Fiji to New Caledonia
Five degrees south and ten degrees colder
I have never experienced such a wet and stormy week on a boat, not even in Old Caledonia.
Actually it was the longest period of rough weather we have ever had at sea; five solid days of high winds and high seas. The GRIB (weather files) weren’t looking particularly positive before we left; nice weather is blue or green, scary weather is orange or red which correlates pretty accurately with the volume of blood that’s spilled owing to the various minor injuries that occur on these passages. The forecast was orangey red. “Fuck it, it’ll be fine!!” we both said, clearly suffering from major memory loss owing to PTSD as a result of the last 8 month’s passages. Al and I have both relatively recently finished reading South by Ernest Shackleton and now have a better sense of what bad actually is (see Southern Ocean, trapped in the ice for two years in the Antarctic with nothing to eat but whale blubber), which potentially means we are slightly cavalier in our decision-making. Sub-galeforce 8 is a GOOD thing, so off we went. The journey went like this:
Day 1: Bit bumpy leaving Fiji at lunchtime. Late afternoon — “holy shit this is uncomfortable!”. Private Spew Bucket reports for duty. Lifejackets and safety lines go on.
Hit with an almighty wave that comes over the front. A minute later we look up and see a bigger wave — a wave that could end humanity (possibly being slightly dramatic but it was the biggest frigging wave I have ever seen in all my seafaring). It breaks over the bow and then crashes down on the stern and beyond, we’re getting barrelled on a yacht!
The seawater pours through all the vents…
Luckily our mattress is an effective sponge and dutifully retains every drop for the remainder of the voyage. Thankfully everyone present and correct, still tethered on and laughing at still being here. Our cabin is rendered unusable for the rest of the journey.
We agree on 3-hourly night shifts due to the volatile weather. Whoever is off-duty shares a cabin with the kids, which would normally be fine, but during high winds when the boat is sitting at 45 degrees the only sleeping position is snugly in the corner up against the wall. As it turns out small children aren’t that comfortable to sleep on and can be noisy when crushed.
Day 2: Tired. Weather still insane. A red footed booby hitches a ride and sits on our foredeck all day. Everyone and everything is wet. Everyone feels pretty nasty and unable to read or watch anything. Unlike anything else on board the chat is dry.
Day 3: Very tired. Our booby pal is still here. Kids are now able to watch their tablets without being sick which is just as well as their parents are utterly morose and beyond help. I have a change of heart and my intense hatred of YouTubers subsides slightly as I learn to admire their childcare skills.
Day 4: Bobby Booby still on board. I wonder if he knows we’re not actually anywhere near Fiji anymore. Does he want to go to New Caledonia?
I’m able to read now and start to enjoy the watches again. The hallucinations from lack of sleep start to be enjoyable. Al admirably decides to spend more time on night watch and sleep during the day which gives me a couple of hours extra rest. This makes me slightly less morose than I was which means we can start the home schooling! Yay!
Day 5: We approached the pass to New Caledonia at dawn. The peaks were enshrouded with cloud. It was wet and cold and the sea was still being a belligerent twat but this couldn’t dampen our spirits!
There is unmatched joy in shouting land ahoy when you’ve had a rough crossing
We also hadn’t seen scenery like this since leaving Scotland; the hillsides are punctuated with twisted oaks and needle-shaped pines, deep orange slashes pierce the greenery; scars left by the nickel mining industry that dominates this country. The monumental Southern Lagoon of New Caledonia is dotted with islets that rise like porcupines out of the sea, white sand beaches back onto steep inclines that are studded with the classic New Caledonia pines. This is like a far-south Galapagos and it takes your breath away at every turn. In fact, it astonishes us all that this trip gets better and better the further south we go.
Entering the marina in Noumea followed our tried and tested method of having a blazing row as we dock. All soon forgotten when we open a cold beer and begin to dry out our clothes. We have a celebratory family hug, I’m staggered that at the distance these guys have sailed and so proud. Al is now 18,000 nautical miles down and the kids just over 9,000 miles.
With our basic human needs now met (French cheese for us, crepes for the kids) we left the comforts of the marina in Noumea (wifi) and set off to explore what turned out to be the most astonishing nation we’ve ever seen…
