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Sailing Holiday - Day 01 - by M
Wednesday, 4 January 2006
(The following is written by my secret guest writer, only to be known as ‘M’.)
I slept on the boat. B stomps and yells along beach and pier untill I get up and take boat around to the dock. Load some tasty things then sailoff. No motor. Very 1890’s.
15 knots gusting to 20. Rough and lumpy. This is the first big sail for the little guy. Try sailing with jib an then mainsail only. Put up the full kit and power on to queenscliff. Boat gets a 5 hour bash. I sit and wait for something to break. I study mast then rudder then back to mast etc. B sleeps like a possum in the cabin. Nice. Nothing breaks! Arrive Port Phillip Heads. Sails down and motor through the cut into Queenscliff. Very Jason and the Argonauts. Awesome. Try to grab mooring but we swing around and glance a yacht. Full tilt revese saves us. Apologise. Surf ski over to spy bridge and sus a wonderful possie. Motor in. tie up. Wahoo. Chips and beer over a game of pool at the pub. The circus is in town. A crazy canivale conoodling sleep.
Summer Holiday - Day 01
Wednesday, 4 January 2006
For two days we have run around like chickens. I have had the interesting experience of driving from Hampton to Williamstown with three cats in their individual travel carriers with me in the front seat of the van.
I have blogged before about how Sonic was one of my favourite cats, other than Saf and Mow. She holds this title no longer. In fact, she’s lucky that I didn’t use up one of the few lives she has left and piff her off the Westgate Bridge. She yowled the entire 50 minute journey. I sang steadfastly over the top of her.
I’ve been up past midnight the last two nights helping M organise our boating holiday. We managed to have our first sail during this time and Boat sailed like a dream.
I was elected provisioner, and had great fun coming up with about eight different meals I could cook. As I’ve read heaps of sailing books, I knew all about provisioning. Buy the tins, write contents of tin on tin in permanent ink, rip off labels. The labels were destined to fall off during the voyage anyway.
The supermarket had stuff in tins that I never knew existed. Diced capsicum, nut-o-lene, mushrooms…. Then I stumbled on ‘Surprise Peas’ and ‘Surprise Beans’. They were indeed. I bought two packets of each. I bought condiments, dried herbs, pasta, rice, tinned corn, tuna, tomatos, beans…. I met my mother by accident as I was shoving my trolley amongst the vegtables.
“How long are you going away for?” she asked, eyeing my haul.
“Um, about 12 days.”
“Just the two of you?”
“Mum, I really wouldn’t want my trolley to end up on your foot.”
She made a big show of using a different check out than me because I had SO much stuff.
I went down to see how M was going at the boat. He was just walking through the carpark as I pulled up.
“Look!” I bounced, opening the back of the van. “I provisioned! I provisioned!”
“Holy shit.” M looked at the nine bags of shopping. “Multihulls are supposed to be light that’s how they go fast.”
“Right. But tins are what you use for food on boat journeys. That’s what all your books say.”
“All the people in the books have lead keeled monohulls. Tins don’t make much difference to them.”
“So when I’ve been telling you about how I’m going to write on tins, rip off the labels and stick them through the hatch covers on the outside hulls, have you just heard ‘let’s get more red wine’?
“Hulls! Hulls? No. I never knew what you were talking about. And don’t call them ‘hulls’ call them ‘outriggers’ - and you’re not putting any tins in them.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
We wade out to Boat with the shopping. My shoulder is still dodgy, so unfortunately M has to be mule-boy. He lectures me all the way out on how the boat should sit in the water. How we should treat the expedition as a backpacking trip and that we should only take what we can carry on our backs.
Whatever. I pack everything away in hidey holes and M can’t believe my skill at making things disappear.
The next day we go to Bunnings for supplies. The VHF marine radio (that we have no license to use) FINALLY arrives in the mail. We get an EPIRB and a rocket flare. Safe, safe, safe. This is all in case we decide to venture out into Bass Strait with the aim of sailing from Port Phillip to Westernport Bay.
Everything is packed. I have organised marine weather forecasts to be texted to M’s mobile phone three times a day. M has sewed sleeping sheets for D and E, who are hoping to hook up with us on our second day away. They call and ask where and when. We explain we are at the mercy of the weather, we have never sailed Boat anywhere before and that deadlines can’t safely exist on a sailing holiday.
M goes down to sleep on Boat. I stay home for one last sleep in the wonder bed. We agree to get up at 5am. M will come home and we will do last minute stuff before departing at about 6.30am.
I wake at 5am. I shower. I make a thermos of tea. It’s 5.40am. No M. I send quick emails to my dad and my sister. No M. He doesn’t answer his mobile. I drive the van down to the beach. Boat is floating happily at anchor, about 50 metres out. I imagine M unconsious below deck, bleeding from a head wound, unble to move with a comminuted fracture of the left femur and a fluttering pulse.
I walk to the edge of the water, whistling loudly. It’s about 6.10am. I hope that there isn’t anyone else sleeping their boats. I stand whistling for about ten minutes. Then I move to the pier which is my last option before wading out my undies. I stand on the pier, whistling as loud as I can between my fingers. I wonder if any of M’s blood has got into a drainhole in the boat and leaked out into the sea, where it will be smelt by a shark. Now I’m scared to wade.
I whistle furiously. Finally, there is a reply. M’s head emerges from below the hatch. It’s as much as I can do not to take my shoe off and throw it at it. He dances. I shake my head. Then I realise he is not dancing, but weeing vigorously into a container. Again.
We finally sail away at about 9.15am, heading across the bay to Queenscliff. I learn that it IS possible to be in the cabin whilst sailing and not vomit. You have to lie down! I sleep for two and a half hours, only woken a couple of times by the winch being used directly above my head. It’s bliss. M is delighting in Boat, she performs beautifully.
A few nautical miles out from Queenscliff we’re doing 8.4 knots- our top speed of the day, which we find wholly thrilling. M pulls down the sails and we motor into the harbour. Things go awry. The current is strong, there’s only one public buoy to secure the boat to. We try, fail, and end up hitting another boat. ARGH! We reassure the other boat that there is no damage [phew] and after a cup of milo at a dragging anchor, M goes investigating on his surf ski and finds an excellent, if somewhat kooky, spot.
It’s lovely. We have to get a guy who is fishing to pull in his line for a moment so we can get past.
“So you’ve finally finished the boat?” he says to M, as he casts back out.
“Sorry?”
“You’ve been working on the boat in Altona for a few years, haven’t you? I had a place just down the road. Used to go past the boat all the time mate.”
He and M get involved in conversation, while I collapse in the cabin, totally relieved that guy whose boat we hit was so nice about the whole thing.
M then discovers that his new friend is a fishing mate of the guy whose boat we have just tickled the paintwork of. So we’ve come full circle.
We walk wistfully past my boss’s sexy holiday house and go to the pub, where I beat M at pool in front of the public bar. We saunter back to Boat, all snugged near a wall. I make dinner and we have our first cooked meal aboard. Vegetarian spaghetti bolognaise. I apologise to M for only using one tin and half a jar of pasta sauce. We need to eat the contents of several tins per night to MAKE THE BOAT LIGHTER.
I’m sitting here now, typing all this on my old Palm IIIx with it’s portable keyboard. Thank you, Palm, you bloated capitalist opportunists. I actually have a Palm Tungsten T3 which has been thoughtfully made incompatible with all of the add-ons that I bought for my old Palm IIIx. I now have infared this to my T3 and wait until I get home to post it. Sleep now.
Sailing Holiday - Day 02 - by M
Thursday, 5 January 2006
(The following is written by my secret guest writer, only to be known as ‘M’.)
Leave our cosy nest and motor out through the cut again. SE wind very light. We anchor in front of town and burn some snags for my breaky. 30 feet of crystal water. Wind comes in and we have to get going. Cold snags for later. Tack up toward Popes Eye then stumble on the seal house. Hung out with the stinky sea dogs for a while.
Across up to Point Nepean. Remote and old. Clean clear water. Fanged it back along the beaches toward portsea. Hit 11.8 kts next to the beach. Grins. Got snug in the corner at Police point.
We draw 400mm. Had a few beers and some chips at portsea pub. Went for a walk and mingled with the beautiful people until they got nervous and we thought it best to leave. Moved the boat. Deeper sandy. Dave and Ellise turned up. Had few swims. B cooked tuna mornay. Yum. Nice sleep.
Summer Holiday - Day 02
Thursday, 5 January 2006
We awoke in Queenscliff, me with a stiff neck due to my freakish and regrettable decision not to bring a pillow. Sleeping on my left side instead of my right (shoulder sore) is bad enough, but then sleeping on a rolled up jumper? Horror.
M got up first, and when I rolled over on to his pillow (which he never travels without) it was so blissful that I almost wailed in frustration at my pathetic effort to tough it.
We had a cup of tea and then hit the supermarket - no, my provisions were not in question, but we needed a dustpan and brush. Then weventured to the gourmet delicatessen place in search of kangaroo sausages. I have decided, after much pondering, to extend my vegeaquarian diet to include jumpmeat. However, they had none. M bought some red wine and garlic ones that were so lean, they barely spat in the pan.
Just as he’d finished cooking them, M took a look at the tide and became Action Man.
“We have to leave. Leave now! Or we’ll get stuck here! Help me…”
With a small degree of panic and one singed beach towel, we extracted Boat from her mooring and motored away down the channel, ducking our heads as we passed the boat we’d hit yesterday.
The anchor went down right near Queenslcliff Pier. The water was clear aquamarine. I sat on net with my book, two bits of sour dough bread and some plums. Bliss. M gnawed on his sausages.
Just before the wind really kicked in, we put the sails up and headed across to Portsea/Sorrento via an albatross colony and a seal colony. M fanged Boat up to over 11 knots. We did eight knots to windward. The sailing was exciting, the weather was sunny, but the wind was f-r-e-e-z-i-n-g. I need to learn to wear more layers, even if it ‘looks’ warm.
We reached Portsea, and again took down the sails too near other boats. Muted panic as we extricated ourselves and ended up moored just before Police Point. M swam from the boat. I used the surfski. We then wandered toward the pier, looking somewhat dissolute with our plastic bag of dry undies and a towel. I realised, as I walked through all the dentally enhanced bathing box owners, that we had pulled up on the rich end of the beach. Down near the pier, the difference was obvious. Everyone was a bit fatter, a bit paler, their clothing was less painfully co-ordinated and everyone was a lot louder. We fitted in quite well.
Sailing Holiday - Day 03 - by M
Friday, 6 January 2006
Big chilly swims in morning. E goes in nude and can’t get back onboard. Much hilarity. A clifftop Portsea person raises the Australian flag. E and B serenade them with the national anthem in cat voices. Fully reef sails as forecast is for 25 knots and am not sure how things will be with 4 onboard. Turns out that E and Dave are naturals and are a hoot to have onboard.
Go out to smell the seals again. Then up along coast the Heads. Across to Queenscliff and back to our own little trimaran shaped nook. About 20nm in total. This time its low tide so we set about getting all the rocks out of the way so we can sit on the sand next to the park. Long walks in town and all meet at pub. As you do.
Sailing Holiday - Day 04 - by M
Saturday, 7 January 2006
(The following is written by my secret guest writer, only to be known as ‘M’.)
A south easterly breeze at 20knots. Lazy lovely sail around spy island (the ASIS base) then along beaches and coast downwind to Port Arlington. Ran aground… as i like to noodle right next to the shore (and I wasn’t paying attention). Rudder a bit sad. Nevermind. Get to Port Arlington and the promise of fresh mussels. Drop anchor off the beach.
It’s a good spot. Wind offshore. Snorkle and jump off the pier for a while.
Big walk around town and up hill. Drinks at a cool bar. Buy 3 kilo of mussles off a boat and cook em up with some white wine. The ‘slurp for the cook, slurp for the pot’, recipe. Good sleep.
Sailing Holiday - Day 05 - by M
Sunday, 8 January 2006
(The following is written by my secret guest writer, only to be known as ‘M’.)
More south easterly winds at 20 knots. Tacked all the way back to Portsea. Back at Portsea pub and we blow a bomb on a yuck seafood thing. An extravaganza of batter, good scallops and dodgy prawns. The brown feast. The guys leave mid arvo. B and I decided to go to Westernport the next day. We stay the night at anchor in Portsea (near the exit to Bass Strait) even though we know there is an onshore blow going to hit that night. What a yuck night. Some sort of NASA sensory training hell. Got both anchors down and hung on. B went green, but managed to cook a curry without indulging in any hurling. A night of little sleep. It’s hard to wee when you can’t get your balance.
Sailing Holiday - Day 06 - by M
Monday, 9 January 2006
(The following is written by my secret guest writer, only to be known as ‘M’.)
Our first north easterly. 10 to 15 knots. Left for the heads at 7am. Aiming for high tide on the rip bank. Still 2 hours of flood. Swirls and eddies were huge and scary. A big SW swell was running. Also a SE swell. However the combination of the high tide and flood stream make it tame.
We did around 6 knots all the way to Westernport. Wind left us for an hour and we motored. B slept. Boom of swell crashing onto beaches and headlands. Went close to Cape Shanck. Past Bushranger’s Bay. Wild being out there. Felt like we could tackle anything. I keep looking across the blue swells, out to sea and an endless horizon. Dolphins hung around and swam with us.
Wind drops out at entrance to Westernport motor up to Cowes. Drop anchor on the beach. Do washing. Meet Ray! (Father of B, loitering on the beach with camera. Highly suspicious.) Hot. Sail off to Rhyll. Nice sail. Anchor in front of the overpriced pub. Ignore pub and hit the fish and chip shop next door. Flathead tails and chips for dinner. Great sleep.
Sailing Holiday - Day 07 - by M
Tuesday, 10 January 2006
(The following is written by my secret guest writer, only to be known as ‘M’.)
Breakfast aboard. Meet Ray at Newhaven at 1.30pm. Low tide. Sailed off to Tortoise Head. A fast hoot of a sail. Boat whizzes along. B stays below, sleeping and reading Chandler.
Anchor up close to shore. Close-ish. Ray and I stroll up the headland. Wild beach wild views. We were going to stay the night but decide to tack our way back to the conservation park between Ryhll and Cowes. Sail off toward Sandy Cape then into a beautiful quiet lagoon near Rhyll. Rains all night. Curry. Snug. Fun with Ray hanging around. Wine and beer.
Sailing Holiday - Day 08 - by M
Wednesday, 11 January 2006
(The following is written by my secret guest writer, only to be known as ‘M’.)
Back to Rhyll. But not before an exploration of the lagoon, which turns out to be horseshoe shaped.
Ray shouts us organic scrambled eggs for breakfast! [Awesome chai latte - Ed.]Sail up Settlement Point at the eastern side of French Isalnd. Surprised at how lovely and wild the area looks. Will have to come back. A fast sail to Newhaven. Ray steers a lot of the way. He is a good sailor and seems to enjoy getting amongst the rough stuff. A couple of days of really fast sailing. Drop him off at Newhaven at 330pm dead low tide. Hit pier… wah. More repairs for when we get home. Sail back to Rhyll. Go for long walk. Visit the general store. We have flathead tails and potato cakes again. Yum! Have to wait for tide around at front beach. Then scoot to the side beach in front of the pub. We tie up in such a way as to be able to pull ourselves up to the sand. Very nice. Good sleep.
Sailing Holiday - Day 09 - by M
Thursday, 12 January 2006
(The following is written by my secret guest writer, only to be known as ‘M’.)
A long walk up the hill at Rhyll and across in front of the lagoon. Unusual nature trail. We vow to return. Back via general store and coffee in café. Goodbye Rhyll. Set out toward Cowes. Quiet easy sailing. Lovely day. Didn’t know where to stop at Cowes as we wanted to explore and try to get some navigation light bulbs. Ended up anchoring off the sailing club beach south of the town. An F 28 was in the club grounds. Outer Limits. Wah. We walked around town. Went to op shops and had a coffee. Went to hardware shops for the bulbs. No luck. Bought new sunglasses and op-shop shorts. B got a good deal on a bikini.
Back to boat mid arvo. It’s stuck. We push and push. No one helps. I winch us along the anchor line, which loosens us a bit. After about 25 minutes, we float free. We decide to scoot over to Flinders to save ourselves travelling time to the heads in the morning. Hopefully it has shelter for a south wind. I punt that it does. We set off up the channel. It is open to Bass Strait and the wind kicks in. Tide is against the wind and soon waves get to around 2mtrs – stacked close and messy. I power up the boat and she slices and flys thru but it is a wild ride. Poor B gets a tad pale. I head off track and beat up toward the straight inside Cat Bay. I have surfed Flynns Reef inside the bay a few times. So I knew it. It is way calmer. One last rough ride across the entrance to Westernport and we arrive. Flinders is calm and totally beautiful.
We anchor off the beach and step ashore in 12inches of water. A big wander through town and coffee. B still green. Back at the boat at sunset we cooked up a tuna tomato thingo. I set up all the pilotage needed for a boisterous return to Port Phillip Bay. A night start. Sectores to turn by. Dawn by Cape Shanck. Etc. I put a a bunch of waypoints in the GPS as back up. I won’t rely on a GPS ever. But if it’s not broken and hasn’t been dropped overboard then it is good to double check my pilotage.
Sailing Holiday - Day 10 - by M
Friday, 13 January 2006
(The following is written by my secret guest writer, only to be known as ‘M’.)
Leave at 4am. Dark and windy. 20 knot southerly. We get out past West Head and turn into Bass Straight. A big swell and lumpy wind waves in the dark. Kinda fun as the little tri all reefed down tackled it easy and made me confident. Sun comes up like a big bald head not far before Cape Shanck. B goes below to sleep and I reef down to just the storm jib as the tri was going way too fast to be at the heads by high tide on the Rip Bank.
We settle into a beam reach climbing over a friendly swell as big as houses and an unfriendly jagged wind chop. Not a smooth ride at all. I decide to arrive an hour early and see how it is. The flood stream continues to go into the bay for 3 hours after high tide at the heads. I put up the mainsail and fanged it the rest of the way and got there a tad early but near the top of the tide. Point Nepean surf was going off and we sailed in close to get a look. It is nearly high tide and calm so we whip in on the flood stream. Some guys are surfing the point, so we go closer in for a look. B sleeps nearly the whole way leaving me to ponder the wilds of nature.
After getting down the bay a few miles we cross the shipping channel and go back thru the cut. I love our little nook next to the spy bridge. I go in a little too eager and hit the old metal wall. Eeeeck. More repairs to to… Go to a svelte garden guesthouse café. [Athelstane House - Ed.] A piss poor ploughmans lunch and some divine wine and I’m ready to crash. B goes into op shop mode and I trudge along. [He says ‘trudge’, I say ‘dragged’ - Ed.]
To celebrate our return we get 2 kilo of fresh mussels for dinner. I sleep and B makes the boat a palace. Dinner is divine. Sunset sees us beset by mozzies… it is a slaughter on both sides. The boat smeared with blood… theirs and ours. Delirious, we start throwing full jam jars at them.
Sailing Holiday - Day 11 - by M
Saturday, 14 January 2006
(The following is written by my secret guest writer, only to be known as ‘M’.)
Boat a shambles. Go off to breaky, coffee, op shops and an art show… as you do. Got back just as Chris and Jodie get into town. A wild clean of the boat and here they are.
A trip into town via car to get mossie coils and some beer/ice. Then out through the mythical cut and into a sunny 15knot south wind. Hello Popes Eye, hello albatross colony and hello seal colony. Phew. Jodie goes into shut down as she doesn’t get the boat thing at all.
I tack us across to Portsea and we step off onto the beach and scurry up to pub to have medicine. Beer and chips. Jodie comes to life. A nice and cruisey sail up the heads along the national park where we see some lazy dolphins, and then downwind back to Queenscliff. Jodie chatting and having a hoot untill she trips into the cabin and bangs her poor head. Ouch.
Back in our nook and she retreats to the car to chill. I hand her a wine an hour later and the party begins. B and I had run out of cruising funds and out of cooking gas so we tweak all our guest’s nibblies and conjur a surpring array of tasty bits. Add beer and awesome wine and we call it a dinner. We chat and laught for a few hours then bed.
Sailing Holiday - Day 12 - by M
Sunday, 15 January 2006
(The following is written by my secret guest writer, only to be known as ‘M’.)
Had to say see ya to the girls as we had a 30th birthday to get to mid arvo in Melbourne. A 5 hour downwind sail. B reads books. I dream. The waves got bigger close to the city and the tri went into surfing mode. B hooted. Wind got up to 15/20knots and we decided to reach across for a while even tho it would make us late. The boat flew along a 12 knots steady. The pop top was up and spray was getting in but we couldn’t stop. It is addictive to go fast! End of trip mid arvo. Boat on mooring and us bundled into a car by B’s parents and the Grassy Noel.
We survive. Boat performs as I had hoped. Top speeds are a hoot to sit near. Nothing breaks. We didn’t throw up… what more could you want?
Back to Tortoise Head.
Saturday, 19 August 2006
For this sailing escapade I was christened Mr Burns - for the Simpson’s character who has all the physical strength of wet bread. But more of that later. We motored off down the creek just before 9am. I like being able to gaze at all the houses that have property down to the water. Cannons Creek is quite lovely (particularly in off-mozzie season) - too bad Parks Victoria are apparently going to remove all the channel markers (how helpful and somehow typical - we’ll just guess where the channel is shall we? And who do we sue when we savage the hull? Oops - here I am thinking like a Yank.)
We got to Warneet, which is remarkable also for it’s prettiness, and all the dickheads that moor their boats in the channel. This, startlingly enough, makes it quite difficult to navigate. In these trying times I wish I had a Humber Of The Sea, with which I would just push everything aside that shouldn’t be there, damning all their paintjobs to hell. Or wherever.
Anyway, we decided to head for Hastings and see if we could pull up on the sand and hit the cafe for breakfast. An excellent plan. We haven’t really had the boat long enough to be blase about sitting at a cafe overlooking the beach where Surfarosa is pulled up.
“Look at that sexy boat,” I say to M.
He looks dreamy.
“I’d love a boat like that,” he says wistfully.
“Maybe one day.” I am pensive.
“Oh hang on,” he says, deplorably perky. “That’s OUR boat! Ha!”
We are evil and smug.
After scrambled eggs we sail (not motor) off the beach and back out into the bay. It’s a cold and wettish journey over to Tortoise Head, where we forget how to navigate the channel, and have to turn around and try again. It’s bliss to be able anchor and make some hot milo. I could sit and read the paper until it got dark enough to crack a bottle of red and begin thinking about dinner, but M, blue-heeler like, is keen to walk.
We traipse the beach in front of the chicory kiln again, looking for treasure in the detritus that has been thrown up on the sand in a recent storm.
Last time we found six tennis balls, without a court in sight! This time it’s one tennis ball, two thongs (left ones, naturally, for that is the Law), a chopping board, a stubby holder, two foam fishing sinkers and chunks of thick thick glass that looks excitingly old and relicky. The Charles Dickens of broken bottles. I keep most of it.
Dinner is camping fare - tuna mornay Ellise style - and we collapse before 9pm. No television is a good thing.
From Tortoise Head to, um… Tortoise Head
Sunday, 20 August 2006
Not sure how long it’s been since we slept for over 12 hours, but we didn’t get up on deck until after about 10am. Lying in my back cabin I was just gently plashed from side to side, looking at the sky through the little window. Divine. M made smasher breakfast du jour - Egg in a Hole. And cups of tea. We whiled away another hour or two and thought we’d head over to another favourite spot. Rhyll.
Pulled up on the beach. As usual, I made a dash for the well situated public toilets having scorned the porta-loo onboard after M dumped Mr Hanky in it. Noodled up to the Rhyll Bazaar and ummed and aahed over an old 1970’s crockpot. I let it go in the end, but am still keen to get one, but maybe slightly less archaic.
Then, the cafe on the corner. They were busy. Service was slow, but worth the wait. We languished over newspapers, and M had a second coffee to prolong the whole experience. We checked in at the chandlery on the way back to see if they had an update on the weather. The guy checked the forecase on the net, and M’s eyebrows peaked. He became Man of Action. We left Rhyll post haste for Tortoise Head. Again. As it would be far easier to leave from there in the morning (as opposed to Rhyll) to catch the high tide around 11am Monday at Cannons Creek (which become mud at low tide).
We made it to Tortoise Head on dusk, using me with binoculars and the GPS to tentatively make our way back through the channel to where we had spent last night.
Too dark to go ashore. Pesto and pasta for dinner, a modicum of chocolate, and early to bed. M warned of a stiff mornings sail ahead…
I Am the Captain of the Pinafore
Monday, 21 August 2006
…to be continued. At ease.
The day so far (at 9am).
Tuesday, 22 August 2006
Woke up in the back of Surfarosa (for that is the name of the trimaran) at Stony Point, where we had to take shelter yesterday afternoon. We had tried a few times to get into the channel that would take us through to Warneet (and then up the creek and home) to no avail. It was dicey. We tried to sail into Hastings, but couln’t make it into the marina there either. The wind was crazy, the sea was choppy, and our little motor wasn’t really up to the job.
So, to cut it short (as I will write up our journey and post it later) I had to bail - and it just so happened that Stony Point is at the very far end of the train line. So at 6.17am M put me on the diesel train, looking somewhat dishevelled (having been woken at 1am by a fishing boat pulling up on the other side of the pier). I got off at Baxter - the station that’s not really a station, and jumped in a taxi that I had booked (thank you L, for texting me the local taxi numbers). Thirty five well spent dollars later (ouch) I was back in the trailer by ten past seven, thwacking an axe into anything I could find that would burn in the woodheater and yelling at the cats as they tried to gnaw my leg.
M remained at sea, unable to return until the wind abated. I think he was thrilled.
An early one
Monday, 13 November 2006
We were up at 5.30am this morning, and before 7am had pulled the trimaran from the creek with the help of a nice man and his sturdy tractor.
It was relatively pain free, and something M has needed to do for ages. The creek dries out at low tide, and unbeknown to us, the mooring thingy had emerged from the mud and Boat has scraped on it. It is time for some TLC.
Father’s Day Numero Uno
Monday, 8 September 2008
Although Z and I were still feeling a bit ‘gah’, I figured that it would be just as good to be feeling a bit bleugh on an adventure. It was M’s first Father’s Day and I know he has been wanting to get us out on the boat for months. My dad and Mgs were keen, so we set off on Sunday morning from Warneet Pier at 10am (due to tide constraints, M had to get the boat down the creek earlier in the morning before the water was too low).
The weather could have been better, but we had no grand plans. Merely a noodle around in the boat to see where the wind took us, and the prospect of a gourmet feast for lunch. Small Z was in the sling on me, and was quite interested in what was going on - though more keen on all the different ropes, rather than the seagoing scenery.
The weather looked a little ominous, but the rain, when it came, was well timed. Small Z had gone to sleep in the sling while I walked along the beach, and stayed snoozing as I clambered back aboard. We began lunch in the cockpit, but quickly moved below. There was D’Affinois, rabbit terrine, stuffed olives, champagne, pesto, boiled eggs, the innovative sailing friendly salad-in-a-bag and Coopers for dad. Small Z slept all the way through the feast, making us laugh with her baby-dream utterances.
By the time M dropped myself and Small Z back at Warneet Pier, we were exhausted. The others kept going down the creek back to the mooring. However, just as they took off, as M put the motor into reverse, the stupid motor bracket snapped and the outboard when into the drink!! Oh woe! After a few attempts at hooking it with the anchor, they had to abandon their efforts and go home under sail - luckily, conditions were amenable.
M had to go back with dad (as his spotter) the next day and jump off Warneet Pier in his wetsuit. He said it was beyond freezing, totally sharky looking and one of the hardest things he has ever done. Trying to find the motor at the bottom and tie a rope around it - while holding his breath under a large amount of water. He may write about it on his blog. He not only managed to get it - but also managed to resuscitate it!
