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Date: 27 Apr 2009 04:54:08
Title: Near miss while sitting still - Manawaora Bay, Bay of Islands, New Zealand
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35:15.493S  174:12.356E
 
We were still in Port Fitzroy Bay on Great Barrier Island on the morning of April 17th when we decided we should really start thinking about sailing the 90 miles north to New Zealand's Bay of Islands and Opua, which is our planned departure port for Tonga (and also the port we sailed into when we arrived in New Zealand back in November).  We wanted to cruise around the Bay of Islands a little bit before moving to the Opua Marina where we would complete all final preparations before setting off for Tonga on May 2nd.  To help us decide when best to go, we leisurely downloaded a 7-day wind forecast using the satellite phone.  Then we opened the file and started scrolling through the information, which was presented in twelve hour increments.  Holy crap!  Starting the very next day, the wind was forecasted to turn north and increase, and then increase, and then increase, and then increase and basically stay there for the entire seven days while not one but two low pressure systems rolled over us.  We snapped to attention.  'We have to go today!' 
 
This realization precipitated a flurry of activity.  We decided it was best to leave that day before dark, sail through the night and arrive at the Bay of Islands in the morning before the wind shifted to the north and increased.  Dinner was prepared and eaten at lunchtime so we wouldn't have to bother with a big meal while under way on what we knew were going to be uncomfortable seas.  We dinghied into the shore for a trash run and one more forced march before leaving the island.  We returned to the boat, hauled the dinghy motor and the dinghy and secured everything for an overnight passage - the first of the season. 
 
We left Great Barrier Island behind at 6pm - just as the sun was setting and the clouds moved in.  The wind was from the northeast, which meant since we were sailing north up the east coast of New Zealand, we wouldn't be protected from the wind or waves, and would get the full impact of both coming at us from the north and east.  By 7:30pm, it was pitch black with lumpy seas caused by swell and waves from different directions.  The wind died for a time, which made matters of the stomach worse as we wallowed around in the waves motoring slowly before the wind picked up again.  By that time it was too late for me and I asked the captain if we could swap night watches so I could sleep first.  He agreed and I went below thinking three hours of semi-sleep would cure my stomach trouble.  It did, for about the first 45 minutes of my 3 hour night watch.  The boat was sailing well in 15-20 knots of wind just behind the beam, but the black night left no horizon to be seen and the swell and waves continued to push us in unanticipated directions as I sat wobbling and swaying at the helm trying to concentrate on what the instruments and radar were telling me.  It wasn't much longer before I was getting a good look at the black water rushing past us as I hung my head over the rail.  Two endless hours later and five more trips to the rail and it was time for Don's watch.  Another record broken.  All in one week we break both the highest wind and head hanging over the rail records.  Something to remember for sure.  That's the last time this season I skip the sea sickness medication before an overnight sail.  You can bet I will be fully doped up when we depart for Tonga.
 
We arrived in the Bay of Islands as planned at 9am on Saturday morning, April 18th, and stayed there in the same little protected cove for eight days, waiting for the ugly weather to blow through.  Waiting, and waiting in the same spot, never leaving the boat (all the nearby land is privately owned, so boaters aren't encouraged to land).  Eights days of howling winds with gusts as high as 37 knots, pounding rain and endless gray skies.  Noisy and sometimes sleepless nights as we listened to the rigging hum and halyards vibrate and bang, all the time worried about our anchor and its ability to hold us in place - not to mention the state of our neighbors' anchors.  Eight days and eight nights.  It turned out that there were not two, but three low pressure systems blowing across New Zealand in succession from the Tasman Sea.  A regular low pressure parade.  We did have a few hours on Wednesday with a bit of sun and lighter winds.  We took the opportunity to sail the short eight miles to the tiny town of Russell where we, first and most importantly, got off the boat, and second, had lunch at a restaurant.  After that brief respite, we sailed back to our protected prison cove where we remained until the wind finally dropped on Monday the 27th.  Another record broken.  This was the longest period of purely rotten weather we had ever experienced on the boat.  It's definitely time to leave New Zealand and return to the tropics.
 
Only two things of consequence happened during our stay in the prison cove during the eight day low pressure parade.  The first of which happened during the third night of massive wind.  I've described in the past how most boaters at anchor watch very closely when a new boat arrives and sets down its anchor.  Did they drop their anchor too close to our boat?  Did they put out enough anchor chain?  Did they set their anchor properly?  All questions we ask ourselves as we stare unabashedly at the newcomers.  Most times it's not really that critical that our boat neighbors follow perfect anchor etiquette.  Sometimes, however, when really bad weather and high winds are afoot, it is imperative that boat neighbors follow proper anchor etiquette.  So when a newcomer brazenly motored into our prison cove on the third day and employed the 'laissez-faire' anchoring technique in a spot directly in front of us, we were not happy.  The laissez-faire anchoring technique is basically the same as the 'non-intervention' method - which involves throwing the anchor overboard, shutting down the engine and letting the anchor do or not do whatever it pleases.  The laissez-faire anchoring technique combined with deployment of an insufficient length of anchor chain for the conditions at hand is a deadly combination, and one that our newcomer neighbor employed.  We employed the evil eye method of boater neighbor intimidation trying to scare them into moving, but to no avail - the laissez-faire anchorers paid no attention. 
 
I was up that night at midnight, watching our position, monitoring the wind strength (gusting over 25 knots at that point) and counting the anchor lights of our neighbors (there were seven) to be sure no one had strayed from their position.  All was well so I went back to bed.  3am rolled around and we both woke up.  We could feel the boat skidding across the water as the anchor kept us bolted in place while the wind pushed us from side to side.  The wind gusted as high as 37 knots in one mighty blow (another record broken as this is the highest wind experienced on Harmonie while at anchor).  We checked our position and all looked well.  Don headed back to bed as I took one more look at our neighbors.  Something was amiss.  I couldn't find the laissez-faire anchorers.  I climbed onto the dining area settee to get a better look outside through a different port.  'Shit!  Don!  The idiots are dragging!  Their boat is right next to ours!  I can see their dinghy not two feet from our hull!'  The wind howled more while I scrambled up into the cockpit to get a better look at our lackadaisical neighbor as they slid by in the giant wind, narrowly missing us.  It happened that fast, in just a few minutes the wind had uprooted their anchor and pushed them back a good 750 feet.  A near miss.  We were lucky.  Had they run into us, we would not have been able to do anything about it in those wind conditions.  Over the next two hours I watched while the neighbor struggled to re-anchor.  At one point they approached us too closely and before they could get the anchor down I gave them the nighttime version of the evil eye, I flashed the flood light mounted up on the mizzen mast a couple of times to warn them off.  It seemed to work as they ended up anchored further out in the cove away from us.  It was several more days before they finally hauled anchor and left.  We were surprised they weren't embarrassed enough to leave sooner.
 
The only other thing of consequence that happened during our 8-day prison term was that we were both able to complete positively everything on our boat to-do list.  This is highly unheard of.  A boaters work is normally never done.  Apparently this isn't true if you are forced into a prison cove for the duration of an eight day low pressure parade.  The inside of the boat is so clean it's scary.  All of Don's projects, even those he has been trying to forget about are done.  We even discovered some things on board we didn't know we had as we sorted through lockers and found switches mounted in odd places we had never noticed before.  You'd think after two years we'd know this small space inside and out.  Apparently not.
 
Sorry, no pictures.  All we saw for 8 days were gray skies and rain -  not very picturesque.  A picture of the near miss incident might have been fun, but I didn't think to get the camera out at the time.
 
Here's hoping for brighter skies and winds easier to cope with -
Anne
 
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