Coffs
Harbor
3/6/16 – 10/6/16
( Blog readers please note - by left clicking on photos you will see them full size and a photo gallery below. The same applies for previous blog posts..see blog archives below.)
Those
out at sea in cruising yachts normally head for safe places like marinas when
weather forecasts turn sour. Those in marinas, normally stay there until bad
weather passes. Marinas tend to be built in places that are by nature protected
from the elements, and readily provide comfort and safety for those who come in
to seek shelter. By comparison, the Coffs Harbor International Marina has been
fashioned from a coastal landscape where human constructions face the brunt of
the elements, and sometimes the elements win. In Coffs, past engineers noted
the proximity of Mutton Bird Island which lies just offshore and sought to
protect local and visiting vessels by constructing a breakwater from the shore
out to the island, and building a further wall from the southern headland,
leaving an entrance alongside the island, leading to the town jetty and the
“outer anchorage”. From abeam of the end of the jetty a gap is provided in a
third breakwater wall that encapsulates the marina, and within this is found
the home for the local fishing fleet, Police and Emergency Vessels and always
an array of visiting craft, coming, going or sheltering from weather. In spite
of the efforts of man, though, the Coffs marina protrudes out into the open sea,
and its north-easterly flank lies exposed to weather that is brewed out in the
Coral Sea.
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| Coffs Harbour Marina |
The
marina at Coffs is a key link in the safety chain for smaller vessels plying
the north coast of New South Wales. In dirty weather, Coffs is the only safe refuge
port for boats at sea over the long haul from Moreton Island out from Brisbane,
down to Port Stephens or Newcastle, just north of Sydney. Other potential
refuges are not an option in heavier weather, especially where a bar entrance
to a river, such as the Hasting at Port Macquarie, or the Clarence at Yamba is
involved. This is why crews of yachts and to a lesser degree power boats
heading along this coast, so often build
in a Coffs stopover to refuel, re-provision, and to take a break from the long
hours out at sea. Passage planning for vessels heading both south and north,
often involves Coffs as a vital mid-point in managing the long distances at
sea.
Coffs Harbor is also a clearance port for
vessels arriving from or departing for overseas, and one of our first things
upon arriving there was to meet with Border Security officials at the port
office registering our intention to see off the coming storm, and in its wake,
find an appropriate weather window to set sail for Noumea.
First,
though, there was the problem of the gathering storm. In our brief foray into
nearby shops everyone was talking about the coming weather in Armageddon like
tones. The checkout girl, the butcher, the baker, and the maker of candles were
all engrossed by it…the coming storm. We sauntered into the local bottle shop
to find it hard to get served. The strongly built and extensively painted local
lad and two burly mates were immersed deep in the outlet’s computer screen. “Look
at that” the billboard declared “it’s
going to blow like s…!...take a look at that!’ He wanted to show us the blobs
of pink on the BOM Marine Wind forecast for Saturday through to Sunday. Pink
means 40-50knot winds, which in Beaufort terms is a severe gale not far short
of hurricane in strength. He might have saved himself the trouble of showing us
the evidence of the looming cataclysm. We had already seen the weather charts,
and realised that we had never before faced conditions like those that were on
the way. We felt it better to not tell him that we were off a small yacht in
the marina, hoping for the best, but fearing the worst. We could easily have
changed our purchase from wine to whisky. We could need it.
If
we slept uneasily, it was from knowing that the gale was to hit us from the
north – east, the soft underbelly of the marina; from the direction of
vulnerability that was due to be tackled by the planned works to strengthen the
breakwater. Too late, we cried…but there was more. When we tied up in berth
D42, the confidence we had in sheltering in the Coffs Harbor International Marina, was eroded by the state of the
cleats and fastenings to which we would secure our mooring lines and thereby
entrust the security of both ourselves and of Calista. Mooring cleats wiggled when shaken, and appeared to be set
in wooden trims that had seen too many winters and too many summers. Then,
there was the “finger” to which we would be tied: sitting between D Arm and the
securing pylon at its seaward end, it moved unsteadily when we stepped off our
boat onto it. It just did not “feel” right. Fingers should feel more secure
than this one. Surely.
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| Brewing storm conditions on Saturday |
The
morning dawned under a leaden and uneasy sky, and it was not long before the
wind began to lift. We were up early, laying out extra mooring lines, until our
port side was secured by no less than five stout ropes, and everything on deck
was stowed below or held down as never before. Upwind of us, and tied to the
opposite side of the finger was the 16 tonne Amber, a Swanson 42, currently under restoration and renovation.
Her owner, John, had an awning erected over the deck and soon he and his
partner arrived to capture the shelter that was threatening to be ripped from
its stays and be blown away into the harbor. They got there just in time,
because just as their canopy was captured, the wind lifted in intensity and
spindrifts were plucked from the waters of the harbor. John had his instruments
on and called out..”42 knots!..45knots!”. We were in the teeth of the gale….and
then the rain started to fall. Driven by the storm, the rain drove in
horizontally, pelting us as though the drops were gravel, and driving us into
our cockpit to seek shelter. The harbor entrance, only 80 or so metres away,
was scarcely discernible in the maelstrom. Conditions like these were truly
awesome to see, but unlike storms at home which are often short lived in
nature, conditions this day showed no signs of relenting and it was clear that
whatever happened, we would just have to sit it out. To this point, above the
whine of the wind, the lash of the rain and the spray leaping over the
breakwater, we were secure and snug, held by more fastenings than an Everest
climb, and could settle back and even feel a pinch of thrill as the elements
delivered their entrée. Storm Chasers would pay a ransom to be on board with
us!
Heading
below to check the weather on the internet though, confirmed that the worst was
yet to come. East Coast Lows are mainly regional in extent, but this sausage
shaped depression was sliding down the entire length of the NSW coast, and
north of us at Byron Bay the winds were gusting to over 50 knots, and heading
our way. By now waves out at sea had built alarmingly and at regular intervals
a whoomph from the breakwater and a
fan of spray hurled aloft, hinted at the seas that were building. It became
clear that an escape to shore, along D Arm and to the walkway that ran
alongside the breakwater to the security of the Yacht Club was now out of the
question. The walkway was often awash and soon the angled ramp connecting the
walkway to D Arm was swept away by an enormous sea. Like it or not we were now
trapped on D Arm, and there we would have to see out the storm.
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| Access to D Row gone and a trimaran badly holed |
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| Huge seas constantly pouring over the breakwater |
Then,
for us everything changed. It was late in the afternoon, with us having
resolved to cook an early meal and prepare for the night to come, when we had a
visit by a foul-weather clad visitor, Gary, from the steel yacht Zephyr, a little further down D Arm. We
had met Gary and his wife Anna on arrival, and they, too are planning a
“first-timer” trip to New Caledonia, but leaving a little later than us, in
July. In the sailing fraternity, there is an unstated common bond, and casual
connections easily become friendships that can last for years. Gary had beaten
his way down D arm to “see how we were getting on” and was standing on the
finger alongside Calista holding her
rails. Just then, there was a sudden crack
and the entire finger holding Calista
tilted at 45 degrees. Gary ran for his life for the D Arm walkway, and
astern of us the collar containing the rollers that allow the finger to rise
and fall with the tide, broke free and disappeared down to the bottom of the
harbor. The marina, with us attached, was
breaking up!!! Marinas should not break up like this!!!
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| On Saturday night add......darkness, driving rain, 30-50 knot winds and a king tide ! |
With
no idea what was about to happen and with hours of the tempest to come, urgency
had arrived and we started to think and plan for the worst. Gas went off on the
stove, and we moved to put as many of the irreplaceable things that we could in
a sealed dry-bag. As the wind howled, we contemplated, for the first time, that
we might be overwhelmed by the elements and that Calista could be lost. It was a sickening contemplation. Everything
on our precious floating home was irreplaceable. She has taken us some 20,000
miles over some of Australia’s most challenging seas; she is part of us, and
now we might lose her….in a marina!!!
In
the scheme of things, especially in tough times, the priority, always, is: people, then things. At the end of D Arm, furthest from the madness of the
breakwater, were two large sailing catamarans. If things went crazy and the
marina started to unravel, our last refuge was there. By now, parts of D Arm,
nearest the breakwater were breaking free under the pounding of the seas and
there was no way of telling where all this would end. Night had fallen, and in an hour or so there
would be a new concern to face. With a plunging barometer comes a rising tide.
The high tide due in mid-evening was already a “king tide” and with the level
on the pylons rising, it was not far short of reaching the top, where the
structure of the marina, all arms, fingers and boats would float free to a
tangled oblivion against the far breakwater. This was the doomsday scenario but
out on the pylons, where lines around them provided our last level of security,
this was not out of the question.
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| First it broke free & tilted ...(example of another finger next day) |
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| ..... then rolled over to become a barnacle encrusted battering ram |
To
secure our valuables, we climbed off Calista
and headed for Zephyr, which was
bigger, steel and less at risk. Gary and Anna welcomed us aboard and we took
off our wet weather gear and took some time out below. Shortly though there was
need to check on Calista and not
planning to be long I stepped outside in underwear, t-shirt wet weather coat
and crocs. I could not believe what I found – the entire finger had broken from the arm and the pylon and had turned upside down taking our mooring lines
and the electrical pedestal with it! The bottom of the finger, tonnes in weight
and encrusted in barnacles, was hard against Calista’s port side and grinding
at her fibreglass hull. It was like a grinder and a battering-ram rolled into
one. With this pressure, Calista’s hull would soon be breached and she would be
lost.
Somehow,
something had to be gotten between the grinding finger and the side of Calista, and in a HURRY. By a stroke of
planning or luck, we had on board what it would take – barge boards, TWO of
them. A barge board is a stout plank designed to protect the hull should we
have to tie up alongside a gnarled jetty. The barge board, lowered horizontally
over the side, takes the scraping of a jetty pile, and behind it alongside the
hull, we place the ship’s inflated fenders, for cushioning. On this trip we
have used the barge boards at Stanley on Tasmania’s north coast, whilst in
marinas they stay lashed to our rails. Our stoutest board, a 6 foot slab of
laminated Blackwood, is as hard as nails. Co-cruisers have often smirked at
this board and its varnished visage, saying it would be better off in a lounge
room or a library. Now, in the maelstrom, it, and its less salubrious partner
could save Calista.
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| Our fenders & barge boards saved our boat |
There
was no time to go for help because I knew that in time, with my non return to Zephyr, help would come. The finger was
hard against Calista’s side, and
prising it away was not possible. By tying each board vertically and dropping
them into the slots between the curve of the boat and the straight -side of the
finger they were jammed into place. Luckily, at intervals the surge in the
marina saw the finger move slightly away, and every time it did I slid a board
closer to the centre. When the “weight” returned, it was impossible to move the
boards. I just hoped that they would take the pressure, and not get smashed.
Then,
just in time, the cavalry arrived. First it was Cookie and Gary, and, with
combined efforts, shouted above the scream of the wind, we soon had vertical
boards between Calista and the
battering ram. Then others arrived; John and his son, tall and laconic Steve
from a boat nearby, and Suzie, a nautical whiz, who clambered on board, agile
as a marmoset, and sharp as a razor. “Hi I’m Suzie…what’s your name?” she
yelled into the gale. “How can I help?” she wanted to know. Help, she did, and
some. There were others too, drawn by the flurry of head torches, having got
the impression that something serious was up. None of these folk were known to
us, and most we never saw again. Soon the joint efforts of these good souls
were put to getting lines between the smashing finger and the piles fore and
aft of our boat. By triangulation and grunt, there was soon a gap between the
battering ram and ourselves, and we joined the two of our barge boards for
strength, slid them down horizontally to protect our sides, and with deft
coordination, our fenders were dropped in place to protect our hull. The
chances of saving Calista had risen,
but although the high tide was now past, we were by no means out of the woods.
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| Our new style pontoon |
With
midnight approaching, rain was cascading down by the centimetre, not the
millimetre, and the wind appeared as a thousand banshees, screaming in torment.
The seas in the ocean outside had built to a dimension beyond that in living
memory, in Coffs Harbor, and the billows swept over the breakwater with disdain.
In spite of the darkness a careful foray along D Arm showed the breakwater
walkway in disarray, a trimaran lying fractured with a hull akimbo, sails
ripped from their furlings and blown away, and evidence that other arms apart
from D had suffered their connecting walkways being destroyed by the seas. Back
on Calista, regular wooomphs resounded from the breakwater
and walls of water were flung high into the heavens. We were 80m from the
breakwater; yet spray rained down on our decks in a deluge and sand trickled
down our scuppers. There was a surreal feeling to it all and we wondered what
would happen next.
It
was not long in coming. First, though, we had been on deck in the storm for
hours, running on adrenalin, apprehension and salt spray. We had not dressed
for the occasion, and a shivering chill told us that we must pause for a while
to either attend to this need or suffer hypothermia. We could not afford for
our thinking and our ability to act to be compromised by the cold. We were now
cold, very cold. Happily, amongst our on-board kit was our a-grade thermals,
and now they came unerringly to our rescue. We re-emerged to the fray from
below dressed warmer than Amundsen, and better able to tackle whatever came
next - with the first priority being the state of the lines holding the finger
away from Calista. Cookie had seen
that the finger, with its barnacle encrustations, had worked at the lines that
were staying it: one was broken and another was at the point of giving way.
Then, there were signs that the finger, composed of three sections, was at the
point of disintegration, with the pulse of storm surges that caused the marina
to heave. If it broke up we would again be in peril. When the finger originally
overturned it took with it our port side mooring lines, and all of our other
lines, short of our anchor rode, were already employed. We were running short
of options in re-staying the battering ram. We needed help.
Although
our needs were local, we also thought global and felt it time to contact the
outside world re our situation and how, provided we were still afloat at dawn,
we needed to get out of our ruined berth for somewhere more secure. In the wee
hours we called Coffs Harbor Marine Rescue, who re-directed us to the head of
Coffs Water Police, Sgt Don Stewart. Don was pleased, and maybe relieved to
take a call from us and wanted an assessment of our own situation, plus any
information that we might have re numbers of souls marooned on the fingers and
whether there was a need for a risky intervention aimed at extracting people to
an area on shore. The forecast to dawn was still alarming with the intense low
far from finished in its ravages on the coast. “It could get worse before it
gets better…”was the message fron the Sergeant, although we could not imagine
it getting worse than it already was. With Gary’s help, though, we found that
those on D Arm were largely ok, in spite of marina damage everywhere, and, to
many of the boats. Conveying this to Don, we quickly opted for a stay put
policy re those on D Arm, given that the catamaran option was still there if
events turned really sour. To try and get people off D Arm now was too risky to
contemplate.
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| More ropes had enabled us to lasso the pontoon to the pylon |
Turning
to our needs, Don offered that given 15 minutes, he and a fellow officer might
be able to get the stout lines that we needed to stay the rogue finger, plus a
couple of large pink buoys that would be invaluable buffers for Calista both now and in the event that
the finger broke apart. The hard part would be for us to make our way in the
dark down the disintegrating D Arm as close as we dared toward the breakwater,
and for the officers to get as close as they could with seas regularly breaking
over the walkway, to connect with us. For us the last part down D Arm was a
precarious balance for us both on what was like a moving ice floe, and for the
courageous officers, between holding on like limpets, and sheltering from torrents
of spray they yelled… “if we throw, can you catch!?” A test cricketer at deep
square leg under a skied hook in a swirling wind could not have been keener to
take the catch. The police threw two large buoys, and two coils of rope and we
took the four catches perfectly with no need for referral to the third umpire.
Incentive is a wonderful thing! Fear is a great incentive!
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| Returning the "boat savers " to Don |
Soon
we had the battering ram tethered as never before and with the large buoys in
place we could surely breathe a little easier. But not yet. We had been
watching the weather radar and real-time wind figures from Coast Stations in
northern NSW like raptors eyeing a mouse, and finally Cape Byron was gusting at
less than 50 knots. Then up the coast, the wind collapsed, although it refused
to relent off Coffs Harbor. I admit that at one point on board in the early
hours, yelling into the gale…”will you
not effing go AWAY!” Then, on cue, it did. The wind fell away to an eerie
calm and we said to each other…”it’s
OVER!” As we slumped dripping and weary into our cockpit we were about to
celebrate the saving of Calista …when….BANG…the wind screamed in, again, to 40
knots and above, from the opposite
direction! It was as though we had passed through the eye of a cyclone. Now there no time to lose in getting
stay-lines from the adjoining yacht Maskali
to our starboard side, this time to prevent us from being blown onto the errant
finger, and causing it to disintegrate. This time though, the elements had
played their last card, and after a little while the wind fell away, the rain
reduced from a torrent to a drizzle and all we could hear was the roar of the
ocean and its constant collisions with the beleaguered breakwater. Car
headlights pointed to a flurry of activity ashore as the first shades of sickly
light penetrated the lowering skies to the east. We were soaked and weary, but
thanks to the efforts of many, we were still afloat.
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| Huge wild seas still rage outside the breakwater wall on Sunday |
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| D Row...Sunday morning |
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| Boardwalk access to marina -Gone! |
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| One of the many damaged spots on our hull |
As
morning broke, seas still breached the breakwater, turning the marina into a
lake of foam, tearing at portions of the infrastructure and flinging them into
the harbor. With the wind and rain gone, it was now possible to edge along D
Arm and see the destruction that had occurred during the night, and was now
continuing into the day. The walkway from the marina office had been demolished,
portions of pontoons floated without attachment or purpose, debris was
everywhere, many boats had been damaged, some had sunk, and now, in ones and
twos the storm survivors on D Arm staggered out as if they had returned from a
war zone. For one boat owner the event
had been too much and he collapsed, to be taken away for care by Marine Rescue
and a retrieval team. Considering what we had been through and the risks that
had been taken in tackling the storm, it was probably lucky that none of us had
been hurt, or worse. I wondered why my hands were sore and realised that they
were raw from hauling on ropes through the night, sometimes against the odds. I
was worried how Cookie’s knee had survived the night, having recently recovered
from surgery, because when the finger
turned turtle, the only way back on board was via a precarious climb back over
a wet, slippery and heaving bow. Then I remembered big Steve…in the middle of
all the madness he had seen Cookie getting help over the bow of Calista, and yelled out “wait a bit”…
before returning with a milk crate…a wonderful step…saying “this might help”.
Help, it did…it was that kind of night.
Soon,
though, our D Arm comrades gathered for one last time: to help us free from the
array of ropes that had held us through the night. The Marine Rescue boat had
arrived to tow Calista away from the
clutches of the battering ram, and what was left of berth D 42. We were
concerned about our propeller; drive shaft and rudder, and whether any of these
had sustained damage during the night. The Rescue crew were taking no chances
and soon we were under way on a tow to the fuel wharf, normally off-limits to
yachts, but now to be a place where we could tie up, while we assessed damage,
and thought about what we might do next. In a way we’d have liked to stay with
those we left behind on D Arm, but practicalities at this time far outweighed
sentiment.
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| Being towed to the wharf |
As
we drew alongside the wharf there was a host of willing hands to take our
lines. Locals had flocked to the dockside when the storm faded, and amongst the
throng were film crews, police, emergency service personnel, and even fire
officers. Apart from copping a belting from the wind, and the ongoing belting
from the sea that raged beyond the breakwater, Coffs had been inundated by over
270ml of rain - nearly a foot in the old money - and how anyone might have lit
a fire during all this was beyond imagination. Then we realised that the
phenomenal tide that nearly lifted the fingers from the holding pylons, had
flowed out over the jetty and wharf area to swamp surrounding port buildings,
like the Fishing Coop. and nearby café. The fire crews were now at work pumping
the salt water back to where it normally is found.
On
board Calista in spite of being
winged, we were incredibly fortunate not to be facing the unthinkable prospect
of having our floating home at the bottom of the harbor. It had been a very
near thing. Although we were hungry, tired, and emotionally dented, there were
some crucial things to do, such as letting family and friends know where we
were and that we were ok; and the pressing need to alert our insurers that we
would need their assistance. Up on deck we strung up lines and hung up some very
wet, wet weather gear to dry. The swells
were still pummelling the breakwater not far away, and cameras and iphones were
doing overtime. The Marina Office, part way along the breakwater walkway had
suffered some serious damage, and as the seas continued their remorseless work,
the office was left in ruin. Off the coast, a swell buoy measured one monster
wave at 11 metres in height, and we hear that later down the coast off Eden
seas were measured at an incredible 17 metres. This is beyond comprehension.
This was some East Coast Low.
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| Coffs Harbour International Marina Office....in the skip bin! |
As
the morning progressed other boats were towed in or came by their own power to
“raft up” at the fuel wharf. All over the marina, pens for boats lay in ruin
and places for them to now go were at a premium. If the Coffs Marina has a
floating patron it would be without question, Eric Burrows. Eric, now in his
mid-80’s lives on Vega Jack, a black-hulled
30-odd footer, and although he wisely sought on-shore shelter during the storm,
he was back at first light and was on board as he was towed in to be alongside Calista. Eric, whose background includes
years of motorsport rally driving, and a life of mixed adventure, is an
internationally recognised photographer whose works can still be seen in cities
such as New York and London. He gets around on deck as nimble as a fiddler
crab, and we were delighted to have Eric as a neighbour. Like Calista, Vega Jack had suffered
extensive hull damage and was fortunate to survive, afloat.
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| Eric our new neighbour and friend on board Vega Jack |
There
is a nautical saying that cruisers head to sea for the lure of faraway
anchorages, but stay cruising because of the people they meet. Certainly, the
people of Coffs, now lined up to prove this as true. Good folk peering off the
wharf, now wanted to know what had happened to us and how we were. “Can we take
you anywhere…do you need anything..” they asked, time and again and one dear
soul, probably watching me hang out jeans and sodden thermals offered…”do you
need any washing done?” Their genuine goodwill was a delight to behold and we
thanked them heartily for their offers. When you experience things like we had,
it would be easy to feel a long way from home. Below, we started making phone
calls, sending texts and fielding others from friends who knew were we were and,
rang because of the people that they are and that they care. We were not aware,
but Coffs Harbor, and the damage wrought on the marina had been front and
centre on the national news services. There had gone our chance to sell our
“inside story” to the national syndicates. Next time we would get Go Pros, film
what happened and watch it go viral. We hoped there would be no next time. Once
had been enough.
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| We became media celebrities ! (Pg 3 The Australian,6/6/16) |
Our dear friends Jonathon and Wendy, and new
friends John and Ann on Essex Girl,
who had stopped over at Coffs, and were now well north into Queensland, called
to see how we had fared. During their stay here they had noted the poor state
of the marina fixtures and wondered how the wobbly cleats and rickety fingers
would stand up in a storm. Amongst the people on the wharf, those who lived
aboard their craft in the marina, the sailing fraternity, and even our
insurers, it was common knowledge that the Coffs Harbor International Marina
was class in name only and that over the years it had been poorly maintained,
and that the outcome of the storm just gone was the disaster just waiting to
happen. Now although, yes, we were relieved to have survived, the damage to Calista would cost us at least $2000 in
insurance excess, and see us heading somewhere for repairs instead of across
the seas to Noumea. Yes, this had been an incredible storm, but no, marinas
should not fall apart under you as this one did. Apart from everything else
that we felt, about the lack of a credible standard of maintenance at Coffs
Harbor Marina, we felt cranky.
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| Rotting timbers, loose cleats and rusted steel....didn't stand a chance of holding together. |
That
night, when we should have been comatose in our stateroom – our forepeak bunk
would feel like a stateroom given the dramas of the previous eve – we were up
past midnight constructing a full report as requested by our insurers. Apart from reporting our damage and what we
had done to avert a “total loss” we wanted to send a clear message about the
management and maintenance failures at Coffs and how the facility should not be
returned to service in its flimsy state, patched up and poorly repaired, only
to imperil others sometime in the future. We were concerned that management
would want to put their hand out for “emergency relief money”, patch up the
mess in the marina, blame “the storm”, and get on with making money from
unsuspecting clients as they had been doing for years. This was a prospect
that, yes, we felt cranky about.
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| Marina fingers washed up on the outer harbour beach...note the waves closing out across the entrance. |
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| Close up of the surf at the entrance we had come through 3 days earlier. |
The
next and subsequent days were, we will admit, a blur. Here we were in charming
Coffs Harbor, but apart from getting a lift into town to fill our gas bottles
and taking the chance to have a plunge in the surf by the jetty, the storm and
its aftermath consumed our entire time. On Monday we joined John and Anna and Steve
and his wife Valinda at the Yacht Club for some special time away from the
madding crowd, as survivors of D Arm. Steve admitted to me that because he was
so ruined with weariness, “going out” was the last thing that he felt like
doing but that sharing some quality time with new friends was the very best
thing that he could have done. Besides I got the chance, over a beer, to thank
him for the milk crate. Yes we were all the better for this fine occasion out
together, where we could talk about an experience, that we had shared, but for
which we could have never prepared.
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| Dining with new friends who rallied to help save Calista |
Eric,
bless his soul, had been the recipient of a batch of the finest rock cakes
known to humankind. Given his sweet tooth, he was also making heavy weather of
a chocolate cake, which was gifted to him, and was now threatening to overwhelm
his inner resolve. He came on board, bearing examples of the stellar rock
cakes, and we had a wonderful morning tea, hearing a little more about his
truly remarkable life. We asked Eric about the rock cake recipe, but he had
already tried to prise it out of the lady who makes them, who guards the recipe
with an encryption that would rival that of Coca Cola. No wonder those who call
Coffs Marina home, like Suzi, regard Eric so warmly, and
dropped by with regularity to see how he was going. He was upbeat about what
had happened and his attitude was a tonic. What did we say about cruising and
the people that you meet?
 |
| Morning tea with Eric |
Other
contacts now saw our plans beyond the storm fall into focus. Michael, a marine
surveyor who had flown up from Sydney, on behalf of our insurers, to inspect
the damage to ours and other boats, called by to see how we were faring.
Provided an under-water inspection of our drive and steering mechanism, and a
check for unseen damage to our hull proved to be negative, we were cleared to
make our way to another port for repairs. He recommended the facility at Boat
Works on the Coomera River off the Gold Coast, where anything that needed doing
could be done. With this I dropped over the side with mask and snorkel, being
wary of the adjoining wharf pylons, which were encrusted in razor sharp oysters
and were to be avoided at all cost. Happily the drive and steering gear looked
sound although given the murk in the water, and the proximity of hull and
pylons, it was too risky to get near the underwater section on the side of the
boat. There is now no haul-out facility at Coffs Harbor – the facility was
condemned a year or so ago – and Michael calmly put it to us that in the event
of any significant underwater damage, we would get hauled out here by crane and
trucked to where we would get repaired!
 |
| Chatting with another Calista saviour...Susie |
Then
we got lucky. In 2010, we had met a wonderful couple, Cran and Ann McLean on
their 52’ Chamberlain Cat, Lettin Go,
first by pure chance at Antechamber Bay on Kangaroo Island, and later as co –
passage makers up the coast to Queensland. They showed us the way to the
Sanctuary Cove Boat Show, and we were with them off the Scarborough Marina,
near Brisbane, as they completed their Australian circumnavigation. We had stayed in touch, and knew that they had
recently had extensive works done on their cat at Boat Works. Naturally, we
rang Cran and Ann, who were about to depart for overseas, leaving Lettin Go on dry land in the Boat Works
“hard stand”. They listened with disbelief to our Coffs tale and then about our
plan to head for Boat Works on the Coomera. Their practical advice was crucial,
for they connected us with Craig from Signature Yacht Services, who came with
their highest recommendation, as being not only a consummate boat repair
professional, but a thoroughly decent bloke into the bargain. Craig sounded
like our man, and a call to him confirmed all of the above. In spite of being
fully committed work wise, his message was that when we got to Boat Works,
somehow he would fit us in. Then Cran called back to say that, as they were
heading overseas, and we might not find it easy staying on board in the boat
yard, they would leave us the keys to Lettin
Go and that we could stay on board, for as long as we needed. What did we
say about the people that you meet?
 |
| Underwater inspector found no damage |
 |
| Time to cast off the bowlines & leave the crowded Coffs Harbour wharf. |
Then
happily, following the storm came the calm. We needed benign conditions for
over 30 hours, to make our way out of Coffs Harbor, up and around Cape Byron,
and then on to the Gold Coast Seaway and up the Coomera. This was not what we
wanted to do but was what we now had to do. Our Voyage to Vanuatu had hit a
hurdle, but with a little luck, we would incur delay and not defeat. As we
prepared to go we helped Eric move to another berth and wished him a sincere
good luck in what happened for him next. He might have to head for Yamba on the
Clarence to get repaired, and to find a new home, but there were good souls at
Coffs who had offered to help him get Vega
Jack there. For us, the dawn of a new day would see us put to sea and head
north from Coffs Harbor. Whatever
happened next for us, we would never forget the experience that had been
Saturday 4th June and Sunday 6th June at the Coffs Harbor
Marina. Nor would we forget the wonderful people that we had met.
