When I wrote the very first posting for this blog, I was riding in a plane from Fort Lauderdale back to San Francisco. I had just put the boat aboard a cargo ship bound for Ensenada and I was going back home to pull up roots definitively. Now I’m sitting in a plane bound for Brisbane (Australia) from Noumea. It’s the same crossing we will undertake in the boat in December, except instead of 3 hours it will take us 4 days. Maybe 5. Obviously the daily posting isn’t working out, despite some wonderful email support from 3 of you (thanks mom). So, I’ll have to take up where I left off. Now where was I?
Oh yes, Ile des Pins, a weird dream, generator trouble, and Annabelle’s birthday. Well, the update on those is that the generator trouble is probably fuel-related. I’m picking up new Racors (filters) in Brisbane. Mom analyzed the dream and it was all about the events of the other night when we bumped the reef in the night. Something about my super-ego being pissed off at my ego for giving me a hard time for being careless even though it wasn’t a big deal. Makes sense to me.
We’re back in Nouméa. Well, I’m 20,000 feet up, but the boat, Sophie and the kids are back there. We had a great sail back from Ile des Pins. Just the opposite of our last trip there, we got to sail with favorable winds there and back–which means the wind turned in our favor at just the right time. We were sailing with the wind at about 90º to 110º (meaning on the side and a little towards the back), and it was blowing a good 25 knots. We had all our canvas up for a while with the big reacher reefed in behind the blade (Solent). I think we averaged 9 knots for the 6 hour trip and did a good stretch of 10’s and 11’s. Not bad speed for a house with a washing machine and the inventory of a Toys ‘r’ Us.
We wanted to spend our last night anchored at a little reef called Mato, but when we pulled in it was still real windy and there wasn’t a lot of swinging room between the coral heads. No thanks. Had enough of the things that go bump in the night. So instead we went to the Amedee Lighthouse and took a mooring. We were the only ones there and got to enjoy the beach by ourselves right before sunset.
The next morning we sailed for 2 hours to Nouméa. Sophie called the marina to see if we could get a spot for 2 nights, and after insisting a bit, we got a “temporary” spot which we’d have to vacate immediately if the owner of the berth came back in from their trip to Vanuatu. Sure enough at 6:30 the next morning I peer out the window and cruising in is the big catamaran whose space we’re in. I hustle out on deck to tell the owner’s wife–who is on the foredeck giving me a hard look–that we will move immediately. At least this time I was wearing pants.
So, engines on, undo all the lines and water and power connections (which take me about an hour to set up each time), and off we go waving apologetically. One of the reasons we stay at the marina is that the anchorages in Nouméa are super crowded. I hate crowded anchorages, especially ones like these that have boats at anchor and some on moorings (much shorter lines, thus smaller turning circles when the wind shifts). This means all the boats swing in different ways and it’s very hard to predict what will happen when the wind changes. So, I start cruising around, heading for “that open spot over there” and when I get there I look at all the boats and go, Where’s that open spot?
After the fifth or sixth loopty-loop (which makes you look like an idiot driving around the anchorage as everyone is waking up and having coffee in their cockpits), I say f*ck it (hey, it’s 7AM and I haven’t had my tea yet), and we head to the fuel dock. At least they’ll let us tie up. We were out of water (the hose wouldn’t reach at the marina), and I don’t want to use the watermaker in the harbor. Plus I figure we’ll top off one of the diesel tanks to see if some extra pressure in the lines will help the generator (it didn’t). This way I can also save some face and take the time to plan my attack for when we’re back in the anchorage looking for a spot. 250 liters of diesel and 800 liters of water later, I head to that “Big open spot over there”, and it’s not actually that bad. Our goofy French microwave WiFi system even works there, so we drop the hook, just as the wind starts to come up.
The only downer for us in New Caledonia has been the lack of marina space. It’s a huge deal for all the yachties–visitors and locals alike. There are 280 boats on waiting lists for the 3 marinas which are all completely full. This creates a very strange atmosphere among the boating crowd and everyone is very nosy and suspicious. People rat each other out for breaking the marina rules so they get kicked out and free up a spot. It’s a bizarre vibe. In other countries, as visitors, we’ve always been given a spot, even if the marina is “full”. Here we’ve had to fight tooth and nail for the berths we’ve had. We’ve had to call in favors with all of our friends here, many of which are in high places including maritime organizations, etc. Still, no love. We got kicked out of our last spot with 3 hours warning. “Cette après-midi, vous dégagez! On a un super-yacht qui arrive çe soir, donc vous comprennez”. Only the French can tell you to f*ck off and leave you feeling as the one guilty of some vague impropriety. Well the super-yacht never showed, but we lost our spot and Sophie managed to wrangle a spot for 2 weeks in a marina that doesn’t allow liveaboards (we had to keep a very low profile).
I’m going to Brisbane to help out a friend from Noumea who just bought a new sportfishing boat (a Cabo 48 Flybridge, for those who know). The boat was delivered there from the factory in the States via cargo ship and now all the electronics and accessories need to be mounted on board. It’s quite a job with more than a dozen people working on the boat for a couple of months, so I’m just helping out with some project management, my passable command of the English language (although most the time I don’t understand what those Austrlian blokes are saying), and moral support. I’ll be gone for a week or 10 days, so it was critical for us to find a good spot for the boat while Sophie and the kids are on their own. We started asking about places more than a month ago. Sorry, full. Luckily, our friends aboard Celera, a beautiful 20 meter sloop (what most of you would picture when you think sailing yacht), have a spot at Port du Sud for the whole season. They happen to be going to Ile des Pins for 2 weeks during my trip, so they’re letting us stay in their berth while they’re out. Phew!
Yesterday morning at 11 I get an email from Patrick, Celera’s owner, that his oldest daughter has lost her passport so she and his wife will be delayed until Monda, and they won’t leave until Tuesday. Oh shit. I’m getting on a plane and Sophie can’t move the boat on her own–Marina maneuvers are the trickiest. We immediately started calling all the marinas and hopped in the dinghy to go over to Port Moselle to see if they would give us a spot.
We get to the marina office at 11:10.
Office closes at 11:00 on Saturdays.
Sophie calls the after hours number.
Sorry, no room (I’m looking at the guest dock. It’s half empty. Or half full. Either way, there bloody well is room).
We see a friend who runs a charter business there. He starts calling all over town.
Nothing.
Patrick calls me to work out details for dinner tonight. As soon as he realizes our predicament, he says, No problem, I’ll move Celera out to the anchorage and you can move Océalys in on Sunday morning before you leave. We’ll just spend a couple of nights at the anchorage before heading out. Patrick is a true gentleman. One of those rare ones. It’s a huge pain for him. He’s got to provision for 2 weeks with 10 people on board. He’s just flown in and surely the boat needs some looking after, which is always easier when you’re docked. He really saved us from a potentially huge hassle, Sophie having to ask someone from another boat to help her move the boat, etc.
So the boat is safely moored and I’m Brisbane bound. I’ll try to send an update from Oz.
G’day.
