Going west: The myth and reality of NZ’s least famous sailor, Henry Charles Swan

Accompanying the weather is the fear, an ever-present sensation at the beginning of every long voyage. The symptoms are unmistakable: a dry mouth, clenched gut and a distinct feeling of dread.

Like any fear, this creates a void, quickly filled with visions of disaster, wrecks and storms, and a longing to hide from it all ashore. Yet in three days’ time, the sea will calm, the fluffy white clouds of the trade winds will appear and the void created by fear will dissolve. Back ashore, our absence will create another kind of void for those left behind, sparking speculation about our whereabouts.

The rain comes down and the moan of the wind in the rigging rises in pitch. My shipmate staggers on deck, takes in the weather and yells over the wind, “I don’t know about you, but I am sorely tempted to do a Swannie.” We both grin despite our watery misery.

Henry Charles Swan was New Zealand’s least famous sailor. In 1901, Swan, an Auckland lawyer, departed from Devonport aboard his yacht Awatea, having announced to his wife Edith and friends that he was embarking on a solo circumnavigation of the world. After extensive preparations and a vigorous send-off party, the Awatea headed down the Rangitoto Channel. But as night fell and the beer wore off, Swan had second thoughts. He dimmed his navigation lights, put the Awatea about and sailed back past Devonport and up the Waitematā, riding the spring tide to find a mud berth for the yacht in a tributary of Te Wai-o-Pareira /Henderson Creek.

Henderson was a remote wilderness in those days, and with no news from him, Swan was presumed lost at sea. That was until 1910, when some local boys exploring Henderson Creek in their dinghy stumbled upon the Awatea and its solitary occupant. Conservative Auckland society was scandalised by such a deception from a man of good standing.

Swan became known as the “Henderson hermit”, or “recluse”, who continued living aboard while tending his apple orchard and not giving a shit until his death in 1931. I rang Harold Kidd, retired lawyer and maritime historian second to none, to ask him about the Swan-as-recluse story. “It’s all bulldust, Matt,” he said. These are strong words from a man of Harold’s generation and training. I sat up and paid attention. Harold filled in the facts.

Swan and Edith emigrated from England in the late 1890s and settled in Devonport. He had practised law in England and continued to do so in Auckland. Not long after his arrival, he purchased a 28ha property that bordered Te Wai-o-Pareira. His intention was to give up law and retire to the land. By the turn of the century, he had also taken a shine to sailing and acquired a fine Charles Bailey Sr-designed racing cutter, Awatea. He was new to sailing but learnt quickly. While still practising law, he cruised extensively around the Hauraki Gulf and quietly prepared the Awatea for something much bolder.

Joshua Slocum had only just published Sailing Alone Around the World, his account of the first solo circumnavigation of the world by yacht. It sold like hot cakes and stoked the fires of the adventurous. Swan was transfixed by Slocum’s story and went about making his dream of a world circumnavigation a reality. Though he did not have the experience of the wily sea dog Slocum, and nor had the Awatea the doughtiness of Slocum’s Spray, none of that was going to dissuade him from his great adventure.

When departure day arrived, however, it seems all his pluck dissolved as he reached down the Rangitoto Channel. We will never know for certain why Swan turned back and headed up to the furthest reaches of the Waitemata. It might have been an attack of common sense, or perhaps something to do with a void created by fear; we can only speculate. With this single decision, Swan unintentionally created a void of absence – one quickly filled by every journalist and shore-side gossip who piled in to imagine his fate.