AUCKLAND - Psyching myself up to sail south...

I was bound for WellingtonÉfor love.

You could say I'm fickle, putting my original dream boat Ð Hio Avae Ð and the cruising dreams we've shared on hold, to spend time with Eric. And selfish: I know that if things don't work out with the new boy, I can go back to Hio and continue our journeys.

But I didn't leave Hio behind. We sailed to Wellington. I was more than fickle and selfish. I was scared.

I was anxious about the passage. Every sailor I spoke to had a horror story about the Tasman Sea, East Cape, Pandora Bank, or Cook Strait. Friends of friends had rolled, been blown ashore, hit rocks, lost sails and booms and masts. When I told Skip Dashew in October ('98) that I wanted to head from Tonga straight to Wellington, he said: "Don't you dare." When I told him in February ('99) that I was going, he said: "Be careful."

I was also anxious about starting a new relationship with Eric. I had been "unavailable" to pursue a romantic relationship since 1996, when Sarah and I bought Hio. Hio was my one and only. That commitment was easy to make.

As I prepared Hio for the passage to Wellington, I tried to hush the frightened part of my heart. I relied on the gospel songs I had sung in a college choir: if you live by faith, and not by sight, everything's gonna be all right.

My Auckland friends encouraged me as I made my goodbye rounds. They reminded me that we all experience irrational anxieties like my do-I-really-know-how-to-sail (or, to-love) self-doubt. We all waste energy worrying about things we can't control.

I had as much going for me as possible.

Bob McDavitt, New Zealand weather guru (www.met.co.nz) encouraged me to head off with the "Around The North Island Doublehanded" race. He predicted good weather for the event (light northeasterlies for the two-day outlook Ð we were headed northwest). Also, the race focused attention on the area I would be sailing; if anything were to happen while I was traveling, help would come quickly.

The big ace up my sleeve was Jimmy Reiger (Jim Dilley), a 30-something sailor I met in Tonga in 1995 when I crewed aboard Beowulf. Jim agreed to be crew for the passage. Jim had sailed Reiger, a 26-foot sailboat, from Britain to New Zealand over two years. During hurricane seasons, he skippered cargo ships. Currently, he lives in Wellington, and is co-skipper of The Spirit of New Zealand, a purpose-built teaching schooner. His 10-days-off coincided with my passage plans. His experience gave me confidence.

I flew Jim to Auckland and picked him up at the airport. We caught up on the 4 years since we'd seen one another as I whisked him over to Bayswater Marina and Hio. As soon as he had pulled out his charts and stowed his duffel bag, we loosed the lines and left my slip Ð for the first and last time.

We topped off with diesel, and by 3:00 PM on Sunday, February 21, three hours behind the doublehanded race boats, we were motorsailing out of the Hauraki Gulf.

PASSAGE: Rushing...but not racing...to Wellington

Like the racers, we followed the North Island coastline counter-clockwise. However, the racers sailed the trip in two legs; Jim and I planned to shoot right around as quickly as possible. Jim needed to be back in time to return to work, and I simply wanted the trip to be over. Bob McDavitt had his eyes on a tropical cyclone that threatened to drop down over the North Island within a week.

Our goal: to make the passage in five days

I was thrilled to have Jim aboard. He encouraged me to treat him as crew, and I knew I would be responsible for every consequence of every decision, but I was happy to defer to his experience in unfamiliar territory.

This trip drew Hio and me into a sea that was new to us both Ð the Tasman. Conventional Kiwi wisdom claims that this is the faster and safer route to Wellington, despite the fact that there is no good place to tuck into in bad weather. Coming into Cook Strait from the west is favorable to entering from the east Ð strong winds generally funnel through from the west (north/south), and, depending on the tidal flow, can churn up rough seas at the eastern end of the Strait.

I wondered what the Tasman had in store for us as we motorsailed through the first 24 hours of the trip. We made 5.5-6.5 knots boatspeed in the light northeasterlies (10-15 knots apparent). A pumpkin sunset, a smiling moon, and flickering masthead lights of the race boats punctuated our first overnight passage. We pulled into Whangaroa the next afternoon, north of the Bay of Islands, to refuel and grab an ice cream.

We discovered gallons of black oil in the bilge when we stopped for gas. That was a worry, but we were on a mission. We simply drained the oil out of the bilge, added more to the engine, and continued on.

Light northeasterlies and the engine's growl kept us company as we rounded the northern tip of the North Island. The meeting of seas over shallow Pandora Bank can make this a dangerous stretch of water, but it was calm in the predawn twilight. By sunrise, we had turned the corner, were headed south, and sailing.

I drained the bilge and topped off the oil, and we enjoyed 10 hours of sailing in a light easterly breeze. When we couldn't maintain a boatspeed over 5 knots, we fired up the engine. It's New Zealand sailing strategy: minimize exposure.

We motorsailed through the first half of day three, and I discovered another leak. This time, the water pump was leaking the greeny-black antifreeze-water-and-a-bit-of-oil mix that fills my radiator. Another item for the Wellington project list. We kept an eye on the water level in the radiator for the rest of the passage.

The easterly wind strengthened, so we raised sail again. Rainy gusty weather (to 20 knots apparent) made this our roughest part of the passage. I couldn't complain. I had expected much worse.

We switched from sail- to motor-power every five to seven hours. Several of the faster raceboats overtook us, despite our diesel and half-day advantage. We watched them make wind out of no wind and rush southeast towards Wellington. I felt like I was cheating.

We arrived outside Mana, my new home, before dawn. Waiting for daylight and peak tide, we drifted in the bay, eating scones and scrambled eggs, exhausted and excited. We made it Ð in four and a half days.

Maritime radio predicted "phenomenal winds" for the weekend. Those winds struck the North Island on Friday the 26th, 12 hours after Jim and I tied Hio up alongside the Mana Cruising Club.