Bound for Botany Bay...or thereabouts

This journal has always been slightly out of date - so many readers will now be familiar with the awful fate of Arjuna.  What follows is an account of the final leg of Arjuna for those who came in late.

Planning on this voyage has always been a careful blend of up to date information supplied by those saintly workers toiling at the Bureau combined in the right measure with ancient sea craft: a look to the West at sunset, a careful stroke of the sea beard while staring at the wind playing upon the currents in the distance. A Captain considers many variables when planning a passage, weighing up the life of the crew, the safety of the vessel and the level of the remaining sauvignon blanc stores. However, when considering the departure date from Port Stephens, it ultimately came down to the fact that the Second Mate wanted to spend his birthday in Sydney over a tankard of soft drink rather than in some forsaken sun-drenched aquatic playground on the NSW coast drinking filtered boat tank water from an unbreakable plastic cup. 

Iconic sunset cover shot. Also figuratively: 'the sun is setting on this voyage'

We did have a fine time in Nelson's Bay parked on the public buoys that we had tried to snag in the dark those many months before. Some friendly landlubbers from Brisbane intercepted us in port and we had several fine days catching up. These were good people - in fact, they had lent us their antique spear gun when we had left Brisbane originally and we had carried it from Sydney all the way to Cape York and back. Many reading will be shocked to learn that we hadn't speared a single sea creature with it in 11 months despite the advice of a gentleman in Cooktown who admiringly suggested it would give us years more trouble free coral trouting. Arjuna spent a day at Jimmy's Beach next to the fantastic sand bar where the Captain spent many a happy year in the distant past ploughing his windsurfer into the shallows while trying to learn to turn. The Salty Sea Dog, while very very good looking, is not renowned for his keen sense of touch, sight, hearing or smell and managed to stand on a live octopus at Jimmy's without noticing it.

In the octopus ink-like blackness of the following morning, the Salty Sea Dog and the Captain made a final zodiac assault on the beach for a quick wee and sniff in the long grass. The Salty Dog, always keen on a swim, had a short paddle in the darkness to attract sharks before the shore team returned to the mothership - pausing briefly to snap the oar on the dinghy - replaced in Brisbane not two weeks before.

The Salty Dog sleeps off an early morning.

It is worth noting the somewhat saddened appearance of the Tender to Arjuna. Our trusty French workhorse had borne us faithfully through tranquil waters, breaking waters, oyster infested rockpools and allegedly crocodile infested mangroves. It had been repeatedly dragged up on jagged coral shores, had transferred us from boat to boat bumming cheese and crackers and had provided invaluable floatation on innumerable High Speed Beach Assaults. At this stage of the trip, several indignities had been suffered including the loss of an oar, two snapped paddles and most concerning - a slow leak that had evaded the Captain's numerous attempts to patch. A trip to the beach at 0400 hours in the dark is a concerning prospect with an anxious sharp clawed golden retriever onboard a rapidly deflating inflatable.

The slightly imposing form of Yacaaba rises above the waters

 

The dawn light was filtering through the mouthful between Yacaaba and Tomaree by the time we had extracted ourselves from Port Stephens under motor. We waved farewell to the mighty great white shark breeding grounds and turned right. The weather report promised a fine Northeaster to blow us all the way to Pittwater with good sailing and good fishing all the way down the coast. At 0500, however, the only wind of note was blowing out the spout of the kettle in an Northupwardly direction with a promise of only hot coffee to come. Conditions had not changed much by 1100. We wove our way through the odd fish trap or lobster pot. We cleared the odd piece of seaweed from the fishing line. We contemplated rolling out or up a sail while searching the horizon for signs of something other than another pack of dolphins (the rats of the sea in these parts). Under motor and sitting out in the "EAC" - made famous by the loss of Nemo - we were making a tremendous pace down the coast. So much so that our thoughts turned to striking onwards to Port Jackson itself rather than Pittwater. Off the gates of Pittwater, and well into the middle of the afternoon, the nor'easter began to raise its lethargic head and some sail cloth could finally be produced to mild effect.

Skyscrapers Ho!

 Meanwhile, at Fleet Base Sydney, where some excitement had been building at the potential return of Arjuna in the coming days, word reached the Rear Admiral that the boat had been sighted off old Sydneytown much further South than anticipated. He promptly called for his car and a competent staff member and hurried to North Head paying little heed to hapless landlubbers en route.

Meanwhile, on Arjuna, the Captain furled the trolling lines for the final time. He carefully spooled up the 80 pound line - a faithful piece of nylon, though useless at catching fish. Then followed the 100 pound line, nicknamed the "General Lee". It was wrapped onto the handreel - a tattered and twisted piece of line that had seen us all the way up and back down the coast. It had certainly seen some action and yes ... some fish. Good memories. Good times. The thought of the last fish caught thousands of kilometres to the North somewhere South of Townsville was still fresh in the Captain's mind. The 120 pound line was then retrieved; to the best of anyone's knowledge never having felt the tug of a fish in some 2000 nautical miles.

On a fine Summer January afternoon with the looming rocks of the heads off the nose, 15 knots on our tail, a January sun still high in the sky and mermaids dancing in our bow wave, Arjuna gybed around to run through into Sydney Harbour. The crew, apparently so well salted and accustomed to pulling into strange ports after a year at sea, had to be dragged up on deck to witness the sight. To his credit, the Salty Sea Dog could smell the scent of land, and possibly the North Head Treatment Plant, and stayed on deck and sat alert and interested and drooling all over the navigation equipment. 

North Head: turn right here

A salutary phone call was received from the Rear Admiral's Chief of Staff - the pair of them distantly visible waving from the cliff top. She handed the phone to the Rear Admiral and he, with the dignity and diplomacy that comes with that office, queried what sort of sailor would enter the harbour with only their headsail up. A stern reminder of the formalities that are required in this ancient nautical port. The Captain radioed in to Marine Rescue Sydney and triumphantly pronounced that we had returned and were safely through the heads. Marine Rescue queried who we were, where we had come from and exactly which heads we had just come through - the significance of this moment appeared lost on those fine volunteers.

South Head: If you can see this you have gone too far

With the evening upon her, Arjuna dropped anchor in Little Manly Cove amongst the paddle boarders and penguins. In the morning, the crew revisited Store Beach for a dip before the sails were hoisted for a cruise down the harbour. The Flying Dutchman class World Championship racing was in full flight as Arjuna ran down to the bridge. Scores of yachts were beating up the race course which stretched from one side of the harbour to the other leaving little room to manoeuvre. But with the confidence that comes from a year on the water; with the ignorance of racing regulations that comes with sailing a cruising yacht and with the superior fibreglass thickness that comes with our 44 foot hull, Arjuna ploughed through the middle of the race calling for sea room and buoy room and other such things that the Captain heard on TV once.

To crown off the amazing range of superyachts we had sighted on the trip, we also sailed passed the ridiculously enormous Octopus. Equipped with several helicopters, a submarine, a coffee machine and its own gravitational field: the tides and currents simply warped around the hull and consequently it could sit stationary in the harbour without needing to even drop an anchor. Of course, what it was missing was a top of the line crew - and we could feel jealous eyes on the sleek but slightly salt encrusted lines of Arjuna as we passed.

We crossed under the bridge and brought the boat to her resting place further up the harbour and tethered to our assigned mooring at Fleet Headquarters.

Absolute pandemonium breaks out in Sydney Harbour at the arrival of Arjuna

And so ended the Voyage of Arjuna and her plucky crew.

I believe it was Magellan who said: 'He mi pie atrapado en los imbornales...' but it took Tasman to quip 'No he visto un pez en semanas'. Or it may have been the other way around. In any case, there comes a time when a beautiful boat like the sailing vessel Arjuna must sit and wait for a while on a mooring buoy. It is unfortunate because a boat such as this yearns to be sailing wild and free through the islands, playing cat and mouse with the shallows, staying one tack ahead of the barnacles, with over sized hairy dogs making the deck slick with drool and wayward children swinging from the rigging while irresponsible adults drink spirituous beverages out of hollowed out coconuts and dangle rancid prawns on a hook off the stern. But for now, we witness the somewhat tanned crew of the Arjuna unloading the vast stores of Lego and returning to the land to be lubbed, for a time.