Memories of an Australian Sea Journey
The Bass Strait Australia has a bad reputation; even being referred to as the “The Bass Strait Triangle” because of the number of ships that have been lost there.
Funnily enough, this had not even registered with me before we set out on our journey to Queensland from Melbourne. I had installed jiffy reefing on our rather basic Herreshoff H28 sloop as a normal precaution for the type of weather that Melbourne suffers and we had used this on a number of occasions so I was happy as we awaited slack tide at the exit of Port Phillip Bay. Just getting through the “rip” is a trial in itself!
My companion Greg was a ship’s carpenter who fitted out and renovated Melbourne yachts to a very high standard, After he found out that I had imported a New Zealand boat and made a 100% profit on it without any of his improvements, he asked me how he should invest his money. I asked him what he knew most about. “Wood, just wood!” was his answer. “Then you must invest in wood”, I replied.
As it happened, a ship had just arrived in Melbourne with a load of teak of questionable origin. Greg built a large shed and filled it completely with teak: a wood which he used for almost all his work. So, as a result, he was prepared to accompany me through the Bass strait up to Queensland.
After passing through the “rip”, we enjoyed a few hours of pleasant sailing until I noticed an approaching ruffle on the sea surface some distance away. Quickly we reefed right down to a tiny triangle before the storm hit us. We were prepared but the force was so strong that we needed all our concentration to keep the boat on course. Luckily we were south enough to round Wilson’s Prom we THOUGHT but actually achieving it was another thing.
The next few hours were sheer hell. New hazards appeared one after another but we somehow managed to round the Prom despite a wicked southerly gale. When we finally espied a tiny light through the rain, we couldn’t believe that we had finally made it round to a Refuge Bay; a refuge indeed!
Waking up next morning after a short sleep was a dream. The southerly, from which we were sheltered in the cove’ was still blowing so we had to leave immediately to make our next harbour the following day.
The journey was through the Bass Strait with the so-called Ninety Mile Beach to the north. We needed to gain some South distance to prevent being blown on to this beach. This meant us sailing close to oil wells which occupy territory forbidden to yachts. The conditions were critical so we were forced to travel through this dangerous area; dangerous because of bouys and other gear in the water around the oil wells.
We had suffered a little damage in the storm but we managed to make a little south and lose sight of land during the day. The weather was quite pleasant during the night but it was made even more pleasant by the appearance of a large albatross to starboard. In the dark, it seemed almost like a ghost. Maybe it was a good portent of the journey to come. But, as soon as daylight came, it disappeared. Maybe it was the sight of land on the distant horizon which caused it to leave us?
Our problem now was to keep clear of the ninety mile beach on which many boats had foundered in the past. We worked the boat to windward as much as possible but we lost ground steadily during the morning.
Another problem appeared as securings that bound the foot of the sail to the boom began to break one by one. This was probably a result of the hammering the small reefed sail had taken during the night. People speak of being able to hear the sound of the surf breaking on to the Ninety Mile Beach before being wrecked but, thank goodness, we never heard it as we used up the little diesel we had to help our progress to windward or lessen our progress towards Ninety Mile Beach.
We only approached the beach as we neared its end. It was with considerable relief that we rounded the land to be driven by the wind past Mallacoota to Eden where we managed to get someone to repair the boat.
That evening we went into the Fishermen’s club to get the most marvellous fish and chips I have ever had. The fish was cooked “on the bone”. As any fisherman will tell you “that is the only way to cook it”. Not only that but they left the tails on the fish sticking out from the batter as it emerged from the deep fat.
Eden is a curious place. It was a whaling centre which used a killer whale “Old Tom” and his pod to tell them about whales off the coast. The local museum still has the skeleton of “Old Tom”.
http://killerwhalemuseum.com.au
The story of “Old Tom” and the whaling station is fascinating.
It was while we were waiting for repairs to be carried out that Greg told me a sad story. He and his wife had decided, as many Australians do, to spend a year cruising around Australia. They had set out from Melbourne and had actually been wrecked on Wilson’s Prom. Lucky to survive, they had to abandon all their plans for that year. He was obviously a brave man to make the journey with me. We felt lucky to survive that journey. We can attempt to ascribe our survival to seamanship, but REALLY in the end, it can ultimately only be luck that by sailing too close to the Prom rocks due to that southerly, that we saw the tiny light indicating the entrance to Refuge bay.
We left Eden with somewhat raised spirits. Although the distance to Brisbane was still just over 900 miles, we had to contend with a constant north to south current which can impede progress.
The only answer for a sailing boat with a tiny diesel motor is to sail into every bay and rely on reflected current created by the southern shape of the bay to cancel out the main sea current. In those days, there was no gps and the expensive Decca equipment carried by larger vessels was a little OTT for our small boat. We relied on our depth meter, compass and our knowledge of local tides to optimise our progress north.
Stopping at some small ports for a night now and then was a pleasant way to break up the journey. It was also a chance to eat fish in the local co-op and stock up on fresh supplies.
Sailing across the entrance to Sydney harbour at dawn was a sight for sore eyes! One day, we also saw a water spout in the far distance. The most spectacular sight I have ever seen was when we were surrounded by what seemed like thousands of dolphins on both sides of the boat. Of course, dolphins are very common off the East coast of Australia and they loved accompanying us wherever we went but seeing such a huge gathering was beyond anything I had ever experienced.
Sailing at night can sometimes be a little dangerous as fishing boats sometimes left their lights off although they should not have done this. But they always put their lights on as we approached. However, this was NOT the case when I managed to steer clear of a racing yacht heading straight for us returning from the Sydney to Brisbane yacht race. The only clue was a cigarette being smoked by a drunk helmsman who did not change course on our approach. Again, it was only luck that I managed to see this as my eyesight is not very good.
Getting in and out of a port can also be hazardous. Although nothing like the Port Phillip “rip”, standing waves can build up at narrow entrances so it is best tackle these at speed. Boats are normally most anxious to enter ports at the advent of bad weather when these narrow entrances have a very confused sea at the entrance.
Fishermen on this coast have boats with extremely powerful engines so they can nip out of port to do their fishing then return fast on the approach of bad weather such as the proverbial East Australian “southerly buster”.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southerly_Buster
We had to rely on weather forecasts.
We had travelled the distance between Melbourne and Brisbane many times in our combi van so I recognised many of the places where we had camped on the way to and from Brisbane. One place in particular we loved, not because of the amenities it offered but because of its position. It was the “Big Banana” by Coffs Harbour.
Home
North of the “Big Banana” is the warmth of Northern New South Wales and Queensland. South of the “Big Banana” are the busy cities of Sydney and Melbourne with their awful weather. Many immigrants from the southern part of Australia – we Queenslanders call them “Mexicans” – swear never to return south of the Big Banana as long as they live. And “happily ever after” they usually are!
Travelling north was a relief as we had obviously covered most of our journey. We could still see the Great Dividing Range very clearly from which we could determine our position.
It should be mentioned that, at this time, we depended on “Sailing Directions” to a large extent.
Many years ago when sailing ships were first exploring coasts around the world, they would draw pictures of the coast as seen from a fairly large distance away. I understood that some of these original beautiful drawings were still in our sailing directions whilst I assumed that some had been improved a little. The explorers would often give names to the heights they observed. At any rate, it was possible to find the positions of these heights on our charts as we passed them. All we had to do was take a couple of back bearings to find our position at any time. At the time, this was very useful, to say the least.
At last we passed a place which looked very much like Miami Beach but called Surfers’ Paradise south of Brisbane. There are a number of islands between this point and Brisbane so we took the Northern entrance to Moreton Bay as we were headed to Redcliffe peninsula.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moreton_Bay
We decided to head directly across the Bay to Redcliffe so we had to watch the depths very closely. It was only when we approached an anchorage that we had any trouble with shallow mud. This was easily dealt with by pulling ourselves off using an anchor thrown into the deeper water.
You can imagine the gratitude I felt for Greg before he caught the plane back to Melbourne. He had conquered his fear of Wilson’s Prom with a force 10 vengeance. We learned that a number of boats had been lost that night when we were in the area. People were really worried for us until we phoned from Eden to let them know we had survived the storm.
But perhaps my confidence in our survival had something to do with the name I gave to our boat FIDELIO. The “o” at the end of the name signifies that it is masculine. But when anybody enquired why my boat had a masculine instead of the usual feminine name, I would tell them of Leonora who, dressed as the man Fidelio, was prepared to sacrifice her life for her husband.
Carpe Diem
Keith of Ninewells 