update 19

Happy New Year from Whangarei, NZ!


After leaving Opua and the Bay of Islands behind, we were anxious for the Big New Zealand Potter Family Reunion to begin. Kara's parents, older sister, and nephew were flying from California. Her younger brother and sister had been hiking on NZ's South Island and were flying in from Christchurch. Aunt Abby was flying in from Honolulu. We'd been in the South Pacific and mostly out of contact. Despite the logistical difficulties, the plan was for everyone converge in Auckland December 2nd.

Kara's family have been known to be a bit emotional at times, so the streets of Auckland were probably not the best place for the first meeting. Passers by gave us sympathetic looks, plainly wondering who had died as tears puddled on the sidewalk. Kara's younger siblings, fresh from backpacking the South Island, had transformed from two two clean-cut models of personal hygiene into something a bit more woodsy: over the next few days they spent a great deal of time picking twigs and leaves out of their hair and maintaining their dreadlocks against the onslaught of shampoo and conditioner. Mother was not entirely thrilled.

We spent two blissful weeks with the family, hiking, surfing, fishing, and catching up with each other. Having been sitting on the boat for the last year, we had trouble keeping up with the hiking, but we eventually learned how to walk in a straight line again. We plied them with our home brewed beer, which was such a big hit that when it was time to go, they cleaned out the local supermarket and loaded their suitcases with enough raw material to yield 80 gallons of beer. Again, mother was not entirely pleased.

Eventually it was time to go. The goodbye lasted over an hour, in the rain, on the street – again. When everyone was all cried out, they climbed in the car and drove back to the airport, and we lost ourselves in boat work for the next two weeks. For Christmas, we caught a ride in “the Whale” back up to Shipwreck bay for a few days of surf – glassy, well overhead. On the way back, Kara went for a soak in some exceptionally stinky hot springs. The rotten-egg scent lingered on her for days, which was a bit unfortunate as we spent the subsequent week sealed up in Orca during heavy summer rains.


Up to this point, we had yet to encounter the long lost Uncle Dave Pennington, who had slipped out of California sometime in the late 70's or early 80's, moved to New Zealand, and now—reportedly—lives in Auckland with his wife and three boys. I'd only met him once, when I was 12. Our plan was to meet him just up the coast for New Year's where an email hinted we could catch him and the family camping on the beach – how hard could it be?

When we pulled into the appointed bay, we were greeted by hundreds of tents on the beach. Between Christmas and New Year's its a kiwi tradition to trade the crowds and comforts of the city for—well, crowds and comforts. The massive tents were packed in so tight that in many places you couldn't walk between them. Inside cloth houses one finds couches, TV's, 4-post beds, refrigerators, showers, and sinks: all the amenities of home. We picked our way through the tent city looking for the mythical Uncle Dave. With no cell signal, we had some detective work to do: we didn't know what he looked like, what kind of car he drove, anything at all, really, except his name. We started canvassing the neighborhood. Eventually we found someone who had actually spoken to the mysterious creature, but they remembered only sketchy details of the encounter: he drove a green van towing a silver boat, there may have been a dog involved. By New Year's eve, we had half the tent town looking for green-van-silver-boat and still hadn't found him. We had a lovely evening anyway with a couple of sailors from Amsterdam and their Kiwi family who had been helping us track the elusive Uncle Dave. It was a true New Zealand New Years, celebrated in a sheep shearing shed on a green pasture surrounded by big tents filled with full-sized home appliances.

Eventually we cornered him. He had avoided detection by driving a silver van with a green boat, but we forgave him his deception and were soon re-meeting family. They gave us a crash course in NZ – we had marmite, learned Maori history, and were “chuffed” to learned “heaps” of “wicked” kiwi lingo, "eh?" We spent three days with the Pennington's before the wind came up and drove us out of the bay to find better shelter. We're now anchored in the mouth of the Whangarei estuary waiting for the tide to take us into town.

Thanks!


Kara and John

update 18

Hello from Tutukaka, NZ!

Well, we finally escaped Opua. We just got a little too comfortable with the showers & laundry and before we knew it a month had passed – guess we have a different sense of time now. There was plenty to keep us busy though. We'd only been in the country a few days when we hear wild yelling and hooting outside the boat – it was Don & Kim, the dynamic beer-brewing/surfing duo we had met 3,000 miles back in Raiatea,. They were burning doughnuts in their dingy in excitement; seems they'd rustled up a some transportation. It turned out to be a not-very-sexy looking van. This would have been a big setback in CA, where surfers pride themselves on the size of their truck and the shinyness of their chrome step-sides. Don & Kim's van, however, is a box with wheels, riddled with rust holes. It took a pry-bar to get the rear door open, most of the exhaust system had rusted away, there didn't seem to be any seatbelts, the headliner sagged onto your head, the undercarriage was held together by bits of galvanized wire and zip ties. But “The Whale” was not chosen at random, for (1) it's Japanese – very light for its size; (2) the engine was mounted in the center of the van – weight distributed evenly to all four tires; (3) its a turbodiesel – few electrical components to give trouble in the salt water; and (4) it has true 4WD. In short, with the tires half deflated and the transmission in 4-low, there's no beach it can't conquer. So, before we really knew what had happened we found ourselves kidnapped, plowing over sand dunes miles from the nearest road with nothing but our surfboards, wetsuits, a package of noodles, and 20 liters of homebrewed beer. We were off to chase the swell and offshore wind across the North Island.

Surfing in NZ is a bit different than back in California. Instead of houses and roads crowding the coast, vying for every penny of that “million dollar view”, there are almost no houses and very few roads branching out to the coast—even in the 'crowded' Northland. The only reasonable surf tripping strategy is to find a road to the coast and, at the ocean, turn left or right down the coast, off-road. Then, in 4WD, one must duck through forests, plow over sand dunes, splash down the beaches, and bounce over the rocky outcrops and cobblestones. Once the ideal wave has been located, set up camp, preferably above the high-tide line (you only make that mistake once). In general, the wave quality seems higher than California, and there are very few surfers. The attitude among the locals we've met is “I sure am glad you guys are here, I get tired of surfing alone. Also, can you pull my car out of the sand before the tide gets too high?” In fact, we only saw a handful of other cars, mostly on 90-mile beach (which is a bona fide national highway) In fact, 90-mile has an enforced speed limit and a few other traffic laws. Unfortunately, you only want to take this highway on low tide when there's not much swell, otherwise its underwater. “Honey, can you pick up dinner on the way home from work?” takes on new excitement when one can stop in the middle of the freeway to dig clams or surf-cast during the commute.

We made several trips with Don & Kim, surfing both the Tasman and the Pacific. The highlight of the trips was camping on the beach and surfing at Shipwreck Bay, which resembles a left-hand Santa Cruz. A 5-mile long (mostly) sand bottomed pointbreak picks up the powerful SW swell coming out of the Tasman. (Oddly enough, these are exactly the same SW swells that we surfed in California and Baja.). At Shippy's, there are 7 or 8 surf spots along the point, and when there's enough swell, they link together for a remarkable ride. The wave type ranges from fun Pleasure-Point to super-hollow slab, and the prevailing wind is offshore. If your tetanus shots are up to date, you can surf by the rusty iron shipwreck protruding from the water just off the beach.

So, after much surfing and only a little beer drinking, it was with calm weather and minimal swell on the forecast that we finally left Opua. A sunny sail out of the Bay of Islands put us in position to make Whangamumu harbor, a flooded volcano caldera just to the south of Cape Brett. The coast is rugged and cliffy, like Big Sur, but with no houses or roads. Most of the beautiful bays and harbors are accessible only by boat. We spent two nights anchored in the flooded crater, where we had access to a well-exposed surfing spot by hiking over the southern rim to the next beach.

We're now a few miles further South, in Tutukaka Marina, to meet up with Kara's family for a long-awaited reunion. Its been over 11 months since we've seen them. In the meantime, we've come up with some figures to sum up our trip from CA to NZ:

distance traveled: 9,600 nautical miles

time away from home: 11 months

nights at sea: ~70

nights spent at a dock: 1 (Mexico)

days at sea with 12'+ seas: 5

days at sea becalmed: 4

days wasted on bureaucracy, including port captain, customs, agriculture, immigration, health clearances, etc: 25

longest time between 'real' showers: 6 months (Mexico to Fiji)

scariest moments: riding in car in La Paz (nearly hit by a bus), crossing street in NZ (also nearly hit by a bus)