Catching the Wind

At Sea, NW Tip of South Island

Thursday 19 March 2020

It was always going to be a lazy start, and true to expectations, we got away around 8:30am after a fantastic night’s sleep tied up to Curly’s giant rubber inflatable vessel, “Protector”.

Leaving around this time also coincided with Curly having to move his boat off the wharf too, in order to conduct some training exercises

Curly’s boat “Protector” … one very big rubber ducky

As we were saying good-bye to Charly and handing him our completed “Port User Application Form”, (yes, it often costs money to stay overnight – at least where you can’t just drop the anchor) I couldn’t help asking … “Curly, I’ve got to ask … how did you lose your arm? I’m thinking … working on a cray boat…?”

Curly’s direct response was honest and revealing … (in the interests of readers, I’ll let you insert the generous sprinkling of expletives where you feel appropriate …)

“Motor bike and alcohol!” Curly then elaborated, “I was 21 and the bike was a birthday present. So that’s 42 years ago now. I wrote off two cars in the accident. It was the second car that stopped me.”

Paradoxically, Curly then went on to say … “Looking back, losing my arm was the making of me. I was young and fearless. But I had a real problem with alcohol. I was on a bad path, but a year after the accident I stopped drinking and haven’t had a drink since.”

“Were you already working on cray boats when you had the accident?”, I asked.

“Yeah. And I did for the next 40 years. Just gave it away last year. Don’t get me wrong, having one arm has been a real **** pain. Like when you want to knock a nail in with a hammer, or fly a helicopter. That’s something I always dreamed of doing – fly a helicopter. And playing pool. I was a ****** good pool player. After the accident a friend made a nifty support thing for the cue, so I could hold it. But after six months I gave it away. Wasn’t the same. Time to start something new. Move on”

The starboard marker at the entrance to Westport … park bench was a nice touch I thought

Out of the channel it was breaking surf both sides

As we untied the last line, said a final farewell and glided out into the channel, I couldn’t help but reflect on how Curly had chosen to respond to what would have been such a traumatic, life-altering event. Not just for him, but for his parents and family, the drivers of the other vehicles, for the whole, close-knit Westport community. After all, the accident could have led Curly down a very different path – to become angry, depressed and drink even more.

The West Coast was (is) known for its tough, blokey culture … not to mention the number of pubs in each town … so it must have taken a lot of courage for Curly to swim against the tide, so to speak, and use his loss as a wake-up call; a chance at a new and more productive life.

Out at sea and clear of the entrance, the first few hours of the day were grey – the sea and the sky. There was little wind to speak of and the remains of a southwest swell created a frustrating roll from side to side as we motored on at around 6 knots

Looks like there’s wind, somewhere, but we had to wait a few hours – fortunately it was going our way … or, more to the point … we were going its way …

Then finally, in the early afternoon, the promised 25 knot, southwest breeze arrived up our tails and remained steady all afternoon and evening … pushing us along at a stead 7-8 knots, sometimes up to 9

We set the mainsail out to the left and with the aid of the spinnaker pole, set the jib to the right, then watched the green and hilly (for Australians, you can still read – “Mountainous”) landscape just two miles off our starboard side. wizz past, with the Cape Farewell light off our bow by 9:00 pm.

In the afternoon it came out sunny, with a handy breeze from behind

John cooked up his signature-dish of bacon and eggs for lunch, plus tomatoes we’d bought at Westport and a little time after caught a good sized Kawaii.

As the sun set and darkness once more surrounded us, we could tell we were still surging along by the sound of the parting waves either side of us as we carved our path down the face of each advancing swell.

Our speed was now regularly over 8 knots, sometimes more than 9, despite having reefed the jib. We found ourselves making new calculations as to how far we might get … up and around Farewell Spit and across Tasman Bay … before things changed and the forecasted headwinds began blowing through Cook Strait in around 15 hours.

So a new plan was hatched. Instead of stopping at anchor somewhere tomorrow night, a short-sail from Mana Marina in Porirua Harbour, then completing the final hop on Saturday … we would instead make a dash directly for Mana – as fast as we could. At our current rate we estimated that we might actually make it to Mana Island in the early afternoon of tomorrow. It will then be a case of waiting till the high tide in the evening – but still in daylight –to make it safely over the bar at the entrance. Once in Porirua Harbour, it would be just a short mile or so up to Mana Marina; where we’ve been able to book a berth.

Sunset approaches with the wind racing us along at 8-9 knots

You can see the fishing line out the back … we are just about to reel it in for the night.

For now, we are adjusting our course around to the east, as we run parallel to Farewell Spit. As the night wears on, and into the dawn, we’ll be crossing Tasman Bay. Then past the northern tip of D’Urville Island and laying a course southeast for the final 47 mile leg to Mana

Tonight’s meal utilised some of the tuna, caught yesterday, in company with some frozen chips bought in advance from the Westport supermarket – baked in the oven. Plus a side salad and a range of dressings. John even cooked up the roe from the salmon he landed this afternoon. Although I can ’t say I got through all of mine … even if it IS an ideal source of Omega 3, or whatever?!