Navire's blog

Music in the park January 2015 David I'm calling this a retrospective but David was just a bit tardy posting it! *** On Barrier Radio Janet caught a brief ad 'Music in The Park at Okiwi. Bring your own instruments.' This sounded like us. What clinched it was Loma, from whom we had hired a car, who was intending to go and offered us a lift. Loma, large as life and well into party mode, roared into the Port Fitzroy parking lot not much more than an hour late. Janet and I and our instruments piled in.
We soon learned that Loma is one of eleven. She has six of her own, eighteen grandchildren and a couple of great-grandchildren. She looked about sixty, if that. But not much about her said Maori. She appeared bottle blond, light skinned, a little ditsy at first meeting, voluble, irreverent and great fun to be with. We took to her immediately. In describing her lack of sea legs she quipped, ìBefore Iíll take the ferry to Auckland itís got to be calm enough for me to apply lipstick in my reflection.î She turned out to be foundation tangatawhenua. The length of time your family have been on the island, as elsewhere, is defining, third and fourth generation conferring unparalleled status. ìWe moved back to the island about four years ago,î Loma said as she negotiated the narrow, winding road to Okiwi. ìBut weíve been here more than seven hundred. Weíre Ngatiwai. Just the one iwi which makes things simple although thereís two hapu.î Thatís about thirty generations of continuous occupation.
"Iím not that familiar with my tikanga,î Loma confessed, a little wistfully. ìSome of my grandkids who have grown up in kohanga come and speak to me and I have no idea what theyíre saying,î she laughed. Sheís tried learning. ìIt goes in and then goes out. But Iíve enrolled again.î Loma eased the car along a near invisible track, overhung with trees that momentarily blocked most of the sunlight. Once inside, the space opened out to reveal a cosy glade, a small grassy clearing enclosed by native bush thick with ferns and nikau palms. There were people gathered on rugs under a huge spreading Puriri tree and others standing around barbeques and chili bins of beer. As the sun slid across the sky small groups moved to occupy other patches of shade. A stage had been set up, complete with amps, mikes, speakers, even a fold-back speaker so that the musicians could hear themselves.
Loma found us a space under the Puriri and settled into her chair where she held court with family and friends all afternoon. She had a constant flow of grandchildren making requests and waiting on her. It slowly became clear that she is a much revered kuia, related, one way or another, to every Maori on the island, many of whom were at the park. There was always much banter and laughter emanating from around her spot.
It was an intimate group of no more than forty with people coming and going. We felt we had gate crashed a large family gathering but, attached to Lomaís coat tails, we were soon absorbed into the fold. Elaine, a diminutive copper-haired woman with an arresting, effortless, Aretha Franklin voice, played MC. She provided backing vocals and took the stage herself from time to time, supported by her husband Opo, on guitar. Remarkably she and Opo live on remote, exposed Mahuki, the outermost of the aptly named Broken Islands. They are the unofficial custodians of the islandís gannet colony. A dozen or so musicians, including the two of us, performed solo or in varying combinations. Elaine joined us during our second set which was a treat. There were several performers who would have been well received on much larger stages, especially a trio of gorgeous, young sisters from one of the two Katherine Bay marae. One guitar, three voices, sublime harmony. And Elaine could rival any diva. Janet and I rowed back to the boat in the lengthening shadows, warmed through with music, people, food, beer and sun and with a pocketful of invitations in the anchorage and across the island.

Not Swimmingly Good Suva, June 8 David Things haven't been going swimmingly well lately. For a start there's not much chance of a swim what with rusting Chinese fishing ships crowding the bay and a thin oil slick everywhere. No swim appeal to speak of. The rain was great while we needed the water and, to be fair, there's more sun than rain now. But Suva is wet, with showers several times a day. It quickly becomes sticky and close when we shut up the boat to avoid the weather.
Yesterday Janet pushed herself up off her knees where she had been for about a week when she wasn't sitting on the loo. Diarrhea. Shellfish. Awful.
Not to be outdone I matched her with a bout of urinary tract infection. In hind sight there were probably better ways I could have garnered sympathy but, you pays your money. I was at the very early stages, thinking that there seemed to be something not quite the same about peeing when, on the yacht, Midnight Sun, apropos of nothing at all John told us a story about playing nurse to a doctor friend who was called to the bedside of a seriously ill man on a remote Fiji island. They were told he hadn't pissed in over a week. He was clearly in extreme pain. The medical system had refused to evacuate him. "He's seventy two. A good innings." The doctor, with John's help, set about inserting a catheter which prompted first embarrassment and confusion and then immediate relief along with a quantity of seriously disgusting black fluid. The man recovered. I, on the other hand, over identified with the hapless patient and immediately began taking my fledgling symptoms more seriously. Now that we're both, apparently, on the up and up, I don't think we realised how much these conditions knocked us around nor how much the passage took out of us. The few other sailors we've spoken with all emphasise the long passage-recovery time. Perhaps we underestimated this as we rocked directly into re-provisioning, re-fueling, re-watering and exploring. Then there's the ugly scar along our topsides where the dinghy, safely hoisted out of the water, rested. Until it took on enough rain water to force the bow back into the sea where it bobbed gently up and down much of the night just below the fenders that were supposed to keep the dinghy gunnel away from our paint work. I pointed out this sad discovery to our neighbor, Lester. "You could always take the bung out." The bung. I had noticed this bung. I had, from time to time, wondered when I'd ever have reason to remove the bung. Now I know. What a useful device. Still, there's the scar to repair. Bugger! But that's not all. Before leaving NZ I installed two extra flexible water tanks and expanded our rainwater catching capacity to make us less dependent on water from ashore. On the fourth day of our passage I discovered ninety litres of sparkling fresh water in our bilge and, you guessed it, one of the new tanks empty. The other day I dismantled the space and removed the tank thinking I had probably failed to tighten the outlet hose properly. But no, that part was fine. It was the PVC bladder which had a 6 m split in it. How this could have happened is not apparent which is somewhat disconcerting. Today I repaired the split. Cross your fingers it holds and no others appear.
So, like I say, things haven't been going swimmingly well so far. Except that we're not ill anymore and were here which is pretty cool.

Passage log 1 Suva 18 07.402s 178 25.467e Janet May 28, 2015 Pics: We're anchored in Suva Harbour. It's been a week since we arrived and the memory of the trip up here is rapidly becoming a distant dream. Perhaps you read the updates we sent along the way but here is a little more of the passage story.
*** We very nearly didn't get away.
Opua On Thursday May 7 we decided we were leaving in two days, Saturday 9th.
Despite our intention to be all relaxed and in order before we left, we were still finishing our boat preparations, not just till cast off but well out into the ocean.
Even with years of preparation for this trip, a lot of tasks could only be done in the last few days before departure, and many only on the day.
On the Saturday we tied up at the fuel wharf at Opua to do our final fuel and watering up for the trip. I walked over to Customs to give them our outward clearance forms and on the way remembered I was supposed to return a book for David. When I got back the boat to collect it David was pumping fuel into the aft tank. This necessitated removing the companionway stairs onto the cabin.
Being in a rush I didn't register this critical detail. Racing into the cabin I stepped into thin air and fell three feet. I was lucky I didn't break a leg but I did seriously wrench my shoulder rendering myself a pretty useless crew-member. I was in shock and just wanted to lie down and cry and but we had to keep moving and get off the fuel dock. Gritting my teeth I did all the official stuff for leaving the country and we cast off making final phone calls, and still battening things down as we raised the sails.
*** Day 1 Saturday May 9 35 18.915s 174 07.307e The day brought sunny weather and flat seas as we motored out of the Bay of Islands. It's a weird feeling sailing out to sea and not turning left or right along the coast at the entrance to the bay, just heading out into nothingness. 15 knots of wind filled our sails, an unexpected pleasure. We'd expected to motor for several days to get well away from New Zealand in time to avoid a front coming across the Tasman Sea.
1900 - checked in with Taupo Maritime Radio. Each day we radioed them our position and course so that someone in the world knew exactly where we were.
If they didn't hear from us for a while they would activate rescue procedures.
Alas as night came on despite fair winds, moderate seas, and a glorious milky way overhead, I was miserably seasick.
Distance 97 nautical miles. Didn't quite make our two degrees. Opua is at 35 degrees south and Fiji 18 degrees. There are 60 nautical miles (NM) in a degree.
Travelling at five to six knots we estimated we could cover 120 NM or two degrees a day.
*** Day 2 Sunday May 10, 34 01.792s 175 29.725e From journal "Bit grim so far. Ate an apple. Feel pretty seedy, like I was doing some serious partying last night. I wish. Came on watch and the wind and waves kept overpowering the autopilot and backing the sails. Ended up crash jibing.
David and Piet came and reefed." Then the wind died out.
Motored all night.
Made 114 miles. That's better progress.
*** Day 3 Monday May 11, 32 02.612s 176 11.148e Life has become very simple. It's blue and white, interspersed with grey. The view is just endless sea, sky and clouds. Life's now all about eating, sleeping, and being on watch. We motored and motored, and motored. We constantly calculated fuel levels. We don't have enough diesel to motor all the way to Fiji so have to be judicious about how often we use the engine.
Each morning at 0700 we tuned into Gulf Harbour Radio, checked in, and listened for the weather for our position. We could also track the progress of the dozen or so other boats on passage.
A little piece of gingham fabric off the top of a jam jar was floating around the galley. I transformed it into a testicle with a bit of stuffing and a rubber band and announced to the guys that this would be awarded daily for achievements, both good and foolish. I got given one belatedly for stepping to thin air on day one.
David got the days Great Gingham Gonad Award (GGG) for emptying the reeking portaloo at 4am. This unappealing task got overlooked as we exited the Bay of Islands.
Had my first enjoyable nightwatch. The first two nights I was constantly fending off sleep or throwing up. Reflected on how much easier this trip was than the one to Tonga. I'm eating a modest amount but Piet and David fully enjoying the fine fare from the freezer.
140NM, excellent progress *** Day 4 Tuesday May 12, 30 06.087s 177 40.369e 40 knot squall. Put second reef in. Squalls are very small patches of dark cloud with rain and high winds under them. When they hit the boat the wind rises suddenly and sail area has to be reduced very quickly. Then in minutes it has gone again, sun out, and gentle breeze resumed.
Felt a lot better that day, I even cooked lunch.
Piet got GGG for figuring out that we didn't have a transmit frequency tuned in for our weather channel. We'd only been able to receive Gulf Harbour Radio but not talk to them.
Saw flying fish, wings flapping as they bounced over the waves.
David and Piet are practicing being sailors of old and using the sextants to take sunsights. We could end up in Africa.
132NM today. Very good.
*** Day 5 Wed May 13, 27 58.261s 178 27.718e You may notice our longitude number is increasing. Minerva Reef, our first stop, is just across the dateline.
Discovered bilge full of water. In New Zealand David had installed two new flexible water tanks in the bow. One of them had leaked 90 litres into the bilge.
Very disappointing about the tank and the water loss, but at least it wasn't salt water which would have meant a leak somewhere in the hull (later David found a very small tear in the tank).
Saw green flash at sunset. It's a very rare sight you can only see it on a completely clear horizon.
Abandoned wet weather gear. Felt good.
Distance made good 90NM. 'Distance made good' means miles covered towards our destination as opposed to actual miles sailed. When we are tacking towards a destination we cover a lot more ocean.
*** Day 6 Thurs May 14, 26 22.100s 179 41.577e Beautiful day, long lazy swell, sailed along at four knots. Didn't feel sick or tired for a while. Slowed down so we wouldn't get to Minerva before dawn.
David got the gonad award for scrubbing the deck after some foul creature deposited black excrement all over his newly painted deck.
Got the worst watch. We rotate them each day. I was on 6-9 and 3-6, which feels like two night watches. It is two night watches! But the thought of Minerva tomorrow kept me going.
Piet was relentlessly cheerful despite the tiredness. He asked where his montblanc was. Prior to the journey I emailed him and asked him if he wanted any particular foods for the journey and he sent this picture. (see dessert pic) Distance 88NM. Lots of tacking.
*** Day 7 Fri May 15, 25 00.468s 179 48.155e Crossed the dateline today. Doesn't matter to us though, we struggled to remember what day it was or how many days we'd been at sea. With the combination of lack of sleep and no external references we lost our sense of time.
Piet got GGG for putting East instead of West in the position in the log when we crossed.
Saw an albatross flying along at sea level, its huge winds almost touching the waves.
At dawn Minerva hove into view. It is a flat round reef with an entrance on the west side. First I saw waves crashing and a black post sticking up, then the masts of several boats. What a wonderful sight.
Distance 75NM ***

Taking the Piss
Of all the recent changes and additions to Navire’s wardrobe, the most popular has been the self-bailing, auto-cleaning, portable urinal. This nifty device, useable by all sexes, allows bladder voiding without leaving the cockpit. Further, and more importantly, its use avoids the risk of the time-honoured lee-rail option which has given us the sobering statistic that more bodies are recovered from the sea with their flies open than zipped.
This clever innovation is purpose built and constructed of high-density polyethylene.