Ship Cove, (Lat 41 05S, Lon 174 14E)
Monday 10 February 2020
Dean, Sandy and Samantha came aboard around 8:15am as John, Matt and I were attending to the last-minute departure-tasks. We were fuelled-up, fooded-up, watered-up and ready to go.
The morning sun was warm, the wind was light and the sky was without clouds. And what’s more, the forecast for the next week looked favourable and friendly for our planned trip down the coast to Lyttleton.
We returned the borrowed power-lead extension cord to the marina office, said good-bye to our new best friends off a nearby boat, Roger and Matt, and then plonked our two gate-key-passes into the metal box at the end of our pier-row. It was now official. We could go back out the gate … but if we did, we could NOT come back in. Only one-way now – forward, and out of here.
After backing out of our berth without incident – always a good start to the day – we excitedly headed out of the harbour, Picton fading in the distance on our stern, and the waters of Marlborough Sounds and Queen Charlotte Sound on our bow.
Our lunchtime destination, after investigating Endeavour Bay and passing Resolution Bay (our first anchorage on reaching New Zealand a mere 5 days ago) was Ship Cove. Less than 20 miles down the harbour.
As mentioned the other day, Ship Cove is something of a Mecca for Captain Cook devotees. It is here that Cook landed in January 1770, then again in 1773, 1774 and 1777 and I was keen to see the monument erected in 1913 to the memory and achievements of this great navigator and explorer.
On arrival at Ship Cove, with the sun beating down and cloudy mist still hanging around the higher peaks, we looked for an anchorage in water, ideally, less that 20 metres in depth. It really is deep close to shore and after an initial attempt, where we had trouble getting the anchor to hold, we grabbed the opportunity to pick up a mooring when the only other boat in the bay headed home.
The bush grew down to the water’s edge and as we surveyed the beautiful surroundings, Sandy made the comment, “It’s like we’re in a brochure … it’s just perfect”
The dinghy launched off the stern, we headed ashore to view the Cook monument and soak up the vibe. With time to spare we headed up a “40 Minute Return” track to a nearby waterfall, along a well maintained forest track
Before returning to Chimere we mixed it with folk off a visiting tour boat and chatted with a lone hiker, plus an English lad showing considerable pluck by trying to convert his under-sized kayak into a square-rigged ship by means of a large ground sheet and found sticks held together with a small quantity of precious string. The wind was, at the time, onshore, which made for a challenging start. Which in effect became a “false start” because after little more than four metres the wind quickly returned him to the pebbly beach. Not to be deterred, his new strategy was then to paddle to the southern headland of the bay from where the wind would be in his favour. We wished him God-speed and a successful voyage back to Picton.
John had spoken earlier in the day about the farmed mussels in the nearby waters and how the baby shellfish are often swept on the tide beyond their enclosures. Well, as if on-cue, we stumbled across a cache of these wee sea critters in returning to the dinghy, with a large bag filled in very short time. This was soon to become an extremely tasty seafood feast – for free. Oh, there were also a few paua (abalone), which first bashed into submission before cooking them to perfection.
Back aboard, Samantha, John and Dean went for a swim – the water registering a rather balmy 16-17 degrees. Samantha certainly won the award for the longest aquatic excursion, staying wet for a good 30 minutes and even exploring a 10 square metre beach a short distance from our stern.
Dean assumed responsibility for dinner, utilising some of the very juicy lemons (along with pears and plums) provided by Blenheim friends Simon and Jenny to dish up a delicious Lemon Chicken ensemble.
We had originally thought of sailing to a different anchorage for the night, but everything pointed to staying here for the night. Which we did. For Dean, Sandy and Samantha, this was to be their first night aboard, and there could have been few better spots. There was even time, before the sun disappeared altogether, for Dean to nick ashore to successfully try out his drone-camera device
It was the end of a truly perfect day.
Smooth seas, fair breeze and it’s like we’re in a brochure
Rob Latimer
POSTCARD FROM ONBOARD CUB REPORTER – Ms Samantha Allen-Craig
Monday 10/02
Today was the definition of idyllic. Starting with a walk from our marina-side accommodation, across the footbridge to Chimere in the still-frost morning air. I’m too impatient to write about all the good bits, in chronological order, so for now, we’ll start at the end.
My evening post-dinner star gaze was magic. There was a light breeze blowing but being in southern waters with a clear sky, my light breeze outfit consisted of woolly socks, trackies and my down jacket with ridiculous hood pulled all the way on – covering eye brows and bottom lip. I sat with my cup of tea and then reclined in the tarp-covered dingy, full to the brim with fenders. Wrapped in a cosy blanket, watched the starts glisten and satellites wiz by and eventually the moon rise. The moon was full. Full and as bright as anything, which, though amazing, did put a prompt end to my stargazing.
Prior to our delicious dinner we had dined on a large bucket of mussels and beautifully cooked abalone – or paua as they are called here – freshly harvested by all on board. Even with the freshest muscles possible and a beautiful Pinot Gris, I can’t say I’m a big fan of the shellfish… Oh well, not for lack of trying.
The fresh seafood was collected while we were ashore in Ship Cove – a cove with much dedication to ol’mate Captain James Cook. Coming ashore had involved a fascinating read about his time here, but more up my alley, a walk to a lovely dual waterfall. Simple, medium-sized, in a damp green gully *French chef kiss*.
The absolute highlight however, was the simplest pleasure of all. Paradise is how I would describe it. Actually no, in paradise I imagine the water is a good 20° warmer. I dived off the boat into the highly refreshing southern sea or little inlet if you will, and swam to a tiny patch of beach. It had only revealed it self in the full moon level low tide and was surrounded by cliffs and palm trees stretching rapidly back and up.
I simply stood there in the knee-deep water, taking it all in (and staying in the sun, as it was too close to setting to be warm). When I die, honestly, I hope wherever I go looks a lot like that two square meter beach, with its vibrantly blue water. Maybe God could warm it up for me a bit though!
Samantha
NZ2020 