A Tale, Quickly Told...

...but living it took a while, I can tell you!

This is Disappointment Cove (I wonder why they call it that?), in Port Pegasus, Stewart Island.  The fishermen call it Peacehaven.  I'm rowing out lines to tie us into the shore prior to a forecast blow.  It's a bit embarrassing now to think how long I was messing around with the lines, getting the boat...

...in exactly the wrong place.  The wind shifted, the tide went out, and we found ourselves high and dry in the middle of the night.  All of our efforts to get afloat were fruitless.  And, to make things much worse, the keel was firmly stuck in mud, and we were slowly toppling over towards the deeper water right next to us.  It seemed possible that we might settle wrong-way-up and downflood the boat.

It seemed like such a possibility that we packed the dinghy against the eventuality of abandoning ship and called Taupo Maritime Radio so that someone in the outside world might know what was up with us.  That's the dinghy below, full of gear, tied off to the high side.

When everything was as ready as it could be I just laid down for a sleep while we waited to see what would happen.

Happily, low tide passed and the water got no higher than the side deck.  And a couple hours later we popped free on the rising tide.  In the morning there was a lot of anchor retrieving - we had put two extra hooks in the water while trying to get off.

A chain hook and a winch are a great combination for breaking out an anchor.

Our trusty folding 75-pounder, on the halyard and out of the water.

And Galactic, the next day, shifted over to deeper water!

On the Move

Today we ventured out of the protected anchorage where we had spent one frantic night and two that were very peaceful. We had been tied into the shore at that one spot long enough - looking at the same bits of sodden foliage for three days tends to make you feel stale. So this morning we ventured across the South Arm of Port Pegasus and tied into the shore at Evening Cove. We're in a great little cove in the cliffs here, with nesting pied shags in the trees above and a view out across the Port, where we can watch the whitecaps parade past - the forecast for this evening is west 40 knots - while we bob in a tranquil little patch of water out of the wind.

There are great walking tracks on this side of the Port, up to the granite ridges above us. I can just feel how expansive the views of southern Stewart Island must be from up there. But though we came to this new spot with the thought that we'd be able to explore Port Pegasus for a few more days, plans have changed. We smell the possibility of a window to get down to the Aucklands coming up next weekend, and to catch that window we have to take care of formalities in Bluff by Friday, and what with winds and tides and an intervening gale on Thursday, we'll have to start back to Bluff tomorrow. It's a funny thing - there's every chance that we'll never visit Stewart Island again, but we've spent our time here always a bit distracted by our plans for the next step.

So, another somewhat rowdy day in the offing for us tomorrow, but wind and tide should be with us to get around the corner to the east coast of Stewart. And now it's time for me to dip the fuel tank and top up the oil and get some sleep.

A Funny Indecision

The forecast was for southwesterly gales that would keep us at anchor for three days, maybe more. I didn't care for the idea of an enforced stay in Port Adventure, and there was no enthusiasm on board for backtracking to Paterson Inlet. Our possible out was a forecast for six hours or so of southeasterlies as a trough came through. In theory at least, that seemed like a fair wind for the thirty-mile sail to the protected waters of Port Pegasus.

Except - I couldn't shake a bit of unease at the idea of traveling the south coast of Stewart Island as a front was coming through. There seems to be an element of chance in the weather during these changes, a bit more than we're used to from Tasmania, and we of course have no local knowledge to guide us. The gal who runs the radio sched for the local fishermen sounded a cautionary note when Alisa mentioned our plans. "Don't know if it's the day to move down south tomorrow. The boys down there are getting all sorts." There was a forecast for a two meter swell from the southwest, which would be right in our faces. And - well. I could picture Eric throwing up, and all of us wondering why we had chosen to leave the anchorage during unsettled weather.

When we woke it was still too dark to start out. Alisa and I got dressed and drank coffee lying side by side on the bed and talked it over. There was still no consensus over whether we should leave. On one hand I was all for going out and taking a look at the conditions, on the other hand I was afraid for the process of getting in over your head that begins with someone saying "let's just take a look". Alisa was offering that she didn't really mind the idea of staying in Port Adventure that much.

But when it did get light, the idea of days hanging on the hook in Abraham's Bosom was too much for me.

The boys woke up as we were leaving the bay, completely unsurprised to find us motoring against wind waves in a light drizzle. The poor things are so often out of the loop when we hatch sailing plans.

And - it turned out to be a fine day. It was gray, and rainy, and the motion grew sloppy as the promised southwest swell came up and the tidal current swirled. But - we had fantastic birding. Royal albatrosses, Buller's mollymawks, pintado petrels/cape petrels/cape pigeons, shearwaters, skuas and diving petrels. Elias was the first to spot a pintado, and thus scored a lifer for all of us.

And the sailing - 20, then 25 knots of wind on or just aft of the beam, with a spring tide behind us. We kept our speed above nine knots most of the way, and crested over ten for significant periods. Double-digit speeds make regular old traveling sailors a bit goofy with happiness.

Eric didn't get sick. The coast we traveled was lonely and austere. We reached the narrow pass into Port Pegasus with mist obscuring the landmarks around us and spray leaping up on both sides of the bow.

And then we were through, into the still waters, where albatross unaccountably swooped and alighted on the water. You just don't picture albatross inside completely landlocked bays, and their presence made the place feel just a little bit other-worldly.

Strange granite hills rose above little bays around us. Giant boulders balanced on ridge tops, the Dr. Seuss foliage of southern New Zealand gripped the hillsides right down to the high tide line.

There was no one else around. I was immensely glad to be here, in this part of Stewart that looks completely different from what we'd already seen, and tons of protected nooks to explore while we wait out the bad weather.

We've been here for two nights so far. And a lot has happened - so much that I might need a little distance, and the ability, back in town, to post pictures, before I tell the stories...

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