RTW Leg 18: Fiji to New Zealand

Our final leg, and perhaps most challenging one, to reach the half way point round the world

Its midnight on Broadsword and I am on anchor watch. We are anchored in a little cove called Omakiwi in amongst the Bay of Islands, on the west coast of the north Island of New Zealand and we have chosen this bay because it’s protected from wind coming from the north through east to the south. Tonight, we are being battered by a storm blowing from the east. Strategies in place: Anchor well dug in (check). Loads of chain, seven x depth (check). Align transits and observe (check). Plotter on with position marked (check). Agree “what if” contingencies (check). Start anchor watch (check). The wind started to build from mid-day and by 1800 it was consistently over 25 kts gusting 35 kts peaking at 38 kts, and that’s in our little protected cove! On the other side of the Cape Brett peninsular, in the open sea, the Maritime Radio forecast assures us its 40kts gusting 55 kts, a force 10 storm.

The black blob in the middle tracks Broadsword's swing during the night.

Whilst we might be attached to Mother Earth by a lump of metal and a length of chain, the ride is boisterous to say the least. Broadsword swings from side to side as much as the scope of chain allows and each gust of gale will whip her round to a new point of reference with a violence that stains every aluminum sinew to the limit. The wind howls through the rigging like a runaway ghost train while the rain is constant, driving and relentless. Right now, being onboard Broadsword is a bit like being in a carwash set on a giant skateboard pulled along by an out-of-control dog.

Our anchorage in Bay of Islands after the storm abates

It’s a far cry from where we were a little over two weeks ago, enjoying a gentle sun downer in Fiji contemplating when to leave. It was 37 degrees and we yearned to get south to cooler climes. Jamie and Ailsa had been with us for a week, and we were carefully watching for a weather window. The reliable and consistent tropical trade winds were a thing of the past and careful timing is crucial for a safe passage. The low pressure systems burl up from the Tasmin Sea, spinning clockwise as they head north, the idea being that you leave just as one such system passes over Fiji, riding the diminishing north westerlies. As you approach New Zealand seven days later, the next system will already be out the blocks and the westerlies from this will see you home. Yachts had been gathering for days in eager anticipation of that precious “weather window”. Like migrating wilder beast confronted by a croc infested river, everyone was waiting for someone to make the first move. The standard dock side greeting of “how are you doing?” was replaced by “when are you heading?” as all skippers and crews compared weather notes and departure intentions.

Musket Bay, one of our last anchorages in Fiji.

There was a huge stubborn high-pressure system stuck south east of Fiji dominating the region and preventing anything else getting a look in. It was generating strong east south easteries and I reasoned that if we left in two days on Monday it would give us a five day run of good wind, but the first two days would be very rough. Pretty much every other boat didn’t like it and were talking about letting it pass and going at the end of the week. I discussed it with the crew, balancing the pros and the cons, painting the worst-case scenario, mapping out the alternative options and after a few contemplations and no hesitations, there was consensus to go. We booked our exit with Fiji Customs & Border for Monday morning. Only two other boats left that day; Saga, a fast French 55’ Outremer cat, and Philippe (Filop) on a 45’ mono.

We are often asked which are our favorite islands or what were our most memorable experiences and if you asked Lucy and I the same question, no doubt you would get two completely different answers. One such stand out memory for me, which will forever be in the top ten list of “never forget days” was on our Fiji to New Zealand leg. I didn’t say it was a pleasurable experience, but certainly a memorable one.

Jamie and Ailsa getting into the groove

To offer some helpful context, we had already had some trouble with our heads. If your reading this over your breakfast, or contemplating a biscuit with your coffee, then look away now. Shortly after Jamie and Ailsa joined us, the heads decided not to flush. We have an electrical macerating flush that discharges into a 45 liter holding tank which, and with the sea cock open, empties into the sea (not in the marina, never). From loo, into tank, out to sea. Got it? So, when nothing was flushing away, investigations revealed that the holding tank was full to bursting and the problem was clearly the pipe from the holding tank through the hull. Into the sea I popped, snorkel and flippers fitted, with a long flexible pipe to rod through the hull from the outside under the water line. A rush of effluent in my face would have been a good result but sadly, no joy, the blockage remained. Therefore, the blockage had to be cleared from the inside and the only way to do that was to empty the holding tank and the only way to do that was to ladle the pish and poo out from a small saucer sized hole in the top of the tank, with a mug into a bucket. I can report that a bucket can take 30 cups of pish and poo and the tank takes six buckets. That’s 180 cups of pish I had to ladle out one by one to empty the 45 litre tank. With the tank emptied, I was able to rod and clear the blockage from the inside. Then give the tank a thoroughly good clean and the pipes a delicious soaking in vinegar overnight. Job done, or so I thought.

Heads pipe showing crystalluria, resulting in narrowing of the pipes and ultimately the blockage

Fast forward to day one of our passage to New Zealand. To set the scene, it was blowing a force six gusting seven from the east on the beam. Our sails were set with two reefs in the main, the jib furled and the staysail out. Conditions were pretty full on, everyone in life jackets and clipped in, the boat fairly well healed over with three to four meter waves breaking on the beam, occasionally soaking the cockpit. Broadsword is buzzing at 8 kts and I’m enjoying the drama of it all when I get a shout below that the heads are blocked. “Again?”. I go below to find Armageddon. I’mageddon out of here, I think, but no, I’m the skipper and need to deal with this. The bowl was full to the brim and with the heel of the boat was slopping over onto the floor with every bounce of bow and thrust of wave. Down on my knees a dropped, bucket in one hand, trusty mug in the other to empty the bowl and mop up the foul liquid now sloshing from one side of the floor to the other. Down below in a gale is enough to turn the stomach of some of the stoutest of sea legs and I’ve been fortunate never to have suffered seas sickness on Broadsword. Until then. The ordeal left me distinctly queasy and with the clearing up done, I retreated to the glorious fresh air above to steady my now delicate disposition. But the job was not done, the heads were still blocked and had to be unblocked and I knew the culprit had to be the pipe feeding the holding tank and that had to be replaced. I also knew that going back down would certainly result in me being violently ill. And I also knew that someone, sometime soon would want to use the heads and if I did not fix it soon, we would have another small problem on our hands. I gird my loins and down I went to the hell below. I dug out my tools, a spare length of pipe and set about removing the old pipe and fitting a new one all in a pitching tilted cramped contorted space with access designed for a midgets tiny little hands, not arthritic slabs of flesh and bone with the dexterity of a pair of oven gloves. As a fully signed up and long standing atheist, I nearly found God. Just as I secured the final awkward little jubilee clip and executed a successful test flush, I’m sure I heard the heavens sing “HAAA-LI-LU-YAAAA” as I was horribly sick down the newly commissioned, perfectly running, heads.

The rest of the passage went without incident. We caught another Dorado and had a brief exchange with Philippe on the radio, brief because he did not speak English and I did not speak very much French resulting in the crew springing into Allo Allo catch phrases remorselessly mocking me. For what? International relations, that’s what.

A fine dorado that fed the crew of four for two good meals

We completed the passage in a fast six and half days arriving in Opua, Bay of Islands at four in the morning, tired, elated and ready to share a bottle of cava in celebration. It was great having Jamie & Ailsa join us, our first crew since Matthew in the Dutch Antilles. Lucy and I work well together and have enjoyed sailing alone for the last nine months and it was with some trepidation that we would be sharing our small floating home with friends for over three weeks. We were enormously grateful for their company, gossip, chat, sharing of watches, cooking (a break from our standard four meals) good grace with chores and good humor with us. We waved farewell from a bus stop that launched them south to Auckland for the start of a one month tour to visit friends and relatives before returning home to Italy.

Remarkably, we found this old ships deck winch in Opua. Made by Lucy's family business Mactaggart Scott & Co.

Its now 0800 and the storm is abating but the rain still pours. We will weigh anchor at mid day, head round Cape Brett and down to Whangarei 65 miles south where Broadsword will be hauled out, be cleaned, antifouled and a growing list of other jobs attended to. We will fly home on the 22nd of November and return on the 12th of February. Of what little we have seen of New Zealand in these past two weeks, returning for three months to explore more is a most mouthwatering prospect.

On approach to Whangarei, we radio ahead to request the bridge to be opened.

But for now, Lucy and I can take great pleasure and pride in reaching New Zealand having sailed halfway round the world. We left Oban (for our international readers, that’s in Scotland, in which England sits, but Europe…no more) in August 2021 and fifteen months and 16,000 miles later, make our halfway point. We have crossed two of the world’s five oceans and cleared customs in nineteen countries* gratefully supported by generous crew on just five legs **. Broadsword, our trusty metal Allures 45.9 has served us well and I honestly cannot think of a boat I would rather have done this trip on. She solicits admiring comments and envious gazes wherever we go from sailors on the same adventure following the same path as us who understand boats and what it takes to cross oceans.

Lucy loving the dangers and discomforts...NOT

However, the final word must go to Lucy. Lucy has sacrificed plenty to do this trip and stayed true to the adventure despite all the dangers and discomforts. Confounding the screaming skeptics and contradicting the vociferous critics, Lucy has achieved something that no other woman in their right mind, regardless of their skill, experience and determination, could ever reasonably contemplate; to sail half way round the world…with me.

Our burgees looking a little weather worn after 15 months and 16,000 miles. From the top; Rampant Lion (technically incorrect but I refuse to fly the SNP corporate logo), Ocean Cruising Club and South Pacific Posse. We have a new set for when we leave NZ.

Follow our route here: https://www.noforeignland.com/boat/broadsword?sid=5279125994471424&tc=1670925061062

*Countries cleared into

Ireland - Sheltering from a storm

France – Cherbourg for warranty repairs

Gibraltar – To come home in October for our Son’s wedding

Spain – To take delivery of a storm jib. Its in the EU, Gibs not, saved a fortune in tax

The Canaries – For the start of the ARC

St Lucia – For the end of the ARC, then home for Christmas

Martinique – To see a fridge man, first of many

St Vincent & The Grenadines – Where we bumped into Sean

Mustique – Invited for a lavish dinner in one of the private mansions

Grenada – Where Matthew did not turn up

Bonaire – Where we completed our PADI

Curacao – Scotland wins the Calcutta Cup

Aruba – Stormbound for a week

Panama - The canal, what else?

Ecuador – The Galapagos

French Polynesia – The Marquesas Islands, The Tuamotus Islands, The Society Islands

American Samoa – Big people

Fiji – Friendly people

New Zealand – Halfway

**Crew

Cherbourg to Gibraltar: Ronnie

Gibraltar to Las Palmas: Cameron

Las Palmas, The Canaries to St Lucia: Mark and Dougie

Bonaire to Aruba: Matthew

Fiji to Opua, New Zealand: Jamie and Ailsa