The Log Book
Tales of an Artist Afloat
It was a four day passage from Raivavae to Fakarava. We started off rocking about in a rolling swell, and ended up motoring on glassy seas. We arrived at night- not a good time to attempt to go through a pass, especially one fringed with coral. Prism was put to sleep until the sun came up and we could safely make our way in. The journey through Tumakahua pass was straightforward. The current was with us, and the route was well marked. We entered the anchorage with five other boats and grabbed a mooring buoy as our welcoming committee approached. A host of surgeonfish and a grey reef shark were on meet and greet duty (probably hoping that we’d have a few scraps of breakfast left to toss overboard). A white-tipped reef shark soon joined the party, then Jim and I jumped in with our snorkel gear. The fish swam up to investigate and the sharks cruised beneath us. It was a great arrival. Most of our visit to Tumakahua was spent in the water. The currents are strong, sweeping nutrients through the pass and attracting lots of life. There are plenty of brightly hued reef fish living amongst the corals, large schools of snapper, mullet and barracuda, graceful eagle rays and imposing Napoleon wrasse. But the biggest draw here is the huge population of sharks. We saw them every time we entered the water. They generally seemed to ignore us, going about their sharky business. Most of the denizens here are reef sharks, whose philosophy towards humans is ‘we’ll respect you if you respect us’. The more fearsome residents, hammerheads and lemon sharks, live outside the reef at greater depths- beyond my dive certification level. But I’m very happy hanging out with the reef sharks. The torpedo-shaped white tips tend to cruise around by themselves, or lie on sandy gullies on the seabed during the day. The stocky cream-coloured black tips seem to like shallow water, swimming through the coral gardens and cruising around the resort, hoping to pick up scraps thrown into the water by the cook. They’re small but have a more traditionally ‘shark’ shape than the long skinny white tips. The greys grow largest, although a lot of the animals we saw were young, and we often saw them in the pass and deep channels. They’re impressive, especially when dozens of them congregate and they’re close enough to see the dot of their pupil staring back at you. It makes me wonder what they’re thinking. We saw sharks on every snorkel, but the best way to see the greys was to dive. The site is known as the ‘Wall of Sharks’, with good reason- though if the naming were up to me, I’d pluralise the ‘wall’. I made five dives altogether, all on the incoming tide. We’d enter the water either at a buoy within the pass or, for a longer and deeper dive, outside at the mouth of the pass by the drop-off. The reef around the drop-off was beautiful, full of incredibly healthy coral and teeming with fish. A large group of grey reef sharks cruise just over the drop-off, occasionally joined by the odd white tip. We’d then follow the reef into the pass, looking for marbled grouper lurking amongst the coral heads. As we’d ascend, we’d reach the second wall of grey reef sharks, and see more white tips snoozing on the sand gullies at the bottom. There would be huge schools of big eyes, their red scales appearing black as the depth filtered out their colouring, and we’d often find large groups of silvery snapper. Looking up, we’d often spot an eagle ray flying above us, or a mass of brass striped barracuda. Once I saw a great barracuda, fearsome and intimidating with its large teeth on permanent display. The third group of sharks could be viewed from above the reef, or by dropping down to a cavern. They were often the closest, coming within feet of us. Occasionally we’d see one rear up, ferocious maw gaping, as it invited a cleaner fish to give it a wash and brush up. Others would stay almost stationary, barely moving as they kept their position against the current, whilst the more energetic and awake would swim up to the head of the group, then turn and run with the current until they merged with the school again. We usually took our safety stop just outside the dive centre, with a resident group of bright yellow striped snapper to keep us company, and a good chance of seeing Napoleon wrasse or black tip reef sharks. Once, we ran with the current which swept us around the corner, through the coral gardens near the anchorage. We were almost at the first boat before we had to surface and wait for the dive centre’s own vessel to come and retrieve us. Despite spending so much of my time in the water, I still found time to draw. We used the dive centre at Tetamanu Village- the largest of the three accommodations around Tumakahua- and would often stop in for a pre-dive coffee or pre-sunset beverage. The café was on stilts above the reef and was a great place for fish spotting and sketching. Schooling fish used the shade of the resort’s boats and the piles of the café as a refuge, and butterflyfish, damsels and tangs were drawn to the pretty reef. Sketching moving creatures who were underwater wasn’t easy, but it was good practice- and a rare opportunity for drawing sea creatures from observation. The staff were interested and very positive- good motivation to keep up sketching in public! The boardwalk to reach the café provided the perfect position for watching- and drawing- black tip reef sharks. There would always be a few cruising through, and the whole local population of about twenty would pay a visit before meal times. The kitchen threw fish scraps and chicken bones into the water, and I’d sit on the boardwalk and try to draw the elegant shapes that slid through the shallow water beneath me. Once, I put my camera in the water and got some video of the feeding frenzy- sharks darting around and making the water froth as they sped towards the bones. Most surprising of all was the huge Napoleon wrasse, which muscled its way across shallow coral to get into the middle of the action. It was not afraid to get into the thick of the sharky mass- and with a huge mouth just made for hoovering up tasty morsels, it quite often won the spoils. The underwater scenery isn’t the only draw here; there are some gorgeous beaches too. We took the dinghy on the long ride round to les Sables Roses- the Pink Sands. This is a series of motu (islands) over in the UNESCO area. We’re not allowed to take Prism over there, but tenders are fine. We threaded our way through the reef as the tide fell, and chose a likely looking island trimmed in white and pale pink. Jim selected a spot under a shady palm tree, where he remained for the rest of our visit, and I set off exploring. The island was small, but it was easy to wade through the channels between motu, keeping my jandals on to protect my feet. I was rewarded by having islands all to myself, filled with lush greenery, surrounded by powedery white sand and fringed with pink sandbars, which were revealed as the tide retreated further. The contrast with the turquoise water was gorgeous, and I felt like we’d found a bit of paradise. Our only companions were dozens of hermit crabs and a baby black tip reef shark, which was entertaining itself by catching waves and surfing into the shallows, turning outwards and repeating the process. That afternoon was a treat. We enjoyed sundowners with Afif, a lovely gentleman from Lebanon who we’d met diving. Then April and Harley from El Karma were planning a beach fire with a few of the other cruisers from our anchorage. As the sun set, we motored ashore for a picnic around a roaring fire, with more good company and surrounded by huge hermit crabs, who lumbered around the motu and seemed intrigued by the bright lights of the invading humans. The moon was a perfect crescent and the Milky Way was strung out across the sky. It doesn’t get much better than this. A few more dives and a couple more snorkels, then we heard that the wind was due to change. Lovely in a south easterly breeze, Tumakahua becomes very uncomfortable in a northerly wind, which fetches up water from right across the long lagoon leading to a very uncomfortable swell. Midway through our visit, we’d experienced one night of northerlies, leading to a smashed jar of sundried tomatoes and very little sleep, and we were not keen to repeat the experience. We cast off the mooring buoy and headed north through the lagoon. Prism was ready to go, zipping along at six knots through the channel. We stopped at Tahao, a lovely anchorage which we had to ourselves. Today we called at Pakakota, where Micheal, an ex-cruiser, has set up a restaurant, mooring buoys and strong wifi (comparatively anyway). A few days after reaching Fakarava, I finished the sketchbook I’d started in Raivavae. Unusually for me, I’d stuck with the same media- watercolour and brush pen- for the whole of the book, which does give it a nice continuity. I was struggling with the brush pen for the sinuous shapes of the sharks- in theory it should be perfect, but I found it hard to get the speed necessary to draw the fast-moving fish. For the new book, I decided to start off with my Derwent Inktense pencils. I’ve often used these for colour washes, but haven’t used them much to actually draw with. They let me be a bit ’sketchier’ than the brush pen, building up lines as sharks came past and repeated poses. I liked the effect of going over the coloured lines with a waterbrush- it gives the slightly blurry impression that the fish are actually under water. Wetting the page before I used the pencil let me get an interesting variation in line and a good depth of colour. The pencils can’t be erased once wet, so this method was permanent and gave a spontaneous feeling. They did bleed through a bit in my Hahnemuhle cartridge sketchbook when I used them on top of a wash- I think I’m overloading this book beyond its capacity. .
Back on the boat on a rainy day, I pulled out my Noodlers ink bottles, and used dip pen and water brush to draw sharks from a photo. The brush blurred the ink lines, creating interesting blurs and shading, especially when the inks were made from mixed colours which separated when the water was added. I followed up with a drawing of the reef, experimenting with using ink wet-in-wet and adding salt, creating wonderful textures which were perfect for coral. The colours were very vivid, leading to highly saturated images. Much too bright, but fun to do! My poor paper struggled with the amount of ink, and suffered from bleed-through in places. This wasn’t helped by the salty spots. I had to resort to blotting a few places with kitchen paper when they were still wet the next morning. When it had finally dried out, I pulled out my Posca pens and added details and patterns to suggest polyps, and drew in a few reef residents too. The poscas did add to the bobbliness of the paper- was it still damp or just overworked? Again, the cartridge paper is struggling. Drying things in the tropics can be harder than you’d think. Watercolour washes dry in a flash in full sun- it’s causing a problem with my sketchbook as I have to use more water and the cartridge paper goes bobbly. Time to switch to my pricier but sturdier watercolour books, I think. Some of the paints themselves seem reluctant to ever dry. I knew this could be a problem with my Senneliers, which have honey as a binder. I was given my Senneliers in pannier form a few years ago, and they’ve been fine through New Zealand summers, but now the viridian and helios purple are just one step short of being liquid, whilst the other pans I have remaining are all slightly on the squishy side. It’s not just the Senneliers, however. Most of my pans now hold tube paint from Windsor and Newton or Daniel Smith- honey free and therefore, I thought, tropic-safe. I filled them all before we left NZ in the increasingly chilly Autumn, but many of the colours have returned to a rather soft state- they just don’t seem to totally dry out. It means that getting juicy colour is never a problem, but also means that colours sometimes ooze out of their pans. My Daniel Smith cobalt turquoise is a particular offender, closely followed by the W&N indigo- although maybe they’re just trying to tell me to paint another sea scene. Beautiful sea scenes are easy to come by here and my inner critic keeps telling me I should be painting more (although it might be the paints talking). They’re probably right, and rethinking my ‘make every drawing a double spread’ approach might help me with this- a series of small sketches each day would be more manageable, and would fit in with adventures more effectively, plus encourage me to draw the little things which I feel like I’m starting to overlook (local drinks, fruit, flowers, hermit crabs etc). I’m taking lots of photos too, and although I prefer to draw from life, reference photos don’t hurt (especially when I’m tackling subjects under the sea!). Good fodder for rainy days! Perhaps I need to consider how I use my travellers notebook, as it can hold multiple sketchbooks inside- is it time to start using two sketchbooks- a ‘best’ book with good paper for when I have lots of time to sit and observe, so I can keep the cohesive look I enjoyed in my last sketchbook, plus a ‘scrappy’ one for experiments, quick doodles, journaling? This might also be a way to get me drawing people more… I will mull on this as I finish the second half of this cartridge book- do you use one sketchbook or multiple books?
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The voyage from Marsden Cove to Raivavae started well. We’d loaded Island Prism with fuel and water, loaded ourselves with coffee and carrot cake and finished customs formalities. Our journey down to the mouth of the Whangarei River was choppy and slow, as the wind and tide were against the flow of the river, but once we were out to sea we enjoyed low swells and a good breeze to set us on our way.
We quickly fell into our 6 hour watch rotation. Days were uneventful, and the clear nights gave us spectacular views of the Milky Way and the waxing moon. There seemed to be a different treasure each night for the first few nights- moonbeams reflecting in pale gold off the ebony sea, a moonbow circling the full moon like an otherworldly halo, as light refracted through the thin hazy covering of cloud. One night Jim saw a swarm of bioluminescent jellyfish glowing with an eerie blue-green light- other than a couple of freighters, they were the only life we saw during the passage. About five days in, the weather changed. The winds picked up and the swells grew. Headwinds saw us pounding into large waves- not a comfortable experience, especially for days on end. Changing course let Prism take the waves on the beam. It was a smoother course, but very rocky- something like being in a washing machine strapped onto a funfair rollercoaster. We stopped using the front bunk and set up the lee cloths in the main cabin so that both settees were usable as berths. I grew very attached to whichever bunk was leeward, as the higher side gave a nauseatingly corkscrewing view which oscillated between sky and waves. For the next couple of weeks, we seemed to alternate between rough seas and high seas, with the occasional moderate day to give us a breather and let us catch up on sleep. We tacked a few times as wind and waves dictated, and alternated between the main sail and the small heavy weather trysail. I tried drawing on the calmer days, but the angles made my head spin more and there was no way I was going to manage to use watercolour without painting the boat as well. I stuck with sketching thumbnails and impressions, to fill in and work from when we reached Raivavae. Most of the time, I buried my head in a book and was very thankful for my well-stocked kindle. Cooking was a bit of a challenge too. I’d cooked up batches of chili, Bolognese and Israeli couscous salad before we left Marsden Cove. When they were gone, we made curries and minestrone soup if the sailing was smooth, or pasta and boil-in-the-bag meals when things were rocking. Every so often a rogue wave would launch things from the galley- a plate from the rack, tins and Tupperware, the entire kitchen drawer and, spectacularly, an open tin of pasta sauce which was in Jim’s hand when a wave decided to smash against the boat and jerk it from his grip. It managed to lavishly baptise the floor and our wet weather gear, and of course clean-up becomes complicated when the things you are trying to clean are moving too. Jim was having a whale of a time. I would love to say the same, and to be the kind of sailor who relishes in taking on the elements- but really I just wanted to get to our destination. I wasn’t sick, but the rocking and rolling made me feel like I had a constant bout of vertigo, and I was happiest when curled up in the bunk. Prism was making good speed though, and it was satisfying to watch the miles tick by. Even our tacking to handle the waves didn’t slow us too much. Jim’s brother Bill sent us regular detailed weather updates, we usually managed to receive the weatherfax broadcasts issued by New Zealand, and had weather guru Bob McDavitt on the other end of the satphone for when we really needed an expert opinion. We especially appreciated his advice when an ominous low pressure was heading towards us, and we weren’t sure whether to hold back or try to run in front of it. We’d just come through the tail end of a high with 50 knot winds and 5 metre swells, and the low looked like it had potential to give us an equal battering. Instructions came to ‘go!’ and we shot north- avoiding being trapped in a ‘squash zone’ between the two pressure systems. Eventually the morning came when land was in sight. Rocky peaks rose out of the sea, surrounded by a turquoise lagoon. Waves beat against the fringing reef, sending up huge plumes of spray. We tacked towards the channel, Jim lowered the sails and we motored into the sheltered waters of Raivavea. The anchor was retrieved from one of the cockpit lockers, the chain was fed through the windlass and we dropped the hook. The wind was strong but it was wonderful to have the rolling stop, to catch up on sleep and to sleep in the front bunk again. The following day we would go ashore to start immigration proceedings and to explore the island we’d travelled over 2000 mile to reach. It's looking like we'll have a good weather window on Friday or Saturday. Departure is getting near, the boat is well-provisioned and leak-free (for the moment anyway), and all that stands between us and French Polynesia is a load of laundry, a last shop for vegetables and rather a lot of sea.
I started drawing places I'm saying goodbye to. It's the people who are important, but the places are all tied up with the memories of the special souls I go there with and so it seemed a good way to approach leave-taking. So I've been sketching Pacific Bay and Schnappa Rock, a great little restaurant here in Tutukaka, and remembering fun sailing trips, swimming, post-dive beverages with Jill and delicious birthday dinners. Then along came Brian Butler. He's teaching a class on Sketchbook Skool this week, and shared lively sketchbooks filled with busy drawings of concerts and road trips. He collages images together and paints enormous murals on the side of buildings to celebrate the communities he's painting in. His style is different and original, and you can find him at www.theupperhandart.com/. He challenged us to draw our own collected images of our favourite places. It seemed a perfect way to remember them and say goodbye. His quirky style got me thinking, and gave me permission to be silly. (Why do I feel I need permission to be silly in my artwork? I don't have much problem being silly any other time. Does it all stem from the art teacher who just never got my drawing of the whale weigh station?). The result was an exploding Rangitoto spewing out Auckland landmarks, my running shoes, wine from Mudbrick vineyard and coffee from the shop across from the school where I taught. It's totally daft, it didn't matter that I can't draw a straight line and I had a whale of a time playing with bendy perspective. If I ever redraw it, I'll try so I'm looking into the volcano. I enjoyed it so much that as soon as I was finished, I started drawing a fish-eye view of the Poor Knights. I challenge you to see how many fishy puns you can find. I used coloured pencils, which take a lot of layering but are very relaxing to build up and blend. I wasn't happy with the first shark I drew on the Poor Knights, so obliterated it with a cooler version in Posca pen. One of those mistakes that turns out for the best- I like the solid colour on the textured coloured pencil. There may be more towns and regions to come- it's certainly a great way to reminisce! I'm not so sure about trying to create a mural a la Brian- I'm not much good with ladders- though I could always decorate the side of the boat! I've posted my more sensible watercolours down below too (pretty happy with how the shadows are working out- a big thank you to Natalie Renotte on the Sketchbook Skool Facebook page for her advice on the dark foreground Schnappa Rock sketch)- now I'm off to distort some of the beaches on the Tutukaka Coast,,, I've been neglecting my sketchbook lately. I haven't stopped drawing altogether, but had let the daily drawing- which makes me so happy- slip. I think it's been a combination of things- the work in my current sketchbook just didn't seem to be up to standard, I wasn't happy with a number of the drawings and flipping through it made me feel lacklustre. I've still been drawing, but using A4 sheets instead of my book, aiming for a more polished finish- nothing wrong with that, but it brings in a bit of perfectionist pressure. I've also been sharing a lot of my drawings on social media, especially Instagram- another source of pressure. And then of course my shops round out the list of reasons to Have To Get It Right. I'm excited but nervous about the big trip coming up, and I think the swirl of emotions attached to saying goodbye to New Zealand and spending three to four weeks at sea has been adding a touch of creative block to the mix.
So I'm reclaiming my sketchbook. Remembering that it is my place to play, to make mistakes, to explore. And also remembering that, whilst I would like to be an Artist whilst we cruise, it is more important to be an artist- using my sketchbook as a way to record things I see, to look more closely, to engage with my surroundings. It doesn't matter if not every page is Instagram-worthy or good enough to post to my Facebook art page. It does matter that I practice, explore and play every day- the sketches I do are often the things that fuel the finished pieces, sometimes years down the line, and sometimes something I hate at the time takes on new meaning with a bit of time and a little perspective. I do have a little help. Sketchbook Skool have released a new course (or kourse, as they would spell it). It's called Exploring- which seems very appropriate in my case. It's been just what I needed. The first week has been run by Danny Gregory. Before the making art began, we engaged in dialogues about what it is to be creative, how we are creative, what our creative goals are and what hampers them. I think most of the questions have been posed before, but considering them again helped. After all, our circumstances and positions are constantly changing, and so are our challenges and goals. By the time I got to the drawing demos, I'd done a bit of introspection and felt fired up. Sure, I'm not happy with a lot of the drawings in my current sketchbook- but every page is a new start. And the more I draw, the more likely I am to do things I'm happy with. So this week I am working hard on my homework, practicing hatching and stippling and coming up with some stuff that I actually kind of like. Even if drawing on the boat does make some of it a little wobbly. How better to record the pod of dolphins that came and played around Prism on our way to Whangarei yesterday? I won't be finishing the course before I go- and am not sure where I'll have the internet to be able to watch the final weeks of videos- but the teachers are a brilliant bunch and having a few weeks in reserve may give me a creative shakeup if I suffer another creative restriction farther down the track. If you want to join in too, you can find Exploring here. In the meantime, I'm off to do some more hatching, in between boat jobs of course. (Associate link- Danny has also written an excellent little book called 'Shut Your Monkey'. It's about silencing your inner critic, and I probably should reread it!) Sometimes life comes round in a circle. Right now we're anchored at Port Fitzroy, Great Barrier Island, which is where we spent the end of January last year. I know it's mid February now, but the time and place feel right for a bit of reflection. I started my first class in Sketchbook Skool a year ago. It was called 'Beginning' (a very good place to start, as Julie Andrews/ Maria would agree). The first week was taught by Danny Gregory, and the homework was simply to draw, every day. It would be the perfect way to start forming a habit. So I drew Great Barrier- anchorages, birds, waterfalls, the store here at Port Fitzroy. Cups of coffee, the dinghy engine, kids playing and my husband mending the sail cover. My sketchbook changed from an occasional companion to a constant friend. I photographed my sketches, posted them and gathered inspiration from the other students as well as from the sketchbooks of our tutors. A year on, I'm still drawing. The habit I started with Beginning remains, consolidated by half a dozen other classes taken through Sketchbook Skool. I've learned new techniques and, I hope, improved. So I pulled out my sketchbook from a year ago. Have I got better? In some ways, yes. My inner critic wonders if I've lost a sense of delicacy, but I can still draw this way when I choose to, and my line work these days feels more confident. It's good to look back and see lots of things I like in my older work- the page with the birds and Jim stitching the sail is one of my favourites. But my more recent sketches feel more distinctive, more confident, more 'mine'. The most obvious change in my work is the scale. My sketchbook of a year ago had numerous tiny drawings littering a double page spread, with copious notes about the weather and the day. Now I mostly have single images across a double page spread. Words have taken a back seat, though I do like the diary style of my older work. My ultra-fine liner has been exchanged for a brush pen, at least for the moment. I love the expressive lines of the brush pen, and have been determined to actually stick with one medium for a while. Looking back, I like the delicate lines of my fineliners too, but the brush pen is working for me right now. I still can't draw a straight line, but my lines are less sketchy; they flow more and I think they give the drawings more presence. My greatest improvement, I think, is in my use of colour. I've got better at shading with watercolours, introducing a sense of depth into my sketches and bringing in the dark darks that I've struggled with for so long. I mostly use watercolours alongside pen, but I'm making the watercolour do part of the work, giving value (light and darkness) as well as colour. So what next? I'm sticking with the brush pen a while longer, and I'm going to keep improving my watercolour techniques. I'll try and bring back some of the written elements, and drawing the little details in life as well as the big exciting things. My older sketchbooks remind me of techniques that I enjoyed and haven't used for a while- such as sketching in coloured pencils or with ballpoint pens- and I'm keen to pull these out again a little further down the line, perhaps see how I can make them work alongside my brush pen and watercolour. I'm sure there will be more Sketchbook Skool, but it's good to have consolidation time. My collection of filled sketchbooks is supposed to get exiled off the boat soon- it takes up valuable space and may suffer from the humidity of the tropics. But I might keep a couple of books with me- or at least scan them in, as a reminder of what I've learnt and a source of inspiration for the future. And I'll certainly try to keep up daily drawing, whatever form it takes.
Do you ever look back at your old sketches? What have you learned from them? Do you ever find yourself returning to old styles and concepts? On Island Prism, we don't do things by halves, so when we took some friends out sailing there ended up being nine of us on board! Ethan, our youngest crewmember aged three, was determined to work his way up the ranks, starting the day by pumping the bilges (this proved a great distraction when he wasn't allowed to helm due to boat traffic and dangerous rocks). When we reached safer waters he was promoted to Assistant Helmsman, and by the end of the day was insisting that HE was now the Captain.
We cruised to Robertson Island, which is about an hour from Russell and has a lovely beach and a great lagoon for snorkelling. Julie and Mike searched for stingrays round the anchorage and I swam ashore with Jill and James to explore the lagoon. The tide was on its way out, but there were still plenty of fish. We ventured out into the open water at the back of the island; the temperature dropped noticeably but we explored the kelp beds and found a swarm of baby jellyfish). They didn't sting (luckily for us!) but they did feel very odd to swim through- quite firm, with an edge of squishiness. Back ashore, we lead on the deliciously warm rocks just beyond the sandy shore. Jim realised that he had left the bag with towels and sunscreen on the boat and rowed back to get it. Ethan was devastated- the dinghy is his new favourite thing ever and he couldn't believe that Jim was rowing off without him. I'm sure every boat in the bay could hear his displeasure, but on his return Jim treated him to a nice long row and made friends with everyone else at anchor. I sketched the lovely island- the only problem with the creamy paper in my sketchbook is that it removes a lot of the punch from my blue watercolours! Eventually tummies started rumbling and we snorkelled a circuitous route back to Prism. On the way, we found a colony of brittlestars, each with five long, serpentine limbs. I dived for sea urchin casts and found a snorkel and mask on the seabed- slightly covered with algae, but it scrubbed up very nicely! We took the wind farther out into the Bay of Islands, soaked up the sun and enjoyed a beverage. Even Eileen and Malcolm's request for dolphins was answered! Back on our mooring buoy, I drew some of the things we'd found during the day. We had fluctuating winds from Mimiwhangata to Cape Brett. When we approached the cape, and the famous 'hole in the rock', I handed the helm to Jimmie and grabbed my sketchbook. The real name of the hole in the rock is ' Piercy's Rock'- a pun by Captain Cook. Looking at my notes on the sketch reminds me that I was going to look up the Admiral's first name (it's possibly George). The Maori name for it is Motukokako. Motu means island, and a kokako is a beautiful grey bird with purple wattles. Nomenclature aside, it's a pretty spot popular with tourists and fishermen, with the scenic rock on one side and the dramatic cliffs of Cape Brett on the other. It's also notorious for head winds, which get funnelled around the Cape, and make forward progress very difficult in a sailboat.. Guess what we got. My attempt to fill a second page in my sketchbook was abandoned as we began a series of short tacks in confined waters, the wind decided to pipe up, the boat heeled over and pretty much everything in the kitchen decided to throw itself on the floor. Trying to guess which object was making which clunking sound kept us entertained as we zig zagged round rocks and between other sailboats. As we rounded Cape Brett, we found that the wind was still on the nose, we hadn't caught any fish (despite the water apparently frothing with the things) and one of the blocks on the traveller which helps the mainsail to move from side to side had exploded in a fountain of tiny ball bearings. We continued our zig-zagging path- the track on our GPS looks like we'd been at the rum.
After a very long afternoon, we we pleased to veer into the pretty harbour of Russell, pirate a mooring buoy and tuck in to a big plate of spaghetti. I then attacked my poor neglected journal page with Posca paint marker, brush pen and biro. It may not be pretty, but it's a fairly accurate record of a frustrating afternoon's sailing! (No kitchen objects were permenantly damaged in the execution of this tacking war, though the saucepan lid somehow made it to the bow). Christmas in Tutukaka was lovely. We spent Christmas Day with our friends Karen and Alex, their daughter Tilly and Karen's parents Jean and Ian. In true Kiwi fashion, we lazed in the sun and shared a magnum of bubbles whilst helping Tilly construct Lego planes and supermarkets. Lunch was roast lamb and an array of delicious salads, dessert was a pudding-shaped rocky road with cherries, maltesers and marshmallows, and a splash of white chocolate over the top. We made sure to brush our teeth well that night! Boxing Day saw us raising the anchor and taking Prism out for a spin amongst plunging gannets and wave-skimming petrels and shearwaters. We didn't get too far, but returned to Rocky Bay for lunch. Karen, Tilly, Ian and I braved the water for our first swims of the season. Refreshing may be the best word for it- it certainly washed away a few cobwebs, and the sun warmed us up enough to get ice cream from Lickety Split afterwards! We picked up provisions from Whangarei (grocery shopping isn't called grocery shopping when there's a boat involved). Back in Tutukaka, Karen and I explored the treasures in Toot Sweet and the Tutukaka Gallery. The gallery is well worth a look if you're in the area- it's currently full of incredible work by local artists Steve Moase, Paul Duflou and Shane Hansen. I tried to convince Jim that Island Prism NEEDS one of Shane's beautiful bird cushions from Toot Sweet, but he invoked a two cushion policy on the boat. I'm not convinced, and will be pulling out the Island Prism rule book to verify this. And hey- I'm the captain, I'm allowed to change the rules! Art-wise it's been a few days of watercolour washes and Lexington Grey ink in my Noodler's nib creaper. Lots of blues, greens and pale ochres on this sun-drenched piece of coast. With Christmas over and provisions purchased, it was then time to head farther north, so we said a temporary good bye and turned the wheel towards the Bay of Islands.
Trying to show how small the world looks from the boat sometimes. I know the ocean should seem vast, but the low view point of the cockpit makes the horizons seem incredibly near by. It's all a matter of perspective. On the boat, my world can be filled by a wave sweeping towards us. The horizons might be close, but I still feel incredibly tiny.
A little experiment in watercolour, Neocolour pastels and Posca paint markers. Leigh gave us the chance to grab a coffee and stock up on ice for the fridge. Leaving, we were faced with confused seas, determined to force us in the wrong direction and make our journey as uncomfortable as possible. As we wobbled out towards Little Barrier Island (which is shaped very much like a crocodile), I tried to draw a helm's eye view of the boat. I am going to blame the rolling for some of the very wobbly lines. Things started to behave themselves after a couple of hours, the waves settled down and the wind sped us north. We passed by the Whangarei Heads and anchored at Pacific Bay on the gorgeous Tutukaka Coast, where we will be spending Christmas.
Wonky boat art in Micron fineliners, watercolours and Polychromos pencils (added the next day in a calm anchorage!) |
Andrea England
An Artist Afloat- Painting the world one anchorage at a time. Archives
August 2020
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