Visiting New Zealand (or Not)

I have been here for a week.

It’s Saturday. It’s the weekend. And I have been working in my hotel room all day.

People keep asking me: Have you seen this or that? You should really take the time. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

The beautiful beaches, waterfalls, and lush forests are not the opportunity I came here to seek. Margaritas on the wharf aren’t either.

I came here to take a boat to Alaska this summer. Alaska. A transpacific passage. These are the opportunities that brought me to New Zealand.

This week has been incredibly intense: a long-haul flight, hundreds of kilometers driven on the left side of the road, and meeting Rosemary for the first time—making the effort to understand her. Sea trials. Rigging and sail surveys. Preparing for the main survey scheduled for Monday and Tuesday.

At the same time, I am trying to find my place in the local community, to earn the trust of the people who may help me after the purchase. I am anticipating choke points, roadblocks, and last-minute surprises that could delay our departure. My attention is fully consumed by this.

Today, most of my Saturday was spent navigating the maze of boat registration. I worked with a previous owner to reconstruct five years of ownership records. Then I learned that the UK registry would require a certificate of tonnage issued by an MCA-accredited surveyor. I found one, arranged for him to travel from Auckland to Opua, and scheduled the measurements before I leave on the 14th.

Then came the next realization: to obtain a call sign, I will need a radio license I don’t yet have. After exploring options in New Zealand and the U.S., it became clear that the simplest path is to go to the UK. So I booked a week of training there—VHF communications, sea survival, and diesel maintenance.

It’s now 3:30 p.m. I’ve decided to set nautical problems aside for the day. Time to write this logbook entry, do a bit of work on Ice Frontiers’ visibility with Google, and let the mind slow down before dinner.

This trip does not feel like a vacation. It feels like a business trip where work doesn’t stop until you’re back on the plane home.

Every step of this project is more complicated than I expected. The risk of missing the 2026 window to cross the Pacific—between the southern and northern hurricane seasons—is real. To cast off on time, I need a precise sequence of events between February and April, all happening without significant delay.

For now, a morning ritual at the local coffee shop, a long walk along the beach, and the occasional grocery run are about all I can manage. The lush forests, spectacular beaches, and cute waterfalls will have to wait until I have my ducks in a row.

For now, the sunburn I picked up during the sea trial is my reminder that I am in a special place—one I hope to have time to enjoy later, during this trip or when I return to prepare Rosemary.