Australia to New Zealand on Pat's
Cat
Received from Opua 2/17/2001
by Harry and Mary Abbott
Okay, this is it, absolutely the
very last time. Why do I do this? Why does anyone want to sail across oceans
at, as my friend Jim said, the speed of a medium sized dog when he hears the
refrigerator door opening? Seven thousand miles in 16 hours. Now that's
civilized. The three movies, peanuts, "Would you like another glass of
wine, Mr. Abbott?" kind of civilized. I swear I don't know.
Australia has disappeared behind
us. The seas are still quite lumpy from last week's "blow the dog off
its chain" storm. I suppose that once we finish crossing the Australian
current, which races south at up to four knots, things, including my
stomach, will settle down. A full moon is in the works for later in the week
and the magic of that (plus a couple of Dramamine) should sweep my grumbling
out the hatch.
The GPS has ticked off Lao Tse's
first step but it also mentions the 1,050 miles left to sail to North Cape.
By late January there is no way to
have a good west to east crossing of the Tasman Sea. The high pressure
systems stay down at the latitude of Sydney so in our case it means that we
had to sail 500 miles south before we could even make a mile in the
direction of En Zed. There was also the very real danger that a tropical
cyclone could have developed and dropped down on us from the warmer climes
of New Caledonia.
For the first week we sailed south
east hard on the wind. Our intended course, due east. By the time the wind
finally freed up enough to lay our course, a small low dropped down out of
nowhere right in our path. Geeze! A number of times the sea was so confused
that we simply hove to. Once jogging along at only 6 knots under four reefs
in the main and half a jib, we were hit by a rogue wave so big that at the
time I thought I might take out the windows. When it broke underneath, the
under wing flexed enough to rip our salon table right off the floor. As
dinner was set, you might say that we had a mess. I was wearing the salad.
Ah, the joys of ocean bashing. Now, in spite of the fact that many readers
may not be familiar with nautical terminology, I feel it necessary to sum up
the trip in those technical terms, "It sucked."
Pat had a HAM radio installed for
the trip as he knew I had an amateur license. Between that and weather faxes
coming in four times a day we had access to more weather than we could
digest. Still, the weather moves faster than most yachts so sooner or later
you will get caught out. Nothing you can do about it.
When the sun went down on the
ninth day, it took the wind with it. The drone of the diesels invaded my
dreams for the next three nights. Altogether we ended up motoring 88 hours.
During the 18 years that I owned Antigone I hardly put that many hours on
the engine in an entire year.
Alright, Dudes! Santana is on the
headset, coming on board in FM stereo from a local Maori station where I
pick up about one word in 50. It's 30 degrees C. outside, warm for New
Zealand. The coastline off to starboard is starting to change more rapidly
as a slowly rising easterly pushes us south. Dolphins are alongside,
flashing in and out of the glassy seas. Nine Pin Rock which marks the turn
into the Bay of Islands is only 30 miles ahead. Forget all the whining at
the beginning. I can feel it. Life is good. Aotearoa is welcoming us home.
Harry and Mary
For replies, Mary and Harry's address is:
telapa@whidbey.net
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