‘Lectronics, Lunatics, and Lunar Eclipses

(Or… Mooloolaba to Bundaberg)

The day came to depart Mooloolaba for Bundaberg.  We had filled in our time with an excursion to the aquarium (a taster of what we’ll see out at the reef!), fish n chips (what we’ll eat at the reef – hopefully!), shopping, and Jamie even got to have a go in one of the Sail-ability boats right near the marina.

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We had a weather window that showed relatively calm conditions at sea, but it was due to close on the Thursday with very strong winds (‘dangerous and powerful surf conditions’) forecast, and seas increasing to 3-metres (yucky).  So, we had to time our exit from Mooloolaba with the outgoing tide, as Mooloolaba is a barred harbour, which meant leaving no later than 0800, preferably a couple of hours earlier.  We set multiple alarms to wake us up at 0430 (ewww, early!) and tried to get to bed early the night before after making ready to depart.  ‘Course, getting to sleep early is easier said than done…

We leapt (yeah, right) out of bed at 0430 and were ready to depart by 0500.  We had the engine running and were ready to cast off the lines when we noticed – no instruments again. 

That’s OK.

Don’t panic.

It’s probably the same thing that happened at Tangalooma – that plug has wiggled itself loose …  Pulled apart the hub on the pedestal… Checked the plug.  Nope.  Graeme had already crimped that plug and it was seated firmly, which was a bit unbelievable.  How could we have two different faults in the same system, so close together?

Feeling some concern at this point…

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Grae started checking all the things that were easy to check.  He looked at the ‘lunatic’s lunch’ wiring in the junction box.  While it looks really bodgy, there’s nothing technically wrong with it.  Graeme is NOT responsible for the original wiring and has often expressed his desire to get in there and rewire everything and label it and neaten it all up, but that has been waaaaay down the list.  Especially when everything is working.  He then checked behind the plotter, and checked the fuse we had replaced at Tangalooma.  Nothing obvious. 

Feeling the mild butterfly wings of panic.

‘Don’t know what else to do.  I think we’ll just have to go without the instruments.’ 

Huh?  No depth display, no wind display, no speed, no autopilot.  Hand steering for 30-odd hours all the way to Bundaberg?  (Hand steering for long distances at sea is widely considered soul destroying.) 

By this time, it was about 0600.  We had two hours to get this sorted or we would be STUFFED. We’d be stuck until the next outgoing tide in 12 hours, and we would get caught in the destructive conditions coming up the coast.  Or we would have to wait until the next calm weather window, which was maybe due in a week, thus missing the final date of arrival in Bundaberg, and potentially missing the whole rally.

OK. Now I’m panicking. 

There wasn’t time to engage the help of a professional.  So, Graeme put on his detective hat again (which looks remarkably like a head lamp) and proceeded to examine all the clues.  Opened up the switchboard, where once again the wiring is just a jumbled bird’s nest, unmarked and undocumented.  He then realised he really would need to start tracing the wires; a job that could take a whole day… but he kept at it, hoping for a minor miracle.

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What he discovered was that at the back of the boat there was white wire and at the plotter there was a black wire that were doing the same function. There must have been a join somewhere, but there shouldn’t have been.  Found a really bodgy join right in the back of the electrical panel which had had salt water on it, and which literally fell apart in Graeme’s hands.  So, that was great because he had FOUND the problem, but then we had to start fixing it. 

So, wiring, cutting, joining, soldering (all that ‘lectrical technical stuff) and we were finally able to get underway, but it wasn’t optimal.  As we exited the breakwater, there were some large waves rising like the backs of huge watery beasts, threatening to break onto our starboard side.  Fortunately, they didn’t break, and we rode up and over them with our breaths held.

An hour or so out of Mooloolaba, with somewhat rolly conditions (a 2-metre ‘greasy’ swell), Graeme decided to drop out a fishing line.  We have an awesome set up this time ‘round.  We follow a vlog called Free range Sailing, about a couple (Troy and Pasquale) on a 30-foot Clansman (tiny yacht) circumnavigating Australia from Perth the wrong way round.  Troy is quite the accomplished fisherman, and we’ve taken on some of his suggestions such as trolling with a TLD-25 fishing reel on a beach rod, instead of just dragging a venetian blind cord on a hand reel.  An hour later the line went nuts.  The fish put up quite the fight, but we won, and finally got it alongside the boat.  Turned out we had hooked it through the side, then during the fight it had got the line caught around its tail, so we dragged it in backwards!  I could see the iridescent stripes on its side and initially thought it was a Spanish mackerel, but then as Graeme gaffed it and brought it onto the deck, I thought it looked more like a tuna, with its solid torpedo shape.  We got out our fishing identification books and discovered it was a Mackerel Tuna.  I was right!  A mackerel AND a tuna! Didn’t even know such a thing existed.  Unfortunately, they don’t make good eating (unless you’re into sinewy sashimi).  So we threw him back.  We do have proof, however….  Next time, the plan is to catch something edible.

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Our next challenge was the Wide Bay Bar.  Those of you who’ve read my previous blog from 2017 may remember that the bar is notorious, due to several factors:

• Its length (3 nautical miles, so that’s about half an hour of potential terror)
• It is known for rogue waves (waves that are much larger than predicted)
• It is open to the sea and, like all bars, is dynamic, with shifting sands and regularly updated (or not updated!) recommended waypoints.
• It is known for causing carnage. 

We always approach Wide Bay Bar with much respect (one section of the bar is called The Mad Mile, for goodness’ sake!) and WE will only cross in ideal conditions (going in on a rising tide about two hours until high) with no more than a 1.5m swell, preferably much less, and low winds.  For many days, the bar conditions had been unfavourable, with 1.8m+ waves and moderate winds.  Lots of boats were waiting behind Double Island Point for better conditions and some had been waiting for quite a few days.  The whole point of crossing the Bar is to get you in behind Fraser Island into the Great Sandy Straits, a calm, pleasant and attractive waterway for covering the distance to Hervey Bay, with lots of prime anchorages along the way. 

We made the informed decision NOT to cross the Bar this time.  That meant we would be taking the long way around Fraser Island, in the open seas, with an extra 30nm tacked on the top of Fraser as you have to go around a long series of shoals.  We were looking forward to that…

There were several boats following us throughout the day on the way north to Wide Bay Bar.  Two of them peeled off to go and wait behind Double Island Point.  The third (a big powerboat), we were shocked to see, powered straight into the Bar.  They didn’t call Coast Guard Tin Can Bay to get waypoints, did not wait for the right tide (it was a .9 metre falling tide at the time, so a huge likelihood of hitting the bottom and getting stuck there) and did not wait for optimal conditions.  Just WENT.

A short time later we heard Tin Can Bay call up the boat.  ‘Numpty*, Numpty, Numpty (* I made that up to protect the innocent), this is Coast Guard Tin Can Bay.  We just watched you come through the Bar and we have to ask… How was it??’  The reply came back moments later.

‘F*$%^#& SCARY!’

A couple of the more sensible people waiting behind the Point tried radioing the boat for more details, but the lunatic didn’t answer.  Probably busy changing his pants.

I’m happy to say we had no such dramatic moments.  It was a very long and boring motor-sail along Seventy Five Mile Beach and up the rest of Fraser Island overnight.  The boredom was broken up a little watching the ENTIRE Super Flower Blood Moon Lunar Eclipse.  Sorry, slow shutter speeds do not work on a moving boat, so no photos.  But I did like this one of the silvery path to the horizon… (yes, the horizon is meant to be crooked :P).

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The day was spent crossing Hervey Bay, initially rolly conditions but calming as the day progressed.  Wind was from the wrong direction, so we had problems getting a sail to do anything useful, and something funny was going on, making our speed under motor less than usual for the same RPM.  Graeme put the boat into reverse and late leapt over the back a to make sure there wasn’t something wrapped around the rudder or prop. There wasn’t, but we think putting it into reverse maybe dislodged something, as we went pretty well after that. This little dip in calm conditions led us all to have impromptu showers on the back deck to freshen up after a day and night at sea.

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It was wonderful to finally arrive at Bundaberg, our destination on the East Coast, and the starting point for the Beyond the Barrier Rally.  Our friends, Andrew and Lynne, on Mischief,  waved to us from the marina as we anchored in the duck pond for the night.  We went across to their boat in the dinghy – so good to see them!! – and enjoyed a well-deserved Happy Hour, before coming back to the boat for a very early night.

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The next day we moved into the marina into a berth next to Mischief (Purple 10). 

We spent almost a week in Bundaberg, meeting the rally organisers, John and Leanne Hembrow, and other participants and doing all the things we needed to do to get ready, as well as a yoga session on the lawn early one morning, and some gatherings for music and company. 

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Seems like a great bunch of people, on a vast variety of boats from massive catamarans and power cruisers to quite modest yachts like ours and even smaller.  We’ve studied multiple and regularly updating forecast models (mostly using PredictWind) for the first destination of our adventure, a place called Saumarez Reef, some 200 nautical miles away.

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We leave on Thursday morning, 3 June (tomorrow morning as I write this) at approximately 0300 for a short 10-hour leg to Lady Musgrave, departing for Saumarez the following morning. 

Wish us fair winds and calm seas!