So that's what happened to summer!

Launching area - Elaine Bay

Sunday greeted us with warm sunshine and a fresh breeze. "Glad the wind's going to drop this afternoon," I shouted to Howard as we hitched Dark Star onto the ute. The trip over to Elaine Bay was fairly slow with some interesting wee bits of road to negotiate at times - especially with a boat the size of Dark Star in tow. We had chosen not to refuel her in Picton to save having to tow with all that extra weight. Both fuel and water were supposed to be available at Elaine Bay so once we arrived there we set about trying to hunt both down. It took a bit of sleuthing but much to our relief we eventually found the fuel. However, things didn't go exactly to plan! Our much hoped for 'leaving with a full tank' nearly didn't eventuate as we struggled to persuade the un-manned fuel pump to allow us to put in any fuel at all (something to do with an iffy satellite connection, apparently). But we persisted and showed it who was boss (yeah, right!). Next we needed to get the water. Surely to goodness it couldn't be that hard to find.

"Look! There's a hose down there by the jetty," I announced triumphantly to Howard after several minutes of fruitless searching. We grabbed our water cans and strode over to fill them. As we started to do so, the stench of stagnant water permeated the air and made me react as if the hose had turned round and bitten me.

"Crikey! There's no way we can use that," I muttered as I threw the hose to the ground. "It smells ghastly. There has to be some somewhere else."

So we searched and searched, eventually tracking down another likely looking hose pipe. This time I was far more cautious. A smell test followed by a quick taste test affirmed that it passed my quality control (which as it transpired wasn't as good as it could have been, but more about that later). Right, so now to find the boat ramp - or at least that's what it had been called on the web sites we had read.

Observant followers of this blog may have noticed the 'boat ramp' just below the trees in the photo a couple of paragraphs up there ^. Looks pretty OK, right? Wrong! In real life it's actually just a bit of beach and in order to add a soupcon of excitement you need to launch at right angles to the 'ramp'. What's more, you need to be far enough down the ramp or else when you do the whole right angle thing, the boat will hit sand as it leaves the trailer. I'll leave you to ponder how we may have found out about hitting the sand!!

Anchorage in Camp Bay area of Waitata Bay

After some messing about and general shenanigans we were finally on the water and under way. The wind was still blowing quite hard but then it was fairly early in the afternoon (and guess what - it was hot again!) so we were certain it would ease come nightfall. When it came time to drop anchor for the night, a keen nor'easter was still blowing, so we tucked ourselves in what we hoped would be a sheltered spot in Waitata Bay. It certainly looked from the chart as though it should fit the bill. And so it did - until, that is, we reached the wee small hours of the morning. The wind obviously hadn't checked any forecasts and certainly hadn't realised it was supposed to have stopped blowing by now. Instead it shifted round to the south east. The boat was doing a merry old dance, so much so that we were concerned that the anchor may not hold. I stayed on watch for the rest of the night as the boat heaved this way and that (well, I wasn't going to be able to sleep with the boat dancing around like that) to make sure we had no anchor drag (which we didn't). Needless to say, sunrise and daylight were greeted with a great degree of relief.

Choppy seas off the Chetwode Islands

So Monday dawned sunny, hot (again) and with a fair old breeze still blowing. As the morning progressed though the wind did begin to ease...a bit! A brief exploratory foray up towards the Chetwode Islands to check whether we would be able to make it up to French Pass that day persuaded us that the sea state was choppy enough to make waiting another day the sensible option. French Pass was about 20 nautical miles away and there's only so much excitement a girl can cope with! When we managed to piece together the local weather information from our VHF radio (static, fade and general mayhem made information gathering challenging to say the least) it did definitely sound as though Tuesday would be a goer. The wind would be easing...definitely...probably...possibly!

So instead we busied ourselves with catching fish - after all that's what we'd come for. As we landed our first bluey, I opened the chilly bin to put it on ice.

"Do you remember what I said about ice when we were in Picton?" I asked Howard.

"Uh-huh," came the response.

"Well, I don't seem to have remembered to buy any. Don't suppose you bought some and put it somewhere random did you?"

"Don't be silly!" came the brutally honest reply.

Now here was an interesting wee problem. We were out there in the middle of the Marlborough Sounds on a hot, sunny day, some considerable distance from any population centres with freshly caught fish and no ice. Howard hurriedly consulted the Pilot (for non-boaties, that's a book not a person!) whilst I set about making a cup of tea (always useful in a crisis). I'd used the last of the Parklands camp site water at breakfast time, so reached for one of the jerry cans we'd filled at Elaine Bay. As I retrieved the first of our supposedly blue, translucent water containers from under one of the boat seats I noticed that its colour had mysteriously changed to pale brown. I reached down for the other two, only to find the same thing.

"Oh, yuk!" I grumbled.

"What?" came the somewhat bemused reply.

"The water is filthy," I complained. "We can't possibly drink it."

"Look, it'll be OK as long as you boil it plenty. See, it doesn't look that bad when it's in the pan."

Howard was using all the powers of persuasion he could muster - and reasonably successfully too, I have to say. The water was boiled to within an inch of its life and a brew duly made. Howard continued with his research. We had anchored in a little bay called Homestead Bay - very picturesque - and I was busily thinking that, assuming I survived drinking this cup of tea, it could be a lovely place to use as an anchorage over night. I studied my drink intently, pondering whether or not I should take a mouthful.

Suddenly my concentration was shattered as Howard blurted out, "Hey, guess what!"

"What?" came my rejoinder. It was a bit of a relief really because it saved me taking a mouthful of that suspect liquid in my cup.

Waterfall Bay

"See that little bay over there?" he asked pointing to his right. "Reckon it has a shop and a water supply."

I studied the general area that was being indicated and decided the chances of there being a shop there were extremely unlikely, but any port in a storm as they say. So the brew was unceremoniously dumped over the side and off we went to Waterfall Bay. As we drew closer to the jetty I noticed that there were some people working away on the beach just below the house that we could see at the head of the bay.

"Well, at least there's someone around for you to ask if there's a shop in the vicinity," I said to Howard.

"What do you mean 'for me to ask'?" he queried. "I'm looking after the boat so it'll be you who'll be doing the asking!"

Jetty at Waterfall Bay

So a couple of minutes later I was walking across the jetty and heading towards the path that I had seen from the water. 'How come I always seem to end up doing this,' I thought to myself as I approached the house. The people I had noticed on our approach to the bay had all stopped what they were doing and were following my every move (well at least, that's what it seemed like - all I needed was some dramatic music to complete the scene).

"I know this may sound like a silly question," I said to the young lad who by now was leaning on his shovel, "but is there a shop around here?" I felt like a total plonker. How could there possibly be a shop in a place as remote as this?

"Yup - just up there," he replied, pointing over his shoulder.

Well, that's not quite the response I'd expected! How wrong can a girl be? So off I wandered in the general direction that had been indicated and sure enough I came across a shop. It wasn't exactly brimming over with stock but nonetheless it was a shop.

"I don't suppose you'd have any ice would you?" I asked of the guy who'd suddenly appeared behind the counter.

"Sure do," came the reply, "although I think I have only got three bags."

"That'll do just fine," I said and went to hand over my $20 note.

"Oooh, I'm afraid we don't keep much cash here so I don't have any change. Do you want some bread or something like that so that we can make up the $20? It's frozen so it will keep for a while."

Well, we weren't exactly desperate for bread but I guessed it would always come in handy. And of course chocolate would definitely be very well received by my shipmate. I was just about to leave with my slightly larger than intended cache when I suddenly remembered about the water.

"Is there anywhere around here that we can fill our water cans?" I asked somewhat forlornly, suspecting I would probably have to get over myself and use that strangely coloured stuff we had got from Elaine Bay.

Cool, clear water - Waterfall Bay jetty

"Oh yes," came the somewhat unexpected reply. "There's a hose pipe down on the jetty. We keep it running all the time so the water's lovely and clear. If you don't keep it running it can go stagnant you know." 'Tell me about it,' I thought to myself! I could have hugged this guy. However I resisted the urge, choosing instead to thank him profusely, before bounding off back to the boat.

A few minutes later, we had filled all our water cans, put the ice in the chilly bin and had cast off from the jetty. There was only one thing to do now and that was to have a really nice cup of tea (have you spotted our English heritage yet?). We moored up to a buoy at the entrance to Waterfall Bay, put the kettle on and settled down in the sunshine to do a spot of fishing. What more could we ask for? Well, certainly not the all the dogfish that we both landed, but maybe we were being just a tad ungrateful!

A short time later, suitably refreshed but over playing catch and release with numerous spiny dogfish (or was it just one spiny dogfish who had discovered the secret of getting a free feed?), we cast off from the mooring buoy. Our plan now was to explore the delights of Port Ligar and Maori Bay in the hope that we might return with enough fish for tea. The wind had died down almost completely and the sea surface looked like glass. And it was hot - really hot. Being so far from civilisation at least allowed me to fish in comfort wearing just my bra and jeans. I felt it was judicious though to keep a bit of a weather eye out for any likely passing traffic so that I could make sure I replaced my thermals - after all, I didn't want to go scaring the locals! Howard wanted to know why I wasn't worried about scaring him, but as I pointed out, he should be used to my acreage after 20-odd years!

The chef (aka Captain) in action

After a really enjoyable - and very fruitful - few hours we returned to the mooring buoy in Waterfall Bay, tired, hungry but incredibly happy. A short time later and we had tucked into a wonderful meal of fresh fish before crawling into bed, replete and thoroughly relaxed. As we lay there, our minds turned somewhat inevitably to the prospect of life in the future and living on the yacht. We were in no doubt that it was going to be just fabulous.

Another glorious day greeted us on Tuesday with cloudless blue skies and virtually no wind so we should have no problems with our journey up to French Pass. However, because the wind had been so strong over the previous few days, the chances were there would still be quite a swell running up around the Te Kakaho Channel but it shouldn't be anything that we couldn't handle.

Early morning fishing - Waterfall Bay

It was still quite early when I climbed out of bed, the sunshine coaxing me on deck to enjoy our stunning surroundings. Whilst I waited for Howard to surface from his slumbers I decided to see whether I could catch the odd fish.

"So, how many have you caught so far?" A disembodied voice floated towards me from the depths of the cabin and it appeared the captain had finally woken up.

"Oooh, loads," I lied and then honesty got the better of me. "Oh OK then, only one or two."

"And how many of those were spiny dogfish?"

What a cheek! But if truth be told I had carried on where I'd left off the previous night playing catch and release with the 'doggies', much to my chagrin. How come they picked on me? Perhaps they'd decided it was quite a good way to get a free feed (although, one could argue, it would be a somewhat painful way). However, I had caught one gurnard - and a good sized one at that - so I decided that I should focus on that. I reached into the chilly bin and retrieved my gurnard from its icy depths and proudly presented it to a somewhat bleary-eyed Howard. Once he had convinced me he was suitably impressed, the fish went back in the chilly bin and I busied myself making breakfast whilst Howard busied himself with the tricky business of waking up!



Elmslie Bay and French Pass

A couple of hours later and we'd left Waterfall Bay behind us as we headed for the Chetwode Islands and the Te Kakaho Channel. As I'd suspected, the sea state here was quite sloppy but in spite of that the going was really quite pleasant. We soon passed Paparoa with its overfalls and then Clay Point before crossing Admiralty Bay and heading off towards D'Urville Peninsula. We suspected that the sea would be less choppy in the lee of  D'Urville Island - and we were correct. A short time later and we were preparing to drop anchor in Elmslie Bay.

"Hey, do you folks want to use my mooring?" The question had been posed by a local fisherman who was just casting off from his mooring buoy. "I'm going out fishing and won't be back here for three or four days so you're more than welcome to use it until I come back."

"That would be great, thanks," Howard shouted back. Apart from nearly getting run down by our new fisherman friend as he left his buoy, we moored without a hitch.

After a cup of tea to revive us (yes, another one) we motored over to the jetty to catch up with Rachel, Greig and Ethan. The weather was still glorious so we decided to take them out to give them a bit of a taster of what was to come on Wednesday and also to see if Greig, in true hunter-gatherer style, could catch them something for tea. He duly obliged although not without having to wrest his prized fish away from a somewhat opportunistic shag. The shag was really quite tenacious and nearly won the day but in the end Greig was the victor. The shag swam off, despondently, no doubt plotting his revenge!

We returned our passengers to the jetty, having arranged to collect them the following morning about 10.00am. As we tied up to our mooring we reflected on yet another fabulous day, recognising how lucky we are to live in such a wonderful country and that we are fully able to enjoy all it has to offer. Tea was followed by reading in bed but sleep soon overtook us.

Where's the Captain?

"Hey, it's another fabulous day," I announced to anyone who would listen. Well actually, that 'anyone' was limited to Howard, as the only other person on the boat, but he was comatose so wasn't listening at all! However, it was such a beautiful day - the sun was shining, the sea looked like a mirror -  I just felt compelled to share my joie-de-vivre with him even if he was asleep. I sat on deck, soaking up the sunshine and watching a truck perform some incredibly intricate manoeuvres as it tried to deliver building materials to a property that was perched precariously on the edge of a steep hillside. The driver had to be an absolute legend to even contemplate trying to get his truck in there.

"Morning!" Well, that brought me back to the' here and now' with a bit of a jolt. Howard looked mildly dishevelled but seemed relatively wide awake as he continued with his conversation. "Can you see anything of Greig and Rachel?" I peered over to the camp site which is right on the shoreline of Elmslie Bay.

"Yup," I replied. "It looks as though they're just making their breakfast." It was 9.00am and so we thought we'd better have ours too so we would be ready in plenty of time to pick them up.

And then, apparently out of nowhere, the wind started blowing. At first we thought it would just stay at gentle breeze level, but no, it just kept building and building. What had been a mirror-like sea surface was being whipped into a frenzy with foaming whitecaps appearing everywhere we looked. Dark Star began to behave like something possessed, bouncing around all over the place.

"So what do we do now?" I asked Howard, as the prospect of trying to get the Dark Star alongside the jetty began to fill me with dread.

"We'll just have to sit it out," Howard said. "Surely it'll just die down as quickly as it arrived. I think you should text Rachel though and let her know what we're thinking."

So text I did. Whilst Greig, Rachel and Ethan got blown around French Pass, we tried to avoid falling overboard from our bucking bronco of a boat. Three hours later and the wind seemed to be getting even stronger. We'd tried to get a shipping forecast on the VHF but again had issues with static, fade and break-up. What we did manage to hear suggested that the wind was going to build to 40 knots by mid afternoon and wouldn't be moderating until the following day. And of even more concern was that it was a nor'easter. The mooring that had been so generously offered to us was going to be completely exposed. With the sea state as it was, there was no chance of moving so we'd just have to sit it out. We texted Rachel to let her know there was no way we could get over to them. Sadly, they were unable to stay another night and we watched and waved as they drove out of French Pass and home to Nelson.

By tea time I was over it! I wanted the wind to go away and the boat to stop behaving as if its sole intent was to dump us overboard. Neither of us felt like eating which was a good job really, because cooking would have been lethal. Just trying to boil the kettle for a drink was a major undertaking - and drinking it wasn't any easier. By 6.30pm we'd given up and gone to bed. As we lay there we could here the incessant roar of the wind and every now and then it would slam into the side of the boat. One minute it felt as though the bow would be submerged only to be followed minutes later by a violent side-to-side motion. It was remorseless and as it got dark I found it increasingly scary. Sleep was very intermittent and when it did come it was full of vivid, scary dreams - everything from the boat capsizing to it being engulfed by huge waves.

Renewed enthusiam off Pukatea Bay

But as with all trying situations, it did pass. Daylight arrived and the wind started to moderate. There were the odd really scary gusts but it was definitely improving. We ate breakfast and debated what to do. The previous night's fear gave way to my normal optimism and enthusiasm for being on the water. What's more, we could actually walk around the boat without falling over which was a real bonus! We thought we'd better give the wind a bit longer to settle before heading back south again so opted instead to for a spot of (very successful) fishing around Pukatea Bay. The waters on this side of Admiralty Bay were relatively sheltered and once again we were enjoying our surroundings.

Dark Star at the jetty, French Pass

Mid afternoon and we returned to Elmslie Bay. We needed more fuel and more water to get us through another few days. The Pilot (that book again) insisted both were available at the jetty. We tied up and went in search. Well, it soon felt like we were having a bit of a deja-vu moment as we carried out a fruitless search for both fuel and water, just like we had done at Elaine Bay. We did find a fuel pump but it wasn't in use. After making enquiries of some locals it transpired that the only place to get fuel was the local petrol station-cum-shop which was a fair old hike from the jetty. So we armed ourselves with our petrol containers and wandered off along the main street of French Pass. Arriving at the shop/petrol station our hearts sank as we pushed the door and it was locked. I could see someone mowing a lawn just behind the shop so I thought I'd go and ask if they knew when the shop would re-open. What a stroke of luck! He was the shop owner so he parked his mower and came to help us. Whilst he was filling our cans we enquired about water.

"The Pilot says it's available on the jetty but we can't find it," Howard said.

"Nah. Not had any there for ages. You'll have to get it from the camp site over there."

Entrance to Pelorus Sound

We returned to the boat with our now full petrol cans and then headed back to the camp site for some water. Oh well, at least all this walking would be doing us good! We trudged back to the boat again and finally we were ready to cast off and head for Guards Bay.

There was quite a swell running as we once again rounded Clay Point and headed towards Culdaff Point. Ahead of us we could see Guards Bay and although it was getting quite late we couldn't resist tossing a line over the side of the boat to see if we could land any fish. A couple of blueys later and we decided it was time to find a suitable mooring and then settle down for some fresh fish and a good sleep - something we were looking forward to after the previous night's buffeting. We found a fabulous wee spot over in the north east corner of the bay and retired into the cabin, two happy but exhausted people.

Friday dawned sunny, windless and ridiculously hot. As we sat on deck eating breakfast, huge work-ups of kahawai were breaking the surface all around us. We tried to focus on the job in hand (eating breakfast) but all this action was just too much to resist. The rods were set up and absolute mayhem broke out. Kahawai were launching themselves at the lures from all directions, reels were screaming and we were racing between rods trying to keep a semblance of control. We reckoned that the chances of us finishing breakfast were fairly slim but boy, were we having a good time with the kahawai. Eventually they seemed to tire of racing around the boat after our lures so we took advantage of the lull in proceedings and cleared up our dishes. The anchor was raised and we started to make our way towards Allen Strait. We hadn't gone far before the kahawai returned and another bout of mayhem ensued.

Early morning - Guards Bay

The rest of the day was blissful as we first of all drifted through Allen Strait, where we landed some really good fish, before crossing Pelorus Sound to return to our old haunts around Port Ligar and Waterfall Bay. Moored in our favourite spot again, eating fresh fish and watching the sun set we were two very happy campers. However, the shipping forecast was telling us that the calm weather was going to be a thing of the past by the end of the weekend so we knew that we would have to start making our way back to Elaine Bay. And anyway, we were beginning to get a bit low on fuel so we decided that Saturday would be our last night on the water. It was a sad thought because we'd had such a stunning time in spite of our two really windy episodes. It was so exciting to think that living out on the water would be the norm for us in the not too distant future.

Saturday saw us working our way down to Godsiff Bay with minor diversions along the way to check out the fishing. We spent our last night on the water tucked up deep in the bay surrounded by the gentle and soporific splishing sound of feeding fish. Life was indeed good.



Mirror calm water, Godsiff Bay

And then all too soon it was over. We left the tranquil waters of Godsiff Bay behind us and made our way back to Elaine Bay via Tawhitinui Island. As we hauled Dark Star out of the water and back onto her trailer we just knew we'd be back. And what about summer? Well obviously it was just running a bit late this year and turned up in autumn!

Sounds familiar?

Tennyson Inlet, Marlborough Sounds

So that was decided then. But before we could head back up to the Sounds there was the minor matter of popping across the ditch to Sydney for a couple of days to do a talk - as you do! The plan was that I would fly over to Oz on the Monday, do the talk on Tuesday, fly back on Wednesday and then leave for the Sounds on Thursday morning. Simple but hectic and sounded like a bit of a recipe for disaster to me!  However, Howard assured me that he was OK with the idea of having to pack the boat and generally get everything ready for such a quick turnaround, and, as he so rightly pointed out, we had very little choice if we wanted to get a break in before Easter.

Darling Harbour, Sydney

 Sydney came and went in a bit of a blur, a 6.00am start at the Convention Centre to do a presentation at a breakfast meeting adding insult to injury (I don't do mornings - or late nights, come to that - I'm more of your afternoon person!). And as I sat on the plane winging my way home after a very brief dalliance with Australia I was satisfied that my trip across the ditch, in spite of all the early mornings, had actually gone pretty well. I just hoped Howard had not had too heinous a time with organising and packing for our trip to the Sounds.

Dunedin International Airport!

A very relaxed-looking Howard greeted me off my flight at Dunedin Airport. Yes, everything was OK and he'd got most things ready, he told me. We just needed to sort out our clothes, which with the best will in the world wouldn't take very long. We'd have a nice cruisey evening - no rushing about - and then a leisurely departure the next day. He reckoned that if we were away by mid to late morning that would be just fine. My last few days zapping to and fro across the Tasman were beginning to catch up with me so I wasn't going to argue with any of these ideas - they sounded absolutely perfect to me.

So having arrived back at the caravan, a fabulous cup of tea was followed by a spot of packing as we sorted out suitably autumnal gear for the next couple of weeks - after all we were a good way into that season now so we weren't likely to need our summer clothes (although, dear reader, as you will soon discover, this reasoning would prove to be somewhat flawed).



Paia Point camp site south of Kaikoura

Thursday dawned fine and clear with not too much wind - always a blessing when you have a long journey in front of you, towing a boat. Late morning saw us driving out of Dunedin and heading to Kaikoura. Following a bit of a hold up as we fought with traffic in Christchurch we reached Kaikoura in the early evening. We spent a suitably relaxing and restful night there before carrying on up to Picton and Waikawa (but not before calling in at Hunting and Fishing Kaikoura to treat ourselves to a couple of Wettie wetsuits. Don't ask - it's a long story!). By late afternoon on Friday we had booked ourselves and the boat into Parklands and were enjoying ourselves planning our next few days.
So this was the plan so far. Metvuw.com had been telling us that it would be fairly windy for a couple of days (20+ knot winds) but that they would begin to ease on Sunday, dropping to 10 knots by Monday. It reckoned that the winds would then remain light until the following weekend. This forecast had been consistent for a few days now so we had arranged to catch up with some friends at French Pass on Tuesday with the aim of taking them out for a spot of fishing on Wednesday. Apart from that, we were relatively free spirits. Going to D'Urville Island really sounded appealing especially as it is so close to French Pass so that was definitely worth considering. But then virtually everywhere we looked at on the chart was worth considering. Decisions, decisions - not exactly our forte!

 

Waikawa Marina

 Because of the windy forecast, Saturday was to be a rest day - well nearly a rest day apart from needing to get all our provisions for the boat trip and pack them on to the boat. We decided that we would also go for a bit of a mooch around the marina - always a good way to pass a wee bit of time. Now, since returning from Oz the weather had been amazingly warm (remember my comment earlier about not needing summer clothes?) and as we crawled out of bed on the Saturday morning it looked as though we would have another warm day. Mind you, there was a fairly brisk wind blowing so that would moderate the temperature a bit. Off we went into Picton to get our provisions ("You won't forget that we need ice will you dear?" "Of course not!") and of course there was also the obligatory cup of coffee that accompanied any trip to Picton.

We returned to the campsite, had a leisurely lunch and then walked from Parklands to the marina at Waikawa. Howard nearly had apoplexy at the prospect of having to walk, but he soon recovered when a beer was offered as a reward! Once the beer was consumed, we ambled along the jetties looking at the boats. We got hotter and hotter until I felt as though I was in imminent danger of melting. I had stripped down as far as decency would allow but it didn't really seem to achieve anything. Here we were sheltered from the wind and the mercury was rapidly and remorselessly heading towards 27 degrees! It was autumn, for heaven's sake and it was 27 degrees. Why hadn't I brought any T shirts with me? There was only one thing for it. We'd have to have another nice cold beer. Suitably refreshed, we ambled back to Parklands, made tea and then planned our Sunday. The forecast was still insisting the wind would drop by later in the afternoon so the decision was made to head over to Elaine Bay where we would launch the boat and begin the trip up to French Pass.

Elmslie Bay, French Pass

 

Now, what do you think that bit does?

Sam the cat 'helping' with the boat build

And so the boat building began. Enthusiasm was brimming over - in fact Sam (the cat) was so overwhelmed by all the activity that he was forced to lie down and have a little sleep as the construction carried on around him! This apparent overwhelming desire to sleep on whatever happened to be being constructed meant great care had to be taken not to inadvertently epoxy him to any of the bits of boat that were starting to appear.

On a daily basis, sheets of marine grade plywood would disappear into the boat shed to be re-invented as - well generally I didn't have a clue what!

"How's your day been?" I'd ask when I arrived home from work.

"Great thanks," would come the reply. "How was yours?"

"Good thanks. So what have you been doing with yourself?" I know that must seem a bit like asking the bleedin' obvious but it was actually intended to elicit some sort of specific descriptor, if only to help me try to work out precisely what I was looking at. But no.

"I've been building a boat!" would come the answer. Yeah, thanks Howard, that was really helpful!

"Now what do you think that bit is?" Howard's finger would guide my gaze in the general direction of the latest strangely shaped assemblage.

So I'd study this lovingly constructed object that had been presented to me with such a sense of eager anticipation, hoping that just what it was would suddenly become blindingly obvious to me. However, after several minutes of intense study I'd invariably have to admit defeat.

"Well, I'm sure I should recognise it but I can't quite seem to work it out."



Framing up

And so this continued until one evening I arrived home and wandered into the boat shed, pondering what shape would great me this time. 'How long should I pretend to be on the verge of working out what it is before admitting I don't know?' I thought to myself. I glanced up and stopped dead in my tracks. There in front of me was something that was undeniably the hull of a boat. It was upside-down, I grant you, but that shape was unmistakable.

I walked around it, studying it from every angle and wherever it was viewed from it still looked like a boat. I was gobsmacked and extraordinarily excited. All those weird and wonderful shapes had come together into a cohesive whole. The really weird thing was that I had absolutely understood that it would happen, I just couldn't see how when all I had to look at was the individual elements.

"Hey, that's brilliant," I enthused when I finally found Howard. "Bet you're pleased with it aren't you?"

"Yup, it's quite good I suppose," came Howard's response, ever the master of the understatement.

The planking begins

Now before I continue with what's happening with our build I'll do a bit of a blokey-type explanation about the design as well as the more technical aspects of the boat, just in case anyone out there is thinking 'Why on earth isn't she telling us what they're building?' And I'll include the odd explanatory bit in brackets for those people who may need some translation of the boat-speak!

So, she is a fibreglass over plywood Multichine 36 from Roberto Barras yacht design. Her overall length will be 11.16m, her beam will be 3.82m and she will have 2.00m standing headroom. She will have two cabins (bedrooms), a large head aft (bathroom at the back), a main saloon (lounge area) plus a spacious galley (kitchen) and a navigation table (that's so we know where we're going).

Gosh, it really does look like a boat!

Work on the boat continued apace. Howard would work on it all day, stopping only for the odd cup of coffee and some lunch. I'd return home from work to find him happily sitting astride the upturned hull, carefully and lovingly crafting what would eventually become our home.

"What do you fancy for tea?" I'd question, prompting a momentary pause in his activities as he realised that he'd forgotten to take anything out of the freezer...again!

"Oooops, I'd forgotten all about tea," would come the response."What do you fancy?"

I'd wander off and throw something fairly basic together and then summons him in so we could enjoy the meal together. Suitably replete, Howard would then disappear back into the boat shed.

"I'll just tidy up a bit and put my tools away," he'd say as he wandered out of the caravan. "I'll be back in very shortly." Invariably the 'very shortly' was actually quite a long time - in fact more often than not it was running out of daylight that was the prompt to stop work.

Howard was as happy as a pig in muck, but he was becoming a very tired pig in muck! I had my concerns that he was pushing himself too hard, but he insisted he was fine.

"I just want to take advantage of the warmer weather and get as much of this done as I can," he explained.

"Well, just be careful that you don't push yourself too hard." I tried hard not to be bossy but sometimes  - OK, fairly often - I failed miserably. It was apparent though that my comments were falling on deaf ears. Men can be sooooo stubborn!!

A few days later I returned home after a pretty tough day at work, relieved to be back in my little cocoon that was the caravan. It had been raining most of the day which had meant that Howard had been unable to do much on the boat because the humidity affected the epoxy's ability to 'go off' so he had a cup of tea ready and waiting for me. He studied me carefully for a moment and then said, "Looks as though you've had a bit of a tough day to me. You're looking really tired."

"You're not far wrong there," I agreed.

Whirlpools at Te Aumiti (French Pass)

"Well, I reckon you need a break so how about we take the tinnie and go up to the Marlborough Sounds for a couple of weeks." He didn't need to work on persuading me.

"That's the best idea I've heard in ages," I replied. "Reckon it will do us both good. Marlborough Sounds, here we come!"

Boats, boats...and more boats!

The Slip Inn and jetty, Havelock

So the boat shed was complete and we were now all set to move on to the actual boat construction. But before we made a start on it there was the small matter of a wee break up in the Marlborough Sounds for a family catch up along with a spot of fishing. Now the sharp-eyed amongst you will notice that, according to the panel just to the left there, Captain dreams of bigger boats. You may also notice that the boat in the photo at the top of this post doesn't look a whole lot like Orca, our little fizz boat that we introduced you to earlier in this blog - and therein lies a story!

When we were rationalising our possessions one of the things that we contemplated was selling Orca - after all we were about to build a boat, so why did we need to keep her? On the other hand, we both really enjoyed the freedom that comes with a boat, not to mention the fishing. The prospect of no boat fishing for three years was something I didn't particularly relish. However, I could understand Howard's rationale - just! So, dear reader, keep this in mind as you read on.

"I've been looking at boats on Trade Me." Howard greeted me with this announcement one evening when I returned from work.

My heart sank. "Oh, I see. Are you trying to get some idea of what we should be selling Orca for?"

Dolphin watch at Paia Point camp site, Kaikoura

Howard peered at me with an incredulous look on his face. "Whatever makes you think that? I'd not even thought about it. No, I was looking at bigger boats - preferably a tinnie with a lock-up cab."

"Now why would you be doing that?" I queried. This had come completely out of left field so I was more than a little taken aback by the revelation.

"Well, I would have thought it was obvious," Howard replied. Well no, actually, it wasn't obvious but I had no doubt he was going to enlighten me. "I suddenly thought that it seemed silly not to have a boat until the yacht is built. The problem with Orca is she's a bit small if we want to stay out on her for more than one night and I'd really love to do that. I mean, simply getting undressed and into bed is a major operation on Orca, isn't it?"

I couldn't dispute that argument. "So have you seen anything interesting?"

"Ooooh yes!" came the emphatic reply. "Let me show you."

I was ecstatic! All thoughts of tea had gone by the board as we plotted and planned. And so Dark Star came into our lives. At 6.7m, she's over a metre longer than Orca and all we could want to keep us entertained until the yacht was built - and then some!

Snow on the peaks above Kaikoura

And so back to our holiday and family catch-up. This was going to be Dark Star's first road trip with us and what better place to take her for our maiden voyage than the Marlborough Sounds. Iain and Helen were flying in to Wellington from the UK and then taking the ferry over to Picton where we would collect them before heading off for a couple of weeks around Queen Charlotte Sound and hopefully Pelorus Sound. We set off from Dunedin late morning, overnighting in the stunning surrounds of Kaikoura and then it was just a leisurely drive up to Picton in time to meet the late afternoon ferry. The ferry crossing from Wellington to Picton is described as one of the most beautiful ferry rides in the world and certainly the scenery is absolutely stunning. Picton itself is a wee jewel, nestled in amongst an almost fractal coastline. It is small and understated, and we love it.

Picton

Having successfully located Iain and Helen from amongst the myriad of ferry passengers, we headed for Waikawa and the Parklands Marina Holiday Park. Now, if you're anything like me that name Holiday Park would probably strike terror into your very soul, but believe me, this place is one out of the box. It's tranquil, clean, well organised - and allows you to use your boat to camp in!! How good is that? So whilst Iain and Helen did battle with tent construction we put our feet up and watched - obviously whilst also offering helpful hints and words of encouragement.

Tent pitching at Parklands Marina Holiday Park

We spent that evening planning our next couple of weeks, working out how best to maximise Iain and Helen's time in this fabulous area. The only interruption to this came whilst tea was being made when obviously all input was focused solely on the task at hand - to very good effect, if my memory serves my right!

What would you do with that? The catering committee!

Iain and Helen had decided that their first priority was to walk the Queen Charlotte track, so after a good night's rest (well, it was for us in the boat - not so sure about those poor souls in the tent), we returned to Picton to pick up supplies and to book their track pass. Now booking the pass wasn't without incident. We were going to take them to their start point by boat which seemed to be a rather tricky concept for the person who was issuing the pass to grasp. Having finally got her to the point where she could cope with that, we administered the final coup-de-grace. They were going to be walking the track the wrong way round. We were going to drop them off at Anakiwa, which is the closest point to Picton, and then we'd fish our way down to Ship Cove which was at the far end of the Sound and collect them again. Sounds logical? Well it made perfect sense to us, but not to the pass issuer!! However, we must have eventually worn her down because some considerable time later we staggered back into the sunshine, passes in hand.

Leaving Picton

The first part of departure day was spent watching Iain and Helen trying to coax a not inconsiderable quantity of spare clothing and provisions into their rucksacks. Rather sensibly, they did check whether they could actually lift their sacs once they were packed. Needless to say, some repacking was called for! The day had dawned fine but rather windy, which made for a slightly bumpy trip up to Anakiwa and some acrobatics from Iain as we attempted to come alongside the landing jetty. All I can say is it's a really good job he's over 6 foot tall - in fact after his attempts to keep the boat and landing jetty in close proximity, he may well have increased in height slightly!

Jetty at Ship Cove

We had a sunny but very windy couple of days fishing our way down the Queen Charlotte Sound to Ship Cove, whilst Iain and Helen weren't affected so much by the wind but did seem to find vast quantities of mud - some of which Iain decided to try sitting in! Once again, Iain's height proved incredibly useful grabbing the boat as we came alongside Ship Cove's jetty to collect them, especially as we didn't have a lot of depth to play with.

Just to do the tourist information bit for a moment (and for those of you who don't know), Ship Cove is reputed to have been Captain James Cook's favourite New Zealand base during his three wide-ranging voyages of exploration. In all, he returned to it on five separate occasions between his first visit in January 1770 and final departure during his last voyage in February 1777, his expeditions spending a total of 170 days at this anchorage . Cook found this place to be a 'very snug cove' which provided 'a central and secure anchorage with good wood, water and fishing where he could prepare and provision his ships and restore his crews'.

Once we were all happily ensconced on Dark Star again and were speeding across to the opposite side of the Sound to escape the wind so that Iain and Helen could have a swim (we did warn them the water would  be cold - and it was), we started to plan our escapades for the remainder of our holiday.

So where shall we go next?

Apart from general exploration of the Sounds area, sea kayaking was high on Iain and Helen's list of things to do, and to be quite honest, we had no particular wishes other than spending time with them and on the boat. So, sea kayaks were booked and another round of provisioning undertaken. At least this time they wouldn't have to try to fit everything in just one rucksack each. We were to be the support crew, making sure we were on hand in case of emergency. And boy, did they need us! We had passed them during the afternoon happily paddling away and so we carried on down the Sound to try to catch ourselves some tea. As afternoon turned into evening we motored into the cove that they had chosen for their overnight camp. We went in as close as we could.

The interpid kayakers at Ruakaka Bay

"How are you both? OK? Any problems?" we shouted.

"We've got a bit of a problem," Iain shouted back.

I immediately started to worry that one of them had damaged something, although I had to say they both looked OK.

"What's wrong?"

"We've forgotten to pack any teabags!" came the reply

"Oh no! Well what a good job we came along!"

We had a plentiful supply of said tea bags but the biggest problem was going to be getting them to Iain and Helen. We had gone in as close as we dared in the boat but that still left a fair distance between us and the shore. Howard, ever resourceful, had it sussed though. He put some tea bags in a polythene bag adding one of our fishing sinkers to give it a bit of weight and then threw the package to shore whereupon Iain, in a move that would have made the Black Caps proud, fielded it flawlessly.

"...and make sure you don't forget to bring that sinker back with you tomorrow!" he shouted.

With the warm glow of satisfaction that comes from having saved the day, we waved goodnight and motored over to a sheltered cove to eat our gurnard and settle down for the night.

Te Rawa

The holiday was rapidly coming to an end. After the sea kayaking trip we spent much of our time doing touristy things interspersed with bouts of reprovisioning but we had one last trip planned. We wanted to motor up Pelorus Sound to Wilson Bay. In common with quite a lot of the Marlborough Sounds, this particular bay is only accessible by boat and because it was slightly more remote, we were waiting for a reasonable weather window. The whole of the holiday had been plagued by strong winds - they would certainly have made it impossible to venture out in the boat had we been around home, but in the more sheltered environment of the Sounds, we could be a little bolder.

We pulled in to Havelock on a warm, sunny but fairly windy morning, had a cup of coffee before putting the boat on the water and heading off. As we progressed along Pelorus Sound, the wind increased quite markedly but we eventually made it to Wilson Bay after a fairly splashy ride. That evening it started to rain. It rained and rained all the following day, all the while blowing an absolute gale. Now this wasn't quite what we'd expected from a forecast that had promised fine, settled weather. We ate, drank, talked, read, drank, ate, read, ate...there's only so much you can do in weather like that and we'd done it all! So our experience of Wilson Bay was a very wet one, but not wet in the way we'd anticipated.

Picton Marina

And then it was over. Sadly, Iain and Helen had to return to the UK and we returned to Dunedin. But for us our return to Dunedin heralded the next exciting chapter in our saga. Let the boat building begin!

Carpe diem (aka seize the day)

And so the boat shed build began. Now, it doesn't take an Einstein to work out that this was going to have to be a sizeable structure - not only in terms of length but also in height - if a 36 foot boat was to be constructed inside it. As we were putting it together ourselves, I couldn't help thinking this would present something of a challenge especially in light of my previously discussed design faults. So I raised the question with Howard.

"Hey, you know these frames actually stand over four metres high?"

"Uh, uh."

"Well, how are we going to bolt them together - and don't you dare say 'with bolts'? And assuming we actually manage to bolt together said frames, how on earth are we going to get the cover over them?"

The boat shed frames

Now, you know when you ask what is to you an eminently sensible question, but the person you ask obviously thinks it's a fairly purile one and you get 'that' look? You know the 'Oh, for heaven's sake, can't you work something as simple as that out' look? Well, that's what I got, followed by "just don't you go worrying about that. I've got it all worked out!"

To say I wasn't altogether convinced by this unseemly display of confidence would be something of an understatement. And was I right to be unconvinced? Well actually, no! With the aid of Sunni and Stu, the ute and some step ladders, the frames were up and bolted together in next to no time. Now all that remained was to put the cover on. 'Simple,' you're thinking. Well hold on just one minute because it's not that simple. Perhaps I should explain a couple of things at this juncture.

Half built

The boat shed was 18.5m long by 8m wide by 4.2m high which you will agree is a fairly substantial size. The cover comes in two pieces each of which is just over 9m long (obviously plus 8m wide and 4.2m high) and is made from a very heavy coated polymer fabric, so if we were to avoid the risk of prematurely sailing off down the harbour without our boat we needed a day with little or no wind. We waited ... and waited ... and waited ... and waited. We'd check the weather forecast which would be cautiously optimistic and we'd think 'maybe tomorrow' but tomorrow would dawn and the wind would be blowing.

And then it happened! We woke up one Saturday morning and noticed that it seemed ominously quiet - no creaks or groans from the awning, no scraping of branches on the old shed roof, jsut absolute calm. This was what we'd been waiting for. There was no wind! We really had to seize this opportunity so we had a hurried breakfast and raced outside rounding up the troops (aka Sunni and Stu) as we went. And then several hours and a bit of titivation later we finally had a completed boat shed. As we gazed admiringly at what we had achieved we contemplated the fact that we had actually reached the point when we could begin to build our boat. But first of all we were off to the Marlborough Sounds again. Gosh, it's a tough life!!

Complete and ready to use

Design faults!

"Right!"

Howard had that tone in his voice that usually meant I was about to be subjected to some hard work. Now whilst I'm not averse to a bit of hard physical graft - within reason, that is - I'm not too good when it comes to having to do it in the cold. Yes, I know I'm a wuss, but that's just how it is (I actually have a theory that I was somehow misplaced at birth and really should have been born in the tropics). Anyway, back to my sense of impending hard work in the cold.

Gordon and his mini-digger (that's not a small Australian!)

"Uh huh?" I tried to sound as enthused as I could on a sunny but cold day in the middle of September (for those of you reading this in the Northern Hemisphere, that's only just out of winter down here).

"Well, now that Gordon's dug the trenches for the boat shed and I've managed to assemble a few of the frames, maybe we should see if we can bolt the first few together. It would be good to take advantage of the nice weather. What do you reckon?"

What I actually reckoned was that I would quite like to stay right where I was - in the caravan with the heater on - but I reckoned it might seem a little churlish to vocalise that. I could sense that Howard was full of enthusiasm and raring to go.

"Yeah, that's a great idea," I heard myself saying. "It looks lovely out there." Where on earth did that come from? Had I lost my marbles? Oh well, looked like I was committed.

Scrambling in the Pyrenees

Now over the years Howard and I have carried out quite a few projects together as well as a good selection of pastimes and in that time I have discovered that I definitely have a couple of serious design faults. "What could they be?" I hear you cry (or maybe you didn't, but I'm going to tell you anyway!). Well firstly, I always seem to be at least six inches - that's 15cms for you young things - too short. Too short for what? Well, rock climbing and scrambling, for starters.

Ice climbing in Crinkle Ghyll, Cumbria

They called for a combination of wild contortions and some giant leaps of faith if I was ever going to reach those hand holds that were always j--u--s--t out of reach. Ice climbing should have been less problematic, but no, the decent ice that I needed for my ice axes to sink securely into was always that little bit farther away than I could comfortably reach, resulting in moves that seemed designed to radically increase the distance between the top half and the bottom half of my body. Even canoeing found me wanting in the height stakes as I needed a step stool simply to load the canoe onto the car!

 

 

When it comes to renovations or building projects I fare little better and what's more, this is where my second design fault surfaces. A typical scenario would go something like this. Howard identifies my role in the upcoming piece of work, ensuring that I realise that it is going to be really, really simple.

"Now we're going to put this sheet of Gib on the ceiling so all I need you to do is to help me lift it up and then hold that end steady whilst I screw it on. OK?"

Having confirmed that the instructions are wonderfully clear I then move into my predetermined position, ready and willing to carry out my task. We pick the piece of Gib board up, Howard making it seem as though he is picking a feather up whilst I strain to simply get it off the ground. I finally manage to get it above my head then extend my arms up towards the ceiling as far as they will go.

"I can't quite reach. Is there anything else I can stand on?" The answer to this is quite succinct.

 "Nope."

So I stand on tiptoes with my arms practically dislocating themselves and just manage to make contact with the ceiling. I fight to hold the Gib steady. Howard prepares to drive the first screw home but just as he does so, the screwdriver makes a bid for freedom. So there we are, holding one end of the Gib each needing to somehow retrieve an errant screwdriver (and yes, I know we could have put the Gib back down again, but that would have been far too sensible an option). Once the expletives subside, a little voice drifts into my ear.

"Could you pass me that other screwdriver please? It's over there, just to your right."

Just how I am going to reach said screwdriver with only the normal complement of appendages is a trifle unclear. "Urrmm, not quite sure how I'm going manage that," I venture.

"Why?" comes the reply. "It's not that difficult - it's right by where you're standing!"

"Yes, I can see that but you see I only have two hands and they're both fully occupied with holding a rather heavy sheet of Gib up against the ceiling."

"Can't you just hold it up with one hand and reach down with the other?"

"Urrmm - no. My arms aren't long enough to do that."

So there you have it - the perils of being too short and only having two hands. I had a funny feeling this was also going to be something of an issue with assembling the boat shed but, as good old Geoffrey Chaucer said, 'nothing ventured, nothing gained,' so I put on some warm clothes and wandered outside.

The embryonic boat shed