Auckland 26/1-27/1

I left the Soren Larsen with mixed feelings on Friday morning. It had been more of a "working holiday" than expected, but the experience wouldn't have been as memorable without the teamwork required to sail the ship. Another key factor was the phenomenal permanent crew - they really made the trip with their enthusiasm and infinite patience with us landlubbers.

The night sail definitely gave me a taste of what life onboard would be like during the Soren's ocean voyages, when she sails 24/7 for days at a time across the Pacific. You would have to be a terrific team player, happy to forego some creature comforts and be able to cope with the lack of privacy on board. I think that I would struggle with the final two requirements. I was definitely looking forward to getting back to things like gloriously hot showers which could be more than 1-2 mins long because of no limitations on water supply. And there was nowhere that you could go to have a totally private chat - everywhere on deck is either above someone's cabin or near an open hatchway. I guess if people ever get desperate there's always the rigging or the end of the bowsprit until the next tropical island destination...

After arranging to meet Jon and Christine for dinner, I did a little souvenir shopping and then took a public bus out to Mount Eden, a dormant volcano and the highest viewpoint in Auckland. I had passed Mount Eden in the airport bus on my first day, and was confident that I would be able to jump off the bus quite close to its base and somehow find my way up to the summit. However, my trip nearly ended before it began when the grumpy bus driver (the first grumpy person I had come across in NZ) refused to take my NZ$20 note, saying that she had insufficient change because everyone was giving her high denomination notes that day. I rushed into the nearest shop, and the sympathetic cashier said that he could only open the till if there was a sale. Unfortunately it was a clothes shop, and I couldn't see anything that I remotely wanted to buy. As I turned to leave, the cashier suddenly called out: "How much is the bus fare?" and when I told him that I didn't know, he handed me NZ$2 from his own pocket. He brushed aside my offers to repay him once I'd broken into my note and I left the shop overcome with gratitude. This kind of thing would *never* happen back at home!

My luck seemed to hold out. I pinged the bell as the bus neared the base of Mount Eden, and then after a few false starts (first ending up in a playground and then a dead end car park), I found a path that seemed to head up towards the summit. It was very humid and combined with the steepness of the path and my chronic lack of fitness, I was soon out of breath. This side of the volcano seemed to be primarily for road vehicles, as there were no marked footpaths, but eventually I found my way to the top and was rewarded with a fantastic cityscape that my camera was ill-equipped to handle. That evening, I had a goodbye dinner with Jon and Christine who were heading south through NZ for a further 5 weeks the next day whilst I was heading back to the UK. Needless to say I was wildly jealous, but was partly cheered up by the bottle of sav blanc that had survived its week in the hotel luggage room.

The next morning I checked out early and took a 15min ferry ride to Devonport, an island commuter suburb. It was so early that hardly any of the shops were open, but fortified by a breakfast of blueberry hotcakes at a local cafe, I summoned up the energy to go up yet another dormant volcano - Mount Victoria. The friendly lady at the tourist information office told me to walk to the far end of the high street, and then start climbing. The cityscape from the summit was even better than from Mount Eden, with multi-coloured rooftops below and a constant parade of boats in front of the CBD. Sadly I could only enjoy it for about 10 mins before making a rapid descent in order to catch the ferry back to Auckland.

And that's all folks! As you can tell, I thoroughly enjoyed my 2 weeks on the North Island, and am already planning to go back. Watch this space...

Peacocks & Penguins (4)

We had a couple of afternoon trips onto dry land, the first one after 3 days at sea. As the wind had died down, the engine was turned on and we motored to Kawau Island, a popular marine holiday resort about 50km north of Auckland. As we anchored in the bay, I noticed some jellyfish languidly drifting past and made a mental note not to go in the water. In groups of sixes and sevens, we donned lifejackets and climbed down a short rope ladder to the motorboat which had been taken down from the roof of the deckhouse.

On the waterfront stands the colonial-style Mansion House, built by a former Governor of New Zealand. It had a lovely garden from which I took some pictures of the ship, though there were so many other yachts anchored in the bay that it was hard to get a clear shot. Another visitor who was resting on a bench outside the house looked amused when I asked him whether it was okay to walk on the lawn: "You're in New Zealand now - you can always walk on the grass!" Peacocks strutted past us in the grounds, including two incredibly inquisitive ones that came right up to Jon, Christine and I, cocking their heads as if wondering whether it would be worth giving us a peck. Luckily they didn’t and I took some fabulous close-up photos without having to use the zoom.

One of the first things that we did was to make a beeline for the cafe and slurped down ice-creams (or in my case, a delicious choc-ice filled with biscuit bits and caramel). I was almost overcome seeing the cafe's flush toilet. After 3 days of the marine loo ritual of turning the stopcock on, pumping waste out, pumping sea water in, pumping sea water out and then turning off the stopcock, it seemed absurdly quick and easy to be able to flush with a single handle push.

It was lovely being able to stretch our legs and we followed a couple of short trails, bumping into fellow VCs Lloyd and Marilyn on the way. On the way back, Brian the engineer obligingly brought the dinghy to a halt near the Soren so that we could snap pictures of her - unfortunately all her sails were furled, so the pictures weren't as impressive as they could have been. Dinner that evening was on deck (lamb tagine and a gorgeously zingy lemon sponge pudding) and afterwards we admired the spectacular sunset, all hot pinks and dusky violets.

On our last full sailing day, there was still no wind, so we motored back towards Auckland via Tiritiri Matangi Island. This is a bird reserve where all natural predators have been eradicated, and all the trees are so low that you are practically at eye level with the birds. We only had an hour to explore so some people chose to walk into the woodland to try to see birds, but others took the short walk along the beach track. I opted for the latter. There was too much foot traffic on the beach path to hope that we would see any birds, though halfway along, there were 3 little blue penguin nesting boxes. These looked like huge rocks topped with a wooden lid, complete with handle. On lifting up the lid, you could peer down into the "nest" through the glass - inside each one was a huge, fat, fluffy bird, so huge in fact that I wondered how on earth they got in there in the first place.

Sailing By Moonlight (3)

It was 4.30am and virtually pitch-black on deck. I went below with Kylie and checked the water levels in the “heads” (toilets) for the 3rd time that night and then stuck my head out of one of the hatches to check for cloud cover so that we could note it down in the log. The novelty of doing hourly rounds in the dark to check on the ship had paled, and all I could think about was that breakfast (and the end of our watch) was still more than 3 hours away.

At breakfast the day before, Captain Nick had unscrolled a map of the Hauraki Gulf ready for any suggestions about the day’s sailing. My eyes were irresistibly drawn to the huge expanse of water over to the east with the exciting words “Submarine Exercise Area” sprawled over it. Somehow I didn't think that we would be going anywhere near there. His recommendation was that as the winds were good, we should try to sail continuously for the next 24hrs, which would give us the experience of a night sail. We were divided into 2 groups – the port watch and the starboard watch. Christine and Jon were members of port watch and definitely had a harder time of it that day as it was all hands on deck in the morning, then the watch system kicked in at 1pm. So whilst the starboard watch lazed around that afternoon, they continued to be on duty until 7pm.

Around 8pm I took a turn on bow watch and enjoyed the solitude for a while, as everyone else was on the poop deck. With only one tiny fishing boat on the horizon to keep an eye on, I idly began wondering what would happen if I fell overboard. Would anyone hear the splash, or be able to spot what would be left of me after being run over by 300 tonnes of ship? "Just scream as you go overboard" advised Darren when he passed by during one of his rounds. Clutching the ropes a little bit tighter, I concentrated on looking for dolphins in the growing dusk. At least once a day, a pod would appear and decide to race against the ship. Whenever the magical call of “Dolphins!” went up, the VCs (okay, me) had a tendency to immediately abandon their posts and rush to the railings. On our first day aboard, we were delighted when a pod flanked the ship for several minutes. One dolphin idled right under me for a few moments, arching its glistening grey back out of the sea before darting off.

Although no dolphins appeared during my bow watch, later that night we were lucky enough to see the phenomenon of “phosphorescent dolphins” that one of the permanent crew members had mentioned earlier. She explained that their movement activates phosphorescent plankton in the sea water, making the dolphins visible in the dark. I was at the helm at about 10.30pm when the call of “Dolphins!” went up – though it was more of a frenzied whisper as the port watch were resting below deck. Leaning over the side, I saw the shape of a solitary dolphin swimming below me, glowing ghost-silver in the darkness as if there was a hidden spotlight shining on him. For a few amazing seconds, I was mesmerised by the sight, then someone queried sharply: “Who’s on the wheel?”. “Oops!” I said and quickly rushed back to correct our course.

That night the skies were clear so there was an opportunity for some wonderful stargazing. For the first time, I saw the perfect kite shape of the Southern Cross with its four stars. Captain Nick showed me how to locate it from the 2 pointer stars which formed the “kite string”. Higher up was the false Southern Cross (a slightly more squashed kite) and an upside down (to northern hemisphere eyes) Orion. But most exciting of all, just above the horizon I was thrilled to see the long dusty tail of McNaughton’s Comet, which was clearly visible to the naked eye. During a lull in the last hour of our shift, I lay on the poop deck and looked up at the high velocity splatter of stars that was the Milky Way. It was breathtakingly beautiful. There was no light pollution to interfere with the glittering display since we were so far from any settlements. The many lighthouses were just pinpricks of slowly pulsating light on the horizon - I counted a total of 8 on the port side alone.

For the first time, I appreciated how bright the moon really is. It was the strongest light source that we had, as there were no electric lights on deck, and torches weren’t allowed. “Interferes with your night vision” we were told. When port watch came to relieve us at 12am and we went down the “companionway” (stairs) to our berths, I was nearly blinded by the saloon lights after those few hours of working by moonlight. All too soon, we groggily rolled out from our berths for the 4am to 8am watch. This was much less fun, as the skies had clouded over so there was no more stargazing and no beautiful ocean sunrise. Neither were there any dolphins, though I was pleased to hear that there had been some during the starboard watch, so Christine and Jon had been able to see them too.

Life on Board A Tall Ship (2)

After a couple of days, the ropes and their terminology became more familiar. Halyards are the ropes that pull the sails up the mast. Yards are the horizontal beams that the sails hang from, and the ropes to manoeuvre these are the braces. Sheets (which I always thought referred to sails) are the ropes attached to sails. It was a proud moment for me when I could triumphantly point to and name each of the 12 sails.

With my minimal upper body strength, I was often put on rope coiling duty. With each clockwise loop, you twist the rope slightly to iron out the kinks. The hardest part was mastering the final little loop to fasten the coiled rope over the wooden pin. Many was the time that I didn’t get it quite right and the rope would fall on the deck and have to be coiled all over again. Grrrr!!! It felt like the nautical equivalent of learning to tie your shoelaces. On the other hand, I did avoid getting severe blisters. After some vigorous rope hauling, Christine sported the beginnings of some real beauties. It reminded us of our uni rowing days, when the only way to get rid of them was to keep on rowing until they burst, and then they would heal over. “They’ll be alright after 5 days” said one permanent crew member consolingly, forgetting that we were only onboard for 4 days.

When the sun was out, it was wonderful lying on the sun-warmed wood of the poop deck (the raised deck section at the stern) and looking up at the billowing squaresails. However, all that lovely wood and brass comes at a price – daily maintenance. We washed the decks down with salt water to ensure that the wood remained swollen enough to prevent gaps between the boards. Once I accidentally used the “dry” broom for this task – much to the horror of James the first mate. The brass had to be polished – Christine, Jon and I would grab cans of Brasso and head towards the wheel and compass, as they were lovely big shiny areas of brass, unlike all the tiny fiddly bars across the hatch windows.

The braver (and more agile) of the VCs went up into the rigging to learn how to unfurl and also tie up the sails – that was a complete no-no for me with my lack of co-ordination. I did however make it up to (but not onto) the fighting platform, the first level above the deck. At each step, I remembered the advice to push myself up with my legs, instead of pulling with my arms. This was sometimes easier said than done, especially when some of the distances between the “rungs” were just a leetle too far apart for comfort. The last stage involved climbing up and over the edge of the platform from underneath. To do this, you have to lean back and straighten your arms so that you have enough leg room to get up the final 45 degree angle steps. At this point, you’re clipped onto a rope (no-one uses the safety harness on the way up, as it would mean clipping on and off at every step). However, my natural instinct was to cling to the rungs – try as I might, I just could not make myself relax enough to lean back. If my arms or legs had been longer, I’d’ve been able to reach the steel cable above and haul myself up. Despite not making it over the platform edge, I was glowing from the adrenaline rush for hours afterwards. As someone who never made it to the top of the fixed gym climbing frames at school, it was a great personal achievement.

All that sea air and activity makes for a healthy appetite, and I have to say that I’ve never been so well fed before on holiday. We had 5 meals a day – breakfast, lunch and dinner, plus mid-morning and mid-afternoon tea breaks - and never ate the same meal twice. All the bread for the breakfast toast was baked on board daily, and there were always freshly baked biscuits or cakes to accompany the mid-afternoon tea. I still don’t know how the girls managed to pull off all those delicious meals cooked from scratch for 30 people in a kitchen that was no bigger than my one at home.

Learning the Ropes on the Soren Larsen (1) - 22/1-26/1

I first saw a picture of the tall ship Soren Larsen in a holiday brochure five years ago and was immediately smitten. All billowing sails and gleaming timber, she looked like an illustration from a history book. During summer, she takes passengers on week long jaunts up the coast from Auckland to the Bay of Islands. I had signed on for a shorter 4 day voyage around the Hauraki Gulf, imagining leisurely cruises between little visited islands, lots of sunbathing on the deck and learning a bit more about sailing. Little did I know that within forty eight hours of setting sail, I would have done neither of the first two, and a great deal of the third.

There were 16 “Voyage Crew” on this trip, slightly more than the number of permanent crew. We were a mixture of nationalities (Aussies, Kiwis, Brits and Canadians) as well as ages. Almost all of the VCs were travelling with family or in couples, so I ended up in a cabin with the other single travellers – Kylie (formerly known as Jackie) and Trine, a mad Norwegian. There were 2 bunk beds in the tiny cabin, with a small wardrobe wedged in between. Unfortunately for me, Kylie and Trine had already bagged the bottom bunks, so over the next few days I frequently bashed my head against either the huge wooden beam or the metal grille-covered ceiling light above the top bunk. Owww.

We left Auckland late morning under engine power. The sails remain furled whilst in the harbour, as it can be dangerous if the wind is blowing in the wrong direction. This didn’t seem to put off the crowd of fascinated kids clustered by the railings. “Bye bye pirates!” they shrieked as we went past. It was then time to be inducted into the mysteries of the countless ropes. Diagrams of the various rope positions and their names had been included in the induction booklet sent out to us. I had given them a cursory glance, thinking that surely we didn’t need to know them in any detail.

However, within minutes of leaving the harbour, shouts like “Haul the peak halyard!” were being yelled in our direction. The VCs hovered uncertainly by the railings. These were studded with wooden pins, around which were coiled ropes of various thicknesses. Sadly there were no labels or colour coding to help decipher what they were. Only Trine and Kylie, who had both done some tall ship sailing before, seemed to understand the various commands. The permanent crew zipped around thrusting ropes into our hands with brief instructions, which we obeyed meekly without really understanding what we were doing. Those first few hours were horribly disorientating, like being stranded in a foreign country with totally alien customs and language. As I hauled away at yet another rope, I wondered what the bleep I’d let myself in for.

Magic was happening above us though as the sails filled with wind and finally the engine was turned off. Gliding along at 6 knots, the Soren Larsen was slower but more stately than the 11 knots of the America’s Cup yacht from the previous week. It was mind-boggling to think that over 200 years ago, Captain Cook was mapping the New Zealand coast in Endeavour, which was roughly the same size as the Soren Larsen, but with 3 times as many people on board.