A passage of spectacularly colourful sunsets and dark clear nights. Two evenings in a row there is a clear horizon as the sun sets down into the sea, and we are lucky enough to see it flash green just before it disappears for the night.

It's so dark that Jupiter's light glows and shimmers on the water while a red Mars passes near an upside down (to our Northern eyes) Orion's Belt. Similarly, Castor and Pollux, the Gemini twins, cartwheel head over heels across the Southern Hemisphere sky. Meanwhile, for the few hours the quarter moon is out, she hides behind her own little cloud.

The daytime is something else. The bright sunlight is hard on both eyes and skin. An array of sunshades are set up before 07:00 and shifted around as the day progresses.
//

Cruisers are heading down to New Zealand en masse. We hear them on the radio net every morning, bemoaning the lack of wind - a result of the High north of NZ. All the weather faxes we can get show that we too should be affected by this High. However we have opted, based on our weather guru Bob McDavit's advice, to track a westerly route from Fiji so as to benefit from any wind that might be happening NW of the High. And wind we have! Averaging 25 knots and gusting as high as 42!

Then a windless day, necessitating the use of the iron sail, our good ol' Yanmar. We need to top up our water tank anyhow, so put the motor to good use. The start battery is dying, and the stop switch temporarily acts up. Jim certainly has job security as Sonsie's mechanic!

We debated visiting Vanuatu and/or New Caledonia en route, but decided against both as we were already well into November. The cyclone season commences on Nov. 1 and we were anxious to get out of tropical waters. Besides, a week would hardly do either country justice, so we sailed on by.

While crossing the reef-strewn SE end of New Caledonia the wind picked up again. Rather than turn off the engine and sail along quietly, we reluctantly chose the prudent course and motorsailed. Once bitten twice shy!! We did not want to have to tack back and forth about these treacherous waters and risk being caught on a lee shore in any windshifts. A fellow sailor came to grief on a reef in this very area earlier this year, hove to while waiting for daylight before entering Havana Pass.

Once safely abeam the yellow marker bouy a full 8NM off, we finally cut the motor and flew along under sail. Sonsie was thrashing through the water - and very mixed up seas they were what with the swell & all the bounce back! It was as if we were in a washing machine. At this time our new speed transducer decided to start working after all - hooray! But it seemed to be reading incorrectly, reporting 7-8 knots of boat speed through the water -- whereas the chart plotter, GPS and IPad Navionics all read 4-5 knots over ground. As it really appeared by the terrific gurgling along our hull that we were going 7 knots through the water, we realized there was at least 3 knots of current against us. It was apparent how, hove to, a boat could easily drift off course and ride up on the reefs.

//

Whack!! All of a sudden something unseen smacks into the dodger at around midnight. There follows a terrific struggle of a large flying fish fluttering in the gunnel and a splash as it manages to flip itself back in the sea.

Nov. 20 - We pass the Tropic of Capricorn. We've got wind now, and plenty of swell -- two actually, Easterly and Southerly, crisscrossing and making breakfast a very lively affair with the eggs able to scramble themselves! It appears from the weather fax that we are riding an occluded front like a toboggan sliding down a hill to Australia.

A 39' catamaran, "One White Tree", with a pair of Ottawa sailors on board, left Vuda Point the same time we did. They are taking a more southerly course, and as a rule go faster than a monohull (or "half boat", as catamaran owners are wont to say!). Despite our diverging paths, they're good company for us. We stay in daily HF contact exchanging routing and weather info as we both sail towards our chosen port of entry, Coffs Harbour.

The winds pick up, gusting as high as 40, prompting the crew to argue for a reduction in canvas!