Our trip to Tonga from Bora
Bora was broken into two parts: idyllic ocean sailing and rough “count your
prayers” kind of ocean sailing.
The first six days were
fabulous. Although we were going
painfully slow compared to most of our normal ocean passages, we were enjoying
the ride. We listened to podcasts of
Hamish and Andy, BBC documentaries, and Radio New Zealand – being educated and
entertained at the same time. We were
lucky that there was little rain and we slept on deck watching the stars every
night.
We knew from the start that
our last couple of days was going to be different. When we left Bora Bora, our weather forecasts
were telling us that we were going to get 25kts of breeze for those last days
but a normal sea state (about a 2 metre swell, but with a long interval). We don’t even blink at the idea of 25kts, it
isn’t a concern at all. What really
matters when you are at sea isn’t necessarily the wind strength, it’s the sea
state that goes along with it. As we got
further into our voyage, the weather forecasts began to tell us it was going to
be more wind and bigger seas. Because the
sea state for the preceding 6 days had been so idyllic, we didn’t believe it
could get significantly worse. Boy, were
we wrong.
On Sunday afternoon, the
wind began increasing and the seas began to build. During the night, a squall came through with
some heavy rain and I headed below to keep warm while Gary continued his
watch. On Monday, it just got
worse. The skies had clouded over and
were a mean grey, the seas grew and grew until they were over 4 metres high,
towering over the boat. Then it just got
worse from there. While the average waves
were 4.8 metres high, you expect to see, and we did, waves up to double this.
We had seen big seas before
when we were off the Colombian coast.
Massive 6 metre towers of water that reduced your world from seeing from
horizon to horizon, to only the waves around you. But that time, the sun
was shining, there wasn't much wind and the waves were ordered. I
remember feeling at awe looking at the beauty of them, with the sun shining
through the crests as they broke, and seeing that Caribbean turquoise colour.
This time, it wasn’t like that at all. The
sky was grey and rainy, the wind was howling, the waves were dark and had veins
of froth in them, they were breaking everywhere, from all directions and
smashing into and over the boat. The forecast had been changed from 25kts
to a constant 30kts and the sea state “rough”.
The cockpit filled with water a couple of times from a wave breaking
broadside, so much that the slop of waves forced its way down the companion
way.
Gary has always dreamed of
single-handed sailing, so when he suggested I stay below to keep dry, I
agreed. From down below, the noise of the waves smashing
into the hull was like a tree trunk being rammed into the boat. The boat was being thrown around so much that
I had to crawl to get to the bathroom, but even then was thrown into the sides
of cabinets.
But sometimes, Gary
needed my help up on deck. Each time I
came on deck, the waves had grown even more than the last time. They got so big and messy that I felt
paralysed looking at them. By this time,
we found out later, the local Tongan authorities had revised their forecast to
be 30-35kts and the sea state rough to very rough.
At one stage we had
to take down the main completely: even the tiny reefed part was too much. To do this, you have to turn the boat into
the wind, and also the waves. I was on helm. Turning into such massive and breaking waves
is not fun. As you go side on to the
waves, water is coming in right at you and it feels like the boat is going to
be rolled. Then you keep on turning
until you are looking right at the waves coming at you. The boat feels vertical as you go up the
waves, then the top of the wave breaks over the boat and washes over you, then
it is the vertical trip straight down the wave.
So at this point, Gary has to go forward to pull the sail down. I
see the waves smashing over him and he clings on to anything he can. He then has to climb the two steps on the
mast to reach the sail, the size of the steps being not much bigger than a
bolt. The boat is being thrown about and I am just hoping he isn't flung off
the mast. He finishes pulling down the main quickly and makes it back to
the cockpit safely, at which time I dash back downstairs.
We made it to Tonga
just on midnight. Unfortunately, the
charts aren’t accurate, there are small islands in the middle of the channel
that are unlight, navigational lights that are meant to be there weren’t, and
there was no moonlight. We inched our
way through the maze of islands, squinting our eyes to try and differentiate
between islands and the mainland behind them.
Finally, we made it up the channel and into a sheltered cove. Despite it being very late, we ate, drank
water and showered, not having done any of those for a good few days.
After arriving and talking to other boats that had made it through the same weather we found out that some boats had hove to for 36 hours, some had run to Samoa while others tied up to a mooring in Niue and headed for shore. We were fortunate to get through so unscathed.
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