Teamwork – Allora Voyage

Doubtful/Patea, aka Gleeful Sound – Fiordland

Dash from Dagg to Doubtful:

The relatively short distances between sounds along Fiordland’s rugged coast allow for mad dashes timed to brief calms, but you can’t really read the ocean’s mood sheltered in the steep granite walls of the fiords. Often the designation, “all weather anchorage,” means that fishermen have figured out that even in the worst conditions, certain spots are spared. The only way to know when it’s time to go, if you don’t have the benefit of years of local knowledge, is to study the weather models that we download twice a day from PredictWind. Because they are downloading via Iridium satellite, the resolution of the models cannot be higher that 50km. So there’s a bit of an odd effect as the models average how much the wind on the Tasman Sea is slowed down by the mountainous Fiordland coast, giving the appearance of lighter winds close to shore. They probably are a little lighter compared to what they are 20 miles out at sea, but our experience is that the models generally underestimate what it’s like on the outside and overestimate what we’ll experience once inside. Wind or no, gale or no, the seas are almost always a mess, particularly where local winds funnel through the openings of the sounds. Schedules are well known as the bane of sailing but in the land based world they are unavoidable, and Wyatt had a particularly narrow window of time to squeeze in a visit to us amid preparations to leave New Zealand. So we considered ourselves unreasonably lucky when the wind that pinned us down for a couple of days in Daag, relented in perfect time for us to make the dash. We arrived at the opening of Doubtful with what Wyatt would call a ‘splitter bluebird’ sunny day. ~MS

We saw the full flow of waterfalls after the previous day’s rain as we left Dagg Sound. By the time we got to Doubtful, they were less vigorous, heading into their ‘elegant’ phase!

The clouds came and went, as they do; a reminder that Wyatt would soon join us and then be off again. Even these monolithic mountains, seemingly in stasis, are ever in flux.

We scooted directly on up to Deep Cove so we’d be all set for Wyatt’s morning arrival the next day. SO EXCITED!

©WS
Allora on a mooring (all by herself) in Doubtful Sound, tucked right up next to the roar of Helena Falls. Evening spent getting the aft cabin clear of STUFF to welcome Wyatt the next day. Here, I don the particular ‘happy parent’ expression, just moments after snagging Wyatt off the bus!

Wyatt made a fairly long journey from Wanaka to meet up with us: ( 4 hours via car to Manapouri via Queenstown, Ferry across Lake Manapouri to West Arm, Bus via Wilmot Pass Road). We hardly paused before whisking Wyatt away on the last leg of this long adventure toward Hall Arm.

It was a dramatic day, light wise. Sometimes it’d be broody and dark and then beams of sunlight would break through and highlight just one sliver of the mountainside.

Think we would have been happy gathering anywhere, but this is most definitely Wyatt’s giddy inducing environment!

I have interspersed Wyatt’s pics throughout this blog post – and used ©WS to indicate his shots.

We had to stay ‘on our game’ to keep anchoring strategies as thorough despite Wyatt’s being with us. Thankfully, the weather cooperated, with the max wind being 21 knots, and Wyatt always has a good sense of being responsible to the situation, anyway.

Anchoring – We never did buy the ‘marriage saver’ headphones which might be a bit softer in the decibel department for communicating between bow and stern. But in this steep sided environment, sometimes our voices would even echo! (Fun for music playing, too!)

Found our spot! Hall Arm is actually breath-taking!!

©WS We anchored in 68′ of water – so pretty deep – with all our rode out.

I think all 3 of us held a quiet awareness around how hard our next goodbye would be, as Wyatt was planning to leave NZ after spending 2.5 years building community in Wanaka and sharing some real quality time with us.

©WS Snagging one of these close ups sometimes involves a bit of scrambling! (Wyatt was too busy grabbing me from the icy water after I slipped and fell in to take a picture!)

We have experienced a profound cumulative effect traveling through the wilderness of these southern fiords, as we mash through the tangled forest or glide like a whisper through glassy, watery mountain reflections. We feel a growing, deepening awareness of the liveness and power of this unfettered place. Every day Diana peers a little closer into the magical profusion of the rainforest, its tiniest creatures (or the smallest we may perceive) all this abundance of life fueled by fresh water, gray stormy clouds, shifting rays of sunlight, massive stone faces fading softly into the distance. The boundless imagination of nature is vividly accessible here, free of scheming human interference. Inexhaustible, effortless celebration. We feel blessed to feel like we belong, to participate at our particular scale, with our particular way of perceiving. Gratefully reconnected as dolphins come to play alongside Allora, turn and smile and look back at us with familiar eyes, into our own delighted gaze. As the sky softens at sunset, or looms heavy with rain before the storm, as water gushes from waterfalls that were not there before the deluge, thundering into the fiord, as williwaws tornado in wild rainbow mists across startled coves, how delightful it is to be alive, a part of, this marvelous, miraculous world. ~MS

The layout of Doubtful/Bradshaw/Thompson Sounds. You can see why they’re called ‘arms.’

©WS We moved each night because Wyatt had just 5 with us and although we KNOW ‘more isn’t more,’ we couldn’t resist! Also, weather necessitated we seek certain protection, so we had THAT excuse (wink).

Gaer Arm up Bradshaw Sound is a famously hard spot to set anchor, normally only a daytime or fair weather anchorage. The Camelot River is at the head and offers great potential for dingy/kayak exploration at high tide, so we strategized and came up with a plan since we had some moderate winds forecasted.

Anchored off the mud bank of the Camelot at the head of the arm.

Just starting up the Camelot, Allora barely in sight. We timed our Camelot River foray and left two hours before high tide, towing the kayak behind Namo. We crept up 2k carefully avoiding snags and rocks until reaching a clear ‘no go’ spot for Namo. At that point, the guys hiked a couple more kilometers up the gorgeous river and I turned back toward Allora with the kayak, so as to be on the boat for the predicted winds.

Learned something about how cloudy days can actually be more subtle light for shooting.

I turned back toward Allora while Marcus and Wyatt fished upstream.

Making my way back to Allora in some pretty ‘skinny’ water. There were sulphuric smelling hot water bubbling spots all across the shallows!

Allora nicely sitting just where we left her and in very placid conditions. The wind did end up picking up, but not in any significant way and our anchor stayed set nicely.

©WS
We moved across Bradshaw Sound to Precipice Cove/MacDonnell Island, an all weather anchorage.

©WS
Still quite giddy about having one on one time with Wyatt before he flies back to the States.

Wyatt went off on a long kayak while we heard word about our long awaited boxes of pre-ordered ‘fresh’ veggies! Real Journeys offers the service in collaboration with a grocery store in Te Anau. It’s kind of a miracle and although it didn’t go flawlessly, we were more than happy to jump through a few hoops to get celery and lettuce and carrots, oh my!

The Milford Mariner, a boat run by Real Journeys, called us on the VHF and said they had our 3 boxes of veggies! We were expecting them to arrive the day we picked up Wyatt, but they kept going missing. Anyway, we zipped over to the head of the bay and their lights made them look even more angelic in my eyes! The first ‘freshies’ since leaving Oban a good two months ago! I definitely did a vegetable dance!

Instead of the 45 knot winds which were predicted, we saw only a few mild gusts but LOTS of rain, enough to almost fill both of our water tanks (200 gallons!).

Before heading to Crooked Arm, we went a bit farther on to see some of the waterfalls at the head of Precipice Cove.

Marcus was super generous to be helmsman while Wyatt and I ran around gleefully taking pictures!

Looking down into Thompson Sound from Penoulo Reach.

A frisky band of Bottlenose Dolphins took to leaping in the wake of a Real Journeys boat which whizzed by us. We weren’t even sure if the folks on that boat saw the antics because they just kept on keeping on. Meanwhile, we stopped and spent over an hour and a half with these VERY social and smiley creatures! All of these dolphin shots are Wyatt’s. My camera fogged up and he needed an SD card anyway, so I just spent the whole time giggling!

We spent our last evening at the end of Crooked Arm, just 1 mile as the crow flies to Dagg Sound. I was sure Wyatt would want to run across, but we didn’t arrive till quite late in the afternoon and we were cherishing our last time for sweet conversation.

And what an evening it was! Fiordland showed off a wee bit.

We shot this when we thought Wyatt had the possibility of extending his stay one more day, hence the smiles. We learned soon after that we had to rush in the morning to get him back to Deep Cove for an earlier bus because they’d cancelled the other option. 🙁

Leaving Crooked Arm and working our way back to Deep Cove, Marcus maneuvered Allora right up next to these stunners.

Last things to say. This appears to have more lightness and less tears than I remember?

Back at Deep Cove. We ran Wyatt over to the place where we’d picked him up and we saw his bus leaving – 15 minutes EARLY! It was against my better interests, because I’d have loved to KEEP him for 2 more days, but I screamed my throat raw, the driver stopped and he made the bus. No Italian style protracted goodbyes though – he was off in an instant! OUCH, rip the bandaid! (Was glad we’d had that heart to heart in the morning!) Ciao bello!

Marcus and I took a walk, hardly talking, just savoring the blissful blur of the 5 past days traipsing all over Doubtful Sound with our baby!

Never too disheartened to be lit up by a new mushroom find!

We found a trail right up to the base of Helena Falls.

Last light of the day along the tail-race looking in the direction which Wyatt headed, starting this new chapter in his life.

We had to fuel up Allora and do some laundry (real life after sustained play), so we stopped one last night in Snug Cove/First Arm of Doubtful before heading northward.

Silver Apollo

This magnificent fish appeared to us first as light

a silver flash, deeper than we dreamed we could perceive

rising Apollo of the Pacific

ancient enough to carry some scars

close in his iridescent skin, yellow blue purple and black

finely etched lines

how long had he been living in this wide sea

how many leagues of luminous ocean

glided by that scepter of yellow fins

We are bruised, but he lost his life

we have food, he is gone

confounded by a line, a hook to his jaw

his moment of victory,

crushing his prey, fouled in a startling, confusing instant

he headed for the safer deep,

he ran

for how long

he thought he must win

and he nearly did

fickle luck decided his fate

cruel chance was on our side

It was not a fair fight

but he was not a fair fighter either

prowling the Pacific, picking on fish his own size

at least he and I were nearly exactly matched in weight

a fish my own size

I had huge mechanical advantages, technology

reel built in Italy, graphite rod from China, lure from Japan

a global conspiracy

Monofilament, 80 kg

a few pounds under our weight in breaking strength, too

for three hours the outcome hung on that scale,

our tug of war,

each had the means to break that transparent thread

his pure muscle

my miscalculation

if I set too much drag

if he could pull suddenly, powerfully enough, fool the rod

catch that thread on the rudder, the keel, the hydrogenerator

Ping! he tried that too, dirty fighter

Most unjust, we knew the terms of the contest

he had only terror, confusion, instinct – shouting, get away!

how could he ever ken

the nature of the power that vexed him

what steel contraption of death hooked him

the end that comes without explanation

before that

he circled for an hour

a slow spiral up

silver mirage in the gleaming blue

what restrains me?

He could not know my arms were pumping, failing

but he could feel moments of my weakness

of hope

did he wonder if we knew he was blacking out from exhaustion

rolling on his side relying on fins and broad side

like a sea anchor to stave off the inevitable

that he came up to the surface those times

because he couldn’t fight the light for another second

until he found that with everything to lose he must

fight

it wasn’t a test of strength, there never was any question about that

o powerful god of the sea, we know

When sharp gaff bit tender gills

life faded with salty blood into the water of his birth

and when

with the last of our strength we pulled him from the sea

the Whitetip shark could smell his death

came in cautiously, sensing danger

we fooled him, too

found strength we didn’t have to lift our prize

The fish is gone

we have only replicas of his majesty.

~MS

STATS:

Yellowfin Tuna

64 inches tail to mouth, 44 inches in girth

190 pounds

240 steaks

8” purple and orange Yozuri lure

180 lb test line with 300 lb wire tippet section

THE DETAILS:

After we broke two fish off near Bora Bora, I decided to do something about it. A big new rod and a reel that weighs more than all my other reels combined.180 pound test line, 300 lb test wire leader, eight inch Japanese Yozuri lure with two I don’t-know-what aught giant hooks. We were ready.

We wanted fish. So I had my secret weapon out, which I learned from a sport fishing boat in Mexico. A teaser trailing about thirty rubber squid in a school formation. Gotta get the fish’s attention, especially when you’re sailing downwind in light airs.

When a saltwater fish starts taking line, you don’t really know much about what you’ve got, unless you’re lucky enough to see the take, as I did with my first Marlin. But even small fish are crazy strong out in the ocean. If they weren’t they wouldn’t be here. They live with sharks.

We’ve learned the hard way how difficult it is to battle a big fish from a sailboat. Lines, sails, rigging, davits, hydrogenerators, long rudder and keel. The first thing you need to do, is slow down. When this fish hit we were sailing wing and wing with the genoa poled out to starboard. Luckily, since crossing the Pacific we’ve been setting the pole out with a bridle, so when we decided to hove-to there was a foreguy already in place to keep the pole from swinging back into the shrouds.

Diana got on the VHF and called our friends on Makara who been sailing close by, to let them know we had a fish on. Having broke the swivel on one of the hooks before on this rig, I went easy on the drag, and the fish ran and ran. When we’d slowed to about a knot or so, I started putting more pressure on, though I stopped the run, I couldn’t gain anything.

Diana dug out the “Golden God” which is the name she came up with for what she thought was a ludicrous fighting harness when I’d bought it back in California.

With no good place to be, I set up with the rod on the starboard side. The stern was blocked by our dinghy, dangling teaser, steering vane post and hydrovane. It looked like about half the line I had on the giant reel was out. I set more drag, but couldn’t get the line in. This may have been the first moment that we began to guess that we were in for a long haul. Makara called to find out how it was going. Little to report.

For the next two hours. Two hours. I would reel in as much as I could, and then lose at least two thirds what I gained with the fish pulling inexorably away. I was fighting the fish facing sideways, since the dinghy and everything else was on the stern of the boat. We were drifting slowly off course to the northwest, and the fish was pulling east. I was getting tired, but it was too much for Diana to hold very long on her own, so she helped relieve me by supporting the rod from the side. I’d get a couple winds on the reel and then we’d catch our breath.

Makara called again. No fish. We hadn’t even seen it yet. We heard Starlet come on the radio, they were hearing Makara’s side of the conversation.

Finally, somewhere in the second hour the fish started to rise, and I was able to take in some line. We got our first glimpse of the beast. A silver flash, deep deep deep down in the blue sea. Then Diana thought she saw yellow.

We already thought, hoped, prayed, that it was a yellowfin tuna. It had to be. Marlin jump. Dorado jump. Tuna go deep. What else is that big?

We told Makara we could see it, but that it was still a long way off.

The fish acquiescing so much line and coming up, fooled us into thinking that we were getting close. I think we even got the gaff out.

Wrong, O’ how wrong! The really brutal part of the battle had only just begun. The tuna started heading for the other side of the boat, getting the line wrapped around the hydrogenerator and the dangling squid teasers and just about everything else on the stern. Both of us were already bruised up, me from the pole slipping out of the harness and Diana from trying to hold the pole at the rail, getting her hands trapped between the rod and the Bimini frame.

Both of us took turns unwrapping the line and Diana started the engine to try to turn the boat toward the fish so it would be off our side instead of behind us. More than once we heard the line “twang” off of something on the stern, sure that we’d lost the fish after everything.

Just about the time that I began to think about the looming probability that the muscles in my arms were seriously going to give out, we got a small break. The tuna started doing deep predictable circles. Diana guessed about 70 feet below us. With each circle I could gain a little as he passed closest, and then lose some of that gain as he pulled away. A few inches at a time and Diana was able to report to Makara that we had the fish at about fifty feet. Diana would help me lift the pole and I would reel like crazy on the drop. The fish too was getting tired, but sometimes just as I could feel him falter, I realized I had to take a break, too. I just couldn’t pull him up.

Diana gave me water. My arms were pumped, literally spasming involuntarily as we got the fish near the surface. He was still pulling in circles, but now he broke the surface and we could see how enormous he was. Diana tried to gaff him, but the reach from the deck was a few inches too far for her, and the fish wasn’t done yet.

After awhile we realized that the only way to get him was for her to take the pole. She donned the Golden God.

I gaffed him, but it took all my remaining strength just to hold him near the surface. When we caught that big tuna crossing the Pacific we lost our gaff at this point, so Diana got a line tied onto the gaff in case I lost my grip.

We were contemplating how we were going to lift the fish, thinking about using the block we use for the dinghy, when Diana saw a shark swimming in, no doubt scenting the blood from the gaff.

There was NO WAY we were going to lose this fish to a shark after three hours. We put a line through its gills and put the rod back in the holder and worked the tuna around all the many obstacles at the stern of the boat as the shark circled (I kid you not). Thankfully the shark was taking its time. With both of us heaving will all our might we got the fish up on the swim platform, tail dangling out over the water. Diana tied the fish off and we both sat down and tried to catch our breath. The shark would have to leap out of the water to get the fish now, but we had to get it on the boat more securely before we could move.

Diana took a picture of me, totally exhausted with the fish half in the cockpit. We got another line on it, heaved one more time and the fish was secure, though to steer Diana had to straddle it at the wheel.

Three full hours.

I was too exhausted to help Diana roll up the genoa and reset the main, start the engine and get us moving. We called Makara and told them we had the fish.

Starlet could hear us now, and Mark suggested we come raft up to them when we got to Fakarava, so they could lift the fish onto their trawler. A much more convenient place to butcher it. The wind was very light so we used our engine to make up for three lost hours. We wanted light for transferring the fish. Meanwhile Mark also made arrangements to put the fish, once it’d been cut into steaks in the freezer of a local magasin (grocery store). We had to have the job done by eight o’clock which is when the owner said he was going to bed.

Sharpened knives, everyone dove in. We butchered on the back deck and, Jennifer shuttled them into Diana cutting steaks in the galley. Ian bagged them and estimated we had something like 240 steaks in all, plus bags of trim meat Diana and Erica sorted for sashimi or for curries.

We measured the tuna, from the bottom jaw to the crook of the tail. Mark found a chart online to determine its weight. The first graph he found didn’t even go up to this tuna’s 64 inches/44 inches girth. 190 pounds.

It takes a village.