March 31 – April 7, 2006

On March 31st, we left the dock at Birkenhead and spent the night at Store Beach, the closest anchorage to Sydney Heads.  We started our travels back up the coast the next day.  Unfortunately, we needed southerly winds and, even though southerlies were predicted, the wind stayed out of the north for our coastal hop to Broken Bay and then on to Port Stephens.  We stayed in Port Stephens (even larger than Sydney Harbour) for four days until the next good day of southerly winds and we enjoyed our stay.  We moved to a couple of different anchorages and found that, now that it’s Fall here, there is not a lot of boat traffic and anchorages are quiet.  We both commented that Port Stephens would be a good place to live if you are a sailor, as there is lots of water to explore and wonderful anchorages.

On Friday, April 7, we travelled to Tuncurry-Forster where we again had a quiet night at anchor.  Sunset is at 5:45 p.m. these days, which means that we need to get underway just after sunrise in order to make the 50-60 miles from one anchorage to the next.  Of course, if we have lots of wind, it takes much less time.

April 8, 2006

The day started out like any other.  We left Tuncurry-Forster just after breakfast and motor sailed towards Laurieton, or Camden Haven.  Unfortunately, by mid-day, the day turned atypical.

Here are some excerpts from Paul’s personal account, sent to family and a few friends, of our Drama on the High Seas:

Paul wrote:  “It was a textbook, gorgeous sailing day.  Blue skies, 15 knots of wind off of the stern quarter, less than 2 metres of seas and a short 40 mile hop to our next anchorage.  The drama started, unbeknownst to me, a couple of hours before the accident when I first hauled up the spinnaker, which is normally stored in the forward guest cabin.  I opened the hatch, which opens and folds all the way back, allowing the spinnaker to be easily hoisted directly from the cabin through the hatch.  Maybe you can see where I'm heading with this.  It was a fine set.  That's sailor talk, which means the spinnaker filled with wind smartly, the lines were tied down and I proceeded to have another of my many naps while Mary sits for hours at the helm.  She doesn't like to nap.  A couple of hours later the wind shifted slightly causing the spinnaker to collapse and wrap itself on the forestay.  Yech!  Sailors know that this can be problematic and damaging to the light nylon material of the spinnaker.  I got up from my comfortable prone position in the cockpit, put on my dark, bifocal sunglasses and proceeded to the foredeck with my head looking up high at the sail.  Completely forgetting that I left an open hatch on the deck, my left foot stepped straight into the centre of that open hatch.  In an instant I dropped down, FAST, falling slightly forward as I dropped.  From Mary's point of view, I just suddenly disappeared.  She thought at first that I had slipped and simply fallen to the deck.  My chest struck the metal frame of the hatch harder than any blow I have ever experienced in my lifetime.  My head and shoulders were still above the hatch when I came to a stop, so I reflexively lifted myself up and rolled onto the foredeck, wheezing, gasping for air and clutching at the terrible pain in my chest.  Damn, it hurt.

Mary knew that something serious had happened when she saw me laying there on the foredeck and into ACTION she went.  Now you have to understand something about Mary.  Mary doesn't "DO foredeck", just like she doesn't "DO" water.  She knows what she likes and what she doesn't like and she lives by that. When dolphins come visiting the boat she is content to enjoy them from the comfort and safety of her chair at the helm.  BUT, just because she doesn't "DO foredeck", that doesn't mean she can't.  It simply means that she chooses not to.  What a movie the next hour would make if a camera had been focused on "Wonder Mary" as she singlehandedly got the situation under control.  You need to understand that while I'm down, and though not out, gasping for breath and barely able to speak, the spinnaker is still very much wrapped on the forestay, the wind is building to 20 knots, and two heavy duty fishing lines are being trailed from the back of the boat.  You also need to remember that there is a third crew aboard.  His name is Auto, and he's of German descent (ha! ha!).  Full name "Auto Helm".  Without auto the situation would reach a whole new level of challenge because Auto is steering the boat on a perfectly straight course while Mary is able to get the situation under control one step at a time.  First she assessed my injury like a true professional.  Yes, I'm breathing, there's no blood, I can communicate in short raspy gasps that, although it hurts like hell, I seem to be OK.  The initial assessment done, she got me a pillow for my head - there's NO way I was moving from that spot - some long pants, socks and a hat because the sun is beating down on me threatening a sunburn if I'm going to be there for a while.  At that time, I was quite sure that I wouldn't be going anywhere from that spot until ambulance attendants lifted me off the boat on a stretcher.  Mary got me as comfortable as is possible and my location on our big foredeck was very safe.

Next comes the problem, for Mary, of singlehandedly getting this huge spinnaker unwrapped from the forestay and down.  On the boats that we race at South Port, a spinnaker this size is doused with the help of three to four people.  That's up to 8 hands positioned at various locations on the boat to accomplish the task.  She has never done it alone, and she has never done the more difficult foredeck portion of the job period.  Again, that doesn't mean that she can't.  In very short order she has it down and safely stored in the forward cabin.  She's huffing and puffing but anyone else would have thought the task entirely impossible.  Next came another check of the patient, yes I was still conscious, breathing had improved slightly and a bag of frozen vegetables, kept specifically for this purpose, was applied to the injured area.  All the while, she was doing visual checks around us to be sure that we aren't running into anything for we are only a few miles offshore, sailing along the coast and there are often small fishing boats to avoid. "Auto" continues to keep us on course to our destination still an hour away.  Next task for Mary is to get the fishing lines in.  This is required before we can safely maneuver the boat into the harbour.  Once again, this is a task that she has never done, because she has never had to.  Once again, this doesn't mean that she can't.  In fact she does it bare handed.  I usually use leather gloves because the hand line has a great deal of tension and much of it is fine wire.  After taking in the first line, again she checked with "the invalid", asked how I doing, reassured me that all was well and went back to tend to the second fishing line.  This one is on the downrigger.  I'm not going to explain how this works at this time; suffice it to say that retrieving it requires a strategy that she has never done but she gets the task finished in short order………The patient is stabilized, the sails are under control (the mainsail is still up but not overpowering), the vessel is ready to sail on to our intended destination now about 45 minutes away.

Mary returned to the foredeck and we talk, well, she was talking, I was wheezing, about our situation.  We realize that I would definitely need medical attention and x-rays at the very least.  We didn't know if there was a hospital in Laurieton, our intended destination now 45 minutes away and we aren't sure how I would get from the foredeck of Bella Via to shore.  We decided that she should call the local Volunteer Marine Rescue (VMR) station, inform them of our situation, ask where the nearest hospital is and ask if they could assist in getting me off of the boat AFTER we have entered the harbour and anchored the boat in calm waters. All of which Mary is most capable of doing singlehandedly.  A piece of cake compared to what she had accomplished thus far.  Once again she returned to the cockpit, placed this call on our VHF Marine radio.  The VMR operator at the other end was having difficulty "understanding her strong accent" so he called Mary back on our cell phone.  Mary communicated the situation, without exaggeration, (you know that she is not prone to exaggeration) to the VMR operator and asked the necessary questions as I have previously stated.  The operator said that he would get back to her soon with the answers.  It's important to note that this operator never did get the name of our boat correct despite Mary spelling it for him three times. Mary once again joined me on the foredeck to report her conversation on the phone.  She then asked me if I might be able to sit up.  To be honest, I was afraid to even try.  I was simply afraid that the pain would be so much worse than it already was.  However, she put an arm under my head and arms and got me sitting up.  Much to my pleasure I found that position was actually more comfortable.  In fact, with Mary's help and encouragement I managed to crawl on my knees from the foredeck into the cockpit where I sat up in my folding captains chair.  I was then breathing much easier and the pain was starting to subside due to the drugs that Mary had administered some 45 minutes ago.  I forgot to tell you about that part.

It was at this time that we got another phone call, this time from "Sea Rescue" informing us that a helicopter rescue team was on its way with intentions of air lifting me off the boat and that this was part of the service.  When I heard Mary repeat this over the phone, my reaction was immediate.  Poor Mary had both me and the Sea Rescue talking to her at the same time.  Sea Rescue was telling her what to expect and I was saying ‘absolutely not, it's un-necessary and too dangerous for everyone involved. The circumstances do not warrant the risks.’  When Mary's conversation ended with Sea Rescue, the chopper was still on its way.  We were able to discuss calmly the reasons why we needed to adamantly refuse this offer.  The phone rang once again.  Again it was Sea Rescue with further details regarding the airlift operation.  This time I had the phone, and I assertively told him that this was NOT a life threatening situation, that we were perfectly capable of getting the boat into safe harbour before I would be leaving the vessel.  I think I convinced him that an airlift was not going to occur.  However, he informed me that both the helicopter and a Sea Rescue vessel had already been dispatched and was en route to our location.  During the next 15 minutes, I was able to sit up with Mary on the helm chair, and we could see a helicopter near shore and a twin hulled rescue boat crashing into the waves at high speed coming at us.  I then had a VHF radio conversation with the helicopter crew and I was able to convince them that they were NOT needed at this time.  They could see that the Rescue Vessel was just approaching Bella Via and the chopper team flew off to other duties…..  When the rescue vessel arrives they want to come along side and rescue me from the Bella Via.  Once again I need to be assertive that the situation does NOT warrant such a risky maneuver in 8 foot seas and we would be glad to accept their assistance once we get into the shelter of the harbour at Laurieton.  They also stand down and escort us into the harbour.  Just before entering the harbour channel Mary was completely able to douse and stow the mainsail once again singlehandedly in front of the eyes of the 5 "rescuers" on the Rescue vessel.  As soon as we were inside the shelter of the break wall the Rescue vessel insisted on coming along side to allow the paramedics and a volunteer hand to come aboard to treat me…
In retrospect, Mary and I don't know how the rescue services got the idea that the situation was graver than it actually was.  In the future we realize that we need to be very, very careful with what is said initially.  Would we still call?  Yes.  It was the prudent thing to do at the time, particularly in light of the pain I was experiencing.  We just need to be very clear on the purpose of the call.  Having said this, we are very grateful to the time and effort that these volunteers and professionals took in helping us the best way they know how.

End of Paul’s account of Drama on the High Seas!

Paul did get off of the boat shortly after we anchored and was taken by ambulance to a hospital in Port Macquarie (15 miles away).   Mary stayed on the boat in order to get it shipshape.  There was stuff everywhere.  It would be nightfall soon and much needed to be done. Three hours later Paul called and stated that he had taken a bus back to Laurieton (a one hour ride) and was ready to be picked up at the public jetty.  Mary hopped into the dinghy and retrieved her sore and chilled husband.  The x-rays that he had taken showed no obvious rib fractures, of which we are very thankful.  He spent a fairly comfortable night and was moving around not too badly the next day.  Of course, he was all ready to leave Laurieton the morning and proceed to our next stop 60 miles away.  Mary said that she wasn't moving because Paul needed time to heal so we stayed at anchor in Laurieton.

April 9 – 27, 2006

We stayed in Laurieton for two full days, enjoying the small, peaceful, and very friendly community, and with Paul resting as much as possible.  It’s unbelievable how much stretching, pushing and pulling occurs on a liveaboard boat.  Each day the pain lessened a bit more.  As much as possible, both of us did the lifting and pulling together.

On April 11, the bar at Laurieton was calm after two days of high surf and we left early in the morning for the Macleay River.  Now, the roles on the boat were reversed due to Paul’s injury.  For example, Paul managed the controls and lines in the cockpit while Mary was on the foredeck raising the mainsail.  Unfortunately, we never got the predicted wind shift to the south and had another day of northerly winds.  We made it into the Macleay River just at dusk.  This was an unfamiliar anchorage and we were a bit worried as we entered the river because we were not seeing a lot of water on our depth sounder.  We were worried about running aground in a falling tide so dropped anchor in the dark off to the right in the main channel.  In the morning, we noted a small yellow cone-shaped buoy in the water, just off of our port stern, which read – “warning – uncharted underwater dangers”.   Whew!!  We were lucky that day.  

We left after breakfast for Coffs Harbour, our last stop before our intended destination of Yamba.  Coffs Harbour is known as a “waiting place” for yachties from all over the world as they wait for the right winds to cross from Australia to other South Pacific islands.  Coffs Harbour is the place where we will clear Customs in mid-May and make our way across the Coral Sea to New Caledonia.  For now, we were only staying for a few days as we waited for a good southerly wind to go to Yamba for haulout.  While in Coffs Harbour, we watched a beach volleyball tournament one afternoon and enjoyed a few hours of respite from boat projects and maintenance.

With only one day of south winds predicted, we left Coffs Harbour on April 16 and travelled to Yamba/Iluka, two small communities on either side of the Clarence River.  The Clarence River bar was fairly calm and we made it into the river entrance on a rising tide at about 4 p.m.   We spent a few days at the Iluka harbour and found it to be a quite comfortable anchorage.  While there, we completed another sewing project.  Our clear plastic side panels had torn away from the zippers in a few places and needed repair.  We added a strip of canvas to one side of each panel and this actually added an inch to the dimensions and gave a better fit.  As well, we wanted to make another sunshade, as one isn’t enough for the size of our cockpit, especially when the sun is setting.

 

 

We had come back to Yamba specifically to haul the boat out of the water in order to scrape off the barnacles and repaint the bottom of the boat.  Other yachties had told us about how friendly and well-equipped the marina is and we had an appointment for haulout on April 21.  So, on the Friday morning we crossed the Clarence River from Iluka and entered the Yamba harbour and tied up at the Yamba Marina public dock.  We could not be hauled out of the water until high tide.  We didn’t need the high water, however, the hydraulic trailer that pulled us out of the water did. 

At high tide we were hauled out and situated on the trailer in the Yamba Marina boatyard.  What a great experience that was – being hauled out of the water on a trailer that managed to keep the boat level as it was moving up the ramp.  Thus began three days of very hard labour as we scraped barnacles, sanded, and repainted the bottom of the boat.  We were very disappointed in the number of barnacles on the bottom of the boat – it had only been 15 months since the boat was launched with the factory-applied bottom paint.  People were ambling over from far and wide in the marina to see the boat with all of the barnacles.

 

We had anticipated spending only three days “on the hard”, however, that was not to be.  Along with repainting the bottom, there were also several maintenance jobs that needed to be completed while hauled out – wash and wax the topsides (sides of the boat), change zinc anodes in propellers and sail drive , replace propeller stops, replace the lower unit oil.  Unfortunately, when Paul took apart the Gori props, the one on the port side had a disintegrating plastic bushing that needed to be replaced.  Paul was able to find another bushing in Melbourne, however, we sat in the boatyard for four more days awaiting delivery.  Mary took advantage of the extra time to do huge loads of washing and pre-offshore passage provisioning shopping in Yamba.

April 27, 2006

Finally, the propellers were back together, the bottom was painted, the topsides were clean and glistening, and we were relaunched.  It was nice to be floating again.  We headed across to Iluka for a few days while we awaited a visit from our new friends from Redcliffe, Sonia and Trevor, who were coming aboard for a three day visit.