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.
3 comments:
Hi david love the Blog so thanks
chris seacat pittwater nsw
quite a lot of boat speak that I don't get but 1 - I'm so glad you made it safely, and 2 - I'm so proud you made it safely.
Fantastic!
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