Weather twitter

There’s been only one topic of conversation on Kukka for days. Weather. I don’t intend to bore you with the details - that’s a privilege we keep for ourselves. But the consequence of our new obsession is that Kukka is still on the marina in Port Moselle.

Some of you will roll your eyes, and diagnose a case of analysis paralysis. You may be right, but forgive us. We’re learning, forecasting marine weather is a ridiculously complex science (black magic, some say) and the seas we want to cross - the Coral Sea and the Tasman - are unforgiving to those who don't pay enough attention to the fine print.

Over the past week there’s been a strong streak of stubbornness in the weather systems too. A big fat high pressure system has been sitting stolidly in the middle of the Tasman, refusing to do the decent thing and move on. New Caledonia is on its outside edge. I couldn’t have told you this until quite recently, but now I know that if you’re on or near the rim of an intense high, expect gale force winds. However, if you’re in or near the centre of the system, all is sweetness and sunshine.This is the same high bringing glorious spring weather to you lovely people down there in New Zealand. But for us, who are trying to sail south, this monster high is a pain in the butt. Big winds whip up the seas, and even the lagoon’s usually flat waters are churning and running a swell. as we could see yesterday . We were up in the hills behind Noumea, making the long march back from the botanical and zoological gardens, an expedition designed to relieve weather-workshop tension and to exercise under-used body parts (the birds were nice too).




It was Sunday, a day you’d normally expect the lagoon to be thick with sails. But except for a few boats bravely hanging onto moorings in the lee of Ilot Maitre there was not a yacht in sight. Extraordinary (the picture below is the backside of Noumea, showing an important reason why this tropical island still belongs to France).

We’ve had a couple of opportunities in the nine days since we arrived in Noumea to leave for Australia. We were serious about going last week – on Thursday morning we organised our clearance to depart with customs, immigration and the harbour master. We felt good about our decision. We’d done our homework, we thought. We were all set to go on Friday morning. But on Thursday night, with Agnes and Bertil on Panacea already 10 hours into their voyage to Coffs Harbour via Lord Howe Island, we opened the computer for a final look at BOM’s (the Australian Bureau of Meteorology) 4-day weather forecast. It stopped us in our tracks. How could we have been so stupid? We’d been so intent on tracking the progress of the high, and making sure that we caught it at the right point to ride it down to Coffs that we’d completely overlooked the vital fact that the pressure at its centre was building to a very scary number. By Sunday it was forecast to be 1040. That’s not a friendly high, not at all.

We called the whole thing off, and spent the weekend immersed in….the weather. Our next planned departure was this morning. We’d even gone so far as to get Bob McDavitt, the NZ weather guru involved. He sent us through a detailed passage forecast last night. It sounded do-able. But you know, when we looked outside this morning, it didn’t look or sound right at all. The sky was threatening, the wind roaring through the rigging. The local marine forecast predicted winds gusting 30 to 35 knots where we were going, south of 20S. So, again, we pulled the plug. By today we were well in breach of the law which require you to exit the country 24 hours after getting clearance to go (though in practice there’s a three day period of grace). I was stressing about this – bad memories of past encounters with immigration authorities in Paris. So Alex went by himself to explain away our continued presence on French soil, and came back with a smile on his face. They couldn’t have been nicer, he said. The harbour master even phoned the captain of a ship on its way to Noumea from Brisbane to ask him what conditions were like out there. The response – he’d had gusts of 35 to 40 knots overnight.

We’re feeling for Panacea. Agnes and Bertil have a good boat, and they’re experienced sailors, but no-one enjoys being beaten up by the sea. They abandoned their plan to go to Lord Howe after the first day, and by last night had abandoned going to Coffs too. They’re heading for Bundaberg, further north, trying to avoid the nasty weather between Brisbane and Sydney. Agnes says they’re not feeling sick anymore, and in any case, she needed to go on a diet. These Swedes are tough.

We’re waiting for better conditions. That might not be possible. We have a deadline, albeit a loose one – it would be good to be home by the beginning of November. The weather always has the upper hand, but if we’re patient enough, we’ve been told, we’ll eventually find the “window” we’re looking for.

Meanwhile, I’m relying on another Swede, Steig Larsson, to help me through. Patience is not my strongest suit. I get crotchety. I chafe in my cage. I need distracting. I’ve been keeping the third book of his Millennium series for just this occasion. Something to take my mind off the weather, when it’s good for me to do so.