Blogs

Nanumea's Last Goodbye DAVID I have to write this piece because it was my fault. There's no way round it. Nanumea still had the unexpected waiting for us, held back for the very last moment of our time there. A day before leaving we tried lifting our anchor. One or two others had had great difficulty with chain wrapped around the many coral heads out of sight below our boats. Sure enough we too could not get free. Sylvan, off the French boat, Menkar, dove to free our chain. He had phenomenal breath holding ability, easily two minutes while doing heavy manual labour twenty metres down. The following day five of the fleet lined up to run through the pass. Free Spirit were first out, holding their breath the whole way through the narrow, shallow channel. Anahata and True Blue V followed and then it was our turn. The tide had turned and was running into the lagoon against us, so I gave her quite a bit of throttle and we picked up speed as Navire slid into the narrow opening. At the outer end of the pass the gap seemed to be widening. We were all but out. I spied a much lighter shade of turquoise indicating a shallower patch and eased Navire just a little to starboard. Almost immediately the channel face loomed up a couple of feet under our starboard bilge and I turned Navire a little to port. At the same time the bottom front of the keel struck hard. Navire heeled forty degrees to starboard amidst the incredibly loud sound of heavy fibre glass tearing on an unyielding coral ridge. Janet who had been standing in the companionway was hurled across the cockpit. Navire's twelve tons was stopped in an instant although the awful grinding noise continued. I took the engine out of gear not wanting to push our home any further onto the reef. We perched there at an alarming angle grinding ever more of our keel to dust and just long enough for the thought "so this is how it ends" to pass through my mind. Navire then slid to port, the mast came upright and we found ourselves bobbing in the channel. I engaged the engine and motored into blessedly deep blue Pacific Ocean. The whole dramatic moment lasted less than a minute, the longest of my life. The VHF radio burst into life. Clara Kathryn and Skua, in the channel a little behind, were concerned for us and alarmed for themselves. Just what had we hit? Would they hit it too? They both exited safely and stopped close to us as I readied to dive under Navire. In the water I fumbled with flippers and mask, my heart still racing, my mind a blur of anxiety, shame and fear. There was a sizable gouge in the bottom, forward edge of the keel and a scar along its full length. Most single hulled yachts have several tons of lead bolted to the bottom of their keel which is in turn is bolted to the hull. An impact such as Navire suffered would have put enormous strain on those critical keel bolts. But Navire has her lead encased in the heavy fibreglass keel which is an integral part of the ship, not a separate attachment. Still I searched for cracks or any other sign of structural damage but could find none. Thankfully the keel was the only part of the boat that made contact with the coral. The rudder and bilges were unscathed. There seemed little sense in retreating to the shelter of Nanumea lagoon. Other than the ugly scar, the boat seemed fine. She was not taking on water. The keel was not about to fall off, nor was the boat about to sink. Tarawa, in Kiribati, less than three days away, was a better bet for hauling Navire if it came to that. For the next few weeks we would be watching for water in the bilge hoping to be reassured that I had not caused damage sufficient to pull our house out of the water. In the mean time we set our sails and headed north. =20

Nanumea 05 40.314s 176 07.071e December 3, 2015 (Posted from Majuro February 2017) Janet We made it. Outside the reef of Nanumea atoll, 300 miles north of Funafuti, we faced a line of breaking water at the head of the pass into the lagoon. Just in front of us was Tim, from Exodus, who'd come out in his dinghy to guide us in. They had entered the lagoon earlier in the week. The waves at the entrance threatened to push us onto the coral, but the pass was well marked and we worked out where to go. As we motored in I looked over the side and could see the bottom, its clarity making it look only a couple of feet deep. I held my breath. We dropped anchor amongst the fleet in a tranquil location, flat sea, shelter all around and a village on shore. Surely a safe haven. Despite the early hour we decided a beer was in order. The cap was barely off the bottle and Deanne , Tim's wife, came alongside on her paddleboard to say hello. She was filling us in on life at Nanumea when the VHF crackled into life. "Northbound Fleet, Northbound Fleet, Free Spirit, Free Spirit, we need help. We have run aground at the entrance to the pass." said Lauri in a shaky voice. The magnitude of the event took a while to hit. We felt disbelief. It was a beautiful calm day, not the kind of day for something serious to happen. =20 "Free Spirit, Free Spirit this is Exodus, we will be out immediately." Came the reply moments later from Tim back on Exodus. They had a dinghy with a big outboard. Big enough to try and pull the yacht off the reef. Several other dinghies joined them. But not us, as our tiny motor would be more a hindrance than a help. Later we learned that on shore people ran for their boats and headed to the pass to help out. I was just beginning to think this was a fatal grounding, that Chuck and Lauri's Pacific trip was over, when we heard on the radio that they were off the reef, floating again. Later on, over a much needed drink, in the cockpit of Free Spirit, the still visibly shocked crew related their tale to us. They had been just about to enter the pass, well lined up with the outer marks, when Wham! A wave picked their yacht up and dumped it on the reef, forcing it onto its starboard side. "It was like hitting a brick wall," said Chuck. "For a moment I wondered if we were in the right pass," he continued. Later when they reviewed their chart they could see a bend in their track where they were picked up by the wave and bodily moved sideways onto the reef. The hull banged on the coral several times as waves came and went. The boat was so far over on its side that the starboard rail was underwater. "Radio for help," Chuck told Lauri. Five minutes later Tim turned up in his dinghy, but with no ropes.=20 "That boat is not coming off," Paul, who'd been with Tim, told us later. This was his first thought when he saw Free Spirit lying on her side on the reef, at high tide. "Grab a rope out of the lazarette," Chuck told Lauri, a difficult job with the boat on a steep slope. Heeled over so far meant there was no water getting into the engine to cool it but Chuck bravely carried on, gunning the engine each time a wave came over the reef. Then a slightly larger wave lifted them back into the water. A miracle. Grounding at high tide is usually certain doom. Later I snorkeled under their boat, and could see ragged aft end of the keel. There but for the grace of God I thought. Prematurely. It could have been any of us. And indeed it was to be. *** We spent a little time in the village. First we searched out Melee and her family who are Teamone's cousins. Teamone was Kailopa's brother-in-law and dear friend from Funafuti. They gave us a sack full of drinking coconuts. Chilled, their contents are a glorious thirst quenching nectar. We took Melee's four kids out to the boat. They peeked into every space in wonder. On Sunday I went to church with Exodus. The building was enormous, and ornate. One of the interesting and sad things about religion in much of the Pacific, is that is so Anglicised, all the trappings and traditions the same. Only the language is different. Even the plastic flowers were roses and carnations. The singing though was awesome, one woman in the choir should have been in Carnege Hall. Unusually the island only had one religion. We've been to many villages with four or five different denominations and churches for about 250 people. However this could have a dark side. The weekly ship from Funafuti arrived and a huge crowd was waiting to leave on her. A local woman told us that many of the people were being deported because they were the wrong religion. I've yet to verify this. Despite this atoll being a place to break the journey to Kiribati I don't recommend it to other sailors. The anchor snagging bombies gave most boats anchoring problems, and the flies were interminable. They pestered us from dawn till dusk. We had to cover the entrance to the cockpit with mosquito net, put mesh on all the hatches and live mostly inside. And we won't mention the pass. =20 *** With a fleet of nine we had a built in social life. We had music sessions with Brian and Amanda on Carla Catherine, dinner at Free Spirit, drinks on Exodus. When this group started getting together people would turn up with peanuts and popcorn. I would turn up with a delicacy; cheese with my various pickles, yes even tasty cheese is a treat up here. Even the kiwi onion dip was a hit. Then the other night I made gougons of tuna with Parmesan aioli. It elicited oohs and ahhs. I have been hoarding the last of my Best mayonnaise for just this kid of occasion. However not to be outdone, the food offerings from the other boats improved noticeably. *** =20 1300, Dec 8 "What time is lift off?" I asked. "10 minutes, we may need some time to get the anchor up," said David. We were on the cusp of heading out to sail 500 miles to Kiribati. We were a fleet of five. The rest of the boats had left the previous day. On the radio we joked about meeting at the start line, this side of the pass. Who will go through first, I wondered. I didn't think it would be Free Spirit after their reef encounter last week. Would we all make it through safely?

Tuvalu to Nanumea December 1, 2015, (Posted from Majuro January 2017) *** Dec 3, 2015 Janet journal We left Funafuti several days ago after rushing around getting final provisions and food. Clearing immigration and customs, we then had a leisurely lunchtime beer at the pub with the remaining fleet crews. Back at the boat we raised anchor, motored across the lagoon, and headed out through the wide northern pass into the long smooth ocean swells. Day one out was pleasant with a reasonable amount of sailing, the winds generally light. But day two was just not Janet's day. I was hot. I was very tired. I was struggling to sail the boat in the light fluky winds. My whole body was covered in itching red infected patches. A brigade of sandflies (so I thought) from Funafuti had hitched a ride. They'd wait till I was asleep before they began their nightly feasting. After a while the intense itchiness woke me and I scratched and scratched with no relief, then sleep came no more. My bum looked like it had been used for target practice. Then my back gave out. I just wanted to go home and lie down, somewhere quiet and still, and have a good cry. To have someone hold me and assure me everything was okay. Also to take off my sticky red spotted skin and don a sleek, cool, clean one. *** We 'd decided to try six hour watches at night so we could get at least five hours sleep in a row. I was noticing a pattern on my watch. I was wakeful for the first three to four hours, 12-4ish, then really sleepy for an hour or so, then came right till dawn. Trouble is I hadn't got the hang of sleeping from 6-midnight when I was off watch. We had other hitchhikers besides the 'sandflies'. At dusk last night two large birds took up residence in the rigging, one perched right on top of the mast. They were still there at midnight when I came on watch. I popped down below to check the chart and heard a squawking sound in the cockpit. I came back up to see one of the birds sitting on the lazarette. Inside the stern rail. I yelled at him but he didn't budge. Grabbing the boat hook I tried to prod him gently towards the sea. He wasn't having it and started flapping around the cockpit. I squealed and leapt out of the way of his long sharp beak. My shrieks woke David and he came out and did battle. It was awful. The bird just wouldn't go and we couldn't leave him in the cockpit. I grabbed another pole and we both prodded the very unhappy creature towards the stern. Then he got a wing caught in the windvane rope so David had to untangle that with the boat hook. We finally tipped him over the side. It was dark so I couldn't see how he fared. Our other stowaways were cockroaches, millions of them. We soak our fruit and vegetables in salt water when they come on board but the bugs come in with the groceries too. Inside the boat they are in clover, plenty of food and warm breeding conditions. I've sprayed many of the lockers but every day we see more creatures scuttle across the floor, up the walls and across the benches. Ideally I would take every thing off the boat and spray it heavily. But there is no way we can do that out here. *** Janet email to friend It's dawn and my six-hour night watch is nearly over. My bunk is looking very appealing. We are out in the ocean, north of Tuvalu, six degrees south of the equator. I'm sending this email via single side band radio. I haven't had my gmail email for ages. Its all satellite internet in the countries up here, very slow, unreliable, and expensive. I look around at the empty empty sea, although David saw fishing boats last night, not a welcome sight as they often have miles of prop fouling nets strung out behind them that you can't see. Most years there are very few yachts up here but currently there are four behind us and five ahead. Its fabulous traveling in a convoy, I like the sense of having a community. We have a radio net and check in every morning to see where everyone is faring. I just checked the horizon again and there are squalls all around us. I have to remain vigilant in case one hits with its treacherous load of rain and wind, and quickly leap into action to reef the headsail. Our destination is 250 miles, and two days travel away, Nanumea, the rarely visited northernmost island of Tuvalu. You have to jump through a whole lot of bureaucratic hoops to get permission to visit an outer island after you have cleared customs and immigration, and the officials don't always say yes. We persisted for weeks to get approval. One of our fleet is at the island already and said the local people are delighted to have us come visit. =46rom there we go on to Kiribati, almost on the equator. We'll probably have Christmas there at a remote island with a few other yachts. There are a couple of foodies in the fleet and we are planning the menu and day's events already. The Americans (we have yachts from US, Sweden, France, and Australia) know Secret Santa, so we may do that. It's nice to have some familiar things to look forward to. *** 0800 Dawn saw us hove to off Nanumea. We arrived in the dead of night but needed daylight and slack high water to enter the very narrow, very shallow pass into the lagoon. The pass was eight metres wide and three to four deep, with a strong flow when the tide was running. Fortunately it was a perfect sunny coral spotting day. We had three hours to wait till high tide. It was nice having this rest before we went in, usually its days and days of sailing then straight into a passage all the senses muted with tiredness. A mast appeared on the horizon. The first of the four boats behind us arrived and went on safely through.=20 *** =20

Storm at Tuvalu (Sent from Majuro Jan, 2017)=20 (Pics will be bigger next post!) Monday Nov 23, 2015 Funafuti After a quick dash around Funafuti we motored for an hour to the north end of the lagoon. There we anchored off a very small, very low profile, island in the hope of getting shelter from the high winds forecast to come in the next few days. It was a G-string of an island, less than one metre high, plus coconut palms. We really needed a full set of bloomers sort of island. We were uncertain about just how much shelter it afforded. As the tide rose we got bounced around by the swell that came over the reef which extended out from either side of the island. The wind held us side on to the swell, each wave making the boat roll uncomfortably as it thwacked us on the beam. Feeling tired and vulnerable about our exposed situation, I took solace in tea, Christmas cake, and writing, then indulged in the distraction of a game of tiles with David. I looked outside and saw Free Spirit anchored nearby. It was good to have another boat there. The skies were grey was my mood. Our low-pressure system had been updated to a tropical depression (TD), one grade below a tropical cyclone. So far as we knew the higher winds would be south of us, near Fiji. However we would probably get strong peripheral winds from the TD, of 30 or 40 knots (35 is gale force). Earlier that morning we poured over forecasts and charts working out wind angles and swell directions. Gulf Harbour Radio, who run the radio net we=92d been on since New Zealand, said =93we weren=92t in a very good place,=94 for this weather. Great. =93If we anchor here,=94 David pointed to the chart, =93we=92ll get the full force of the wind, and the fetch, but maybe less swell. If we anchor here,=94 he pointed to an area to the northeast, =93we may get less wind but risk getting more swell coming over the reef at high tide. Mind you,=94 he changed the chart to a Google satellite picture, =93the reef on that side looks more substantial and may break the swell more.=94 We could have just flipped a coin. We reanchored and I settled into doing a load of laundry, anticipating catching some rain to top up our buckets as the low passed by. The weather settled for a while. =93Navire, Navire, this is Free Spirit=94 boomed the VHF. Ah, the neighbours calling. =93Free Spirit, Navire, go 17,=94 I dialed up the next channel. =93Navire, Free Spirit=94 =93Would you like to have a picnic on the beach?=94 asked Lauri. =93Why yes, what a great idea.=94 =93Good, will, radio in two hours. Free Spirit back to 16.=94 I rustled up a few delicacies and we motored in to shore in the dinghy. The small oval island was occupied by one man, the caretaker, a stone-deaf man we discovered when we went to say hello. We picnicked on the lagoon-side beach accompanied by a cloud of flies. Replete, we went for a walk around the island, David climbing a tree and liberating four drinking coconuts. Wielding a machete just like a local he lopped the ends off them. Back at the picnic area the tide was coming in rapidly and swamping the back of our dingy, which was hitherto pulled well up the beach. I looked out at Navire. She seemed a long way off, certainly not sheltered at all and was rolling side to side. We abandoned our afternoon out and headed back to the boat. *** Back on board we played tiles to ground ourselves. =93You know some people wouldn=92t like this =96 and I may be of them,=94 said David, referring to the uncertainty of the prospect of a night of stormy weather in an unknown location. He placed a few tiles. =93Right now I=92d take a freezing cold night in a sheltered bay in New Zealand, complete with huddling around a heater.=94 Meanwhile as the tide dropped the rolling and lurching eased. Two other boats arrived making us a fleet of four. Hopefully that was four good decisions about the best place to see out the low, as opposed to everyone just following us. *** At dusk the boat rolled gently. I felt melancholic. After a while I recognised the feeling. Homesickness. We left Wellington just short of a year ago. Just for a moment I longed for familiar things. Safe things, security, predictableness. Even being tied up in Chaffers Marina would do it. For a week or so anyway, till the low pressure and high winds passed and by then I=92d be up for the adventure and warm climate again. Everywhere I looked the boat was dirty, and we were infested with cockroaches (little did we know it was not only cockroaches), they came in with the vegetables, or in packaging from the supermarket. The next day would be locker cleaning day, emptying and roach spraying food spaces. *** Tuesday Nov 24th No it wasn=92t. Locker cleaning day I mean. Didn=92t even get the dishes done till late afternoon. You=92ll only get this post if we survive the next few days, I wrote in my journal. The anchor chain wrapped itself around a coral bombie so we anchored again. We waited for the storm. *** Wednesday Nov 25th We still watched and waited. We were in a holding pattern. We were at the highest part of the tide with the maximum roll coming across the reef. Free Spirit was still anchored nearby and called up. Just to say hello. Nice to have company out there. The other two boats moved to an island further southwest. We stayed put as we were getting to know the local conditions and knew our anchor was holding firm. I downloaded a forecast which predicted an increase in wind speed. We were recording our position and depth every half an hour, in case we dragged, and wind speed and direction, and sea state to compare to the forecast. The higher winds were coming sooner, Thursday and Friday, instead of the weekend. We shipped the dinghy. It had been hoisted up alongside and each time we rolled in the swell she banged on the sea. Darkness fell as the wind rose. *** 1930 The wind jumped from 10 knots to 30 knots, that=92s not triple the speed, its much more, as wind speed in knots is exponential. I was hoping it was just a squall. The rain pounded on the cabin top and Navire pulled up hard on her chain and bounced. She slewed from side to side, facing SW, W, WNW. We checked the latitude and longitude on the GPS. Good not dragging. Its always scarier in the dark, couldn=92t see the island. I went outside and stood on deck in the rain and washed all the sweat off my sticky body. Yahoo a free shower. The water buckets were filling before our very eyes. Whew, wind speed was dropping, a squall after all. *** Nov 26 0900 Getting dressed that morning consisted of taking my nightie off. 27 degrees and 80% humidity. And it was only going to get warmer as we headed north. Good night, no big squalls. The wind was up and squally, up to 34 knots, but they were brief. We=92d invited Free Spirit for morning tea. *** 0300 Morning tea was abandoned. It was too rough for the dinghy ride across the 10 metre stretch of water between the boats. It was coming on high tide and we were rocking and rolling. The wind built steadily all day. We collected rainwater in the frequent squalls. I continued my mission to obliterate the insect infestation, to eradicate what ever was biting me at night, even lifting the floorboards and cleaning and spraying. The day passed with endless games of tiles and chatting on the radio. *** 2300 and I was on anchor watch. The wind was up to 35 knots. Nothing on Wellington standards, but out there, anchored with little protection, it was a lot. It howled. The boat slewed from side to side, putting enormous pressures on the anchor and chain. David said I=92d hear if it let go. I jump a little every time the depth sounder beeps as we swing over the top of coral bombies. If the anchor moved my plan was to start the engine. The peak of the storm was in the dark of night, by lit by occasional flashes of lightning. *** 0200 I managed to stay wake for my three hours and just got my head down and David started the engine. I leapt out of bed. =93What=92s up?=94 =93I just saw 50,=94 that=92s knots on the wind speed indicator. David peered at the barometer - 999.7. That=92s the lowest we=92ve seen on the whole trip. We turned on channel 16. We caught part of a transmission of one of the large Asian fishing boats anchored off Funafuti. Hard to tell but heard something like =93Raise anchor=94. The fetch down there must have been hellish. I sat up for a while with David. Then I tried to sleep, and got maybe an hour. The wind calmed down to 30ish, the lightning storm still raging all around. A squall hit. 45 knots, and bigger waves slammed us, there was more west in it now, and no protection from the island at all, only a bit from the reef. As dawn came I could see the waves. Perhaps it was better in the dark. I look at the numbers on my pad and my code =96 increase in longitude means we=92ve moved east, increase in latitude means we=92ve moved further south. Navire slewed and bounced, there must have been tremendous force on her anchor. The wind shrieked in the rigging. I felt really uncomfortable =96 uneasy, anxious, vulnerable, so few choices. The westerly wind indicated we were at the upper end of the low pressure system which was travelling south east, so we waited for it to pass. Boy, were we going to celebrate when this was over. The winds for the next week were predicted light but I would not complain of sails slatting on oily sea, anything rather than this. As the howling diminished, I dared to hope things were easing. The wind was such a tease, I relaxed a bit and whammo it pounded us again. *** Nov 27 0600 We survived the night, but it was still pretty windy and squally.. The last blast was 44 knots and with a downpour. Dawn brought a reduction in wind but not of drama. In my sleep deprived haze I watched Free Spirit who were anchored ahead of us. Is she getting closer or does it look closer because it=92s getting lighter? I thought. I watched for a while. I went below to get David. I shook him awake and told him =93Come topside quickly and confirm if Free Spirit is getting closer to us.=94 Up on deck we could clearly see she was heading for us and I started the engine. Just then the VHF burst into life. =93Navire, Navire, Free Spirit, Free Spirit.=94 David dived down to the chart table and grabbed the mike. =93Navire.=94 =93We are dragging. We have a rope around our prop and can=92t start our engine.=94 Bloody hell. I start dropping fenders over port the side as their boat rapidly came closer. Fortunately just then the wind veered and Free Spirit hung parallel to us their anchor finally catching, probably on a bombie. =93Free Spirit, Free Spirit, we=92ve stopped dragging,=94 they go on to tell us that at about 3am their dinghy, which they=92d left tied off the back, flipped in the wind and drowned the engine. Then the painter (rope attached to dinghy) wrapped around the yacht prop. Made our night look like a picnic on a sunny day. We=92d shipped our dinghy early having been caught out before. In 2010 we were in Niue, on our first Pacific sailing trip, tied to a mooring off the east side of the island. This was usually the lee side. A rare, and strong, westerly came through and we were caught with our dinghy in the water. Niue has no protective reef, so the fetch was 300 miles from Tonga, giving us a huge bounce. Now its hard enough to ship the dinghy in high winds and big seas but even more difficult with the outboard still attached. Normally we take the dinghy to the stern and use a pulley to hoist the engine onto its frame at the back of the boat, before bringing the dinghy alongside to hoist onto the foredeck with a halyard. No way we could do that in those conditions, the boat was bouncing up and down too much. We had to get the dinghy up complete with engine, get the engine off while the dinghy was sliding around the foredeck, get it back to the stern and mounted, then get back and tie the dinghy down. All without damaging the boat, the dinghy and ourselves. So the rule is - big wind, we ship. ***=20 Sat Nov 28 The storm passed south of us, and it changed status from a tropical depression to a tropical cyclone and hit Tonga and Samoa leaving a trail of carnage. Back down at Funafuti. Everyone went in to town for a beer and shared storm stories but I stayed on the boat. Too tired after anchor watches the last two nights, and the tension of knowing how exposed and vulnerable we were. Even then at Funafuti we had an uncomfortable amount of fetch. I curled up with a soothing glass of white wine, an episode of Game of Thrones, and tried to forget where I was for a while. =20 =20 =20 =20