image Now where are we? image David retrieving anchor Passage Log 2 *** Minerva Reef Day 8, May 16 Position 23 39.484s 178 54.282w Janet *** Shortly after sunrise on Friday I was on the tiller steering through a narrow passage into Minerva Reef. What a buzz. Large swells were breaking on the coral either side of the entrance, the tide pouring out of the lagoon causing eddies which could easily slew Navire towards the coral.
"10 degrees to starboard," I heard David's voice in my headphones. "Now 20 to port." He was half way up the mast where he could clearly see the underwater coral jutting out into the pass.
We'd been sailing north for seven days, no land in sight, when 300 miles south of Fiji we saw a reef. This isolated chunk of coral was like a roadside layby where you pull over and have a rest before you continue your journey. Beyond the crashing waves of the ocean meeting land I counted four masts, we were not alone out there.
Suddenly we were in, there was no swell, the surface of the water was flat, the boat on an even keel. No more night watches for a couple of days, no keeping a course, no more reefing the sails for sudden squalls. Breathing out, I felt myself relax.
David and Piet had retrieved the anchor from its well at the bow where we keep it at sea, and we dropped it into 20 metres of crystal clear water. The moment I'd finished reversing and digging the thing in, I killed the engine and stripped off. Lathering my hair in shampoo to deal to a week's grease and grime, I dived into the turquoise depths. What a glorious temperature, no wincing, not breathtaking, just silky water caressing my skin. I swam around the boat and climbed out and washed under the solar shower Piet had set up.
"How about pancakes and bacon for breakfast?" David asked.
"Yes please," chorused the crew.
I broke out the bubbly I'd stashed in the fridge back in New Zealand.
*** "A whole night's sleep! Yahoo. Can't wait." I wrote in my journal.
Doing an ocean passage in a small yacht is like bashing your head against a brick wall because it feels so good when you stop, or like getting to a tramping hut and taking your pack off after a particularly arduous trek.
*** 4.30pm It was gloriously sunny when we arrived at Minerva but as the day wore on the light was rapidly falling. To the west was a large dark mass of cloud. The front we’d raced up here to avoid at sea was bearing down on us. David and Piet put up our water-catching gear in readiness for a deluge. We discussed running an anchor watch overnight if the wind got up too much. So much for the whole night's sleep.
We overheard someone's radio conversation on the VHF saying there was going to be a four-metre swell outside the reef. We knew that at high tide the sea slopped over into the lagoon putting constant pressure on our anchor increasing the risk of dragging.
"Winds up to 30 knots," said Piet glancing at the wind instrument. Bugger, I'm on the double watch tonight. Maybe Saturday I'll get the eight uninterrupted hours.
*** Day 9 Sunday, May 17, Minerva It was too windy and the sea too rough to launch the dinghy and go and stand on reef, so we spent the day aboard molested by an uncomfortable slop.
That afternoon a strange looking launch came through the reef entrance. As it came closer we could see it was a yacht without a mast. Later we learnt that it had got all the way to Minerva intact then as it was tacking outside the reef the whole rig came crashing down. Apparently it had just been checked. I'm sure every boat in the lagoon felt for them, it could of happened to any of us. They left the next day facing a very rough and rolly 300 mile trip to Fiji.
Anchor watch again. The alarm went off regularly as the boat slewed around in the wind. Better than being at sea though.
*** Day 10 Monday, May 18 1130 Headed back to sea. We’d debated staying longer and enjoying this haven but we needed to get to Fiji by Friday to avoid extra clearance fees on the weekend. Forecast was for lighter winds. David and Piet stowed the anchor and raised the main as I steered us across the lagoon to the reef entrance. I wasn't looking forward to the predicted three metre swells but I reassured myself only three more days to endure.
Piet got the day's gonad award for putting our position in as east instead of west.
Distance 79 miles. Feels like forever to Fiji.
*** Day 11 Tuesday 19 May, 22 38.179s, 179 17.430e Back across the dateline again.
"Day after tomorrow, day after tomorrow,” was my mantra. I felt a hungover kind of seedy and like I'd been in a barroom fight, my shoulder hurt. I was sick of the 2-3 metre lumpy swells, then being slammed by occasional squalls. I don't think I'm very good at these passages, I just wanted to get there. I meet people who seem to take it all in their stride, make it look easy. I wish I was one of them.
85 miles to go to Kadavu, and 132 to Suva.
Day’s run 145 miles, excellent progress.
*** Day 12 Wednesday May 20, 20 15.573s, 178 59.007e We took bets on how long it would be before we saw land but heavy cloud obscured Kandavu Fiji’s southernmost island. We sailed past it that night and only saw a lighthouse flashing.
We were on even more constant alert with land nearby, and land also means fishing boats, sometimes unlit ones.
Suva tomorrow. To keep myself going I kept visualizing the cold beer I would drink on arrival, complete with the droplets on the outside like in the ads. I visualized the fresh crunchy produce from the market, and best of all, a whole night's sleep.
Last night on watch.
Day’s run 95 miles *** Day 13, Thursday May 21, 18 23 .73s, 178 30.524e At dawn we could see the welcoming peaks of Vita Levu.
The harbour entrance looked comfortably wide but much of it was taken up with coral reef just below the surface so we followed our course closely.
Suddenly after nothing for nearly two weeks we had to navigate reefs, marks and a plethora of rusting hulks. David was back up the mast peering into Suva Harbour's murky depths .
The Fiji authorities regularly confiscate boats that are fishing illegally and tie them together in decaying flotillas, anchored to sea-bed, seemingly randomly around the harbour. We gave them a wide berth. In the yacht anchoring area was a hulk that just showed above high tide, a concrete shed, and a large barge. There wasn't a lot of clear space to anchor in. As we arrived the port authorities were radioing a nearby anchored yacht to get out of the way for a ship coming through. They weren't on board though. The ship went very close to them making us nervous about where to put down our pick.
We dropped the mainsail and raised our flags yellow for quarantine the pale blue Fijian flag. The anchor slid out through the fairway, I let out a big sigh and turned the engine off. Peace and quiet, for just a moment till all the relentless sounds of a busy harbour filtered in.
I radioed Suva Yacht club to arrange for customs officials to be brought out to the yacht. First the health officer cleared us, taking $180 Fijian for the pleasure. Then biosecurity checked us out but didn't take any of our fresh or frozen food away, as they can do. Customs wanted to know how much alcohol we had aboard and impounded half a dozen bottles of wine but later we paid the infinitesimal amount of duty on it and got it back.
"Welcome to Fiji. You are free to land," said the immigration man, after he'd stamped our passports right there on our dining room table.
But we didn't land, we just put our feet up and reveled in not doing anything.
Distance 13 miles.
*** At times the journey felt endless, the sea relentless. I felt for David with having the constant overall responsibility for the ship. At times I felt crazy for being out there in 12 meters of one inch thick plastic, and other times intrepid. Often I felt weak and inadequate, then had moments of feeling strong and in tune with my environment. At times I loved the vastness and emptiness of the ocean, of the flat unfettered horizons and glorious unadulterated sunsets. But I also felt anxious, lonely and vulnerable and wanted land, and friends and familiar landmarks to guide me along. I got sick of the saltiness, everything got saltier and saltier as we went on. I wanted a long hot shower and clean clothes and to sleep 12 hours in quietness.
But like childbirth the memory of the pain soon faded and I felt an incredible sense of achievement.