While this little voyage was undertaken mostly at sea, I show my respect to the people of the Eora, Kuring-gai, Awabakal and Worimi nations, on whose traditional lands we gazed.
As we exited Pittwater heading north, everything was working; the sails were up and pulling, the mast was upright and the floorboards were not floating. Thankfully the wind was light and favourable (I'd waited for these conditions), but little did I realise that our "overnight sail" would take four days at an average of one knot.
As the sun dipped lower our friendly escort of yachts abandoned us for safe harbour, but I was still pumped full of adrenaline and glimpses of Sydney's skyscrapers and processions of rocky headlands to the north and south, the sane ones first eyeballed by Captain Cook over two centuries ago. Already the wind was easing, but being engine-less there was little we could do except to keep trying to sail and head out to secure sea room. In the darkness the sails flogged and the boat flopped and despite my elation I was feeling decidedly unwell. If ever I did get seasick, it was in these conditions, calm winds with a sloppy swell. Welcome back to coastal sailing! Nothing to do but go below and have a snooze, single-hander style; in short bites. The ability to send SMS messages home was a great relief for me, because I knew the kids would not be stressing out too much.
Predawn brought little puffs from the south, so we upped sail and staggered off in a NNE course. Although our progress towards home was underwhelming, I was elated to be alone on the sea again, and on a Folkboat, yes she felt so strong and steered herself, but I have always appreciated the special habitations that yachts offer sailors; a dry cabin, a warm berth, coffee making facilities and ABC on the radio. Being on the sea also had it's own random pleasures and through the day the dolphins came; first to arrive was a trio of "twisters". These fun little guys have a Plimsoll Line, below they're painted a browny cream and above a fade grey. As they surface they do a barrel roll spin, hence their name. Unfortunately these guys were frustrated by bohemian's slow passage and after a few darts across the bows and under the keel, they would sheer off through the swell and regain their speedy composure. Minutes later, they'd come back, their little dorsal fins trembling with a desire to spin. The best they could manage were little flops and a few quick turns, I exapologised for us being party poopers and thanked them loudly for their antics. In the afternoon I saw great mobs of bottle-nosed dolphins, may be 70, but they were less interested in playing.
Mid-morning though, the sea displayed its massive scale by way of a lone humpback whale. The great whoosh of air carried upwind, and having been visited by the spinners, I looked over the side, but realised this larger fellow a hundred metres away, and immediately, the bulk of its mass sent a shiver through our keel. Imagine hitting that at speed mid-ocean, it would be like having a head-on with a truck. Fortunately, we passed quietly, well off one another. Did 'he' pick me up on radar I wondered, or were we just fortunate. I recalled one of the Sydney to Hobart yachts report of seeing a solo humpback further south last week. All out of season.
Day 2 burned on, hot and with just a hint of a southerly. Norah Head passed at dawn, Bird Island to the west, a row of Panamax colliers to our right. In between ran motor cruisers and yachts under power going south on a milky blue sea. If being New Years Eve, I imagined they were heading to Sydney to see the fireworks.
We baked off Swansea and then another 7 nm's onto Redhead before the wind picked up around midday. Before this it had been too light for the windvane, or bohemian's newly discovered talent of steering herself, I was forced to sit outside and roast. Occasionally I'd have to grab the boom to stop it slamming across threatening to break. Lathered in cream and hiding in the shade of the sails,I discovered the tops of my feet were getting severely burned. I added cream and doused them with seawater to cool them down.
At Redhead, the sea breeze kicked in from ESE, slow at first, but enough to make a bubbling sound as we moved, and to stop the maddening slatting of the sails. A coastline familiar or me over many decades unfolded. Each little cove or stretch of sand holding a story and familiar faces. Home for me, but bohemian's home was still a good way further north. Under genoa and main, we beam reached along the coast, eating up the miles, and my mood lifted. Back to work, I gave up plotting is on the chart, the only reef of note was by the entrance to Newcastle Port, if we went in there.
Typically the wind veered to NE and scaled up to force 4, about 12 knots, which would turn out to be the healthiest breeze of our entire sail. Bohemian shook of the seagull dust and hauled off to windward. She did this seemingly alone; the tiller self-correcting under well balanced sails, she set herself in a groove better than any helmsman, off to windward. Occasionally she would shoulder a swell, a shot of spray sent back in protest, her speed and course unchanged. While boh' was unphased by these now boisterous conditions, I was beginning to suffer. A severe headache, whether from sun exposure, tiredness, caffeine withdrawal or hunger, forced me to seriously consider a "recharge". I decided to enter port, for the night. After tacking around Newcastle's sea walls we hit the ebb flow and rollicked about harmlessly. Once clear of the shipping channel and I unleashed the anchor and kicked it overboard, lashing the sails ready for rehousing if required. Then I collapsed; 12 hours of dozing, guzzling coffee and snacking. At times I stood staring zombie-like from the hatch, I saw NYE fireworks but they failed to provide any stimulation.
Dawn snuck in after a restless night broken by the noises and rocking of continuous shipping movements just metres away. There was clear with a hint of SE and without digesting my first coffee I hoisted sail and hauled anchor. Big mistake! As I lashed the anchor the ebb tide sent us drifting windlessly into the shipping channel. Bugger! Oh well, no harm, but what I really didn't need was a ship to come around the break wall. Snap! Right on cue four burly tugs converged from the direction of the harbour as a massive collier stuck it's nose around the sea wall, less than a kilometre away and closing in at a speed we were incapable of, even with an engine. After standing there willing it not to be really that bad, a blast from one of the tugs woke me from my stupor, the ship did the same in quick response. Action boy pumped the tiller, first steadily exhausting the potential from each stroke, but then as the flotilla of steel and untold horsepower came ever closer, I wagged that rudder like a puppy's tail. By now I was sick and sweaty and began making exit plans, the tide shoved us towards the ship and that mass of cranky steel kept coming at us with no reduction in speed. In desperation I waved a rope at a passing runabout but it's skipper must have been visually impaired. This down to me, struggling to breathe and hoping the tiller would remain in tact, I kept doing the only thing I could. After about a half a minute (which felt longer), using the tiller and sheering across the tide, I made it passed a starboard channel marker. Safe, the closest tug skipper waved in relief, I waved back like a cat claiming a second life and I dossed my new-found thirst with a mouthful of coffee zi noticed the sea wall towering above us. So focused on the action astern, this new hazard had slipped in under my guard. One look at the dark waters boiling about the base of some very large angular rocks rocketed me into overdrive. Our momentum made the tiller largely ineffective, and revisited the potential to skull off to freedom as my sailing heroes often did in their books. I had wisely shipped a 12' oar for sculling but had unwisely never actually worked out how to use it! I only had time to recall two words of an oft' repeated saying: necessity and invention. I lashed the oar to a staunchion by the cockpit and rowed like an idiot. She moves! As I noted an alarming bow in the shaft, I noticed a pretty woman walking up on the sea wall, she was filming me. As I sucked my tummy and tried to look under control, I realised she had no interest in me per se, she was after a good fail to post on Facebook. Thoughts of a salty embrace turned to a desire to hoist her iPhone into the briny, I eased the pressure on the oar and focused on long deep strokes, to my relief, opening up to our north the coastline emerged around the end of the sea wall. Al-la-bloody-luleeeyaaa! I was tempted to give my Friend a two fingered salute, but I was too relieved at seeing the open sea before us, I even think the wind joined the party, and boh' began pulling on her own, to deeper waters to freedom? Our cruise was not going to end today, well not this morning anyway.
Essentially my hurry to be out on the sea to catch the morning breeze, was wasted effort. All morning, the sea stayed glassy with only the slightest hint of a SE'er. We drifted across the Stockton Bight as the sun built in ferocity. To escape the worst of it I bucketed myself and the decks with chilled seawater. After a few days of food deprivation it felt good to be nude, cool and at sea. (Thankfully out of sight too?) this is what I'd been missing all those years. My other favourite thing to do at sea is to drink coffee so I plonked my un gimballed Origo on the cabin sole and made coffee. As I sipped coffee and ate fruit cake I began anticipating a return to our new home port tonight, 30 miles, no worries. If you look up right now you may see some pigs flying past.
Well we seemed to be making headway, we were moving, little bubbles passed astern. But the sand dunes ashore remained unchanged for most of the day. Twenty of so miles ahead, the heads of Port Stephens were hidden in haze. What could we do but persevere and keep sailing? The afternoon sea breeze came in later than expected, and with more northerly than expected. So, jammed up in the corner of Birubi Point, we had to work our way off the ropes. Tacking to seaward had us sailing on a course of 120 deg. which, for some reason, I found demoralising. I understood that if the wind was ENE that this was the best we could sail on port tack, but I just bucked at the thought of sailing south wards.
Well nature wins, and over the next few hours into the night (total darkness at 09:30pm.), we tacked around Morna Point, a menacing array or rocky headlands and outcrops. While I should have given myself plenty of sea room, I stupidly chose to navigated these reefs with little more respect than course marker buoys. Fortunately, as night fell and I realised I would not make port tonight, I chose the safe route and tacked out to sea giving deepwater, sea room and peace of mind. Around 10:00 I also replaced the genoa with a smaller working jib. Our heel angle and motion eased along with my mood.
In the dark, the Fingal Island Lighthouse seemed to keep moving in front of us, I was now plotting madly our GPS positions and we were making painfully slow progress to windward. Again, I has to break through the magnetic pull of safe harbour and journey's end. If I kept on, I'd wind up on the rocks, so I tacked off the sea for a half hour, before going on to port tack and finally clearing the most easterly point of land. The waning moon did arrive but failed to illuminate the three offshore islands and the port entrance, so the Skipper made the decision, overriding the wishes of the crew, to hold off until first light. Heave to and go below to recharge were the orders and they brought great relief, more coffee, noodles (that never tasted so good) and sleep. The breeze slackened and we had a gentle night at sea knowing tomorrow we'd make it home.
The Crew was hoping for a fresh breeze to carry our little ship into port, the Skipper was amenable to such an ideal and all hands set sail to harness the flukey SEerly. For the next six hours however, little progress was made and to ward off frustration, the sails were downed and everyone was sent to their quarters. Not until after midday did the forecast winds arrive; "moderate SWs veering S and strengthening through the evening". Under full sail the SWer and flooding tide shot us spat us into the foreboding shadows of the extinct-volcano-headlands, Yacaaba and Tomaree. As we skimmed the flat water our skirts were up and we easily left everything in our wake. (Well, except those stinking Seadoo things.) Thinking that our beard of barnacles and pram dinghy astern were slowing us down, I was chuffed at downing a particularly persistent trailer sailer as he chased us the full length of the port.
The second day of the new year was as fine as any other for us to be sailing into our new home port. One day soon I hope to be heading out of here in a properly prepared bohemian, making way for Lord Howe Island, lying three days' sail to the east. But not today.
We passed Middle Island and altered course to NNW for North Arm Cove, passing a cruising sailor's hideout, Fame Cove, en route. Several craft were holed up there, but I suspected they were more of the holiday cruising variety. The solid vang, which had come apart during this morning's flogging, hadn't caused any issue until now. Sailing off the wind into NAC though the boom went skywards in a most alarming fashion. Ye gads bohemian do stop carrying on! I bellowed, but to no avail. Obviously happy to be nearing her new home she continued thrashing about, boom looking gaff-like, the mainsheet joined the party, unreaving from its blocks and flailing about. My previously modest old girl was causing enough racket and fanfare fit for a New Year's Eve celebration. I relented, and grabbed a tail of the sheet and let her settle flat out albeit untidily onto her new mooring. Head to wind, the sails relaxed, and so did I. There was work to be done but The Job of liberating this fine craft from a slow and lonely hanging from an over-priced mooring had been completed. She's free, as am I, and our future looks brighter!
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