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.