Torries

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

830. 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