Life on board a boat. What if and why not?
What Are You Waiting For
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A small splash for me

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Boat Works our home for a few days

All morning I had been stepping from the boat to the marina (The Boat Works) finger and back again. The first time yesterday morning, the tide was pushing Saboteur away from the finger and the gap between the boat and the finger was significant enough for me to go to the stern of the boat and pull in the stern line and return back to the belly of the boat, plonk my bum on the toe-rail, stretch my legs out and half slide half step down to the finger. On completing this manoeuvre, the boat gently slides back to where it was.

I shortened the stern line from the finger to make it easier to get back onboard when Zac and I returned.

Zac had already elegantly jumped off and was waiting for me to take him for a walk. He looked at me, as if to say, ‘what’s taking so long mum?’

We had a lovely walk and on my return, I decided to clean the water line.

Two months in the Brisbane River was evident with a slimy green line of growth which has called Saboteur home, along with a few crustaceans that have also settled in. I grabbed the long handled scrubbing brush. I sat on the edge of the finger and started scrubbing. It was satisfying to be using my muscles and felt good.

It was also satisfying to see the white strip reappear as I scrubbed away. Damn it look good.

Now, above the water line looked dirty. I grabbed magic eraser and a Chux. I used the magic eraser under the toe rail and wiped it down with the Chux. And used the scrubbing brush for between the top edge and the waterline.

I would occasionally lean back, look and be pleased with myself.

It was time to show off my handy work to Marty and went back on board and asked him to join me on the finger. I went up the companion-way before him. The gap between the finger and the boat had increased. I plonked my bum on the toe rail once again and stretched for the finger. As I was transferring my weight, the wake of a boat lifted us and my toes hooked on to the springer line (the springer line is a rope that if set up properly, prevents the boat moving too far backwards and forwards). With my toes between the rope and my body weight transferring I pivoted, ending up with my right leg knee length in the drink and my left knee into the concrete which then my leg folded underneath me.

I ended up plonked on the concrete with one leg in the water.

Marty stepped over the cockpit to find me sitting on the concrete hugging my right shin in the hope that my toes would stop hurting. My toes were too sore to touch.

You have to laugh.

Timing sucked for Marty who was already busting to go to the loo (seriously busting) and torn between staying helping me or going to the much needed loo. I sent him off to the loo and I quietly sat assessing my injuries. I am grateful the finger had a beautiful clean fender and sides. Unlike many that are encrusted with algae growth and rough, sharp crustaceans that would have seen me heading to the docs for antibiotics.

My toes hurt and I am a little bruised. My ego is miffed. I still think of myself as in my mid-twenties, still capable of everything I could do then. It is funny how our self-image dances with our reality. I have always believed I am tall. I grew up the shortest in a tall family which lead me to believe (and still do) I am 6ft 7. Just ask me. And with that, able to do incredible feats. I’m continually amazed when I can’t, when I’m limited by my height. I am good at climbing and stretching, and finding ways to reach things. It is part of the challenge.

Yesterday morning’s adventure was an easy leap for Zac, a wee step for Marty and a small splash for me. Hopefully a good laugh for you.

And after a nights sleep and still not able to put weight on my foot I was thinking a visit to the Doc for an xray might be on the cards. However, I strapped my two toes together and I can walk again. Albeit carefully.

It parallels the challenges of our adventure. Some of it is easy for Marty, and a challenge for me. Some of it is easy for me and a challenge for Marty. We find ways to do things. Above all else, we are determined to accomplish our adventure while we still can.

And Zac, he just takes it all in his stride as long as we don’t splash him.

#sailingsaboteur #whatareyouwaitingfor #Liveyourlife #getoutdoors

Note: the arrow in the photo is the berth we were on.

Originally published on Facebook February 23, 2022

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Love that old time feeling

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Rainbow

Love that old time feeling of the nod of a head or a friendly wave.

I reckon over the last two days we nodded or waved about 100 times or more as we transited from our base in the Brisbane River to the Coomera River on the Goldie.

With each wave I can’t help to grin.

It reminds me of yesteryear, of my childhood growing up in a country town. In the early years, many of the backroads between towns were single lane with both cars pulling onto the rubble in order to pass. In some cases, one car needed to give way and pull off the road completely for the other car to get past. We did not need give way signs then. We just kind of worked it out. With it was the mandatory nod, or wave or the more subtle raising of the index and middle finger. To be clear, not a rude gesture, a polite gesture that says thanks and no worries.

The same is true on the water.

We left about 9 Saturday morning and topped up the diesel at Rivergate, just past the Gateway Bridge. I still get nervous before we dock, however we have been doing a pretty good job of docking lately. Marty and I have a good system going now.

We were just about to fuel up and a catamaran was coming into dock. I caught their bow line and Marty their stern with many thanks. It is what a lot of people have done for us. We talked for a bit and we went back to our refuelling.

Saturday was a good trip despite winds on the nose, predominantly in the 15 – 20 knots range with gusts up to 22knots. It was slow going. We anchored overnight at Potts Point, Macleay Island. We saw very few boats and a couple of crazily skilled and cool windsurfers on a blade. Total respect for their talent and skills.

The few boats we saw on Saturday are the more serious sailors, the scheduled ferries and the dedicated fisherman. The few boats we passed all knew the rules of the water and how to pass. There appeared to be no recreational boaties.

On Sunday it was a totally different story. To start with, the winds were predominately 10-15 knots (still on the nose) with gusts up 20 knots.

There were lots and lots of cruisers, sailing boats, fishermen and jet skiers. The water ways were busy. Busier than we have seen in a long time. Maybe not Boxing Day busy, but getting close.

The channel markers guiding us through the shallows

We left Potts Point at 5.15am more or less on low tide, and chased low tide for a couple of hours until it got ahead of us. On the first stages of our journey, we went through the shallows right on low tide with sand banks each side.

After leaving low tide behind us, and with the sun slightly higher in the sky, more boats were on the water. At first the serious fishing boats. Almost all of them get out of our way with a friendly wave and of course, we wave back, giving me a top up on that old time feeling. Then we started to see the cruisers and more fishing boats, many taking friends and their families out. Some with kids in life jackets, some without. My heart skips a beat when I see a kid out of the cockpit without a life jacket on.

Notwithstanding, pretty much everyone waves. They are out enjoying the ‘Great South East’ and I love it. I point to names on boats, we comment on the trim on cruisers. And we both refrained from swearing when a jet-ski stopped dead in front of us while he decided which way to go left or right. Even though we were only doing 6 knots, we are 20 tonnes and take a lot of stopping.

As our day continued, Marty and I took turns at the helm. We don’t have a formal roaster we swap when we felt like it. We continued to wave, nod and grin. Sometimes I think I was just grinning because life is good. On the water and navigating between the islands is beautiful.

At around 11.30am we turned to start our journey up the Coomera river . It is familiar, comfortable and busy. It is great to see people enjoying the water.

I love this area. It is well set up for boat life. We spent our first 4 months aboard living in this spot. I have so many happy memories here.

We turned the final bend in the river and once again docked, this time at The Boat Works Marina. A friendly neighbour appeared out of nowhere to catch a line and help us tie up.

Off course another smile, and thank you.

I love that old time feeling. It leaves a warm feeling inside.

Originally published on Facebook February 22, 2022

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Peak-hour… Friday morning commute

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Colmslie Reach Beach when calm. My happy place.

Where: Today’s peak-hour is brought to you from our dinghy, commuting from Saboteur across the Colmslie Reach to the anchorage jetty.

Context: We (Marty aka Martin Lloyd and I) had clients to see.

6.15am Friday morning

Me: It’s quiet.
Marty: Yes, it is

Our dinghy motor is humming away, and we transverse peak-hour in silence. Marty watching ahead. Me, I’m mesmerised by the water patterns we are creating behind us.

6.17am

Marty: They have the generator going.
Me: I nod.

Note: I assume, like we do when on anchor, that their generator is going to top up the batteries and for any 240Volts appliances (toaster etc).

As we pass their boat, they dogs bounce out of the cabin greeting us with their barks.

Me: It must be peak hour.
Marty: I believe another peak hour post is pending. (And he was right).

Note: Marty is often right…

We continue is silence. Passing the one of the prawning trawlers.

The first decision of the day is where to tie up. Some days the jetty is crowded others not so. Today is not so.

I suggest a spot. The decision has a number of factors, the main one being which dinghy do we want our donk (motor) knocking against. The preference a s rubber rimmed dinghy not an aluminium one.

We both scan. I point and Marty spots a better spot. He masterfully approaches directly to the jetty and turns last minute to draw parallel making it yet another gentle docking.

We exit the dinghy as elegantly as we can from something that floats and bops on water and has no handrails. I secure the bow and Marty midships or do I say middinghy.

I had put my phone away and once again I pull it out to capture the water lazily rolling into the shore. I could seat here for hours.

As we walk to the car I am still memorised by the water.

Marty: I wonder if the river Dart (UK) is deep enough to sail up there, up to that little village.

I have to tune in as in my mind I and floating in the water feeling the lazy swell roll over me.

Me: I don’t know. Interesting question.

I think where our heads are at reflect how much we want to explore the world.

#ilovesailing #getoutdoors #whatareyouwaitingfor #liveyourlife #SailingSaboteur

(This post was first published to face book 05 February 2022.)

Authors note: Peak-hour is a theme that pops up in my writing. I love observing the world as it wakes up and sharing a little beautiful from where ever we are. To see our chill time videos join us on Facebook.

To read more of our adventures, jump into our blog. I love my last peak-hour post from the gorgeously sleepy Russell Island, Queensland Australia. (August 27, 2021)

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In Our Journey

See you soon Moo and Nitro.

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We’ll see you soon Moo and Nitro. As our voyage to NZ approaches, weather window permitting, the hardest thing I have had to do so far is to say to Moo and Nitro: ‘Have fun and be good for Jo and Tim Tim and Jo Hayter. Monday, I handed over Moo and Nitro to Jo and Tim for what is most likely going to be around a year. I picked them up and placed them on their cushions in Jo and Tim’s car, gave them both a pat and a smile, turned around and walked to my car as if it was normal. Thank God for Bill Fuller who came with me just in case I was a blubbering idiot, crying. Marty (Martin Lloyd) was working.

Deep sigh as I write this.

The last weekend with them was beautiful. Lots of cuddles and activities. They got washed and trimmed. This is not their favourite activity, however I wanted them looking their best for Jo and Tim. Hand over day was Monday. Sunday evening my heart was aching.

I spent time in the cockpit with Nitro on my chest and Moo curled up under my legs. We stayed like this for ages. There was a dull pain in my chest that was overwhelming.

We rescued these two forlorn dogs 5 years ago. I say rescued as they were neglected. Their nails were long, curled and growing into their pads and their breath was rotten. Moo Moo’s gums were bleeding. They were living with a family. It was clear the mother loved them, however somewhere along the way their maintenance care was left behind. As we drove away with the two scallywags in the car, we had to wind the windows down as their breath was so bad we were gagging, and so we continued on the motorway at 100 km an hour with the windows down.

After a check-up with the vet and a second visit to sort out their teeth, and with 17 extractions between the two of them, we took our two free dogs home, all of sudden much more financially drained than we were two weeks prior.

Our lives have been enriched ever since.

We were intending to fly them to NZ after we arrived by boat, however our plans have changed as Marty has a contract in the Philippines, starting in April. While we could take them with us, it is very hard to get them back into the country, simply because Australia and New Zealand have a lot less disease than most of the rest of the world and the quarantine process is extensive.

So it became a question, does Marty go to the Philippines and I stay and look after the fur kids. Last year we were having lunch and discussing this with our friends Jo and Tim who without hesitation offered to look after the dogs. They had just recently moved off their yacht back to land, and now live beside a park on the waters edge. Their connection to the water is strong. They offered to put up a fence and the rest is history.

I had started calling it a co-parenting relationship. I had also said to myself, they (the dogs) are teenagers exploring the world. I am comforted by the fact that Jo and Tim know and love the dogs and the dogs them. This was reinforced on handover day. We pulled up, the dogs jumped out of the car, spotted them and skipped over to them, eagerly wagging their tails and asking to be petted.

It made me smile.

Wind back 16 hours, my heart was wrenching on Sunday night. I started reflecting on a traditional Vanuatuan adaption process. There is the ‘white man’s’ paperwork and then there is the Islander, gifting ceremony. This is where the family gives their child to the new family.

It is not uncommon that a family who can’t have children are asked if they would like one, and a family would conceive a child to give to a childless family. It is an incredible gift.

Some arrangements will see the child grow up, spending time with both families. In others, the birth parents have regular contact and join in on special occasions, and others will have limited contact after the gifting ceremony. I think it is one of the most precious gifts of joy you could ever have.

And so, I have chosen to look at our co-parenting arrangement as giving and sharing the joy of our two cherubs. Bon journey, my wee little travellers. We will see you soon.

Thank you Jo and Tim.

Originally published on Facebook on 02/01/22.

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Tradie hour

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As a tradesman myself or ‘tradie’ as we tend to say, I was under the impression that all tradies pretty much started early and finished early, leaving them a good part of the day to surf, pick up kids, do stuff at home or nothing at all. I am learning that there are significant differences between domestic and marine tradies and starting times is only one of them.

Here are a few insights from last week.

We have had four tradies, over three days on our boat. Happy to say all were very competent.

Surprisingly, none of them did the really early start.

Our first tradies were the Freeze Tec guys who not only started at the civilised hour of 8am, but they turned up on time each day. Love their work. Our new 12 Volt Fridge freezer is super quiet. Matt and Dean were here on Tuesday and Mat on Wednesday for the half day.

With so many tradies on the boat what do we do with the animals?

Naturally, most people fall in love with our animals. At least the dogs. Zac gets locked in the forward berth with some food and water. He is pretty content and sleeps a lot anyway. Around mealtimes, however, he gets a bit cranky. The dogs hang out in the cockpit. They spend much of their time watching the humans downstairs until their attention is drawn to someone going past our boat, and then they sleep for a while. This pattern is on repeat. I disappear, as there is no longer any space for me to work. Matt was brilliant in helping me escape. He would feed the dogs liver treats while I disappeared off the boat to escape the madness.

Marty and I come and go. After all the boat is only 15m by 4.5m and pretty crowded with tradies, equipment and tools everywhere.

On Tuesday Marty and I hopped in the dinghy and dropped the food from our old fridge and freezer over to our friends John and Julie’s boat to keep it cold while our new fridge and freezer were being installed. On the journey there, we rescued a distressed Turtle. The Tradies turned up, Marty went to work, and my morning turned into being a wildlife warrior before attending to some appointments. On Wednesday, I ran my ‘Lost for Words’ webinar from Bill’s office. Thank you, my friend.

On Tuesday afternoon, we realised that Matt was coming back on Wednesday, so we phoned Dean, the electrician, inquiring about the possibility of him arriving in the afternoon instead of the morning. He was accommodating which was greatly appreciated.

Dean was doing work to ensure and certify that Saboteur meets NZ electrical safety requirements. He also turned up on time.

Cool cat Dan, our normal sparky, is remarkably unreliable. This time, he had an unexpected dentist visit and rescheduled with us from Tuesday to Wednesday. Typically, he starts anywhere from 10am to midday. The upside is his work is brilliant. Neat, tidy, finished properly, labelled etc.

On Wednesday, we had tradies on the boat from 8am-ish to 10.45pm. It was a long day. The one thing that does not change is tradie hour… those on the boat were happy to have a beer in hand, sit in the cockpit, tell a few stories and enjoy the sun set. All of us united by a love of beer – well maybe. All of us united by the love of boats.

(Originally this article was first publish on face book in 25 Jan ’22).

Tradie's bucket of beer
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Selling the car

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Silver Prius

I loved my car. Yes, past tense. I sold him last week. In my mind, his nickname has been Silver. Original I know. Silver is a 2008, Prius Hatch-back. He has been perfect and one of the best decisions I ever made. For comfort, reliability and cost efficiency. I looked after him and he, me.

Selling the car changes everything in terms of practicalities. There is after all a limit to how much we can carry on the bike. And at this stage, I am not sure how I will get Zac to the vet next time he needs to go. Notwithstanding, there seemed little point in keeping a car that I am not intending to be around to use. With the decision made and the car sold, we are less attached to the land. Consequently we have to be slightly more organised.

There are two big differences not having a car.

The first is pace.

Our pace has slowed down a notch or two. You just can’t jump in the car and duck around to the corner store or to the bottlo for things we forgot or want on a whim. We can’t just dash out to the chemist, or the doc as easily as we used to. It now takes a little planning.

Instead, we have our eScooters, to which we can hook a couple of grocery bags on the handlebars and scoot along the river to the local at Hamilton (or wherever we are anchored). It is a wonderful way to go shopping. We explore, we see more things, discover new bakeries (Marty aka Martin Lloyd), coffee shops (both of us), the occasional ice-cream parlour and trees to sit under.

The second difference was the experience.

Alternatively, we have Marty’s Duc (Ducati ST2 – this simply means there is a seat for me on the back). I love being on the back of the bike surrounded by sky, feeling the sun through my helmet and jacket, the breeze kissing us as we go. Being a part of the universe, fully connected to the world. I have total trust in Marty and relax with my left hand gently holding on to a side strap on his jacket and my right-hand moves, from his jacket to my thigh to the grab bar at the back. And occasionally, I swap hands.

We used to go for rides a lot when we first started going out. As life got busier, it fell away. We are doing a lot more things we use to do again. It is lovely.

The bike requires us to grab our boots, jackets, helmets and gloves and put them all in the dinghy for the ride to shore. Marty, typically, puts his boots on before getting in the dinghy. Me, I like being bare foot as long as possible. The rest of our kit, we don’t don until we are at the bike, as it is too hot. Occasionally we forget things. Yesterday I forgot my socks realising as I was putting my boots on in the dinghy. Marty forgot the bike key realising when we had tied up the dinghy and had got to the bike. He went back to the boat to get the bike key and I forgot to ask him to grab some socks for me. I laughed. At the end of the day it does not matter.

I have also been taking public transport. I enjoy it. Typically, I am not in the peak hour rush. Here we have two options. We have the Ferry at Hamilton North. It is wonderful to sit on the ferry and cruise up the river. If need be, I change to a train which will get me almost everywhere I need to go. I take my laptop, find the quiet carriage and sit and write, do emails and get things done. And occasionally look outside the window as the world passes me by. There is a train station a good walk from where we are. So that would be a scooter ride and train trip. I am enjoying the transition.

The outcome of selling the car is that we are enjoying slowing down a notch, are more connected to the world around is and slightly more organised.

It is a life less hectic.

On a final note; on selling the car, it was important to me that he went to someone who would look after him. I am thrilled that a lovely young dental student bought Silver as her first car. I know she will look after him. It is funny, even letting go. I needed Silver to go to someone who would love him.

#Downsizing #SailingSaboteur #boatlife #alifelesshectic

The very practical hatch carried so much.

Originally posted on facebook on January 18, 2022

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Christmas anchoring adventures. 25 December 2021.

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For our Christmas anchoring adventures, It was 10.30ish when the storm had passed. The air was heavy with damp. It was humid from the summer storm. At the same time, it was pleasant as there was enough breeze to take the edge off the humidity.

It had been a long lunch. A long Christmas lunch that had rolled into the afternoon and then evening. Great company (Bill Fuller and David John Dabrowski), great food (thank you Bill) and conversation. Until we were slowing into a food coma, sprawled out across Bill’s lounge fighting for control of the remote as we listen to rock videos. Starting with Feliz Nadidad.

We arrived back to the boat ramp full, content and ready for bed. We put the dogs in their life jackets and our Christmas loot in the dinghy and plunked our very full selves in there as well and commenced the short commute from the jetty to the yacht. As we rounded the corner of the jetty, we could see that our yacht was no longer on the outside of our neighbouring yacht, the Tardis II. Curious. As we approached, we knew they were too close together for comfort. As we closed, we could see my fishing rod was broken, snapped and sadly hanging off the stern, the first sign of the misadventure. Little did we know at that point in time more was to come.

We thought the Tardis II may have drifted. It had.

We snapped out of our indulgent haze to be wide awake. Obviously, we needed to move away from Tardis II. Marty (Martin Lloyd) starts Saboteur’s engine and I go up the front to raise the anchor. This is done with an electric winch as there is no way I would be able to lift 30m of chain and an Excel anchor weighing 32 kilos. As the anchor breaks the surface I involuntarily say ‘whoa’. Curious as it’s not an expression I really use. However, that is what came out of my mouth. Marty shouts “what did you say, you have to speak up”. I walk back to the cockpit and tell him he needs to check it out for himself. We had lifted not only our anchor but another anchor chain and yet another, both wrapped around our ours. We had two alien anchor chains hooked onto our anchor.

There was no way I would be able to lift them off. So I take over at the helm and Marty inspects the situation. He grabs the boat hook hoping to release one chain. That was never going to work. Each chain was twisted and holding the other in place. Lucky us.

Some quick thinking

If we could lift our anchor on one of the halyards and rotate the boat we might be able to slip one anchor chain off. So, I jump in the dinghy and start nudging our boat. Marty says you will need more power than that and so I give her some more power. She is turning. Marty could rotate the anchor enough and the first chain slipped back into the darkness of the water. Brilliant, one down and one to go. The second chain is draped over the anchor shank and cannot be persuaded to slip off as it keeps catching on the anchor blades.

We are assessing the situation and realise the only way to get the second chain of is to remove our anchor chain. This requires us the continue to lift our anchor on the halyard high enough that we can undo the D shackle. I raise the anchor on the halyard winch at the mast. Marty goes downstairs to grab the tool to undo the D Shackle. We have another problem. The nudging the boat to turn… well she was still turning. The first turn we both ignore thinking that she would slow down and while she was close Tardis II, she was not going to hit. But on the second turn I am on the boat hook having to push our stern of Tardis’s bow. Meanwhile Marty is still downstairs.

We are still turning, and drifting.

With the drift we are getting closer again. The next turn I and have to push from about 2 meters from our stern. I know the next turn I would not be able to stop the collision. I throw fenders over the side (love our set up for the fenders, super easy and quick).

Then I jumped on the helm and took her out of neutral into reverse. I give it a squirt or two to move slightly away from our nemesis. Remember we are still hooked to an anchor chain. Which now has at least three more twists in it.

Marty appears in the cockpit once again. I put the boat back into neutral and join him. The extra twist in the chains is not helpful. Marty manages to undo the pin in the D Shackle however the extra weight on the chain was making it very hard to remove the pin. Somehow together we managed to pull the pin out, releasing our anchor from the entangled chain. I am back on the winch and lift our anchor higher so that we can now swing it over the safety line and lower it onto our deck. We leave it in place and head out into the main channel. By this stage it is around 12.30pm.

We had to reconnect our anchor chain to the anchor and put it back in place on the bow rollers ready to re-set. But more importantly work out where we were going to anchor. Marty says take us somewhere safe, as we need two sets of hands to manoeuvre the anchor. When we had plenty of sea room we locked the steering wheel and set about resecuring the anchor to the chain and then put it back in place.

The only decision now is where to anchor.

We did not want to be anywhere near the Tardis II. We pick our spot, closer to one of the prawning trawlers. Drop anchor. Let it grab. Damn we drifted back too far. I could not really see how much chain we had out in the dark. I grab my head torch off Marty, raise the anchor and we try again. Bingo… Got it this time. We dropped thirty meters of chain.

What a night, we make a cup of tea and sit for a bit. Until our weariness took over. Time to go to bed. We’re both covered in mud. My gorgeous silk dress… covered. I soak my dress, to wash it properly in the morning. It is time for a shower.

We were not looking forward to seeing what damage had been done to our boat.

In the morning, I get up and step over on to the swim board and have a look. The side of the hull, near the fishing rod is grazed. It will probably polish out. The anchor left a small gouge in the forward hull which probably won’t polish out.

We learn the next day from speaking to other’s here that this is a common problem. The owner of the Tardis II apparently lives on another boat in the area and is an unpleasant character. On each of his boats he puts out about 50 to 60 meters of chain. Which means his boats will drift on their chains great distances. We are not the first boat to have had our anchor chain caught up. Apparently, he does not care.

Furthermore,

We learnt that in the 2011 floods, many boats attempted to take shelter in this bend in the river. However, a few of them snapped their anchor chains here and there are a lot of chains and anchors at the bottom of the river in this bend. I am sure there is money that could be made if anyone wanted to pull them up.

With each crazy mishap and adventure, I love the feeling of overcoming the challenge. I am also becoming more impatient for our trip to NZ to start.

Love our crazy life.

Will add photos later. It is too depressing to take the photos of the damage.

Originally published on Facebook on 28/12/21.

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In Our Journey

Oh, what a day…

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We are coming to the end of our time at East Coast Marina and both of us are becoming restless. What a day it was. Eager to move away from land and to our next discovery and exploration of the Great South East. This time we are not going very far. We are heading up the Brisbane river for ten days.

The end of our time at any marina tends to be a flurry of activity. These last two weeks are no exception. The activities are a mix of client work, boating projects and last-minute catch-ups with new and old friends before moving on.

This week, work was business as usual.

Martin worked four days instead of three days.

Social activities have been plentiful. Wonderful company, conversations, good food and new memories and not enough exercise.

Boating projects are all ago. In theory, we try not to have too many projects on the go at any one time. We also try to put deadlines around each project. This is important for numerous reasons; headspace, bench space and budget. All of this is great in theory.

We currently have two projects underway. Both unplanned. One a leaking shower, the other cockpit cushions.

We have a slow leak in the shower which was progressively getting worse. Thirty-one years of plumbing that is growing fatigued. We don’t need to lose any freshwater due to a leaky shower. At this point, we do not have our water maker.

I will start with the cockpit cushions.

With all the rain, the long cockpit teak bench seats were not getting a chance to dry out. They are covered in water-proof bench seat cushions which have seen better days. These cushions are keeping a layer of moisture between them and the timber bench. As I started to clean them, the seams started to let go. They were already giving way in some areas and continued to do so.

Their time is up.

We purchased new fabric a while ago with the plan to replace them. However, we baulked at purchasing the dri-cell foam as the quote I received from Clark Rubber was $375. Way more than our budget could deal with.

With renewed vigour, I sought to find the required dri-cell foam at an affordable price. I found the manufacturer who had a great one-line website and free cutting service. I ordered the dri-cell form for the bargain price of $120. And got the sheet cut to size for free.

You could argue that with money being tight, how do the cockpit bench cushions sit high on the priority list. It is simple. When we are sailing at night, which we will be doing for 8-10 days when crossing the Ditch, there will be occasions where we will be sleeping in the cockpit. Especially if it is rough. Sleeping directly on a solid teak bench is not going to be comfortable. One of us will be on the helm while the other may be sleeping in the cockpit.

And so, the bench seat cushion project was underway.

I was unpicking the seam of the cushions which was a disgusting job, as the inner lining had a slight smell of long-term damp, making me unconsciously continue to sniff even though I don’t want to. Additionally, I was longing for a shower. Notwithstanding, I continued unpicking the cushion as I wanted to rescue and reuse the back of the cushion’s waterproof mesh with the anti-slip panel.

I was just about finished when Martin Lloyd shouted out ‘Tess!’ in what I believed to be a distressed tone, followed by a string of expletives that you can well image. I was slightly annoyed, as I had about 20 cms of stitching to unpick, and then the disgusting part of this job would have been completed. As I stood up, I gave the two pieces of fabric a tug and they very kindly separated for me.

I went downstairs, feeling grotty, to be greeted by a very pale Martin with blood gushing out of his wrist. It was not spurting, but it was definitely gushing. A million things went through my mind. Arrest the flow was first. I went to the first aid kit and pulled out a bandage to put pressure on the cut and wrap his wrist. There was so much blood. It appeared to be slowing down. I thought I had blood on my hands. I couldn’t wash them as we had the shower pulled apart and the freshwater pump was turned off.

Decision time.

Should I call an ambulance or drive M to the nearest hospital? Our boat is moored 900 meters from the marina security gate. Plus, it was Saturday, the main gate was closed, along with access to our finger. I would have needed to get someone to let the ambulance in. Bloody hell.

So, we decided to walk the 7 minutes to the car keeping pressure on the wound. I watched M closely as he stepped off the boat, looking for any signs of dizziness. So far, it was mostly annoyance that he had cut himself, together with the occasional swear word which, for once, I was grateful to hear.

We made it to the car. M asked which hospital I was going to take him too. I did not know. For once in my life, I did not know where the nearest emergency department was. A quick google maps search followed, and I decided Redlands Hospital it would be. M asked can I take him to his favourite hospital (yes, he has a favourite). I said no, citing that it would take at least an hour.

It was about 20 minutes to get to Redlands Mater. It felt like forever.

We arrived.

I dropped him outside emergency, handed him a mask and went in search of a park and was grateful that they have an open-air free car park just near the emergency department. I parked and strode back to emergency.

He was second in a queue of two. He was behind a young mum with a sick young baby. I knew he would be worried that they would take him through to the treatment room without me. He is terrified of needles. Full on phobia. It is heaps better when I am there.

Admin nurse politely asked, ‘How can we help?’

Martin said nothing and held his wrist up, revealing the blood-soaked bandage. She opened the door, and asked him to come through, take a seat and called for a nurse. I had followed him through the door, she asked me to go back outside to the second window and start to give the other administrator his details. Reluctantly, I did so. I could still see him.

The nurse took off my bandage, looked and very quickly put a new bandage on. It looked a lot more professional than mine.

With the paperwork completed, I was given a visitors sticker and Martin’s arm band and asked to put it on him. We were asked to wait in the waiting room and if blood seeped through the bandage, to let them know immediately. Blood seeped through. M ignored it. He is terrified of needles and he knew that he would not be getting away without stitches.

He was playing candy crush as a distraction. I checked the time. We were going to our friends place for dinner that night to help them celebrate their new home. It was three thirty… plenty of time, I told myself.

We were called in

Dr Ming is a quietly spoken man with a great smile and manner about him. We are taken into a room with two walls stack full of every brace you could imagine, and a sink and bench set up to make plaster of Paris casts.

After introductions the conversation flowed.

Dr Ming: ‘How did you cut yourself?’

Martin: ‘With a sharp knife?’

Dr Ming: ‘What were you doing?’

A necessary question, for two reasons to understand how the cut came about but to also eliminate attempted suicide.

I made a one-word contribution to the conversation, ‘plumbing’.

Martin went on to explain that we live on a yacht, and he was attempting to cut a hose with a very sharp knife and slipped.

Dr Ming went on to inform him that he needed to open the cut up and inspect it to eliminate nicking the artery and tendon damage.

Dr Martin replies, ‘I am sure I have not. Can’t you just stitch it.’

‘Unfortunately, no.’ was the reply. At best, we were going to be late for dinner.

I texted Toni, ‘Hi Toni, we might be a little late. M is in hospital. About to get stitches. We are with the Dr now.’

Toni, ‘Oh what!?! What happened?’

I turned my attention back to the Doc who was starting to get needles and things ready and M was starting to get shaky. I went and gave him a cuddle.

The doctor offered gas.

M said, ‘No I will be fine.’ Ming started injecting the atheistic, a little here, a little there along the line of the cut. M’s body contorted in contradicting directions, while Dr Ming tried hard to put the injection in the ever-moving hand. Again, the doctor offered gas. Again, M said no. So, for an agonising few minutes this battle between the desire to keep his hand still in exchange for the promise of relief the pain killers will bring, fought with his subconscious fear of needles and his body kept contorting.

After what felt like ages Dr Ming said, ‘We are done. I need to let the local start working.’ Followed by, ‘I really think we need to use gas.’ He asked M why he didn’t want gas. M explained that it makes him feel as if he has vertigo. Dr Ming says ‘I really think we need gas. Maybe we will set it up, just in case’. He disappeared. What we both did not realise was that this was only the first round of needles. As they opened the cut, there were going to be more.

I showed M a post Toni had put on Facebook. It was the ingredients laid out for desert that night. It included chocolate and almonds. M said, ‘We will be there in time for desert at least.’ Going to dinner at Toni’s is always a delight.

I returned to my phone to answer Toni’s question, ‘Boat plumbing is what happened. Slashed his wrist accidently of course.’ Followed by, ‘Don’t buy a boat’.

She replied back, ‘Duly noted!’

We waited for Dr Ming to return.

He did, in due course, along with a nurse in tow. They started to set up the gas. They moved the bed around and set up the appropriate monitoring devices. M’s pulse was 90. That was insane. It normally sits between 50 and 60.

They gave him the tube to put in his mouth and hold. He breathed in then opened his lips, letting everything out. His breathing was shallow. He was only breathing oxygen for now. They dialled up the nitrous oxide to a 50/50 mix. Dr Ming started again, putting more injections into the wound deeper down. Again, M’s body involuntarily protested what was happening. This time, accompanied by the gasps M was making between his own breath and the mix he had been letting out of his mouth. He was trying hard. They turned up the nitrous oxide. His body was protesting less.

Still protesting all the same, he asked Dr Ming how much Hokkein or Mandarin he could speak. He said none. Martin said something in Mandarin. Dr Ming laughed, M said something else.

They both laughed.

Ming said, ‘I lived in Singapore for a few years. I did learn a few words’.

The nurse and I had no clue. I asked Dr Ming what he said. He said, ‘He is full of shit and when I laughed, he told me that I’m full of shit’, Sensing my horror, he went on to explain that it is an expression equivalent to saying this (situation) is shit’. The nurse and I now got the joke. Humour aside, his body was still protesting. The Doctor nodded to the nurse and the nitrous percentage was increased. Martin’s protesting ceased ever so briefly, long enough for Dr Ming to finish the examination. The good news, the artery was fine, the tendons were fine. He did cut through a small vein. Now, to wash out the wound.

Martin’s pulse was now 60. He started to become present again. Dr Ming explained what he was doing.

It was time for stitches. Martin contorted, however way less violently by now. The phobic beast was surrendering to the combination of the local and the gas. The stitches were followed by glue and a protective bandage.

I sent Toni a text, ‘M is determined to make it as we saw your post re desert.’ She responded back ‘Ha, ha. Super, no rush, I am behind anyway.’

We got back to the boat, with no shower, no accessible fresh water. At the hospital I managed to wash my hands and arms properly. On the boat I pulled out baby-wipes and did a wipe wash. Got changed, added a dash of perfume and we grabbed the house-warming present and headed out.

I sent Toni a text. ‘Seven minutes away’.

We made it in time for dinner and had a lovely evening. Now, to sort our plumbing issues with M in a brace to immobilise the wrist for two days to give the stitches a chance to heal.

Originally published on Facebook on 12/12/21.

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In Liveaboard

Climbing the mast… FYI (it’s 23 meters)

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Climbing the mast…

Tuesday afternoon

Marty called me and here’s how it went.

Marty; ‘Hey baby, I need you to go up the mast.’

Me; ‘Why?’

Marty; ‘I was replacing the topping lift (a line that run up inside the mast, and then out to the end of the boom and back again) the new line is a little too short. I need you to feed it back down the mast.’

Me; ‘Sure no-problems. (Why we use this expression I don’t know, because how do you know there will be no problems). When?’

Marty; ‘Tomorrow morning, first thing before the wind gets up.’

So that was the plan.

Wednesday morning 5.30 am.

Me; ‘Hey Baby, (who is still lying in bed) am I going up the mast this morning?’

Marty makes a sound that resembles a moan rolls over and says, ‘Not today, I don’t feel up to it.’

I was surprisingly disappointed. It appears that I was really looking forward to it. I thought I was nervous and a little concerned. It appears that I was more excited than anything else. There is nothing I can do but wait another day. You don’t want the man on the winch and the break line not feeling up to it when you are 23 meters above the waterline.

Wednesday, I ran into friends on the main street at Manly, we stopped for a seriously good coffee at Le Bistro. I love those happy unplanned moments. I asked Bruce if he would give us a hand on Thursday.

Thursday morning 5.40am

I notice the text from Bruce. He is early and I go to marina security gate to let him in.

We get back to the boat and Marty is getting the bosun’s chair and lines ready.

We are using the:

  • Mainsail halyard – the line used to hoist the main sail up and down. 
  • Bosun’s chair – the canvas seat connected to the mainsail halyard
  • Electronic winch – to hoist me up
  • Spinnaker halyard – the line used as my brake line in case the main line fails. Bruce will be operating this.

The crew:

  • Marty on the electronic winch
  • Bruce on the brake line
  • And yours truly on the outdoor elevator
I set up the Facebook Live.

Meanwhile Marty ties a bowline knot in the mainsail halyard securing the Bosun’s chair which I then climb into. I also hook the halyard cleat onto the Bosun’s chair D ring.

I adjust the waistband. I tighten it to stop me slipping forward. I realised I did not do this last time. This is the second time I have gone up the mast. The first time was a couple of months ago. Our friend Dan had gone up to do some electrical work at the top of the mast and when he came down, he suggested I go up. He said something along the lines of, ‘You may as well do it now, it (the water) will never be flatter than it is now.’ He was right the water was as flat as glass and there was no wind. It was perfect. And so, I cautiously went up. That day I thought I would only go to the first spreader, however it seemed OK.

I decided to go up further after navigating my way over the spreader. I was at the second spreader and pushed back to step over it and cautiously continued my way up to the top of the mast.

This time there was a light wind, 5-8 knots. We were in a marina and sheltered. Additionally, the boat weighs 20 tonnes and does not rock (or roll) excessively due to her weight below the water line.

We attach the safety line. We wrap the spinnaker halyard around the manual winch at the base of the mast. Oops wrong way. Do it again. We check the clutch cleats. These allow the lines to travel one way, but lock if we slip… Another safety measure.

And so it is time for the bounce test. I swing out…

Marty says; ‘It’s a bounce test not a swing.’

Me; ‘I know.’

I swing back in and do my bounce test. We do this to make sure nothing breaks.

It all looks good. I kick off and swing back. I love swings.

The bounce test entails taking your feet of the ground and bouncing to check;

  1. that the lines take the weight and support you
  2. your knots are holding, and
  3. if anything breaks you are no more than knee high to the deck.

I notice the line is twisted around the mast. We fix that.

Bounce test 2.

I go back on to the top of the deck and bounce.

Bruce has the break line ready.

Marty; ‘Alright, ready to go up?’

Me; ‘Yep.’

Marty returns to the cockpit to operate the electronic winch. I come back into the mast.

I am half winched up and I am stepping up on to safety railing and then across on to the boom.

We stop. Now to settle in and hug that mast. Lightly, not heavily. I wiggle my arse in the seat and make sure I am sitting back in the seat.

I gently wrap my legs around the mast followed by my arms. There is a track on the far side of the mast that my fingers find. It is helpful to keep me centred. Marty is behind me in the cockpit and the canvas cover is in place. He can’t see me. Next time we will roll it back. It is OK this time because Bruce has full visibility and is on the safety line.

I have to speak up to be heard.

Me; ‘Ready, Slow’

I am gradually creeping up the mast. I am restricted by the safety line.

Me; ‘Bruce, more line please’

We are settling into a rhythm and working well together. About halfway between the boom and the first spreaders I can stop hugging the mast and open my arms out to hold on to a steel ring. Another meter and I step back away from the mast and put the ring between my first and second toe. It is comfortable.

As I approach the first spreader I ask Marty to slow down. I need to step over the spreaders. Awkwardly, I step over the spreader I am back to hugging the mast with my arms and legs. I feel something on the other side of the mast. I think it is a navigation light.

Marty; ‘Let me know when you are in position.’

Me; ‘I just got to…’  And my voice fades off… (I think I do that a lot when I am thinking, concentrating).

Marty; ‘I can’t hear you…’ That is said a lot as well.

And so, I continue up the mast.

Passing the first spreader I was feeling comfortable and slightly more confident. And surprisingly not anxious or scared. Having said that I was not that keen on looking directly down. I believe my sense of safety came from having three fail safe systems in place and being operated by two people I totally trust. Besides, the rigging is brand spanking new.

As I approach the second spreader I once again stop hugging the mast and open my arms out to hold on to the steel rings (not sure why it is called a ring when it is a cable, but that is boating for you) another meter and I step back away from the mast and put the steel ring between my first and second toe. It is more like a spider man walk up an invisible wall now.

All of a sudden the sound the winch is making changes. The tone drops. It is working harder. I was surprised at how clear I was when this happened. I did not panic or go, what the… It was, yeh it makes that sound when the main sail gets to this point. Besides it is designed to handle significant wind force. My weight is nothing in comparison.

Me; ‘Stop, stop…’

Bruce To Marty; ‘Stop, stop…’

Marty; ‘I can’t hear her.’

And he stops…

Again, I push back to step over the second spreader and go back to hugging the mast. I no longer have the track on the other side to hold on to and keep me centred. It is very still, so I am not being pushed in any direction by wind or breeze.

Bruce is doing a perfect job on the safety line. Again total trust. I was looking out at the view and did not realise I was so close to the top when my shoulders got wedged under the stays.

Marty stops the winch and shouts out ‘How much further?’

Marty to Bruce; ‘I can’t hear what she says.’

He starts the winch again. I was close.

I shut out; ‘Stop… Stop… stop…’

Bruce shouts; ‘Stop.’

My body is a little squashed.

More precisely my shoulders are wedged between the mast and the stays. Marty and Bruce had to lower me down a touch so that I could de-wedge myself and then keep going about 60cm. Finally I am at the top. There are two folding foot rests about 30cm below the top of the mast. I unfold them and can place my thighs over them and so I am comfortable and creating a stable position for me to work from. My crew put the locks on. I start feeding the topping lift line down.

Marty and Bruce go the base of the mast and Marty shouts up, ‘You can start feeding the line down.’ It was already happening. They were watching and waiting to see it appear through the aperture at the base of the mast. ‘Stop,’ I hear. Marty reaches his hand in and grabs the line. Success, I continue to feed the line down the mast and Marty pulls it out. That task completed, now to lower me down.

I had to unhook my legs from the footrests and fold the footrest back up. Marty reverses the line and Bruce the locks, and I slowly start going down.

I am elated. I am enjoying the view with brief glances down. I am so, so happy. I step back over the second spreader and continue down and over the first spreader. I am on the boom. I really want to have a swing now. However, I knew Marty needed to go to work and Bruce had to get home to do the school run.

I was super happy. Twice I have done this.

Marty and I talked about me going up the mast monthly and to do it with a slight breeze next time. For sure when I need to go up one of these days, the weather won’t be perfect. We also need to practice just the two off us. Marty on the winch and the break line. He has done it before with Dan.

Ah, more adventures ahead. More fun to be had.

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In Marina life

Departing Sanctuary Cove Marina, take 2…

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Departing Sanctuary Cove Marina… The last time we departed Sanctuary Cove Marina, some of you held your breath as it was the first time I had taken the helm to depart from a dock.

They say practice makes perfect. Are you ready, friend Jordo?

We had decided to spend a couple more nights at Sanctuary Cove again. We were heading out to dinner with friends and there were a few storms coming, so it was just going to be easier all round to stay for a couple of nights. There is something comforting about heading into a marina that we have been into before. Familiarity provides a little more confidence. We have a sense of how wide the berths are, and how much room we have to turn etc. And so, heading in, we were very relaxed. We have fallen into the habit of setting up Saboteur so that we can dock on either side, just in case. This means we have fenders and lines on both sides of the boat ready for plan A and plan B.

With Marty at the helm, we phoned in and were told we could have the same berth as last time – sweet. Too easy. The light breeze was going to gently blow us on to the finger. This is the easiest way to dock. We came in on low tide. Marty gently turned and lined the bow up perfectly. I sat on the edge of the boat, feet dangling over the side, the stern line in my hand and about to step off. It was an easy step. We are gliding in. I tend to count down the reducing distance in metres 3, 2, I… in the readiness to step off.

There was a slight jolt.

We had stopped, just shy of the finger. I shouted out ‘keep going’. Marty shouted back ‘we have hit bottom…’ This marina is meant to be deeper than this. Bugger. Captain Marty upped the erbs (slang for horse power) and we gradually pushed Saboteur’s 20 tonnes through the soft mud bottom the remaining distance into our berth. I stepped off what was the slowest docking ever.

Our time swiftly passed at the marina. We had a couple of social events, I was able to write and Marty installed the stand-up paddle board brackets on the stanchions and we were both very happy with our efforts.

We kept meaning to tell the Marina Manager that we had touched bottom. This marina and this berth are designed for much bigger boats that require more water underneath them than we do. We really should not have touched bottom. We kept forgetting to tell him and finally told him when we handed our keys back before leaving.

Once again it was time for me to take Saboteur off the finger. Practice, practice, practice…  I was feeling mildly confident and slightly nervous. It was about an hour after low tide. We had 10cm of water underneath us. More than what we had when we came in. I asked Marty, ‘Should we wait a little longer, perhaps have another 10 cm underneath us?’  We discussed this, however with the extra water comes increased current.

We decided to leave now.

I took the helm. Started the engine, tested the instruments and made sure that the bow thruster was working. Marty took the bow line off as I nudged Saboteur into reverse. We were slowing moving backwards. Marty stepped on board with the stern line and we were free from the finger. We edged back until we were midships and I started to turn Saboteur with the bow thruster. It was a wide berth and we had plenty of room.  We were now about 45 degrees to the finger and… we hit bottom. I mean seriously hit bottom.  

Not going forward, not going back.

I could have stepped off at the end of the finger (just – it would have been a big step). We looked at each other and laughed. There was nothing to do but wait until we had more water underneath us. The challenge, if we lifted off without realising it, was that the wind could have pushed us into the boat beside us. We had to keep a close eye on the water level and on our position. Being still and waiting… watching… waiting… watching. We phoned the Marina manager and explained we were stuck again. He said, yes, he could see that. We laughed. He offered to grab a line. No need, I was staying on the helm. He said he would organise to get that area surveyed and re-dredged.

And so about 15 minutes later…

we had enough water and power to continue backwards and then I could put Saboteur into neutral and then into forward gear.  We were drifting. I had no power. We both looked at each other. Marty said, ‘Don’t tell me the propeller shaft has disconnected again from the gear box’. I hit the bow thruster to steer us away from the slowly approaching boats we were drifting towards. It was all slow motion. This is the advantage of going on slack water (low or high tide when the current turns).

I brought her back to neutral and then got into gear again. Bingo. I hadn’t put the gear stick fully into forward. We both laughed and sighed almost at the same time as the propeller moved us forward and out of the channel.

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