Passage home: In the hands of the weather gods

ANNE RIMMER continues her account of sailing home from Fiji aboard the Whangarei-based cutter Sea Kiwi.

While cruising Fiji, Sea Kiwi's owners Ron and Sue Grantham placed an offering of kava root in a sacred cave on Vanua Levu. The offering petitioned the gods for a safe passage home to New Zealand on Sea Kiwi.

On October 18, as we left Vuda Point Marina on the main island, Viti Levu, it looked like the gods might have gone too far. The lagoon was flat calm as we motored for hours.

Out in the open ocean, however, things changed in a hurry. We encountered 2m waves and 30 knot winds which tossed the yacht all over the place.

After our week of team-building, everyone settled down swiftly to cope with the difficult conditions. The sails were set, trimmed, and trimmed again, the winches groaning with the strain. We'd eaten a good lunch while in the lagoon, but dinner was an impossibility, and so we made do with snacks. We heard that another yacht turned back, while another reported seasickness.

With the hatches battened down, it was stiflingly hot below, but there was plenty of room up in the cockpit. Here, the rule was that we wore harnesses and were to be clipped on if alone, or moving around on the deck. Looking at the vicious sea breaking over the bow, no one was inclined to ignore that rule!

We had regular watches of 2-1/2 hours on, twice a day. Officially, Ron had only a 2-hour watch, but in reality he was constantly on alert. A bundle of focused energy, I don't think he slept for the first 48 hours. In these conditions the berths in the fore and aft cabins were almost untenable, though hardy Phil toughed it out in the forward cabin, sleeping across the two berths to keep his head uphill.

When I came off watch at 11pm that first night, the saloon, the calmest place on board, was already full of sleeping people. After weighing up my options, I curled up under the table on a nest of cushions - and slept! At sea I can cheerfully endure conditions that would leave me a gibbering wreck on land. I was a little stiff the next morning, but with five people to share the workload, there was always time for an afternoon nap.

It was still rough on the second night. I was in the galley having a suppertime drink when the boat lurched hard. My cup clattered into the sink, I lost my grip on the bench, and went scudding across the sloping floor to crash into the chart table. I wasn't hurt, but it was a warning that the sea has no mercy.

Amazingly, no one was seasick! We all took the "Paihia Bombs" - motion sickness capsules from the Paihia Pharmacy, and these worked very well. It was a great relief to be able to move about freely and eat well without feeling at all squeamish.

As we sailed into the eye of the anticyclone, the wind dropped and the "iron spinnaker" (Sea Kiwi's diesel engine) was needed to maintain our speed. Ron analysed the weather and our progress, constantly. His knowledge was vast, and as I listened and learned, I marvelled again at how quickly this family had "got it right", for this was only their second off-shore voyage.

We joined the daily roll call of homebound yachts with Des at Russell Radio, and Ron marked the position of nearby yachts on the laptop computer.

With the calmer conditions, Phil put out a fishing line, but he was taking a nap when a fish struck. As he rushed up on deck to play the big fish, Ron cut the engine to a crawl. It took a co-ordinated effort to gaff and land the prize, a bright blue mahi mahi a metre long. Then came the long process of cleaning and filleting it, while Sea Kiwi bobbed around on the calm sea.

While sluicing the fishy decks, I lost my grip on the bucket which went overboard. I assumed we'd just abandon it, but Ron immediately turned it into a "man overboard" exercise. While Peter kept sight of the bucket, the boat was turned around on its track, and Sue climbed down onto the stern platform to retrieve the bucket with a boat hook, taking care that the bucket's rope didn't foul the propeller. The exercise, in calm weather, brought home how difficult it could be to handle a real man overboard situation.

It had grown noticeably colder by now, and I needed long trousers for my night watch. It drops 1 degree of temperature for every 100 miles of latitude. Now, as we motored through to the other side of the high, the wind blew from the west and the boat heeled the other way. At least, on this tack, we could open the fridge without everything leaping out at us!

We saw very little wildlife - one or two flying fish, a far-off whale and the odd sea bird. One day we passed through a flotilla of blue balloons, Portuguese man-of-war jellyfish, drifting with the current.

Ron reported mysterious currents of up to two knots - sometimes with us, sometimes against. We surmised that shallower areas such as sea mounts might be the cause. Two knots can be significant. Frangipani, limping along behind us, with engine trouble, wearily reported sailing at an average of only two knots one day.

"It's like a holiday camp on board!" complained Ron. There was nothing to do! The Cummins engine ran sweetly, and the autopilot steered the boat for the entire voyage. With furling sails, and even an electric winch, the boat virtually looked after itself, especially when Ron set up the laptop to control the autopilot and thus steer the boat. On the screen, a little red boat crawled down the dotted line of our course.

We ate well from the frozen meals Sue had prepared beforehand and one calm day I even made cheesecake.

I read Olaf Ruhr's book about 17 Tongans shipwrecked on Minerva Reef. They sheltered for 14 weeks in a wrecked Japanese fishing boat, but several died of malnutrition even though they had abundant seafood. The survivors were only rescued after they had built a sturdy outrigger which three men sailed 220 miles to Fiji.

Lying on my berth I could hear the water swirling past the bow just a few centimetres away through the hull. The pleasant sound was strangely like voices in conversation. Could it be mermaids? I was relieved to find that Sue hears voices too.

On the fourth day Ron announced that a low was on its way and we needed to go faster to miss it. Our average speed was increased to 7.5 knots, though when we flew the gennaker we hit 9.6 knots.

As we neared the end of our journey there was a noticeable lift in mood. Everyone had, consciously or unconsciously, been in subdued mode, essential for harmonious living in close quarters. Now there was more laughter, louder voices.

Pete, a responsible crew member on the voyage, turned back into a teenager and started ape-hanging from the boom.

We ate all the fresh food so there'd be nothing for MAF to confiscate. A small white plane appeared and buzzed us. It was Customs, requesting identification and the nationalities of all aboard. Nice job!

Lots of sea birds appeared, including an albatross which ponderously took off as we approached. And finally, on the afternoon of the sixth day, land - the land of the long "grey" cloud - with Cape Brett looming out of the murk.

The Granthams, who had been away for six months, were jubilant, Sue, especially, longing to be home. She asked me how I felt, but having been away for only two weeks I could cheerfully have turned round and sailed off again!

A large container ship came towards us at speed, and we discussed how difficult it would be for someone on the large ship to see the small yacht, even in calm, daylight conditions.

Only days later, a Swedish yacht sank off New Zealand after colliding with a ship at night. The solo yachtsman, Alf Jaselius, did not see the large vessel until it was too late. In those stormy conditions it is quite possible that the ship didn't see the yacht either and it may not have shown up on the ship's radar.

It grew dark as we approached Whangarei Harbour, and the bad weather one expects at Labour Weekend was upon us.

This was Sea Kiwi's home port, but Customs directed us to go to an unfamiliar wharf. Seeing the flashing port and starboard markers, against the background lights on land was extremely difficult and we all felt tense. It didn't help that the wharf was unlit and we had to radio for more instructions.

Too late, we realized that the wharf was quite unsuitable for a yacht. It was high, and the piles were set so wide apart that our fenders were ineffective. Worse still, some piles were broken and the wind was pushing Sea Kiwi under the wharf! Tossed around in the dark, all five of us struggled to fend off the heavy yacht, but it still sustained damage. It is a wonder none of us was hurt.

We could not stay there, but we couldn't get Sea Kiwi away from the wharf either. We were slowly walking the yacht back to an open space where we might get free, when the pilot boat came to our aid. Taking a line from us, she put on a spectacular surge of speed and hauled our bow free.

It was an unhappy, angry crew that motored off to anchor in a sheltered bay, still not having cleared Customs. But it was so calm in the bay that I couldn't sleep!

Indecently early next morning, Customs again summoned us. Refusing to return to the dangerous wharf, we were sent upriver to a more suitable floating pontoon.

Following us was a British yacht, Guitar, which had lost her forestay two days out from Tonga. The damaged rigging and headsails were lashed to her hand-rails, while two halyards were temporary replacement for the forestay. Her owners, a middle-aged couple, looked exhausted, and I was glad that our experience had saved them from an encounter with the wharf.

So, the weather gods had been kinder to us than to others!

Some time my luck will run out, but, buoyed by the success of my first two off-shore passages, I am already wondering where I'll sail to next year.

Anne Rimmer and Phil Plimmer will be sailing to Great Barrier and the Bay of Islands this Christmas, weather gods willing, aboard the Noelex 25 Gingerbread Man.

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