Deepwater Basin, Milford Sound
Saturday 14 March 2020
After 14 days of action-packed adventure, fun and unique family time together, we knew this day would always come. The time to say good-bye to Linda, Matt and James, and send them on their way home to Australia.
This part of the itinerary had, of course, been built into the overall plan. But up until now it had all been on paper. Involving a 4 ½ hour bus ride to Queenstown, where overnight accommodation had been booked, followed by direct flights to Melbourne for Linda and Matt and a flight to Sydney followed by a bus to Canberra for James. They will all be tired little puppies when they finally put their head on the pillow tomorrow night.
Finally packing of bags was done throughout the morning, as John and I went ashore to pay a visit to the Milford Lodge, where we again made good use of the internet connection.
Then, after lunch together aboard Chimere, all the bags and belongings were loaded into the dinghy for the 20 minute “Uber” lift out of the Deepwater Basin, across the bay, and into the ferry/bus terminal; thereby saving a heavily-laden walk along the road.
Despite the breeze and slightly choppy sea, everyone arrived at the transport hub safe, and above all … dry.
After the inevitable, final good-byes, I re-traced my path back to Chimere, where life aboard seemed very quiet indeed; just me and John rattling around making priority-lists of things to do before we start heading north.
At the moment, the wind is blowing down the coast, from the north east. And is predicted to keep doing that until late Sunday night. This would have been great if we were heading south, but we’re not.
So as to avoid as much “pain” as possible, John and I figure it’s best to simply sit here on our Deepwater Basin, until early Monday morning when it’s predicted the wind will shift to the south west.
With around 430 miles to cover, we hope to spend the first night at anchor, around 60 miles up the coast at Jackson Bay (near to where the Haast Pass Rd meets the sea). Then, spend the next two days (and nights) clicking off the miles to the north west tip of the South Island – Cape Farewell – taking it in turns to stay on watch; making sure we maintain our energy levels. The longer term forecast currently looks favourable for this strategy.
From Cape Farewell, it’ll be a hard right turn in the direction of Cook Strait and Mana Island, behind which sits the entrance to Porirua Harbour and the Mana Cruising Club, where we hope to tie up for a couple of days.
At the moment, we are just getting used to the quietness aboard. Not that Linda, Matt and James were noisy. It’s just that there was inevitably more interaction, discussion and activity when five people are aboard compared with two. A space probably no bigger in size than the average suburban bathroom.
On a very domestic not … the north east wind may not be good for sailing up the coast, but it’s been great for drying the washing … yes, we do wash our clothes, and we even have a hot shower from time to time. On the topic of washing clothes, John and I have slightly different strategies. I have 14 pairs of underpants, so by day 12 and 13, I’m starting to plan a wash. John, on the other hand has significantly fewer pairs, which he claims, forces him to wash more often.
While I’m on domestic matters, I’ve mentioned that Linda’s sand fly defences were well planned, extensive and meticulously implemented. Making her look all the part like a bee keeper, every time we went ashore. Linda also came equipped with a full suite of drugs, lotions, creams and medications to treat any bites, should they occur; having been pre-warned by friends who’d been in these parts before. This was fortunate, because, whilst all of us suffered bites, none copped more bites than Linda, and none seemed to swell up as much either.
While Linda is no longer on the boat, I’m sure one tip she would like to pass on to future travellers, (and she’d do this in person I’m sure if she was here) is … if you are fully kitted up against sand fly attack and you happen to get insect repellent spray-drift in your mouth, (it’s not important who sprayed it) always LIFT the fly netting off your face before spitting. Remember the slogan … “Lift before you spit”
While I’m on a roll …
… it’s an interesting observation that when people share a confined space, for extended periods of time, it’s [hopefully] normal that you try to both modify your personal behaviour, so as NOT to deliberately aggravate others, while at the same time turn a blind eye and ear and nose, to the small (and potentially annoying) habits of others.
That said, the build up of “gas” … maybe from eating too much crayfish perhaps, or (traditionally) beans, can lead to embarrassing “noises” being emitted from either, or both, ends. Hopefully not at the same time. But something I learnt years ago from a dear sailing friend, Bob Brenac, was that “Sea Frogs” are found on boats … some boats more than others … and of course Sea Frogs make croaking noises, which surprise, surprise, sound remarkably like other noises … that humans often make. So, when you hear someone say … “Sea Frogs are particularly active tonight dear” … you know what’s coming … or might have just been.
Chimere also had Sea Crickets … which often came out after a meal and made noises that once upon a time I recall being told were … “signs of appreciation for a wonderful meal … luv”
I could expand, with an epistle to our wonderful electric toilet and holding tank system … and the sense of panic and foreboding that overcomes you when you think you might have blocked or damaged it … but I I think I might have already said too much.
Smooth seas, fair breeze and a day for good-byes
Rob Latimer
Postcard from James – Living that Fjordlijf TM * (14/03/2020)
Hello there regular www.nz2020.travel.blog readers. Today’s entry comes from the junior foreign correspondent James “the Crayfish Cooker” Latimer.
As I sit here in my last few hours aboard Chimere, I look back on the past two weeks of sailing adventure.
Beginning in Bluff, (essentially Invercargill – don’t tell any Kiwis I said that), we headed south to Stewart Island, and then northwards along the Fjordland coast, eventually stopping at Milford Sound. It is here in the sound/fjord/fiord/loch (pick your preferred nomenclature) most frequented by tourists and civilisation that I ‘pen’ this reflection postcard.
These last two weeks aboard Chimere with Matthew, Linda (Mum), Rob (Dad) and John have been terrific. We’ve had calm days of mirror-flat seas with no wind. We’ve had 40 knot breezes with 6+ metre lumpy swell. We’ve had bright, sunny days of crisp distant views. We’ve had days on end of glorious deluge, creating countless waterfalls and shrouding the previously visible peaks in mist and cloud.
And through it all we’ve had our constant companion, our rock, our point of reference when compasses fail and the sun refuses to rise in the east, our one true constant in these turbulent times: the sand flies.
Aside from the minor ‘immunocollapse’ by which my first few days onboard were defined, (ie I arrived from Aussie as crook as, bro) the entire trip has been one stunning vista after another.
If forced to refine the trip into a few personal highlights they would be these:
- Swimming in the cascades of Lake Alice’s waterfall at the end of George Sound. The crystal-clear waters gushing and pooling about, creating a variety of bathing and massage options to suit every need.
- Leaving our anchorage at Edwardson Sound in the rain, with the ethereal mists clinging to the mountains and sea. The landscape that was just the day before sunny and clear was now seen in monochrome, with mountains just different saturations of black like a Japanese ink artwork.
- Receiving our first batch of six crayfish from a charter vessel in Preservation Inlet. All the ‘crayfishermen’ are currently massively oversupplied with crays on account of the crash in Asian markets, so they’ve all been pretty happy to hand them out. As regular readers will be aware, these six were not our only gifted crays for the trip, with our total (as of the time of writing this) being 16.
- Acquiring a recipe for crayfish fritters from Manny the ‘overly-cut’ rough diamond in Milford harbour, thus opening a multitude of new crayfish-related recipe options.
- The rather alarming entrance into Otago’s Retreat around Puysegur Point, (and our first entry into Fiordland) with the large swell breaking on the rocks either side of the <200 m entrance.
- Visiting Astronomer Point in Pickersgill Harbour, Dusky Sound, where Captain Cook set up what could well have been New Zealand’s first microbrewery.
These are but a few of the memorable moments strewn throughout the terrific trip that has been the last two weeks of sailing. Our food has been consistently top notch, with the sea (and in the case of our numerous crayfish, the locals) providing us with significant bounty. For example, one meal I cooked a few days ago included on the plate beer battered shark, grilled blue cod, and crayfish fritters. Attempting to acquire an equivalent spread outside these bays would be both a difficult and costly exercise.
If you’re looking for a bit of adventure just on your doorstep (if you’re an Australian or New Zealander – it’s obviously slightly further for you European readers) then I would absolutely recommend heading over to the fjords of New Zealand’s southwest coast. Better yet, contact Robert Latimer on msm1@clientsatmail.com.au and check which legs of his return trip are still lacking crew, and become a part of the journey you’ve been reading about!
James signing off.
* Fjordlijf … tr. Fiord-life: a James creation, inspired by recent travels
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