Carnarvon to Mauds Landing
by Margie
I apologize upfront for lovingly referring
to Moonshadow as the third person in this five piece team that we have……the other
two being Toby and Tinnie, our tenders. Moonshadow is our companion, our confidante. We encourage her when she struggles, we
pat her and applaud her when she gets through the rough bits, we feed her, we
clean her, we treat her with respect and care. She is, after all, our home, and has been for the last 8
years, our safe haven in some challenging journeys – and we can forgive her
when she becomes tired and needs some maintenance and extra care.
Toby and Tinnie, of course, are our
transport to and from Moonshadow to places that she cannot get to – and require
equal care and attention to ensure that we arrive back home on the mother ship safely.
.........................................................................................
Have you ever had a goal that was so big
that it scared you? A goal that shocks
the people who love you - your family – your friends. A goal that opposes the unwritten
law that ‘really big dreams’ hardly ever, if ever, come true. A goal that, when
it is achieved, completely changes your life – forever.
Sitting in the cockpit of our beautiful girl Moonshadow in
the quiet stillness of The Fascine in Carnarvon, overlooking the swaying palms
on the boardwalk surrounding the protective wall that shadows this shallow
waterway, I pondered this thought. And it dawned on me that we, Jeremy and I, had finally pulled
off the almost extraordinarily impossible, for us– we had finally realized the
dream.
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| The Fascine of Carnarvon at night |
I allow my mind to linger back to that
fateful Saturday morning in 2003 as I was unsuspectingly sipping my cappuccino
in the Carousel Shopping Centre, unaware that Jeremy was struggling to find the
right words, words that would wrench me out of my little safety pocket and into
the world of possibilities, risks and ‘why not’s’.
“Sweetheart, I have a confession to make”
- the words still ring loud and
clear in my ears as my next question was asked in an almost hushed whisper, my
heart beating triple time. We had
only been together for a few years at best and I was expecting a confession of
……….well - you name it ……it all
went through my mind! What followed was so far off left field it disappeared
off the map and far into the universe.
“I want to buy a yacht, live on it and go cruising”. I can’t recall how
long it took, but Jeremy tells me all of one second – I closed the newspaper I
was reading stood up and said “Well, we’d better go and look for a boat
then”. And that was that.
The journey has been an incredible one from
then, 2003, to now. Overcoming
my fear of water that had so much as a ripple on it; learning to sail and that
yachts lean; learning boat
language, about sheets and heads and galleys and saloons, foresails and
mainsails and booms and winches, not to mention the knots; selling the
property, downsizing 5 times; walking the many jetties and marinas looking for
our dream yacht; scouring boat-point
and yacht- point and whatever other ‘point’ we could find that would show us a
yacht that I could agree to live on; finding and buying the ‘Rasa Tiga’ only to
lose her due to failed survey; finding and then buying our pride and joy, Moonshadow,
and meeting and spending time with her beautiful owners, Jackie and Steve; the sail from Brisbane back to Perth;
the oesophageal cancer and other various health challenges; the job challenges’ the
financial challenges; and then the biggest challenge of all - telling the
family what we were doing, and then finally the preparations to leave; date set,
the mental preparation for saying goodbye to our friends, children, beautiful grandchildren
and parents – and then – the final date of departure.
The history leading up to 12th
April 2014 could fill half a dozen books – and they will be for another
time.
But this is now - in the serenity of our peaceful mooring
in Carnarvon. And nothing was to
prepare us for what was about to put Moonshadow and her crew to the first test. What was to be the definitive answer to
my burning fear in all the years leading up to our departure –
'How
would I cope if anything happened to Jeremy and I was left on my own to bring
Moonshadow safely home.’ How would
I cope in rough seas? I was, after
all, not a sailor and my fear of rough water often sent me scurrying to the
floor of the cockpit, hiding my head in my hands – vowing not to look.
Preparations had been made for our exit
from the protection of stunning Shark Bay – we had put our departure off for a
week due to unhappy weather reports and had planned for an overnight sail
directly to Maud’s Landing (Coral Bay) instead of the planned overnight shelters
at Cape Cuvier and Gnaraloo Bay. The route had been plotted, fridges and lockers
were stocked, smoothie bags were made and frozen, salad and goodies prepared
for snacks on the way, medications were on board and Toby was packed away on
the foredeck snuggling under her cover.
Tinnie was still tied to our portside with engine, ready to take us for
our last sojourn into Carnarvon the next morning.
The night air was crisp; the waters of the
Fascine reflected the light show happening up above only to be outdone by the
brightness of the full moon slowly inching up over the horizon.
One can’t help but become contemplative at
such a time and my mind again wonders back to our departure from Fremantle, to goodbyes,
to our loved ones and friends, to friends we have met on the way and to those
still to meet; to Divided Sky and Aqua Vitae and their beautiful owners who
accompanied us on our first solo voyage north, leaving us in Monkey Mia to turn
back home. What an
incredible 6 weeks that has been – and there in lies another book with some
well documented and not to be forgotten ‘blog fodder’.
My thoughts then shift to the sail from Monkey
Mia to Carnarvon; the challenges of getting Moonshadow through the Fascine
Channel to her mooring in the shallows surrounded by 0.3m sand banks either
side – and the little rest she decided to have on the mud at the channel
entrance until the rising tide gave her a little nudge and helped her break
free from her resting place.
There is so much to think about and ponder
and be grateful for.
We wake early on Sunday 15th June
excited about the prospect of the next 25 hour sail to Maud’s Landing on the
Ningaloo Reef. I have come to enjoy
our night sails. There is
something spiritual about the solitude on the dark waters of a nighttime ocean,
with only the moon and stars and the sounds of the waves beating up against the
yacht for company.
We head off in Tinnie for our obligatory cappuccino at the
Fascine Café; say our goodbyes and head back to Moonshadow to hoist the Yamaha
Outboard onto her rail mount.
Tinnie is attached securely to Moonshadow’s stern with two very long and
very strong painters. Toby is tied
to the foredeck. I do the final
cabin check whilst Jeremy checks the deck and makes a final check on “Willy
Silly Weather’ and Pocket Dribble Gribble” (pet names for weather sites that
just sometimes don’t get it right), to confirm that the winds would favor us
for our journey north/north-east. The
forecast was for gentle 10 - 15
knots south /southeast moving to north east/north later in the evening. Skies were clear.
At 1120hrs Jeremy releases Moonshadow from
her mooring, I take the helm, and with Jeremy sitting at my side, we inch our
way back up the Channel via the route we had tracked in – except of course the
little wayward track at the entrance. We chose to leave at this time, as the tide was on the rise,
should we, by some inexplicable force of nature, find ourselves back on the
sandbank we had become familiar with on the way in. We traverse the channel gingerly, first at 3 knots then 4
and then 5 – how courageous of me! At 12 noon we pass through the entrance (Yayyy – no sand!) and into the Teggs
Channel, we turn Moonshadow to starboard, follow the channel markers north,
turn to port for the passage through the final markers and then the final turn
to starboard for the journey north.
It is goodbye to Carnarvon!
The air moves and becomes a little breeze
and we record 3 to 7 knots. Moonshadow’s
engine purrs as we head slowly north and the sails stay neatly tucked away
around their stays and in their bag. We tuck into our nuts, lollies and bikkies and the
coffees I was able to go down into the galley to make – as we glide through the
Indian Ocean.
At 1500 hrs we reach our first waypoint –
Bejaling Shoals are to our starboard – and we spot our first whale 100m from
Moonshadow on her starboard. This beautiful
gentle giant of the ocean lies there, very very still, examining us, almost as
if it trying to determine if it would play with us or not. It decided on its first option. Within a second it took a dive,
flapping its huge tail as it disappeared into the deep, and then covered the
100m in 5 seconds flat sliding under Moonshadow’s keel and up on the other
side. Jeremy, who is very rarely
camera-less – was camera less!
At 1400 hrs the seas are still following us,
gently pushing us along to reach speeds of 5.4 knots. The breeze is 3.5 knots. James, our Autopilot is humming away nicely, in unison with
the gentle purring of the engine. Point
Quobba lighthouse appears on our starboard bow and we continue to amuse
ourselves doing our crosswords and reading our emails, to dampen the
frustration we were feeling at not being able to free the sails from their
tightly wound stays. Lunch is had,
dishes are left in the sink and we prepare ourselves for a very ‘grueling’
afternoon! Life is so busy when cruising!
We have a gentle 1 – 1.5 metre swell with a
gentle sea still urging us along; Point Quobba lighthouse is no longer to be
seen. We are treated to a
stunning sunset at 1800 hrs. with hues of burnt orange, mixed with bright red
and then shades of burgundy and deep blue
- and then the lights of Cape Cuvier appear in the distance; a harsh
reminder of the industry which intrudes on the otherwise purely pristine
coastline. The night sky once again lights up with its chandelier of
stars – until the bright orange moon once again peeps over the horizon and
challenges their brightness.
At 2310 the wind speed shoots up to 13
knots, still east/ southeast and the seas are lit up with the orange hue of the
moon. They become just a little
confused and erratic – still 1 – 1.5m swell. But we have 13 knots and we are once again overtaken with
excitement; we pull Genny out and turn the motor off. At this point
Jeremy is quite happy to leave the mainsail in its bag.
Ah – the peace! The
silence! There is something
magically spiritual about the sound of the wind in the sails, the water lapping
up against Moonshadow as she slides through the gentle rise and fall of the
Indian Ocean swell. The night is
cool and we retrieve our trackie dacks, winter jumpers and Ugg boots from the
bowels of Moonshadow. We take a
look at ourselves and have a little giggle. Here we are – north of the 26th parallel in
winter woolies. To put the finishing
touch to it, Jeremy dons his Dockers Beanie – and that really sets me off, and
the peace of the night is rudely broken by my guffaws of laughter as I look at
my man, beanie pulled over his ears, standing at the helm, reflection of the
Standard Horizon plotter shining on his face in the darkness of the cockpit,
looking ahead as if his life depended on Moonshadow staying within 1 degree
of her plotted course.
Where is MY camera when I need it!!
It is now Monday 16th June and through
the night we take our turns on watch. The wind changes to a gentle easterly
again, still blowing at 13 – 15 knots and we manage to forge ahead at a
breakneck speed of 4 knots.
At 0340 the wind drops down to 10 knots,
has moved to northeast and Moonshadow is almost standing still in her tracks,
moving at an incredulous speed of 1.9 knots. We turn the motor on and motor sail until 0400. We have gained nothing by letting Genny
have her freedom and we once again banish her to her stay. We motor on.
At 0500 the wind takes a turn to north and
blows directly at us at 12 knots.
Moonshadow is moving through the water at 2.9 knots. We should have seen the warning signs
but – alas – we were cruising!
Life is great! The
motor was purring and the wind wasn’t too bad. It was a bit ‘mean ‘to be blowing directly at us, but we
knew that it would shift to northeast, eventually– Willy Weather and Pocket
Dribble had said so!
We continue to motor on; Cape Farquhar
appears on our starboard bow.
At sunrise, 7.05am, we spot a huge humpback whale to our starboard and it gives
us it’s breaching and flapping tail show.
It seems to be having so much fun. As we are watching this beautiful
spectacle, the wind suddenly decides it needs to unleash some energy and starts
blowing at us at 17 knots. Still
not a problem really…. it has only chopped up the seas a little bit, and
Moonshadow is a big girl - she can take it.
Suddenly at 0815am nature unleashes just a
little taste of her fury – well - we thought so. Not a cloud to be seen, the 17 knot breeze becomes 23 knots,
still directly on Moonshadow’s bow, and then 25 and then 29 and then for the
next hour oscillates between these speeds with a 30 knot thrown in for good
measure. Swell increases 2 – 4m – and the seas decide they are not all that
happy either. It is not sure what
it wants to do so it will throw all
into the mix. By this time Cape Farquhar
is now on our starboard beam.
The 30 knot wind continues to blow on our
nose and then at 0915hrs, we watch the wind instrument with wide open eyes,
30 knots becomes 33, 35, 39 – the swell increases and the seas are now really
confused and angry. We are now not
only beating into a swell and an angry ocean, but we have just been launched like
a cork into an oversized whirlpool in a mini drum. There is water breaking around us everywhere. The wind
instrument hits 43 and I ask Jeremy what size he thinks the seas are and he nonchalantly
replies 6, maybe 8m.
Moonshadow dips her bowsprit into the center
of the next body of water that is ready to hit us at a 45-degree angle. The waves won’t have any of this and
force her back up on the crest of the wave and drop her into the next trough. Still not too bad really – if only the
damn seas would stay a little uniform.
Her bowsprit comes crashing down on the heavy resistant body of water
coming up to greet her and we lose part of the teak structure on the
bowsprit. Green water breaks over the bow and sends white spray
hurtling at the cockpit, as remnants of the waves surge down the decks and out
through the gunnels. She
plummets and crashes through the water, up and down, side to side, side to
side, up and down, - sometimes all of the above together. We are being taken
for a joy ride on nature’s roller coaster. This battle continues on for the next 5 hours.
As I hold on to anything I can in the
cockpit to save me from being hurtled through its obstacle course, I tentatively
take periodic glances at Tinnie who is pulling and struggling against the
painters that are tethering her firmly to the stern. She rides and drops with each body of water coming her way,
as Moonshadow persistently pulls her through the wake, throwing her from side
to side. But she stays with
us.
Toby decides however, that she wants to
break loose and breaks free from her bow rope. We watch helplessly as she stands on end and leans upright
against the mast, the remaining ropes holding her stern securely to
Moonshadow. She has become a sail
with 39 knot winds blowing directly into her. Without a thought, but uttering a few choice explicit
phrases, Jeremy dons his wet weather jacket, removes his beany and Ug boots, tethers
himself to the lifelines, asks me, very
nicely, to take the helm as he ventures outside to rescue the dangerously
flapping Toby who by now is ready to take a free flying fall over the lifelines
she is ‘almost’ resting on, into the swirling mess below.
A 43 knot wind gust and 6m wave hits both of
them – Jeremy falls to the deck, still attached via his safety harness, and
Toby is still hanging on by 2 ropes.
Moonshadow’s bow is pointing skyward, and for a moment frozen in time,
she is suspended on top of the churning water below, and then she gracefully
flips her backside in the air and we are on our way down. All the while Jeremy is hanging onto
the lifelines and Toby for dear life. I turn Moonshadow’s motor
down to a minimum to lessen the incredibly fast speed of 2.4 knots - in the hope
to steady her, to allow Jeremy to tackle Toby and get her back on deck
safely. Finally he succeeds
and Toby is secure. ‘More
fodder for the blog’, I think – unaware of how interesting our situation is –
until Jeremy decides that just to be prudent we should don our life jackets –
instead of just our safety harnesses.
Hmmmm.!! Still I feel
no fear, just an acute case of annoyance. By this stage Jeremy is acquiring an acute case of seasickness
and for the next 5 hours is unable to do anything.
As I stand at the helm, my shoulders and
arms aching trying to keep Moonshadow on track, - (James, our autopilot) has decided it is too difficult to keep
us on track on her own) - the
thought strikes me at how steady and confident I feel. I have no doubt at all that Moonshadow
will get through this. She is
after all a blue water cruiser and her previous owners, Jackie and Steve, would
no doubt have taken her through these sorts of challenges, and worse, during
their Pacific sojourns. I keep my mind busy. I think of my beautiful children and
grandchildren and what they are doing; I also think of Divided Sky and Aqua
Vitae safely in their pens at Fremantle, and of the horrific entry into
Geraldton Harbour they had.
Boy! Do I have something to
tell them?
I look up at the sky – it so beautiful and
vivid blue, not a cloud to be seen.
Moonshadow takes another dive and as the spray once again passes the
cockpit I marvel at the strength of an element that can be so soft and gentle
and soothing, unable to be molded, and yet so powerful and free and a force to
be reckoned with. I instinctively
know that this will come to an end, well aware that by the time we get to
evening, we will be once again be resting on gentle seas. Willy weather and Pocket Dribble say
so! I glance over at Jeremy who is
now curled up sleeping and pray that he keeps sleeping until both Moonshadow
and I can offer him a gentle ride to next anchorage.
At 1200hrs the wind strength drops to 35,
then to 33 then to 29 – all the while the seas are hanging on to their bid to
outdo us. At 1300hrs the
wind drops to 25 and then 23 and I stare at the wind instruments almost forcing
them to hit 19 knots. When I next
look at the instruments I see 19 flicker every now and then and I smile. Yes! I knew I was right.
This too shall pass! 25knots, 21, 19 back to 23 and
then down to l9 again.! I once
again play my mind games with the figures and pretend that I can see 15 knots – and I do!! Yayyy!! . By this time Jeremy is awake, and
struggling, but the ‘washing machine’ effect has settled a bit and is now a
mere 4m swell with a bit of confusion still thrown into the mix. His sense of relief is palpable – or
maybe it is mine! I suggest he go
down to make a cup of tea while I steer Moonshadow through the next hour or two
and by 1500hrs the wind has subsided to 13 knots – and we are once again
gliding through a 1 – 1.5 m swell in a slightly confused sea – the wind is still
on the nose.
We catch a glimpse of the mainland
appearing on the horizon and at 1600hrs, with the wind now a whisper at 5 knots
we spot the waves breaking on the Ningaloo reef on the starboard bow. We are nearly at our destination.
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| Heading into Maud's Landing |
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| Catching the surf at Maud's Landing on the Ningaloo Reef |
At 1630 I contact Coral Bay Sea Rescue to
log on with them to let them know we will be dropping anchor in Maud’s
Landing. They ask if we have a
mooring - music to my ears, as we
didn’t realize they had any. They
suggested I contact the harbourmaster, which I duly did, very fast, who pointed
out to us where the moorings were.
At 1700hrs we turn to starboard for the commencement
of our entrance into the inner reef via the northern entrance, Cardabia Passage.
At 1730 we navigate our way through the break in the Ningaloo Reef and we are
on our way into Bateman’s Bay and Maud’s Landing. We fail to see the buoys, as by this time it is dusk, so we
elect to drop the anchor on the west side of the Maude’s Landing old Jetty as
per the Cruising Guide.
At 6pm the anchor slides gently into the
crisp clear waters of Batemans Bay.
We are finally at rest.
The night is clear, the stars once again
give us their light show, the moon once again intervenes and pokes its orange
hue over the horizon, the sea has a gentle swell and the waves lap gently
against Tinnie’s sides. Jeremy and
I sit with a warm cup of coffee, contemplating the previous 19 hours. We discuss the lessons we have
learnt and I feel somewhat elated that we have had this experience.
It may seem minimalistic to others who have
graced the oceans of the world a lot longer and in a lot more dire
circumstances than we have, but for me, this was my baptism into the ways of
the unrelenting power of the world’s waterways. This was a huge learning curve for me, and leap of faith for
us, for our abilities and a firm belief and certainty that we have a beautiful
and reliable home and yacht in Moonshadow. I have once again been thrown a challenge – and
as I normally do, I did take the challenge on - and succeeded. And yes – I CAN DO IT.
Life is great.
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