Motu Wi, Hauraki Gulf December 22 Janet This is it. The sun is shining at last. We are in a sheltered anchorage. We are happily whiling away the afternoon, swimming, sipping ice-cold beer, the wet weather gear draped around lifelines, finally rinsed. In internet range, both our tapping away on our computers, arranging social life for the next couple of stops.
This is more like the cruising life we signed up for.
Yesterday's taste of scallops inspired David to give our scuba gear its first outing of the season. Getting set up to dive is quite a palaver. Every piece of equipment had to be adjusted, and our memories scoured for details of how to assemble it. I learned to dive 40 years ago around the coast of Wellington, diving regularly then, but less frequently in recent years. David trained about nine years ago on a trip we took to The Cook Islands, but hasn't done many dives since.
Fully dressed he staggered to the rail, threatening to expire of overheating with all that neoprene tightly wrapped around his body. He was loaded with tank, weight belt, fins, snorkel, and scallop bag. He lowered himself into the water, struggling to get his fins on, and mask and snorkel in place. He slowly sank below the sea, large air bubbles bursting through the surface, partly from his heavy breathing, and partly from a leaking tank valve. A new tank is on the shopping list.
I watched the bubbles zigzag around the bay and hoisted our dive flag, so no marauding speed boats would come near us and unwittingly shred David with their propellers. Ten minutes later David popped up holding his bag above the water, triumphant. I seared twenty succulent scallops for dinner that night.
Leaving Wellington several months before we cast off from New Zealand, was David's inspired idea. Setting sail to Tonga in 2010, we finished work in late April and left Wellington a week later. The pace was full on and we didn't stop and really unwind until months into the trip. This time we aim to be acclimatized before we head offshore.
Even so we are finding its taking a long time to get into the rhythms, rituals, and routines of life at sea. And there's the physicality of it all. We were pretty tired at first. Only now in week four we are taking the time to write and swim but we're still spending lots of time planning routes to the next place, scouring charts for hazards, calculating distances and travel time, interpreting weather forecasts, and identifying suitable anchorages, bit trickier than finding a car park.
Coffee From time to time in these pages I will capture moments unique to living on a boat. Take this morning, all I wanted was a cup of coffee. First I light the stove and it flares for a moment then goes out. For once the gas cylinder has not run out when it is dark, a howling icy southerly blowing (the gas cylinders are kept in a box outside at the back of the cockpit) or driving rain soaking me the instant I venture out. Or worse, not noticing the flame has gone out part way through a baked dinner or the cooking of a luscious chocolate cake, leaving quietly sinking into a pancake. Bugger, David is still asleep so I can't change the gas bottle without making clanging noises that reverberate through the boat. My coffee waits.
He's up. I change the cylinder.
"Coffee? I offer.
"Yes please" Oh. No coffee. Where did I stow the spare coffee? I check my trusty provisions notebook that has the location of each item of food -'Under locker 9' it says.
Bugger again. This means taking out all the stores from locker 9 and lifting out the floor. Half an hour later coffee is served. Just as well we have all day.
PS We are North of Auckland now at Muhurangi. I imagined I'd have hours and hours to write these blog posts, swimming, and a few jobs but the days just go in a pleasant haze of meals, games of rummy tiles, and socializing with Obsession, a boat we met in Tonga.