WHANGAMUMU OR BUST
67
january/february 2017
cruisingworld.com
Whangamumu
Harbor (top) is a
destination to be
savored, and even
better if yours
is the only boat
there. Ghost-
ing and drifting
are the name of
the game when
the water turns
glassy (above).
at 0630, and standing in the
companion way with a cup of
coffee when the sun rose from
behind Urupukapuka Island
at 0726. Except for raising the
mainsail and anchor, Gannet
was ready to get underway at
- And then I read, sticking
my head out the companion-
way from time to time, looking
for any sign of wind on the
glassy water until 1000, when
a faint breath reached us and I
raised the anchor, which came
up clean, as it always does at
Paradise Bay. Otherwise, it
wouldn’t be paradise.
No sooner were the anchor
and rode deployment bag
stowed than the breath of
wind gave its last feeble sigh.
I considered anchoring
again, but we were in no
immediate danger, so I chose
to ghost and drift and glide,
playing the faintest of wind,
tacking slowly between
islands and hand-steering
most of the time because con-
ditions were too inconsistent
for the tillerpilot.
In two hours, we covered
not quite 2 miles and had
almost cleared the islands
when the glassy surface of the
bay darkened with 3 or 4 knots
of wind from the north.
I made a final tack, cleared
the last rock off Urupukapuka,
set a course for Piercy Island
just off Cape Brett, engaged
the tillerpilot, and ate salami
and crackers for lunch.
The wind continued to
strengthen to 7 or 8 knots,
and I began to believe we
might reach Whangamumu
after all. Gannet heeled slightly
and began making 6 knots on
a close reach across rippled
water. It was hardly astound-
ing, but enjoyable sailing,
particularly after hours of 1
knot or less.
I jibed east of Piercy and set a course south.
The Bay of Islands is sparsely populated. Beyond
Cape Brett, it is a wilderness of high land drop-
ping precipitously into the sea, reminiscent of
California’s Big Sur. It is a realm of birds — as once
was all of New Zealand — soaring, diving, bobbing
on the surface. Hundreds were sitting and hovering
off an exposed ledge. I sensed that we were again in
the ocean, not the bay.
Erratically blocked or funneled by the land, the
wind gusted to 18 knots and dropped to nothing, and
I began to consider my approach to Whangamumu’s
almost landlocked harbor, 4 miles ahead.
Usually I furl the jib and approach an anchorage
under mainsail alone, but the last half-mile to
Whangamumu’s narrow entrance is between two
peninsulas, which I thought might block the wind,
so I kept the jib set. It was a good decision made for
the wrong reason.
I thought about waiting to bring the anchor and
rode on deck until I was inside Whangamumu, where
I expected I could heave to and do so more easily,
but decided instead to do it in advance. I waited until
the wind was relatively steady, engaged the tillerpilot,
CRW0217_FEA3_Whanga (outlines).indd 67 11/21/16 12:35 PM