Auckland to Kawau Boxing Day Janet (We are currently at Kawau, about to sail to Great Barrier Island) Hairy start to arrival in Auckland. I'd lost my port and starboard bearings (again) and set the lines and fenders up in the wrong side of the boat. We'd even been through it in detail, but my recalcitrant brain still thought we were coming in on our favoured port side. There was a little friction to say the least, not an unusual state in yachting couples berthing and anchoring.
Boxing Day lunch in Auckland had been long arranged. We were trying to figure out transport to Waiuku, south of Auckland, when boatie friends gave us their car for two days. This is not an uncommon practice amongst yachties, even with people we hardly know. An hour later we arrived at the beautiful lifestyle property of a very longstanding friend of David's, Bill Wilson, and his partner Fiona. Most of their families were assembled in the lounge amongst the detritus of the morning's Christmas present orgy. Once again we were made most welcome. Champagne poured and glasses clinked.
Lunch was a gourmet affair starting with my wonderful Donna Hay lime chicken coconut pancakes, then the main course a feast of baked salmon, and ham and salads straight from the land. Dessert included sweet squishy crunchy Eton Mess, which I have made several times since.
We sat outside in the garden and talked late into the balmy evening, drinking far too much and enjoying every minute of it. The next morning Bill escorted me around the property and I foraged and gathered. Bliss. The car was loaded up with green crunchy stuff, sweet strawberries and home killed pork. Thanks Bill.
Dec 28 We headed back to town in our borrowed car with our day's tasks carefully orchestrated around getting David to the optometrist. He's noticed his sight wasn't what it used to be.
As the checkout boy put my last item over the barcode reader my total tips over the $500 mark. That should do us for the next few weeks, not knowing where I will next encounter a shop. I quickly grew weary of the bustle and heat of the city, and longed to get to sea again.
Back at the boat we worked late into the evening doing laundry, filling up with fuel and water, and stowing groceries in every nook and cranny.
Dec 29 As we left the marina, Auckland harbour was sea of boats. Big ferries, little ferries scurrying to and fro. Dozens of yachts, launches and runabouts, most heading out into the gulf like us. We were alert, peering under the headsail frequently to make sure no vessels were bearing down on us. Which way is that ferry going, that yacht? There are road rules out here, but no clearly defined roadways.
As we passed Rangitoto Island we saw that every anchorage was packed with yachts. In the Marlborough Sounds, our usual stomping ground, if there were three yachts in a bay, it was busy. On one trip up here we counted seventy yachts in Islington Bay at Rangitoto.
We left town with a vague plan to meet friends sailing at Kawau Island, then to pick up Wellington friend Richard Moss for a couple of days, then sail out to Great Barrier Island. The end of the month will see us back in Auckland getting serious about preparing for our offshore passage to Fiji in May.
Perfect sailing. The sea is sparkling in the late afternoon sun, Auckland is disappearing behind us, although the Sky Tower still stands way above the horizon. We can see Kawau Island in the distance, the 15knot northerly eagerly filling our sails. Navire is whizzing along at six knots, leaping joyfully over the wavelets, the autohlem gently humming as it guides us north. We take turns in having afternoon naps on deck, the other on watch dodging the dozens of fishing runabaouts littering the sea.
"This is probably what people imagine we are doing all the time when we said we were off sailing," I said to David.
"I wish," he said, remembering the foul four metre swells off Coromandel.
Warm sweet scents of the land slip into the cockpit as we come up to the southern end of Kawau. With a few clicks on the autopilot we round the headland and ease into Coppermine Bay. The anchor rattles its way down, engine off, time for a beer.
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