Realising that we do in fact need a boat—and that it wasn’t just another whim of my husband’s—came as an early revelation that I mentioned in my previous post. But, as it turns out, buying a boat was the simple bit, actually getting it here was the challenge!
Just to be clear, when I say ‘boat’, I mean something fiberglass with a motor, that can be towed on a trailer—the ocean equivalent of a small, budget family run-about. Not something big enough to simply launch from wherever and sail/motor to the Island.
Thanks to a ‘buy now’ on Trade Me and a family vote taken whilst Danny’s hand hovered over the mouse (as if the kids would vote ‘no’!) buying our boat was shockingly easy. Now we just had to organise our first off-Island mission to bring it here.
A few unforeseen obstacles
Sensibly, our boat was located in Nelson, one of our nearest small cities at a mere three-hour drive away. By our calculations, this made it perfectly possible to do town-and-back in one day, so long as we left early enough and left the kids at home with Heron in charge (that would save us hours surely?) But as the fated Wednesday approached, two things became apparent: firstly, that Island weather is not always predictable, particularly in winter, and secondly, that the boat on its trailer was too wide to fit on the barge. Yep.
Technically speaking, this last issue was easily solved, we’d bought a boat after all. We could simply trailer the boat as far as French Pass township, launch it, and then motor it the short distance to the Island. Meanwhile, the barge could bring over the ute and trailer (which, minus the boat, would now fit).
But it wasn’t quite that simple. The snag was that I had no experience driving a boat, let alone a new one in the vicinity of one of New Zealand’s most dangerous waterways, so Danny would have to do that. But I also couldn’t back the trailer off the barge (I am practicing my trailer backing skills because really, there’s no excuse) so Danny would also have to do that. What could possibly go wrong?
As for Island weather: it changes. Fast. So we watched with growing concern as the wind radar for the week started to pick-up. Craig, our friendly bargeman, assured us that he could run in all winds except strong south-easterlies, and that it was looking ok for us to make it off the Island. But what about coming back we wondered? Just how game were we?
Of course, at this point we could have changed days, but with the weather looking shocking for the whole week, Rowan’s Birthday looming, and the boat waiting for us in Nelson, we decided to throw our fate into the hands of the universe and commit—at the very least it would make for a memorable adventure!
The journey begins
In the end it wasn’t the wind that we had to grapple with, it was the fog. As we wound our way over the hill to catch the barge, the fog was so thick in places that we couldn’t see where the track ended and the steep drop into the valley began. Disconcerting to say the least! As we crawled along, I tried not to think of it as an omen, and certainly, the barge ride across was relatively calm, but once on the mainland, the driving conditions got worse.
Not only was there fog, and mud, and wind, but the road from French pass to Rai Valley is one of the most winding roads I have ever been on—for all ninety minutes of it. By the end, I was clutching my seatbelt with white knuckles, green face balefully hanging out of the window, holding onto the contents of my stomach by a hairs-breath. I distinctly remember making a pact with myself: I would never go off-Island again (cause that’s realistic).
When Danny stopped for breakfast in Rai valley, I could only shake my head feebly when he asked me if I wanted some. We still had an hour of slightly less winding roads ahead of us before we reached Nelson—though they are at least tarmacked. Thankfully, by the time we glided into town along the coast road, I was feeling a little less like spewing everywhere and able to take in the sweeping views of the harbor and far away Southern Alps. I seized a moment of quite wonder…
Town and all it’s glory
Once we set down in Nelson, we were on the clock, and very aware that we might not have another stab at doing ‘town’ for over a month. There are certain things you just can’t get in the mail, and with that in mind, Danny left me dashing around Pak’n Save while he went in search of fishing gear and other boating needs. He was done in what seemed like five minutes, of course, and then we took a trolley each and raced each other through the check-out. He won. Again. I managed to sneak in a few Birthday presents for Rowan, before being dragged away to pick up our new boat. Eyes on the goal Rethenwyn.
Sensibly, we’d organised to have the boat serviced before bringing her back to the Island—there’s no mechanic shop here!—and as we pulled up at the forecourt stuffed full of large pleasure vessels and modern fishing boats, it was easy to see which one was ours. She was the smallest, and probably oldest, craft there, but the mechanic fired her up first try which reassured Danny and filled my ears with the promise of adventure. We had a boat!
And so, racing to catch the last of the winter light, we hit the hills again with boat in tow, stopping only for fuel (where we filled up every available fuel container we owned, including the ones on the boat) and cold ginger beer—my anti-sickness friend.
As I concentrated on keeping the queasy at bay, Danny struck up idle chit-chat about boating disasters. A common mistake, he said, was people forgetting to put the bungs back in their boats (these are little stoppers that you can unscrew when on dry land to allow any water to drain out, there’s usually no more than two). He said that people sometimes launch, tie up, and then come back to find their boat lying at the bottom of the ocean—poor, silly buggers. This would never happen to us of course.
Oh, the folly….
Stopping for a moment to reflect, I can now see that what we were about to attempt was tantamount to stupidity. Let’s be honest. Launching a small, unknown boat that neither of us had so much as started, and driving it across a dangerous, unfamiliar waterway in fading light, rain, and rising winds, was, perhaps, quite foolish. A spare change of clothes and a lifejacket weren’t really adequate precautions!
But at this point, we were driven by the momentum of the day and the desire to get home. With less than an hour of daylight remaining, there were no other options but to change into my shorts and tell myself not to be a wimp as I stepped into the bracing French Pass water to help launch the boat. The two bungs were in—no, we hadn’t forgotten!—and she started with a roar. So far, so good.
I then pulled the ute and trailer back up the beach to turn around while Danny did a few impressive passes of the bay in the new toy. Gingerly, and with maximum concentration, I drove onto the barge, fully aware that I had one shot to get it right because, if you remember, I couldn’t back the trailer up for another try. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Danny slow down long enough to watch—no pressure then.
Thankfully, it all went perfectly. Just one more hurdle to overcome and we’d be home free. The plan was now for Danny to speed ahead of us and reach D’Urville first, tie up to the jetty, and race around to the boat ramp so he could climb aboard the barge and back the ute off. This is when the skies decided to rip open.
The rain was so torrential that when I wound down the ute window to politely chat with the bargeman, I was instantly soaked. It also, more alarmingly, meant I completely lost sight of Danny ahead of us in our boat, he could have flipped the thing for all I knew—or worse, be lagging behind!
Over in the boat, it was occurring to Danny that he’d never paid attention to where exactly Kapowai bay was situated on the D’Urville coastline (this is where the boat ramp and wharf are). Not that it actually mattered, because he couldn’t even see the Island through the water that was streaming into his eyes. All he could do was point the boat in the right direction and hope for the best, it was shear luck that he missed the patches of shallow rock!
Straining for any sign of him through the grey, there was a definite flush of love when his silhouette emerged like a (very bedraggled) hero, ready to board the barge and back the ute off for me. He’d found his way, even though the waves had slammed the boat hard against the wharf when he’d tied her up, and even though she seemed to be taking on more water than she should. He’d made it, we’d made it.
I wouldn’t say we felt triumphant, it was more like simple relief. After that, it didn’t matter that I stepped off the boat ramp and up to my thigh in freezing water when we winched the boat back onto the trailer. We were both drenched anyway. It also didn’t matter that the trailer wheel went over the edge of the track as we wound our way home—my wonderfully capable husband simply pulled her back on course. No worries.
We’d left in the dark and returned in the dark, with a new boat and a ute-full of shopping to unload, to hungry kids more excited about shop-bought pizza than a boat. It was all part of Island life and the whole experience left us feeling somehow christened. We were true Islanders now!
Funny thing though: it was only afterwards, with the gift of time and daylight, that we discovered why the boat had been taking on water on her maiden voyage over. There was in fact a third bung, situated in a hard-to-reach spot that we’d completely over-looked. Seriously, who would be stupid enough to leave a bung out?!
- Why the Mumma learned to motorbike
- From Private Bag to doorstep: the epic journey of our mail
- Sourcing our drinking water from the top of a waterfall—now that’s refreshing!
- How to hang out washing in 60 km/h winds
- We found the best use for a mussel buoy—ever!
- What we caught in the pig trap (hint: It wasn’t a pig!)
Wow Ren, I love reading about your family island adventures- a little different to life in rural bucks!
It is a bit Celia! Lots of fun and very much how I want to be living these days – close to nature and far away from the crowds! Take care xx