This Side of the Blue

f the ocean were whiskey, and I were a duck. I'd swim to the bottom and never come up. And for a minute there, I thought none of us would come up again. Sometimes cold beer on tap can be more secure holding ground than the muck at the quay currently devouring our anchors. We had lost our money, our tans, and our sanity those two weeks waiting for weather in Nuku'alofa bars. Is that the price you pay for being in the Drinking Club, being in the band... being a sailor? I had finished my stint in Band Camp on Bodhran, and was back with the fam on TallWaterII. We followed the fleet of twenty-something white triangles until we all blinked out of existence into a fuzzy tropical blue horizon line. More than a fleet or flotilla, that horizon line of sticks and sheets had become family. That type of family that argues at the dinner table, constantly borrows money, and drinks the last cold beer in the fridge (assuming we had refrigeration). The type that generates enough goss to keep the VHF chattering the whole passage to New Zealand, or at least the week to Minerva Reef! Minerva Reef... if you aren't familiar, googlemap it. Then sail there, or at least carry enough gasoline to motor there. Our weather window wasn't quite drafty enough, and 300 miles took a week of bobbing, fishing, cards, and all but the last drips of the stores. Aguja (Jim and Lauren) kept us company, and well fed, sharing some mahi steaks from Lauren's meter-long catch. But the bobbing couldn't last forever, we were low on alcohol, but more worrisome, we were low on water and food as well. We needed to make some progress, we needed a tow... "Is that a ketch?" "No, its two boats." "They're sailing awful close to one another" "Wait, one's towing the other!" We had always imagined flying into an anchorage after the Pacific crossing, crying and cheering, general commotion and a dramatised entrance... but pulling into Minerva, under tow, Jamie playing trumpet from the spreaders, Lauren, Yasmina, and I cheering and dropping the anchors, then swimming to one another in congratulations... lets just say, we were not absent from dinner table conversation that evening amongst the fleet. And Aguja became the topic of conversation throughout the anchorage the following day by hosting the newly founded Minerva Reef Yacht Club. Lauren and I kept busy with official Yacht Club business, and as commodores of the MRYC, we took it upon ourselves to stock the facility. Not one liquor cabinet had been left unscathed, which resulted in a bit of mutiny between captain and crew, but nonetheless the MRYC managed to drink the fleet dry. Our thanks go out to all of MRYC's sponsors, including but not limited to, TWII, Aguja, Ferdinand, Anzak, OgoPogo, and Elise. With not a drop to drink, and the wind stiffening, we pulled the anchor, one last time, and left in haste with the entire fleet, one last time. We followed the weather recommendations, and I could complain about a weak performance from Commander Weather Routing, but at least we didn't get swamped by the 60knots Ferdinand weathered just 40 miles offshore of the Bay of Islands. TallWaterII tried to heave-to, and blew the sea anchor. We dropped all sail and dodger, and were still making 4knots to Opua, and then the tiller splintered, again. We hand-steered for 4 days, considered the necessity of rationing food and water, and decided we needed to make Opua, before the next low pressure system, and before the last can of corned beef hash. We sailed into the Bay of Islands, with perfectly trimmed sails, adjusting and readjusting simply because we could. We were all feeling the finality of the situation. This was the final landfall for TallWaterII. The final water tank sputters dry. Tears in our eyes, we cheered and danced, sang and yelled. We made the final pot of popcorn, we were out of food. But we had made it. We sailed across the largest ocean in the world. In a Newport 30. The tiller was braced with plywood and duct tape. It took heart, or balls, or some combination of the two. It took the perfect trio, strangers became family. The standing rigging had all been jury-rigged, but the backstay had made it. We had made it. And five hours later, at 1am Thanksgiving morning, we actually had made it, inching to the Q dock. We were now out of gasoline. The barroom celebration would have to wait for tomorrow, right now we're just thankful for sleep, and no more night watches. We've now been on land for over a month. Jamie and Yasmina enjoyed a quick surf tour of the North Island, and managed to get a NZ article out about our crossing, before putting TWII to bed in Auckland for the holidays. ( http://www.stuff.co.nz/auckland/4809665a22400.html ). They flew back to Oregon. Twelve hours to cover our five and a half month Pacific trip. I wonder how many sailboats where making the crossing below them. They're in Newport now, figuring out life beyond 30-feet. All the crew kids were unloaded in the Bay of Islands, and have band together to create an interesting collaboration of gypsy/pikey wanderers. Most are searching for work and have already determined their favorite of the local brews. I bought a car, and am currently traveling and living in her. I'm on my way in search of a job (and climbing partners) in Franz Josef Glacier. Now that I'm land bound, I'm not too sure about this blog title anymore... so gear up for a change, and more inclusive web address... I hope all is well with you all. Thank you for everyone's continued support. Thanks to everyone who followed the journey, watched our SPOT intently, and kept us in their thoughts and prayers. We couldn't have made it across without your support (and weather advice). And especially, THANK YOU to Jamie's doting parents! To Betsy for keeping mine and Yasmina's families in the loop, and to Jim for always answering his cell phone (you will always be my preferred weather router!) I'm planning to be in NZ for about a year. If anyone is heading down this way, let me know, I'd love to see you all on this side of the blue. Love you all.