November, 2012:

Underway to New Zealand. Day 12. 65 miles to go.

We were becalmed last night, again. 90 miles from the coast. A 1.5 knot northerly current taking us farther away from our coveted landfall. All we could do was put up our double-reefed mainsail to help reduce the rolling as we bobbed about in the swell and simply wait.

I now know without a doubt that being becalmed without a working engine is far worse than big winds. When it’s windy you can reef the sails, turn the boat downwind, hove to. You participate in your fate. When the wind is gone there’s only the feeling of being totally helpless, at the mercy of the fluky atmosphere that completely overwhelms you. You recall your daughters asking if tomorrow they will get to run on land and having to answer, again, one more day maybe. You want to scream, to throw things into the glassy ocean and maybe you do. But it doesn’t really help. It doesn’t even give you a sense of relief, just makes you even more furious.

You tell yourself that you just need to give into it. The wind will come. No one has been becalmed off the coast of New Zealand for long. You think how ridiculous it is to be becalmed off the coast of New Zealand. You think about all the sailors out there, now and mostly in the past, who sailed without engines. If they can do it, so can we. All it really requires is patience. Which is not easy when you are on the brink of insanity.

You sit in the cockpit watching the moonset, trying not to get excited by the tiny puffs of wind that ruffle your hair. From the southeast, the direction they are supposed to be building from. An hour passes and the puffs turn more steady so you roll out the genoa to see what happens. Your body senses the slight increase in movement as the sails detect the wind and begin to pull the boat lazily through the sea. The GPS confirms the forward motion, even though it’s miniscule. The miles-to-go begins to count backwards again, even if it’s just a tenth of a mile.

Maybe that feeling, right there is why all those people go without engines. You try not to get your hopes up, just yet. But once you are certain that your boat is moving again after being still for hours and hours your spirit feels like it is soaring. You have butterflies, giddiness overtakes you. Relief floods your entire being. Suddenly, you feel like you are almost there.

—
34-18’S
174-59’E

Day 9, underway to New Zealand. 280 miles to go.

Longshot II took us under their wing for nearly 250 miles; they towed us for over 40 hours. This morning the forecast NE wind filled in and we’ve been sailing at 6 knots all day in a lovely 12 knots of wind. The clouds above thickened up today and turned grey, spitting down drizzle every now and then. It feels like we are coming home. We cannot even express our appreciation of what Longshot has done. Another tropical low is forming now over Vanuatu and we may have been drifting around stuck in it’s path if it hadn’t been for Longshot’s assistance. They say we can pay them with some beers when we get to Opua and we’re more than happy to pay the tab.

In other excitement onboard, we celebrated Holly’s 4th birthday yesterday. We were hoping to be in NZ by that day but it was definitely even more fun celebrating her special day at sea. I asked her the day before what she wanted for her birthday breakfast and she replied “Cake!” So that morning Leah smeared her sister’s cake with pink frosting and sprinkled it quite generously (even more fun than glitter apparently). We sang and cut it into huge slices and ate it in our pajamas. Holly opened her gifts, little trinkets we’d picked up in Tonga and a new wool hat I’d knit for her that she’ll no doubt need to wear in the next few days. Holly was beaming the entire morning, so happy with our little celebration of her.

—
30-57.00S
176-34.28E

Day 7, underway to New Zealand. 525 miles to go.

We’ve been pretty much becalmed for two days now. Yesterday we were able to sail 20 miles towards Opua when a nice wind came up in the afternoon. By nightfall however the wind had died down completely again and we were left to drift for another night. We drifted 10 miles in a north-setting current by morning.

It was still a glassy sea when we looked around in the daylight this morning. We downloaded a weather GRIB that showed we’d likely have some sailing wind by Tuesday, three days from now. Right now though we are stuck literally in the middle of a huge high pressure area, smack between NZ and Tonga. It’s been harder and harder to spin a positive light on this.

But the day sure has turned around since then. It’s almost time to start making dinner and we’re moving along nicely now at 5.0 knots. It’s still a lake outside and our engine is cold as a stone. That’s because we’re being towed by the Canadian Coast Guard toward Opua today.

Bet you didn’t see that coming? Neither did we, imagine that. And this morning when friends on Longshot II called us on the VHF and offered to tow us out of the middle of this windless high we thought they were joking. They weren’t.

Longshot II is Hans Christian 43 sailed by a family of 5 out of Victoria, B.C. Her captain, Susan, is also a Captain of high speed rescue boats in the Canadian Coast Guard and it is in her blood not to let us drift aimlessly like sitting ducks in this normally stormy sea. Along with Susan’s equally generous husband Doug, they motored towards us over 25 miles, tossed us a 100′ long line which we hitched to a bow bridle and we got underway. Also assisting was another family boat, Water Music, who came alongside us too. Bill launched his kayak and brought over a care package of yummy snacks for the girls sent from his daughter Melodie. He also helped ferry over jerry jugs of diesel that we insisted Longshot take.

So far we’re going perfectly; even pulling us Longshot is only making a knot or so less than their normal motoring speed. Wondertime is drifting forward ever so calmly and quietly, it feels like we are at anchor down below. They plan to pull us until we’re out of this high and into the northerly wind that should push us the rest of the way to Opua.

I’m not even sure what to say about all this except that we are truly overwhelmed by the generosity of this little community of ours and today our boat is overflowing with hope.

—
27-09.17S
178-23.57E

Day 6, underway to New Zealand. 550 miles to go.

Yesterday I was woken up by a sound, a really really strange one. We’d been motoring in nearly flat calm all night long, working our way out of this windless high pressure area. Over the noise of the rumbling engine I heard a hissing sound, then a grinding. My eyes shot open and I was awake immediately. Just as I jumped out of bed Michael shouted out the obvious, “There’s something wrong with the engine!” and he quickly shut it down as it had ceased propelling us forward anyway.

It didn’t take us long to figure out that the R&D damper plate he’d installed 3.5 years ago, the “fail-safe” one, had failed. It’s located deep inside the bell housing and connects the engine to the transmission. Without it there’s no way for the engine to turn the propeller. It would be impossible, if we had a spare, to replace it out here as that requires hoisting the engine and other tricky maneuvers. Five minutes later the reality set in: we are now a purely sailing boat.

It’s amazing the calm that quickly sets in when something like this happens. Maybe it’s because so much uncertainty has been alleviated. Will we run out of diesel before we make Opua? Nope! Will our engine keep running? Nope! Will we be able to sail most of the way to NZ? Yep!

We settled into the cockpit and tried to eke out some miles in the very light wind for the next few hours. When we could see our reflections in the water and the sails hung limp we took them down and cracked open some beers and watched the girls build a huge fort in the cockpit.

Last night we continued to drift in oily smooth seas. The very last bit of the crescent moon set in the late evening. They sky is so clear here you can even see the rest of the moon behind the brightly lit crescent and we’ve never seen so many stars before. After we tucked the girls in bed, we set a double-reefed main to help minimize the rolling in the light SW swell and made sure our AIS alarm was all set. Then we went to bed ourselves.

It was luxurious to have a full night’s rest, just taking a quick check around every couple hours. After breakfast this morning the water started looking ruffled in the southwest and soon after a light breeze had reached us and we set the sails again. We may only be going 2 knots or so, but it’s movement and that’s something.

—
26-50.38S
178-41.61E