Stewart Island / Rakiura (“Glowing Skies” in Maori)

Stewart Island is the third largest island in New Zealand, located south of the South Island, and separated from it by the twenty-mile wide Foveaux Strait. It is a different world. Few people live here, almost all of them in the only town, Oban. The vast majority of the almost seven hundred square miles is either national park land, or otherwise undeveloped wilderness. There is considerable history here; some of the earliest settlements in New Zealand were on Stewart. Whaling was a major industry. And if steam hadn’t replaced sail over a century ago, Stewart Island would be a major shipping center today. Now, the settlements and industry of yesteryear are merely relics. The locals are mostly fishermen and tour operators. Wildlife, dense forests, dramatic coastlines, etc. are what people come here to see. That is what drew us to cold high latitudes this summer, a thousand miles to the south of our usual summer cruising grounds.

Otago Harbour and the city of Dunedin was our last stop before the jump to Stewart. Having enjoyed our many stops along the way this summer perhaps too much, the season was now well advanced. Finding suitable weather for even short passages down here sometimes requires patience, so as we waited in Dunedin (enjoying every moment!), we wondered if we would actually get to Stewart, and if we did, how much time we would have there. Luck was with us, though, with two days of calm. Once again resorting to the iron wind, we motored on flat water under mostly clear skies to and across the often ill-mannered Foveaux Strait to Oban.

I should mention at this point that, despite the surprising amount of motoring we’ve done on this cruise, we have not actually sought out such conditions. We would much rather sail than motor, but the forecasts were repeatedly either calm winds or, more often, unfavorable ones. It was either motor or wait. But the summer lasts only so long, and we would much rather spend the coming winter at home in Whangarei, so we motored.

Pulling in to Paterson Inlet, we anchored in Golden Bay, just a short walk over a low ridge from Oban. We only spent one night there, but we did so much, it seemed longer. We went ashore a couple of times, checked out the town, the visitor center, the grocery store, refueling possibility, and took a couple of nice walks on well constructed tracks. Next day, we moved a couple of miles to what is known as “The Whalers’ Base.” This was once a place of significant industry. A small community lived there, repairing whaleboats and otherwise servicing the whaling fleet. Now, there are just some old foundations in the bush, and a number of large propellers rusting on the beach. An added bonus was endless mussels on the rocks. 

There were two other boats anchored there, one of them was a sailboat we recognized from back in Whangarei, called Kiwi Logic. We had seen them on the next pontoon from us for several years, but had never met them. Well, now we have, and are sorry we didn’t years ago. Funny how that works — sail a thousand miles away from home to the extreme far end of the country, and only there meet unexpectedly and become friends with neighbors from back home. They had been out diving, and had collected some paua, the New Zealand abalone. Daman made paua fritters for us to try, and sent us home with fresh paua to cook ourselves. We kept intending to try collecting some paua, but the opportunity never presented itself. One came to us, though, clinging to the anchor chain one morning.

Walking Track near Oban

The other boat at anchor there was a sportfisher out on a blokes’ cruise. As we were returning from the beach with a bucket full of mussels, they waved us over, and presented us with a rather large lobster. Barely fit in the biggest pot we have — almost three and a half pounds. Cooked it straight away for lunch. I’d forgotten how good they taste. Robyn had made scones that morning, so as we left the anchorage, she tossed a bag of them to our benefactors. I think I like this place.

We knew that our time down here was limited, and wanted to make the most of it, so we moved most days to see more of the area. After the Whalers’ Base, we visited Ulva Island, a nature reserve inside Paterson Inlet. This is an “open sanctuary,” meaning that, although it is a nature reserve, the public is not excluded as at many other such islands. During the day, the public is free to walk the several well-constructed tracks (which we did), but at night, the island belongs to the birds. You can take a foot ferry over from Oban, or go with one of the tour operators, or you can anchor your yacht in the beautiful Sidney Cove, and just row ashore as you please. It was here in Sidney Cove that we also had our first encounter with the adventure cruise ship Milford Wanderer: the mate motored by one morning in the ship’s tender, “just admiring your boat.”

The tidal currents along the coast here can be quite strong. Even if motoring in a calm, the current could cut our speed by more than half, or shoot us along at warp factor two. And if a strong wind blows across a contrary current, it can raise a wicked sea. Add the shorter days now, and the need to be securely anchored in a new, unfamiliar place well before dark, and you can see how planning our movements was not so straightforward. But the distances between the inlets is not great, and the weather generally cooperated.

Katrin & Daman, Kiwi Logic

Port Adventure, the next such patch of protected water, was only about ten miles south, so we took advantage of more light wind to motor down there. It is not as extensive as Paterson, but it does have several good anchorages. Turning in to the first one, there was Kiwi Logic, so we dropped the hook near them for another visit. Not just keen divers, but also keen  spear fishermen, they provided us once again with some delicious butterfish filets. Robyn has caught the odd fish down here, but we have been much more successful at foraging for mussels, cockles, and pipis (small clams).

Again, wanting to maximize our experience, we spent a night at each of the other two good anchorages in Port Adventure. The first of these, Abraham’s Bosum, is a snug, land-locked cove edged by a beautiful sand beach — like Bali, only in long johns — complete in the morning with a mother sea lion nursing her pup. The third anchorage, Oyster Cove, also a snug spot, no longer has oysters — they were fished out long ago — but we managed to find plentiful large cockles. We also saw the Milford Wanderer again here.

Abraham's Bosum

Mama Sea Lion and Pup

Sea lions were not ubiquitous, but not uncommon either. We often saw one swimming around near us. Much more common were albatross. These majestic birds were a wonder to watch soaring over the waves, seemingly without effort. They appear to defy physics, gliding straight into the wind, wingtips on the water, not flapping their wings at all. Apparently curious, and certainly unafraid, they occasionally settled on the water close by for a good look.

Mollymawk Albatross

Lords River, a drowned estuary, was the next stop heading south towards Port Pegasus, our ultimate goal. The wind was on the nose, and brisk, but only for about ten miles, and there was a three-meter swell, too, also on the nose. But, we figured that if we couldn’t sail a few hours upwind in those conditions, then we didn’t belong down here. Turned out to be a delightful daysail, although I wouldn’t want to sail upwind and upswell like that day after day. And, sure enough, we found Kiwi Logic there again. We weren’t buddy boating, but we certainly enjoyed these times together.

Romping Uphill Sail

This Isn't the Tropics

We had been in contact with American friends on the yacht Banyan, also down from Whangarei cruising these waters. They were on their way north from Port Pegasus, and we had a nice overlap in Lords River for a couple of days. It is customary to tie one’s dinghy up oneself when visiting another yacht. Good thing that’s a habit, cause as I stepped aboard Banyan from our inflatable, somehow the painter had dropped off their cleat and the dinghy was drifting away. Without thinking at all, I launched myself into space, immediately realizing I might get very wet. Even after landing inside the dinghy — which, having an inflatable rubber floor, is much like jumping from a height onto a trampoline — it was still quite uncertain whether I would fall forward, remaining in the dinghy, or backwards, into the water. I fell forward.

We seemed to be on the same itinerary as Milford Wanderer, running into them one last time here in Lords River. This time, we had the opportunity to chat briefly with Mike, the mate, as he was taking guests out on a tour, and also with Annette, the tour director, as she was shepherding a flock of sea kayakers. We invited them over for drinks and a gam later that evening, and spent a very enjoyable time together. These meetings with friends, old or new, on other boats add so much to our cruises.

Port Pegasus is a huge, multi-lobed body of water, separated from the ocean by several passes, and holds many good anchorages. Numerous bold, bald granitic domes and crags create a dramatic landscape, even from a far off approach. This had been the goal all along, and now only some twenty-five miles or so away, we began to think that we might actually make it there. For once, a fair wind offered a pleasant sail. The wind was indeed fair, but a little light, and the huge, lumpy cross swells were tiring, so we were quite happy to gain flat water entering the broad middle pass. The sun was shining, the water glistened, and there was just enough following breeze to waft us along slowly as the dramatic wilderness scenery unfolded all around — the sailor’s equivalent of a hole-in-one, what keeps us coming back. Approaching Evening Cove, our projected anchorage, who should motor up in a dinghy but Daman, from Kiwi Logic! Of course.

Entering Port Pegasus

Quiet Night in Port Pegasus

        One of the reasons we chose Stewart Island as our summer goal, rather than Fiordland, is that we really like to go on long walks, and we understood this was likely to be better on Stewart. One of the longest walks down here starts at Evening Cove and follows a supposedly well marked track to the granite peaks Gog and Magog overlooking the west coast. Well, it might have been well marked sometime in the past, but not now. The cruising guide notes that orienteering skills are required. I would raise that to well-developed orienteering skills, and add significant pathfinding skills, too, as requirements. Sections of the track were well trodden, occasionally marked by a ribbon, and easy enough to follow. But these were disjointed, disappearing or marginally discernable, severely testing our pathfinding skills. For a major part of the middle, we simply couldn’t find the track, and had to fall back on orienteering. We could pretty much always see the goal, Magog, in the distance, as the vegetation is mostly low, but getting there devolved into hours of bushwacking — high-stepping on deep, springy ground cover, bashing through dense scrub tree groves (occassionally on hands and knees), picking a way through boggy areas — generally slow and tiring travel. But magic, even so! Traversing this landscape, mostly open with endless views, and with no trace of humanity to the far horizon was cool beyond expression. Eventually intersecting the final section of track, we reached a saddle and the beginning of the final climb up Magog.

The view from that saddle was impressive, down to the west coast not far away, and off in the distant northwest to Puysegur Point, the southwest point of the South Island, some seventy-five miles away. The track up towards the summit of Magog penetrated dense bush, though, with no views either out or up, and gave little choice but to follow the path of least resistance. Finally gaining bare granite above the bush, and scrambling up a few dozen meters, we found ourselves blocked by an exposed section I did not want to challenge. Tired, away from rock climbing for many years, and with the wind howling, we accepted having come close. A brief rest and refreshment, and we started down.

With the section of track below the saddle well trodden, and with ribbons here and there, we were hopeful of finding a better way back. Such was the case for a while, but at the edge of a long marsh, with a ribbon clearly indicating that we were on the track, it just disappeared. Robyn scouted right. I scouted left. We’re both pretty good at this, but we drew a total blank. Back to orienteering — first across the marsh, then avoiding dense scrub thickets, across more marsh, and lastly some open terrain to join the original track near Evening Cove. We both felt our age today.

Bushwacking

One of the Better Marked Sections

Near the Top of Magog

Looking East to Port Pegasus from Magog

A couple of days later, we were considering another, shorter track up a closer granite dome, but that was not to be. I’d been listening to the daily VHF weather forecast, but that only goes out a few days. I’d also been downloading weather files from the SSB radio, but also only looking a few days or so ahead. We expected to be in Port Pegasus for another week maybe before looking for weather to sail back north, so I was only planning short term. Daman had a longer-term forecast, though, that indicated some really snotty weather soon that was likely to pin us down for a week. Realizing that the season was getting late, not wanting to sit hunkered down on the boat for a week, and needing to leave soon after anyway, we decided to bug out. Reluctantly so. Hadn’t been there long enough. Hadn’t done enough. Alas, it was time to head home.

Huddled up to the Heater
(Pays to be Short)

Down the East Coast to Dunedin

The forecast was mixed for the next leg of our cruise.  From our anchorage in Port Underwood, our path led southeast out of Cook Strait, around Cape Campbell, and down the east coast of the South Island to Lyttelton, Christchurch’s port.  The promised westerly wind gave us a great run down the Strait, but, also as promised, once south of Cape Campbell, the South Island formed a wind shadow, blocking this wind.  Oh, well.  There are worse things at sea than motoring.  Of course, the wind came up again just as we entered the harbour late the next afternoon — on the nose — giving us an upwind slog into twenty knots or so for the last few miles.  Found a snug spot to anchor, though, caught up on sleep, and motored across the harbour into the new marina the next morning.

Hectors Dolphins, only found in NZ

The new marina took us by surprise; it was only built some three years ago, so was not in the cruising guide.  A very pleasant surprise, though — well protected inside the inner harbour, nice facilities, super friendly and helpful staff, and a short walk to town.

This was all new territory for us, both Lyttelton and nearby Christchurch, so as soon as we were settled in, off we went to explore.  There is a high ridge separating Lyttelton and the harbour from Christchurch.  It is penetrated by an automobile tunnel now, but the early settlers had to walk up and over via a steep track, dragging carts with all their goods.  So, yes, of course, that’s what we did.  Once.  That was enough.  After that, we happily took the bus, especially happy since it’s free for us geezers.

Christchurch is a nice city, but it is as flat as a pancake.  I’m used to seeing at least some hills when I look up, but not here.  It is a nice city, though, with lots of green space, walking areas, museums, etc.  We thoroughly enjoyed a number of excursions there during our six-day stay.  We especially enjoyed spending some time with Sue, one of Caroline Goodison’s sisters.  Carolyn and Ian Goodison are our oldest and dearest friends in Whangarei — pretty much family — and we have always enjoyed meeting their siblings and parents.  Even better was coffee one afternoon with not only Sue, but also Eloise, Carolyn and Ian’s daughter, here for school.

Christchurch has a lot of interesting architecture, both old and new.  Much of the old was damaged or destroyed in the 2011 earthquake, and there is still much evidence of that event.  Massive steel beams hold weakened walls in place, awaiting repair.  The cathedral, an iconic centerpiece in the city, was severely damaged.  Covering the gap where one whole wall fell is a tarp painted to look like the old wall.  Nice touch, that.

Christchurch and Dunedin have a long history with Antarctic exploration; some of the most famous explorers left from here.  Poking around The Arts Centre, a complex of 19th century Gothic Revival-style buildings, originally housing the University of Canterbury, we stumbled upon a very convincing replica of the “James Caird”.  This was the small boat that was central to the survival of Sir Ernest Shackleton and his crew on their ill-fated attempt on the first crossing of Antarctica.

The James Caird (replica)

Victorian Buildings in Christchurch

Sculpture in Central Christchurch

Just east of Lyttelton Harbour is the Banks Peninsula, jutting well out into the Pacific and deeply incised all around with numerous long, sinuous inlets.  The largest of these inlets forms Akaroa Harbour, the site of a French attempt at colonization here in the mid-1800’s.  It’s the oldest town in Canterbury, and one of the most historic towns in New Zealand.  Frank Worsley, the captain of Shackleton’s ship, was born here.  It was also a convenient stop on our way further south.

Refueling was inconvenient in Lyttelton, and the marina manager there had told us that Akaroa had a fuel pump on a floating pontoon, the usual (and convenient) marine arrangement, so we had deferred refueling till Akaroa.  Turned out that the pump there was on a fixed wharf, seriously difficult for a yacht.  You have to tie up to rough wooden pilings, eager to grind up topside paint, and maybe fibreglass, too!  Add in wind and tide, and we don’t want to be there.  Fortunately, there was a floating pontoon on the opposite side of the wharf where we could tie up easily and safely.  A bit too far for the diesel hose, though, so we refueled by jerry jug, our only one, five gallons at a time.

There are only two places to escape weather in the 150 miles between Akaroa and Dunedin.  The first, Timaru, is a small shipping port with no yacht facilities, really only useful to us in an emergency.  The second is Oamaru, a man-made harbour formed by rock breakwaters.  The guide book said the harbour entrance there was heavily silted in, narrow and shallow and only useable at fairly high tide.  Didn’t sound good, but I called the local authorities for current information, learning that the entrance had been dredged the previous year, and was now plenty wide and deep enough at any tide.  So, mostly because we knew nothing about Oamaru, we decided to stop there.  After a disappointing downwind run on a sloppy sea in light wind (lots of uncomfortable rolling with the sails banging side to side), we happily dropped the hook and found an interesting, friendly town.

Oamaru Harbour

Oamaru was an important, wealthy shipping port in the Victorian period, and its beautiful old buildings reflect that.  Many shops also maintain the Victorian theme in clothing and other products.  Most of these old buildings were built with local limestone, a soft rock that lent itself to extensive, intricate carvings.  One example of the friendliness we found there was that we hardly had the anchor down when a local fisherman offered us the use of his mooring in a calmer part of the basin than where we were anchored.  He all but insisted that we use it.

I'd want more than a helmet to really ride this

Better use for a dead tree than firewood.

Nice when the authorities have a sense of humour

Intricate carvings in limestone are ubiquitous in Oamaru

Eager to move on just two days later, we slipped the mooring at first light to motor out, but something was wrong with the engine.  It wouldn’t develop full power, and was blowing a lot of black smoke.  Back to the mooring to check it out.  Turns out we had some kelp tangled on the propeller.  At first I thought I’d have to go for a swim to clear it, but a little revving, shifting back and forth, forward and reverse, chopped it free, so off we went again.

This time the wind was good, gradually building as we approached the entrance to Otago Harbour (Dunedin’s port), such that we came streaming in under reefed main and jib.  The harbour is ten miles or so long, mostly very shallow but with a narrow, sinuous ship channel.  The harbour is huge, wide as well as long, but there is precious little deep enough for a yacht outside the ship channel.  One such spot is the Otago Yacht Club.  They have an enclosed basin with pile moorings and a few floating pontoons, and they are very welcoming to visiting yachties.  We had arranged for a berth there, but we needed to enter at near high tide for adequate depth between the ship channel and the basin.  The land surrounding the harbour forms a venturi, so with the wind and tide behind us, and just a scrap of sail hoisted, we sailed up the harbour doing our best to slow down to let the tide rise a bit more.  Successful at that, we dropped the sail and motored into the yacht club basin.  All we knew was that we were aiming for a downwind landing at a pontoon with 25-30 knots of wind behind us.  I had various contingency plans, but was not happy to see two yachts on either end of the pontoon, both protruding into our approach.  There were many hands, though, waiting to help us moor, so it all turned out fine.  Never any danger, really, just a bit of excitement.  Actually, if no one had been there to help us, we would have just dropped the anchor to stop, and then used warps to pull us in sideways to the pontoon.

Two of the people waiting for us on the pontoon were Murray and Jennie Grimwood.  They had come through Whangarei a few years ago on their return from Tonga.  We saw them again a year or so ago at a wedding of mutual friends up north in the Bay of Islands.  As was the case in Lyttelton, it is so nice to know people when you pull in somewhere.  You don’t feel quite so much the stranger.  Anyway, it doesn’t take long among yachties to make new friends, and here was no different.  Julian and Kara on a neighboring boat had spent a little time in Whangarei just after we left last December, and had become friends with friends of ours there.  We felt part of the community right off.

The yacht club is right at the edge of Dunedin, and we’ve been walking all over, visiting the parks and museums, the farmers market yesterday, a longer walk up to an overlook, etc.  Dunedin also has some interesting architecture.  The old railway station, in particular, is most impressive.  It clearly reflects a time and place that had civic pride (and money to spend on it).  Julian helped me fuel up, providing transport and enough jugs to do the job in one trip.  Murray gave us a tour all around the Otago Peninsula (which forms the south side of the harbour), showing us a number of places not on the tourist maps, then took us home for dinner and a very nice evening.

Stained Glass in the Railway Station

Dunedin Railway Station

Floor of Royal Doulton Tiles in Railway Station

Dunedin Public Art Gallery

From here, it’s about 160 miles to Stewart Island on the south side of Fouveaux Strait.  That’s as far south as you can go and still be in New Zealand.  There are no intermediate harbours between here and Stewart Island, and this is not a stretch of water to treat lightly, so we have been waiting here for a suitable weather forecast.  At this point, Wednesday, it looks good for continuing south this Friday.

Baldwin Street, Dunedin, Steepest Street in the World

Ready to Head Further South

It was a blustery morning here in Hakana Bay inthe upper reaches of Port Underwood (on the South Island side of the Cook Strait).  Each gust pushed us back against the anchor chain, the bow falling off to the side with the boat heeling from the wind.  Then, as the gust passed, she would spring forward from the weight of the chain, standing upright again.  A good morning to be securely anchored, protected from the sea, if not entirely from the wind.  But the gusts faded away about low tide, so we launched the dinghy and went foraging for kai moana (Maori for seafood, but pretty much part of New Zealand English now).  Extensive mussel beds along the rocky shore yielded our daily limit in just a few minutes.  The mudflats nearby provided a bucketful of pipis and cockles.  The only thing better than a snug anchorage is one that provides dinner.

Hakana Bay, Port Underwood

We left the Marlborough Sounds yesterday after just over two weeks between Pelorus Sound and Queen Charlotte Sound, the two making up “The Sounds”.  They are a little different in character, Pelorus being less traveled, and I think a little prettier.  We saw much more recreational traffic in Queen Charlotte, and both more extensive logging and more development in general.  We enjoyed the Sounds, but they are a challenging cruising ground for a yacht; gusty, variable winds mean you have too much sail up one minute, and too little the next.  Deep anchorages lead one to prefer a mooring, but they are not everywhere and the one you want may be taken already.  Visually, the Sounds look a lot like British Columbia.  We did have some good sailing, though, often using just the jib and mizzen, a good combination in gusty conditions — underpowered in the lulls, though enough to keep the boat moving, but not overpowered even in very strong gusts.

Looks a Lot Like British Columbia

Before we left Pelorus Sound, we spent a pleasant few days in Havelock Marina.  Did the washing (laundry), etc.  Steven and Maggie drove over from Nelson for a hike, and then lunch at the “Mussel Pot”— best mussels I’ve ever had.  Havelock is pretty small, though, so when we looked for a nice restaurant to celebrate our 33rd wedding anniversary, we wound up with steaks from the little grocery instead, to grill on the boat.

A few days after leaving Havelock, we motored around Cape Jackson into Queen Charlotte Sound on flat, glassy water.  Sailing might not be so great here, but the fishing isn’t bad.  The day before, Robyn pulled in a snapper, a kahawai, a barracuda, and a blue cod.  After entering Queen Charlotte, we stopped to drift and bottom fish a bit, and Robyn quickly landed three gurnards.  Gurnards are strange looking fish, with enormous pectoral fins like butterfly wings, and what appear to be three pair of legs!  Strange looking, but super tasty.

Nasty Teeth on a Barracuda

Ever See Legs on a Fish?

We knew that our German yachtie friends, Dietmar and Marie, were somewhere in Queen Charlotte Sound.  We also knew that the motor vessel “Starlet” was in the area.  Her owners, Mark and Jennifer, who we know from Whangarei, were on their way back north after visiting Stewart Island (i.e. our destination).  They are also international visitors “stuck” here in the pandemic.  Shortly after our gurnard lunch, we re-entered cellular coverage and got a text from Marie that they were on a mooring quite near where Starlet was anchored, and did we want to join them all for dinner.  Clearly yes, so a few hours later, we rafted up to Greyhound again, after which we all enjoyed a wonderful evening and delicious dinner on Starlet.

Whangarei Wanderers on M/V Starlet

Dietmar and Marie had raved about their visit to Lochmara Lodge not far away, so still looking for that anniversary dinner, we decided to give it a try.  After a few hours of mixed motoring and the typically gusty sailing, we happily picked up one of their moorings.  Cleaned up and hungry, we signaled for our waiter to ferry us ashore — classy place, this!  We were not disappointed.  We do not dine in such posh places often, but once in a great while, it’s really nice.

Awesome Cheesecake at Lochmara Lodge

Then it was in to the marina in Waikawa for groceries, water, etc. — the usual — before leaving the Sounds enroute to Lyttelton Harbour and Christchurch.  I must confess to a little trepidation about exiting Tory Channel into Cook Strait.  The currents here are vicious, with not much slack between ebb and flood, and Cook Strait has quite a reputation.  Weather forecasting here is quite good, but topographic effects are significant, making it hard to know exactly what to expect at a specific place.  Once heading out, there would be no turning back against the current.  Well, silly me, we motored through on flat water into the equally flat Cook Strait.

Exit from the Sounds into Cook Strait

Didn’t stay that way long, though.  Forecast rising wind motivated us to hustle along the fifteen miles or so to Port Underwood.  Powerful gusts soon came off the dramatic shore as we motored along.  Every time a lull made me think about raising sail, another gust laid us over.  Close to shore, though, the seas were merely a little choppy.  Happily for us, Hakana Bay turned out to be an excellent place to wait for good weather to continue out of Cook Strait and down the east coast.  The forecast looks promising for us to depart here early Sunday morning, expecting to arrive in Lyttelton Monday afternoon.  We’ll see.  Stay tuned.

South Island Visit, Back to the Travelogue

We spent a week in Abel Tasman National Park.  One of the so-called “Great Walks” here in New Zealand is the Abel Tasman Coast Track, running (as you might guess) along the coast of Abel Tasman National Park.  This is the most popular of the Great Walks, and is usually as or more crowded than any of them.  The current pandemic shut out all the foreign tourists, though, leaving the track much less densely populated.  Visiting by boat was ideal, too, enabling us to sample select portions of the track without carrying heavy backpacks, or camping with the sand fies.  Besides yachting and tramping, this park is a mecca for sea kayakers — great beaches and coves, protected water when you need it, open but safe water most of the time, beautiful scenery, and water taxis to shuttle you and your kayak.

Abel Tasman Coastal Track

 Sea Kayakers' Heaven

Note the Sign Graphic

True to form, we made new friends along the track in the park — Steve and Allie.  They were off a yacht, too, but were locals, living just outside the park.  We all really hit it off, and we wound up visiting their home for lunch on our way on to Nelson, and then meeting up one afternoon again in Nelson.

The port of Nelson is about twenty miles further into Tasman Bay, an easy day, but there’s no good anchorage there.  If you can’t get a booking for a slip, you have little option but to anchor behind the “boulder bank”.  This bank is many miles long, enclosing a massive lagoon of drying mudflats and narrow channels, and has only one narrow opening.  That results in ripping tidal currents that reverse every six hours or so.  We were unsuccessful in getting a booking the first night, so we anchored.  It was awful.  Don’t want to do that again.  I tried using a stern anchor to hold us steady, which worked quite well overnight (fortunately), but the current took us sidewise at one point the next day, and the strain ripped the stern roller off the boat.  Our new friends from the park provided an old sheet of plywood with which I jerry-rigged a repair.  Will do a definitive repair back in Whangarei.

Although there was a regatta scheduled to start the next week, which is why no berthage was available, a little face-to-face time in the marina office yielded “just one night”.  A little more face time got us an extension through the weekend.  A bad weather forecast for Tuesday and Wednesday got us a further extension to Thursday.  Actually, longer than we had intended to be there, but we made good use of it.

We needed fuel and provisions, sure, besides needing to do the washing (laundry to you Americans) and make that repair, and Robyn had long wanted to visit the Pic’s Peanut Butter factory, which is located in Nelson, but the real draw was old friends.  Steve and Maggie Grey have lived in Nelson for many years.  Steve and Robyn were in high school together in Minneapolis.  They gave us a grand tour.  We biked and walked together, and had some delicious meals both at their house and at several cafes.  We had a great visit.

And of course, we took on fuel and provisions, etc, and we did visit the Pic’s Peanut Butter factory.  That might sound funny, but Pic’s is truly special, and the factory tour is wildly popular.  You even get to make some peanut butter yourself.

                    

But it was time to move on.  Nice mix of motoring and sailing up to French Pass and into Pelorus Sound, part of the overall Marlborough Sounds.  French Pass is a narrow gate between the mainland and a large island, which sees reversing currents up to eight knots, and slack water of only about twenty minutes.  There are accurate prediction tables, though, so you just have to time it right and motor through.  Piece of cake.

The Sounds are generally quite deep close to shore, making for relatively few good anchorages.  But there are boating clubs that have placed heavy moorings in many nice spots.  We joined one of these clubs to have use of their moorings.  Our first night in the Sounds, we picked up our first club mooring and were expecting a nice, quiet evening.  We were wrong.  An hour before sunset, two men in a commercial fishing boat insisted that the mooring was no longer the club’s, and that we had to leave NOW!  The one doing the talking was abusive and threatening.  Not wanting a violent confrontation, we hastily left.  Fortunately, I had noticed a potential anchorage maybe a half-mile away as we were coming in, and were able to spend a quiet night there.  God only knows what set him off; this was sooo un-kiwi-like!

                                                

                                                              

Dietmar and Marie, German yachties “stuck” in NZ by the pandemic on their yacht Greyhound, were in the Sounds, too.  They had been on our pontoon in Whangarei, where we had become friends.  We chose to meet the next day and raft up together on a club mooring for a good visit.  This we did, and greatly enjoyed the time together.  Unfortunately, this was the first time either of us had rafted up on a mooring, so there was a learning curve.  Such curve was not made easy by wind gusting up to 45 kts during the night.  Not much sleep for any of us.

Enough Fenders?

Time to move on again.  They went on their way to Queen Charlotte Sound, while we went deeper into Pelorus Sound.  At the innermost end of Tennyson Inlet in Pelorus Sound is the beautiful Ngawhakwhiti Bay (say that three times fast!).  Good, protected anchorages, quiet solitude, gorgeous scenery, and mussels!!  One other boat, a single man, Nick, on a little trailer-sailer, but again, true to form, we made a new friend.  We love these encounters.  Often, they go no further, but sometimes they develop into long-term friendships.  Some of our dearest friends, we met on a street corner in Papeete, French Polynesia, many years ago.  Others, we met at dawn on a pyramid summit in the jungles of Guatemala.  You never know where paths will lead, or cross again.

Ngawhakawhiti Bay

That brings us to the “Rough Day on the Water”.  That was yesterday.  Today, we motored in light breezes deeper into the main Pelorus Sound.  We’ll go into the marina at Havelock soon for a few days.  Steve and Maggie will drive over for a visit.  The usual laundry (washing for you Kiwis), provisions, etc, then we’ll head out for Queen Charlotte Sound, too.

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.

Beating in to Whangaroa Harbour in 20+ Knots

South Island Visit, Part One

It's been quite a while since I posted anything here, but we've not been off on any big adventures to write about.  Well, we are now.  Somehow, we got the idea into our heads to visit the South Island by boat, maybe even to visit Stewart Island — seriously south — and, just maybe, a very big maybe, to visit Fiordland — big adventure for a small boat.

To get to the South Island from Whangarei, one has two options.  Either sail far to the east to pass (imaginatively named) East Cape, or far to the north to pass (equally imaginatively named) North Cape.  There are pros and cons to both.  I'll just say that we chose to sail south by sailing north.

The first objective was to stage ourselves somewhere as far as possible up the east coast that still had cell coverage (for weather products).  We were in no hurry, though, and enjoyed many favorite anchorages along the way.  We also met up with a number of friends, some planned, some serendipitously.  The weather was excellent, with some fine sailing.

We ducked in to Mangonui — last groceries — before heading further to stage somewhere closer to North Cape.  As luck would have it, though, an excellent weather window opened right then, so off we went.  No wind to speak of for the next five or six days, so it would be a motorboat ride, but, hey, there are worse things at sea than motoring.  To be honest, Cape Reinga and the Tasman Sea both have bad reputations, so we intended to treat them both with respect.  I was quite happy with the forecast, even though such extended motoring gets pretty dull. 

The forecast for calm winds was long enough for us to take the opportunity of anchoring for a last night’s rest in Spirits Bay, a beautiful, remote bay on the north coast of the North Island.  A pea-soup fog enveloped us during the night, but burned off by mid-morning.  We had wanted to delay a few hours anyway for better tidal currents around Cape Reinga, and to allow some forecast thunderstorms to clear our route later in the  day.  The chart shows tide rips all over around Cape Reinga, so I planned to be there as close to slack water as possible.  It also shows one spot well off shore that “ALWAYS BREAKS”.  Looking ahead, I saw broken water at about that spot, and steered to give it a wide berth.  It looked really strange, though, only breaking every few minutes, and not looking like a break over a reef.  We finally realized it was a whale breaching.  It continued to do so every few minutes for a good half hour, with many spectacular jumps.  

Looking Back on Cape Reinga

And so, we motored (i.e. droned) on heading south, destination Nelson, on glassy seas, under mostly sunny skies.  A light following breeze on the second day gave us a six-hour respite from the noise, but then it was back to the diesel wind.   

As we often do when motoring, we dragged a couple of fishing lures, not really expecting to get anything.  Just before sunset one day, though, wham!  Robyn reeled in a nice, fat tuna, either a Bigeye or an Albacore.  Not sure which.  Not the biggest fish we’ve ever landed, but there’s a surprising amount of meat per inch in a tuna.  We gorged on it for six  meals.

        OMG!  What Have I Done?

Somewhere along the way, we realized (duh!) that Nelson was not the obvious first stop on this passage.  Abel Tasman National Park was, just twenty miles or so short of Nelson on the west side of Tasman Bay.  As we approached Farewell Spit and Golden Bay, the beginning of Tasman Bay, the forecast promised a light northwest breeze, perfect for a pleasant broad reach  finale.  So, up went the full main and our larger jib.  Ah, delightful sailing.  In short order, though, we reefed the main once, then again, then changed to the smaller jib, as the wind rose to twenty to  twenty-five knots.  Still great sailing, but the shallow water in Golden Bay made for some rather short, steep seas.  Ended up sailing into a wind shadow and motoring in to anchor in the park, three and a half days from Spirits Bay.  

Abel Tasman National Park

Beating in to Whangaroa Harbour in 20 Knots