Tropical Cyclone Mal: departure delayed!   Thursday, 16/11/2023

Last Saturday I was making preparations for leaving on Monday. Completing three forms to be submitted electronically to New Zealand, that sort of thing. And then… late afternoon I heard from a neighbour that a possible cyclone was brewing. It was not just speculation – an Englishman who runs a couple of charter boats came up and said that he was drawing up plans for the evacuation of all of us into the mangroves. Did I want to be on the list?

There was a well attended meeting on Sunday morning. The plan was that we would go into the creek that is only 600 or 700 metres from the marina. Catamarans in first, because their shallow drafts mean that they can go further up; deeper draft monohulls behind. A posse of about 20, including me in a dinghy in which I’d hitched a ride, then went out to the creek for an in situ inspection. We would only enter at high water, when there would be just enough depth for monohulls with a 2.1 to 2.4 metre draft (7 to 8 foot) to pass. Tricky: initially sticking to the north bank, then a very specific channel across the creek to closely follow the south bank, then a switch back to the north bank for those going further up.

By this stage, the marina, having received a report from its weather consultant, confirmed that an evacuation would be ordered, ahead of a possible cyclone making land late Tuesday or early Wednesday morning. This didn’t mean that a cyclone was guaranteed, but those with long experience of the area didn’t like what they were seeing. The wind coming from the northwest was forming a sort of whirlpool pattern – always the precursor to a cyclone.

On Monday morning there was another meeting, of all boats. The plan was to go to the mangroves late afternoon, ahead of high water at 17:53. Catamarans would head in first, from 15:00, followed by monohulls close to actual high water. For me, this was the most stressful time – anticipating the rather large challenge that lay ahead. There were very clear risks of running aground (and potentially blocking the way for others), the difficulty of tying up to what in most places is very dense mangroves. My daughter Anna asked me: what are you most worried about: going up the creek or the potential cyclone? That was easy: the creek! By far! That period of waiting before something threatening happens is always the worst. I know myself well enough: I was able to laugh and say Well, being so worried ahead of the event means that it will probably turn out surprisingly easy.

But I was not to get off so lightly. Well, not yet anyway. Together with a number of monohulls, we left the marina and hovered around the entrance to the creek, awaiting our turn. But because there were 28 catamarans to get in, and things did not proceed smoothly (one ran fast aground), there was significant delay. As it approached 18:00, just ahead of sunset, it was decided that the monohulls would have to go back to the marina and return at sunrise, about 05:30, on Tuesday morning.

After four hours’ sleep, I was up at 04:30. A large coffee was needed. Then we headed off, gathering more or less in line with the 11 other monohulls (yes, like an armada!). Entry began! And it all proved very smooth. Not easy, but no more than challenging. What really helped was that several of the catamaran people turned out in dinghies to help us. At my spot I dropped a small stern anchor into the mud. This arrested our movement, while a young guy jumped up onto the bow and placed the main anchor where he thought best. Another man soon came along and took two lines starboard from bow and stern and tied them up securely around a few stout trunks in the mangroves. Done! All that was left for me to do, at leisure, was to attach a very long line from the port side amidships to the opposite bank.

Alone it would have been impossibly difficult. At one point the bow had been drifting out – I shouted and a man in a large inflatable with a big outboard engine simply pushed Manuka back towards the bank. A big plus was that a number of these guys are professional sailors who sail charter catamarans – they’ve done similar before, so have a pretty good idea of what they are doing. 

The rest of Tuesday passed very quietly, waiting for the storm. In fact it was lovely in amongst the mangroves, peaceful and serene. It was forecast to rain from early afternoon, but didn’t – instead, I was sitting outside (writing these words) at sunset. The wind was rising, but here in the trees it was no more than 10 knots. 

By late evening though it was blowing hard and raining heavily. Nothing exceptional, so I went to sleep. I woke up just after 1am and got up, because it was low water and 0.28 metres lower than the previous low. I wanted to see how we were faring, because we were definitely aground – I could tell that from the lack of movement. The depth gauge certainly showed no water under the keel – we were sitting in the mud. But according to my calculations, the keel was perhaps only 20cm into the mud, not enough to start listing. I went back to sleep and slept solidly until morning. By then the wind was moderating and the rain was past.

We were lucky. Tropical Cyclone Mal at its centre was a Category 3 cyclone, with wind speeds between 64 and 85 knots (74-98 miles per hour/118-156 kph). It appears to have veered a little southwards, meaning that its eye passed well offshore. So we only got the outer area of it, in effect a Category 1 cyclone: 34-47 knots (39-54 mph/63-86 kph). Winds were probably 45 knots – not particularly serious. But these things are not taken lightly: what is interesting is that the small commercial charter operators are not prepared to risk their boats, even though the disruption very likely costs them money. Altogether everything was fine. The two anchors and three lines worked well. Other boats were all fine too.

It would have been possible to leave late Wednesday afternoon, but high water was too late, after 7pm, in the dark. So it was Thursday morning. With high water at about 8am, the instructions were simple: 06:30 departure, be on deck at first light. Everything worked perfectly, and we were tied up in the marina by 07:10. Having breakfast, it did feel as though I’d already had a pretty full day: climbing into the mangroves to untie a rope, pulling up a small stern anchor and chain by hand, turning the boat in the creek (with help from a jet ski pushing us), running slightly aground, getting off easily, carefully steering back up the creek, and then docking in the marina.

Cyclone Mal has cost me a few days, but as my sailing friend Patrick messaged me yesterday: “Another great experience to add to your list”! I must admit it was all very interesting. Technically, because I’ve never been up anywhere like that, and have never attempted to tie up to mangroves. And socially: what a good atmosphere there was. Those who were able to help others did so. The level of support was outstanding, and the organisation excellent – I don’t think anybody could have organised the whole thing better. Taking 40 boats up a creek that is only passable at close to high water is quite something – and getting them all out again without incident doubles the achievement! It makes you feel proud that you’ve been a part of something like this. As organiser Jonathan has just messaged: “Given the fact that no-one really knew what to expect, I could not have asked for a more responsive and helpful group… After 3 years without a cyclone we were light on experienced Mangrovians but, now people know what to expect…”

I am now intending to leave Fiji for New Zealand on Saturday. I hope that I manage to get away – I’m overdue a change of scene!