Home is the Sailor from the Sea

Courtesy of Steve Callahan

After eight hard days at sea, a quiet dawn reveals the rugged tip of Bream Head, the entry to our home bay in New Zealand.

It took the first few days to shake off my customary seasickness and a week to get through a vicious flu that was jumping from boat to boat in Lautoka faster than a ship's rats. But, especially without Diana's helping hand, I had to step up to create a seamanlike routine for Stephen to follow. That meant getting the meals out on time, for Stephen proved to have a cast-iron stomach and the appetite of a grizzly. Next was to strictly adhere to the watch schedule, for it is designed to acclimate the body to interrupted sleep patterns as quickly as possible. In spite of feeling weak and sick I forced myself to reef the moment I thought it necessary, shake out those reefs the moment I thought we could safely charge forward, keep a good watch for ships and squalls, and religiously stick to our safety protocols. We never, ever once left the cockpit without being harnessed and hooked on. We talked over each procedure in advance so we both knew what the other crew member was doing and why. In spite of pushing the boat hard, my thinking was "No mistakes now. Not this close to the finish line."

Steve did well, taking the dramatic crashes and bangs in his stride, waking me whenever a ship appeared, keeping up the log book, tumbling out of his berth the moment he was called. Together we calculated our noon-to noon runs. In spite of the headwinds and combing seas we made good progress, logging runs in the 150s and 160s, not a Roger Henry record, but respectable and close enough to our intended course-line.

Our half-way party was a modest affair. I took yet another wave down my back and nearly lost the one and only precious beer we allowed ourselves on the entire passage. But from that point onward, it all felt downhill. In fact, we made such good time that I feared we would fetch the coast too soon, in the darkness, and Steve would miss that dramatic moment of "Land Ho!" I wanted him to see the rugged yet lush coast that I have come to love.

As Kipling once wrote, the dawn came up like thunder from across the bay. The jagged pinnacles of Whangarei Heads warmed from grey to a rosy pink as the shadow line retreated. Blue penguins scurried out of our path as we tacked into the our home estuary. Two enormous porpoise exploded out of the water right next to the Roger Henry, arching so unbelievably high into the air that both Steve and I shouted, "No Way!" simultaneously.