In Which We Cross Time Zones

Some time after departing Sydney, we finally experienced a wind not from the North East. Excitement was in the air and the sense that finally some sails might be trimmed. We arose very early lapped by the shallow waters of Yamba Harbour. The tide was exceptionally low but by ignoring the advice of the crusty old sea salts on the marina two days earlier we felt confident that we could navigate the channel. We made a call into VMR Yamba to log in and check how the bar was running after the strong winds of the previous day. No one was home at VMR Yamba but we exited the marina and cautiously maneuvered back through the harbour and out into the river - hugging the sand banks here, skirting the mooring marks there; all the while reading loudly from the Book of Lucas and quoting from his Soundings.



VMR Yamba was still not responding as we approached the sea walls of the Clarence having passed unscathed through the Valleys of No Water. After several radio calls with no response, the vigilant souls at VMR Evans Head responded instead and they explained that their comrades at Yamba were not yet out of bed. Since Evans Head had no chance of telling us what the bar looked like we throttled up and headed out regardless.

Departing the Mighty Clarence. Flat as a tack

Mid way through our crossing, the Captain received an apologetic phone call explaining that the staff member on duty that morning had not turned up. The caller wondered if he could offer any assistance instead.The Captain declined given our advanced state of departure and the fact that the caller was on the golf course not anywhere near Northern NSW's greatest waterway entrance.

And so we exited the Clarence, stage left, and unfurled our enormous area of sail cloth to ride the winds 100 nautical miles to Southport - our biggest day of distance yet.

Farewell Yamba - Iluka! We shall treat
your low tide waters with respect next time we meet

At 1025 we passed our watchful marine rescue crew at Evans Head and radioed in for no apparent reason except to give them a cheery position update. No doubt they were happy to have some radio chatter - not a single other boat was in sight so far that day except the dark shadows of container ships on the far horizon.

At 1230 we passed Ballina with the bar looking generally benign from our position some way out to sea. We sent an apologetic message to land bound sea dog Ben as we passed. He had been following our passage up the coast and was keen to catch up if we had dropped in at Ballina. Unfortunately, the call of Brisbane was strong and the underwhelming wafting of the southerly "breeze" was fanning us North.

Not far out of Ballina, the progress of the boat was almost stopped as a mighty spanish mackeral took the lure. It had only taken 300 nautical miles but finally a decent sized fish had been hooked. We had barely finished filleting the thing when a tuna took the next lure and in a matter of an hour the fridge was filled with fish. There was nothing for it but to start eating fish for every meal. The ship's chef immediately got into the spirit by throwing several kilograms on the BBQ for lunch.

Approaching 6 bells we drew abreast of Cape Byron. The Captain felt this milestone required a phone call to the shore party who still waited up in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney. They were thoroughly underwhelmed.

Cape Byron. There's nothing underwhelming about it except the lack of wind

We crossed into Queensland at around 1800 hours and confusion broke out. Was this four bells of the second watch in Daylight Curtain Fading Time or two bells in Eastern Newman Time ?? We resolved to remain on daylight savings time until the next morning when the sun would invariably start to fade our seat cushions. 

To the great delight of the Acting First Mate and the Rear Admiral the jockey pole was unhooked from its place on the deck and the Specialist Sail Trimmer rigged it up and poled the headsail out to one side to try and extract the juice of more wind out of the substandard tail wind. The Captain realised that he risked mutiny if he alerted the crew to the fact that the boat speed had dropped at this point.

Goose winging into Queensland (recently made a criminal offence)

As darkness fell, we finally dropped the sails and fell back on the trusty old diesel - passing Surfers Paradise as the lights started coming on.

Surfers Paradise

Trying to find the navigation beacons to enter Southport without the aid of a chartplotter would be tricky business.

The Mighty Glow from the navigation lights. Take that Surfers.

There was some debate as to whether a row of lights off the Spit were navigation beacons or the cocktail bar of Palazzo Versace. Fortunately, the lead lights into the Gold Coast Seaway are nice blue LEDs which stand out against the general wash of light coming from the Gold Coast.

We called in to VMR Gold Coast Seaway to make sure we weren't going to be surfing a 44 foot vessel into a sandbar in the dark. They had their hands full dealing with hundreds of jet skiers doing inexplicable things in the night through their control area to worry too much.The bar was smooth and we lined up the blue lights on our glide scope and cruised in to Southport, the odd jet ski bouncing off the hull in the darkness.

The Specialist Sail Trimmer: Nothing phases this guy

The anchor was dropped just off Sea World on the Broadwater. The trip meter read 108 nautical miles. A big day. There was nothing for it to but to celebrate with fish for dinner and watch as dozens and dozens of jet skis, fishing boats and other small craft careened past towards the boat ramp we had inadvertently parked near.

All slept well - except the Rear Admiral who generally doesn't sleep well - being disturbed by dreams of far seas and fibreglass osmosis and harried by old harpoon wounds. However, this night he was afflicted by the baying of lonely sea lions at Sea World.