nis24 the return p1
FOUR hundred miles of what we now knew to be unpredictable open water, waited for us.
This time, I had to do the Tasmanian east coast section, Hohart, Dunalley Canal. Marion Bar, Wine Glass Bay and the bar at St Helen's, on the top northeast corner solo because lan had other commitments in Tasmania till then.
So, solo it was.
I admit to some trepidation, sailing away from the comfort and kindnesses I had experienced as a guest of the Royal Yacht Club of Tasmania.
But my little ship felt good, with the clear Tasmanian water once more moving under her as we cleared the Royal Yacht Club Of Tasmania.
I reflected on the wealth of the time and place that we are fortunate enough to inhabit, that makes such vanity possible. It is without precedent in the sweep of human history. It matters to know, in the middle of tilings, that we are so lucky.
The cabin and cockpit lockers had been fully aired and cleaned from end to end, and all the provisions, charts and navigation equipment had been checked and restowed. I had plenty of fuel should 1 need it and the small Ray Marine Auto Helm had been checked. I used the auto helm extensively for light air down wind work, and for the few times we were under engine power. The big gel battery had been kept well charged by Troy's small solar panel. The battery was easily capable of powering the auto helm for 30 or more hours without further charging, and since we had plenty of sun 1 could rely on 48 hours should I need it. 1 had plenty of stores, and fresh apples, carrots and other goodieswere low down in the cool of the hull. 1 had good coffee, ground just before I left and packed in an airtight container. My clothes were all clean and aired and the Helly Hansen wet weather gear had been carefully aired and washed too. The knowledge of order makes me feel good, and it helps my normally chaotic brain behave itself; a comforting thought, setting out on a trip like this.
I had plenty of small tins of high protein snack food, tuna especially, baked beans and the like. There was, under the vee berth 40 litres of water and more under the bridge deck. In the midships cockpit lockers, down low we had 40 litres of petrol for the out board. My little transistor radio chatted away as I ghosted down the Derwent.
I had farewelled our friends Matt Cecil and Heather Hesterman and MIS 23 'Shearwater' owners Rob and Jo Nolan, two special couples who very kindly provided me with home accommodation during my Hobart stay. Rob and Jo built 'Shearwater' around 10 years ago, and seem to almost live aboard the boat during the warm summer months.
Without exception, the Tasmanian boating fraternity had been very kind to us, from our arrival to our departure.
This time there would be no one to take over if I was silly enough to get hypothermia again, and the awareness that no matter how careful the preparation, there still could be some fatal oversight, with the already mentioned cascading series of consequences that can follow.
On the other hand I was extremely confident in the boat and the lessons we had learned on the journey down.
The pace on the Derwent was leisurely, drifting till I was about three miles north-east of Betsey Island, around 5pm. The wind, tor a change as forecast piped in from the south-east, moving around later to the north. Local thunderstorms and northerly gale warnings crackled over the VHF radio as I rounded to the east, so I anchored north of Betsey Island, just a few metres off the beach near Black Jack Rocks, thinking that the lee would provide a good shelter.
It turned out to he one of the wildest nights I have experienced at anchor.
have experienced at anchor.
The lightening came first, followed with increasingly short interludes of rolling thunder. The wind went to the north, and blew so hard during the moonless night that the boat shook continuously. The ferocity was such that waves seemed to come from no fetch at all, just a few metres from the beach but enough to slap against the hull all night. Sleep? Well an approximation anyway, interrupted by thunder and the sharp waves, the quivering of the hull and the frequent illumination of the cabin from lightning. I could see Betsey through the companionway, lighting up like daylight in the big sheet lightning flashes.
I had set the GPS for drift alarm, but did not entirely trust it, preferring to wake frequently and eyeball Black Jack and Betsey from the companionway to confirm my position.
Morning brought respite, clearing skies, boating traffic and the urge to have a proper sleep!
1 succumbed. It was midmorning before I weighed anchor for Storm Bay and my intended destination, the small village and canal port of Dunalley.
The sailing was memorable for the vista of muscular cliffs as 1 sailed in close, through Storm Bay and into Frederick Henry Bay. It was cheery too, fishermen waving as I sailed past, sunlight, seabirds wheeling. The wind still had some northerly, so self steering was easily achieved, rudder dead ahead and the course set by the mizzen. Book reading time! Serendipitously, The Tipping Point (How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference): by Malcolm Gladwell. Given to me, with great prescience by Heather Hesterman, just as I cast off. Thanks, Heather.
Evening saw me in light air and tired, just north of Slopen Island. Rather than hurry, I decided to enjoy my time, and sailed in to Lagoon Beach for the night. The lifting centreboard meant that running up on to the beach was pleasure, and the balmy evening was a treat.
Morning saw me into Dunalley and breakfast.The wind was piping by the time I left, and the run down to Chinaman's saw a leap in wind speed, a reef or two and very short tacks as I worked up the channel toward the Marion Bar.
Strong northerlies persisted, but as lan puts it:
"Robert, becoming impatient actually ventured out over the Marion Bar into 50 plus knots of northerly."
Well that's part of the story. I did eyeball the Marion Bar before crossing it, and did come to the rational conclusion that it was doable. The boat did bump the bottom as we crossed, but we were very quickly out into the open, if vigorous sea. Another advantage of having a strong, lightweight retractable centreboard boat!
I already had the mizzen first reef in and the main deep reefed. Pretty soon 1 was getting radio and mobile phone calls from crews of yachts I had made friends with in Hohart. They knew I was 'somewhere' on my way north. As it turned out they were only a little ahead of me, sheltering in the lee of the blow at Coles Bay and Bryans Corner. I did not know what the wind speed was, except that it was big, as were the seas. There was some disbelief that I was 'out there', as Anna Commandeuz, navigator and chef on the very pretty Wittolz designed 35ft steel yacht Jo Jak put it,"because there is mayhem here. Most of the boats can't hold their ground, the wind is gusting 60+ and anchors are dragging all over. Most of the boats have got their motors running just trying to stay in one place.
The lightening came first, followed with increasingly short interludes of rolling thunder. The wind went to the north, and blew so hard during the moonless night that the boat shook continuously. The ferocity was such that waves seemed to come from no fetch at all, just a few metres from the beach but enough to slap against the hull all night. Sleep? Well an approximation anyway, interrupted by thunder and the sharp waves, the quivering of the hull and the frequent illumination of the cabin from lightning. I could see Betsey through the companionway, lighting up like daylight in the big sheet lightning flashes.
I had set the GPS for drift alarm, but did not entirely trust it, preferring to wake frequently and eyeball Black Jack and Betsey from the companionway to confirm my position.
Morning brought respite, clearing skies, boating traffic and the urge to have a proper sleep!
1 succumbed. It was midmorning before I weighed anchor for Storm Bay and my intended destination, the small village and canal port of Dunalley.
The sailing was memorable for the vista of muscular cliffs as 1 sailed in close, through Storm Bay and into Frederick Henry Bay. It was cheery too, fishermen waving as I sailed past, sunlight, seabirds wheeling. The wind still had some northerly, so self steering was easily achieved, rudder dead ahead and the course set by the mizzen. Book reading time! Serendipitously, The Tipping Point (How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference): by Malcolm Gladwell. Given to me, with great prescience by Heather Hesterman, just as I cast off. Thanks, Heather.
Evening saw me in light air and tired, just north of Slopen Island. Rather than hurry, I decided to enjoy my time, and sailed in to Lagoon Beach for the night. The lifting centreboard meant that running up on to the beach was pleasure, and the balmy evening was a treat.
Morning saw me into Dunalley and breakfast.The wind was piping by the time I left, and the run down to Chinaman's saw a leap in wind speed, a reef or two and very short tacks as I worked up the channel toward the Marion Bar.
Strong northerlies persisted, but as lan puts it:
"Robert, becoming impatient actually ventured out over the Marion Bar into 50 plus knots of northerly."
Well that's part of the story. I did eyeball the Marion Bar before crossing it, and did come to the rational conclusion that it was doable. The boat did bump the bottom as we crossed, but we were very quickly out into the open, if vigorous sea. Another advantage of having a strong, lightweight retractable centreboard boat!
I already had the mizzen first reef in and the main deep reefed. Pretty soon 1 was getting radio and mobile phone calls from crews of yachts I had made friends with in Hohart. They knew I was 'somewhere' on my way north. As it turned out they were only a little ahead of me, sheltering in the lee of the blow at Coles Bay and Bryans Corner. I did not know what the wind speed was, except that it was big, as were the seas. There was some disbelief that I was 'out there', as Anna Commandeuz, navigator and chef on the very pretty Wittolz designed 35ft steel yacht Jo Jak put it,"because there is mayhem here. Most of the boats can't hold their ground, the wind is gusting 60+ and anchors are dragging all over. Most of the boats have got their motors running just trying to stay in one place.
Are you SAFE out there?" I was.
Six and a half knots most of the time over the ground (GPS) to windward, with the bit of string self steering as usual, and me snugged up in the lee of the cabin. This time I was very warm and comfortable, even with the occasional big spray over the top as a breaking coamer swept past the boat. I reflected on what a difference the well designed Helley Hansen wet weather gear makes on a passage such as this. It seems a statement of the obvious but having gear that is comfortable to wear and at the same time prevents those icy creeks from sneaking down your neck and into the body of your clothing is so reassuring! The motion of the boat in these seas was such that, combined with accumulated Michelin man bulk of safety harness and life jackets, moving down into the cabin to get a snack was really a project, but doable. I'd describe that six hours or so as 'surprisingly comfortable hanging on'.
Needless to say the safety harness remained firmly clipped.
It was wonderful. Made more so by the radio and phone calls throughout the journey. The fraternity at work.
As I neared Triabunna, I had the company of a large steel trawler, the only other boat I saw on the water that day. Interestingly he seemed to be more or less continuously pitching and crashing into the sea, huge spray and solid water passing over his ship. I was intrigued that my little ship was by comparison dry, and simply going with the sea. I have noticed this with seabirds, in storms in the past, they just seem to sit there without drama, rising and falling, buoyant and on top of the turbulence.
I have some video taken of Jo Jak. In the video she is sailing to windward off to starboard in about 18kts of breeze in confused sea. It is quite instructive.
JoJak is a very well made and designed boat, but like most other cruising boats of her size has real mass, which is often in her favour. But, I suspect BECAUSE of her mass, which includes a heavy mast, and fine hull shape, she gets a relatively high pitching rhythm, the period of which increases with each wave, till finally the bow is coming right out of the wave and then diving back down into the body of the next.
Six and a half knots most of the time over the ground (GPS) to windward, with the bit of string self steering as usual, and me snugged up in the lee of the cabin. This time I was very warm and comfortable, even with the occasional big spray over the top as a breaking coamer swept past the boat. I reflected on what a difference the well designed Helley Hansen wet weather gear makes on a passage such as this. It seems a statement of the obvious but having gear that is comfortable to wear and at the same time prevents those icy creeks from sneaking down your neck and into the body of your clothing is so reassuring! The motion of the boat in these seas was such that, combined with accumulated Michelin man bulk of safety harness and life jackets, moving down into the cabin to get a snack was really a project, but doable. I'd describe that six hours or so as 'surprisingly comfortable hanging on'.
Needless to say the safety harness remained firmly clipped.
It was wonderful. Made more so by the radio and phone calls throughout the journey. The fraternity at work.
As I neared Triabunna, I had the company of a large steel trawler, the only other boat I saw on the water that day. Interestingly he seemed to be more or less continuously pitching and crashing into the sea, huge spray and solid water passing over his ship. I was intrigued that my little ship was by comparison dry, and simply going with the sea. I have noticed this with seabirds, in storms in the past, they just seem to sit there without drama, rising and falling, buoyant and on top of the turbulence.
I have some video taken of Jo Jak. In the video she is sailing to windward off to starboard in about 18kts of breeze in confused sea. It is quite instructive.
JoJak is a very well made and designed boat, but like most other cruising boats of her size has real mass, which is often in her favour. But, I suspect BECAUSE of her mass, which includes a heavy mast, and fine hull shape, she gets a relatively high pitching rhythm, the period of which increases with each wave, till finally the bow is coming right out of the wave and then diving back down into the body of the next.
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