Sunday 1 August 2021 

80 Miles North East of Wilson’s Promontory 

As the golden sun went down and Gabo Island fell astern, we glided effortlessly along – past Mallacoota, Wingan Inlets, Cape Conran, Marlo and Orbost. The breeze from the north, plus a small amount of engine, had us doing 6 knots over seas as flat as an Olympic Pool and under a silky-black, star filled sky. 

The sky was so black, even the white bits were black … and given how good my new phone has been at taking snaps, I thought I’d point it skywards and scroll though the custom settings, all the while lying on my back, eyes to the heavens, for added stability. 

Using a 10 second exposure, held very still, the images were “simply amazing” ..,. to quote the others onboard. I’m looking forward to being able to upload them. 

It was SO calm, we even had an opportunity to sit together around the saloon table woofing down one of Harm’s latest culinary creations, between going on deck to gaze skywards to take photos or count falling meteorites. 

Around 11:00pm, with the cockpit adequately staffed, I retired to my cosy, warm bunk.  

Two hours later, I was woken – by noises outside – to something akin to a parallel universe. No more the tranquility of bliss, Chimere was now bucking and flapping, with the howling sound of the wind and the unmistakeable splashing of waves raising me from my bunk and into the “suiting up” processes.

You may have seen those NASA movies where the astronauts are kitted up for their suits, or are dressing for a moon walk, or better still, you are trying to dress both yourself and a wriggling three year old for an excursion into the snow … well, getting dressed to go on deck is something of an ordeal.  

And by the sounds, this was no poke your head out of the companionway hatch with the kindly words … “how’s it going chaps?” … no, this was the full deal … thermals, polar fleece, super-socks, over-pants, sea boots, jumper, scarf, over-jacket, gloves, life jacket and tether-clip-on-strap … which I swear, will be the death of me! Oh, did I mention that you’d first better remember to go to the toilet before starting all of the above – even if you don’t think you need to – because up on deck you’ll regret it pretty soon. 

I’m sure most of my bruises and bangs on the head have come from simply getting dressed, while the boat is moving this way and that ! 

Once up on deck, it was clear that the south west change had come – with cold vengeance – and instead of gliding along in a straight line towards our destination, we were aiming towards the Ninety Mile Beach, at right angles to our course. Not ideal, but all we could do, given the conditions – “How long is this likely to last?” I asked Matt … “For a while” came the reply. 

Pretty soon, we’d reefed the main, adjusted the jib and had a reasonable motion happening … still in the wrong direction, and still at just 3-4 knots, but at least it was comfortable. We had a plan. And it involved tacking our way slowly forward by means of a series of zig zags – we had done THIS before and you never really get used to it. As the saying goes … “Gentlemen DON’T tack”. 

Harm and Matt retired to their bunks, leaving me and Sam to slug it out … while holding at bay the cold, really cold, and sleep … willing the minutes to tick by, that would herald the return of the friendly warm sun. 

As we neared the end of our third, hour-long, tack … by now just 3 miles or so from the beach … it became apparent that we were losing ground on this tack. Simply put, we were no longer able to point as high to the wind on this tack as we could on the earlier beach-bound tack. This could only really mean one thing … “I think the wind is shifting … more to the northwest … away from the southwest” I mused … “quick, let’s tack”. 

As we started the process of adjusting the sheets on the new tack … this time towards the Prohibited Oil and Gas Field to the south … the wind gauge showed it was now blowing off the starboard beam (side) and NOT on the nose, enabling us to steer away from the expected heading of the next tack, but right onto our earlier plotted – straight line – course.  

“Ease the sheets … we are no longer tacking!” … and just like that, nearly four hours of bashing to windward, with the prospect of hours more to come, was simply wiped away. We were back to stable sailing once more – in the right direction – all of a sudden, the rain and air didn’t seem so cold anymore – despite the visible fog from our breath.  

The sun returned as a welcomed friend, fighting its way through the heavy morning clouds. We continued to make good time, but by lunchtime the wind had veered to the west, making our direct course hard to hold. The sea built and now, instead of avoiding the oil and gas region area altogether, we instead charted a new course, making sure to stay at least two miles from any oil and gas platform; with great names like … Kingfish, Barracouta, Halibut, Bream, Snapper, Whiting … do you detect a theme here …?  

But still, we made good time, mostly heading south, roughly parallel to the coast. 

Phone and internet coverage has been sporadic at best, mostly as we passed by the few settled areas onshore. I managed to actually speak with someone at Australian Quarantine last night, and again this morning. I’ll call him … “helpful Dave” … because he was extremely helpful, and that was his name. Far more helpful than a person in the same department who informed me that I was … “now an Unlawful Arrival” … Please??!! I haven’t arrived (yet) and I’m doing everything I can to comply!! I’m simply asking you to HELP me do so.  

In chatting with Dave I gained the impression that “my case” was well known … “the imminent arrival of a yacht” … I suspect they don’t have many. Anyway, while internet coverage lasted, Dave emailed me the right form and so I was able to complete it and get it back to him within the hour. Fifty minutes of that hour was spent by IT expert Harm, downloading new PDF software onto my computer that would first enable me to open and then type-into the attachment … the other ten minutes was spent filling out the form. 

Hopefully, tomorrow I’ll receive a positive answer about whether I can clear quarantine at Westernport. If it’s not approved, then we’ll have no choice but to sail onto Melbourne, another day away, making sure to also obtain berthing permission, and a location, from the Melbourne Port Authorities. Sailing, even in storms, really is the easy bit compared with this. 

It’s now dark again, the sun has left us for another day, and whilst the westerly wind is sending us more south than our chosen course of WEST, the seas are relatively calm, we are making good time under sail alone and there’s a promise the wind will veer to the north west in a few hours – enabling us to creep our course to the right.  

Our next goal is to round Wilson’s Promontory, aka South East Cape … around 80 miles away … or 13 hours at an average speed of 6 knots. So, if all goes to plan, mid-morning tomorrow, we will be around the Prom with our sights set on Westernport … Home. We then expect to berth at the marina at Hastings – travelling up the bay on the all-important incoming tide, by 8:00am Tuesday … less than two days away, 15 days out of Opua, Bay of Islands – cool!  

Hopefully the weather for the next day or so is kind. 

Smooth seas, fair breeze and Bass Strait – not giving up without a fight 

Rob Latimer 

Saturday 31 July 2021

Six miles south of Wingan Inlet, East Gippsland

It was a grand sight – the eastern-most tip of Victoria. At first, it was just a faint, steely-blue strip along the southwest horizon. A dividing line between the two opposing greys of the sky and sea.  

Soon enough, the indistinct line in the distance became a series of low land forms, interspersed with the occasional light colour – presumably sand dunes. Then there was the unmistakeable line of trees on the higher ridges. Not your typical greenish, forest-type vegetation, but lonely, dark sticks, standing side-by-side in the form of an enormous picket fence; one that only wildfire can create. Of course, this is one of the landmark regions burnt out in early 2020; a long, long time ago now. 

Excitement aboard was very real, that’s for sure. We hadn’t quite arrived at our final destination … but we were definitely entering the home strait – the often “tricky” … Bass Strait. After all the anticipation, Sam ended up missing the initial sighting of land.. After opting to take an all-night watch, his sleep bordered on the unconscious around 10:00am – surviving the hoots and holla’s of us three older folk, plus a whistling kettle.  

After an hour or so, however, Sam made up for having missed the initial “LAND HO!!!” … as the realisation of spending 12 days at sea, battling storms, uncertainty, physical challenges … not to mention the complete absense of internet and Smartphone … began to sink in for real.  

We all felt … there was land once more – the familiar – and here is my Smartphone, ping ping ping pinging to new life, like a bowl of popcorn, despite struggling to register barely 2-bars. 

Having seen no other vessels since leaving Opua on the 19 July – except for two fleeting AIS images on our chartplotter – we were definitely back in civilisation now. This – the region just to the south of the Victorian coastline – being the busiest shipping lane in Australia. Within a few hours we had already encountered three ships passing by, the AIS alarm on our chartplotter alerting us to their presence if ever they were to escape our gaze. 

Soon after sunrise – which just happened to be the best so far for the voyage – Harm passed the IridiumGO device down from the cockpit to be re-attached to the charging unit below. “Funny, there’s no lights, maybe the battery is really dead” Harm commented. 

After the ubiquitous “OFF and ON” again routine, still no life. Ten minutes on the charger, still no life. “Off and ON” again. Nothing. 
Exhausting my reservoir of ideas in one foul swoop, I suggested … “Maybe the battery connections inside need a clean??” 

“We’ll wait until Matt wakes up, if anyone can bring it to life, he can” replied Harm. 

Sure enough, after ten minutes, or so, of unscrewing, wiping, and synchronised button pressing (using buttons I didn’t even know the machine had) – Matt, the Iridium-Whisperer, had the little device humming and flashing red and green again. In explanation, Matt used words and phrases like, … “cold-start”, “corrupted” and “firm wear”, but I’d be pretending if I said I really knew what he did, or was saying All I know is that we can still download satellite weather reports and that access to emails, texts and voice communications has been restored. Great work Matt !! 

Whilst we have some phone and internet coverage close to the coast, it’s currently unreliable and fleeting – not to be relied upon. 

In looking at the chart, and using an average speed of 6 knots, we estimate that the 280 remaining miles could be covered in 2 full days. That’s a potential arrival in at Hastings around 6:00pm Monday evening. There are a few other assumptions in there … particularly in relation to weather … PLUS whether Australian Quarantine will approve our arrival into Westernport, as opposed to another arrival port, such as Port Phillip (Melbourne) 
Unfortunately, my email correspondence – with some in authority – has been hindered, by the fact that many of their emails are rejected on account of being greater than 50,000 bytes in size.  

These are important emails, as you can imagine, but a simple “text only” email needs to exclude a corporate sign-off, and/or logo, because these alone will cause the email to exceed the limit; and be rejected. In this age of mass communication and storage, it’s no longer an issue for most people, so conveying the limited parameters of a “simple” Iridium sat-phone is proving difficult. 

Back to more interesting things, like sailing, as I mentioned, this morning’s sunrise was truly spectacular … and I have lots of photos to prove it. Being largely “red” … and in the morning … I initially thought “oh ohhh” we might be in for some bad weather – time to look again at the latest forecast download. Then tonight, the sunrise was followed up with a spectacular sunset … “red” also … which might suggest we are in for some good weather. Or maybe they cancel each other out and we start afresh tomorrow. 

Regardless, we are currently racing along as fast as we can, (6-7 knots, engine assisted, given the calm conditions) … the East Gippsland coast just a few miles off to our starboard side. Our main goal is to avoid the worst of an approaching south-westerly wind due in the early hours of tomorrow morning. In truth, I don’t think we can avoid it, but due to the shelter afforded by Wilson’s Promontory, the seas will mercifully remain calm – I think/hope. so.

On our left – off to port – there is the Gippsland oil and gas field with a dozen or more oil rigs to keep away from. No doubt we’ll soon be able to see their lights way off in the distance. 

Right now, the sun has gone to bed and it’s time to get dinner underway, plus sort out the watches for the night. Just a few sleeps to go and we’ll be back in our own beds again! 

Smooth seas, fair breeze and LAND HO!! 

Rob Latimer 

Friday 30 July 2021 

100 Miles North East of Gabo Island

WE DESERVE IT !! 

That’s the general feeling on board, as the much expected wind finally moved to the north at around 4:00pm, gaining in strength from around 5-10 knots, to what it is now … closer to 20 knots. 

When I say … “the wind moved” … in reality, it just appeared! After days of on-the-nose-winds and course-stopping seas, it all fell away this morning, leaving us with virtually no wind at all. In the end we simply pulled down the sails, hung a right turn and started driving, under motor, towards our goal – roughly Gabo Island at the far eastern corner of Victoria. 

Right now, we have the wind off our starboard side, Chimere is powering along at 7-9 knots and it’s as calm and stable as …, bro. Like a tennis court … nay … a carpet ride. It is clear from our track that we have finally broken out of our zig-zag recent past. With Gabo Island now just 120 miles on the bow, after 11 days at sea, we are really starting to feel like home is just around the corner. It’s hard to express just how perfect this wind … and this course … really are !! 

At this rate, by mid-norming tomorrow we should be sighting land and early afternoon we’ll have Gabo Island off our starboard side, as we enter Bass Strait proper. Our current strategy is to stay relatively close to the Gippsland Coast, where we’ll benefit from the continuing offshore wind and low seas. It’ll be more “lawn bowls” and less “ice hockey”, if you know what I mean. 

You may be interested to hear that we peacefully resolved the … “toilet paper lock-out”… situation in the forward cabin (see yesterday’s blog) and that it is once again safe to visit the convenience. Taking advantage of the stable weather this morning, Harm and I went forward with the tool box to make an assault on the hatch from the outside. Placing weight – Harm’s boot – I was able to then rotate each of the three catch handles, with the assistance of multi-grips, to gain access.  

With the dinghy lashed above the hatch, we could lift the lid about 30-45mm – just enough for me to slide in … and down … using the old childhood adage … “once the head is through, the body will follow…” Once inside the cabin, the offending loose drawer was easily put in place. As a “risk reduction” strategy … we now tie the door open with a length of string and have taken to storing a few “emergency rolls” elsewhere on the boat! 

While we chugged along doing 4-5 knots, the sun beat down from a very blue sky … and it was hard to believe this really was the middle of winter. There was a lot of lounging around, working on our Vitamin D, and even a chance to sling a lure over the side … with predictable results … no fish tonight! 

In other news … we expect to be within range of Aussie phone and internet communication towers tomorrow – at least along parts of the coast – which will hopefully assist us in sorting out the last of our official arrival procedures, authorities and documentation. Looks like we are almost there … with confirmation received today that I DO indeed have a berth to return to at the Westernport Marina in Hastings.  

One of the last pieces to the puzzle, however, is permission from Australian Quarantine to clear in at Westernport. It’s NOT a problem for Border Force, but my application to Quarantine is separate – not the case at the airport of course. If they aren’t prepared to meet us at Westernport, then we’ll be required us to sail onto Port Phillip. Although in an email received yesterday, I was informed by an AQIS Officer that the Port of Melbourne and Geelong (in common with Westernport) are also NOT ports of first arrival … but, in the words of Maxwell Smart … “I find that very hard to believe …”  

Because Chimere has been out of the country for more than 12 months, as part of our return, I need to essentially “re-import” her. I’m assured it’s just a formality, but like everything, there’s a lot of paperwork involved, including an official “valuation” – but no customs duty to pay on account of Chimere being “Australian Registered”. 

Stay tuned till tomorrow – when hopefully I can also get a chance to upload a few photos from our voyage of the past 12 days 

Smooth seas, fair breeze and the wind is finally going our way 

Rob Latimer 

Thursday 29 July 2021 

120 miles east of Montague Island

After a long night in the cockpit, managing our response to the weather-change, the day emerged into the sort of weather we thought we’d left behind – wind and waves on the nose and regular stray-waves making their way into the cockpit 

This continued for much of the day, but on the plus side, it created good photo and video ops. documenting the amazing colours, drama and movement of this watery world – clear to the horizon in every direction. 

The high seas, and the wind of course drove us north-west for much of the day; our goal being to close the New South Wales coast as far south as we could, and then tack back south when the opportunity – and expected wind shift – permitted. 

Matt worked on developing several possible tracking models, from the latest weather downloads, each taking advantage of the more favourable conditions due in about 12 hours – just another 12 hours.  

As it turned out, the wind reduced progressively through the late afternoon – along with the confused sea-state – making us bold enough to put on more canvass. 

The day was just beginning on board when it was noticed that the door to the forward cabin – Sam’s cabin – was shut. Nothing unusual in itself, particularly since Sam hasn’t slept there almost since leaving Opua 10 days ago – largely because of the bunk’s greater movement in rough weather; being so far forward.  

I tried the door handle and whilst it turned, the door wouldn’t open. “Oh dear!?” I thought … “It’s happened again!!” there were few other thoughts, best not included here, but in short … on account of the rough and rather violent movements during the rough weather, the drawers either side of the cabin, had come out and were sitting on the floor – right behind the door. How did I know this?? Well, it’s happened before. On those occasions, we’ve been able to push down hard on the deck hatch above, so as to release the three catch handles. On those occasions, however, there wasn’t a big dinghy securely lashed above. 

There was nothing for it but to break the news … which Sam took very well. It’s not that any of us were changing our clothes and he had everything he needed on this side. “We’ll try and open the hatch tomorrow … but there’s no guarantee – until we arrive in Westernport, or the weather improves significantly”, I explained  

Fast forward a few hours and it was time to change the toilet roll in the port head (toilet) Those familiar with Chimere will realise that we mostly use the swisher … electric toilet on the starboard side … so what’s this about the port toilet?? Well, for the past 5 days or so, the electric toilet has not been flushing … a vital part of the process to be sure … and so, no problems, we use the manual, less swish, but 100% effective, toilet on the other side of the corridor. 

Returning to the toilet paper … no spare roll in the port toilet … simples … get one from the cupboard in the starboard toilet … none there either … just a rather damp roll on the holder which had scored a splash-hit when water came in a couple of days ago when the ceiling hatch was left open a notch.  
Well, this was bothersome … but no matter, I’ll simply get a couple of rolls from our store cupboard. Lots there … not in the Melbourne-hoarding-roll league, but still a lot by 4-blokes -on-boat-standard.  

Store cupboard … STORE CUPBOARD!! … Noooooooo!! And where do you think the store cupboard is for all, and I do mean ALL, our toilet paper, tissues and paper towels … that’s right, in the forward cabin … THAT forward cabin, the one with the door that can’t be opened. 

Nothing for it, but to share news of the unfolding onboard disaster … which I might say, everyone took on the chin … so to speak, with Sam cheerily exclaiming … “So my strategy of NOT eating very much has finally paid off!?” 

If we can’t get the cabin open tomorrow, we’ll need to develop our own disaster response strategy and maybe we can get some tips from the Captain Cook journal extracts I have in the Ships Library … after all, they didn’t have the luxury of Sorbent’s finest silky-soft … 

For me, this afternoon was a time of sleep, which I did very well, waking just as the sun went to bed … Melbourne time. Soon after, Harm knocked out a succession of pizza’s from the galley … sufficient to make a Domino’s franchisee proud. All the while, the sea had calmed off significantly, along with the wind, enabling us to hoist pretty much all our sails, tacking south-ish again, largely in anticipation of the favourable wind-shift in the night. 

After dinner, there was an hour or two of darkness before the moon made an appearance. And with the still-state of the sea, we all retired to the foredeck to simply gaze upwards at the brilliant display of stars above. Like a scene from the Lion King featuring Pumba, Timone and Simba contemplating the meaning of life … we used the canvas-covered dinghies as banana lounges, to simply soak in the serenity; all the while gliding effortlessly across the silky sea. It was certainly a scene in stark contrast to life aboard not more than 12 hours earlier. 

Looking at the latest weather forecast, things are set to improve over the next few days, as we currently lie around 120 miles west of Australia.  

I’ve started communicating [again] with various “authorities” in connection with our arrival – updating them of our current situation. I’m sure everyone has their job to do, but I sometimes wonder … why does it have to be so difficult?! In some cases, you are left with the impression that clearly, performance has little to do with customer satisfaction!  And “customer service” is something of an oxymoron.

But more of that, and our onboard toilet drama, another time. 

Smooth seas, fair breeze and so close yet so far 

Rob Latimer 

Wednesday 28 July 2021 

200 miles East of Eden

It’s a bit over 200 miles to Eden and Chimere has been making good use of the steady nor wester as she races home to Australia. 

Through the night, a flat sea had us doing an effortless 8 knots, a silky ride that was good for sleeping inside and in a way, hypnotic while on watch, under a moonlit sky. 

Throughout the morning the waves began to build, along with the wind strength, at times bringing flashbacks from the recent past. But no matter how bumpy and breezy it got, a 20-30 knot wind and its associated sea-state, is a very different proposition to 30-40 knots and more 

Earlier today we were discussing when we would move from New Zealand time – 2 hours ahead of Australia – to Eastern Standard Time, largely on the basis that the sun was getting out of bed later and later each morning – “Holland in winter” as Harm observed, and twilights were starting to resemble summer in Sydney. We initially considered forming a Time Zone sub-committee, but if we were to call a meeting, what time should it be held. Maybe two meetings, in the hope that the result of motions held at each would coincide. 

In the end, Harm questioned out loud this afternoon … “are the weather forecasts in New Zealand time, or Melbourne time?” … “GMT +10” … I called back. So that settled it, we all converted to Melbourne time … putting all clocks back two hours. So Chimere is now officially on Melbourne time and we get to re-enjoy the last two hours. Not much fun if you were just about to go off watch?! 

Apart from clocking up around 150 miles for the day, and putting up with some more rolly weather – no waves in the cockpit though – not a lot else happened onboard today.

In big news, Matt completed the task of replacing two wire connectors on the back of the wind indicator, a project made all the more difficult due to the unpredictable motion of the boat. In the end he lay on his stomach, a long saloon-seat mattress between him and the steel deck and a safety harness around his waist to prevent him sliding away. It was a job well done, and hopefully won’t be tested in quite the same way again. 

Speaking of “testing”, the NW wind has just died down to around 15 knots as we await the arrival of a new southwest change. This had been expected and a friend of Harm’s sent a text a couple of hours ago, to say it was going through Bairnsdale at 30 knots at that time. Right now, we can see lightening on the SW horizon, which is no doubt the change, and have prepared the sails accordingly. Consequently, we are going a bit slower – at 4-5 knots – than we’d like.  

… that’s where yesterday’s blog stopped … sometime in the late afternoon. Sam and Harm dished up a wonderful dinner, with Sam’s heroic, circus-esque, efforts in the pitching galley worthy of special note … half-naked due to the heat and humidity from the stove  

As the norwester became a westerly, we tracked south running parallel to the coast – just 200 miles off. The wind strength increased and with it the sea, but for a time Sam showed us all a thing or two about precision, instrument, hand steering, guided by the red glow of the compass – and the compass itself of course.

The lightening associated with the cold southerly air confronting the warmer northerly air got closer, but then largely passed to our south. But still the seas climbed and before long we began shipping water over the side and into the cockpit. 

Eventually, any hope of completing the day’s blog evaporated as a constant vigil was maintained in the cockpit, a lot of the time hand steering to take stress and pressure of the autohelm … or Otto … as in … Otto-helm. 

Then around 2:00am, as Matt and I kept watch the wind quickly swung from west to southwest – the sails flapped and we were left needing to bear away further to eliminate the pitching motion which kept us stationary for a time. 

At this point we were sailing in a south EAST direction – east? Isn’t New Zealand in that direction?? Been there. It was now time to put in the much-anticipated tack and before long we were heading back to Australia – battling a norwest swell that was now being confronted by a rising souwest swell, with some breaking sea thrown in for good measure.  

In short, it was another long, tired night in the cockpit  

Smooth seas, fair breeze and like a racehorse heading for home 

Rob Latimer 

Thursday 29 July 2021, 8.00am

For those who are looking for today’s blog, I have just received a note from Rob indicating that the blog has been delayed. They have been a ‘bit busy’ on board sailing with strong winds and SW change, but seas OK.

I will replace this blog, when I receive the full blog from Rob.

Mike Clarke

Tuesday 27 July 2021

Tasman Sea, 370 miles east of Eden

After nearly two days of head-on-winds-and-seas, things are starting to turn our way. We are finally managing to break out of a holding pattern that has seen us essentially go south, then north, then south again, all for barely 100 miles west towards our goal.

It’s been our nautical version of trench warfare, our enemy putting before us neither smooth seas nor fair breeze, in an effort to defeat us – to wear us down and to break our will.

Today dawned with a glorious sunrise – golden, not red – and there was even a small amount of warmth in the rays that swept low through the cockpit, casting aside the cold, damp of the night just passed

Flattening seas, a lightening breeze and the prospect of it coming from a more favourable direction – soon – had us shaking out the third reef in the main. That ever-loyal, yet rarely used, third reef, which reduces the size of the mainsail down from something close to half a tennis court, (cut diagonally) to little more than a bed sheet. At the same time it was also an opportunity to fly the staysail, and roll out the working jib to almost its full size. 

We were still pointing high [to the wind] and so the engine was kept ticking away in the background, just to give us that extra punch through the remaining sea.

The sun had been up an hour or so when Harm declared … “this morning I am going to make pancakes” … although, soon after Sam took up the galley-challenge. To great success it must be said, if the appreciation of his customers at the “Cockpit Table”, Matt, Harm and I were anything to go by, despite Sam’s modest pleas to the contrary.

With the return of some stability aboard, albeit at a 10-15 degree tilt to port, we set about tidying and drying. A long clothesline was strung on the foredeck on which all the (damp) cockpit blankets were strung. They stayed there about an hour, but then it seemed clear they’d be going through another rinse-cycle soon, if the approaching rain clouds and unpredictable slap-of-a-wave against the side were left to have their way.  
In the end the rain clouds passed ahead of us, leaving us untouched, and the waves continued to decline, enabling us to increase our speed and head more towards the East Coast as the wind lifted to around 15-20 knots.

Matt took the opportunity to inspect the deck-mounted weather display unit in the cockpit. We’d lost count of the times it had been submerged over the last two days, as waves regularly swept into and around our feet. Mostly we could anticipate what was coming – just by the lurch of the hull and the sound of the waves and advancing water – enabling us to lift our feet or quickly get onto one of the side the seats. In the end, the “well” where you stand to steer, was full so often it became known as the “Jacuzzi”.

Anyway, the wind speed indicator stopped doing its job on several occasions. Sometimes displaying “00”, at other times generating what looked like random numbers, and at still other times it displayed a wind speed, something like … “12 knots” … when clearly it was blowing 30-40 knots outside. Then, after an hour or so, all of a sudden the wind speed numbers would begin to make sense again, and the past was all forgotten … “wind speed indicator is back … 32, 35, 38 …” someone would call  

Fortunately the wind direction indicator kept on keeping on, which really was a good thing, due to the Windex at the top of the mast having been blown away and us not being able to see the small lengths of red wool we tie to the shrouds each side; on account of it being dark.

Matt quickly diagnosed two loose and corroded wires and in no time had it in pieces on the cockpit floor. I took a photo of him sitting there surrounded by pieces and tools, and mockingly announced the caption for the photo … “you break it, you fix it…”  

“Awwww …. that’s unkind”, responded Harm to laughter all round. Matt’s assurance to rebuild the connections … better … more reliable, are to be believed given his impressive track record with electronic gadgets and all things media and IT. Now we’ve just got to stop water getting into the back of the unit. It’s supposed to be waterproof – to a point. It’s clear we crossed that point a couple of nights ago for a time.

While I’m on the topic of salt water. Specifically salt water getting into things … and no, not through deck hatches and onto our bunks, mercifully that hasn’t happened … no, into our water supply. Yep, that’s right, the fresh water we pump to the basin taps for all things, including making coffee, tea, washing and drinking.  

“This coffee tastes salty” Matt observed two days ago.  

“Maybe it’s because I’ve washed the dishes using the salt water tap at the sink” replied Harm.  

That could certainly account for the taste, and we all agreed to give things a freshwater rinse in future … particularly such an essential piece of kit as the coffee plunger.  

Soon after though, Sam, who had just taken a swig from his water bottle, gave a funny face and suggested … “that water tastes salty” … and sure enough, we all agreed water from the tap was salty. Not massively, but enough to make it challenging to drink.  

Up to this point we hadn’t even used one full tank – about 375 litres. I switched over to the second stainless steel tank, also holding 375 litres … “Aww, that’s also salty” said Matt … doing what all good wine tasters do … into the sink.

“Mmmm, that’s no good … I’ll try the third tank … the one that’s separate from the stainless steel tanks” I suggested.  

After running the earlier water through the pipes, it was clear when the new stuff came through … “Arrr that’s lovely … Opua water”, exclaimed Matt … no spitting out this time.

So there’s a lesson … always check the deck-mounted water filler cap is done up as tight as tight … bro … before leaving the marina. Not such a problem if the only water to hit the deck comes from clouds above … but most water on this voyage … particularly the last few days … has come from the sea below.

Using up the salty water for cleaning and washing has become new Chimere policy, with the remaining “good tank”, of around 250 litres being for drinking only. As a back-up, I ran the onboard water maker yesterday – during a quiet stretch – just to be sure. It can make 3-4 litres every minute if required – our own little desal plant – and so that’s the plan if the drinking water is getting low. I didn’t make a lot of water, but everyone agreed it was ” very drinkable”. Good thing I had the old water pump attached to the desal unit, replaced while we sat sat Opua … just a bit over a week ago … wow, have we been at sea that long?!

Still on the topic of water … all four of us had a shower today. OK, you can stand up now. Not together, you understand … it’s not that kind of South Pacific Cruise … but taking advantage of the morning sun, the relative stillness of the deck and the fact that we had plenty of “fresh” water that tasted salty, to use up … Oh, and that we were all overdue for one… we took it in turns to strip off and scrub, lather and rinse.  

Maybe we’ve acclimatized to our environment, but a cold shower on the deck of a yacht, in July, mid-Tasman, doesn’t sound too warm, or clever … but funny, it wasn’t cold … certainly not as cold as the biting blast we received the other night from the south west.

Photos of the “shower experience” may not make it to this website, sorry. In fact, there were assurances all round that there ARE NO photos of the event … even though it was suggested by one or two that it might spike viewer numbers to this blog … at least within certain demographics.

Like a farmer, there’s always got to be a reference to the weather … which for us, at least for the next 24-36 hours, appears to be favourable. We are even getting close to being able to aim WEST again … with the sunsets on the bow, and not off to starboard as it was tonight.  

The short range forecast shows another big blow coming out of Bass Strait … surprise surprise … in about two day’s time, so we are currently flat out trying to close the coast – primarily for shelter if needed. No intention of landing ashore of course, but if there’s a choice of 1. Bashing into more big seas and howling winds OR 2. Seeking a bit of temporary shelter in a bay or behind and island somewhere … then, for the safety of all, we’ll pick “2” … temporary shelter.

If we DO need to seek shelter, we’ll of course inform “the relevant authorities” … but whilst this morning it seemed a probability, after studying the latest forecast, it seems our arrival off Eden in a couple of days might coincide with a wind shift to the North … good for making the hop around the bottom towards Westernport. We’ll see.

In other news … I baked a couple of loaves of bread today … and it’s nice to be back on a starboard tack again so the heel of the boat keeps me IN my bunk and not always trying to tip me OUT. 

Smooth seas, fair breeze and aiming for Straya once more.

Rob Latimer

Monday 26th July 2021

Mid Tasman

Last night really started mid-afternoon yesterday, when the weather returned with a vengeance … angry and bearing a grudge!

We’d been expecting it and our course tracked further south all the while bearing away from the north wester.  Eventually we “could stands it’s no more” … to quote “Popeye the sailor man”. Any more “bearing away” (from the wind) and we’d be heading back from whence we’d come – New Zealand. And that’s exactly what happened if you look at the Tracker.

The tracker, the Good ol Tracker reveals the good and the not so good. 

Tacking, or steering across the face of the wind, is usually quite a straightforward, but at whatever time of night it was, it was like a play in three Acts – which we didn’t want to become a Greek Tragedy.

Having made the decision, in the end, all went smoothly … at least the procedure… by now you had to yell to be heard above the sound of the wind and sea.

Key amongst the steps, was to winch in the mainsail sheet, in order to then reattach a removable backstay on the leeward side. Doing this, required a walk forward – something akin to a clipped-on-space-walk … up the side as far as the mast. We could then tack, making sure to re-set the small jib on the other side.

After tacking, there was then the final act of disconnecting the removable backstay from the other side, walking it forward to secure … in a re-run of the earlier manoeuver.  We were now headed North instead of South… so that was an improvement.

We stayed heading north, in more of a battened down, hanging on kind of thing, more concerned with reducing stress on the rigging, the items lashed to the deck, the sails and of course, the crew. The last thing we wanted now was a breakage or an injury. This was simply a time get through one wave, one blast of wind and spray at a time.

Yesterday’s calm and sunny patch was now just a distant memory. In fact it was so calm yesterday that there was an opportunity to gather together at the mast for a flag reconfiguration ceremony. This involved lowering our Kiwi and Aussie flags, altering their order, then re-hoisting them. Seemed the right thing to do now that we are definitely out of New Zealand waters and just 380-odd miles from the east coast of Australia

One thing we haven’t yet changed is the time. Consequently the sun is getting up very late these days and going to bed late as well. But I’m sure we’ll be brought back to reality once we get closer to the coast of Australia and maybe, even get a whiff of an Aussie telco tower.

One of the strangest things happened last night. We were just hit by another angry wave, this time from the starboard stern quarter. As the water hit us, pouring under the dodger side panel and glancing up and over our wheelhouse, there on the moonlit cockpit floor lay a motionless shiny object looking very much like a fish.  A very dead fish!  Sure enough, a shine of the head torch revealed a blue looking flying fish. Just amazing!! 

After a long and tiresome night, the appearance of the sun – albeit later than normal – was a wonderful thing. Not a red sky, but a yellow sky, the sun working very hard to fight its way through the thick layers of cloud – regardless, it was a welcome sight. 

Around 9am, Harm appeared for his watch declaring “I’m gonna cook bacon and scrambled eggs enclosed in a wrap, any takers?” … Rather!!! came the reply

Once breakfast was done, Harm moved on to finally being able to shove a batch of bread dough into the oven.  A bowl of dough that had survived at least 24 hours essentially “rising” in the sink – trying not to be swept away with most other things below, on account of the movement.  Long story short, it was the best bread yet!

After thinking we were past the worst of the weather, more squalls came and went through the day, making for some amazing photo ops, which I’m looking forward to sharing!

One of the problems with bad weather is that you rarely feel like stepping outside to take a photo or some video. Two days ago I thought I’d make the effort and in the middle of a squally downpour I opened the side flap, pressed START on the iPhone video … only to record within a few seconds, a lightening strike descending through the grey to hot the water, not more than a mile off. “Well that was good timing” said I, as I poked my wet head back inside, making sure to dry off the phone. We all then watched the replay in the cockpit, while the squall continued outside.

It’s now late in the day and the sun is very nearly below the horizon once more. Looking at the forecast it seems things will be abating soon. There’s even a threat the wind might move back to the north west enabling us to set a course for Bass Strait and the home leg. Even a chance we could be tying up this Friday or Saturday.

But I’m getting ahead of myself … current focus is on tonight’s watches … and like all of us onboard … picking a suitable time to use the facilities without sustaining an injury … there! I’ve said it!   …

After lunch of ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches – most of Harm’s bread is now already gone.

Until tomorrow …   

Smooth seas, fair breezes and our longest night.

Rob Latimer 

Sunday 25 July 2021

Mid-Tasman Sea

Yesterday’s sea seemed angry … vengeful … but maybe that’s getting personal.  Although after repeated waves sweeping through the cockpit, over the top of us and directly at us, it seemed to be very personal.  Certainly very wet!

After a long night under a tiny jib and the ever-faithful motor ticking away in the background, still doing a respectable 5 knots, we emerged into the grey morning prepared to take up the battle once more.

But mercifully the wind died away, the seas calmed off somewhat and we could think once more about hoisting some sail – always being ready to bring it in again if … when … necessary.

The dilemma we faced was that a double-reefed mainsail was too much canvas to have up when it really blew hard. And the forecast said it would by the end of the day.

The sail has anchor points for a third reef, which would make the sail very small, but we would need to fit the furling lines  – they are not permanently attached.

It was calm enough mid-morning to complete the manoeuver and soon enough we were trim and balanced doing 7 knots over friendly seas, under a triple reef main, half stay sale, and a smallish jib. The engine was given a rest and we were once more in the groove, course bound south west, towards Bass Strait. 

“This is what sailing is all about”, Matt declared as he, Harm and I sat on the coach house roof on the Starboard side gazing out to sea – still a friendly sea.

“I think I’ll make some sausage rolls“ Harm said in passing. 

Being so calm we took the opportunity to address the persistent problem of water entering through the saloon roof – only when it rained or we copped a wave but it was still getting annoying.  

After removing a few headliner panels, the source of the problem was soon located with three small bolt holes with no bolts or screws in them – just holes, which come through the deck in a hard-to-investigate-area.  The holes were soon plugged and we were feeling pretty happy with ourselves.

Soon after, Harm came good with his promise to whip up some sausage rolls , and as we sat in the cockpit gorging ourselves, Matt held up his iPad, showing the latest weather download, and announced, point to the screen … “… we are here in a quiet, calm spot at the moment … between the two systems”

Later in the day, we reduced the size of the jib as a precaution, with a lot of dark grey cloud building on the north western horizon.

It can’t have been more than a half an hour later that this new squall hit us … assaulted … grabbed us and shook us with all his might. Not enough to upset our sausage rolls and sauce but with force enough to demand immediate action – co-ordinated action.

“Quick, get in the jib … you let off the sheet Harm, I’ll do the furler”, I called above the intense sound – a combination of screaming wind, rushing waves and torrenial rain that bordered on hail.

Winding in the jib – reducing its size – is done using a small winch mounted on the deck. We just call it our jib-furling-winch – it’s has a smallish drum and so it can take a lot of turns to wind in the jib, particularly when it’s under such a load.

Twenty turns or so later, my right arm was starting to get weary, as the sail flapped violently at the bow – “Sam bring your muscles quick, turn this handle as fast as you can”!!!

All of Sam‘s workouts were starting to pay off, as he made short work of the task – winding anticlockwise in low gear, then immediately the other way in high gear when possible.  Pretty soon the thrashing, violent jib and it’s attached sheet drew silent, and we were back in control once more.

Outside the confines of the warm, secure cockpit the sea had somehow flattened off, the torrential rain creating a layer of spray and rebounded particles that appeared like a whitish haze; reducing visibility and closing our cockpit-world further.

That’s all for today (as its about 11.00pm NZ time) and harder to communicate.  More tomorrow…

Smooth seas, fair breezes and squalls, sausage rolls and sauce.

Rob Latimer 

Saturday 24 July 2021

Mid-Tasman

If yesterday was calm, then today… it’s not!  The wind began to build through the night from the North East, and as it did we reduced sail – a second reef in the main, reduced the size of the jib, then wound in the staysail altogether.

As the wind built, so did the sea with our motion going from level tennis court to a rodeo bull ring in just a few hours.  Matt worked through the night trimming sails, staying on watch and downloading the latest forecast.  This showed more bad news to come from the south, so we are starting the track further north to miss the worst of it.

Looking at the chart plotter, I see we are about half way across “the ditch” … named by someone who obviously had never sailed it. 

Mid morning, Harm was on watch and noted the wind speed climbing, so too our pace through the waves which had the sense of us “racing’…  but not in a good way.  It was clear that things had gone up a notch and we were over-powered.

Sam and I responded by clipping our safety harness tethers onto the port jackstay (safety line) and going forward to pull down the mainsail, while Harm brought us up into the, by now, 35-40 knot gale.

Ever since, we have been running before the conditions … staying as dry and snug as we can be, in the cockpit – each of us taking turns to go below to rest – real sleep being a bit tricky.

We’ve recently had torrential rain, which flattened the sea somewhat. Outside it’s grey on grey interspersed with white breaking seas, spray and white caps – I wish I could upload some photos.

Despite having just a tiny bit of headsail out – not even enough for a table cloth – we are still making about 5 knots … occasionally up to 7 as we travel down the front of a wave.

Food did make an appearance this afternoon.  In a superhuman effort Harm, after catching a few hours rest, poked his head out of the companionway hatch asking …  “anyone for some reheated dinner from last night?”

Sam and I had been riding the bucking bronco Chimere in the cockpit much of the afternoon and never was such a question answered in the affirmative.  It tasted good last night but this afternoon it was even more delicious.

Eventually it was time for a shift-change, I’m now off-watch, and mercifully the seas have calmed down, and the wind a mere 25 knots.

I grabbed a couple of hours rest in my bunk and probably even some sleep.  Feeling a bit guilty, I suited up in dry gear, only to be informed by Matt and Harm that I can go back to sleep again …  they are good for a few more hours.  Yeah!! Time off for good behavior perhaps.

Our sail configuration is a bit unorthodox … still got a tiny jib hoisted, but we have Perkins ticking away at 1400RPM …it gives us around 6 knots speed meaning we are not caught over-canvassed if another big blow comes through and it keeps the saloon kind-of-warm, which is nice. 

Funny, just when you think you’ve sorted the sea pattern, all of a sudden we’ll be hit on the beam with one extra large wave that takes you by surprise.  There’s the signature lift to the starboard side, followed by a ‘Whoosh’ then ‘Bang’ as the wave hits and then goes vertical, only to land or be blown all over us.  Good thing we have the cockpit enclosure and that most water is kept out.

No sunset tonight.  The grey world just got greyer, then darker, then black … even the full moon is being kept away.

Had to send today’s blog via multiple sat-texts.  Thanks Mike for putting all the pieces together.

Until Tomorrow …

Smooth seas, fair breezes and it’s come in a bit uncomfortable.