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This journal has always been slightly out of date - so many readers will now be familiar with the awful fate of Arjuna.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'

Do not hurry the journey

Ithaka

written by Constantine P. Cavafy

1911

 

As you set out for Ithaka

hope the voyage is a long one,

full of adventure, full of discovery.

The Voyage of Arjuna 2014

On the sea at last

And so it came to pass that on the warm morning of the 7th February in the first year of the reign of King Tony, 2014, the fair vessel Arjuna departed Port Jackson. It twas the season of NSW nor'easters. A particularly fine time to be riding the breezes and the East Australian Current South from Queensland. Alas, we reached the heads of Sydney Harbour and turned left to battle the conditions the wrong way round.

The day started early, as it does on the sea. But not on the land. The day actually started late at 9:30am after we had to run last minute errands like picking up all the seat cushions and other such critical nautical tasks. We pulled out of Woolwich marina, waving at the Rear Admiral's good wife and nodding our repects to the carnage of broken and bent seacraft bowed by the extremes of marina life.

The old tram terminus

On board Arjuna were the Captain, the Rear Admiral and the Second Mate, lately promoted to acting First Mate for acts of valour and also because the Land Team: the First Mate, Third Mate and Ship's Monkey were all going to rejoin the boat in Brisbane. The Land Team retired to the safety of the mountains and somewhat chilly 10.5 degree conditions in Katoomba to gather nuts and lay down fat reserves for the coming winter and also to start distance education.

At Lavender Bay, we pulled into the wharf to pick up another crew member fresh from dropping the kids off at school. Able Seaman JJ awaited us carrying his sea trunk and bearing a warm cup of joe for the Captain. While we pulled back into the Harbour, the Acting First Mate gave Able Seaman JJ a full run down on the safety and operational equipment on the vessel including a tour of his state room and details of the turn down service.

At 1100, in light winds we radioed in to Marine Rescue at Port Jackson to say our farewells then put the blinker on and turned North out from the heads. Our planned destination for the day was Newcastle at a distance of some 68 nautical miles as the mackeral moves. The crew busied themselves about the boat. The Acting First Mate secured our jackstays and issued life harnesses.

Sails were put up after lunch. There was a lot of head scratching and debate about sail trim, luffing and cleating with some obvious problems with the set of our topping lift. Ultimately, there wasn't that much wind.

The first scheduled radio check in with Marine Rescue was off Broken Bay. The Marine Rescue system is very good. In the morning, one radios in to report the plan for the day. If a vessel fails to check back in by the scheduled time then something happens - which we are yet to find out - but hopefully it involves scrambling jets and helicopters. We radioed in and confidently confirmed our plan for Newcastle before recalculating and realising that Newcastle was completely out of touch with such a late start. We dialled back in to Marine Rescue and it was almost possible to hear the face palming over the radio as we indicated that we would pull in to Broken Bay instead.

Lion Island, Pittwater. Mainly added to break up all this text

Broken Bay / Pittwater is a fine place to stay. Arjuna had already made the trip down from Brooklyn on the Hawkesbury River which runs out at Broken Bay. The Rear Admiral had brought the boat down to Sydney for us with the help of the Chief of the Watch. The journey was apparently quite harrowing and the delivery team were harrassed repeatedly by an aggressive dolphin who later made threatening advances to surfers at Coogee.

We initially pulled in just under the lighthouse at Barrenjoey to try and grab a mooring but our healthy draught of 1.9 metres and the rapidly decreasing water depth put paid to that. Instead we motored down to Sandy Point and borrowed a rather large looking mooring outside the House of Wind. It was from this very beach that the Captain spent many a formative day being blown down Pittwater while windsurfing. It is character building stuff indeed to be picked up by police launch as one drifts out the heads.

Able Seaman JJ displayed the stuff he was made of by stripping down to the bare minimum permissable level of nylon, diving off the boat and swimming ashore. The rest of the team boarded the zodiac and the Acting First Mate rowed us to the beach for a swim.

The alarms rang at 0600 the next morning in preparation for an early start of 0630. The day starts early on the sea. In this case, actually at 0710 since it took some time to cook bacon and eggs for a hungry crew itching to put to sea. Our failure to make plan the day before was paid little attention - we checked in with Marine Rescue advising of our bold intention to make Port Stephens at a cool 75 nautical miles off and it was almost possible to hear the bets been taken over the radio.

By 1100 hours we were making good progress and approaching our waypoint at Norah Head. A pod of dolphins headed out on a interception course and spent a few minutes riding alongside before heading off to greener pastures.

As the afternoon progressed, the North East sea and wind picked up and making headway became difficult. A nice looking fish was hooked and almost landed before it got loose. The crew cursed their rotten luck at losing the opportunity at their first good meal for two hours.

By 1700 the weather was somewhat unfavourable to pleasure cruising with water over the bow giving the deck a much needed wash down. We found ourselves in a field of fish traps which litter the coast line in certain areas. Conveniently, they are unmarked and particular difficult to see once the sea gets rough or dark or both. Just to help out, some traps were fitted with black floats for better contrast against crystal clear tropical sands but completely invisible in 100 metre deep choppy water.

As the light ran out, we made our turn around Mount Stephens and watched the lighthouse light up and then rolled in the swell through the heads of Port Stephens between Mount Yacaaba and Tomarree. Marine Rescue Port Stephens was beginning to get alert but not alarmed at our non-appearance when we pulled into their view. Sails were down but the engine was blazing and the mighty red and green beams of our navigation lights cut through the darkness alerting all in front of us of our triumphant arrival.

Able Seaman JJ. Looking wistfully norwest

We navigated the varying channel around to Nelsons Bay where we had confirmed that a visitors berth was available in the marina. The marina area however was awash with activity, lights and people everywhere out for Saturday night. The location of the visitors berth was a complete mystery and after 13 hours upwind the Captain threw a handbreak turn within the marina seawall and we pulled out to the public moorings off Nelson Bay beach.

The day had not yet ended however - a decision was made to make a zodiac assault on the marina and attempt to get a quick dinner. So the tender was deployed and we motored in. We were too tired to remember to kiss the sweet sweet earth. The Acting First Mate, only 11, had put in a fine innings for the day and was falling asleep in his spring rolls by the time we found someone with a kitchen still open. We returned to the boat and pulled up stumps.

Arjuna at rest in Nelsons Bay. Looking wistfully noreast

The following day saw the departure of Able Seaman JJ. A fine sailor, resplendent in magnificent technical fabrics. We made a zodiac assault on the marina and delivered him to the bus at Nelsons Bay.

Longing for the Sea

When we last met, our intrepid party was meeting the new yacht and much cleaning and repairing was being undertaken. While the boat was berthed on the visitor wharf at Kirribilli we were visited by friends from Radelaide and we were able to subject the vessel to an additional payload of children - just to be certain that dials and knobs would hold up to the strain.

Prior to our arrival in Sydney, the Rear Admiral had spent most of his waking hours (when not assembling boating task lists) calling around marinas, waterways officials and other random contacts to try and secure some easily accessible marina or swing moorings where we could clean and work on the boat before departure. Within two days at Kirribilli we shifted the boat to its next port of call at Pulpit Point - on a progressive tour of the Sydney waterfront.

At Pulpit Point we got a good picture of the logistics associated with maneuvering a sizeable sailing vessel amongst high priced nautical real estate. Our yacht turned out to be too big for the planned berth and as a result we were assigned a spot on the visitor's wharf. A moderate southerly was blowing as we pulled in. With the wind directly against the hull it was all but impossible to fend the boat off the marina. All available fenders were deployed to try and protect the hull. The boat spent an uncomfortable time pushing against the marina until the southerly died off the next day. At Pulpit, we unloaded the contents of our land based transport into the boat, taking onboard a full library for the second mate and IT equipment to rival that of a small business.

After our brief stop at Pulpit, the next destination was Woolwich - only several hundred metres away as the bream swims. At Woolwich, we had a lined up a swing mooring but the evening before our arrival we learnt that this had been allocated to someone else. The marina manager at Woolwich was extremely accommodating and simply allocated us in a marina berth instead .. hinting at a suggested beer exchange rate. The captain, ever wise to the vagueries of the weather and the play of the tides (and particularly alarmed by the berthing exercise at Puplit) had inspected the marina the night before and as a result was fully aware of the parking spot (as land dwellers would know it) requirements. So, armed with this information, we departed Pulpit under slow engine for Woolwich. Before arriving, we practiced a variety of reverse parking maneuvres with the idea of reversing into the berth. As they say, preparation is the key and our preparation paid off with a perfectly executed reverse park into our marina berth.

Woolwich marina is only small. The marina manager had mentioned that they experienced a few knots of tide across the marina arms but left us to find out that the very regular Sydney ferries and random party boats and uber cruisers would send out decent bow waves that set the vessels in the marina tossing and turning. We spent our first night on the boat at Woolwich on a Saturday night and also discovered that the sea wall next to the marina was a popular Saturday night party fishing location. Fisherfolk enjoyed shouting at each other and waving glow sticks until the wee hours of the morning - much like they would in a night club except with a lower cover charge.

On our next trip out we took along some friends from Brisbane who were passing through town and set sail for Manly. Being a fine Sunday on the Harbour, the water was awash with boats of all sizes and a fine time was had by all as we wove our way amongst the traffic, everyone on the water was obviously adhering to the International regulations for preventing collisions at sea 1972 so there was no confusion at all. We ended up dropping our anchor amongst the super yachts at Athol Bay. This being a formative moment for the third mate who suddenly found our not terribly small yacht terribly small in comparison and lacking in a certain amount of chrome.

Preparation is not the key, as They now say. On our return to Woolwich with the noreaster up and several knots of tide doing something and the contents of Sydney Harbour motoring past us at high speed - our initial perfect reverse park into Woolwich was exposed for what it was: lucky. We attempted the same reverse parking method 9 or 10 times with a full deployment of fenders and children to buffer any knocks. We discovered at this point that our boat's response in reverse, particularly with wind against the bow, was minimal. However, delicate use of the helm and the throttle enabled us to jiggle around the marina to avoid insurance claims. Those watching from afar would have recognised many similarites with Austen Powers doing a 20 point turn in a golf buggy. We exited the marina and dropped anchor. The captain cursed under his breath, knowing that all the salty dogs at Woolwich were laughing at his poor seapersonship.

After taking stock of the situation over dinner, the somewhat ridiculous suggestion of driving in forwards was advanced and thus we proceeded happily into the marina. Our valued guests dropped to the ground to kiss the sweet solid earth.

We ended up spending some weeks in Sydney. Over the course of these weeks we were able to successfully deplete our bank balance in a variety of ways: screwing the boom onto the mast after discovering it was held on by an elaborate system of fake rivets, having our life raft condemned when it was sent in for service, sending Trevor up the mast a few times to rejoin wires and endless trips to Whitworths to buy extremely specialised cleaning substances. Every different surface in a boat requires a particular chemical and reacts badly otherwise. Bleach, left on stainless steel, causes pitting and corrosion. Acetone on fibreglass cuts the gloss. Cleaning clear plastic windows on the dodger must be undertaken with a product developed by the US Airforce - any other cleaner will cause the top of the boat to explode into flames and burn to the waterline.

Arjuna with figurehead

One major task in Sydney was the renaming of the vessel. It wasn't that the boat had a bad name. However, given that we intended to make this our home for a year it was felt that we should personalise it. The search for a new name started before we left Brisbane and we settled on one that had something to do with our surname and conveniently also the name of our dog: Archer was left with friends in Brisbane while we sail and now guards their guinea pigs (if by guarding one means 'has them in his mouth'). The name we ended up with was Arjuna. Happily this wasn't on 10000 Boat Names.com - which is like coming up with a crazy baby name that no one else has used.

There are procedures in renaming a boat. These generally involve much drinking and splashing around of champagne and as it turned out - a large range of cleaning fluids - because the toughest task is getting the old name physically off the hull. A variety of
knowledgeable personnel including the internet provided input into removing adhesive from gelcoat. As expected, the advice varied - so the captain hung over the bow with acetone, turps, Goof Off and eucalyptus oil trying each in turn. For the record, the answer was turps and a fingernail.

Woolwich is a convenient place to access Sydney and as a result we had numerous visitors come aboard while in port and the pub was a short stroll up the grass. Friends with vastly more fishing experience than us presented us with a gift of 100 pound line and some lures with guaranteed catching powers. This boosted our tackle gear from goldfish to whale in one fell swoop. Windsurfing legend and previous circumnavigator of Australia, Mark, took time off from work to size up Arjuna. While the Captain pointed out interesting features like our cup holders and fold up table Mark eyed off our sails, engine and hull before carefully pronouncing the boat at least fit enough for afternoon cocktails but not suitable for rescuing passengers from Russian icebreakers.

As the time went by on the marina, it soon became clear that there were no laughing salty dogs at Woolwich. Entering and exiting the marina struck fear into all but the most experienced pilot and helmsperson or for those vessels with thrusters on every corner. Most boats entering or leaving appreciated a fend off or someone to catch a rope. On more than a few occasions hearty thanks were delivered for helping a boat in. One boat owner exclaimed "thank goodness you were here" before dropping to kiss the sweet solid earth. It turned out that the 52 foot behemoth yacht with bow thrusters would stand off awaiting better conditions rather than park in uncertain winds.

On Australia Day, our journey was almost cut short before it started when a sleek motor cruiser attempting to exit the marina managed to slam both engines on full and drive up and onto the boat next to us and split its bow in two. We were saved when the boat deflected off the mooring pole towards our neighbour instead of us. The neighbouring boat was put out of action for an expected 3 months.

1st mate aloft

Australia Day was further marred when our flag, proudly hoisted up a halyard with another sheet to bring it down, ripped leaving the flag marooned at the top of the mast.
Never adverse to some complex rope work, both the second and third mates offered their services ascending the mast via bosun's chair. The first mate (and technically the boatswain - although never officially certified) overruled on safety grounds and was thus hoisted into the sky to retrieve the colours.

Excavations commence at Store Beach

On our final weekend in Sydney, we took the fair ship Arjuna up to Manly and overnighted at Little Manly Cove. We took the tender into Store Beach in the morning. With the kids digging in the sand and swimming in clear Sydney Harbour water we looked at each other and scratched our heads why anyone would need to go sailing to islands with this so accessible. We also managed to travel to the opposite end of the harbour the next night and anchored off Abbotsford after passing (narrowly) under the Gladesville Bridge. This is somewhat muddy and one would be less inclined to decide not to sail up the East coast of Australia after mooring here - however this area of the harbour / Parramatta River also has its charms...and many fisherfolk parked around us all night.


And so, hopefully, we come closer to actually writing something about sailing.

Captain's Log: Stardate - January Sometime

For a supposed sailing blog, this has lacked a lot of sailing detail so far. I suppose this is what happens when social media meets expired prepaid 3G. For those who read on expecting lots of sailing tidbits....this post also lacks a lot of sailing detail.

Many a long year has seen us dwell in the shadows of lofty Mount Cootha and the gray rocky ramparts of Mount Gravatt and under the watchful slopes of those few Yeronga O streets that didn't flood in '11. But after a sweltering few days in Brisbane cramming the contents of a house into a shed and with the overflow packed around our three kids in the van we set off from the ancestral homelands of Annerley to basically cover a third of our year's planned boat trip by car in a mere 10 hours.

On the way, we broke the drive at our traditional stopping point of Nambucca Heads where the kids and DB dunked themselves in the holy waters of the Nambucca River and then drew from the ceremonial font of fish and of chips.

Nambucca - from the car side

While we have driven between Brisbane and Sydney many times this was the first that the children had access to any form of electronic gizmo other than endless replays of Eye of the Tiger on CD. This year, thanks to Santa, they had a plentiful supply of laptop interaction to make the lonely miles go quicker - and to prompt the odd side trip to be sick in some scenic NSW bylane.

We rolled into Sydney way past the witching hour. However, reliable as ever, the Rear Admiral and his Lady Wife and their son greeted us and assisted in ferrying personnel and gear to the appropriate destinations.

A delightful shot of the SHB taken by the Captain

On Monday morning we arrived at the yacht squadron where our fine vessel had been delivered by the Rear Admiral and the team got their first look at their home for the next year.

For those wondering about the plans for the journey, perhaps this is a good time to explain the general idea behind the trip.

The initial idea for the trip was actually to head (by plane) to Park City, Utah, where we could all train up on our skiing skills and perhaps gain selection into the Australian Sochi winter Olympic squad. After this fine idea was rejected by Central Planning, thoughts turned to a sailing voyage. At first, with pure optimism filling our sails, it seemed reasonable that a trip to the Cocos in a 60 foot ketch would more than make up for missing the luge in Russia. More sensible persons pointed out that the Cocos Islands are 2000km from nowhere and a 60 foot ketch had double the masts and 30 foot more boat than anything we had sailed before. Hence, a more achievable plan of a Queensland coast cruise emerged.

The strategy, plus or minus, is thus: board our fair ship in the Emerald City, skoot up the NSW coast with the assistance of some salty dogs, load up smaller kinder in Brisbane, cross the apparent maelstrom of the Wide Bay bar then wend our way up the Barrier Reef keeping fair winds on our tail and strong broadband on the port side, dropping anchor somewhere in the far reaches of Queensland.

The morning after our arrival in Sydney, the intrepid crew gained first sight of our trusty second hand yet-to-be-named Beneteau. Given the vast experience of many of the team, they wasted no time on minor details such as sail configuration or rigging arrangement but moved straight on to twiddling knobs on radios, bouncing on beds and generally just eating all of the supplies we had brought.

An experienced crew kicking the tyres

The remainder of the day was spent getting going on cleaning. The yacht had sat for almost six months with no activity and life and dirt on the Hawkesbury River had started to take hold in odd places. Curtains and other washable items were removed for a Grandma-Level clean. Harsh chemicals were inserted in various dark holes. The Rear Admiral provided assistance by idly squirting window cleaner on things while talking fondly of the old days (presumably when a crew of ninety did this sort of work). Despite explicit advice to crew members and the presence of onshore bathrooms twenty metres away, all inactive toilet facilities were quickly rendered unsanitary.

The hive of activity continued into the next day when we returned to the boat and also met with Trevor, the friendly electrician. Trevor had apparently never worked in an environment with so many people crawling over a vessel before but, in true professional spirit, persevered and quickly established that much of the wiring on the boat was dangerously 18th century or potentially 21st century but heavily corroded.

And on this tantalising note, we temporarily leave off proceedings to calculate the cost of electrical work on our new boat.