Rough Day on the Water

Well, today was interesting. We didn’t lose the boat, but there were moments of serious doubt. We are in Pelorus Sound, between Nelson and Picton on the South Island. The past two nights, we were anchored in Ngawhakawhiti Bay, a beautiful almost land-locked little bay surrounded by mountains covered in native bush. If I had known how the day would progress, we would still be there. But we didn’t know; there was no internet connectivity there, just the Metservice forecast on the VHF radio. This forecast was for brisk northwesterlies, shifting to still brisk southwesterlies in the afternoon. Keep in mind that these sounds are long, sinuous bodies of water, separated by fairly high mountains, which play havoc with the winds. Strong winds aloft turn into really strong gusts and wild eddies at water level. 

Anyway, we desided to move on, motoring out through calms and light wind eddies. When we got to a more open area, the wind was more steady so we set sail. Expecting a stiff breeze, we set only the working jib and a reefed mizzen, a good heavy-weather conbination. The wind was a little stronger than we expected, but we had a great downwind sail at high speed on mostly flat water. Rounding a point into more protected water, we dropped the sails and motored upwind to pick up a mooring in a small bay that was sheltered from both the current and the forecast winds. 

Quite calm at the mooring, we were just relaxing and enjoying the scenery. Actually, the entire inlet, about two miles across to the leeward shore, was almost calm. Next thing we know, a breeze starts blowing across the inlet directly into our little bay quite contrary to the forecast. We were on a heavy mooring, so I wasn’t too concerned. But the breeze rose, and the whitecaps with it. This didn’t look like a transient wind eddy, and my seaman’s instincts were raising an alarm.

“Robyn, we need to leave while we still can.” Slipping the mooring, we began to motor upwind out of the bay. There was not a moment to lose. The wind was rising rapidly as were the seas. Under full power, Mintaka could not hold her bow up to the wind. I could hardly keep her just above beam on. We had the wind on our port side, trying to weather one of the points forming our bay, but I soon realized we were losing ground to leeward and were being driven back into the bay. We needed to turn through the wind, get it on our starboard side, and go the other way, but this was simply not possible in those conditions. Only one option: an aggressive turn downwind — trading off some distance from shore — and up again into the wind going the other direction. We might not make it out in that direction, but the first plan was headed for the rocks.

Setting sail was not an option. I had a reef tucked in the mizzen, and two in the main, but the staysail wasn’t rigged so it would have to be the working jib. The staysail wasn’t rigged because we had no expectation of needing it. It will be in the morning. And when we order a new mizzen at some point, it will have two reefs instead of just one. Anyway, with sustained winds in the 40’s, gusts well into the 50’s, and no sea room, any of the available sail combinations would have been overpowered.

For a short period, I was uncertain that we would manage to get out of that bay. If we could not, and were driven ashore, I was confident that I could do a controlled crash near a habitation. Would have been exciting, and might have been the end of Mintaka, but I’m pretty sure Robyn and I woud have been OK.

As it turned out, we succeeded in clawing our way upwind to the windward shore, where there was a small bay with mussel farms, a wharf, and a few private moorings. The wind was still blistering, but at least the water was flat — we were less than a hundred meters from shore. We were about to attempt to anchor, when a man on a moored yacht shouted that we should pick up the mooring off our port bow, that it was a heavy mooring. With considerable difficulty, we did so. We'll thank him in the morning.