Two At Sea

April 7 & 8, 2016

The evening was calm, but overnight we had an unpleasant lesson in how winds can gust right into a protected anchorage. Actually this concept isn’t new to us: we’ve already experienced how winds can arch right over the top of a tall mountain and go barreling down the far side to blast any boats hunkered down there. In fact the sounds are notorious for this very thing, and we’d been careful about where we’d chosen to anchor. In this case, the mountains didn’t look tall enough to be a problem.

As I mentioned earlier, Keith Murray, in his guidebook, had cited the need to tie a line to shore in strong conditions, but we didn’t consider the expected 20-knot winds to be “strong conditions.” It seems we were wrong. The winds picked up overnight, and every once in awhile we’d get a blast that would knock Legacy sideways.

It was the noises that were the most annoying. First we’d hear the freight train sound of the wind coming, then feel the boat tip sideways followed by the inevitable sound of stuff falling over in various parts of the boat. It wasn’t bad enough that we felt the need to keep anchor watch (or even go see what fell); but it was annoying and frequently woke us up.

In retrospect, maybe we should have played it safe, tied a line to shore, and pulled our boat in to keep it out of the blasting winds. I have trouble wrapping my head around this one, though. We have some long lines, but I’m not sure they’d be long enough to let us anchor at a safe distance from shore. Also, how does one know where the winds are going to blast? I’d hate to tie to shore then get blasted on the side, unable then to swing into the wind. I’m sure there are safe pockets; but we have no way of knowing exactly where they are, which tree we should tie to.

In any case, we’d survived the night and woke to a calm morning with patchy fog drifting over the mountains.

Tonight’s winds would be southerly, but less strong and we didn’t anticipate any problem at the south end of Ngawhakawhiti Bay. As soon as the clouds cleared, we moved to the south side. –Cyndi

April 7, 2016

Before ending up in the north bay, we checked out a couple of bays on the east side of Ngawhakawhiti.

The southernmost (of those east bays) was enchanting, small, and cozy. The vegetation was thick and bushy, the water a pretty blue-green. Most intriguing was a little entryway into another bay. Could we get in there? We motored right up to it, and it looked enticing with its pretty trees and patches of long dried grass. The bottom came up quickly, though, too shallow for our boat, but we could take the dinghy through there.  (Click to enlarge/scroll through any of the galleries below.)

A few hours later, we took an afternoon ride in the dinghy and headed back towards this bay. The afternoon light had softened under a blanket of filmy clouds, the kind that makes the sun look misty and the water shimmer with any movement. It was now low tide, and the amount of rocky shoreline had grown considerably.

We arrived at the bay intending to motor into that other cove but found its entryway and the area behind it had completely dried out in the low tide. So instead, we beached the dinghy on what was now a rocky isthmus and walked in. This entire cove was now a dry bed of stony bottom littered with shells. Near the shore (or what would be the shore at high tide) were the areas of the dried grasses we’d admired.

We walked around, looking at the shells and finding an occasional starfish waiting out the low tide in shallow pools. Our best discovery was finding a tiny, pinky-nail-sized blue starfish hiding in a clam shell.

Being here in this strange place, in this otherworldly late-afternoon light, surrounded by mountains, and being the only people in this whole big bay once again felt like being at the world’s end. It was so remote and surreal. In the distance, Legacy was in a heavily shadowed area but seemed to glow in the low light. She looked like a ghostly apparition, and Rich and I mused that maybe we died and Legacy had come with us.

After walking around some, we motored back by the shoreline. Big trees sometimes towered over us, and we’d get occasional fish “dancing waters,” creating silvery ripples where they’d splashed. The shoreline was pretty, although not as pretty as it was at high tide when the water nearly reached the vegetation. Low tide’s orangey-brown dirt shoreline made this place seem less lush and more remote.

Earlier in the day, we’d also motored through the northeast bay to take a look at it. It was very pretty, but not as cozy and appealing as the neighboring little bay. (Below, a small photo gallery of that bay).

Tonight, we planned to remain in the north bay, then move to the south one the following day. –Cyndi

April 7, 2012

From World’s End, we made a left turn at the cone-shaped mountain, going through a relatively narrow opening into Ngawhakawhiti Bay (though at mile wide it looked less like a bay than a small lake). In fact, this bay had four anchorages to choose from.

Because we’d gone through a channel to get in here, Ngawhakawhiti Bay felt very much like its own world. Mountains surrounded the bay; then seemed to go on endlessly in the view outside the channel. It really did feel like the world’s end. (Below, a gallery of photos from around the bay and looking out through the channel. Click to enlarge and scroll.)

There was one other boat in the area, but it pulled anchor and left as we approached, giving us the entire place to ourselves. We dropped our hook in the northernmost anchorage in preparation for predicted overnight northerly winds. The breeze had been light up until this point, but as we anchored we had some disconcerting gusts come down side of the mountain and hit us even though we were tucked in behind it. Keith Murray (author of a guide book we use here) had mentioned that in strong conditions you’ll want to tie a line to shore, but he didn’t define “strong conditions.” We just figured that it wouldn’t apply to tonight’s winds.

Thankfully the gusts quickly passed, along with all worries about having to move. We now floated serenely on this beautiful bay. Steeply sided, heavily forested hills surrounded us. Once again we were enjoying what seemed to be the uniquely south island mix of thick bush, very large trees, nikau palms and kiekie. Some of the palms were loaded with red fruit, making them especially striking amid the all the grays and greens on the mountainside. (Below a gallery of photos of our north bay–click to enlarge and scroll.)

Meanwhile, like yesterday, the water danced with fish that left silvery ripples around the boat, while shags (commorants) hung out on the shoreline. Between Ngawhakawhiti Bay and Flopper Bay, we were rapidly becoming big fans of Pelorus Sound. –Cyndi

April 7, 2016

Our next course took us out of Hallam Cove, across the big cul-de-sac of Fitzroy Bay, and into an area called the Tennyson Inlet.

The Tennyson Inlet is a large, deep branch off the Tawhitinui Reach, about five miles long. It came highly recommended by the locals, the one “must do” in the Pelorus Sounds. Looking down the Tennyson Inlet, we were happy to see it looked green and forested, the sort of scenery we’d been hoping to find in this area.

The first part of the inlet is wide but divided by three islands in its middle. Further on, it narrows into a neck leading down to two deep bays, while off to the side, another channel leads into a wider bay. This general area is known as World’s End.

The map below shows where we started in Hallam Cove, and where we ended up:  World’s End and Ngawhakawhiti Bay.  (You can zoom in and out to get a better look.)

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As we approached Word’s End, I was struck by the overlapping mountains covered with natural vegetation—no pine farms here.

The narrowness and the towering green mountains of Tuna and Te Mako Bays were pretty spectacular, but aside from private moorings there’s little in the way of protected anchorages there (at least from the northerly winds we were expecting overnight).

Our destination was Ngawhakawhiti Bay (yes, that’s really how it’s spelled). We made a left turn into the bay.–Cyndi

April 6 and 7, 2016

Whether in the bluish light of evening or the golden light of morning, Flopper was consistently beautiful. Below a gallery of photos from both times of day. Click to enlarge and scroll.