Location: 41° 33 S, 175° 04 E
Wednesday 12:00, 05.30.2007

The Schooner Maggie B got underway from Wellington at 0900 on May 30. At noon we were at 41° 33 S, 175° 04 E, making 9 knots powersailing. We are headed up the East Coast of the northern island, hoping to get to Gisborne tomorrow afternoon. We are going as fast as we can as there is a real blow coming in towards the end of the week. The plan is a long weekend in Gisborne and then on towards Auckland, with perhaps some exploring in the Bay of Plenty.

We hauled out in Wellington yesterday. They have a very interesting “travel lift.” It doesn’t travel. They lift you out vertically and then slide the “floor” underneath the boat. Only NZ$200 (@US$150), including the use of a pressure washer! We cleaned off the hull, replaced the prop anode, and checked for damage, which was minimal.

The damage was from grounding out on our way into Greville Sound in D’Urville Island last week. We had to cross a “boulder bar” and it was just at low tide. We had 15-20 feet of depth in the channel, but I didn’t have enough speed and the last of the ebb spun us out of the channel and onto a ledge, where we sat for about an hour until the tide came in. The lead got a bit chewed up as photos on the web site will show (next posting probably Friday).

One nice thing about New Zealand cops is that they don’t carry guns. They do seem to get stabbed regularly according to the news papers, and they have applied to get Tazers. Needless-to-say there is lots of “left” opposition to such a “harsh, violent” accessory.

Some people get a souvenir tattoo in New Zealand. Real Blue Water Skippers get a new facial scar. I went to see a dermatologist about one suspicious piece of skin on the top on my ear, but he zoomed in on a dark spot on my cheek. “Premalignant!” he cried, “It should come out.” I asked for a suggestion of a doc in Auckland and he said, “Oh, I have some time now and we’ll get it right out — do you want local anesthetic or a shot of rum and a wooden stick to hold in your teeth?” I hate surgeons with a sense of humor, and chose the local. Now ten stitches later, I look even more like Keith Richards as the Pirate King.

All is well.