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Editor: Gavin Cosgrove - Phone 465 0850, Fax 465 0851, cell: 072 930 7558
At the Helm
The middle of winter has come and gone and so has another year in the life of the TBA. Winter started early in Cape Town I believe, with snowfalls and heavy rain as early as April. For me, it is good to be back permanently, for a while anyway, in Cape Town after eight months in the tropics of Lagos Nigeria. In spite of the cold weather, a very successful classic boat regatta was held in association with the R.C.Y.C. You can read Barry's report later in this newsletter. At our last committee meeting, I suggested to the members that I believe it was time again to revisit our constitution and the very reason for our existence. I believe that we should seriously question ourselves in our involvement in preserving our very rich and proud maritime heritage. It seems that every day, bit-by-bit, any reference to this is being whittled away. Just one example is the Cape Town maritime museum, which the authorities together with the commercial developers of the V&A waterfront have managed to reduce from a sizable operation to an obscure back room. We have sat back watching! Sure Cape Town needs to be integrated more into the national culture of our great country, where all the funding seems to be going now. Should this however be at the expense of our birthright? It is of course not only in our country where erosion of the quality things of the past is happening on a grand scale, only to be replaced by some synthetic and ill thought commercial venture for short-term gain. I was reading this week in Classic Boat magazine an article by Niki Perryman and the desperate attempt by Kingsley Hasket (Bones) to save one of the last boatyards specializing in the building and repair of wooden boats on the Port River in South Australia. Searle's and Sons have been running as a successful business since 1913 and is still that to-day. It is not a matter of Searle's needing to find work, but rather a greedy developer who believes that if he can acquire the land on which the boat shed stands, he can make a fast buck or two. We have decided to spend some time during our June monthly meeting to discuss, with our members, what they believe the TBA involvement should be in similar matters and revisiting our constitution. Look forward to seeing you all there.
All the best Remember our AGM next month!
Scuttlebutt
A letter from Barry Wolf about the Rally Running a rally is not an easy task especially when you have to take over the task from someone four weeks before the event. The first thing to do was to get sponsors for cash to pay the band and of course, prizes. At such short notice it was an impossible task and fellow members came to our rescue with cash to cover the band and our local suppliers supported us with prizes. On the Friday evening we had a bring and braai with a one-man band sponsored by Royal Cape Yacht Club. The club was packed and all enjoyed the sing along of old standards by Sinatra, Michael Bauble and many others. Saturday after a spurious breakfast at the club supplied by our very able caterer Johnnie there was a skippers brief for the pursuit race around the cans and there after a parade of sail through the V&A Waterfront. Normally when we do this its a free for all with yachts barging for position to get through the cut between the Victoria and Alphred basins and so to avoid the pandemonium we devised a plan to get all entrants in line with no barging at all! and it worked splendidly. We were very fortunate to have the NSRI's ''Rescue 3'' leading the procession followed by the beautifully restored 1902 schooner Coral. Boats had to rendezvous in Grainger Bay to dress overall and then proceed past Coral to be judged, thus forming the line with Rescue 3 and Coral taking up the lead. As required I radioed Port Control of our intention and they switched on their flashing lights indicating a ship entering the V&A harbour, very impressive and a first for me. My concern for Coral doing a U turn in the confined area of Queue Four was unfounded as she made the turn without the assistance of Rescue 3. Saturday evening was a grand affair with a double band act to entertain us. Firstly an Irish band and after two hours the front men stood down to be replaced by a rock band. Another full house with good grub for those who wanted it. Sunday started with thick fog and we delayed the race for an hour. It turned out to be better than the very light conditions of the previous day. Prize giving was great with all entries sharing the bootie with a few fun prizes thrown in for things like, navigation won by the cat Discovery [caring our photographer] who misjudged their position to get a close shot and found the end of our bowsprit with surprisingly little damage. Our thanks go to the harbour authorities for their cooperation and the NSRI for leading the parade. A donation of R1000.00 was given to NSRI from funds collected for the event. Thanks to our sponsors. Bernard Diebold, Charles Paice, Larry Davis and Gavin Cosgrove. A new set of Regalia has been produced, so please bring your chequebook to the next meeting THE CLARKE QUIZ It is easier to get a camel through the eye of a needle than ...
Don't throw used foam brushes away.
Shore Leave FIRE SIDE CHAT Gavin C will give a short report on his very exiting collision between Dolphin (12 Tonnes), and the Giselle Oldendorf (14 000 Tonnes)
From the Crow's Nest The words below are not mine. They are an excerpt from the Website put together by the City Council of New castle in the UK. I thought I would share this with you in an attempt to stimulate thought about the future of the TBA. The Importance of Heritage
Brief History of Newcastle The natural landscape has shaped the history and development of Newcastle since prehistoric times. Glacial deposits carved the Tyne Gorge with the River Tyne at its centre. Over history the river became a line of defence, a channel for communication and an artery of trade. Newcastle was a bridgehead of the Roman Empire. Pons Aelius was the earliest know crossing of the river and the origin of Newcastle as a settlement, which provided a regional focus. The advent of Norman control in the 11th century saw the establishment of Newcastle's contemporary urban landscape and the construction of the royal castle, founded in 1080 high above the river Tyne. Subsequently, the urban morphology of Newcastle was created including boundaries, defences and churches along with a medieval street pattern. The town grew in importance and by the 17th century Newcastle was considered a regional capital and the second town of the Kingdom. At this time the Industrial Revolution began on Tyneside with the use of the plentiful supply of local coal in the manufacture of products such as glass and salt and with the development of waggonways - the precursor of railways. During the following two centuries Newcastle continued to expand beyond its walls and new Georgian streets, developed by entrepreneur Richard Grainger, were added to the medieval backdrop transforming the city centre from a 'coal hole of the north' into a 'city of palaces' (William Howitt). The city and its river fuelled the industrial revolution in the region and led to the golden age of coal, iron and steam, which included the birth, and development of the railways. During the 19th century Newcastle continued to be a focus for innovation, which heralded the enormous and rapid changes in technology, life and society in the 20th century. During the inter-war years the wholesale collapse of the area's industrial base, which resulted from the over concentration of activity in the interrelated mining, shipbuilding, armaments and heavy engineering industries left a legacy with which the city and region was forced to struggle for decades. Out of this came a series of innovative initiatives and efforts to modernise both the social and economic structures of the area. The development in the centre of Newcastle during the late 20th century sought to transform the city but retained Richard Grainger's legacy.
Iron Bark from Galapagos to New Zealand - by Annie Hill (To reduce the file size for downloading from over 3200Kb to 114Kb, Annies pictures in this letter have been removed and placed in our gallery section) Trevor had warned me that the anchorage is as bad as any in the Tuamotus and just before we left Bora Bora, we'd heard of yachts having a dreadful time there, breaking anchor chain, losing anchors, steaming round all night, unable to re-anchor among the coral heads. But Suvarov to me, has near-mythic status, not in the least from a book called An Island to Oneself. This book tells the tale of a man who became so fascinated with Suvarov that he went there to live on his own for many years. What he doesn't mention in the book, is that during the years that he lived on Rarotonga, he married a wife and had children. But he left all that behind him for the sake of Suvarov. He went back to Raro a couple of times, but each time the lure of the island grew too strong. His final visit was his longest and by this time he had become very skilled at living with all the problems that he encountered. Visiting yachts were on the increase and these brought him news, books and undoubtedly some food and the odd bottle of rum, but he seems to have been entirely contented on his own. He finally left the island only months before he died and is buried there. The Cook Islanders view him with both reverence and aversion: reverence for his ability to live in 'the old ways', aversion because he abandoned his family. He was also a friend of the mystical French sailor, Bernard Moitessier, who also loved Suvarov. We left Bora Bora in a brisk F5, which lasted for the first couple of days, giving us 308 miles. By noon on the 23rd, we had the topsail drawing and a red-footed booby joined us for the night. Later that evening, the strop for the peak halliard chafed through leaving the gaff supported only by the topsail sheet. Trevor took down main and topsail leaving us to continue under boomed out staysail. The booby watched the whole show, quite unperturbed. In the morning, Trevor donned his climbing harness and using a pair of rock climbers' ascenders (a far superior system to a boson's chair), went aloft to fit a new strop. The following night the wind went round in circles, eventually settling down to F2/3 from ESE; our day's run was only 63 miles. We sighted Suvarov on 27 August, but the wind had started to increase and Trevor was dubious about going in to the anchorage. It was too late to get in that day, so we hove to for the night to see what the morning would bring. At daybreak, with F5 from S of E, we decided to bear away for Samoa, but an hour later, the sky cleared and the wind was obviously decreasing, so we changed our minds. Early that afternoon, we sailed in through the pass and after having motored round for about 20 minutes, finally found a spot to anchor among the 18 other yachts there. Later, we shifted berth, laid one anchor from the bow in about 6 ft of water, and then motored astern for several boat lengths, dropping a stern anchor in about 60 ft. We pulled both cables tight, so that they couldn't get caught on coral and stayed comfortably moored in one spot. Clearing in was wonderfully casual. John and Veronica were going out fishing: 'so come over later and we'll sort it out. Or tomorrow, if you'd rather.' Suvarov is a National Park; there's a charge of US $50, which is used to pay John as Park Warden. He spends 6 months a year on Suvarov with his wife and 4 delightful sons. They'd prefer to stay there all year, so that they could make a garden and have hens, which would immensely improve their quality of life, but the Cook Is Government has not yet agreed. When we were there, they were more than grateful for anything the yachts could spare. The Government had not planned their supplies too well: they'd run out of cooking gas, flour, sugar and were very short of petrol. Any other little luxuries such as sweets for the children, interesting tinned food or the odd bottle of rum for John were more than welcome. We hoped that they'd get home more easily this year than the previous one, when the relief ship that was supposed to pick them up, found itself short of fuel and simply cancelled the voyage. They'd had to hitch a ride to Penrhyn I on a visiting yacht! John and Veronica could not have been more welcoming and we were upset to hear that some members of our cruising community had disobeyed the rules, or refused to pay the Park charge. John has no way to enforce the regulations and hates having to be unpleasant to his visitors. One of the boats that had had such an uncomfortable time of it, a week or so previously, was a German yacht. His bow roller fitting was almost tied in knots and he was having problems leading his anchor gear clear of the boat. Trevor spent a day ashore making a new fitting. By using our own supplies of stainless steel and fastenings, Trevor made a strong if slightly inelegant temporary repair which Toby used all the way to New Zealand. He was delighted with the work, but not sufficiently so as to buy Trevor a beer when we crossed tacks again in Apia! We stayed for five wonderful days in Suvarov. If the yachts could provide the petrol, John liked nothing better than to take us for fishing trips, or to one of the nearby islands where we could see frigate birds and terns nesting. He loved his atoll and its birds and refused to harm either them or their eggs. He was very proud at the increase in numbers of (lesser) frigate birds, commenting sadly to me that he believes his predecessors used to eat the eggs. He's working very hard to eradicate rats on the islands (in Tom Neale's time, there were no rats, cockroaches, mosquitoes or flies!) and one side benefit is that the number of coconut crabs has increased enormously. He warns all visitors that there is rat poison down and that the crabs may very well feed on the dead rats: this effectively discourages visitors from taking the crabs. He showed us some of these beasts and his older son, Jonathan, put one on a palm tree for us: it scrambled up with no difficultly. When we went ashore, John would shin up a palm tree, throwing down nuts to Veronica, who deftly lopped the top off with her machete. Any fish caught on the outing would be shared between all the parties, John's face alight with the pleasure of sharing good things. They are a lovely couple: superb both as caretakers and ambassadors for the Cook Is. We were sorry to say goodbye. After 4 days and the usual night spent hove to waiting for dawn, we sailed into Apia (13° 49'S, 171° 45'W) on 7 September. The yachts were all alongside the wall and we decided to follow suit. It transpired that they'd been asked to clear the harbour for a canoe race, which the Samoans take very seriously. From the moment we went ashore to clear in, we fell in love with Samoa. The people are so courteous, smiling and genuinely friendly. Their own culture is still strong: men wear lava-lavas and families live in astonishing houses, whose pillared sides and complete lack of interior walls give a whole new meaning to 'open-plan'. Every morning at 0750, we heard the 'oompah-oompah' of a brass band. The Police were marching along the harbour front to the Government buildings for Colours. As they formed up on the lawn, the traffic was stopped and passers-by stood silently to attention as the flag was slowly raised. The respect shown by all, in this simple ceremony was moving. Once the flag was flying, the traffic revved up, people started laughing and talking and the band struck up a marching tune as they police returned to their barracks. The ones in trousers were the women! Food was affordable and shopping in the produce market a pleasure. You could buy a barbecue lunch on the street for £1: 2 pieces of chicken, pork chop, sausage and breadfruit. Cold beers in an attractive bar overlooking the harbour cost 80p - please don't leave a tip. street for £1: 2 pieces of chicken, pork chop, sausage and breadfruit. Cold beers in an attractive bar overlooking the harbour cost 80p - please don't leave a tip. Colourful buses brought people in from all over the island and most people spoke enough English that we could have proper conversations. Several yachties hired cars to travel over the island, (Upolu) but Trevor and I took a bus ride from one end to the other. At the other end, the bus turned round and started back. The 'conductor' came and asked us where we wanted to go and was only slightly bemused when we said 'back to Apia - we only came for the ride'. And the ride was worth it, giving views of hills and valleys, houses, gardens and schools and making us feel that we had gained a little insight into the way of life. Trevor was once again persuaded to lend a hand, this time to a Slovenian lady whose small boat had every gadget (and would undoubtedly have been passed as fit for offshore work by the New Zealanders), but had a serious rigging problem: the compression post had buckled while she was motoring away from Upolu. Trevor managed to locate some steel pipe and some wood. Again he rummaged through our own supplies and fabricated a new compression post. He found a welder who was ready to weld it up, so long as Trevor could provide a helmet, chipping hammer and welding rods! Marjetka was somewhat taken aback at the speed with which Trevor got things done, but was genuinely grateful for his assistance and brought us gifts of wine, speciality coconut oil and a beautiful pareu for me. The rest of her boat seemed to be barely sound and Trevor was less than happy to see her blithely set off for Fiji. We could now turn to our own repair: the gaff had a crack in it near the jaws, from the unfair strain imposed on it when the peak halliard strop had parted. The gaff and its fitting were aluminium and Trevor sawed off the cracked end of the gaff, then designed a better, articulating, fitting, in stainless steel. Once again, his friendly welder was approached and the gaff was soon back in place, better than the original. It was now 20 September and with the cyclone season approaching, we sailed for Niuatoputapu, in the Tongan Is. We had a bit of a rough ride with winds gusting F8 in squalls and coming round so far S that we ended up close-hauled. There was a big sea running as we approached the island and located the pass, but it was so well marked that entering was straightforward. As we dropped our anchor onto white sand, a turtle swam by to greet us. We knew most of the boats at anchor and were soon given the lowdown on procedure. Call 'Laura' on the VHF and she will contact Customs and Immigration. This we did and soon a car horn sounded ashore. Trevor went to collect the two ladies, dressed in black (all Tongans were observing a month's mourning for the late king) and wearing pandanus mats around their waists. To everyone's amusement, Trevor and I had not realised we'd crossed the dateline. Niuatoputapu is 173° 46' W, but Tonga is on GMT +13! They were charming ladies, but we were upset later when we discovered that Customs had defrauded us of about US $20 - and this after asking for, and being given 10 litres of petrol for her car! Corruption is endemic in Tonga and very few yachts get away scot-free. However, more democratic times are ahead, which I suppose means the graft will be spread more evenly. We went and found Laura, a British lady who is gamely trying to run a small guesthouse: a project made more difficult by the recent demise of the local airline. She was about to go back to the UK to make some more money for next year - her husband and 2 children had stayed there this season - and was quite apologetic that she could not offer us any hospitality. Everybody else that we met in Niuatoputapu was equally kind and friendly. We were adopted by a local 'girl', Leilani, who spoke wonderful English, and took us walking up the nearby hill. In spite of her clothes, attitudes and aspirations, she had been born a boy, but was adopted by her aunt and brought up as a girl: insurance for the aunt's old age and not unusual in Polynesia. Leilani is by no means stupid and very much enjoys the stimulation provided by visitors. She asked us to Sunday lunch; we arrived in good time, but there was nobody there. We thought that perhaps her aunt had gainsaid it, so after wandering around the village and paying a fruitless return visit half an hour later, we went back aboard and ate from our own lockers. An hour or so later, Trevor, working on deck, heard voices from the shore and looking through the binoculars, recognised Leilani and a couple of her friends. He went and fetched them - complete with lunch! Leilani sat us down and gently took over the galley. Finding cutlery and bowls, she tastefully laid out the food she had brought and placed it on the table. (Her ambition is to open a little restaurant for the yachties: she certainly has the touch.) We were moved at all the effort she'd been to, and upset at our inability to do justice to her feast. But apart from having just eaten, Tongan food can be heavy going. Even omnivorous Trevor baulked at the grey, slimy shellfish and neither of us is very good with kape - an outstandingly stodgy root, related to taro. Tongans eat this in large quantities; it has no taste and a consistency similar to very dry, hard fudge. To say it sits heavy in the belly would be a gross understatement. However, we enjoyed the coconut, papaya and (cold) fried eggs and Leilani and her friends polished off the rest. I then made lots of coffee, which they all appreciate: instant coffee is the norm, but all Polynesians seem to relish fresh, strong - and, of course - sweet coffee. We left Niuatoputapu for Vava'u on 2 October, in company with Zeferin and Kika. We all had to wait for 4 hours to clear out, the ladies being distracted by a visiting Patrol Boat. We left in beautiful conditions; a couple of humpback whales bid us farewell as we cleared the island. The next day we caught a tuna and dorado, much of which I pickled. Our fair wind deserted us, however, and we made the foolish mistake of 'motor-sailing for a couple of hours' to ensure that we made Vava'u before dawn. The wind then headed us even more and we discovered a strong current against us; we ended up motoring for over 10 hours and got into anchor by sunset. Vava'u has a small fleet of Moorings boats and it is easy to see why. I thought it the most attractive cruising ground we'd visited since leaving San Blas. There are literally dozens of islands and some 30 decent anchorages in an area about 15 miles square. The chart and GPS aren't in accord, so that one is apparently often ashore: this adds to the interest of the pilotage. It also adds immensely to my respect for Moorings in allowing their charterers loose in such an area, which also has very few aids to navigation. We spent a wonderful couple of weeks pottering around in this area and the Tongan people, who are so friendly, enhanced our enjoyment. Even the officials were helpful and polite. In the shops and market, everyone was obliging and full of good humour, the market was crowded with beautiful fruit and vegetables and I concluded that in the Pacific, west is best. To add to our pleasure, at this time of the year you can see many female humpback whales with their babies. They give birth in the warm tropical waters, but as soon as the babies are strong enough to swim for a considerable distance, mother and baby set off south to the nutrient-rich waters of the Southern Ocean, where she can feed again. Another Wylo was moored in Neiafu and immediately we became friends. Peter and Sandie had near-resident status: Sandie is working almost full time, on a voluntary basis in the hospital, helping them organize and upgrade their labs. Other friends had congregated here, one of the crossroads of the Pacific. With so many delightful people and so much of interest, it was hard to tear ourselves away. Already, however, the first cyclone had reared its ugly head near the Solomons, so we left for Ha'afeva in the Ha'apai group. Once more, we enjoyed meeting friendly and hospitable people. We left for the island of Oua, but our bright sunny day turned overcast and sullen. I think that both of us were hankering for something other than palm trees, coral and sand; we had friends awaiting us in New Zealand, jobs to do, more voyages to plan. It didn't take us long to decide that dodging coral in poorly charted waters, with overcast skies and a rising wind seemed a poor alternative to putting out to sea and heading off towards Opua. By sunset, we had cleared the last of the islands and were shaping our course towards one last anchorage - North Minerva Reef. At 23°39'S, 178° 54'W, this is about as far from any decent lump of land as you can reasonably expect to anchor. We had the best sail we'd had for ages and after the usual night hove-to, we got underway again at dawn. North Minerva is an almost perfectly circular atoll surrounding a lagoon that is rarely more than 60 ft deep, with coral heads dotted about over the level white sand bottom. There is one pass, in the NW quadrant. The Tongans, for reasons best known to themselves, have put a light (Gp fl. 2 ev. 9 secs) on the barrier reef much further SW, which adds a certain element of confusion when approaching; but in fact the pass is easy to find. There were two other yachts at anchor: one, an American cat, cleared out a few hours later. The other was a British Rival 38, with whom we'd been crossing tacks for months. Finally we got to meet them and had a wondrously bibulous evening on Iron Bark. A Tongan fishing boat was on the far side of the lagoon, collecting crayfish. They came over later and offered us six: we traded half a bottle of rum for two - I can just about mange to eat crayfish, but it doesn't give me any pleasure! Trevor enjoyed his so much that he wished he'd traded for more. North Minerva was truly a high spot: it's hard to describe - or even to appreciate - the sensation of being anchored 'in the middle of nowhere'. There are no sand cays, no palm trees, nothing but reef and surf. Going ashore at low water, we put the dinghy anchor behind a lump of coral and climbed up onto the reef, which had a miniature cataract running off its whole length. We wandered about, examining sea slugs and clams with gorgeously coloured mantles; looking at a pile of ballast (?) from a wreck; watching schools of turquoise parrotfish, formation swimming in the shallows. Then suddenly we realised that we were in calf-deep water and the waves, breaking on the ocean side of the reef, were finding their way right across. We waded back to the dinghy, whose anchor was now awash. We'd intended to go looking for crayfish in the evening, but the moon was nearly full (which would make them very nervous) and Islay announced that they were leaving. We'd had a marvellous stop, the wind was fair and fresh: maybe it was time to leave? No sooner said than done. The dinghies were stowed on deck, the ship tidied up below and at 1625 on 2 November; we started extracting our anchor from the coral. That we could do so under sail shows how relatively clear that anchorage is. An hour and a half later, we had cleared the pass and were heading to pass South Minerva. Islay stayed in sight until 0800 the following morning, when increasing wind and occasional squalls hid her. After that, we saw one ship and one yacht's masthead light, until we were quite close to New Zealand, when we were buzzed by an NZAF Orion, instructing us to e-mail the authorities that we were about to arrive! They seemed singularly unimpressed when we told them that the only radio we had was VHF. I'm not at all sure why it was that they couldn't report our imminent arrival. The passage from the Tropics to New Zealand is notorious - ' the worst weather you will ever encounter', etc. Cruisers start worrying about it from the time they leave the Societies and agonise over the correct procedure. The favoured approach is to monitor the SSB and/or pay for weather information. Then you wait for the 'Weather Window', which seems to mean leaving when there is a large high-pressure system between Tonga and New Zealand and motoring like the demon for 600 miles. When the routeing charts only show a 2% incidence of gales, one really has to wonder what all the fuss is about. The other approach is to leave when you're ready and take the weather as it comes, but this is considered very irresponsible. At least until the half way point, we were sure we'd made the correct decision. We made rapid progress in fresh E winds for 2½ days and had made 412 miles by noon on the 5th. Then the wind started to take off and we anticipated running into the middle of the high, which had been stationary for several days before we left Minerva. In fact we were lucky and were never becalmed, although we had a couple of 90-mile days. Then the wind came back and it started getting cooler; we saw our first albatross and couldn't believe our luck that the wind continued to be fair. Trevor was trying to pick up New Zealand radio stations and on the 7th heard warning of gales around the Cook Strait, which we hoped would have gone by the time we got to New Zealand. A couple of days later, we could pick up the odd VHF broadcast and these gave us some food for thought: the low seemed to have stalled and there were storm warnings out for North Island, due to coincide with our arrival. Iron Bark is a sturdy little ship and can take storms in her stride, but we don't go looking for them. On the other hand, if we pressed on there was at least an even chance of arriving before the wind went SW. We decided to continue: the worst that was likely to happen was that we'd have to turn round and run back N. All through the day and night of 8 November, we pushed on in increasing wind and heavy showers. The forecasts were now clear and it was going to be touch and go. We were over canvassed, but the gear held and Iron Bark crashed dauntlessly on. At dawn the land was in sight, frequently hidden behind violent rain squalls, while the wind was a steady F7, rising to gale force in the gusts. As we approached the Bay of Islands, it increased further, gusting F9, but by 0630, we were between the headlands and after another couple of miles, were confident that whatever the wind decided to do, we'd be able to find shelter. At 0930, we secured to the quarantine dock, 7½ days from North Minerva. Later that day, the Bay of Islands actuals, reported gusts of 79 knots and sustained winds of 49. Maybe we should have waited for a 'weather window'!
Since then we have been based in and around the Bay of Islands. I very much wanted to spend time with friends - Peter and Cathy on Leto, Nick on Wylo, Ian and Kathy on Ariel, the Argos and Sareis and other friends we'd made. Trevor, as ever, was keen to move on, but we'd agreed that New Zealand was to be under my orders. We spent time up the lovely Kerikeri River, sailed up to Whangaroa for Christmas and went walking and day sailing both there and in the Bay of Islands. Trevor decided that he should go to work for one last time and then he can retire. One last time actually means three separate contracts and this all took a while to set up. Finally, he left on 21 January to work in Siberia - in the winter! And this has finally left me the time to sit down for hours on end at my computer to write this account! I hope you've enjoyed it.
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