Slight detour

Kupang. 17/9/2017

Leaving the lock at Bayview Marina. Photo courtesy of Monique off "Dream Catcher"

It felt great to be heading to sea, leaving the land behind, with no pressure to get anywhere before dark.  I wasn’t sure how I’d go with sleep management, but soon found a comfortable rhythm, waking every 30 minutes, then back down.

I knew from the Gribs to expect light winds until well away from Australia.  The first day out was glorious sailing, doing an easy 6 knots across smooth seas.  By 1800, that had dropped to only 1.5 knots; time to turn the key, being very conscious of my scarce fuel supplies and the many miles ahead.  Still, I was prepared to sacrifice half a tank if necessary to get clear of the calms. 

I took advantage of the lull to change the dynema lines and pulley arrangement on “Min”, the Fleming self steering; because I had noticed the rear lines were over-riding the front ones and getting jammed.

On day 3, the wind was up to 25 knots and we were flying along. Halelujah, we must have reached the trades, I thought.  Wrong!  By midnight there was nothing, not a breath of wind to shake the velvety carpet of sea to even a ripple.

The next day was more of the same, though with a large ocean swell rolling Shanti from ear to ear.  And it was so hot!  Around 45 degrees in the cabin.  Even harder to handle than in Darwin because there, at least I could run a fan.  Here, it couldn’t stay on its feet with the rocking and rolling. I decided to stabilize the base by screwing it to the breadboard.

How long was this going to last?  A sat phone text to the outside world confirmed my fears – no wind below 11 deg S, 123 E.  Almost as far north as Indonesia, which was 200 miles away.  After much deliberation and calculation, I decided that the best option was to burn off the rest of my diesel and head for somewhere it could be replenished. 

Also I was having issues with power.  It seemed as if my batteries weren’t charging or holding a charge.  This was confirmed when after 16 hours of motoring, within a short time, "Tilly" the autopilot was squawking, the voltage down to 10.7V.

So fuel and new batteries were top priority.

 

Motoring over a glassy sea to Kupang. 

Indonesia was not a planned stop, so Australian Border Force had to be advised of change of destination. Thank goodness for satphone!  They were great about it.

Entering a foreign country with no idea how was interesting.  I found an old cruising guide that said to report to the Harbourmaster at the port, so I motored up and down in strong head winds, calling constantly on VHF Ch 16, but got no reply.

I gave up and returned to an anchorage, where luckily a couple of Australian cruisers were able to direct me to an honest and reliable yacht agent here, Michael, ($US250), who became dedicated to the cause.

After several trees worth of paperwork and many hours of practising patience in some interesting government offices where no one seemed to be working, I was finally checked in and out. At least the taxi and offices were air conditioned and the locals friendly.  I got some kudos as a solo female sailor and many wanted their photo taken with me.

Getting the diesel was easy – a longboat and Michael's boys to deliver it to Shanti.

The batteries were a bit harder – no deep cycle batteries are to be had here, so I have had to make do with wet cell car batteries. Not ideal, but a temporary measure which hopefully will get me to S Africa.  I spent the last two nights after the wind died off and the boat stopped pitching, fitting them in.

It was great to have Michael to run me around to get battery cables and a suitable length of wood for the job. Carrying all this on the back of a moped amongst hundreds of others in heavy traffic was an exhilarating experience.  You see many a family zooming about on these motorcycles, always with youngest perched up front as the sacrificial lamb. The women pillion riders often sit side saddle, and never a helmet to be seen.

Kupang is a fascinating blend of old and new world. Going from the grubby outdoor market to the huge shopping mall, all shiny and immaculate with military precision in the rows of stock on shelves and checkout chicks in smart uniforms like airline hostesses, was something of a culture shock.

Friends off  “Dream catcher” arrived a couple of days after me and we enjoyed eating out at the traditional night market. So I did get to see a few sights in my short stay here.
Also divested of almost my entire stash of US$.
 

My intentions are to continue on as per plan, just as soon as possible, heading to Cocos Keeling, Mauritius then South Africa, hopefully before Christmas - this year.

Sunday, September 17, exactly 10 days after leaving Darwin, I’m ready to go again.  Unfortunately, after it blowing the crabs off the rocks for the past few days, we are lolling listlessly in a breathless, mist-enshrouded morning.

I shall row ashore with my rubbish and see what develops ......



 

 

Shanti resuming transmission.

5/9/2017, Darwin

Well I made the leap, out of the frying pan and into the fire! 

Leaving Shanti safely locked up in Bayview marina in Darwin, I flew to the Seychelles.  As the last crewmember to arrive,  it was expected that we would depart within a day or two, for the long beat to windward home.  Everyone who knows anything of the proposed route back to Brisbane, against the prevailing SE trade winds and counter currents, said it was not a sensible idea.  Well they were right.

Ex charter Cats everywhere.

The Seychelles are quite beautiful, but after interminable waiting on bureaucracy's buckled wheels to grind, we were all keen to get going.  Finally, on Monday 21st August, two weeks after my arrival, we were let loose.

The following Monday, we were back where we started.

Things didn't go at all according to plan.  Here is a report written by the delivery skipper to the owners:

"First and for most: if we didn’t have these safety issues we still would be well on our way to the Maldives or Indonesia!

 

The major reasons for me to return are, firstly that the crew started losing confidence in the boat.

Within the first three days we had 3 major safety issues and 3 impending ones:

It started when the main halyard was in the water and rapped itself around the saildrive. This may have been a human error, but these errors do happen. At night it is impossible to see (without a light) if all lines and halyards are in their proper place secured on the mast. So, after a rough night, at daylight I discovered the main halyard to be in the water. We managed to get it out by heaving to, which was not easy because we could neither hoist or lower the mainsail. Getting in the water when the ship is still moving slowly in a rough sea is highly dangerous. I wouldn’t recommend it. However, it had to be done or we could lose or damage our port saildrive and/or rudder!

Then the port line of the lazy bag broke. This implicated that the foot of the mainsail is hanging loose over the port side of the boom when one or two reefs are in, thus obstructing your view, blocking the solar panels, and a potential danger when in rough weather. Besides it is chafing slightly. Setting a reef or shaking one was getting also very challenging with a large part of the very heavy main sail not properly secured.

To our disbelief we discovered that the second reefing line was almost broken. Totally chafed down to the core of this 12 mm double braided line. I managed to replace it with the spare line I bought.

The next things we observed were that the first reefing line was also about to get bad. You could move the outer braided sleeve loosely over the inner core over a large section. Further inspection of the other lines revealed that the main sheet also had some chafing damage. These two items were not imminently dangerous, but because we don’t have any more spare lines it is getting to be a serious challenge for a long passage as this. Lastly in this section, we discovered the topping lift to be in a similar shape as the second reefing line.

 

Given all above our main impression was: if this is already broken during the first three days, what will happen next? Bear in mind that on our first sea trial, a few days ago, the genoa sheet also chafed badly, almost broke and had to be replaced. And a mindset like that is not building confidence.

 

The second main reason to turn around is the way the boat behaves in an upwind course.

At first, we set on an easterly course with southeasterly to east-southeasterly winds, which was very uncomfortable due to the fact we also had a strong current against us. The sea state was moderate and the swell was between 3-5 meters with an interval of 6-8 seconds. (The three weeks delay we had in the Seychelles certainly lost us a better weather window and was one of the reasons why I was unhappy then with the situation.)

We were really banging into the waves at a speed of 3-5 knots and the current was setting us more to a northerly drift. This wasn’t expected and anticipated. All of this didn’t feel good at all for the boat. We were not making any real good progress until we decided to go on a more northerly heading and possibly enter one of the Maldives. To set a course for Cocos (Keeling) was out of the question already. Indonesia looked like a good alternative option. The distance from the Seychelles was almost similar to Cocos and we would have had a more comfortable and safe sailing, more closely to the equator. However, the winds in this part of the Indian Ocean around the ICTZ would have been variable and light thus making us to maneuver more and perhaps motor (sail) more. All of which was and is no problem (or challenge). But beating against the sea is not good for this boat, certainly not if you have to do it for more than 3 weeks continuously!

 

Conclusions and recommendations:

You could say this was an extended sea trial of about 600 nautical miles.

It certainly shows the boat has been used for the charter business. Generally, the ‘guests’ who hire these boats have little or none sailing experience and don’t know how to handle the boat properly. The general maintenance was done by the Moorings. I have to examine the maintenance log to see if any of the lines have been replaced earlier, however I expect that they didn’t do that, given the obvious state of these lines. The chafing should have been noticed during the survey of the boat and subsequently the rigging check specifically.

 

As almost any catamaran, the boat handles very well in winds from a reach to a more broad reach. Upwind is another story. I found that the limit is 30 degrees. 35 degrees is just at the edge and at 40 degrees she starts to handle better. At 50 degrees or more, she really starts to act like a catamaran.

A Leopard 39 is not a heavy weight sailing cat, but build for lighter conditions. I would certainly not sail her in the ‘roaring forties’ or similar circumstances! If the sea state is getting rough, she doesn’t handle the waves very well. Banging into them, you can see the shrouds trembling, the mast shaking and you can hear he forestay taking a beating on the big aluminium bar which is between both hull’s.

Another item which is not implemented on this boat is a preventer. The boom moves sideways a lot in any wind and cannot be fixated by mere use of the mainsheet. Again, in heavy weather this is cause of concern, because there is too much stress on the rigging.

The big plus of this Leopard 39 is he downwind sailing, the comfort and space on board and complete layout. I would take the boat on a world circum navigation any time! But sailing ‘the right way’ of course.

 

So, my intention of sailing to Australia more or less directly via Cocos (Keeling) Islands may have been a bit too opportunistic. The alternative route, more north via the Maldives and then to Indonesia is a better option. In my opinion, the best sailing option would be to go ‘the long way around’".

They really cram these big cats in tight.

So, back in port again, awaiting spares and repairs, not sure which way to go ........


The potential for further delays seemed highly likely and I was reluctant to go the long way round on someone else's boat when that had been my own original plan.  I had seen a few of the big Indian Ocean rollers and they didn't look that scary.


A few of those motivational mantras were playing in  my head, rekindling my doused dreams, making me question my decision to give up on my quest, right at the start line, as it were.


This little video clip summed it up nicely.

The idea that dreams choose us, rather than we choose our dreams, especially resonated with me.


And the aphorism, "it is one thing to try and fail, but to fail to try is true failure."


I feel that I failed to try.  Got to the start line in Darwin, was assailed by doubt and fear, and was too afraid to step off into the great unknown.


So on Thursday 31st August, I flew back from the Seychelles to Darwin, ready to give it a go.
Today, Sept 5th is my birthday.  I don't want to leave it another year.

This is how much weed was on the paddle of my Fleming self steering when I arrived in Darwin.

Everyone here in Bayview marina has been incredibly friendly and supportive.  Many of them have done this route before.


Yesterday, the couple on the boat next door helped me clean and apply fresh antifoul paint to the Fleming.

One woman, Chrissie, even lent me her ute to go out for diesel and provisions.

Food for Africa

Today seemed an auspicious date to call Customs and arrange clearance.  Tomorrow, I will go and clear out, buy a courtesy flag of Mauritius, and stock up on fresh fruit and veg. Then at first opening of the lock gates on Thursday morning, Shanti will resume her voyage.


The route will take me across the Indian ocean (the right way), to Cocos Keeling, then Mauritius, then South Africa.  All going well I should be there by mid December, ready to fly back to Melbourne for Christmas.


The next report will be from Cocos Keeling, in about a month from now. 

Boon or bane?

30/7/2017, Darwin.

 

I was wrong when I thought day hops were over.  This was because instead of sailing non-stop over the top of the Arafura Sea for a week, I chose to go via Gove.

Seisia to Gove is only three days and nights, and I discovered how tough sleeplessness can be.  The first day was virtually windless, so it was a reluctant key-turning, diesel burning time. (I was very conscious of my limited diesel capacity, but thought at least I could top up in Gove if need be.)

The next two days and nights were a battle-ground, with washing machine confused seas throwing Shanti about like a cork.  Sleep in that? Forget it.  I was hanging on by the skin of my teeth (and had already broken one of those). Everything down below was getting thrown about as if by some petulant giant sick of his toys.

Attempting to put a reef in the mainsail at midnight as gusts topped 30 knots I wrenched my shoulder – quite disarming (if you’ll excuse the pun). The electric "Winchrite" that Shoni bought me has long since died. 

Friends on “Hard Yakka” received only half of my VHF transmission and were unsure whether to turn back (to windward into 3 metre waves – don’t think so).  Anyway we all made it safely and Gove was well worth a visit.

The old disused bauxite processing plant. Now shipped raw.

Ric convinced us to stay until Thursday when the GYC opened and I have to say the meals were extraordinary.  None of this nouveau cuisine, fancily decorated half empty plate for them.  The free shower facilities were greatly appreciated too.

We hitched into town and learnt more of the local culture, which I found fascinating. I have never seen such a predominantly indigenous population, no doubt the reason behind the need for a liquor permit to buy alcohol and then only after 1400. And Leanne is only allowed to drink in the presence of Ric, the permit holder.

But the Gove detour really digs you into a bit of a hole. If you look at a chart of the area, you will see a string of lumpy bits – the Wessels - bar the way west. So back to day hopping, threading my way through them all, at times through some narrow and shallow slices in the terrain.

Nail-biting, butt clenching, nerve-wracking stuff going through inside of Croker Island, with unsurveyed shallows.

The so called “Hole in the Wall” is another such adrenaline surge. With currents running up to 12 knots it’s important to time the tide right.  Only trouble is, opinions on when exactly is “right” differ. “Dream Catcher” and “Mikado” were given information by a local fisherman, which surely should be right.  One would think.

I fell into line and tagged along behind them for the 1630 tide, only to get a last minute VHF radio call from the leader warning me their powerful engine could scarcely give them 1 knot of boat speed against the flood tide. No way known my little egg-beater would make any impression there. I didn’t want to risk having to wait until dark for slack water, so peeled away and sailed another 10 nautical miles down the coast to the nearest shelter for the night, arriving just on dusk.

Early next morning, Hard Yakka and Shanti punched back to windward to make the 0800 tide, a time recommended by Andrew Garret, President of the CYAV (thanks Andrew).  This time it was right.  No turbulence, just a smooth, very rapid transit, with a top speed of 10.5 kts SOG (Speed over Ground).  Very exciting.

Once on the other side of that bit of the island chain, there were more day sails; in fact, potentially dozens if one chose to meander and explore at a more leisurely pace.  But I was keen to push on to Darwin, so left our little fleet, to set out for another couple of overnighters.  I figured these were like mini tests for me, seeing if I could indeed sleep at sea.

This one was only 256 miles to Cape Don, the final stepping stone before the last 100 miles down into Darwin. But again, the wind was fickle, at first stranding me with not enough to stop the sails from slatting, later slamming me with the same force as before, making me question if I’d made the right decision.

I received one hugely special bonus in choosing to go out to sea, a real gift.  I was lying down below listening to Eva Cassidy singing about happy little bluebirds flying when I could hear a shrill chirping sound.  “How clever,” I thought.  Never noticed that  before.  When it continued after the song finished I thought some real birds had come to roost, as they often like to rest (and poop) on my solar panels out at sea.

But no.  What an unbelievable sight met my eyes,  Shanti was surrounded by dozens of the biggest, blackest dolphins (or Minke whales) that I have ever seen. Some were almost as big as Shanti, and close enough for me to touch.  I wasn’t sure whether to be thrilled or freaked.  More and more joined in from afar, slipping alongside effortlessly, diving, surfacing with huge spouts from their large blowholes, splashing the water with their tails and breaching right in front of the boat. They stayed and played for well over an hour, an unusual length of time for a pod not to grow bored of a slow moving boat.  Down below, the hull reverberated with their chittering song. What a privilege! 

 

One of the things I love about Shanti is her proximity to the elements.  Of course, all boons also have their banes. The bane is she is so close to the elements as to almost be a part of them, at times rather too much so.

So, at last, Darwin! The Holy Grail. I have made it.  And this is where we rest.

Sitting on anchor in Fannie Bay, the city skyline in the background, I reflect on this journey and all that I have learned.  This blog would be even longer than it already is, were I to include even half of these things.

For the most part Shanti has been brilliant.  There have been some issues around self-steering gear (quite critical for single-handing) and at times I question her diminutive proportions.  I know that lots of people sail across oceans in even smaller boats (often they are younger with something to prove, or older, with a death wish).

I am neither, and have to admit that single-handing is damn hard – and a tad unsafe.  This small boat bites.  It throws me about like a rag doll; it brings out old symptoms, such as shoulder bursitis, backaches and, more scarily, debilitating attacks of vertigo (not a good thing on a boat). I’m sure my system is overflowing with adrenaline, cortisol, norepinephrine, glucagon and enough other stress hormones to sink a ship.

It may just be time to put my childhood dream back into the toy box. Or at very least to take some time out to consider practicalities, such as having extra crew, water/fuel supply, safety, comfort vs hardship.

So what now?

Serendipitous synchronicities as usual pop up.  Ric, off Hard Yakka, gave me a contact in Darwin for a cheap marina berth, $100 pw.

A couple of friends are doing a delivery of a cat from the Seychelles back to Darwin.  At the last minute the third crew member pulled out, and they asked me to replace her.   4,500 nautical miles, against wind and current – hmmm, not an easy decision. Air fare, marina berth, all food and drink covered. Is this jumping out of the frying pan into the fire?

End of Shanti transmission.

Over The Top!

12/7/2017   Seisia

Continuing on from Yorkeys Knob .....


As suspected, there are some stunning anchorages north of Cairns, many of which are little more than a coral reef with a smudge of yellow sand on top, but boast crystal clear water, birds, and plenty of black tipped reef sharks.




 Low Islets - picture postcard holiday destination.

No swimming with these guys today.

From Low Islets my latest stalker, son Baillie, picked it right; yes, Hope Islands. How could I not go there, being my name-sake?

The pass between the islands may be fine for boats with more than one person on board, but for me on my own, it was a potential hit or miss. 

The tricky part is spotting the “bommies” - kind of vertical ant-hills of coral upsurges ready to take the bottom out of your boat if you unsuspectingly go over one – which I did, luckily with a couple of inches to spare. Hard enough to spot from the bow or half way up the mast – impossible from the cockpit. 

Again, luck was on my side.  (Occasionally my more superstitious side thinks about cats and their nine lives.)

Some of the yachts en route to begin the Indonesia rally, enjoying Lizard Island

Lizard Island is a wonderland with magnificent scenery and best of all, a sheltered, swell-free anchorage. I spent 6 days there, relaxing, hiking, snorkelling over colourful coral gardens with giant 100 year old clams and made new friendships over bonfires on the beach. This is the cruising lifestyle at its best.

At the next stop, Flinders Island, a rescue helicopter airlifted a French single-hander off his boat with suspected bowel haemorrhage.  He was totally distraught at having to leave his yacht on anchor in this remote spot.  We heard later that his insurance arranged for a boat from Cooktown to return him to his boat, so it ended better than it might have.  Made me realize just how vulnerable we are out here. What was interesting was that another French couple alerted the rescue mission via France.

Very fortunate that there was an area of flat land for the helicopter to land.

For me, the sailing inside the reef has been excellent, with mostly flat water and tail winds up to 20 knots.  It requires constant vigilance to dodge the myriads of islands and reefs and the odd container ship, but has been mostly enjoyable.  There seemed to be a favourable current assisting me in doing the 75 mile leg from Morris Island to Escape River in 12 hours, quite a record for little Shanti.

Over the top end, Cape York was a significant milestone for me. 

Coming up to the top of Australia, strong tidal flows pushed boat speed up to 9 knots at times.

Of course the final hoorah of self congratulation wasn’t going to pass unchallenged, so from Escape River on, the wind increased a lot and I ended up in a difficult predicament.

Sailing back south on the other side of the Cape, the seas were high, the wind gusting up to 40 knots, and when it came time to turn into the approach to Seisia, my little “egg-beater” of a prop was unable to drive the boat into wind and waves. Couldn’t even make one knot of boat speed and it wasn’t possible to try and tack, because the channel was very shallow on either side of the leads.  I gave up and ran with the wind until the next island, (Parau)which was little more than a large rock, but gave some shelter.  Dropping anchor there at least gave me some time to take stock of the situation.  I knew I couldn’t stay there, so plotted a few possible courses out. 

I finally managed to up anchor and claw my way back to windward, sailing across some very shallow waters, trying to stay in close to the shelter of Red Island. 

You can see from this screen shot of my approach that I entered the leads about half way down the channel.  The wind was so strong it took me nearly two hours to cover the short distance in to the anchorage. I felt so, so relieved to make it safely in. (Another cat’s life?)

 

Lifting the dinghy stops the crocs from using it as a teething ring.

The gorgeous crew of Hard Yakka and I took the ferry across to Thursday Island on Thursday.

Going to miss these lovelies when we go our separate ways.

I realized yesterday that I may have just had my last day sail up this reef strewn Coral Coast.  From here across the Arafura sea to Darwin is about 750 miles of virtually open water.  No more day-hopping, pushing to reach the next anchorage before dark. 


Of course, this also means no more sleeping through the night. I’m not sure yet which is the harder.  I guess I’ll find out. 

The essentials of life

22/6/2017

Yorkeys Knob (just north of Cairns)

Interesting the way things can change, from absolutely perfect to all messed up.  The morning sail from Mourilyan was glorious, flat seas, beam reach, light SW wind up to 12 knots.  The coastline was spectacular with layers of gentle hills fading to a backdrop of steep mountain ranges. 

One forecast was for nothing over 15 knots; another had it getting up to 25.  Always confusing that.

As the wind increased and the seas mounted, Tilly (autopilot) decided it was all too much for her and let out a long, plaintive squeal, meaning either “I’ve had enough” or “I need a rest”.  So I gave her a rest for a couple of hours.  Then I needed a rest.

But the waves were getting bigger, lifting the stern and throwing it off at wild angles, requiring a strong grip on the tiller.  I started wondering what to do.

Reduce sail was an obvious thing, but I was hoping we could just hang on for another hour and we’d be in the lee of Fitzroy Island, which would make it much easier to deal with.

As invariably is the case, the time for me to act was overpassed and it was taken out of my hands.  One of those infamous “double the average height” waves hit us hard, slewing us sideways down its face.  The force on the tiller was uncontrollable.  The boom dipped in the water as we broached, the lee cloths were ripped off and water poured into the cockpit.

Down below, the cutlery drawer flew open, spilling its contents; everything that could move from the starboard to port side of the cabin did so.  OK, a big hint that time to slow down was overdue - much as surfing down the backs of waves at over 8 knots was thrilling.

I let us round up into the on-coming waves, lashed the helm and dropped the main.  Luckily I had furled most of the jib in earlier so there was not too much flogging.  It surprised me how well she sat in that semi hove-to position while I started the engine.  It would have made so much more sense to do it an hour before.  Still more learning required.

Fitzroy Island was only a mile or so away and provided welcome shelter for the night.

Sailing from there the next day, the wind again was up over 30 knots, but I was prepared for it with hardly any sail up.

If I thought the entrance to Bowen was scary, coming into Yorkeys Knob was terrifyingly heart stopping.

 Entering the marked channel an hour before low tide, the depths below keel went rapidly from 0.6, thru 0.5,4,3,2,1 to 0.00m!  With a strong cross wind, had I grounded, Shanti would soon have been on the rocks.  It’s hard to believe they don’t have a warning attached to this place.  When friends of mine enquired about depth at the entrance later that same day they were told there was no problem.  How totally irresponsible is that?

Nonetheless, I have enjoyed a 4 day respite in the muddy, croc-infested shallows of Yorkeys and am preparing to depart tomorrow morning.

 

 

From here on up, some things get a bit tighter, like easy access to shops and bowsers and water taps.  So it’s been number crunching time, trying to calculate how much of everything vital is necessary over the next few weeks of relative unavailability.

Water is probably the biggest concern.  The trade winds should blow consistently strongly from the SE, obviating the need for too much diesel (of which I carry around 100 litres – sufficient for about 70 hours of motoring). 

I have been experimenting with water rationing, seeing if I can manage on 2 litres per day.  My water tanks hold 160 litres, theoretically enough for 80 days, which other cruisers find amusing.  I decant 2 litres into an old vinegar bottle each day, only to find I’m short by about a cup in the evening when I feel like a cup of tea. This is partly due to the fact that things like rice, pasta and lentils are also thirsty and can’t be rehydrated in salt water.

Newfound friends on a cat called “Hard Yakka” have been very kind and supplied some scrumptious freshly caught fillets of Mackerel.  Ric is sailing up and over the top and on to the Kimberleys with his all girl crew, one of whom happens to be an ex work colleague of my daughter, Pandora’s.  Small world.

From here on up, outside contact with the world becomes a bit more rarified. There are two more possible stopovers, Port Douglas and Cooktown, but I will most probably by-pass those.  I have reprovisioned with enough food for Africa, filled up with water and diesel, done the laundry, scrubbed myself clean, and am as ready as I’m ever going to be.

From here to the tip of Australia at Cape York should take about two weeks, with nightly rests in some apparently stunning anchorages.  The town of Gove is the next civilization if I choose to go there.  Otherwise it’s a non-stop run of around a week across the top of the Arafura Sea to Darwin.  So blogging may be on hold for a while until then.

Vulnerabilities

June 10^th 2017 Horseshoe Bay, Magnetic Island

Cape Upstart found me laid up with some kind of tummy bug.  At first I thought the nausea was due to having lost my sea legs after the Bowen interlude, but when it developed throughout the night into some serious evacuation of my insides to the outside, I knew it was different. So another lay day was necessary, feeling quite wretched, with thoughts of the perils of life at sea.

I have been giving some consideration to contingency planning in relation to possible vulnerabilities from breakdown, loss or damage.

Last year, it was the inverter, which converts 12V battery power to 240V. Its failure would mean there would be no way of charging the laptop, on which I run my main electronic navigation system, using Open CPN with C-maps charts.

I thought about buying a spare inverter but chose instead to get a 12V DC charger, the kind that plugs into a cigarette lighter. This uses a lot less power than the inverter.  I also bought a second, larger iPad that runs Navionics.  And in case all that fails, a sextant and paper charts.  I think all bases are covered there.

Vulnerability # 2: “Tilly” autopilot. (We have an all-girl crew on Shanti – the tiller pilot is nicknamed “Tilly”, the Fleming windvane “Min”). Min is the main hand for long distance passages, but doesn’t work so well up the coast with wind directly behind. So Tilly gets to have most of the fun, whenever I let her have it.  We have a kind of co-dependency and I rely heavily on her unerring support when I am otherwise occupied.

Solution: buy and wire in a back-up tiller pilot, an oversized Simrad TP32.

Tilly was overheating so needed a damp cloth and microtowel shade, courtesy of Rosy Patole, France

Vulnerability # 3: reading glasses. It suddenly occurred to me that if lost, I would literally be lost without them.  Easy fix to that one.

Vulnerability # 4: Me.  Hmmm.   Stay safe, stay well, stay on board.

A new motto occurred to me recently: “Everything is fine until it isn’t.”

So I am learning to stay more in the present moment, not letting my mind run so freely down those “what-if” tracks, trusting that I will deal with things as they arise.

The passage from Upstart to Magnetic Island, near Townsville, is a long one, around 70 nautical miles.  It requires an early morning start, and even though I didn’t really feel up to getting up at 0330, it needed to be done. The full moon was very welcome in helping me avoid the few other boats anchored nearby.

On my “lay day” I had set up the whisker pole, ready to pole out the headsail on the opposite side to the main if need be. 

 This goosewing effect allows both sails to remain effective, instead of the main blanketing the headie.

Not the first time I have poled out, but the first time with the new dinghy taking up much of the foredeck.

Have had to remove the baby stay because of the dinghy on the foredeck.  Found this double-sided Velcro is fantastic for so many uses round the boat.

It was interesting to note that I made this same passage last year on my youngest daughter, Shoni’s birthday, 14^th July. This time, it was on Misha’s birthday, 9^th June, a very different experience to the black night, pouring rain and howling gale of last year.

I am more than a month ahead, which gives me a better chance of getting to Darwin by the end of July.

Was wonderful to be welcomed to "Paradise" at dusk by Cam on "First Contact", who baked a tasty veg lasagne for our dinner. Thanks Cam!

I have been reflecting on how different things are this year.  Shanti is far sounder, with her rudder post leak and other things fixed. The engine (who used to be known as “Mary, Mary, quite contrary”) is less of an unknown quantity. It was very disconcerting, never knowing which inopportune moment she would choose to stop.

After a year’s “shake-down” I have much more confidence in both boat and self and can relax a bit. Last year I was constantly vigilant, feeling that if I wasn’t standing in the cockpit watching everything, every second, things could go horribly wrong. Every wave that rolled us beyond the point of gybe, every slat of the sail that thwanged so violently it seemed as if the mast might come down; it all required me to be at the ready. 

There never seemed to be a point at which I could leave Shanti to her own devices for a moment and trust that she would be OK. I couldn’t even force myself to lie down and rest for 10 minutes.  Of course, such vigilance is sometimes required, as for example in a storm, but cannot be sustained constantly, without burnout.

So I am learning to pace myself and not suffer unnecessarily. There will be time enough for that.

“A voyage is a problem to be solved with your mind and body.” (Webb Chiles, on his 6^th circumnavigation).

Blowin at Bowen

Bowen  31/5/2017

Had a brilliant sail from Airlie to Gloucester Passage, the scene of the annual Shaggers Rendezvous in August, which was such fun last year.  Of course, passing through in May this year was a much quieter, solitary affair; basically just another overnight stop.

The weather forecast was for strong winds for the following week and I really didn't fancy a repeat of the beating I took last year sailing up to Townsville.  So I opted to park Shanti in Bowen Marina for the duration of the blow.

There were two windows of opportunity for ease of manoeuvring in the tight confines of Bowen. - either slack water low at 1000 or slack water high at 1600.  It's about 12 miles across, and I allowed 3 hours sailing time. The current flows westward with the ebb tide, so I would either have it with me in the morning or against me in the afternoon.  When I awoke at 0630 the wind was already whipping up whitecaps so the decision was made for me to up anchor and go.

It was hard to slow Shanti down enough to get there at 1000.  Even with the headsail half furled in, she was still doing over 6 knots SOG. (Speed Over Ground).

I had rung ahead and been given the number of someone who could be there to take my lines.  The berth I was allocated could scarcely be given the illustrious title of Marina berth, being more like a narrow gap between the rock breakwater and the floating plastic walkway.

The leads in are narrow and shallow and a strong crosswind was blowing when I arrived at 0930.  Half a dozen people were standing on the end of the dock, yelling instructions at me.  The trick was to turn immediately toward the shallower mangroves (0.2 metres below keel), then reverse back toward the rock wall, then do a last minute pirouette to parallel the pontoon, all the while avoiding the barnacle encrusted piles and moored boats.

I had three quite respectable goes at it, after which it was obvious Shanti just didn't want to go in there. Can't say I blame her.

The helpers agreed and yelled out a change of plan - apparently there was a proper berth available, a lot easier to get into.  It was the spare berth belonging to a man called Kerry, who perceived that my need of it was greater than the others who had said they were (possibly) coming.  I was soooo grateful!  He even told the club not to charge me for the larger size, just the 10 m I had requested.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ugsZTmKy2XI