To the Bay of Islands

We take off early in the morning, motoring by Port Abercrombie and Port Fitzroy, then on go the sails in a pleasant twenty knots northwestern. Soon outside Great Barrier Island the wind settles around fifteen knots, with areas of nearly calm. It's a sunny day, and we don't really mind sailing slowly by stunning Fanal and Burgess islands. I even consider stopping to have a look at the big house on the peak of Burgess, the lightkeepers' house, but the rocky bay is not too encouraging. By nightfall we approach the Poor Knights Islands. Story goes that the two islands were once inhabited by a small maori tribe. They fished and traded their wares with the mainland, until some other tribe got jealous and slaughtered them all. As we pass them the wind dies, and with the night all land seems closer. I am concerned of some current taking us toward them, but little by little we clear them alright. At 9:00PM I take the helm for my shift, just in time to see the wind rise again to a steady southwesterly breeze that get Keturah cruising along at a comfortable five knots. The night is starry, the boat swaying over the water like the girl from ipanema. I play with the sails, more and more, until the steering becomes irrelevant: I can steer her simply by proper sail trimming. A complete communion, me the boat, sails, wind, stars, fosforescence. Beautiful.
I get the best winds of the night, waking up Ben at about 1:30AM for his watch. I've been seeing Cape Brett lighthouse practically from Poor Knights Islands, the lighthouse shines bright from twenty miles away, though my moldy 1973 chart says it shines at only seventeen. Suppose they juyced it up since then. I take a short nap, about one uncomfortable and restless hour, since the idea of approaching Cape Brett is something I want to be present to.
At about 2:30AM infact I go back up on deck, the shapes of the cape and Piercy islands is now visible. Ben is in his shorts and does not wear glasses, although it's hard to miss a huge black shape on the horizon. He assures me rounding the cape is a piece of bread to him. Regardless, I stand by, not wanting to miss the passage and suspecting some wind turbulence when being too close to high land. We nearly make it to pass the cape, but two thirds into it the wind dies. I know we're close to a nearby anchorage, so, to avoid useless strain and pointless sailing, I fire up the Ford, Nick comes on deck, sails are folded away. Ben goes right in his sleeping bag, although we're approaching and there is much left to coil and starighten, apparently he's freezing. It was a cold night.
So me and Nick do the rest, anchoring at 5AM in a completely calm and boats free Oke Bay.

Later in the morning we motor to Paihia, and at last we enjoy a few days with the comforts of civilization.

Great Barrier Island

The following day Nick and Ben wake up early, eager to get going, while I'm still having the few drags out of my after-coffee cigarette. No problem, five minutes and we're ready to go. The wind veered a bit West, and will turn northerly. Still, perfect to get started, still on a broad reach all day. It is sunny again!
Mid afternoon finds us between Small and great Barrier Islands, the forecast is not so good for the couple days to come, so I fire up the computer to loook for a nice anchorage.
I find one, well tucked behind a coiuple points, just large enough to accommodate the boat. We pass by a bird rookery: a whole hill made white by the birds and their guano. We anchor in seven meters, by a small beach, in a bay that looks like out of a postcard.
The day after it's blowing hard, but we're well sheltered, and we have a good sleep. While I pour my coffee I hear Ben shouting to come up! Come up!
Of course I spring out there, always in fear of a dragging anchor or something. Instead it's a pilot whale, circling mischievously around the boat, blowing now and then. She makes a few circles then comes alongside on it's side, letting and eye clearly emerging from the water and squinting at us. And off she goes.
Beautiful. She actually winked.
We finish breakfast and decide to change scenario and motor to the main sheltered area near to 'civilization'. Outside it's blowing 50 knots, there's a big swell coming at us, but Keturah bobs gracefully up and down, without lurches or rolling. Thanks god for the sheletered cockpit, or we'd be all drenched in salt water and instead of feeling like a funride it would be like facing Cape Horn. We go through the narrow passage by , I see a red boat down in a cove that looks just like Pig Iron, the boat by Elsa and David, a lovely old couple that would always welcome me back at Pier 21 to let me vent a bit of frustration and have a glass of wine. They've lived on her boat for twenty years and have been just about everywhere.
We go by them, noticing what a sheltered spot they picked up, wave a turn around to go to Port...., see what's there as the guys are already itching to get ashore. We anchor in rocky bottom, drag a bit, so I decide to let them go and stay on Keturah. The place looks deserted anyway. They inflate the dinghy and leave in exploration for the rest of the afternoon.
Later, once they're back, we decide to change spot...port..is not so sheltered, the williwaws come down the surrounding hills like angry devils. We decide that Pig Iron's spot was very nice after all, and even if we feel a bit like intruding, we go there.
As soon as we are anchored (dragging on rocks again), they shout to come over, actually David takes the dinghy and makes sure we do and it is soon discovered why:
they decided to quit smoking and left without cigarettes, so when they saw us, knowing we'd have cigarettes, they REALLY wanted us to anchor next to them. We have a nice afternoon drinking wine while I, nervously, can't keep my eyes off Keturah in the fear that she may be dragging anytime. She's been swinging quite a bit in the wind, and the previous experience with rocks didn't reassure me one bit.
We are invited for dinner, after we move to a different anchorage, as the wind from northerly is turning west again, and there's a little bay right opposite us that will do nicely: Smokehouse.
Arrived there everything is calm again, and ashore is some fish smoking facilities, a big grill, and a wood-operated boiler with a shower and an outdoor fire-tub, a bathtub one can light a fire underneath...never seen before.
We have a lovely evening with lots of wine on Pig Iron, I fall asleep by the wonderful diesel heater that's glowing and warming the whole boat. The morning after we will leave.

Bye bye Auckland

At last, the day comes to leave Pier 21, the last goodbye to the marina, the broker, the dock workers (who were really nice), rushing around to buy the chart from NZ to Fiji, jacklines, bits and pieces. The computer has been in the GI office all day, last emails, last weather checks. Nick sticks to the computer, somehow he needs to send some really long message, which I read as a latent form of anxiety.
The weather is nice, the wind a sout westerly, just right.
We leave Auckland in style: up go the sails, all of them right out of the marina, so instead of motoring as we've done so far, we pass by the waterfront under sail. A huge tanker takes off right as we go by it, but no worries.
Out of the main harbor, past Rangitoto we also come across the new NZ America's Cup boats returning from training. They have no engine and are being towed, the crew waves at us when we take pictures...here even the top class sailors appreciate an old ketch trimmed to perfection. Kiwis are no snobs, at least.
Perfect sailing all day, quiet, good speed, we play with the trimming all day, trying to squeeze every point of a knot out of her, and she complies beautifully, making steering superfluous for long stretches. Evening comes, and lo, we have been seeing the Maori Rocks beam for a while, the wind dies and we have dinner. The sea is oily, total calm, so instead of flapping and bobbing all night in the middle of nowhere we take shelter in Kawau island again, in the cove we know so well.
A few toasts to the good day and the beginning of the avventure and we're off to bed.