I explored the west end of Moturekareka Island on Friday morning (March 31st), finding a clear wide path leading over the hill and then down to Wreck Bay but no obvious route (unless it lay under the canopy of a large fallen tree) to the eastern half of the island. Looking at the high cliffs at the east end of that island, as we motored through Blanche Channel between Motutrekareka and the privately owned Motuketekete later that morning, I decided that there may not have been much accessible land for a path to lead to, east of Wreck Bay.

With two fishing line trolling off Tregoning's stern, we motored south in the gentle breeze to cruise westward along the north shore of Motuora Island. Once farmed, this island is now a Department of Conservation wildlife sanctuary upon which there has been a considerable amount of reforestation. While the attractive sand beach and the trails made the island a potentially appealing place to visit, there is no good overnight anchorage, unless winds are to be light and only from the southeast.

So with winds forecast to turn northerly, we continued motoring west to the entrance of Mahurangi Harbour, an 11-km-long (7 miles) estuary slicing NNW into the mainland. As we passed between Saddle Island and Sadler Point, we noticed not only quite a few small sport-fishing boats but an active and gathering flock of fluttering shearwaters and white-fronted terns. The tide was just turning from an ebb to flood (low tide) and this seemed to be concentrating the fish at the mouth of the estuary. Soon we could see signals of fish on the depth-sounder and, sure enough, Randall had hooked one. It was another Kahawai, slightly smaller than his first catch, but definitely a keeper. Excited by this success and the swirling flock of birds and following boats/kayaks, we made several loops around the area, landing two more, small Kahawai and having several other short-lived hook-ups.



One of Randall's catches, a kahawai

Flushed with this fishing success, we continued up the river looking for a suitable anchorage. We passed the boat-ramp and carpark at Scott's Landing, at the end of the Mahurangi Road, where we had stopped with Martha and wandered along the beach towards Casnell Island. Beyond it, the estuary widened and the east side was filled with moored boats, all within easy rowing distance of the shore. Not planning to go ashore and realizing that there was relatively little boat traffic upstream of the boat-ramp, we decided to anchor outside the mooring field, in the middle of the river. With a mud bottom and plenty of room all around us, this was going to be an easy place to anchor...oh, yeah?

Well, it would have been if I had pulled the dinghy harness just a little bit tighter up to Tregoning's stern. I did pull it in from its towing position but with Susie-New in the way, I had, apparently, not quite shortened the lines far enough. So when I was backed Tregoning down to set the anchor and the dinghy swung alongside (facing backwards), the slackest line on the harness managed to get sucked into the propeller. I had watched the dinghy and thinking that the lines were fine then ignored it until a popping sound and nose-down pose of the dinghy urgently encouraged me to throw the engine out of gear and then turn it off. Cursing furiously at myself (for this is the third time that I have done this) and at the idiotic idea of EVER towing the dinghy, I quickly went below and got my snorkeling gear while Randall climbed into the dinghy and untangled what he could.

The slack line of the dinghy had indeed wrapped around the propeller and had eventually torn the D-ring off the port side of the bow of the dinghy. Luckily, this is secured on the outside of the inflated tube and is designed to breakaway in such a situation. Thus, the dinghy was fully inflated and otherwise unharmed. Cursing that this should have happened in the murky river water rather than the lovely clear bay at our last anchorage, I slipped into the water. Although the propeller was not visible from the water surface, I could see what I was doing when I ducked my head underwater and it only took me a few breaths to get the line uncoiled with, thankfully, no apparent damage to Tregoning.

Once I had rinsed-off (again enjoying the benefit of hot water from our motoring) we lifted the dinghy onto the deck and set the anchor properly. During the rescue operation, the anchor had had plenty of time to sink into the mud so it was gratifying that the anchor set firmly. We did not expect much wind, but with the spring tides, the current in the river channel would be alternating between pulling us upstream or downstream every six hours.

The first time that we had a line in the propeller was when we caught a lobster pot buoy, while sailing in Maine. It seemed a bit unfair that we were not even running the engine but, luckily, it did not foul the propeller enough to prevent us using it to get to a mooring in Boothbay Harbor. Even though it was almost October, knife in hand I warily slipped into the cold clear water and cut the offending line off the propeller shaft (both the buoy and lobster pot were long since gone) feeling a little sorry for any lobsters that would end their days trapped in the lost, unmarked pot.

The first time that I backed-down on the dinghy lines (having made no effort to shorten them) was in the Bahamas when we were leaving a mooring ball in a very crowded mooring field. Mike was with us at the time and as we helplessly drifted in the strong breeze, it was almost miraculous that we were able to snag one of the few unoccupied mooring balls before bearing down on another boat. At least the water was warmer when I went to untangle that mess.

The next dinghy debacle was in the Kuna Yala (San Blas Islands) of Panama. I must have forgotten to shorten the dinghy lines at the end of an inter-island transit. About to drop anchor on a steep slope close to shore, I heard the sickening thud of the dinghy pulled into Tregoning's hull and immediately realized what had happened. With the anchor only tenuously dropped in deep water, I felt some pressure to get into the water and release the snagged line before the un-set anchor was pulled free of the underwater slope.

So you would think that this could not happen a third time...

Of course, my initial response is to remove my responsibility and state that we should never be tempted to tow the dinghy EVER again but lift it on the deck however short and calm the trip. And if we fail to get the D-ring reattached to the dinghy then I suppose that my wish will be granted by default. Depending upon how easy it is to get the dinghy to a repair shop (and this needs professional work to be reliable) and how expensive it will be, I may not have to worry about this problem for a while. If we do get the D-ring fixed, then the other requirement will be to reconstruct our dinghy harness using only strong, floating lines. While this seems a rather elementary solution, it is a testament to the powers of rationalization and cheapness over common-sense that it has taken me three unintended dips, often into unappealing water under stressful circumstances, to decide that this is the only acceptable solution for EVER towing the dinghy again. As my dear friend Joan would say, "I blame myself"!



Misty morning, Grants Island in the Mahurangi Harbour estuary