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!