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On Passage
Thursday 17th June dawns fine and clear. We motor around to Scarborough Marina and meet the immigration officers to attend to clearance requirements. Then we load 400 litres of diesel (Ouch, expensive!), top up the water tanks, say our goodbyes and head out across Moreton Bay. Of course there is little wind and what there is blows from the direction we want to go. So no sailing. Just motoring for the next two days. Well off and on anyway.
Only 4.30 in the afternoon and I go down to check the engines and find that one of the brand new fuel hoses we had fitted is faulty. The end has come off and ten to fifteen litres of diesel is sloshing around the base of one engine. Seems like Murphy knows exactly when boats are leaving and welcomes himself on board no matter what precautions are taken! Hope this doesn't set the tone for the whole trip.
However, with a bit of resourcefulness and two hose clamps all is repaired and we continue on. At least the sea is reasonably flat and getting flatter every hour we are without wind. By Morning, the wind comes up enough to sail. Well, for a while anyway. The first 24 hours we sail then motor, sail then motor while dodging ships that are travelling up and down the coast. At times we have three in sight at the same time, in front, behind and beside us. Can be nerve wracking at night particularly when the investigation into the Jessica Watson collision proved, yet again, that many of these ships don't bother to keep a lookout for sailing boats. If you are not big enough to cause them damage then you don't really matter.
We quickly settle into the onboard routine. Someone on watch at all times and everyone taking a turn. Midday till 3pm, 3 till 6pm, 6 till 9pm, 9 till 12pm and then round we go again. The fourth person on board and Sarah taking responsibility for a watch certainly makes a difference. There's plenty of time to sleep.
By 2pm Friday the wind gets up and settles into a steady 10 to 15 knot south westerly and we are up and away. Then it drops out again and back to motoring we go. Oh the joy of being subject to the whims of the weather. By Saturday morning it has finally decided what it wants to do and settles into a south easterly. Steady at first but then increasing and increasing and .......
Day four and five are 20 to 30 knots with the sea getting up to 3 to 4 metres. When the angle is right we are screaming along with water bursting right over the cabin top. But just a degree or two off to one side or the other and we are crashing and bashing, waves exploding underneath us, standing up alongside and bursting into the cockpit.
Each morning the monotony is broken by flying fish patrol. These amazing little creatures burst from the tops of waves and 'fly' using their extremely long pectoral fins, sometimes for hundreds of metres, before plunging back into the waves again. However, they don't always allow for a large catamaran plunging across their path at 6 to 8 knots! Each morning we find enough to provide a nice 'flying fish on toast' supplement to breakfast. Just like sardines only larger!
One morning, way up on the cabin top, there is a stranded squid. I assume he was in the top of a wave when it crashed over the top and he found a new career as a hitch hiker. Sadly, it was short lived.
One night we find we have company with lights in front and to port. Other yachts! We called them up on radio and amazingly find that one is being crewed by the fellow that used to run the slipway at Tin Can Bay. What a small world! Miles from home in the midst of this huge ocean and a couple of mile away in another yacht is someone we know.Comforting in a way. But two yachts in the same patch of water? The race is on...........we HAVE to beat Gypsy Hawke. I head up a couple of points to starboard and an hour later leave what I think is Gypsy Hawke in our wake. That showed them. Oh the joy of having a catamaran!!!!!!!!
Wednesday dawns, up goes the big Aussie flag on the transom, the French courtesy flag and the yellow quarantine flag on the spreaders. The French flag is still the one we made from old T Shirts in 2007 when we had to divert to Noumea unexpectedly, but it works. What right do they have to maintain colonies in the SW Pacific anyway? ;-) Now we are officially ready to enter French territorial waters.
We are tired of being thumped and bashed and thrown, up, down and sideways. Bob (our crewman) says that unless there is some rough stuff you don't get your money's worth. We think he needs psychological counselling! All eyes are peeled for the first glimpse of land in 6 days. We know it is there. The chart and GPS say so. But where? Hour after hour we peer ahead through the showers and squalls. Maybe the French have sold it to help them through the global financial crisis? Maybe all the instruments are wrong and we are actually somewhere else? Aaagh! The waiting goes on and on and on and........
We are pushing it because we want to get in before dark so Carol is on the helm. She has an uncanny instinct for picking the smoothest path between the biggest swells and has a vested interest. She doesn't want to give Bob the chance to get any more 'money's worth'. We have had enough! Finally, we sense the sea moderating and know that we are starting to get behind the shelter of the reef further south. But where's the entrance? It doesn't seem to matter how many instruments we have to reassure us that we are on the right track, reef entrances are still a nerve wracking business.
Then we see the surf crashing to the left and right of us and see the tall slender silhouette of Amadee Lighthouse dead ahead. We are spot on track, not more than ten metres off the line after 900 nautical miles, and the entry is obvious! Ain't modern technology grand? And once more I feel enormous relief and ever more respect for the likes of Captains Cook and D'Entrecasteaux. They found their way through passes like this without GPS, radar and autohelms. They didn't even have reliable charts! Now I just feel like a sook!
Then we hear Gypsy Hawke calling the marina wanting a berth! What? How did they get past us? How can a 38 foot Van der Stadt with only one hull go that fast anyway? That's not fair!
Inside the lagoon the swell is gone and as we turn towards Noumea with the wind behind us it is almost still. Navigation lights flashing red and green provide a comforting presence and the lights of Noumea, the capital of New Caledonia, appear in the distance. We have arrived! Suddenly it seems like the last six days has passed in an instant. Was it really that rough? Seems like it was only yesterday and two flying fish sandwiches ago that we left!
We motor into Baie D'Orphelina until we can see boats anchored in the gloom ahead and then drop the anchor. We will deal with Customs, Immigration and Quarantine in the morning. The rocking has stopped, Carol has another wonderful meal on the table and there is warm water for showers - all is at peace.
- comments
Rhonda Genders Tony you've missed your calling - start writing a book, really enjoyed the read.
kiz today, after reading this, I praise god to the highest extent that I live on LAND, LAND bless god for LAND