October 3, 2006: Summers and Winters of "Easy" Living
by Michel & Jane DeRidder

Six months ago...Daylight Savings Time was a thing of the past as we started the slide towards a Down Under winter. The cruising fleet had begun to leave New Zealand to head for warmer climes, the first wave heading off toward Tahiti as the cyclone season drew to a close. But we were staying.

It had been a gentle Northland summer with too little rain, no real storms to speak of, an abundance of scallops, and many old friends cruising or flying through, some from as far distant as a quarter of a century ago. Living aboard was made even more enjoyable for us after we unloaded heaps of gear - including things we never dared go offshore without - giving us extra space.

It's less frenetic than years past, now that we have chosen not to make preparations to sail to tropical islands to escape the winter. Staying for Down Under winters is beneficial in unexpected ways. We are no longer such weather wimps - for without spells in the tropics, the water seems warmer, the swimming more delightful than ever. Days speed by in kaleidoscopic arrays of conviviality and good fellowship, a few good sails, many and varied anchorages; this is all of course peppered with periods of plain hard work, for not every day is a celebration of life.

Jane goes for another dip.

Just to give an example of cruising challenges, one of our laptop hinges snapped last fall, jamming the screen into "open" position. This would never do, since we must take the computer ashore to send and receive email. We dismantled the keyboard and screen, then devised and installed an artificial knee of bent aluminum sheeting to hold the screen in place for opening and closing. Then came the hard part - reassembling the complex and expensive bit of gear. Pillows held the screen when it was open, while we awaited E-bay hinge replacements with their rotation brakes to hold the screen in position. Now we know why some notebook manufacturers are putting on three sets of knees. We've been regaled with tales of others who have experienced similar breakages.

Above: Laptop screen repair. Note surgical tools.

Pillow props hold the screen open.

Another challenge: Diesel fuel, touted to be more ecologically acceptable, contains an additive that melts the rubber of seals on certain older engine fuel injection pumps, marine and otherwise. The fix can be inconvenient and expensive. For DIY addicts who buy the seal kit and muddle along, it's less costly by far, though not always clear sailing. For our friends on yacht Maeva, their Perkins diesel engine was a relatively quick fix. Our wee '91 Mitsubishi station wagon was far more time-consuming and complex for the resident gungineer (as Michel calls himself). The contortions involved were almost beyond him, but he persevered and won. Not having a "comic book" (engine shop manual) does not help. Michel snaps pictures as he takes such complicated mechanisms apart, and lists the order of disassembly to make it possible for him to get it back together again.

Soon after this, in a senior moment of inattention at setting sun and falling tide, we skewered our '67-built 14-foot glassed plywood dinghy on an upright submerged rusty railway track that was once part of the old Fuller jetty - fortunately piercing the hull exactly at a point where foam was jammed under a seat. We extricated ourselves just in time with both of us sitting on one side of the boat, while powering in reverse in a tight circle. Then, while Michel drove to get a trailer, I, armed with a pail and a life jacket, sped full-bore to Waipapa Landing to meet him, bailing all the way. The dinghy is now patched and back in service. Quickly said, not so quickly done.

All problems solved, we thought. But no - La Casserole, the 12-foot tinnie we used while our shore boat was out of service, brought with it gazillions of ants. Seething black masses. There must have been a huge nest of them under the ply floorboards. I mixed boric acid into a brew with ersatz maple syrup as its base. The ants loved it, congregating at my feeding stations where we vacuumed up dead and dying ants with the "Red Baron" (our 12-volt vacuum cleaner). I kept sprinkling the affected areas with more boric acid powder, keeping up the cure until the plague stopped. I've only just ceased having nightmares about my murderous behaviour.

The gods had still more in store for us. Our fourteen-year-old faithful 8hp Yamaha gave up the ghost. First the lower unit seals and water pump casting let in salt water, but as a final blow the cylinder block must have corroded, feeding cooling sea water onto a spark plug. Michel dealt with that by exchanging it with another motor we happened to have on hand. The old one Michel fixed this past winter.

The 8hp Yamaha gets a new lease on life.

No matter the time of year, we drift about between crises with books aplenty and some relatively up-to-date news and scientific magazines from the library, resting our weary bones to gain strength for the next challenge. Seafood helps us regain our oomph.

Somewhere along the line in March, what was left of Tropical Cyclone Watti wagged its tail at Northland, bringing strong winds and much-needed rain. It gusted over 70 knots at Cape Reinga. The associated rain came gently at first, so the water sank in, without causing land slips in the Bay of Islands. Climatologists at a climate change conference in Wellington warned us to expect a buildup of severe - even catastrophic - storms in the future if world trends continue, threatening coastal areas and beach residences. So far, all is serene. Much coastal land is now taken up by increasing numbers of large houses often owned by offshore buyers, and lived in only a small part of the year. Heretofore quiet coves now resound with the snarl of lawn mowers and chain saws.

But many areas are largely unchanged - Whangaroa and Whangamumu, for instance. There are of course more boats, but there are always wee nooks and crannies to tuck away in if it is solitude we want. One interesting change as the years go by is the ever-increasing percentage of power boats. But the magic is still with us: the satisfaction of keeping a cruising boat in good nick, the shared anchorages and camaraderie, tuis drunk with joy when spring arrives and yellow kowhai lights up the coves.

In Whangaroa - with Maeva, old friends from nearly a quarter of a century back.

Between our DIY adventures and our cruising forays, we've been seeking a spot where we could possibly bear to hang our hats should we choose to swallow the anchor one day. At first we made a game of it, as it was too stressful initially to come to terms with the idea. The thought of selling our floating home of nearly 42 years is difficult to face; no longer being able to move about at whim terrifies us.

Nevertheless we know the wisdom of reefing early. We don't want to risk being forced by accident or illness to make the change. We know of other long-term cruisers who managed the transition happily (as we've written about in our recent articles).

Perhaps we too should dare to make the leap? The knowledge that real estate is at an all-time high doesn't help, nor the realization that boats are a glut on the market. We've had offers to set Magic Dragon down in various paddocks or orchards to use as home base, but we don't want to put an old friend out to pasture. She's too good for that. She isn't too old for ocean passages. There's plenty of life in the old girl yet!

Winter passed in cosy warmth and uncrowded anchorages before we finally got up the courage to reluctantly put Magic Dragon up for sale, which we have just done (see www.trademe.co.nz). Fortunately we are in no hurry.

At least we have put a toe in the water to test it. Meanwhile, another summer is on its way.