Nightmare at sea: the loss of Ruamano

An attempt to circumnavigate New Zealand in the historic launch Ruamano ended with the crew's rescue and the boat vanishing. Crew member BOYD SWINBURN, former director of the NZ Heart Foundation, describes how a charitable venture came to an untimely end.

The New Laurel, a Korean freighter loaded with New Zealand pine, will be our home as she heads back to Korea.

She came to Ruamano's rescue at 4 am on New Year's Day, and we are now the guests of Captain Kang and his crew, with plenty of time to reflect on our attempted circumnavigation and its failure.

We had been near North Cape since arriving in Mangonui at about 9 am on Boxing Day. Ruamano's fax churned out weather reports and forecasts constantly as we looked for a window to try the risky North Cape-to-New Plymouth leg of the circumnavigation. The journey would last at least 36 hours and take us up to 70 miles offshore.

A deep depression was churning away under the South Island, throwing up a catherine wheel of fronts across the South Island and the bottom of the North Island. A high over Tasmania was making only slow progress towards New Zealand.

At the cape, the weather was ideal - smooth seas, little wind or swell and mainly overcast. However, the predictions for the Kaipara and Raglan maritime regions, which run down the west coast from the top of the country to New Plymouth, were for gale-force winds and rough seas.

Finally, a break seemed to be upon us. One front was expected to pass over Northland on December 29-30 and the next one, which might have flicked into the Raglan region, had been downgraded from earlier calls of strong winds and seas, although not to the small seas we would have liked.

The predictions of gale-force winds over previous days had come to very little, and this petering-out of previous fronts may have contributed to our optimism that the weather down to New Plymouth would be passable.

But mainly we relied on the recent downgrading of warnings in the area, the wide isobars across the region and the expert input of Russell radio and local fishermen.

We were tucked under North Cape on the morning of December 30, and after getting the 5.30 am weather report, we poked our nose around to see if the three to four hours across the top of New Zealand was do-able.

But after hammering into westerly winds and a mixed swell, we retreated back under the cape to wait for the front to pass.

By 1 pm, the expected swing to the south had occurred, and our contact at Russell Radio, Richie Blomfield, felt conditions would now be much better. And indeed they were.

Our legs from North Cape to Cape Maria Van Diemen and outside the Pandora Bank were not a problem. The north coast washing machine, as supporter Bill Grayson calls it, was on gentle rinse only. Through the rest of that day and the night, we motored down alongside Ninety Mile Beach and the Kaipara. Seas were picking up, but not alarmingly. We ran through our watch duties, making good progress on our course of 147 degrees towards New Plymouth.

Throughout the day on New Year's Eve, the swells and the winds increased. I am not a great judge of either, but the swells were perhaps 3m, mainly from the west but also some from the northwest, and winds were westerly 20 to 25 knots.

The sun shone for most of the day, and it was apparent from the skies that the anticyclone was starting to make its presence felt.

We had to alter course to about 180 degrees to avoid taking the swells on our beam. This put our direction to the west of New Plymouth.

We could only run this course while keeping an eye out for the rogue swells from the northwest. These had a nasty tendency to crash across our starboard stern, threatening to flood the stern or roll us over.

This is probably a good point to digress into the design of Ruamano and what this meant for our options. She is 43 feet long with a long foredeck and a rear wheelhouse and bridge with a small rear cockpit and a solid tuck.

Taking waves front on or at a bit of an angle is the safest option in heavy weather. Her solid, straight nose is ideal for this, and the siting of the wheelhouse and bridge towards the stern reduced the chance of waves crashing through the windows or blowing out the canvas and plastic superstructure of the bridge.

This design, however, meant that a wave over the stern could easily swamp her.

In addition, she did not have the speed to run directly with the swells. Travelling at 15 to 20 knots, she could be overtaken and possibly swamped. Running the west coast harbours with their bars in a strong westerly was not really an option. Ruamano's relatively narrow beam of 12 feet also added to the risk of rolling.

I had often discussed with her owner and skipper, Sefton Powrie, the problems we might face on this long leg down to New Plymouth. The only option was to steam into, or close into, the weather at a few knots and wait for it to blow out.

We had fuel to steam for more than 60 hours at a slow pace, and this gave us some latitude, but it was finite, unlike with a yacht.

In fact, one of the points that Sefton kept making was that the Ruamano was neither a yacht (wind-powered and self-righting) nor a fishing boat (long aft section which can withstand crashing waves). She was a launch. Solid and beautifully built, but still a launch.

During the afternoon of December 31, on Sefton's watch, he tried pulling her around to a course of about 120 degrees, which put the main swells on our starboard quarter.

This was okay for a while, and it did bring us back towards the original course, but as the swells built it became increasingly hair-raising. Not only did Sefton have to look over his shoulder all time at the oncoming waves, but surfing down the face of a wave at an angle was hard to control.

I was on a four-hour break from watch and catching up on some sleep.

I was woken by periodic banging and crashing as the flat bottom of the stern slapped on to the waves and by the boat swerving and lurching down waves. Shortly after, Sefton gave the idea away and we resumed our course between 180 and 210 degrees and cut speed to three to four knots.

By 4 pm, we were becoming more concerned about the increasing size of the seas. They were now much higher than the bridge and were very close together, and very steep.

There were still two swells running, a dominant southwest one and a less dominant, but more worrying, northwest swell. The wind was blowing at 30 to 35 knots but there were frequent gusts up 40 to 45 knots, according to our rescuer Captain Kang.

By the time we boarded the New Laurel, the swells were 6m high by his estimate and breaking.

About 6.30 pm, Sefton called Taupo Maritime Radio to let them know our situation and to explore options for potential rescue. Dark was only a few hours away, and that posed a real threat of a rogue wave swamping us.

Taupo told us that we could charter a helicopter, but daylight was running out and they could only take two or three people on board and the others would have to stay with Ruamano.

They would not send a helicopter unless we called a mayday, which meant imminent danger to people.

We were not in a mayday situation at that stage, although Taupo eventually did change it to a mayday when they put out the call to vessels in the area.

They did send a fixed-wing plane from Ardmore to assess the situation. The plane was able to provide a communications link for us, but we already had good links with Taupo through the single side band radio.

They also offered a liferaft, but ours was already out ready to use.

At this stage, the crew were in various states of sea sickness, dehydration and sleep deprivation. However, everyone was doing his job calmly and seriously.

We all had huge faith in Sefton and his ability as a skipper. He remained calm, steady and in control, which meant there was no sense of panic, dissent or indecision.

He knew Ruamano better than anyone, he knew the odds and he was easily able to put aside the affection he had for the old launch and his keenness to complete the circumnavigation in favour of the crew's safety.

Taupo, meanwhile, had organised for the Raglan rescue vessel to put to sea in what must have been horrendous conditions over the Raglan bar, but it would be eight hours away.

The other option was to divert the Korean cargo boat to meet us.

We were all very concerned about boarding a ship in such high seas.

We learned later that Captain Kang was originally asked to stand by at about 8 pm, but he decided to alter course anyway and cancelled New Year's Eve celebrations and put his crew on full alert. This meant that he arrived to meet us earlier than expected.

We were advised by Taupo that the Raglan boat had turned back and they organised the rendezvous with the New Laurel. This was scheduled for about 4 am, over six hours away.

In the meantime, crew member John Green and I were on the park bench on the bridge steering Ruamano and cursing Sefton's hard-arsed approach to comfort.

He had eventually relented just before the trip and bought a couple of thin foam pads to put on the wooden slats, but they were not enough to prevent bum numbness. We eventually asked Malcolm Reynolds to pass up a squab, which made our lives more pleasant.

Meanwhile, Sefton, in between all the communications, was seeing to all the dials and workings of the boat. Malcolm was helping him keep all the communications and internal workings such as topping up the diesel and getting liferafts, drogues, etc, ready. Stephen Blackwell helped keep the ship running below.

The new moon provided fleeting light for John and I to steer by, or at least watch out for rogue waves, but it only lasted a few hours. Thereafter, we were in darkness and all we could see was the waves just before they hit and the bow rising hugely out of the water at the top of the swells.

The weather continued to deteriorate and squalls continued to lash past us, although we could now only feel them rather than see them.

The compass was hypnotic to watch and this, combined with some sleep deprivation, meant we were tending to nod off. To keep myself awake, I sang in my usual drone tone all the Leonard Cohen songs I could remember.

A couple of days previously Bill Grayson had regaled us with his tales of sailing across the Atlantic in heavy weather and he said he would always play Leonard Cohen because just when you think things are bad, Leonard reminds you that they can get worse.

We sighted the New Laurel in the distance about 3 am. It was difficult to get a good signal on the VHF at first and, of course, the language barrier added to the difficulties. We advised the captain that we could only face into the wind but were able to slow right down.

He, meanwhile, turned his vessel into the wind, apparently not an easy task in the weather with a full load on board. He now lay broadside to the wind upwind of us.

We were uncertain about how we were going to get on board. He had originally mentioned a belay, but we later found out that he meant a tow line (he thought our boat was worth $500,000, and that it could be towed to port). We had visions of being pulled on board with a rope and harness arrangement.

He was not far enough upwind of us to come in from his stern alongside, so Sefton had to run across the waves into his leeside. However, Ruamano was now facing the New Laurel's stern but reversing was unable to hold her to the freighter and the heaving line broke as we moved away.

Sefton then bore away and came up from her stern. The stern of the ship was rising and falling with the swells, which was a real danger to Ruamano if she became trapped underneath.

The second approach was not at the ideal angle, but on the third approach he ran Ruamano hard down the side of the ship.

The SSB aerial which Sefton had so carefully repaired, fibreglassed and painted disappeared in an instant. The railings which Stephen and I lovingly polished graunched along the hard steel of the ship's side.

John, who was on the bridge, simply stepped off on to the ship's deck. Stephen, who was below him in the cockpit, climbed up on to the bridge to do the same.

Malcolm and I were on the bow, and Malcolm made a clean exit up the rope ladder. The ship's crew had thrown me a substantial line, which I fixed to the forward bollard.

Stephen jumped off the bridge but he lost his grip on the edge of the deck and fell between the two heaving boats.

I heard him fall and unfixed the rope to let Ruamano move out of the way. There was a silence after Stephen fell, which was ominous.

I stood up and started moving back to the stern, and Sefton yelled at me to get off, which I did with ease because the side of Ruamano was still pressed hard up against the rope and cargo netting.

Sefton had powered Ruamano forwards after Stephen fell, then took his chance. The throttle was still on and she was steered into the ship. Sefton dived through the hole in the plastic windscreen on to the deck and then scrambled up the rope ladder to safety.

Four of us were safe on the New Laurel, Ruamano was grating her way up towards the freighter's bow with no one on board, and Stephen was in the water.

Fortunately he had already inflated his lifejacket and the ship's crew immediately threw him a couple of life rings, one of which he grabbed.

One of the crew threw over the rope ladder, which Stephen managed to hook his legs and arms into. They called him to climb up, but he was unable to in his position.

Sefton stepped in and shouted a series of, "One, two, three, heave," and Stephen was pulled to safety. Thankfully, he escaped injury.

By 4 am we were all on board the New Laurel drinking sweet black coffee. Stephen was put on to the sick-bay bed, dried and warmed up. He was naturally shocked, and it took him a few hours to stop shaking.

As the crews of the two boats came together, it was amazing how the barriers of language differences and uncertainty were overcome. Captain Kang and his crew were highly professional, skilled and very kind and hospitable. They fed and watered us, gave us changes of clothes, made their communications available for us to contact families who were scattered around New Zealand. It is hard to thank them enough.

We will get to know the crew of 20 (the captain and first engineer are Korean, and the rest are Filipinos) over the coming days.

On reflection, I believe that we were as well prepared as we could have been. We were well equipped with navigation systems, wet-weather gear and safety equipment. We had a lot of weather information and expert opinion.

We had a crew with significant blue-water experience, with Sefton having sailed a lot in New Zealand as well as around the islands. John had sailed down the coast of Africa and across the Atlantic, and Malcolm had sailed around the coast of South Africa as well as competed in a Fastnet race.

Ruamano was well prepared and in the extremely testing conditions she performed remarkably. The engine did not miss a beat and the wooden structure creaked and groaned with the strain but held and did not leak.

She lived for 75 years and we left her four hours after the end of the year that matches her name. The decision to abandon her was unquestionably the right one and the fact that we are all safe is testament to that.