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.
(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)
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;
that the lines take the weight and support you
your knots are holding, and
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.
Perhaps, today is the day…. For what you ask…? The inevitable… A stand-up paddle board, an inexperienced paddler, two dogs and water. Know where this is heading…? Read on.
About two months ago I purchased a second-hand stand-up paddle board. I was reasonably sure I could stay on. However, would I like it? Because of my uncertainty I was determined to buy the cheapest second-hand board I could find. Sitting on our deck at Horseshoe Bay just off Peel Island the water was so inviting, I really wanted a board, and now. The now bit was not remotely possible. However, the ‘want’ was strong. High jacking any priority spending and sensibleness like ‘where would we put her’? I jumped on gumtree and there I saw her. She was beautiful and happened to be the cheapest… True. She was knocked around a bit and had evidence of a good life (Just like us).
So, I purchased her sight unseen and had to rely on my brother to pick it up. After all we were anchored off Peel Island at the time.
About a week later we went into Horizon Shores Marina and met my bro and kids for dinner. He brought my new toy to me… Happy days. I looked at her and smiled. Zac investigated and the dogs immediately jumped on her.
Welcome to your new family Bella-B.
Over the next few weeks she sat in a few different locations on our boat while we worked out where her new home was going to be. Unfortunately the weather was against a calm first paddle. I wanted Martin to be handy with the dinghy, well just in case… Fingers crossed the weather would be favourable soon. Martin was getting annoyed about stepping around her on the deck (he has big feet that get in his own way sometimes) and we invested in racks to mount her on the outside of the stauntions.
I looked and wondered a bit, quietly hoping I would fall in love with stand-up paddling.
My first paddle was off Russell Island on slack water with straps secured around the board, front and back. Why? There are two reasons, the first it will slow the board down in the water. Not a bad idea while I gain my balance. A trick I learnt from my friend Bruce who patiently tried to teach me to paddle a K1 kayak (Olympic class). Who was I kidding? But I had heaps of fun trying. Who does not love a swim in the Noosa river? The second purpose the straps served was to enable me to secure another line to the board and hoist her back on the boat. Remember we are not at a marina finger, we are on anchor.
My first paddle was awkward, wobbly and slow.
If I am honest, too slow for my liking. I was missing the glide. That was probably because of the straps. It was still nice. Then the dogs wanted to be on the board. The paddle was even slower with two puppies on board. Nitro sat perfectly still in front of me and Moo, not so still behind me.
The second paddle was at Paradise Point, Gold Coast. I had this idea of doing my first Bridge to Bridge. What was I thinking? I still have my training wheels on (the straps) and two puppies. It was slow going from Saboteur north to the first bridge. It took ages against the current. I was not sure of my footing. And I turned, and the current was swift. Turning was interesting. I held my breath and wobbled and as I wobbled Nitro looked up at me and Moo moved around. Not helping Moo! I immediately gave up the idea of doing a bridge to bridge and turned my attention on how to get back on the boat. I realised the dinghy was not in the water and changing my centre of gravity enough to pick up the dogs and put them on the boat and hold on all at once was going to be challenge and I had forgotten to put the strap out to hold on to… As I approached the boat, I was hoping Martin would pop his head up on deck and help me. Relief, Martin popped his head up. Perfect timing.
And still, I did not fall in.
Now we have been at East Coast Marina Manly for a couple of weeks. The first week most days, I saw my friend Karen go past on her board. I am thinking ‘I really need to do this’. Finally, one morning she passed the corner and I went ‘bugger it, I’m doing it’. I put the board in the water (without straps) put the dog’s life jackets on them, grabbed the paddle and my ankle strap then tentatively stood on the board. I did not need to worry about putting the dogs on, they jumped aboard. Nitro first and then Moo, both claiming their spots.
The water was glass, the sun was rising, swifts (birds) were singing and we were gliding across a sprinkle of diamonds on the water. I went up the channel beside Saboteur. There were schools of fish here and there. I paddled down to the main gate and gingerly turned. Wow… survived another turn. Paddling back, this time along the shoreline, I saw two rays. I grinned from ear to ear. I was gradually gaining confidence. Before too long my feet were becoming numb. Particularly my toes. It is a thing with us stand-up paddle boarders.
Since then this has become my morning routine. I have fallen in love with the glide. I have always loved the tranquillity of the early morning and the sun kissing the water.
Every morning I wonder, perhaps today is the day that I will fall in.
Now, it is important to do so as you need to know how to get back on. My ego prides myself in not falling off, my brain says I need to practice getting back on. Especially with two dogs to also get back on board.
So, Thursday morning, I went for my biggest paddle ever. I had departed East Coast Marina and ventured into Royal Queensland Yacht club. (Sounds more impressive than it is). And my feet started going numb. Bugger, I still had a way to go to get back to Saboteur.
I turn to head for home and a turtle pops his head up out of the water and looks at me and the dogs who remain silent. My board has images of turtles on it. I grin… totally forgetting about my numb feet. I turn the board and drift with the turtle who disappears below the water. Hoping to see him again… I don’t understand why we can feel our feet when they go numb. Perhaps numb is not the right word.
I reluctantly turn to go back home.
On the way back a lady on a marina finger smiles at the dogs and says oh they are so cute in the life jackets. She was wearing a one piece. I asked if she had been swimming at the local pool. And she said she had been to Chandler (a bigger pool). By this stage the board is virtually still and we are beside the finger. The dogs not wanting to miss out on attention from a human who is looking adoringly at them, jump off the board onto the finger. Nitro first followed by Moo. Great, this is going to be interesting. I start to wobble. I call the dogs. Moo jumps on behind me and Nitro in front of me. Nitro jumps on the front of the board where there is no traction pad. Only glossy fibreglass. It could only be described as the fastest tap dance ever followed by a roadrunner brake and a slow motion slide into the water. Meanwhile I attempt to stay upright. Nitro tries to get back on, all the while his claws and paws slipping on the fibreglass.
I carefully lean forward and grab the handle of his life jacket, lift him out of the water and lower him on to the traction pad. He shakes to get the excess water off himself and decides he really needs to sit down, for which I am grateful. I say goodbye to my new friend and head home hoping my feet will hold out. And they did…
Life onboard Saboteur means we have to be handy and problem solve (without killing each other). This means we are doing many firsts.
In a week of firsts, this week is up there including, but not limited to, the first time:
• Saboteur was ‘beached as’… let’s not do that again any time soon! • The dinghy donk (outboard motor) shear pin, well – sheared – as designed… if only we knew that than. (FYI it was because we hit a rock in the shallows). • Our friend, Mitch Bradford ‘Macgyvered’ a bolt to replace the pin… our donk was working again. Massive thanks Mitch and relief we are not up for a new motor. Mental note, we have to buy a new pin… • We docked at Runaway Bay Marina, with Marty berthing brilliantly in the tightest spot we have ever parked in • We docked at Sanctuary Cove Marina in the biggest berth we have ever had… nice.
After all, being a back seat driver is much easier that trying to manoeuvre a 20 tonne vessel that will not steer in reverse. Much swearing and cursing and the occasionally bouncing and fending off boats have occurred in the past. We are constantly improving our skills; my skills with the boat hook have been less called upon as my line throwing skills have improved, that is if there is someone to catch it and tie us off. And now my ability to simply step off as Marty glides the boat into berth as a pro. Likewise Marty’s skills at reading the wind speed, the current and the space we have to manoeuvre have all excelled.
Many an experienced skipper says the most stressful thing about sailing is casting off and docking. I have to agree.
I knew the day would come and on Sunday evening Marty asked me, ‘Why don’t you take us off the dock tomorrow?’ I replied, ‘Sure.’ I had been thinking the same thing myself. I knew I had to do this.
After all what could go wrong?
And so Monday came and we had planned to leave about midday on high tide. High and low tides are the best times to depart and dock because it is the time the current is as close to still as possible as it changes direction.
I went for a walk to the amenities block before we left. On my way back, I set about taking in my surrounds, where will the wind blow us once we release the mooring lines? We had three lines holding us. What could go wrong?
We finished off a few last minute tasks:
• Put the hose way once the water tanks were topped up • Put the dogs in the life jackets and clipped them into the safety lines in the cock pit • Put Zac on his lead.
The moment was getting closer…
Back to thinking about our departure. I had two options.
Option one, to reverse and turn as soon as I could turn and not hit the neighbouring vessel in the pen beside me.
Option two, to reverse straight for about 50 meters and turn after I had passed the fuel dock and not back into the mega super yachts.
Now where we were, there are many super yachts that are worth millions and millions. I can’t fathom how much some of them are worth.
We knew it was slack tide, we rechecked the winds. They were coming from the south, so unless it changed it should just blow us straight off. Perfect.
I check the rudder was straight and we discussed the order in which we would release the lines. Agreed.
We discussed reversing options one and two. We went for option one. It would give us more control of Saboteur more quickly.
And so the moment was on us.
I started the engine. Marty turned the engine blower (to blow the hot air out of the engine) and the anchor winch on. We were not travelling far, so it was ok to turn it on now, and it is a good back up if you lose control; you drop the anchor before doing damage to others, the fuel dock and yourselves.
OK, we were in neutral, Marty was on the finger and released the bow port mooring line.
When releasing lines, we can set them up so that they are lassoed on the finger and you can slip them from the boat.
Alternatively, you can release them on the finger and then jump on the boat.
My biggest concern if we did the later was that:
• the boat would drift away from the finger or • with my dyslexia I would steer the boat in the wrong direction (away from the finger) or • I would use the bow thruster and push the boat away from the finger • And struggle to get it back, leaving Marty on the finger and me out of control with a 20 tonne boat.
The winds were perfect to hold us on the finger, so it was ok for Marty to release the lines from the finger. There was a lot of trust in my skills here.
As I write this I am reminded of when we did our International Day Skipper’s course. To pass, we had to be able to successfully dock the sailing school’s boat. I always went first, otherwise I would either forget what they had told us or start to stress as I waited for my turn. I could then relax.
We had to dock at a fuel dock, on the end of a T, coming up behind another boat and reverse park into a berth. Marty told me later, he was worried for me as I can get my left and rights back to front, especially in reverse. FYI, I nailed it then.
I had not docked since that Day Skipper’s course which was July 2018. It felt like forever.
And so, with the engines going, I changed from neutral to reverse and put about 700 revs on. Marty released the port bow line and threw it onto the boat. The boat was barely moving. Marty released the starboard line and I put another 1000 revs on. Remember, 20 tonnes is slow to gain momentum. Marty walked to the stern line which was mid-ships, released the line and walked back with the boat as she made her way backwards. I was a little too close to the finger, and the fenders were threatening to jump up. I touched the bower thruster.
Marty jumped back on board, told me I was clear to turn, and so I turned the boat using the bow thruster; once, twice and she turned in her body length. I dropped the revs and went from reverse through neutral and into forward gear, and put the revs on. I turned to port (left) as I was little close to the end of the fingers and the bows of some of these super yachts. (Because of my super tight turn). Nothing to worry about because the winds were pushing us away.
And with a big grin on my face, I took us out of the marina. It was massive relief to have finished another first. It was 12.06 pm.
Meanwhile, Marty went downstairs, put the groceries away, and hung out the washing. He finished and came upstairs with a perfect cup of tea, kissed me on the cheek and told me again how cool I am. We were both enjoying the moment. Marty snoozed in the cockpit, the puppies snuggled up and I skippered us to the magic of South Stradbroke Island feeling deeply calm and happy.
Yesterday, we (Martin Lloyd and I) had to right a capsized dinghy… yes, Diann Richards and John Richards before you have a heart attack, it was not ours. It was a neighbour’s dinghy.
Here’s how the day unfolded.
We left the calm waters and safety of Horizon Shores Marina just after high tide to head back to an old favourite anchorage just off the south of Russell Island. We travelled with the current and made good time of our voyage.
We were anticipating northerly winds, strong gusts and a brief squall. We decided to anchor at Perry’s Hole (about 40 minutes from our destination) as it would offer better shelter from the pending winds.
From there, we found a spot, dropped anchor and settled in. I was writing and Martin was catching up on the MotoGP between copy editing for me.
The wind was picking up and the boat was leaning. At all times she felt safe. Martin would pop his head into the cockpit every now and again to check. A houseboat had anchored close to us. Too close for comfort. And directly in the line of the prevailing winds. This meant that if their anchor slips, they were more than likely going to hit us. Martin put his jacket on and stayed in the cockpit to monitor. It had started to rain and the squall arrived. Sure enough, within a couple of minutes they were getting very close.
Martin gave them a friendly horn warning to which they turned on their engine raised their anchor and moved forward. They appeared to drop anchor again just ahead of us. Still in line with the prevailing winds. Martin gave them another horn blast this time accompanied with arms gestures to move along the channel. They raised the anchor again and moved as requested.
Happy with the distance and feeling safe, we settled down to wait out the weather.
Martin continually checking their position. Next thing you know their dinghy was upside down and they were trying to secure it onto their boarding platform. They were struggling. Martin lowered our dinghy, put the motor on and headed over to give them a hand returning about 30 minutes later advising their dinghy was secured and we were to go back on low tide (slack water) and try to help them right it.
In the meantime, we fell back into our respective activities.
The winds dropped and slack tide was close, we jumped in our dinghy and we both went over. More hands make light work as they say.
Picture this, their dinghy is upside down, bow (nose) in the water, stern (back) on the deck sitting on the engine and secured by a long rope. It is a 3.5m horizon dinghy designed for flat water. This means the hull is relatively flat and so in rough water it can slap on the water surface. This noise can be quite loud. The owners had turned the dinghy around to stop the slapping sound. When they moved the houseboat, they had not turned it back around and were towing it backwards, causing it to fill with water and flip. Bare in mind, it has a 15 horsepower motor on the back. That is pretty heavy.
Us 4 amigos set about trying to work out how to flip this damn dinghy. We tried many ways to pivot and rotate the dinghy from the back of the deck with no luck. Finally, the decision was made to gently take the houseboat as close as possible to shore. Then, hopefully we could take the line that secured it from the back of the boat to shore and flip it on the beach.
It was a good plan.
The only problem was… the beach was a mixture of sand and mud. And so the fun began. Patrice expertly manoeuvred the boat about 2 meters from the shoreline and dropped anchor. The wind would swing the houseboat away from shore and the gentle swell would swing her back to shore. As we swung into the shore, I stripped off my trousers and stepped off the back deck into the shallows. At first the water was brisk to say the least. I held my breathe and soon forgot about the cold and had to focus on my feet sinking into the mud. I was ankle deep in mud. Wonderful! I wiggled my feet to ease them up and grinned at the squelching noise I was making as I started walking towards the shoreline. There is nothing quite like an unexpected adventure.
Martin and Paul were carefully untying the lines that secured the dinghy while the wind swung the houseboat away from the shore. We waited for the swell to bring it back in. Patrice passed the line to me and Martin and Paul stepped off the houseboat to come and join me.
The next 30 seconds or so was hilarious as they too joined the ministry of silly walks as each step their feet disappeared into the mud. They worked out how to find they own way through the mud and now there were three of us on shore. Patrice stayed on the boat just in case she had to raise the anchor and move the houseboat.
Firstly
We had to move our dinghy which was also tied to the back of the houseboat. Patrice undid it and threw me the line, I dragged it up the mud flat a little so that it was out of the way. Or kind of. We then had to secure the line to the bow of the dinghy and try and turn her around. Unfortunately, the upside-down motor is now acting like an anchor and feeling the side of the dinghy reveals that it is 15 or so centimetres into the mud. It is now like a giant suction cap and we can barely see much of the boat. We had to do something fast as the tide has turned and the water was gradually rising.
Paul and I managed to get both hands under the end of the dinghy (deep in the mud) and break the air seal and lift her. Martin pulled the line to turn the nose to shore then helped us. We are getting movement. We continue to lift. The dinghy edge is out of the water. We lift more. She turns over. Martin and Paul drag the dinghy as far up the mud as possible, which is not very far given that she is full of water. We now need to bail. We wait for the houseboat to swing back in, I step in our dinghy and grab the bucket that Patrice hands me, then step out of our dinghy into the mud and hand the bucket to Martin. He starts bailing.
We now have a good chance that Patrice and Paul will take their dinghy home.
It was Patrice’s dad’s dinghy. He passed away last year so it has sentimental value. Her dad was a seaman who worked on the trawlers. We have a discussion; I ask the question ‘does the dinghy have a name’? I believe Patrice said they just call it Bob. Martin quipped- ‘even upside down it is still Bob’. We all laughed.
While Martin is bailing, I walk the couple of meters to firmer ground being more sand less mud, turn to face the lowering sun, stretch my arms, hands and fingers wide, perhaps to try and warm up. I am getting cold. The mud itself was reasonably warm. Being in the wind my fingers were freezing. They were cold to the bone. Eventually most of the water is out of the Bob and we are able to, when the houseboat swung back in, pass the line to Patrice to tie up Bob the dinghy.
Martin and Paul jump in our dinghy, Martin got the motor going and motored around to the other side of the houseboat and secured our line. I waited once more for the houseboat to swing back into shore and stepped on board.
All on board, and two dinghy’s secured Patrice raised the anchor and we headed to a new anchoring spot for them.
Patrice offers us the shower. We decline. I sat on the deck and washed the mud off my legs, feet and hands in the salt water. Honestly the mud is lovely, and it feels good on my skin. Truth be known I love squelching it between my toes. After getting most of the mud off me, I accepted a towel, wrapped myself up, went inside and sat on the couch.
The sun was starting to set.
Patrice opened a lovely bottle of white wine, Paul cracked a beer and we sat and chatted for about an hour learning about our new friends. Patrice also shared the photos and video she took. I was glad as now I have photos to share. We had fun.
We said good night, I returned the towel and put my trousers back on and we returned to our boat. We were warmly greeted by our animals who demanded food.
As I reflect back on yesterday and our adventures, I smile. I love boating life. It is a great community. It was nice to be able to help someone else. We have received help from many others and so we were happy to be able to do the same.
Friday morning: Lindsay is leaning on the veranda railing, I’m in one of the comfy deck chairs. Lindsay and I sip our cuppa’s predominantly in silence. Marty is still catching up on some zzzz’s.
The various birds are chirping, screaming and squawking while nearby Kookaburras are laughing at some insider joke.
7.30 am
Lindsay: That’s the first car this morning…
Me: It’s magic.
8.15 am
Marty wakes up and I make him a coffee. He joins us on the deck. He is slow to wake…
8.30 am
Lindsey: That’s the second car this morning…
Marty: Is it Friday?
Lindsay: Yes.
Marty: Must be peak hour.
We all laugh.
Lindsay: He’s the local painter, heading to work.
Marty: That is the definition of peak hour, going to work.
The guys head to down the side of the house.
8.40 am
Another car goes past, with a friendly wave and a shout out, ‘Morning Lindsay’.
Me: I say to myself, yep definitely peak hour. I look at the clock, we have 20 minutes before we head back to the boat and peace away from the peak hour.
Thanks for having us for dinner Lindsay. Love hanging out with you.
‘Get me out of here!’ I said to myself. Along with:
I hate sailing
I hate being cold
I hate being wet
Are we there yet?
I was seriously queasy. I asked Martin ‘How much longer?’ And he informs me that what we thought was going to be another three hours was likely to be another five. ‘Five, you have got to be kidding. I go downstairs and hope to throw up. It does not happen.
The day had started with me taking us off anchor and heading out of a relatively calm Mooloolaba bar. The coast guards have excellent instructions on how to cross to the bar. Thank you very much Mooloolaba coast guards. I completed my first bar crossing as skipper and was proud of myself.
I turn the boat to the open water with the plan of heading north east away from land to catch the South easterly breeze, then after about five hours turning west to sail into Double Island Point anchorage for the night. We put the headsail up first as the wind was from our starboard quarter. We were doing 6.5 knots. It was pretty good speed really. However, it was rough, rougher than expected. The swell was the size we expected however we could not comfortably sail in the direction we wanted. We tried to trim the sails to make the passage more comfortable. Eventually the head sail came down and we put up the smaller staysail. More correctly Martin put the steering lock on and changed the sails. I was too sick.
We sailed in the same rough conditions for about 10 hours. I was queasy the whole time.
I was still saying to myself:
Get me out of here
I hate sailing
I hate being cold
Now I have added a few more things to the list:
When can I get of the boat, and
What do you mean with have another 3 hours of this. You have got to be kidding!!!
I spared myself from feeling guilty about not helping Martin as he had done the same trip a few weeks ago with a friend and he was sick the whole way. Sicker than me by all accounts. Meanwhile, I want to throw up and can’t. Martin is on the helm, auto pilot handling the conditions perfectly and Martin was leaning back reading his book on his phone. You have got to be kidding. He is quite pleased not to be sick this time. For that I am grateful.
After 11 hours after starting out, we finally anchored on the lee of Double Island point.
It is still lumpy rough. I go to bed without eating. Martin gives all the animals a light meal of dry food, just in case.
The following morning we arose and had a slow start. We miscalculated how long it would take to get to the Wide Bay Bar by an hour. We would be crossing an hour after the highest water. Not really a big problem. We checked the height of the swell and breakers with the Tin Can Bay coastguard. It is the Captains call. On paper it all seems OK. What could go wrong? (Nothing actually did – Martin).
We continue and make good time. I am still queasy. So again, all the work falls on Martin.
‘I still hate sailing, please get me out of here’
We make good time and have the approach into the Wide Bay Bar programmed into the nav system. It is a long approach. As we turn to approach the bay so does the swell turn to waves with breakers. We are constantly adjusting as the swell and waves want us to take a more direct route to shore. We had to stay on the waypoints to keep maximum depth underneath us. This was Martins job which he did brilliantly. While I had to watch the swell and breakers for particularly high ones we need to turn away from. We settled into a rhythm of working well together. Our boat Saboteur rose up, rode and surfed the swell and waves brilliantly.
Yesterday and today, I am finding something else to do because the boat is not big enough. Yes, the boat is not big enough for Alex the diesel mechanic, Martin Lloyd and me. I have learnt that there is such thing as fuel polishing and tank scrubbing and that is happening on board at the moment. What does this involved, you ask? Like you, I did not know about any of this until last week.
When we learnt that someone else (more professional than us) could do the fuel polishing (filtering the rubbish out of the fuel, If possible) and tank scrubbing, it made us very, very happy. One of our fuel tanks has had seriously contaminated fuel. And this was a problem on our passage form Bribie (Bribie Island) to Mooloolaba.
After an awesome chill day and paddle at Bribie passage, the adventure unfolded.
On the 26th June at 3.50am, it was 15 degrees and drizzly. The cool and the dampness had not dampened our spirits as we set about getting ready to depart. I made coffees for Dan and Martin and a tea for myself, put the dog’s life jackets on them and strapped them into the jack straps (safety lines). Martin and Dan set about getting the boat ready.
We pulled up our anchor a touch after 4am in the morning. Why so early? Because we wanted to cross the Mooloolaba bar on high tide. We were planning to cross the bar around 10.30am.
At 4am there is barely a hint of light on the horizon and yet the night was relatively clear. Enough to see the navigation beacons. The beauty of the morning is magical and we travelled along more or less in silence as we started to see the sun wash the horizon with light and a little warmth. Dan and Martin saw a whale. I missed it.
We were barely out of the passage approximately 45 minutes later and the engine stopped. It didn’t restart. We were nose into the wind and the boat was rocking. Not the relaxing kind. More the pitching forward and backwards, rather unpleasantly.
Dan and Martin talked it through and started following the fuel line. We discovered that the primary engine filler was blocked. This is a white paper filter, and it was totally black. No problem, Dan used an empty wine bottle from the night before to drain the fuel out of the filter while Martin retrieved the spare. They replaced it, and Dan bled the air out of the line. This, in total, took about 45 minutes. The engine started perfectly. Off we went again.
Take two.
The passage was rough, we were nose into the wind and were pitching the whole way. Three hours later the engine stopped again. The replaced filter was black. Totally black. Now we had a problem. We didn’t have an another spare and needed to clean the filter. We do not have the right cleaning fluids and degreasers. Fortunately, we had plenty of methylated spirits, and it worked a treat. We cleaned the first filter as best we could and replaced it. About 40 minutes later, you guessed it the engine stopped again, and we had to clean the other filter. And so our journey went on, having to do this a total of 5 or 6 times.
This strategy was fine in the open water, however we could not afford to have the engine cut out crossing the bar. So, after a couple of conversations, Dan took the ‘phone a friend’ option. We had it on good advice that removing the primary filter would allow the fuel to flow. The secondary filter was doing a perfect job as well. We were able to cross the bar with confidence under power.
It was with great relief we did so. As we were crossing the bar, so were about a dozen Forty-niners (racing sail craft) who were training for the Olympics.
The next challenge we had was docking. Having not visited the Mooloolaba Marina Sunshine Coast before, we were uncertain how much space we would have. We were very grateful for the lovely wide space and open pens.
Martin docked perfectly and Dan and I were on the lines. It was the smoothest docking ever. I am in love with our new bow thruster. (A newest addition to the boat that has a small propeller in the bow to assist with turning the boat. Best investment ever!)
Massive thank you to Daniel Cooke for everything from electronics to fuel cleaning. To Michael Brook who came to visit for the weekend to escape Brissy and ended helped Dan empty the tanks and try to filter the fuel that was beyond recovery.
Finally, a massive thank you to Mooloolaba Coast Guard who stayed with us on radio over our 11 hour journey. We felt incredibly safe the entire trip.
Alex is still working on the boat. He is a professional and does not need me hanging around. As I said the boat is not big enough, so it’s time for me to take a beach walk.
The reality of living on a boat is that there are sometimes leaks. Boats are designed to be flexible to move and bend with the elements that they are in. Like high rise buildings have a sway element and aircraft a flex element.
And so it is with boats.
Queue music: 5th Dimension singing, ‘Aquarius – Let the sunshine in’
After each rainy period, our routine is to walk around the boat to check both that earlier repairs have actually worked and to look for any new issues in need of repair. Leaks can come from many areas; port holes and hatches whose seals are giving in after 31 years of service, along with any fittings that are bolted through the deck. With our recent two weeks of rain we discovered a new leak. This one was of greater concern for me than normal. Not for any sensible structural reasons, but more so because it was leaking into my clothes cupboard.
I barely got through downsizing my beloved wardrobe without counselling. And certainly not to have my few remaining clothes (yes, few Martin Lloyd) to be damaged by mould when it rains. And so, prior to the most recent rainy period, we dismantled the cupboard ceiling to trace the leak to its origin. We discovered the leak was coming from where the stanchions (these hold our safety lines in place) bolt through the deck. It was leaking because the company who did the work on our deck when we replaced the teak did not seal the holes where the stanchions bolt through the deck, nor did they put two of the three nuts on the ends of the bolts. Let’s leave that there…
Suffice to say I was happy to have discovered the leak before any damage was done to my clothes. I was even happier when Martin repaired it. I am thrilled to confirm that with the last lot of rain, it did not leak.
After the rain came sunshine
Saturday morning, I woke with a smile on my face as my first task of the day was to return my clothes back to the cupboard. And in doing so, the bedroom started to resemble a bedroom once more. It made me super happy for the rest of the day.
Queue music: Cyndi Lauper singing, ‘Girls just want to have fun…’
Marina life… Martin and I went to the Gold Coast City Marina on Saturday evening to visit friends on their Irwin 52 ketch. They are about 7 years ahead of us. They left corporate life and have been living on their yacht for 6 years now. We love their company and their positivity.
They have decided to base themselves on the Gold Coast for approximately a year while they do some work on their boat. Tim turns his hand to everything and does all the maintenance work on his boat as well. Jo has picked up a part time job.
Tom Jones was played a lot that night. After a brief commentary and various opinions about Tom Jones, his music became a half-forgotten background to the lively and engaged conversation of the gathered clan.
Sunrise at Gold Coast City Marina
We were joined by Michael, a Swede and John, who had bought Phoenix (our old boat) and ended up staying the night. Then we crashed on “Crash’s” boat (who was away) and in the morning as I was returning from the the facilities block, watching the sunrise and loving the reflection on the water, I saw our old boat Phoenix and my heart skipped a beat. Truly it did! I still love her and we are thrilled that John the new owner is a truly passionate sailor.
We really needed that visit and sleep over on the Marina. Why, you ask? Because we were both feeling a little flat. Or, perhaps a more than a bit. The delays on our boat and the challenge of selling our stuff. On the drive back to Brisbane Martin said, he felt better today than yesterday. All the delays were making our dream seem so far away. And, it was so nice to connect with our dream again.
I think this gave him a renewed vigour to get rid of more stuff under the house.
He has sold, his Ducati 1198 race bike, his beautiful superbike. It is worthy of a spec sheet so here it is. I had to tap into him for this… as all I remember is lots of horsepower of the back.
Ducati 1198 Race Engine, Titanium rods and valves, lightened everything, Microtec engine management, 198rwhp. Ohlins suspension, Flat link rear, 25mm offset triples, slipper clutch, much, much, more and stupid fast…
Ben Lowe showing us how its done
Ryan and Ben loving race days
Selling it was bitter-sweet. Sad that it is gone and happy that it went to one of our favourite riders to watch Ben Lowe, or the Lowe show. We love watching him race Ryan Yanko. The lead changes, the tasselling and the banter in the pits. I personally love watching Ben and Ryans’ kids play together and the moments we all share. It has been hard for Martin to step away form racing because of his accident. He is not a good spectator. He would rather be racing than watching. I was happy to hear him say, while we are still around, we might go and watch Ben on the bike. I would love that.
So endings and new beginnings.
A slightly amusing ending and beginning centres around the piano. Martin sold his piano and we agreed a day for delivery. So, it was kind of strange, to have it sitting there knowing it would be gone the next day. He opened it and played a few tunes. This time with a tinge of sadness that we all felt. Fast forward a couple of days, he grabs Bill a mate he was in a couple of bands with in his 20’s and a very talented musician. They disappeared for a while and came home with a keyboard, that feels and sounds like a piano, with a fewer keys. It is shorter than the piano and very narrow. It was great to see the smile on Martin’s face and to see and hear Martin and Bill have an impromptu jam session while I was cooking dinner.
We are learning that marina communities are punctuated with talented people, particularly musicians. And jam sessions are common. I loved our time on East Coast Marina, sitting on the deck in the cool of the evening listening to Charles play his saxophone. And I am looking forward to being back there for a month before heading to our berth at the Gold Coast. I love the communities we have been exposed to so far. You could own the smallest and cheapest boat to a huge and expensive yacht and we all sit around, having a whiskey and sharing a meal together.
