Wings Cruising Log

We've been in New Caledonia for over a month now, at least to the point that I started writing this. Probably it will be a few more days before I send it to you.

For the 21 days of that month we were cruising in some of New Caledonia's more remote places: on the East coast. This part of New Caledonia is wild, rugged, mountainous, and beautiful, although I won't say untouched. In most places we stopped there are visible signs of mining activity, some current, some long since shut down. Extraction of nickel, iron, and other minerals and shipping of it to Europe or Australia has been continuous business in New Caledonia for 150 years. We chose anchorages where the red scars on the mountains were not obtrusive.

The weather was a factor for us on this trip. We needed to get back to Noumea; in fact we were overdue. But to get there we had to go around the south end of the country, and the wind was consistently against us. Elsewhere it might be blowing from the East, or Southeast, or even Northeast, but on the East coast of New Caledonia all of those winds turn up the coast and blow from the Southeast. In some places we stayed holed up for days, unwilling to try to beat against 25-knot winds and short steep seas. Even in these protected anchorages, it was windy, and we spent more than one night listening to the anchor chain rumbling over rocks and coral as the boat twisted and turned in the wind coming off the hills behind the anchorage.

Despite the contrary winds it has been good cruising. In a big bay called Canala, we left the boat and dingyed a few kilometers up a river to the town, also called Canala, where we found some good local stores and bought provisions. In Canala there is a college for the Melanesians, with several white concrete buildings of a style reminiscent of Melanesian conical houses spread around a lush valley. In this town we were stared at by the locals, and they giggled when we tried to talk to them, but they were invariably friendly, as they have been everywhere in New Caledonia.

On another day while the wind was down and we were motoring easily inside the reef, I saw a fish splash near the boat and it made me think I'd like to do some fishing. I put out a fishing line. Immediately a fish hit, got hooked, and stayed on. I braced my feet against the railings and fought him with the hand line. He didn't come easy, but he tired before I did and finally I got him next to the boat and Judy helped me net him, a nice big Spanish Mackerel with scales of silver and black and that dulled when it died in our net. We cut fillets off and let the carcass slide over the side and we ate it for lunch that day, dinner that night, and we put enough in the freezer to have for several days more.

We stayed in stunning Port Bouquet the next night, and watched several Ospreys flying around looking for fish, and we asked a local who lived there if it was OK to anchor. He said it was, or at least he indicated that with a welcoming sweep of his arm and a smile that clearly said, "Be my guest". There was another boat there, the first we saw on that side of New Caledonia, a single-hander from Brisbane. We anchored well away from him. No sense crowding. After Port Bouguet we motored to Kouakoue, another bay further south. The weather forecast called for a low to form, and there wasn't any sign of it, but late in the day another boat came in there too, a small race boat with four men aboard. They were thinking that it might be a good place to be if the low came but Judy and I had our worries about the place. We figured there would be northerlies, and the bay we shared with the small race boat was exposed to the north.

In the morning the low arrived. At 0400 the wind came in from the Northwest. It was a light wind at first, and then it increased. Judy and I both heard it and since at that point we couldn't sleep, we got up in the dark and prepared to get underway at first light. We couldn't stay on a lee shore, and wanted to go south anyway, so we set sail. The race boat followed us a short while later. By seven o'clock we were heading south at eight knots under a jib and full main, but the wind was building and so were the seas, even inside of the reef. By 0900 it was NW, 25-30, and the seas were plenty big. It was rough and windy, but we were making time. The weather fax showed a low right over us, not too deep, just about 1008. Shortly after noon the wind increased again. We watched the barometer drop significantly to under 990. We got the jib off and reefed the main then jibed through Havannah Pass at 12:00 in 30 knots of wind, under reefed main alone, going 8-9 knots.

Then the front hit.

There was a front associated with the low-pressure system. For the next hour we had wind in the mid forties, Judy saw 48, but she always sees more than I do (that is because I am always watching (jj)), and we surfed eastward around the south side of New Cal. It was more than the wind vane could manage so we took turns steering while the other handled the lines and navigated. There were a few round-ups but nothing serious, although I have this image in my mind of Judy when I was at the mast tying in some reef points and she was steering and a big gust hit, the boat tipped over on its side and of her standing with her feet on one side of the cockpit and her back against the other, holding the tiller with both hands up at her chin, fighting to get the boat back on course. She had her mouth wide open and I knew she was yelling at the top of her voice, screaming in anger and passion at the wind gods and the sea, and the situation in general, but in the noise and commotion of the overall scene, I don't remember hearing her voice. About that time the wind blew her glasses off and she caught them in her teeth. By 14:30 the worst was past and we were beating up into the Baie de Prony towards an all-weather anchorage, tired, shaken a little maybe, and ready for some rum. That night we anchored in a bay protected from north winds to west winds.

We had one day to rest. Then, as the low continued its way, the wind started to back to the West, then Southwest. We moved across the bay to a spot safe in a southerly. We were there all afternoon and the wind continued to change from Southwest to South, then South East. It had gone around nearly 360 degrees in two days. About 8:00 PM we happened to be watching the boat's position on the GPS plotter as we swung through an arc on the anchor line. Suddenly and unbelievably, as we watched it, the plot of our position started to extend northward, steadily, in a straight line away from where we'd been swinging. We glanced at the depth. Seventy feet! We'd anchored in 32! The plot wasn't lying, we were moving!

Looking outside told us nothing, it was blacker than black out, no moon, no stars, only the anchor light from another boat that had anchored in the bay with us to give us any reference, and that light was getting smaller by the minute. We grabbed some warm clothes and got on deck, starting the engine. Judy went forward to bring up the now useless anchor. I ducked back below and turned on the computer charting system. It confirmed the GPS plot. We were definitely headed back across the bay. Worse, we were headed towards a shallow area.

With the anchor up Judy went to the chart and started to give me steering directions. I put the boat in gear and steered by the compass headings she gave me and depth readings and we motored back to a safe place to re-anchor. We reset the hook and this time we turned on every electronic alarm we had to warn us if the anchor dragged again. Needless to say, sleeping wasn't easy that night.

But the next day was nice, and we sailed back to Noumea, capitol of New Caledonia. At least that sail was completely uneventful.

It's now time to stock up and clear out of New Cal for Vanuatu. In Vanuatu, at the island of Tanna, you can anchor in a bay named Port Resolution, after his ship, by Capitan Cook. It's within sight of a live volcano, and you can go up to the lip of the crater and see lava glowing and spouting. This will be our next stop, but first we'll have a few days of shopping, boat projects, and socializing in Noumea, and on Saturday night the great blues artist James Thornton will be in town for a live show and we're going, for sure.

If you don't hear from us for a few weeks, don't worry; it's just that Tanna doesn't have much in the way of email. We will get in touch when we can.

Fred & Judy