The end?

2^nd November 2024

Neiafu, Vava’u, Tonga – Marsden Cove, New Zealand

When we sail offshore we are always prepared to arrive with less than we left with. As we sail for days food will be consumed, diesel will be burnt and there are the inevitable things that get dropped overboard. Sailing from Tonga to New Zealand things proved to be a little different as we arrived with a lot less boat than we expected and many more crew.

After waiting for weather for what what felt like forever it looked like the low pressure systems, the frontal troughs and the southern ocean swell were taking a break allowing us to leave. Dialling into the webcast at Chris Parker’s Marine Weather Centre the surprise in his voice was palpable as he said ‘This looks pretty good’ and as he got further into the forecast he exclaimed ‘Wow. This looks pretty great’. We now had a date, a destination and a plan.

It would seem that every other boat in Neiafu had a similar plan as the dinghy docks were rammed with people filling jerry cans with diesel, emptying the market of all the fresh produce and forming queues at customs to clear the formalities. With all that done, en mass we departed.

As we sailed away from Tonga we were in a race. We watched as all the high performance catamarans disappeared over the horizon, but were heartened as Enki remained within striking distance, we were level pegging with Pacific Wind and Greij popped in and out of AIS range with regular familiarity. The VHF was constantly alive with chatter and although alone at sea, we didn’t feel lonely as we were surrounded by boats who we’d already traveled 1000’s of miles with.

After a couple of days of idyllic sailing we had a decision to make. Should we stop at Minerva Reef or was the weather good to continue? Minerva reef is a tiny lagoon far from anything and makes a great place to wait if the weather further south is proving unpredictable, so making the decision was tricky. The VHF was alive with boats, WhatsApp groups full of chat and once again Chris Parker proved to be decisive. He once again exclaimed, ‘Wow. This looks pretty great’. So on we went.

Ruffian was loving the conditions, we scooted along without a care in the world in our usual offshore mode of looking backwards and reading books. The sun shone during the day and and the stars sparkled at night. After many miles the breeze started to freshen and we decided that to help sleep we would reduce sail for the night, we’d roll away one of our genoas. Little did we know we were seconds away from disaster.

With our big genoa still pulling us along we rolled away our little jib, and Iain ventured forward to stow the pole and clear up. Just as Fiona started to lower the pole, something failed. A deafening bang emanated from the mast and everything that was once high in the sky was now over the side of the boat. The mast had folded in half with the foot and head touching, the boom was crushing the sprayhood and bimini, and everything in the water was crashing against the hull. The cacophony of sounds was spine chilling and we knew we were in a life threatening situation.

We’d thought about this scenario before and acted quickly to try and keep ourselves safe. Within a flash we got the bolt croppers out and these proved as effective as a blunt spoon. On a violently rolling boat, with the rigging snatching as it came under load and then releasing, we simply couldn’t nibble our way through our once strong stainless rigging. It was now time for plan B.

Plan B was for Iain to start to undo the rigging screws and for Fiona to dig out the hacksaws. Slowly each pin was hammered out of the rigging and one by one the turnbuckles were undone. This was until we got to the rigging that was holding the weight of the mast. In the nick of time Fiona handed Iain the hacksaw.

With hacksaw in hand, Iain crawled under the mast that had destroyed everything on the leeward side of the boat. There were no stanchions or guardwires to stop him falling over the side, no toerail to plant his feet against and nothing solid to grab if he started slipping overboard. All Fiona could do was worry that if Iain fell overboard the seriousness of the situation would be taken to a whole new level.

Working with renewed fever the hacksaw made short work of the rigging. Each strand pinged as it was cut, and the load on the remaining wires increased with every cut. The pitch of each each cut wire increased until there were no more to cut and Iain finally emerged from under the chaos. He felt he was on the home straight and Ruffian would remain floating and we would remain alive. Now we just had to deal with the forestay and running rigging.

Making his way forward to the bow, the forestays gave nowhere to use a hacksaw, and the pins, that held the mast onto the stemhead fittings, strained under the whole weight of the rig. There was no way these pins could be pulled out and there was nothing to cut. This was not something we’d thought about before.

Taking a new approach Fiona handed him a hammer and screwdriver and he took to the pins with a vengeance. With each roll of the boat the loads of the mast were reduced and so with each roll Iain pounded the pins. Millimeter by painful millimeter the pins gave way to the might of the hammer until they were half out and now at a jaunty angle. With one final strike the pins gave way and the bow was clear.

Having no idea what Ruffian’s motion would be like with no mast we knew that we wanted to be in the cockpit when the last line was cut. Working our way aft with the serrated knife that we always kept within hands reach, Iain sliced through the taught rope like a hot knife through butter and now in the cockpit there was only the mainsheet to sever. With one last slash of the knife the mast was free and simply slipped over the side. Ruffian was safe, her hull hadn’t been holed, but we were a long way from safety and we were still in a serious situation.

The relief of knowing we were not going to die flowed over Iain and as quickly as the mast went over the side he went into shock. His body started shutting down with the contents of his stomach were emptied onto the sidedeck, his hands shook uncontrollably, his heart raced at breakneck speeds and his temperature plummeted. While all Iain could do was sit, Fiona got out the emergency VHF aerial issued ‘Pan Pans’, plugged in Starlink and started managing the next phase.

Within moments Fiona had RCCNZ* on the phone outlined our situation and had a medic on the phone to talk about care for shock. She sent messages on WhatsApp and a plan started to form. With everyone notified and boats nearby on station we now had a difficult decision to make. Without enough diesel to get us to safety we could either scuttle Ruffian and get onto another boat, or hope to make multiple rendezvous from the boats around for diesel. We’d then have to cross our fingers and toes hoping that our engine would be happy and the weather compliant.

Within hours Zipper and Eleuthera appeared on the horizon, they reduced sail and shadowed us for the night. In the chilly morning light we chatted though our options with sailors who’d traversed this tricky piece of water multiple times. With her classic Kiwi twang and relentless upbeat smile Barb from Eleuthera said ‘I think scuttling is a bit extreme’ and so it was decision made. We’d get diesel from the boats around us and more later that afternoon and we’d turn Ruffian into a motorboat.

Eleuthera had generously offered to fill any empty Jerry cans and ferry them over to us, but their generosity was about to be taken to a whole new level. They offered us not only fuel, but also a crew member, Ant, just in case our autopilots gave up or if Iain went back into shock. The selflessness of Ant bowled us over, he was about to get off a seaworthy luxury 60ft catamaran where we had his own double bed and en-suite to rough it on Ruffian.

In the middle of the ocean in big ocean swells Eleuthera launched their dinghy, filled it with Jerry cans and deposited everything onboard Ruffian. They then made a run over to Zipper** who had more of the sweet diesel nectar for us and returned this time with Ant.

Welcoming him on board we knew instantly we had a lifelong friend in the making, but Fiona ever practical checked he had everything he needed, clothes, lifejacket, passport. Ah passport! After a quick trip back to Eleuthera for this critical documentation we had a new crewmember and almost enough diesel to get us to safety.

With Ant on board, the humour began to flow, and we watched as Zipper and Eleuthera disappeared over the horizon. We then started heading towards a point where we hoped to meet Collin from ‘Forever and Ever’ who had yet more fuel for us.

As the day wore on the seas began to build and it became clear that transferring diesel by dinghy wouldn’t be possible. Collin however had a plan and led us though it like a general directing his troops.

We motored downwind together sitting just off Forever & Ever’s aft quarter and a line was thrown to Ruffian and like a well oiled machine we hauled the diesel onto Ruffian. Ant’s fresh muscles rippled as he effortlessly pulled them on board leaving Iain resolving to get fit when he hit land.

Everywhere we looked on Ruffian we now found diesel. The lazarette was full to bursting. The saloon floor was covered in jerry jugs, and they even nestled in the forepeak and our forward heads. All we had to do now was rely on our trusty Volvo Penta, motor around a nasty front and make a victorious landfall in New Zealand.

With the miles slowly slipping by Fiona felt that Iain had found his doppelganger. The cockpit was full of laughter as Iain and Ant giggled about infantile 90’s comedy, chatted about yacht racing and got geeky about technology. Her confusion was only increased as Ant started to run out of clean clothes and was forced to borrow Iain’s. Fiona was now confronted with Iain in a younger fitter form, with the same humour and wearing the same clothes***.

A daily routine of being on a motorboat developed. Temperatures, bilges and engine levels were diligently checked, jerry cans were emptied into the fuel tank and we checked in with RCC and the UK. All this was performed to the underlying drone of the engine as it purred on and on and on and on. Now however, being a motorboat, we sought out no wind and flat seas and our motor grew from 700 miles to 820 as the cold front, with its strong winds and high seas, passed to the south of us, and we steered a course around it.

New Zealand slowly came into view and as the sun rose we were bowled over by its beauty. Motoring down the coast, time and again, we saw bays fringed with white sand, which sat under hills that we ached to explore and in which the water was mercifully flat. These bays, as tempting as they were, were no match for the services, companionship and most importantly the safety of Marsden Cove.

As we tied up on Marsden Cove we were greeted by the most amazing welcoming committee. All the boats on the customs dock had squished up to make sure Ruffian had room, fog horns were blasted to welcome us in, and customs and immigration were fully prepared and unfazed by our arrival with additional crew. Ant’s awesome wife, Helen arrived with a Kiwi goody bag, Simon from Libertad was waiting on the dock with beers, wine and treats and Gareth from Marsden Cove was full of confidence that Ruffian could be fixed. As a single team we pushed the button to silence Ruffian’s engine and marked the end of the most difficult and traumatic passage that we have ever completed and may be the last ever passage we complete.

Once again we had arrived in a county with less then we left with but so much more in other ways. We’ve lost a mast, sails, rigging and diesel, but gained friends for life with a strengthened faith in the goodness of the cruising community.

* RCCNZ is the New Zealand Rescue Co-Ordination Center. They’re like Falmouth coastguard, but with Kiwi humour!

** The amazing guys in Zipper had a very eventful trip as after giving us diesel they rescued 2 people from a boat which sunk while they were standing by on station.

*** Some say she should be in seventh heaven. Imagine life with 2 Iain’s. Simply epic.

Having safely got to New Zealand there are so many people that we owe thanks to;

• Ant was simply amazing and we feel humbled by his selflessness and generosity. He lifted our spirits, gave us confidence that we’d eventually get in and we feel ultimately he saved Ruffian from the deep.
• The generosity and seamanship of the crews from Eleuthera, Zipper and Forever & Ever bowled us over. If they had not been on station we would have had no option but to abandon Ruffian and get onto a container ship.
• The sailing community at large. We have received overwhelmingly positive messages from all over the world, from people we have never met and remade long lost connections. Those messages were well received and drove us on.
• Knowing that the RCCNZ and Rosie Russell in the UK were tracking us and if something did go wrong then emergency services would have been on station quickly. A huge thank you to these guys.