Squall
Clouds have been gathering all day to the west promising some wind. At evening they began boiling up and standing high, some darkening black. Lots of rain, maybe some wind. Now they are gathered close to us and hurling lightning among the clouds in huge flashes, wide, amphitheatre blazes and concentrated super bright explosions. The night is very black until lit up like an aerial bombardment - then the cloud mass looks less threatening. To the north, ahead of us, another battle among the gods rages, although the sky is less dark.
Every now and then the wind picks up and I think ‘here it comes’ but then it settles back to a sedate 10 knots and the lightning continues without thunder. Perhaps it will eventually come and settle on us but equally it might just pass us harmlessly by. At the moment it’s just empty gestures, a show of might, a war of words. I can see the dark cloud leaning over us and clear sky ahead – a sort of tunnel and the light at the end is near – surfing a slow motion curler that might, at any minute close in over us but maybe, just maybe we will surf clear while the water crashes in on itself harmlessly behind.
Now others have joined the battle. There are skirmishes off to the south and several others in the north west. It’s an almighty conflagration. Enough energy to light up Wellington for days. And now deep rolling thunder. Yet it’s all so quiet. No deafening thunder claps, just deep throated distant growls. There’s the gentle burble of our wake and the swoosh of each wave as our bow advances across the sea. A light lean to the breeze. All very calm and gentle in contrast to the largely silent shaking of fists among the clouds.
An hour later.
Well that was all rather dramatic. Just after that last sentence we got a few drops of rain and a different feel to the wind. Two more minutes and we were in 35 knots of wind, sheets of rain, wild lightening directly over head and the deepest, loudest thunder. I rolled up half the headsail and called Piet to help put another reef in the main. It was so dark and such a wild ride in big seas. We doused the mainsail all together and clung on. And then it was gone. Just like that. One minute a tempest, the next we were jilling around in 6 knots, sails slatting, wind vane steering not responding. Here comes Janet on watch. Its bedtime for me.

The landing place at Raoul Island. Look for the yellow rope hanging down the rock face.

Raoul Island, Kermadecs, Pacific Ocean.
We arrived in the night on the tail end of a storm, to this chunk of land 1000 km from anywhere. We hove to till morning and went on in to check out the access. Initially it was too rough to land and we thought we might not get on to the island. We contacted the DOC staff there who suggested anchoring in the lee of the island and waiting. After a good breakfast and a swim we again motored around to the landing.
Landing consisted of motoring in the dinghy up to a dark, forbidding volcanic bit of rock with a rope hanging down it, waiting for a gap between swells and surging into the rock face. The passengers then leapt onto the rock, hauling themselves up the rope. Meanwhile the rock threatened to chew up the side of the dinghy. All very exciting, not that we needed any more excitement.
On arrival I lay on the ground and absorbed its solidness. It is the most solid piece of ground I have ever experienced. And it was warm and dry; we’d been cold and wet for weeks on and off. The DOC hospitality was fabulous. Mike met us and drove us back to their base. The land was so lush and green, abounding with parakeets, tuis and pukekos. We were given a cup of tea, a guided tour of the weather station, orchard, verge gardens and even a small brewery. They gave us a bag of Raoul Island oranges, another story in itself, and fresh salad stuff from their garden. We had Raoul Island salads for the next two days. We saw the crater and headed back to the boat.
Raoul to Tonga. 6 days. 1000km.
Back to see at sunset. We started the journey with David hanging over the stern retrieving a critical bolt on the windvane. And then back into the fray. We got caught up in a storm with winds up to 65 knots (64 is hurricane force), and crashing seas. Once again we hove to. Thank goodness Navire is such a seaworthy boat.
We motored through our last day, timing our arrival at Piha passage, the entrance through the reef to Tongatapu, for dawn to have the sun behind us so we could see the coral. We navigated the coral rimmed passage into Nukualofa, arriving very tired but happy.
Nukualofa
Our challenges weren’t quite over yet. We had to moor Mediterranean style which requires a tricky combination of anchoring, backing and stern lines, combined with sleep deprived brains and a cross wind. Customs, immigration etc was a very leisurely process, nothing like an airport, my passport was stamped on the front of an old car.
We then headed to “town” and had our first alcohol in two weeks, a cold beer at Friends Cafe. I revelled in the market place buying fresh crunchy stuff. After a cold shower, our fist in two weeks, we headed across the bay to a classic Pacific island, sandy beaches, palm trees and a beachside bar.
Pangaimotu
So here we are anchored with a bunch of other yachts, all recovering from the journey and doing the inevitable, perpetual boat fixing, before we head north to meet our friend Richard from Wellington who is coming to cruise in Vavau for two weeks.
Piet leaves us today. He has been a spectacularly good crew member and now dear friend. He never really lost his cool in all the tough times; he was innovative and clever at fixing things. He was honest and relentlessly cheerful. In the roughest conditions he’d be saying now on this watch I’m going to wear this outfit. He is an excellent navigator and a pleasure to feed. A HUGE thank you to you Piet..
Communication. Phone calls are expensive to make and receive, so don’t call us except for emergencies. Texts are free to receive so send us lots but don’t be offended if we don’t reply. We get excited whenever the phone makes its text beeps. We should be able to get to email once a week or so PLEASE send us emails and texts. It’s so good to hear news from home.

Whangarei to Raoul Island. 1000km.

David, Janet and Piet go to sea. I felt quite nervous about leaving the Whangarei River and not heading up the coast to anchor over night in some gorgeous Northland Harbour, but heading directly out into the ocean and whatever it held for us.
On this journey we crossed from eastern to western latitudes, an important distinction we failed to make in our original passage planning. However in the dead of night Piet had a flash of realisation and corrected the error saving us a few hours and miles of error.
Alas I was sick a lot on this journey. We had some good weather days and a 35 knot gale with really sloppy seas crashing. As it was dead on the nose we hove- to and rode it out. That piece of ocean is now like a place we visited for a while.
However we continued to eat well and our fresh food lasted all the way to Tonga. Many thanks to Lily for her delicious baking and Janey for the fabulous fruitcake that cheered up many a midnight watch.

Blog May 30
We made it! Five weeks after we finished work and numerous weather delays we are in Tonga. We have endured storms and calms, seasickness and sleep deprivation but it’s all worth it now we are in this island paradise. Its 27 degrees, the sea is gloriously warm, palm trees on the shore and cocktails at sunset....

Photo: Piet doing what he does best!!

Whangarei
We enjoyed the hospitality of Whangarei for a week due to a persistent dirty little low pressure system parked on the northwest of NZ, which I believe plagued you for a week or more after we left. At the gorgeous marina in the town centre we caught up with sleep, re-provisioned, socialised with the other waiting international cruisers - us ready to join this exclusive club of hardy people who sail offshore. We saw David’s mum and I revelled in seeing Mandy and my dear nieces and nephew.
Finally the wind started to abate and we headed back down the river on a gorgeous day to clear customs at Marsden Cove.

Napier to Whangarei

Blog May 9 Whangarei
Yahoo leg 1 completed! We arrived last night at Whangarei Heads and fetched up at Marsdon Cove Marina for much welcomed showers, and to wait the night to get a high tide to go up the river into Whangarei.
We spent two days in Napier, dropping off Simon and picking up Piet. We got everything dried out, reprovisioned and did some of the inevitable fixing of things. We walked Aruhiri Wetland Walkway and had fish and chips on the Napier foreshore.
Feeling somewhat recovered we set out from Napier and headed up the coast. The first three days we had good weather and had to motor quite a lot. We rounded East Cape in the dark and headed across Bay of Plenty. Caught a good size tuna out there and gorged ourselves on sushimi and Poisson Cru.
Fortunately we managed to sustain a degree of our sealegs that were so hard won on the Wairarapa Coast, so after that enforced fast we dined well on our way north, enjoying the fruits of Janet’s cooking and freezing TV dinners. Thanks to all who lent us freezer space.
Our last day, reaching across the Hauraki Gulf, dawned cloudy with up to double the 15 knots of wind predicted. An uncomfortable north easterly swell buffeted us all day but we enjoyed the sights of Great Barrier Island and the Hen and Chicken Islands.
Piet has proved to be an excellent addition to our crew. He reads boating electronic manuals for bedtime reading! He is figuring out all the technology and fixing a few things along the way. He is a capable navigator, can play the guitar and harmonica, and has a wicked sense of humour. Even the birds like him, a swallow alighting on his lap on watch one night.
We face the prospect of several days here in Whangarei as there is a deep slow moving low pressure system sitting off the west coast with accompanying strong easterlies, quite the wrong wind for us.

Wellington – Napier April 30 to May 2.
After a week of studying the weather, consulting sailing friends and searching for a suitable weather window we finally settled on what appeared to be an excellent forecast – strong northerlies dropping to 20 knots and then changing to a 30 knot southerly. If we left at midnight we’d get the dying northerly and pick up the southerly at Cape Palliser. It had been blowing very hard all day. Nobody in their right mind would think of sailing in those conditions but the forecast held so off we went. What we’d not taken notice of was the sea state, “very rough seas” and all up the Wairarapa coast that’s what we had. Swells from all direction and a short, steep sea making the boat as uncomfortable as I’d ever experienced her. Across Palliser Bay the wind increased, as it does, to 30 – 35 k and we put a double reef in and shortened the genoa. Simon had trouble with the autohelm so he hand-steered much of his watch. I got wretchedly sea sick early on and remained that way until Sunday morning. It felt much longer than that. Janet followed suit once we’d rounded the corner. And it was cold, very cold. Janet suffered most and would be found on watch wrapped in all the clothes she could get on plus a duvet which threatened to get wet.
The boat seemed to need a lot of attention up to Cape Palliser. Janet didn’t think that she could cope with the conditions so Simon and I took turns up to the corner. Simon’s hand held GPS refused to work which frustrated him, the autohelm began going into stand-by mode, the quarter berth porthole which opens into the cockpit fell out and the house alternator wasn’t working. All these faults made it feel like the boat was not reliable, the conditions were more testing than we’d expected, we had large dollops of water hurled into the cockpit threatening the replaced but loose porthole and Simon and I were getting exhausted. These were new and very testing conditions for Simon who rose to the occasion magnificently. He took charge of navigating as he could see that any attempt at this task just aggravated my already rather dramatic sickness. I’m not a quiet vomitter. I give full cry to the agony of having the very bottom of my stomach wrenched up my throat. It sounds like I’m being tortured and I can assure you, it feels like that too. But to Simon it must have sounded like his skipper was not long for this world. He became concerned, more vigilant and took more responsibility, often popping up on deck while off watch. Both Janet and I independently began trying to recollect what it was about ocean sailing that so appealed. I started making other plans. Perhaps we’d sell Navire after Tonga and buy a canal boat in Europe where there are no rough seas and you’re never far from a mechanic or marine electrician. Simon began considering how he could persuade us to put into Napier where he could desert. Janet began thinking about heaving to which seemed preferable to heaving over.
On the upside the nights were beautiful with a full moon and clear sky. But they were cold. Janet began taking her watch and I got my first decent sleep which was heaven. The autohelm improved when I used a different socket but still went into standby mode occasionally when the boat would fall off the wind until the headsail backed which, for you landlubbers, means the wind coming onto the opposite side – not ideal for sailing. Several times neither Janet nor I noticed this significant change – dozing on watch and trying to keep our stomachs down – but Simon, lying in his bunk where he should have been sleeping, would leap on deck to sort us out.
Big seas and 30-40k wind lasted right up to Napier where it began slowly to ease. Sunday morning I felt like I was beginning to come right. Simon secured the wayward porthole. Things were improving.
However, Simon made up his mind to get off at Napier. He was exhausted and, considering his busy orchestra schedule for which he needed to be well collected, rested and calm, he reluctantly decided to cut his journey short so into Napier we went.