Waiheke Island, Hauraki Gulf Janet December 24 Serendipitous. Someone recently made this comment on our nautical gypsy life life.
Hanging out at Happy Jack Island, poised for reentry into city life, we decided not to go to Auckland for Christmas Day as planned.
"If it is going to be just the two of us we may as well be at anchor, and save on marina fees," suggested David.
"But we need water," I said, thinking we needed to go to Auckland to fill up our seriously depleted tanks.
"We'll do jerry cans." I grimaced In Tonga we'd constantly lugged jerry cans in and out of the yacht, in and out of the dinghy, and dragged them on our trolley along hot dusty streets in search of fresh water. However we did need water, and needed it now. We'd been three weeks since our last port, collected some rainwater, but not enough.
The next morning I didn't have the pleasure of waking up. I'd been up most of the night checking the boat position. The cove we were in was very small and the rocks very close. The wind was swirling and gusting making the boat lurch and swing.
We pulled the anchor in, raised the main and headed off on the four-hour sail to Waiheke. Tiredness is a definite harbinger of seasickness for me. I felt miserable and wasn't a very helpful first mate My brain deserted me and I didn't know my port from my starboard, I just wanted to go below and go to bed.
Once we'd entered the calmer waters of a channel at the east end of Waiheke, and I had recovered some will to live, I called up the Waiheke Sailing Club to get some local knowledge on Putiki Bay where were going to stay the next two nights. The man I spoke to gave us good anchoring advice.
"Is there a tap at the beach?" I asked, on my eternal quest for water.
"Even better", he said, and described a wharf at a remote eastern Waiheke bay that we would to sail past shortly. Good water, better than Auckland, he informed us.
An hour later we drew alongside the wharf, not quite touching the bottom, all the Hauraki Gulf is very shallow. Corralling two bystanders to haul on our lines, we gradually won the battle with the breeze and tied up. I managed to damage the anchor as we bashed into the wharf. A thirsty Navire almost swallowed the fire- hose that coiled down from the wharf.
Joy! We could now shower before imposing ourselves on the people of Waiheke, and I could wash the two days worth of dishes that I'd been stashing in plastic bags.
5pm Christmas Eve "I'm going to the supermarket to get food for Bill's BBQ on Boxing Day." I wander out, get in my car, drive a couple of miles, collect my goods and drive home again.
Not.
First we hoist the dinghy off the deck. Collect the oars, lifejacket on, and climb down in the rocking wee beast, there is a fair chop on the bay tossing her around on her leash. David releases the dinghy bow-line and I row like hell to ensure I end up at Waiheke and not Auckland where the wind wants to take me. We have anchored half a mile off-shore, outside all the moored boats.
At last I reach the beach and the tide is right out. I'd imagined myself hauling the dinghy up beyond the high tide mark, sliding it gently over soft golden sand, but arrived to find a stretch of several metres of exposed rocks and mud. I glance around the almost deserted beach, Waiheke's population probably all having Christmas drinks somewhere, and spy two men carrying a sailing dinghy.
I meet Rafael, who is young, fit and strong, and lifts the other side of my dinghy effortlessly, while telling me of his dream to buy a boat like ours and sail away.
I Google map the supermarket and walk 20 minutes through the hot eerily quiet island streets. The supermarket iss buzzing though, people's trolleys piled high with ham, strawberries and cream.
I buy as much fresh crunchy stuff as I can carry. It's been three weeks since the last shop, and we are down to half a wilted cabbage. I walk back to the beach, where the tide has come to my assistance, lapping just a meter away from the dinghy's stern. I launch the boat easily and row back to Navire, but the wind that I'd hoped would push me back, had dwindled.
While feeling seasick on the journey over I had rather unceremoniously thrown a chicken in the oven. Wasn't much love in that bit of cooking but while I was out foraging at the supermarket David resuscitated the bird, accompanied it with yummy crunchy roast potatoes, and we cooked our first fresh greens in days. We lit David's special Austrian Christmas candle, a tradition he's had since childhood in Austria, and toasted our good fortune.
Christmas Day 5.30am: I get out of bed and wander out to the cockpit. I love waking in a new place. It is dead calm, water glassy, orange and pink from the soon to rise sun, the horizon glistening with the lights of Auckland seashore suburbs. And quiet, just the distant song of the dawn chorus. No wind howling in the rigging like yesterday morning at Happy Jack. And I've slept well. Life is good.
Now the kids have grown I'm not much of a fan of Christmas and all its accompanying commerce, stress and expense. However I do love the gathering of loved ones and sharing of food. Last Christmas was an excellent one as we had all five kids in town. The event was held on Boxing Day to stay out of the juggle of trying to find a time that suited everyone, given the amount of families involved.
For the first time we dispensed with giving presents to everyone and just bought one gift each for Secret Santa. Huge fun, and I only spent $20. The meal was potluck and the kids created wonderful food. But today they are in Fiji, Africa, Mt Manganui, Wanaka, and just one is in Wellington.
"Come to lunch, don't bring anything." The previous night David had called a dear old friend of his who had gathered her family on Waiheke, most of whom David knew. Stay on the boat or go for a full glazed ham, roasted salmon, fillet steak lunch? Much as I enjoy David's company, it was a no-brainer.
We were not so much welcomed as enveloped into the family.
"Another bubbly," someone pressed upon me, the sun was shining, the company intelligent, and dessert was beckoning. To my delight the family who made dessert were gluten-free! Not for me gazing at a dark moist chocolate cake, my mouth watering, unable to partake. They appreciated our gift of gluten free Christmas cake truffles. Divine they were if I have to say so myself.
And so our life is indeed serendipitous.
PS Some of you might have noticed that we fitted in a quick trip to the north Pacific and wondering how we achieved this. I managed to get my souths and easts mixed up and entered the wrong coordinates into the blog post and put us near Japan, a year ahead of schedule. My nautical dyslexia showing its ugly head again.
Port, starboard, forward and aft, often elude me for moments at critical times.

Motu Wi, Hauraki Gulf December 22 Janet This is it. The sun is shining at last. We are in a sheltered anchorage. We are happily whiling away the afternoon, swimming, sipping ice-cold beer, the wet weather gear draped around lifelines, finally rinsed. In internet range, both our tapping away on our computers, arranging social life for the next couple of stops.
This is more like the cruising life we signed up for.
Yesterday's taste of scallops inspired David to give our scuba gear its first outing of the season. Getting set up to dive is quite a palaver. Every piece of equipment had to be adjusted, and our memories scoured for details of how to assemble it. I learned to dive 40 years ago around the coast of Wellington, diving regularly then, but less frequently in recent years. David trained about nine years ago on a trip we took to The Cook Islands, but hasn't done many dives since.
Fully dressed he staggered to the rail, threatening to expire of overheating with all that neoprene tightly wrapped around his body. He was loaded with tank, weight belt, fins, snorkel, and scallop bag. He lowered himself into the water, struggling to get his fins on, and mask and snorkel in place. He slowly sank below the sea, large air bubbles bursting through the surface, partly from his heavy breathing, and partly from a leaking tank valve. A new tank is on the shopping list.
I watched the bubbles zigzag around the bay and hoisted our dive flag, so no marauding speed boats would come near us and unwittingly shred David with their propellers. Ten minutes later David popped up holding his bag above the water, triumphant. I seared twenty succulent scallops for dinner that night.
Leaving Wellington several months before we cast off from New Zealand, was David's inspired idea. Setting sail to Tonga in 2010, we finished work in late April and left Wellington a week later. The pace was full on and we didn't stop and really unwind until months into the trip. This time we aim to be acclimatized before we head offshore.
Even so we are finding its taking a long time to get into the rhythms, rituals, and routines of life at sea. And there's the physicality of it all. We were pretty tired at first. Only now in week four we are taking the time to write and swim but we're still spending lots of time planning routes to the next place, scouring charts for hazards, calculating distances and travel time, interpreting weather forecasts, and identifying suitable anchorages, bit trickier than finding a car park.
Coffee From time to time in these pages I will capture moments unique to living on a boat. Take this morning, all I wanted was a cup of coffee. First I light the stove and it flares for a moment then goes out. For once the gas cylinder has not run out when it is dark, a howling icy southerly blowing (the gas cylinders are kept in a box outside at the back of the cockpit) or driving rain soaking me the instant I venture out. Or worse, not noticing the flame has gone out part way through a baked dinner or the cooking of a luscious chocolate cake, leaving quietly sinking into a pancake. Bugger, David is still asleep so I can't change the gas bottle without making clanging noises that reverberate through the boat. My coffee waits.
He's up. I change the cylinder.
"Coffee? I offer.
"Yes please" Oh. No coffee. Where did I stow the spare coffee? I check my trusty provisions notebook that has the location of each item of food -'Under locker 9' it says.
Bugger again. This means taking out all the stores from locker 9 and lifting out the floor. Half an hour later coffee is served. Just as well we have all day.
PS We are North of Auckland now at Muhurangi. I imagined I'd have hours and hours to write these blog posts, swimming, and a few jobs but the days just go in a pleasant haze of meals, games of rummy tiles, and socializing with Obsession, a boat we met in Tonga.