A Slow News Day Aboard

Mana Marina (near Wellington)

Friday 27 March 2020

It’s hard to believe that it’s exactly a week since John and I sailed into Mana; the conclusion to our five-day jaunt nearly 500 miles from Milford Sound along the west coast of the South Island.

Certainly, a lot has happened since then, with new lessons in patience and stillness, being among them.

This morning I received a call from John – my long time mate and sailing buddy, who has been on a roller coaster ride since learning Sunday night – just 5 days ago – of his father’s sudden death.  The funeral was on Wednesday, in Northland, and you can just image the challenge of complying with the new “crowd and gathering regulations”, when his 92-year-old father had 9 kids, over 60 grandchildren and more than 50 great grandchildren.  But in the end it seemed like it was a fitting and appropriate send off to a man who had left such a mark on the world.

After rain and howling wind all night here at the marina, it was a surprise to be greeted by a warm and sunny morning, and hardly a breath of air.  Seemed it had all blown away.

Trying to make good use of my time I decided to finally put some metal eyelets in the daggy old truck-tarp that covers the deck-boxes, under the boom.  I also cut nice neat strings, of suitable length for each grommet, so as to make the task of tying it down much easier in the future.

In amongst all this was the occasional … “g’day”, “hi” and “morning” … to the regular walkers, some with dogs on leads, who have this section of path on their circuit. 

One older bloke … he was probably my age as it turns out … said… ”I saw you went past D-Urville Island.  Saw it on AIS.”   “Yes, that’s right, that would have been this time last week”, I replied … Just goes to show, you can’t hide.

Give it time and I’m sure I’ll be able to log the movements of each person, letting them know whether they are early or late … if their dog’s looking better groomed since yesterday … and exchange the latest news about them and their family’s isolation routine.

Naturally, everyone has their story, and so it’s been interesting to hear how things are playing out at a micro level.  I hardly need to watch the news, I get the latest from the chatty folk that stop.

A car drove close to the edge of the sea wall around lunchtime, slowing briefly as the door opened and a man leaned out … “I’m goin’ to the supermarket.  Need anything?” … It was the man from yesterday who’d offered me his car … “No, I’m good, thanks for asking though”, I yelled, as he gave me a wave and drove off, with a … “sweet as bro” .

Cousin Keith broke his home-isolation to drive by as well.  Parking at a respectable distance, he hopped out of the car and we talked about this and that for half an hour, before he headed off to get some “fizzy drinks” … for him and Christine’s Friday evening routine

Still trying to be useful, I sewed some tie-tabs on the sail bag that is attached to the boom.  The bag itself is supported by light cords, called “lazy jacks”,  that run to a pully part way up the mast, then back down to the base of the mast where they can be tightened or slackened as needed.

The tie-tabs are to help close the bag, in a fashion, because the zip is not as “functional” as it used to be.   Tie-tabs will be quick and easy to attach each time the sail is dropped; helping to protect it, and at the same time keep everything looking neat and tidy… and to quote Captain Jack Aubrey … “Right Christian like!”

It’s great to have friends and family in contact from time to time, I really appreciate it.  Also the care and support given to Linda back home.  Apparently more vegetables are being  planted in the garden, and the weather in Melbourne is good.  Maybe it’s time to finally get some chooks!

The afternoon brought some big threatening clouds, but surprisingly, not a lot of rain.  And I refuse to say what I cooked for dinner, and thank you to the kind soul for a copy of Jo Seagar’s wonderful Featherweight Cheese Puffs… but I’m more the … “extra gluten with that please …”, kind of guy.

Smooth seas, fair breeze and a slow news day aboard

Rob Latimer