This was written as record for the crew and their families. I'd call it three men in a boat but that title has been used. The story was published in the WA Volunteer marine rescue journal of Summer 1996. I got some flak in the form of an indignant letter from the Port Denison Sea Rescue over my comments.
We dropped Pegasus's lines from Andy's berth at Royal Freshwater Yacht Club about 10 am and motored down the Swan. It was a Saturday in June, a sunny winter's day, and we were bound for the Abrolhos Islands. Andy, compact and quick-moving, prepared to lower the mast while Bill, bear-sized former rugby player, steered. I stowed food and gear below.
We passed under the bridges, re-erected the mast and when we turned right at North Mole we found a pleasant E to SE breeze which, with the No 1 and full main, choofed us along at about six knots. It was a brilliant day with blue sky and sparkling, dark blue water. The sun, the breeze and the gentle sea stayed all day.
We experimented with Andy's new Navico tiller pilot (christened George) then, because he used power and we didn't much care for the noise he made, we retired him and set Eric to work. Eric is a steering headsail (the No 3 set inside the No 1 in this case) linked by line and pulleys to the weather side of the tiller acting against an elastic cord. He bears watching but he's silent and free.
Andy, whose real purpose on board was to cook and entertain (I was the bottle washer and philosopher; Bill's responsibility was to taste the wine and represent the power boat lobby), prepared an evening meal of sweet curry with either rice or spaghetti - I forget which. I really should remember because each of us saw it again and we got a particularly clear view of Bill's when he spread it all over the port halyard winch and the jammers the next morning.
It was a glorious, clear night about one day after full moon and the gods began to take revenge at midnight. By about 1:45 am when Andy poked his head out, it was blowing 20 knots, the seas were up, Eric was erratic and reefing was overdue. We furled the main completely and set the No 3 jib - a job which involved complete hanking and unhanking and which cost Andy, who did it while I fearlessly supervised from the cockpit, his sweet curry there and then. That No 3 was the headsail for the whole trip till about an hour out of Perth a week later.
I went to bed in the forepeak but it proved impossible and after a couple of hours I screwed up my courage and quickly threw a bed together on the floor from bunk cushions. I stayed there all day except for my excursion to vomit the next morning. It was a bad day for me. Bill stood his watch in the small hours then retired to the quarter berth on the port side and remained there vowing in future to stick to power boats and day-trips to Rotto.
By morning we were well out to sea. It was blowing about 25 knots from the East. Andy pointed us up to close the coast and kept getting fixes on the elderly GPS he'd borrowed. He had a long day, not seasick but wet. He roused us in the late afternoon saying he thought we were approaching Dongera but he wasn't sure. We tried to get another GPS fix but the machine went on strike. We turned and motored directly into the wind straight toward the shore. Fortunately we didn't hit anything (well, it wasn't entirely luck: the seas were rough enough that we probably would have spotted white water if there'd been anything we could have bumped).
It was a fishing camp, Freshwater point, as we figured out much later (after calling them "White Cliffs" on the VHF - oh, how embarrassing if they'd answered). We picked up a spare mooring and, in flat water and some shelter from the wind, recovered our appetites. I can't remember what Andy dished up but with a couple of beers and a bottle of red, it went down nicely.
In the morning I looked into the GPS problem. The instruction manuals were frightful gobbledegook which partly didn't apply to our model - and we didn't have them all anyway. By trial and error it turned out it had to collect its almanac from the satellites in the sky - a half-hour job. I knew why it had failed but in a last-ditch bid to maintain an aura as a black magic navigator, I didn't let on. I had bumped it the previous afternoon and it had instantly shat itself. I was mighty careful when handling it after that.
At any rate, with my aura glowing and the magic gizmo working, we decided on a radical plan: instead of just sailing out and heading north we would sneak along the coast behind the reef line, dodging the shallows. It had blown all night and was still blowing like stink so we had plenty of power (just the No 3 jib; no main) yet smooth water about a mile from the beach. The coast is practically featureless and to have tried navigating in such waters by traditional means would have been more nerve-wracking than it was worth. With the GPS it was a doddle: every few miles when the log says you're approaching some new nasties, you switch on and find out exactly where you are.
If we'd pressed on to Geraldton we'd have arrived in the middle of the night so we put into Port Denison (Dongara) in the early afternoon and tied up the old wooden wharf. I like visiting new places, even one-horse towns, and while Bill caught upon the latest on the stock market, Andy and I walked the 2km into Dongara. Dongara/Port Denison is a pretty spot.
We also made acquaintance with the local Sea Rescue group which had an office at the harbour. They had VHF and 27 meg radios manned by volunteers. We filled in some forms demanding morbid information about our next of kin and Andy made an arrangement to report in every hour next day. He was to regret that.
After what seemed to be a slightly quieter afternoon the wind picked up and howled in rigging during dinner. We were quite snug but Cook was peeved by the motor boats that kept revving their engines: what the devil did the yokels think they were doing, hooning about on a windy winter's night? Bill and I had a chortle and got rid of them by adjusting the lines to the wharf which altered the angle of our mast to the wind.
Dinner was lubricated by an excellent red wine of which Bill had brought two cartons. Over subsequent days we had no trouble polishing them off. We then started on the carton of "plonk ordinaire" which Andy had brought. Bill thought it might be barely suitable for cooking and resorted to whiskey.
The following morning (Tuesday) we continued rock-hopping in sheltered water close to the beach. The E to NE wind was as strong as ever - 25 to 30 knots - and in addition it was raining. We had abandoned the Abrolhos idea as it would be raging out on the islands and were were now aiming for Geraldton and hot showers. George was put on the job while we slouched around below, peeking out the windows.
A couple of hours out, when we reported our position to Port Denison as per our newly-arranged sked, they told us that the forecast was for increasing NE to NW wind "to 90 km which is 40 knots" and that Geraldton harbour was closed and that we should turn back to Dongara. They advised us conditions would be so severe that the Geraldton rescue boat would be putting life at risk to come and get us.
Goodness! Here we were bobbing peacefully along and doom and destruction were about to descend. Andy put Port Denison on hold till he had a crew conference.
The bottle-washer was irritated: they shouldn't be telling us to turn around - that was a decision for the master, not for a bloody radio station on shore that didn't know anything about us. The trouble is, if you defy such advice and then something goes wrong - even if it's something unrelated - you could look awful foolish. In view of that I thought the Chief Cook might adopt the responsible conservative stance, i.e., wimp out. However I was forgetting that a few years ago he'd got about this far in his 24 foot Spacesailor and had been forced by the weather to turn around. He was not about to let that "failure" recur.
That's not what he said though. Instead he mildly remarked that 90 kmh (which is really about 50 knots) was not life threatening to his stout 27 foot Spacesailor and that the little 24 footer had handled more than that.
The power boat representative stared at us aghast. Life and limb were at stake, we'd had professional advice to turn back and we were airily thinking up reasons for ignoring it. Bill is a council alderman and can count votes: he could see it was shaping up at two to one. He was trapped on a boat with a pair of macho madmen sailing into the gates of hell. He managed to close his lower jaw and, after a stutter of incredulity, was speechless.
Andy got on the blower, thanked Port Denison Sea Rescue for their concern and told them that we had a seaworthy boat and an experienced crew and that we would be continuing toward Geraldton for the time being. The Port D operator reacted like Bill - with disbelief. Uh - what if the mast fell down? Andy assured him we had an 18 horse diesel. After a few more such surreal exchanges, Port D said he had recorded it on tape would replay it to Geraldton Sea Rescue "who had wider powers."
Bill retired to sit in the cockpit, condemned to perish because of two gung-ho lunatics. Oh, why ever had he come? Hadn't he known since their student days that Andy was certifiable? God help us - an 18 horse motor! A decent motor would be more like 1800 horsepower.
We could see he wasn't exactly a bundle of joy sitting out there in the rain but what can you say to a man contemplating his Last Mistake? Andy offered him a final cup of coffee but he declined.
An hour later we reported on sked as usual. Port D remarked that he had the impression we still intended to continue on. Andy laconically confirmed this. The weather carried on much as it had been.
I had had a previous experience of Sea Rescue (or maybe it was Marine and Harbours) exaggerating the severity of the weather. I think it's a way to cover themselves. Perhaps, too, they feel a need to justify their installation. Government funding - from $3000 to $12000 annually per station, I'm told - is dependent on how many radio contacts (and rescues) they have. One hesitates to knock the Sea Rescue people for they are all volunteers but if boaties are treated as kiddies, boaties will tend to behave like kiddies. No doubt some of them do.
The wind stayed strong E to NE and when we connected to Geraldton later in the day our impending doom was not mentioned. We never did find out what "wider powers" might have meant.
We tied up at about 5 pm in the small boat harbour to a berth arranged by the Sea Rescue chap who met us and took our lines. With such hospitality, complaining seems churlish. Still, being in near constant contact and being passed from one sea rescue to the next, gives the feeling of being cosseted. What sort of intrepid, free-spirited adventurer phones Mum every hour to report where he is and what he is doing? We took to calling them the Mickey Mouse Club and, since an hourly sked is a pest, Andy arranged that for the return trip he would put his ears on every two hours.
We had showers and a few beers at the Yacht Club, met up with Andy's school mate Ross, went back to Pegasus, ate and slept well. We probably ate well too but, Philistine that I am, I forget. The wind did not strengthen but lightened a little. It did not back to the NW but veered to the SSE early next day with intermittent showers.
Wednesday we pottered. Since he was still alive, Bill thought he better look decent and bought a pair of long trousers. We installed a padeye so the lee-cloth on the starboard bunk would work properly and got some bits of cheap rope for sail ties. We had dinner at a Mongolian restaurant and filled a container with rain water because the Geraldton mains supply tastes like polluted sea water.
We departed Geraldton for Perth early the next morning, Thursday. We had bright sunshine and a pleasant easterly but reports from the Abrolhos said 3 m swells with 23 knots so we didn't have any illusions. It disappointed us by meeting our expectations: after we passed the Point we found 20 to 30 knots from the SE which was right on the nose.
We headed out to sea on the port tack making about 190-200 degrees. To follow the coast in that area we would have to make about 150. The Spacesailor is a good windward boat so we moved along briskly but the swell was from the SW so we smashing straight into it and the beamy forward underbody was giving us regular boat-shuddering crashes.
I was off-colour, Bill was off-colour and Andy was as happy as a pig in mud. He was finally chalking up some proper, heroic, off-shore sailing. Proof that this was the Real Stuff came when George karked it. He died bravely, pushed beyond his strength, He fainted a couple of times and Andy resuscitated him and put him back in harness - then he expired terminally. He was under warranty. I steered which is the best thing to do when you're not a hundred per cent.
I brooded. It was early afternoon when I stated my case to Rambo: "We are out here getting the bejesus thrashed out of us but two crew are not fit and we have to steer all night. Perhaps we should consider tacking and getting closer in where it might be calmer."
"But on the other tack we wouldn't be able to weather Africa Reef."
"Drop the jib and motor sail."
"(thinks...) Okay."
It worked well. With the main just filled we did over 6 knots on a course of 120-130 degrees. With the swells abeam the ride was a world of difference. I was instantly fit and hungry too. We cleared Africa Reefs easily and came close in where the water and weather were indeed much smoother. Switching off the motor when it got dark so we wouldn't catch any cray-pot buoys in the propeller, we tacked down the coast and put into Dongara about 8 pm, tying to the end of the wharf as we had the last time.
It is definitely the dignified way to cruise, stopping off in a calm harbour each night, enjoying a civilised meal and sleeping uninterrupted the night through. We were away at sunup on Friday morn with slightly less wind, motor sailing with the main alone to hold parallel with the coast. After a while the wind strengthened and we were able to stop the motor. We left the coast south of Freshwater Point where reefs and shallows are too thick. Conditions were like the previous day - same wind, rough off-shore but not bad close-in. We tacked then motor sailed with the main and got into Leeman just before dark.
We thought we would tie to the jetty but ran aground. Apparently whoever was on the other end of the Leeman 27 meg didn't know what the depths were. After some muck-about trying to anchor (CQR in weed - wouldn't work) we tied in the deepening dusk to the stern of a very large cray boat a couple of hundred metres further out. The wind stayed and we hung there peacefully all night. At least it was peaceful outside. Inside, the Cook served up an excellent meal (rice, chick peas, Dolmio, I think) accompanied by some of the repartee for which he is well known and enough plonk to put him off his breakfast. Bill retired in disgust; he'd heard all Andy's jokes before and the decent wine had run out and so had the whiskey.
Compared with our expressed intentions of the previous evening, we were late, departing only half an hour before dawn. We sailed down the leads along with a flotilla of cray boats starting work for the day. This coast is widely regarded as boring and it is true that, from the point of view of an off-shore vessel, it is featureless. But the small settlements are attractive and it seems to me that a fine holiday would be to drop in at every nook, sailing when the weather was favourable and sitting tight when it wasn't. This could be done in a monohull but the ideal would be a multihull sneaking around the shallows. I could see myself in my Seawind 24 catamaran, zipping along 10 metres from the beach and stopping at night to park by my camp fire. [A couple of years later I did sail my cat from Fremantle to Dampier.]
It was another day of strong wind and brilliant sunshine, the third in a row. We had to go outside Wedge and Ledge Islands, skimming the reefs. We could do this with confidence as they were to windward, the SW swell was breaking on them, visibility was perfect and, of course, with the GPS we absolutely knew where we were. In the late afternoon we were again a fair way off and we tacked and motor sailed in. This time it was not to stop but so that we could make better progress to weather and to make the night watches easier. We had to steer manually, of course, but had taken to setting shock cord on the tiller against weather helm which, depending on conditions, would sometimes steer for long periods. It was Saturday, some people wanted to be back for the start of the working week and the weather was just too good not to take advantage of.
Standing an early watch, I unzipped my jacket and threw back the hood, savouring the bite of the cold wind. We'd had a safe trip, tough in part but with no breakages. We had been lucky to have a summer-like high over the Bight, giving us easterlies. We could just as easily have had the weather of the following week with variable winds, mist and rain.
The wind backed a little during the night and with main cracked off we shot along at seven knots, arriving off Wanneroo in the morning. The wind lightened for the first time in a week and while Andy made cinnamon pancakes with maple syrup, we shook out the reef, set the No 1 headsail and cruised gently down to the North Mole.
We motored up the river in the same sunshine as we'd left it a week before and tied up at Freshy about 11.30. Andy had achieved his life's ambition to sail to Geraldton and back, Bill was surely convinced of the superiority of sailboats over stink boats and I had been reminded what cruising is all about.