Our first 18 hours at sea
First blog from on board the good ship Victoria as they sail northbound to Tonga, and away from the luxury of 3G, wifi and normal comms in New Zealand. It sounds like they've had a very tough start, but all safe and happy on board.
You can track Victoria's progress (updated approx twice a day) here:
www.forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/rally/ICNZ_2019-PCR/
If you'd like to send them any short messages while at sea, please email me at goslingrosie@gmail.com and I will pass these on. Rosie x
Well, we have survived our first 18 hours at sea. Just about. It was all very jolly as we left the marina. "See you in Tonga!" we called merrily to the other boats. About 30 boats from our rally left, and at least a dozen others, too. Everyone had waited for this weather window, and although it was a bit marginal, we went for it. As we motored north, getting our fenders and lines away, we had a comfortable 15-20 knots of breeze, and we put our main up, followed by our jib. For about half an hour all was looking good. Then the wind built. And the waves built. And we heard a "Pan Pan" (emergency call) on the radio from Gypsy Soul, one of the boats in our rally, who were taking on water and pumping furiously, and heading back to Opua. That was a bit unnerving to say the least, but I'm pleased to say they are OK and made it back safely. One of the other boats soon turned back with auto-steering failure. And still the wind built, and the waves increased in size. They were short, choppy, confused waves, some breaking over the boat, some thumping in to us, some soaking us from behind and trying to get down our cockpit steps into the saloon. Jack was the first to be sick. I had given everyone macaroni cheese a couple of hours before we left, followed by a seasick tablet. I had hoped that having lunch early would mean I wouldn't be seeing it again anytime soon. As it happened, Jack was "not hungry" for his macaroni cheese, and the evidence of quite how many chocolate covered raisins he must have helped himself to pre-lunch was indisputable, clear for all to see in the saucepan that Eloise managed to grab for him just in time. It was much too rough to go on deck to deal with the saucepan contents, so I did a sort of juggling dance along the boat to the heads, and managed to flush the contents down the heads and out to sea without any sloshing out. Good life skills. Eloise clipped herself to the low side in the cockpit and settled in there for the evening. Jack went to sleep on the saloon seat on the low side. George was taking no chances and decided that the safest place to sleep was on the floor. Meanwhile, I was helming and Angus was busy with all sorts of down-below computing and radio jobs - sending our fleet position, checking in for a long range radio sched with Northland Radio. So much time down below in the horrendous motion was too much, and he arrived as white a sheet in a hurry on deck, rushing to clip on at the low side and watch his macaroni cheese disappear into the water whooshing down our decks.
It was a very tough night. We were anticipating 25 knots and 1-2m swell. We had sustained 30-35 knot wind, with several gusts up to 40 knots, and very large confused waves, many in the 3-4m size. It was a big challenge for all of us, made worse by the fact that it is winter here, so the nights are 14 hours long. It's dark from 5pm until 7am, and things always seem worse in the dark. The sheer volume of water crossing our decks unearthed some deficiencies in how well we had lashed things on pre-departure. One of the lights attached to our life buoy became tipped at an angle and so flashed intermittently. It was quite reassuring for a few hours, as it illuminated the stern, giving us reassurance that our dinghy (containing our yellow kayak, windsurf sail, and all the kayak and SUP paddles, was still there. After a while I decided I must venture out of the cockpit to tie it up. I clipped on, knelt down next to it, turned on my headtorch, and began the task. And of course, at that precise moment, the only really huge wave to break over our stern arrived with a whoosh and a crash. I heard it coming, stayed knelt low, held the guard rail with one hand and the rigging with the other, and got absolutely soaked through. The water went up my waterproof trousers, down my boots, up my sleeves, down my neck. I had been so toasty and warm and was now soaking. I finished the job and left Angus, who was still feeling like death warmed up for most of the night, on deck while I sorted myself out. I was surprised to find Eloise, who had been asleep in the aft cabin, walking around in her pants searching for dry clothes. "You'll never guess what just happened!" she said with a grin, as we both clung on the to table, "I was fast asleep and then I got soaked in the face with a huge wave!" All the hatches were closed, so we think it must have come straight down the air vent. We must find out how to cover it!
By now the pile of wet clothes, pillows and sheets was growing. I got myself sorted and dry, including plastic bags over my socks as the inside of my boots were so wet, and Angus suggested I try and sleep for a couple of hours as things on deck seemed stable. I took the other end of the saloon seat that Jack was on. He nosed his way along for a cuddle, which was briefly lovely until he said he was getting "hiccups", which turned out to have more substance than expected. With no saucepan in reach, we caught most of it in a towel, but then the shock of it all was too much and he did a wee all over himself me! So, in a very short space of time, we created a lot of mess and washing.
But we made it through safely, and we're all in good spirits today. There isn't enough wind now (oh, the irony!) to make 6 knots in the right direction, which is what we need to do to try not to get caught up in another 35 knot hoolie over the weekend, so we're motor-sailing now. Everyone is happy, we've all had breakfast and it has so far stayed down. Angus and George are just putting a fishing line out, so hopefully we'll manage to catch our lunch soon!
A few pics before they departed Opua:
You can track Victoria's progress (updated approx twice a day) here:
www.forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/rally/ICNZ_2019-PCR/
If you'd like to send them any short messages while at sea, please email me at goslingrosie@gmail.com and I will pass these on. Rosie x
Well, we have survived our first 18 hours at sea. Just about. It was all very jolly as we left the marina. "See you in Tonga!" we called merrily to the other boats. About 30 boats from our rally left, and at least a dozen others, too. Everyone had waited for this weather window, and although it was a bit marginal, we went for it. As we motored north, getting our fenders and lines away, we had a comfortable 15-20 knots of breeze, and we put our main up, followed by our jib. For about half an hour all was looking good. Then the wind built. And the waves built. And we heard a "Pan Pan" (emergency call) on the radio from Gypsy Soul, one of the boats in our rally, who were taking on water and pumping furiously, and heading back to Opua. That was a bit unnerving to say the least, but I'm pleased to say they are OK and made it back safely. One of the other boats soon turned back with auto-steering failure. And still the wind built, and the waves increased in size. They were short, choppy, confused waves, some breaking over the boat, some thumping in to us, some soaking us from behind and trying to get down our cockpit steps into the saloon. Jack was the first to be sick. I had given everyone macaroni cheese a couple of hours before we left, followed by a seasick tablet. I had hoped that having lunch early would mean I wouldn't be seeing it again anytime soon. As it happened, Jack was "not hungry" for his macaroni cheese, and the evidence of quite how many chocolate covered raisins he must have helped himself to pre-lunch was indisputable, clear for all to see in the saucepan that Eloise managed to grab for him just in time. It was much too rough to go on deck to deal with the saucepan contents, so I did a sort of juggling dance along the boat to the heads, and managed to flush the contents down the heads and out to sea without any sloshing out. Good life skills. Eloise clipped herself to the low side in the cockpit and settled in there for the evening. Jack went to sleep on the saloon seat on the low side. George was taking no chances and decided that the safest place to sleep was on the floor. Meanwhile, I was helming and Angus was busy with all sorts of down-below computing and radio jobs - sending our fleet position, checking in for a long range radio sched with Northland Radio. So much time down below in the horrendous motion was too much, and he arrived as white a sheet in a hurry on deck, rushing to clip on at the low side and watch his macaroni cheese disappear into the water whooshing down our decks.
It was a very tough night. We were anticipating 25 knots and 1-2m swell. We had sustained 30-35 knot wind, with several gusts up to 40 knots, and very large confused waves, many in the 3-4m size. It was a big challenge for all of us, made worse by the fact that it is winter here, so the nights are 14 hours long. It's dark from 5pm until 7am, and things always seem worse in the dark. The sheer volume of water crossing our decks unearthed some deficiencies in how well we had lashed things on pre-departure. One of the lights attached to our life buoy became tipped at an angle and so flashed intermittently. It was quite reassuring for a few hours, as it illuminated the stern, giving us reassurance that our dinghy (containing our yellow kayak, windsurf sail, and all the kayak and SUP paddles, was still there. After a while I decided I must venture out of the cockpit to tie it up. I clipped on, knelt down next to it, turned on my headtorch, and began the task. And of course, at that precise moment, the only really huge wave to break over our stern arrived with a whoosh and a crash. I heard it coming, stayed knelt low, held the guard rail with one hand and the rigging with the other, and got absolutely soaked through. The water went up my waterproof trousers, down my boots, up my sleeves, down my neck. I had been so toasty and warm and was now soaking. I finished the job and left Angus, who was still feeling like death warmed up for most of the night, on deck while I sorted myself out. I was surprised to find Eloise, who had been asleep in the aft cabin, walking around in her pants searching for dry clothes. "You'll never guess what just happened!" she said with a grin, as we both clung on the to table, "I was fast asleep and then I got soaked in the face with a huge wave!" All the hatches were closed, so we think it must have come straight down the air vent. We must find out how to cover it!
By now the pile of wet clothes, pillows and sheets was growing. I got myself sorted and dry, including plastic bags over my socks as the inside of my boots were so wet, and Angus suggested I try and sleep for a couple of hours as things on deck seemed stable. I took the other end of the saloon seat that Jack was on. He nosed his way along for a cuddle, which was briefly lovely until he said he was getting "hiccups", which turned out to have more substance than expected. With no saucepan in reach, we caught most of it in a towel, but then the shock of it all was too much and he did a wee all over himself me! So, in a very short space of time, we created a lot of mess and washing.
A few pics before they departed Opua:
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| Night before departure passage planning - better late than never! |
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| All on board hoping that this game doesn't come true.... |
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| Jack looking for Pirates |
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| Eloise organised 'kiddies come dancing' while the sun set on Urupakapaka Island |
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| Fishing ashore in Russell |
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