When we got our ferry tickets, we knew that there was some bad weather moving in over the weekend and that there was a good chance that our return ride could be a bit rough. Rough, schmuff. We would be on a 120+ foot long catamaran that's about 50 feet wide, almost impossible to tip and a cadillac on the waves, so how bad could it really be? It's only an hour crossing. We can do anything for an hour, right?
The ride across the Foveaux Straight over to the island on Friday was idyllic. Loads of seabirds followed us across, and we were in great company with scores of oyster boats bobbing on the water. I don't think we saw a single wave over 2 feet tall.
Storms rolled in and out over the weekend, but the heaviest stayed mainly out to sea. We'd have a big patch of blue sky one minute, and it would be dumping buckets the next, only for the clouds to part and the birds start singing another minute after that. Until our final night on the island, when a mother of a storm came in, and for a while, I thought the house might blow down. There has to be something said for structures able to take gale force winds on a regular basis.
While we were snuggled in at our cozy little house, we read through some of the guestbooks and notebooks that were lying around. We came across an account of the Foveaux Straight crossing written by a poor bloke that didn't have such a great time of it. He joked about how, in typical New Zealander understated fashion, he was told that the crossing might be "a wee bit rough." He then went on to describe in detail the panic inducing tilt-a-whirl of a ride that left the vast majority of the passengers snatching up the little white "just in case" bags that we've all seen on boats and airplanes. Who really uses those, right? In his case, he said, about 75% of the people on the boat. Let's say that he might have thrown in several expletives in his telling of the tale.
Now, I'll never be sure if it was intuition or the power of suggestion, but thoughts of our impending crossing permeated my dreams all night. What if we did, in fact, get tipped into the water (see my last post)?
Morning came all too early. It was still dark when Elsie came and woke me up complaining of a horrible stomachache. Let's just say it was a bad scene for the entire morning. Not sure if it was food poisoning or a lightning fast tummy bug, but thankfully it was mostly passed before noon.
When it finally wouldn't be catastrophic to leave the safety of a place with a toilet, we headed out into a bright, crisp day. It was all a ruse though. See the disturbance/smudgy spot just to the right of the center of this pic? That's hail. Unfortunately, I did not realize that until I was barreling toward the car at breakneck speed. This is when I should have taken the dreams, bad belly, and flying ice daggers as omens and realized something big was cooking. But I'm not that smart.
We stopped at the market to grab a small bite of lunch before heading to the ferry. The clerk cautioned me that it was going to be a rough ride, but no matter how bad it seemed, to remember that once it started the bad part would be over in about 10 minutes, and the worst part would only be about 15 minutes after that. There were too many red flags at this point, but it was Sunday afternoon. Jeremy had to work on Monday. We checked in to find that the ferry scheduled to leave after ours was actually cancelled, so all those people were stranded on the island. We probably wouldn't have been able to find a bed even if we had opted to let the weather pass.
You'll remember that Stewart Island is surrounded by smaller barrier islands. You can see them way out to the horizon. As we were lined up to board the boat, I found myself watching the horizon between the islands, when I noticed it didn't really look right. The perfect straight line wasn't a line at all. It looked more like an EKG readout coming off the machine.
I gave each girl a dramamine so it would have time to kick in before we hit the rough water, and then we elbowed our way onto the boat, making sure we got seats on the starboard back of the boat.
It was pretty smooth until we got to the edge of the outer islands, but that was the end of that. The first substantial waves caught under the boat and sent us careening off the side of a wave. Cheers rose up from the cabin. Then more waves. And only a couple of cheers. By the time we cleared the islands completely, we were rising about 15 feet on the left side of the boat then plunging into the trough with the right side still on the crest. There was no cheering. A couple of times the boat actually came completely out of the water off the crest of a wave.
About 10 minutes into the ride, I noticed one of the crew chatting happily with the Captain, as she snapped on a pair of surgical gloves. It had taken all of 10 minutes for the first person to puke. After that, it was dominoes. The four crew-persons were then on steady patrol, sure-footedly gliding through the roiling cabin handing out cold towels and collecting parcels with their back pockets crammed with spare barf bags. And never did they lose their smiles or kind words for the afflicted.
About 30 minutes into the crossing we drove straight into a storm and everything changed. Rain and waves pounded against the windows so you couldn't even guess where the horizon might be. Remember that movie "Perfect Storm" where the boat was about a mile high then crashes into the trough of a wave? That's what was flashing through my mind. The waves were taller than our house. We'd hit the crest and then plunge like we went over the top of the hill on a roller coaster, our 120 foot cruiser feeling like a little toy boat on the 25 foot swells. At this point someone turned up the stereo as a distraction, The Cult busting out She Sells Sanctuary..."keeps me alive"...
By the time we were 45 minutes into the trip, Elsie was crouched in the corner revisiting the morning's activity. I was absolutely impressed that she made it as long as she did. Lily was a frightening shade of green, clutching her own bag, willing herself with all her might not to get sick. Jeremy was wearing the same color as a cadaver, rethinking his decision not to take a sea-sick pill, and reciting The Cult as a mantra to keep himself centered..."keeps me alive"...
If we had been at it for even another 5 minutes, I would have lost those two as well. As it was, they'd get random waves of nausea for hours after their feet were on solid ground.
As bad as I felt for my people, and I did feel terrible for them, but I had a blast. I loved every minute of it. Well, I didn't really love people hurling all around me, but the rest of it was fantastic. Not once did I feel unsafe or that there was any possibility that we could capsize. It was like a roller coaster on steroids that went on and on and on. It's a darn shame that the girls have vowed never to set foot on a boat again.
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