Fai Tira Blog Friday 13th August

Near to the Great Barrier Reef 19:08.71S 154:35.70E

I started to write this in the early hours of Thursday 12^th August and midway through our 4^th night at sea. It’s been a passage, so far, that could almost have been a continuation of our one through to Vanuatu. Although, in this instance, not quite so demanding or intense (we have, at least, managed to keep some of our stowed things in their original positions and not flying across the floor). However, We’ve still managed to complete 3 back to back 24 hour periods of distances in excess of 170 miles, one of them more than 180.

The nights have been almost totally devoid of all ambient light, anything from the stars being so weak, it hardly had any effect at all. Any glance out to sea beyond the safety rail was almost the same as staring at a black painted wall. However, my first watch of the evening provided a spectacular interlude in the form of an extremely bright white flash high in the port sky. Masked by the main sail, I was deprived of any visual definition, but for an instant everything became clearly visible. I can only think that it must have been a large meteor burning up on entry to the earth’s atmosphere....Made me jump though!!

The winds died suddenly at about 2.30pm. It’s now about 3.30 am and we’ve been motor sailing since then, the occasional flash across the black distant sky confirming the presence of the frontal trough that we know is out there somewhere. We know that we’re heading for it, just not sure when or if it will still be there when we arrive, but if it’s anything like the one in the Atlantic, things could become very lively indeed.

Through the early hours of Thursday morning I’d noticed, during periods of light slumber, that we were quietly sailing and movement was slow and agreeable,

All that was about to rapidly and dramatically change....It was about 5.30 am and nearing the end of my 4 hours off. I was woken by the noise of the boom as the main started to back, accompanied by loud slapping of the genoa. By this time Jeremy had started the engine and as I was dressing, Pete went by.

By the time we were all in the cockpit, about 3 or 4 minutes, the wind had picked up to 25-30 knots. It had totally changed direction and was now coming from a South Westerly direction. We were hit by a violent squall and one that heralded the arrival of the anticipated trough. The boat was heeled over dramatically. The rig was rattling and the sails violently flogging, causing the genoa sheets to wrap themselves round the still-in-place spinnaker pole.

Pete reacted quickly and before long we were in the hove-to position.

With the boat dramatically bucking and heaving, both Pete and I (dressed in not much) moved forward to drop the staysail and furl in enough of the genoa to stabilise and secure our position. The seas were now very rough and the boat being hit by torrential rain that was being driven by a gale. Pete took the helm from Jeremy, and with the genoa now fully furled and main very close hauled, we motored against crashing seas that were constantly swallowing the bow, making 4½ - 5 knots at best.

Then just when we were thinking that things can’t get any worse......They did!

It was about this time that the engine revs started to fluctuate and fall away. The obvious reason was our old problem of fuel and filters. A relatively easy problem to solve, but it did mean we had to sail the boat and with the genoa sheets still in a mess, it meant another trip forward to drop the pole and try our hands at some delicate unravelling.

Both hooked on, and dressed like we were going for a day’s sailing in March on the Solent, Pete and I ventured out for an interesting trip forward. With Pete right at the pointed end, which disappeared, along with him, on at least one occasion, and me midway almost as wet, we managed it while Jeremy helmed.                  .

The change of filters cured the immediate problem, although doubt remains about the long term quality of our fuel, but the boat was now at least motoring again, and we spent the majority of what was left of the day making no more than 5 knots, beating against 25 knots of wind and mountainous seas, with a little tern type bird (a white- capped Noddy, in fact) huddled on the aft deck, not two feet from us, taking shelter.

Towards the end of an eventful day we were treated to some diversionary entertainment. A circling Australasian Gannet, providing some light relief with its aerial display, started to investigate our boat as a potential roost for the night. There were a few unsuccessful attempts and spectacular low passes, but before long it mastered the procedure and was perched on the bowsprit. Then its mates turned up, all six of them, (probably just out on a 350 mile jolly, had a skin full, fish that is, and wanted somewhere to get their heads down for the night). It was great to watch as they manoeuvred, swooped and hovered, sometimes within touching distance, vying for position for touchdown. As the night closed in they’d made it and looked secure and settled.

It was midnight as I pulled myself through the hatch and into the cockpit for my watch, to be greeted by a sky full of stars. Our passengers were still on board and Jeremy pointed out the one on the aft rail just feet away. Now Jeremy’s quite a linguist, and had just spent some time in Vanuatu getting to grips with the pidgin spoken there. So it was no surprise to me when he said that both he and the gannet had acknowledged each other, during the night, with the occasional squawk. However, I’m sure that I detected a note of disappointment in his voice, when he confirmed that in spite of his efforts there was a distinct absence of any meaningful conversation!!.

The day dawned to a beautiful clear sunny sky. The winds are still in the South West, so it’s still engine on, but the seas have calmed.

We’ve about 250 miles to go to the Reef entrance. Looks like Mackay sometime on Monday.

That’ll be good!

Pete John and Jeremy