Weather forecasts in this part of the world can change dramatically in a matter of hours. So, when sailing north from New Zealand in late Autumn, even with an excellent forecast, one always wonders, “Will we get trashed on this one?” The forecast for the week ahead when we departed nine days ago was truly excellent, about as good as one could ask for, so off we went, hoping that the weather gods would remain in a good mood. They did.
This was one of the easiest passages I can recall. The actual weather followed the long-range forecast almost perfectly for the entire nine days. Much of the time, we had either light winds or no wind. There is a magic line around thirty degrees south latitude in these parts, south of which one can expect bad weather to be much more eventful than further north. Ordinarily, one treats this patch of ocean kind of like crossing a major highway on foot. You look both ways, and run real fast. If there’s insufficient wind to sail at good speed, you use the engine. The strategy is to get far enough north quickly enough so that the inevitable frontal passage won’t be too bad. “Looking both ways” in this context involves retrieving weather forecasts over the radio each day. We did that, of course, each day seeing a consistently benign forecast for days to come. So, with nothing bad coming over the horizon, we sailed just about every inch possible, milking the wind to the last drop. In less threatening regions, we like to employ a philosophy about motoring where, as long as we can keep the boat moving, however slowly, and also keep the sails from slatting back and forth in whatever swell there might be, we will save the diesel for later. That’s what we did this time.
The choice for customs clearance when arriving or departing Northland, New Zealand, is either at Marsden Cove Marina, near the mouth of the Whangarei Harbour, or further up the coast in Opua, in the Bay of Islands. We cleared out at Marsden Cove on Friday, 13 May. Wow! Leaving on a Friday, and the thirteenth, at that! I guess we’re not very superstitious. Actually, we had moved down the harbour from the Town Basin to Marsden Cove the day before, so maybe we really departed on a Thursday. Anyway, we shut the engine off just outside the marina, and set sail. Slow but pleasant sailing under mostly sunny skies alternated with motoring under mostly sunny skies most of the way. A low-pressure trough did pass over us a couple of days ago, as predicted, but it had no wind and only widely scattered showers. Motoring through this, and maneuvering around the showers was trivial. Following that trough, the forecast was for somewhat strong southerly winds for the last day. This was the only part of the forecasts that was inaccurate. The winds were indeed southerly, but they were not at all strong.
The second morning after departing New Zealand, a small bird landed on board Mintaka. No idea what kind of bird it was, other than not a sea bird, just small and delicate, like a sparrow. We have been visited by various seabirds many times, but this was a land bird, so we knew immediately what the end result would be. It flew off several times, but kept returning. We offered a dish of water and some bread crumbs, but it took nothing. Its vitality visibly ebbed over the next several hours until it finally settled next to me in the cockpit, never to move again. It was only a little bird, but it came to us for refuge, and we were sad that we could not help it.
On a lighter note, there is this phenomenon called the “Green Flash”. No, that’s not a hybrid DC comics hero. When the sun sets, if the atmospheric conditions are just right, the atmosphere acts as a prism, separating the last rays of the sun into their component colors. None of these is apparent except for the last, green, and then only exceptionally. If the western horizon is clear of clouds (not often the case at sea), and you’re lucky, you might sea a brilliant flash of emerald green just as the sun’s orb disappears. I have seen it a number of times now. Robyn and I once saw it two days in a row. Well, several days ago, with a totally clear horizon, we both saw it again — the Green Flash!
So, we arrived in Anelghowhat this morning, the 22nd of May, on the southernmost island of Vanuatu, Aneityum. We cleaned up ourselves and the boat, took a nap, then cleared in with the local officials. Over the next few weeks, we’ll wander through the southern islands en route to the capitol, Port Vila.
