I awoke to the sound of New Zealand birdsong, a soft melodic drone of mingled voices—the dawn soundtrack in the wild parts of Aotearoa. The faint light of morning eased into the day as I eased out of my bunk to start the kettle for coffee. With a hot cup of brew, I went on deck and walked to the bow to take in the beauty of the Marlborough Sounds, the northernmost cruising grounds of the South Island of New Zealand.
My 1965 Alberg 30 sloop, Triteia, was tied to a club mooring at Māori Bay in Pelorus Sound. I had joined the Pelorus Boating Club to gain access to its 100 shared moorings that are scattered throughout the Marlborough Sounds. Most of the sounds’ bays and coves are very deep, so most yachties join one of three clubs to tie up or raft up on the well-maintained moorings.
My solo passage on this day was a short, 24-nautical-mile hop around Cape Jackson to Queen Charlotte Sound where I intended to pick up a mooring ball at Ship Cove, the anchorage where the legendary Captain Cook spent 178 days spanning his three separate voyages of discovery. The cove offered good protection from New Zealand’s extreme weather, fresh water, and a beach where those early explorers could dry out the ships for repairs and maintenance.
I downloaded the weather forecast, and it predicted 13 knots of wind as I rounded Cape Jackson and pointed into Queen Charlotte Sound. The winds were westerlies, so I would be running before them and the seas. I felt good that we would make quick work of the day’s passage. I started the motor and readied the boat, and soon I was slipping the mooring line, and we were off on a dead calm sea.
By the time we were passing TiTi Island I was able to kill the engine and just sail. The tiller pilot was doing the steering, and I got the boat balanced with the breeze filling in nicely and Triteia on a beam reach. We enjoyed fantastic sailing as the winds slowly built. Within 2 miles of Cape Jackson our 13-knot forecast breeze was more like 17 to 20 knots thanks to the intense acceleration zone that is Cook Strait.
Navionics had routed me to pass between Cape Jackson and Cape Jackson Rock, which was well marked with a large concrete tower. I looked at the charts and saw the depths went from 400 feet to 17 feet at that point. I knew that tight pass would be littered with dangerous waves with this much wind and sea running, so I pointed for the deepest bit of water on the outside of Cape Jackson Rock—some 70 feet deep. I could have gone all the way outside Whaler’s rock to stay in deeper water, but this would have put me more than half a mile farther into Cook Strait, and I guessed the winds were blowing 25 to 30 knots out that far.
I was just going to have to stay close in and shoot the gap. I disconnected the tiller pilot and took the helm as we approached. I could see the seas breaking with great violence in the pass that Navionics had suggested. With Cape Jackson Rock on our beam, large running seas of more than 4 feet high charged and broke on either side of Triteia, and I fought the helm to keep her in line. About midway through we crash jibed due to the wind’s erratic nature at the point, but I quickly recovered her, and we made it safely through the short but dangerous pass. Once clear of the ranging seas, I came about and pointed into Queen Charlotte Sound, assuming I would soon be in the protection of the cape and things would calm down.
As we sailed south into the sound, the rough, rocky, and barren cape loomed to starboard. The charging seas of the strait fell away only slightly, and the winds began to increase. Violent downslope gusts are common in sounds and fjords the world over, with Venturi effect winds making life difficult for sailors, and the Marlborough Sounds are no exception. It is easy to lose one’s boat on the rocks due to this phenomenon. My mild 13-knot forecast was now playing out to be a Force 5 to Force 6 wind battle.
About 1 nautical mile from the cape, a 45-knot gust hit us and rounded the boat up into the wind and towards the shore, now less than a mile away. I paid out the main as far as I dared and leaned hard on the tiller. As I was alone, I had no one to shorten sail as I steered us off the danger. I felt the tiller begin to give and looked down; I could see it was splitting at the base. I continued to try and get the boat off the wind and soon noticed the bronze tiller head tang had cracked, which was causing the tiller to split. It was held on by only one side that was bent and deformed, so I reached down and grabbed the base and turned it as the gust lightened up, letting us out point into the sound and towards Cook Strait.
I now found myself trapped between the winds of Cook Strait and the narrowing sound littered with islands and rocks, above and below the water, in an extreme acceleration zone with no tiller. Thankfully, I have a Hydrovane self-steering unit on Triteia that handles all the steering on offshore passages. I rarely use it near shore, because it’s not really made for tight spaces or in areas where the wind angle can change dramatically. Because I hadn’t planned to use it, the Hydrovane’s rudder unfortunately was stowed on the aft deck.
First order of business was starting the engine and dropping the mainsail. Once that was done, I was faced with the fun task of hanging off the back of the boat and trying to install the Hydrovane rudder in 20-knot winds with regular 40-plus gusts and the fetch that comes with them. To my surprise, it was easier than I’d expected to get the rudder into the water and up on the shaft, so I completed the task on the first try.
I now gave the engine full throttle to get us out of the acceleration zone, and the Hydrovane handled most of the steering with ease in the high winds. To help it, rather than use the small Hydrovane emergency tiller, I stood aft next to the unit and pulled the paddle one way or another when the winds got fluky.
We were only 6 miles from the anchorage when the tiller and tiller head had failed, so an hour-and-a-half after the ordeal I was motoring slowly into Ship Cove. I could see there was a Bavaria 41 tied up to the club mooring ball, so I readied my fenders along the starboard side, drove in slowly, and got the crew’s attention with my airhorn. I drove near enough to explain I had limited steering and soon all hands were on deck to help me get safely rafted up to Suhani. I allowed myself the rest of the day to recover before tackling the broken tiller and tiller head in the remote Marlborough Sounds.
Bright sunshine and the same birdsong of the previous morning greeted me the next day. I dug out my old tiller that I had kept as a spare, and then pulled out my bags and bins of assorted bolts, parts, and spares. Suhani’s captain gave me two lengths of stainless steel flat stock he had made up after breaking his own tiller on a previous boat. I found a pair of thick bronze tiller head tangs I had kept from an older tiller head that would work perfectly. I cut the spare tiller down a bit, fit it with the tangs, and within a few hours I had a working tiller that would hold me fine throughout my adventures in the Sounds and back to Nelson where I would work out a more permanent solution. I smiled at the thought of having to make a major repair to Triteia in Ship Cove, where Captain James Cook had done the same to each of his ships.
It had been an intense little passage, but I always say this sort of experience is simply the adventure tax we pay to see the most beautiful places in the world.
What I Did Wrong
When the wind began to build, I should have tied a reef in the main when I still had the chance. This could have eased the pressure on the tiller that I had to exert when we got hit with that big gust.
Hydrovane rudders can also be controlled using a tiller pilot. If I had already fitted a bracket and had the tiller pilot attached to the Hydrovane, the rudder would have already been installed and the situation would have been much easier to deal with.
What I Did Right
Cool heads find a way out and a way forward, and I stayed calm in what was a perilous situation. We sailors need to always be ready to be self sufficient and to focus on the problem in front of us, and I successfully did this.
I had the Hydrovane as a backup and made short work of putting it to use. This self-steering unit is worth its weight in gold, not only for having steered my boat more than 6,000 nautical miles offshore up to that point, but also proving itself inshore in 45 knots of wind when I needed it most. The Hydrovane is ultimately what allowed me to be self sufficient and not have to call for a tow; in an area as remote as the Marlborough Sounds, only a good Samaritan would have been able to offer it, if anyone had responded at all.
With some help from a fellow sailor and my voluminous spares, I had the tools and skills to effect a solid, seaworthy repair in a remote place.
May 2025
