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.
|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.
|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.
|Access to D Row gone and a trimaran badly holed|
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!!!
|On Saturday night add......darkness, driving rain, 30-50 knot winds and a king tide !|
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.
|First it broke free & tilted ...(example of another finger next day)|
|..... 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.
|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.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.
|Our new style pontoon|
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.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!
|More ropes had enabled us to lasso the pontoon to the pylon|
|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.
|Huge wild seas still rage outside the breakwater wall on Sunday|
|D Row...Sunday morning|
|Boardwalk access to marina -Gone!|
|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.
|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.
|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.
|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.
|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.
|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.
|Marina fingers washed up on the outer harbour beach...note the waves closing out across the entrance.|
|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.
|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.