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but they blow steadily out of the west and will give us a good start! Well to the south lies a cold front, but today's weather fax shows it continuing due west. Our little jaunt down NZ's east coast was mostly in light airs. We do not feel fully as though we have our sea legs again, and hope the first few days will be relatively easy so we may slide into the seagoing routines more easily.
However, the winds increased during the first night out to 40 knots. The night was howling dark and moonless, and we were surrounded by a pitching wilderness of wild seas. Being pushed from behind directly downwind our windvane was next to useless, forcing us to hand steer Sea Quest. Why were we out here then? Because we didn't want to be stuck on a dead end road with nothing to do but plant petunias!
4th June
By morning both of us were exhausted, but Michael particularly. We had both been awake most of the night and had slowly reduced sail until on one small jib remained. It was set aback to prevent the bow from constantly rounding up into the wind. By early morning, when Michael rolled into a blanket below, the winds had moderated to 20-25 knots, but it would take awhile to recover from the stress and lost sleep. By mid afternoon the seas have grown considerably. Who can tell their size? Four meter, 5 meter? We are sailing over the Kermadec Trench, one of those ocean deeps that cause confusion at the surface. The winds have again intensified blowing now at 30 knots out of the south. (What we were unaware of was a low forming directly to the south of us).
5th June (Queen's Birthday).
The taint of spoiling meat warned me that some of the vacuum packed stores were beginning to go off in the fridge. I couldn't bear to lose too much. Right there in the heaving sea I got to work lighting the wildly swinging Primus stove and that night we enjoyed an unusually luxurious seagoing meal.
When I arrived on deck at 1700 to take my watch, the wind and wave were heaving and howling. Michael would not leave the cockpit. I slotted the hatch wash board in place and then, in the threatening darkness, we sat together.
A roar from astern heralded the arrival of the wave when it came It broke high over the stern and must have enveloped the entire hull. In amazement we watched as the sea, light a rough hand, tore away the aft curtain and poured in solid seawater as though it would never stop.
I was up to my knees in water. Cushions, notebooks, sunglasses, and even the cat box swished back and forth. Michael yelled, "Clear the drains!" With alacrity I tossed stuff up onto the seats to get the water flowing while Michael grabbed for a bucket to bail.
When the cockpit was empty I glanced below. Mizzen, the cat, was staring up at me forelornly. Her fluffy fur was sleek to her sides. How had she got wet?
Below everything was soaked. The squabs, the carpet, the chart table and the CD player, were all sodden along with the sea berth where Mizzen had been curled up asleep.
Over the last decade aboard Sea Quest we had never had water below. We had never even had a wave breach the curtains. By the extent of the mess I thought one of the windows had broken, but all were intact. Then I noticed a dripping dorade. Four of these 7.5 cm ventilators pierce the main saloon over head. They had apparently funneled seawater in as though they were fire hydrants. They had been designed to let air in while keeping water out, but had not been designed for submarine conditions.
All through that night we stayed on deck spelling each other for
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