My world from below
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Noumea
I’ve been here a week and already feel right at home. This place is a paradise for sailors! So many brilliant places to sail to, always blowing and water so clear it’s almost obscene. My French is coming back to me nicely. Yep, I could live here.
Less attractive though is the cost of living here. It’s crazy, it makes Sydney seem almost reasonable. Luckily though my boat is very small and I have no room for anything new, so I hope I’ll live quite cheaply even here. Certainly with the cost of diesel I’ll be honing my skills sailing at close quarters. As I leave I’ll be able to fill up duty free, so my Australian stocks will hopefully last until then. Things are more under control in Vanuatu, I understand.
Friday was a holiday here. For the long weekend I followed my friends Olivier et Geraldine on their boat Oviri to a great little anchorage about ten miles west of Noumea. What fun it was! It seems that nearly everyone here owns a boat and that they actually use them. None of this Sydney madness of owning a boat and leaving it to rot; they’re all genuinely loved and well used here. And lived aboard. A boat really comes alive when it’s used as a home. We spent the weekend eating, drinking and sleeping, achieving little else besides. I put my kayak together, and am looking forward to covering a few miles in it. It’s such a playground here. Sailing back yesterday I wiped out just as impressively as ever I have, flying the Scarlet Woman (my big red assy). Kal is such a toy. I’m not sure I’ll ever really want a bigger boat than this.
Monday now, and I’m back in town stocking up to head south to the Ile des Pins for a couple of weeks. I’ve had the Navik welded back together, and am keen to give it a workout to test its strength. A friend here has a spare he’ll sell me if mine fails again, but fingers crossed all will be well. I’ve also had the toe-rail up since I’ve been here, trying to source a leak that’s letting water in up forward when I’m sailing. Anyone who’s sailed far with me will attest to quite how annoying this leak is. I’ve been trying to seal it up for years now in vain, but hope I’m on top of it this time. Thank goodness for Sikaflex (Incidentally, re. the above, a tube here of the stuff comes to about 35 bucks).
So all’s well!
I’ve been here a week and already feel right at home. This place is a paradise for sailors! So many brilliant places to sail to, always blowing and water so clear it’s almost obscene. My French is coming back to me nicely. Yep, I could live here.
Less attractive though is the cost of living here. It’s crazy, it makes Sydney seem almost reasonable. Luckily though my boat is very small and I have no room for anything new, so I hope I’ll live quite cheaply even here. Certainly with the cost of diesel I’ll be honing my skills sailing at close quarters. As I leave I’ll be able to fill up duty free, so my Australian stocks will hopefully last until then. Things are more under control in Vanuatu, I understand.
Friday was a holiday here. For the long weekend I followed my friends Olivier et Geraldine on their boat Oviri to a great little anchorage about ten miles west of Noumea. What fun it was! It seems that nearly everyone here owns a boat and that they actually use them. None of this Sydney madness of owning a boat and leaving it to rot; they’re all genuinely loved and well used here. And lived aboard. A boat really comes alive when it’s used as a home. We spent the weekend eating, drinking and sleeping, achieving little else besides. I put my kayak together, and am looking forward to covering a few miles in it. It’s such a playground here. Sailing back yesterday I wiped out just as impressively as ever I have, flying the Scarlet Woman (my big red assy). Kal is such a toy. I’m not sure I’ll ever really want a bigger boat than this.
Monday now, and I’m back in town stocking up to head south to the Ile des Pins for a couple of weeks. I’ve had the Navik welded back together, and am keen to give it a workout to test its strength. A friend here has a spare he’ll sell me if mine fails again, but fingers crossed all will be well. I’ve also had the toe-rail up since I’ve been here, trying to source a leak that’s letting water in up forward when I’m sailing. Anyone who’s sailed far with me will attest to quite how annoying this leak is. I’ve been trying to seal it up for years now in vain, but hope I’m on top of it this time. Thank goodness for Sikaflex (Incidentally, re. the above, a tube here of the stuff comes to about 35 bucks).
So all’s well!
Nouvelle Caledonie
And here I am in one piece. I arrived a week ago on Monday morning, thirteen days out from Sydney.
The passage across delivered the usual doses of too much, not enough, headwinds, big seas and fabulous still nights on a mirror calm sea. Truly it was marvelous. I left Sydney on the afternoon of 29 July after clearing out that morning from the fish markets in the city. It was a fairly lively day, with weather and squalls from the south; I was forced to abandon my suit and bowler hat for my oilskins even before I left the harbour. The wind kept building during the evening and before it was through I was down to three reefs, a scrap of headsail and a nasty gash to my ear, and wondering quite what the hell it was I ever saw in the idea. But on I pushed, heading ENE. By morning Australia was gone from view and with it the remnants of indecision a bout whether or not I was where I should be.
A few days later found me close to Lord Howe Island. I’d thought to sail close enough to pick up a weather forecast and a phone signal to send an all’s well to people back home. Silly move. The wind had been NW to perhaps 20 knots and all was well, however as the day wore on I began to get a bad feeling about what was to come. The barometer had been dropping, though not alarmingly, but there was just this feeling in the air. I sorted myself out for some heavy weather, setting the storm jib, fitting the storm boards over the windows and lashing more securely anything that required it. I cooked a big meal to last a few days, and wondered if anything would happen. Towards dark I abandoned my plan to get close to the land and decided to head south of Ball’s Pyramid, where I’d have more sea room. It was as I was passing Ball’s that the wind arrived. From the SE, it blew from the very first moment harder than anything I’ve found myself in before. That damned rock was now in my lee, out of sight in the dark and the rain but far too close for comfort. I had placed it as a waypoint on my little GPS, but had not been precise with my measurements, never anticipating I’d end up so close. What a dangerous oversight! I was forced to beat up into the wind, into perhaps 50 knots, to be sure I would clear the land. Should anything have broken then, I’d really have been in trouble. As it was, I got away safely and all was well. Learned a big lesson though. Once I had room below me I hove to, stopping the boat to let it drift with the weather, and went below to congratulate myself on still being alive.
I remained hove to until the next morning, the wind being too strong to sail safely. By morning the wind had eased slightly, but the seas were enormous, again larger than I’d seen. A house of a couple of stories would happily have sat in the troughs between waves; I guessed them to be about 9 metres. I set the Navik (windvane steering) to work still under storm jib and darted off, surfing now and then to 15 knots down the waves. The gallant Mr Navik did his best for the time he could, but had twisted and cracked after just an hour of this. It was up to Major Tom (the electric auto pilot) then to pick up the slack (heaven forbid I should hand-steer!). He earned his stripes that day.
Two days later and the depression blew itself out. Some lighter winds from the south and west followed for a time before, once I’d arrived close to Norfolk Island, fizzling out all together. Three days I sat, progressing less than 100 miles in all that time. Following this were a couple of days of northerly winds which I had to beat straight into before finally the SE trade wind arrived the day before I reached Noumea. I hove to outside the reef over night and was tied safely alongside by mid day.
Now I’m here, I am happy to confess that I was pretty nervous about heading off on my own. I guess I’ve always assumed I had the skills necessary, but to test them out is another matter and one which I’d been putting off for some time. Now here I am, wondering why on earth I’ve waited so long. I’d be foolish to suggest that based on one passage I’m able to cope with all that may come, but its been a huge boost in my confidence to realize that, actually, it’s not that hard to do. My dear little boat behaved admirably in all conditions, most especially in the rough weather I received near Lord Howe.
And here I am in one piece. I arrived a week ago on Monday morning, thirteen days out from Sydney.
The passage across delivered the usual doses of too much, not enough, headwinds, big seas and fabulous still nights on a mirror calm sea. Truly it was marvelous. I left Sydney on the afternoon of 29 July after clearing out that morning from the fish markets in the city. It was a fairly lively day, with weather and squalls from the south; I was forced to abandon my suit and bowler hat for my oilskins even before I left the harbour. The wind kept building during the evening and before it was through I was down to three reefs, a scrap of headsail and a nasty gash to my ear, and wondering quite what the hell it was I ever saw in the idea. But on I pushed, heading ENE. By morning Australia was gone from view and with it the remnants of indecision a bout whether or not I was where I should be.
A few days later found me close to Lord Howe Island. I’d thought to sail close enough to pick up a weather forecast and a phone signal to send an all’s well to people back home. Silly move. The wind had been NW to perhaps 20 knots and all was well, however as the day wore on I began to get a bad feeling about what was to come. The barometer had been dropping, though not alarmingly, but there was just this feeling in the air. I sorted myself out for some heavy weather, setting the storm jib, fitting the storm boards over the windows and lashing more securely anything that required it. I cooked a big meal to last a few days, and wondered if anything would happen. Towards dark I abandoned my plan to get close to the land and decided to head south of Ball’s Pyramid, where I’d have more sea room. It was as I was passing Ball’s that the wind arrived. From the SE, it blew from the very first moment harder than anything I’ve found myself in before. That damned rock was now in my lee, out of sight in the dark and the rain but far too close for comfort. I had placed it as a waypoint on my little GPS, but had not been precise with my measurements, never anticipating I’d end up so close. What a dangerous oversight! I was forced to beat up into the wind, into perhaps 50 knots, to be sure I would clear the land. Should anything have broken then, I’d really have been in trouble. As it was, I got away safely and all was well. Learned a big lesson though. Once I had room below me I hove to, stopping the boat to let it drift with the weather, and went below to congratulate myself on still being alive.
I remained hove to until the next morning, the wind being too strong to sail safely. By morning the wind had eased slightly, but the seas were enormous, again larger than I’d seen. A house of a couple of stories would happily have sat in the troughs between waves; I guessed them to be about 9 metres. I set the Navik (windvane steering) to work still under storm jib and darted off, surfing now and then to 15 knots down the waves. The gallant Mr Navik did his best for the time he could, but had twisted and cracked after just an hour of this. It was up to Major Tom (the electric auto pilot) then to pick up the slack (heaven forbid I should hand-steer!). He earned his stripes that day.
Two days later and the depression blew itself out. Some lighter winds from the south and west followed for a time before, once I’d arrived close to Norfolk Island, fizzling out all together. Three days I sat, progressing less than 100 miles in all that time. Following this were a couple of days of northerly winds which I had to beat straight into before finally the SE trade wind arrived the day before I reached Noumea. I hove to outside the reef over night and was tied safely alongside by mid day.
Now I’m here, I am happy to confess that I was pretty nervous about heading off on my own. I guess I’ve always assumed I had the skills necessary, but to test them out is another matter and one which I’d been putting off for some time. Now here I am, wondering why on earth I’ve waited so long. I’d be foolish to suggest that based on one passage I’m able to cope with all that may come, but its been a huge boost in my confidence to realize that, actually, it’s not that hard to do. My dear little boat behaved admirably in all conditions, most especially in the rough weather I received near Lord Howe.
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