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This blog is the final chapter for our beautiful yacht, Agápē. The events leading up to losing Agápē will be detailed in this post. So, grab yourself a tea, coffee or margarita and settle in, this isn’t going to be a quick read. The pain of losing Agápē is still so raw, but I think I’m ready to share what happened up until that heartbreaking day on Tuesday 29 October 2024. I began writing this blog back in September, so it’s not all doom and gloom – there were moments of joy and triumph too.
September – A Month in Motion
Since my last check-in, Marc and I continued exploring the stunning Vava’u group of islands and as we planned, we sailed south to the Ha’apai group at the beginning of September.
Ha’apai truly lived up to its reputation – remote, stunning, and untouched. But spending time in this island group also brought its own set of challenges. We were plagued by strengthening trade winds that seemed determined to keep us on the move. In just over a month, we sailed approximately 150 nautical miles, constantly shifting between anchorages to find the best shelter.
The islands there are incredibly beautiful, but the trade-off is that the shelter can be minimal at times, and we found ourselves riding out some rolling seas, even at anchor. It was a constant dance of checking the weather, moving, and resetting. But in the moments of calm, Ha’apai is pure magic. The water can be crystal clear, with vibrant coral reefs that seem to invite you into their world.
We were lucky enough to witness more whales in the area – a sight that never ceases to leave us in awe. We had some incredibly close encounters, with whales breaching near the yacht and even swimming around the boat while we’re anchored. Some nights, we could hear their song resonating through the hull – a sensation that’s impossible to put into words.
In between all the sailing and moving, we’ve been fortunate to spend time with friends from sailing vessels Crusoe and Amici. Having their company has been such a gift, and we’ve loved swapping stories over sundowners, sharing laughs, and appreciating these moments together in the remote paradise.
While the winds dictated much of our journey, those rare, peaceful moments were nothing short of magical.
What a Star!
One of my fondest memories in Tonga happened while anchored at the remote island of Ha’afeva. With a population of around 200, the village felt a world away from everything. As we dinghied ashore, two eager young boys playing on the beach spotted us and quickly ran over, excited to help us tie up to what was left of a jetty destroyed by Cyclone Gita in 2018. With the boys proudly leading us, we made our way into the village, where we were warmly greeted by a woman named Star, pushing her wheelbarrow to her plantation.
Star spoke excellent english and asked if we had experienced a traditional Tongan feast yet. When we said no, and she graciously invited us to her home for lunch the next day, refusing any payment. The following afternoon, dressed in our cleanest clothes, we returned to the village, unsure of what to expect. Star welcomed us to a beautifully set table with fresh coconuts and her curious grandchildren looking on. The meal she prepared was incredible – tapioca, breadfruit, beef, corned beef wrapped in leaves and cooked in coconut, papaya, and more. It was hands down the best food we’d tasted in Tonga! The portions were so generous that we even had leftovers for dinner back on the boat.
Star shared her dream of one day opening her own restaurant on Ha’afeva. We truly hope she makes that dream a reality. Concerned we might be taking food from her family, she reassured us that the island’s plantation provides them with plenty. Though she refused payment, we offered a contribution and left some items like medical supplies, sunglasses, and toiletries. Star really lives up to her name - her hospitality and warmth made a lasting impression on us.
Tongan Values
Tongan society is deeply rooted in the following core values. Whether it's the friendly smiles and waves as we pass by or the sharing of a meal, the Tongan people we’ve met truly embody these values. Their warmth, generosity, and deep sense of community have made a lasting impression on us. Maybe we could all benefit from embracing a little more of this in our own lives.
Fefaka’apa’apa’aki (mutual respect)
Feveitokai’aki (sharing, cooperating, and fulfilment of mutual obligations)
Lototoo (humility and generosity)
Tauhi vaha’a (loyalty and commitment)
Agápē Thought She Was a Race Car Sailing to Tongatapu
On Tuesday, 8 October, we left Ha’apai and set sail for Tongatapu. The passage was mostly comfortable, though there were moments when the swell kicked up to around 2 meters. With the swell hitting us on the beam, it made for a rolley night! Agápē, however, was absolutely flying at a steady 7 knots, almost as if she was declaring herself a race car rather than a whale with a sail! Despite reefing the main and furling the jib in an attempt to slow her down, she still made excellent time, arriving a couple of hours earlier than expected.
Marc wisely made the call to heave to, choosing rest over attempting to enter the harbour in the dark. Once daylight broke, we navigated into Nuku’alofa and anchored at Pangaimotu outside Big Mama’s Yacht Club alongside several other yachts.
With our arrival came the realisation that our initial hopes for a quick departure to New Zealand were dashed. A low-pressure system with massive swells was headed our way, leaving us with a bit more time to prepare Agápē and ourselves for the journey home to New Zealand.
Anchoring Carnage: Nearly Losing Agápē During a Storm
On Sunday, 20th October, we found ourselves reflecting on a harrowing experience that tested the limits of our gear and ourselves. What unfolded could have been catastrophic, but thanks to a combination of good preparation, strong equipment, and incredible teamwork, Agápē emerged unscathed.
It all started on the night of the 19th when a storm slammed into the Pangaimotu anchorage in Tongatapu with full force. The weather had escalated throughout the night, bringing howling winds of 30-40 knots. As the storm raged, we watched Agápē’s Rocna anchor dig in deep, holding steady while our boat surged and swayed in the gusts. With 100 meters of 10mm chain deployed, we were anchored at a solid 5:1 scope.
By dawn, winds were 40-45 knots sustained and gusting up to 50 knots. Visibility was reduced to just 50 meters and Marc directed us into action. We fired up the engine, switched on the navigation lights, put on our life jackets and broadcasted our position to nearby yachts on VHF. Despite the intense conditions and driving rain, our Rocna anchor was holding firm. The plotter displayed a reassuringly tight arc, a testament to the anchor’s grip as Agápē rode out the storm.
What happened next was absolutely terrifying. A 52-foot Amel Super Maramu had broken free and was dragging straight toward us. Deane glanced out our starboard window and saw them just 20-30 meters away, dangerously close to colliding with our bow. Marc sprang into action, taking the helm and carefully motoring side to side, skill-fully dodging the Amel while also trying not to dislodge our own anchor. The solo skipper of the Amel was in a frenzy, darting between the helm and bow in a desperate attempt to retrieve their anchor. Amid the chaos, another solo sailor jumped into their dinghy and boarded the Amel to assist. Together, they managed to bring up their anchor, but when we looked across, we realised with horror that our anchor was tangled up with theirs.
The Amel then began motoring away, completely unaware that we were still attached and being dragged through the anchorage. Deane rushed to the bow, and I quickly followed. We shouted for them to stop, but with the howling wind, our cries went unheard. I raced back to the cockpit, grabbed a knife, and returned to the bow. Deane swiftly cut the snubbers and the chain hook, while I let out the anchor chain to expose the rode. In a decisive move, Deane severed it free. Meanwhile, Marc couldn’t hear us over the wind and chaos, and it wasn’t until we made it back to the cockpit that he realised we were free. He immediately floored the throttle, and in a stroke of skill (and luck), managed to steer clear of the other anchored yachts.
Had we not cut our anchor when we did, it’s almost certain that both the Amel and Agape would have collided with at least three other yachts, dragging us all onto the nearby reef. It was a narrow escape, and the outcome could have been catastrophic.
But the ordeal wasn’t over yet. Marc urgently needed the tablet, as he was effectively motoring blind, navigating by memory and recalling the compass heading towards the main harbour. I sprinted down the companionway to grab it, but in my haste, I slipped - the companionway hatch hadn’t been secured. My head slammed into the side of the entrance, slicing my ear. For a moment, I feared the worst, but despite the blood, it was intact. The tablet, however, was uncooperative, failing to display the Navionics charts. Desperate, I handed Marc my phone with the charts while frantically restarting the tablet. It felt like an eternity, but finally, the screen came to life, giving Marc the information he needed to see our position.
The next thing Marc noticed - astonishingly, despite the wind and rain - was that the engine exhaust water had stopped. This was a major red flag as it meant the engine was no longer being cooled by water. Deane quickly dashed below and discovered that the engine water strainer was empty. Marc immediately grasped the issue and, without hesitation, instructed me to take the helm. He then rushed to tighten the strainer lid, which hadn’t sealed properly, causing air to leak in. The urgency of the moment was palpable, but Marc's quick thinking kept us on track.
As the wind and rain began to subside, we finally allowed ourselves a deep breath and took a moment to process what we had just endured. We reached out to a local Island Cruising contact about securing a spot in Nuku’alofa Harbour and started to figure out our next steps. We motored around for a couple of hours, waiting for the wind to drop enough for a safe approach to the harbour. In the meantime, we stayed in touch with other yachties already in the harbour, who guided us to the dilapidated, rusting wharf. While their initial instructions were helpful, Marc quickly assessed the situation, and we managed to tie up to the wharf. However, it didn’t take long to realise we couldn’t stay. With the wind shifting to the NW, we were at risk of being blown onto the dock, which would spell disaster for Agápē. Our spare anchor and chain weren’t long enough to secure us in 20 meters, so we knew we had no choice but to retrieve our anchor and move.
We reached out to the young yachties in the anchorage, and they confirmed they had seen where the Amel had dumped our anchor. Once the conditions had calmed, the yachties deployed a dinghy and sent out four divers. Miraculously, they managed to locate our anchor and, with impressive teamwork, attached a fender to it. It was a huge relief to know our anchor was found and marked, giving us a clear path forward.
While we were in the harbour, the lads from Big Mama’s Yacht Club came into town in their boat. They had witnessed the chaos earlier, and we asked if they could help retrieve our anchor and bring it back to the harbour. The strong Tongan lads managed to lift the anchor by hand, then brought it over by boat. They offloaded it onto the dock, and we quickly loaded it back onto Agápē. By around 3:30pm, we were finally ready to leave the harbour and head back out to the anchorage, preparing for the 30-knot NW winds and the lee shore that were forecasted.
Throughout the ordeal, the international sailing community in Tongatapu and the team at Big Mama’s Yacht Club demonstrated incredible camaraderie. The willingness to help each other, even before the storm hit, was truly heartwarming. It’s a reminder that most sailors are genuinely good people, all striving for the same goals of safety, adventure, and community.
In the end, we had a positive outcome from a very sticky situation—thanks to our solid gear, a skilled crew, and the unwavering support of the sailing community.
Sailing lesson #1: Check that your anchor is attached to your boat with rode and that you have enough to rode free to pay it out on deck and cut it in an emergency. A knife secured in the anchor locker is not a bad idea either.
Sailing lesson #2: If you are forced to anchor in storm conditions, prepare by discussing the worst case scenario with your crew and what your actions will be. Touch base with other yachts anchored before the storm and confirm how you'll communicate.
Overcoming the Issues and Challenges of Long Passage Sailing
On Tuesday, 22nd October, we finally set sail from Tongatapu, embarking on our long-awaited journey back to New Zealand. After a couple of hectic days preparing both Agápē and ourselves for departure, the relief of leaving the anchorage was immense. Having faced the challenges of anchoring in a storm, we were ready for whatever lay ahead.
The first few days of the passage went smoothly, with moderate swells and a steady breeze guiding us forward. We were even able to clock up 150-160 nautical miles on a couple of days, which felt nothing short of amazing. The open sea once again became our playground, and for a while, it felt like we were truly in our element.
For those of you who’ve been following my daily log updates on PredictWind, you might have seen a comment I made about taking on crew. If I’m being completely honest, having crew onboard really threw off our flow and rhythm. I already knew that I’m not great with disruptions to my personal space, and I had an inkling that having someone else in that space would be challenging for me.
When you're the crew on a boat, you’re often expected to take a back seat, waiting for direction on what to do next. It can leave you feeling a bit useless at times, but it’s part of learning how to adapt and blend into the environment. Unfortunately, Deane and I butted heads more than I anticipated which created some awkward tension I would have rather avoided.
In hindsight, I realise it’s not easy to find the right balance when bringing someone new onto the boat, especially when you’re used to working seamlessly with someone like Marc. The disruption to our usual flow made things feel off, and while it was challenging at times, it was also a learning experience for all of us.
Early in our passage, Agápē threw us a few curveballs. First, our autopilot failed (not the first time) and Neptune claimed a wind vane paddle from our wind steering, and Marc had to get creative, fashioning a replacement from plywood we had onboard. But that wasn’t all - the next issue was far more serious. While motoring, we noticed a burning smell and when it comes to smells on a yacht, "burning" is never one you want to encounter.
Marc investigated but couldn’t find anything obvious. The wind picked up, so we switched to sailing and turned off the engine. However, the smell returned during the early hours of Sunday, 27 October, as we motored again in light winds. This time, Deane and Marc worked together and discovered that our shaft seal - an important component that prevents water from flooding in where the propeller shaft penetrates the hull - was extremely hot and leaking.
A shaft seal failure could mean serious problems, especially on a passage in the middle of the Pacific! We immediately stopped using the engine and began to assess the situation. After notifying our Passage Guardian, Peter Mott, and Viki at Island Cruising NZ, along with marine engineer Ross Porter, Marc decided to take matters into his own hands after a good night's rest. He cleaned the shaft seal and tightened a couple of loose jubilee clips. I must say the sound of seawater gushing into the bilge while the cleaning was in progress was rather alarming!
Thanks to solid advice and Marc’s determination, he resolved the issue. The incident turned out to be a reminder that problem-solving and resourcefulness are part of the journey when under passage.
Sailing lesson #3: Think twice about having crew - are a few extra hours of sleep on watch worth the potential disruption?
Sailing lesson #4: When things break on passage, do you have a marine engineer you can contact for advise? Check out Pearls of Boat Wisdom
RIP Agape: The Final Leg
So here it is – a detailed description of how we lost our beautiful yacht Agápē. This is what we submitted to Maritime NZ and maybe, other yachties can learn from our experience.
On Tuesday 29 October, after 9 hours of motoring an abnormal vibration was suddenly felt and heard and Marc immediately set the RPM to idle and shifted the transmission to neutral. Deane carried out visual inspection of drive belt, shaft seal, alternator, but no abnormalities were seen or heard.
Marc increased the RPM (in neutral) to normal cruising speed 1500RPM, no abnormalities, so re-engaged drive and slowly built RPM back to cruise speed and still no abnormalities were felt or heard. Assuming we’d hit something soft like a jellyfish or kelp we continued without issue until the vibration suddenly reoccurred after approximately 5 minutes. Again, Marc shifted quickly to idle and neutral and sent Deane to inspect. Upon inspection Deane found that the forward port engine mount thread had completely sheared, and the engine had shifted (rotated) exposing half the sheared bolt. Upon further inspection, we found that both the port and starboard rear engine mount bolts were also sheared and there was only one bolt remaining.
As we were in a rolling sea (2.0m swell) the engine could be seen moving as the boat rolled so we set about seizing the engine to prevent it falling off the sheared engine mounts (approx. only 5mm of overlap remained on the forward mount). During this time Rescue Coordination Centre New Zealand (RCCNZ) had been contacted and also Peter Mott from Passage Guardian.
Due to our engine being suspended in the bilge and having our fuel tanks mounted either side of the engine it was not possible to seize the engine laterally, nor seize the prop shaft if it was disconnected from the engine. At this point Marc decided we should abandon ship as inclement weather was due within 24 hours and he could not guarantee without doubt that an attempt to seize the engine and shaft would be successful.
Agápē has a PSS shaft seal which relies on shaft alignment to keep the seal integrity. At the time of the incident the shaft seal was not leaking. Radio contact was made with Zipper, who was only just still within VHF range, and we notified RCCNZ we were abandoning ship. Zipper arrived and stood off at a safe distance. Due to the benign conditions, they were able to safely launch their dinghy to transfer us to their vessel.
Marc left the vessel last and began the flooding of the vessel. The decision to scuttle Agápē was due to our location being in close proximity to a navigation point for the NZ weather routers (John’s Corner) for cruisers heading to NZ to avoid cyclone season in the Pacific Islands. We stood by until 1630 and Agape at this point was close to deck level in the water. Notified RCCNZ the vessel will sink.
To summarise, three out of our four engine mount bolts failed, leaving us unable to secure both the engine and the prop shaft. With a heavy weather system approaching, bringing 3-4m swells and 20-30kt winds, there was no way to guarantee the engine wouldn’t shift dangerously, jeopardizing the integrity of the boat. Had we attempted to save Agápē, we likely would have ended up abandoning ship anyway, possibly in far worse conditions where a rescue would have been impossible or life-threatening. We made the heartbreaking decision to sacrifice our girl Agápē to avoid forcing a risky, costly rescue. It was the hardest call we’ve ever had to make, but it was the only safe option.
Sailing lesson #5: Have you checked your engine mounts and fittings - can you replace them if they fail while at sea?
Sailing lesson #6: Are you keeping good maintenance records and logs while underway? If something catasthropic happens to your boat - can you prove to that you have been diligent?
Feeling the Aroha of Friends and Family
We will be eternally grateful to the crew of Zipper for coming to our aid when we needed it most. Skipper Jamie, along with Sophie, Paul, and their two wonderful kids, Isla (8) and Angus (6), welcomed us aboard their beautiful catamaran with open arms. Not only did they provide us with the most comfortable bunks, but they also shared their food and offered kindness and compassion beyond what we could have expected. Their generosity and skill as sailors truly shone through, and we felt incredibly fortunate to be rescued by such capable and caring people. This experience reaffirmed the beauty of the cruising community - there are no strangers, only friends we haven’t yet met.
After sharing our situation on social media and on our tracking page, we were completely overwhelmed by the outpouring of support from our family, friends and fellow sailors. I read every single comment and message, and it was hard to hold back the tears as I came to terms with our loss. Arriving in Whangarei aboard Zipper was never how we envisioned our arrival in New Zealand. It wasn’t part of the dream we had built, and in that moment, I felt like we had failed. The reality of not being able to spend the summer in the Bay of Islands or continue with our plans to sail to Fiji next year hit us hard. We are gutted, but also deeply grateful for the incredible kindness that’s been shown to us during this challenging time.
We’ve been staying with my sister and my gorgeous nieces, Jordy and Ella, over the past couple of weeks in Whangarei. Just like the wonderful crew of Zipper, my family welcomed us with open arms, and their love and support have been exactly what we needed to find the strength to start rebuilding our lives. My sister, a pro at handling disruption after raising teenagers, has been totally unfazed by us landing in her home (hmmm, maybe little sister could take a page from her book!). Spending time with family has been just what the doctor ordered - surrounded by love and laughter, we’re starting to find our feet again.
Realities of Living on a Boat
While in Tonga, I often found myself daydreaming about our return to New Zealand. I couldn’t wait to walk into a supermarket and find everything I used to take for granted, right there on the shelves. The simple thought of a long, hot shower and doing laundry in a real washing machine felt like pure, unadulterated luxury! With some downtime, I had space to reflect on the realities of boat life. Living on a boat might seem like the ultimate dream, but it comes with a fair share of challenges - constant repairs, limited resources, and the everyday struggle of finding safe anchorages.
For anyone considering a life at sea, these are things to keep in mind. Yet, despite all of that, I’d give up life on land again in a heartbeat. There’s something transformative about living on the sea - it changes you in ways you can’t put into words.
Weather dictates everything: When you live on a boat, your life revolves around the weather. Wind, storms, and swells determine your movements, where you can anchor, and how comfortable you’ll be. You must always be on alert, ready to adapt to changing conditions at any moment. Marc often joked that I’d become weather-obsessed, and to be honest, he’s not wrong! As a business analyst, I can’t help but approach it like the ultimate challenge - spotting trends, analysing data, and making decisions based on forecasts. It’s a constant reminder that out here, the weather is always in charge.
Everyday tasks take twice as long: Everyday tasks on a boat can easily double or triple in time compared to land life! A simple errand like dumping rubbish and picking up supplies involves navigating to shore, securing the boat, loading and unloading the dinghy, and, of course, the sail itself. What would be a quick drive on land often becomes a half-day adventure on the water!
Zero privacy: Privacy on a boat is almost non-existent! Living in such close quarters means you're always in each other's space. Whether you're cooking, sleeping, or even just trying to relax, you're within arm's reach of your partner or crew. There's no room to really "get away," so you quickly learn to be comfortable with the lack of personal space.
Taking a poo is a shared experience: The head (nautical term now for the bathroom) is small with minimal ventilation, and when using the holding tank is also in use, the smell quickly becomes part of the boat's atmosphere. The manual labour of pumping waste down a narrow 3.8 cm pipe, makes it a task that’s hard to overlook. Unlike the convenience of flushing a toilet on land, you're actively involved in the “process”!
There is always someone in your spot: You find the perfect anchorage, imagining a serene, secluded place to drop the hook, only to arrive and discover someone already anchored exactly where you wanted to go. It’s one of those unwritten rules of cruising – no matter how remote or ideal the location, you can bet another boat has beaten you to it. And if you do manage to snag a spot all to yourself, you can guarantee it won’t be long before you have company!
Sailing is the most expensive way to get somewhere for free: The cost of the boat itself, along with the refit and ongoing maintenance, can be absolutely eye-watering. Cruising is anything but cheap, and despite what some influencers on YouTube might have you believe, you can't sail around the world safely for next to nothing. From gear replacements to repairs and the never-ending list of upgrades, the expenses add up quickly. Sure, the wind may be free but keeping your boat seaworthy and safe is a serious financial commitment.
Some boats resemble a swanky apartment others not so much: There are definitely different types of cruisers out here. Some live in absolute luxury with an abundance of space, complete with icemakers, washing machines, and all the conveniences of home. Then, at the other end of the spectrum, you’ve got the cruisers who are truly roughing it. These are the folks whose boats are packed to the gunnels with gear, but they’re making it work without luxuries like water makers or freezers. Our girl, Agape, is what I’d call middle class—she was not swanky, but we were definitely not roughing it either. While I’d sometimes dream of having a freezer, Starlink or a washing machine onboard, I’d learned to live without and appreciating the simplicity of life at sea.
Say goodbye to your fitness: Before moving onto the boat, we were fit and in reasonable shape. Now, just walking up the stairs from the jetty to land leaves us winded. It’s honestly tragic how unfit we’ve become!
You realise how much crap you accumulated while living on land: Living on a boat quickly makes you realise how much stuff you accumulate while on land. With limited space, you’re forced to prioritise only what you truly need. When we moved aboard, I brought way too many clothes and makeup (which I never wear now). But one thing you can never have too much of is sunscreen. On land, we’re constantly bombarded by advertising, and shopping can feel like a reward for hard work. But out here, it’s clear how little you actually need to live comfortably.
Deal with what is in front of you: I’m notorious for catastrophising - “what happens if…” is a phrase that makes my husband roll his eyes every time I say it. While there are definitely risks to manage when living on a boat, I’ve learned that you can only deal with issues as they arise. Worrying about every possible scenario doesn’t help. That said, we’ve also learned that complacency is the real enemy. It’s easy to get comfortable, but staying on top of things and maintaining good seamanship is crucial. You can’t afford to get lazy out here. <Insert irony - I must have known something!>
The ultimate adventure: Anything worth doing is never easy. We realise now that what we’re doing – living on the boat, navigating the highs and lows, feels like part of our destiny. This is the adventure we craved while we were on land. Some days, the reward is undeniable, and we feel on top of the world. But there are also moments when all you want is the comfort of solid ground beneath your feet. That’s just part of the journey.
What Next?
We’ve bought a car and, starting this weekend, we’ll begin our journey south towards Picton. Our tenants will be moving out of our home on November 25, and we’re looking forward to settling back into our own space. Someone recently asked, “Are you going to buy another boat?” The truth is, if we had a spare $500k, we’d jump at the chance to own another yacht and get back out there. But that kind of money isn’t in the bank, and selling our house is off the table.
Right now, we’re not sure if we’ll ever sail our own yacht again, but our focus is on rebuilding our lives, regaining our fitness, and embracing the simple joys. Losing Agápē meant losing all of our personal belongings, but it’s given us a new appreciation for what truly matters. Things can be replaced - life cannot. We’re looking forward to exploring the stunning South Island, running, cycling, and diving into land-based adventures. We’re both on the hunt for work and ready to find our new rhythm on land, taking each day as it comes.
