Sailing Taurus NZ

We sailed into Sydney on Monday the 23rd of February, and headed to Rose Bay. This we knew to be a convenient anchorage: close to the heads, good access to a dinghy dock, showers at the local yacht club, supermarket and liquor store, and a good (and cheap) Thai restaurant. What more could the cruising sailor want? Well, peace and quiet. Unfortunately Rose Bay can be popular with the party crowd, and over a couple of days the number of launches that anchored nearby with music pumping encouraged us to move on.

We headed under the Sydney Bridge to anchor in Birkenhead, home to a massive discount mall and within walking distance of a laundrette and chandlery. We’d stayed here on our previous visit and knew the advantages and pitfalls of the place. Great access to amenities, but not well sheltered and difficult to anchor out of the way. The channel should be plenty wide enough to allow anchored boats and traffic to coexist safely, but the river is popular with rowers who, looking at where they’ve been rather than where they’re going, create an early morning hazard — chiefly to themselves. After being woken a couple of times by alarmed rowers yelling out “yacht!” we called it quits before someone hit us again and we had to provide first aid and counselling before breakfast.

We lifted the hook and headed back towards the city before turning down a channel to an anchorage at Blackwattle Bay in Glebe. Entering the bay requires passing a now-permanently-open rotating bridge before ducking beneath Anzac Bridge, which is second only to Sydney Harbour Bridge.

Serendipitously, once inside the bay we spotted a catamaran we knew. We had bumped into Joline and her crew, John and Pauline (hence the boat’s name), in Hobart one wild evening when the southerly wind and swell entering Constitution Dock seemed determined to set all the moored boats free. We spent a memorable evening with the guys, but they left for New Zealand shortly afterwards so it was great to bump into them again. Or at least to catch up with John, Pauline, unfortunately, was away trampling in Patagonia — as you do.

Blackwattle Bay soon became our new favourite Sydney hangout. There was plenty of room for dinghies on the local ferry dock, and ashore there was a massive park, a track around the bay, and easy access to a nearby supermarket and the city.

The local area is famous for its fish market, but, whilst an interesting place to a visit, its focus appears to be the wealthy Asian tourist market. Our budget, alas, lies more towards the, well, budget end of budgets, so having had to pass on the fish and lobster we were delighted to find a pub opposite the market with a cheap Thai Restaurant attached. As the businesses are linked you can order Thai and eat it in the pub whilst enjoying a beer. This is Aussie culture at its finest!

The circus that is Sail GP arrived in Sydney whilst we were at Glebe, and the various teams set up just the other side of the swing bridge. Many of the locals were excited to see the races, and planned to anchor just outside of the race course, but we had no great desire to face the crowds and chaos. Indeed, a day or two later we met a couple who had been to the races, and who told us that one of their friends had crashed into another boat and was subsequently expecting a bill in the tens of thousands. Such games we prefer to avoid.

Our next destination was an area known as Middle Harbour. We had heard rave reviews of this ‘hidden gem’ in Port Jackson (aka Sydney Harbour), so we had to go and explore it for ourselves. Access is governed by a lifting bridge that opens a few times a day, more or less at two hour intervals. Arriving early, we sat on a public mooring next to the bridge, and as the clock ticked closer to opening time we were interested to see a number of boats, obviously planning on passing the bridge, jostling for position. I thought that we were best to wait on the mooring until the bridge opened, but as the traffic started to thin and we released the mooring and started to accelerate towards the bridge we found it unceremoniously dropped in front of us. You could almost hear the bridge operator chuckling to himself and saying, ‘too bloody late mate!’ Needless to say, two hours later we joined the wacky races, trying to avoid other boats whilst rushing to get under the bridge before it closed again!

Middle Harbour lived up to its reputation. We enjoyed anchorages surrounded by bush and replete with such a chorus of bird song that, against all odds, it managed to drown out the noise of the city.

After a week in Middle Harbour we popped over to Manly, Sydney’s playground for the young and beautiful, to stock up on groceries before heading north. We had been having an ongoing issue with the gearbox which was becoming increasingly worrisome. The symptoms were that it was becoming increasingly difficult to engage drive when the engine and gearbox were cold, but once warm the problem disappeared. As the issue worsened It became clear that this was not a minor hiccup due to something like cable adjustment, but a potentially major gearbox catastrophe. This was disappointing, to say the least, as we replaced our gearbox a year ago, and the new gearbox had only had 275 hours of use.

We knew the cost of marine mechanics and hauling out in Sydney to be ‘prohibitive’ (read insanely expensive), and as we had an appointment to meet a water-maker chap in Pittwater, the next harbour to the north, we decided to head there and see what happened. As the old joke goes, ‘De Nile ain’t just a river in Africa!’

We arrived in Pittwater safely, but the boat’s refusal to engage gear when cold had become significantly worse over the previous couple of days. The problem had to be identified and resolved. It was a bit of a shame to have the shadow of this latest malfunction hanging over us, as it put a bit of a downer on our experience of the big smoke, and our trust in Taurus.

This, of course, is the tax that cruisers have to pay — the yang that balances the yin which consists of freedom, beautiful anchorages, and glorious sunsets. If cruising was easy everyone would be doing it, and the old saw that describes cruising as ‘working on boats in exotic locations’ is far truer than the uninitiated might expect. We all hope for a bit more yin and a bit less yang, but such things are beyond the control of mere mortals.

Next time, isolating the problem and trying to find a solution…

After a couple of quiet days in Batemans Bay a weather window appeared that would allow us to sail the fifty nautical miles to Jervis Bay, a ten hour trip more or less. We dropped our mooring, re-crossed the bar, and anchored in the north east at Maloneys Bay, ready to leave when the wind appeared late morning.

In the event it was one of those days when the wind appears, disappears, appears, disappears and so on, ad infinitum, ad nauseam. We were kept busy raising and lowering sails until, finally, when we were about two hours out from Jervis Bay, a squall suddenly appeared, bringing with it twenty to twenty five knots on the nose. An old weather saying has it that what is ‘sudden to arrive is soon to depart,’ but this wind kept on until we gratefully turned into Jervis to find some protection.

We anchored near the Royal Australian Naval Base, and next morning woke to a spectacular, sunny day. A super yacht was anchored nearby, flying the flag of some tiny island tax haven. As I’ve said many times before, the best thing about cruising is the amazing people you meet, but I’ve never really felt the desire to meet the owner of a super-yacht. I suspect that we would have little to talk about, and as this one was also flying the flag of Israel, probably the less said the better.

We ‘dinghied’ ashore for a walk and a swim and to explore the local rock attraction. Known as the ‘hole in the wall,’ it lived up to its reputation.

Strong northerlies were expected to arrive, so we lifted the anchor and headed to the north side of Jervis, taking cover in a bay called Boat Harbour. The wind blew hard all day with equally strong southerlies predicted to follow the day after — another opportunity to get north.

We waited until midday, when the southerly was due to come through, and poked our nose out past the northern head, aptly named Perpendicular Point. The wind rapidly rose from fifteen to twenty five knots, and then to thirty knots! This was going to be a blast!

The seventy nautical miles rapidly disappeared, and before long we could see the distant lights of the Sydney metropolis.

We wanted to try and visit some of the spots that we’d missed when heading south, so decided to head into Cronulla. This southern suburb is readily accessible by sea, and the yacht club there has a reputation for being friendly and helpful. We can confirm that this is certainly the case. After a text message to a club member he sent back details of a mooring we could stay on for free. However, as we arrived in the early hours we chose not to try and navigate the narrow and shallow channel to the inner anchorage, and instead anchored in a quiet bay just inside the heads, and hit the sack.

We woke in the morning to the sound of dogs on the beach and the twitter of tiny visitors. After lifting the hook we found our way to the mooring we had been offered, which was very handy for taking the dinghy to the yacht club, grabbing a hot shower, and exploring town.

As we looked for a cafe to grab a coffee I happened to say ‘Gday’ to an elderly couple walking in the opposite direction. They almost jumped out of their skins, which belatedly reminded me that we were back in the city. Stranger danger was again a thing, and the well mannered ignore their fellow man.

We had been warned that Cronulla is a bit ‘rough’ by one Australian friend, and advised not to walk around the streets at night by another. I was surprised, because even though Cronulla is famous only for the race riots that took place there in 2005, it seems an affluent and pleasant place. One thing that struck me as odd as we wandered around was that most billboards were advertising real estate agents. Walking past an apartment for sale I, being nosy, looked it up on line and was a tad shocked to see that the asking price was A$3.6–4.2 million — for an apartment in a ‘rough’ suburb! I guess the commission on a property like that would pay for a few billboards. Property is big business in Sydney.

Some of the best entertainment we found in Cronulla was entirely free. A couple of Ospreys, also known as fish hawks, were hunting in our mooring field, and would land atop the nearest mast to enjoy their meal. I hoped that our mast had enough ‘spikey’ looking things on top to make it less attractive than the boat next door, as those things are quite delicate and expensive. The birds in Australia are an amusing if real hazard to boats. Whilst in Lake Entrance I had to scare away a flock of cockatoos who perched on the mast and began attacking the halyards with gusto.

After a few days our feet began to grow itchy, and we left Cronulla to head towards the next bay, sitting just to the north, Botany Bay.

Botany Bay today is a busy place. There is a constant stream of planes taking off and landing at the nearby Sydney airport, and an industrial complex that demands a stream of merchant vessels. It was also, of course, where Captain Cook landed on the 28th of April 1770, and subsequently, eight years later, the landing site of the First Fleet which brought 1,500 convicts and soldiers to Australia. Looking at Sydney today, it’s hard to believe that the entire city has been built in less than two hundred and fifty years. Humans are certainly busy bees.

Happily, Cook’s landing site, is still marked by a memorial that sits in a large and pleasant park.

We enjoyed a stroll around the rocks at the waterfront, through the park, and on to the local ice cream shop for a deserved cooling treat. A great day.

On the opposite side of the the bay lies Frenchman’s Beach and La Perouse Point, named after Jean-Francois de Galaup, Comte de la Perouse, who was a French navigator and explorer. Perouse was tasked by Louis XVI to emulate Cook, and show the world the mettle of French sailors.

His expedition consisted of two ships – La Boussole and L’Astrolabe, carrying a total of 225 crew, officers, and scientists. The ships left France in August 1785 and sailed south around Cape Horn. Perouse arrived in Botany Bay only four days after the British First Fleet, which caused the British some consternation as they thought there were the only Europeans around for thousands of miles. Fortunately, cordial relations were maintained, and the French set up a stockade on the opposite side of the bay to the British. They had had violent encounters with indigenous peoples elsewhere, and were reluctant to trust the local Aboriginals.

La Perouse’s ships sailed out of Botany Bay in March 1788, and were never seen again.

The French government sent out a search party in 1791, commanded by Rear Admiral Joseph Antoine Bruni d’Entrecasteaux, consisting of two ships, the Recherche and Esperance. In their hunt for La Perouse, d’Entrecasteaux visited Tasmania. We had enjoyed many happy hours sailing in the D’Entrecasteaux Channel, which separates Bruny Island from the Tasmanian mainland, south of Hobart, whilst Recherche Bay was our jumping off point for our trip around South West Cape. It almost felt as if we could reach out and touch history, and indeed we did! The mystery of La Perouses’ disappearance was finally solved in 1826 when the wreckage of his ships was found on the reefs of Vanikoro, north of Vanuatu.

An anchor from L’Astrolabe was subsequently gifted to Sydney by the French Navy, and is today displayed at the small museum at La Perouse. Did I touch it? Yes I did!

Nearby lies Bear Island, which was fortified in 1881 to protect Sydney from the Russian threat.

The designer of the fortifications took pains to ensure that none of the defences could be seen from the sea. To this end, a disappearing gun was mounted, which is today lost (one might say it worked!). However, a restored disappearing gun still graces a similar fort in Dunedin (our home town). The name refers to the fact that the recoil of the gun caused it to drop into a circular pit, so that it could be reloaded out of sight and in safety, and then raised again to fire.

Several other cannon had been melted down for their scrap value, but those too heavy and difficult to move survived. One of the largest of these was almost unbelievably ‘misplaced.’ The story goes that after WWII the fort was occupied by recuperating soldiers. They decided that one of these cannon was in the way, so they dug a massive hole and tipped the cannon into it. The gun’s resting place was forgotten until a visitor to the fort confessed to a guide that he had read of the cannon’s fate in a relatives diary. The powers that be brought in a pipe detector, and got a rather large signal!

We returned to Taurus in time to prepare for a nasty squall that quickly emptied the beach behind us. The winds approached forty knots at one point, so we were glad to be back on board and not ‘putting’ along in our little dinghy when it struck.

The following day brought light and variable winds, so we motored the three hours to Sydney. It was nice to be back in the big smoke, and we were keen to explore some of the anchorages we hadn’t had time to visit last year.

Those tales will have to wait till next time.

Next time: we ‘do’ Sydney, and we brake the boat (again….)

After leaving Lakes Entrance we hoisted the sails and sat on a port tack to gain some room from land. This point of sail saw us heading almost due south, so someone watching might have thought that we were heading back to Deal Island. We knew that the wind was going to be light and coming from the wrong direction for a few hours before it changed into something we could use. We raised a couple of scraps of canvas and sat back to enjoy the simple pleasure of sailing for sailing’s sake.

Before long the wind started to come round and we threw in a tack and started to slowly head in an easterly direction. As the afternoon turned into evening, and the evening into night, the imperative to gain some miles in the right direction began to exert itself. Eden is a twenty seven hour sail from Lakes Entrance at an average speed of five knots, but we were barely making two and a half knots, which, the instruments told us, meant our journey was going to take some forty odd hours from that point at that speed. We had just over ten knots of wind pushing us along from astern (which isn’t a great deal when it comes to a heavy displacement, full keel boat) but the current was robbing us of perhaps two and a half knots, at least half of our hoped for speed. This was our first experience of the East Australian Current working against us, but it was something we were going to get frustratingly used to.

At about two in the morning, with our speed regularly dropping to around one and a half knots, I caved in to temptation and turned the engine on. Motor sailing allowed us to attain something more like a respectable speed; but I don’t like to motor sail, or indeed motor if I can help it. First and foremost, Taurus is a yacht, she’s built to sail; second, diesel costs money (though not a lot, we use about 3-4 litres of diesel an hour); third, motoring is noisy; and, lastly, motor sailing is bad for our gearbox. We were told by a very experienced mechanic in Launceston that motor sailing was probably what caused our friction plates to glaze and eventually fail — uneven and light power demand creating excess wear. So, with a view to prolonging the longevity of our gearbox, it being economically unfeasible to replace the clutch plates alone in this insane, throw away, era, we try not to motor sail.

After a few hours the wind filled in and we could turn the engine off and enjoy some peace. Still, it was a slow old slog, and it was nice to see landmarks such as Gabo Island and Green Cape Lighthouse appear and oh, so, so, slowly vanish behind us. The highlight of the trip was a couple of pods of dolphins who joined us. I had the ‘bright’ idea of trying to put a Go Pro on a boat hook to see if I could film them underwater, but the dolphins didn’t seem to take too well to it and left soon afterwards. This area was once famed for its whale hunting, so perhaps the trauma still lingers in the cultural memories of its marine mammals?

The second pod joined us just as we sailed into Eden Bay, the setting sun silhouetting the famous ‘Boyd’s Tower,’ once used as a lookout by whale hunters.

As we prepared to duck behind the sea wall that shelters the public mooring we kept an eye on the imposing cruise liner at berth, belching smoke into the air. We later learnt that the ship had broken down and desperate efforts were being made to fix her before the next liner was due to arrive. The only ‘passenger’ we could see didn’t look too phased, a giraffe with a swimming ring, on a Norwegian flagged vessel in Australia — what on earth is that about??

We picked up a mooring and had an early night, which wasn’t that early as we’d only had a few hours sleep between us.

We had of course seen the Eden sites on our trip south a year ago, so after a quick wander about town and a fast food fix, we packed up to visit the southern end of the bay. As we arrived we were fortunate to be joined by yet more dolphins, who wanted to play in our bow wave.

From the bay a short dinghy ride takes you to a beach from which you can access a road that takes you to Boyd’s Tower. We hadn’t yet re-acclimatised to Aussie mainland temperatures, so it was stinking hot, and all the engine work I had had to do in Lakes Entrance had tweaked my back, so it was a bit of a slow walk.

Still it was well worth the effort. Boyd’s Tower is one of those fascinating folly-like structures that, built to serve the hubris of man, instead makes manifest the saying that ‘pride comes before a fall.’

The Boyd in question was one Benjamin Boyd, a wealthy Scotsman who traveled to New South Wales to speculate in various businesses, such as farming, whaling, and shipping. He is credited with being the man who introduced ‘black birding’ into Australia, the practice of kidnapping Pacific Islanders to serve as slave labour in the new colony. Intended as a lighthouse, Boyd’s Tower failed to receive government sanction, and so was used instead as a whaling watchtower. Boyd went bankrupt soon after the tower was complete, and abandoning his debts and workers fled to the Californian gold fields. In 1851 he disappeared without trace, reportedly killed while visiting the Solomon Islands (for more information on Boyd, visit https://www.visiteden.com.au/1842-wanderer/)

Strong winds were due the following day, so after returning to Taurus we headed back to Eden and a sheltered anchorage. To our delight another cruising couple had arrived whilst we had been away, Richard and Annette on Heather Anne, a steel sloop. This ex-Kiwi, currently Tasmanian couple were returning home from a sojourn to the Whitsundays, so we had a fantastic evening learning about their experiences with whales, tidal races, and Australian Army firing ranges. The next evening Annette invited us aboard for a roast lamb dinner, setting a new standard for on-board hospitality! Alas, the conversation flowed so well that we didn’t take a photo of this fascinating and generous couple until we were on our way back to Taurus. Thanks guys, we hope to meet again some day!

There was a possible weather window the next morning, a lightish southerly that we hoped would help us to get north. Wanting to leave early, we raised the dinghy and got everything ready for an early start.

Of course, you never really know if a weather prediction is going to be spot on, or if the wind will be stronger, or weaker. We had hoped for stronger, but ended up with the other extreme. That coupled with a two knot current against us meant that we ended up motoring most of the following day. In the afternoon the wind started to lift, so we raised the spinnaker, more in hope than expectation, but without the engine’s assistance we were reduced to a crawling pace.

We had hoped to make Batemans Bay, but the going was desperately slow, and my back was still spasming periodically, so we decided to quit whilst behind, and bail into a closer port. Bermagui is a quiet Australian holiday destination, entered via what looks like it might be a bar, but which in fact isn’t. The river on the other side of the entrance is too shallow for a keeler to anchor, so we had no option but to pay for a marina berth. At $80 a day, the cost of a four day stay would cover us for nigh on a month in Tasmania — there was no doubt that we were back on the Aussie mainland.

We came to understand the cost a little better after meeting our neighbours, though to be fair the price isn’t exceptional on the east coast. Once, Bermagui was a fishing port, but when the fish failed small yachts had moved in. Now there was barely a handful of yachts, and each berth was instead occupied by multi-storey launches that towered overhead, designed for catching ‘big-game fish.’

You can’t really comprehend the size of these boats from a photo, unless you see them next to a familiar object. Our immediate neighbour was far larger than Taurus, as you can see in the image above. I imagine the price of one of these things would easily be in the region of A$500,000 to A$750,000, but none of them moved in the few days that we spent in the marina. Seeing someone aboard one day I asked if the boat was a commercial vessel, taking paying customers out fishing.

“Oh no” he said, ‘this is a private vessel.”

“And what is it for?” I asked.

“Well, were not really sure ourselves,” he replied laughing, “it’s a bit like hunting lions, a bit pointless.”

“But what do you hunt?”

“Marlin mainly”

“And do you eat them afterwards?”

“Oh no, they’re OK smoked, but not that nice.”

Words failed me. In a country where homelessness is becoming an endemic problem and cost of living is never far from the headlines, some people are happy to spend a small fortune to own a boat whose sole purpose is to occasionally be used to try and catch a fish because it’s fun to catch. As many of the released fish subsequently die, the ‘catch’ part in the previous sentence could more honestly be replaced by ‘kill.’ After visiting Eden we shook our heads at the stupidity of the whaling industry, whose greed drove several species of whale to near extinction and caused the business itself to implode. But here, in this day and age, there were perhaps a dozen of these massive boats in this tiny port whose sole purpose was to kill (sorry, catch) a few species of fish or shark for entertainment. How long can any species survive this kind of assault? According to Google:

Australian marlin species are not currently listed as globally endangered, but they are under significant pressure and some stocks are considered depleted. Striped marlin in the South-West Pacific are classified as “depleted,” with evidence of overfishing and high post-release mortality. Black marlin populations are heavily targeted in recreational fisheries, but their exact status is unknown due to limited data. 

As usual, the news on the fish front isn’t great, and it’s normally much worse, and too late, when the data actually becomes known. Closer to home, with this kind of brainless, brazen, blowing of moolah it was little wonder that the marina charges $80 a night. One might expect to be charged much more.

Anyhoo.. we had a couple of days to wait for another window. We did the rounds of town: the museum, Mitre 10 (a hardware store), and the best bit of all: a swim at the salt water pool with an outstanding view and real fish (yes, really).

Another southerly was due that night, so we got ready to go and stayed up till 11:00 pm, but using a weather app we could see that the ‘real time’ gusts tracking north were far stronger than predicted, in the high 40s. When the wind reached us in Bermagui it struck with a roar, and we were getting over thirty knots in the marina, which is protected from the south. You’d have to add at least another ten knots to that in unprotected water, and no-one chooses to go sailing in forty knots. We went to bed.

Next day it was still windy, but a more manageable thirty knots out at sea. Batemans Bay is forty five nautical miles from Bermagui, nine hours at five knots, so we waited until early afternoon for the worst of the weather to pass, and out we went.

Above are representations of wind speed on the left, and current on the right, as per ‘Windy.’ Note that wind gusts can be up to 40% stronger than average wind speed.

The sailing was pretty fast and comfortable, though dead down wind is always a rolly point of sail. As the day wore on the wind picked the waves up so that the rolling went from bad to worse, and at the end we had to hold on the whole time or risk being violently thrown across the cockpit as the boat rocked from one rail to the other every few seconds . In these conditions you can steer off the wind — which would have seen us heading towards land or out to sea; hoist the main to try and dampen the roll — which prevents wind reaching the jib sail, so it collapses and snaps full, over and over again, killing gear and fraying nerves; or you can endure it.

We finally arrived in Batemans Bay at 11 pm. We sailed to an island near the bar where we intended to anchor so that we could cross the shallow water at high tide next morning. We later found out that the bar has been dredged since we were last there, so we could have gone straight in. Ignorance is not always bliss! Our first attempt to anchor revealed a rocky bottom that the anchor skipped across without any realistic chance of setting. Plan B was to pick up a nearby public mooring.

In the pitch dark we used a spot light to identify the mooring and to allow Cara to steer up to it. We had to get within about a foot of the mooring as the pick up line was far too short. At the bow, I then had to put down the torch to try and grab a rope with a loop floating in the sea with a boat hook — a two handed job. Hit the line but miss the loop and the cussed line sank. Add strong winds, a bit of a chop, and sea-sickness all round and it was pretty challenging. Third time round was a charm.

After a rolly night on the mooring we were up at 5:30 am to cross the bar at high tide (which we didn’t need to worry about). Then we picked up another mooring in the Clyde River, and went back to bed!

We knew that getting north again would be a bit of a grind, and so it’s proven to be so far. We could make life easier for ourselves by waiting for perfect conditions, as opposed to chancing our arm when the wind is too heavy or too light, but these ‘Goldilocks’ conditions have been so few and far between that to do so could easily see us waiting weeks in each location. Unfortunately, if we want to enjoy the northern part of Australia in the brief season that our insurance allows us to visit, due to the risk of cyclones, waiting isn’t an option. We plan to spend a bit of time in the greater Sydney area, so hopefully our batteries will be recharged for the next dash north.

Next time: we sail on to Jervis Bay and Cronulla.

We arrived at Lakes Entrance on the 22nd of January after crossing the Bass Strait and having spent about a fortnight in and around Flinders Island. As we stepped ashore we felt pretty worn out, a fatigue born of constant movement, incessantly windy anchorages, and sleeping night after night with one eye and one ear open. The Furneaux Group is an incredible place to visit, but relaxing it was not.

Still, as if to prove the saying that there is ‘no rest for the wicked,’ Cara and I packed Taurus up the next day and left the odd sensation of a still and stable berth to head further up ‘river.’ I say ‘river’ because that is what it looked like to me, but I was later corrected by a local who told me that the river is in fact a lake — a long, stringy lake with a current.

I confess that I knew almost nothing about the region we were visiting, having only heard vague mentions of it from other cruisers. Indeed, in my ignorance I had been describing the entire area as ‘Lakes Entrance,’ but Lakes Entrance is in fact just one of several towns in the wider area known as Gippsland Lakes. It is, however, the town closest to the bar, which it lends its name to, so it’s true to say that you enter Lakes Entrance to visit Gippsland Lakes.

Gippsland Lakes is Australia’s largest inland waterway system. A massive network of lakes, marshes and lagoons that cover over 600 square kilometres. Much of this waterway lies broadly parallel to the Bass Strait, separated from the ocean by a thin stretch of coastal dunes that extend for just over 151 kilometres or 94 miles. Appropriately enough, these dunes are collectively known as Ninety Mile Beach (though ‘One Hundred and Fifty One Kilometre Beach’ might be more appropriate in our metric age, though it’s a tad less poetic and lot more of a mouthful).

We were leaving Lakes Entrance so precipitously because we had been invited to a cruisers’ get together in Paynesville, a town ‘up lake.’ Ever the social butterflies, we couldn’t turn down the offer of talking sailing with like minded souls, especially with the added incentives of pizza and beer.

After our recent experiences it felt strange to sail in protected water, with barely any wave, swell, or chop. With fifteen knots from astern we threw a sail out either side and glided along as smoothly as the black swans we saw all around, but without any of the frantic kicking that these icons of grace secretly resort to. It all seemed far too easy.

Three hours of stress free sailing later saw us inside the Paynesville channel and tied up to a free berth in the centre of town. Paynesville is a picturesque town of some 4,000 souls and has the deserved reputation of being Victoria’s boating capital. Visiting felt a little like stepping back in time. The weather was perfectly sunny and warm, and friendly people would come to the berth to look Taurus over and have a chat. One lovely gentleman we met this way, Wilson, invited us to tea at his house the next day. Everyone seemed healthy, happy, and affluent; and the town was as neat as a new pin. It was a bit like visiting the Australia that you imagined Australia would be like back when you were a kid.

The easy going nature of the place was underscored by the incredible number of free visitor berths and moorings, both in Paynesville and throughout the wider Lakes area. Some of the berths are marked ‘four hours,’ but we were told that this should be interpreted as “for hours and hours.” Local boat owners happily occupy the various berths for as long as they want, with a knowing nod and a wink and a “They’ll ask me to move if they want me to.” So, when in Rome and all that.

Peter, who runs the local Facebook Group for sailors, met us at the dock and pointed out the wine bar where we would be meeting up later, all of maybe fifty metres away. It was great to meet some like minded souls and afterwards we were invited to the yacht club for ‘one for the road.’ Much of the conversation focused on the impending ‘Paynesville Classic Boat Rally’ which runs from February 27th to March 1st. This biennial festival has grown quickly over the past few years and threatens to eclipse the more famous Australian Wooden Boat Festival in Hobart. This also being biennial allows the two festivals to nicely complement one another, and together they provide an annual boatey celebration. Taurus was invited to attend, easily qualifying for the over twenty five years old stipulation, but time is marching on, and we have a long way to go if we want to make the most of the season north of Bundaberg. In typical generous Aussie fashion Peter later leant us his ute so that we could hit the local big smoke of Bairnsdale. We had to try and find a new kayak paddle, for reasons described below…

Next morning we took the free ferry that plies from Paynesville to Raymond Island to bother the island’s most famous residents: koala bears. Visiting the bears is one of the ‘must do’ items on the Paynesville tourist trail. Worried that we might not be able see any of these elusive marsupials a local advised us not to look up into the trees, but look down for “koala shit” on the ground. In the end we simply followed the other tourists and it became pretty clear by the crowds around the trees where the koalas were!

That evening Cara and I were invited aboard Blue Affinity once more. Dusty had been replaced by Mick’s wife, Ilonka, who was visiting from their Western Australian home. The conversation and wine flowed freely, and Mick secured his reputation as an exceptional host and wine maker. It felt a little strange having drinks and nibbles on the fly bridge, so high above everyone else, but it was a strangeness that one could get used to!

At the end of the evening we heard live music coming from the pub opposite the berth, so rather than doing the sensible thing and going to bed, we decided to go dancing! With more enthusiasm than skill we lit up the boards and pretended we were thirty years younger…

Slightly worse for the wear the next day, and feeling thirty years older, we left Paynesville and headed out to explore some of the Gippsland Lakes area. It being ‘Australia weekend’ there were crowds of people out and about enjoying the sunshine (and not a hint of ‘Invasion Day” in this neck of the woods!). We had to avoid an unusual maritime hazard as we left our berth, a floating shed complete with jazz band! Apparently a common site in Paynesville, ‘The Shed’ ties up at various berths to give free entertainment to the locals.

Our first stop was Duck Arm, a short sail away and a lovely sheltered spot. We blew up the kayaks and went for a paddle, spotting pelicans, swans, and even an eagle of some kind, but no ducks with arms.

The next day we shifted to another anchorage that we had been told we had to visit: Steamer Landing. Setting off at low tide we just squeezed through the channel, with our depth monitor recording -0.1 of a metre below us at one point. We picked up another free mooring and kayaked over to a jetty for the short walk to Ninety Mile Beach.

Unbelievably, we had the whole ninety miles to ourselves, or as much of it as we could see. We strolled for half an hour and returned to the kayaks to paddle down to the next jetty at a place called ‘The Grange.’ An interesting old building lies here, but its private property so you can only gaze at the exterior.

Upon leaving I leant on my paddle to get into the kayak and it unceremoniously snapped in two, dumping me bum first into the water. Our paddles join in the middle so have a weak spot, but I also fear I may have eaten too many pies whilst in Tasmania! Once Cara had recovered, we left and I tried to paddle canoe fashion with half a paddle back to Taurus. However, I soon found out that it was easier to use Cara’s full paddle and tow her behind me. Cara didn’t object, and looked like quite the lady of leisure!

The sunset that night was stunning, but, as a friend later commented, the red glow in the sky would have had much to do with the bush fires raging in southern Victoria. It gives the image a more sinister feel doesn’t it? Less paradise and more apocalypse over the horizon.

Our next destination was a small town called Metung, where another free public jetty disgorges the weary sailor straight into the local pub. This is my kind of town planning!

We stayed on the jetty for a couple of days waiting for some bad weather to blow through. The launch in front of us caused us some concern as it seemed to have been abandoned. Tied up with skinny old frayed line, it had no fenders and was crashing and bashing against the wharf like a horny old bull fenced off from the cows. Because it had been left in the middle of the jetty we had to pull ourselves up close up to it (so the ferry could dock on the ninety degree turn behind us). Why they didn’t use the more sheltered and smaller berths on the inside of the jetty is known only to God and the absent owner. Eventually we overcame our scruples about interfering with other peoples’ boats and used some of our spare lines and fenders to better secure the boat for the duration of our stay. It meant that I could sleep better!

After a pleasant evening at the Metung Yacht Club (located next to a free shower!), we headed away to another jetty in China Man’s Bay. We turned out to be a bit big and the jetty a bit rotten, so we only stayed long enough for a short walk ashore.

We headed back down river (lake) and picked up a mooring buoy. Now, regular readers will be wondering why nothing has broken as yet, and we were wondering much the same. So, in order to put us back on track I determined that the minor oil leak that had been bugging me for weeks was coming from the diesel lift pump. I’d previously replaced the gasket but to no avail, so I decided to take it off again and use some gasket goo. Access to this item is pretty tight, I had to cut the handle off an adjustable spanner to loosen the fuel line connector nuts, and the threads were getting a bit ‘tired’ and were on my list of things to replace.

You can probably guess that a combination of me, poor access, and worn out parts meant that something bad was about to happen — and you’d be right. I managed to wreck the threads on a small brass connector which meant that the engine sucked in large amounts of air instead of diesel, which is something that diesel engines don’t like (the clues in the name). Naturally, only at this juncture did I look for a spare onboard, and naturally we didn’t have one.

Taurus was effectively stranded for want of a $10 brass fitting. We could try to sail, but the river (lake) was shallow, the bends numerous, and the wind fitful. Sailing wasn’t really an option. We had a bit of a miserable night trying to identify the offending part and worrying about its availability. Early next morning we had the Yamaha engine on the dinghy and we headed down river (lake) to Lakes Entrance, the closest town, to hopefully go shopping. Incredibly, the only place that might possibly sell one of these parts did have one, two having just come in. Thanking our lucky stars we bought both, and feeling much happier went for a big breakfast before the dinghy ride home.

Wonders of wonders, the engine actually worked with the new part, and miracle of miracles, the oil leak was vastly improved. Perhaps this qualifies as a success?

We happily motored to another free jetty, reveling in the charming sound of a working diesel engine, from which a short walk leads to an observation platform above the bar. Intending to leave the following day to sail to Eden, we wandered up to the flagstaff to have a look. From there we could readily see the ‘overfalls’ created by waves entering the bar and the tidal current trying to escape. This is similar to the classic ‘wind against tide’ scenario that causes waves to ‘stand up’ when forces are in opposition. Local seals were having a whale of a time, but it wouldn’t be the optimal time to take a boat through, though probably not impossible in the otherwise benign conditions.

If, however, you compare the below image, which was taken when we arrived at Lakes Entrance (with the tide entering) , to the calm conditions outside the bar in the video above, you can imagine how hairy it could get if you tried to come in at the wrong time in the wrong conditions. The point I’m trying to make is that a culmination of bad factors might easily bite you in the bum.

Knowing that we would have light winds the following evening, we nevertheless decided to leave at slack water after high tide in the early afternoon, rather than attempting the bar in the dark. Doing these things at night is hardly a deal breaker, especially if leaving, which is much easier than entering in my opinion, but it’s not recommended, and if things go wrong you look a bit silly or reckless. Silly or reckless is not how you want to look if things go really wrong and you end up in Coroner’s Court.

We had a pleasant evening meeting new friends, Cal and Linda on Naruny, who were tied up next to us, before getting ready again for sea. Cal and Linda kindly sent us the following video of our leaving the next day. It looks pretty easy, and at the right time and on the right day it is. Call me dull but I do like easy!

And so, we sailed away from Gippsland Lakes. A gem of a place if you enjoy boating, friendly people, and the finer things in life. Hopefully it won’t be too long before we have a chance to return.

Next time: we sail to Eden, meet dolphins, and have more nautical (mis)adventures!

Having arrived at Deal Island, Cara and I had a couple of days before the next weather window that would allow us to cross the second half of Bass Strait to the Australian mainland. So, we set out to explore Deal in the time available.

Deal is the largest island in the Kent Group, Tasmania’s northernmost national park, and incorporates 29,000 hectares of marine reserve. To visit the island you have either to sail there, or you can apply to go there as a volunteer caretaker.

Whilst in Hobart, we had met a nice couple in a marina who were about to start their volunteer stretch on Deal. The caretakers are responsible for conservation management, which includes weed control, fauna surveys, maintenance of the historic lighthouse and heritage buildings, and visitor management. Unfortunately, we didn’t manage to get to Deal in time to meet our friends there, but we had a nice talk with the new couple. They told us that the Parks Department interviews for sufficient couples to cover a three year period at a time, this saves admin fees and there is never a shortage of volunteers. When beginning their stay, the selected lucky couple are flown onto the island with everything they think they might need for their entire stay: all their food, linen, entertainment and hobby supplies. A weight limit is stringently applied due to the limited size of the plane that can land on the island. It sounded like all the fun of living on a small boat — but with a lot weeding, strimming, and mowing thrown in. The joy of the role didn’t quite resonate with me, as surely one of the best things about living on a small boat is the fact that you don’t have to do weeding, strimming, and mowing!

East Cove, which is where we were anchored, is perhaps the best anchorage from which to explore the island.

From the beach a steep concrete path leads to a fenced area that is kept manicured by tame wallabies and Cape Barron geese. In this precinct can be found a small museum, the old lighthouse keeper’s cottage, and the cabin occupied by the island’s caretakers.

As you might expect of a small island museum in the middle of Bass Strait, many of the exhibits related to maritime disasters and ship wrecks.

The real magnet for those that visit Deal is the isolation and wild scenery, and from the caretaker’s cottage there are a number of tracks that you can take to various coves, beaches, and scenic spots. Feeling ambitious, we chose to walk to the lighthouse, which we could just see from the museum, a 6 kilometre round trip. In the photo below the lighthouse is just to the left of the highest point visible.

The lighthouse, built in 1848, was once the highest in the southern hemisphere, sitting some 305 metres above sea level. The elevation meant that on a clear night the lighthouse’s signal could be seen as far away as Wilsons Promontory, some 75 kilometres to the north. However, the height also created unexpected problems, with the light often being shrouded by low cloud.

The walk is a pretty pleasant stroll through forest and bush, though steep at the end (as advertised). It’s a shame you can’t enter the lighthouse as the views would be incredible from the top, a 360 degree vista across the island and out to sea. Abandoned in 1992, it was possible for visitors to climb to the top in its early years of retirement, alas a lack of maintenance means that the door is now locked for safety reasons.

A further 400m walk from the lighthouse brings you to the site of a WWII RAAF accident site. Beware if you found the climb to the lighthouse hard — the 400m is straight down and the return straight up!

The crash was witnessed by the light house keeper, Henry Ford, who saw the plane suddenly do three or four rolls, straighten out, and then dive at an acute angle from 1000 feet into the granite cliffs of the island. All four crewmen were killed instantly.

Wreckage from the plane can still be seen today, along with a plaque that records the names of the men and the bare facts of what happened. Not far away is a cache with a document showing where the men were initially buried before they were exhumed and taken to a military cemetery in Victoria. The cause of the accident is still unknown, but one of the leading theories suggests that strong wind currents forced the plane down.

We returned to Taurus and were later invited over to Blue Affinity, a 65 foot launch anchored nearby, for sun-downers. We should have known that it would be a big night when the skipper Mick proudly informed us that he had ice, and definitely should have twigged when we discovered that Mick and his crew-mate, Dusty, were ex-Australian Navy Recovery Divers. Ex-members of the forces have a certain affinity for one another’s company, and you know that when you meet up a good night is in store, and it certainly was. After the gin and tonics we moved on to beer and then had to round off the night with a few glasses of wine. These were the produce of Mick’s own Western Australian vineyard, called ‘Bakkehia,’ so it would have been rude to say no. The night was topped off by a stunning Aurora Australis that saw us off to bed.

Incredibly, the boys managed to leave at 2am for the sail across the Bass Strait. Being a launch they wanted to make the trip with as little wind as possible, whilst we had to wait for the wind to fill in later in the day — which was just as well.

To speed our recovery we went for another walk, this time heading north to Garden Cove. We had intended to anchor here originally, but were glad we hadn’t when we saw the swell coming into the bay, and the boat anchored there rocking and rolling around.

We returned to Taurus and got everything ready for our 100 nautical mile, twenty odd hour passage. We knew that we would have light winds to begin with, but that they would build during the evening with about 30 knots expected during the night. In case things got worse than predicted we had the storm jib ready to go, a habit that has proved its worth once or twice in the past. So, we were ready to go, and off we went…

To give an idea of the experience I’ve added three videos of the crossing. In the first, we have just left Deal in winds slightly under ten knots. In the second the wind has picked up to about fifteen knots, and in the third the wind has risen to just over twenty knots. As predicted, the wind got a little stronger during the night, with the strongest gust about 35 knots, but it was dark, so there wasn’t much point trying to video the conditions.

We had timed our departure so that we would arrive at Lakes Entrance between 8 am and 2 pm on an incoming or slack tide. In the event we made the earlier end of our schedule, arriving at 8:30 am. The wind had dropped to about 25 knots from the sou’ west, so that it and the waves were travelling at a slight angle across the face of the bar. We lined up the approach markers and headed slightly left of centre of the channel that runs between the concrete walls projecting into the sea, to take into account the likelihood or our being pushed to the right by waves. The bar used to be fairly notorious and has claimed some 220 souls, but it has been radically improved over the last twenty years. Today, frequent dredging ensures that the minimum depth is about 7 metres, and the entrance is approximately fifty metres wide. We picked up a couple of decent sized waves, thankfully not breaking, as we lined up our approach to keep things interesting (just before Cara started recording the entry), but Taurus tracked through without any real drama.

The local sailing community has a pretty active Facebook group (“Sailing Tasmania, Bass Strait, and the Beautiful Gippsland Lakes”), and a member posted a series of pictures of Taurus from the live webcam as we made our crossing. Thanks to these, and the video that we later shared, we became what felt like minor celebrities for a few days. Everywhere we went people would say, “you’re the guys that did the bar crossing!” As is the way with sailors, everyone had an opinion on the wisdom (or not) of our decision. One old fisherman told us that he wouldn’t have attempted the bar in the conditions we faced, whilst others said it was a good day and we were lucky the weather had been kind to us. In the end, we were the only ones there to make the call, and entering seemed like a much better option that staying out. There is no shelter outside Lakes Entrance in which to try to anchor, so our alternatives were to motor in circles, hoping that the weather would improve, or continue for another twenty four hours to Eden. In the same circumstances I would definitely go for the bar again, it was a bit hair raising but fell short of actually being dangerous.

Having accelerated to power through the bar, and with the tide pushing us along, we found ourselves doing nine knots once in sheltered water. We turned to the right to enter a waterway that would take us to Lakes Entrance… and nearly ran aground. With no channel markers to guide us we relaxed a little too much and failed to check the depth on the chart. Luckily Cara was awake and turned the boat in time.

We moored up alongside a free public floating jetty, and Dusty from Blue Affinity appeared to catch our lines. Sadly the boys were about to leave, so we didn’t have time to catch up properly.

We were pretty tired after a bit of a bumpy crossing, but too wired to sleep and needed to stretch our legs. Then we fell in with a couple of Canadian cruisers and ended up at the pub. After winding down with a couple of beers and pizza it was time for a good night’s sleep.

Next time: exploring the beautiful Gippsland Lakes.

After a couple of days exploring Preservation Island it was time to get moving. The spell of fine weather that we had enjoyed was about to be abruptly terminated by strong westerlies that were predicted to blow at around forty knots. As with all forecasts, the figure given is the expected sustained wind strength, gusts, however, can be up to forty percent stronger, so winds of fifty knots plus (100 kmh) were a real possibility.

Having seen the forecast we’d spoken to Luke at the Beauty Point Marina, and he kindly offered us the use of his mooring at Lady Barron. One of the oddities about the Furneaux Group is that, despite it consisting of more than fifty islands, it can be surprisingly difficult to find good shelter. In other places, if the wind blows from the west you find a bay on the east in which to hide, and all is right with the world. In Furneaux, the wind has a knack of racing across the land, and should there be any hills in the way it accelerates down their lee slopes rather than being diverted. These strong gusts are variously known as katabatic winds, bullets, and williwaws, but in effect they make the world an uncomfortable and sometimes dangerous place until the wind chooses to cease and desist. This lack of protection, combined with weedy anchorages, makes finding a safe and comfortable anchorage in the area something of an ongoing challenge. So, if someone like Luke, who has lived in the area for thirty years, tells you that you better hide on his mooring, you say ‘thank you’ and go and hide on his mooring.

Entering Lady Barron requires a trip up the Franklin Sound. This channel experiences strong tidal currents and has several areas of shallow water to catch out the unwary. Cruising guides we referred to mention the currents, but failed to inform us of the current direction in relation to the tide, which is a bit hopeless. Thankfully, the Cruising Yacht Club of Tasmania fills this gap with a very useful website, which can be found at the following address:

https://www.cyct.org.au/content.aspx?page_id=22&club_id=801661&module_id=271931

Even though we entered on the correct tide we still found strong tidal currents working against us, and at one point, east of Little Green Island, our speed was reduced to about one and a half knots. We considered anchoring for a while, but in the end struggled on and soon found our way into Yellow Beaches and picked up Luke’s mooring.

From the bay there’s a nice walk along the waterfront that leads to Lady Barron. The views are spectacular, and the rock formations unworldly. 

Lady Barron is a pretty quiet destination, with one pub, one public toilet with a hot shower, and one shop (in order of importance). It wasn’t long before we had seen all the sights, so ended up returning to the pub (Cara said it would be weird to hang out at the shower or shop). 

We met some cruisers in the pub and ended up having dinner with them. Much of the conversation centred around where best to hide from the strong weather due the following day. In the end one crew decided to stay where they were, moored up alongside the fisherman’s jetty, and one solo sailor decided to sit on a public mooring just behind them. Neither spot afforded much in the way of protection from the west.

Next day in Yellow Beach, tucked behind a headland, the wind fairly howled at times and we saw speeds of nearly forty knots. We were pretty comfortable, but wondered how the others were fairing. Unfortunately they all left early the next day, using the tail of the storm to cross Bass Strait, so we didn’t see them again. I imagine it would have been a miserable day for them. We later spoke to another couple who had anchored behind Preservation Island, Craig and Lindie on Addictive. They told us that they had had a pretty awful time and dragged anchor twice. Naturally we were very grateful for Luke’s advice and the use of his mooring.

We were so impressed with our dinner at the pub that once the storm had passed we had to go back. The food there is seriously good, in fact some of the best I can remember eating. If you go to Lady Barron you have to have dinner there. The views were pretty damn impressive too!

We left the following day, and experimented by leaving on a falling tide, the same as that which we had used on the way in, but we were now going in the opposite direction. We also took an alternative route, one that runs between the Great Dog and Little Dog Islands (and which can be a little shallow in places). Of course we found the tide was still against us; sometimes you just can’t win.

We picked up the mooring at Trouser Bay, the spot where we had stayed on our previous visit, but what a difference a change in the weather makes. This time around we were able to get off the boat and enjoy a coastal walk around the point.

Jim and Angie, friends from Launceston, were heading towards Flinders Island on their steel yacht, Malibu, and we decided to pop into Whitemark, the main town on Flinders Island, before meeting them at Port Davies (not to be confused with Port Davey, on the west coast of Tassie, like I continually did).

Without wishing to be too blunt, Whitemark is a swine of a place to visit by yacht. The bay is so shallow that you have to anchor a loooong way from land, and there is so much weed that finding somewhere for your anchor to grab is an exercise in patience. We ended up with just 0.8 of a metre of water below us, which is very shallow for anchoring, and had to reset the anchor four times before it held.

We then had to motor in the dinghy for about a nautical mile to the beach, and drag it up very soft sand (the tide was out) as the jetty has been condemned and is fenced off.

Even though we were there mid-afternoon, midweek, during the height of the tourist season, everything but the supermarket, dairy, and pub was closed. The town is frankly kind of depressing. Admittedly, the supermarket is better than the shop at Lady Barron, but not that much better. If you only need basic groceries and you have to choose between Whitemark and Lady Barron, go to Lady Barron, and go to the pub for dinner!

After dragging the dinghy back across the sinking sand and motoring the several miles back to Taurus, we lifted the dinghy back aboard and headed towards Port Davies.

Not far from this anchorage is a museum that commemorates the aboriginal people who were forcibly removed from Tasmania and re-settled on Flinders. The chapel at Wybalenna has been restored, and is all that remains of the settlement that some have described as a ‘concentration camp.’

The stories were pretty sobering and it was in a somber mood that we walked back to the dinghy dock. 

That evening all the cruisers in the bay got together on the beach for a few sun downers.

We found the anchorage to be a little windy, so later moved to Allports Bay with Malibu. From here it was an easy walk to the local museum and an iconic rock formation, known as Castle Rock.

We sadly had to bid adieu to Jim and Angie as we were continuing north, and they had to head back to Launceston. We first met these guys when we were both on the hard, and they kindly leant me a compressor and needle gun, gave me some paint, later gave me a fisherman’s anchor, and were all round generous, lovely people. Hopefully we’ll meet again somewhere soon.

We had expected our sail to Killiecrankie to be fairly short and sweet. But this was one of those times that Tasmania decided to give us a boot up the bum to remind us not to become complacent. We left Allports with about twenty to twenty five knots from astern and had to thread our way carefully through a narrow pass between islands. We then turned round Cape Frankland and thought that we would be protected by the land and be able to motor in. Instead the easterly wind accelerated down the hills and we were suddenly beating into thirty knots. We had to run the engine and motor sail to make headway, and had to sail almost past Killiecrankie to ensure that we would be able to tack into the bay with room to avoid the rocks. It was a pretty unpleasant couple of hours.

We anchored in the northern part of the bay as there was a slight northern edge to the wind, but found only marginal shelter. It wasn’t until the next day that we could get the dinghy off deck and go for a walk ashore. There, to our surprise, we found a decomposing whale. Apparently a twenty ton sperm whale had washed up a few weeks earlier and had been gradually rotting away on the beach. A local advised us not to go swimming as the whale would serve as burley and attract sharks from miles around.. 

In the end we got so hot walking to Stackys Bight (the local tourist attraction rock formation), and the flies were such a PITA, that we did end up going for a swim. But only in clear and shallow water! Shark attacks have been in the news a lot recently in Australia, with something like five attacks in four days, although centred around Sydney rather than Tasmania. It’s certainly not the way I would choose to go, so we take the advice of locals seriously.

We had headed north to Killiekrankie because there was a weather window that would allow us to get to Deal Island, half way across Bass Strait, followed by a further window a couple of days later that would take us to Lakes Entrance in Victoria.

After our recent hiding we were a little nervous about sailing into Bass Strait, a notorious body of water at the best of times. In the event we had a beam reach for six hours in about twenty five to thirty knots of wind, with a swell of maybe a couple of metres. It was pretty pleasant, though the wind shifted behind us as we approached Deal so we ended up rolling a wee bit (or a good deal?).

Deal is actually two islands with a passage between them, known as Murrays Passage. Because of the strong currents in Bass Strait, it’s important to ensure that you don’t end up in a wind against tide situation here, which would create dangerous standing waves. As such, you have to work out whether to enter from the north or south. We used the Cruising Yacht Club of Tasmania site (listed above) to make sure we got it right. We had intended to anchor in Garden Cove on the north coast, but I suspected that the easterly winds and northerly swell might curl round the headland and straight into the bay (we later walked to Garden Cove and in similar conditions it was very rolly). We had been watching a large motor launch that had left Flinders at roughly the same time as us on AIS, and they had headed to the south of Deal. We decided that they might have local knowledge and chose to follow them. 

We all ended up in the same beautiful anchorage, a place called East Cove, and later met the crew of the launch, called Blue Affinity. But our adventures in Deal, and subsequent crossing of the rest of Bass Strait, will have to wait for next time. 

After returning to Taurus at Beauty Point we got stuck into finishing a few projects so that we were ready to leave when a weather window presented.

Amongst the jobs to do were replacing a couple of original winches with self tailing winches, re-bedding the diesel filler cap in the deck, and replacing our inner forestay. Of these the latter was the most interesting and challenging.

We use our inner forestay to fly our hanked on storm jib — ‘hanked on’ meaning that the sail is attached with clips (known as hanks) as opposed to a furling jib (which is stowed by being wrapped around itself and left permanently in situ) which is standard, at least for main jibs, nowadays. We have resisted moving to a second furling sail for a few reasons: at 39 feet we don’t have a lot of deck space for the extra hardware, we don’t need a second jib to be permanently in position, and we like to remove the inner forestay when it’s not in use as it makes tacking and gybing much easier (as the main jib sail doesn’t get caught around it).

However, our existing inner forestay was attached about three quarters of the way up the mast, which demanded that we support the same point with running back stays to prevent the mast being deformed, or pumping, when pressure was applied by the sail. The running back stays are only rigged when the storm jib is used, but they have to remain attached to the mast ready to go all the time, so that most of the time they lie coiled up near the shrouds, adding weight to the rig and getting in the way. The other, and more important, downside of our running back stay system is that when rigged they get in the way of the boom, so that they have to be taken down in order to tack, gybe, or heave to. This all creates extra work on deck when the conditions are poor (thus the storm jib is being utilised) and when being on deck is innately hazardous.

So, after talking to a rigger we ordered a new inner forestay that would attach to the head (top) of the mast and would allow us to do away with the running backstays as the top of the mast is supported by the permanently in place rear stays. We carefully measured the distance with a long tape measure and hoped that we hadn’t stretched the tape or allowed it to sag, so that our A$450 length of stainless steel wire wouldn’t prove to be too short or long, and thus useless! In the end it was slightly long by about a centimetre, but we were able to get around this by drilling a new hole in the attachment point.

We then turned to removing the running back stays, only to find that the wires had been attached with the fat part of the pin against the mast — meaning the pins couldn’t be withdrawn. Now I could rail against the rigger in Fiji who committed this act of folly, but I have come to realise that the skipper is responsible for his or her boat, and everything that goes on in it or to it. It was my responsibility to check the rigger’s work, for I most assuredly know, after various experiences, that professional qualifications and extortionate fees provide absolutely no guarantee of quality of workmanship. Removing the pins, which would have taken a few seconds to sort out whilst the mast was down, now required me to climb the mast and cut the pins with an angle grinder. Obviously, a tool capable of cutting through 10mms of stainless steel would have little trouble cutting through a 12mm piece of rope, like that which I was hanging off some ten metres above the deck. It was one of those jobs most people would prefer to avoid, and one that certainly focuses the mind.

With most of the jobs taken care of, Cara and I celebrated New Years Eve with one of the many characters at Beauty Point Marina, a gent called Rowlie Walker, and his wife Gail. Rowlie used to captain ships that resupplied rigs in the north of Australia. With marine qualifications coming out of his yazoo, he now works as a delivery skipper, and runs a rescue service inspired by the Royal National Lifeboat Institution. I had a chance to jump aboard Rowlie’s boat as a deck hand for a rescue, though he didn’t need the help, but fortunately (if disappointingly) the skipper had managed to self-rescue himself before we arrived.

Rowlie also leant us his car a couple of times so that we could go to the supermarket; his car being a 110 ex-Australian Army Land Rover. I passed my driving test in an army Land Rover way back in the mists of time, so it was quite nostalgic and great fun to have a chance to drive another one. I’d forgotten how much they wander, the weight of the steering, and the need to keep them rolling if possible, but it all came flooding back. Like riding a bike you might say!

After about a fortnight our window to cross to the Furneaux Group appeared. We left Beauty Point fairly early in the morning to make the most of an outgoing tide and headed east. In the end we had spent about five months in the greater Launceston area. We’d had the pleasure to meet some very kind and generous people, (Cara had) made some money, and made a few improvements to Taurus, now it was time to go.

Our destination for the night was Waterhouse Island, which we reached after a fast ten hour sail. The anchorage there was a little rocky and a little rolly, but we slept well and were on our way again first thing in the morning.

We had to motor across Banks Strait as there was no wind, and that afternoon dropped the hook on the western side of Preservation Island. The island has an interesting history. On the 10th of November 1796 a cargo ship called the Sydney Cove, left Calcutta loaded with rum and other supplies destined for sale in Sydney. Taking on water, she was grounded before she foundered on the island. The stores were taken ashore, and the rum put out of reach of the sailors on an adjacent island that they named, appropriately, Rum Island.

A party of seventeen men attempted to sail to Sydney for help but were wrecked on the coast and had to walk over 600 kilometres to safety. Only three men survived the trip. Two schooners were subsequently sent to rescue the thirty men that had been left behind on Preservation. One of these ships was wrecked on its return voyage with the loss of all hands, including eight men from the Sydney Cove.

The Master of the Sydney Cove subsequently reported his belief, based on currents and wave patterns, that there was a channel between Australia and Tasmania, linking the southern Indian Ocean and Pacific Ocean. This suspicion was later confirmed by George Bass and Matthew Flinders in 1798. At Flinders request the passage was called Bass Strait; its discovery meant that ships no longer had to travel around Tasmania to reach Sydney, but could take a shorter and safer route.

We enjoyed a mini-heatwave whilst at Preservation, and an entirely deserted anchorage. However, an impending westerly gale meant that we couldn’t linger for too long. We had been offered the use of a protected mooring in Lady Barron, but further adventures will have to wait for the next instalment!