Passage to Tonga: Radio waves

ANNE RIMMER set sail for Tonga aboard a 40ft yacht on May 5. In this, her 3rd report, she joins in assisting a yacht in need and reflects on the wildlife met at sea.

"Christabel", "Castaway", "Quest", "Pewter", "Zindabar" -- the names of the yachts sailing the South Pacific in the Island Cruising Association fleet sound like a poem.

Although we couldn't see them -- the ocean had been empty since our second day out from New Zealand -- it was reassuring to know we were not alone.

Every evening we gathered in the wheelhouse of "Duetto" for the "sked" with John Goater of Auckland Cruising Radio. Each boat, in turn, reported its position, heading and speed. If interference prevented John from hearing a yacht's position, another skipper swiftly cut in to relay the information.

To a newcomer, this roll call of boats was just disembodied voices on the ether. Most were Kiwis, but there were several American accents, plus two German ones. John's personal touch was comforting; he always concluded by asking "and is all well on board?"

If a yacht didn't respond to the roll call, we would wait anxiously for the next sked.

While "Duetto" was at anchor in the shelter of South Minerva Reef (see Part 1), we heard on the radio that another yacht, "Provider", had torn her mainsail. The crew were hoping to reach North Minerva, a similar atoll a day's sail north of us.

They didn't make the reef by nightfall. Buffeted by strong winds, they opted to put out their sea anchor for the night. This ingenious device is a nylon parachute which opens underwater. The boat hangs from the parachute with its bow to the wind and waves (the safest alignment in a storm), just as a parachutist hangs beneath his parachute in the air. Thus, safely anchored in the open ocean, "Provider's" crew were able to get some sleep.

Two days' later, as we were approaching Tonga and the end of our passage, "Provider" called on the radio. With no mainsail, they had been motoring constantly and were now "running on fumes". They knew from the sked that "Duetto" was nearby. Could we spare some fuel?

Since we had plenty, we altered course and I climbed to the upper deck as lookout.

...It's drizzling slightly. The sea is flat calm, and there's a strange, lilac colour in the soft, pearly light. As I scan the horizon, I am entertained by flying fish which appear suddenly and flutter along the surface for a surprising distance. It almost seems as if they can flap their large, iridescent fins. Certainly they are able to change direction during their glide, before disappearing again. Sometimes a whole "flock" of the little fish take flight at once, in an attempt to escape from an unseen predator below. One stormy morning we found a dead flying fish on the wheelhouse roof - some three metres above sea level!

As I keep lookout, I recall the dolphins who farewelled us in style in the Bay of Islands. Apart from them, the wildlife at sea has been disappointingly sparse. We've had two other brief encounters with dolphins, seen two shark fins, and about one sea bird a day. I remember how Sir Peter Blake had also commented on how few sea-birds he saw in his later voyages.

One day a pair of Welcome Swallows suddenly materialised. Twittering, they tried unsuccessfully to land on our rail, before flying off. I know that swallows migrate long distances, but the reality of seeing these tiny creatures in mid-ocean was humbling. While I, on a sturdy, well-provisioned boat, was whinging about the mouldy bread, the swallows were making the same journey, flying. They could neither eat, drink, nor land on the sea to rest. We encountered them 800 miles from NZ, and 300 miles south of Tonga. Where had they come from? Did they know where they were going? How fast do they fly?...

My thoughts came leaping back to the present when I finally spotted "Provider". Over the next few hours, as our paths converged, we planned the operation. The fuel can was tied to a rope. As we motored alongside, we would pass over the end of the rope on a boat hook. Then we'd put the fuel can into the sea for "Provider" to haul aboard.

The calm conditions enabled us to skim close to "Provider" and the transfer went "swimmingly". We waved farewell to the first people we'd seen in days, and went on our way.

Only then did we realise that, while we'd been occupied, land had appeared unnoticed.

Land! At first it was just a long grey smudge on the horizon, but soon we could see coconut palms, and the white line of breakers. My first ocean passage was almost over.

...to be continued.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |