Photo: Evening light on Moturekareka and Motutara (right) Island, as the land emerges between them on a falling tide
Leaving Mansion House Bay with a light southwesterly wind, we motored across Kawau Bay to near Snells Beach, where we had spent a night with Martha just after Christmas. We then raised the asymmetrical spinnaker and sailed downwind, practicing a few gybes, admiring the flawless functioning of the new block that we had added to an extension-plate on the top of mast. The halyard for the spinnaker (rope by which the sail is raised and lowered) now goes through this block and we were very pleased to see (with binoculars) that the halyard does not rub on the forestay or furled jib at any point on either port or starboard tack. We had not used the spinnaker since the halyard almost chafed-through at the top of the mast, on our way from Mexico to the Marquesas. This successful test with the spinnaker made the time and expense of removing the mast during our haul-out all seem
worthwhile.
Given the forecast for some southeasterly winds, we were aiming for Wreck Bay on the small island of Moturekareka, a few miles south of Kawau Island. On arrival, we found the place to ourselves but we were not thrilled by the anchorage. The large, disintegrating hulk of the four-masted, steel sailing ship Rewa that filled the east side of the bay just did not look like a very inviting anchorage companion. Even though the ship was deliberately sunk there in 1933 by the island’s resident hermit, Charles Hanson, to create a breakwater and all of the superstructure was dynamited away or collected by scrap merchants, it turns out that Randall and I have an innate reluctance to trust anchorages with the word “wreck” in their names.
Ribs of the wreck of the Rewa in Wreck Bay, Moturekareka, seen near high tide
Instead, we moved just a few hundred meters west to Motutara Island and another small anchorage in North Bay (and, yes, there is a South Bay on the island’s other side). We did not have this anchorage to ourselves for long, two other sailboats joining us within the hour, but being first, we were able to position Tregoning comfortably in the middle of the sandy bay. The water was relatively clear with rays skimming across the bottom. Once we saw how much the family of five kids on the neighboring boat were enjoying swimming on the sunny afternoon, we were tempted to dive in ourselves. Of course, having hot water for showers afterwards was a bit of an added incentive.
Before that, however, we had rowed ashore and explored the many tide-pools, exposed by the extra low-tide, between Moturekareka, Motutara, and the row of Rocky Islets to the south. All of these islands are managed by the Department of Conservation, so landing (without pets) and walking on and between the islands is acceptable. At high tide, however, the islands are separated by channels that could easily beguile the unwary boater. The low tide also allowed us to walk around the small Motutara Island (maybe 0.5 km or 0.3 miles long) finding a small quarry at the west end from which stone chips had been taken to the mainland in the 1930s.
Randall rowing through between Moturekareka and Motutara at high tide with the Rocky Islets beyond
The adjacent ruins of a concrete wharf looked a bit more sophisticated than necessary for just filling scows with rock. As Randall learned from one of the other boat captains, it had been converted during World War II to a refueling dock for boats that searched for signs of enemy activity along the coast. These boats were private motor launches that were crewed by volunteers along with military cadets. Enjoying these islands in this fine autumnal weather made it difficult to imagine how nerve-wracking such patrols must have been, especially during winter storms. I wondered whether these patrol-boat crews continued to enjoy boating in the area after the War or if, by then, the magic of the area had gone.