Your heartfelt messages that poured into my inbox from all over the world each minute were like fireworks, creating magic to which the universe responded to by regaling us with the most glorious day we could have hoped for.
Kokachin was launched without a glitch in the scorching sunshine and a gentle breeze on Wednesday 22 June 2022. Taittinger champagne exploded in her cockpit and we rushed to pour it over her bows too, delivering the launching speech together:
We name this sailing junk "Kokachin" We wish she carries us and all who sail in her with ease and in safety Sailing joyfully to many wonderful destinations May the seas be beautiful and the winds favourable & kind.
After leaving the narrows and shallows around the marina she sailed off, gracefully to Plymouth Sound, sailing and tacking to windward with ease. She is comfortable, her decks are wide and secure, cockpit clean and spacious, motion gentle. Pete said she feels Stately.
Looks like we are going to make it, despite last month’s trials and tribulations with insurance, which caused a last minute delay. A story better not to be told, at least for now.
Preparations are in earnest for the ship shape ship. We are excited and so should Kokachin be. She is ready, looking splendid, unlike us!
The yard just moved us, in preparation for the launch. We can already see the sea through our windows. Sundowners in the cockpit gave us a taste of life to come.
Ring your bells, spread your arms, sharpen your voices, warm your hearts, open your minds, clap your hands, raise your glasses to give Kokachin and us the most amazing send off to the sea.
Wednesday 22 June, middayish UK BST (high tide 1.15pm)
Kokachin, originally named Matahina, started her life on a farm in Bussieres, a little village 70km NE from Paris. Her hull and deck and some of the interior were built by Mr Jossete, a professional carpenter. He started building her in 2009 and spent two years building the hull alone plus many more on the rest of the boat. Last work he did was in 2016 . He moved away from the area, realising that he would not be able to complete her. Via a grapevine we heard about her being for sale on LeBonCoin in France.
In no time we booked flights, hired a car and went to see her. Our first encounter with this bizarre looking structure surrounded with a vast expanse of French countryside was filled with intense excitement. Having previously decided to build a catamaran, here we were signing a contract for her purchase over glasses of champagne! What one does during infatuation. But why not!?
The drive back to the airport, surrounded by monstrously big fast approaching lorries on busy airport roundabouts, was more terrifying than being in a gale.
Organising her transport was a feat in itself and it cost a fortune. Coordinating the transport, crane and paperwork was critical, our nerves in the UK were frail. Miraculously everything fell into place: Mr Josset drove in time from Dieppe, the Bour crane made it to the little village and so did the Southern Transport lorry from the UK, not to mention our paperwork arrived at the very last minute.
She made it safely to Southdown and champagne flew once again in August 2019. We were elated and are in anticipation of another celebration soon.
A Google search of her original name listed a power station in New Zealand. A new name was needed also because of SSR documents and customs forms. Having just recently named “Blossom” our pool of names was exhausted. I flippantly suggested to Pete: “How about Marko Polo’s mistress, he must have had one!?”. Because it is common knowledge on Korcula that Marko Polo comes from there, my birthplace too. I liked the idea of my boat being likened to him. To my surprise, shortly Pete exclaimed: “Kokachin”! How funny, who would have thought that google could find Marko Polo’s “mistress”. Probably those watching Netflix would have not been so surprised as were we.
Apparently Kokachin was a Mongolian princess who was betrothed to the Persian prince Arghun by Kublai Khan who entrusted Marko Polo to take her to Persia. During their 9 year journey to get there (why so long?) something must have happened…. We hope not to take as long a time to get anywhere/somewhere. It’s not surprising that Kokachin’s dinghy is “Marko” – an appropriate hierarchy.
It seems her name might be translated as “Dark Complexion” and by sheer coincidence (and a lot of persuasion) “Kokachin’s” hull is dark too.
As well as giving us the photographs and permission to use them this is what Mr Josset sent us when asked to comment :
“At the age of 43, I decided to build a boat a bit off the beaten track and as a carpenter to do a different kind of work. During her construction, I met several extraordinary people in the world of the boat building. Although life does not always grant us success, I am delighted to have sold it to Linda and Peter because in their hands Kokachin will be able to live. While waiting for her to be launched, I can’t wait to be able to walk up her deck, no doubt, filled with real emotions.”
Stillwater to the BOI only, Sailed 126 miles – 6 days.
Best daily run 38nms in 9 hours, average 4.2 knots
I bought Francis because she was irresistibly sweet and beautiful. A fitting boat for the fulfillment of my dream. I wanted to rescue her from the garden where she was stuck and give her a new lease of life. In some ways our union was meant to be. I was in search of a new life and so was she. Once rigged and ready I wanted to sail in her, instead of that I left her in the mud for 6 months and went sailing to Polynesia on a different boat. It did not look like much of a rescue or a new lease of life to her. When I eventually got back I wanted to slowly and leisurely sail her around Hauraki Gulf and get to know her. Instead Pete and I were in a hurry to get her to the Bay of Islands for the Tall Ship Regatta in January 2018.
Before setting off for the Bay of Islands I feared the worst, bad weather and us struggling along the coast. Suitable anchorages are spread at a distance, weather forecasts are not that accurate, strong changeable winds are a norm and with no VHF, GPS or mobile signal I felt this was one adventure too many this year.
However once we set off on Francis’s junk rigged maiden voyage I hoped it would be a leisurely cruise up the coast with entertainment provided by the birds and dolphins. It was not exactly to be. I could have never imagined how magical it would feel to be able to nearly touch the dolphins swimming along or how enthralling it is to glide through the flock of 100s of undisturbed birds floating around their wings flapping lazily. When a whale head surfaced only 100 meters away from us, facing us full frontal and broaching with a big head splash all I saw was its open jaws swallowing us. Irrational fear? Its head was much bigger than Francis’ bow and the whale itself was at least 3 times the size. I was feeling uneasy to say the least. Fortunately its jaws did not open but mine dropped and my breath stalled. The curvature of the spine took ages to vanish followed up by the tail which I hoped would wave us a farewell instead of knocking us over. Shortly afterwards, far too soon for me to recover from the shock, it surfaced 20 meters closer. I was in awe but did not want a third take of this game. It was far too much, up close and personal. What a thrill once it was all over and the whale left us in its wake! I slept well in the calms of Omaha Cove that night feeling snug and safe.
On her 2nd day on the open sea Francis showed us how much she was loving it. She was as much fun to sail as we hoped her to be. Past Bream Head on our way to the BOI making 5 knots on a beam reach was exhilarating sailing! We anchored under sail at a very atmospheric open bay south of Taiharuru Head and north of Ocean Beach. Sleeping was not easy in her cramped cabin.
We were making slow progress in the early morning breeze absorbing the beauty of the coastline. A school of dolphins surfaced under Francis playing with her bows, swapping sides, jumping around. In this mellow and happy mood I was holding the tiller when suddenly something felt wrong. Half a mile off Elisabeth Reef sailing in light headwind and slight seas towards Cape Bret the rudder came off, breaking the tiller as well. What a shock to see the rudder floating astern in a swell. Luckily I managed to grab and hold onto it while Pete jumped out of the cabin to rescue it. Needless to say I was worried, seeing us drifting towards the reef while Pete was hanging astern struggling to put the rudder back on. He kept his cool while I was thinking of waving for a rescue! Little did I know that he lost his rudder while sailing in China Moon off Staten Island and dived into freezing waters to fix it, not to mention that he apparently has a ‘track record’ on rudder issues. After struggling for a while he managed to provisionally fit the rudder on and we sailed back (7 miles) to Tutukaka to fix it properly. Tutukaka’s entry is extremely atmospheric and always exciting, let alone this time. Only a week ago while sailing in Oryx, nearly at the same spot where our rudder dropped off, we rescued a little dayboat with engine failure and towed it back to Tutukaka. Who would have thought that we will be limping in Francis into the same harbour. The split pin holding the rudder on was missing which caused it to come off its fitting. Pete managed to sort things out by forcing the rudder back in and lashed it. We had a spare tiller on board. Early start tomorrow to catch up on the mileage lost.
We could not make it to Cape Brett the following day – the headwinds and moderate seas saw us anchoring in Whangamumu Bay, ex whaling station. Exhausted from an early start and excitement from a previous day we turned in at 6pm. The weather forecast was not ideal but it was doable and we decided to go for it. By now we slept well in Francis as we got used to her cramped cabin.
At the crack of the dawn, with hardly any light to see the shoreline we sailed off the anchor. Out of the well sheltered Whangamumu bay the wind was blowing hard SW5-6 the seas were rough. We already had two reefs and we have not started yet. I was wondering if we should turn back, I sensed trouble ahead and was apprehensive. We pressed on because the conditions were not unusual for this area and we had to sail there some time. The anchorage we were in had no signal so we had no idea what the weather was going to be like in the next few days. After a good fast sail to Cape Brett we lost the wind. By the time we reached Percy Island, just off the headland, we were becalmed.
Just as well that we were carried by a strong current in the right direction, away from the rocks. With light wind and very short steep seas we could not motor with the outboard as it kept lifting out of the water. There were not particularly nice seas, but probably they are not unusual for this place. Once we passed Percy Island the wind moderated.
Increase in wind in the afternoon required the engine to make any progress at all. We sailed, motored and motor sailed. Filling a petrol tank was a feat in itself. I moved all heavy gear towards the stern and sat as much aft as possible to make the stern go further into the water to help the propeller stay in. My meagre 40kg made a difference! At times it was blowing over 20 knots, F5, with spray blowing off the surface. With a wind on the nose, in short waves, Francis was very slow. She was stopped in her tracks with every sharp wave that came by, but she did not dive in, she cut them sharp. Francis was sturdy, buoyant and surprisingly dry. We only got splashed 3 or 4 times. She could sail into the wind and hold the course but she could not make much progress in strong weather conditions. Nothing broke, engine performed excellently. Without it it would have been a very long time to get anywhere in these conditions in such a little boat.
At the end of the day we got to the Okey Bay anchorage even though it was not an enjoyable sail to say the least. To quote Pete: “This was some sail, a memorable sail, and not an enjoyable one!” even by his standards! As for me, I was ready to hail any tour boat that passed by asking for a tow of my tiny boat that struggled for hours to make little progress in rough seas. A shocking thought crossed my mind, how nice it would be to sit in the office looking at the computer screen! It was obvious that I was not enjoying the experience nor did I appreciated the magic of wild seas, white crests, sun shining on the waves, gusts, sprays, birds… Around us fast tour boats sped by regularly, helicopters flew above us ferrying trippers back and forth. What a different perspective they’ve got of it all I thought.
We put Francis and ourselves through the paces. Not sure who fared better after 11 hours of hell rounding Cape Brett in Westerly force 5 – 6 on the nose. Horrible seas. Yamaha saved the day. It was good to see what Francis can take and make. She took a lot but could not make a lot. We will not be taking her to the Tasman Sea, Pete said! I was disappointed but sure that Francis sighed in relief. As for me – it wasn’t exactly a maiden voyage I envisaged. We anchored in Okey Bay and slept, dead tired and exhausted.
The following day we entered the Bay of Island and sailed in very favourable conditions. It was sheer joy to be on her helm while sailing along in smooth water, moderate wind along one of the most beautiful sheltered waters in the world. On her wood carved name plate it is written: Francis H – BOI. We delivered her where she belongs. The circle was completed. I was elated.
Strong gale winds blew for 3 days and it was touch and go if the Tall Ship Regatta would take place, but it did. Francis was too small to enter and we stayed on the ‘outskirts’ of it.
Once away from Russell we continued towards Kerikeri inlet and then sailed through the narrow pass. I asked Pete (the Navigator) since I was on the helm (the Skipperess – albeit not naked, it was too cold) if the water was deep enough for Francis, reminding him that when I went sailing with Denis on ‘Briganza’ (a beautiful Illingworth classic) there were some shallows there. Pete said : “ There is enough water and room for Queen Mary to go through, but maybe not for Francis!” We laughed. I admire Pete not only for keeping his cool with me but also for finding a funny side to it.
Once safely around the island we joined the rest of the fleet at the right moment just as Pete was planning to do in the Albert Channel. All JR boats were coming towards us as we were sailing across. The headwind was strong, waves too big for her liking and while she held the course the progress was slow. Giving way to Tystie we tried to tack but the strong gust hit us and we could not complete the tack. A quick reef and another attempt saw us through. The sail displays were amazing on Thystie, Shoestring, Zebedee, Fantail and J&B. It was fun racing and trying to make ground on J&B – Francis holding her own very well. Eventually they all left us behind with J&B keeping us company for a while. Then Blondie crept in from astern and slowly overtook us close to the finishing line. The Committee boat blew a horn for us on a finishing line although officially we did not take part – Francis was far too small to enter.
As we left her on anchor in Opua, surrounded by other yachts, I had the first opportunity to look at her from a distance. She looked perfectly formed miniature like a cute little toddler bobbing up and down. The very first person that came aboard her since we brought her to the BOI became her suitor. He said – “She is so cute. If you ever want to sell her I will buy her, ask me first.” I watch him falling under her spell while admiring her in deep silence. I sensed his heart going to her in the way my did when I saw her first. I knew Francis had seduced her new owner.
We signed the bill of sale in her tiny cockpit, celebrating her handover with a bottle of champagne. Fair winds and smooth seas little mermaid! I wished Chris, the new owner, to have as much fun in her as I did during our brief encounter. I cannot wait to hear about the adventures that Chris is going to have in her.
It was a great relief to know that she will continue her life on the waves in the ownership of the most accomplished sailor. I was proud of her, feeling my mission of giving her a new lease of life was accomplished.
I took a month to part with Francis, sailing her in the Bay and enjoying being on her. We sailed her to Kerikeri which was magical – downwind sailing up the very narrow river, nearly all the way to the Stone Wharf where Murray, the builder, met us and came aboard. His toddler boat was an accomplished lady now.
We left Neiafu (Tonga) on the 7th November with an ESE wind force 4 to 5, perfect weather with the sun shining. The first days run of 157 miles. This good weather continued to Minerva Reef where we anchored for one day. We left Minerva reef on the 11th with a NW force wind which soon backed to the SW and went quite light. The wind continued to back to the SE and by the 14th the wind was back to force 4 and excellent sailing again.
This continued until the 17th when the SSE wind picked up to force 6 and eventually force 8 with big seas. The Jordan Series drogue was deployed at midnight and we went slowly to the NW – only 40 miles from an anchorage in NZ. The drogue was out for 36 hours. Exceptionally steep seas broke against us from time to time. One big hit broke the starboard shackle on the drogue bridle. The Sea Break was put out to starboard and then it took several hours to set up a jury bridle. Later a big wave completely filled the cockpit with some water getting below. An added complication was that we were in the shipping lane North of NZ.
On Sunday 19th the drogue was recovered and we beat into a SE5 which slowly decreased and we arrived in Opua late afternoon on Tuesday 21st November 1371 miles and 13 days out from Tonga.
Crew and Friend: Roger
Friday 17/11/2017, 44 miles NE of Bay of Islands. Set drogue at midnight.
Wednesday 22/11/2017 Arrived at Opua last evening, after a storm that set in on Friday evening, blowing Oryx 72 miles N on the series drogue. The wind gradually increased on the Friday afternoon on Pete’s watch. I woke up to Pete driving Oryx as hard as he could against strong winds and increasing seas. Continued on my afternoon watch from 3.00 until 7.00 on a close reach to make Opua before it got worse. I checked the weather on Garmin Satellite, which predicted 40-50 knot winds with the swell rising to 21 feet on Saturday and Sunday morning. Pete told me to get some rest and he continued to drive Oryx towards the Bay of Islands. After a couple of big waves Pete decided to use the series drogue and ride out the blow.
This account has been a long time coming but the experience still seems very near. I didn’t write anything, except the above notes, during the storm. It was quite unnerving at times, with waves smashing us from different directions. That stretch of water north of Opua leads to the tip of the North Island where the Tasman and the Pacific meet. A tropical current comes down from the north and wind was against it and possibly the tide, which seemed to make the sea very confused and steep. Added to this was the fact that we were in a shipping lane.
We had dinner and I went to get some rest before my watch at 3.00 am but woke to a large crash. It was getting too difficult to sail against the growing seas so Pete had turned Oryx downwind before he and Linda deployed the Jordan Series Drogue. Pete made the drogue ready for use before leaving Tonga. The bridles had been shackled to the port and starboard hulls with 1/2 stainless shackles, so it was a matter of carefully feeding out the cones until it was set. We were only 40 miles from Opua. The peak of the storm didn’t hit until about midday on the Saturday and we were drifting at 3 – 3.5 knots towards North Cape.
Dawn came on Saturday with only a box of cutlery falling out and crashing on the galley floor that night. There was a strange calm and quiet before what sounded like whistling, then one almighty thump on the starboard hull. I was convinced it had stove in the hull. Emerging from the galley area I reported that everything was still sound. Pete seemed quite unconcerned and made me wonder what I was fussing about. The day slowly passed, with the waves becoming more and more majestic. There is a certain beauty that commands admiration. It was a privilege to be in the middle of all that dry, warm and relatively safe.
A ship passed so close we could see the funnels a couple of hundred yards away. Pete radioed what sounded like young Asian officer stating our position and that we are not under command. He replied telling us to keep clear! It was the only time I asked Pete how the boat was built. He explained that it is basically a box with two hulls on either side stuck together with epoxy. I was brimming with confidence after that.
The day literally rolled on and I got some rest before yet another almighty thump around 2.00 pm. This time it was more concerning. The wave conditions on that occasion were such that the surge pressure was enough to shear a 1/2 inch stainless steel shackle, anchoring the bridle to the starboard hull. So that we were hanging on the port shackle, getting thumped by waves on the port beam. Pete put on his wet weather gear and two harnesses to assess the damage.
During that process, we got thumped by an excessively large wave coming from port, which lifted the hull (and rudder) into the air, coming back down with the port bridle caught under the port rudder. I have some recollection of him looking somewhat distressed when he turned to say the port bridle is caught under the rudder. Fortunately, an equally large wave followed almost immediately, once again lifting the hull and rudder, but this time freeing the bridle from the rudder.
So the immediate challenge was to set a sea anchor on the starboard side, try to haul the bridle back and anchor it in position again. Pete fortunately had a sea anchor at hand (basically a large folding bucket on a long rope), which he fixed to the starboard transom, stabilising the boat while he repaired the starboard bridle. Pete undertook this work alone, confining Linda and me to the cabin. He fixed a slip knot on the port bridle and hauled the drogue more amidships each time the waves allowed some slack. It was quite a process with waves breaking over him constantly.
By this stage, Pete would have been better wearing a diver’s suit, mask and snorkel, while Linda and I observed in relative comfort and awe from the cabin. Had the port bridle remained caught under the rudder, it would probably have sheared it clean off, but we had good luck…….
Once completed he came in drenched, with squelching boots but smiling, telling us that the water was warm. He then steeped the porridge oats for breakfast before catching some sleep. The 3.00 to 7.00 am watch involved keeping a check on the AIS for shipping and shining a torch on the slip knot to ensure it did not slip. It was a relatively uneventful night until about 5.00 am when Pete woke and turned on the VHF. The wind was dropping and waves appeared less violent in the dawn light. We were listening to the forecast when a wave broke into the cockpit filling it to deck level. It forced water through the porthole seal, squirting it across the cabin roof and into both hulls; another mess to clean up. It was so powerful that Oryx lurched forward, making the fore-and-aft chart table drawers come half way out. Linda slept through it but Pete was visibly quite surprised. I was facing forward so didn’t see it coming. That was the last violence that Mother Nature threw at us and by 11.00 am the drogue was hauled in. A lone Wandering Albatross skimmed past and our sails were up, while we sailed close hauled into the swell. It was good to be back under command.
A big thank you to Pete and Linda for inviting me on board Oryx for the Tonga passage. It was a wonderful way to finish off a very eventful 2017. That year little Francis was completed and in December Pete and Linda sailed her from Stillwater to The Bay of Islands on an adventure round Cape Brett. Apparently they had a whale of a time, meeting a pod of them half up the coast! I look forward to hearing about the next voyage wherever it may be. Go well
Pete fixing JSD bridle
Mate: Linda
For days we sailed with favourable wind on flat seas. It was like sitting in a train, the boat only gently moving sideways. I did not know that ocean sailing could be that comfortable – making fast progress on flat seas for days.
I was outnumbered when Pete and Roger wanted to stop at Minerva Reef, just because it was on our way, while I was keen to carry on, not believing that such good weather would last for the whole of our passage.
As it turns out, the gale that hit us and the subsequent experience was one of the two most enduring fears I experienced at sea (and with Pete). Lying beam to the seas, huge breaking waves towering over us, filling the cockpit, water streaming in, ‘bombarding’ on the hull, drawers popping out, spilling stuff, was extremely shocking. Pete was out there for hours, with colossal effort trying to tie a knot hanging off the stern! I deleted the picture I took of the wave filling the cockpit, never wishing to see it again. However Roger took one of him hanging off. It brings back terrifying memories.
On arrival checking Oryx there were 3 places where she was cracked and needed repairs. We later learnt that in our vicinity there were two other yachts, of which one was abandoned – crew rescued, and other suffered damage. We fared well.
At the end of November 2016, I packed my bags and cast off from my London houseboat where I’d lived for the past 30 years. Instead of having a leaving party, I sent an email to friends and business associates, despite the fact that for some, this might have been too personal. I hoped that some of them might also be inspired to seek a fulfilling life beyond the everyday grind.
Early that same year, I’d returned from Croatia to London with the firm intention of finding a job by April. To my astonishment I realised that I no longer loved London, it “didn’t do it for me” any more. It was painful to watch the constant destruction of its soul. I wanted to leave, but at the same time, the pressure of needing more money intensified. A trivial episode with some garden compost started me thinking: “Why do I need more money, why should I work? To buy things that I don’t need and can live without – like garden compost!” I made a profound and lasting decision of not wanting to work any more! Soon I received an offer I couldn’t refuse – and rejected it. It turns out that my life change was brought about by a purchase (or not) of a bag of compost.
But what did I really want? Soon the answer came in the form of an email from Annie, asking me if I wanted to sail around the world with Alan. Although I knew little about him or his boat, nor had I planned to circumnavigate the globe, suddenly I knew that this is what I wanted to do. My life instantly took a different turn.
By chance I came across some verses that resonated within me. The first one was by poet W. B. Yeats
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
The second was the lyrics of one of Arctic Monkeys’ songs:
This is how you are
Or have to be
In a decadent city
At the time of greed.
I arranged to meet Alan, who was temporarily working in England, to firm up a plan: we would cruise in New Zealand for three to four months and if everything was OK on board, we would leave for Borneo and sail round the world. I could hardly wait for this to happen. I immediately started getting rid of most of my possessions. The most difficult was to part with 100 pairs of my shoes, many of which held precious memories: if I could give them to charity, I’d be free to leave. In some ways it was symbolic: my life on Terra Firma was over and for a new life at sea I wouldn’t need high heeled shoes! Disposing of things was cathartic and represented closing a chapter in my life and beginning a new life where there would be no room for many possessions. I moved on mentally and emotionally, feeling even physically much lighter. I was very happy to be left with only 130 kilograms of personal luggage (including a bicycle) which was transported to Croatia, to my parents’ home.
Ready to go and elated, I sent Alan a message and received an unexpected and brief answer: “Sorry, but I have to cancel everything.” What a shock! I was without money, work or suitable shoes and clothes. I had a one-way ticket to New Zealand and no entry visa. I felt desperate, wondering what to do, what exactly had happened and why. My dream was over.
A friend, seeing me so upset, suggested that I go back to work for a year. I angrily rejected the idea. I had made a difficult, life-changing decision, expending huge amounts of energy at all levels in order to make it happen. It seemed impossible that I could do all this again. I resolutely decided that I’d neither change nor question my decision, and would go to New Zealand, in spite of everything.
After this episode with Alan which shattered my dreams, I now devised my own Manifesto: “To deepen my own sense of existence by creating new friendships – I want to buy my own boat, convert it to junk rig, learn to sail, inspire other people to do it, write about it, and then sail on it, wherever the sea takes me.”
This was a long-held desire, which surfaced effortlessly in one breath that morning. I read it in wonder, immediately embracing it and determined to achieve it.
I emailed Annie and Alan asking for help. They both responded, contacting the NZ junkie community and within hours, five people had come back to me, willing to help with accommodation and/or sailing. I couldn’t believe what was going on. After two days on a roller coaster, I suddenly found myself in an even better position than before!
Excited about this development I now wanted to spend more time in New Zealand with these generous and hospitable people. I applied for an extended-stay visa, which I received very quickly. I was now on the moon, and realised I’d have plenty of time to fulfil the goals in my “Manifesto”. I tasked Annie to search for a boat for me and a few days later there was another fatal email with a link for the boat. She wrote: “You did ask!”
In disbelief I looked at the pictures of a tiny, sweet and gorgeous sailboat. I called the owner in NZ who had built her with his father, some 40 years ago. He’d owned her and been caring about her ever since. I told him I wanted to buy her and that he must keep her for me until I arrived. She was an irresistible beauty. A new adventure had started!
Soon I left London, my heart filled with happiness when I thought of the life I had spent there and the wonderful friends I was leaving behind, but I was also excited about the new life waiting for me in the southern hemisphere and in enchanting NZ.
When I arrived, I’d no fixed plans and was open to any opportunity. At first I stayed in the small, quiet village of Stillwater in the suburbs of Auckland, with my wonderful host and new friend Roger. Without him life would certainly have been much different and more difficult. His always present help was incredible: he is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. He drove me to many beautiful places and I jokingly called myself “Miss Daisy” based on the film of that name. My little white room, which I named The Chapel, reflected not only the purity of the place where I lived but the process of purifying body and soul that I was experiencing. It was a completely new life, so different from London and I enjoyed it. The decision to pack everything and start from scratch began to bear fruit. New adventures arrived quickly and frequently. To celebrate my arrival, Roger had organised a welcome party. To my surprise more than 20 JRA members and friends turned up. I struggled to find anything suitable to wear in my mainly sailing gear wardrobe, but managed to buy a colourful outfit and a new pair of shoes – old habits die hard! It was wonderful to be able to talk and laugh with so many new friends. I even drank a glass of rum in the early hours of the morning!
That evening set the tone for my new sailing life in New Zealand and it was important to everything that followed. During the first month I went on numerous boats, met many extremely friendly and dear people, participated in several regattas and sailed over 1,000 miles – not always in the best weather!
As for the small, wooden sailing boat I bought while I was in London, it turned out to be a masterpiece of one of the greatest and most famous designers – the legendary L Francis Herreshoff – a Buzzards Bay 14. She is called Francis H. When I first saw her, hiding in a yard under an olive tree in Kerikeri I was even more convinced that our union was meant to be despite the great distance. Elated, I sat in her cockpit, happy to find her in such good condition.
Murray, who had built her in 1974, had invested a lot of effort into restoring his treasured boat. I spent a few wonderful days with him and his family, sanding her hull and painting her. Then she was finally transported to Stillwater and went back into the water.
When she floated I was overwhelmed with joy for although small trickles of water came through her seams, there was nowhere near as much as I’d been warned to expect. She was solidly and tightly built and within 12 hours she wasn’t making a drop. Her charming lines and the grace with which she floated delighted me as did the first glass of wine I drank, sitting on her deck and watching the sunset.
Many passers-by were overwhelmed by her beautiful lines, which made me very proud. Pete had offered to help me convert her to a junk rig and soon I ordered what was needed to build the mast and he pulled green sail material out of his secret repository, which was soon transformed into Francis’s sail. The second stage of my “Manifesto” was taking shape … but that was another story!
