“Well, it basically comes down to the model,” says David. “I mean, GFS shows a nicer run than the ECMWF. Look at this trough here, that could be really unpleasant, but it is much smaller on GFS.” He gesticulates towards the screen, where an ominous-looking reddish-yellow blotch is working its way slowly across the screen north of New Zealand, right on the path to Fiji.
In the world of weather, I’ve learned that red is never good. Red stands for precipitation, high winds, big seas, seasick kids, shivering adults. Red is always unpleasant.
He turns his back to me again, poring over the laptop. “But the problem is, if we stay, we don’t know quite when the next window will be. I mean, there’s some nice stuff coming next Wednesday, but then that is long-range and could easily change. Might not be much better.”
He continues tapping and more pictures appear, one long-range forecast replacing another as he runs through the models.
After quickly scanning the images for red bits, the kids and I leave him ruminating about ridges, high-pressure systems, lows, fronts, northerly winds, rain, statistical probabilities, and model accuracies, and walk slowly along the pontoon in the brilliant sunshine. Around us gulls screech, wind generators purr, and rigging flaps against masts in the wind. The water glitters, and as I approach the dock I can smell the chocolate muffins from the marina café.
Inside the toilet building is a group of women, chatting.
“Well, we were going to go tomorrow…,” says a small elderly lady. “But then when we checked the latest forecast it doesn’t seem so good. It looks like we’ll end up motoring and then hitting rain and hard winds. So now we’ve decided to postpone till next week.” She checks her silvery hair in the mirror, wiping an invisible strand off her face.
“I don’t know,” adds a younger, tanned woman, toothbrush in her hand. “We just want to get there now, so we’ll go. Heaps of boats are checking out. The forecast may change.”
They both turn towards me. “What about you?” asks the younger woman. “Are you still leaving tomorrow?”
I shrug. “It doesn’t look great now. But on the other hand, we’re going a bit stir crazy, and maybe we should just go. We’ve also still got one last repair to finish…”
They nod, and as the younger woman starts explaining about their ongoing sail repair, I slip past them into the shower cubicle.
It’s hard to know when to go. We’re at Marsden Cove Marina where we were planning to check out from after finishing the Latest Repair. After a good week up north, including catching up with Jazz, Ian, Dusty and Ace, we were planning to leave for Fiji 17 or 18 May, but now both the Last Repair and the Weather look less than straightforward.
The Last Repair came about as David noticed that the anchor chain was looking very rusty.
“Let’s change the chain,” he said cheerfully. “We’ll get 10 mm chain instead of 12 mm, which will lighten up the boat. I’ll order it for Whangarei and we’ll just nip into the marina to get it, put it on and then check out and leave.” He smiled. “Easy peasy.”
But as we should know by now, no boat repair is ever easy.
We went upriver to central Whangarei and picked up 60 m of 10 mm chain and a new sea gypsy (the thing that the chain sits on as the anchor is winched up or down). After we’d gotten rid of the old 12 mm chain and left Whangarei again, we checked into Marsden Cove Marina to finish off the job and leave a day later.
And this is where trouble started. David set to work exchanging the gypsy only to discover that the clutch underneath was irreparably jammed. This meant that he had to order a new clutch, and spend a day trying to hack and drill off the old, bent clutch without damaging the shaft in the middle. Once the clutch was off, it appeared the shaft was only mildly damaged. Now, as the days and weather windows are passing, he has set to work putting the thing back together again.
During the days, the kids and I have been wandering around trying to spot the enormous leopard seal that hangs out at the marina. Big signs everywhere warn people from approaching the seal.
Marino, a kid on a neighbouring boat has seen it many times over the two weeks he’s been here.
“It’s huge, at least 12 feet long,” he warns. “It hangs out on the pontoons, you see it everywhere. It lays in the sunshine during the day to heat up.”
The boat next to us had its inflatable dinghy punctured by the beast one recent night. Now the owner keeps the dinghy on the dock.
“It was scary,” he recounts. “One night as I was going to the toilet it was lying straight across the path. You’re not supposed to approach it, and I’d seen what it had done to my dinghy. But I had to get to the shore…”
“What did you go?”
Poor man. Bursting bladder, heinous beast half-hidden in the darkness, blocking the way to the toilet block, baring its fangs as he gingerly steps off his boat, roaring at him as he comes nearer. Enough to make you pee your pants. He ended up fumbling in the dark, attaching his water hose two feet away from the monster, eventually succeeding in scaring it away by hosing it down.
As we hear more stories about the seal it grows in our imagination, and the day before when David lowered the dinghy to go get gasoline at the fuel dock I nervously stepped onboard, ready to fight the behemoth should it attack us en route. But we finished our dinghy mission without a sighting and quickly hoisted the inflatable out of reach as soon as we got back.
Finally, on this sunny afternoon on our way back from the beach we spot the seal. There she is, lying prostrate on pontoon ‘A’, sunning herself. She’s not quite the 12-foot reported giant; we estimate her to be more like 8 feet. But still a large animal. While we watch from a safe distance she rolls and sighs, grunts and puffs. Once she’s had enough of the sun she sticks her head into the water as if to scout the fish life, and then after a couple of minutes her body follows, slowly gliding into the dark water like a giant slug.
Upon returning to the boat I send a photo of the seal to the good folk at http://www.leopardseals.org/, who almost immediately confirm that we’ve spotted Owha, the NZ resident leopard seal who roams around Northland. Normally found in Antarctica, leopard seals occasionally visit New Zealand, and this individual has been doing her solitary rounds here for some years now.
Feeling like we’ve seen all the sights and availed ourselves of the amenities, surely it is time to leave Marsden Cove Marina behind?
I put the question to the skipper.
“I reckon we shouldn’t go to Fiji now,” David says. “We’d be sure to hit that convection zone, and both models are now agreeing that it is straight in our path. It’s a pity, because it’s looking like there’ll be much more energy around next week, so we will have to sit out some rain.”
I look over his shoulder. Next week’s weather screen is a sea of red, the NZ contours barely visible below what could be mistaken for a great splatter of blood, as if the weather gods are planning the sacrificial slaughter of a large animal in the heavens above.
“Besides,” he says. “I have one last repair that I would like to get done before we set off for Fiji…” He smiles. “We can go to Opua, do the Last Repair, and then leave for Fiji from there.”
And so we leave Owha the leopard seal behind, onward on our journey to do the Last Repair and wait for clear blue skies and clear blue screens.
SV Bob The Cat 