Strong winds and elixir of glorious voyage
by Jack and Jude 29 Jan 2019 18:16 GMT
Passage and Forsyth Islands for an easier exit © Jack and Jude
The westerly winds had blown strongly for days creating steep dangerous seas in the narrow passage leading out Armstrong Passage into Banks Strait. And that created a dilemma for us wanting to passage many miles down Tasmania's east coast.
As there are no all-weather anchorages on that stretch of rugged coast we didn't intend stopping before reaching Schouten Passage at the southern end of the Freycinet Peninsula; and if we still had fair winds and felt full of vigour after a night at sea we might sail further on than those 120 nautical miles. But, getting out and through Banks Strait was our problem, especially with the wind and tide out of sync for a timely departure. Therefore, we decided to mosey further east to a pair of islands lying just before the much-feared Sea Lion Passage. Strong currents run east and west through it, and those coupled with a sudden steeply rising bottom creates standing waves whenever strong winds blow as we'd found once before.
Passage and Forsyth Islands
The islands of Passage and Forsyth run parallel to each other in a north south direction and on the chart they looked perfect to block the westerly winds we were expecting. The question was whether they'd be safe from swell running up from the south. Anxious to find out before the new weather system brought the forecast strong to gale force winds, we sailed deeper into Armstrong Passage, propelled by a poled out headsail, and aided by the ebb tide flowing in our direction.
On the south side of the passage, the largish Clarke Island offered sanctuary in Kangaroo Bay that held bad memories of sheltering there one windy night and dragging anchors, all three of them, and none finding a grip in the soft slimy weed. That clinched our decision to go onward to a new location. Our first sight of the twin islands impressed us. Both had forested spines running across the wind instead of flat contours like Preservation Island. With hope fueling us, we cranked in the headsail, sending Banyandah skirting around the immense shoals spanning the gap between Clarke and these islands. Fishermen tell us there's a way through its many miles of shallows, but we've not looked, nor would we consider doing so in the fast worsening conditions.
White Breakers
Upon sighting white breakers frosting the northern entrance to the channel, a first hint of doubt entered our thoughts, even as those beautiful creations brought a smile to our lips with their power and grace rushing in from the sparkling turquoise sea. It was a rather tense smile wondering what lay ahead, wondering whether we'd be trapped in an untenable location, and be forced to sail on into the rising sea near the edge of Banks Strait.
Discovery II, our sail mates and friends for several years, were ahead seeking the same shelter, and it was with quickening hearts that we heard their report on the VHF of steep breaking seas at the cove of our choice. Disturbing news that we took in our stride then carried on with our normal routine.
"Let's start the engine, furl the sail, and close with shore to look for an alternative anchorage."
Now within the beautiful setting of twin Islands about a mile and a half in length separated by approximately a mile of sea turned Prussian blue by passing cloud, we could see a wide fringe of shallow sand suddenly rising. And that was not what we wanted, not with the constant swell running up from the south.
Safe Passage
Our thoughts were then broken by another report from Discovery II, this one more encouraging. It seems they'd found a passage through shallows to a seven metre deep hole close to shore that was protected from the dangerous swell. Neither elated nor surprised upon hearing this good news as we were taught years ago to take what comes because Nature dictates terms within its realm. Sometimes all is super fine, sometimes it's gruesome, sometimes it's so quiet and calm like floating upon silken clouds, other times so powerfully rough we fear for our ship and whisper the mantra "and this too shall pass" in order to stay sane and composed.
Ahead Discovery II could be seen anchored and gently swaying in the passing sea. In front of them lay dramatic bold rock separated by twin beaches with the sea awash up their steep approach. To this Banyandah was directed, through waters so shallow they rose and peaked until reaching the darker depths. Behind us those rising crests continued rushing forth till forming crests that broke in cascading white that had plumes of spray flying back from whence they came. Only a trifling motion radiated towards our vessels, and so we made a circuitous route to explore what would be our home through dark and windy nights. Twice we stopped our ship to sample water motion and imagine our escape route. There was no haste. Once down, the anchor would need to safely hold us through whatever Nature had in store.
Chosen Spot
Our chosen spot was close to the larger boulders in the most southern corner, affording us the best protection from the forecast winds and where we thought ran the quietest sea. And once anchored and our ship tidied up, we sat together upon our stern locker witnessing the wonders of this new location. Through the translucent waters we beheld a sand bottom of the highest purity and knew our BOSS anchor would be buried deeply with all our 70 metres of chain laid out. We'd not be dragging from this location.
Orange lichen decorated the larger polished boulders and stood proudly out against the dappled greens of scrubs and medium height trees. Together with the large tracts of manila sand, the scene seemed to come straight from a South Pacific tale, except the cold blasts brought gravity to our situation.
Darkness Descended
As darkness descended, a slip of blushing moon low in the west amongst a black heaven lit by twinkling starlight brought our new foe of wind. Its blasts, like those of Mohammed Ali, soft like a butterfly before a sting of great impact, caused our ship to groan, straining against her springer. All that long first night we lay listening to its cacophony of might do battle with our ship while every now and then, especially after a great blast, we'd check our station on the chart-plotter. What easy bliss compared to days of old when our only guard was a flashing neon showing depth.
On and off we both slept well until the last hour before dawn when the sea's motion increased alarmingly. Had the tide changed direction was our thought lying there in light slumber? Whatever caused the change, upon rising, steep seas rushed past just behind us. And our friends on Discovery II were gone.
On channel 77 we made a call and after many seconds of silence filled with concern, to our relief we heard a faint reply. The motion had alarmed them into moving onto an anchorage on Cape Barren Island lying to our north. Checking our position verified that we'd not shifted even a smidgen. As our next destination lay south of us and that we'd tolerated much worse motion in our time, after observing the mighty surf for a while, we decided to hang there and hope whatever had caused the seas to stiffen would pass. And so it did. By noon we were back to an easy motion, with the wind taking a much deserved break.
But that was not destined to last. As darkness crept in upon us, the beast returned. However, once bitten, we were prepared for its might. Jack shifted forward to sleep on the sole next to the mast, and Jude, well, she can sleep standing up, so we both slept soundly through the night.
Perfect Sailing Breeze
Next morning, most of it had abated, leaving behind a most perfect sailing breeze. So, after a fast breakfast and quick check over our vessel, we set sail for points south, wondering how the seas would be. In the brilliant sunshine of the new high pressure system we raised our main double reefed and let fly 70% of the furler. Heeling to the power of cold wind, Banyandah charged out from the confines of those two islands, out into the wide blue sea flecked white. With Jude wearing her best smile, tears of joy on her face, revelling in the power and might of conning her baby, I didn't dare suggest we engage Sir Aries until she exhausted her lust for this.
The following day and night were some of our finest moments under sail. At times, closeted within the protection of Macquarie Harbour, we had wondered if we could still manage such forces safely, and doubts had crept in as brittleness seeps into aging bones. But this voyage has proved that unimportant when tasting the finest moments of life. Why die wondering when Nature awaits in all its glory. Please, please, young ones of the world unite to stop the destruction of this creation Earth, otherwise you will be left wanting. Take the challenge, gain knowledge, find courage. We did, so can you, like us, with baby steps that lead to fulfilment in a better life.
Elixir of Glorious Voyage
As the elixir from our glorious voyage down Tasmania's east coast sorted out any doubts roaming round my head, the physical exertion had my body bristling with renewed muscular power, and with the coming dawn we knew that pushing on into strengthening winds to complete miles that could be sailed in days ahead would spoil the moment. That decision saw us turn to sail straight through the spectacular rouge red and golden streaked ramparts of Schouten Passage, where immediately we caught a small Barracouta on our trailing lure.
Bryans Corner
Having decided to shelter within the large bright-white smile of sand protected by the Freycinet Peninsula, we beat upwind across calm smooth waters, enjoying the fun of sailing in complete tranquillity. With her massive Panasonic FZ2500 beside her at the helm, Jude captured happy snaps and mega-pixels of video while coaxing our lady up into the lessening breeze towards the north and shallows. Seeing four or five others yachts along that stretch of uncluttered beach, to better protect our lady we picked a spot well away from them and plonked our hook down while still under sail, capping off a fantastic voyage.
Almost immediately the aquamarine sea behind us ruffled darkly as wind willy-willies whooshed down the valleys, setting our BOSS anchor more deeply into the clean sand bottom. Turning to each other we smiled like kids hearing the school bell releasing us to play. Out the absolutely clear blue sky, as the wind bullets gained strength, first one vessel then another blew sideways before dragging away from shore. And so the drag-parade began. And while those demons gathered ferocity from the heat of a clear sky, more vessels gathered under Bryans Corner, and more found difficulty holding position.
A Tale from Yesteryear
Around the corner in Promise Bay, where for many days we'd been enjoying the majestic purple granite peaks of the Hazards all by ourselves, then the weather changed. The bay wasn't a worry because the wind gusts came straight over the nearby eastern sand bluffs. But our contentment was soon to end when a flotilla of vessels rounded the southern point and were seen laboriously powering towards us like a fox spying its prey.
I suppose seeing a vessel anchored signals to most that it must be in the very best spot, because during the ensuing few hours we became surrounded by yachts like a wagon train surrounded by a band of Indians. Now it's not that we're antisocial. It's more a matter of self-preservation as we've been put under threat by dragging craft many times in our travels around the world, so let's just say we're gun-shy. Anyways, against my menacing glare, this house sized catamaran placed himself directly in front of our beloved home on the water, and to-boot paid out little scope, ending up within spitting distance. Buffeted by gusts, I stood at our bow and shook my head and called out, to wit, the fellow ignored my pleas, turned about and went through his sliding glass doors, closed them then drew the curtains. Normally yachtie's are first class folks. The best we say. They'll come to your aid, pass info, loan you gear, and are upright citizens of Earth. But the odd one is not.
Anyways, darkness was coming and I knew I'd not sleep a wink with that bus poised to run over us, so, with much grumbling we shifted. Geez, that beast was that close we almost went in through its back door when picking up our hook, which I might say, was nicely dug in. When free, we obviously moved well away from that lot, unfortunately further out into even bigger blasts, where we tried to get a new grip of the bottom. Well, our first attempt ended in failure as our bow fell away and off we went. Attempt number two also ended in failure bringing my inner core temperature to near boiling.
Moving to a new spot we tried again, but, alas, a sudden gust saw us shear off and begin dragging little by little with each gust. When we'd slipped a quarter mile we hauled up the hook again, and this time pulled it right out the water, to find, much to our surprise that we'd speared a rather large oyster shell with the point of our 45lb CQR. That's a lesson. Take a look. Once that was corrected, we got a good grip, and a beer later, calm returned to my inner self. But ever since then, we shy away from other craft when strong winds are expected.
Behind Bryans Corner it blew big time all night and most of the crafts shifted, ending up in a tight bunch at the nook. We and another held well. Since changing anchors in 2013, our big Manson BOSS has not let us down, whereas, the CQR we used for many years was sometimes temperamental, especially in weed. Anyways, dawn found us becalmed just where we'd parked.
Schouten Shuffle
There's a funny thing about this part of Tassie. When the wind on the West Coast backs south of west, over on the Hobart side it generally runs up the coast and meets a northerly coming down from Bass Strait. And these two flows often meet around Schouten Passage. So, vessels sheltering from a northerly find the next day needing shelter from the south, creating what the locals call the Schouten Shuffle moving the few miles from Bryans Corner on the Freycinet Peninsula to Schouten Island across the channel.
Our second day, we did the Schouten Shuffle, parking in our normal spot off the Ranger's house just inside of the weed. As the day progressed and the southerly winds became more established, more boats arrived. Most choose the more popular Crockets Bay, next to us in Moreys Bay. Over the years, we've been ashore many times and climbed Bear Mountain an equal number, and when we saw that the Ranger in residence wasn't the one we knew, we stayed on board to read and write up our journals. Our last blog was created that day. As the weather was set to change back again the next day, we also rested for another hop instead of doing another Schouten Shuffle.
Cruisy Sail South
Next day, while the other vessels hopped back to Bryans Corner, we had a cruisy sail south past little flat topped Phoques Isle then onto Maria, the voyage getting better as the miles ticked past. Towards the end, it was so sweet that we sped close along dramatic Maria Island with great views of the convict penal settlement at Darlington, in use during the mid-1800s with a number of buildings and structures surviving relatively intact that are now a tourist attraction. We ran wing n' wing past these impressive stone buildings then continued through Mercury Passage towards Chinamen's Bay, a large shallow inlet in the island's southern part, where we nursed our lady into a sheltered nook just inside Point Lesueur and put our anchor down on the run.
Here's a five year old vid filmed on Maria with a GoPro3
One night was all we enjoyed at Chinamen's, catching enough flathead for a good feed, before hoisting our BOSS for a sail-away start to what became a golden sail to Fortescue Bay. Gosh, a perfect wind in just the right quarter had our lady scampering at maximum comfort speed. So fast, a pod of dolphins chased us to play at our bows, zooming past before turning about for another blast. Both of us filmed them and there's a short vid online, Dolphins Having Fun.
It should be noted that our voyage around Tasmania isn't actually a cruise; we're heading for a much-needed haul out, coupled with a quick visit to the Hobart Wooden Boat Festival before heading across the bottom to Port Davey and then home to Strahan. So we're clocking up miles whenever the wind is favourable. Jude, the on board statistician, records miles by sail versus those assisted by diesel, and so far we have notched up some impressive distances under sail.
We had considered the option of going through the Denison Canal to Norfolk Bay, or around the Tasman Peninsula, which can see big seas, albeit with dramatic, impressive scenery. The forecast said we'd have a good run if we opted to sail around, whereas we'd be motoring a long way the other option, so you can understand our choice.
Fortescue Bay
Once entering the abrupt entrance into Fortescue that's bounded by perpendicular cliffs, we found the tiny spot behind the wreck of the William Pitt in Canoe Bay vacant. How fantastic! That meant no annoying swell like what can be found further into the wider anchoring area. We slipped straight in to be immediately surrounded by tall gum forests, and could look out at the impressive Cape Hauy and Candlestick Dolerite column.
What was even better was the walking track not a stone's throw away that took us to those massive vertical cliffs we came past. That was day two's main activity. A walk through gorgeous tall forests, stressed a bit by the extended dry, then over the still flowing stream at Bivouac Bay, where you can bush-camp, before a heavy climb up to a frightening sheer drop-off overlooking eternity. Of course we just dawdled along at half throttle taking the whole day, but, gosh, we took lots of photos.
Cape Pillar
The following day's forecast wind looked good for a run around to Port Arthur, but I guess someone forgot to tell Eurus, god of the unlucky east wind who must have taken a holiday. So we motored. One fabulous outcome, we got to pass between the impressive Cape Pillar and massive sheer sided Tasman Island. Wow! What a treat. Firing off photos in every direction, some finding sea level caves of monumental proportions, we even found a friendly current going our way and sped through at an alarming rate.
Port Arthur
So there we were in Port Arthur, a place of notoriety for more than one reason. First, it was the penitentiary that replaced Sarah Island in 1832, housing the poor sods that had re-offended after being shipped down to the colony from Britain, mostly for petty crimes. And more recently for the Port Arthur massacre of April 1996, a mass shooting in which 35 people were killed and 23 wounded by a man who will remain nameless.
We didn't go near the penitentiary, electing instead to park in Safety Cove, the first bay and guess what? We had the place to ourselves. There we withstood a westerly blast in good holding sand with a bit weed, and when that blew out, we marched off to see what the Remarkable Cave offered. It lay just over the hill, accessible by tarmac and we soon found it to be rather popular. There must have been fifty vehicles parked at road's end that held a magical view of blue sea bashing white against these gorgeous cliffs of reddish hexagonal dolerite. I wasn't impressed by its popularity but by biding our time, we had our moment alone with a wonder of creation. Fortunately for us, and a lot of others, the tide was out; so we could saunter safely through this amazing cave tunnel to the wonderful deep blue sea, breaking white on a clean buff beach which had one lone sea lion asleep basking under the midday sun.
Speeding Ahead
Hey, this is getting a bit long winded. Too much detail, so I'll speed ahead to say that we parked off the penitentiary only one night and found it too busy with giant powered Catamarans doing trips one after another, taking mostly Asian tourists around the bay, before moving on to quieter surrounds in Ladies Bay. A few nice restful days there found a window opening to move further along, which we took even though the day was forecast to get angry. Yep! Never sail the beginning of a front. Those forecast Northeast winds crossing land hardly ever bring good sailing conditions, and they didn't again as we rounded Cape Raoul and had to bash into headwinds to reach Wedge Island, where we motored hard to get into Nubeena. a lovely, narrow, well-protected pocket where I'm writing this.
There's just one quick skip across Storm Bay to our haul out destination. Australia Day was splendid here at Nubeena, but that can wait till next time.
This article has been provided by the courtesy of jackandjude.com