Blackwattle - A Weather Window to Fiji

by Nancy Knudsen on 28 Sep 2007 After so many years, we still haven't learned not to believe weather forecasts. It's probably like being a child with horrible parents – you hang on to them because they're all you've got!

We're waiting for a weather window from Tonga to Fiji and we think we've found one

From both Buoy Weather and the Grib Files, 10-15 knots from behind us for a full six days. So after many false starts we're leaving Tonga for Fiji – so sad, after such a short time. The potential here for easy cruising is enormous. Now we understand why people spend years cruising in these areas.

In a couple of short weeks, however, we've discovered the key to the Tongan heart!

We know how to melt the surliest public servant into our second best friend, how to make a customs official lenient and the market vendor willing to bargain well..... Just Mention Football.! The eyes light up, focusing on you for the first time, the face muscles relax, and the conversation is away. As we are leaving, their proud Tongan team has won a couple of matches in the World Cup, but they are worried about the coming meeting with the South Africans, who play such a rough game.

Here we go, heading for Lautoka, and the promised 10-15 knots welcomes us on our way. It's going to be an interesting sail, about 550 miles, and we will pass between the many islands reefs and atolls south of Fiji, some of them at night. We must time our arrival carefully, as once inside the great western Fijian Lagoon, there's about 20 miles to do with many reefs and obstructions – we must do that last 20 miles in daylight.

It's not a painted ocean. It's heaving like an old cow breathing its last. All around us a hundred cows, all dying. Sickly gray colour. The sky is running with yellowish clouds like spilled milk, sour looking. We're becalmed. But not quite. There seems to be a current keeping us staggering forward at about one knot of speed. At night there's a fierce moon, piercing the clouds, killing the stars, making the ocean glitter with a thousand light flashes.

It's been like this for two days. What happened to the forecast? We have no wind. We finally turn on the engine and run for a few hours...maybe we'll get into better waters where there is some wind..., but it doesn't seem to work. ..

Now there's something new, but it's not wind - The alternators are overcharging the batteries, and the indicators show us 15.56volts. We shut down the engine immediately. The maximum volts should be 14.6. We're in grave danger of blowing up the batteries. So now we're sailing again at 1.4 knots. I do fun calculations in my head, It's going to take 13 days to reach Fiji.

..............................

It's Day 4, still becalmed, but the new forecast is dire. High winds coming, 20-25, and on the nose. What should be southeasterly trades are forecast to turn to the north, then follow a huge circle of direction and finally end up in the south east again. This means we'll be on the wind most of the way, but who knows if THIS forecast will be right? In the meantime, we settle down for a long tough sail.

Behind us, clouds build up in long pillows lying on top of each other to the horizon. The rain comes, (if the rain's before the wind, your topsails you must mind – old sailor's rule). 'Comes' is a weak expressing. It dumps as if there's a great tip truck in the sky. It roars down, making it hard to hear. It flattens the heaving of the ocean, stopping any movement with thousands of streaming bullets of water. It finds its way into any slight weakness in the boat – hatch not closed tight enough, stitching a little loose. We have nil visibility, and turn on the radar. .... waiting... for Godot?

.................

'Mmmm.' I say appreciatively, coming on deck for my watch at night, ' It's stopped raining and you have a little wind!' It's a wet world in the cockpit, but the moonlight is shining bright, and and we're scooting along with 12 knots behind us.

'Yup,' says Ted, ever the understater, 'just started.'

Over the next two days, the wind builds to a wonderful 20-25 knots, and a miracle has occurred. Yes, we have northerlies. However, Viti Levu, the giant of the Fijian Islands, is now forming a vast lee of flattened water! As we make our way between the islands and reefs south of Viti Levu, the wind behind the beam, on the beam, in front of the beam, on the nose, the sea is as flat as a frozen Swiss lake.

The second miracle occurs, when Skipper Ted discovers that it's only one of the two alternators that's giving trouble – by disconnecting it, we can run with engine and charge without overcharging!

We skate almost silently towards our goal, moonlight behind the clouds making the night sky glow white and ghostly, passing islands at 7-8 knots at times (now for Blackwattle, that's f-a-s-t!). Finally Viti Levu is on our beam, we sail through the pass into the vast Fijian Lagoon just before sunset and anchor for the night – tomorrow will be our second last landfall in our five years at sea – Fiji.

If I can borrow Forrest Gump's wisdom, 'Sailing is like a box of chocolates – ya never know whatchya gunna get!'

Hello Fiji!