Townsville to Cairns

Townsville to Cairns

 
   In the early part of the afternoon with everything set to go, the anchor is weighed and we set our sails for the Palm Island group to the northwest.  Once again we encounter rather big seas on the passage, consisting of large swells rather than actual waves.  These are coming at us from behind, and I watch some of these mini-monsters rolling up and passing underneath.
    I'm getting a little concerned, as the back of the boat seems to dig into the face of the waves as they reach us before lifting herself up over them.  Seawater is constantly coming aboard along the decks at the stern, being prevented from entering the cockpit by a high coaming around it.  As each wave passes through we seem to slide down the back of it, and the cycle repeats itself as the next roller comes through.
    More than once I cast an uneasy glance towards the skipper but he simply moves around apparently unconcerned, whistling a little tune as he looks at this and that.  By now I'm learning to trust his abilities as a seaman and I think his manner is deliberate, but I still felt I'd better point out what is happening, just in case. 
    His response is to just shrug his shoulders and grin at me.  As strange as it may seem, this is a defining moment for me as a sailor as I pondered on that reaction.  It occurred to me that one could never really enjoy sailing, if waves like these were always going to be regarded as a potential menace.  They could be negotiated safely, even pleasantly, if handled with the necessary skill, attention and proper respect. 
    It was also a classic example of how the confident conduct of a skipper could affect a crew in a positive manner, and it was good experience for me too in a way.  I was gaining first-hand experience in how a crew, especially inexperienced ones will look to the skipper not only for instructions but also for reassurance.
    It's already pitch black as we arrive in Challenger Bay on the western side of Great Palm Island.  Conditions are calm and the water is flat however it takes us a little while to pick our way into the anchorage, as there are other boats moored here.  It's necessary to use a spotlight to pick out the occasional mooring line floating on or just under the surface of the water, but we find a spot just off the main jetty where we can put the anchor down.
    We have completed the 30 miles from Magnetic Island to Great Palm Island in five and a half hours.  It's nice to get a rest from the constant motion of the seas outside and to be able to make a dinner in comfort.  This consists of one of the frozen stews, which doesn't take long to heat up on the gas stove.  The Engle fridge/freezer works well but is proving to be heavy on the power ( perhaps too heavy.  We sit around the dinette table and enjoy the meal in silent comfort, and a chilled glass of wine really hits the spot. 
    After dinner Paul tells us we are to push on.  Reluctantly we clean up the dishes and stow loose items away, then drag ourselves outside to begin the task of getting underway.  I would have been happy to stay on the anchor and get a good night's rest.  It would have meant avoiding the roughness of the seas waiting out there and include a daylight passage past the imposing Hinchinbrook Island.
    The anchor is pulled up and we start to pick our way out of Challenger Bay once again before turning northwards.  There are several more islands to the north of Great Palm Island and our course takes us on the western side of them.  We soon find ourselves reaching up to eight knots under full sail until we clear Orpheus Island, where the seas get bigger and we have to reef the sails to prevent from being overpowered.

Monday 6th September 1993
    Some good miles pass under the keel during the night and by early morning Hinchinbrook Island is receding in the distance behind us.  While I would have liked to see more of it, I understood why Paul wanted to make use of the winds available at the time.  No doubt there'll be more calm days ahead in the tropics, which is probably why he decided to push on last night while we had the wind.

Paul with the morning brew.

    The sailing is still good although we continue to have big seas following as we pass by Dunk Island.  Captain Cook also named this on 8th June 1770 after Lord Montague Dunk, the First Lord of the British Admiralty.  Royal Australian Air Force flying boats operated from the island during World War 2 and radar equipment located on top of its 271m Mt Kootaloo, were instrumental in the naval Battle of the Coral Sea against the Japanese.  It's now another popular tourist resort on the Great Barrier Reef and there have even been movies made here.
    After lunch we reach a position off Innisfail but are too far off shore to see the township.  The seas have eased to some extent and conditions are more comfortable, except for a little bit of local rain in the late afternoon, which doesn't do much except make everything topsides damp.

Under a goose-winged rig and a heavy sky.

    Our sailing is settling into a routine.  We stand watch, eat, sleep, read a book or just sit around, perhaps chatting or sitting alone with our thoughts.  By nightfall we've made steady progress on smooth seas with a breeze coming from dead astern.  As we come abreast off Cairns in the late evening, the weather is still a bit misty with drizzly rain at times.  Once again we are too far off to see the lights.

Mackay to Townsville

Mackay to Townville

  

Thursday 2nd September 1993   

    The seas are calm and it's a nice sunny day as we leave the Inner Harbour.  This is a new experience and I'm feeling a tad apprehensive, but also eager at the prospect of the trip.  There's no turning back now and I suppose it's a sobering moment at least for Brian and me.  There's not a lot of talking going on as we each take in the scenery.



A sombre moment looking forward into the unknown.

    Paul has been a picture of confidence, calmly issuing his instructions.  I reflected on the effort to get the boat ready, the problems already dealt with and the unknown challenges ahead.  I had to acknowledge myself, that to get the boat to its present stage would have incurred a good dose of bother, frustration and additional expense if I'd tried it alone.
    The seas have risen to slight swells when we get just outside the entrance to Mackay Harbour.  The overheating problem starts again, most likely caused by the slight rolling of the boat and creating air locks in the water-cooling system.  The water-trap is unbolted again and this time is dropped down as far as it'll go.  The temperature gauge needle slowly returns to its normal position and that seems to be the end of it.
    Once clear of the harbour the sails are hoisted for the first time.  The forestay has an interesting metal track system on it which allows quick sail changes.  There's no need to physically clip each of a sail's hanks to the forestay.  Each sail has its own metre-long section of track, which simply clips into place as needed, making the process of changing sails much simpler and quicker.  We spend a little time sitting on the foredeck, attaching each of the headsails to its track before lashing them down ready to hand.
    The breeze is gentle and reasonably constant.  Lowana's sails catch it and straight away she heels over on a slight angle.  With a slight jerk she picks up speed before Paul turns off the motor.  The relative silence is wonderful and we can now hear the commercial radio playing some music.  This is just too good.
    We rock along with good breezes during the afternoon and the first half of the night under a full moon, in beautiful sailing conditions.  The boat handling proves to be excellent and any concerns I might have had about that are dispelled.

Friday 3rd September 1993
    At 3:00 am Brian wakes me from a fitful doze with a gentle shake on the shoulder.  It's my turn to stand watch and there's a welcome cup of tea ready as I climb out to look around.  We've been making good progress and are passing through the Whitsunday Islands.  When I'm properly awake, Brian gives me a handover briefing then heads off to his own bunk.  Paul is also hovering around to make sure I know what to do but eventually goes to bed, although he's readily available in the quarter-berth just one step away inside the wheelhouse.
    The scenery under the full moon is delightful.  There's a slight haze but it does not obscure the lights ashore or the dark shapes of the islands as we glide by.  The night is still enough that an occasional raucous shout by some merrymaker ashore can be heard faintly off in the distance, above the soft gurgling of the water sliding past the hull.

Dawn over Hayman Island in the Whitsunday Group.

     Our good conditions don't last and the weather turns on us later in the morning.  The wind increases to an estimated 30 knots or more bringing large seas with it.  The boat starts pitching and heeling up to 30-degrees causing the galley crockery, various utensils and food stores to start rattling around.  Paper and towels have to be packed around these items to prevent any breakages or excessive movement.
    This is the crews' first experience of moderate to rough seas, and of course being new to this sort of thing don't really know what to expect or what's normal.  Our skipper is a steadying influence as he calmly moves around the boat telling us what we need to do.  We are each wearing a safety harness clipped to a strong point, so that should a wave sweep one of us off our feet we will remain attached to the boat.  Not that any waves have yet come aboard.
    In the meantime the Auto Helm 2000 tillerpilot and the GPS are both functioning perfectly and there's no need for anyone to physically steer the boat, however at least one person remains as a lookout in the cockpit at all times.  The rest of the day passes with no relief from the constant pounding and hard rocking but at least we make some good time.

Saturday 4th September 1993
    During the night we clear Cape Bowling Green and it's still a little bumpy in the morning as we come up to Cape Cleveland, which juts up off the mainland to the east of Townsville. 
    Magnetic Island is a few more hours away where we'll be staying tonight under the hospitality of our man Brian and his wife Jenny.  The island is situated just off Townsville with a population of 2,500 and is dominated by Mt Cook at 497 metres.  Captain James Cook named it when he passed by in 1770 on his discovery voyage along the East Coast of Australia.  His compass had started to act strangely and he wrongly thought the island had magnetic properties hence the name.
    As we clear the cape, contact is made with the local maritime coastal radio station, Radio Townsville on VHF Channel 16.  A radiotelephone call is requested and when patched through, Brian speaks to Jenny to arrange to collect us when we arrive.
    The run to Horseshoe Bay at the northern end of Magnetic Island is uneventful.  When the anchor splashes down mid-morning we'd travelled the 200 miles from Mackay in 45 hours without pushing it in some rather lumpy seas.  If the rule of thumb for cruising sailboats is arguably reckoned to be an average of 100 miles a day, then we're doing okay for novices.

Left: Lowana at anchor in
Horseshoe Bay, 
Magnetic Island
   
   We drop the dinghy and get to shore under an overcast sky to find Jenny waiting to greet us.  Our hosts point out things of interest as we drive around to the other side of the island to their house, where we are promptly handed a beer.  This is gladly accepted given some of the weather that we have been through.  It had only been a relatively short trip but nonetheless I am glad of the breather.
    The rest of the day is spent on a tour of the island, about half of which is a National Park.  As we drive around we see lots of nice little coves offering a bit of seclusion on a sandy beaches bracketed by rocks.
    The island used to be quite a tourist spot but right now seems to have declined a bit. 

The tourist beach at Horseshoe Bay.

   Toward dusk some Butcherbirds and Kookaburras fly down to the front yard where Jenny is waiting with some small titbits for them.  The Butcherbirds are similar to Magpies with their black and white plumage and share a similar cheekiness, allowing us to get within a hand's reach of them.  The laughing calls of other Kookaburras echo all around in the bush near the house.
    That night Jenny prepares a delightful roast dinner, leading to a friendly chat into the late evening, once again catching up on news.  I think we might have been a little more tired than we realised as we all slept soundly.

Sunday 5th September 1993
    After breakfast, the local shops invite our attention and we saunter around them for a little while.  Some more food and other provisions are bought, plus a length of pipe for the anchor winch which proved to be a useful purchase later on. 
    We're not in a particular hurry and it's almost midday before we're back around at Horseshoe Bay.  After retrieving the dinghy we make a few trips back and forth to the beach carting out water to top up the main water tank, and taking the additional stores out.
    Jenny came out to Lowana, curious to have a look around but doesn't stay long before returning to the beach.  She'd thoughtfully prepared several frozen stews for us and placed them into an Engle portable fridge/freezer, which is now hooked up to the boat's 12vdc power supply.  Hooks are installed to hold the unit in place inside the wheelhouse.

Away at Last

Wednesday 1st September 1993
    Today the plan is to put Lowana into the water.  We've decided to stay aboard tonight ready to leave Mackay first thing tomorrow.  There's some time to fill while waiting for the boatyard owner to come and launch the boat, so we spend it by checking for items overlooked.  Surprisingly we continue to find items either broken or missing.  Fortunately there's a chandlery nearby where two new spinnaker sheets and some blocks, flares, shackles, glues and other sundry necessary items are obtained.
    In due course the operator arrives with a tractor and boat trailer.  The trailers adjustable rails are slid around and underneath Lowana, before she's lowered off her blocks onto the trailer and secured.  The system is straightforward and in short order we are on our way, following the tractor as it tows the boat down to a concrete ramp in the Inner Harbour.  The journey is only a few hundred metres and it doesn't take too long.

Ready for launching.

     The launching goes relatively smoothly as the tractor reverses the trailer down the ramp and into the water.  The idea of the apparatus is for the boat to simply float free, but Lowana has some small difficulty when her bilge keel fins snag on the trailer supports.  It needs a little bit of coaxing but she presently comes clear and floats gently, while Brian and I hold her temporarily against the trailer's upright struts.
    Paul opens the cooling water seacock and starts the motor.  It fires up immediately with a burst of black exhaust smoke, but this is normal for a diesel engine that has been idle for some time.  It quickly dissipates and the motor settles into a satisfactory healthy rhythm.  Paul gives us the nod to push away and we slide gracefully back, before he puts her into gear and executes a nice tight turn out towards the mooring poles. 
    Almost immediately the temperature gauge starts climbing up into the red area of the gauge, indicating an overheating problem.  We'll have to be quick to avoid damage, but the poles aren't far away and a quick burst of throttle gives us enough momentum to carry us the rest of the way.  The motor is choked down while Brian and I, positioned at the bow and stern, throw securing lines over the fore and aft poles to bring Lowana to a standstill.
    Paul is already pulling up the companionway stairs and wheelhouse flooring to get at the motor.  The cooling system relies on taking raw saltwater directly from the sea, pumping it through the motor and returning it to the sea via the exhaust hose.  Asked what he thought the problem might be, he replied, "There's no water getting through the motor so it's most likely going to be the water pump."
    The area behind the engine bay where the saltwater cooling pump is located must have been intended for people no taller than about a metre.  It requires some twisting effort to get down inside through a small hole under the quarter-berth in the wheelhouse.  To work on the pump means lying in a semi-prone position and is most uncomfortable, with all sorts of steel projections ready to poke into your body or your head.  Paul manages to squeeze down there and pull the pump off, then brings it out for inspection.
    As suspected the rubber o-ring seals are perished and require replacing.  Additionally, the shaft and faceplate are also badly worn.  Much of the day is spent trying to get parts and fixing the faults.  Unfortunately we are unable to get a new faceplate, so some fine wet-and-dry paper is used to render the brass plate as flat as possible to repair it.  Eventually the pump is re-assembled but the problem is still there.  The cooling seawater simply isn't getting through the motor.
    It's getting late in the day and we've spent enough time trying to fix it ourselves.  Whatever the fault is, it's bound to be something simple.  But we still have other things to do.  Sometimes no matter how hard you look at a problem, you can't see the solution even though it may be obvious.
    For the next half hour under Paul's direction, we set about preparing the boat for the trip.  To save some time tomorrow it's decided to get a diesel mechanic to come out in the morning.  With this decision, we climb into the dinghy and go back ashore, where the arrangements are made by telephone.
    It's late afternoon as we travel back to the house to say our farewells and collect our belongings.  This doesn't take long and we are soon on our way back to the marina, where the gear is taken out to the boat.  We have to hurry to catch the car-rental office before it closes, but there are no delays on the trip back into town and our trusty hire car is handed back.
    Back out on the street we wonder how we will get back out to the marina, but we're lucky enough to get a lift back without having to catch a taxi.  It's almost dark as we get back aboard, but before we can relax for the night we still have just one more job to do.  We set about making a home for ourselves making up bunks and stowing our gear.
    It's been a long day.  Paul broaches the subject of safety at sea, and discusses several issues with us.  One of these is drinking alcohol and it's decided to limit ourselves to just a couple of cans of beer during sundowners whilst underway at sea.  Later on we go ashore to seek some entertainment, ending up spending part of the evening at the local yacht club.
    Brian later said that on return to Lowana, Paul and I had promised to teach him how to play the guitar since we would have time to do it.  This conversation may have been lost in the fog of cordiality after our night ashore but sadly, Brian never got to learn how to play any guitar.  He still reckons we owe him plenty for the cab fares into town the next day to buy one, plus heaps of lessons.

Thursday 2nd September 1993
    After a leisurely rise and breakfast, we went ashore to wait for the diesel mechanic.  We waited for three and a half hours for him to turn up.  When he finally arrives he explains he'd been delayed by a previous job.
    The mechanic only needed a few moments to tell us the water pump is not self-priming and that the water-trap is set higher than the waterline.  For this slightly embarrassing news we paid the mechanic his fee and took him back to shore.
    It's perhaps something we should have seen for ourselves but the water-trap had been bolted into position, so it hadn't occurred to any of us to question it.  Lowana's actual waterline must have changed by having some weight taken off her at some time.
    The water-trap is unbolted and subsequently re-positioned down further into the engine bay.  Seawater starts pumping immediately through the motor, and we're now quite confident that the problem is fixed.  Final preparations are made and after a quick lunch break, our mooring lines are cast off and we ease away from the poles under motor.

Leaving the marina - away at last!

Preparing For Sea

Saturday 28th August 1993
    It's time to go and get my boat.  Paul and I meet at Darwin Airport and board an aircraft to fly to Cairns on the eastern coast of Queensland.  Thankfully, there have been no dramas in getting away from Darwin.  There is a short layover for a change of aircraft for Mackay, so Paul and I take advantage of the time by enjoying a couple of drinks at the bar. 
    At Townsville we meet up with Brian, our last crewmember.  Paul has never met Brian and introductions are made.  It's good to catch up with Brian again.  We spend the short flight bringing each other up to date on family news and the like.
    By the time we arrive at Mackay it's late afternoon.  A visit to the airport car-rental counter gets us a small hire car for 50 kilometres per day for four days.  We figure this will be all the time we need to get the boat ready for sea, and although the car is small, it should be adequate for our needs.
    After loading up our luggage we immediately set off for my in-law's house, which is to be our base for the next few days.  Carolyn and Chris had kindly offered their home for this purpose, for which I was grateful.  There is a pleasant surprise waiting for us when we arrive at the house.  John and Nola are also my in-laws and they are in Mackay for a short time.  I hadn't seen them for some time and since we're gathered together, we have a small party that night.  My two companions fit like a glove as we got together around the table with a few drinks, catching up with the news and telling tales out of school.
    All in all it's been a good day but in hindsight, I guess any day without problems is a good day.

Sunday 29th August 1993
    We rise reasonably early to get a good start.  Caroline is a marvel and makes some breakfast for us before we leave for The Boatyard.  It's raining lightly as we pull up out the front of Lowana, cradled on the hardstand area.
    There are many signs of a shoddy job with the hull painting.  It's still not finished despite the painters having been contracted several weeks before.  The waterline and the rubbing strakes haven't been done.  There are bits of paper hanging off the boat everywhere and lots of paint overspray on the decking, turnbuckles and ropes.
    Irritation mounts when we notice that the zinc anodes have also been painted over.  Painting the zinc prevents them from doing their job of protecting the steel against galvanic corrosion.  Additionally, no effort had been made to tape up the under-hull log propeller, which is a mechanical device that measures speed through the water.  It had obviously been spray-painted under pressure causing the device to spin, bending the log instrument needle in the wheelhouse to a 45-degree angle.
    So far I'm not impressed but after climbing aboard I'm in for a further rude intrusion into my day.  No holes in the hull had been blocked before sandblasting had been carried out, and there's a mass of black sandblasting grit right throughout the interior of the boat including the mattresses.  The stuff had come up through an open seacock into the galley through the sink and it's a mess.

The Galley

   But the day gets even better with other problems.  The bilges are full of stale oil and diesel, and there's mould right throughout on the ceiling and walls.  So in addition to the mess, the smell isn't too good either.  However the mould is to be expected since the boat had sat unused and locked up for so long.
    Moving back outside we endure the drizzly rain, identifying all the sailing winches and controls and taking stock of what needs to be done.  Jobs are quickly prioritised, with getting the boat a bit more liveable at the top of the list.  At least this will get us out of the rain, so we return below and set about getting Lowana cleaned up inside.
    It continues to rain throughout the rest of the day but we make a good start to the cleaning.  We attack the galley, cleaning out the stove, sink and cupboards, washing all the dishes and pans and cleaning off some of the mould.  We even manage to make a start on the awfully smelly and dirty task of cleaning out the bilges.
    We're reasonably satisfied with our progress by the end of the day and feeling justifiably a little tired.  Before heading back home for a well-deserved beer, we take a moment to sit down and make a more detailed list of other jobs to be done.  The list is starting to get much longer.

Monday 30th August 1993
    The weather is not being kind to us.  It continues to rain off and on during the day.  Paul's first job is to set about checking the diesel motor and changing the oil, while Brian and I get stuck into cleaning tasks again.
    After Paul finished his work on the motor, he starts it up and quickly chokes it down, proving that it will at least run.  A quick check confirms that it can be started manually should the electrics fail for some reason.
    He then declares he's satisfied with the motor for the time being and once more, with audible groans, the task of cleaning out the fetid muck from the bilges begins again.  A visit to the local boat park chandlery provides a welcome break to acquire a new 1400 gallon-per-hour electric bilge pump.  This is duly installed into the bilges and hooked up to the ships 12v battery power system. 
    Paul also pulls apart the manual bilge pump and satisfies himself that it works.  This pump is located right next to the wheelhouse steering wheel and the helmsman can operate it by a lever while steering the boat, if it becomes necessary.  It will not pump out huge amounts of unwelcome water but every little bit helps in an emergency.
    Our attention now turns to some of the equipment aboard.  The epirb is found to be out of date and the MOB light has no inner workings.  The BCF fire extinguisher is unserviceable and an internal fuse blew while checking the Satnav equipment.
    This involves another shopping trip for a new epirb and fire extinguisher but we couldn't get another fuse for the Satnav anywhere in Mackay.  This isn't a particular bother because Paul had brought his own brand new hand-held Micrologic GPS device with him.
    The acronym BOAT for "Bring Out Another Thousand" is turning out to be painfully apt.  Today has set a pattern where I must keep pulling out more money.  It's become something of a standing quip by the crew to ask for another 'coupla hundred' for something or other.

Tuesday 31st August 1993
    At last the weather is starting to clear and the contractor arrives to finish the painting.  While he's doing that we drive into town to do the shopping for provisions.  During this exercise, the Woolworth's supermarket is brought to a complete standstill when I once again stub a sore big toe.  It causes a red-hot fire up my entire leg and an exclamation to the effect "oh my goodness, I really can't stand flipping pain!"  This of course is accompanied with a certain dramatic air and aerobics.
    Brian thought the antics were brilliant stuff and was later to vividly remember me hopping about on one foot, but his recollections of the words used are decidedly different.
    By the time we return to the boat, the painter has completed his work.  Apart from the things mentioned, the quality of both the spray-painting of the topsides and the antifouling turns out quite well.
    We load our shopping straight onto Lowana, being careful not to touch the paintwork or create any dust near it,  although it's already touch-dry.  After the stores are sorted and packed away Brian and I continue with some final cleaning, while Paul starts pulling out all the sails and checking their condition.  By lunchtime these tasks are completed so we stop for a bit of lunch.
    A fuel tanker had previously been organised and while waiting for it to turn up, we pull out the rest of the boat's inventory.  First, the items have to be checked to confirm they are actually on board, and serviceable.  Paul connects his GPS unit to the boats 12v battery power.  A quick test shows it's working fine but since none of us has ever actually used one before, we'll have to sit down at some point to learn how to operate it.
    Later on the fuel tanker arrives and we take on our diesel fuel.  This doesn't take long and upon completion, the main water tank is emptied and flushed.  It's then refilled with fresh water, plus two spare water containers.
    At long last the boat is almost ready except for the filthy mattresses and cushions, which are taken back to the house for a thorough washing and drying. Tomorrow we put Lowana into the water.

The Decision

    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.

    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.

    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.

    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. 

    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.

Lowana with new antifouling and paint
on the hardstand at Mackay

    Nevertheless, the boat definitely had potential and through the contacts of my late brother-in-law, she was given a once-over by a professional mariner of many years experience.  He said, "If this is the kind of boat you want, you'd do no worse than getting her.  She needs a bit of paint and there is some rust up aft behind the motor, but it's removable.  Overall the boat looks okay". 

    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. 

    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. 

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.

Introduction

LOWANA COMES TO DARWIN
By Russ Swan

Introduction

    Welcome to the first in a series of stories about actual voyages under sails. I'll be adding other voyages as separate blogs in due course.  I hope you enjoy them.
    The stories originally consisted of notes taken during the trips, then later typed up and put into a photo album.  The resulting photo-journals were meant to be a permanent reminder of the trip and to share the experience with family and friends.  Later stories included notes as a reference source in case I ever returned to an area, or if any other sailboat skipper needed information about a place I'd visited.
    I'd thought that only people with an interest in the sea would appreciate them.  But I soon discovered a surprising widespread interest.  Associates and work colleagues read them enthusiastically and kept asking for more.  I was also surprised to learn just how closely readers followed events and progress with the available charts and photographs. 
    Some people made comments about publishing.  I was not all that convinced and a bit reluctant, until I showed the story "A Tanimbar Experience" (in its note form) to my good friend and neighbour, Mr Dave Fields.  Dave happened to be a freelance journalist and a published author.  He knew what he was talking about, and I knew I could respect his opinion.  Dave not only encouraged me to publish the material, but also showed me how to improve the text.
    I would like to thank Dave for his enthusiasm, friendship and voluntary practical assistance in getting started, thus bringing these stories to you.  I must also thank my wife Delma for her support, and the many who have stiffened my resolve when I needed it.

About This Story
    This story briefly describes the transition of a landlubber to yacht owner, including the trials and tribulations of arriving at his new boat and getting it ready for sea.  It goes on to describe day-to-day events during the actual sailing and the places visited.  It includes coloured captioned photographs and digital charts, which readers can use to follow the adventure closely.

    Now let's suppose your only sailing experience consists of an introductory sailing course and a week's holiday bareboat charter sailing.  You are the new owner of an 8 tonne 30-foot cruising yacht but it's not only in another city, it's in another State.  Suddenly the reality of it closes in.  You must make a decision about how you're going to get it home.  You can truck it, get it delivered or sail it.
    The first two options are unrewarding and just too mail-orderish.  Nothing could be gained from it except a depleted bank account and it would then be necessary to start learning through trial and error after it arrived.
    That leaves sailing the 1,600 miles of the Australian coastline from Mackay, Queensland to Darwin, Northern Territory.  It also means facing the daunting prospect of getting the boat safely up through the Great Barrier Reef, across the fickle Gulf of Carpentaria, and the open coastal waters of the Arafura Sea.

The voyage area