Sailing Taurus NZ

We departed Sydney on Australia Day, the 26th of January, and sailed south, still hoping to get to Tasmania for the Wooden Boat Festival, starting in Hobart on the 7th of February. Our next port of call was Jervis Bay, some eighteen hours sail away at a speed of 5 knots.

Once again we raced south with the help of an easterly wind and a benevolent current, and arrived earlier than expected in the early hours of the morning. Target Beach, an anchorage in a small bay close to the heads, had been recommended as a good place to stop, so we slowly motored the last mile or so, feeling our way in the dark to the spot where our chart showed people had anchored before us.

Next morning we were glad we had been cautious in our anchoring as there was quite a swell running that turned into surf not far in front of us. A handful of surfers had camped on the beach and were out enjoying the waves. The swell wasn’t particularly uncomfortable and as the wind was blowing thirty knots outside we happily sat in the shelter of the bay. However, around midday the tranquility was shattered by a ‘gang’ of jet skiers, there’s really no other word you could use to describe them. As usual they raced around at max speed and max noise before performing a trick we hadn’t seen before. Taking these powerful and heavy machines through the surf, they turned and accelerated back towards the incoming waves, which caused them to take off and fly several metres into the air before crashing down again with a great splash.

The scene was chaotic. Several skiers would take off at the same time and land close to one another, whilst others raced around just outside of the surf line. Looking on we watched as fishermen on the rocks packed up to go home, and the surfers were forced from the water to avoid being run down or crushed. I must admit that I watched these selfish adult children with the secret hope that one of them might get hurt, which is very un-Christian of me and clearly demonstrates room for self improvement.

As the day wore on the swell increased slightly and we noticed that according to AIS (the system that allows us to see where other boats are on our electronic chart, and them us) several other boats were anchored round the corner at a place called Long Beach. Thinking that perhaps this was a better spot to wait out the wind we decided to up anchor and head around the headland, only to find that ‘the grass isn’t always greener on the other side.’

Getting to the new anchorage turned out to be a long and arduous struggle against a strong headwind, that made the engine and gearbox strain, and probably encouraged its later demise (more on that later). After an hour or so we finally crawled back into protection from the wind and dropped anchor in conditions very much like those we had left earlier.

That evening the wind finally eased and we were treated to a gorgeous sunset for sundowners.

Our move to Long Beach was fortuitous in one way as next to us in the anchorage we saw a ketch that looked familiar, and it later turned out that we had briefly met Ambrosia and her crew in Vanuatu. Guy, Cassie, and their daughter, Rona, hail from the States but had emigrated to Tasmania and were on their way home. These guys would later save our skin.

Next morning a light breeze was blowing from the north and as we had plenty of room we took the opportunity to sail off our anchor. Yachts don’t really ‘need’ engines, and people like Josh Slocum, Lin and Larry Pardey, and many others, have circumnavigated the world without one, but as engines became cheaper and more commonplace so skills have degraded, and as the average boat has increased in size, and the average crew aged, so modern sailor’s reliance upon them has increased. It would be a rare yacht today that ventures out without an engine, and many people look upon the lack of one as irresponsible and unsafe. Certainly engines make it much easier to manoeuvre a yacht, especially one of a decent size, at slow speeds, and can be a massive boon to safety when the wind pipes up and a lee shore lies nearby. Without one you have to be much more careful about where you go and when, and yet the ambivalence they encourage can be misplaced, because engines can fail.

We sailed south enjoying the light winds, but strong gusts of over 30 knots suddenly blew up making us scramble to reef and maintain control. At one point when trying to ease a sheet I succeeded in creating a riding turn, a situation in which a line (rope) wraps around itself on a winch so that it can’t be released or eased. The solution is to take the strain from the line, normally by attaching another line with a rolling hitch to the first and taking this to another winch which takes the burden. However, in light winds one can often manhandle the line oneself, which is much quicker. As the gust died this is what I tried to do, but as I took the load and released the riding turn the wind suddenly picked up and ripped the line through my pudgy fingers. In this situation if one doesn’t immediately let go a friction burn is the result. Despite knowing this my automatic reaction was to try and grip the rope harder. We seem to be hardwired to think that because we could hold a rope we can continue to hold said rope, the fact that the line is suddenly under two or three times the load takes a critical moment to register. As so often in life, pain is an excellent teacher, making evident lessons that we really should have known already.

The treatment for burns is to cool them, and friction burns are no different. Luckily, due to Cara’s good management, we have an ice pack in the fridge and this was soon put to use, followed by numerous ice cubes that had to be constantly renewed to keep the stinging away. One handed crew members in gusty conditions are not of much use, but we managed to make it safely to our anchorage and happily dropped the hook.

Later that day, the crew from Ambrosia came to visit and offered to take us to shore in their dinghy, ours still being lashed to the deck as we planned to leave the next day and were too lazy to undo it. We tootled into Vincentia and wandered into town to visit the supermarket before being given a lift home.

In the morning the weather looked kind for a southerly sail, so we packed up Taurus and preceded to head out of Jervis Bay. The wind was about 15 knots from the east sou’ east (changing to an easterly later) and we were happy to sail in the company of a tall ship leaving at the same time, no doubt also heading to Tasmania for the festival. As we left there was also a couple of naval vessels departing (the Royal Australian Naval College is based in Jervis Bay) and even a Hurricane C130 overhead. The radio chatter made it clear that that there was a big Search and Rescue training exercise taking place.

Trying to sail we headed off shore to get a better angle to head south. We then turned and had a fairly narrow angle of sail which we would have to carefully manage until we got past a nearby headland. As we approached the wind died and prudence dictated that we run the engine to keep a safe distance from the rocks whilst maintaining our heading.

With the engine running I thought I heard a ‘funny noise’ and whilst I was listening to see if I could identify the issue, Cara pointed out that though the engine was on and we were in gear, we weren’t actually going anywhere. With the headland looming we made the call to about turn and sail back into Jervis Bay with the aid of the easing wind. Once again, prudence reared her head and we decided to call up the NSW Marine Rescue chaps to let them know that we didn’t need assistance, but that the situation might change if the wind died completely. It is generally a good idea to open channels of communication early if situations start to head south, so that if they really go pear shaped response times can be much faster.

Before long we were back in sheltered water and making progress to an anchorage. Cara was ‘steering the cutter’ (well sloop) as I lay on the hot engine fiddling with the gear select lever to make sure that forward gear was actually being engaged. This was about all I could think of as an immediate action to try and remedy the problem, and it didn’t work. My next step was to phone a mechanic friend in New Zealand, and here I found one of the problems with activating the good services of Marine Rescue. Whilst I was talking to my friend they tried to call me so I declined the call. They then called back, and back, and back, and back until I had to end my call to my pal in New Zealand to tell them that we still didn’t require assistance and were still under sail. The nice man told us that a boat was coming to meet us anyway. A few minutes later a powerful launch with about six crew members arrived and took station off our port side. We continued to try and work out our issue, but our speed was painfully slow, and the resource that we felt we were tying up made what wasn’t a problem feel like a problem. We looked at the Marine Rescue staff and they looked at us as we ghosted along at a knot and a half. Ultimately, we kind of got peer pressured into asking if they wanted to give us a lift. To be fair, if the wind died completely before we got to the anchorage we would have needed a lift, but at this stage we were still moving.

The first thing the Marine Rescue guys yelled back was ‘do you accept all liability,’ which seemed an odd thing to say at the time. ‘Sure’ we replied, not knowing what we were letting ourselves in for. Rather than tow us from in front, the launch came along side. We lay our fenders out and made bow and stern lines fast, at which point the launches skipper, possibly late for lunch, increased his speed and we took off. As the speed grew a bow wave was created which encouraged the boats to ‘work’ against each other, and caused the fenders to move and pop out from between the boats. This led to the rough rubber surface of the launches inflatable hull rubbing against our paint. We struggled to get the fenders back in place, realising too late why liability had been an issue. Still, as I said, we might well have needed this lift had the wind dropped further, and I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth if it hadn’t been for what transpired later.

Marine Rescue deposited us on a public mooring off Huskisson, a touristy town named after William Huskisson (1770-1830) who was destined to be run over by The Rocket, thus becoming the first person to be killed by a train. The fortune of the town’s most famous son could perhaps have been taken as an omen.

The moorings at Huskisson are only protected from the south, and a long swell almost continually rolls in from the bay’s entrance to the east. The public mooring buoys are quite large, perhaps a meter in diameter and a metre deep (photo below). Normally with mooring buoys the thing to do is to pull them up nice and high so that they are under tension and can’t rub or bang against the hull. However, the depth of the buoys and size of the swell meant that even when hauled up as far as possible they were lifted by passing waves and then dropped back down with an almighty yank and a crash — over and over again. Having tried, and failed, to sleep through this constant jarring and noise the first night, we let some slack out the following day and were woken in the early hours by a different crash. As the swell subsided the buoy floated around Taurus’ hull and smacked against it. A boat’s hull acts a bit like a drum, so the noise created by a fairly mild knock can be pretty loud and alarming, and the force, if not gentle, can chip paint or even dent steel. This alternate pulling up and letting out of the mooring buoy to try and find a semblance of peace was one of the hallmarks of our stay at Huskisson, one of the most uncomfortable anchorages I have ever had the misfortune to visit, and this in pretty mild weather. Only one other boat stayed for a night whilst we were there, and they disappeared first thing the next day. Should I ever have to have to stay there again I think I might follow William Huskisson’s lead and throw myself in front of a train.

Of course, we weren’t at Huskisson for giggles, but rather to try and work out what was wrong with our drive, and if possible fix it. The problem was pretty clearly the gearbox, so we phoned up a few places and found that overhauling our existing unit would cost about $3,000. Another phone call to the manufacturers elicited the information that a new gear box would cost us $4,000 delivered. As the old gearbox probably dates to 1995, when the engine in Taurus was last replaced, the new option seemed the obvious way to go. Thankfully the manufacturers had a new gearbox on the shelf in Sydney, so we only had to work out where to have it sent. Fiddling with prop shafts in boats (the gearbox is attached to the prop shaft) whilst they are in the water can result in terrible things happening. In the worst case scenario the shaft can back out of the boat, letting in a deal of water and potentially sinking her if the hole can’t be blocked. Because of this (and other issues like stability, ease of access to hardware shops, and so on) most people would prefer to tackle this kind of job on the hard. However, putting a boat on the hard is not an easy proposition in rural Australia where small tinnies are the general rule, and if the facility exists using them comes with some pretty stiff financial costs. In the past we have been quoted $450 for the lift out, the same again for the lift back in, and up to $250 per day for a cradle.

In Jervis Bay, however, there were simply no facilities for us to access. It was not only impossible to get Taurus out of the water, but also to find a berth, or indeed anywhere with decent protection from more than one direction. As we discovered that we would have to lift the engine to remove the gearbox (the gear box is bolted on to the inside of the bell housing, which also features the rear engine mounts) there was no way in hell I was going to try and undertake the job on our super rolly mooring where just living was tough enough. After making more enquiries we found that Batemans Bay, about twelve hours to the south, had both a marina and a haul out yard.

We next had to wait for a weather window that would allow us to sail to Batemans Bay, and work out how best to get off the mooring. The latter was challenging because we would probably have to leave in a northerly, a wind that would create a lee shore behind us. Nearby to the west were shallows, a bar, and a reef; to the east lay space, providing we could get beyond the rocks that curved northwards from the end of the Huskisson beach. Adding to the complexity were moorings and the potential of boats being moored to either side of us when we wanted to go. Essentially, we had to be able to gain way immediately we left the mooring. Otherwise we would have to turn downwind to gain speed and steerage, almost certainly having to slip behind a fishing boat on a mooring to the east, a course that would take us perilously close to the beach and rocks and that would give us little in the way of a Plan B if things didn’t go well. Our confidence wasn’t boosted when we were told that the ground in the area was shale over rock, so that our anchor might not hold if we needed to deploy it.

Ideally, we thought, we would get a tow for the few metres required to see us past the moored boats and the rocks to the east. A mere hundred metres or so. With this in mind we mentioned it to the chap at the Marine Rescue base when we popped in to thank them for their help. We also wanted to enquire about becoming members of the Marine Rescue service. We have been long term members of the NZ Coast Guard, which assures free assistance if needed, where as non-members are billed. Australia’s Marine Rescue is a different beast. Far from being a national service (as it is in NZ) Marine Rescue is state funded but functions via individual bases. This, we were told, means that if one base has an excess of volunteers they are not allowed to help out at another base that might have too few, or might have been hit by sickness. To those cruising the coast or country this approach might seem less than ideal, but as the service is state funded and free to the user it doesn’t really matter, apart from making membership a bit pointless. We have since been told that membership can confer a better quality of service, but this is far from guaranteed.

The Marine Rescue guy we spoke to was helpful and told us that we should be able to get a lift on either Saturday or Sunday as the patrol craft would be heading out anyway. Relieved, we did a few jobs, like fixing our 8hp outboard motor, and then a few touristy things, like visiting the Maritime Museum.

The maritime museum turned out to be excellent, especially the display of antique survey gear, sextants, and Napoleonic War weapons. For a fan of Patrick O’Brian, C. S. Forester, and Frederick Marryat, the latter was very interesting and right up my alley.

During our fact finding sessions regarding where to go, and how to fix our problem, Cara had made contact with local sailors who, after offering advice and assistance, kindly invited us to dinner. Dan and Liz, and Ross and Janet, have been building their own catamarans for several years, and whilst we won’t hold that against them, we hope that they see the light and get rid of an extraneous hull each. Five minutes with an angle grinder should do the job perfectly — two monohulls for the price of one cat, and an immediate boost in street cred and aesthetic appeal.

But seriously, those interested in boat building, especially the process of building a cat, should check out Ross’ You Tube channel, ‘Life on The Hulls,’ for great tips and advice.

Having checked the weather we revisited the Marine Rescue centre to tell them that Sunday looked good for us to leave, and to ask what time might be convenient for them to help us. Our reception seemed much frostier this time around. We weren’t allowed in the building, and the person we spoke to on the phone said he would have to talk to his supervisor about our request. When we phoned back later we were told that they couldn’t assist us.

Next day dawned fine with a ten knot breeze from the north. We got ourselves ready to go, by which time the wind had increased to 15 knots. Working out our tactics it seemed a good idea to keep the Marine Rescue guys abreast of what we were doing. We spoke to a new person who encouraged us to wait so that he could talk to his supervisor to see if they could in fact help. We were reluctant to delay as the wind was increasing, which would help us gain way, but also increased the risk of being blown onto the lee shore. We were promised that he would have an answer within quarter of an hour. Fifteen minutes later we were told that the supervisor was on a boat coming out to see us.

A short while later two Marine Rescue jet skis turned up. We had no idea what they wanted but they asked us the standard questions that Marine Rescue always ask, length, draught, and weight of vessel, number of persons on board, and so on. Having answered these questions a launch appeared with the supervisor, and we had to repeat the same information all over again. On hearing our weight, 10.5 tons, the supervisor said, ‘we can’t tow you, our maximum is 7.5 tons.’ As we had provided this information at least four times to local staff we weren’t too impressed by having been asked to wait for the supervisor to announce what was obviously a foregone conclusion. If the conversation had ended there we would have retained more respect for the guy’s judgement, but unfortunately he kept talking. He informed us that if they tried to tow us we would drag them onto the rocks. How this would happen is difficult to imagine, we only wanted an assisting tow to get going, and surely if the critical situation he described should arise they would be able to cut the tow line? The decision having been made it didn’t seem worth pointing this out. He then said that the jetskis could hold station with us, and if we were swept on to the beach we could jump into the sea and be rescued by them. I was so shocked by this vision that I think my jaw literally dropped open. Then, seeing our 8 hp outboard on the rail he asked why we didn’t attach it to the transom instead of asking for a tow. Trying to hog tie an outboard to a yacht’s transom is a good way to have a nasty accident, and almost certainly lose the motor in the process. The man suggesting this was the local Marine Rescue Operations Manager, standing on a launch with two massive outboards, providing, I would guess, something like two or three hundred hp. Somehow he had arrived at the conclusion that whilst his boat didn’t have the necessary power to help, our 8 hp motor could be jerry rigged to do the job. As if to prove that he knew absolutely nothing about yachts or sailing, the guy then asked why we didn’t wait for the wind to die — ‘because our engine doesn’t work’ we said in bemusement. More prosaically he then asked why we hadn’t booked a mechanic or a tow from a commercial operator. We replied that we had tried to speak to several mechanics, only one of whom had gotten back to us, to tell us he couldn’t look at our job for months. We added that we hadn’t investigated a commercial tow because we weren’t sure we needed one, and we had been told on Friday that Marine Rescue would be happy to help. The conversation clearly wasn’t going in a helpful direction. Having asked where we were heading the Ops Manager said something to the man at his helm and in a fit of what appeared a lot like pique he zoomed off, taking his jet skiers with him, and leaving us to face the peril of being ship wrecked alone.

Having messed around long enough we hoisted the main, pushed it around so that the boat was pointing in the right direction, let out the jib, and began to sail. Running forwards I released the mooring line and we were off and sailing. It was just as easy as it sounds. Though very slow to start with we were able to maintain our direction, and as our speed increased we knew that we were perfectly safe and really shouldn’t have bothered with all that Marine Rescue palaver.

We repeated our trip out through the heads, turned south and enjoyed another fast ride in the 15-20 knots and strong current, arriving at Batemans Bay at about 8:00 p.m. just as light was fading. Getting into the anchorage, behind a reef, was a bit of a game, involving some stressful tacks in light winds due to the shelter of the headland. Taurus needs some speed and momentum to tack (turn the bow across the wind), and if she doesn’t have it she’ll go so far and refuse to turn any further. The danger of this situation is that the boat can end up ‘in chains,’ that is head to wind and stalled without steerage. Once again, the need to practice anchoring and slow speed manouvering without a motor was brought home to us.

To anchor without an engine one simply has to reduce sail to slow down and then turn into the wind to effectively stop the boat. When the boat stops the anchor is released and the boat is blown back by the wind. More chain is released until the desired scope is out, we use 15 metres plus twice the depth of water, and then the chain is snubbed off. Job done.

Anchoring without an engine isn’t then particularly hard, in good conditions with plenty of space, but being able to do it accurately takes practice, and I’m sure doing it in less than ideal conditions would be an entirely different kettle of fish.

Northerly winds had been forecast for the next day, but they failed to appear. The marina booking lady had told us that the marina staff would be able to assist us with a tow to get in, but after we spoke to them this proved not to be the case. We were a mere 2 NMs from the marina, but between us and it was yet another bar. The bar on the Clyde River is particularly shallow and we needed to cross it close on high tide, which was just after midday. Given the lack of any wind and the very calm sea state we decided to try and tow Taurus with our newly fixed 8hp outboard. Towing a boat of Taurus’ size isn’t inherently difficult. You aren’t after all trying to pull ten and a half tons, most of that weight being supported by the water, so in calm conditions it is pretty easy for an individual to pull Taurus around by brute force, say when moving her forward or backwards on a jetty. We have heard of boats being towed by someone swimming (that guy or gal must be a hell of a swimmer) or by a row boat. So, whilst we knew the practice wasn’t impossible, it was a technique that we had never had to learn. Essentially the outboard goes on the dinghy which is strapped to the beam (the side) of the boat. The engine provides power and is locked in a neutral helm position whilst the boat is steered from the main wheel. Like most things, practice makes perfect. Our first attempt saw Taurus swinging in circles that we were unable to control, possibly due to a current. We then tried towing in the normal car-like-fashion, but whilst we started in a straight line the boats kept diverging onto different paths that were difficult to realign. We then went back to having the dinghy tied to the beam in a slightly different configuration and found moderate success!

As time was critical, due to the tide, and it looked for a while like we would be unable to tow Taurus adequately, Cara called the Batemans Bay Marine Rescue to see if the staff there were of the helpful or unhelpful variety. As soon as she began to explain the situation the person on the end of the phone cut her off, telling her that there was a note on their desk from the Operations Manager at Jervis Bay stating that they were not to help us. It appears that the Manager in Jervis Bay had asked our destination not out of any concern for our wellbeing, but to forestall any request for assistance we might later make.

Having got Taurus moving we decided to keep going. The unknown bar was ahead of us and if there were any waves we would be completely stuck, so we found the number of a commercial tow operator and gave him a call. He reassured us by telling us the bar was like a millpond and suggested that we keep going if the boat was moving. He added that he could be with us in twenty minutes and that the fee would be $350.

Now, I understand that some people would say that we should just stump up for the services we need, but we, like many cruisers, do not have unlimited funds. If we had gone the way of commercial operators for every difficulty our latest escapade would have looked something like this: to get off the mooring in Jervis Bay – $350; to get into Batemans Bay Marina – $350; to go onto the hard for a few days – $2,000; for a mechanic to swop the gearboxes – $2,000–$2,500 (diesel mechanics charge around $100 per hour, the job took us three days). Time is a seperate factor, but also expensive. The wait for a mechanic is several months long at the moment (and many mechanics simply can’t or won’t work in the tiny space around Taurus’ engine), as such we would have had to stay in the marina at $107 per day for however long it took for them to do the job, say three months – $9,500. You get the idea. Paying someone to fix our problems has to be a last resort, and, to be frank, often the job you pay someone to do turns out to be poorly done.

We struggled on, and it was at this point that Guy from Ambrosia appeared in his dinghy with his 10 hp outboard to give us a hand. Tying this onto the opposite beam more than doubled our available power, and we shot ahead at around 3.5 knots. The bar was as described, very flat and shallow, but no great hindrance. Our next challenge was to turn ninety degrees into the marina, and then make a second ninety degree turn to access our berth, whilst more or less simultaneously getting Guy and dinghy out of the way before ‘landing.’

Our first attempt to turn into the marina failed due to the strength of the current, but whilst I thought we would have to anchor and call the tow man, Cara simply swung us around 270 degrees, entered the marina and had us lined up with the jetty. Guy was rapidly released and just like that we were tied up and safe. Looking down the jetty we could see two Marine Rescue boats, once again with horse power to burn. We had towed ourselves with a total of 18 hp, so it was hard to credit that one of these boats with several hundred horse power couldn’t have helped us.

Now let me be clear. I can understand that the NSW Marine Rescue stance might be that they will only respond to situations in which lives are at risk, and that operations of a non-critical nature should be handed off to commercial operators due to cost, issues with manning, and so on. If that is the case the position is not advertised, and was never stated to us. In New Zealand if you need a tow then the Coast Guard will provide it, to ensure safety of crew and craft, avoid environmental issues, and so on. I presume it’s the same here. The reason we had been refused help in Jervis Bay was because we were ‘too heavy,’ not because our request fell outside the service’s remit. The reason why we were refused help in Batemans Bay is unclear and I have written to the service to clarify their position. It appears that our decision to keep the service informed of our intentions, as a responsible safety measure, served to preclude us from being able to access assistance because the Operations Manager in Jervis Bay took a dislike to us. If this is the case it’s hard to imagine a more irresponsible and unprofessional act. Intentionally excluding a disabled vessel from being able to access assistance, without knowledge of the circumstances in which aid has been requested, goes against every tenet of the sea, let alone the duty of a manager in ‘Marine Rescue.’ Hopefully we will be able to avoid any further need of Marine Rescue’s assistance, I would certainly be loathe to ask for it.

That afternoon we began stripping out our gearbox, but that tale will have to wait for next time!

Having to sail without an engine was an interesting, if stressful, experience, and certainly demands greater awareness and skill. I hope that when our engine is fixed we won’t forget the need to keep practicing the skills required when an engine is unavailable.

We arrived in Sydney on Friday the 10th of January at about 10:00 am. Regular readers will know that we had been trying to arrive on this day or before because our good friend Eugene was visiting Sydney for a few days, giving us an opportunity to catch up with him.

Eugene is a solo-sailor from Bulgaria whom we met in Tonga, and ran into again in Fiji. He is one of those inspiring souls who would give you the shirt off his back, and spends his time sailing around the world, and learning languages. When not doing one of these things he inspires others to have a go at them.

We met Eugene at Rose Bay, fresh off the plane so to speak. After running him out to Taurus to deposit his luggage, we took the ferry to Circular Quay for an internet guided tour around The Rocks, the original site of the Sydney settlement.

Our first call was the Museum of Contemporary Art. I often find modern art a bit hit and miss. The recent sale of a banana taped to a wall for an astronomical $6 million highlighting, in my admittedly ignorant opinion, the absurd pretension of some so-called artists and their aficionados. It seemed telling that as we wandered the galleries we found that many people seemed to find whatever was happening outside of more interest than the art.

After coming to the unanimous decision that modern art is a bit rubbish, we wandered down to Cadmans Cottage which, built in 1816, is one of the few buildings left from Sydney’s early days.

Next on the tour was The Rocks Museum. This small building houses a host of interesting displays that informs the visitor about life in Sydney two hundred years ago.

After the museum we headed towards the Sydney Harbour Bridge, making sure that we didn’t end up on the side reserved for cyclists. On my first trip to Sydney, almost thirty years ago, I made the cardinal mistake of walking on the cycling side and was given a real Aussie dressing down by some irate chap.

Having worked up a thirst we headed to Sydney’s oldest continually licensed pub, the Lord Nelson Hotel, which has a nice atmosphere and a great range of beers.

After so much excitement it was time to go home for a lie down and a wee nap.

Not having abandoned hope of the civilising influence of one of the world’s great cities, we headed to the Art Gallery of New South Wales to see what we could learn.

I have always admired the work of René Magritte (1898-1967), whose art blends skill, humour, and surrealism. So it was with great delight that we found that an exhibition of the great artist’s work was being held at the gallery when we visited. Less delightful was the A$35 dollar fee, but having screwed our wallets to the sticking place we sallied forth to pay. At the counter we met a young Maori-looking-girl who was taking money and collecting data. When she asked for a post code we replied that we were from New Zealand, to which she responded, “the best country in the world, you go in for free.” Who doesn’t love a free visit to a René Magritte exhibition?

Magritte is of course the artist who infamously painted a picture of a pipe and added the sentence beneath, “Ceci n’est pas une pipe,” or in English, “This is not a pipe.” I remember showing this picture to my kids when they were young and their subsequent confusion, but of course a picture of a pipe is not a pipe, it’s a picture. That famous image, The Treachery of Images, was, alas, not part of the exhibition, but a subsequent image, with the words, “This is still not a pipe” was present and correct.

For Magritte fans, and who isn’t, here are a few more images from the exhibition:

After the gallery we headed back to Circular Quay and took the opportunity to have a look inside the Sydney Opera House. Here architecture, rather than art, is king.

Widely regarded as one of the world’s most famous and distinctive buildings, the Sydney Opera House is a masterpiece of 20th-century architecture. Designed by Danish architect Jørn Utzon, the building was formally opened by Queen Elizabeth II on 20 October 1973, sixteen years after Utzon’s 1957 selection as winner of an international design competition. The government’s decision to build Utzon’s design is often overshadowed by the difficulties that followed; cost and scheduling overruns, and Utzon’s ultimate resignation from the project (Wikipedia).

Next day Eugene had to leave to fly back to New Zealand to where his boat is currently on a mooring. Hopefully, somewhere in the world, we will meet again. This typifies one of the best and worst aspects of the cruiser lifestyle, you constantly meet incredible people that become great friends, and then you say goodbye to them.

Sans Eugene we had to get back on with life and all its chores, big and little. Staying at Rose Bay we had quickly worked out that we could sneak into the local yacht club for showers (we had asked if we could make a donation for access but had been told it would be fine if we were discreet) but had yet to find a laundrette. The nearest self-service laundrette we were able to find, much cheaper than serviced types, was at Bondi Beach, fifteen minutes away on a local bus, so we dragged our laundry bag out and headed off to visit this Australian landmark.

Like many tourist meccas, the beach was a bit sad and tawdry in ‘person,’ and not wanting to take our giant bag of newly washed laundry onto the sand we didn’t hang around.

The weather forecast boffins were warning of a storm from the north, followed by a storm from the south. We considered moving, as Rose Bay is a bit open to the north, but after a week or so on anchor we knew the anchor would be well bedded in, and we had plenty of room to swing, there not being many boats around us. With these factors in mind we decided to stay put, chucked the dinghy on deck, lashed everything well down, and let out extra chain until we were hanging off about 50 metres in about 5 metres of water. we also added a little extra length to our normal chain snubber, which bears some explanation.

A boat held in place by a chain in rough seas can experience strong jerking as waves act against her. These jerks, fairly continuous during bad weather, can exert massive forces that make life on-board unpleasant, can break equipment, and can encourage dragging by jerking the anchor out of the ground. One solution is to use a snubber: a bridle made of nylon line that is attached to the boat’s forward cleats on either side and extend forward where they are attached to the chain some distance from the boat (about 2-5 metres is our standard, 10 metres our maximum). The weight of the boat is then eased onto the snubber by letting out more chain, which slackens as the line takes the strain. Nylon is used because of its elastic properties which absorb the shock loads. The trick with a snubber is to use as thin a line as you think will hold the boat (with some longevity) and as long as is convenient — the longer and the thinner the more elasticity available, and thus the less shock loads the boat and anchor receive.

So, hunkered down we waited for the storm. We really had no idea how bad the storm would turn out to be, and were really more concerned with the southerlies to follow. As it turned out, the initial storm, which we watched slowly building on the horizon, was easily the most spectacular we have ever experienced. Headlines the following day reported 737,000 lightning strikes within 100 kms of the Sydney CBD, almost 9,000 of those struck the ground. One man was killed (when a tree fell on his car), 100 mm’s of rain fell, and 300,000 homes and properties were left without power.

Below are three videos, uploaded to You Tube, which show the storm’s progression (clicking on the images below will allow them to play). They give a pretty good idea of what the experience was like. If you watch the second video you will hear an alarm at the end. This was our anchor alarm, which is intended to warn us when the boat moves a prescribed distance. Despite the scare it turned out that we weren’t dragging, merely swinging on the anchor a good way. Still, you can imagine why I stopped the video pretty hurriedly!

After an hour or so the worst of the storm had passed, though the lightning continued for some time afterwards. A little stunned and awed we went to bed, only to wake in a southerly gale. After the night before the 30 odd knot gusts of wind seemed pretty mundane, but they did prevent us from being able to leave the boat for the next three days. Incredibly, Taurus was held without any issue by our snubber, two 10mm lines of nylon (with 10mm chain as a back up of course) throughout. Modern rope is pretty amazing.

Once we could safely take the dinghy to the beach we decided a day out was in order, so we went to the zoo. Taronga Zoo sits on the harbour and enjoys spectacular views. The animals were pretty cool too.

Of course, as ever, there were a few jobs to be done. We set to installing new solar panels and cleaning our blackwater pump —everyone’s favourite job.

The next day we decided to shift to a new anchorage, and headed under the Sydney Harbour Bridge to Birkenhead, the site of a major discount store. At six the following morning we were rudely awakened by a crash and the sound of screaming. Thinking we might have dragged anchor into one of the super yachts in the marina opposite we jumped out of bed like a couple of released springs. We hadn’t dragged, rather a racing scull had powered right into Taurus’s bow, breaking one of their rowlocks and splitting the head of one of the female crew. Cara swung into action, and whilst I inspected Taurus she inspected the lady’s head. Then, the row boat being damaged and the injured party slightly hysterical, we took her in our dinghy back to the rowing club. Unfortunately our 8 horse power engine is currently on the blink so we had to take her some way with our small 3.3 hp run about. This has a small tank that ran out of petrol on the way home — luckily within rowing distance. All this before our morning coffee!

Our next destination was Manly, a popular beach area and playground for Sydney’s young, beautiful, and wealthy. I don’t fall into any of those categories, but Manly is a good jumping off point to leave Sydney. We snuck in, did some more clothes washing, and had fish and chips with wine out of plastic cups that we blagged from a yogurt store. How very sophisticated we are!

We had planned to leave at 5 am the next day to head to Jervis Bay about 12 hours away, but the wind remained absent until the early afternoon. This was fortunate in a way as we could watch some of the Australia Day celebrations, including a flypast and helicopter with a massive flag.

After lunch the wind finally appeared. We raised our sails and left Sydney, heading south for new horizons and new (gulp) adventures.

Next time: We sail to Jervis Bay, we break the boat, we get a tow from NSW Marine Rescue….

With a favourable easterly wind predicted we decided to leave Tweed Heads in the early afternoon of New Year’s Eve.

Before our departure we went over to the nearby beach and had a quick dip, staying in shallow water due to the threat of sharks. On our way back to the boat we stopped to talk to the owner of another yacht who was anchored just in front of us, and who, I feared, might be sitting above our anchor which would prevent us from raising it. I wanted to ask if he could drive forward to give us more room. The guy on-board apologised and told us he couldn’t move, explaining that he had no sails and that his gearbox had failed when trying to anchor the night before. He had basically anchored whilst being dragged sideways by the tide. We were lucky to have avoided a collision. Happily, a short while later the change of tide moved everyone around enough for us to lift the hook and we headed out of the river and across the bar.

Our destination was Coffs Harbour, about 150 Nautical Miles away, some thirty hours of sailing at our average speed of 5 knots. Our sail was pretty relaxed and uneventful, and we spent New Years off Byron Bay, watching the fireworks in the distance.

2025 started on a pleasant note with some unexpected positive feedback.. my thanks to the unknown cartographer, but surely the matter was never in any doubt!

Time passed slowly, as time does at sea when there’s nothing to do, and so we sat down to get on with a couple of projects. One of the things I had to do was add some material to our ‘red duster,’ the British civil ensign, which has been getting smaller and smaller as the end that flaps, frays and breaks down. We had bought some material in Tweed Heads and I thought the job had been quite successful until I later talked to a Canadian guy in a boat anchored next to us. He told me that he had been wondering what flag we were flying, being unsure as to the pink and red design…

Day turned into evening again, and at about 11:00 pm we began our approach into Coffs Harbour. The harbour is chiefly a fishing port with a small marina but is well set up with a wide mouth, fantastic leading lights, and no bar. As such our entry, even in the dark, was nice and easy.

We could see a few yachts in the wide bay ahead, so chose an empty spot and dropped the anchor.

We slept well, but the bay was quite rolly due to the swell from the east. Roughly divided into two unequal parts by a long jetty, we had anchored in the larger southern part, but decided to move to the northern part, just past the jetty, where a couple of public moorings have been laid. To the north of this is a small protected area that houses the marina and fishing boats.

In our new spot the swell was much better and we resolved to save our money and not use the marina. As usual we had a few jobs to do. One of these was to clean the Hydrovane rudder which, not having been anti-fouled at the same time as the hull, was getting pretty encrusted with barnacles. We tried cleaning it in situ but ultimately chose to remove it to clean it on deck. Once clean, we hung it up and gave it a coat of etch primer and two of anti-foul. A nice quick and satisfying job.

Feeling virtuous we headed into the protected harbour to visit the local chandler and town. Unfortunately many shops, including the chandler, were closed for the holidays, but it was nice to wander round. Coffs seemed like a nice place, much smaller and less consumer focussed than the touristy Gold Coast cities we had grown used to. Back on the boat we were entertained all day by children leaping from the jetty, upsetting the turtles and odd dolphin.

Next day we stretched our legs with a walk up to the Mutton Island reserve before feasting on fish and chips from the fisherman’s co-operative shop. Fish doesn’t get much fresher.

Unfortunately, there was little time to stop and relax. We were still trying to get to Sydney before the 10th of January to meet our friend Eugene. With the prevailing weather coming from the south we had to make the most of every opportunity to head that way.

Thus on the 4th of January we were off again. Our destination this time was a place called Pittwater, about 240 NMs distant.

As previously mentioned, Taurus’ average speed is about 5 knots. Less in light winds or lumpy sea states, more with a stronger breeze at the right angle of sail. On this sail, however, we were blown away to find ourselves consistently sailing at a speed far higher than we would expect in the light wind conditions. This it turned out was due to the East Australian Current, which was adding at least a couple of knots to our speed, enabling us to do 8 knots in less than 12 knots of wind. Fun!

The sailing was spectacular, but all too soon the wind shifted to a northerly and we were pointing straight downwind. We poled out the jib and continued to sail fast, but the rolling motion was pretty uncomfortable.

As if to distract us from the constant motion, a pod of dolphins arrived just before sunset and frolicked at the bow until dark.

The next day the wind continued to rise and we were soon surfing down some pretty big waves in 20 knots. As we got closer to Sydney the marine traffic increased considerably. With the jib still poled out we were starting to struggle with our heading angles, there being little lee way with this sail configuration. Just before dark we were contacted by a large container ship, 200m long, but still some seven NMs away. The voice on the radio asked us to pass starboard to starboard, that is right side of the ship to right side of ship. To do this would have required us to jibe sharply to port, something impossible with the jib poled out, and then to starboard. I answered that we were a sailing yacht and that the wind angle prevented us from taking the requested position. Much to my surprise the voice came back, saying “oh you sailing boat, we move for you.” Normally everyone gets out of the way of these behemoths, the mantra ‘might is right’ having some bearing, but more importantly the stopping distance and difficulty in manoeuvring these massive ships means everyone else shifts for them. However, on this occasion the container ship adjusted course by a few degrees and we sailed blithely on.

I confess that as it grew dark and the wind and waves continued to rise I began to grow worried about our decision to leave the jib poled out. We had reefed the jib considerably, but left the pole up because we were moving across the face of the wind a good deal as we surfed down the waves. Without the pole the jib would repeatedly collapse and snap back as the wind refilled it. The forces on gear as this happens over and over and over are considerable, as is the wearing effect on the crew. It was with some relief then that the wind dropped and we could put the sails to bed and motor the last 5NMs into Pittwater.

Pittwater is a drowned valley estuary boarded by national parks about 40 kilometres north of the Sydney CBD. Being so close it has become more or less a Sydney suburb, and the place where many Sydneyites choose to leave their boats. Happily, some of our friends from the Pacific were currently there, Ron and Sue from Eudora and Karl and Elaine from Salsa.

On arrival we had anchored in a safe but fairly exposed spot, not wishing to blunder around in the dark. So in the morning we sought advice and found a nice mooring, courtesy of the Royal Sydney Yacht Squadron, in Coasters Retreat, aka ‘The Basin.’ Pittwater would have been idyllic at one time, and it is still spectacular, but today, especially at this time of the year, it’s a bit hectic. From multi-million dollar super yachts to the humblest of tinnies, all can be found with their owners trying to enjoy time on the water.

One of the advantages of The Basin is that a campsite is located next to the mooring field. We soon found our way to shore to get rid of some rubbish and pay a A$1 for a hot shower.

Semi-tame wallabies were an added attraction on land. These marsupials, an Australian icon, are a growing pest in New Zealand where they are shot with zeal in order, hopefully, to prevent them from becoming endemic. It is also held by some that too many Wallabies in New Zealand will drastically reduce the quality of the national sport, but of this I know nothing.

The campground also held a signpost pointing towards Aboriginal carvings. The walk followed a wide concrete road up a steep hill, but after so much time on the boat it was nice to move and work our bodies a bit. The carvings were pretty interesting and may be up to a thousand years old.

The highlight of our time in Pittwater was getting together with our friends for sundowners and a catch up. Karl kindly picked everyone up and took them back to his and Elaine’s yacht in Morning Bay. Cara and I took along the last of the Green Skin wine to share out amongst other members of the Pacific Rally as requested, and a good night was had by all.

Still needing to get to Sydney we left early the next morning. However, the forecast was entirely wrong and instead of a light to mid easterly we were met by 30 knots from the south and some hefty seas. We persevered for a little while but conditions weren’t improving and we were going to have to sail so far off shore to get south that it didn’t seem worth the effort and possible damage to gear. Taurus also wasn’t set up for heavy weather, the life lines, which you attach yourself to when on deck to prevent being swept overboard, for example having been stowed away to prevent UV damage. Discretion being the better part of valour, we tucked our tail between our legs and ran back into Pittwater.

The next day we were up early and the weather was far more conducive to a southerly sail. There being three boats heading in the same direction the race was on, and though the other entries were light, and modern Taurus easily won first prize in her class (old, steel, and slow).

Only a few hours later we were sailing past Manly and then through the Sydney heads. Unfortunately the wind dropped as we made our approach so our dream of sailing into Sydney in full glory was nipped in the bud. Our disappointment was offset by the clouds growing behind us, indicating a front was on the way, so we were just glad to get in to shelter.

As the heavens opened we found our way to our chosen anchor site in Rose Bay. Our friend Eugene had arrived in Sydney at much the same time as us, so we unloaded the dinghy from the deck and ran ashore to pick him up. I hadn’t been sure that we were going to make it in time to see him, but as it turned out we made it with a few minutes to spare.

Next time: we explore Sydney with Eugene, we go to Bondi Beach to do our laundry, we experience an apocalyptic storm — and survive!

Before leaving Brisbane we had to catch up with our good friend, Julian. We had met Julian and his wife Tracey in Noumea, New Caledonia. They had sailed their yacht there before the troubles and ended up staying throughout and having an amazing time, making friends on both sides of the divide as they were apolitical and just about the only tourists in the country. They enjoyed New Caledonia so much that they decided to leave their yacht there and fly back to Australia, so that they could easily fly back again to resume cruising in the region. Unfortunately, Tracey was visiting family in Perth when we found ourselves in Brisbane, so we had to miss the pleasure of her company this time around.

I’ve often found that to get the best out of a new city you need to be shown around by someone who knows it. This certainly proved to be true in this case. Julian suggested we go for dinner at a place called ‘Eat Street,’ which we hadn’t heard of but which was a mere twenty minute walk from where we were anchored.

Eat Street is an incredible place that we highly recommend if you ever find yourself in Brisbane with an evening to fill. Part Moulin Rouge, part carnival, and all about satisfying carnal pleasures — of the eating and drinking variety. The ‘street’ is essentially a wide variety of quality street food outlets, bars, and live music stages thrown together in an eclectic fair-ground-type layout . We were there just before Christmas and the place was heaving, but the queues were short, the food was excellent, and there were tables enough to go around. The music, lights, crowd, and atmosphere created a kind of never never land for adults.

The evening was one of those in which you curse the fact that you only have one stomach to fill, and once full to the point of knowing that it would be a slow waddle home we had to call it a night.

We had planned to head south after leaving Brisbane and find a place to anchor in South Port, the main marina and anchorage area serving the Gold Coast. However, Julian advised us that South Port and the area around it would be insanely busy. His work as a commercial skipper routinely takes him there, and he warned us that over the Christmas break it would be a mad house of launches, tinnies (small aluminium boats with outboard engines) and jetskis — all trying to get wherever they were going as fast as possible and without a clue about COLREGS (the International Regulations for Preventing Collisions at Sea), the rules of the road at sea.

Not being a huge fan of too many people, and jetskis period, I was easily persuaded that we should instead anchor off the excellently named Coochiemudlo Island. Captain Matthew Flinders (16 March 1774 – 19 July 1814), Royal Navy officer, navigator, cartographer and leader of the first inshore circumnavigation of Australia, was the first European to land on Coochiemudlo in 1799. At that time he named the island ‘Sixth Island,’ which suggests he was sick of naming Australian features by the time he got there. Coochiemudlo is a bastardisation of the Aboriginal name “Kuychi Mudlo” meaning ‘place of red stone.’ For generations it was a source of ochre, which aboriginals used for body decoration.

As well as a sheltered anchorage, Coochiemudlo was a short ferry ride to the mainland, and a short walk from there to Julian and Tracey’s home. As if the idea of staying at Coochiemudlo needed any sweetening, Julian promised to cook us a roast dinner when we arrived, and generously offered us the use of his home and car when he headed away for a few days to catch up with Tracey and family. It’s been said many times before, but the best thing about travelling really is the people you meet along the way.

We headed down the Brisbane River early next morning to take advantage of the outgoing tide, and after some fun and games trying to fuel up at a jetty where the pump’s hose was too short to reach our fuel intake, we found ourselves back at sea.

Visiting Brisbane had been fantastic, it’s one of the Australian cities we don’t know well but would like to know better. One of the things our stay highlighted was that despite being close neighbours, we Kiwis are often ignorant of the realities of Aussie life. I had remarked to Julian that it was a shame the river was in flood and too dirty and swollen to swim in. Slightly aghast, he said the river was always that dirty, it’s known as the ‘Brown Snake’ by locals, but, he added, no-one swims in it anyway because of the sharks. Not entirely sure if he was serious (who ever heard of sharks in rivers?) I later did a quick google and found that scientists believe that upto 3,000 bull sharks may be in the Brisbane River at any one time. Apparently bull sharks, one of the more aggressive and dangerous species of shark, have developed the ability to breathe in both salt and fresh water, and have learnt to go up the river to feed on livestock that fall into the water. The idea of thousands of sharks in that brown turgid mass was certainly enough to put me off the idea of a dip!

To remember the various hazards that Australia poses to the unwary we found a helpful map that reveals the areas of risk (below).

After a short sail of a few hours we reached Coochiemudlo, and dropped anchor a little way from the beach and moored boats. Steve and Karen who had been anchored in Moreton Bay sailed down to join us, and on hearing this Julian extended his dinner invitation to include them. We took our dinghies to the ferry terminal and headed to Victoria Point where Julian picked us up.

Dinner was roast pork with plenty of crackling, and by God it was good. The wine in the sachets on the table was gifted to us by Viki, the owner of the Pacific Island Rally. Greenskin, the wine company, had sent Viki some samples for cruisers to try. As well as being very palatable wine, the packets of 750ml each are much easier than bottles to store and can be returned to the company to be recycled once empty. So we now have white wine, red wine, and green wine! Thanks to Julian, Viki, and Greenskin, and can we make it a regular thing?

We stayed on Coochiemudlo for a few days, enjoying the island and making the most of access to a shower, washing machine, and car. Christmas Day was spent hanging out on Taurus eating too much (again), followed by a circumnavigation by foot of Coochiemudlo. On Boxing Day we drove down to the Gold Coast to catch up with my daughter, Abi, and her partner, Allan. It was an eyeopener to see how busy the four lane highways were and we ended up crawling along in a traffic jam for much of the way.

After picking Abi and Allan up we headed into town to try and find somewhere to get a meal and buy Abi a 21st birthday present. It being Boxing Day the city was insanely busy with shoppers looking for a bargain, and we maybe didn’t help ourselves by ending up at the Pacific Fair mall, the largest mall in Australasia apparently. The number of people was staggering, it seemed like half of Australia had decided to go shopping.

After our trip into the big smoke, it was a relief to return to our little boat in our quiet little corner of paradise.

Next morning we bid adieu to ‘Coochie,’ as the locals call it, and headed south towards South Port. The image below shows the inland waterways we followed. The anchor symbols show our route, where we stopped or considered stopping along the way. Normally, these channels are quiet and serene, but over the holiday period they were busy, and the closer we got to the Gold Coast, the busier they got.

As we had been forewarned, the waterways were packed with boats and jetskis, all going as fast as they could, as loudly as they could. Often the people who had gone screaming past us turned around and came screaming back. I’m sure it would be great fun to ride a jetski for an hour or two, but the numbers involved and the apparent pointlessness of it all made it feel slightly perverse, the lack of attention to standard safety rules needlessly reckless. People flew past on either side, in either direction, often at the same time, cut across our bow, did little jinks to try and get each other wet, did circles around us, so that in the end we could only ignore them rather than try to maintain a safe distance. It was later reported that three people died in Queensland waters over the Christmas period. I’m amazed it was only three.

We stopped for a short while at Tipplers Bay on South Stradbroke Island, and squeezed into the space between land and channel along with dozens of other craft of all shapes and sizes. A short walk across the island we came across the ocean and an enormous beach that was practically deserted in comparison to the resort side. With gratitude we enjoyed a semblance of peace, went for a swim, and then rejoined the throngs for a beer before clearing out.

Trying to get away from the crowds we anchored later than day in another bay closer to South Port but separated from the main channel by a sand bank. That night we were entertained by a thunder storm that reminded us that nature and beauty could still be found in that humanity over-loaded environment.

Australia is a big country, the sixth largest in the world, but despite this its population is one of the most urbanised in the world. The Crocodile Dundee type image of Australia is largely a fallacy. The vast majority of its 27 million people are squeezed into a narrow corridor between ocean and inhospitable interior. A full 90% of Australians live within fifty kilometres of the coast (a mere 0.22% of the country’s land mass): 73% in major cities, 26% in inner and outer regional areas, and only 2% in remote or very remote areas. The resulting density of people can be a little overwhelming, and the boom in building over the past few decades has resulted in parts of Australia becoming a seemingly endless vista of beaches, high-rises, and malls.

Naturally, in this capitalist heaven some succeed and many fail. Great wealth and poverty rub shoulders on the street, if nowhere else. A common topic of discussion is the inaffordablity of housing. The average Australian house price in March of 2024 was A$959,000. When you think of the massive divergence in price between housing in the interior and exterior of the country it becomes readily apparent that most people, living where most Australians do, have no chance of owning a house. Many of the citizens of the ‘lucky country’ no longer seem to believe that luck is going to come their way. Cost of living, crime (especially youth knife crime), mental health issues, and drug addiction all seem out of control. We have been quite surprised by the number of people we have seen wandering the streets, mumbling to themselves or yelling at passers by. As if worried for their own safety the police here, armed with sidearms, tasers, pepper spray and wearing stab resistant vests, wander round in packs of three or more. Australia is obviously facing some serious social issues, but solutions seem to be in short supply.

Early next day the jetskis were back, and the weather offered a small window for us to clear out. With an opportunity to leave there was no question of staying, so we packed up and headed towards the South Port bar, our escape route to sea and sanity. Before attempting the bar we called the local Marine Rescue chaps and been given the all clear, checked the on-line cams, and made sure that all the conditions were favourable. Even though everything was in our favour the bar still provided a couple of waves of sufficient size to stop Taurus in her tracks. When doing our research we had found some images of a yacht that attempted the bar in 60 odd knots of wind, with predictable consequences. It was a good reminder that you just can’t be complaisant about bar crossings.

Once out at sea we had to tack through the reefs and shallows that sit outside the Gold Coast, before heading south towards our destination for the day — Tweed Heads.

Tweed Heads is only 15 nautical miles from the Gold Coast, some three hours sailing if the wind plays ball. In our case it took just over 7 hours as we tacked through a south easterly, zigzagging towards our destination because we couldn’t take the straight line into the wind. Still, it was nice to arrive and cross the bar during daylight, and even better to find the tempo of life turned down from the frantic pace of the Gold Coast.

We motored a short way up the Tweed River before picking up one of the free public moorings provided by the New South Wales Government.

Tweed Heads and the merged town of Coolangatta lie across the border that divides Queensland from New South Wales. A 300 km fence once divided the states for ‘quarantine and customs purposes.’ The fence also held a darker purpose, making it harder for ‘black bird’ slaves, men taken from the Pacific Islands to work on the Queensland sugar plantations, to find freedom. New South Wales didn’t operate sugar plantations, and so the enslaved labourers were free men if they could find their way three miles or more over the border. If caught less than three miles from Queensland they were returned to their owners.

As mentioned in a previous post, Queensland, unlike the rest of Australia, decided against operating a daylight savings system, with the result that it lies an hour behind the rest of the country. In the photo below Cara’s right foot exists at 11:00 in the morning, whilst her left lies at 12:00 in the afternoon. I imagine living here would make my head ache.

We stayed in Tweed Heads for a couple of days, spending our time mooching around town and keeping a close eye on the weather. As soon as the opportunity arose we intended to head further south.

Next time: we celebrate New Years Eve at sea, do a couple of 48 hour passages, catch up with friends, and check out some Aboriginal rock carvings.

New Caledonia has a land area of 18,575 km² and a population of approximately 270,000. The indigenous ‘Kanak’ people make up about 41% of this total with the remainder made up of the Caldoche (Europeans born in New Caledonia), the Zoreille (those who have emigrated from metropolitan France), and non-Kanak Polynesians who make up about 10%. The Kanaks speak 28 different languages, which are unrelated and wholly incomprehensible to speakers of other local languages, so that French is the lingua franca.

James Cook was one of the first Europeans to sight New Caledonia, on 4 September 1774, during his second voyage. He named it “New Caledonia’ as the island reminded him of Scotland. The Comte de Laperouse followed Cook in 1788, and after him came various whalers and traders who continued the work of surveying and mapping the islands.

The value of sandal wood, found in New Caledonia, attracted ongoing European interest, after which the practice of ‘black birding,’ exploiting Melanesian and Pacific labour for use in the sugarcane plantations of Fiji and Australia, continued the one-sided relationship.

France took official possession of New Caledonia in 1853 and used the islands as a penal colony between 1864 and 1897, during which time some 20,000 French convicts arrived and were put to work mining nickel and copper. The Kanak people, treated like second class citizens and vulnerable to European diseases, revolted against colonial rule in 1878 which resulted in the death of 200 French men and 1,000 Kanaks. Eventually, the better armed French suppressed the revolt and beheaded the Kanak leader before exhibiting his head in the Museum of Natural History.

After WWII, the struggle for Kanak independence was given a boost when the UN placed New Caledonia on its ‘Decolonisation List of Non-Self Governing Territories.’ Adopting a more liberal strategy, the French gave Kanaks and French settlers the right to vote in 1951, and shortly after New Caledonia became an overseas territory of France — bestowing French citizenship on New Caledonian citizens. However, fresh rioting broke out in the 1980s which resulted in Kanak leaders and the French Government agreeing to a series of three referendums to decide the future of the country. The first two referendums resulted in a narrow win for those who want New Caledonia to stay under French rule. The third referendum was disrupted by Covid, and was boycotted by the Kanak people who wanted the French to postpone the vote. As such the result was a massive defeat for the independence party.

Fresh rioting broke out again in May 2024, with the loss of thirteen lives, 800 businesses, and over 10,000 jobs, amounting to some 30 percent of New Caledonia’s GDP (gross domestic product). The situation in New Caledonia remains slightly unstable and tense. For a short time, foreigners were asked not to visit, and several cruising yachts that were headed to New Caledonia chose to divert elsewhere. With all this in the air it was far from certain that we would be able to visit the country, though we were very keen to do so — not least because it breaks up the trip from Vanuatu to Australia.

The political tension in Noumea, the capital of New Caledonia, is palpable, but can’t entirely detract from the city which is easily the cleanliest, most modern, and most sophisticated we have visited in the Pacific Islands. The people have been universally helpful, but a clear divide separates the French from the Kanaks, the latter appearing much poorer, less well educated, and sometimes slightly unfriendly until they discover that we aren’t French. Despite large numbers of reinforcements having been brought in, the presence of the police and army seems, no doubt deliberately, understated.

There can be no doubt that a great many wrongs have been done to the Kanak people, but, as is always the way with these things, the situation is far from clear cut. Firstly, the majority of people allowed to vote want to remain French citizens (and voters had to have lived in New Caledonia for at least ten years, a move designed to make the vote more fair for Kanak people by removing the influence of recent French immigrants). It is also difficult for us not to remember speaking to David, a village elder in Vanuatu who wished independence had never been achieved there. David believed that Vanuatuan political freedom had led to a serious rise in illiteracy amongst the young (because education is no longer provided free of charge). He also expressed concern in regards to the growth of Chinese influence, and the degree of governmental corruption. Certainly, France continues to give vast amounts of money to New Caledonia, and one wonders what would happen if that easy money was suddenly cut off.

So, with the political situation in mind we began to explore the city. One of the first attractions we visited was the Maritime Museum, the walk there happening to take us past the local patisserie and supermarket. The museum was quite small but had some interesting exhibits. The Captain Cook area had a model of The Resolution and a reproduction of one of Cook’s charts which showed his journey through Vanuatu and New Caledonia. I hadn’t realised how closely our trips had aligned, we might have been following in his footsteps.

The next day we tried to find one of the local forts, but though we found a modern military base we couldn’t work out how to get to the headland without trespassing. The French take a dim view of such things so we found a bar instead and kept everyone happy.

We left the marina the following day and headed out to Maa Bay, which someone had recommended to us. It was a fast sail in 25 knots and a pretty bumpy anchorage so we didn’t try to leave the boat till next morning. Then we jumped in the dinghy and tried to find a walk that led over a hill to the next bay. Unfortunately, after walking some way all we found was a private gated community. Being unable to find any other way we ignored the privee sign, but the gate and fence on the other side was pretty serious so we had to retrace our steps, all the way back to Taurus. Our attempt to cross the peninsula may have been unsuccessful but we had walked along way, and getting some exercise was the real goal.

From Maa Bay we sailed to Signal Island. The island is so called because a pillar was built on it in 1854, which, when aligned with a local hill, reveals where the channel through a nearby reef is. The island is now a nature sanctuary so that anchoring is not allowed and instead moorings are provided. After a walk around the island, and seeing lots of birds and some big spiders, we returned to Taurus and decided that now was a good time to clean the hull. Australian Customs can get very unhappy about boats turning up with a dirty bottom, so we risked the tiger and bull sharks and jumped in with scrubbing brushes. Hiding in the shade of the hull was a school of Bludger fish. If we hadn’t been in a reserve I would have been very tempted to grab the speargun, but they proved surprisingly good company, and it turns out they are often infected with ciguatera, a neuro-toxic disease, so best left alone.

Friends of ours were leaving Noumea to head to NZ the following day so we decided to head back into town. The sail was pretty gnarly with 25-30 knots of wind and a short, sharp chop that slammed into the bow, slowing us down and causing the bow to want to turn downwind. The conditions meant that we had to motor sail — sailing with the engine providing some additional thrust — so that we could make decent headway.

After seeing our friends off we decided to get the folding bikes out. These bulky items are often a subject of ‘should we get rid of them’ discussions, but though they don’t get used often, when they do get pulled out they can be indispensable and a lot of fun. Our goal for the day was firstly a big chandlery (boat stuff shop) that we had been told about, and secondly an old fort called Canons de Nouville. We managed to leave the shop empty handed and then tried to find our way to the fort. After many miles along dirt roads and tracks we finally reached the fort which was well worth the effort. The cannon are rifled breach loaders with a date of 1870 stamped into them, so roughly contemporaneous with the US Civil War. Who they were intended to defend Port Noumea from I have no idea. There was no information about them there, and even the staff at the local museum knew nothing about them. Presumably the threat was considered to be very real as they would have taken considerable effort to mount, and this is just one of several forts in the area.

On the way home, to a pressing engagement at the local bar, Cara got a puncture. Naturally, it was this point that I realised that her wheels don’t have the common quick release system but instead require spanners to remove the wheel. We managed to remove the inner tube with the wheel in situ, but then the vulcanising rubber we had in our puncture repair kit refused to stick the patch on. In the end we had to resort to periodically pumping up her tyre and getting as far as we could before the tyre went flat again. Not exactly what you want after a long, hot day in the saddle, but at least we didn’t have to walk home, and the bar was still open and all our friends still there.

After another couple of days seeing the sights in Noumea it felt like it was time to get out of the marina and save some money.

We had a fantastic sail to Amedee Lighthouse. The sun was shining, the breeze was just right, and though it wasn’t coming from quite the right direction we were happy to take our time and tack a few times to get there. The lighthouse is apparently one of the tallest and oldest in the Southern Hemisphere, it having been originally used in France and later dismantled and shipped to New Caledonia.

As mentioned in a previous post, our intention was not to stay here long, but rather have a brief stop and continue on to Australia. However, the weather has been particularly unsettled with light winds in the Coral Sea that would require us to motor for 4-6 days of the 7 day trip. The weather looks like it may come right on Saturday, so we have a few more days to relax and enjoy Noumea before getting ourselves ready for our passage to Bundaberg.