Rewiring engagements
Time has come around again for my annual update.
My trip to Darwin started just as planned. With a provisioned boat and no reason left to stay in port, I left my berth in the Brisbane River and meandered out onto Moreton Bay, where I planned to wait for a southerly change to sweep me up the coast. I tucked in behind the wrecks at Tangalooma, prepared a lovely big pot of bolognese (a tradition which begins all my passages) and ment ashore one last time to say goodbye to sweet old dry land. My southerly change was due just after dark. Back on board with the dinghy stowed away, I had the main up and the anchor up short before discovering my tricolour nav light refused to work. The subsequent tiff with the dilapidated wiring resulted in my returning to Brisbane and a couple of days aloft rewiring the mast.
And what a difference this one little setback made to my plans. Instead of Darwin and art centres, I found myself engaged to marry my wonderful Cate, packing up old Kalitsah on the hard in Scarborough and moving to Honiara in the Solomon Islands. In between I managed to squeeze in a cruise up to the Whitsunday Islands, finally acquire my Coxswain’s certificate, and sail back to Brisbane with Cate on board, the first of many cruises we will surely undertake together.
Four months in Honiara with no boat and an unsuccessful search for work began to take their toll, so I write now from Port Vila where I am to take charge of a yacht run by the organization Oceanswatch, a charity which specializes in marine conservation for remote communities in Melanesia. In store is a few months of fine sailing and diving through Vanuatu, surely one of the most exquisite cruising grounds around. Cate has had to stay in Honiara due to work commitments, so we will have to endure this period apart.
I have a few days in Port Vila before my boat arrives; just enough time to rekindle my affection for this sweet little town. And after Honiara, how sweet it is! Birds in the morning, water from the taps and blissful silence at night. And a harbour full of glorious cruising boats. I feel like I'm home.
Friday, July 02, 2010
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Off North
I"m headed north today from Brisbane around to Darwin. First stop Lady Musgrave island, just a little north of Fraser and about two days sail from Moreton Bay. How nice to finally be on the move again. Kalitsah's in fine shape with lots of new bits. Both she and I are thrilled to be finally on the move after our idle and admittedly very pleasant stay in Brisbane.
Ah, to have clean water passing under the keel once more.
I"m headed north today from Brisbane around to Darwin. First stop Lady Musgrave island, just a little north of Fraser and about two days sail from Moreton Bay. How nice to finally be on the move again. Kalitsah's in fine shape with lots of new bits. Both she and I are thrilled to be finally on the move after our idle and admittedly very pleasant stay in Brisbane.
Ah, to have clean water passing under the keel once more.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Back log.I’ve been out of the habit for the last little while with this log. Let me fill in some details between my last entry and now. Below are a few details of the last six months for David and his little boat.
- Kal and I left Noumea for the Loyalty islands on 22 September. A French chap Erwan joined me for the sail to Lifou. We stopped in the Baie du Santal at Duoulou, then up to Chepenehe where Erwan jumped off. The sail from Chepenehe to Djocking around the corner saw the mysterious death of my computer, the catalyst for my neglect of this log.
- Djocking was a fascinating anchorage. I had to drop the hook in 80’ of water to avoid the coral, yet even at that depth I could see the anchor clearly. It’s disconcerting to be seeing such deep readings on the sounder when it looks for all the world like the keel was about to touch. Swimming around the anchorage I came face to face with the most enormous shark I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.
- From Lifou I sailed to Tanna in Vanuatu. This was a pleasant passage of two days, from memory. I anchored in Port Resolution on the Eastern side of the island, and was guided in by the plumes of smoke from Yasur, Tanna’s local volcano.
-Tanna is a land full of wonders. Schools of mullet jump right into dinghies. Food can be cooked and clothes washed in the boiling hot springs. Folk would paddle dug out canoes out to Kal and have me charge their mobile phones. The Kava there is the strongest in the world.
- From Tanna to Aniwa. I spent my most enjoyable time of the trip at Aniwa. It’s way off the trodden tourist path, even for yachts, though I recommend anyone passing that way to stop in.
- Aniwa to Erromango
- Erromango to Efate and Port Vila.
- I spent over a month in Vila in the end. It was nice to stop in the one place for a while and settle into its routine. For all its big city ills, I liked Vila very much. My parents popped over for a visit while I was there, the three of us enjoying a cruise up around the north of the island.
- A broken auto-pilot and a dis-inclination to keep travelling north with the approaching cyclone season kept me in Vila a little while longer. Once the pilot was fixed (and a note to anyone setting up their boat: try not to become too reliant on these things as they are designed to send you mad) I left Vila to return to Australia.
- Stopped first at Huon reef. It was mating and laying season for the green turtles there. What a spectacular thing to see.
- Chesterfield reef next. Also beautiful. The sail from Huon to Chesterfield was so perfect, wind 15 knots just behind the beam, no sea, screaming along under main and kite. With so little to do to tend to the boat I spent a whole day down below building cupboards.
-From Chesterfield I headed to Brisbane, where the adventure for the moment has ended.
-December saw me back at work in North Queensland.
- Christmas with my whole family in Brisbane, what a wonderful thing to get them all in the same place!
-This year I’ve been studying for my coxswain’s certificate as well as working here and there: boat repairs at Moreton Island, bar work at a strip club.
-For a bit of a sea change, I’m now out in the desert in the middle of the Northern Territory teaching at a high school in an Aboriginal community called Lajamanu. I plan to be back in Brisbane and on board by the end of June.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Dog Island
I anchored one evening in the lee of a small island in the Baie du Prony. I had been told there is a disused hotel here and, the next morning, was keen to check it out. I could see no life on shore from where I was anchored, but heading ashore in the dinghy, I became aware of a pack of dogs eying me keenly, following my progress as I approached. Not keen to add a dog attack to my list of experiences here, I approached cautiously, landing with enough distance between me and those beasts that I could beat a retreat if necessary. The dogs, four of them, ran straight towards me. However they seemed not to be aggressive, so I stood my ground. Arriving, they bowled me to the ground; four of the friendliest dogs I’ve ever met! After satisfying their desire to be cuddled, I headed inland to explore the island. The abandoned hotel, a sweet collection of weatherboard shacks, seemed once have been a lively spot but, without another soul on the island, had gone, well, to the dogs.
A number of walking tracks had been cut through the forest. Off I headed on one, and along with me came the four dogs. One, the largest, took the lead and trotted off ahead. Each time the path branched off, he would sit and wait for me to catch up then would head off again, leading me in this fashion right around the island. I figured he knew the place better than I did, so was happy to leave him lead the way. The other three would catch up or go off ahead as they wished, always leaving the largest to guide me. If I dropped behind or hadn’t seen him for a while on the path, I’d whistle. He’d stop and wait for me to catch up, giving me a paternal, slightly exasperated look, before trotting on again. I felt as though we’d known each other for years.
We walked for perhaps an hour like this, arriving in the end back where we begun. I said a sad goodbye to my guides, of whom I had grown very fond, and rowed back to the sloop. As I passed a jetty, the four ran out and began to howl like dingoes. The kept this up until I was back aboard, heading off then to lie back under the coconut palms where they were when I first arrived.
I anchored one evening in the lee of a small island in the Baie du Prony. I had been told there is a disused hotel here and, the next morning, was keen to check it out. I could see no life on shore from where I was anchored, but heading ashore in the dinghy, I became aware of a pack of dogs eying me keenly, following my progress as I approached. Not keen to add a dog attack to my list of experiences here, I approached cautiously, landing with enough distance between me and those beasts that I could beat a retreat if necessary. The dogs, four of them, ran straight towards me. However they seemed not to be aggressive, so I stood my ground. Arriving, they bowled me to the ground; four of the friendliest dogs I’ve ever met! After satisfying their desire to be cuddled, I headed inland to explore the island. The abandoned hotel, a sweet collection of weatherboard shacks, seemed once have been a lively spot but, without another soul on the island, had gone, well, to the dogs.
A number of walking tracks had been cut through the forest. Off I headed on one, and along with me came the four dogs. One, the largest, took the lead and trotted off ahead. Each time the path branched off, he would sit and wait for me to catch up then would head off again, leading me in this fashion right around the island. I figured he knew the place better than I did, so was happy to leave him lead the way. The other three would catch up or go off ahead as they wished, always leaving the largest to guide me. If I dropped behind or hadn’t seen him for a while on the path, I’d whistle. He’d stop and wait for me to catch up, giving me a paternal, slightly exasperated look, before trotting on again. I felt as though we’d known each other for years.
We walked for perhaps an hour like this, arriving in the end back where we begun. I said a sad goodbye to my guides, of whom I had grown very fond, and rowed back to the sloop. As I passed a jetty, the four ran out and began to howl like dingoes. The kept this up until I was back aboard, heading off then to lie back under the coconut palms where they were when I first arrived.
Baie du Prony
I could happily have spent a year tucked away at the Ile des Pins had not the feeling of time marching on got the better of me. As it was, I remained there for over a week without raising the anchor. So one fine morning I headed off, arriving in the Baie du Prony later that day.
I’d been very keen since poring over charts of the area many years ago to see Prony. On paper I drew comparisons with Pittwater, which I love so much, and in reality I was pleased to discover this similarity remained. It encompasses an area of many square miles and offers safe, secluded anchorages for every wind direction.
Prony is famous for its red sand and soil, a result of rich iron and nickel deposits in the area. New Caledonia is the second largest producer of nickel, and it is in the hills surrounding Prony that the majority of this nickel is mined. On the eastern shore is an enormous mine site run by the multinational “Goro”. Much of the land surrounding Prony is designated as national park, however this mine site dominates all. Were it not that I work for a nickel operation myself, I would express my dismay that so remarkable a landscape is being affected in this way. However I have learned some pragmatism from my experiences, and recognize here the necessity of this mine. Such operations are not the cowboys of old where environmental impact was not a consideration. I have seen former mine sites in Australia of a similar scale to this regenerate in as little as fifty years to the point where it is not easy to tell that any activity has occurred at all. I hold out hope that, here in New Caledonia, the outcome will be similar.
My first night in the bay I spent in the south east corner, anchoring close by to a track leading up to the phare (lighthouse) at Cap Ndoua. This I climbed the next day, as well as to a smaller peak where I erected a small tower of stones, as is done. Later I moved to the rade du nord, anchoring off the mouth of a small stream. On its banks are the ruins of a penal settlement, which I was keen to explore.
I find it a peculiar feeling to be amongst ruins such as these. There is the intrigue associated with the old and the connection to a very different period,as one experiences with any very old building. A prison is different though. Amongst these ruins, I tried my best to sense the sadness and destruction of dreams and souls that one feels must pervade all such ruins. But it is such a beautiful place. I defer again to my pragmatism and conclude that such spiritual experiences probably don’t occur. What I did experience was that great pride had been taken by those who built the structures, the sea walls, the courtyards. These were convict workers, yet they worked with such skill and with such care that it is this feeling, a positive feeling, which I experience here now. In spite of their hopeless situation, I can imagine these prisoners pouring themselves into their work so that, even as they endured so cruel a life, they could look upon the results of their labour and know that it was unquestionably their own; something their captors could not take from them. Here now, I can touch what they created and understand something about their lives.
Continuing further upstream I came upon a small cascade, where fresh water from the hills arrives finally at sea level. This was fortuitous for me, as my stock of water on board was running low. I returned the next morning with my water cans, and took the opportunity too to wander up a path which I had seen winding inland by the stream the day before. It opened up after a while to a bulldozed track and, further on, to sealed road. It occurred to me that it must lead to the mine site, which I was keen to see, so I continued along for some time until I was quite close to the compound. It was here that a truck full of security guards was sent to meet me. Whether it was because I was in a restricted area or whether because I was wearing a skirt (well, a lungi.) I do not know, but they expressed in no uncertain terms that I would be better off quite elsewhere. Very kindly, they offered to drive me there themselves. I returned to the boat with my water, and was on my way.
My next stop was the Baie du Carenage in the north-west of Prony. I had a wonderful sail with my big red spinnaker up, gybing back and forth downwind as I picked my way around headlands and reefs. It is so exhilarating with that sail up; the sloop comes alive. I am reminded once again what I would lose if I was to move up to a bigger yacht, something we are all tempted by from time to time. This little boat has such spirit under sail.
Carenage is as protected as any bay in dear old Pittwater. As its name suggests, it was once used as a location to careen boats; sitting them on the bottom so they dry out as the tide goes down. I was to learn too that it is a bay full of characters. Of playboys and polygamists I shall recount later. Four nights I spent in Carenage, such was its appeal.
I remained in Prony for another few days before finally succumbing to the pull of time. Before long I should think about sailing up to Vanuatu, so I am back now in Noumea stocking up with french wine and getting through my list of jobs. Depending on a very great number of factors, I hope to clear out from here before the end of this week.
I could happily have spent a year tucked away at the Ile des Pins had not the feeling of time marching on got the better of me. As it was, I remained there for over a week without raising the anchor. So one fine morning I headed off, arriving in the Baie du Prony later that day.
I’d been very keen since poring over charts of the area many years ago to see Prony. On paper I drew comparisons with Pittwater, which I love so much, and in reality I was pleased to discover this similarity remained. It encompasses an area of many square miles and offers safe, secluded anchorages for every wind direction.
Prony is famous for its red sand and soil, a result of rich iron and nickel deposits in the area. New Caledonia is the second largest producer of nickel, and it is in the hills surrounding Prony that the majority of this nickel is mined. On the eastern shore is an enormous mine site run by the multinational “Goro”. Much of the land surrounding Prony is designated as national park, however this mine site dominates all. Were it not that I work for a nickel operation myself, I would express my dismay that so remarkable a landscape is being affected in this way. However I have learned some pragmatism from my experiences, and recognize here the necessity of this mine. Such operations are not the cowboys of old where environmental impact was not a consideration. I have seen former mine sites in Australia of a similar scale to this regenerate in as little as fifty years to the point where it is not easy to tell that any activity has occurred at all. I hold out hope that, here in New Caledonia, the outcome will be similar.
My first night in the bay I spent in the south east corner, anchoring close by to a track leading up to the phare (lighthouse) at Cap Ndoua. This I climbed the next day, as well as to a smaller peak where I erected a small tower of stones, as is done. Later I moved to the rade du nord, anchoring off the mouth of a small stream. On its banks are the ruins of a penal settlement, which I was keen to explore.
I find it a peculiar feeling to be amongst ruins such as these. There is the intrigue associated with the old and the connection to a very different period,as one experiences with any very old building. A prison is different though. Amongst these ruins, I tried my best to sense the sadness and destruction of dreams and souls that one feels must pervade all such ruins. But it is such a beautiful place. I defer again to my pragmatism and conclude that such spiritual experiences probably don’t occur. What I did experience was that great pride had been taken by those who built the structures, the sea walls, the courtyards. These were convict workers, yet they worked with such skill and with such care that it is this feeling, a positive feeling, which I experience here now. In spite of their hopeless situation, I can imagine these prisoners pouring themselves into their work so that, even as they endured so cruel a life, they could look upon the results of their labour and know that it was unquestionably their own; something their captors could not take from them. Here now, I can touch what they created and understand something about their lives.
Continuing further upstream I came upon a small cascade, where fresh water from the hills arrives finally at sea level. This was fortuitous for me, as my stock of water on board was running low. I returned the next morning with my water cans, and took the opportunity too to wander up a path which I had seen winding inland by the stream the day before. It opened up after a while to a bulldozed track and, further on, to sealed road. It occurred to me that it must lead to the mine site, which I was keen to see, so I continued along for some time until I was quite close to the compound. It was here that a truck full of security guards was sent to meet me. Whether it was because I was in a restricted area or whether because I was wearing a skirt (well, a lungi.) I do not know, but they expressed in no uncertain terms that I would be better off quite elsewhere. Very kindly, they offered to drive me there themselves. I returned to the boat with my water, and was on my way.
My next stop was the Baie du Carenage in the north-west of Prony. I had a wonderful sail with my big red spinnaker up, gybing back and forth downwind as I picked my way around headlands and reefs. It is so exhilarating with that sail up; the sloop comes alive. I am reminded once again what I would lose if I was to move up to a bigger yacht, something we are all tempted by from time to time. This little boat has such spirit under sail.
Carenage is as protected as any bay in dear old Pittwater. As its name suggests, it was once used as a location to careen boats; sitting them on the bottom so they dry out as the tide goes down. I was to learn too that it is a bay full of characters. Of playboys and polygamists I shall recount later. Four nights I spent in Carenage, such was its appeal.
I remained in Prony for another few days before finally succumbing to the pull of time. Before long I should think about sailing up to Vanuatu, so I am back now in Noumea stocking up with french wine and getting through my list of jobs. Depending on a very great number of factors, I hope to clear out from here before the end of this week.
Ile des Pins
A welcome westerly wind saw me leave from Noumea on Sunday 24 August and head east for a sojourn in the southern province. It was cold, raining hard and blowing to 25 knots as I set off, hardly what I had come all this way to experience, but a westerly is a westerly and when heading east little else will suffice. I reached Port Boise as evening approached, and tucked myself in for the night. Early next morning I set off again, keen to make the most of the westerly which was blowing still. Out through the passe du Havannah, I had a champagne run under spinnaker south-east to the Ile des Pins, arriving before noon.
On the advice of my friends from Oviri, I chose to make first for the Baie d’Oro on the NE corner of the island. The bay, open to the north, is formed by a barrier reef to the east and a series of ilots forming a semicircle from the south to west. Amongst all are a number of coral heads and reefs and, as a centerpiece, a coral head in the middle of the bay rises above high tide, vegetated, supporting a colony of crabs. With so much coral, entry into the bay is tricky. I anchored at the head to wait for high tide, using the time to sound out the entry by dinghy. By two o’clock there seemed enough water, so in I went, without problem, anchoring inside off a gorgeous beach fringed by coconut palms, in 10’ of water. Two french yachts had arrived the same day and we all met up on the beach to seek permission to stay.
The land off which we were anchored is owned by a Kanak family who ran a small open air restaurant to cater to guests from a nearby hotel. Just as it should be, lobster is the only dish available. Didie and Jean-Batiste did the fishing for the restaurant on the reefs surrounding the bay, and invited us to join them that night. So began a wonderful relationship with their family; nearly every night I joined them diving for lobsters and then sleeping around their fire on the beach. I have never eaten so much lobster.
I set off one day by bicycle to see a little more of the island. It proved so accessible this way that, despite planning initially to circumnavigate, I decided to remain anchored in the Baie d’Oro and get around when necessary by land. My legs were well pleased with this decision, and no doubt too my flabby gut. It is the upper body which receives the attention on board. It is an island of immense beauty and, with only a few thousand inhabitants, has a great sense of community about it. I envy the locals their lifestyle.
A welcome westerly wind saw me leave from Noumea on Sunday 24 August and head east for a sojourn in the southern province. It was cold, raining hard and blowing to 25 knots as I set off, hardly what I had come all this way to experience, but a westerly is a westerly and when heading east little else will suffice. I reached Port Boise as evening approached, and tucked myself in for the night. Early next morning I set off again, keen to make the most of the westerly which was blowing still. Out through the passe du Havannah, I had a champagne run under spinnaker south-east to the Ile des Pins, arriving before noon.
On the advice of my friends from Oviri, I chose to make first for the Baie d’Oro on the NE corner of the island. The bay, open to the north, is formed by a barrier reef to the east and a series of ilots forming a semicircle from the south to west. Amongst all are a number of coral heads and reefs and, as a centerpiece, a coral head in the middle of the bay rises above high tide, vegetated, supporting a colony of crabs. With so much coral, entry into the bay is tricky. I anchored at the head to wait for high tide, using the time to sound out the entry by dinghy. By two o’clock there seemed enough water, so in I went, without problem, anchoring inside off a gorgeous beach fringed by coconut palms, in 10’ of water. Two french yachts had arrived the same day and we all met up on the beach to seek permission to stay.
The land off which we were anchored is owned by a Kanak family who ran a small open air restaurant to cater to guests from a nearby hotel. Just as it should be, lobster is the only dish available. Didie and Jean-Batiste did the fishing for the restaurant on the reefs surrounding the bay, and invited us to join them that night. So began a wonderful relationship with their family; nearly every night I joined them diving for lobsters and then sleeping around their fire on the beach. I have never eaten so much lobster.
I set off one day by bicycle to see a little more of the island. It proved so accessible this way that, despite planning initially to circumnavigate, I decided to remain anchored in the Baie d’Oro and get around when necessary by land. My legs were well pleased with this decision, and no doubt too my flabby gut. It is the upper body which receives the attention on board. It is an island of immense beauty and, with only a few thousand inhabitants, has a great sense of community about it. I envy the locals their lifestyle.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Noumea
I’ve been here a week and already feel right at home. This place is a paradise for sailors! So many brilliant places to sail to, always blowing and water so clear it’s almost obscene. My French is coming back to me nicely. Yep, I could live here.
Less attractive though is the cost of living here. It’s crazy, it makes Sydney seem almost reasonable. Luckily though my boat is very small and I have no room for anything new, so I hope I’ll live quite cheaply even here. Certainly with the cost of diesel I’ll be honing my skills sailing at close quarters. As I leave I’ll be able to fill up duty free, so my Australian stocks will hopefully last until then. Things are more under control in Vanuatu, I understand.
Friday was a holiday here. For the long weekend I followed my friends Olivier et Geraldine on their boat Oviri to a great little anchorage about ten miles west of Noumea. What fun it was! It seems that nearly everyone here owns a boat and that they actually use them. None of this Sydney madness of owning a boat and leaving it to rot; they’re all genuinely loved and well used here. And lived aboard. A boat really comes alive when it’s used as a home. We spent the weekend eating, drinking and sleeping, achieving little else besides. I put my kayak together, and am looking forward to covering a few miles in it. It’s such a playground here. Sailing back yesterday I wiped out just as impressively as ever I have, flying the Scarlet Woman (my big red assy). Kal is such a toy. I’m not sure I’ll ever really want a bigger boat than this.
Monday now, and I’m back in town stocking up to head south to the Ile des Pins for a couple of weeks. I’ve had the Navik welded back together, and am keen to give it a workout to test its strength. A friend here has a spare he’ll sell me if mine fails again, but fingers crossed all will be well. I’ve also had the toe-rail up since I’ve been here, trying to source a leak that’s letting water in up forward when I’m sailing. Anyone who’s sailed far with me will attest to quite how annoying this leak is. I’ve been trying to seal it up for years now in vain, but hope I’m on top of it this time. Thank goodness for Sikaflex (Incidentally, re. the above, a tube here of the stuff comes to about 35 bucks).
So all’s well!
I’ve been here a week and already feel right at home. This place is a paradise for sailors! So many brilliant places to sail to, always blowing and water so clear it’s almost obscene. My French is coming back to me nicely. Yep, I could live here.
Less attractive though is the cost of living here. It’s crazy, it makes Sydney seem almost reasonable. Luckily though my boat is very small and I have no room for anything new, so I hope I’ll live quite cheaply even here. Certainly with the cost of diesel I’ll be honing my skills sailing at close quarters. As I leave I’ll be able to fill up duty free, so my Australian stocks will hopefully last until then. Things are more under control in Vanuatu, I understand.
Friday was a holiday here. For the long weekend I followed my friends Olivier et Geraldine on their boat Oviri to a great little anchorage about ten miles west of Noumea. What fun it was! It seems that nearly everyone here owns a boat and that they actually use them. None of this Sydney madness of owning a boat and leaving it to rot; they’re all genuinely loved and well used here. And lived aboard. A boat really comes alive when it’s used as a home. We spent the weekend eating, drinking and sleeping, achieving little else besides. I put my kayak together, and am looking forward to covering a few miles in it. It’s such a playground here. Sailing back yesterday I wiped out just as impressively as ever I have, flying the Scarlet Woman (my big red assy). Kal is such a toy. I’m not sure I’ll ever really want a bigger boat than this.
Monday now, and I’m back in town stocking up to head south to the Ile des Pins for a couple of weeks. I’ve had the Navik welded back together, and am keen to give it a workout to test its strength. A friend here has a spare he’ll sell me if mine fails again, but fingers crossed all will be well. I’ve also had the toe-rail up since I’ve been here, trying to source a leak that’s letting water in up forward when I’m sailing. Anyone who’s sailed far with me will attest to quite how annoying this leak is. I’ve been trying to seal it up for years now in vain, but hope I’m on top of it this time. Thank goodness for Sikaflex (Incidentally, re. the above, a tube here of the stuff comes to about 35 bucks).
So all’s well!
Nouvelle Caledonie
And here I am in one piece. I arrived a week ago on Monday morning, thirteen days out from Sydney.
The passage across delivered the usual doses of too much, not enough, headwinds, big seas and fabulous still nights on a mirror calm sea. Truly it was marvelous. I left Sydney on the afternoon of 29 July after clearing out that morning from the fish markets in the city. It was a fairly lively day, with weather and squalls from the south; I was forced to abandon my suit and bowler hat for my oilskins even before I left the harbour. The wind kept building during the evening and before it was through I was down to three reefs, a scrap of headsail and a nasty gash to my ear, and wondering quite what the hell it was I ever saw in the idea. But on I pushed, heading ENE. By morning Australia was gone from view and with it the remnants of indecision a bout whether or not I was where I should be.
A few days later found me close to Lord Howe Island. I’d thought to sail close enough to pick up a weather forecast and a phone signal to send an all’s well to people back home. Silly move. The wind had been NW to perhaps 20 knots and all was well, however as the day wore on I began to get a bad feeling about what was to come. The barometer had been dropping, though not alarmingly, but there was just this feeling in the air. I sorted myself out for some heavy weather, setting the storm jib, fitting the storm boards over the windows and lashing more securely anything that required it. I cooked a big meal to last a few days, and wondered if anything would happen. Towards dark I abandoned my plan to get close to the land and decided to head south of Ball’s Pyramid, where I’d have more sea room. It was as I was passing Ball’s that the wind arrived. From the SE, it blew from the very first moment harder than anything I’ve found myself in before. That damned rock was now in my lee, out of sight in the dark and the rain but far too close for comfort. I had placed it as a waypoint on my little GPS, but had not been precise with my measurements, never anticipating I’d end up so close. What a dangerous oversight! I was forced to beat up into the wind, into perhaps 50 knots, to be sure I would clear the land. Should anything have broken then, I’d really have been in trouble. As it was, I got away safely and all was well. Learned a big lesson though. Once I had room below me I hove to, stopping the boat to let it drift with the weather, and went below to congratulate myself on still being alive.
I remained hove to until the next morning, the wind being too strong to sail safely. By morning the wind had eased slightly, but the seas were enormous, again larger than I’d seen. A house of a couple of stories would happily have sat in the troughs between waves; I guessed them to be about 9 metres. I set the Navik (windvane steering) to work still under storm jib and darted off, surfing now and then to 15 knots down the waves. The gallant Mr Navik did his best for the time he could, but had twisted and cracked after just an hour of this. It was up to Major Tom (the electric auto pilot) then to pick up the slack (heaven forbid I should hand-steer!). He earned his stripes that day.
Two days later and the depression blew itself out. Some lighter winds from the south and west followed for a time before, once I’d arrived close to Norfolk Island, fizzling out all together. Three days I sat, progressing less than 100 miles in all that time. Following this were a couple of days of northerly winds which I had to beat straight into before finally the SE trade wind arrived the day before I reached Noumea. I hove to outside the reef over night and was tied safely alongside by mid day.
Now I’m here, I am happy to confess that I was pretty nervous about heading off on my own. I guess I’ve always assumed I had the skills necessary, but to test them out is another matter and one which I’d been putting off for some time. Now here I am, wondering why on earth I’ve waited so long. I’d be foolish to suggest that based on one passage I’m able to cope with all that may come, but its been a huge boost in my confidence to realize that, actually, it’s not that hard to do. My dear little boat behaved admirably in all conditions, most especially in the rough weather I received near Lord Howe.
And here I am in one piece. I arrived a week ago on Monday morning, thirteen days out from Sydney.
The passage across delivered the usual doses of too much, not enough, headwinds, big seas and fabulous still nights on a mirror calm sea. Truly it was marvelous. I left Sydney on the afternoon of 29 July after clearing out that morning from the fish markets in the city. It was a fairly lively day, with weather and squalls from the south; I was forced to abandon my suit and bowler hat for my oilskins even before I left the harbour. The wind kept building during the evening and before it was through I was down to three reefs, a scrap of headsail and a nasty gash to my ear, and wondering quite what the hell it was I ever saw in the idea. But on I pushed, heading ENE. By morning Australia was gone from view and with it the remnants of indecision a bout whether or not I was where I should be.
A few days later found me close to Lord Howe Island. I’d thought to sail close enough to pick up a weather forecast and a phone signal to send an all’s well to people back home. Silly move. The wind had been NW to perhaps 20 knots and all was well, however as the day wore on I began to get a bad feeling about what was to come. The barometer had been dropping, though not alarmingly, but there was just this feeling in the air. I sorted myself out for some heavy weather, setting the storm jib, fitting the storm boards over the windows and lashing more securely anything that required it. I cooked a big meal to last a few days, and wondered if anything would happen. Towards dark I abandoned my plan to get close to the land and decided to head south of Ball’s Pyramid, where I’d have more sea room. It was as I was passing Ball’s that the wind arrived. From the SE, it blew from the very first moment harder than anything I’ve found myself in before. That damned rock was now in my lee, out of sight in the dark and the rain but far too close for comfort. I had placed it as a waypoint on my little GPS, but had not been precise with my measurements, never anticipating I’d end up so close. What a dangerous oversight! I was forced to beat up into the wind, into perhaps 50 knots, to be sure I would clear the land. Should anything have broken then, I’d really have been in trouble. As it was, I got away safely and all was well. Learned a big lesson though. Once I had room below me I hove to, stopping the boat to let it drift with the weather, and went below to congratulate myself on still being alive.
I remained hove to until the next morning, the wind being too strong to sail safely. By morning the wind had eased slightly, but the seas were enormous, again larger than I’d seen. A house of a couple of stories would happily have sat in the troughs between waves; I guessed them to be about 9 metres. I set the Navik (windvane steering) to work still under storm jib and darted off, surfing now and then to 15 knots down the waves. The gallant Mr Navik did his best for the time he could, but had twisted and cracked after just an hour of this. It was up to Major Tom (the electric auto pilot) then to pick up the slack (heaven forbid I should hand-steer!). He earned his stripes that day.
Two days later and the depression blew itself out. Some lighter winds from the south and west followed for a time before, once I’d arrived close to Norfolk Island, fizzling out all together. Three days I sat, progressing less than 100 miles in all that time. Following this were a couple of days of northerly winds which I had to beat straight into before finally the SE trade wind arrived the day before I reached Noumea. I hove to outside the reef over night and was tied safely alongside by mid day.
Now I’m here, I am happy to confess that I was pretty nervous about heading off on my own. I guess I’ve always assumed I had the skills necessary, but to test them out is another matter and one which I’d been putting off for some time. Now here I am, wondering why on earth I’ve waited so long. I’d be foolish to suggest that based on one passage I’m able to cope with all that may come, but its been a huge boost in my confidence to realize that, actually, it’s not that hard to do. My dear little boat behaved admirably in all conditions, most especially in the rough weather I received near Lord Howe.
Monday, July 28, 2008
To Melanesia!
Well I'm off. It's been quite the uphill battle with one thing and another, but why do things simply if there's a harder way to go, I always say.
Kal is looking stunning with a clean bum, lovely new sails and covers and a grin on her face a mile wide at the thought of again being at sea, and for my part I'm feeling pretty damned well ready to go. Sadly, Tus and I have broken up, so I sail alone. However this has always been my dream, and so to go alone makes sense.
Weather looks good for tomorrow, so I'll leave at once, clearing customs at 1000. I have food and water enough to last a lifetime it seems, and true to how things really should be, have no meat and no booze along for the ride. No prizes for guessing what I'll be up to the moment I reach Noumea...
This is my first offshore passage single handed, so can only hazard a guess as to how long I'll take, but somewhere between the next 10 and 20 days should be a reasonable shot at the spitoon.
I'll be sure to send word as soon as I can on my arrival.
Well I'm off. It's been quite the uphill battle with one thing and another, but why do things simply if there's a harder way to go, I always say.
Kal is looking stunning with a clean bum, lovely new sails and covers and a grin on her face a mile wide at the thought of again being at sea, and for my part I'm feeling pretty damned well ready to go. Sadly, Tus and I have broken up, so I sail alone. However this has always been my dream, and so to go alone makes sense.
Weather looks good for tomorrow, so I'll leave at once, clearing customs at 1000. I have food and water enough to last a lifetime it seems, and true to how things really should be, have no meat and no booze along for the ride. No prizes for guessing what I'll be up to the moment I reach Noumea...
This is my first offshore passage single handed, so can only hazard a guess as to how long I'll take, but somewhere between the next 10 and 20 days should be a reasonable shot at the spitoon.
I'll be sure to send word as soon as I can on my arrival.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Charts
I copied a neighbours charts of New Caledonia the other day and, in my incapacitated state (see below) I've found my calling in sitting and colouring the things in. Theory: by paying such attention to the things while colouring, I'll build my familiarity with the areas and therefore hit fewer reefs. Practice: I'm considering a career change, seeking my fortune from those colouring competitions at supermarkets and pre-schools the world over. They'll accept a 28 year old right? I Do have a sore finger..
I copied a neighbours charts of New Caledonia the other day and, in my incapacitated state (see below) I've found my calling in sitting and colouring the things in. Theory: by paying such attention to the things while colouring, I'll build my familiarity with the areas and therefore hit fewer reefs. Practice: I'm considering a career change, seeking my fortune from those colouring competitions at supermarkets and pre-schools the world over. They'll accept a 28 year old right? I Do have a sore finger..
A break
And another delay... I hate delays!
So, cycling on my way to buy more of those little rubber gloves so I could put the last coat of paint in the forepeak (I'm a messy painter), I hit a pot-hole and went arse over tit. A broken thumb, fractured rib and a whole lot less skin was the happy result. I'll be hanging around Sydney now for the next month having pins put in, then taken out of my thumb. If I'm not ready to leave then, I vow here that I'll sell Old K and buy myself a farm.
And another delay... I hate delays!
So, cycling on my way to buy more of those little rubber gloves so I could put the last coat of paint in the forepeak (I'm a messy painter), I hit a pot-hole and went arse over tit. A broken thumb, fractured rib and a whole lot less skin was the happy result. I'll be hanging around Sydney now for the next month having pins put in, then taken out of my thumb. If I'm not ready to leave then, I vow here that I'll sell Old K and buy myself a farm.
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