Evohe in the Subs

Evohe heads south from Bluff, direction Snares islands, just over 100 nautical miles from the south coast of New Zealand. The islands are known for being pest-free, they’re untouched by humans (largely). The strict permits required mean that only a handful of people, for scientific purposes only, get to go ashore.

There are teams of DOC scientists onboard Evohe to research penguins, the Buller’s mollymawk (a type of albatross), weta and some plants I could never remember the names of. Any questions on natural environment of NZ, this boat has all your answers. Amazing how much knowledge you can fit onto a 70ft ketch. They’re intrepid researchers yet come with bags packed full of seasickness pills, prudent as we punch into 5m swells and the decent winds not unusual in the southern ocean.

Motoring out of Bluff spells of the sea state to come.

It’s my second time on board Evohe and things are more familiar. I know for example that the cabin is cold and I must sleep in all my clothes. I do not wretch at the islands’ smell, the strong odours of seal and bird poop; and I expect bad weather.

On board, often life slows down and over the crashing of cutlery in the galley and thrum of the engines, I make out snippets of conversation among the passengers. Interesting conversations are inevitable here. People are always all around. Bird and insect people. Words like light mantled, sooty and albatross uttered more than thrice in passing. Weta caves. Prions’ nests. Penguins in trees. We must rebuild the roof of the hut. It’s different to my usual conversations at home and I love it, learn a lot. Of course, much of the conversation too surrounds peoples’ degree of sea sickness. For many, that’s a big part of Evohe too. It’s a transport to get to their work but they don’t enjoy it.

Over the week, Evohe and crew did a dance between Ho Ho bay, the only good anchorage on the Snares, a very poor rolly spot on the south side of the island, and when neither were possible and the conditions were real bad we motor sailed in circles.

Ho Ho bay is a squeeze, there’s barely room to turn the boat and lines ashore are needed to prevent to boat crashing into the rocks. It’s a dramatic anchorage. Why is it so spectacular when a boat is so close to land? However, my threshold for nervousness is when there’s breaking waves in an anchorage. That’s the norm here.

We gazed at penguins nesting in trees, sea lions and fur seals darting elegantly through the water, and the thrum of albatross above.

But there wasn’t much time to admire the surroundings before the dinghy was loaded with gear for the researchers, and timber and iron to repair the roof of the DOC hut on the island. A three stage mission: from Evohe to dinghy, dinghy to shore, then up the steep rocks to the hut. Hours of good sweating. It’s no mean feat to carry 4m long wooden beams sliding across rocky terrain laden with seal and bird shit.

Very proud of our building efforts. The hut is now water tight!

Frequently I stopped to gaze in awe at the penguins nesting in trees, large male sea lions slumbering in the forest. It’s a strange scene and possibly the best building site in the world.

The sunny blue pictures tell half the story, and often exhausted from the heaving sea and lack of sleep, I swore never to sail the southern ocean or even to get on a boat again. The weather is punishing and the wind changes quickly. You can never relax fully.

On one troublesome night, we weighed anchor as the wind was forecast to shift. A Lee shore is a warning for all sailors but no one onboard was looking forward to this trip. We needn’t go far but it was dark, cold, the wind was already howling and the sea was angry. The horizon ahead was blurred, a wall of white in view. The wheelhouse was full of nerves. The waves rose high, a whip at their peak where the wind can collect vulnerable droplets and spray them far far away.

The anchor needed persuasion to come up, likely trapped between boulders. So much persuasion in fact that the windlass almost went through the deck. When the anchor finally emerged, the flukes were partially sheared and bent at right angles. The care-free captain said, ‘it’s the new model, it’s all the rage’ .

Nearly at Ho Ho Bay, the captain took over for the tricky manoeuvring. He oozed confidence, threw open the pilot hatch and steered with a leg. He’s been doing this for 50 years and he’s a master. The cove was narrow and Evohe had to turn 180 degrees, drop anchor, and stern tie before a gust blew anything amiss. It took two attempts and we came within 3m of the rock edge, the dinghy used to barge the boat away from the “can openers”. The lines were tied and we clambered over rocks ashore to tie sacrificial lines, much to the displeasure of the sea lions and fur seals. Evohe was snug and safe for a little while, till the next move.

The trip ended in Invercargill emergency dept. I think that says it all for my levels of exhaustion. Thank you Southern Ocean, hostile and scary as always with those incredibly beautiful days that make you forget all the suffering. Happy to be home and though I swore I’d never go south again, I’d go back in a heartbeat.

Good vitals though xx