The Triple Clencher (Fiji to New Caledonia)

 I’m writing this with a belly full of excellent Mexican food. After checking out of Fiji at Denarau, we splashed out on a chilli infused goodbye feast at a nice dockside restaurant. Now back on the boat with lips still burning, we’re saying a very fond farewell to somewhere we’ve been repeatedly delighted by over the last few weeks.

I feel like I’ve been saying ‘The people here are lovely’ at every stop along the way since we left the Caribbean - the Fijians however trump all previously mentioned lovely people! Never before have I met such honestly friendly and welcoming souls: a truly happy smile and a ‘Bula’ from everyone you meet. Be that from rough looking randoms at a rundown bus station, to… well.. to literally everyone here! Anyone Fijian reading this (unlikely I know) you are a credit to the island paradise you are lucky enough to call home.

Day 1. Weds 27 Sept 2023

We left there this morning, upping anchor as soon as we were both awake. Our destination; Noumea in New Caledonia some 670 nms away. The 2 hour journey to the pass through the reef was calm and uneventful - but that all changed once we were through…

When people imagine us sailing in the South Pacific, they perhaps think of sunshine, palm trees, cocktails, calm waters and sunsets. What probably doesn’t spring to mind is the dark grey overcast sky and the hellish washing machine sea state we encountered after leaving the protection of the reef. The forecast 20+ knots of wind and 2m swell with 8 second intervals, was closer to 4m and 4 second intervals - sufficiently bad that neither the autopilot or the hydrovane could keep us on track in the bucking bronco conditions.

As my temporarily incapacitated wife and Captain miserably dry retched in front of me, I struggled with the helm for a few hours. During this time, the largest wave which has ever decided to slosh through our cockpit came flying at me at head height. I couldn’t dodge, it utterly drenched me - forcing me to swear like a proper sailor!

My shoulders soon burned from the constant need to adjust and readjust the resisting helm for each and every wave. It was more grimly hanging on for dear life than actually steering. Not a lot of fun at all, I spent a good deal of the time at the wheel second guessing our decision to depart and damply contemplating my mortality. As I write this some 10 hours or so later, conditions have calmed to be at least at the forecast level (2m seas, 8 second intervals), the probably 25+ knot wind has remained howling with us all day. Despite my moaning about it, I suppose once this passage is over I’ll be glad to look back and recall how my ‘Storm Führer’ alter ego was once again called upon to perform in nasty conditions. Chez has perked up a little by sunset (which is not visible through the clouds), but she’s suffered a pretty miserable time throughout the day today. Fingers crossed for all round improvement tomorrow! (Except the distance covered.. we’ve whipped along!)

It’s a well lit, but cloudy sky tonight with a full moon hiding up there somewhere.

Other than the sea remaining very sloppy and big, there’s not much else to report for my nightshift. We did pass a large cargo ship at 10pm heading the other way towards Fiji.

Day 2 Thursday 28 Sept ‘23

Tried the big bed up by the bow after the end of my watch last night - not good, it’s far too slappy and rolly in there. Instead we both separately slept on the long bench seat/sofa in the main salon. It keeps you safely wedged in the corner with the boat heeling hard to starboard. That was surprisingly comfortable - or it might just be because we’re both very tired, either way, sleep was snatched.

Conditions much the same as last night, wind might have dropped to less than 20 knots. You’ll note I’m a bit sketchy on details of the actual wind speed.. there’s a reason for that. Since we hauled out in Leros back in 2019, our anemometer hasn’t worked. Our alternative to wind gauges are little tell tails of wool tied to the bimini and shrouds. I like to think the lack of electrical instruments telling us the wind speed and angle has possibly made us better, more intuitive sailors. However, having crossed 2 massive oceans and sailed umpteen thousand miles around the world, I still have a strong feeling of imposter syndrome about our abilities. That’s probably not a bad thing; Mother Nature’s unpredictability always keeps us on our toes. To be wary and not overly confident in our skills and knowledge is probably quite a good thing.

Wind stayed strong throughout the day, and I’m writing this at sunset - which is once again not visible.

The excitement - if you can call it that - of the day was me taking a nasty fall near the stern. I lost my footing on the wet sloping deck. Luckily my back broke the worst of the fall on the hard stern seating as I went down. After checking both sets of toes and fingers could still be wiggled appropriately, I got up again, more bruised pride than anything else. Chez is a little better today, probably not quite 100%, but she is yet to call for the bucket, so definitely improved.

Wind picked up to concerning levels after sunset, I reefed down to almost nothing and we’re still making 6 to 7 knots in large rolling swell - an unpleasant ride for now.

Day 3 Friday 29 Sept ‘23

The conditions have remained in the ‘Triple Clencher’ range… this is a new term I came up with overnight: That’s conditions which require you to tightly clench: your teeth, your guts and your ass!

Yep.. it’s been a scary ride, made more so by:

- The relentless howling through the rigging.

- The massive waves.

- The ominously grey skies above.

- The thunderous, boat jarring thumps when the hull slaps down into an incoming wall of water,

- The worrying amount of salty water mysteriously appearing in the bilge and the bilge pump kicking in occasionally….

We’re huddling in the one dry corner of the cockpit , as random waves break over the rail and repeatedly drench the remaining 3/4 of the space on deck.

Braver souls than I would probably call this an exhilarating ride, but for me - and Chez - this is not an overly enjoyable sail. We’d be happier if things were a little more sedate.

Moving on though - we are still making great time. We covered just over 160nms in 24hrs yesterday, that’s a record for us - a new PB.

Last night, other than the clenching, not much happening, no ships seen. I was visited by the largest flying fish I’ve encountered so far; as long and as fat as my forearm. Managed to repatriate him as he frantically flapped his wings around on deck. He smelled bad - as flying fish do.

By mid afternoon day 3, the sun, absent from our trip up til now, showed its smiling face once more. Although the sea state is little changed, a cheerier mood has fallen on the boat.

Around 10pm, the wind did drop and the sea, for the first time in 3 days calmed itself down, not a white horse to be seen in the brightly lit full moon night. I eased out some more canvas to keep us moving at around 5 knots. Chez, sensing the shift in conditions changed beds and headed to our usual boudoir up front.

For the first time on this passage, conditions have allowed ‘Nightwatch cinema’ to start up again on the laptop.

Tonight’s offering: A classic Fight Night spectacular: Sugar Ray Leonard vs Tommy Hearn.

By 1am the fading wind is down to a whisper, the speed closer to 3s than 5s - suspect Chez may have a watch of ‘flappy not happy’ in front of her when she takes over at 2…. Or this could be the lull before a big storm.. we’ll see!

…at a quarter to 2am.. just 15 short minutes before it’s time to wake her up, a wall of bruised angry looking clouds are blotting out the horizon in front of us. I’ve re-reefed down in preparation and put the cockpit cushions away before the inevitable rain comes.

This is not a nice way for her to have to wake up!

As if to confirm this - she was immediately dry retching off the stern as the first of the rain came down.

I joined her twice in the night to help out - nothing she couldn’t have taken care of herself, but I know from my own experience, it’s so much better to have someone with you than not when it’s dark and horrible up top. Too tired to stay long though, so left her to endure.

Day 4. 30 Sept ‘23

The sun is shining! The dark clouds from last night have cleared and other than the relentless big rollers - which we’re now almost used to - it’s quite a pleasant day.

The passage chef (that’s me) knocked up potato rosti, bacon, tomato and eggs with cheese on top for breakfast. Washed down with some strong coffee, I now have a very satisfied belly as I sit and write this. Chez has headed down for a rest after a night that surely must be in her top ten worst on the water - poor baby

We made a decent 136 nms over the last 24hrs; happy with that.

Just off to our right this morning are a series of undersea volcanos. They’re not visible, about 500m down, so shouldn’t cause us any concerns but we’re giving them a wide berth regardless.

Both very tired now, although we’re getting sleep, it’s not good quality and you rise feeling nearly as tired as when you went down.

We’re well over half way now, so Chez is now working on the timetable calculations to get us to the next pass (Havvanah pass, just off the hospitably named Cannibal Point) at the right tide time - it’s a 6am or 6pm scenario. I think we’re opting for the morning one, but we’ll have a better idea of that tomorrow when we see where we are and how far there is to go.

Lost a fish late afternoon - retained the lure and line, just the hook missing. Disappointing to not get the fish, but a little bit proud that all my knots survived while the hook pulled through the metal of the lure.

Chilli for dinner - which we had early, having changed the clocks once again this morning. We’re now just one hour different from Sydney.. well we are for the next few hours, NSW has daylight savings kicking in tomorrow, so who knows what that’ll mean! (Not me)

Wind increased back to howling level as Chez and the sun went down. We’re reefed down to nothing and still making 6.5 knots. Both ready for this particular journey to be over.

Day 5. 1st Oct ‘23

Happy Birthday to my big brother Doug!

After both enduring another night of fitful, uncomfortable attempts at sleep, cupboards rattling, boat creaking and waves - as big as they’ve been throughout this passage - alarmingly slamming hard into the hull. We are both now very ready to just bloody get there!

However.. what we actually have to do, is reduce sail to try and bring our speed down under 6 knots to avoid turning up at the pass pre-dawn with the tide against us! Even reduced down to a mere hanky of sail showing, we are still going a little too fast. Fingers crossed the wind drops a bit during the day today. If not, we’ll need to start tacking to increase the distance we need to travel.

Spotted the island of Mare at midday - a light grey horizon smudge off to Starboard….and a tanker a little later, only our second vessel seen all week.

Husked the last of the coconuts from Musket Cove this afternoon, a fibrous treat, ‘boat chocolate’ as we call it.

I’m still struggling to keep the speed down as Chez headed off for her pre watch attempt at a nap after dinner. We’ve got barely any sail out now, and still persist with making 6 knots.. it’s as if our prayers for wind have finally all been answered. Thanks Tangaroa, but you’re 5 months too late!!

The wind continued to howl unabated through the night. Despite having close to zero sail showing, we still got pushed along at over 5 knots - too fast for a perfect arrival time at the pass. If we are to get there early, which looks increasingly likely, at least we’ll have a full moon to light our way through.

Seriously??!! I’ve got less than a meter of sail showing now and we just hit 7knots! FFS.

Day 6. 2nd Oct ‘23

Took a short break, then back up at 4am, land and lights ashore now visible. The sea state and wind has dropped to a more acceptable level, it’ll be rather nice once the sun comes up!

After worrying about it for the last week, the passage through the pass was happily a non-event. Yes, there was current, and yes we just about managed to time it right for the current to assist rather than delay us. However, this pass was nothing compared to the tight atoll entrances we’ve had to negotiate in the past.

The island on first appraisal is a grey rugged affair. More reminiscent of Scotland’s glorious sweeping landscapes than anywhere more tropical … that might just be the persistent drizzle that’s coming down from the grey blanket above. The land is a dark green mix of what I think might be Norfolk pines and low level scrub. We’ve just passed some cliffs with a rusty red tinge - mineral rich in nickel apparently .

That’ll do for this entry. Not a great passage, both aching and tired. Very glad to be at the tail end of it now.