We've Turned our Dorades Around...

Dorades are those funnel shaped protrusions you sometimes see adorning the coach roofs of boats. The idea being that they funnel air, but not spray, down into the boat keeping it cool and ventilated. As the sun set early after another beautiful but cool day in the Abel Tasman, we thought it was time to turn ours around. They were wafting us with cold air that sent us scurrying for our jumpers and thinking with more urgency that we must head north.

We'd had our shake down cruise. We'd seen a little of Pelorus Sound including Duncan Bay; listening out for the mating calls of the deer. We'd transited French pass and had spent a few days in the Abel Tasman national park, meeting with friends new and old. But autumn was here.

Duncans bay

Sailing in the Tasman Bay

Mending the depth sounder by Adele island, it's co-ax socket had pulled off

Torrent Bay and the Anchorage, Abel Tasman

After spending a quiet night in D'Urville island, with a light and favourable forecast we set off for Wellington. Wellington has an infamous reputation as a wind factory but we both had fond memories of the city so we wanted to pay it a visit. We were also running perilously low on eggs!

Windy Wellington certainly lives up to its name; it took us fourteen tacks to beat our way in under double reefs. Then after our brief visit we were whooshed out by a forceful wind; fortunately it was behind us this time. The forecast had been for 15kn but the gale we encountered was strong enough to break another of Beryls (our Aries wind-steering mechanism) wooden vanes. This one had barely been used but probably snapped because we were hand steering so it was held still against the wind. Good job we're not short of spare ply to make more. Certainly, New Zealand's South island is beautiful but it has cost us dearly in these vanes.

Shock horror, one night in a marina in Wellington.  Very nice showers!

We find it easy transitioning between our lives on Impetuous and back on our narrowboat. We never particularly miss anything whilst in either one of our homes. But there are some things you forget how much you enjoy. When I let the fishing line over and within minutes saw the huge splash behind the boat as an albacore tried to free itself from our hook I instantly remembered the thrill of fishing. It got off unfortunately as did the next two; both about a meter from the boat, but we did land two more. One weighing in at around 15lbs which I know is not gigantic but certainly fills our fridge and has now filled our bellies for over a week.

The next destination was Napier, where we spent a couple of days meeting up with a childhood friend who has emigrated there and his family. We also enjoyed lots of walking along Hawkes bay and around the art deco neighbourhoods. We stocked up at some of the fantastic speciality shops that both Wellington and Napier have to offer us keen cooks, in preparation to head back into the South Pacific.

Despite crossing back from the sub 40° S the dorades are still facing the wrong way. We have a 'to buy' list for jobs we'll be doing over the next 6 months or so, and a few little jobs to complete before leaving New Zealand in the next couple of weeks. We're spending the weekend on the lovely Kawau island then we'll press on to Whangarei back to the metropolis and other boaters. Its amazing to think that in all the six months we have spent down in southland we only met one other foreign couple.

Old Brown Shoes

Many years ago, whilst I was at university, a group of us entered a match racing competition in the Solent. With all the excitement that the prospect of sailing on big boats brought to my fellow students it wasn't long before someone brought up the subject of spending some money so they might look the part. But hey, we were students; so the most this really was ever going to amount to was some snazzy footwear.

It was with a hint of the juvenile curmudgeon that I said I would not be wasting my money on posh wellies, let alone water proofs until, at the very least; I had a boat upon which to wear them. When the week came I made a point of being barefooted as I danced around; very much the foredeck elephant ballerina.

Several boats on, I find that the boot is somewhat on the other foot. I'd really consider buying some sensible footwear and decent oily's. Its just that with so many other things to spend money on, they seem to be relegated to the; 'for another time' list.

I do make a yearly donation to the 'looking the part' bit by purchasing a new pair of; soon to be old, brown deck shoes. They usually make it a year and a half before the worn out sole drops off, or the stitching on the bottom tears through the rotted leather and my foot slides out. When they're new, I occasionally wear them to the schools I work in. For a brief period a couple of years ago, they were considered en vogue, as a number of pupils pointed out. I like to think I played my small part in reversing this fad; a scruffy supply teacher in deck shoes and a woolen tie; it's not really quite how the youth of today interpret fashion.

Some people do get funny about footwear on boats. I did my yachtmaster instructor course a couple of years ago. The sun was shinning and my deck shoes were banished to a locker; no point of wearing them out prematurely I thought. All was well, but as the day came closer for our final assessment, the instructors' instructor pulled me aside and said, 'better wear your shoes tomorrow Duncan, the chap assessing you is bit funny about footwear on boats.' So I did, and passed. Funny to think that wearing my scruffy old deck shoes actually helped me become a yachtmaster instructor. Puts me in mind of Groucho Marks' thoughts on clubs...

All this is at the forefront of my mind as the nights draw in and gales proliferate. My current deck shoes might make it a bit longer, but the right foot shoe is on its last legs, of course I have got one shoe of the previous pair left, but I'm not sure if its for the left or right foot.

I remember an adage from my Dad. Actually come to think of it, it's probably what my mother says of my dad and his choice of footwear for when the weather turns nasty when sailing. 'When its cold, wet and rainy the best footwear you can hope to have on are your slippers.' Its dark and drizzling out side. But it's OK; I’m inside, staying dry with my slippers on.

Fiordy Wonderland part 3; Dusky Sound to Stewart Island

We had been having a lovely time in Doubtful Sound and with plenty left to do and explore, it was a wrench to move on. But time was ticking and the weather was getting commensurately cooler. The forecast suggested light Northerlies so we ventured out to hop round to Breaksea Sound which opens into Dusky. We started out like so often within the Sounds; with not a single breath of wind. Peering out towards where we were headed we made our choice. It's very difficult in Fiordland to know whether to trust your instinct or the weather forecast... both have been wrong a lot!

Appealing?

The forecast had it and once out of the sound we were able to sail. Then when we entered Breaksea Sound we were once more plummeted into shelter. The first spot to anchor was seized upon and I had a nice chat with a sports fishing captain over the radio. They wished to use our chosen spot for the night as it had water available so we moved out of their way (tenuously #5 challenge complete, they WERE a fishing boat and I MOSTLY understood what she said... and got some weather information too...). The next morning we were delighted to hear some breeze stirring so we were up and out to make as much headway as we could. We were starting to be concerned about our diesel supplies. We were walking a tightrope between wanting to leave our tanks empty when we store Impetuous and using more than we'd expected here.

As we teased the last little puffs out of the breeze along the Acheron passage we were surprised to see a cruise ship coming up behind us. As it passed it became clear that really it was just the tidal flow wafting us through. This fur seal was just basking round in circles as we passed.

As we drifted ever nearer to Dusky Sound we felt the occasional breeze pushing from the other way. It strengthened so we started to tack and once we made it out into Dusky we were hard against the wind which was howling inland. The nearest good anchorage spot was only 4 miles away. Two hours of tacking in the pelting rain against shifting strength wind got us there.

The seaward entrance to Dusky Sound is a wide opening and within the first eight miles of the Fiord are many islands and good anchorages. We decided not to venture into the inner reaches fearing a nasty beat or worse a long motor out and forewent the opportunity of visiting various walks and department of conservation huts.

Despite it's large size and abundance of marine life there has never been a permanent human settlement in Dusky. The Māori would visit occasionally as part of wider hunting trips originally for Moa. Weighing up to 250kg these were wingless birds that were hunted to extinction in the 15th Century. Captain Cook stayed for two months in 1774 fitting his enormous ship HMS Resolution through two different channels that we were hesitant to chance in Impetuous. He tied up at Pickersgill Harbour and established a workshop and observatory, where we found copious mussels.

It was great to have so many nice anchorages so near to each other.  The seals lived at Luncheon Cove where there were many walking tracks all over Anchorage Island. Sadly a quick (very cold) dive retrieved none of the crayfish Captain Cook had dined upon whilst there but just a lot of broken beer bottles presumably left by the fishermen.

Pickersgill Harbour and the Mussels found there

Luncheon Cove, sorry for blurry photos of the seals again, a new camera is at the top of the list of things to buy whilst we're working.

This is the Kidney Fern or Raurenga which is a common sight in New Zealand bush growing in damp places about 5cm high.

Be careful what you wish for; whilst at Dusky two jobs ideal to tackle on a rainy day cropped up. The toilet blocked due to limescale on the duck valve and the starter motor played up. The toilet was relatively easily fixed, if a little unpleasant. The starter was in the end remedied on two different occasions by lighting a candle under it (don't ask what made us try that) and has been well behaved since. # 6 Task complete; find a boat job to do on a rainy day or when it's too windy to leave the boat unattended.

We had an eventful sail between Dusky Sound and Stewart Island. The first time we set out we decided to turn back such was the wind howling against us. The second attempt would have been more slick had we had the wind which was forecast. With none to speak of for two days, we were still out in the Foveaux Strait when a big blow came through. We heaved to off Invercargil then romped across treated to a tremendous display of acrobatics by an enormous pod of what we think must have been Dusky Dolphins. Their leaps, tail slapping and multiple somersaults had us laughing for over an hour until they finally decided to go a different way. They must have been intentionally following along with us since we were sailing on a close reach against the wind and the waves; I imagine them seeing our underwater shape struggling along and them mistaking us to be an elderly whale, swimming alongside us offering encouragement.

We'd played a game of 'When we get to Stewart Island we're going to...' the memory game whilst walking on Anchorage Island. We came up with quite a list as we hadn't seen a shop since leaving the Bay of Islands over six weeks earlier. It was mainly vegetables and beer that we were excited to find. We'd been heavily rationed for weeks and totally run out in the end. We had a heady few days.

This is how an Albatross looks like up close, all the flying photos were blurry.

In Stewart Island we were pleased to meet up with our friend Jérôme who stayed with us for a bit. He too was delighted by the joys of the yellow mac whilst we went out for a sail and a fish.  But he's a tough Belgian so he wasn't wearing any shoes!

We were told that the island was a good place to view the shy Kiwi at dusk and dawn but they remained sadly elusive.

We found out that this is a Paua, which is a kind of snail with really beautiful shells. We were taught what to do by some campers by a fire (#7 and #8) and tasted them. They're said to be steak like, though we found them to be pretty tough despite bashing as instructed.

We really knew we'd reached 46 degrees South on Stewart Island; the weather was bitter and in the end we had to admit defeat. The long walks we'd hoped for just wouldn't be pleasurable as it would not be safe to leave the boat overnight. We weren't getting much done since we have no heating except the warmth and comensurate dampness created by our cooking.  We were spending more time snuggled in bed and tackling too much condensation. In the end we called it a day and in between hail storms left to find some warmth by sailing North.

Through the forties to Fiordland...

We'd first glimpsed a sight of land around two in the afternoon when it was still over forty miles away. The sky cleared more comprehensively around six eliciting exclamations from us both. I don't know what I'd expected but the sight surpassed anything we'd imagined.

As darkness fell we still had at least fifteen miles to go. Duncan shivered with excitement,

'a clear night, almost full moon... it'll be amazing!'

I love night time arrivals too but truth be told only because of the reflected glow of Duncan's confidence and excitement. Seeing in the dark in unfamiliar teritory is not my forte.

As we approached, the wall of towering rock disclosed ridges and fissures. A silvery stripe of waterfall here, then there; 'they're everywhere!' The surf crashed on the rocks around the point and across Anita's bay. We rolled on in.

Navigation wasn't hard once we started to benefit from the shelter of the imposing granite.  The crags tumble down from thousands of metres above the mast to hundreds of metres below the keel here, the igneous formations gorged out by glaciers.

We spied the bay we'd planned to check first; it was vast, calm and in that silvery half light breathtakingly beautiful. We slept soundly for the rest of the night and awoke to blissfull flat calm, then had a gentle sail in to the deep harbour, a far cry from the previous few days. 

Time to Creep up a Creek...

It's little wonder that settlers from Cornwall, Scotland and Ireland felt so at home in New Zealand. With her rugged, meandering coastlines which are often enshrouded in thick blankets of rain sodden cloud; the similarities to their homelands are easy to see.

The fair weather that had kindly swept us to these pleasant isles, had been pushed aside by the more boisterous weather that we'd feared might welcome us. Fortunately we were tucked away in relative shelter by then. With more gales forecast for Sunday and the next few days, we thought it might be time to hide further.

The temptation was to explore up a narrow estuary; as I would in Cornwall. Tucking our boat safely away in some sheltered pool far up river. The tide cutting off access as it drains away, with Impetuous safe from the ravages of the wind.

The image of the weathered sailor waking in the small dark hours of morning to catch the tide is often used but seldom the reality. After a peaceful lie in with our books and several cups of tea, followed by a leisurely breakfast and then coffee; we were ready to wind slowly up the Keri Keri river with the last of the rising tide.

Despite several shallow patches, we were pleasantly surprised at how effortlessly we were able to creep up the estuary without ploughing our keel into the soft mud, always carrying a healthy margin of 50 cm under us.

The river wound its way beyond many twist and turns, passing rolling hills drenched in leaden cloud. Upon each turn the wind that had swept us up lessened as we found our intended shelter. Then at one juncture it left us altogether. We started the engine; which we now refer to as the shoe dryer as we have resorted to drying our shoes upon its hot carcass after any use. 

Eventually we arrived at the estuaries head; 'Standing Stones' where the river is no longer navigable. This is the site of the oldest stone store in the country.  It was built by early traders to store grain and then used as a trading post when they found Northland too wet to grow grain. An impressively solid building, which somewhat dwarfs the white washed timber house located next door; the oldest building in New Zealand.

We walked up from the stone store in that hybrid of precipitation; mizzle. Thicker than mist but thinner than drizzle, mizzle has that unique quality that somehow soaks your clothes from the inside out. It was not to last. As the mizzle gave way to drizzle we lingered in the shops that had the heating on. As we trudged wearily back to the boat at the end of our day, the drizzle turned to rain.

How quickly things change; it was merely a couple of weeks ago that I relished an icy cold beer as it trickled down my throat.  Now we've taken to placing our wine in a saucepan of hot water to get it to what; without fire, we dream of being room temperature. The idea of cold beer now just makes us shiver. Still I'm sure it will be summer soon.