nis 24 crossing bass strait
lan is a very experienced navigator, both in the two dimensions of sea and the third dimension as an experienced pilot of light aircraft. In addition he has since childhood been sailing on Bass Strait, albeit in much larger keel boats.
This last experience has been invaluable, both in the careful planning and preparation that went on before this adventure and during it.
I am only now starting to realise how much I have leamt from him. I picked lan up from Tullamarine and we trailed Charlie Fisher down to Port welshpool, to wait on a window of weather. We stayed at the Port Welshpool Caravan Park, using Charlie as our caravan. The park's owner Guss Kok was very generous to us, letting lan use his computer for forecasting, and also letting us leave the Nissan Patrol and trailer in his yard at no cost while at sea. His park is also very conveniently placed to the wharf area and town facilities,
It quickly became obvious to me that the forecasting in this region was, in spite of all the technology pretty hit and miss, which is part of what contributes to the fearsome reputation of the area. As lan puts it, dry inland air from mainland Australia meets the top edge of the roaring 40s, and that conjunction is very hard to predict. Reliably hard, as it turned out.
While waiting it out, we busied ourselves with final tuning of the boat and the setting up of a jury rigged UHF aerial to complement the new VHF set on board the boat. We had full paper charts, and two GPS units for security. We had made use of a red LED trailer brake light unit, for reading maps at night without affecting night vision. This seemed so simple, but proved over the weeks to be a very useful addition.
The only thing that lan remained grumpy about was my hastily made converted bucket 'cockpit ablution unit'. Unfortunately, I did not have time to file the sharpest edges off it before departure. A feature that I thought did encourage concentration and discouraged long reading spells of reading, while occupied!
It was not such a bad wait. The Wilsons Promontory area is rich in history, and here are some very good local museums that explain and reflect that past. My kettle had rusted out, which caused me angst because there was a very poor selection in the greater Port Welshpool area.
The five day theoretical weather window upon us, in the early morning light we cast off from Port Welshpool, riding the ebb to the open sea and Bass
Strait.
This last experience has been invaluable, both in the careful planning and preparation that went on before this adventure and during it.
I am only now starting to realise how much I have leamt from him. I picked lan up from Tullamarine and we trailed Charlie Fisher down to Port welshpool, to wait on a window of weather. We stayed at the Port Welshpool Caravan Park, using Charlie as our caravan. The park's owner Guss Kok was very generous to us, letting lan use his computer for forecasting, and also letting us leave the Nissan Patrol and trailer in his yard at no cost while at sea. His park is also very conveniently placed to the wharf area and town facilities,
It quickly became obvious to me that the forecasting in this region was, in spite of all the technology pretty hit and miss, which is part of what contributes to the fearsome reputation of the area. As lan puts it, dry inland air from mainland Australia meets the top edge of the roaring 40s, and that conjunction is very hard to predict. Reliably hard, as it turned out.
While waiting it out, we busied ourselves with final tuning of the boat and the setting up of a jury rigged UHF aerial to complement the new VHF set on board the boat. We had full paper charts, and two GPS units for security. We had made use of a red LED trailer brake light unit, for reading maps at night without affecting night vision. This seemed so simple, but proved over the weeks to be a very useful addition.
The only thing that lan remained grumpy about was my hastily made converted bucket 'cockpit ablution unit'. Unfortunately, I did not have time to file the sharpest edges off it before departure. A feature that I thought did encourage concentration and discouraged long reading spells of reading, while occupied!
It was not such a bad wait. The Wilsons Promontory area is rich in history, and here are some very good local museums that explain and reflect that past. My kettle had rusted out, which caused me angst because there was a very poor selection in the greater Port Welshpool area.
The five day theoretical weather window upon us, in the early morning light we cast off from Port Welshpool, riding the ebb to the open sea and Bass
Strait.
It was a dream run to Hogan Island, the boat self steering pretty much all the way. The south-easterlies were fortunately light to moderate, and the boat boomed along under full sail, at up to 6kts over the ground. The self steering gear is simplicity itself. It's a metre and a half of 8mm spectra fixed each side of the cockpit and running through a simple jammer on top of the tiller handle. Set the handle amidships, adjust the sails to the desired heading in the conditions and set about your house keeping!
I got the urge to put out the trolling line, and by midday I had caught a ridiculously large Barracuda. I looked at it, thinking, where do I start eating this damn thing, and I swear it looked at me and wondered, just what do these two buggers think
they'll do with me in this boat? We took the hook out of his grumpy maw and tossed him back with his snappy mates.
And contented ourselves with canned tuna. By late evening Hogan had vanished behind us, and the Kent group of Islands were rising slowly from the horizon. Progress was excellent, and we engaged ourselves fine tuning the boat, reorganising yet again our stores and rechecking all our fittings and equipment. We had two GPSs, and these were on most of the time. In addition we had Admiralty paper charts, and our GPS positions and course were constantly being checked against the paper charts.
We sailed through the night. We were not really rcligious enough about it, but we tried to work four hours on watch, four hours off. I was asleep when lan called me to say we were just passing between two of the Kent group islands, South West Rocks and Deal. The wind had dropped somewhat, and it was quite eerie, to be out in the middle of that strait, passing between these two mountaintops, the sound of sea crashing on their bluff granite cliffs. Night birds flew around us, and some phosphorescence punctuated our wash.
We were half way across, but we also knew that the hardest part was to come.
As day broke, we could see Deal still behind us, and ahead the form of Flinders Island, the largest of the Furneaux group rising in the haze ahead. The breeze continued south-easterly and progress was good. Talk turned to the size of the boots of the early navigators who had passed this way before us, after seeing some of the outcrops, stabbing out of the sea as we passed, and more menacingly, the sworls of water to starboard, indicating a nasty rock, lurking just below the surface. lan made the observation that we could be grateful for those ships' captains and crews who discovered, noted and gave their names to most of these horrors, at great personal cost. Here we were in a small but competent boat, and we had GPS and charts to confirm our position, and the whereabouts of hazards.
How must it have been, in the black ink of night with only dead reckoning and a howling westerly in your teeth? The 10m swells would have been breaking and depending on the wind and tide, standing with overfalls, confusing navigation and exhausting the ship and her crew. Even the big, modern North Sea capable RO RO ferries that run between Melbourne and Devonport in Tasmania
have reports of their bridge windows smashed in on some trips, such is the force of it all.
Imagination made sleep difficult.
It took us all of that day and into the night to get past the Fumeaux group. The big worry, Banks Strait was still to come. It is about 20nm through Banks Strait. It runs West East between Lady Barren Island and the north coast of Tasmania. It also runs flood and ebb to four and a half knots. It is vital in any boat to pick the wind and tide combination that will get you through with least pain. If sailing against the tide, almost no progress is made, and if wind is against you as well, then you go backwards. If the wind is against the tide, then the dreaded square waves and overfalls follow. It is a nasty piece of water, in a larger already nasty piece of water. Working out the tides is tricky too, because of the various accountings on charts of Zulu time, day light saving time, standard time and so on. Added to that of course are the corrections needed because the tide times for the specific area have to be calculated against and adjustment from a centre, such as Devonport.
Fear cures dyslexia.
Ian's good planning and we luck meant we timed it well. I slept most of the way into Banks Strait, and
lan roused me as Swan Island light came abeam to starboard. The wind built quite strongly from the north-east and so did the sea. I put two reefs in the main, pleased with myself for having been so careful in setting it up so efficiently. The boat drove at a cracking pace; as the wind went more northerly, we went from reaching to broad reaching and we saw nine knots frequently. This was wonderful. I strained my eyes all the rest of the night, imagining containers broken off freighters, waiting for us, just below the surface in the black crashing seas.
I got the urge to put out the trolling line, and by midday I had caught a ridiculously large Barracuda. I looked at it, thinking, where do I start eating this damn thing, and I swear it looked at me and wondered, just what do these two buggers think
they'll do with me in this boat? We took the hook out of his grumpy maw and tossed him back with his snappy mates.
And contented ourselves with canned tuna. By late evening Hogan had vanished behind us, and the Kent group of Islands were rising slowly from the horizon. Progress was excellent, and we engaged ourselves fine tuning the boat, reorganising yet again our stores and rechecking all our fittings and equipment. We had two GPSs, and these were on most of the time. In addition we had Admiralty paper charts, and our GPS positions and course were constantly being checked against the paper charts.
We sailed through the night. We were not really rcligious enough about it, but we tried to work four hours on watch, four hours off. I was asleep when lan called me to say we were just passing between two of the Kent group islands, South West Rocks and Deal. The wind had dropped somewhat, and it was quite eerie, to be out in the middle of that strait, passing between these two mountaintops, the sound of sea crashing on their bluff granite cliffs. Night birds flew around us, and some phosphorescence punctuated our wash.
We were half way across, but we also knew that the hardest part was to come.
As day broke, we could see Deal still behind us, and ahead the form of Flinders Island, the largest of the Furneaux group rising in the haze ahead. The breeze continued south-easterly and progress was good. Talk turned to the size of the boots of the early navigators who had passed this way before us, after seeing some of the outcrops, stabbing out of the sea as we passed, and more menacingly, the sworls of water to starboard, indicating a nasty rock, lurking just below the surface. lan made the observation that we could be grateful for those ships' captains and crews who discovered, noted and gave their names to most of these horrors, at great personal cost. Here we were in a small but competent boat, and we had GPS and charts to confirm our position, and the whereabouts of hazards.
How must it have been, in the black ink of night with only dead reckoning and a howling westerly in your teeth? The 10m swells would have been breaking and depending on the wind and tide, standing with overfalls, confusing navigation and exhausting the ship and her crew. Even the big, modern North Sea capable RO RO ferries that run between Melbourne and Devonport in Tasmania
have reports of their bridge windows smashed in on some trips, such is the force of it all.
Imagination made sleep difficult.
It took us all of that day and into the night to get past the Fumeaux group. The big worry, Banks Strait was still to come. It is about 20nm through Banks Strait. It runs West East between Lady Barren Island and the north coast of Tasmania. It also runs flood and ebb to four and a half knots. It is vital in any boat to pick the wind and tide combination that will get you through with least pain. If sailing against the tide, almost no progress is made, and if wind is against you as well, then you go backwards. If the wind is against the tide, then the dreaded square waves and overfalls follow. It is a nasty piece of water, in a larger already nasty piece of water. Working out the tides is tricky too, because of the various accountings on charts of Zulu time, day light saving time, standard time and so on. Added to that of course are the corrections needed because the tide times for the specific area have to be calculated against and adjustment from a centre, such as Devonport.
Fear cures dyslexia.
Ian's good planning and we luck meant we timed it well. I slept most of the way into Banks Strait, and
lan roused me as Swan Island light came abeam to starboard. The wind built quite strongly from the north-east and so did the sea. I put two reefs in the main, pleased with myself for having been so careful in setting it up so efficiently. The boat drove at a cracking pace; as the wind went more northerly, we went from reaching to broad reaching and we saw nine knots frequently. This was wonderful. I strained my eyes all the rest of the night, imagining containers broken off freighters, waiting for us, just below the surface in the black crashing seas.
Eddystone light off to the south-east soon became Eddystone light to the south, as we swept eastward, out from Banks Strait into the beginnings of the Tasman Sea. lan, asleep in his bunk, stirred from time to time in the red nightlight to check his charts against the GPS.
It was a great ride, all through that night. The boat fairly rushed on, the self steering behaving impeccably, the tiller just visible in the dark, tugging happily against its piece of string, etched against the spread of stern light on the foaming wake, hissing away from the transom while breaking wave tops occasionally sent spray across the cabin top. It was the best of times, time to reflect that you were truly alive, more so in the slight risk of
not being, and your tiny life held in the great indifferent vastness. The feeling of life, hunched against the companionway in that swirling cockpit in the confidence of the boat was sublime, strong, almost mad.
four hours up, lan came out and I went below. The winds dropped shortly after that and we slatted around for an hour or two after daylight, not moving much. We were a little south of Eddystone when I came out. lan stayed on the tiller for the next hour and tried to hook the tiny breeze, which was now directly behind us, from the north. Abeam of St Helens, the zephyrs become winds, I0kts, 15, 20. First reef in, mizzen struck. Twenty minutes later, the wind is still rising. Bugger it. Jcsus reef. This was not forecast. Thirty knots and cooking. Warp out. No special reason, I'd read it in the books. Rudder (dagger type) blade up. Centreboard mostly up. Wind still building. Seas already large. From the east, big swells coming in from New Zealand. Meeting swells from the south, legacy of a recent storm. lan had retired to his bunk by now, and was amusing himself calling the over ground speed on his GPS. Steady nine knots,
not bad, Robert. Twelve, hell we just hit 12. Back to 9kts. Bored with 12.
It was a great ride, all through that night. The boat fairly rushed on, the self steering behaving impeccably, the tiller just visible in the dark, tugging happily against its piece of string, etched against the spread of stern light on the foaming wake, hissing away from the transom while breaking wave tops occasionally sent spray across the cabin top. It was the best of times, time to reflect that you were truly alive, more so in the slight risk of
not being, and your tiny life held in the great indifferent vastness. The feeling of life, hunched against the companionway in that swirling cockpit in the confidence of the boat was sublime, strong, almost mad.
four hours up, lan came out and I went below. The winds dropped shortly after that and we slatted around for an hour or two after daylight, not moving much. We were a little south of Eddystone when I came out. lan stayed on the tiller for the next hour and tried to hook the tiny breeze, which was now directly behind us, from the north. Abeam of St Helens, the zephyrs become winds, I0kts, 15, 20. First reef in, mizzen struck. Twenty minutes later, the wind is still rising. Bugger it. Jcsus reef. This was not forecast. Thirty knots and cooking. Warp out. No special reason, I'd read it in the books. Rudder (dagger type) blade up. Centreboard mostly up. Wind still building. Seas already large. From the east, big swells coming in from New Zealand. Meeting swells from the south, legacy of a recent storm. lan had retired to his bunk by now, and was amusing himself calling the over ground speed on his GPS. Steady nine knots,
not bad, Robert. Twelve, hell we just hit 12. Back to 9kts. Bored with 12.
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