Westport Haven

Westport, West Coast NZ

Wednesday 18 March 2020

After a long dark night taking turns on watch, the dawn arrived … eventually. Greeted by calm-ish seas, (with a persistent rolly southwest swell coming up from behind) and a light breeze, requiring us to rely mostly on the motor for progress

One curved ball in the forecast was the prospect of the wind strengthening after lunch, but from the north east – roughly the direction we were heading – then coming in strong from the opposite direction (our way again) tomorrow morning.   We were therefore faced with a decision … whether to plug on for a second night, with the likelihood of better winds in about 18-24 hours, or, head for the coast and drop in at the coastal seaport of Westport; presumably named because it’s a port on the west coast?!  

I’d already spoken to fishermen further south about getting into this port, and whilst their language about a couple of other places on the West Coast can’t be repeated here, they DID say the Westport bar (and we’re not talking about a pub in the main street) and entrance was OK, so long as you went in close to high tide and there wasn’t a big sea running.

In the end it was a pretty easy decision to make … we would aim for Westport.  Maybe we could buy some butter at a local supermarket, and at the same time check out their stocks of toilet paper.  Based on what I’d heard about panic buying in Australia, who knows, we could finance the trip by filling the holds with the stuff and cleaning up, so to speak, when we get to Australia!  What could possibly go wrong.

Our course back to the coast was supposed to take around 5-6 hours, landing us just north of Westport, so we could simply hang a right and follow the leads across the sandbar and into the channel, that is essentially the Buller River with a rock wall either side.  Unfortunately, the northeast wind came in just a little early, or perhaps we didn’t aim high enough up the coast … in any case, our landfall fell a few miles south of the port entrance, meaning that we had to throw in a couple of tacks, to round the ironically named Cape Foulwind; ain’t it the way.  All this took an extra hour or so, which in the end worked out perfectly for the high tide over the bar.

As we travelled along the coast, we discovered that in places we had internet and phone coverage up to 20 miles off-shore, which enabled us to look up information about Westport, and also Mana Cruising Club and Marina; our eventual destination near Wellington

In relation to Westport, the website content under the heading “Current Port Information”, had further links concerning River Status, Tides and Bar Status, then in bold letters stated … “IMPORTANT! – Please make contact before attempting to cross the Bar by calling …” followed by detailed colour pictures of the onshore lead markers and confirmation that the shallowest part of the bar was 3.1m + or – 50mm on 26/2/2020.

So naturally we gave the number a call and pretty quickly were talking to Curly, the semi-volunteer, semi-official Westport Harbour Master.  Curly seemed pretty confident that we could get in OK and explained … “Better wait till around 4:00 o’clock.  Give me another call when you’re a mile off and I’ll come down to the breakwater and guide you in.”

“Is there somewhere we can tie up?”, I asked, knowing it was a small harbour basin and probably already full of fishing boats.

“You can raft up next to my boat.  That’s the best ticket.  Just come alongside and I’ll meet you there.  It’s a 60-foot-long, oversized zodiac rubber ducky.  Second boat on the right as you come in.  With an orange stripe”

Pretty quickly we got to meet Curly in person, and sure enough, he was there in his car on the breakwater to guide us in and check we could see the fluro-lead markers on shore and were straight on the line.  Then he was there to take our lines as we tied up next to his … no joke … 60-foot-long, oversized zodiac rubber ducky.      

Curly, a man about 60-ish, did have curly hair, (as it turned out), was a retired cray fisherman with 40 year’s experience.  With the demise of Westport as a prominent commercially viable port, Curly took on the role of Harbour Master in what we gather was indeed a semi-volunteer role.   “Otherwise they were going to close the Port”, Curly explained

To keep himself entertained in retirement, he’d only recently bought what he called his “toy” … which was purpose-built many years ago as the tow-boat for the NZ America’s Cup defence team.  It was a well-equipped unit, which Curly uses as … his toy … but also to catch the odd crayfish, take friends and family out and also mount rescues, when called upon to do so.

“I’m what the authorities call … a vessel of interest”, Curly explained, “so if they have a problem in the area, a rescue, what have you, they get onto me.  The vessel is well suited to it, and I know the area, cos I’m a local, born and bred”

Curly needed to name the boat when he assumed ownership and came up with the name “Protector”, which seemed very suitable.

“We already did one rescue, here beyond the bar a mile or two.” Said Curly.  “A guy on one of those sit-on kayak, paddleboard things.  There was an offshore wind and he kept falling off it when he tried to paddle back into the waves.  See, he should’a gone on an angle to the waves.  Anyway, it was late in the day and I got a call from the helicopter rescue, asking whether I could go out.  The guy had called 111 on his cell-phone, from the kayak. And within a short time, it got through to me.  Well I went out, and based on where he’d launched and what I figured his drift would be over a couple of hours, we found him in a real short time.  Nearly ran the bugger over we were so close”

In the interests of this blog’s G-Rated readership, I’ve left out the expletives, but they were colourful, well placed, inoffensive and above all, expressive.  Clearly, Curly was a local “identity”, with a big heart and a wonderful attitude to life.

“Better get home, me missus is taking me out to dinner”, continued Curly, as he made moves to go.  “My wife and I worked together on the cray boat for 18 years, then she got pregnant and stayed at home.  We’ve got two girls, one age 11 and the other just gone 18 – she’s just started studying medicine at Otago University.   Well. She thinks she’s doing medicine, but you’ve got a couple of thousand students all doing a general introductory health degree, then just a very small few make it through to finally do medicine.  She’s got it all planned out.  Good on her. 

But occasionally I whisper in her ear … $4 million dollars … cos that’s how much this silly old, uneducated dad made from working on a smelly old cray boat”, finished Curly with a hearty laugh

As Curley made his way around the outside of his boat, walking on the float pontoons, we was careful to keep a grip on the handrail of his boat with his left hand, because his right arm was missing.  I suspect the result of an accident years before.  I’m guessing it had something to do with cray pots and fast-moving lines and ropes aboard a fishing boat … but I couldn’t bring myself to ask.  We’d respectfully shaken hands with our left hands, on meeting, he could tie the lines and do everything else just like normal … it wasn’t an issue for him, so it didn’t seem right to ask.  But clearly, Curly had a lot of interesting stories to tell.

Once everything was tied up and secure, John and I walked up town to check out the local sights.  Past the fishing boats, past the once-bustling wharf-sheds and industrial looking facilities and through the “security” gate. 

Whilst the gate looked the part, painted yellow and attached to a high mesh fence, Curly had pre-warned us in a way, when he said … “If you have trouble getting through the gate, just press 1 2 3 4 RESET on the keypad” 

Suffice to say, we didn’t have any trouble with the gate.  I don’t think anyone does, because it’s either never locked, or can’t be locked.  I’m guessing the latter.

Up town, John and I walked, what would have to be the longest main street of any country town, ever.  It just went on and on. And even when we’d got to the supermarket, there was more main street with shops either side, almost as far as you could see.

Inside the supermarket, I was keen to see for myself whether the panic buying of selected items – common in parts of Australia – had spread across the Tasman.   Well, if it had, we weren’t able to detect it.  That said, a week earlier the regional newspaper DID have a story about the reported sighting of a moose in Fiordland on page one, with an article about a global virus pandemic thingy on page 5 … so maybe I need to visit a few more supermarkets before coming to a definitive conclusion.   

Back onboard, it was re-heated spaghetti bolognaise for dinner, topped off with ice cream and fruit – recent purchases from the Westport supermarket (not the spag bol … that’s going to be around for another day or two I suspect)

Soon after dinner it was bed time at a very still and serine “anchorage”.    

Smooth seas, fair breeze and Westport haven

Rob Latimer