A Series of Unexpected Events

Preparation leading up to our departure for our trip north was nothing short of monumental.  When you’re leaving home for four months, there’s a lot to take into consideration.  Countless ‘To Do’ lists later, which included many modifications, upgrades, clear-outs and additions to the boat, organising Jamie’s extended leave from school and his schooling supplies, putting together a comprehensive first aid and medical kit, haircuts, stowage diagrams, work hand-overs, and much more, we finally reached a point of near readiness.  Here, then, begins a blog of our latest adventure.  (If you’d like to read more about our boat, please see the previous blog post.)

On Saturday (15 July) we finished jobs and loaded stuff onto the boat.  There’s always a worrying few moments where you’re wondering where on earth everything is going to fit, but it eventually finds a home. Sunday, I ‘spring cleaned’ the house as we loaded the final bits and pieces into the car.  Having mused on my need to leave the house spotless, I have concluded that cleaning is part of my mental preparation for both being away from home for an extended period and heading outside my comfort zone (going to sea).

Cutting a boring story short, (sorry, I’m not known for my brevity) we were finally ready to move aboard.  Graeme took the car and trailer home on Monday morning and his mum gave him a lift back down to the creek, via Whitworths and Bunnings.

Uncle Brian came down to see us off, so we had a huge farewell party (OK, a cup of tea with some rockin’ choc chip cookies), then Graeme took his mum and uncle back to shore.  This should have been a fifteen-minute exercise.

The first unexpected event occurred when Graeme failed to return from dropping off the last of our partygoers.  Time went by.  I started to worry.  Had someone fallen in?  Taken ill?  Needed to desperately return to Bunnings or Whitworths for one last thingamabob? I tried his phone.  It rang.  Downstairs.  On the boat.  Not with him.  Now what?  He’s got the dinghy.  I couldn’t exactly go looking for him.  During this time, I briefly glimpsed a dinghy hanging off a friend’s boat further down the creek about 500m away.  When we’d gone past earlier, they hadn’t been there.  Could Graeme have dropped in for a cuppa and a very long chat?  The boats drifted around and the scene was lost from sight.  Around this time, I also noticed a Maritime boat slowly patrolling the area.  Really s l o w l y.  Hmm. Graeme hadn’t worn a life jacket….  Perhaps he was visiting our friends waiting for Maritime to leave so he wouldn’t be busted for being non-compliant?  More time passed. Just as I was thinking it might be worth trying to phone someone, I saw a small shape bobbing through the water towards me.  It was Graeme’s head. He was swimming.  In the middle of July.  Nice day for a dip, hey?

Climbing aboard, clad only in some seriously saggy purple undies, he explained he’d been hanging around on our friend’s boat waiting for Maritime to leave.  But they didn’t.  Having no way to contact me, and with no other creek friends happening along to help, he’d decided swimming was the only way.  He wasn’t cold while he was swimming – and it was a 500m swim, at least – but his temperature soon dropped once he stopped.  He rugged up, teeth chattering, and I poured warm sugary tea into him.  It took him quite a while to recover.  No phone.  No lifejacket.  No brain??  Some lessons learned today, methinks.  (Graeme wanted me to tell you he’s so tough he swam back and collected the dinghy once Maritime went away.  Not true.  I have a kayak on board.  I put on my life jacket and paddled to the dinghy, then towed the kayak back.)

So, departure wasn’t looking imminent.  Fuel tank still needed installing.  Someone still needed to go up the mast and install the anchor light.  And we needed fuel and water.  And there was still stuff to stow and batten down.  And it was now late afternoon.

We decided to head over to the RMYC for our fuel and water.  They don’t close the fuel wharf until 5.30pm even on a winter week day, so we were grateful for that.

Without any further mishap, we pulled up alongside RMYC and began the process of refuelling and filling our water tanks.  Tim stopped by to say hello (a friend with a stink boat, Papaya – don’t worry, he’s a good bloke).  That was unexpected!  And Lynne from Cruizen, a Cruising Club friend with a proper boat, happened by, calling out our names.  Also, unexpected.  Lynne and Tim had just met, and conversation led them to discover they both knew us.  Tim reckons he’s going to buy her beautiful Buizen sailing boat one day to do some real cruising.  See, I said he was a good bloke.  We conversated.  We were thinking we’d head over to Coasters Retreat (the Basin) for the night, get acclimated (it can be pretty rolly there) then head out in the morning.  It was Tim that suggested, given outside conditions were good, that we just go.  Just go?  What, now?  Head out to sea?  In the dark?  Now???

Yep.

So that was unexpected.   Not that we haven’t done this sort of thing before.  But still! Our first log of the trip is recorded as 19:45. (We had a small dinner, tidied up, and battened down first, so nothing too impulsive.)  After getting through the heads, and yes, everything looks different at night, we basically turned left.  Graeme took first watch and I tried to have a rest with Jamie.  Everything started out OK.  Slight seas to start, and no wind, so we were just motoring, then, in Graeme’s words, seas from the north kicked in and there was a lot of spray and it got a bit bouncy.  Graeme put some sail out to keep us steady and had to change direction a few times to get a reasonable motion.  Me and Jamie weren’t getting much sleep at this point.

Graeme logged on with Marine Rescue Sydney for coverage up the coast. He spent much of his watch listening to music and watching the stars.  Occasionally he’d look for sea traffic too.  We are ever grateful to our AIS system, which shows ships on our plotter.  We can see which way they’re going, what speed, their call sign and other information.  Most importantly, we get alerted if there’s any chance we’re going to bump into each other.

I relieved Graeme for the graveyard shift – from around 0200.  The moon had risen around midnight; a perfect lemon wedge. The seas had quietened down.  Moonlight across smooth seas is a heartening sight. It was cold in the cockpit but not lonely.  I had the moon, and I had plenty of visits from Jamie, wondering if we were there yet.  No wind, so we motored along.  I sat for a long part of my watch on the princess seat starboard aft and watched a light show on the eastern horizon; orange flashes of lightening like firework bursts.  I couldn’t hear any thunder, so I figured the storm was too far away to offer any threat.  I took my leave with the arrival of Homer’s rosy-fingered Dawn.

Graeme took the watch, sighting pods of whales from 0645 onwards.  They’re heading the same way as us – North to warmer climes.

We came into Port Stephens around 1000.  Once through the heads the harbour opened up, silken waters under a clear blue sky.

We logged off with Marine Rescue Port Stephens and anchored – first time with the new Rocna – in 12 metres off Wanda Wanda Beach, in Salamander Bay.  Probably deeper than we’d like but we have a lot of faith in the new anchor, and need to keep clear of the moored boats, especially if the weather blows up like it’s supposed to do.

Well, it’s been a glorious day.  Mid-twenties and warm in the sun.  Starting to feel like we’re on holidays!  We’ve done a spot of shopping, had a Drumstick, wandered along a beach and headland track, and now we’re settling in for an uneventful evening.  Managed to capture a pretty impressive sunset, although I’m not sure the red bodes as well as the sailor’s saying tells us.

The weather is due to turn quite nasty for the next few days, with strong winds and big seas predicted, so we’ll be keeping a close eye on the forecasts and observations and staying holed up here until conditions improve.  As I finish writing this, the wind is already making eerie sounds through the rigging, lines are starting to flap against the mast, and Symphony is sailing about on anchor.  Yep.  Here it comes.

Maybe not so unexpected…