Port Stephens to the RMYC Broken Bay; The Final Saga.
Another of those will we, won’t we mornings. Over a fantastic one month anniversary, Indian meal the night previous, discretion had once again triumphed over valour and we’d collectively decided that Twin Spirit should enjoy the comparative comfort and safety of the D’Albora Marina at Port Stephens and wait for kinder winds before heading south on our final leg. They didn’t just have showers here for God’s sake; they had ‘Personal Care Units.’ This struck the crew as the best epithet they’d encountered since the bouncer at ‘Panthers’ Port Macquarie had described himself as an ‘Attitude Adjustment Officer.’
The knowledge that Sparrow and Hoover needed to jump a dodgy (I hope they’ve checked the oxygen bottles) Qantas flight to Hamilton Island on the 15th, brought some small pressure to bear but we all felt it best to wait out the relentless series of fronts moving through the ‘Tasman.’ If the situation didn’t improve, we’d hire a car to ensure Nick and Pam’s time frame was met. The Admiral and Lil thought they might even leave the boat in Port Stephens and use it as an excuse to come back and make a ‘nice’ little trip back to Pittwater at a warmer and calmer time.
Ah but the day dawned fair and bright and the strong wind warnings had been unreliable in the past, hadn’t they? It couldn’t blow as hard as yesterday could it? Hey it would be great to see the kids again and if we did get caught out in it, there were places to hide. Holes in the wall to duck into; Newcastle was only an hour or two away and Lake Macquarie not much further than that. There was always the dingy if the boat sank; we’d only just topped up the two-stroke. And if all else failed we could just step from whale back to whale back; “the fuckers are everywhere!” quoth The Admiral. It seemed we were all in the mood for the comforts of home.
We were out of the spectacular, almost Hawaiian, entrance to Port Stephens and heading south by 8.00am with a light, favourable Nor-Westerly breeze blowing across the beam and the engines pumping away happily to get us there that little bit faster. ‘8-Knots’ was well pleased with 9.5 and Sparrow gloved against the cold was grinning fit to burst at the helm. Lil was knitting ‘fingerless gloves,’ presumably for someone with no fingers and Hoover was searching the TV for another replay of the Olympic Games Opening Ceremony. It was looking good for a great run home.
We could smell Newcastle by 10.00 and we’d passed it by 12.00. Lake Macquarie’s trade mark power stations came over the horizon not long after and though the breeze was beginning to build and come round to head us we decided at around 1.30 as we reached Moon Island at the entrance to The Swansea Channel to press on.
By the time we made the Norah Head light it was blowing like the Admiral after two flights of stairs and we struck the headsail. At Bird-Rock we gave up on our remaining mainsail and punched into a very strong South Westerly wind sometimes gusting over 35 knots with bare poles. At Cape Three Points with only an hour and a half to run the chop set the auto-helm into panic mode again, Beeeep, Beeeep, “S-Talk Fail, S-Talk Fail.” “Hand steering again I’m afraid old thing.” Said The Admiral as Sparrow slipped on his ski gloves and assumed the position; head up and eyes watering in the freezing wind.
“Your fucking auto-helm is a Fag. You should call it fucking Nancy-Marine not RayMarine.” The plucky but irascible Sparrow shouted down to us. Lil who would at no point in the remaining journey have to expose herself to the cruelly cold wind or the sleet which was now whipping the boat, giggled, not a thing she often does, then helpfully suggested ‘Gay-Marine.’ The Admiral who loves his boat didn’t speak to her for the rest of the trip, save for a grudging “Thanks,” when presented with bourbon laced coffee during his last stint at the helm while passing beneath the lighthouse at ‘Barrenjoey.’
Our heartfelt good wishes to all the funny, fascinating and helpful folk we were fortunate enough to meet and spend time with along the way.
Pam and Nick,
Thank you for allowing us to high-jack your blog for a month. We respectfully hand it back enriched by the experience and the joyful collaboration.
Special thanks for your time, your talents, your strong livers, your good humour and your patience. Four definite and different adults in a confined space over four weeks, some would consider a dangerous social experiment at best, perhaps even punishment should things go wrong.
We’ve had the time of our lives and Lil, Nancy-Marine and I hope you’ll both come sailing with us again just as soon as we’ve re-stocked the fridges and fixed the auto-helm.
Dougie M
Admiral (retd.)
So the four sailed away for a month and a day on what happily turned out to be,
A fantastic escape from the ordinary on a whale infested sea!
Monday, August 11, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Wednesday 6th Coffs to Trial Bay
Lil and ‘Hoover’ trekked down to the shower for a pre departure drenching and just after turning on the water Lil was heard yelping that her eyes had gone foggy……..helps to remove one's sunnies before showering.
Had a great display of whales breaching and slamming for a full 10 minutes about 4 miles off the coast as we journeyed south in calm waters and abundant sunshine.
The wind slowly built through the day till we were experiencing gusts of up to 33 knots which again was well over the forecast 13 to 18.
All hands nimbly up to bring the main down and batten down the hatches and shorten sheets. The only casualty during the exercise being Lil, who copped a big greenie over the bow, returning to the cockpit looking like an unhappy entrant in a wet T-Shirt competition, “Nice Tits,” Quipped the Admiral, not improving her mood at all.
We made Trial Bay about 2.15 and then jilled around trying to find the best place to anchor for the evening as it was still blowing hard from the west and we were a little exposed. We finally dropped the pick just off a spot where the charts indicate 3 shipwrecks; nice one!
The winds began to ease as Lil cooked the best lunch of Korean Beef….life ain’t bad when you can sit in trial bay, chardy in hand, surrounded by beautiful hills and sparkling, clean azure water, not a soul in sight and be presented with a gourmet meal. Lil seems able to do such feasts so ably and so often we all consider ourselves very fortunate to have her with us.
As darkness fell, The Admiral fed the fishy inhabitants of Trail Bay. He was determined and persevered for some hours without success. When his fingers froze around the line; we dragged him inside and prized them free; a disappointing result for a man who regularly boasts of having once caught crabs around ‘The entrance.’
Thursday 7th Trail Bay to Laurieton/Camden Haven
Up early were the Admiral and Sparrow getting us underway at first light with a strong wind warning for the area later in the afternoon. We wanted to be safely tied up in Laurieton before the squall arrived.
Lil and Curvy decided to luxuriate in their cabins as Twin Spirit made her way down the coast and didn’t surface till 09.00. Lil said she felt like ‘The Queen of Sheba.’ The Admiral said he felt like her too and was quite disappointed when Sparrow pointed out she’d been dead for some time. ‘Hoover’ compensated for her indolence and prepared a delightful breakfast for the crew complete with champagne cocktails to compliment the champagne sailing. Three fabulous hours under sail at 8.5 to 9.5 kts on a flat calm sea. It doesn’t happen often.
Highlight of the day; observing a place named ‘Delicate Nobbies’ indicated on our GPS around midday.
Lil and ‘Hoover’ trekked down to the shower for a pre departure drenching and just after turning on the water Lil was heard yelping that her eyes had gone foggy……..helps to remove one's sunnies before showering.
Had a great display of whales breaching and slamming for a full 10 minutes about 4 miles off the coast as we journeyed south in calm waters and abundant sunshine.
The wind slowly built through the day till we were experiencing gusts of up to 33 knots which again was well over the forecast 13 to 18.
All hands nimbly up to bring the main down and batten down the hatches and shorten sheets. The only casualty during the exercise being Lil, who copped a big greenie over the bow, returning to the cockpit looking like an unhappy entrant in a wet T-Shirt competition, “Nice Tits,” Quipped the Admiral, not improving her mood at all.
We made Trial Bay about 2.15 and then jilled around trying to find the best place to anchor for the evening as it was still blowing hard from the west and we were a little exposed. We finally dropped the pick just off a spot where the charts indicate 3 shipwrecks; nice one!
The winds began to ease as Lil cooked the best lunch of Korean Beef….life ain’t bad when you can sit in trial bay, chardy in hand, surrounded by beautiful hills and sparkling, clean azure water, not a soul in sight and be presented with a gourmet meal. Lil seems able to do such feasts so ably and so often we all consider ourselves very fortunate to have her with us.
As darkness fell, The Admiral fed the fishy inhabitants of Trail Bay. He was determined and persevered for some hours without success. When his fingers froze around the line; we dragged him inside and prized them free; a disappointing result for a man who regularly boasts of having once caught crabs around ‘The entrance.’
Thursday 7th Trail Bay to Laurieton/Camden Haven
Up early were the Admiral and Sparrow getting us underway at first light with a strong wind warning for the area later in the afternoon. We wanted to be safely tied up in Laurieton before the squall arrived.
Lil and Curvy decided to luxuriate in their cabins as Twin Spirit made her way down the coast and didn’t surface till 09.00. Lil said she felt like ‘The Queen of Sheba.’ The Admiral said he felt like her too and was quite disappointed when Sparrow pointed out she’d been dead for some time. ‘Hoover’ compensated for her indolence and prepared a delightful breakfast for the crew complete with champagne cocktails to compliment the champagne sailing. Three fabulous hours under sail at 8.5 to 9.5 kts on a flat calm sea. It doesn’t happen often.
Highlight of the day; observing a place named ‘Delicate Nobbies’ indicated on our GPS around midday.
Monday August 4th Yamba Tavern to Yamba Marina
We caught up on washing and considerable showering “It’s my body and my soap and I’ll wash it as long as I like.” (Sparrow)
Peter Sutton who with wife Kay own and operate the Yamba Marina very generously loaned us their car. We shopped, bought a giant beetroot, had a bit of a poke about Yamba town, then, at you know who’s suggestion, lunched on the beach at ‘Pippis’ “It’s my body and I’ll feed it as much as I like!” (The Admiral)
The crew topped up the water supplies then refueled Twin Spirit and the dingy for the return trip to Broken Bay. Lil who, unlike her life partner can count without using fingers and toes, calculated, with some assistance from Sparrow, who was using his, Twin Spirit’s fuel consumption at 5 litres per hour since leaving Sydney. This is mercifully light given diesel prices of over $2.35 per litre at some marinas.
The day was topped off with a wonderful meal shared with Kay and Peter at the old Pacific Hotel high on the headland overlooking the entrance to the mighty Clarence River; not that we could see it because it was pitch black; more of a luncheon venue perhaps.
Tuesday August 5th Yamba to Coffs Harbour
The crew is still recovering from dinner with Kay and Peter. Some will take more time than others. Not mentioning any names but a certain female person whose nick name had up till now been ‘Curvy’ is now being addressed as ‘Hoover,’ say no more!
Met Kay at 8.30 for a pre-departure tour of her gallery and magnificent sculptures then slid out over the Clarence bar and turned right. At least we got that bit right.
Having read Lucas in Afloat Magazine on the subject of undesired contact with whales and their occasional reported aggressive behaviour, the science department of Twin Spirit undertook some computer simulations on the implications for the cruising fraternity.
Based on the number of near misses we’ve had, we have determined that there is currently a 1 in 32,000 chance of ending ones days due to whale activity on the East Coast of Australia. However, once we factored in the 15% p.a. increase in whale population and the 25% p.a. increase in the number of boats cruising the coast, things started to look a little different. It becomes even more complicated; it’s necessary to allow for the deterioration in skills of your average boating type with age and self-abuse AND the genetic changes in whales. Your average humpback still has a 'species memory' of whalers, harpoons and bloody deaths. This has served us ‘yachties’ well over the years ensuring your whale has an inbuilt nervousness concerning large floating things with drunken, bearded men on board. Despite the best efforts of the Japs this memory is fading. On the mariner’s side, careless navigation is increasing exponentially due to the proliferation of sailing aids, GPS, auto helm, and set and forget waypoint instructions. We were going to call this the ‘Fuckwit Factor’ but demurred on the basis of the fact that we have yet to return safely to Pittwater and will be using all aforementioned aids in our efforts to get there.
We caught up on washing and considerable showering “It’s my body and my soap and I’ll wash it as long as I like.” (Sparrow)
Peter Sutton who with wife Kay own and operate the Yamba Marina very generously loaned us their car. We shopped, bought a giant beetroot, had a bit of a poke about Yamba town, then, at you know who’s suggestion, lunched on the beach at ‘Pippis’ “It’s my body and I’ll feed it as much as I like!” (The Admiral)
The crew topped up the water supplies then refueled Twin Spirit and the dingy for the return trip to Broken Bay. Lil who, unlike her life partner can count without using fingers and toes, calculated, with some assistance from Sparrow, who was using his, Twin Spirit’s fuel consumption at 5 litres per hour since leaving Sydney. This is mercifully light given diesel prices of over $2.35 per litre at some marinas.
The day was topped off with a wonderful meal shared with Kay and Peter at the old Pacific Hotel high on the headland overlooking the entrance to the mighty Clarence River; not that we could see it because it was pitch black; more of a luncheon venue perhaps.
Tuesday August 5th Yamba to Coffs Harbour
The crew is still recovering from dinner with Kay and Peter. Some will take more time than others. Not mentioning any names but a certain female person whose nick name had up till now been ‘Curvy’ is now being addressed as ‘Hoover,’ say no more!
Met Kay at 8.30 for a pre-departure tour of her gallery and magnificent sculptures then slid out over the Clarence bar and turned right. At least we got that bit right.
Having read Lucas in Afloat Magazine on the subject of undesired contact with whales and their occasional reported aggressive behaviour, the science department of Twin Spirit undertook some computer simulations on the implications for the cruising fraternity.
Based on the number of near misses we’ve had, we have determined that there is currently a 1 in 32,000 chance of ending ones days due to whale activity on the East Coast of Australia. However, once we factored in the 15% p.a. increase in whale population and the 25% p.a. increase in the number of boats cruising the coast, things started to look a little different. It becomes even more complicated; it’s necessary to allow for the deterioration in skills of your average boating type with age and self-abuse AND the genetic changes in whales. Your average humpback still has a 'species memory' of whalers, harpoons and bloody deaths. This has served us ‘yachties’ well over the years ensuring your whale has an inbuilt nervousness concerning large floating things with drunken, bearded men on board. Despite the best efforts of the Japs this memory is fading. On the mariner’s side, careless navigation is increasing exponentially due to the proliferation of sailing aids, GPS, auto helm, and set and forget waypoint instructions. We were going to call this the ‘Fuckwit Factor’ but demurred on the basis of the fact that we have yet to return safely to Pittwater and will be using all aforementioned aids in our efforts to get there.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
August 3rd Clarence to Yamba Tavern
We anchored last night off the picturesque little town of Maclean in the Clarence River. An absolutely calm and peaceful night; waking to cows bellowing as they grazed along the river bank, pelicans gliding in for impossible, inexorable, exponential, landings and large trucks noisily dumping vast amounts of cane into their containers for haulage to the factory, so much for bucolic bliss. All hands nimbly up to clean the detritus from the nights dramatic cane fires along the river from the superstructure. They call the soot, black snow up in these here parts.
A lazy morning start, as for once we had no real time constraints. Did nothing for most of the morning but read, play music and catch up on the blog which we all hope you’ll read or we will stop doing it, stamp our feet and take our bat and ball and go home. Actually we don’t have a bat and ball and we’re going home anyway but you get the idea.
Idling down the river with the significant current was ‘Huck Finn Sublime’ and so Zen dudes; so relaxing that we nearly slipped passed the Harwood Hotel but as fortune would have it keen senses located the pub lurking in the bushes. “There’s a pub behind those fucking trees!” shouted Sparrow, registering a 2.5 on the Pamometer, demonstrating once again his superhuman sense of smell. The Admiral happily accepted Sparrows judgement in all matters alcoholic and normal landing protocols were observed.
After a delightful lunch with lashings of orangeade strange bridge opening men I safety hats arrived from Ballina and kindly opened the bridge for us at the appointed hour, plus or minus 10%. We slid guiltily under the mast eating Harwood Bridge, once again severing the main vehicular artery twixt Sydney and Bris-Vegas for a full 20 minutes. My God we have some infrastructure black holes in this country!
Half an hour further up river sliding along towards the coast we had a phone call from legendary solo round the world sailor and all round champion lady, Kay Cottee, who just happened to see us slipping up the creek from the vantage point of her beautiful river-side home. Ever the sycophant, The Admiral waved enthusiastically with one arm while holding his mobile to his ear with the other, chatting to Kay and organising dinner the following night, all very well if someone else had been steering Twin Spirit at the time. The depth alarm brought him to his senses as the props began to stir large clouds of mud. A recreation of The Normandy Landing was averted. Another few miles of our inland progress and an arse-puckering entry to the Yamba channel through the legendary ‘Hole in the Wall’ saw us safely moored at the Yamba Tavern. We achieved another of our main goals; we finally tied up hard against licensed premises. You could pass beer from the balcony to the boat and we did, several times (see pics.) Alert the media another PB. We had also found our first ‘sail through bottle shop’ and immediately reprovisioned our cellar with comparative ease and considerable expense. An uneventful night at a surprisingly quiet venue before we cast off giving up our treasured spot at The Yamba Tavern wharf to our mates Ken and Susie on ‘Norman G’ before heading round the corner to the Yamba Marina to re-fuel, at vast expense to the management and replenish our water supplies for what would be the first leg of our return journey to Old Sydney Town. Well actually to The Pittwater; ‘Old Sydney Town’ being a defunct attempt at recreating an early colonial settlement with token whippings on the half hour and photo opportunities in the stocks for the kiddies.
We anchored last night off the picturesque little town of Maclean in the Clarence River. An absolutely calm and peaceful night; waking to cows bellowing as they grazed along the river bank, pelicans gliding in for impossible, inexorable, exponential, landings and large trucks noisily dumping vast amounts of cane into their containers for haulage to the factory, so much for bucolic bliss. All hands nimbly up to clean the detritus from the nights dramatic cane fires along the river from the superstructure. They call the soot, black snow up in these here parts.
A lazy morning start, as for once we had no real time constraints. Did nothing for most of the morning but read, play music and catch up on the blog which we all hope you’ll read or we will stop doing it, stamp our feet and take our bat and ball and go home. Actually we don’t have a bat and ball and we’re going home anyway but you get the idea.
Idling down the river with the significant current was ‘Huck Finn Sublime’ and so Zen dudes; so relaxing that we nearly slipped passed the Harwood Hotel but as fortune would have it keen senses located the pub lurking in the bushes. “There’s a pub behind those fucking trees!” shouted Sparrow, registering a 2.5 on the Pamometer, demonstrating once again his superhuman sense of smell. The Admiral happily accepted Sparrows judgement in all matters alcoholic and normal landing protocols were observed.
After a delightful lunch with lashings of orangeade strange bridge opening men I safety hats arrived from Ballina and kindly opened the bridge for us at the appointed hour, plus or minus 10%. We slid guiltily under the mast eating Harwood Bridge, once again severing the main vehicular artery twixt Sydney and Bris-Vegas for a full 20 minutes. My God we have some infrastructure black holes in this country!
Half an hour further up river sliding along towards the coast we had a phone call from legendary solo round the world sailor and all round champion lady, Kay Cottee, who just happened to see us slipping up the creek from the vantage point of her beautiful river-side home. Ever the sycophant, The Admiral waved enthusiastically with one arm while holding his mobile to his ear with the other, chatting to Kay and organising dinner the following night, all very well if someone else had been steering Twin Spirit at the time. The depth alarm brought him to his senses as the props began to stir large clouds of mud. A recreation of The Normandy Landing was averted. Another few miles of our inland progress and an arse-puckering entry to the Yamba channel through the legendary ‘Hole in the Wall’ saw us safely moored at the Yamba Tavern. We achieved another of our main goals; we finally tied up hard against licensed premises. You could pass beer from the balcony to the boat and we did, several times (see pics.) Alert the media another PB. We had also found our first ‘sail through bottle shop’ and immediately reprovisioned our cellar with comparative ease and considerable expense. An uneventful night at a surprisingly quiet venue before we cast off giving up our treasured spot at The Yamba Tavern wharf to our mates Ken and Susie on ‘Norman G’ before heading round the corner to the Yamba Marina to re-fuel, at vast expense to the management and replenish our water supplies for what would be the first leg of our return journey to Old Sydney Town. Well actually to The Pittwater; ‘Old Sydney Town’ being a defunct attempt at recreating an early colonial settlement with token whippings on the half hour and photo opportunities in the stocks for the kiddies.
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