Ahhh, New Zealand! Finally! Land of the Long White Cloud. The Maori legend of the settling of New Zealand is that paddlers in a huge canoe from Polynesia saw on the distant horizon a long white cloud, and underneath lay the promised land, a rich bounty of never-before-seen wildlife that were quickly made into dinner, and subsequently extinct.

So goes the legend anyway. On our arrival we’ve had a huge wind hole as a welcoming party with crazy wind shifts and maddening calms. Thankfully we’re not the first to find these islands, otherwise they woud be known for all generations to come as “land of light and variable, with spotted cumulus”. Not quite so catchy as the original.

Despite the setbacks Sam and I are in fine form, thanking the New Zealand customs and immigration office for giving us an excuse to mow down the snack bags in our remaining stores. “Anything you’d like to declare, mate?”" BURP, nope! She’ll be right!”

What a week of contrasts… Going from resetting the GOR speed record to drifting aimlessly in the fog on a mill pond ocean. Musically we’ve gone from intensity of the “Flight of the Bumble Bee” to “The Teddy Bear’s Picnic” played on a bass tuba, by a valium addict. Not the most inspiring stuff.

Sadly our prize for being in the lead has been to have it halved, as we were the first to the light winds but there’s no guarantee that we’ll be the first out. The GRIB files that contain our forecasts have been changing fundamentally every 12 hours, with neither the old or the new forecast looking anything remotely like what we’re actually experiencing! Our only hope is that the wedge shaped ridge extending down from Tasmania holds in place and allows us to pass through the narrow part while leaving the thick end for the boys on BSL. For the moment however they appear to be Teflon Kiwis, carrying on through forecasted calms as if they’ve got an open tab at the Wind Bar.

Surrounded as we are by a drenching fog that blankets sun and the wind, life continues apace on shore. My girlfriend arrives in New Zealand on the 28th and, perhaps optimistically, we’ve booked Sam on a flight back to London on the 30th so he can go see his girlfriend for New Years. Two solid dates in the diary that are not to be missed, so we’re still pushing hard to get in in time, and to get there first!

For days now we’ve been stalked by a monster of a front that has been whirling through the GOR fleet as a ball of spiky red wind barbs. With the system on final approach, Sam and I decided to go for broke to consolidate our lead over the Fields. We ran deep through puffy 45+ knot squalls and positioned ourselves in the path of the beast. It might not be evident that sustained 35kts was an opportunity to attack, but we figured that if we could keep our foot on the loud pedal and stay ahead of the worst of it, then we could play the edge of the front and skim off as much wind as we wanted We still kept the door open to bail out to the north if things got too frisky.

As the wind built this morning we changed down from our A6 spinnaker made for VMG running in heavy conditions to the Code 5 fractional gennaker. Its also called a chicken chute, so what better for playing chicken with southern ocean front?! The sky stayed blue and the white caps sparkled, before being blown into the air as the wind built and stayed at 35 kts. We were fully pressed but still able to maintain control at 120-130 true wind angle and played the waves to surf for extra speed. Sam and I both saw 26kts of boat speed on the dial, and it always shows less than the GPS….

I found that the best way through the waves was not to surf down the face like normal but to carve down the troughs, at an angle to the waves so as to find the longest patch of smooth water as possible. I likened it to snowboarding down a half pipe, trying to get as lengthways as possible rather than criss crossing from lip to lip.

However, it was not all easy going. Halvard’s ruminations on the force presented by a mass of water brought home personally. We graduated up from the droplet- bricks of spray of previous days to walls of water rushing down the decks. After one altercation with a wave I was bodily picked up and deposited, spread eagled on my back on top of the life raft, two meters from where I had been helming. I was able to regain control but it was an eye opening experience and a warning taken to heart. As proof that sometimes the great lessons in life need to learned twice, Sam was later pushed off the helm and thrown into the sail stack on the back of the boat.

Given the water play I wasn’t too sad that we eventually out ran the stronger pressure and the wind dropped to a more sedate mid 20s. This wild ride will be just a memory in a couple of days as we are approaching a well established anticyclone in the Tasman Sea, and a tricky call as to which coast of the South Island to take to get to Wellington. Wish us well on the Cessna Citation flying boat.

So we passed Cape Leeuwin today and I couldn’t care less. Don’t get me wrong, I know that in conventional wisdom Leeuwin marks the point that the Indian Ocean becomes the South Pacific Ocean and for this reason I’m thrilled that we’ve “knocked the bastard off” to use Sir Edmund Hillary’s tasteful comment from when he climbed Everest.

However, I don’t think that Cape Leeuwin should be given any part of the recognition that it regularly receives. Firstly, geographically, its a pip squeek, an embarrassingly small protrusion that lowers the level for Capes internationally. Secondly, its neither the most southerly point or the most westerly point in Australia, so its completely irrellevant. And if one things of oceans as tectonic plates, the Indo-Australian plate that carries, well, India and Australia, continues east under the Tasman Sea until it runs into the Pacific plate in New Zealand, thus creating the Southern Alps. So there’s a lot more Indo-Australian flavour going on here than Pacific, certainly not enough to call it the gateway to the greatest ocean in the world.

Historically too, it at best belongs in the second tiers of Capes internationally. Named after the Dutch ship Leeuwin ” Lioness” that was the first known visitor to the region in 1622, the cape that bears its name doesn’t even appear on the chart made by the ships cartographer. It was later redisovered and somewhat awkwardly renamed “Isle St Allouarn” because it was mistakenly thought to be seperate from the continent its meant to be the gateway for.

Finally, as a Kiwi, I can’t let anything thats Australian be celebrated undeservingly, so I hereby propose that the three Great Capes now be the Cape of Good Hope, South Cape on the bottom of Stewart Island and of course Cape Horn. South Cape makes so much more sense in every way. Firstly, its part of New Zealand so automatically its a winner. Beyond this, geographiically it makes more sense as the divider of the oceans, its futher south and its easier to find on a chart.

As an aside, we made it to Cape Leeuwin in 18 days, the same as the maxi trimaran Banque Populaire! Who needs a 40 metre long trimaran with 14 guys on board when a plucky little Class 40 will suffice. Just between us however, lets ignore that they left from Brest in France and we left from Cape Town shall we?