At least we managed a couple of new destinations en route. Shellharbour (just south of Sydney)where we spent Christmas, and Batemans Bay, departing there on Boxing Day 7 hours ahead of the 2022 Rolex Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race fleet.
The weather for the most recent edition of the RS2H (2022) we considered a dream run of northerlies for the Maxi’s but not only were they going to get a bit too fruity for us, they would be interrupted by a southerly change before swinging back to the north. So we passed in that particular weather window (WX) electing instead to use the lighter northerlies to take us to Bemagui via Batemans Bay. There we could ‘hide’ and take on last minute provisions, do laundry and rest up ahead of a launch across Bass Strait.
As it turned out, the sea state was not yet recovered from the N-S-N switch. We left Bermagui and I was soon struck with sea sickness. Something I’d not suffered from for some years. It begins with some queezyness. Progressing to feeling like one might die followed by wishing to die. Absolutely not how you’d want to embark on a 2 1/2 day passage that requires full attention.
In the meantime, in anticipation of ‘our wind’ (a northeasterly) arriving, The Bloke was up on the deck setting up the spinnaker pole. This was to be a ‘downhill run’. It wasn’t possible to set it up in the Bermagui harbour, so the pole and braces needed to be positioned clear of the harbour and shore He was a little horrified to discover the hook at one end had become distorted. With grim determination, because this was after all ‘OUR WX’, The Bloke attempted a resolution whilst on the heaving deck. I was meanwhile heaving my breakfast up at the stern.
It wasn’t long before we both thought the better of the expedition and pulled into Eden. I retired immediately to my bunk, having lost all immediate interest in anything. The Bloke however set tooth and nail to turn the spinnaker pole end-for-end and make it serviceable for our requirements.
Four hours later, I emerged from my torpor and replied to concerns for my wellbeing that I was ‘restored and good to go!’. The Bloke was happy with his work and despite having lost 5 hours of our predicted WX, announced that we could still leave and arrive at Schouten Passage - our planned Tasmanian land fall, with a day in hand ahead of the southerly change.
We weighed anchor and pointed Zofia’s bow seawards out of the Twofold Bay. Popping below to stow the headphones and prepare a cup of tea, I noticed that the AIS hadn’t ‘come up’ properly. In fact it was worse because it was asking for an MMSI number to be keyed in. When did that last happen? Never! Never since it was first installed in fact. I worked furiously to re-enter our boat details but nothing would ‘save’. I turned it off. I turned it on. I re-entered everything a couple more times before accepting that this vital bit of equipment that would assist our safe passage across one of Australia’s busiest sea lanes at night was not working. The computer said ‘NO’.
It was with the heaviest of hearts that I needed to inform The Bloke, my skipper, that all systems were not after all, G for ‘good to go’. With this red flag we turned back to the anchorage and let go of ‘OUR WX’.
The strain of getting down from Queensland, studying the weather and preparing the boat suddenly seemed too much. We shed a tear and retired, believing our campaign at an end. Was the Universe was trying to tell us something like ‘turn back’? Perhaps the sailors superstition to never start a passage on a Friday was true.
