was a time of reuniting with Sounding Free. I must get used to once again layering the food in the deep refrigerator so that I don’t have to pull out everything out in order to get to the things that I use most. I must remember where I stowed the rice and the toilet paper and to not forget to shut valves that could potentially sink the boat. Scott has to find the charts and the polish for the wind vane. We both have to remember where we put the solar shower.
By lunchtime I was ready to try and catch a fish. I love nothing more than to row out in t
he dinghy with all my gear, throw out the anchor and take a stab at hunting and gathering. I don’t mind baiting a hook or getting fish guts on my hands, and cleaning the fish that I have caught is part of the deal. I headed towards a small rocky point that sticks out a ways into Ruthe’s passage, a narrow channel that divides Ponui and Rotoroa Islands. I waited until the tide turned so that I could fish in the current of this channel. I noticed a back eddy coming off the channel, causing a counter clockwise swirl around the rocks. Snapper seem to love this kind of current. I spent a few hours feeding the fish with no luck. A couple of times my line broke, probably due to faulty knot tying or a shark. Finally when I was down to my last bit of bait I hooked a good sized snapper. My rod bent over so far I had to let off the drag. This beast pulled the dinghy around in a circle, and for a while I thought that I might have hooked a stingray. An orange flash about ten feet down told me otherwise. I took my time getting the net over the side to ensure that this beauty of a snappah (the Kiwi pronunciation) would end up feeding us both that night. I was beaming as I pulled up alongside Sounding Free with my catch. I mumbled to myself, “Dammit, I wish I had brought the candles.” Scott said, “What did you forget?” “Nothing Dear” I said.
Around four o’clock we started our happy hour preparation. First up, was a proper cruiser boat shower. The anchorage at Chamberlain’s was not too full yet so I didn’t have to stress out about flashing my big white ass in front of the entire boating community of Auckland. Scott hooked up the accordion boarding ladder over the side as I went done below to get out the towels and shampoo. Our boat towels are made of chamois fabric, the kind you dry your car with, and are rolled up wet and tucked into a plastic tube after each use. They are easily stored and cleaned. On a boat washing big towels and sheets is really not much fun. If they come into contact with salt they never dry and continually grab moisture from the air keeping them clammy and gross for all of eternity.
Diving over the side into the shadowy later afternoon water always scares me. This has something to do with all the sharks I have seen while swimming around islands in the South Pacific. Having a healthy imagination also helps and I drive Scott mad clinging onto to his back like a human turtle shell to keep the creatures of the deep that my mind has conjured up, from biting my toes. My paranoia heightens when I have shampoo in my hair and have to close my eyes and submerge for a decent rinse. We wash in the saltwater everyday and use the fresh water onboard the boat as a final rinse in order to conserve the eighty gallons Sounding Free holds. It is a pain to have to leave a beautiful anchorage to go in search of a dock with a water tap.
Happy Hour officially began when we were squeaky clean and comfortably seated in our bean bag chairs, glass of wine in hand, stereo blasting and ready to watch the parade of boats arriving from the city.
“Where does that guy in the powerboat think he’s going?” Scott asks. “He has the entire anchorage to choose from but he goes right up close to that other boat.”
I have heard this comment so many times before I sometimes try to say it before Scott gets a chance. It marks the start of typical happy hour banter that we lovingly repeat like a favorite dialogue from a classic movie.
“Check out that dodger,” I say.
“Yeah, we should probably think about getting a new one made,” Scott says.
“I love it out here at anchor,” I say.
“Pass me the chips,” he says.
“Can you hear that wind generator?” he asks.
“I am so glad to have that off the boat,” I say.
“That reminds me of the time when it was blowing so hard in Pago Pago the wind generator was putting in over 30 amps into the batteries.”
Off we go, reminiscing about the people, exotic destinations and major mishaps we experienced living on the water between California and New Zealand. As the sun went down we lit the lanterns, and placed the snapper, minus its head (cuz it wouldn’t fit ) into the oven. I must have done something good in my last life to deserve this.
The next morning after breakfast we took off towards the Coromandel Peninsula.
“Take the helm I’m going to raise the main,” Scott yells.
We have a new custom made roller furling headsail, purposely smaller than our old Genoa, and boy does this make for a smoother ride. The boat doesn’t heel over so far when the wind kicks in. Soon we were screaming along on a flat sea. We tacked back towards Waiheke, and as we got closer to Shag Rock, I noticed that there were tons o’ fish on the Navman screen.
“Hey, let’s stop and anchor at Shag Rock for lunch,” I suggested, “it’s not often that the sea is calm enough for us to anchor out here.”
“Sure, why not,” says Scott.
The mighty new windlass was infusing us with new confidence to drop the hook in unusual places. Much to my dismay, the fish were not on the bite, so after lunch Scott stood on the bow with big toe poised on the magic button, and within a few seconds brought the anchor up and we sailed down the northeastern side of Waiheke Island ending up at Hooks Bay for night.
Hooks Bay stretches out to form a slow curving arc into the side of the island. We anchored at the north end off of a beautiful white sand beach which is really an isthmus. There was a flurry of action to get the sails put away quickly so that we could jump in the dinghy and head for the shore to collect pipi. Pipi are small shellfish delicacies that you can dig up along the shoreline at very low tide. It takes a while to get the feel for harvesting pipi. You must gently probe around a few inches beneath the sand with your fingers or toes and sometimes you might get lucky and hit a mother lode of smooth two inch long, oblong, off white bivalves. Within thirty minutes we had the beginnings of a special meal for two. Back at the boat the pipi were left on deck in a pot of salt water. I watched them migrating around the bucket spitting out sand, as we hoped they would do. The tide turned inward so we decided to try out hand at drift fishing.
Out along the edge of the farthest reef Scott cut the motor. We tossed out baited hooks over the side and sat back watching birds dive all around us. It was a good sign that birds were fishing beside us and before long we felt a few big tugs on our lines. Drift fishing can be frustrating when your line drifts along the bottom and catches on the rocks and grasses. There were some tense moments trying to persuade the hook to let loose without letting go. Scott eventually showed me up by nailing a gorgeous snapper. It was his turn to ca
tch dinner tonight.
“Steamed pipi for happy hour, a big fat snapper for dinner and no grocery store in sight,” I declared.
“It doesn’t get any better than this,” Scott said as he raised his glass for the first of many toasts that evening.
When we out here like this we realize how fortunate we are and toasting is our heathen attempt at giving thanks.
The weather pattern was holding but we decided we better keep moving down the island since it was uncommon for this side of the island to be so calm this many days in a row. Up went the sails, but this was mostly for show because there was no wind. We were motoring along at five and half knots, trolling two large metal lures off the back of the boat when we found ourselves moving through a large bird working. The water was churning from the larger fish chasing the smaller fish. That can only mean one thing in New Zealand…kahawai. Kahawai are large mackerel, great to use as bait as well as for eating. Mostly, Kahawai are smoked, but I have used them to make great ceviche, and find that if you are going to eat them it is best to bleed them right after they are caught. The Kahawai in this working were large and hard to pull up into the cockpit. Kahawai are fighters and if you don’t pull them in quickly they will jump and twist had enough to get off the hook. There is nothing more infuriating than to lose a good size fish that you have carefully reeled up to the side of the boat and have already mentally placed on a steaming platter. That doesn’t happen today since as soon as we lost one, untangled the line and let the lure back out it was hit immediately by another Kamakazi kahawai. After trolling twice around the edge of this feeding frenzy, we ended up keeping only one fairly large fish to use for bait.
The wind came up in the late afternoon at about ten knots and barely ruffled the water, but b
y mid evening there was a regular series of swells rocking us from side to side. Sleeping was rough and felt more like a batch of unsatisfying cat naps. I could hardly wait for morning to arrive so that we could make our way around the other end of the island to search for a quieter piece of water. Everyone else had the same idea, so the next anchorage that was well out of the swell and wind was also packed with boats of every size and shape. It appeared that as we got closer to the restaurant side of the island our solitude began to disappear. We spent the night wishing that we had decided to go back up to Hooks Bay instead.
Sitting in the cockpit the next morning, sipping our coffee, I was happy when Scot asked, “Well where do you want to go today?”
“I want to hop over to that other island over there,” I pointed.
“That’s Motohe, I have always wanted to go over there too,” says Scott, “I’ll take a look at the chart to find the best place to anchor.”
Motohe is a Hauraki Gulf island that the Department of Conservation has spent a lot of time and effort reestablishing endangered indigenous plants and birds. It is dog free and their hope is to one day be able to reintroduce Kiwi birds. I knew there would be well marked walking tracks and I was looking forward to getting off of the boat to stretch my legs. When we arrived we had the whole place to ourselves.
“Wonder why there isn’t anyone else here?” Scott said. “The beach is stunning; I can’t imagine why it’s empty.”
“Maybe it’s bad holding ground,” I said.
“Nah, the bottom is all sand,” Scott replied.
“Well I guess it is just our luck that prevails,” I say, but don’t really believe.
We spent the next two nights at Motohe. I dug again for Pipi which I made into a tasty pasta sauce. By night two we decided that we really liked this place, with its long white beach and flat weathered rock outcroppings. The sunsets were memorable as well, and as the sun dropped lower in the sky, its light shone back on Waiheke setting the vineyards ablaze with golden earth tones. We had fun sitting out on the foredeck at night spotting satellites and becoming mesmerized by the grand swathe of the Milky Way.
On Friday late afternoon our quiet anchorage began to change. Someone had opened the floodgates in Auckland, and boats began pouring out towards the islands. By Saturday morning we barely had enough room to swing in circle without bumping into our neighbors. This was beginning to look a lot like California. Jet skis zoomed past, almost running over swimmers, fishing boats barreled by at 10 knots, causing sail boats to pitch back and forth, rap music blared forth from the cockpit of a catamaran filled with twenty something’s on our right. We suddenly felt like outsiders.
“Hey Dorothy, were not in Kansas anymore,” Scott cracked.
“I vote to sail home tomorrow and fish along the way,” I said.
“Yeah, I would rather be sitting on our mooring than listening to music that I hate,” said Scott. “Want to open a bottle of wine?” I ask.
“Is the Pope Catholic?” says Scott.
We drank a bottle of good Chardonnay, cranked up our own loud music, and danced in our 3 X 3 foot cockpit until we felt young again. I fixed a last supper fit for a king and queen, complete with all the Julie McCoy props still hidden away in my underwear drawer, hoping this extra bit of ambience would enhance our last night. It had been an awesome trip that took us no further than the outskirts of our own backyard. We enjoyed each others company for the first time in a long time, and even found out that Scott could actually live without a computer for a good chunk of time. If I was asked to write about what I did on my summer vacation I would begin by saying that I had the experience of a lifetime. Then I would secretly flash a twinkling Julie McCoy grin.
