Faith, Hope & Charity Islands (Paterson Inlet)
Thursday 27 February 2020
After enjoying a beautifully still night, the wind picked up during the early hours of the morning, with gusts of up to 42 knots recorded around lunchtime in our small sheltered bay. Winds were much stronger offshore, however, reaching more than 55 knots – which we knew both from the forecast and from complaining-conversations we could overhear on the VHF radio
With no immediate deadlines, or places to be, we all stayed indoors, sleeping, reading, or eating.
Mid-afternoon, after checking our two cray pots, we lifted the big dinghy back on deck and began preparing for the return sail to Oban. Nothing to report by way of crayfish, other than we wished they were stronger, with one of them eaten open by a seal; either to get the fish-head bait, or the many lobsters that were inside. We suspected the former.
The sails now patched up, we got away late afternoon, under double-reefed mainsail and tiny jib; the wind having died away considerably. The forecast predicted this and that the wind would continue to abate to almost no wind by nightfall.
Despite the minimal sail hoisted, we covered the first 10 miles north in little more than an hour, with the westerly wind of 20-30 knots coming in over our port beam being one of our fastest points of sail.
It was a very different story, however, once we rounded the headland into Paterson Inlet and set a westerly course to cover the final 4 miles. Without the shelter of the land, the wind simply howled across the water slowing our progress to a crawl, tacking this way and that to gain some lift from the mainsail; the jib being earlier wound up completely. Mostly sitting at 30 knots, or more, gust occasionally hit 40 knots, with the only saving grace being that the seas weren’t too big, oh, and it was also sunny.
Rather than go all the way around into Halfmoon Bay and the town of Oban, we set our sights again on Golden Bay, just over the hill, where we could guarantee at least some internet access.
After almost two hours we finally tacked past Iona Island with the wind showing little sign of diminishing, to where we could enter the small pocket-sized piece of water, bounded by the islets of Faith, Hope & Charity.
In the Cruising Guide, this area was described as, “… a good anchorage, off the beach in 5 metres. It is all-weather, somewhat exposed to the southwest. There are several moorings in this bay to watch for.”
If ever there’s a re-write of the Cruising Guide, I’d replace the word “several”, with “multitude”, as from the ouside, the bay already appeared chocka with boats, all attached to the mooring lines with brightly coloured floats. By now, it was approaching 8:00pm and whilst there was plenty of sunlight left, we weren’t about to start looking for alternative spots for the night. Entering the narrow entrance to the small bay, we made our way past the stern of the first boat, then the second, third and fourth, with John in the bow pointing out additional unoccupied mooring floats to also dodge. The chart plotter revealed deeper water in the southerly corner and it is here that we finally dropped our anchor in 5-6 metres, after gently nudging, ever-forward, to the furthest point we could find away from the moorings, but still in sufficiently deep water. Getting our ground-tackle stuck on new, or ancient, mooring weights and lines was the last thing we wanted to do. And in addition, we needed to have sufficient space around us to swing if the wind changed, or died off and the tide swung us around.
With a selection of vacant moorings to chose from, there was always the temptation to simply pick one of them up. But this is always a risk, apart from it being someone else’s property, because you never know how strong it is and what sized boat it will hold, particularly in such a blow.
The anchor down and secured, the calmness of our surroundings was surreal, particularly after the previous hour or two bashing up the bay into the wind. It was like we’d suddenly been transported to a different world. A still and tranquil world of chirping birds and tree covered mini-islands on three sides, with a crescent moon in a clear sky above, revealing itself in the twilight.
It didn’t take us long to adjust to our new over-night home, with John quickly preparing more of his fish for the evening’s meal.
Later into the night we could tell that the wind was dying off out in the bay, but for us, it was time to go to sleep.
Smooth seas, fair breeze and Good-bye Stewart
Rob Latimer
NZ2020 