Belly of the Whale

New Zealand__________

Safe and sound across the Pacific. It feels so good, sitting here, tied up to a dock for the first time since San Diego. No more passages for a while now. I can sit back and relish it a bit. No fear for what’s waiting around the corner. The season’s over. Now to land. Now to the hills. Soon to home and family and food and fires under the pecan trees, stories to tell and here.

This passage was quiet. High pressure prevailed and moderated the winds and quelled the seas. We did slow days. Jumped in for a bath when becalmed—eerie swimming in 15,000 feet deep water. But it felt great, like an astronaut floating in space.

When we were moving fast enough to fish we did well, catching skipjack and tuna mostly on this trip. Lots of sashimi and seared tuna breakfasts.

What made this trip special, besides having crew and having that crew being my brother, was actually the result of a gear failure—a major one at that. After a few days out the windvane broke a weld and the servo-paddle just fell off (it was tied on from the bottom with a small string—so it didn’t drop the 15,000” to see Davy Jones)

I thought of JB welding where the weld failed—it would be the only solution. The pipe has to rotate in another tube, therefore no thru-bolting. But the odds of it working were so slim.

So I decided to make use of my crew and hand-steer the boat, like the heathen pirates of old!

If you’re not a sailor you may not realize how little time is really spent behind the tiller or wheel these days. No one steers anymore. Autopilots are the rule. Or windvanes. Coming in or out of anchorages and through passes are the only times most people take over from the machines. (This is not always true, of course. My friend Tilikum would always steer during her shifts.) I do occasionally, but not often enough.

This trip was different.

It was wonderful to be at the helm. Suddenly, instead of being able to hide behind a book or under sleep I was forced to stare at the horizon, watch the sun rise and fall, watch the moon slowly wax toward full night after night after night. Four hours at a time.

Steering a boat can be very meditative.

Before leaving Vava’u, I had some amazing conversations with two great new friends, Ben and Lisa on Waking Dream, about lucid dreaming (waking dreams). We talked about the future, how fortunate we had been in the past and how we had come to be where we were. It was a grand time and put me in a place of contemplation along with meeting Trevor on Iron Bark.

Now, sitting at the helm with so much lying just beneath the surface of my thought, it all erupted. Each shift I could dive into dreams and find things I’ve forgotten or overlooked for some time. I laughed and laughed at the things I’ve overlooked in life and how they could come back to me again, here, now, in the middle of the ocean.

I spent 10 days this way. Laughing at myself from the helm. Plotting out my future, imaging different routes and exploring them. Sacrifices and pleasures.

It is hard to explain how liberating this passage has been, how clarifying. I feel as though I’ve shed many heavy garments with the onset of spring. My spirit is lighter for it.

This is what made the trip special.

Otherwise, we had dolphins near the Bay of Islands and two whales as well. The real pleasure was watching the sea birds day after day. They are the most graceful fliers I’ve ever seen and Willy agrees as well. I can’t be sure what they were: boobies and petrel—maybe terns. We had some albatross occasionally and they are a true sight to behold. They don’t look quite real; unworldly. Wonderful to have around. We watched them endlessly.

We were very lucky to have no storms. We paid for it with calms.

We had a high number of failures: windvane, main halyard (no surprise there), autopilot (again), main sheet shackle hinge…..there were more that slip my mind. But we arrived safe and that was the goal, ever the goal. The rig saw us through and now she can rest a while. Now comes a time of recovery, slow work to make her look new again, loved and professional—not all hacked and half-assed as she currently looks. Now I finish the jobs properly. Now I have time, plenty of time. I hope to stay here in New Zealand a long time.

So that is it.

Actually, the most exciting part of the trip happened today after we had arrived. Will and I were sitting on the porch of a seaside restaurant having a celebratory beverage. There is a ferry that shuttles cars across to another island just next to the restaurant on one side and a long quay juts out on the other. (Imagine a small narrow horseshoe. A restaurant and a ferry landing at the head, anchorage in the middle.) So we are sitting there and I notice the ferry doing a sort of doughnut, or maybe a three point turn in the middle of the very small anchorage. A bit odd yes, but I didn’t think about it. We were talking; Will was rolling a cigarette. Then I noticed him doing it again.

What the hell? “Willy, what’s this guy doing? This is his second one?” Will hadn’t noticed anything yet. Now the ferry had our attention. As he came around he slowed a bit and then looked as if he’d straighten out and head out of the anchorage. And just then he’d veer again. And hard.

“Holy shit! He’s gonna hit. Oh my god.”

Then he’d goose it and just miss hitting a boat on the dock, a friend’s boat as it were, turning sharply. He didn’t make it this time. “THONGG” He nicked off one piling and crashed hard in to the next one.

It was out of control. Again he straightened up. But just a bit. He had slowed. There was wind. He had to go. And then he’d mysteriously loose control. It was terrifying. He came so close to wiping out a little red powerboat at anchor that we couldn’t see how he hadn’t hit it.

Again, he came only several feet from another catamaran on the wharf. Mere feet! Before slamming into the piling along side it. (Those people had sailed that catamaran all the way from Europe, crossed the Atlantic, the Caribbean, and the Pacific—only to get sunk here in NZ by a ferry boat!!) They were so so lucky.

I think the ferry made six suicidal doughnuts in the anchorage. Hit no boats! Before getting it together and pulling into the landing. The captain was met by a roaring cheer from the small crowd on shore.

As it would happen, one of the two engines had failed, there making him turns circles. Doesn’t make good sense to me, but I’m not a ferry boat captain. But it was one of the most terrifying things I’ve seen in ages. Seeing something that massive so out of control. . . I was damned glad to have my boat far elsewhere. It was an hour and a half before I was calmed down again. Seriously.

-jonah