Friday the 8th of August Laurieton Lay Day

With a strong wind warning current we planned a lay-day for Friday with a nice sleep-in to look forward too but lack-a-day it wasn't to be, our morning started instead at 3am with all hands nimbly up fending off a rogue catamaran which had arrived like a ninja in the middle of the night whilst we slept. It was dragging its anchor and perilously close to us as the tide surged down the dark and beautiful Camden-Haven River. It missed us on its first pass by a metre or less, settling only inches off our port bow; so close in fact it allowed us to bang on the hull and awaken the slumbering inmates. A few muffled grunts and they fired their engines and moved away to re-deploy their ground tackle. An hour later they were back, cozying up to us again. Captain Sparrow now sleep deprived and uncharacteristically disheveled once again went topsides and suggested volubly through cupped hands that he might rearrange tackle of an entirely different type if it happened again. Fortunately in the darkness, the crew of the other cat wasn’t able to discern Captain Sparrow's diminutive (but perfectly formed) physique, only the hostility of his tone. This time, doubtless terrified, they buggered off we know not where.
A lazy morning of unproductive fishing was followed by an excursion ashore to get a few things (in bottles.) We then rewarded ourselves for successfully repelling borders with a light lunch at the club. Another hearty dinner aboard after a little blogging and a relatively early night in preparation for the early off and a long run to Port Stephens.

It should be noted that the Admiral feels he may have come up with a strong title for the final published edition of our collective story; "Guzzlers Travels."




Saturday 9th of August Laurieton to Port Stephens

Up at 6am and away at 6.30 heading south when everyone else was heading north, always a little disconcerting. We were the only vessel departing Laurieton that morning whom the Coast Guard wished luck!
OK, not ideal conditions but The Admiral and Cap’n Sparrow had Twin Spirit close hauled and zorfing along, albeit protesting, at an average 8.5 kts in not unreasonable seas for at least 2/3ds of the days journey. We rounded Seal Rocks and turned directly into the south westerly chop about 1.00 pm at which point it all turned ugly. After a very unpleasant half hour of losing sail, powering up the ‘Yanmars’ and bashing into wind and water, the auto-helm spat the dummy and no matter how often we rebooted the bastard another wack on the underside of the bridge and it would beep its warning “S-Talk Fail” and shut down again. The boys had to hand-steer for the remaining 5 hours of our journey standing out in the freezing wind which was howling in our faces at 25 kts plus and throwing salt water over the whole boat, particularly the unlucky helmsman. A couple of forehead hatches began to leak after repeated greenies smacked over the bow and the bedding in the main cabins required protection with towels laid out and changing every half hour. All this might have seemed a trifle more dramatic had ‘Hoover’ not discovered that she could pick up the Olympics on the salon TV.
“Hey Nick come here and see how tiny the Aussie female beach volley ball costumes are.” She screamed above the wind.
The Admiral was aghast.
“How could any one watch TV in conditions like these?” He asked Sparrow, but he was talking to the wind.
As we slammed into the waves a new theory emerged; a theory to rival ‘Truswell’s Special Theory of Relativity.’ (See earlier blog.) On no less than three occasions that difficult afternoon, we had to take evasive action to avoid whales, whales that not only appeared to deviate from their northward migration as we passed by but seemingly to pursue us as we altered course. A glint in their eyes might have been difficult to detect at a distance of 200 metres but the Admiral swears he saw it; either the look of love or a ‘get-the- fuck-out-of- my-neighbourhood glare.’ Old ‘8 knots’ proposed that the slamming of the underbelly of the catamaran in difficult conditions like these replicated the noise made by a rogue male Humpback smashing into the water after breaching. (An awesome sound I can assure you.) He further proposed that whether the sound of our slamming hulls suggested, from the whale’s point of view, a dispute over territory or the possibility of a serious rogering, they were fit and well up for it, charging toward us from various quarters. Either way none of us was keen to find out if The Admiral was on the money; we took a vote, (without ‘Hoover’ who was absorbed with the Olympic Dressage events on Channel 7,) and decided to try and fool the whales by running with the swell for 5 minutes, stopping the slamming and throwing a can of sardines into the sea as a distraction for good measure. Whether it’s a monumental breakthrough in marine biology, the answer to an ancient conundrum or just rampant paranoia we’ll leave you to decide dear reader.
A few more hours of punching into disturbed seas and a few more waves down the back of the neck saw us safely into Nelson Bay with the promise of a secure berth, a steaming hot shower, an Indian meal and a good nights rest improving everyone’s mood.

By the way ‘Hoover would like you to know that Australia is doing very well in the Equestrian Events thus far.