September 30, 2009

Wednesday morning 3am
The subject line here is both the present time, and the title of a great Simon and Garfunkle album from 1966. Couldn't resist using it.
I mentioned in the arrival notice that the morning we got in had been less than perfect. We'd gotten spoiled by the previous few hours, right after we got off the sea anchor. The breeze was very light when we picked the parachute up, which made recovery about as easy as it gets; a welcome break, but not uncommon for wind to go light after a major blow. We had to motorsail to make time for the first few hours but by early afternoon the breeze filled in for a broad reach, and settled at the predicted 20 knots before dark. The sea was fairly flat, and generally from behind us, so we could maintain around 7 knots very comfortably all night and into the early morning. But soon after dawn rain moved in, and wind increased to a gusty 30 knots. We could see the coast between rain squalls, and started navigating carefully. I soon remembered the joys of reading glasses in a cold, wet environment; fogging was an issue with reading charts. As we approached the entrance to the Bay of Islands, the autopilot couldn't steer any more in the big sea, so it was back to having Karen help the windvane steer while I handled sails and navigated. Doug, who sailed into Opua with us in 2001 will have a clear picture of this, as it was much the same, peering thru the fog and rain to catch a glimpse of Ninepin Rock.
As we approached the turn into the river near Russell, I called Customs and Immigration on the radio to notify of imminent arrival, adding that I'd be unable to answer any further radio calls as we had our hands full running the boat in the storm. No problem they said. We surfed down to the navigation markers at the river entrance with a tiny scrap of jib out, maybe 60 square feet of area giving us 7 knots boat speed. We made the turn into the river entrance with a jibe, and I got the motor started incase we had to maneuver for traffic. Then we passed into the lee of the hills, and the wind dropped to about 10 knots, with flat water. It was effectively over. We motored down the last mile, set up lines and fenders, and eased onto the quarantine dock. One email asked if we kissed the ground; no, if we'd gotten down there, we'd have been unable to get back up. We were tired.
On the way to the dock we saw our friends Janet and Von waving from the main pier. The custom and MAF officers made quick work of checking in, and I launched the dinghy. I rowed over to arrange with the dockmaster to get us into a marina slip, and to have Jan and Von meet us at the slip to catch dock lines. The rain bands and gusty winds resumed, but without the fury they'd had out in the open sea, so we got a little wet tying up. We made a quick clothing change, and all staggered up to the cafe at the marina for hot food.
Having the luxury of friends to drive us around for a couple days has made it enormously easier to get some control of our lives again. We made a major shopping trip to nearby Kerikeri, stocked up on food, bought cell phones, and got a wireless broadband internet account with Vodafone. I got some electrical fittings, and by last night we were plugged in to the marina power grid. We can use the computer, heat water in Karen's new electric kettle, charge the boat batteries, and never have to worry about solar panels, generators etc. Now we'll be wanting to find a heater. It's 12 degrees C ( about 55 degrees Farenheit) inside the boat, with intermittent rain. We spent some time on the internet shopping with Turner Auctions for cars available at their Whangerai location, about an hour's drive south of here. I see a couple of possibles, and Von says we can drive down there for a look, so that's the big plan for the coming day. I'll catch another little cat nap now, before we start the rat race again. Thanks to all for your emails. We'll catch up on individual letters soon. Ted