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Posted By:
Hal Brown
Date Posted:
Mar 21, 2014
Description:
It looked like a pretty placid Pacific, but wicked winds were in the forecast. They came full force.
After a pretty good day at the new golf course, Clubhouse and the SeaRey returned to Auckland Harbour. The wind had cranked up enough to make for very rough water in the open harbor. No worries, though. After a wave drenched salt soaking, the rode hard SeaRey got loaded onto SuRi and put away wet with a fresh rinse for the night.
Date Taken:
Mar 21, 2014
Place Taken:
Mangawhai, NZ
Owner:
Dan Nickens
File Name:
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Category:
446, Yacht Tending NZ
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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There was no let up the next day. If anything the gales were blowing harder. It would have been a good day to sit in port.<br /><br />That was not the plan. Orders came down from the top deck to launch the SeaRey for another visit to Gibbs Farm. Word was that I’d be flying co-pilot.<br /><br />I looked long and hard at the wind-whipped water. Going out into the open harbor was out of the question. Just getting the SeaRey off SuRi and into the water, taxiing back for launch, then taking the pounding sure to come on takeoff was daunting. Thinking of being a passenger for that was too much to accept.<br /><br />With that conclusion came an immediate a political problem. The SeaRey was a matter of some rightful pride for its potential pilot. If he had told others of his plan, my refusal to fly with him would be at least an embarrassment. I decided I couldn’t let that happen.<br /><br />It’s hard to get the boss by himself, but I did. I laid it on the line: “This wind is too much for you to fly in.”<br /><br />“Yeah, I know.”<br /><br />Wow! That was easy.<br /><br />Almost. “You can take one of the ladies. The rest will ride with us in the helicopter.”<br /><br />I just nodded.<br /><br />Walking back down to the SeaRey, watching the gales of wind, I almost turned around. “I should just go back and tell him it’s too much wind for anybody in a SeaRey.” Almost.<br /><br />The lady in question was fashionably thin. The farm wasn’t far away and I wasn’t carrying much fuel. It wouldn’t take much for the SeaRey to get off the water. And I could take off in the relatively nicer water right next to the marina, avoiding the open harbor. Such were my rationalizations.<br /><br />My next step was to find the Captain. “I’ll need a lot of help to get out of here. I’d like a full crew to launch a couple of tenders to cover the water departure. If I can’t get off the water you will need to get the passenger off in time to put her on the helicopter.”<br /><br />The Captain is a careful man. “You’ll have all the help I can give you.”<br /><br />The die was cast. I was committed to trying, but not to flying. Right.<br /><br />The guest was a bit nervous when she showed up. “They are saying that I just have to try a flight in the seaplane,” she told me.<br /><br />“It can be a lot of fun,” I solemnly replied. “But today is really rough. If you aren’t comfortable in small craft we can take you for a seaplane flight later.”<br /><br />After a nervous laugh, she told me, “I’m used to flying in helicopters. They would never quit laughing if I backed out now.”<br /><br />Oh, how well I know how that would be! We were both committed: her to flying, me to just trying. Right.<br /><br />There was a protected section of breakwater close in to the marina that was the only possible option. The open harbor was out of the question. In my conversations with the seaplane base operator I had been told I had to operate “outside the breakwater”. Well, technically, I would be outside. Just not all the way outside. “It won’t be pleasant, but it isn’t the worst I’ve ever seen,” I told myself.<br /><br />Judging by the difficulty of getting the airplane off the SuRi in the howling wind, I concluded I was wrong about the worst I’d seen. This was right up there. I decided if I couldn’t manage maneuvering on the water for takeoff, I’d call it all off.<br /><br />With the help of the able crew, though, I was soon enough in position. I was much closer to the marina than I’d ever been, but there was just enough room to lift off before the breakwater, particularly in the face of such wind.<br /><br />After verifying there were no boats in the channel, I applied full throttle. The little seaplane struggled mightily to top the waves. It took longer than I expected to get up on plane. The open distance looked shorter than I had estimated. In the rush of adrenaline I knew, “Shut down now or you’ll have to go.”<br /><br />“Go!”<br /><br />The next smash into the waves covered the canopy with water. There was no forward vision. I gritted my teeth and held the stick steady. In a microsecond the wind blew the screen into a million streams. Several of them found their way into the cockpit, soaking us.<br /><br />There was one more wave to smash, and it launched us low into the air. The SeaRey was at deck level passing the SuRi and headed into the marina.<br /><br />Fighting the downward thrusting turbulence off the tall buildings of Auckland, now we had to clear the maze of tall masts. Fortunately the Rotax engine was working as hard as I was. We passed over the SeaRey-impaling spikes with tens of feet to spare.<br /><br />Clearing the boats and turning outbound, I finally had time to consider my passenger. She was looking straight ahead like a deer staring into the headlights of a careening car.<br /><br />What could I say? “That wasn’t too bad,” was what I settled on.<br /><br />“Is it always that rough?” she squeaked.<br /><br />“No. Come fly again when it’s not so windy.”<br /><br />She didn’t hazard an answer for that offer.<br /><br />Our problems were not over. They were just delayed. I still had to land in the little, convoluted pond at Gibbs Farm. The open approach from the west was not an option. That was the direction of the wind.<br /><br />The Gibb’s farm brochure describes wind coming over the vast Kaipara Harbour like this: “The farm is forecourt to the prevailing westerly that skims, sometimes vehemently, across the land.” On this day it was violently, vehemently from the west.<br /><br />The conservative thing to do would be to retreat to the nearest airport and call the helicopter. I decided instead to take a look at the pond first.<br /><br />The pond on the east side was very short, turning into a narrow crosswind canal bounded by tall trees. The only viable approach would require a low approach over a road to the pond from the east. With turbulence and rotors from those trees, the approach would have to be perfect. Not too fast; not too slow. There would be no going around for a second chance. The margins were pretty thin.<br /><br />“Time to go for airport.”<br /><br />“Or maybe I could just try a low approach first.”<br /><br />“With a passenger? Really?”<br /><br />“Well, if it doesn’t look right, I won’t do it.”<br /><br />“Right.”<br /><br />So I thought. I did warn my poor passenger. “We’ll have to come in very low over the road. If you are uncomfortable, we’ll go to an airport.”<br /><br />“No. It’s okay with me.” Hmmm. A brave lady.<br /><br />With the wind and a slow ground speed we touched down perfectly on the pond. Instead of stopping, though, I kept going right through the narrow canal to the other side.<br /><br />The wind’s challenges were not over. With it blasting unimpeded off the bay, the SeaRey didn’t want to turn to go up the ramp on the big pond. It took multiple approaches, including one where I missed the ramp and ended up across it. My passenger patiently waited while I got it off and made one last good attempt.<br /><br />The helicopter arrived shortly after we did. Alan Gibbs had his daughter meet the helicopter and take the passengers off for a tour of the place. I stayed at the clubhouse with the helicopter pilot to watch the plane.<br /><br />There was a message on my phone from the Auckland Harbour Master’s office to call. I connected with the duty officer. He told me that there had been a complaint from a commercial operator about my departure. He said my departure from the breakwater area next to the marina was “not authorized”. I was prohibited from further operation in the Harbour until his investigation was completed.<br /><br />Great.<br /><br />The helicopter pilot just shook his head. “I saw that takeoff and it scared me,” he said. “You think you can fly that little seaplane in any weather. It was never intended for that kind of abuse.”<br /><br />He was right, of course.<br /><br />There wasn’t a lot of conversation after that. The helicopter pilot had his own worries.<br /><br />I stared at the western arm of the little pond as it was whipped by the wind. There was no letting up.<br /><br />The more I stared at the pond, the more I became concerned about departing with a passenger. I decided I’d take the SeaRey out and see if I could maneuver it to the other side to give myself more room for departure.<br /><br />After multiple attempts I failed to get it up the ramp on the opposite side of the pond. I barely got it back up on the side I’d left from. It was ugly.<br /><br />About that time the entourage showed up again, this time with Mr. Gibbs. He and my boss come over to the dripping wet SeaRey. I had to tell the boss that I wouldn’t be able to take a passenger out of the pond and suggest that I could meet the helicopter at a nearby airport.<br /><br />I got the boss’ standard wry grin and reply, “You’re a wimp.”<br /><br />Apparently Mr. Gibbs didn’t understand our humor. He looked him in the eye and said, quite brusquely, “No. I don’t think so.”<br /><br />That caught both of us off guard. There was a shocked, uncomfortable silence. Finally my boss told me, “Well, there’s no problem. We can all fit in the helicopter. We’ll just meet you at the Clubhouse.”<br /><br />It was a relief to depart with no second seat responsibilities. Based on the way the swirling wind whipped the SeaRey as we left, it was good to be a wimp. Especially if a man like Mr. Gibbs disagreed. I resolved, however, to be wimpier in the future.<br />
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Don Maxwell - Mar 21,2014
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Jeez, Dan. Joshing camaraderie among equals is very pleasant--but you might see if Gibbs needs a SeaRey pilot, rather than an ego-boost. (Of course, that would be limiting and therefore undesirable in other ways.)
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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Scratches on the bay floor were a nice distraction from the worries of windy flight. The solo departure in the cross, gusty wind was just as ugly as I had expected. It was a relief to be alone for a while.
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Bay Lines
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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The mammoth (366 square miles) Kaipara Bay was formed when the ocean drowned broad river valleys. Though it is relatively shallow, it is thirty seven miles long. With a tidal range of almost 7 feet, a lot of water goes in and out through the narrow opening. <br /><br />Sand from its rivers has piled up at the harbor head. With the swift current, the shallow sand with breaking Tasman waves makes it a very dangerous place. Having taken its toll on ships over the years, it is colloquially known as “the graveyard.”<br /><br />According to Mâori legend, the ocean-going canoe Mâhuhu lies in the graveyard. Its submerged captain, Rongomai, was eaten by white trevally (striped jack). The captain’s descendants still won’t eat trevally. If even legendary warrior captains end up fish food, what chance does a lowly SeaRey pilot have against the forces of Kaipara?<br /><br />
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Bay View
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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More than 40% of the bay is exposed at low tide. One of the benefits of really shallow water is that there were no canoe or SeaRey consuming waves in sight. Rocking in the rough wind it was a nice illusion to have.
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Flat Spots
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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The protected bay seemed almost placid despite the wind whipping the little seaplane. The appearance of peacefulness was not enough to calm my inner turmoil over the day’s earlier events.
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Sublime Bay
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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Across the North Island from Kaipara is Whangarei Harbour. It has a deep water port, but plenty of shallow spots too. It is the port I first launched from SuRi into the New Zealand years past. As more and more days had piled up in country, that was looking like a long time ago.
| | Attachments:
Downwind Bay
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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It wasn’t a long and winding road, but it wasn’t straight down to the bay. Straight down to the bay was where I was going to catch up with the fully packed helicopter.
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Sinusoidal Road
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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It was relief to be back in the open spaces of the big bay, even if it was still windy. At least on this downwind side of the North Island the wind hadn’t the unbridled acceleration of the wide Tasman Sea. It was slowed by the land before it got to the bay.
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Back to Bay
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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The intricacies of the land fingering into the Bay of Islands made for some nicely protected coves. If the Captain of the Clubhouse had any mercy, he would be parked in some little SeaRey protected sea pond.
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Bay Land
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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The water in the Bay of Islands was not nearly as dangerous looking as Kaipara Bay. As it turned out, the Clubhouse was parked in fairly protected water. I didn’t get nearly as wet getting down as getting out of Auckland.
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Bonny Bay
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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“Fairly protected water” was no sweet elixir for a difficult day. As soon I parked, the boss came over. “This looks pretty good. I think I’ll go fly.”<br /><br />I had no quick reply. My facial expression must have answered for me. “You have got to be kidding me,” it said.<br /><br />“What? The water doesn’t look so bad.”<br /><br />First, I deeply inhaled. Then, slowly, deliberately I said, “The water may not look so bad to you, but the wind shear at 100’ is enough to rattle aluminum.”<br /><br />“So, I’m not going?”<br /><br />“Not today.”<br /><br />“Wimp.”<br /><br />Yep. I had to agree.<br />
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Clear Contrast
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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I suppose I should have felt guilty. Having told the boss he couldn’t fly, I took off and did just that. My rationalization was that if I wanted to get beat to death, I had no excuse. I just wasn’t willing to have him beat up.<br /><br />Russell is known as the first permanent European settlement in New Zealand. The original Mâori name meant “How sweet is the penguin” but it became known as the “Hell Hole of the Pacific”, a town without law.<br /><br />A short war with the Mâori was fought over the flag pole. The natives objected to the British flag being flown on top of the hill. They cut it down four times. It was resurrected three times. On the fourth time, the residents fled on British ships that proceeded to shell and destroy most of the town. That must have been a pyrrhic victory.<br /><br />The town is now mostly tourist shops, bed and breakfasts, and holiday houses. The flag pole is planted across the bay.<br />
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First Town
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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A place of treaty, Waitangi, also means “weeping waters.” That is likely quite apropos.<br /><br /> In 1840 many of the Mâori chiefs signed onto a treaty giving them rights as British subjects, including ownership of their lands. There were significant differences in understandings of what was being signed. Despite its ambiguities intruding into present day, the treaty is considered the founding document for New Zealand.<br />
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Treaty Place
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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To avoid the wicked wind, I headed for some flatlands on the north side of the Bay. In theory it should have been smoother. It wasn’t.
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Fine Farms
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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One way to calm the wind is just to build barriers against it. It might work for farms, but barriers just make the wind angrier for airplanes.
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Wind Control
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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The coves are supposed to be calm escapes from rough open seas. Not so much when the wind is coming from every which way.
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Not So Calm Cove
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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Technically it’s not a private cove, but I bet the next door neighbor imagines it so.
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Private Cove
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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Fishing around the Nine Pin Rock is supposed to be great. It is also risky. Several fisherman have gotten caught between the rock and the deep blue sea by rising tides.
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Fishermans Lure
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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The semi-submerged rocks wouldn’t offer much refuge for sunken SeaRey swimmers.
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Almost Under
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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A radical bump in the wind woke me up to flying issues. As it blew over the high rocks, rotors set up, jerking the wings wildly.<br /><br />So far I could out fly their clutches. But skill is poor cover for bad judgment. There was no reason to test myself or the SeaRey by intentionally flying into their grasp.<br />
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Land s End
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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I moved further offshore, away from the biggest rocks and the roughest wind waves. There I found a smaller version of Hole in the Rock.
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Sea Cave
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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The sea cut a channel through the rock. Ah, the virtues of relentless persistence on display!
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Cutting Rock
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Dan Nickens - Mar 21,2014
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The tree line only added to the tumbling air on the downwind side. I decided I had had enough excitement for one day.<br /><br />But, oh no.<br /><br />At the airport the helicopter pilot had a rental car. I was supposed to pick it up. I got a lecture from the agent about safety and security (just what I needed!). Apparently my friend had left the car unlocked at the airport when he dropped it off. “That’s just crazy!” was the agent’s assessment of Yanks’ appreciation of airport parking risks.<br /><br />“I’ll be watching,” the agent threatened as I shrugged and drove away.<br /><br />At dinner I got no lecture about crazy SeaRey operations. My friend was much more concerned with vibrations from his helicopter. Diversion. Great.<br /><br />He had a few drinks and decided to go walk about. When we got to where the car had been parked, it was gone. Nowhere to be seen in a town that you could walk across in 5 minutes.<br /><br />“Go and have fun,” I told him. “I will call the police.”<br /><br />But first I began my own investigation at the restaurant. “Do they ever tow cars from the public parking lot?” I asked.<br /><br />“Never” was the answer.<br /><br />I explained the rental car was missing. The maître d’ offered to call the police.<br /><br />“I’ll just have a walk around and look for it first.”<br /><br />I didn’t have to walk far. It had been moved around the corner.<br /><br />Sometimes you don’t have to be good. It may be enough just to be lucky. That would be some solace on a rough day at play.<br />
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Following Contours
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