Cook Strait Crossing

Cook Strait Crossing

We’ve been preparing for days, weeks even. All safety systems in place and inspected. Flares ✓ grab bag ✓ EPIRB (Emergency Position Indicator Radio Beacon) ✓  VHF radio  ✓. Enough food for a month is stowed in every crevice of the boat and the water tanks are filled to their 180 litre capacity. The weather has been studied, analysed, checked and rechecked.

No we are not headed offshore to tropical pacific climes again but preparing for the mere five hour jump across Cook Strait. A paltry 33 nautical miles. So what’s the big deal?

When we first gave birth to the idea of sailing to the Pacific we gave Navire, our Pacific 38 sloop, a practice run to the Bay of Islands to test the mettle of our vessel and its crew. There we met veterans of the Pacific and we told them of our dream. “Where are you from?” they asked. “Wellington” we replied. “Oh Cook Strait,” they said knowingly although they’d never been there, “you’ll be fine offshore”.  And we were. Such is the reputation of this piece of water.

 

Cook Strait has this fearsome reputation for good reason. It has a tidal rip at Karori Rock, so powerful that it has been known to bring the interisland ferry to a standstill. The Marlborough Sounds Cruising Guide, an excellent technical document, recommends that in a fierce southerly with…. “Prayer may be of assistance” when transiting the rip.  It goes on “in strong conditions the rip off Karori Rock will strike fear in the heart of the most hardened mariner.”  Wikipedia states “it is considered one of the most dangerous and unpredictable waters in the world”. To add to the mix, behind Karori Rock and all along the south coast of the North Island are hills and valleys that funnel such fierce gusts out to sea, threatening to lay yachts flat on their sides, that local sailors have named it the Wind Factory.

Actually the whole of Cook Strait is a wind funnel, where wind speeds are up to twice of those of land. Last time we crossed the wind was forecasted at 20 knots and we were walloped by gusts of 42! Or worse the first time I crossed Palliser Bay, which is included in the Cook forecast, the winds were forecast for 35 knots and we got 71!

Now I’m no expert on this trip, this is one women’s view, that of a lowly and rather inept crew member. To prepare for this challenging passage we calculate our passage to arrive at Karori Rock one hour before Wellington high tide. This gets us there at slack tide when the malignant waves lie dormant for a moment. Sometimes this has us leaving in the pitch black, as we have to time our subsequent arrival in the Sounds in daylight so we can see where to drop our pick. This usually only give us one tide in a 24 hour period that we can sail on. A later tide could get us there in the dark.

This malicious tidal effect is caused by “when high water from one side of Cook Strait meets low water from the other” says Wikipedia. The effect of this meeting is reminiscent of being in a washing machine. If we have our tide calculations right, get away at the right time and reach it at slack tide, we barely notice it. However on a recent return trip we got held up by a fuel line problem in Tory Channel and arrived at the rip an hour and a half late. The whole area was awash with steep standing waves. We were only making 1.5 knots (normal speed 5-6 knots) and that wasn’t forwards, but sideways, toward the jagged teeth of the rocks at Karori Light. On another washing machine-like passage, my very first trip back with my partner David, I heard a zipping sound and looked up to see our mainsail tearing right along the boom, a coincidence but scary for a Cook Strait novice crew. David was very cool-headed and dealt with it ably and immediately, as he does. However the rip can also run in our favour. When we were returning from the Pacific we came via the west coast of the North Island, got the tide going our way and raced through at 10 knots – just about planeing!

Preparing for a crossing we watch the weather for days in advance, weeks even. This particular trip was held up for a week by relentless equinox gales which always prevail in December. We would see a weather window appear in the long-range forecast but just as quickly it would disappear, another few days of our holiday being snatched from our grasp. Our weather rules for crossing are that we generally don’t go in more than 20 knots of wind, especially if its velocity is predicted to rise. This wind speed is critical to a comfortable trip but so are the sea conditions. If it has been howling for days on end the sea can remain very rough even when the wind has eased. Or if the wind and tide are going in opposite directions rough seas prevail.

Sometimes, to cover all our bases, just after cast off from Wellington, we make an offering to the sea-gods. Sailors in earlier centuries had no GPS, no daily weather forecasts, and certainly not electronic charts, so they ritually threw tot of rum into the sea accompanied by a suitable incantation. We follow this tradition and go for the trifecta – imploring Neptune, Poseidon and Tangaroa for a fair passage.

One advantage of this arduous crossing is that only the hardiest of Wellington yachts venture forth and the Sounds are saved from being constant rush hour like the bays of the north. In 2008 we were anchored in Smokehouse Bay at Great Barrier Island with 40 yachts on Christmas Day, and 1000 more were due to arrive the next day. We left and headed north. 10 yachts would be a very busy anchorage down here.

So here we are December 2012. The leaving day arrived. Whether to go or not was a not a clear-cut decision. The day was much windier than forecast, and the breeze was coming from the opposite decision to the one predicted. A coffee and a rethink were in order. To get an idea of exactly how windy it was out in Cook Strait we monitored channel 23 on the VHF, which gives us live wind readings from critical points on our journey. Conditions were easing. So we started out, late. Not the ideal but doable. We whipped around the boat securing cupboards, hatches, and musical instruments, and gave a final tug on the dinghy lashings. Autopilot on, instruments on, let go lines and we were off. We raised our brand new mainsail and Navire sighed as she heeled over, nearly dipping her starboard rail in and out of the waves as they raced by.

The idea of crossing Cook Strait often makes me anxious. For me anxiety precipitates seasickness, and the idea of being sick makes me feel more anxious. Not ideal for a sailor you may think but not uncommon as I found out from fellow ocean cruisers in the Pacific.  I get anxious about the wind, the sea conditions, the rip, the skipper even. But most of the time I enjoy the trip.

On this trip were joined by Piet at the ninth hour. He sailed with us from New Zealand to Tonga and was relentlessly cheerful and endlessly capable for over 1000 miles through impenetrable headwinds, storms and malevolent seas, and the permanent tiredness you get with 3 hour watches every night. He and David are a formidable team and I’m grateful that Piet is a man or I might get traded in.

We sped across the harbor, wind 25knots. Everything as working, no winches jamming, nothing crashing around inside, no leaks, looks like we’d done our pre-trip preparation thoroughly.  Out of Wellington Harbour, the sun is shining and clouds are scudding across the sky. Across Lyall Bay, where the breeze accelerates down the wind funnel caused by the isthmus between the Miramar hills and the city. Would we get to the rip in time for slack water?

Sinclair Head in sight, then yes a distinct line of breakers stretch out to sea from Karori Rock. We head well south. The rip is fan shaped with the pointy end at the rock. This end is very rough, short and sharp if you are game. The wide outer fan end is relatively calmer but longer. For comfort’s sake went for this. It wasn’t too bad, not in full flood yet.

We settled in for the main body of the trip. We tend to motor sail across Cook Strait as the objective is getting there, and just occasionally we have a pleasant sail as well. Suddenly an alarm started screaming. I leapt down into the cabin and killed the engine. We sailed on as it cooled and David checked the oil and water, no shortages there. Recently David began researching installing a new engine in Navire for our next Pacific trip. In this process he found that diesel engines like being run at higher revs than we’d been running ours. So this day we wound up the revs but seemingly the system didn’t like it. Once the engine had cooled and we restarted and ran it at our usual laconic revs she ran beautifully. Having any sort of issue with a boat engine makes us feel very uneasy. We are so reliant on it. With any sort of flow coming out of Tory Channel we’d need it.

Tory Channel loomed and we radioed our intention to enter. Fortunately not a ferry in sight. They take up an awful lot of room in that narrow entrance and definitely have right of way.  We sailed on through avoiding the rocks and eddies,

I love the immediate contrast between the stormy seas of Cook Strait and the idyllic calm of Tory Channel, almost permanently sheltered by its surrounding hills. Instantly the nausea abates and my appetite returns voraciously. I’m straight into the galley producing tea and Christmas cake for the grateful crew.

We navigate the shoals of Erie Bay, position ourselves in our usual spot and drop anchor. We breathe out. We are here.