What makes one decide to take to the sea or seek some other form of adventure? Is it something already inside us? Or is it a combination of circumstances?
Perhaps there's a little bit of yearning for exciting activity sitting somewhere deep down inside of all of us. In a few people I guess the drive for adventure is simply there - like Jesse Martin who accomplished the extraordinary feat of sailing around the world alone at the ripe age of 17. For others it may come about because of a series of events at precisely the right time in their lives.
Perhaps there's a little bit of yearning for exciting activity sitting somewhere deep down inside of all of us. In a few people I guess the drive for adventure is simply there - like Jesse Martin who accomplished the extraordinary feat of sailing around the world alone at the ripe age of 17. For others it may come about because of a series of events at precisely the right time in their lives.
I was raised in an outback country town a long way from the ocean and didn't have any particular love for the sea, at least not that I knew about. Joining the Army meant a move to coastal areas where a passion for saltwater fishing developed, resulting in a lot of time in small boats out on offshore waters.
Eventually this grew to be a bit tiresome. I was becoming burned out with fishing clubs and association meetings. Something else, some other challenge was needed, but what? A flying lesson couldn't ignite the spark and a turn or two at water skis just wasn't enough, so I kept fishing.
One day late in 1990 a work colleague told me he'd just bought a 64-foot vessel in Fremantle, Western Australia, and asked if I would help him bring it back to Darwin. I agreed and off we went with two other crewmembers. The boat's name was Wuli. She was a timber boat built in South East Asia and had no sails and powered by an 80hp motor, but was spacious inside and had a huge aft decShe later proved to handle the seas well.
This vessel also had something of a shady history in that she ran aground on the Tiwi Islands to the north of Darwin, allegedly following a drug running attempt. Whatever the truth of it, she was refloated and refitted before taken to Fremantle for sale. Now she was coming straight back.
On New Year's day 1991 the crew of three men and a woman ( Don, Robin, Donna and I arrived at Fremantle and booked into a local hotel for the night. Robin was an old salt from way back, and had participated in some extraordinary ventures, one of which was a scientific trip in a large dugout canoe from Indonesia to Madagascar. In fact, it was his example that prompted me to start recording my trips.
Eventually this grew to be a bit tiresome. I was becoming burned out with fishing clubs and association meetings. Something else, some other challenge was needed, but what? A flying lesson couldn't ignite the spark and a turn or two at water skis just wasn't enough, so I kept fishing.
One day late in 1990 a work colleague told me he'd just bought a 64-foot vessel in Fremantle, Western Australia, and asked if I would help him bring it back to Darwin. I agreed and off we went with two other crewmembers. The boat's name was Wuli. She was a timber boat built in South East Asia and had no sails and powered by an 80hp motor, but was spacious inside and had a huge aft decShe later proved to handle the seas well.
This vessel also had something of a shady history in that she ran aground on the Tiwi Islands to the north of Darwin, allegedly following a drug running attempt. Whatever the truth of it, she was refloated and refitted before taken to Fremantle for sale. Now she was coming straight back.
On New Year's day 1991 the crew of three men and a woman ( Don, Robin, Donna and I arrived at Fremantle and booked into a local hotel for the night. Robin was an old salt from way back, and had participated in some extraordinary ventures, one of which was a scientific trip in a large dugout canoe from Indonesia to Madagascar. In fact, it was his example that prompted me to start recording my trips.
The next day we boarded the Wuli with all our gear and got ourselves established for the 1800-mile trip home. Within a couple of days we were on our way over some large blue-water southern swells, which gradually eased as we travelled north.
We stopped for fuel at Port Hedland, and again at Broome to visit some friends. It was a good chance to step ashore and temporarily find the land legs again. Although they did get a bit wobbly following some jolly hours at the hotel one night, complete with live band music and good company.
Cockatoo Island is a small place in the Kimberley coast along the North West coast of Australia, where iron ore was once mined. It was in the process of being turned into a tourism resort. Some of the buildings were fashioned in the tropical 1930's style, but the majority were of the demountable type with shuttered windows propped out with sticks.
There was a rather substantial building where the miners had congregated for entertainment, and the swimming pool was truly unique. A sheer cliff falls away immediately on one side of the pool, providing a grand view of the coast below.
Although we anchored overnight in some nice places along the Kimberley, none could beat the spectacular King George River. Its towering stone cliffs dropping sheer into the water and the two waterfalls at its head were impressive. That river was the turning point for me when I realised it could be reached in less than 36 hours at 6 knots, from Darwin.
Sailing also introduced something special about being governed by nature rather than things like traffic lights or a clock on a wall. There is almost something primal in that whatever action one takes, there may be survival implications. On top of that, the fishing in those remote places is nothing short of excellent, not to mention the scenic wonder of untamed lands and marine life.
I still have special memories of a school of dolphins charging towards us in the fading dusk like a bunch of excited school children, then frolicking off the bow rolling from one side to the other to look back at us with big round eyes. And of a large iridescent shimmering sailfish swimming around and around in circles on the surface, completely ignoring the boat as we pass within feet of it.
This was obviously the new direction in which to go, but that first step which separates dreaming from reality had to be taken. A suitable vessel at an affordable cost had to be acquired, but everything about sea-going boats was a mystery.
What sort of boat should I get? The answer came to me when the Wuli stalled in the middle of the Joseph Bonaparte Gulf to the South-West of Darwin. It was one of those hot, still days where the boat was sitting on flat, light green water. The motor was dead and refused to budge so we drifted, helpless against the current pushing us further out to sea.
While Don the skipper slaved away to fix the motor, some of the crew jumped over the side for a refreshing swim. It can be a titillating experience treading water some 150 miles from shore and wondering what might be below you. Thoughts of being in the same situation but without a boat alongside don't bear thinking about. It was not until Robin called us back onboard, that we noticed a venomous sea snake idly swimming around on the other side.
It took the skipper several hours but to our collective relief, he got the motor going again. At the time my priorities for a boat were more on motors than sails, but this incident gave me plenty to think about. In particular I wondered what I would have done in the same situation. The conclusion was that given my lack of knowledge about diesel motors, it would be best to get a cruising sailboat so that if the motor broke down it would still be possible, wind permitting, to make it home.
The "Trader Boat" magazine listing boats for sale, and affectionately known as the "yachties bible", became essential monthly reading. Every edition was checked and I sent out letters seeking details of boats, which had made my shortlist of possibilities.
We stopped for fuel at Port Hedland, and again at Broome to visit some friends. It was a good chance to step ashore and temporarily find the land legs again. Although they did get a bit wobbly following some jolly hours at the hotel one night, complete with live band music and good company.
Cockatoo Island is a small place in the Kimberley coast along the North West coast of Australia, where iron ore was once mined. It was in the process of being turned into a tourism resort. Some of the buildings were fashioned in the tropical 1930's style, but the majority were of the demountable type with shuttered windows propped out with sticks.
There was a rather substantial building where the miners had congregated for entertainment, and the swimming pool was truly unique. A sheer cliff falls away immediately on one side of the pool, providing a grand view of the coast below.
Although we anchored overnight in some nice places along the Kimberley, none could beat the spectacular King George River. Its towering stone cliffs dropping sheer into the water and the two waterfalls at its head were impressive. That river was the turning point for me when I realised it could be reached in less than 36 hours at 6 knots, from Darwin.
Sailing also introduced something special about being governed by nature rather than things like traffic lights or a clock on a wall. There is almost something primal in that whatever action one takes, there may be survival implications. On top of that, the fishing in those remote places is nothing short of excellent, not to mention the scenic wonder of untamed lands and marine life.
I still have special memories of a school of dolphins charging towards us in the fading dusk like a bunch of excited school children, then frolicking off the bow rolling from one side to the other to look back at us with big round eyes. And of a large iridescent shimmering sailfish swimming around and around in circles on the surface, completely ignoring the boat as we pass within feet of it.
This was obviously the new direction in which to go, but that first step which separates dreaming from reality had to be taken. A suitable vessel at an affordable cost had to be acquired, but everything about sea-going boats was a mystery.
What sort of boat should I get? The answer came to me when the Wuli stalled in the middle of the Joseph Bonaparte Gulf to the South-West of Darwin. It was one of those hot, still days where the boat was sitting on flat, light green water. The motor was dead and refused to budge so we drifted, helpless against the current pushing us further out to sea.
While Don the skipper slaved away to fix the motor, some of the crew jumped over the side for a refreshing swim. It can be a titillating experience treading water some 150 miles from shore and wondering what might be below you. Thoughts of being in the same situation but without a boat alongside don't bear thinking about. It was not until Robin called us back onboard, that we noticed a venomous sea snake idly swimming around on the other side.
It took the skipper several hours but to our collective relief, he got the motor going again. At the time my priorities for a boat were more on motors than sails, but this incident gave me plenty to think about. In particular I wondered what I would have done in the same situation. The conclusion was that given my lack of knowledge about diesel motors, it would be best to get a cruising sailboat so that if the motor broke down it would still be possible, wind permitting, to make it home.
The "Trader Boat" magazine listing boats for sale, and affectionately known as the "yachties bible", became essential monthly reading. Every edition was checked and I sent out letters seeking details of boats, which had made my shortlist of possibilities.
Another problem to be overcome was having absolutely no sailing experience. This was a serious drawback and although I held a certificate in maritime safety because of my fishing activities, it wasn't going to be enough. An introductory course in sailing proved to be somewhat helpful, but this nowhere near qualifies one to competently master a sailing vessel.
To get some experience, I toyed with ideas of trying to get a crew position on a sailboat, racing in one of the local sailing clubs on weekends, or perhaps in joining a boat in the annual international Darwin to Ambon yacht race. These loose ambitions remained unfulfilled when a promising looking boat appeared in the magazine. The yacht was sitting in a cradle in a boat yard at Mackay in Queensland, which was fortuitous because my wife Delma and I happened to be planning a trip to visit relatives there.
To get some experience, I toyed with ideas of trying to get a crew position on a sailboat, racing in one of the local sailing clubs on weekends, or perhaps in joining a boat in the annual international Darwin to Ambon yacht race. These loose ambitions remained unfulfilled when a promising looking boat appeared in the magazine. The yacht was sitting in a cradle in a boat yard at Mackay in Queensland, which was fortuitous because my wife Delma and I happened to be planning a trip to visit relatives there.
On the way we decided to take a bareboat sailing charter at the Whitsunday Islands north of Mackay. I wanted to see whether Delma and I could make it work on a sailing boat. This was a crucial step in my opinion since sailboats have been known to create serious rifts in relationships. It's a bit like bringing a mistress into a partnership, since they demand as much love, attention, money and time as they can get. Buying one would obviously have to be a joint enterprise or not at all.
It was not a particularly good start. There was bad weather and we got knocked down, wet and cold, but eventually the weather turned good. We finally got in some pleasant days of sailing and explored around some of the islands. It was perhaps a good experience in one way, in that we saw both sides of cruising life, not just the "sailing in the sunset" variety.
With this hurdle successfully negotiated we pushed on to Mackay, where we got a look at the advertised vessel at a place aptly called The Boatyard. Her name was Lowana and she looked a sorry sight. The owners were an elderly couple who lived in Victoria, and who travelled up every year for the warmer weather and a sailing holiday.
It was not a particularly good start. There was bad weather and we got knocked down, wet and cold, but eventually the weather turned good. We finally got in some pleasant days of sailing and explored around some of the islands. It was perhaps a good experience in one way, in that we saw both sides of cruising life, not just the "sailing in the sunset" variety.
With this hurdle successfully negotiated we pushed on to Mackay, where we got a look at the advertised vessel at a place aptly called The Boatyard. Her name was Lowana and she looked a sorry sight. The owners were an elderly couple who lived in Victoria, and who travelled up every year for the warmer weather and a sailing holiday.
 |
| Lowana with new antifouling and paint on the hardstand at Mackay |
He also pointed to the top of the main diesel fuel tank and said, "This is one spot I always check. If it's clean here, then it's usually fairly well maintained elsewhere." The area was spotless. The next step was to get her checked by a marine surveyor. The resulting report was also positive, showing that Lowana was indeed in good condition for her age.
Delma and I returned to Darwin where we spoke to the bank then put in a bid to the owners. We soon found them to be a lovely couple and easy to talk to. We learned that Lowana had been built in New Zealand in 1979, brought to Australia in the mid 1980's and had sailed as far as Papua New Guinea and the South Pacific.
Delma and I returned to Darwin where we spoke to the bank then put in a bid to the owners. We soon found them to be a lovely couple and easy to talk to. We learned that Lowana had been built in New Zealand in 1979, brought to Australia in the mid 1980's and had sailed as far as Papua New Guinea and the South Pacific.
This information fortified our decision to buy her, since obviously this was a proven open-water cruising sailboat. They agreed to the sale and hated to see Lowana go, but she was getting a bit much for them and they wanted to get something a bit smaller.
At this point I began to wonder, "What have I done?" The full realisation hit I was now a yacht owner. I still had to get her back home to Darwin but I certainly didn't have the ability to do it. I thought I'd have to get the boat professionally delivered, but as things happen something else came up.
Every now and then the lucky cogs in the wheel-of-fate line up, and I was introduced to a man who was part owner of a catamaran and had done the same trip not too long before. I immediately took a liking to this cheery, blond, blue-eyed fellow, named Paul Nefiodovis. After I made a few discrete checks and had a discussion with him, it was agreed he would skipper my boat back to Darwin with me acting as crew. This was a huge relief since it would give me some sailing experience and knowledge of the boat at the same time.
At this point I began to wonder, "What have I done?" The full realisation hit I was now a yacht owner. I still had to get her back home to Darwin but I certainly didn't have the ability to do it. I thought I'd have to get the boat professionally delivered, but as things happen something else came up.
Every now and then the lucky cogs in the wheel-of-fate line up, and I was introduced to a man who was part owner of a catamaran and had done the same trip not too long before. I immediately took a liking to this cheery, blond, blue-eyed fellow, named Paul Nefiodovis. After I made a few discrete checks and had a discussion with him, it was agreed he would skipper my boat back to Darwin with me acting as crew. This was a huge relief since it would give me some sailing experience and knowledge of the boat at the same time.
 |
| Paul, Russ and Brian |
A good friend living on Magnetic Island off Townsville in Queensland also agreed to do the trip. Brian Irwin had no sailing experience at all, but he had a good issue of common sense and humour. It would be a steep learning curve for him too, but we'd have another pair of eyes on watch.
With the method of getting Lowana home and crewing her decided, all that remained was to determine when it would happen, and to get her hull sandblasted and antifouled. The latter was organised by contacting a local Mackay firm to do the job prior to our arrival in late August 1993.
Plans and arrangements were made and the months dragged by. Many a night was spent deliberating the "what ifs" and trying to imagine what it would be like under sail at sea. When the time came to go, I found myself keenly anticipating the venture.
Plans and arrangements were made and the months dragged by. Many a night was spent deliberating the "what ifs" and trying to imagine what it would be like under sail at sea. When the time came to go, I found myself keenly anticipating the venture.
No comments:
Post a Comment