Introducing a new book is exciting and slightly intimidating. It also involves a lot of paperwork. Getting ready for seminars on the West Coast of the US in March and on the east coast in September and October also added to the work load. Then there was dealing with the intimidating insurance claim forms, assessors, engineers and estimators who streamed down our jetty when wild New Zealand weather brought two, once in 200 years, cyclonic storms roaring down on our miniature boatyard. (Over a foot of rain on Sunday night, then 8 inches of rain in two hours on Friday night accompanied by 60 knot winds and a whole hillside slid down to demolish the beautiful guest cottage Larry built us only a year ago.1) So as the countdown to the release of Bull Canyon, a Boatbuilder, a Writer and Other Wildlife roared closer I found myself fully bogged down in a morass of paperwork.
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This is what our lovely little guest cottage looked like before the cyclones hit.
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Larry not only had to listen to my moaning about hours of phone calling and paper shuffling (real and electronic), he had to spend days digging in sticky mud, trying to clean up the mess left by the flooding. He saved us both by using some lateral thinking. He came into my office covered, yet again, in mud and said, "Enough of this. The sun’s out, the wind’s blowing, let’s get away from this mess. Let’s go sailing." Three hours later we had Taleisin’s ice chest filled with the blocks of ice we keep waiting in the freezer, plus all the fresh food we had in the house. We grabbed a few changes of clothes and three good books each. Then we were underway, so suddenly I didn’t even call any of our neighbors to say we were off. My computer and my cell phone stayed behind. I took no notes, no homework. We had no real return date in mind. Complete shut down.
We did have a goal, Te Kouma, a big beautiful bay on the Coromandel Peninsula. We had been there almost 25 years ago when we first sailed to New Zealand and remembered it as one of the safest, most bucolic bays we’ve ever seen. Though the wind wasn’t fair for our destination, we weren’t concerned since the islands of the Hauraki Gulf offer literally dozens of anchorages along the way.
And this is what the guest cottage looked like the morning after the second cyclone. Yes, we did wonder if maybe we should have chosen to live full time on board Taleisin instead of having a home base too.
Summer sailing in the Hauraki Gulf can be boisterous. But we lucked out with winds varying from light and fluky to 20 knots, warm to hot sunny days and clear, slightly sultry nights. It felt so good to be sailing, to have no plans for the day other than keep the sails trimmed, the boat moving nicely. When we cleared the southern tip of the island we live on, we decided to set the sails for a close reach and, when the day drew close to sunset, choose an anchorage where we could anchor before nightfall.
There is nothing quite as wonderful as the feel of a powerful boat moving across well spaced seas on a fast reach. Both of us were reluctant to leave the sun warmed cockpit, reluctant to pick up a book. Instead we just lounged back and enjoyed the hiss of water, the glitter of the sunshine on burbling whitecaps, the feeling of freedom as the windvane kept Taleisin’s sails full and her speed at a steady 7 knots. Away from all distractions we finally had time to talk. By the end of that first day, Larry had come up with an idea that broke a log jam I’d had about the organization of one of my seminar topics. By the end of the second day of sailing, I’d begun to think of ways to organize and prioritize much of the work that had been bogging me down back at my office.
Evening anchor lamp lighting ritual at Te Kouma
Te Kouma was even better than we remembered. But then maybe it was our arrival that made it seem that way. After two days of sailing, we found ourselves drifting with only 2 or 3 knots of wind late in the day. There was a comfortable looking anchorage on the end of Waiheke Island just a mile away to port. Te Kouma was still nine miles ahead across the Thames Estuary. We literally tossed a coin and decided to sail onward. "Wind usually comes up just after dark. There is a good navigation light just off the entrance. The moon will be full and bright," Larry commented. The wind died completely away to a glassy calm. Then, less than twenty minutes later the magic happened. Just as night was falling I spotted a dark line to the north. Together we sat on deck enjoying an evening glass of wine and watching the line creep closer. Suddenly the sails began to come to life, lifting, filling, pulling. Soon Taleisin was flying, her bow sending up sprays of foam tinged bright green with bioluminescence, her wake a wide green trail of sparkling light astern of us. As we wound our way between the islands guarding the entrance, the moonlight clearly showed the off lying rocks. The still waters of the mile-long landlocked bay seemed almost empty though half a dozen yachts lay at anchor in coves along its edges.
When we woke the next morning the only boat nearby was one we recognized.
Neither of us was eager to end this lovely sailing so we continued almost to the head of the bay where I sounded with the leadline to find 2 fathoms of water. Then, just before I climbed below I scanned the anchorage with my binoculars. "From the look of her sheer I’d say the yacht over there on the far shore is a classic boat," I commented to Larry.
When I went on deck the next day, I recognized the only other boat we could see from where we lay. It was 70 year old Berna Maree, the 40 foot wooden ketch owned by Gary Woodbury, the very first person we met when we sailed in to New Zealand all those years ago. The reunion was warm and story filled. Te Kouma was just as it had been during our first visit, only three houses visible from the water, the rest of the land covered in brush and grass, the sound of grazing cows mooing at the waters edge mingling with the call of birds, the splash of leaping fish.
Berna Maree, a William Atkin designed 40 foot ketch built in California, has been twice around the world. She was once owned by the well known writer, Hank Searls and is the model for the red ketch described in his book, Overboard.
Not only did this two week run-away turn out to be the perfect way to sort through our lives, it was like a walk through our New Zealand history and a reminder of the wonderful sailing that lay close to home. And what of the mess we’d run away from? When we did go home feeling refreshed and refueled it was as if time had slowed down.We managed to get everything ready for our March seminars, for our book launch. And the mud was still there unchanged but somehow slightly less daunting.
Here’s to the approach of spring in the north and the glistening days of autumn and a big stack of firewood for those of you in the southern hemisphere.
Lin and Larry
P.S. A big thank you to the dozens of newsletter readers who have purchased Bull Canyon through this website and written to tell us how much you enjoyed the story. The book is now on general release and first reviews are heartwarming. You can read some of them by going to www.linpardey.com
1 This occurred exactly two weeks before the massive Earthquake aftershock which destroyed much of Christchurch and left almost 200 people dead 800 miles to the south of us. We sympathize with those folks and with the insurance people who are on extreme overdrive and still managing to be helpful and courteous about our problem.