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.
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.
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.
We can easily find ourselves not following our dreams if we allow the “what if?” to hold us back. For me, more important is “why not?”
“Have you ever wondered what would happen if…?” I have heard this phrase so many times in the last four months since we finally made the move to living on our boat. These questions tend to fall into three categories: • The physical • Relationship based • What makes you happy
What follows is an attempt to answer some of these questions as best I can, from my point of view. Although that may change with time, circumstances or context.
The most frequently asked question I get asked is “Do you still/actually/really like living on a boat?”
After surviving the journey of downsizing and going live-aboard it is now almost four months of living on Saboteur in the relatively safe waters of the Marina and surrounding environments, the answer is a resounding, “Yes. I/we still like living on the boat, in fact I/we love it.” My heart sings as I look outside and step off our boat onto the kayak. And I am sure half my friends are sick of another sunrise or sunset photo or video. Thank you for liking my posts anyway…
Morning sunrise
The first question is often followed by, “How do you find living in such a small space?” (Assumed compared to a sprawling house). Another common question is, “How do you find living so close to each other?” and also “What if you get annoyed with each other?”
I find those questions are all related, and I will answer them together.
Let’s not lose sight of the fact that I can get annoyed with Martin Lloyd in a big house or a small boat… Just saying.
And in fairness, he can get annoyed with me, too!
These questions require an honest look at myself. And a level of self-awareness that at 53 years of age you kind of think/hope you had sorted out for oneself. But under new circumstances and new environments, I am finding I have to look inside a little bit more. It begs the question “should I have been more reflective more often?” The answer is probably. I am being kind on myself. The answer should have been a resounding yes; however I can’t go back, only forward.
My future is on the boat and in a smaller space. I am finding I need to share my frustrations and raise my concerns sooner.
Sometimes they are about something Martin has done, other times it could be something else. When it is something else, and I share it with him it means he is not wandering around the boat wondering if he has done something to annoy me. I am having to be more aware of what I do that may annoy Martin. Hard to believe. But it can happen. That I can be annoying that is. And sometimes we mirror each other. This makes for interesting and often humorous moments.
Being more honest with yourself can be confronting. Being more honest with each other can be even harder.
The “what if” factor… What if I am more honest? It is simple; we develop a greater understanding of each other’s needs. And we move past the annoyed stage much quicker. Another outcome is that I choose to let go of some things much quicker as well. And that feels great. Why waste quality time that I could spend enjoying something else? You know what I mean. The funny thing is I can get annoyed at myself for being annoyed and wasting time being annoyed…
There are also easier and equally as interesting questions, “What do you miss from living in a house?”
My alternative to a bedside table
The first words out of my mouth the first time I was asked this was “a bedside table”. Why? I miss having a cup of tea in bed. No biggie I know. My work around option is a small high sided baking dish I use as a stable tray and my “keep mug” (it has a sealed lid) which sits beside me in the bed. And if I knock it over without the lid sealed the remaining early grey is captured in the baking dish. Works well.
That sounds like nothing really. And I think if that is what I miss the most then I am doing alright. OK I missed fresh water when the fresh water pump broke recently. And it took a week to replace due to the challenge of finding the right pump with the right capacity that fitted the confines of the space.
What I truly miss is more associated with relationships and being in a different city. Being further away from family and friends. It is also one of the reasons for our adventures. Not the being away from family and friends bit. It is more about the travel, adventure and meeting new people, people who love being on the water or connected to the water and/or seeking adventures. And then, there are those who grow up on the water and worked on the water. “Salties” as they are called. I doubt we will ever be called “Salties” Our skin is too pale to start with. I’ll settle for sailor girl.
I digress – back to your questions…
What happens if one or both of you and are physically unable to sail anymore?
We have talked this though a number of times. We discussed a number of circumstances ranging from Martin coming off his bike on a track day. This was less of a discussion and more of me telling him how I would handle the situation if he ended up in a wheelchair again. I would put a bed in the shed (we have a shed at the marina) and he can wheel himself to the amenities block… You may well laugh; laugh I did say that. We also discussed hoisting him on to the boat using a halyard. Also possible…
When we think of possible physical limitations, we have both been inspired by a lady at Newport Marina (where we kept our first boat) who is paraplegic and in a wheelchair. She lives on her own on her boat and sails single handed. While I never saw her sail, I saw her physically pull herself in her wheelchair up the marina ramp, sweat on her brow and determination on her face.
I wondered if she was so used to it now or did her muscles burn from lactic acid build up?
I have no idea how many times a day she did this. Going down the ramp you would think would be easier. However it first required her to get off her wheelchair, on to the bitumen and lift her wheel chair over the gutter and get back on and gently control the wheel chair going over the rise and the speed down the ramp and line her wheels up with the grooves that were cut in the bar at the bottom of them ramp to stop or arrest runaway trolleys. She never complained. She was not a victim, she was living her life. Once she told us of sailing her boat on her own (or single handed as they say) from Sydney to Brisbane. Our boat is potentially a bit big for single handed sailing. And if Martin is injured again we have opinions.
Our friends, Jo and Tim (of similar ages to us with Tim older than Jo) intend to sell their sailboat (a 52’ Ketch) and buy a cruiser. They want to sell before they find the upkeep and work required more daunting than is practical.
Even though they prefer sailing to motor cruising they would rather live on the water than on land. So, they have started looking for a beautiful displacement boat to call home.
And then we have met others who have opted for the canal boats of Europe and the United Kingdom. This is something We would love to do. I talk to anybody I meet who has had experience with canal boats. I think I am in love with the pace of life on a canal boat.
Why not?
A recent conversation brought this home to me: “You have to totally learn to relax. Especially if you are travelling in peak season. You may have to wait for hours to get through the locks. You have to wait for the tides. And so you are stopped in the most beautiful countryside, in little villages, hamlets and you can either enjoy the beauty, read a book, listen to music etc because in those moments you cannot change the tide or jump queue. All you can do is be in the moment.” I first fell in love with this idea while reading Richard Branson’s autobiography (the first one). I would love to explore the UK and Europe in a canal boat once we are done sailing. But first we want to bounce around New Zealand and linger there for a while.
And finally, what if one day we are no longer able to manage a motorboat (or canal boat)?
We draw our inspiration from a couple at Gold Coast City Marina. Let me tell you their story.
PJ and Jane: We had not seen the them for a few weeks. They have a house as well as a lovely motor cruiser. However, we had heard that PJ was unwell. He is 88 and they have had their berth at the Marina for twenty years. They spend a lot of time, there on their boat.
Anyway, we recently learnt that PJ has had a couple of mini strokes. In learning this, one cannot help but have a fleeting thought about our own mortality. It was with great joy we saw he and Jane back on their boat last week. Their visit was meant to be just to pick up a few things. However, they stayed the night. Jane commented on the fact that they will be wearing the same clothes the next day. They are always beautifully dressed.
They do not do the scruffy unkept look that many boaties gravitate towards (Including Martin who has clothes I need to throw away).
Notwithstanding, the next day Jane went home and grabbed them a change of clothes for one more night – they stayed two more. I think they left the same day we slipped our lines to go away for a long weekend. FYI our longest trip yet. Friday to Monday.
We spent time with PJ before we left. He still has his wicked sense of humour. The outcome of his strokes has drained his energy and physical capability. However, his wit is still as sharp as ever. They have planned to do a 6-day cruise this week. This cruise is with a Flotilla of boats and theirs was to be the lead boat. So, what have they decided to do? They have organised a skipper. This is the most sensible thing I have heard in a very long time. They will enjoy their cruise even more.
So my friends.
Have we wondered about what if? Yes, we have tried. But more importantly we prefer to look at the why not?
I have always thrived, and on the odd occasion coped, under pressure. I have always managed to get what needs to be done, done. The last four months have been the most intense period for many years. It has been the same for Martin Lloyd.
Que music, David Bowie singing “Under Pressure”
Zac chillaxing
Between emptying the house and moving onto the boat, maintaining full time workload along with settling three animals onboard, it has been a little hectic. Fortunately, the animals settled almost immediately. I think it took me longer to stop observing and being concerned about them settling into to their new life than they did.
Zac seems to think the boat is the biggest cubby house ever. Moo and Nitro are just happy to be with us wherever we are.
We are into our third month on the boat and I had the opportunity with my workload to take a two-week break. I jumped on it not realising how long I had been under pressure and much I needed it. I thought I would write and get a few tasks done around the boat. Sitting on top of the “I thought I would” list was to publish a post I wrote a few weeks ago and write at least another, along with finishing installing the safety netting. Two weeks later, they are still on top of the list. In reality, I did very little.
I did do a lot of paddling, reading, sleeping and reflecting on what is important in life.
Most mornings I went for a paddle with the dogs. Some mornings our neighbour Daniel Cooke and his dog Charlie joined us. I did a couple of sunset paddles. Martin joined me for one. It was magic.
I finished one book and started another. Both were about peoples journey. The first “By Way of the Wind” (By Jim Moore) is about a couple who had very little sailing experience, yet they sailed around the world. Martin and I have a lot to learn. The second is called “Pig” by Helen Browning, which takes us through tales of an organic farm, the relationships with their farm animals, nature and life itself. It is very interesting as they transition their farm towards alternative food sources.
I slept a lot… read, snoozed, read, repeated… I think I am starting to get the hang of this break!
Fade David Bowie. Que Pink Floyd singing “Shine on your crazy Diamond”
I spent 2 days with my sister and collectively we said goodbye to a friend who passed away in the height of COVID. Her family planned for and hoped to be able to celebrate her life on what would have been her 57 birthday. When we heard the Queensland Government COVID changes the week before, I thought the plans would have to be put on hold again and I shed a tear. However, we learnt her wake could go ahead as it was at a venue with appropriate a COVID plan. Such relief. And so, we celebrated a life of our beautiful angel and Dancing Queen, Therese.
I spent the evening before the wake with a girlfriend and her 6-week old baby and playing with her 3 year old. Celebrating new life. Such precious times. They grow so quickly. My girlfriend ask what do I miss from living on land. My reply was simple, a cup of tea in bed. We have no bedside tables. We laughed, she does not have bedside tables either. Although I suspect two kids would prevent regular cups of tea in bed. That night, as I went to sleep I missed the gentle rocking of the boat.
I took time out just to hang with my sister and the following day we did girlie things. I raided her wardrobe trying on clothes for about 3 hours and then we both settled down and chilled.
To wrap up the two-week break Martin (also under pressure) escaped work and took Friday off. We slipped the lines of our berth at Gold Coast City Marina and headed north through the Boardwater up to Millionaires Row, dropped the anchor and chilled for two nights. On the second night we jumped in the dinghy for a sunset beach walk and got as far as a campfire and talked with a family who like us were enjoying a perfect sunset and a weekend sailing. It was lovely to see grandparents, parents, the two kids and their dog enjoying this life. And again the pull to head to New Zealand is getting ever stronger to be with our girls and grandchildren.
Fade Pink Floyd Que Little River Band singing “Cool change”
If there’s one thing in my life that’s missing It’s the time that I spend alone Sailing on the cool and bright clear water…
The night is peaceful and calm. Martin has had a busy day readying the boat for tomorrow’s sail. We have set ourselves a goal of going sailing every second weekend. After all we are still learning. As we ready, my mind reflects back to our sail two weeks ago.
—
Sunday came and we awoke with excitement and a little trepidation, as we were going to not only put the sails through their paces, but it was the first time the three animals had been sailing. Time will tell how the animals will go. We (humans and animals both)are all learning and adjusting to life on board. Finally, we were able to turn our attention to the boat and putting her new sails through their paces.
We readied the boat. Put most extra items away down below. Everything needs a home. When you go on board someone’s you boat can immediately tell whether they regularly take it out by how many items they have to put away. For us the galley is typically always cleared and if anything, it is the clean dishes that need to be put away. Notwithstanding, the two sink design is set up so that the draining tray sits in the second larger sink and nothing could fall out if left there. It just might move around a little. The heads and the Nav station are tidied. Laptops and my iMac are the main things to put away. We have been gradually finding homes for things.
We forgot to go through the “IF WOBBLE” check list before we depart (apologies to Elliot our International Day skipper instructor).
Easy mistake for an absolute beginner but also easy for us to say it should all be working as, after all everything is brand new. And we are still learning.
I = Isolate. (Disconnect shore power and stow the power cable properly, check there are no lines [ropes] on the water) F = Fuel (check you have sufficient fuel for the journey)
Now the above is all pretty obvious, and I got that. The following will make sense, however on a boat you need to be across all of these and check them every time. As I said I am still learning. My training was back in July 2019 in the beautiful Whitsundays. It has been a year now and we are finally at a point where we can do these checks on our boat before sailing. And it has been 6 months since we did our engine maintenance course. Confession: I have had to look some of this up to write this post. I don’t mind as it helps my learning and remembering…
All the while I have David Bowies words in my head – Absolute Beginners.
W = Water Check that the cock allowing seawater to the heat exchanger is open. Then after the engine has started, check the cooling water from the exhaust and for 30 seconds afterwards.
O = Oil You would check it the same way you would in your car, just got to remember where it is on our engine. We have a new engine if you recall.
B = Belt Again, just like your car. I need to learn what the right tension feels like, and for that matter how to change an engine belt.
We are half way there now. Still learning… It is kind of funny to be learning the obvious.
B = Bilge Here we are meant to lift a few floorboards to check for water in the hull, just in case the automatic bilge pumps are not working.
L = Leaks I assume here we check for leaks anywhere in the engine, any pipe connections etc. In theory we should be pretty good in this space as all our pipes are new as well.
E = Electrics & Exhaust Here we turn on the electrics, our navigation, our depth finder and wind instruments, radio and switch to the local channel where they regularly report the weather conditions and any incidents to avoid etc. As well as the engine exhaust extraction pump, otherwise the boat will be full of engine fumes.
As I said we pretty much forgot to run through this check list but ended up somehow doing the obvious ones, disconnect the power slip the lines, turn on the engine exhaust pump etc.
Our neighbours come on board with a fresh brew of coffee. It smells amazing and we are happy to be sharing this trip with Daniel Cooke and Sarah Schwaner. With fresh coffee and enthusiasm, we slipped our lines and Martin beautifully guided Saboteur off the finger allowing the tide to gently drift Saboteur out of our pen . He turned her to head out of the marina and we commenced our trip along the Coomera river towards the Southport Seaway though the Southport bar into open ocean. (and back again).
We had two goals; to test the new mainsail and staysail, including our ability to raise and lower the Main from our new LeisureFurl boom. And also to test the animals and see what their sea legs are like.
In the morning I gave all three of them a very small dose of an anti-anxiety drug provided to me by the vet. It worked a treat on the cat; however I am not sure it affected on the dogs.
The cat was locked in our bedroom and his litter tray was handy in the ensuite. While he did not like the loud engine noise, we had no complaints from him about being locked in the bedroom. And more importantly he did not throw up. I checked in on him a few times and he spent most of the day snoozing on our bed.
The dogs are always happiest when they are with us.
Always by my side.
By with us I mean near us. The dogs started our journey below deck while we slipped the lines. While this was happening, they were sitting at the base of the companion way whingeing about not being in the cockpit where all the action was happening. As soon as we were underway, they joined us in the cockpit with their life jackets on, clipped on to their leads that was strapped to the safety line. They have been trained to sit were we tell them to. Most of the time they followed this order. When they stray they usually return to their spot on instruction. They were once again happy. We put them below when we crossed the bar and brought them back to the cockpit again when we were in the open water. Like Zac, the dogs did not throw up. This made us both relieved.
As we headed to towards the Southport Bar, I went below and radioed into the Gold Coast Seaway coast guard our intentions for the day.
Confession time again, I truly could not remember what I was meant to do and say, and even though Martin reminded me before I disappeared down the companion way, it was like my nerves had erased my memory.
I grabbed my training book and I kid you not, it fell open on the page I needed. Then, I had to work out how to slide the hand piece of the radio, press the button and remember to say over.
I had to turn down the volume of the radio as it had been loud so we could hear it with the wind and background noise etc.
“Coastguard, Coastguard This is SV (Sailing vessel) Saboteur” (I forgot to say over). “SV can you repeat”. “Coastguard Coastguard This is SV Saboteur Over”. “Saboteur can you turn to Channel 73 please”. In my mind, ahhh which dials do I turn…I find it and rush past the channel and back again. And so, I find Channel 73. “Coastguard this is SV Saboteur Over…”
With that we exchange the required details, Vessel, plan, number of people (I leave off the 3 animals), mobile phone and they wish us a fun sail. I go back upstairs.
The bar crossing was not too bad.
I have had plenty worse and so we found ourselves out in the open water of the Coral Sea for the first time. We are used to sailing in Moreton Bay with a collection of islands to pick from for our destination. Beyond heading east and testing our sails we had not really decided what our plans where.
We had followed another sail-boat across the bar. It appeared to be a training boat as it had about 10 or 12 people on it. We watched them hoist their sails and see them flap aimlessly due to the absence of wind. Where was the forecast 5 to 10 knots? In the absence of wind we had the engine gently purring while we bounced around in the ocean swell; this was uncomfortable.
Surprisingly, we were queasy…
We being Martin, Sarah and myself. This was a first for me (other than with my brother-in-law’s driving that is). I have been in rough seas with 80% of the passengers throwing up. I was kind of disappointed to be queasy. Not of the disheartening variety, but disappointing, nevertheless.
Not to be deterred, we raised our new mainsail. It was beautiful (and easy). And despite the 2m swell and our queasiness, we congratulated ourselves on the investment we made for the boom furling mainsail. We wanted to make sailing easy for our bodies as we gracefully age. OK I am talking about me now ha, ha… Our friend Dan was super impressed with how easy raising our mainsail was. And so we rolled in the swell for a bit waiting for any skerrick of breeze, but there was none to have. Captain Marty decided to head back in. With Skipper Dan at the wheel we headed back towards the bar. I popped below deck and called in to the coast guard to tell them of our pending return and went back upstairs.
Our disappointment did not last long.
Back inside the bar we could relax
Back inside the bar our queasiness started to lift. It did not go away… It lingered for a while. Pleasantly surprising, we got some light breeze and we were able unfurl the inner staysail. She looked wonderful. Then before we knew it, we were at the mouth of the Coomera river and heading back to our marina. The setting sun was beautiful, conversation was easy. Sarah and Dan were the perfect friends to have on board. Dan’s experience and Sarah’s eye for beauty and her enthusiasm for life balanced our nervousness about our own adventures… Each time we aim to test something we practically hold our breath as we wait to see if it was a sound investment (or not). And so we furled our staysail as we turned into the Coomera river. And I could feel my breathing return.
I enjoyed the contentment that came with being happy. And I was. From here there were so many magic moments. Sarah grabbing her camera and taking photos of the wallabies on the edge of the Coomera river, moments of touch and connection as we relaxed while the afternoon passed behind us.
We were approaching the marina and Martin took over the helm. If you recall the last attempt to dock was very stressful. Today the weather conditions were totally different, perfectly calm, and a little breeze.
We approach the finger and Martin picked his spot to turn. He nailed it and docked perfectly so we could easily step off and tie off our lines.
We celebrated with a couple of drinks.
Sarah and I disappeared for a second sunset paddle.
We enjoyed an awesome dinner.
—
And so as I tell the tale of our last sailing adventures it is now Friday evening. We had a lovely dinner with our friend Bill Fuller. He has just left and Martin has gone to bed. It has just gone 10pm. Zac wants to go for his evening walk. The dogs are sitting beside me snoozing. I have just finished my cuppa; the marina is very still. And everything feels right, just right.
Martin Lloyd and I spent the weekend before last embracing the fun and folly of our youth (you can stop laughing right now) and our decision to go live-aboard. I felt so alive, energised and happy. I navigated the weekend and its experiences as an absolute beginner, as I undertook new challenges and the learnings that went with them and the laughs that went with our activities.
It is a stark contrast to the midweek funk I found myself in. You know what I mean. Hump day and all. Only this time it was extreme. I was seriously lacking motivation and struggling to focus. Familiarity (work stuff) leading to boredom. I was going crazy. Perhaps I was suffering from a lack of people contact which I find energising. Just maybe it is a combination of both. And this coming weekend it is forecast to rain (and it did). However, I have shaken the mid-week funk off.
Get me out of here I want to go sailing!!!
Let me take you back. We survived the pain and fatigue of downsizing. We are settling into a new kind of normal that comes with finding our new local supermarket, vet (found that already thank you Moo), pharmacy and the like. Not to mention where to go for our curry fix. And even more importantly, settling Zac (the cat), Moo and Nitro (dogs) into their new life on the boat and managing comfort stops. No longer can I just open the door and let them outside. I physically have to lift the dogs up the companion way (steps) into the cockpit. From here they gladly jump over the cockpit seats and wait politely, despite sometimes being desperate on the side of the boat for me to then get down and lift them onto the finger.
While part of me would be grateful if they could jump down themselves, I am grateful that they are not inclined to as I feel reasonably confident that they will still be on the deck when I return. When we are on land, I have to keep an eye on them as they explore, often heading in different directions. And as for Moo, we have just learned he can walk straight between the bars of the fence to the road. So the fence is merely a boundary suggestion. So far, escape activities are Moo twice and Zac once. Fortunately, they were both playful and not running away from a life aboard.
Last weekend was booked solid.
Friday came and I wanted to shout, “Hello weekend”.
It felt brilliant. I kicked off the weekend with a Friday sunset paddle up the creek with my neighbour Daniel Cooke in our kayaks. We were accompanied by his dog Charlie and our two dogs Moo and Nitro. It was magic, my spirits soared as each stroke weaved us through stunning vistas and the glow of the setting sun presenting an ever-changing backdrop.
Off we go
Paddling on my kayak (a happy trade off to my surf ski and purchased to carry the dogs easily) is very different to paddling my surf ski. It is a different style, each stoke needs to be more casual, laid back and chilled. I tried to model my stroke off Dan’s. He appears to be the chill master. I had to remind myself to sit back and drop my shoulders rather than the slight lean forward and reaching for the longer stroke required to maximise the power I would normally seek to feel the surf ski glide efficiently though the water. The kayak offers no such efficiencies. The creek gently reminds me that there is no sense of pace required that comes with paddling the surf ski.
The creek is quiet. The birds are singing. It’s serene.
Dan points out the birds, and he can identify the various types. Me, I’m an absolute beginner. I recall my mother being able to identity every bird in the garden. I packed an Australian bird book which has not found its way to the surface with our unpacking yet. Dan even spotted wallabies.
The sunset was amazing, the peace that came with it led to a beautiful evening of great food, wine and company. My muscles felt the joy and warmth of a nice work out.
Saturday, we had hoped to put the boat through her paces, however the wind was stronger than what we had wanted for our planned activities so we rescheduled our sail for Sunday.
We looked for things to do on Saturday. What evolved lead to a comedy of events.
We decided to put the dinghy tender in the water. Until now it had been on its trailer outside the shed. The lads decided to carry the dinghy to the water. This required wheeling the trailer to the closest point to the gangway (ramp to the finger). The lads lifted it off the trailer, rotated it to be vertical. Dan grabbed a small trolley. We put the edge of the dinghy on the trolley up on its side, then they moved it between the path’s hedges leading on to the gangway. The trolley started to slip sideways so I put my foot on the trolley to arrest this sideways movement, at that point my shoe got dosed in water and my foot slipped out of my shoe, now firmly wedged between the dinghy air-rib and the trolley.
I watched as the boys wheeled / carried the dinghy (and my shoe) down the gangway to the water’s edge. I wondered would the trolley end up in the water along with my shoe. It did not matter if the dinghy ended up in the water. Controlled or uncontrolled that was, after all, its destination. However, the boys did a brilliant job of controlling the dinghy down the gangway and lowering it in the water.
And that is when the real entertainment began.
I jumped in the dinghy to hold it against the finger while the guys lowered the engine on to the transom. I secured it by tightening the clamps. Once the engine was secured Martin said, OK you’re in the dinghy you can take it around to the other side of Saboteur. Ha, ha… I did not know how to start it nor steer a tiller / throttle combo. this was going to funny… besides, I had to navigate between our boat and our neighbours boat without damaging either. Not that that was possible as our dinghy has an inflatable tube (other wise known as a rib) around its gunwales offering insurance to every vessel but my fragile ego. In case you missed the point, our neighbour was watching.
But first, I had to get the 2.5 horsepower outboard started.
I tried to follow instructions. Attach the safety kill switch, pull the choke out, open the fuel cap breather (a little not too much) to allow air into the fuel tank. Why, I don’t know. I have probably forgotten something or got the order wrong but hey… And then I have to pull the cord. Much like a lawn mower. You get the idea. About 6 attempts later… Again I am shown, this time I am guided to pull the cord back slowly and feel it take the tension, then allow it to slide back in and then pull evenly through the tension point – easier said than done.
Martin does it perfectly… beauty, I am off… But before I could get myself taught lesson on a tiller and a throttle underway, Martin kills it so I can start it… Really, I was ok with his success… I try again, again and again. It took about another ten attempts before I got the outboard started. Now to work out how to use the tiller and throttle. And so, accompanied by a squeal (me) and three dogs, I wobble away from the finger turn the corner and practically bounced between our boat and our neighbours boat. Our neighbour is still watching. At which point Martin says I need to go out into the marina and play.
I need to master this damn fandangled thing called a dinghy. It is, after all, a safety device.
And so I cautiously venture out from between the two boats, edging forward in search of my confidence.
I am sure it is sitting on the marina waiting for me to return.
Funny how I am comfortable in a big boat, but even this small one is a totally different thing.
A fun place to play
And so I ventured forth and went in and out of some pens, I headed towards the Moor and Store (They store boats here and lower them in the water for the their owners when they want to use them) and then decided this was not a good idea. What if someone’s boat was going to be lowered in the water, or someone else was to put their boat in at the boat ramp. Imagine that. I would have to navigate traffic and so I turned and headed towards the other side of the marina. Less traffic and more open space.
The dogs were fine. They seemed to enjoy the ride. They were sitting up front balancing the boat nicely. Then Charlie a 10 kilo Cavalier King Charles Poodle cross wanted to come closer to me followed by my dogs.
Charlie was sitting on the centre seat, and I cannot blame him. It is a seat, after all. However, it changed the centre of gravity and my confidence.
I asked Charlie to move back to his original seat. I cannot remember what I said but he did it and my dogs followed suit. Relief, I was not sure how I would get Charlie out of the water if he fell in. In the Marina it would not be a problem as he could swim back to the boat. However, that is not the point. I can easily lift my dogs in.
And so I played in the marina and my confidence was a little buoyed. Not a lot. I knew I needed to practice and master this thing called a dinghy and outboard. And you can laugh… I have very little confidence yet. However much more confident in a larger boat. Then and there, I set myself a goal to go out every day for 21 days. Having made that decision, I returned to shore to reconnect with my confidence.
Some strange things were happening. I have my sea legs, well and truly, and every now and again when I get on land, I get the land wobbles. It is a thing you know.
And armed with my 21 days plan I was happy.
Yet to be mastered
However, over the next two days I learnt the bung was leaking. The dinghy was filling with water. And so, Monday morning Dan took the outboard off our dinghy and secured it to it’s mounting plate on Saboteur.
Some bailing to be done
Dan checked out the local chandlery and Martin and I went in search on-line for a bung.
It is a special bung of which there are none in Australia. This is not good for a safety device. We ordered a new one on-line and are waiting delivery. And so my 21 day challenge is on hold.
More fun to be had…
More lessons to be learnt for this truly absolute beginner…
At least David Bowies singing “Absolute Beginner” buoys my soul as I test myself…
OK, you racer boys out there with ridiculous amounts of horsepower of your back wheel can stop laughing some time soon.
Transitions, transitions, transitions… It is official, our transition from the house is complete. We handed the keys back on Saturday 11 July. The last 6 months has felt like a time warp and to borrow from The Hit Crew; “and nothing can ever be the same”.
What if…? I get back to this question later?
While it has been 5 days since we handed the keys back, we have now been sleeping and eating on the boat for two weeks and three days. This transition from a perfectly normal and beautifully set up home to a small boat could either be described as an over-abundance of courage or straight, outright foolishness. Or both, I hear you say…
While Martin Lloyd and I both have a sense of adventure there was always a risk that we were romanticising the idea of living on a boat. After all, for our honeymoon we went sailing. That was five and half years ago. Martin would occasionally ask me somewhat rhetorically,
“are we romanticising the whole adventure?”
Well it is too late now… And in fairness I was the one that was always excited… I have said so many times that I could not wait:
~ to be on the boat (tick). ~ end the trips back to the house (tick).
I can’t wait to go sailing… Planned for Saturday… Woohoo – happy dance…
Finally you say. I can feel your joy for us bounce through on-line waves. Don’t get too excited, we are not heading off on our big voyage. It will be a day sail as we want to test our new staysail. And just for fun we want to… uh no, we need to practice docking again. If you missed the dramas of our last attempt to dock the 18 tonnes of uncooperative Saboteur (the bouncing off other boats) and if you want a good laugh at our expense, grab a cuppa, jump in and follow this link. Part of our transition process is after all, learning new skills. Even if they scare the beegeebers out of us.
Transitions bring up many and often mixed emotions. Somewhere during a coffee break in the blur and time warp of the final days of packing, Bill Fuller (Marty’s friend and former band mate from 50 years ago) asked,
“What’s it like on the boat now that you are finally on the boat?”
To which Martin replied, “I am feeling excited or is it panic? I’m not sure. How do you tell the difference?”
Bill replied, “Don’t bother, just sit back and enjoy it”.
To which we all laughed…
And so our transition, while it has had many tangible components to it, it is the unspoken or deeply personal components that makes this change interesting, emotional and even complex.
I am finding my awareness of the transition moments tends to come with a sigh of relief. Some expected, some not so.
Probably the first significant transition moment for me was seeing Zac (our cat) explore and settle into the boat. I could feel my face break out into the hugest grin as he placed his paws on the edge of the cockpit and looked out. Not out of fear (certainly cautious) but out of curiosity. And I felt myself sigh with relief. We had spoken with the vet who had provided us with a stash of anti-anxiety tablets, which we only ended up using on the day we moved.
~
The second transition moment, in a way, had nothing and everything to do with living on the boat. It is symbolic of life changes. One of the reasons we purchased our first boat together was that Martin had had a serious race-bike accident that nearly killed him, resulting in a manic period in our lives starting with 3 hospitals in three days and 3 months in a wheelchair. It appeared as if he would not race again.
For someone that viewed himself as racer-boy, to be unable to race which he has done all his life has been difficult. Even more so when he had no choice but to retire from racing. In time, he recovered from all his injuries and gained pretty much full range in his knee, and so we bought our boat. In Martin’s mind he could now transition from being racer-boy to Captain Marty. Sailing has also been a serious passion of his. We loved our old boat but within 18 months we sold her and bought Saboteur.
Back to the track.
Martin was planning to do a track day with a mate. The last hoorah so to speak and had asked his mechanic to put new tyres on the bike and give it a service. His mechanic took a photo of Martin’s race bike and posted it online. Martin’s mates recognised it and started asking questions; “Is Marty back racing?” to which he shared that he is just doing a track day and then he received many beautiful comments from guys he raced with all over Australia. Some of the local guys (Ben Lowe, Brad Lesueur, Kurt Grainger, Barry Grainger booked in to ride with Marty on the track day) and the interstate guys (David James, Birdsey (Aka William Birdsey) and others) expressed their wish to be on the track with him once again. It was beautiful and brought tears to my eyes.
You really don’t want your last memory of your last race to be being taken away in an ambulance.
A massive thank you to the paramedics and all medical staff who cared for him.
He had not returned to the track (that track or any other track for that matter in 2 1/2 years). And so it was with great trepidation for me and a mixture of excitement and fear for Martin that we went back to the “scene of the crime”.
I was focused on minimising the voice in my head…
What if… he falls, ~ breaks a leg (I will put a bed in the shed and he can wheel himself to the amenities block! And I told him that!) ~ breaks his collarbone again (the Surgeon has told him he can not reconstruct it again. He has broken one collarbone four times and the other twice!) ~ and it delays our plans to sail…
I will be forever grateful that there were no falls and no broken bones.
I will be forever grateful to his friends that came and the conversations, stories and comradeship between great mates.
And then afterwards, the dialogue they shared in Messenger about how happy they were to be able to be on the track with him again, and what it meant to them.
Thank you to Ben, Kurt, Brad and Barry…
I am forever grateful.
And so Martin transitions from racer-boy to Captain Marty and he can turn his focus to new skills. If only Saboteur turned as easily as his race bike.
~
Another transition moment was Martin having a discussion with his boss and telling him we are not running away anytime soon and that he will give him three months’ notice. That feels right.
~
And finally for me, an unexpected transition moment has been falling in love with writing.
Over the past 11 months there have been almost 45 posts to our blog www.whatareyouwaitingfor.guru, and I have fallen in love with writing.
What was my worst nightmare at school (writing) is now my number 1 passion.
I get cranky when I don’t have time to write.
It has taken over my passion for painting. I have 3 unfinished paintings in the shed that I would like to finish before we set sail. Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t. I have a painting in a girlfriend’s studio that I will finish. Just to hang out with her again in her studio will be wonderful.
And so it is with Transitions, Time Warps and the occasional U-Turns, we need to know what you are moving away from and what you are moving towards.
In our case, it is not just a house to a boat, it is an identify shift as Marty transitions from racer-boy to sailor-boy, and I, corporate girl to sailor-girl.
And more than anything else, I am loving being a writer.
It is now 10 days since we docked, and with this time comes an increasing appreciation for all that we have to be grateful for in life.
Sunset at Lamb Island
In my last post I said good night after a beautiful evening on deck with the sunset and the warmth of the shiraz as our companion, our bodies weary from the days work and happy for what we had achieved.
Permit me to take you back to the rest of our voyage to our new berth and base.
We were anchored in a very sheltered spot south of Lamb Island that was perfect for the weather conditions.
We had let out about 10 meters of anchor chain. It is an imprecise science. I measure a meter by counting, one second, two seconds, three seconds, you get the idea. And then we paused (with the engine idling in reverse) for the anchor to take. It did not, so I let out another 5 meters, 1 second, 2 seconds, 3 seconds… We waited… The anchor takes and we checked to ensure that the current was pulling us back and the anchor held. We were happy. We set the anchor alarm for 30 meters. This alarm would go off if the boat moved outside of a 30-meter circumference. Bearing in mind that tidal movement would result in the boat turning 180 degrees twice during the night. I have full appreciation of modern technology such as “anchor apps”. We went to bed and crashed. We both slept well.
And then the anchor alarm dragged us from our deep sleep.
I blinked, listened and jumped out of bed all at the same time, while Martin’s extended arm went in search for his phone (the anchor alarm is a phone app). Our minds were rapidly waking from our sleep. I had put my left foot down first and as I transferred my weight to my right foot my leg collapsed; clearly my right leg was numb. ha, ha… now is not the time I told myself. My left arm lunged clinging to the bed as my body rose, supported by my left leg. I slapped my right leg and tried again, it collapsed again. This was to occur twice more before I had normal use of my right leg.
I was cautious going up the companionway (stairs). By this stage Martin had found the phone and checked the alarm. We had gone approximately a meter outside of the 30 meter circumference we had set. We checked the landmarks and our position against other anchored boats. I was certain we had not moved. As beautiful as it was in the stillness of the night our pillows called us back to bed…
We both feel back into a deep sleep, and then…
The anchor alarm went off again, albeit 6 hours later (tide change again). This time we both just sat and listened. We were convinced we were not moving. Martin checked the alarm and again we were just on a meter outside of the 30-meter circumference. We really should have set the alarm for 35 meters. Not to worry. Martin stayed in bed and I went up on deck and checked to ensure we had not moved and – we had not.
I had about 10 hours sleep and Martin 11 hours. I was full of appreciation for a brilliant night’s sleep. The birds were calling me to watch the sunrise. My spirits soared. I paused, embracing being in the moment with the crispness of the morning, the birds singing and in time the ferries transiting past us commuting people from Straddie (Stradbroke Island) and Lamb Island. Martin joined me in the cockpit. I think the wake of the ferry may have raised him.
It was a magical morning.
Martin cooked up a protein feast, of fried egg served on a massive Swiss brown mushroom (one of my gluten free alternatives to bread) and some gorgeous air cured bacon. My Marty appreciation bubble is soaring. We cleaned up and checked our route. It was simple, head straight out of the channel turn left and we would be in the main channel to the Gold Coast. What could go wrong? Let’s face it, it would not be a TandM (Tessa and Marty) adventure without a hiccup or two.
My appreciation bubble was about to disappear for a couple of hours.
We hoisted our anchor right on low tide. We were chasing the low tide between sand banks and islands for the next two hours.
Our passage!
We exited the channel, turned left and then had to decide which channel markers to follow. Meanwhile we had almost no clearance under our kneel. We argued, as we tried to make sense of the markers. We headed off on what we thought was right channel, and I became more and more convinced we were heading to a dead end. And then we ran out of water. We argued and turned around. It was our first U-Turn for the day.
We headed out to some slightly deeper water while we tried to make sense of the channels shown on the chart and the sea of buoys. It was so shallow and I was seeing sand banks everywhere. We turned around and headed back, only to run out of water again. We were using Martins phone for navigation (our navigation instruments were on their way still). Martins phone was fine, it was just small. The path it was showing looked like we were heading for a dead-end and sand. We turned around a third time. One of the nearby fishing dinghy’s picked up anchor and moved. Perhaps our arguing was scaring the fish away.
Finally I said to Martin; “You’re the skipper, go wherever you want”!
Martin cautiously headed down the transit lane marked on his phone… It turned out he was right (and I was wrong) Sorry baby.
When we finally passed this narrow passage, the rest of our journey was fine. We laughed because we recalled having the same argument, at the same point the last time we went down this passage on our previous yacht.
A little further on we gently weaved our way through some crowded anchorages off Horizon Shores and Jacobs Well. Eventually we found ourselves motoring down The Broadwater and then we hung a right at the entrance to the Coomera River and we were almost home. The tide was fast and the wind was now about 8knots and blowing in the wrong direction, which would make docking in our new berth at Gold Coast City Marina tough. It was kind of tight. I phoned ahead hoping to be able to book a pilot. Many marinas offer a pilotage service, where an experienced pilot will come out and take your boat in for you. Unfortunately, our marina does not. Bugger, we are on our own. Our boat is big (47 ft) and heavy (18 Tonnes) and with a full knell she is hard to turn in tight spots.
We entered the marina… fair to say, nervously…
We phoned the couple we rent the berth off. They said that they would be happy to grab a line for us. We had phoned our new neighbour Dan and asked him to put extra fenders on the outside of his boat in case we needed to “lean” against it… as we approached our berth we needed to stay as far left in the channel as we could before turning right. Unfortunately, there was a houseboat at the end of the finger (in his usual spot) which limited how far left we could go. We turned, Martin did a good job of it. I was up the front ready to throw the line out to our ready catchers. I threw, the tide and wind was pushing us back and my line fell short. Clearly, more practice required.
Time was precious, letting the line trail in the water I turned and grabbed the pole and started to push off our neighbours boat.
We were starting to shout instructions at each other. And what happened next could only be describe as a comedy of errors. We managed somehow to get out of our pen without damaging our new neighbour’s boat and were attempting to reverse down the channel. We needed to turn our boat which steers in reverse poorly. By this stage, what is a normally a sleepy marina seemed like everybody had come out of hiding to welcome the inexperience newbies and, or more likely, to push us off their boats if required.
We heard a voice say, “If you can get over here, I will jump on board and help”.
There was no problems getting over there, the problem was stopping and before Gus could jump on board, he had taken on the task of pushing our boat off his and his neighbours. Meanwhile, Martin was trying to steer and I had been fending off boats. With the help of Gus we managed to turn the boat around and headed to the fuelling dock.
We were able to pause and consider the next move. I wondered how many people in the restaurant above us were watching and laughing – best not to think about it.
Our new friend Gus phoned a friend who could give us a hand. Despite the stress of the moment I can feel my appreciation bubble returning. Before we knew it, a young French couple joined us. Mona is a shipwright (boat builder) and Noah is a landscape gardener. They have been living on their boat for many years and are very experience sailors. By this time, my appreciation bubble has definately reappeared. I was grateful we had not damaged anyone else’s boat and full of appreciation for the assistance we had been offered.
After we had caught our breath, we readied ourselves to depart from the fuel dock and head out into the channel and turn around ready to try again.
We had hoped Mona would skipper, however she insisted Martin should take us in. Perhaps it was a voodoo thing. You know get back on the bike after falling off. While at this stage I was nervous about this, looking back I am full of appreciation for the wisdom of this decision. And so, with expertise we were guided into our pen. We were prepared to fend off our neighbours boat (just in case). We had awesome line handlers who made light work of securing us to the dock. Pretty much at the same time some friends arrived. They missed the entertainment. Probably just as well.
Safely in our pen at GCCM
With Saboteur secured our friends and handlers settled into the cockpit. We cracked some beers and opened a couple of bottles of wine (19 Crimes Shiraz to be precise). Gus told me, I was pretty good with the fender, I knew where to put my feet, how to balance and when to let insurance take care of it… My years of martial arts helped.
And so we shared stories with our friends old and new, stories about life and doing what we love… despite the dramas of the day, and knowing we need to learn how to turn the 18 tonnes of boat better, we are thrilled to be on our journey. I am full of appreciation for old friends and new…
What are you waiting for? What’s your next adventure… even if you don’t know how?
Note: I originally published this article Facebook on last Saturday ( 28 June) Moving has kept us occupied. It is nice to be able to catch up on a few things.
—
I held my breath so many times yesterday… almost too scared to believe that we had a boat with a working motor and sails and that we could move the boat without it being towed…
We had become conditioned to anticipate what could go wrong…. Trying not to let this negative anticipation stifle the positive anticipation for our plans, or at worst strangle our enthusiasm for our goals.
We arrived at East Coast Marina (Manly) at around 10am with the view to unload the car, do minimal organising and head out as soon as possible. Seriously aiming for 11.30 departure.
We were confident after checking everything yesterday that everything, seriously everything was working. Or so we thought!
We took two loaded trolleys to the boat, unloaded our numerous bags on the deck and Martin heads back to the car for the next load. I head downstairs to unload. All good. I plug in my iPad. It is not charging, yet other things are working, this does not make sense as we are still on shore power. Not good.
Martin gets back and I share my discovery and collectively we try and work out why. This is not good. We need to be able to charge our mobiles. Especially given that our chart plotter has not arrived and we need the iPhones for navigating unfamiliar passages.
Breathe, breathe and breathe… Right now, you can understand why anticipation can be overrated.
We phone the electrician. No answer. Shite. I phone the pet sitter to see if he can do another night. Phew, he can. I phone a friend who was coming down to say goodbye and cast us off.
And then, the electrician arrived.
Note: the advantage of using the local marina electrician is he could just be on the boat next door. He wasn’t, but he was somewhere nearby. He immediately identified the problem.
No problem at all… really… had to be something obvious (both do a mental forehead slap and laugh and sign of relief all at the same time). Depending on what source the power was coming from determined which master switch had to be on. In our defence only one of the two master switches is labelled Master… helpful…
Departing Manly
Awesome, our energy picks up. Martin announces we are leaving in 30. This meant departure was at 1pm. We set about getting organised. We had hoped to leave by 11.30am, no later then midday to get to our planned anchorage for the night. Best laid plans…
We are on our way!
Our friend turns up. It was brilliant to talk though the options of turning Saboteur’s 18 tonnes and getting underway. It is brilliant to have an extra set of experienced hands help us cast off. He also took this awesome photo as we head out. And so our journey begins… We had 2.9 hours on the new motor and had a perfect afternoon of motoring. It was not good sailing as we were nose into the wind and already 90 minutes later than planned. We wanted to reach our anchorage before sunset which was just on 5pm. We were able to do a good 6 knots and arrived exactly as originally planned and we were pleased with that. All went well. As we passed Peel Island we reminisced about anchoring there last year and the adventures that followed when our anchored started slipping in the middle of the night.
We were pleased to be trying a new and recommended anchorage.
Day 1 success!
Anchor secured, cheers!
And so we anchored in time to watch the sunset. With the anticipation of hearing the crack of the seal of the red wine bottle as it releases, followed perfectly by a gurgle as the wine merrily bounces from the bottle to our gorgeous wine glasses and we feel our bodies relax as we take that first sip. It is as if the setting sun picked up all the challenges of the day and carried them away.
In time, our attention turns to firing up the BBQ and cooking the vegies. Our unfamiliarity of our galley provides some entertainment and we eventually work out one gas bottle is empty and turn on the full one – and we are away.
Sunset at Lamb Island
We already had the steak out raising to room temperature. The anticipation of the sizzle on the BBQ did not disappoint. We set the anchor alarm and sat back and read. Martin slid his wine glass over to me. He is tired, trading wine for chocolate and has a power nap.
We head to the galley, do the dishes and tidy a little of our unpacked craziness and head to bed.
We collapse in the quietness, that is shattered with Martin hitting his head just above the bed. “#### I am sick of hitting my head”. There are only a few places where he can hit his head and somehow I anticipate one or two repeat performances. His head barley touches the pillow and he is asleep. And with that it is time for me to go to sleep.
Our journey has really begun. The anticipation has all been worth it.
