What if you lost someone at sea? You woke up at midnight, to relieve them of their watch, and you couldn’t find them on the boat. Anywhere. It’s not as if they popped off to the corner store to buy milk. Or you forgot that today was the day they were flying to Spain. You are in the middle of the Pacific. It’s a 35 foot boat. There is a set number of square feet both above and below decks. You’ve combed every single inch of each one of those square feet. And the person is simply not on the boat. Where could they be other than floating somewhere in that endless sea?
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Whack-a-Mole: Sailing the Tasman Sea
The sailing trip from New Zealand to Australia inevitably takes you across the Tasman Sea, aka, “The Ditch” (though this is a bit like calling your 300lb friend Tiny). There are more formidable seas in the world, truly, but enough boats have disappeared into the Tasman to inculcate most sailors with, if nothing else, a healthy respect for this stretch of salt water. When we sailed out of Whangarei,NZ, Australia bound, my “healthy respect” was something more like a dog worrying a bone.
Spear Fishing in New Zealand: Giant Kings and Hungry Sharks
I’m haunted by the image of a large fish emerging head first through a mist, snaking in that way that a large fish swim, toward me, mouth slightly agape, breathing, lidless and watching. I have tried to tell my free diving friends about this, I dream about it, my mind makes stories of every variation from the same beginning when I close my eyes, they always laugh it off, not wanting to engague in any conversation founded on unsterdy ground. I’m not loosing touch, it’s not that bad, I’m simply in the spotlight of a memory, it will fade, maybe faster if I exorcise it. It’s a short and uneventful tale, but I think I have to tell it, if only that I can stop it from replaying in my dreams.
How to Sail Around the World on Other Peoples’ Boats
Noserlies: Sailing from Fiji to New Zealand
I’m sitting on the lee side of the boat against the dodger window, reading in the short crescent of shade left by the midday sun. Jade, a worthy 45ft center cockpit Alden-designed ketch is bobbing, not lazily, but also not violently, hove-to against a fresh ‘noserly’ breeze. Coined by the captain, a noserly is a wind that insistently turns onto the nose of the boat, halting the possibility of any forward progress. The direction of this demonic breeze depends solely on which direction one desires to bear. Having sailed south for a week and a day after leaving the fair ports of Fiji on a kind east south-east wind with persistent and improbable high pressure prevailing, blue skies and spectacular sun sets, we have come to a stand still 200 miles north of New Zealand, for 4 days running, stuck in the eye of a noserly.