I Tossed a Quarter Oz in the Ocean

In hindsight, had I know what I was about to endure, maybe I would have tossed it earlier. A tribute to Poseidon to be kind.

Last week I sailed 1,044 nautical miles non-stop and solo in my 34' sailboat called Elli. From Lord Howe Island, 400 miles off the east coast of Australia, to the northern tip of New Zealand's South Island. I had to pitch my weed before crossing international borders. That's the long story short, TL;DR.

After being guided from the safety of the LHI lagoon by a copper with a radio sat upon a hilltop, I rounded the island as the sun was setting. Twenty-five miles later, Ball's Pyramid, a mid-Pacific volcanic plug, appeared out of the darkness looking sharp and mean as the white water crashed against it in the starlight. Striking 1,800 feet from nowhere, this knife into the sky was the last sight of solid land I'd see for nearly 8 days.



The storm, as forecast, hit on day two. Three hundred and sixty degrees of pitch black horizon lit only by flashes of lightning illuminating the whitecaps of the confused sea. The driving rain and waves off the bow were drowned out by the ear splitting thunder cracking the air into two. The worst of the storm was at least 50 miles to the south, but that bang and zap was still something I could feel in my skeleton. A few hours after the front passed, the wind picked up. And then the real waves came. It was cold, grey, drizzly, and the sea state was the most uncomfortable I have ever experienced. With just the smallest foot of headsail out, Elli rolled from rail to rail, bow to stern, like the blue triangle inside the Magic 8 Ball. The wind metre clocked a gusty high of 52 knots (95 kph), and the swell towered 30 feet above from its trough.

But this is why I'd pre-made that lasagna and froze it back in Queensland. Heaving-to, and driving a knee against the wheel, I stuck my fork into that noodle cake. Little else is as comforting as a warm and full belly, right? After 16 hours of storm and shit, it tasted divine.

And not too bad coming back up twenty minutes later.

By day five, the elements had settled and we found our groove. I was able to use autopilot again. Able to catch longer stints of sleep. Able to cook. While peeling a potato, the blade caught my fingertip and took a solid millimetre from the top of it. Noted on my log that day: sailing is ruthless.

When I saw land on the 7th day, the southern end of the North Island, I hooted into the sky. Skipping along the sidedeck to the bow, an arm slung around the forestay, I leaned out over the water just to get closer to it. As if on cue, the winds shifted and I was able to tack south knowing the finish line was just beyond the open horizon. When land came into view a day and a half later, I accepted that it was time.

I rolled one more joint to keep me company across Tasman Bay, and with a last second guess and an apology to the teenager within who would have called me a pussy, I emptied the rest of the jar into the ocean. Poseidon, Neptune, King Triton, Jaws. Whoever lurked below, I hope they enjoyed the stone.

When the wind died 12 hours later, I lay in the cockpit listening to the wheel gear spin as the auto helm attempted to keep us a'course, wondering if I might have been way too hasty in my offering after all.

 

Have you ever crossed an international border with illegal drugs? You're ballsier than I. By sea, this involves customs officers (yes, multiple) boarding your vessel. It could have happened at any point in Kiwi waters. It didn't happen until I got to port, but even then, they went as far as to even go through my fridge. I know NZ isn't exactly Indonesia, but I still don't fancy finding out what their handcuffs feel like.

"We" is myself and Elli. The beautiful, bodacious boat that brought me safely across the ditch.

Don't make me blush.

 

They did not. That could be a good idea if it went to plan, but my pitch over was really just a gimmick for the story. I’m not so concerned about squirrelling away a few grams of weed.

The fresh buds I got on arrival were even better than the ditch grass I offered to the sea.

Mate! All’s well! Well, working toward it. I rocked up in Nelson, which in a few more weeks will be home. It’s certainly a gorgeous slice of this planet, and I am looking forward to exploring those bays aboard Elli.

Hope you’re still moseying yourself!

 

Sailing is sailing, I dig it! It’s a beauty way to explore, harnessing the wind.

Here’s one from Lord Howe, and the glassy downwind approach toward Opunake.

 

Bay of Islands is up round the top of the North Island, cruising mecca. One day I’d definitely like to get up there. As my favourite quote goes: I haven’t been everywhere, but it’s on my list.

It definitely is a small world, though.

 

It happens to the saltiest of us, mate. Though no doubt that vertigo tosses a spanner into it.

I was chatting with an old sailor not too long ago about seasickness. I’m far from immune, tossed my cookies more than once after a night in the cups. But he made a point of saying, “it gets everyone eventually.” Sailing his whole life in all manner of conditions, and only experienced seasickness for the first time at the age of 83. It gets everyone eventually.

Back in Straya for a handful of weeks before we say sayonara to Queensland and kia ora to Aotearoa.

I tend to sleep less than the average bear anyway, but it definitely caught up with me that week, only getting 15 minutes here and there. I hove-to a few times to get some actual kip, but I’m not sure I’ll be so adamant about going it solo next time.

Man, those Hobies fly, don’t they? Never sailed one, but I like watching the dinghies dance. Especially from my mooring ball with a beer in my hand.

About as far as one can get from the open ocean. I sling dirt and stone for a living — landscaping.

 

I’ve been to the Free House! It is a good spot.

India and Vietnam? Making me pine, bru! The food! The full-onness of it. Got the best straight razor shave of my life on the streetside in Delhi. Closing in on a decade ago and I’m still talking about it.

The ex-missus and I took a bike from Hanoi straight down and into Cambodia before I had to off load it in Phnom Penh because I broke my ankle crashing the damn thing. Young and dumb and full of it. Fucking enjoy it, mate. Then what comes next? Let me live vicariously