Passage to Tonga: Minerva Reef

ANNE RIMMER set sail from New Zealand for Tonga aboard a cruising yacht on May 5. In this, her first report, she reveals a place that few can visit and none can call home: the underwater land of Minerva Reef.

It's a choppy sea in the lagoon where we are anchored, and the howling wind and driving rain are not what one expects in a tropical hideaway; but the sight of the huge swell breaking on the adjacent coral reef tells us it's much worse out in the open ocean beyond.

We are inside South Minerva Reef, a remote coral atoll some 800 miles northeast of New Zealand.

I am on Duetto a sturdy 40-foot ketch owned by Geoff Plimmer of Whangaparaoa. Also aboard are Geoff's brother, Phil, and Pat Robertson. The men are experienced off-shore sailors, but for Pat and me, this is our first ocean passage.

We reached Minerva Reef at dusk after 6 days' sailing from Opua in New Zealand's Bay of Islands.

To help guide us in, the ten yachts already inside turned on their lights. It was a welcome sight to weary travellers. Like Duetto, many of these boats left the Bay of Islands for Tonga on May 5th in a fleet of 25 yachts with the Island Cruising Association.

South Minerva Reef is a double atoll, looking, on the map, much like a pair of spectacles. This lagoon is eight miles across, and the fringe of white breakers effectively makes a horizon all around us.

The water in the open ocean was a deep sapphire blue, but inside the reef it is an intense teal blue, so clear that we can see the bottom even in the 19 metres depth where we are anchored.

There's no island here - the reef is dry at low tide but is awash at high tide, and it's uncanny to be riding at anchor surrounded by nothing but ocean. However, with no high ground, the reef is a shipping hazard, and several boats have come to grief here.

The charts we are working from, first prepared by Capt. H.N. Denham of HMS Herald in 1854, show "Japanese wreck, 1960," and "Tongan boat struck hereabouts, 1962".

We can see the most recent victim, a large ship lying on its side high up on a distant part of the reef. Probably it's a Japanese trawler.

Ocean sailing is certainly not for the faint-hearted. I'm told we've had a relatively easy passage so far, yet it has taken careful medication, plus sheer will-power at times, to ward off sea-sickness, and we are all glad of this present respite from the constant movement of the boat, and the effort needed to do even simple tasks while being tossed around.

Phil has a deep rope burn on his arm, which can't heal because he has to keep using the arm, and Geoff sports some spectacular bruises from going up the mast three times to fix a broken shackle.

My own bruises come from wedging myself against the sink while I struggled to prepare food. However, in rough conditions even those with iron stomachs lose their appetite, while weaker souls turn green at the first whiff of cooking.

As the boat lurches about we stand, feet braced wide apart, leaning on whatever is nearby, and holding on tight at all times. Any unattended dish or cup makes a leap for freedom, sending its contents flying.

I am mortified when, in a moment's carelessness, the glass carousel from the microwave falls off the bench and shatters. Not only have we lost the use of the microwave, but the carpet harbours fine shards of glass which our bare feet find for days.

Cooking is done on a gimballed stove which tilts to keep the pots safely level against the boat's motion. There's also a gimballed table, and the sight of this, laden with the evening meal, tilting back and forth at insane angles is enough to put anyone off their food.

Tonga is three day's sail to the northeast, and we'll continue our voyage when the weather improves.

Meanwhile, snug and well-provisioned, we are grateful for the chance to relax, do a few repairs, and rest.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4


nzherald.co.nz/marine