Malua
An Adams cruising yacht
The weather forecast showed that a good NE wind would be blowing on the Saturday and reach 25 to 30 knots during the nights, but it was with me and the current was also in my favour. The top speed on this cruise was 9.5 knots over the ground set off Port Stephens in the last leg, and I knew I would easily do this on this leg.
Now this leg is 160 nm at about 6 knots, which would take a day and a
half at most. I moved from the Sydney Fish Market and sailed over
to Middle Harbour and picked up a mooring right along the
shoreline. The local yacht club was having a sponsors race, so it
was filled with yachts and very smart crew not sitting on the rail but
holding a glass of the local bubble stuff or some real champagne.
I had prepared a few nights' meals and tucked into one as the sun
set. Again, I set the alarm for before dawn, and when it went
off, I was off and running with one reef in the main and a poled-out
genoa.
I soon cleared the heads and set a course past Port Botany and directly to the Sir John Banks shallows to the north of Jervis Bay. Now my normal course going north is inside the banks, and under normal conditions, I would go 5 nm out to sea from the banks to get round the very rough conditions associated with the great East Australian current hitting the shallow banks which come up from 120 m to less than 12 meters. You can imagine the turbulence as this stream of water flowing from 2 to 4 knots hits the shallow water of rocks.
I have passed this point many times before and in many wind conditions, but this time was a different experience. The wind had increased and the waves built, while not ocean swell size, were quite big but nothing Malua's autopilot couldn't handle. The confused seas were something else to behold. They seemed to come from every direction, breaking over the bow, stern, and even jumping on board from the port side. A tug steaming north called on the radio a similar company tug steaming south to have a chat, then asked why he was so close to the banks. They recommended he should turn more out to sea. I was tracking him on the AIS all the way down the coast, and immediately after the communication, he turned off my stern and headed out to sea for calmer waters. I stayed my course.
I was committed, so I continued knowing Malua was on a roll, and I had
improved the top speed record when I reached 10.8 knots SOG.
Decisions again. Should I continue and reach Bermagui during the
night? It was now 5:30 pm, so I would arrive at dawn or even
pre-dawn, and I would have to wait till the sun was up to enter the
Bermagui river mouth with a raging NE wind and swell.
I, as always, took the prudent decision and jibed at the entrance to Jervis Bay in the lee of Point Perpendicular. While in flat water, I pulled the main down and furled the poled-out genoa. Then steamed into 25 knots of wind to the northern shore of the bay at Long Beach to take a break. I arrived after dark to find a catamaran with all lights on and a much smaller sailing vessel anchored near the shore. I have thrown the pick in this area before, so I knew that one had to drag the anchor in because it often got fouled on sea grass. With the strong wind and a depth of 10 meters, I let out the normal 40 meters and started to pull back on the anchor, but it kept coming. So I hauled in the anchor and immediately noticed the SQR had speared a cockle shell right at the tip which was still attached. That was the reason it wouldn't hold. I moved up to the bow with the hammer to release the shell and start again. Down went the chain and I pulled back. The SQR and 50 m of chain held, and I set the anchor alarm and proceeded to get Malua ready for the next leg of the journey.
Sleep and a good night's rest in calmer waters. Alarm went off at dawn – no point in an early start as I only had about 80 nm to run to Bermagui. I checked the latest weather forecast at BOM which indicated that the wind would reach 35 knots along the Batemans and Eden coast. The temptation was to wait and see what the next day would bring. On this occasion, prudence did not make a planning decision, but when I set sail, I did put two reefs in the main and furled the genoa on a pole well before I exited the calm but windy Jervis Bay.
I flew out of the Bay and headed for a straight line for Montague, knowing I would be about 10 nm offshore and well in the southern flowing current and the ocean swells that accompanied two days of strong wind. Little did I know what the ocean had in store for me off Batemans Bay and further south.
I had kept the boom on the starboard side as the wind was from the NE, but as I sailed further south, the distance from the coast got more and more as I tried not to have to jibe in the current conditions. Malua was handling the swell and wind well, although it was obvious that I had too much sail up and I was about to do a jibe.
I prepared to jibe by undoing the preventer and moving it to the port side, then started to pull the main in via the electric sheet winch. At the critical point, I turned the autopilot to turn to starboard, and the wind got behind the sail and it came over – not with the bang I expected but with a gentle flop. Out went the sheet, I corrected the course and connected the preventer, and we were off and running again.
By this time, the waves had built to 4 or 5 meters. I know it's difficult to estimate the height of the sea as one faces down a water slope with the horizon almost completely covered in spray, but on this occasion, I knew the sea was big as a crest rolled down the hill and right into Malua's cockpit. No water down below (washboards in) but it wet my granny seat and filled the cockpit!
The autopilot alarm went off as I sat in the captain's chair and watched the dials and wind speed indicator. On the second occasion, even with two reefs in the main and no sail forward of the mast, I knew we were over-canvassed. What to do with only 40 nm to go to Bermagui? So I stepped into the cockpit and took control of Malua as we surfed down the face of the waves and swell. I have not done this often and had not realised the effort it takes to keep a long-keeled boat on track with too much sail up.
Malua wanted to round up into the wind as we reached the bottom of the
swell, so one has to anticipate what will happen. With all my
effort on the large wheel, I leaned on the spokes and kept the bow on
course and down the waves. This continued for a while, and then
the wind started to ease, and the autopilot took over. We settled
down for the final straight to the finish, but there was more to come.
What to do now was the decision to be made. Continue to head for
Bermagui and a potentially dangerous bar entrance with seas breaking
over the entrance, or slow down and wait for either the wind to drop or
sail on to Eden? Now I am a great supporter of technology, but my
confidence in NSW Maritime is very, very low, so when I fired up the
computer and switched to the NSW Maritime Bar camera web site for
Bermagui and saw a small swell with about 17 knots of wind, I thought
they must be playing yesterday's video. I stuck my head outside
and yes, the wind indicator showed 35 knots of wind and the sea and
swell big, SO what was going on? I again checked the Windy app at
a more detailed resolution and saw that there was a patch of calm wind
along the coast which I had never seen before. What was going on?
I set a course close for Montague so that I could drop the main in the lee of the island, but as I approached the island, the wind started to drop from 35 knots to 20 knots and then in the 15-knot range. The Maritime bar camera could be right. I phoned a friend. "Can you tell me what the Bermagui bar is like?" Sorry, I am 20 km away. My second lifeline did not answer, so I thought maybe the Windy app was right. Is there a pressure difference along the coast as a system moves north? Take a chance and go for it.
About one mile off the entrance, I turned up wind into 12 knots of wind and a moderate sea and swell and took the main down, furled the genoa and staysail, and put in the washboards again to cross the bar. I have a course which I have used in these situations which takes a curve towards the beach then moves west of the leads and comes in as close to the western break-wall as I feel safe. I adjust my speed to try to time a lull in the swell. I saw my chance and increased the engine revs and held the wheel with both hands as I aimed for my entry course. As I passed the headland, I looked up and saw a few people standing watching me enter. Peter S was holding his camera. The below photos are thanks to Peter. One of the most dramatic shots of Malua that has been taken.
I entered the harbour, lowered the fenders, and made sure all the
prepared docking lines were ready and headed for my berth. A
group of friends: Jim, Keith, and Peter were ready to take my lines as
Malua nosed into her berth. We were home. The whole trip
had been a sailing success with nothing on the boat breaking. A great
result. Malua had lived up to the reputation of the great
thoroughbred horse from Tasmania.
I am off to the Philippines to assist Jim G to bring a
catamaran to Australia which he purchased from an American. I
hope the trip goes well.