tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54058974758367778072024-03-14T05:28:12.843-07:00A Voyage to VanuatuColin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-4098446820017754722020-10-14T01:05:00.453-07:002020-10-22T22:20:49.077-07:00<p> </p><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i>Yamba to
Newcastle</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><i> </i> <br /></span></span></h2><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i style="font-weight: normal;"> </i></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><i>3<sup>rd</sup> – 5<sup>th</sup>
Dec 2016</i></span></h3>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">(<i>This blog
was not written by the master scribe Colin but the apprentice Cookie. The reason will be explained in this blog. )</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">After
carefully studying various weather models, checking tides times and swell
conditions to safely negotiate the mighty Clarence mouth we decided it was time
to go. It seemed that there was no escaping the possibility of afternoon
thunderstorms at this time of the year so with all other factors looking good
we readied our ship for departure. The day dawned hot and sunny with light NE
winds.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">So after
last minute provisioning and a check of the entrance conditions we returned the
car and made our way out through the “Hole in the Wall. ” Once safely through
the very benign Clarence Bar we pointed our bow south towards North Solitary
Island and Coffs Harbour. We hoisted sails but the apparent wind was very light
so once again we motored sailed just with a stabilising mainsail. Our thoughts
drifted back to that horrendous night in Coffs Harbour, so grateful we survived
and didn’t lose Calista. What amazing places we’ve sailed to and incredible
experiences and adventures in the Pacific we have had since that wild storm 6
months ago!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8WMsPxK1HgzBbqBMzSbUBZsK8urtKM4m1-sxbzukyqEcPyQxBJ1hjGrLIX7JBBuViBREDxY-wB2xqz8FvnZhZUBT5wOdiPCUp59T_9X6ShpCZo_T7vT-vLDu77tPaYN475i8HLvk7oAfW/s1000/P1050424.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8WMsPxK1HgzBbqBMzSbUBZsK8urtKM4m1-sxbzukyqEcPyQxBJ1hjGrLIX7JBBuViBREDxY-wB2xqz8FvnZhZUBT5wOdiPCUp59T_9X6ShpCZo_T7vT-vLDu77tPaYN475i8HLvk7oAfW/w640-h480/P1050424.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><i><b>A friendly Clarence </b></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">We
settled into our daily watch system in preparation for our night passage
mindful of the old mariners saying “<i>Never whistle at the Helm</i>!” The clear blue
skies of the morning soon gathered fluffy thickening Cumulonimbus clouds. By
early afternoon the stormy clouds surrounded us and we began to feel uneasy
about being out at sea in a thunderstorm. Very soon an ominous roll cloud was
heading our way across a now grey and bleak ocean. We put 3 reefs in the main
and donned our wet weather gear just in time as we were hit by 20-25knots of
wind on the nose and driving rain. Huge mushroom shaped clouds tumbled towards
us grumbling with thunder and lightning bolts arcing across the sky and striking
the sea. We headed out to sea towards a less threatening horizon trying to
skirt the edge of these cells. The BOM rain radar confirmed our fears that we
were in for more. So concerned about every sailors worst nightmare, a lightning
strike, we put the valise life raft and grab bags in the cockpit. Another
squall hit us with 30 knots, driving rain and the thunder and lightning very
close and very scary. Thankfully by sunset the worst of it was over and we felt
very lucky to have dodged the endless bolts of lightning that flashed around us
all afternoon. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOXvHLFa559m7P2lGzjX0chtQ5ERjyVbmOMsRAziWb-LEnK0A1i_4VWsGc0whqXLvWidxvqxTNQMmCyUBNPewwnRtR0AorltVAEijU9kCr8KmeUdX3ccYqCmg3MgFvD4s0F0dAsQtSxfRL/s1733/IMG_1548.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="1733" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOXvHLFa559m7P2lGzjX0chtQ5ERjyVbmOMsRAziWb-LEnK0A1i_4VWsGc0whqXLvWidxvqxTNQMmCyUBNPewwnRtR0AorltVAEijU9kCr8KmeUdX3ccYqCmg3MgFvD4s0F0dAsQtSxfRL/w640-h480/IMG_1548.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><i><b>Scary thunderstorms surround us.</b></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"></span></i></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEDYjRGwpgGnmnd5M2VM4zLmXTFGlkZCqZOhxmwdOWsf-jWI8y-lzXpHNdcFgIYXJ2kJrhuWmB_KDm-BUzkxNC2MHMLHBo6Y9aTMrhd_1ogcoh_rXYwAWdT3Zz52fz51IqNwjGLyfTdIhT/s1613/IMG_1551.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="1613" data-original-width="1210" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEDYjRGwpgGnmnd5M2VM4zLmXTFGlkZCqZOhxmwdOWsf-jWI8y-lzXpHNdcFgIYXJ2kJrhuWmB_KDm-BUzkxNC2MHMLHBo6Y9aTMrhd_1ogcoh_rXYwAWdT3Zz52fz51IqNwjGLyfTdIhT/w480-h640/IMG_1551.jpg" width="480" /></i></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><i><b>Life raft and grab bags ready.</b></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYmblaUVkNoYPJfvsMRdpQmqDoddHuz9ZGKft0AArj27NYC_wMy-msd0LuDt4Tx3jqNM4d7h3OtPZhq4h5JOxPb_UUQffQqcOw_QvbfzIjXWZ6tFs2uoN8e7NgaeGTIFpREiV7x3_UMHm/s1334/IMG_1555.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYmblaUVkNoYPJfvsMRdpQmqDoddHuz9ZGKft0AArj27NYC_wMy-msd0LuDt4Tx3jqNM4d7h3OtPZhq4h5JOxPb_UUQffQqcOw_QvbfzIjXWZ6tFs2uoN8e7NgaeGTIFpREiV7x3_UMHm/w360-h640/IMG_1555.PNG" width="360" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><i><b>Storm cells everywhere</b></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">We motor
sailed through the night for the storms had taken the wind north and left us in
a 5-6 knot south westerly. News headlines revealed that these storms created
havoc overnight along the coast into southern Queensland, with one person being
struck by lightning. By dawn we were abeam of Smoky Cape and still motor
sailing in light winds with Tim the autopilot at the helm. The forecast
freshening north easterlies did not materialise so we trundled south passing familiar
landmarks such as Port Macquarie, Crowdy Head and Forster –Tuncurry on sunset. We had explored the many beaches and townships along the entire NSW coastline many years ago on a wave ski surfing trip, camping in my Escort panel van. In 2010 we sailed these waters on our way to the Louisiade Archipelago in Papua New Guinea. </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">The
fluky wind conditions continued until midnight when finally the north easterly
did arrive so we unfurled the genoa and actually sailed for a while.
Fortunately Tim managed to helm and I stayed on watch most of the time. Colin’s chronic back pain made life on board very difficult and uncomfortable for him. For most of the passage particularly in the storms I sent him below to lay down as I sensed that apart from the chronic back pain he was not well. We were both running on adrenaline ...Colin due to pain and me lack of sleep! </span></span><span style="font-family: arial;">We
needed to get to Newcastle and medical help! </span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">We were
so glad to see the outline of Newcastle in the dawn light on Monday morning and
make our way to the marina dodging the large ships that constantly come and go
to this harbour. It had been a very difficult passage. As we secured our lines in the Newcastle Marina a south west
breeze banged in up to 20-25 knots.... Good timing! Later in
the day we met up with fellow cruisers, Chris & Gillie who have a lovely restored timber
yacht Westwind and Martin & Cindy from Jannali who had also arrived today.
The magic of the wonderful cruising life we both so love is not just the
amazing places that you explore but the beautiful people that you meet.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWSZ0V4Qt17hp25xNqNGGN2V3WRZA3Az9p_AAJM2m8kOhAaJRxxSV8YBz2SwObO5WbO0bGLIjjVW13O53s1HCmjvBqnrm39uAsZyWl6nLCQ-lNxEDWqwUOZ6jt-zhsmZ4aCibnzXGhH9aY/s1600/P1050448.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWSZ0V4Qt17hp25xNqNGGN2V3WRZA3Az9p_AAJM2m8kOhAaJRxxSV8YBz2SwObO5WbO0bGLIjjVW13O53s1HCmjvBqnrm39uAsZyWl6nLCQ-lNxEDWqwUOZ6jt-zhsmZ4aCibnzXGhH9aY/w640-h480/P1050448.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><i><b>The wonderful serendipity of the cruising life!<br /><br /></b></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">There is
a saying “<i>That one moment can change your life forever</i>.”</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The
events that unfolded in Newcastle turned our idyllic lives and dreams into a
nightmare.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">We
caught up with our good friend Dr John Marley and after a series of scans and
tests the mystery of Colin’s ongoing back pain was revealed. His T7 vertebrae
had totally collapsed and surrounding that region was a tumour caused by a
cancer called Multiple Myeloma. His spine was at risk of collapse and had most
likely been like it for a while. The medical team were horrified that Colin had
sailed on a yacht from Vanuatu like this. We didn’t tell them he’d also been for a body surf at Yamba 4 days ago!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">He was
taken straight to John Hunter Hospital in an ambulance and had major back
surgery to stabilise his spine with titanium rods. John and Anne Marley
insisted I move in with them as they lived a ten minute walk away from the
hospital. My watch was no longer at sea but beside my best friend and soul mate
in hospital every day as he endured a painful and slow recovery.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">After
two weeks he joined me at John and Anne’s and gradually improved. We had a vey pleasant Christmas Day with the Marley’s and will be eternally grateful for their kindness and support at an extremely difficult time. Colin was well enough for us to fly home
on 28<sup>th</sup> December and begin ongoing treatment in Adelaide.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeMDDh8Z6g-7mpeIRBERX82cnAxQLv38EAvzPnmaA6OHOo4B0668swLZUGmLik0SoQZ1kuHD4ntRzngc0YvMRsJ_gmhUO9EEEQ6301sbYnBEEaVUaVblxOfbNXQX05Jdqx8O_YqttaNu5m/s4000/P1050451.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeMDDh8Z6g-7mpeIRBERX82cnAxQLv38EAvzPnmaA6OHOo4B0668swLZUGmLik0SoQZ1kuHD4ntRzngc0YvMRsJ_gmhUO9EEEQ6301sbYnBEEaVUaVblxOfbNXQX05Jdqx8O_YqttaNu5m/w640-h480/P1050451.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b><i>Christmas with the wonderful Marley family.</i></b></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Calista
was secured in the Newcastle Marina until our good friend Graham Daniels (who had delivered
Calista from Mooloolaba for us 10 years ago) flew to Newcastle in February and
brought her home for us.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQICWzXTbpW5lIXSlUgNOKSsMpm2eIZlAUd9qYNnW2tvls1G7suRajSovFIQjz6d77ED_WjdH1GWaD530rA8POg0yogteFC6HiBom6AMRInE533b6gp3TtWkUfvmGyhm8Cp8EEEFnQ6CQp/w640-h480/P1050459.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b><i>"A ship in the harbour is safe but that is not what ships are built for"</i></b></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQICWzXTbpW5lIXSlUgNOKSsMpm2eIZlAUd9qYNnW2tvls1G7suRajSovFIQjz6d77ED_WjdH1GWaD530rA8POg0yogteFC6HiBom6AMRInE533b6gp3TtWkUfvmGyhm8Cp8EEEFnQ6CQp/s1200/P1050459.JPG"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"></span></a></div><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Our<i> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Voyage to Vanuatu</b></i> sadly ended in
Newcastle but we had done it .... We threw off the bowlines and sailed to
Noumea and Vanuatu !<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Twenty
years from now you will be more disappointed</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">by the
things that you didn’t do than by the ones that you did do.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">So throw
off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbour. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Catch
the trade winds in your sails.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Explore.
Dream. Discover.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p> <i>Mark Twain</i></o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGk6YsZJSLmZ4epylY2TkjOx8hOj9AvUkMq7ZhdD4fhFEpGIPaT7eAJCxAxU3hhYCn2IFKyXWV-xR1AlMfD3x0CZNX4P581DWYMRa_On2J0kTeiHAjASpcE7HsoIsALB56j_csMssipCRv/s1578/P1040459.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1184" data-original-width="1578" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGk6YsZJSLmZ4epylY2TkjOx8hOj9AvUkMq7ZhdD4fhFEpGIPaT7eAJCxAxU3hhYCn2IFKyXWV-xR1AlMfD3x0CZNX4P581DWYMRa_On2J0kTeiHAjASpcE7HsoIsALB56j_csMssipCRv/w640-h480/P1040459.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b><i>We did it........sailed to Champagne Beach Vanuatu !</i></b></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"></span></i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">We had sailed 5,603 nautical miles on the mighty Calista since leaving Wirrina on March 1st. <br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><i><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p> </o:p></span><b><span lang="EN-AU">POSTSCRIPT</span></b></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p> </o:p></span>So our
lives no longer revolved around the weather and passage planning but medical
appointments, rehabilitation of Colin’s spine and treatments in Adelaide.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">In
amongst all this we saw an Island Packet 40 for sale in Sydney and made an
offer, flew to Sydney and bought her! We had admired these excellent American built cruising yachts in Noumea and had “googled “ them extensively! In which lifetime would we own a yacht of
our dreams ? Now seemed like a great time considering Colin’s health. It was a
very sad day when Calista was sold as she had taken us 25,000nm on so many amazing adventures to remote and beautiful places in the past 10 years. It was akin to farewelling a
trusted loyal friend.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">We
sailed Island Pearl to Kangaroo Island and Gulf
St Vincent pinching ourselves that we owned such a beautiful yacht! Ongoing treatments only allowed us to go for a few days at a time but Colin was
recovering well and we started dreaming and planning more adventures and ocean voyages <b>.........<o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p><b> </b></o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLenPyAfKKXcAo2tipIq9vH8wTDp5HocG6H4Hpk-Q7ZoWV-1hQAfW0kfbuvLZp_sxeKP1oEjgtwrc1j94qFAYuOdF4R3rJzrVl2GgORbeBqW2pwrouPbXp3FcXbsYXzq4YYYdzQPcDaee_/s4000/P1050916+-+Copy.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2672" data-original-width="4000" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLenPyAfKKXcAo2tipIq9vH8wTDp5HocG6H4Hpk-Q7ZoWV-1hQAfW0kfbuvLZp_sxeKP1oEjgtwrc1j94qFAYuOdF4R3rJzrVl2GgORbeBqW2pwrouPbXp3FcXbsYXzq4YYYdzQPcDaee_/w640-h428/P1050916+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><i><b>Cheers Island Pearl</b></i><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDbvXgbNOqcy4IhmtpWz9ITNMSn1qoyjuW6fsRDqaG9tk-1Jd9aNW9KnOJknknO2MeAW9Zq-3P3oqu1_q-QgLoJQaGiD5LsmXRopDNiYuRhOLN4y1JTCQCS0eo9KYD-RGp1dp4YgaDWNo/s1600/P1050922.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1069" data-original-width="1600" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDbvXgbNOqcy4IhmtpWz9ITNMSn1qoyjuW6fsRDqaG9tk-1Jd9aNW9KnOJknknO2MeAW9Zq-3P3oqu1_q-QgLoJQaGiD5LsmXRopDNiYuRhOLN4y1JTCQCS0eo9KYD-RGp1dp4YgaDWNo/w640-h428/P1050922.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Those dreams were soon to be shattered as the cancer came back at the end of 2017. 2018 was a very tough year. It seemed like, despite Colin’s amazing strength and positive outlook, the outgoing tide had more power and he slowly lost way against it . We sailed together on
Island Pearl for the last time in November 2018. </span><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The ebbing tide took my best friend, my soul
mate, my husband away on </span><span style="font-family: arial;">14th February 2019.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyS45D_-LI2mOh27_AQIUy_uLTTp9xwAMeuTCwzh8qjTXUfeiMt5jLQdGJWsagP-xNMl3IBY9pGEnLt5UljxVtH4BJBpigVmiotbSHTOaT7_7FcLl2ztZmOMZV6Lh697PglLIhYnIemDeG/s1600/P1030652+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyS45D_-LI2mOh27_AQIUy_uLTTp9xwAMeuTCwzh8qjTXUfeiMt5jLQdGJWsagP-xNMl3IBY9pGEnLt5UljxVtH4BJBpigVmiotbSHTOaT7_7FcLl2ztZmOMZV6Lh697PglLIhYnIemDeG/w640-h480/P1030652+%25282%2529.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b>EBBING
TIDE</b></i></span></span></p><p></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><i><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span lang="EN-AU">It’s
time to raise the anchor</span> </b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><i><b>And on
the ebbing tide</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>Drift
quietly down the river</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>Into the
ocean wide</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>Don’t
weep for me this voyage</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>Though
we will hither part</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>Just
hold me ever safely </b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>In your
loving heart</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>The
voyage I am making</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>Out on
the open sea</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>Returning
to that plenum</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>A state
of reverie</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>You may
think of me often</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>Though
we be apart</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>All the
thoughts and memories</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>In your
loving heart</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>One day
the ebbing tide </b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>Will
gently gather you</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>And we
will find each other</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>Upon
this ocean too</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>We will
be again together</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>Sailing
ever free</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>Over the
horizon </b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><i><b>To the
realm of memory</b></i></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p><i><b> </b></i></o:p></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p><i> Graham Daniels</i></o:p></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR2vJXIGD35mjs8o6XES227G8oV847EVD-zSWbH6eaXld_3qSkW2xLS60OsSWJBRki6s-e75WGRUM9T9pyFyzbsUOfk6fIYuUStEORMOiuKxtetcipoOfrQNpe-vAnH4nwo21FMzY4IyS-/s1407/P1030363.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="934" data-original-width="1407" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR2vJXIGD35mjs8o6XES227G8oV847EVD-zSWbH6eaXld_3qSkW2xLS60OsSWJBRki6s-e75WGRUM9T9pyFyzbsUOfk6fIYuUStEORMOiuKxtetcipoOfrQNpe-vAnH4nwo21FMzY4IyS-/w640-h424/P1030363.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p> </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p><i><b> </b></i></o:p></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p><i><br /><b><br /> </b></i></o:p></span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div></blockquote>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p><i><b> </b></i></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-79701119969745160602017-07-01T05:10:00.364-07:002020-10-22T22:20:59.461-07:00<b></b><i></i><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span><span face=""></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="" lang="" style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 115%;"><b><i>Scarborough (Brisbane) to Yamba</i></b></span><span face="" lang="" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><br />
<span face="" lang="" style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"><b><i>19/11/16 –
3/12/16</i></b></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span face="" lang="" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">(Followers
of this blog will have noted that after regular postings on this voyage, there
have been no posts since December. This will be explained by the forthcoming </span></i><span face="" lang="" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Yamba
to Newcastle, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and </i>Newcastle<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> blogs.</i>) </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="" lang="" style="line-height: 115%;">Returning to Scarborough Marina after the
long haul across the Coral Sea was as comfortable for us as slipping into that
favourite pair of runners, although we tied up with a list of “to do’s” that
were essential to achieve before we turned our bows to the south, to begin the
long journey home. Tasks like reprovisioning, refuelling, changing the engine
oil, and the requisite filters were easy enough, but the one we shied from was
what was amiss in the smallest cabin on board; the toilet, our “head”. Yes, the
ship’s primary facility was failing and we could not avoid having do something
about it. Repairs to the ship’s loo do not come under the romantic portion of
our life out at sea.</span><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbqBBAzamkjMPe20-wTIXvr8doR-IzCoCrTemkmckSjCTNwUBMy5s0OBOhPfHAENVKQYol607Q2Al6A4GurLWVML_7WTGg3q4cdN5IopI7nXbAM2_3vEYAiIhVyjEk2gPUUzVkbPJlStzl/s1600/P1020561.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="557" data-original-width="1559" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbqBBAzamkjMPe20-wTIXvr8doR-IzCoCrTemkmckSjCTNwUBMy5s0OBOhPfHAENVKQYol607Q2Al6A4GurLWVML_7WTGg3q4cdN5IopI7nXbAM2_3vEYAiIhVyjEk2gPUUzVkbPJlStzl/s640/P1020561.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Back at the friendly Scarborough Marina</i></span></h3></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i><br /></i></b><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="" lang="" style="line-height: 115%;">Ship’s dunnies come in an array of styles, and
for those used to the predictability of the </span><span face="" lang="" style="line-height: 115%;">outhouse at home the fickle
nature of disposing of human extract at sea requires careful management for
there are many things that can go wrong, with the commonest being visitors on
board using the volumes of toilet paper that they would on shore and having
sheepishly report that “there’s something wrong with the loo…..I’ve used it and
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">it won’t flush!!”.</i> The term “head”
for the ship’s toilet dates from the great days of sail, when if the Captain,
or one of his officers headed for the ship’s rail for primary relief, the
Officer of the Watch would call “Heads”, for the crew to look away at that
pivotal and personal moment when everyone is equal under the sun. Today in
recreational vessels you can have toilets connected to hand and macerator
pumps, that pulp human waste before it is pumped to a holding tank, or like
most seafarers, out through the hull to the open sea. Today the
“efflo-techno’s” can put in a “vacuum toilet” like those on jet planes although
we have chortled about having one of these on board, and what might happen if
you were seated and made a perfect seal when you pressed the button! No wonder
some lone sailors will have none of these things, and prefer the lowest tech solution
of all. It is called “bucket and chuck it” and needs no explanation.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%;">On <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista
</i>we have an electric macerator pump connected to the head, and when we had
it installed a handful of years ago to replace our old hand pump variety, we
thought that apart from relying on 12 Volt power to make the device work, we
had attained the pinnacle of black water technology. Now, however our macerator
was clearly ailing, and we resolved without debate, that instead of pulling the
pump apart and taking on the worst boat job of all, far better it would be to buy
a new dunny and unbolt the old and bolt in the new…or almost. Even so,
squeezing into the “Head” to get all this done would have tested Harry Houdini,
and we were lucky that “Fletch”, a wonderfully affable bloke from the
shore-side chandlery offered to come down to lend a hand, and between him and
Cookie, a task that seemed daunting was soon dunnied and dusted. With my back
continuing to trouble me, disturbing sleep and causing me to resort to pain
medication, I had no hope of helping the cause. Typically, the wonderful Fletch
would have nothing of payment for his time although when offered a carton of
his favoured drop, he agreed this would be of comestible value, what with it
soon coming up to Christmas and all.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%;">Vessels heading south from Brisbane can take
one of two passages on the way to Australia’s most easterly point, Byron Bay, before
heading south along the New South Wales coast. The “outside” passage from
Brisbane involves heading back across Moreton Bay before rounding Cape Moreton
and making seaward and south along the outside of North Stradbroke Island. The
admittedly “softer” or “inside” option, sees voyagers head south across Moreton
Bay before joining the labyrinth of riverine passages that issue ultimately at
the Gold Coast, where the Gold Coast Seaway provides an excellent passage to
the open sea, provided the weather, swell and tide are favourable. We were
admittedly keen to take a break from ocean swells, and having enjoyed the
journey from the Gold Coast on the Main Channel, via Jacob Wells, on our
northbound passage earlier in the year, we were inclined to retrace our steps
this way when heading south, and as ever our intended destination and the time
it would take to get there would dictate when we left our cosy nook in
Scarborough.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span face="" lang="" style="line-height: 115%;">Hence our 4.45am departure from a dark and
still slumbering Scarborough Marina was due entirely to the 50 odd miles that
lay before us and to the need to be passing Jacob’s Well in the Main Channel to
clear the shoals that lay beyond it at the peak of the afternoon tide. The
skies were leaden, dreary and a pinch threatening as we cleared the Scarborough
Channel, before hoisting a double-reefed main and heading south as the light of
the new day extinguished the glow from the city of Brisbane, not far away. With
Mud Island drawing up off our starboard bow, even the names of features told us
that the volcanoes, forested slopes and the teeming reefs of Vanuatu, lay not
only far away across the eastern horizon, but on the evidence all around, they
were a world away too. </span><br />
<span><br /></span>
<br />
</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtZrCZ_pNaCwBqJjpESE13LBjpawR4aEwmxx9Cz07kp33Qxntz6kVFp0s9g-wuC028MurtW3rjhPoL-KYPQvMmKCr7_mOSvKvL0Wz1dInPgU54CefIiLC-aMTrq6TQZ393Pw9S7qhGez12/s1600/IMG_1531.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1187" data-original-width="690" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtZrCZ_pNaCwBqJjpESE13LBjpawR4aEwmxx9Cz07kp33Qxntz6kVFp0s9g-wuC028MurtW3rjhPoL-KYPQvMmKCr7_mOSvKvL0Wz1dInPgU54CefIiLC-aMTrq6TQZ393Pw9S7qhGez12/s640/IMG_1531.PNG" width="372" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i>On our way south to the Gold Coast</i></b></span></h3></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="" lang="" style="line-height: 115%;">We have written a lot of the chance
occurrences that we have encountered on this voyage and just then our mobile
phone rang to announce yet another moment of serendipity at sea. It was Martin</span><span face="" lang="" style="line-height: 115%;">
and Cindy from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jannali </i>to say that
they had noted us on the ship locating App <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Marine
Traffic</i>, and that having left Tangalooma on the western shores of
Stradbroke on the same morning, they were ahead of us but also headed for the
shoals of Jacob’s Well. We had last seen <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jannali
</i>in mid-September off Espiritu Santo’s Champagne Bay and Elephant Island as
we bore away for Lannoc Bay, and they headed north, ultimately bound for a
passage across the Coral Sea, to the north of New Caledonia, bound for
Bundaberg. Martin and Cindy were keen to re-connect with us, and recalling
their grounding on the entrance to Santo’s Oyster Island, they asked if,
considering our slightly shallower draft, we would go ahead of them across the
Jacob’s shoals when we got there. We looked forward to the unexpected
re-connection with Martin and Cindy and naturally, we were more than happy to
try our hand on the shoals whilst they watched on from the deeper channel
astern. If we could find an anchorage for us both further downstream towards
the Gold Coast, there was much that we had to share.</span><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieW15cqQQODErSJnIAKdG_iKfOpZ6HbtGGPkBCc1rGYB5fBFn4MAbQVZ21vj-vyhoMdAQQ6fFrv0dZRTIW5a-GjiYhbE479GV3AUozWImLxxHRNyHoDcwEjpvHTtAU2veFhRvazC_xb-PL/s1600/P1050284.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="835" data-original-width="1084" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieW15cqQQODErSJnIAKdG_iKfOpZ6HbtGGPkBCc1rGYB5fBFn4MAbQVZ21vj-vyhoMdAQQ6fFrv0dZRTIW5a-GjiYhbE479GV3AUozWImLxxHRNyHoDcwEjpvHTtAU2veFhRvazC_xb-PL/s640/P1050284.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i>No sign of Johnny Depp!</i></b></span></h3></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="" lang="" style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="" lang="" style="line-height: 115%;">Leaving Moreton Bay, abeam of Russell Island the
channel divides in two and the eastern or seaward Canipa Passage makes its
serpentine way past Jumpinpin Bar – love the name, which means pandanas root in
indigenous nomenclature – which separates North and South Stradbroke islands,
before the Canipa swerves its way to the Gold Coast. The Canipa is now too
shoal for yachts such as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista, </i>so
bearing away to starboard, we found the Main Channel, between Macleay and
Karragarra islands, and after giving the Karragarra Ferry due clearance as it
plied its ever busy trade, we made for the main populated centres on the
Channel, Steglitz and Jacob’s Well. Our arrival at Jacob’s Well was on the peak
of high tide and rounding the bend just out of town we soon recognised the
familiar form of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jannali, </i>with Martin
and Cindy giving us a hearty wave of welcome from the foredeck. The Radio
Officer at Jacob’s Well VMR (Volunteer Marine Radio) had assured us the channel
had recently been dredged in the vicinity of the shoals, and should be easily
deep enough to see both of our vessels safely through. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus it proved to be and soon we were both on
our way to Tipplers Resort Landing on South Stradbroke Island, where the very
helpful VMR officer suggested we could find good depth and shelter for mooring,
not far from shore. We anchored abeam of the main channel at 4.45 pm at
Tipplers exactly 12 hours after leaving Scarborough, and before we settled in
to one of Cookie’s sumptuous salad bars, we resolved to head ashore in the
morning with Martin and Cindy, to cross South Stradbroke Island and to compare
notes about our life and times out at sea.</span><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiTA9RGb1dTE7x_b3PU5nV0RcO8O2yLF6RzwWP2vSyMNto5YwDkXImOoNIR7wPga4Xi-EZiUys5bxRnsxWUGw0D8SErwJ2lqR1n8Hri6qTkXJtWUNeCVPB3dFVwD7QE7CugF8eX4q9PNfm/s1600/P1050287.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiTA9RGb1dTE7x_b3PU5nV0RcO8O2yLF6RzwWP2vSyMNto5YwDkXImOoNIR7wPga4Xi-EZiUys5bxRnsxWUGw0D8SErwJ2lqR1n8Hri6qTkXJtWUNeCVPB3dFVwD7QE7CugF8eX4q9PNfm/s640/P1050287.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i>Anchored with Jannali off Tipplers Resort</i></b></span></span></h3></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3 style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis7acIacAv2NvQkUzx67kFzghpD1OpkVwUR9lxmplWNr2MrTvlhPkMCZV58XgZvtX2N_MBBhHRTCnc3CkNvxVVuqFwljHxwcqX8pStuJrz-zbM_okdARFi8h0zPL6B1amUILqvcpL8FPXn/s1600/P1050288.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="1040" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis7acIacAv2NvQkUzx67kFzghpD1OpkVwUR9lxmplWNr2MrTvlhPkMCZV58XgZvtX2N_MBBhHRTCnc3CkNvxVVuqFwljHxwcqX8pStuJrz-zbM_okdARFi8h0zPL6B1amUILqvcpL8FPXn/s640/P1050288.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></h3>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="" lang="" style="line-height: 115%;">I looked forward to a restful night on anchor
but with troublesome back pain in any</span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">angle of intended repose it was clear that having seen a </span></span><span style="font-family: arial;">chiropractor in Scarborough, the attempt to have careful manipulation fix the problem – like I do successfully when home – had failed. I had a fond hope that a walk on Stradbroke and maybe a swim in the surf on the ocean side would “free me up”, but once</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ashore</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> at the nearby Tipplers Resort,
found, instead, that a Berry Smoothie was just the thing to deflect skeletal
woes. Seeing Martin and Cindy again was a second tonic and we were eager to
hear of their “Coral Sea passage” skirting to the north of New Caledonia,
partly because we wondered whether a path to the north of ours from Noumea to
Brisbane was likely to experience more stable and therefore predictable weather
patterns, should we voyage that way in the future.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">
<br />
</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbBEMid4RZaJBZIE-Ho3FoXLa1dittFVEKkL6gMHYwLlaCkMVUzEq2600NK-yoRajfGCmriy-C9QZU7rLFEgPCtslOUzT_wq_6WS85UkMRsnY3VbuGvwzSAimwq_TrhxOTWwC6tGi2mHhq/s1600/IMG_1534.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="1023" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbBEMid4RZaJBZIE-Ho3FoXLa1dittFVEKkL6gMHYwLlaCkMVUzEq2600NK-yoRajfGCmriy-C9QZU7rLFEgPCtslOUzT_wq_6WS85UkMRsnY3VbuGvwzSAimwq_TrhxOTWwC6tGi2mHhq/s640/IMG_1534.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b><i>A plunge in the surf on the ocean side of Stradbroke Island</i></b></span></h3></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6gIbjNzQIPkMN_62tLjiQ19K8bpeh4X0xMrng9XY45AcYR09i-s4Y5Yd4hgZtcAWipj8PwiZ2FoZzncHn-9tJ0t4NeYxAN7mNmQo8gyvOZdpCJQhRpvCFZAnLO7SWX7eYxWsk4uISYJzq/s1600/IMG_1533.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b><i><img border="0" data-original-height="756" data-original-width="1008" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6gIbjNzQIPkMN_62tLjiQ19K8bpeh4X0xMrng9XY45AcYR09i-s4Y5Yd4hgZtcAWipj8PwiZ2FoZzncHn-9tJ0t4NeYxAN7mNmQo8gyvOZdpCJQhRpvCFZAnLO7SWX7eYxWsk4uISYJzq/s640/IMG_1533.JPG" width="640" /></i></b></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%;">It is not far from Tipplers Landing across
South Stradbroke to the roar and sweep of the Coral Sea on its eastern
coastline. The surf was running strongly and after a brief and circumspect
plunge we strolled our way back across the island before reconvening for
“sundowners” and a hearty debrief about our experiences since we last met.
There was a lot to share, including Martin’s grasp of SAS Planet maps that can
be downloaded with Google Earth overlays. The field of technology linked to a
cruising lifestyle is forever evolving and although neither of us could be
labelled marine geeks, learning about new tecno-toys is always fascinating to
us both. We are always open to learning about new gadgets and programs that
have the potential to make ocean voyaging easier and safer.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="" lang="" style="line-height: 115%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgywGn1SItvbbAPZyry1K3U1al9cvJ5doAtzPjskcgt9OHDx-5V37k-PQZI6ibFoAA8G0K5RbRQ9qLb3pimJRRYRNafxUy9hZ-5VpnH2cc-SjO45RN4KXX-9suGnoN1ZRHi2c-MwlwUv7Et/s1600/P1050298.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="758" data-original-width="1120" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgywGn1SItvbbAPZyry1K3U1al9cvJ5doAtzPjskcgt9OHDx-5V37k-PQZI6ibFoAA8G0K5RbRQ9qLb3pimJRRYRNafxUy9hZ-5VpnH2cc-SjO45RN4KXX-9suGnoN1ZRHi2c-MwlwUv7Et/s640/P1050298.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3><b><i><span>A very crowded Bum's Bay</span></i></b></h3></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span>
<span face="Arial, sans-serif" lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;">From Tipplers Landing it is not far from the
glitz of the Gold Coast, and as we left Tipplers in the new morning the
commanding spires of the Surfer’s Strip rose prominently ahead. Marina berths are
expensive in the Gold Coast waterways, but like many cruisers on a budget we
were attracted to the cosy backwater dubbed “Bum’s Bay”, tucked conveniently
around the corner from the Seaway, where there is room for a for a shoal of
vessels to anchor out for free. Predictably, on rounding the spit into Bum’s
Bay – which is really named Marine Stadium, but is never referred to in this
lofty manner - we were greeted with a forest of masts belonging to a host of
floating freeloaders just like ourselves. Yachts and motor cruisers were packed
cheek by jowl into this delightful nook, but we were in luck, as just as we
arrived, a yacht was making its way out of the anchorage, so as they raised
their anchor to make way, so we dropped ours to take their place. A glance
about amongst our floating companions, suggested that whilst we hoped to
overnight here at most, many others had been laying there for some time, maybe
waiting for some inspiration to make for somewhere else in the waterways, or,
heaven forbid, for the open sea</span><br />
</span>
<span face="" lang="" style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;">Although many Australians, and a host of
international visitors are attracted to the bright lights and hoopla of the
Gold Coast, we cannot be counted amongst its devotees, and having only in
recent times come from the glorious anchorages and destinations of New
Caledonia and Vanuatu we were happy to grant the “strip” only a cursory
visitation. We did, however, launch our duck and once ashore “bussed” our way
across to Australia Fair which dominates the retail landscape on the other side
of The Broadwater, in search of a few supplies and for the chance to get off
our ship and stretch our legs. After only an hour or two though, Australia Fair
seemed to us like most other shopping complexes: the same retail franchises in
a different location and the same trudging souls wandering from shop to shop in
search of the ultimate prize, the bargain of the day to take home in triumph.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="" lang="" style="line-height: 115%;">That eve on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista, </i>we pored over online weather information hoping that the
next day would bring conditions favourable for us to depart, overnight, for
Yamba. We needed kindly swell conditions to exit the Seaway, fair winds on the
overnight passage to Byron and beyond, and for our arrival at Yamba and the
entrance to the mighty Clarence River, a swell size that would not produce
breaking surf on the bar outside the river mouth. All of these features were fortuitously
in place, but with summer now building apace, there was something else to
consider; the threat of violent afternoon and early evening thunderstorms,
along the coastal zone and extending out to sea. The forecasts for the next few
days concerned us because storm warnings were already being posted, although,
with fingers crossed, not yet for the very next day.</span><br />
<br />
</span><span><span style="font-family: arial;">
<br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;">The northern NSW coastal mecca of Yamba,
nestling on the mouth of the Clarence, has long been a drawcard for visitors,
and has an undeniably upbeat, “touristy” feel to it, with more than enough
cafes, boutiques, surf shops and golden beaches to cater for all. It is easy to
be captured by the charms of Yamba, and for floating visitors like us there is
a fine Marina, just out of town, that is well known for its genuinely welcoming
approach to visitors and for being home, in recent years, to the celebrated
voyager Kay Cottee. Just across the Clarence from Yamba and hugging the
northern side of the entrance is Yama’s Blue Collar cousin, Iluka, the coastal
mecca for the working class man, with nary a latte in sight. Whereas the Gold
Coast has its glitzy marinas and Bum’s Bay, the entrance to the Clarence has
all the mod-cons for a price at the Yamba Marina, or you can pick up a mooring
on the cheap off Iluka, from where it is but a short stroll into town. Our good
friends Brian and Maree, off the cruising catamaran, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Urchin, </i>had contacted us to say that they were lying cheerfully on
a mooring at Iluka, and should we nose our way into the Clarence, they had a
proposal that might occupy a day or two of our time; one that we might find
difficult to refuse.</span></div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeRmfyZKD4x4cDiEWDKthkT87OxQHBQ6bvtEfosUflq_xjVwCz-DvXIHl4ysfFP6LoO-tWhLTFHAmJYbWYuwa0N3Odgi651dwpzMyv4uKIEOoY06f5RlqzlDHPzQ_tyKs07IqlO9BGYGoW/s2048/P1050305.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeRmfyZKD4x4cDiEWDKthkT87OxQHBQ6bvtEfosUflq_xjVwCz-DvXIHl4ysfFP6LoO-tWhLTFHAmJYbWYuwa0N3Odgi651dwpzMyv4uKIEOoY06f5RlqzlDHPzQ_tyKs07IqlO9BGYGoW/w638-h480/P1050305.JPG" width="638" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i><span>Safely through Southport bar</span></i></b></span></h3></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i> </i></b></span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">With all this in our calculations, we departed
as planned, the next day for Yamba / Iluka, having determined a desirable time
for us to arrive at the mouth of the Clarence the following day, to catch the
last portion of the incoming tide; the recommended consideration for small
ships entering the waterway. Martin and Cindy had, like us, seen the merits of
departing at this time for Yamba, and as we exited the Seaway, the lofty towers
of the Gold Coast high-rises drew up off our starboard quarter. We set a course
off Southport to clear the reefs off Point Danger at the mouth of the Tweed
River, and soon had “Kev” our windvane steering us under full canvas, at a
sprightly seven knots in the grip of an agreeable East/Nor-Easter. Having
prided ourselves for getting away in such fine style, we suddenly realised that
in New South Wales it was now daylight saving time, and our estimation of the
state of the tide on approach to the Clarence might be in trouble if we were
not able to maintain a reasonable boat speed over the 110 nautical miles to
Yamba.</span></div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;">By nightfall the lights of the Gold Coast
were still prominent astern, before they fell away to a loom on the horizon as
the wink of the iconic Byron Bay light asserted itself off our starboard bow.
We were still running under wind – steering although having rounded Point
Danger our path was more to starboard than earlier which brought the wind
closer upon our stern, causing us to wallow in a stern – quartering sea. Those
who do not sail can easily understand that a wind direction on our bow would be
difficult to manage, but what is less well appreciated is that wind coming from
dead astern, a direction that would in theory “push the boat along”, is
difficult as well and often results in the yacht having to bear away off course
so that the following wind can adequately fill the sails. As we pushed on
towards Byron, with an evening repast of Cookie’s excellent vegetable pies
nestling agreeably inside, there was other sea – traffic to be mindful of,
apart from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jannali,</i> an hour or so
ahead, and another yacht, “inside” of us also making south. Not far out to sea
steel monsters were ploughing their way up and down the eastern seaboard, and
we kept a sharp eye on the horizon, and AIS detail on our chart plotter to make
sure that none of them lined up with our heading off the coast.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;">The status of Cape Byron as Australia’s most
easterly landfall has always been regarded by us with a measure of reverence,
given its geographic, historic and marine significance. From out at sea there
is a special feeling that somehow draws one to Cape Byron and its ever faithful
light, although on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista,</i> as we
passed our Byron “waypoint” and headed for our next “waypoint” off Ballina, we
were probably more drawn to the challenge of staying on course as the wind drew
around unerringly on our stern, and then showed signs of falling away to a
zephyr. By 3am our sails were slatting, and we were relieved to find that by
furling the headsail, engaging the motor and connecting “Tim” our autopilot, we
would arrive at the entrance to the Clarence in the morning, in time to catch
the last of the incoming tide.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh57yfs3UKaRDjeHnQp04uGiwoFfGy2XDzW1d7jkSUaTEzvBX6OhHILeMc81AaOPCz3nz6JZ64m3ckw3EaaHLmKVwcTXuSumU1W8uHldsFfWggDo1iyGQUlTOwGkjCBBLbmVa95erhRLSHF/s1198/P1050309.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="1198" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh57yfs3UKaRDjeHnQp04uGiwoFfGy2XDzW1d7jkSUaTEzvBX6OhHILeMc81AaOPCz3nz6JZ64m3ckw3EaaHLmKVwcTXuSumU1W8uHldsFfWggDo1iyGQUlTOwGkjCBBLbmVa95erhRLSHF/w640-h480/P1050309.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3><b><i><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>Calm conditions at the Yamba Iluka entrance</span></span></i></b></h3><div><b><i><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><br /></span></span></i></b></div></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;">A gentle swell was oozing along the joint
breakwaters as we approached Yamba in the early morning sun. Tho other yachts,
heading south, departed the entrance as we approached, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jannali </i>led the way in, in conditions that were as kindly as one
could hope for. Martin and Cindy, who<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>needed
to access marina facilities, made for the Yamba side of the stream, whilst we
continued on abeam of Iluka where soon the unmistakeable profile of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Urchin </i>was apparent ahead with the
friendly waving figures of Brian and Maree, directing us to an adjacent
mooring. We were eager to re-connect with Brian and Maree and to hear of the
plan that they had to entice us on a side excursion, for a day or two up the Mighty
Clarence.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although
Yamba and Iluka sit opposite each other at the mouth of the Clarence River,
they are very different places in almost every respect. Yamba is upmarket,
“touristy”, “browsy”, and much loved by its café and surf culture visitors;
from backpackers to families to the well-heeled in their shiny vehicles and
designer clobber. Iluka on the other hand is blue singlets, tinnies, holiday
shacks and several gears slower than its cross-river cousin. We are very fond
of both, probably because they <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are</i>
very different. We have visited both towns by road and by sea, and on our last
foray there, by road, we happened upon the Iluka pub, the Sedgers Reef Hotel,
an iconic and charismatic watering hole, bedecked with memorabilia; brag snaps
of fishing conquests, natty signs highlighting human frailties and sepia pics
showing how this backwater used to be. You could imagine Mick Dundee bursting
through the doors and plonking a writhing croc on the bar, and no-one turning a
hair! By chance, on our road trip, we happened to be at the pub on that tribal
night of nights, the final of the NSW vs Queensland State of Origin Rugby
League competition, the game that brings the eastern seaboard to a standstill.
League devotees had flocked there by the truckload, bedecked in blue or maroon
and it was six deep at the bar with pandemonium breaking loose each time a side
scored. For non-aligned souls like us the ebullience and fanaticism of the
crowd was infinitely more entertaining than the game itself. Later, as we
spilled out into the post-game night, we wondered what it would be like to
visit the pub when it was not gripped by oval ball madness, when we had some
space and time to fully take in the character of one of our favourite pubs.
Now, having spent some fine time with Brian and Maree on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Urchin, </i>we headed ashore to stroll into town with a view to
wandering down to the pub, to make an evening booking for four marine visitors.</span></div>
<br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;">This time, being a sleepy Sunday, we found
Iluka dormant, and with the exception of a handful of souls becalmed in the
aisles at the supermarket; lethargy and sloth ruled the day. Sadly we were
destined not to re-visit the pub, as a check of the latest weather for the NSW
north coast, warned of severe thunderstorms that evening, and if a cell hit the
area with ferocity, we really needed to be tucked in on board<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and not noshing it up ashore. In the end
despite some spectacular flashes and drum rolls away in the hinterland, we
escaped the threatening tempest as it rumbled away to the north. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;">On the same road trip to Yamba / Iluka we had
headed upstream along the Clarence, following the local boating guide which
suggested that, for keelboats, the river was navigable all the way to the
regional centre of Grafton and that along the way there were some excellent
places to visit, many of which had landings constructed, especially for vessels
like ours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For us a highlight was the
historic river town of Ulmarra, where having wandered down its charming main
street we found the Ulmarra Hotel, perched on the bank of the Clarence, and lo
and behold, an excellent pontoon with tie-up facilities, just perfect for the
visiting voyager, directly below the beer garden. We had mused about what it
would be like to pilot <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>up the
Clarence, dine in the beer garden bistro and then by gravity, head back to our
floating domicile. To us doing this would be one of those delightful things
that one can do in life to put bubbles in your lemonade. Now Brian and Maree
were urging us to join them for a couple of days on an excursion up the
Clarence, maybe as far as Ulmarra, which lay 30plus miles upstream, just shy of
Grafton. We took little cajoling to accept this invitation, and to begin
preparing our ship for an entirely different voyaging experience. Maybe our
“bucket list” item of visiting Ulmarra by river was about to be ticked!</span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;">We have referred to the Clarence River as The
Mighty Clarence, and with very good reason. The Clarence drains a vast
hinterland of over 8800 square miles, from the Great Divide to Southern
Queensland, and when rain falls in quantities to the east of the divide, the
Clarence can flood in spectacular fashion and is apparently a sight to behold.
Frankly we’d prefer to see this from land – maybe from the beer garden of the
Ulmarra Hotel!</span></div>
</span><h4><span><span><div style="font-size: large; text-align: center;"><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLjs8fETYIwgMFJunY9IYLWJLxdl3J4kEK_mSUC_IjfByrZ2bvNKP48Nk3pynHg5Y7OpAbmHd1FxggxpDedcL0AKlxhmJW1pU71JMHjyPSeIOtOlUgjRzd_7M5i6rz6jEkUbE3izlatyw_/s1600/P1050347.JPG"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLjs8fETYIwgMFJunY9IYLWJLxdl3J4kEK_mSUC_IjfByrZ2bvNKP48Nk3pynHg5Y7OpAbmHd1FxggxpDedcL0AKlxhmJW1pU71JMHjyPSeIOtOlUgjRzd_7M5i6rz6jEkUbE3izlatyw_/w640-h480/P1050347.JPG" width="640" /></a></span></div><h3 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Underway on the mighty Clarence</i></span></h3><div style="font-size: large; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: large; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">In the new morning we slipped from our
mooring and in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Urchin’s </i><span>wake we slid
upstream from Yamba / Iluka, plying the tidal waters of the Mighty Clarence.
North from Iluka we soon found ourselves in sugar cane heaven and after an
agreeable trundle upstream for an hour or two we came upon a regional Sugar
Refinery with its wafting aroma of burnt toffee and just beyond it the imposing
span of the Harwood Bridge, which carries National Highway One, making north
and south over the river. Clearance under the Harwood Bridge means that for
vessels like </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Urchin </i><span>and </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i><span>that wish to progress upstream,
a time needs to be booked for a bridge opening that will naturally bring
traffic on Highway 1 to a grinding halt. Brian had booked an opening time, and
whilst we milled around in great anticipation, eventually a team of officials
arrived; looking from a distance like so many hi-vis ants, to man the apparatus
that via a nest of pulleys wires and cantilevers saw two immense concrete blocks
creak and grind downwards whist, hey presto, a slab of counter-weighted Highway
One was hoisted aloft, like magic. In no time </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Urchin </i><span>and </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i><span>had
puttered through to the other side, and whilst the bridge span grumbled its way
back into place, traffic no doubt banked up to gridlock either side of the
bridge, with burly truckies sparing nothing in their assessment of yachts,
yac<span>htsmen, and the vagaries of the Harwood Bridge.</span></span></span></span></h4><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: normal;"><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWUya3pET4ODbr4i2D1hxBvPaeAK6vKbuifXrB-_sNlqzBFnI1uDJ2Vs9Da3Ckw50P3fZRs9_nvIb_ClEmP5LbiqbSUjRhQf9NDxZVOlsOrpr5dHWNPq2olBq5TcvySSJF22aYtGKnEGNv/s1000/P1050326.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWUya3pET4ODbr4i2D1hxBvPaeAK6vKbuifXrB-_sNlqzBFnI1uDJ2Vs9Da3Ckw50P3fZRs9_nvIb_ClEmP5LbiqbSUjRhQf9NDxZVOlsOrpr5dHWNPq2olBq5TcvySSJF22aYtGKnEGNv/w640-h480/P1050326.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Waiting for the Harwood Bridge to open</span></i></h3><div><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></i></div></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimhmMNGjCU9cNWhITJrmixZWfVigFvh0DPq7ceqhwZDDROmBKYvjm1r66PVfk4ZH2c1daTXo1csAWPBN81uuCs37XkTePI_fiBuk9a66aVib-riJ3od_u7TtSk6QeN2d0ZS3VOac19j11C/s1000/P1050334.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimhmMNGjCU9cNWhITJrmixZWfVigFvh0DPq7ceqhwZDDROmBKYvjm1r66PVfk4ZH2c1daTXo1csAWPBN81uuCs37XkTePI_fiBuk9a66aVib-riJ3od_u7TtSk6QeN2d0ZS3VOac19j11C/w640-h480/P1050334.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><b><i>Safely through the amazing bridge</i></b></span></h3></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="font-size: large; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;">Not far upstream of the Harwood Bridge we
tied up at the river-town of Maclean, where the spick and span visitor’s
pontoon lay literally within metres of the centre of town. Maclean is a mix of
yesterday and today and from its bustling main thoroughfare it was a curious to
look back toward the river and see two masts belonging to us, the only folk in
town who had got there by river. There is something undeniably wonderful about
arriving somewhere by sea – or as in this case arriving by river – a natural
extension of what Ratty and Moley described as “messing about in boats”.</span></div>
<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDA6ijnnJP68UUxaGfWlCkOZVxE12jhCJk7qZ004IfwrYDGjIO7CktdtX9czyA-VugGHu_BCE0VSbOQh7apOnFWamrvWo9HjstH3VYZNNmtRG8pQIZ1Ds3JugiKHhmtgT-EZhOUhu3T5Y9/s1200/P1050341.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span><img border="0" data-original-height="830" data-original-width="1200" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDA6ijnnJP68UUxaGfWlCkOZVxE12jhCJk7qZ004IfwrYDGjIO7CktdtX9czyA-VugGHu_BCE0VSbOQh7apOnFWamrvWo9HjstH3VYZNNmtRG8pQIZ1Ds3JugiKHhmtgT-EZhOUhu3T5Y9/w640-h442/P1050341.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><b><i>Rafted up next to Urchin</i></b></span></h3></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span><h4><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSErCuCkx69MFBqBMBVmHDmRWv6lP0TcYcW_rrtgeLTGVQ0dfNSVaB87m9ZKJM05WsjHDF1tqJDPJ5ecG4aRrEqdioZoT9CVpctyalhds8YZrlt2rwjOQ5hT8Otpw_m2X08JAS4gDlNYZt/s1640/P1050338.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="923" data-original-width="1640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSErCuCkx69MFBqBMBVmHDmRWv6lP0TcYcW_rrtgeLTGVQ0dfNSVaB87m9ZKJM05WsjHDF1tqJDPJ5ecG4aRrEqdioZoT9CVpctyalhds8YZrlt2rwjOQ5hT8Otpw_m2X08JAS4gDlNYZt/w640-h360/P1050338.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Storm clouds brewing over Maclean</span></i></b></span></h3><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i><span><br /></span></i></b></span></div></td></tr></tbody></table></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: normal;">The air over Maclean and the broader north
coast lay heavy and brooding with billowing clouds that would soon begin to
grumble, giving a hint of the cataclysm to come. Warnings had been posted for
dangerous storm cells to impact the region and with that in mind the crews of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i><span>and </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Urchin </i><span>resolved to convene later that eve over refreshments and a
grilled offering, and, from the ample shelter of </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Urchin’s </i><span>entertainment area, watch as the sound and light show
unfolded. We enjoy Brian and Maree’s company and the opportunity to spend some
time with these fine folk was cherished by us both. As for the storms, they
were indeed spectacular, and caused some mayhem in other places to the west,
although from our snug vantage point at Maclean on the Clarence, we could have
easily paddled about in a wooden dinghy in striped jackets and parasols.</span></span></span></h4><span style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;">It is some 18nm upstream from Maclean to
historic Ulmarra, and we were off at a civilised hour in the new day, keeping
to the outside of bends past the locality of Lawrence where the river shoals
for a time, in a section referred to locally as “the Neck”. The fine tie-up
facility awaited us some 18 miles upstream at Ulmarra, not far from the
regional metropolis of Grafton, and we were delighted to find that this this
charming riverside town was exactly as we had found it on our road excursion,
although, as with Maclean, it was infinitely better to arrive there by water. Brian
and Maree joined us for a café lunch before we strolled off to investigate a
couple of fascinating “Old Wares” shops and celebrated our sojourn up the
Clarence at the Ulmarra Hotel with a Coopers Pale Ale, on tap, in the beer
garden; as water monitors ambled their way up the river bank with nary a
thought for visitors like us, just metres away. That evening as storm clouds
gathered yet again, we were but a stone’s throw from the hotel Bistro, where
with Brian and Maree we spent an excellent evening, with the company being a
highlight and the ambience all that we could hope for. </span></div>
</span><h4 style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEDxLtQcxSp28LMOkzG-xCmjTKHRWIF8EjQr9QFuxJKAuFCFaQFVddyvIgsRAPtZVh5NdmFNm8WhloupjH7MmnnjSgY_SP1HEgywWcNl8eF9RCA4GijWYFTH0Gt3ptNNwCEiv1rtcma2N3/s1680/P1050351.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="963" data-original-width="1680" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEDxLtQcxSp28LMOkzG-xCmjTKHRWIF8EjQr9QFuxJKAuFCFaQFVddyvIgsRAPtZVh5NdmFNm8WhloupjH7MmnnjSgY_SP1HEgywWcNl8eF9RCA4GijWYFTH0Gt3ptNNwCEiv1rtcma2N3/w640-h366/P1050351.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Delightful Ulmarra Hotel</span></i></b></span></h3></td></tr></tbody></table></span><span><br /></span></span></h4><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxfDpbk5d3dIVHsmDcfTFKlbWfTKPM2FfwIR0xbUP_xobH4Z_Ev2qv0t0NfmXiMwvnZZccCx1XOoGEaNYCTAYShE3lmug6Dha25bqMnRrEG3pNPGi-USPEXxv1Kk90kNWr-WkaWbSEBm8T/s1305/P1050380.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="927" data-original-width="1305" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxfDpbk5d3dIVHsmDcfTFKlbWfTKPM2FfwIR0xbUP_xobH4Z_Ev2qv0t0NfmXiMwvnZZccCx1XOoGEaNYCTAYShE3lmug6Dha25bqMnRrEG3pNPGi-USPEXxv1Kk90kNWr-WkaWbSEBm8T/w640-h454/P1050380.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;">We felt a tinge of sadness farewelling Brian
and Maree at Ulmarra, as the next day we needed to leave on dawn to catch the
tide to the Harwood Bridge, whilst <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Urchin
</i>would head off upriver bound for Grafton. Our departure was set at the
unkindly hour of 5am, and perhaps not unexpectedly, Brian and Maree ignored our
plea of the previous eve to not get up to see us away, and there they were in
the feeble light of morning casting off our lines and bidding us a hearty
farewell. What fine folk are Brian and Maree off the wonderful <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Urchin. </i>As morning mists gave way to the
warmth of the new day we made good speed trundling down river, so good in fact
that we tied up for a time again at Maclean, before casting off for our 10.30
appointment for passing under the Harwood Bridge. It seemed that in no time at
all the towns of Iluka and Yamba were appearing ahead and we made this time for
the Yamba Marina, on the southern side of the entrance to the Clarence, via the
“Hole in the Wall”, a gap in the riverine breakwater, which leads to a
circuitous channel that requires close attention after the broad expanse of the
river, and is best managed in a keelboat at full tide. </span></div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh0D_K_l_a40Ev1hgWpb0FhkrEcTfG3deluqvXYzDNyqyFuV_D4Bk3iOK_bGtqg6DY_-5ccckqfe3QoTe32B2RB6eQEUNeEImgh-VNTDfguceUzALqbGHqPGO3w2lji_WyZ0masmxzgPh8/s1160/P1050392.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="870" data-original-width="1160" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh0D_K_l_a40Ev1hgWpb0FhkrEcTfG3deluqvXYzDNyqyFuV_D4Bk3iOK_bGtqg6DY_-5ccckqfe3QoTe32B2RB6eQEUNeEImgh-VNTDfguceUzALqbGHqPGO3w2lji_WyZ0masmxzgPh8/w640-h480/P1050392.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b><i><span>Dawn mist on the Clarence</span> </i></b></span></h3></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;">On our Voyage to Vanuatu, we have come to
expect the unexpected, as it were and this time it came courtesy of the genial
Andy, dock master at Yamba Marina, who as he helped us to top up our diesel at
the fuel wharf, astonished us by saying…<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">”Calista..</i>I
know this boat, and in fact I knew Chris Fry, the guy who had her built….he
came from Ulmarra”. Would you believe it! “What’s more”, he continued, “I’m
sure I have a photo of her as she was originally built, up in my file of
visiting boats…I’ll get it for you, and you can keep it”. When originally
built, as seen in Andy’s 1990’s picture, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista
</i>had brown stripes and bore little resemblance to the cruising appearance
that she presents today, especially from the cockpit aft. We enquired about
Chris Fry, believing in some hope, that 20 years or so on we might somehow
connect with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista’s </i>original
owner. Surely he would be delighted to see how she presented in 2016. Here Andy
became a little sombre, saying…”I don’t know what happened to Chris Fry…he
became very ill and had to sell <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista…</i>something
about a serious back complaint.” My back was painful too, and not getting
better and it gave me cause to think speculatively about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista, </i>sore backs and Chris Fry from Ulmarra. </span></div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPDVKmtATQBQcJEWevwNHioslFi9gVTJB_D29Os2Ldf5MAZd9X2qo7g4K3fgeWZ55laSLOKwcjYjJ_7Iu4XsoYWlzBvF5Z4va0bDNRw4KabuZNaZfhhzKInmVjOq86VGBWNbiAfPUJ7b-w/s1127/P1050402.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1127" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPDVKmtATQBQcJEWevwNHioslFi9gVTJB_D29Os2Ldf5MAZd9X2qo7g4K3fgeWZ55laSLOKwcjYjJ_7Iu4XsoYWlzBvF5Z4va0bDNRw4KabuZNaZfhhzKInmVjOq86VGBWNbiAfPUJ7b-w/w640-h384/P1050402.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Our small ship in Yamba Marina</span></i></b></span></h3></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;">It is a normal practice of ours, once secure
in a port, to head off on foot to investigate the new destination, and this
time we headed into town to renew our acquaintance with Yamba, one of our
favourite places on the NSW coast. In spite of my restricted gait, we ambled
into town to the retail precinct, noting that the traditional surf shop up on
the hill, had sadly closed its doors just a month or two earlier and from there
we rounded the day by detouring to the breakwater at the mouth of the Clarence,
where under a grumbly and threatening sky we examined the bar at the mouth in
the outgoing tide, before heading back to our ship ere the heavens opened and
it bucketed down.</span></div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">As November gave way to December, this marked
10 months since we had piloted our way out of Wirrina before bearing away to
port and the high seas beyond. At Yamba we pored over the latest weather
updates, hoping that in a day or so, barring warnings of thunderstorms, we
might head on our way south, even as far as Newcastle where we were keen to
re-connect with Dr John Marley and his wife Anne, and return to them the
navigational materials relating to New Caledonia and Vanuatu, that they had
kindly loaned to us when we saw them last at the Newcastle Marina, an aeon ago
in May. A fresh sou-easter had piped in, confining us somewhat to on-board
tasks – like Cookie’s fine work in replacing the drive belt on “Tim” our wheel
autopilot – causing Cookie’s observation in her diary that we had…”no swim
today, too onshore and breezy! Soft!”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;">It is somewhat of a hike from the Marina into
downtown Yamba, and given our need to undertake some reprovisioning before our
departure, we hired a little Getz, a motorised shopping trolley according to
Cookie, to make life a little easier in the process of getting around town, and
to give us the chance to scoot about and make more of our “Yamba time” beyond <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista. </i>The “shopping trolley”
converted a mundane day into a fine one as we nimbled our way about, heading
hither, yon and beyond, before capping the day with a plunge in the surf at the
breakwater beach, with me hoping that the boiling brine might provide some
medicinal alchemy and “free up” my back from its current state of infirmity.
Sadly, it was not to be. Locals had recommended the culinary qualities of the
Thai Payu Restaurant just off the main street, and with our minor omnibus, we
got there easily to find the food all that we had hoped and that their BYO
regime was….(SA Restaurateurs note)….<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">no
charge!</i></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH6l9EddgU_hdcW-6kxXn6VhFudAXvQg1qbfxdEpZFXgeK_WW_0ioSR5WRqEQBT7cG6jiraOV72r-uTY-sPnB3BiSb1wAsLm2SWTnB-At6n8iLThk1Gs7Vw6yGK43iV2l5LNBiruNHcJnn/s1600/P1050414.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH6l9EddgU_hdcW-6kxXn6VhFudAXvQg1qbfxdEpZFXgeK_WW_0ioSR5WRqEQBT7cG6jiraOV72r-uTY-sPnB3BiSb1wAsLm2SWTnB-At6n8iLThk1Gs7Vw6yGK43iV2l5LNBiruNHcJnn/w640-h480/P1050414.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3><i><b><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Time for a swim!</span></b></i></h3></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span lang="" style="font-family: arial; line-height: 115%;">The normal cruising regime for yachts making
south from Yamba, is to program in a halt in Coffs Harbor, but with the Marina
there still in a ruinous state (see our June Blog re the tempest in Coffs!!),
we opted to head on the long 250nm haul to Newcastle without breaking our
passage. We hoped that the softer conditions forecast between other days of
storm warnings would prevail and that we could make our way down the New South
Wales coast in weather that was free of tempest. We had called Dr John Marley
to discuss our plans and to share with him the concerns that we had about the
deteriorating condition of my back. In Newcastle he had access to all the
diagnostic tools that might be required, and after hearing of my symptoms his
question was a simple one…”can you make it to Newcastle?”. Indeed…could we?
Never had 250 of the 25,000 nautical miles that we had sailed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>since 2007, seemed so far.<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<br /></div>
</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-60438413210607462982016-11-30T19:34:00.000-08:002016-11-30T19:38:53.644-08:00<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Noumea
to Brisbane </i></b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>10/11/16 – 18/11/16</i></b></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Frustrations! Whilst life in Port Moselle
Marina was delightful, as days slid by and the vagaries of the weather of the
weather systems out in the Coral Sea continued we became ever aware that we
really did need to be on our way, especially as November ticked on and the “Cyclone
Season” approached. At least we were in good company. It became routine to see
experienced boat skippers with furrowed brows accessing met details on laptops
and iPads via Wi-Fi up in the marina lounge, and for them to voice a common
concern that weather models that showed promise one day changed markedly the
next and that even the models themselves seemed to agree to disagree. The Gulf
Harbor Radio service operating out of New Zealand is highly regarded for its
professional weather advice for waters extending up into the Coral Sea and
stretching to Tonga and Fiji, and even David their consulting meteorologist was
bemoaning the erratic nature of the weather systems currently being experienced
in the South West Pacific. At least mortals like us were not alone. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the meantime, with more than an eye on the
weather, we continued with boat works and preparations, escaping as often as
possible on Bus 11 to Baie de Citron for some recreation and a swim, and
delighting in sharing time with fellow cruisers. Simon, Jodi and their son Joey
on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Manaroa 3</i>, for example, returned
from Vanuatu cock-a-hoop with evidence of the 150 odd cm Wahoo that they had
captured en-route, and we were delighted to join them on board <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Manaroa</i> for a fish curry that was as
aromatically enticing as it was tasty. Then, with Justin and his mate “Kingy” –
we never discovered Kingy’s real moniker – arriving to help Marcel take <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Diddys </i>back to Australia, a weather
pattern with more promise than others seen in recent days began to form.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-0DGmN9reGbpQyCadad82FStEhPPTjDcx9pAqB5icWIeVqAKmnQjqqccTr61ggVMSH6IVGyp1WhKlCBBt3NqjtJGauf8qDijiVbd9ln-yD5L1FcmhAtiVSSH7Jk186TcT0qWgzwJVkZk5/s1600/IMG_1164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-0DGmN9reGbpQyCadad82FStEhPPTjDcx9pAqB5icWIeVqAKmnQjqqccTr61ggVMSH6IVGyp1WhKlCBBt3NqjtJGauf8qDijiVbd9ln-yD5L1FcmhAtiVSSH7Jk186TcT0qWgzwJVkZk5/s640/IMG_1164.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>A pre swim icecream !</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk9mTldeOwzxbuFdxnfsRVqsXTnB_qK-563yO0Rj2RVg_zRryufnYnlx_Yhid9HJv_3iPJGMbv7HandVNYKrJhXgBsJ1IKVZ9vdKv89zR-n-tyUS94bwaClfBzjHXrYemjCMa-EBtAptFK/s1600/IMG_1492.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk9mTldeOwzxbuFdxnfsRVqsXTnB_qK-563yO0Rj2RVg_zRryufnYnlx_Yhid9HJv_3iPJGMbv7HandVNYKrJhXgBsJ1IKVZ9vdKv89zR-n-tyUS94bwaClfBzjHXrYemjCMa-EBtAptFK/s640/IMG_1492.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Dining out at Anse Vata</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We had given up on finding a “perfect”
weather window for our return to Australia and had come to realise that we
might have to ultimately settle for something that was “doable”, or better than
other options; with portions that were not entirely to our liking. For days the
weather off Noumea had been fine, but out in the Coral Sea and close to the
Australian coast there were features that caused us concern. A “trough” of
weather extending to the north, all the way from New Zealand to a line between
Noumea and Brisbane had persisted for days but now showed signs of at last
drifting to the SE, and strong winds off the Australian coast looked like
relenting for long enough to let us through to Brisbane. We might have to
“slalom” our way around these hurdles, because either side of them there were
variable winds, with the promise of good sailing and patches of calms. This
potential passage was a complex one that would keep us working to adjust to the
prevailing conditions and having to be ready to respond to daily weather updates
that we gleaned via our satellite driven Predict Wind system, although, once
you are “out there” and far from land, we would committed and would have to
cope with the weather hand that we were dealt.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We finally settled on Saturday 12th of
November as the day to leave, and headed into Noumea and its port precinct to
complete the “formalities” involved in “clearing out of” New Caledonia. Once
“cleared” and with our papers in order, we technically had 72 hours to leave
the country, enough time to attend to last minute provisioning and, with our
departure documentation, head to the Duty Free shops for some crucial
re-stocking of the ship’s cellar. In both New Caledonia and Vanuatu the
physical process of “clearing out” is a convoluted one, with offices of Immigration,
Customs and Port authorities scattered hither and yon and no attempt whatever
to undertake the seemingly obvious undertaking of locating them under one roof.
Curiously though, whereas in Vanuatu the
process also involves the payment of a raft of duties, charges taxes and levies
– which we did not mind as long as the monies collected went to the betterment
of the country – in Noumea both clearing in and clearing out is…<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">free! </i>Given that New Caledonia is
significantly more expensive to visit than Vanuatu, we found this both puzzling
and welcome, Maybe the French felt sorry for seafarers like ourselves who headed off traipsing forms and paperwork from
Immigration, Customs and then to the far reaches of the Port to the office of
the Port Captain, to get the clinching bit of paper, the Official Port
Clearance – which we would retain as a curiosity – so that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">SV Calista, </i>Australian Registered Ship 856287 with two Australian
Citizens aboard, could depart the Port of Noumea bound for the Port of Brisbane.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU7hDPdwU4TgBy_b93z3Pn1ugyVUHojnxHul4Ne_YVan7IdFHuOuiRlF1da95b0yHozSjXaqiYR70dd1zj3mJA-9raIb2AvyEyLN83SYm-RkXkpeur_xJi9aBr0vry2KlrpXI0nj6AN5OF/s1600/P1050185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU7hDPdwU4TgBy_b93z3Pn1ugyVUHojnxHul4Ne_YVan7IdFHuOuiRlF1da95b0yHozSjXaqiYR70dd1zj3mJA-9raIb2AvyEyLN83SYm-RkXkpeur_xJi9aBr0vry2KlrpXI0nj6AN5OF/s640/P1050185.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Farewell Noumea</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Then, back in Port Moselle, yet another
weather check showed that there was little to gain by waiting for Saturday, and
like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Diddys </i>a Friday departure, apart
from attracting the superstitions associated with leaving port on a long voyage
on a Friday, faced weather issues out in the Coral Sea that were very much the
same. After completing a raft of last minute tasks, Paul, off <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bumpy Dog</i> was there as our farewell
entourage to wish us well, to free our lines, and to kindly suggest that once
we were on our way we were not to come back. It was nudging one pm on 12/11/16 after
128 extraordinary days in these unforgettable isles, that we once again nosed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>out of Port Moselle and hoisted
sail for Noumea’s Petite Passe, the harbour exit, and made for Dunbea Pass, the
ship channel that marked the gateway through the fringing reef to the open sea.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Diddys </i>had left some hours before us
and we knew that with their advantage in speed, they were likely to be next
spotted in faraway Brisbane, if at all, about a week away.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We might have been excused for casting a
nostalgic eye astern as we rounded the Port mark in Petite Passe, and set a
course to the west, but there was a far more practical issue to deal with.
After days of friendly sou-easters in the Noumean afternoons, the breeze on
this afternoon had swung to the west, and bang on our nose. Maybe it was unwise
to leave on a Friday after all! Clearly
we had two realistic choices, one, to bash our way out to Passe Dunbier into
the wind, or to bear away to Passe du Nord abeam of Amedee Island on a sailable
angle, whilst conceding some ground to the south in the process. In no time,
the grand white pencil of the Amedee Lighthouse was rising off our port bow as
we romped toward the outer reef. By late afternoon we had negotiated the pass
in the Grand Recife, and the rise and fall of the swell under our keel marked
our arrival upon the open sea ahead. By nightfall the last outline of Grand
Terre, had disappeared into the sea mist and only the flash of the Amedee Light
remained astern. As we settled into our night routines and supped on portions
of Cookie’s pre-made vegie pasta, Amedee slipped under the horizon astern and
we were again alone and at sea.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQJHMe_2p6dtdctIqQ6opoOio0bkFMgOZ9wKSJdN7b3ljiAai89R1SP5UBeVpaBQYIxuzmvg8WjO7hRMdFLT2oe6lNzdGqqPNJvopqiLbjTK2TlP4bfXOomjTQcFJB2GeHW-wNGwAWTTv/s1600/P1050187.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQJHMe_2p6dtdctIqQ6opoOio0bkFMgOZ9wKSJdN7b3ljiAai89R1SP5UBeVpaBQYIxuzmvg8WjO7hRMdFLT2oe6lNzdGqqPNJvopqiLbjTK2TlP4bfXOomjTQcFJB2GeHW-wNGwAWTTv/s640/P1050187.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Amedee Lighthouse & New Caledonia disappearing!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We had hoped for a kindly breeze and sailing
angle for our first night out at sea but the wind stayed naggingly on our bow
and we motor-sailed through the night on our preferred pattern of watches – 7pm
to 10pm, 10pm to 1am, 1am to 3am, 3am to 5am - with a fulsome moon shining its
reassuring beam over an ocean that steadily rose and fell as a result of the
great forces at work far away to the south. Before nightfall we had placed a HF
Radio call to Australia’s Charleville Radio, and set up a daily “sked”, a
“reporting in” process whereby we would advise AMSA, the Australian Marine
Safety Authority of our location, course and speed, so that someone had an
inkling of where we were and how we were coping out in the vastness of the
Coral Sea. To us this seems a crucial aspect of maintaining our safety whilst
far out at sea. If we struck real trouble, connecting with AMSA was only a
radio click away, and key details of our voyage were well known to them. This
was an outstanding service that we hoped we would never need.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHsG0iNE55P5ql4yVseW_YPTycIwOy_Uf_XFpU-FVrU8IkpZLhXCDvQkY5Vw3-Vwx2erSjJ-HbOvCi7tXClC1H4Fpakacm_RitQlzJYxOCrhuTOcDdCE92d5lt66NJDspBTdOlg3ZGcyYb/s1600/P1050195.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHsG0iNE55P5ql4yVseW_YPTycIwOy_Uf_XFpU-FVrU8IkpZLhXCDvQkY5Vw3-Vwx2erSjJ-HbOvCi7tXClC1H4Fpakacm_RitQlzJYxOCrhuTOcDdCE92d5lt66NJDspBTdOlg3ZGcyYb/s640/P1050195.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Reporting our position via HF radio</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On our way from Australia to Noumea in July,
our boat speed on approach to Noumea was slowed by a contrary ocean current and
we reasoned that heading now in the reverse direction we should find the
currents in our favour, but this simple logic proved to be disappointingly
wrong and as we plugged on through our first night at sea motoring under
mainsail our speed fell to a disappointing 4 – 4.5knots. At first light we set
up “Kev” our Fleming Wind Vane, hoisted all sails, and for a while we were
buoyed by fair winds and good boat speeds before the breeze faltered, the contrary
currents returned and we were left with a day of frustrations as we worked our
sails all we could to keep <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>moving
westwards.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk7YDynYQkFpFxc2nazLlwtnJBb4TPENsUhrtLhsA_A_qJ24wenitbuax5cGib9wRRm6Pv-rxJAqTEO299PaxD4eZLwdP911CAteDpO0MxQyNcmLS3Ch7sGIFQ9t7AkhdJh8ZQrMjTjgEJ/s1600/P1050197.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk7YDynYQkFpFxc2nazLlwtnJBb4TPENsUhrtLhsA_A_qJ24wenitbuax5cGib9wRRm6Pv-rxJAqTEO299PaxD4eZLwdP911CAteDpO0MxQyNcmLS3Ch7sGIFQ9t7AkhdJh8ZQrMjTjgEJ/s640/P1050197.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sunset Day one</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtbhlPIiX5p7wwy4kJSwV-viy71pLSSOuyXODVGO6dfaNmfGQrbqq6oVIgU0HWddc2w5IPmCK7AFzDkay17s8rfhOu-BBn3kL7m1_HGEhESgHgAs5fsSKGDJBT3wrs-QAcn7fawvidQG44/s1600/P1050278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtbhlPIiX5p7wwy4kJSwV-viy71pLSSOuyXODVGO6dfaNmfGQrbqq6oVIgU0HWddc2w5IPmCK7AFzDkay17s8rfhOu-BBn3kL7m1_HGEhESgHgAs5fsSKGDJBT3wrs-QAcn7fawvidQG44/s640/P1050278.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Relaxing below off watch </i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The patchy airs that we had experienced thus
far continued into the next day, Sunday the 13<sup>th</sup>, although we were
well aware that there were far greater challenges that lay ahead, that would be
heralded by a gathering northerly with a change of unknown quantity to follow,
Our examination of the Predict Wind information via our Iridium Go satellite
system suggested that maybe the currents that we had bemoaned could have
actually worked in our favour and that by slowing us down we might not only
escape the worst of the change, but could experience the strongest portion of
it in the much preferred daylight hours. All this was due to occur, though on
Monday 14th at about the mid-point of our passage with us close to 400nm from
Noumea, a similar distance from Brisbane, and very much reliant on our own
resources and the sea-going qualities of our little ship, that felt all the smaller
as the wind began to build from the North.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial";">
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZi43KfQQpGRjLfsIt_rxpuEd8J1F6sVSTwy2qpSClzxKdPGZ5tk_b4MS6i7A7HpXHl5r1mZiUjFHbLgaIuF2VoEDWliWCzpNKxJfCxW129pWeSUTGHMQjfM527CY3G_bOWaRZyU4q9ueK/s1600/P1020622.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><i><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZi43KfQQpGRjLfsIt_rxpuEd8J1F6sVSTwy2qpSClzxKdPGZ5tk_b4MS6i7A7HpXHl5r1mZiUjFHbLgaIuF2VoEDWliWCzpNKxJfCxW129pWeSUTGHMQjfM527CY3G_bOWaRZyU4q9ueK/s640/P1020622.JPG" width="640" /></i></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i>Reefed down & romping along.......</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIjHPdl2YXtRNqYOusQr6rD9UOLaf70hLvpQgq47J9ZmzWnOfvrWwNFKBMSPicm4QVnB5RGYdwDoJJ3LCdcF60Uu1Lh7Lug-I_YMzvbjibXFhEHISIyLCR5SvSHC1E5Xzn5hHT9XH9eePK/s1600/P1050206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIjHPdl2YXtRNqYOusQr6rD9UOLaf70hLvpQgq47J9ZmzWnOfvrWwNFKBMSPicm4QVnB5RGYdwDoJJ3LCdcF60Uu1Lh7Lug-I_YMzvbjibXFhEHISIyLCR5SvSHC1E5Xzn5hHT9XH9eePK/s640/P1050206.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>....with Kev still steering at dawn</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As the wind built and clouds gathered in the
west, we shortened sail and romped along with “Kev” in fine form and sea miles
disappearing under our keel. When the clouds arrived, we were doused by a
sprinkle of rain but the wind only rose to 22 knots as the worst of our fears
were not realised. Maybe we had experienced a great escape and the “trough”
might prove to be a toothless tiger. Soon though our AIS warning system told of
a big ship approaching, the enormous <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Legend
of the Sea </i>cruise ship, although peering ahead through the mist and spray,
even this 800plus foot monster remained enveloped in cloud, until it emerged
out of the gloom and charged silently past us although we were only about two
miles away. Being curious about the weather that might lay ahead for us, I
called their Radio Officer to enquire about the conditions that they had
experienced over the last six hours or so, although their friendly reply gave
the understandable impression that when you are the size of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Legend of the Seas, </i>weather troughs are
of little concern to the Officers on the bridge! Then, back on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista, </i>my attempt to photograph the
great liner as she steamed away to the east ended badly with my losing my hold
as a swell caused us to lurch and I cannoned across the cockpit, crashing into
the combing down my left side in the process. Having nursed some back problems
over the previous weeks, this was the last thing that I needed to do, and was a
tart reminder about how easily it is to injure oneself on a small ship out at
sea when the ocean is on the rise. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOTwYIbNQassTNUFMLpWDQXZb6CH3MiIRrx5GyJbbN_TlLB9GseSdhAN6EJ9b3iAnTce-amC2Cet3kE9nkmjsKgQp-OEYsAhDqVe_yfR7aQv9EMEKuqML3p19ejrMXTpaf4x2MWegR8Xx/s1600/P1050216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOTwYIbNQassTNUFMLpWDQXZb6CH3MiIRrx5GyJbbN_TlLB9GseSdhAN6EJ9b3iAnTce-amC2Cet3kE9nkmjsKgQp-OEYsAhDqVe_yfR7aQv9EMEKuqML3p19ejrMXTpaf4x2MWegR8Xx/s640/P1050216.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The real trough hits!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In an hour or two though, the ‘real’ trough
arrived with wind, rain and a squall that gusted to 30knots and caught us
somewhat off guard. We scurried to gather in our headsail and started our motor
to nose our way into the blow until the worst of it passed. Then, with night
falling under a leaden sky and a rolly remnant sea, the wind dropped out and we
motored on through the moonlit hours, expecting that in the new day a sou-easter
would form behind the trough which with a little luck could give us some
stability in the weather all the way to Cape Moreton. Into Tuesday, though, the
wind remained fluky and we motored on toward Australia accepting that there was
little that we could do except convert diesel to distance until the wind
finally arrived. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Ee2qySnyoYN8jbJgO1-ZjeAzas62Sw_qdniCOOvYBk-FCGZ5O9y5Uwz2_RdLPxneAKCs92Yl2k7PFdf78ryC_GWftv_Cjy9Kg47I_D-qkvSKIW2pBM6TV7N7Bgj_nL-Xysyy2G5FcKT7/s1600/P1050225.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Ee2qySnyoYN8jbJgO1-ZjeAzas62Sw_qdniCOOvYBk-FCGZ5O9y5Uwz2_RdLPxneAKCs92Yl2k7PFdf78ryC_GWftv_Cjy9Kg47I_D-qkvSKIW2pBM6TV7N7Bgj_nL-Xysyy2G5FcKT7/s640/P1050225.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Light airs & comfort in our cockpit ....</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzE03V75e4i847RzPOLLbs1WPZdS08WXzi-ToTHSdBayQ_Xm3Cn7QDW1nMX10Nc2Q4li01YepiDRaznWcjCVE8z0zph0-Eyl_1fy9TZzY-Y_SppCA9kHMtkYIasfJtxRz-KVY6Hubb1-sV/s1600/P1050221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzE03V75e4i847RzPOLLbs1WPZdS08WXzi-ToTHSdBayQ_Xm3Cn7QDW1nMX10Nc2Q4li01YepiDRaznWcjCVE8z0zph0-Eyl_1fy9TZzY-Y_SppCA9kHMtkYIasfJtxRz-KVY6Hubb1-sV/s640/P1050221.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>...gives a chance to catch up on my log</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It took until the afternoon of Wednesday 16<sup>th</sup>
for the wind to fill in with any consistency and “Kev” again came to the fore
as Cape Moreton inched ever closer. By the morning of the 18<sup>th</sup>, our
last full day at sea the sou-easter was up, and under scudding clouds and
showers of rain we were driven onwards on a sea that had rapidly built, making
conditions on board<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Calista </i>very
difficult if we went below to make our way from one side of the cabin to the
other. One of us stayed on watch whilst the other lay cocooned in the passage
berth below, as we entered a zone where ship traffic might be experienced
plying their trade off the Australian coastline. We had hoped to reach Cape
Moreton and the Moreton Bay approaches to Brisbane in daylight but this was
proving to be a fond hope and it was nightfall before the loom of the lights of
Brisbane became apparent ahead and the flash of the Cape Moreton light gave us
reassurance that, yes we were on course for the entrance to Moreton Bay. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4k7QHkQUvZXHxkh9X6hqbae6H8ysNhB9FNh5QknZItD3SCsYfpGv6AFXHK5AokZ7fN8XFct7DnXRjzvPjln3bpQY9_OwWa6y3tpK-DT75JatvHYNJj4lnBTyjznQI0xz0_F0W8ArG76-m/s1600/P1050246.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4k7QHkQUvZXHxkh9X6hqbae6H8ysNhB9FNh5QknZItD3SCsYfpGv6AFXHK5AokZ7fN8XFct7DnXRjzvPjln3bpQY9_OwWa6y3tpK-DT75JatvHYNJj4lnBTyjznQI0xz0_F0W8ArG76-m/s640/P1050246.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Night passage to the Port of Brisbane </i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaF0xh2WXa-65lfYQmuS-QNCyQU9XHf3ubtlqa48zt4Q-XPlv6E0Looy8n7nK2XWcaApt_dDhUwIoI5MUliFIwq7dNjND-ndJlFL-a95vJfoFfzIIyAPIeXkaZvdAbJwIovKcI8wDSO2_n/s1600/P1050252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaF0xh2WXa-65lfYQmuS-QNCyQU9XHf3ubtlqa48zt4Q-XPlv6E0Looy8n7nK2XWcaApt_dDhUwIoI5MUliFIwq7dNjND-ndJlFL-a95vJfoFfzIIyAPIeXkaZvdAbJwIovKcI8wDSO2_n/s640/P1050252.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In fading winds it was 11pm before we drew
abeam of Moreton Island and found our way into the main ship channel leading to
Brisbane, and the glimmer of the new day was already rising in the east before
the weary crew of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>entered the
Brisbane River, and made our way along the industrial waterfront of South
Brisbane where the odours emanating from plants that belched steam and smoke
assailed our nostrils that had for days enjoyed the purity of the marine airs
out in the Coral Sea. We tied up at the Customs and Quarantine wharf outside
the Rivergate Marina at 0530, and to our delight, found ourselves immediately
astern of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Diddys,</i> who had arrived the
previous evening.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdd3kz5S1n6C4U_tApsM3X8m5r5xFwt5Sj49DRBZUgQqoFbIGVafADO_45f_BYB2Pcml9RzVcF-fn4nThJ7feCI5at40QfZ2ZAj2xpeoAOEcNjVXMovTnO3zbhAzenvp4PCW5ud7VU6WZR/s1600/P1050260.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdd3kz5S1n6C4U_tApsM3X8m5r5xFwt5Sj49DRBZUgQqoFbIGVafADO_45f_BYB2Pcml9RzVcF-fn4nThJ7feCI5at40QfZ2ZAj2xpeoAOEcNjVXMovTnO3zbhAzenvp4PCW5ud7VU6WZR/s640/P1050260.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Approaching Rivergate Marina</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Soon Justin strolled over to enquire how our
passage had been, and we were a little shocked to find just how close we had
come to experiencing conditions out in the Coral Sea that could have become a
nightmare. Although only a dozen or so hours in front of us the trough for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Diddys </i>was announced by a northerly that
shrieked in to above 50 knots, and then when it swung to the west and
eventually the south, belted them for hours in a gale of 35 knots of wind. Only
Justin’s and Kingy’s considerable experience in yacht deliveries saved them
from emerging with only superficial damage to their headsail. Then, on approach
to Moreton Island the sou-easter howled in again to above 30 knots and in the
end they were all very relieved to reach Brisbane. We listened to Justin,
horrified at what he was relating, and realised just how close we had come to
experiencing conditions that might easily have overwhelmed a smaller yacht like
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista! </i>Little wonder that when
Marcel made his way along the pontoon to greet us, he bore all the hallmarks of
one who had emerged from a war zone. We felt really sorry for Marcel, who in
turn must have felt really grateful in having mariners of the ilk of Justin and
Kingy on board to bring them all safely home.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSFI65Pk84r8bnu69IYJh2Nr0840UwkJerJWOYeCIBM-AdSwuv-I-x5psT9SoRTrYtQoGk77dqSTJiKx9NV_Sc3aqfren5Th5tPy8mGSTHOdZD8EtwdHa6PI65wHqizLD1OoeuOMxGuwg3/s1600/P1050270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSFI65Pk84r8bnu69IYJh2Nr0840UwkJerJWOYeCIBM-AdSwuv-I-x5psT9SoRTrYtQoGk77dqSTJiKx9NV_Sc3aqfren5Th5tPy8mGSTHOdZD8EtwdHa6PI65wHqizLD1OoeuOMxGuwg3/s640/P1050270.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Quarantine dock at Rivergate</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Soon the Customs and Quarantine Officers
arrived and we found them obliging and friendly in going about their duties, in
total contrast to the “horror stories” that we had heard from other cruisers in
the islands about the supposed officiousness of Australian entry authorities. With
us now “free to go”, one glance around the industrial landscape of the south
Brisbane River told us that in spite of our heavy weariness, we should escape
from the Brisbane River and head for the familiar and comforting surrounds of
the Scarborough Marina, just three hours away across Moreton Bay in the
direction of Redcliffe. Besides, this is where we had departed for Noumea, and
in returning to Scarborough, our journey would be, in a way, complete. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>We did it !! Well done Calista & crew!</i></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQQrkkFlTJLIJV_a5i34QgyLm4cJUOqkjIfJDWETqVw476ChBh7tgaZT-fr_JhIlxa_brDoziQKUYprKwDXYj4GgieMLBiwwae6iddzYUuJf0aE8WN_spYX4wmV9r8WLCtv71DRf0DyeQ/s1600/P1050302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQQrkkFlTJLIJV_a5i34QgyLm4cJUOqkjIfJDWETqVw476ChBh7tgaZT-fr_JhIlxa_brDoziQKUYprKwDXYj4GgieMLBiwwae6iddzYUuJf0aE8WN_spYX4wmV9r8WLCtv71DRf0DyeQ/s640/P1050302.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When we tied up at Scarborough under the
brightest of azure skies and no breeze to speak of we were understandably
elated and relieved to have achieved what we had originally set out to do, to
sail from Australia, to New Caledonia and Vanuatu, and most importantly of all
to return safely back to Australia. We had travelled 1521nm in New Caledonia
and Vanuatu waters, and since leaving South Australia’s Marina St Vincent on
the first of March, 2016, 4991nm had passed under our keel. On our passage back
across the Coral Sea we had achieved daily logs of 113, 116, 123, 118, 124 and
135 nautical miles, covering 859nm over 6days 16 ½ hours at an average boat
speed of 5.3knots. There were a host of things that we now needed to do to
ready <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>for long voyage back to
South Australia, but for now we had quarantined a bottle of most excellent <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Distant Shores </i>Coonawarra Shiraz to
assist us in the process of “raising a glass”<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a> to our safe
return to Australia. That, and an early night in a stable bed were two things
that we were very much looking forward to!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-49370161134109807702016-11-06T17:24:00.002-08:002016-11-06T17:25:20.163-08:00<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Noumea</i></b></span> </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>16/10/16 – 10/11/16</i></b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><i>(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.)</i><i>7/10/16 – 14/10/16</i><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Between New Caledonia and the Queensland
coast lays a vast 800 nautical mile expanse of ocean, called the Coral Sea. As
spring retreats and the southern summer beckons, the systems of weather across
this blue wilderness are formed, pushed and pulled by many things: frontal
systems from the south, troughs of low pressure that bubble and trouble their
way in from the north and the west, the location of the inter-tropical convergence
zone, the seedbed of storms, and high pressure systems that bulge up from the
Tasman, producing “ridging” of isobars up the Queensland coast, and trade winds
that can howl in for days. Sitting on our 36’ yacht in Noumea, seeking a safe
weather “window” to head out into the Coral Sea and back to Australia, we peer
at weather models, consider predictions and wonder at the fluidity and
unpredictability of it all. Just when it appears that a window is emerging,
conditions change and what seemed likely to be fine one day becomes horrid the
next. It would be folly to leave Noumea when it is fine and run into awful
weather out in the Coral Sea or off the Australian coast. We need about a week
of stable, predictable weather to embark on our voyage back to Brisbane, and
for now we are likely to be as the hapless Mr Micawber in Dickens’ <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Great Expectations </i>just “waiting for
something to turn up”. We might have returned to Noumea and walked directly
into a fine pattern of weather, but that is not the case: not yet.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>We will wait to avoid the lows off the Brisbane coast!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We were not tied up for long in Noumea when
Fred, the single-hander off <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Serafin </i>strolled
by to get an update on our travels and our plans. We had not seen Fred since
Banam Bay off Malekula Island in Vanuatu and it was pleasing to see him in good
fettle. He was ready to depart for Australia, and agreed that departing in a
couple of days was not advisable as the weather off the New South Wales and
southern Queensland coast was shortly to turn sour, and with us needing some
time to reprovision and attend to a raft of things Fred would have to head off
alone. Given that Fred is deep into his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">third
</i>world circumnavigation, it was reassuring to hear him say that he always
feels on edge on the eve of a long ocean passage, so for novices like ourselves
to feel the same, we were in very good company.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In reality though, we were really looking
forward to spending a little time with Cran and Ann off <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lettin’ Go </i>who had arrived in Noumea from Brisbane, set to spend a
couple of years on the “South Pacific Circuit”, where cruising yachts embark on
an annual loop; from summer in New Zealand to avoid the Pacific cyclone season,
then up to Tonga and Fiji about April / May, before tracking to New Caledonia /
Vanuatu sometime in winter, before returning to New Zealand, late October and
into November. A number of world cruisers get captured by this alluring vortex,
and find themselves wedded to the delights of the South Pacific, unable to
break free to face the rigours of the Indian Ocean, the challenges of the
southern tip of Africa, and the very long haul across the Atlantic, back to
Europe or across to the Caribbean. Piracy off the horn of Africa has brought
considerable change to what was once the “traditional” route of world cruisers,
from SE Asia, up the Red Sea into the Mediterranean. Given a choice between
storm-tossed oceans and nid-nodding in sun drenched atolls, it is easy to see
why many cruisers delay or abandon their original plan to circumnavigate the
world. All this means that in “A” row in Port Moselle, the row for visiting
yachts, is gathered an array of pedigreed cruising vessels and their
well-travelled crews, the likes of which we never see at home. To have our
modest 36 footer tethered alongside these steeds of the seas is still something
we are getting used to. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Bristol 44</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Cookie's favourite...Cabo Rico 38</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Getting to meet some of the fine folk off
these noble cruisers has added to the pleasure of being here, and their
willingness to have us come on board to see how the other half sail has been a
feature. Here size does not appear to matter, and we are all equals under the
sun, having reached here by a universal charter; under a common sky, across
fickle oceans, responding to winds of a fractious nature and covering hundreds
of lonely miles under canvas. Putting these egalitarian notions aside though,
it needs to be said that Cookie’s adeptness in “wheedling her way” onto these
grand cruising vessels, has soared to new heights here in Noumea!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Cran and Ann suggested to us that given that
we were at least several days away from departing for Australia, we should join
them, plus their long-time friends from home, Neale and Robyn, who had just
arrived, for a few days out in the great lagoon. This sounded like a fine idea
to us, especially as their first destination out from Noumea was one of our
favourites, Amedee Island with its magnificent lighthouse. It is some 13 miles
out to Amedee and we timed our departure from Noumea to beat the afternoon sea
breeze, that routinely fills in from the SE from late morning, converting what
should be a pleasant trundle, to a troublesome bash. Amedee’s facilities,
including its tourist shop and the lighthouse are only open when the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mary D</i> tourist boat heads out from
Noumea, and on our arrival there to pick up one of the required moorings, it
was clear that the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mary D</i> was not
coming that day and we’d have the island largely to ourselves. This allowed us
to join Cran, Ann, Neale and Robyn for a late afternoon stroll around Amadee,
where our recommendation to keep an eye out for banded sea snakes slithering
across the paths proved to be well founded. I think we counted a half-dozen of
these intriguing reptiles – my descriptor, not Cookie’s – without really
looking.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Exploring Amadee again with Ann, Cran, Robyn & Neale</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfxCNb_oYVeWOhOCqOobnv99qxSYvxD3K6NuKBMVcri7h6K08Obvahd7_UHXlCzfTUybaQPXc-9uu5VjLllHKR_MKIrc8L4K4tQ3yFU-KI1p7-2NTwaNEAJ_OUiorVw9NQM2LX2gD2NK1g/s1600/P1020392.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfxCNb_oYVeWOhOCqOobnv99qxSYvxD3K6NuKBMVcri7h6K08Obvahd7_UHXlCzfTUybaQPXc-9uu5VjLllHKR_MKIrc8L4K4tQ3yFU-KI1p7-2NTwaNEAJ_OUiorVw9NQM2LX2gD2NK1g/s640/P1020392.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There is something about sheltering in the
lee of Amedee at night, watching the probing beam from the lighthouse, as it
carves out its golden rotation; giving solace to those out at sea, for those
seeking safe passage through <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Passe du
Nord </i>and into the great lagoon. Next morning, on cue, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mary D </i>arrived and whilst the passengers
were involved with cultural and marine activities we took the opportunity to
scale the lighthouse, where, from the parapet, the view out across the barrier
reef, along the lagoon, and back to Grand Terre was breathtaking. With the sea
breeze not yet established, Cran suggested an immediate departure for one of
the atolls to the north-west of Noumea, and as we got under way and hoisted
sail, it was clear that the sou-easter was about to pipe in and give us a
sleigh ride to the north. When it rose to beyond 25 knots, and gusting to over
30, Cran radioed us to say that instead of taking up the flimsy protection
afforded by one of the islets, we might be advised to head for the more
protected and commodious anchorage in Baie Maa, on the coast of Grand Terre, just
to the north of Noumea. Coincidentally, just as Cran called, a cockpit
discussion on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>had reached
precisely the same conclusion. For the following three days the heaviness of
the afternoon sou-easter saw many boats abandon their hopes of anchoring out in
the islands, and eventually 24 yachts were snug in Baie Maa, with room aplenty
for a hundred more. We used the mornings to make it ashore to walk and to swim
whilst the evenings were given to conviviality and fine living as we
re-connected with Ann and Cran and enjoyed the chance to get to know their fine
friends, Robyn and Neale.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi40etIIHCGCpz3YCUxabwTkr9LsKeoDy6eIBycwxAc8pGavl3900p53ZQg5LkJNww3_fx5Axxcc5X8mQHG1YS53m7WMjud2TthWR0BOvXWI6rDBm4ydkrEp-x-Jnyr7JrtVxwkaapmPVet/s1600/P1050079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi40etIIHCGCpz3YCUxabwTkr9LsKeoDy6eIBycwxAc8pGavl3900p53ZQg5LkJNww3_fx5Axxcc5X8mQHG1YS53m7WMjud2TthWR0BOvXWI6rDBm4ydkrEp-x-Jnyr7JrtVxwkaapmPVet/s640/P1050079.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>A brisk sail to Baie Maa</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFbolB81aCzFXJVsE4cdMiaaYSqQKSMFDYj2yd3Tipnh2RUimfau68ypMeM1QPRAbyByU_36Ih89_BscjWOb2Feo4OM04ceaJhKIWccGdAWfEA1zJigb7nwhE6hl4XVZeLgP8A184dxCzl/s1600/P1050092+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFbolB81aCzFXJVsE4cdMiaaYSqQKSMFDYj2yd3Tipnh2RUimfau68ypMeM1QPRAbyByU_36Ih89_BscjWOb2Feo4OM04ceaJhKIWccGdAWfEA1zJigb7nwhE6hl4XVZeLgP8A184dxCzl/s640/P1050092+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sheltered anchorage .. Baie Maa</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Although we had access to general forecasts,
we really needed access to the internet to explore the potential emergence of
weather opportunities to depart for Australia, so with the sou-easter a little
softer, we headed in the direction of Noumea, whilst <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lettin’ Go </i>eventually headed for the islands. We had hoped to
return to Port Moselle, but were not surprised to find the “House Full” there,
causing us to divert to Baie de Citron where to our great delight we found
Patrick and Murielle anchored on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Heiracon</i>
and Marcel still waiting on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Diddys, </i>for
his crew to arrive for the return leg to Australia. In Baie de Citron our
social whirl continued, with Patrick and Murielle inviting us on board the 52
footer, for “sundowner” drinks that finished at 9.30pm; the time having scooted
by like the recent sou-easter. We knew a little of their plans to take an early
retirement and head for New Zealand, but were astonished to find that, included
in their other plans, was to head to Bolivia, to see<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> their</i> house, designed and built by Murielle’s brother: the house
that they had <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">never seen! </i>Bolivia!
Indeed. Patrick and Murielle are marine people, by nature and we asked how they
were going to cope, so far from the sea, but they had factored this in too and
included an indoor pool in the design. The photos of the Bolivian “getaway” had
us enthralled. “Why don’t you come and visit us in Bolivia?” Patrick asked us.
Bolivia! Indeed. Just sail to Santiago and trek across the Andes. Excuse me
signor….which way is Bolivia?</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Great night with Murielle, Patrick & Marcel </i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We returned to Port Moselle Marina, the hub
for yachts arriving at and departing from New Caledonia, and we were tied up
but a day when <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lettin’ Go </i>returned to
Port Moselle, to allow Neale and Robyn to catch a flight home and just a few
hours later for them to welcome John from Yeppoon, who they had met on an
earlier sailing rally to the Louisiade Archipelago, SE of PNG. John is an
experienced sailor who when we met, we easily warmed to, who was going to crew
with Cran and Ann, on the long haul to New Zealand. As it turned out the briar
thicket of nasty weather out in the Tasman Sea and up off the QLD coast to our
west, created a corridor south of New Caledonia, which was free of nasties and
if Cran and Ann were nimble, they could slide into this zone of acceptability
and head without delay for the land of the long white cloud. As <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lettin Go</i> eased out of port the next
morning, with us there to bid them farewell, we will admit to feeling sorry for
Ann, who had precious little time to manage reprovisioning and preparation in
her substantial galley, for the days now ahead of them out at sea. The weather
window that now presented for them, though, was one that needed to be grasped,
and was too good to miss.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8VtYn_8G6BKQw6NjOOJz8uHf7S4cZ49S2V1ZBHaJZs-vKSc4XUHVsKajWhRMg1URQwKfldRy6XtlEYYrbInkWMMzVtM2lGjtYHO56qOZpY08SV9_pXlCOqht8AV8kogFtBQhYkCHHMiIB/s1600/P1050161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8VtYn_8G6BKQw6NjOOJz8uHf7S4cZ49S2V1ZBHaJZs-vKSc4XUHVsKajWhRMg1URQwKfldRy6XtlEYYrbInkWMMzVtM2lGjtYHO56qOZpY08SV9_pXlCOqht8AV8kogFtBQhYkCHHMiIB/s640/P1050161.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Next stop Opua, New Zealand</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With no real idea of our time-frame in
finding a weather window for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista,</i>
we fell into a routine of morning and evening checks of weather updates, as the
metrological gods dithered, time and time again; just as a promising pattern
emerged, the next forecast saw our hopes dashed and we were forced to search
for something more encouraging, that continued to lay, elusively, just over the
horizon. Weather in the Coral Sea has, it seems, more moods than a gaggle of
year 9 girls. As days passed we strolled into town, just five minutes away,
where the patisserie <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Le Petite Choux, </i>was
a favourite or gathered a grab bag for the beach and caught a 10 0r 11 local
bus for the short ride to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Baie des Citron</i>
where the beautiful, the very beautiful, and the not so beautiful came to soak
up the sun. On the lawns abeam of the beach, in mottled shade under the
spreading trees, we found the regime of relaxation, slumber, a hearty swim and
a mid-afternoon ice cream to be acceptable from every viewpoint. As the
afternoon sea breezes gathered pace – and gather pace it does! – we could
stroll across the isthmus to the bay called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Anse
Vata </i>where on the windward shore sailboarders with muscled torsos and
dripping with spray performed heroic antics and out to sea their sails gathered
aplenty, in every hue, like butterflies in a Venezuelan rainforest. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGVBGgu1s-o8HM1YEhSdUYF-Ga93ogHA7oucK_LO_rVjTar36hsv0gPW5pGpIkl6Ch-A760vov2lPkW_CPY1uZ-6riylQMKBejASZYzxZbsDtWoV2vKNpGH8UlsCqEQy6XlXQg5O8ziu1/s1600/IMG_1484.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGVBGgu1s-o8HM1YEhSdUYF-Ga93ogHA7oucK_LO_rVjTar36hsv0gPW5pGpIkl6Ch-A760vov2lPkW_CPY1uZ-6riylQMKBejASZYzxZbsDtWoV2vKNpGH8UlsCqEQy6XlXQg5O8ziu1/s640/IMG_1484.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Anse Vata, the windsurfing & Kiteboarding mecca</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Off the short road from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Baie des Citron </i>to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Anse Vata </i>is
found the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Aquarium des Lagons, </i>the
renowned Noumea Aquarium where the visitor can view, up close and personal the
kaleidoscope of living things to be found in the great New Caledonia lagoon,
and its nearby rivers and waterways. The exhibits are superb and for both the
swimmer and non-swimmer alike, to see the array of fish, corals and other
marine notabilia plus the quality identification and information boards that
are there in support made the Aquarium a place where an afternoon passed in a
trice, equally for us souls who are so often over the side exploring the
underwater world, as for those who keep getting wet for the bath. Cookie’s
Aquarium favourite was probably the excellent nautilus display, part of the
“Reef by Night” section where real, live Nautili squirted their way around,
whilst for me the immense Maori Wrasse with its fathomless emerald eyes, and
its domed forehead, was impossible to ignore. Going back and forth on the No.
10 or 11 gave us a chance to get out amongst the local folk, with matronly
Kanak ladies in their voluminous dresses, teens, plugged in and wired, and lads
hiding deep and obscure in hoodies mixed with visiting curiosities like
ourselves. Our preferred driver played an upbeat selection of island music over
the omnibus sound system, with some of the numbers being so catchy that we were
reluctant to alight back at Port Moselle.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Wonderful marine life at the Aquarium</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As days passed, and we entered November, we
were itchy to get going, despite our determination to go when the timing was
right, and not simply because we wanted to go. In the marina “community”, it
was common to see couples huddled over ipads and laptops, trying to make sense
out of the vagaries of the weather, and in the Port Moselle Office, the ladies
on the staff were heard to comment that normally more yachts had “found
weather” by this time and the marina pens were starting to empty. We met world
circumnavigators Caroline and Paddy from their 46’ Oceanic <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kristiane, </i>who, over “sundowners”, their reflections on thirteen
years of world cruising had us enraptured; particularly their voyage up the
notorious Red Seal where they had been one of the last cruising yachts to be
game enough to “dodge the pirates”. They described sailing up the Red Sea at
night with no navigation lights to draw attention, in the middle of the
shipping channel, with big ships passing to port and starboard; tippy-toeing
their way north to Suez. They let us know that they had been in regular touch
with Roger “Clouds” Badham, the doyen of ocean passage advisors, who told them
to give up on their plans to head to Newcastle, direct, and head for Brisbane
instead, but certainly <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not yet.</i> In
deciding to wait a while longer, it seems that our call was in good company.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDIMNoykxeJJT-w9sJaK2J3A3VXtXZ5kbLHNCfaK5rd9Dr2UY75_Ep-QbFb-8NGubKYNWwPj6cW1wKE8E-u_VDX22Crj_kTIE4GPhnAAmoaKGbq01pup5ulmR9OeYLrH2Vm_-QaxmOFfpf/s1600/P1050167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDIMNoykxeJJT-w9sJaK2J3A3VXtXZ5kbLHNCfaK5rd9Dr2UY75_Ep-QbFb-8NGubKYNWwPj6cW1wKE8E-u_VDX22Crj_kTIE4GPhnAAmoaKGbq01pup5ulmR9OeYLrH2Vm_-QaxmOFfpf/s640/P1050167.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Paddy & Carolyn's Oceanic 42</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We reached the inescapable conclusion that
apart from attending to a few things on board – Cookie took to an above-water <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista</i> makeover, including seeing our
stainless fittings and stanchions returning to their gleaming best – we
concluded that we should simply enjoy our marina and Noumea life, and allow
better weather take shape. Then, late one afternoon a tap on our hull confirmed
that maybe here, in the scheme of things, was a very good place to be. Peter
and Wendy, owners of the South Australian based yacht <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pineapple Poll</i> had recently returned from Europe to their home in
the Adelaide Hills, and being appalled by the dreadful weather that had sullied
winter and continued on into spring, they, on Wendy’s insistence, had sought a
week’s respite, somewhere in the sun. By chance they were returning from one of
the lagoon islands on their package to Noumea and to Peter’s astonishment,
there in the marina, in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Noumea (!) </i>was
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista</i>, and doubtless with Cookie
and Colin on board. We had last seen Peter and Wendy on far-off Kangaroo
Island, and now here was Peter at our side saying…”hey you two, we are just
getting back from the islands, and we are going to grab a drink at the bar…would
you like to join us?!” We were just as surprised to see them, and keen to
discover that they were moving <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pineapple
Poll </i>from the Cruising Yacht Club of South Australia to our marina, Wirrina,
or Marina St Vincent. Noumea was a great place to be was the assessment of our
two SA friends. We were looking forward to seeing more of them back in SA, but
not for a while yet.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyAYJtfKUFhFFhOeehqt5g2WLPeBM6TZu_zgz2pr4p1EQAgCYrvss2yoE8GnNEmqSsWS57OAk93DuwBw8M8jQ5oMSuMduZ1EFm3fPFrJpAvISDvAC891txziFsZkNqIUPD_GLZH_cKDHEA/s1600/P1020620.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyAYJtfKUFhFFhOeehqt5g2WLPeBM6TZu_zgz2pr4p1EQAgCYrvss2yoE8GnNEmqSsWS57OAk93DuwBw8M8jQ5oMSuMduZ1EFm3fPFrJpAvISDvAC891txziFsZkNqIUPD_GLZH_cKDHEA/s640/P1020620.JPG" width="640" /></i></b></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Many bus rides to Baie des Citrons for a swim</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">News that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lettin
Go </i>had made it safely to New Zealand was greeted with acclaim by us here in
Noumea, although it had the understandable effect of keening our exploration of
the weather models and “waiting for something to turn up”. Some boats gave up
in frustration and departed but they are bigger than us by far, have stronger
auto-helm capacity, and probably less regard for the weather. One vessel to
visit Noumea and then leave again regardless of isobars was the immense <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Explorer of the Seas, </i>carrying a suburb
full of souls - 3,500 to be precise – from Seattle to Sydney for the Australian
cruising season. When <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Explorer </i>disgorged
its cruising compliment in Noumea, Grand Terre tilted visibly to port. A couple
from Newcastle, off <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Explorer, </i>strolled
past and asked to take a look on board. Dave’s comment to his wife Margie down
“below” that “we could get one of these dear” was met with a dead bat and eyes
that reflected the merit of 80,000 tons over 8. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Another to arrive was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bumpy Dog </i>with our perennial sailing companions Paul and Juan on
board prior to their flying home to New Zealand, and Paul flying back with a
friend to take <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bumpy Dog </i>home. We had
first met Paul and Juan by chance as we were tied up in approximation here in
Port Moselle. We had by pure chance shared many sea miles and many anchorages,
both in New Caledonia and in Vanuatu and it was sad to finally bid them
farewell. On the upside though, Marcel on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Diddys</i>
had also returned to Port Moselle; like ourselves and three or four similarly
sized yachts with like-minded crews, seeking fair winds between Noumea and
Brisbane. A lurking nuisance was a deep low down in the Tasman, a “weather
octopus” according to Cookie stretching its evil tentacles far to the north.
“We are not going until it goes” was our thinking on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista. </i>Cookie has her own terminology for meteorological
features, referring for example to cold fronts on Australian weather charts as
“marching centipedes”, and yes, if you are not careful they can deliver a nasty
nip. In the meantime we had Marcel on board for a “curry night” taking advantage
of the fresh <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fromages </i>(vegetables)
and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">boeuf </i>(beef) to be had from the
Noumea Market, just a 7-iron away across the marina. Marcel, who admits to
being a far better builder than a cook, wanted to be there to take notes on the
entire process. This may have placed us under culinary pressure, but in the
end, supported by a couple of fine French vintages, we think the evening was a
gastronomic success.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyQosVrhAe-cQsp7TlbwCmy-k2d1kbeG_88sB-PMvJL-oQMLyRI39pBXB_ZEuBE1zdUBqknNpMYs2DJx5xDaOrSM9QBzA5QRedlxtJryC4Uy5wI6eaUggsGAxK4vrRjkzeY_STTlu0KYg/s1600/P1050170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyQosVrhAe-cQsp7TlbwCmy-k2d1kbeG_88sB-PMvJL-oQMLyRI39pBXB_ZEuBE1zdUBqknNpMYs2DJx5xDaOrSM9QBzA5QRedlxtJryC4Uy5wI6eaUggsGAxK4vrRjkzeY_STTlu0KYg/s640/P1050170.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Café Calista cooking class</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Then, with the full moon approaching, it
would appear that the nasties on our passage to Brisbane were finally
evaporating, and joined by a couple of other yachts we might be able to depart
from Noumea. Maybe our reticence was right, because as we write, the potential
for foul weather off of Brisbane that kept us from departing earlier this week
has been translated into winds potentially rising to 40 knots over Brisbane and
Moreton Bay on the coming weekend. If we had gone we would not have beaten this
weather into port. We have everything crossed, because the long passage to
Brisbane is equal in length to the passage to New Zealand, and, as ever we will
be but a small ship on an immense sea. We have been ever mindful that whilst we
have dubbed this amazing adventure <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“A
Voyage to Vanuatu”, </i>it is one thing to get here, but yet another to get all
the way home, and safely. There are many sea-miles that lie ahead, starting
with over 800 across the Coral Sea to Brisbane. </span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-43501448762910392042016-10-18T04:03:00.000-07:002016-10-18T04:03:56.401-07:00<br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Port Vila </i></b></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>to Noumea</i></b></span></span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>(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.)</i><i>7/10/16 – 14/10/16</i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Returning to Port Vila after our amazing
voyage to Vanuatu’s northern islands was not the anticlimax that one would
suppose. For one, in their own time, Paul and Juan, Patrick and Murielle and
Patrick and Edith had all gathered in Vila as well, and in no time we were
drawn to Happy Hour at the Waterfront Bar where we compared notes on our
experiences, discussed plans beyond Vila and simply enjoyed the conviviality of
disparate souls who had enjoyed that unique fellowship that comes with chance
meetings in faraway places. We agreed to reconvene at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spice </i>the Indian Restaurant on the hill overlooking Vila the
following evening, although it has to be said that coordinating essentially
independent souls about their intentions, preferred time, transport to the
eatery, and who might join or be deleted from the touring party was somewhat
like herding cats, and caused us more than a pinch of merriment. Eventually an
assemblage formed outside Yachting World, and after varying expressions re the
mode of conveyance to the eatery, a “Brexit majority” favoured an uphill stroll,
so walk we did. We had such a fine time
at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spice,</i> that on our way down the
hill following this grand repast, we realised that no-one had taken a
photograph of the occasion for posterity.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8KuXYw38BnKCMS-f100R195o_KWPSpnGiGB16qojbI2zRte7xWu4WmDSzbkUTrFjdh3L-2RMjGTekgYSQkQys8-CNeplDJ_QHyUfAcwGmFnvxYPWh7IfYKVyUb_OLCvPKrKf5EV1o15uk/s1600/IMG_1078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8KuXYw38BnKCMS-f100R195o_KWPSpnGiGB16qojbI2zRte7xWu4WmDSzbkUTrFjdh3L-2RMjGTekgYSQkQys8-CNeplDJ_QHyUfAcwGmFnvxYPWh7IfYKVyUb_OLCvPKrKf5EV1o15uk/s640/IMG_1078.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Back in familiar territory on a mooring at Port Vila</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhic0fldVgkH1R2GGJ4JEaseHYtdsPtjPFORUTSs53RTPva5aksi5__xh0a-zOelNkCl8aJopqz0lCfgLNIMeKqWzKhAy8mq7hq2upRUiwPC2MPB1vjOcczlcfKPhOxdud099K9pghBQdTt/s1600/P1040989.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhic0fldVgkH1R2GGJ4JEaseHYtdsPtjPFORUTSs53RTPva5aksi5__xh0a-zOelNkCl8aJopqz0lCfgLNIMeKqWzKhAy8mq7hq2upRUiwPC2MPB1vjOcczlcfKPhOxdud099K9pghBQdTt/s640/P1040989.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We had returned to Vila to re-provision, plan
our next passage at sea, and because, after a stellar period of benign weather,
less friendly conditions were on the way, with the potential of stronger winds,
rain and storms. In the meantime though, we just enjoyed being back in Vila,
Vanuatu’s National Capital, which is in many respects a big, friendly town that
nestles in and around a magnificent harbor. With it being school holidays in
Australia, there were more “big island” visitors than normal, and when
P&O’s liners, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific Pearl </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific Eden </i>called in on successive
days, we took the opportunity, between showers, to head to the Cruise Liner
wharf and take a closer look at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific
Eden </i>the 2015 addition to the P&O fleet. The boffins at P&O are not
likely to be consumers of this blog, but if they were, they would be relieved
to know that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific Eden </i>passed the
toughest test of all, Cookie’s Liner Rating, the CLR index, where the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Eden </i>was voted “shippy”, with agreeable
lines and presentation, and not “like a sponge cake” or cruelly, “like a sheep
carrier”, which is her sharp assessment of others of their genre.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpNAQEwocAJ2nI2KsIXrqXK2oQFuZo1Aarx33z4NDSW9qGIhBSleUwNRVDqdZidURCE2Xh4hXhk5Vapc-0-Ujb-ihOL1kuenyuXp3vXlpmmBtvs_3b6AsQaF1J-fdaNRrhfNHdBkOUV72t/s1600/P1040965.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpNAQEwocAJ2nI2KsIXrqXK2oQFuZo1Aarx33z4NDSW9qGIhBSleUwNRVDqdZidURCE2Xh4hXhk5Vapc-0-Ujb-ihOL1kuenyuXp3vXlpmmBtvs_3b6AsQaF1J-fdaNRrhfNHdBkOUV72t/s640/P1040965.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Pacific Eden</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There is something about Port Vila that makes
it a comfortable place to be, where the watch holds no sway and the calendar is
an adornment with pictures that hangs on a wall. One can easily wile away hours
strolling about, in the markets or heading for a café where the faces are as
friendly as the coffee – or thickshakes! – is good. Even getting about in Vila is a breeze as yes,
there are Taxis with meters for those who crave formality, but it is far easier
to spot a van with the numberplate starting with “B”, hail it, and for 150 vatu
(85 Vatu to the $AU) each the driver will take you anywhere in town. There are
no buses in Vila, but nearly every second vehicle seems to be a “B” van, and
sometimes the island music on board is worth the admission in itself. We really
enjoy our “getting around” in Vila and have found “B” travel to be a great part
of the experience.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgczXK4J-ETTceBVraouH-puokEbyUla6DMn3plWBttLQR743dLMcuOp1j0zeaoTFNPK_b9O3ehVtSlm0TE6D-cU5QyQDRgFtViErs_TysBqJYY0fx_-vjHCZ9PWdgqLBcy3ElfgR-ZrS_7/s1600/P1040981.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgczXK4J-ETTceBVraouH-puokEbyUla6DMn3plWBttLQR743dLMcuOp1j0zeaoTFNPK_b9O3ehVtSlm0TE6D-cU5QyQDRgFtViErs_TysBqJYY0fx_-vjHCZ9PWdgqLBcy3ElfgR-ZrS_7/s640/P1040981.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><b>Paying for our coffee thickshake at Jill's cafe</b></i></span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZnbVPJ9SYpZEnEtTtqFy6lJg-dChG6RSzMEW_R-5LHVWO2W2i6NdzayOISS7g01TfWh5FiFEG9dh-NPkD5DflgjngZsYLxaW_7yU_lNzWogFdMj5__AU5yVAz_bJrTqeZvtIBWCe84qfF/s1600/P1040982.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZnbVPJ9SYpZEnEtTtqFy6lJg-dChG6RSzMEW_R-5LHVWO2W2i6NdzayOISS7g01TfWh5FiFEG9dh-NPkD5DflgjngZsYLxaW_7yU_lNzWogFdMj5__AU5yVAz_bJrTqeZvtIBWCe84qfF/s640/P1040982.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The "B" Van transport </i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Having placed ourselves in the hands of John
and his nephew Stuart of Island Tours for our Tanna / Volcano experience, we
found ourselves dropping in to their relaxed office on our strolls into or out
from town, and saw Stuart at the Waterfront Bar where he is a congenial and
popular employee. Before departing for our “northern odyssey” John told us that
he had family links to the Loltong and Asanvari areas of Maewo and Pentecost,
and we thought little more of this, but now we found that many of the good folk
that we had met, including Columbus the floating baker, were well known to John
who has played a considerable role in developing tourism that area, and especially
on Pentecost. Then Stuart let us know that his sister operated a small shop in
Loltong, and we realised that while we were there we had met her, bought a
couple of items from her but never imagined any connection to Stuart. John was
quick to remind us, wisely, that “…it is a very small world!” Indeed.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The intractable weather that had remained
wonderfully at arm’s length whilst we were “in the islands”, and had been
forecast for some days, now arrived in full and sullen regalia as a tart
reminder that benign weather like we have had should not be taken for granted
in this part of the world. Storms gathered all about; giving the anchorage in
Vila a curtain of black, and when the rain fell, it was unrelenting and
confined us to on board activities. Unfortunately for Paul and Juan, their
plans for an overnight trip to Tanna to see Old Yasur coincided with the
arrival of the foul weather and their travel company, noting the storms and
strong winds could be a significant safety problem, delayed the trip twice,
before offering a full refund. At the same time we were searching in earnest
for a window of weather to take us from Vila past Tanna to Lifou in the Loyalty
Islands, and on to Noumea, and we too were keen to see this system rumble its
way off toward the Solomons or Fiji, before we put to sea.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzLWMdjuQ8A4tc4DHPrx9_tNftL6ssfgzMKfL9932UdC1Rxs_otJJu-6A-JOOIjdmtczwmFSKQE0aSBwnJv_Qqr1BCfRU-N2mkWwVhzhW_5UYzYyeY2EWiVSTNnW5A5ukeCCmZwEKpkSsd/s1600/IMG_1071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzLWMdjuQ8A4tc4DHPrx9_tNftL6ssfgzMKfL9932UdC1Rxs_otJJu-6A-JOOIjdmtczwmFSKQE0aSBwnJv_Qqr1BCfRU-N2mkWwVhzhW_5UYzYyeY2EWiVSTNnW5A5ukeCCmZwEKpkSsd/s640/IMG_1071.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Not going anywhere just yet!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK35uzF1w5XoG8GljzOYAUxULf78xuiu0CCHYFGOtxrr3hPd-NGSLCebVVTAdOI0H4qiw5-9szmjNvVuA6H-h1uVnvFQcsMTOu7jzAy8AxBC91gxXq7xD1u6NctDoIdffZ9VUYBLICh1N0/s1600/P1040972.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK35uzF1w5XoG8GljzOYAUxULf78xuiu0CCHYFGOtxrr3hPd-NGSLCebVVTAdOI0H4qiw5-9szmjNvVuA6H-h1uVnvFQcsMTOu7jzAy8AxBC91gxXq7xD1u6NctDoIdffZ9VUYBLICh1N0/s640/P1040972.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Then, with the wind, rain, lightning and
thunder having cleared, conditions between Vanuatu and New Caledonia improved
and we were able to target a period of lighter, but sailable conditions for the
60 odd hours that we estimated that it would take us to get back to Noumea from
Port Vila. Having now set a time to go, we knew that our practical beings
needed to override our feelings because although we really <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">had </i>to go, we didn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">want</i>
to go, and could have remained happily in Vila for ages. As Bridgette the new
owner of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spice, </i>put it…”I’ve only
been here since May, and Vila really grows on you”. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Suddenly, with a date set for our departure,
and the weather holding, there were lots of things to do before departing Port
Vila, apart from saying farewell to our nautical friends who we had met by
chance but had gotten to know well over the last few weeks. Some fine Duty Free
shopping is available in Port Vila and we planned to use our imminent departure,
and armed with our official “clearance papers”, to re-stock (I almost typed
re-Scotch!) the ship’s cellar with selected extracts from Scotland, that we had
sleuthed in our forays into town. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4Kk5vM7O4hvWZc5QwTwfYv-8E-3WHTUsMH-08JVLXeg49coYKV84AIk1XOw36oF2LYhonb6XOq8663RgGO-Hcj7lw365lnJC3NktBgzUGLERSuUZW88klh3HG_ZfVy-RHtCOXMkMp5Sx/s1600/P1040976.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4Kk5vM7O4hvWZc5QwTwfYv-8E-3WHTUsMH-08JVLXeg49coYKV84AIk1XOw36oF2LYhonb6XOq8663RgGO-Hcj7lw365lnJC3NktBgzUGLERSuUZW88klh3HG_ZfVy-RHtCOXMkMp5Sx/s640/P1040976.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Farewell & thankyou to Lemaira at Yachting World</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Only an avowed optimist would assume that
completing the departure formalities in a casual country such as Vanuatu could
be achieved without a hitch, and sure enough, having headed to Customs, we were
re-directed to the Port Authority for clearance, which meant finding a separate
port precinct office, where the Authority revealed that they needed a 7000 Vatu
payment (about $A 82) to clear us to leave town. We had requested advice from
Immigration about the cost of “clearing out”, but they neglected to say
anything about the Port fee, and now, on the far end of town, and with most of
our remaining Vatu converted back to Australian Dollars, we were well short of
meeting this bill. Luckily, the Port Authority Manager took pity on our
situation and offered to drive us back into town in a VPA Vehicle to an ATM, so
that we could withdraw some money, meet our Port dues, clear with Customs, and head
across town to Immigration in a “B” van, where we got our passports stamped and
the vessel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">SV Calista </i>was officially
cleared to leave Vanuatu waters. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdnM1x4fekaWJxUbvfYCYFXP28OUsL67v4yOWkNpn73CoDoBbMR0lJdzz191mvekqd6on8UfGvl0Jo9Fn6p8p3UjrRBPJLzSHZgOzjPqcIFKb0piisABXXx3VWlzsIo_zy2PkXMYCppQW0/s1600/P1040979.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdnM1x4fekaWJxUbvfYCYFXP28OUsL67v4yOWkNpn73CoDoBbMR0lJdzz191mvekqd6on8UfGvl0Jo9Fn6p8p3UjrRBPJLzSHZgOzjPqcIFKb0piisABXXx3VWlzsIo_zy2PkXMYCppQW0/s640/P1040979.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>At last, our clearance papers!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Returning to Noumea from Vanuatu was a 300 plus
mile, two night passage, heading nearly due south from Port Vila, between Lifou
and Mare in the Loyalty Islands, before heading to Havannah Passage or more
correctly, Canal de la Havannah, at the southern end of Grand Terre, New
Caledonia’s main island, which needed to be approached with care, at the change
of tide, to avoid the strong currents that challenge shipping in this area.
Weather conditions were forecast to be agreeably light at the outset, before a
friendly sou-easter might see us sail on under wind vane, to beyond Lifou, on
approach to Havannah Passage.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4JD6oW-uQI11peDvDt5dEJG3OOQ9fL6a1v4PumNQihiNkuX88m9aiXzBcMltTw87WUslZL-kjNRvXwyLFhVEk9l1ikYazjnL5uzVCKbm20TijqAe5ny-m5Rhq9Mp-Eh0MyNtsGaoC-0Bb/s1600/P1040975.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4JD6oW-uQI11peDvDt5dEJG3OOQ9fL6a1v4PumNQihiNkuX88m9aiXzBcMltTw87WUslZL-kjNRvXwyLFhVEk9l1ikYazjnL5uzVCKbm20TijqAe5ny-m5Rhq9Mp-Eh0MyNtsGaoC-0Bb/s640/P1040975.JPG" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Some sail repairs before departure</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We rose early to slip our mooring in Port
Vila, and Paul and Juan came out into their cockpit to wave us on our way,
which was nice of them given that we could not know when, or if, we would see
each other again. In no time we had negotiated our way out of the harbor and
the aroma of ship’s jaffles issued from below, as the lighthouse on Pango Point
hove into view away to port. Soon the unmistakeable lift of the SE swell told
us we were at sea, and as the uplands of Efate were gradually deflated by
distance, we left Vanuatu astern. We had saved the garlands of flowers that had
been placed around our necks back at the Yacht Club dinner in Loltong, and now
we dropped them over the side, and watched with a tinge of sadness, as they
slowly dropped astern, until we could see them no more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBTDuzMCQjsIav9vT0boMNS4SoCV8JoCaSQTNNOPq-M-fhDqMYFHYU02EKU-B2ZNaXuKt9k_6UHQSWAW2Z_PantjAOZKRti_Z5cywpN4CJXIsvWF-TIcFCmOWmo9TY6YP2DFdWJ3104TVy/s1600/P1040995.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBTDuzMCQjsIav9vT0boMNS4SoCV8JoCaSQTNNOPq-M-fhDqMYFHYU02EKU-B2ZNaXuKt9k_6UHQSWAW2Z_PantjAOZKRti_Z5cywpN4CJXIsvWF-TIcFCmOWmo9TY6YP2DFdWJ3104TVy/s640/P1040995.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Reluctant departure for Noumea</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Readers of this blog will be aware of the
fabulous experiences that we have had in Vanuatu, but as Efate slipped away, we
wondered what the future might bring for this wonderful island nation. The pace
of change has been rapid in recent years, and we wondered how much might change
in the next few years, and whether we have been lucky to see Vanuatu as we have
done. Yes, the impact of modern technology such as mobile phones can be seen
everywhere, and we hope that the current structures of village life can survive
the pressures that this will mean, especially for the young. On the hill above
the town of Port Vila, the Chinese have built and “gifted” an imposing, but rarely
filled Conference Centre to the people of Vanuatu, and the two dominant Telcos
in the country, we have been assured, are Chinese controlled. For those of us
who sail here there may be changes as well. The charming Oyster Island
anchorage on Petersen Bay, Espiritu Santo may not be accessible in the future
as the Oyster Island Resort has been sold to Chinese interests and a short
bridge from Santo to the island may make cruising to this wonderful place a
thing of the past. A little further north at the unsurpassed Lannoc Bay and
Champagne beach, we have been told that “foreign interests” are pressuring
locals to sell these priceless places, and what that might mean there is
anyone’s guess. Our memories of going ashore in Lannoc Bay, and strolling
amongst the doe-eyed bovines on our way to Champagne Beach might be a far cry
from the scene there into the future. Champagne Beach might be considered too
beautiful to be left to the people of Vanuatu, and money may rule the waves. We
tried not to have these things intrude into our thoughts as Efate became
indistinct astern, the sou-easter built to sailable strength, and we set up
“Kev” our wind vane to sail us on into the night.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGJRrlfLS5SmGwGB7-sIGb0YH9vMXQKHyBMLsGsfSYmpirAFNLAH7VILaUznSCKnUalOy2LWRdhC_M8f4bOSmF_Jwbl6chh9-qJl7qmcKMJ2sSyyNCKM4ZFk-_bsbe99c4OcVb9lf7IqFe/s1600/P1050005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGJRrlfLS5SmGwGB7-sIGb0YH9vMXQKHyBMLsGsfSYmpirAFNLAH7VILaUznSCKnUalOy2LWRdhC_M8f4bOSmF_Jwbl6chh9-qJl7qmcKMJ2sSyyNCKM4ZFk-_bsbe99c4OcVb9lf7IqFe/s640/P1050005.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Another amazing sunset at sea</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The seas north of the Loyalty Islands seemed
curiously upset and the lumpy conditions did not ease until we were just short
of Lifou. We had timed our passage to hopefully coincide with the tide in
Havannah Passage, but as the sea grew smoother we were struck by a contrary
north-setting current that in places reduced our progress by as much as two
knots. There are times, we will admit, that the rigours of night passages at
sea are trying, but on this occasion, with a fulsome moon shining its merry
beams from above, the gentle lift of the swells, and the eager motion of our
ship as she ploughed on through the night was a sight to behold and it was a
delight to be on watch. As we drew abeam of Lifou on our second night at sea,
there was the wink of the light on Cap de Pins, the island’s most easterly
point, and we ghosted by on a fading breeze, with our navigation lights
blending with the moon’s wash of electric white. Not a soul ashore, we suspect,
saw us pass by and head on to the south.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhusJo-qwWyjOaQZaB-HwXsLgJQz0GE60SambbFhSoW-4UbEfb2zXBfXP7NzmZqm6wnhzMTMP8owUp0z2TRKiNHNzRUSreBhF72kkyzTgj8tkP8qY8L0mEAb_8gIj8UvhvzrtNbi3hBvsWE/s1600/P1050009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhusJo-qwWyjOaQZaB-HwXsLgJQz0GE60SambbFhSoW-4UbEfb2zXBfXP7NzmZqm6wnhzMTMP8owUp0z2TRKiNHNzRUSreBhF72kkyzTgj8tkP8qY8L0mEAb_8gIj8UvhvzrtNbi3hBvsWE/s640/P1050009.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Another amazing sunrise!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As we passed between Lifou and Grand Terre
the predicted light sou-easter collapsed entirely and under motor and mainsail
we headed for the Goro Lighthouse that marks the start of Havannah Passage. We
wad timed our approach to coincide with the first sector of the rising tide,
but out from the pass the remnant swirls of the outgoing tide were enough to
make the sea boil and for us to be slewed in the current. Those who have
encountered contrary strong wind and tide conditions on the entrance to
Havannah Pass are not likely to forget the experience. On the reef, abeam of
the entrance lay the wrecks of two substantial vessels as a reminder to all
mariners to treat Havannah Pass with respect.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheHh5VidVQHm1ZT_Ya0-UCNsl_sTql3vQAqLao9F3aWtXOqM_oUGTV-XtoNTYm8jpZLaNmBXKxH7W2AQ6E3nweHEd1rjzAXdN0CmBM3-aMxF0KuGlVnWRH8F2KP16XWDxK_Z2MSHNspmhq/s1600/P1050012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheHh5VidVQHm1ZT_Ya0-UCNsl_sTql3vQAqLao9F3aWtXOqM_oUGTV-XtoNTYm8jpZLaNmBXKxH7W2AQ6E3nweHEd1rjzAXdN0CmBM3-aMxF0KuGlVnWRH8F2KP16XWDxK_Z2MSHNspmhq/s640/P1050012.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Blogging in the calm conditions enroute to Havannah Pass</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-Zuw80tJIwlT0X3WQdddFLTIsX2X7O6OfUUqnCHgfFPUCalsltM1K8yw6YoKPPGZv_oSoypRgWpxT1rTl3SUHEFDddMkMHccHQmTGFHxxy5AtdPY3G5hMOyl7x1wjAJyZyycDZutft8h/s1600/P1050025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-Zuw80tJIwlT0X3WQdddFLTIsX2X7O6OfUUqnCHgfFPUCalsltM1K8yw6YoKPPGZv_oSoypRgWpxT1rTl3SUHEFDddMkMHccHQmTGFHxxy5AtdPY3G5hMOyl7x1wjAJyZyycDZutft8h/s640/P1050025.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>A very friendly Havannah Pass!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our original plan was to push on in the
afternoon through nearby Canal Woodin, or Woodin Passage to an anchorage just
shy of Noumea, but with the afternoon getting on and the clear skies being
replaced with darkened drapes above and the threat of rain, we resolved to make
for Anse du Pilote, on Ile Ouen, a protected anchorage in Canal Woodin, that
looked to be a fine place to spend the night. As we entered Anse du Pilote the
hills of Ille Ouen and the uplands in the Canal were attractive in form and yet
blighted by the scarring of mining and erosion that dominates much of southern
Grand Terre. Palm fringed Anse du Pilote looked picture perfect on our approach
to anchor, and yet it proved to be disconcerting in one respect, as Cookie
called depths below us, and we edged closer and closer to the shore. This
anchorage was very deep! When we dropped anchor we were in 40’ of water, and
seemed to be but a stone’s throw from the beach, a circumstance that we would
rarely experience, at home. Anse du Pilote proved to be a tranquil and
sheltered place, immensely pleasing to the eye, and by night having the flash
of the port hand marker in Canal Woodin, perched atop an adjoining headland and
the loom of the lights of Noumea illuminating the sky to the north. Our
agreeable passage from Port Vila over the preceding days had taken us 56.5
hours and we had covered 307 miles of the south-west Pacific. Already Port Vila
seemed thrice that away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTsH8dqfo5zWGQGlHp8xI_rGgPH0b_sL1IdZREe_7hVs1iwjXuytrAvOwLqOBntYvc9M-K8zX_-FSaOoYmBz5L6AnoCieGBtIODSZ091CJYZbBuOSzcnmW8_RgsgwRAQwwwyOUdioorLUc/s1600/P1050033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTsH8dqfo5zWGQGlHp8xI_rGgPH0b_sL1IdZREe_7hVs1iwjXuytrAvOwLqOBntYvc9M-K8zX_-FSaOoYmBz5L6AnoCieGBtIODSZ091CJYZbBuOSzcnmW8_RgsgwRAQwwwyOUdioorLUc/s640/P1050033.JPG" width="640" /></i></b></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Anse du Pilote anchorage with scarred hills in the background</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgInMFhF_n-XPHNcGNRmk4DpC4Gf35MZT9ZC6Ngcjk-ziQmjqr1_qxgSMskKN2yDcMYRC9OaywJmx5IG54RCCeBMghKgiOB31RBJBMLPIUwnTmOQudchKf8yXGFOo-DGX2c79z1HWOVDlz-/s1600/P1050036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgInMFhF_n-XPHNcGNRmk4DpC4Gf35MZT9ZC6Ngcjk-ziQmjqr1_qxgSMskKN2yDcMYRC9OaywJmx5IG54RCCeBMghKgiOB31RBJBMLPIUwnTmOQudchKf8yXGFOo-DGX2c79z1HWOVDlz-/s640/P1050036.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Port Moselle the clear-in port in Noumea is
especially busy at this time of year and there was no guarantee that we could
get a berth, in spite of an email request chain that Cookie had started back in
Port Vila. Their message to “call us in the morning when you are close” saw us
up early, again, and making our way out of Canal Woodin whilst the sun was
still feeling its way on the eastern horizon. Canal Woodin is a busy shipping
channel, and the previous night a couple of very fast ferries, bound for the
Isle of Pines or the Loyalties had entertained us with their swift passing by
us. In the open water, these ferries skim over the water at a breakneck
35knots! With Canal Woodin just astern we noted ahead a far bigger vessel, the
liner <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Carnival Spirit, </i>also making
for Canal Woodin and on to the Isle of Pines. We were a little relieved not to
have to contend with this behemoth in the confines of Canal Woodin.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzn6-NajqtCLJhtDCI4FaSYrczwN2gpm9QlCjqCPZ9FYSjV1Sg_hHgoYkxbafFlNOAEGpZZT7yxJQP_P30ds0WY6FgUVHFrXnzS7brL47nVpG3mtuY98WCS8e7onQA-wmZpik7bW5OY-3Y/s1600/P1050045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i><img border="0" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzn6-NajqtCLJhtDCI4FaSYrczwN2gpm9QlCjqCPZ9FYSjV1Sg_hHgoYkxbafFlNOAEGpZZT7yxJQP_P30ds0WY6FgUVHFrXnzS7brL47nVpG3mtuY98WCS8e7onQA-wmZpik7bW5OY-3Y/s640/P1050045.JPG" width="640" /></i></b></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The sheep carrier Carnival Spirit heading down Canal Woodin</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As we approached Noumea a radio communication
with Port Moselle confirmed that yes we could have a berth, from 2pm that
afternoon, and hopefully we could achieve the Bio-Security part of the
Quarantine arrival procedures, later the same day. As a vessel entering port
from overseas, we were required to be flying the yellow quarantine flag, the
French flag and the flag of our home country. There are set protocols
surrounding these adornments.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With a few hours to spend, we were
considering our options when our VHF radio crackled into life. It was Cran and
Ann McLean on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lettin Go, </i>the
impressive 52’ Chamberlain Cat. We had last seen Cran and Ann at The Boatworks
in the Coomera River off the Gold Coast, when we had limped in for repairs in
June, following our challenging time in Coffs Harbor. Cran and Ann, who were
headed overseas, had kindly made <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lettin
Go </i>available to us as temporary and salubrious lodgings<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, </i>whilst <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>was at
the boat hospital. We had first met this fine couple on Kangaroo Island in
early 2010, and had joined them on the way up the East Coast on their way back
to Brisbane to complete a meritorious circumnavigation of Australia. We had
agreed to re connect if we could in New Caledonia, and here they were, anchored
in Baie de Citron, off our starboard bow, just minutes away. Soon we were
alongside calling out our greetings, only to find that, just in front of them
was Marcel on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Diddys, </i>and that Cran,
knowing of Marcel’s connection to us, had met with him and invited him on board
for a meal. Now with everyone heading in to the harbor, Cran and Ann invited us
all on board for a nautical get together over dinner.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG_1G-SxJ7hc5nUkAGmgP5tMuf0f9Bn26puU2SpfxtjZe_bGJ0zwxTZ8SS8fodyPcYCq4u9kQ2JpfOPm_cGT3j1r04Ugbfvnwko170hieUHf6fXhdsvvl3ik5XVqeIhvXx5D3Ubj0kgmzu/s1600/P1050049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG_1G-SxJ7hc5nUkAGmgP5tMuf0f9Bn26puU2SpfxtjZe_bGJ0zwxTZ8SS8fodyPcYCq4u9kQ2JpfOPm_cGT3j1r04Ugbfvnwko170hieUHf6fXhdsvvl3ik5XVqeIhvXx5D3Ubj0kgmzu/s640/P1050049.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLJfJZMtKCWjuHOnNmWH-cOd4onsc3NKGbBnuVa3wTFDKRjfGRApQQWqognsfZiYwRR_NMUBaynbGHwJhmlulPulHtHstlgKeekML-dd_qKX2bt-9OfUBtm_kjh4Uf0X-K4aJH0DpvcLXb/s1600/P1050061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLJfJZMtKCWjuHOnNmWH-cOd4onsc3NKGbBnuVa3wTFDKRjfGRApQQWqognsfZiYwRR_NMUBaynbGHwJhmlulPulHtHstlgKeekML-dd_qKX2bt-9OfUBtm_kjh4Uf0X-K4aJH0DpvcLXb/s640/P1050061.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>A wonderful evening on board Lettin' Go</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With our yellow flag down, we headed to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lettin Go, </i>where a wonderful evening
unfolded and in excellent company the hours passed quickly. We scarcely noticed
that for the previous few nights sleep had been at a premium. Cran and Ann were
planning to spend a couple of weeks in New Caledonia before making passage for
New Zealand, and Marcel, like ourselves was seeking an appropriate weather
window for the voyage back to Brisbane. For the moment, it appeared as though
the weather patterns were not kindly and some days might have to be spent in
Noumea and in the nearby lagoon, waiting for things to settle. This was hardly
an imposition. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzyBECoD3oIE6Bb-_hhJ-k8EzJ9H90IDiGK8bFMy9I07IeECWNzbFWtr18FI4LBwrU1xv6yxdX8DtXPdn-lhOYgNU37gYLQ8890vBX2oSv4S1Jrv8XbdvpYpYMSj06Lb4DdNdKVlaeKTWT/s1600/P1050066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzyBECoD3oIE6Bb-_hhJ-k8EzJ9H90IDiGK8bFMy9I07IeECWNzbFWtr18FI4LBwrU1xv6yxdX8DtXPdn-lhOYgNU37gYLQ8890vBX2oSv4S1Jrv8XbdvpYpYMSj06Lb4DdNdKVlaeKTWT/s640/P1050066.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Secure at Port Moselle Marina </i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Having returned to Noumea it is worth
recording that according to Cookie’s trusted Diary and Ship’s Log, 68 days have
passed from<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a> our departure from this fine port to our
return and in this time we have covered 1259 nautical miles, and have visited
23 different anchorages on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">SV Calista. </i> It was a good a time as any to reflect on the
unforgettable time that we had enjoyed in the islands of Vanuatu, and of the
wonderful people we had met along the way. It was true after all: you may
voyage to Vanuatu for the places to see, but you will never forget the people. </span><br />
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-12476941770925860772016-10-09T19:35:00.000-07:002016-10-09T20:08:14.348-07:00<br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Maewo (Asanvari) – Efate (Port Vila)</i></b></span> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>24/9/16
– 6/10/16</i></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><i><span style="font-family: "arial";">(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.)</span></i></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A glance at the map of</span> Vanuatu, to the
islands north of Port Vila, shows that a day’s sail north of Efate, the island
of Epi is reached, and it is here that sailors contemplate a “rectangle” shape
of islands ahead of them and often conclude that the most efficient way of
visiting them is to veer to the west to the larger islands of Malekula and
Espiritu Santo, before crossing the “top” to the east, via Ambae, before
returning down the “eastern side” via Maewo and Pentecost, to Ambrym and thence
back to Epi. For us, from Epi we will return to Port Vila, while others
continue on to the far northern Banks Group of islands, but we needed to be in
Vanuatu, earlier in the “season” to have headed there. As we dipped deeper into
spring, cruising yachts begin an exodus from Vanuatu, an escape before cyclone
season: some to New Zealand, others, like us to Australia, and others, north to
the Solomons where in the equatorial zone, the Coriolis effect that can spin
tropical lows into monsters, is too feeble to produce these super storms. We must
soon join the migrating yachts, and head for safer havens….like Coffs Harbor!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista,
</i>we did not have a sense of “heading south”, or “heading home”, because on Maewo,
Pentecost and Ambrym, we have saved some delights for last, like that roast
potato, at the end of a Sunday roast. In
leaving Ambae, for the anchorage of Asanvari on the southern end of Maewo
Island, we were heading for a place that other cruisers had enthused about, but
we preferred to go there and reserve judgement until we had seen it for
ourselves. A fair estimation of a cruising destination is to arrive there and find
a brace of yachts snared by its allure, and as we approached the sheltered bay,
under the “hook” of Teterigi Point, we were pleased to see some good friends
already there and others that we looked forward to meeting if they tarried in
Asanvari. Again we had Paul and Juan on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bumpy
Dog, </i>Geoff and Di on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Stylopora, </i>but
there also, from Noumea, was Patrick and Murielle on the 52’ Grand Soliel yacht
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hieracon, </i>and the Swiss couple
Patrick and Edith, on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Solina,</i> a large
circumnavigating catamaran.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8_xXgKcGmSBdGFE2Ho8P4oVCfP1gU69g5l-ySeqaAE1QhfTa0YMmVWkYt1A3avBWN4rgveBHC3EdsUG6AhfuOpFJZwhVoYUghvvpvVgxz6-hXZYFMMPrPEuXvgaM4Y9jF2MB5lHusGrNF/s1600/IMG_1041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8_xXgKcGmSBdGFE2Ho8P4oVCfP1gU69g5l-ySeqaAE1QhfTa0YMmVWkYt1A3avBWN4rgveBHC3EdsUG6AhfuOpFJZwhVoYUghvvpvVgxz6-hXZYFMMPrPEuXvgaM4Y9jF2MB5lHusGrNF/s640/IMG_1041.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Asanvari anchorage</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Maewo and Pentecost are slender isles, baton
like in shape, aligned approximately north to south and separated by the four
mile stretch of Lolvavana Passage. Both are approximately 30 miles in length,
with Maewo averaging a svelte 5miles in width, and Pentecost some two or three
miles broader. Maewo is precipitous in appearance, of dense sylvan presentation,
and altogether too formidable of form to have roads constructed to the villages
that cling precariously to its coastline. There are hence no cars on Maewo, no
airports either, and only the workmanlike supply barges, like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kalyara, </i>link the inhabitants of this
remote isle to the outside world. Hence, after anchoring, in going ashore at
Asanvari through a small boat passage in the reef, we entered a world of neat
village dwellings, charming hedgerows, smiling faces, and a natural warmth of
welcome for those of us for us who have arrived by sea. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Local traffic</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The "main road " lined with gardens</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Visually, nature got things picture perfect
when crafting Asanvari, and to place the cherry on the top for dusty mariners
like us to refresh themselves, it has a deliciously cool waterfall, complete
with plunge pool leading to a free flowing stream for water replenishment which
doubles as a never ending torrent to wash one’s smalls. To luxuriate under the
waterfall and get a back massage from its generous cascade, was too good to be
true. Nearby, the good folk of Asanvari have completed the catering for
yachties by constructing the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sparkling
Waters Bar, </i>although when a sunset get-together at the bar was proposed, to
the acclaim of all, Barry, the local convener, had to admit that, until the
supply boat came in, there were only <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">six
beers</i> in stock to go around! Yachties, though are resilient folks and
ship’s cellars were soon raided, condiments procured, and a fine gathering
assembled at the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sparkling Waters Bar</i>
as if to usher us into Maewo life, Asanvari style. Barry’s wife had made some
delightful flower arrangements to grace the tables, and as the sun set over the
masts in the bay, it was hard to imagine being in a more inviting place than
this. Unplanned moments like this one, amongst like-minded souls as we were,
are a sheer delight, and added greatly to our experience in these distant
shores.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4X9av2wlEk9JKmT38QOLzO-ZnfwCHfRC2VYgsXXyVqj96piCw9jA7L-jCL-gRVvmFh1m09Awc-HvsiCDXfOB0FDckQ75cL8Slzo6tT09KPRRy4-g0gEKbD4J_LLm2EQU2epHVeJdBqNM3/s1600/P1040624.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4X9av2wlEk9JKmT38QOLzO-ZnfwCHfRC2VYgsXXyVqj96piCw9jA7L-jCL-gRVvmFh1m09Awc-HvsiCDXfOB0FDckQ75cL8Slzo6tT09KPRRy4-g0gEKbD4J_LLm2EQU2epHVeJdBqNM3/s640/P1040624.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sparkling Waters Bar at the waterfall</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyu_YyoO4lVwISJndkgsecAqwOt4ffa10Ct7xanZhPO-nS73Z4B6aF5uuRKAlVTZkwl-L8BzX5_maios1tHlSvjk4g169JETPPEdIND51maJmZJZYfyqnPovFE-MCwKyBi7P4s4tG1VHuB/s640/P1040645.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The beautiful waterfall</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Enjoying a back massage</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sundowners at the Sparkling Waters bar</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ashore, Asanvari is a “walking village”, with
leafy pathways that guide one past modest households where cheery faces emerged
to say hello, to ask our names and to find out from where we had come. The
local store was hard to find open, but just up from the beach, the
entrepreneurial Erica and her husband run a little eatery, with accommodation alongside,
to meet the demands of a tourism boom that may be a little time yet from
arriving. As a sideline Erica sells produce from her village garden, although
in noticing some excellent cowries that she had for sale, Cookie’s attention
was hopelessly drawn, and I knew that our on board collection was about to
expand. Erica can spot a shellaholic a nautical mile off. On our way back on
board, we met Columbus; not the celebrated explorer, but rather the celebrated
baker, who offers a unique service for early morning loafers, by paddling out
in his dugout canoe with freshly baked products literally hot from the oven.
True to his word, with a swish of his paddle and a tap on the hull, Columbus
duly delivered, and it is unlikely that, in the annals of seafaring, that a hot
and golden loaf has been fallen upon with greater alacrity than on this morning
on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista.</i> Saint Columbus!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1vBAZc7UpdMhy7oQ6TgojzeDMWeZLa9UEdBRN5ShFxjZtQOvLsgT_qvLit7wF5pGeXh7IIkxkyyjfnKacOgB_5gj3hX7V16ax_Z9gs3HmSYESTcyqTB0eSO_kr-C-UFhx_Hd6bRLrQPIV/s1600/P1040610.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1vBAZc7UpdMhy7oQ6TgojzeDMWeZLa9UEdBRN5ShFxjZtQOvLsgT_qvLit7wF5pGeXh7IIkxkyyjfnKacOgB_5gj3hX7V16ax_Z9gs3HmSYESTcyqTB0eSO_kr-C-UFhx_Hd6bRLrQPIV/s640/P1040610.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Erica's restaurant</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPTl_Yy5NSIV5ug557mjlYx-fgtOTn2GV7XXi5av5RMi8-DELSmGP2teV46MbXz9e0uIPyklLDT7nN_V9IsAA1ypmQeV-85KDgZ_Xudg_ovB4LdKP8jARYvCZ6cVd5zKbH-whRJUBUhAyL/s1600/P1040564+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPTl_Yy5NSIV5ug557mjlYx-fgtOTn2GV7XXi5av5RMi8-DELSmGP2teV46MbXz9e0uIPyklLDT7nN_V9IsAA1ypmQeV-85KDgZ_Xudg_ovB4LdKP8jARYvCZ6cVd5zKbH-whRJUBUhAyL/s640/P1040564+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Columbus' bread delivery</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The good Columbus and Erica, we found, were
not the only entrepreneurial souls in town, for when Patrick and Murielle drew
alongside in their duck they said that we were invited to a “cave snorkelling”
opportunity with Carl, a young local man who had developed a marine experience
for visitors drawn from the unique karst, or limestone topography found on the
seaward side of the village. He and his family had constructed a “Magas Cave
Tour” where from a purpose built shelter, snorkelers were guided to an
impressive underwater “dropoff”, with myriads of fish and an array of hard and
soft corals before being led through a circuitous limestone cave – not a place
for the claustrophobic – before emerging out of a paved sink hole in time for
garden fruits and fresh coconut juice in the pavilion. Fabulous!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Coral gardens</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjoOhiQQ3rjKVOpdcxPqluWWYhora4n-6dHFbpC9b2FfCg-wQYI71ni7P5zLBVxKIieWjtw9BnTgRwiMHc2Dn2UU8p52mKiZUY6mMIXzErVr4eZeWuQs7WBAc7qUuEGNuRTzwsYin-4-zb/s1600/P1040602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjoOhiQQ3rjKVOpdcxPqluWWYhora4n-6dHFbpC9b2FfCg-wQYI71ni7P5zLBVxKIieWjtw9BnTgRwiMHc2Dn2UU8p52mKiZUY6mMIXzErVr4eZeWuQs7WBAc7qUuEGNuRTzwsYin-4-zb/s640/P1040602.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The cave exit at the end of a lovely snorkel</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWA12jKlaLiXWvhldCL1PG7-FTg3wBV540llwaaFYQEfKKqOmLu74KMkLqRIvXqtxkeb2PIBSyiNl-yM5ZZp1yXfX51nwmk-j5BYIfxajyfa0zjSM1oEhEWFViwFPCDKgzaUw0vIAbyCUT/s1600/P1040845.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWA12jKlaLiXWvhldCL1PG7-FTg3wBV540llwaaFYQEfKKqOmLu74KMkLqRIvXqtxkeb2PIBSyiNl-yM5ZZp1yXfX51nwmk-j5BYIfxajyfa0zjSM1oEhEWFViwFPCDKgzaUw0vIAbyCUT/s640/P1040845.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Carl & the snorkelling team !</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At one time Asanvari, apart from the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sparkling Waters </i>facility, had a “Yacht
Club” of sorts although in March 2015 Cyclone Pam demolished the structure and
it is now in the process of being rebuilt. According to Carl, we were the 62<sup>nd</sup>
</span>yacht to drop anchor in Asanvari this “season” and we wondered, what with the
facility by the waterfall already in place, how there was a need for two yacht
facilities in Asanvari. Then, to add complication, the original chef who
prepared meals at<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Sparkling Waters </i>has
decided to “go it alone” and offer meals from his village around from the
waterfall. Apparently, having facilities<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>for yachties, was driven by former Chief Nelson, whose strength of
character kept differing elements in the village on the same song-sheet, but
with his untimely demise a couple of years ago, there have been literally too
many cooks and not enough broth. Asanvari looks idyllic, and is idyllic, but on
the ground it is not necessarily utopia, Maewo style. We figured it best to
remain at arm’s length from village politics, because, apart from enjoying our
separation from the political world, here there are eminently better things to
do, and probably we were seeing inter-clan rivalries that have been entwined in
village life for aeons. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivaNmgujJOdWVyKV7-HqZcVvKFdTSOvpRCEKJfPSiOovYksYx96-lPxoru_1twi_5JoBgIX7RMd-Iy9GKUkLMU2-hMitvA2Z3pXR5iZyRbAn3rBry9hpc0_rJyK5wvuj4vYaJQ47Q729wH/s1600/P1040620.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivaNmgujJOdWVyKV7-HqZcVvKFdTSOvpRCEKJfPSiOovYksYx96-lPxoru_1twi_5JoBgIX7RMd-Iy9GKUkLMU2-hMitvA2Z3pXR5iZyRbAn3rBry9hpc0_rJyK5wvuj4vYaJQ47Q729wH/s640/P1040620.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Construction of the new Yacht Club</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For us though, with days at a premium, and
longer range forecasts already predicting a return to stiffer trade winds later
in the period, we had to decide whether we would leave Asanvari. In the end its
attractions seduced us, and we stayed one more day, simply because we did not
want to leave. Besides, there was snorkelling still to be done and there was that
wonderful waterfall, which issued its watery symphony throughout the night, and
by day drew us to its aerated waters that were impossible to resist. In the
end, all five yachts decided it was time to leave, driven by the need to move,
as October drew nigh.</span><br />
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our “move” was in truth not a big one, just a
dozen miles or so south, across Lolovana Passage to Loltong Bay, a favourite
haunt of Derek and Bela Reinemer, former owners of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>and now proud owners of the Perry designed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pandana. </i>Derek and Bela are regular
visitors to Vanuatu and it was unfortunate that in this, the year that we
visited here, family commitments elsewhere have kept them on other shores.
Knowing of Derek and Bela’s fondness for Loltong had us committed to calling
in, again, to see it for ourselves. Staying in touch with Derek and Bella,
after nearly 10 great years of owning <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista
</i>has been cherished by us both. We can’t imagine this occurring following
the sale of a car, or a furniture setting for example. Yachts are in way living
things that are in a realm of their own. Yachts are family.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2R5jMm3Rvn526kk8YpO8d2QyWvBT9RQHJOvBI7r0Ud-WkVhYnAKP0VeLdZaEO2eRY5TQcHg7Wn6ZrYvCKrYrLOhRVTs9R2R3n8VcBakt-r7Q-uAiOiYiiTeujgFdAS9jGRtmeQ3fn7nFD/s1600/P1040662.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2R5jMm3Rvn526kk8YpO8d2QyWvBT9RQHJOvBI7r0Ud-WkVhYnAKP0VeLdZaEO2eRY5TQcHg7Wn6ZrYvCKrYrLOhRVTs9R2R3n8VcBakt-r7Q-uAiOiYiiTeujgFdAS9jGRtmeQ3fn7nFD/s640/P1040662.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Calm passage to Loltong, Pentecost</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The anchorage at Loltong is partly protected
by two outer reefs, and there would be plenty of space for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hieracon, </i>ourselves and the two other catamarans that were already
there, but for the need to leave space for inter-island roll-on roll-off
ferries to enter, manoeuvre, and draw alongside their beach-side staging point,
which here, as it would only be on Vanuatu, is under the spreading banyan tree.
We anchored, re-anchored and then moved again to a spot just out from shore
with the help of Patrick and Murielle who took soundings from their duck with
their portable depth sounder, which was, we concluded, a handy and helpful
piece of equipment. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Anchorage, Loltong</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgca7dNjfKRHbY-qbnkwjM-yIvYQXhZ-EIDna__AfpbSLDGFpWzoNDmzkDiexTmmaTW8s-ejkwoAKobNq6iIxXOzPte5H7vfKYwqihl97Wzb4uwfmRT6IogGfC01IYdDEmBQCb22qNBRCYA/s1600/P1040773.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgca7dNjfKRHbY-qbnkwjM-yIvYQXhZ-EIDna__AfpbSLDGFpWzoNDmzkDiexTmmaTW8s-ejkwoAKobNq6iIxXOzPte5H7vfKYwqihl97Wzb4uwfmRT6IogGfC01IYdDEmBQCb22qNBRCYA/s640/P1040773.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We took no time in getting ashore, partly to
observe the hurly and burly of a ferry arrival, and thence to explore the
village. Tickets could be sold to a ferry arrival, with the throaty manoeuvring
of the ship, the pressing throng ashore as the drawbridge was lowered and the
myriad of parcels, bags, boxes and crates that found their way on and off the
ship in muscled arms, to a cacophony of Bislama, all at volume 10, as somehow
sense was made of the consignment madness that seemed to be unfolding in front
of us. Soon the ‘warehouse” under the Banyan was littered with produce and
supplies, and the only utility in town, a vehicle bearing a mixed grill of tyres
and a mechanical profile where, that it went at all, could be classified a
miracle. Through it all a throng of young men sat inert on the roots of the
Banyan tree, and remained so long after ferry growled its way out of the bay,
despite there being tasks all about, such as the lifting of boxes, and the
hauling of planks that cried out for attention. When life in the village
returned to its equilibrium, only a pig in a wooden crate remained of the cargo
from the ferry, left on a sandbar, with its anxieties rising along with the tide.
As we joined the stragglers who were heading for home, to our considerable
mirth, we came across the aforementioned utility, parked in the shade, with the
driver lying alongside, asleep. It was after all lunchtime siesta, and
apparently one ferry arrival, was maybe an arrival too many.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Unloading & collecting supplies....</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxTE6LxFtEGj1GXZwcP3V77ct2UN5cm5X64MZGexol7qkvazFsBE-1ED9RpCjM1eE1vYd3bI69cQ_jXBiECf_X_Nt04WbYKMYLID4VBuMpOYzkKFgwbceWML7fBWEae6jhpEJpdSih2wpF/s1600/P1040746.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxTE6LxFtEGj1GXZwcP3V77ct2UN5cm5X64MZGexol7qkvazFsBE-1ED9RpCjM1eE1vYd3bI69cQ_jXBiECf_X_Nt04WbYKMYLID4VBuMpOYzkKFgwbceWML7fBWEae6jhpEJpdSih2wpF/s640/P1040746.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>but who's collecting the poor pig!?</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Directly ashore from where we were anchored
is found the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Vatulo Yacht Club, </i>brainchild
of Matthew and his wife Mary, who specialise in hosting<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>traditional banquets, featuring foods drawn
uniquely from local gardens. The “Club” is adorned with flags and other
yachting memorabilia from around the world and alongside, Matthew is crafting
two cosy bungalows, to value add to what has already been created. After
arranging with Mary to host an evening at the club for boaties currently “in
residence”, we listened to Matthew’s advice that in order to “get to know”
Loltong and its people, it was a good idea to take the time to pause, find a
shady spot, and allow the people to connect with you. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid80gwkvUt2DmnHF5FYvwy9Gh_BNRA-htT2SNo1tJQc5LLiYvKQFbIteMnqY6yN31D34r9XHm4jB1SgkNzSxi4K43l_CmamW9m9BDZwz-eIw10-M8avNFlfhp3-87zwJHXjXdfRLoOB8v0/s1600/P1040754.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid80gwkvUt2DmnHF5FYvwy9Gh_BNRA-htT2SNo1tJQc5LLiYvKQFbIteMnqY6yN31D34r9XHm4jB1SgkNzSxi4K43l_CmamW9m9BDZwz-eIw10-M8avNFlfhp3-87zwJHXjXdfRLoOB8v0/s640/P1040754.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Vatulo Yacht Club</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqUQByt9Z4RWJxCCvPfW-njAHlFYppRAe1_OX5h030ycknxHw6MGnSl906FF4rtp41ofILsSc4bCbmgWTYpxhDFytHjL4DiKM_xPcRNHDTDKkivIuEVh69e8VKcUUhxWZc25xVy6HFJePk/s1600/P1040799.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqUQByt9Z4RWJxCCvPfW-njAHlFYppRAe1_OX5h030ycknxHw6MGnSl906FF4rtp41ofILsSc4bCbmgWTYpxhDFytHjL4DiKM_xPcRNHDTDKkivIuEVh69e8VKcUUhxWZc25xVy6HFJePk/s640/P1040799.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The village Banyan tree</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In a word, Loltong is a treasure. With
Matthew’s advice in hand, we found that a stroll through the centre of town
took a while, with locals ever ready for a chat, and in the event of feeling
fatigued, there are strategically placed public seats, deftly located in
dappled shade, for the wearied traveller to take it all in. Near village
central, the “main” road bends and in the crook thus formed, an extensive
slatted seat is a grand example of its kind, with generous shade and a garden
rockery to add to the scene. To sit here and contemplate the day is popular
with many of the menfolk, whilst in shaded alcoves, or in the community
Namakal, women cook, chat and work on handicrafts, and laugh, freely and
frequently. Down near the beach, whilst naked tots gambolled in the shallows
and shrieked in delight, a mixed gender game of soccer was being played with
the fervour of a World Cup final and no one seemed to care that the goals were
crooked sticks or that the ball had long since lost its air. All about,
chickens scratched, some with cloth strips on their wings to confirm ownership,
dogs of doubtful lineage ambled about, and pigs snorted in the bushes. Nothing
in Loltong seems hurried.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFNKPJ5l2XphuNiFcbu7xxif20C4S3ClCMv1-HtDqx-r-B0nfjJcbuHHef_gxkbfcAZbf1QHF8HLEp9hLRoRx5AW06uGozgUkt1KiMjs-NQ0xtpb77hyphenhyphennS2qZH20J98Z-0h1GpUgkDAsa/s1600/P1040813.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFNKPJ5l2XphuNiFcbu7xxif20C4S3ClCMv1-HtDqx-r-B0nfjJcbuHHef_gxkbfcAZbf1QHF8HLEp9hLRoRx5AW06uGozgUkt1KiMjs-NQ0xtpb77hyphenhyphennS2qZH20J98Z-0h1GpUgkDAsa/s640/P1040813.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Village images........</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj033n20nah7_o4QrggomyZiJnIJ6nkPrtvWOmCZ4Pii_plMJVdRur-s00HD-qj3OkgA1PgpUcyAxM1OhgVzeWEcnvusHq2MEFsWmrnpsX6YuMJuwAQcKhVpZZI9fPQSDgg0ImbdZ5VkAyM/s1600/P1040803.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj033n20nah7_o4QrggomyZiJnIJ6nkPrtvWOmCZ4Pii_plMJVdRur-s00HD-qj3OkgA1PgpUcyAxM1OhgVzeWEcnvusHq2MEFsWmrnpsX6YuMJuwAQcKhVpZZI9fPQSDgg0ImbdZ5VkAyM/s640/P1040803.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEL-QV8zgHhVcUkSP5Xwee3LT4-pcJrBHOW0FQAOvIGb2SclcwMDYgqFOlvQLp_myMIIZ0M4u51fqhhqbj6jm0iz_rBArrPejq3mXbbH9cYy7pBzzjXT4xYKFsRroF5JHrauOx4dtRN_kV/s1600/P1040792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEL-QV8zgHhVcUkSP5Xwee3LT4-pcJrBHOW0FQAOvIGb2SclcwMDYgqFOlvQLp_myMIIZ0M4u51fqhhqbj6jm0iz_rBArrPejq3mXbbH9cYy7pBzzjXT4xYKFsRroF5JHrauOx4dtRN_kV/s640/P1040792.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmHsDuJ55J4NKprrjRgfycV10gOMDp0olkO-YqksqPmUFNlIPj6iO-JyaohnLE5YCE7EH_YY8xrgYjYDNVOvDalHMBgOWH4yXW7F6NCjpc8yXbcj1olOs4zS_35BB7ffLjLhc9XQdwg0bs/s1600/P1040808.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmHsDuJ55J4NKprrjRgfycV10gOMDp0olkO-YqksqPmUFNlIPj6iO-JyaohnLE5YCE7EH_YY8xrgYjYDNVOvDalHMBgOWH4yXW7F6NCjpc8yXbcj1olOs4zS_35BB7ffLjLhc9XQdwg0bs/s640/P1040808.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Making kava</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPb-IMAW8QZ7LPIoLk3rA68IhP7NkaJX3lUsgDIXPOx3l3tRVJueMe1HwyCipJbBR6L7LWZU-Q1fuib_Mbke0j7JHJk_Gf_t5XzD3WRWrm9CieWJbyAz47TwiWe01JmqlyiA74g7z6WuYG/s1600/P1040749.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPb-IMAW8QZ7LPIoLk3rA68IhP7NkaJX3lUsgDIXPOx3l3tRVJueMe1HwyCipJbBR6L7LWZU-Q1fuib_Mbke0j7JHJk_Gf_t5XzD3WRWrm9CieWJbyAz47TwiWe01JmqlyiA74g7z6WuYG/s640/P1040749.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Steep hilltop vegetable gardens</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Also under the resting place in the centre of
Loltong, we met a group from the Australian National University, whose members
were engaged in absorbing life and language in the village, in a more
professional manner than our own, as part of a move to record local customs and
tongues with the support and involvement of the community. Some group members
had been on Pentecost for weeks and here at Loltong they had obviously made
some very close friends. The researchers were Bislama fluent, and were making
efforts to record, like Brittany in Banam Bay, key features of languages that
were spoken and not recorded. A fear is, we suspect, that with phone towers
flourishing in the islands like tropical seedlings, and mobile phones making
rapid changes to village life, there was a fear that local languages might
easily disappear without trace, as new generations of young people in villages
became seduced by the new and abandoned the old. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcvJoVv2QRAP44RoifBdo7Wse0DZuijxCRGBl9cO3ZcNbNvdidNiFr_fR6NsFkjDhTwHMsJRcl7p42LnqG9eaC_5BfWuZTtVrVb6V9LqamhaG7USKyfAa5cUBNVM3AEM9kAELV_x9Dk-4N/s1600/P1040810.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcvJoVv2QRAP44RoifBdo7Wse0DZuijxCRGBl9cO3ZcNbNvdidNiFr_fR6NsFkjDhTwHMsJRcl7p42LnqG9eaC_5BfWuZTtVrVb6V9LqamhaG7USKyfAa5cUBNVM3AEM9kAELV_x9Dk-4N/s640/P1040810.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Loltong Guesthouse & restaurant</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY11H807KG8JKkw7tfnq_3Or6MUvQkZ88zP_CleNkutD5IvaQhTvWkJzo-rwF3KNc2DJrLjnseMZl3QcyBxSsh4-M7DPTTHgmCN8vnkcSkEE8rLWH99PvKrvTASicLOOQ5umxP4Imy00ZO/s1600/P1040736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY11H807KG8JKkw7tfnq_3Or6MUvQkZ88zP_CleNkutD5IvaQhTvWkJzo-rwF3KNc2DJrLjnseMZl3QcyBxSsh4-M7DPTTHgmCN8vnkcSkEE8rLWH99PvKrvTASicLOOQ5umxP4Imy00ZO/s640/P1040736.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At the end of town a cement paved road makes
its way steeply out of town and from its summit a grand vista of the village
and the anchorage made the labour to get there worth every drop on the brow.
Near where the road beetles upwards we met Barnabus Vavo, at first glance a
languid storekeeper, but in reality a man with a remarkable story to tell. Some
years ago Barnabus “jumped ship” here, at the request of a couple on a large
cruising yacht, and spent six years with them, voyaging from PNG, to Fiji, to
New Zealand and on to Australia, where, to complete his portfolio at sea, he
completed a Sydney Hobart Yacht Race. With slender patronage at his shop, we
listened spellbound to Barnabus’ tales from the bounding main. His cruising
career came to a harrowing end somewhere off New Zealand, when an immense storm
dismasted their yacht and Barnabus was certain that he was about to disappear
into the Tasman, without a trace. Somehow they survived, limped back into port,
and Barnabus decided that maybe his roving days were over, and that returning
home, marrying and starting a family might be a good thing. He and his wife now
have four children – we met his delightful little daughter with Barnabus under
the shady tree in the centre of the village (where else!) – although we wondered
whether in quieter moments, his thoughts drifted to full sails, trade winds,
and exotic destinations. These things are all a long way from Loltong.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf114O6G772g9F22bHJB6THV7SGc9IpueBV6L0qC7IM69vdEE9pJuoiWg1C6lCSpnfuV6SKLUcgVDutxXIwQcCe3i5hpzRhyRp9hyFyvoTLx7vrAcddBXFRw0w-U3jSvvwjyXNHJ2-vANQ/s1600/P1040789.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf114O6G772g9F22bHJB6THV7SGc9IpueBV6L0qC7IM69vdEE9pJuoiWg1C6lCSpnfuV6SKLUcgVDutxXIwQcCe3i5hpzRhyRp9hyFyvoTLx7vrAcddBXFRw0w-U3jSvvwjyXNHJ2-vANQ/s640/P1040789.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Barnabus hard at work in his store!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There are two schools in Loltong; one is a
“French” school, which we visited with Patrick and Murielle, who had a bag of
textbooks and materials from Noumea to donate, and the other, perching atop the
peninsula on the north side of the anchorage, was really in the village of
Labultamata, which is reached by boat or via a hike around the bay through the
forest. The forest trek proved to be a walk where in leafy glens, with giants of
the coastal rainforest lowering overhead, we thrilled to its arboreal splendour,
whereas for villagers and kids heading to school it was just the track to
Labultamata, and the path one trod in getting to school. Emerging at the
village, we met Franklin, who offered to show us around and to take us up to
the ridge above the houses where the school commanded a magnificent view back
along the coast to Maewo. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We arrived at the Labultamata Primary School
during a break, and to Franklin’s amusement little’uns were soon swarming about
us, in scenes reminiscent of the Pied Piper, or even Gulliver’s Travels.. A
horde of ebullient youngsters, like uncorked lemonade, ushered us in the
direction of the long suffering teacher, who was in her classroom, attempting
to snatch a moment of sanity, before we burst in with an army of effervescent
tykes in hot pursuit. She manufactured a gracious smile and showed remarkable
tolerance as we wrote our best wishes on the blackboard, complete with a map of
Australia showing where we lived, and then attempted to make some order amongst
the mayhem by taking a group photo of the assemblage. Then, not wishing to make
things worse than they were, I made a strategic error whilst attempting to
construct a form of retreat. I “hi fived” a wild-eyed urchin, clad in an
Australia t-shirt, and next thing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all the
kids </i>wanted a “hi five” and the cacophony rose again, to decibel levels
bordering on dangerous. In the end, what was meant as a goodwill visit,
probably sent the lovely teacher heading home at day’s end, reaching for her
analgesics. The walk back through the forest to Loltong, harkening to the gentle
lullaby of the birds, and feeling the soothing airs of the breeze through the
trees, was a salve to our nervous system. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmfOgMKfL01TblNrrttyoPAIfeXx6xf7ADHHtzhfOcR-MzcSwIuXFkhL-49k8uK4iJdKEEX8VL1JneeDdlHaD26jkY5uOrRBLjE-NowxM8gMpue1XbKuTUL6ijcWmJeuuk7deX_2yGTkGi/s1600/P1040718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmfOgMKfL01TblNrrttyoPAIfeXx6xf7ADHHtzhfOcR-MzcSwIuXFkhL-49k8uK4iJdKEEX8VL1JneeDdlHaD26jkY5uOrRBLjE-NowxM8gMpue1XbKuTUL6ijcWmJeuuk7deX_2yGTkGi/s640/P1040718.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Having fun with the local school kids! </i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRhthmF6ffwHA7kfciW-BPZfINYX5iiY2Pdhs_BjHwN8M7K_qRud95qX0MKy1XFjOuw8J7igL4dGl8TJZzp9koSf2rLpWnbOSE_8i4T_QCIprdqne4-zutGIGHP1SUPjGAU9qXDSe-AB0W/s1600/P1040722.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRhthmF6ffwHA7kfciW-BPZfINYX5iiY2Pdhs_BjHwN8M7K_qRud95qX0MKy1XFjOuw8J7igL4dGl8TJZzp9koSf2rLpWnbOSE_8i4T_QCIprdqne4-zutGIGHP1SUPjGAU9qXDSe-AB0W/s640/P1040722.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A wondrous evening at the Vatulo Yacht Club
then capped what had been an unforgettable sojourn in Loltong. Eight good souls
came ashore from vessels and we found ourselves in the expert hands of mine
hosts Mary and Matthew, her “front of house” Lofate, and very ably assisted by
Matthew’s niece and nephew the immensely likeable Nellisha and Crillis, who we
learned now live with Mary and Matthew following the sad death of Matthew’s
sister. Mary works magic in the kitchen and the promise of supping on a range
of traditional dishes, in tapas-style portions, was just perfect. Course
followed course, with animated interaction flowing freely across the table,
whilst the charming Lofate periodically called everyone to order with the
arrival of a new dish, and gave an informative explanation of its contents. A
tasty salad featuring the fruits of the gardens and forest completed a gourmet
tour of Loltong that will live long in the memory. It was one of those very
special occasions that one hoped would never end.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0LgIAiryByI_NlR-OTawMyWVvRCptlzezfKnpFD56DouNfF8Bo2xJlHQUYtXxgHn143BVo7kiBRatlXGPP6wMBB6RWdH3g3mpNof4F01Nkj9KpHHQq6ZDWVJ7u56dQBNSw2TnJltbj9H/s1600/P1040766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0LgIAiryByI_NlR-OTawMyWVvRCptlzezfKnpFD56DouNfF8Bo2xJlHQUYtXxgHn143BVo7kiBRatlXGPP6wMBB6RWdH3g3mpNof4F01Nkj9KpHHQq6ZDWVJ7u56dQBNSw2TnJltbj9H/s640/P1040766.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Matthew, Crillis, Lofate, Nellisha & Mary</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUcEY17DPmKjry6g_OofzwzzKAssAP0f2VWJe3ug6nLlb8Nh_DDkTcDer2gEqJamZytmqjWzAeu5dzWCvdFgMtNeQAjnNs3p6rw1KGowzTKjrtql28cTRpEp8xCs69POFPAQXu8kqi5mdk/s1600/P1050055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUcEY17DPmKjry6g_OofzwzzKAssAP0f2VWJe3ug6nLlb8Nh_DDkTcDer2gEqJamZytmqjWzAeu5dzWCvdFgMtNeQAjnNs3p6rw1KGowzTKjrtql28cTRpEp8xCs69POFPAQXu8kqi5mdk/s640/P1050055.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>What a wonderful night we all had!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3DNSaem4eRHlVZ8-b9PzzSleI8zrTjkQfjNidgnXjTry91j0flUzY8YS1pOVx2-CwFL6bXLEeJnc0xhwaFyW_lCL3w5EZi2_lOg_eHzPF2xX_UBs3_DRiQZ6qGFnutCy69PekqfSTPjQ/s1600/P1040819.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3DNSaem4eRHlVZ8-b9PzzSleI8zrTjkQfjNidgnXjTry91j0flUzY8YS1pOVx2-CwFL6bXLEeJnc0xhwaFyW_lCL3w5EZi2_lOg_eHzPF2xX_UBs3_DRiQZ6qGFnutCy69PekqfSTPjQ/s640/P1040819.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Farewell sunset</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was with a leaden heart that in the new
morning, with children already laughing in the shallows, and the wisp of home
fires in the village heralding the new day, that we drew up our anchor, and
made our way out between the reefs before turning our bow to port and Loltong
quietly slipped from view. We had some 18nm to cover down Pentecost’s leafy
coastline before we arrived at an anchorage called “Waterfall Bay”. South of
Loltong, where embayments are at a premium and therefore, when we arrived at
the anchorage, courtesy the Cruising Guide, we nestled in square with the
coastline where winds from the south through to the north via the west would
make the anchorage untenable. In no time a ship on the horizon morphed into a
local trader, functional, not pretty, and surprised us by steaming in between
us and the shore, before releasing its tender with a clutch of parcels to be
ferried ashore and placed under a foreshore tree, of substantially less
grandeur than Loltong’s spreading Banyan. As the ferry chugged its way to the
north, a utility arrived, the parcels were collected and the consignment
process was complete, Pentecost style. With a light easterly predicted we felt
secure enough to head ashore, just as Patrick and Murielle arrived to make it
two ships in the anchorage.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglo9x6az518RrP66ArXzKApSc-cbU9d2xsFBp5irI72nbHKqKpAGy4zw1rPG9ux15eNLqKKfx1LStkZGEBHKQXuHUtTPUgOL1X7vjpDnCdgSA90wVkcMPebfmhJWuJZS2JAu52Xvr5qha8/s1600/P1040832.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglo9x6az518RrP66ArXzKApSc-cbU9d2xsFBp5irI72nbHKqKpAGy4zw1rPG9ux15eNLqKKfx1LStkZGEBHKQXuHUtTPUgOL1X7vjpDnCdgSA90wVkcMPebfmhJWuJZS2JAu52Xvr5qha8/s640/P1040832.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Close encounter with the ferry</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmXqpyZLGNUowdIVVILFCW0ByTZ-kXsYQ0NWxOXb4kV5XFxJX5_BNN7ZGbXQZXBw5Afe6fRxdt4OKwfOjkkNQYIwX3oJozpI0eWvuPOWvZ7N84SMhACxsIknGbzq_06DLk5qvFk4fCO-AR/s1600/P1040838.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmXqpyZLGNUowdIVVILFCW0ByTZ-kXsYQ0NWxOXb4kV5XFxJX5_BNN7ZGbXQZXBw5Afe6fRxdt4OKwfOjkkNQYIwX3oJozpI0eWvuPOWvZ7N84SMhACxsIknGbzq_06DLk5qvFk4fCO-AR/s640/P1040838.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Waterfall Anchorage</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Naturally, with the anchorage named
“waterfall” we were keen to find this aquatic feature, especially given the
delight we had in the cascade at Asanvari. Before finding a river mouth and following
the flow upstream, we stretched our legs in the direction of Ranwadi the local
village, which we failed to find although we fell upon, and into, the shore-side
Ranwadi Bakery, which is less “backyard” and more extensive than others we have
seen owing to the fact that it is a major supplier, not only to local folk, but
to the significant, live-in, Ranwadi Churches of Christ College, that sits atop
the hill above the coastline. The college has had a major face-lift in recent
years, which has included the construction of some impressive, lit sporting
grounds alongside the coast road which has been part of a significant aid
contribution by the Australian Government, designed to assist key schools on
selected islands in Vanuatu. It was heartening to see Aussie aid being directed
at education in this way, as not only do local children view learning as
valuable, it is certain that Vanuatu will need as many trained young people as
it can get in order to face the challenges that are there now, and into the
future. We climbed up to the school and, it being a Saturday, took an
undisturbed look around, causing considerably less mayhem than we did in
Labultamata! </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTHmAXJUYNcWJpLbq9CUApcsRSoMoK_pEDXZ5JlkCp1-UY3bkTtHJJOioCN2QwjaTJOTb-W2WkFlFqzeLmxJDygAZbelBu6zg4NqIka0mfI_9hNjlm7YkEZBgggRI0MhfF8FaobtNUPN_k/s1600/P1040843.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTHmAXJUYNcWJpLbq9CUApcsRSoMoK_pEDXZ5JlkCp1-UY3bkTtHJJOioCN2QwjaTJOTb-W2WkFlFqzeLmxJDygAZbelBu6zg4NqIka0mfI_9hNjlm7YkEZBgggRI0MhfF8FaobtNUPN_k/s640/P1040843.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The Ranwadi Bakery</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back near the anchorage, our search for the
waterfall upstream looked to be thwarted, as we could find no track of any
substance beside the river, and likely pathways disappeared into the backyard
of some local dwellings where washing hung, chickens roamed but no-one could be
found to set us aright. Eventually a group of local girls near the beach, no
doubt enjoying their weekend away from school, put us on our way and we
eventually found an attractive hedge-rowed path leading up to what was a hugely
impressive waterfall. With a group of local teens in understandable possession
at the falls, we satisfied ourselves with a refreshing plunge in a burbling
rock pool downstream, although we were horrified to see some of the teens, atop
the falls, and edging way too close to a slippery oblivion for our risk-adverse
liking, whilst beckoning to their mates below. Maybe this is another form of
indifference to the fear of heights that is obviously a hallmark of the famous
tower diving exploits of local men, seen annually in Pentecost in April, May
and June.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj49yXHLPG7z2xR4CnPoTyrdcxdTBkTZMPp3C3XKh3dqlbcewBpcn90OnCxuyyaT6I_90gW7bMziKI0naweY7DeMosRmtuhdjhPIdUFj-V8MxQr5m5JuygUQ0wvj2ilL-oC_uBBstop024W/s1600/P1040862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj49yXHLPG7z2xR4CnPoTyrdcxdTBkTZMPp3C3XKh3dqlbcewBpcn90OnCxuyyaT6I_90gW7bMziKI0naweY7DeMosRmtuhdjhPIdUFj-V8MxQr5m5JuygUQ0wvj2ilL-oC_uBBstop024W/s640/P1040862.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Was worth the search...a great waterfall!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our evening at “Waterfall” proved to be an
uneventful one on this coastline, although back at home it was AFL Grand Final
Day, and I took the opportunity to attempt to search our HF Radio in the upper
reaches of the 15 to 17 kHz bands in an attempt to secure a “feed” to the game
via the ABC and Radio Australia. Eventually, way up on 17840 kHz, there it was,
the footy, direct from the “G”, complete with the dulcet tones of the ABC
commentary team, as clear as if we were tuning in from the Fitzroy Gardens. What
a place, here off Pentecost Island, from which to hear the history making win
by the Western Bulldogs over Sydney. Many thanks, Aunty, and Radio Australia.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Selwyn Strait separates Pentecost Island from
the island of Ambrym, and we were away early next day to make the comfortable
20 odd mile passage to the anchorage and village at Ranon Bay on Ambrym’s north
coast, to allow time for some exploration ashore. Ambrym is a volcanic island,
dominated by the conic forms of Mount Marum and Mount Benbow, which are both
decidedly active, and attract trekkers from around the world to what is a long,
tiring but spectacular two-day experience, that allows visitors to peer in awe from
the crater rim to the fiery cauldron below. For us fitting in a trek was not
possible, but from our anchorage at Ranon plumes of smoke billowed upwards, and
drifted away to the north-west. Some sailors, anchoring on Ambrym’s north coast,
have found that a wind-shift to the south can leave a boat smothered with
extract of volcano.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBXiSwBtVgoTAkA65uGCw_RnlkKVu-br-jV0vEaeRG06Ge7Y7VR8f1D3okyLW-CdFh5HrBXVvpJ9DNSsafnqslW6fahIByCHC-Hh-w0cIhKeKMVdY7Tsq4S0qG3kVt8XnTce-4Ax0BHJqm/s1600/P1040874.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBXiSwBtVgoTAkA65uGCw_RnlkKVu-br-jV0vEaeRG06Ge7Y7VR8f1D3okyLW-CdFh5HrBXVvpJ9DNSsafnqslW6fahIByCHC-Hh-w0cIhKeKMVdY7Tsq4S0qG3kVt8XnTce-4Ax0BHJqm/s640/P1040874.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Ranon Bay</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ashore at Ranon was a flimsy experience
compared with, say, our time at Asanvari or Loltong, although in fairness we
had little time to make anything other than a cursory connection with locals,
who were curiously thin in numbers on the ground. Kids who we came across,
responded to our “hellos” with unabashed requests for “lollies” or “money”,
which drew little response from us, so after a walk along a coastal track
beyond the village, it was not long before we made our way back to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista. </i>There is no doubt that the
highlight of our brief visit to Ranon, came at night when the fireside glows
from the twin volcanoes lit up the southern sky with an arterial glow, as
nature’s blast furnaces gave us one of the most unusual backdrops to an
anchorage that we have ever had. It was impossible to go out into the cockpit
in the evening without staring in wonder at the curtains of red hanging over
Marum and Benbow; dancing and flickering in the night sky as they reflected the
fiery furnaces below. Seeing this spectacle was reason alone to cherish a
stopover on Ambrym. There are times when Cookie’s illustrated diary of this
voyage, which is now well into volume 2, causes her to ruminate on a sketch
that best represents the day, but on this occasion the brooding spectacle of
the peaks to our south was an obvious choice, and her red “Derwent” was soon
pressed into service.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For some days we had been dissecting the
regional wind forecasts via the Predict Wind program, searching for the best
“window” of wind to make the passage around Ambrym to head for an anchorage on
Epi Island, and thence to bear away a little for the long day sail back to
Havannah Harbor on Efate, just shy of Port Vila. Once around the eastern point
of Ambrym, the path to Epi is to the south-east, or directly into the face of
the prevailing wind. Therefore we were looking for winds that were not
south-east, and our best option was a light easterly, that we could at least
motor-sail into to reach Epi, and if it held, hoist everything and sail our way
back to Efate the following day. Planning passages to make the best of the wind
and sea states can make all the difference in achieving an enjoyable experience
at sea. A promising “window” had emerged for us to achieve this but we needed
to wait one more day on Ambrym before heading to Epi, so in the meantime we had
been searching the Cruising Guide for another anchorage on Ambrym that had
potential interest.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghazh7Onlx_Vdco3zw-c3E8c2EUo7gs3tOtjk4XA07ovtaeJrKHXBKuKY02SbN7DzxNdq9wDSN2Y6gzmjqPnM_P0_iEsPg8H-wJTucl0Z2BVV-GhjmIhFmuTluknGjITE-aYz3nFm0k1bR/s1600/P1040930.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghazh7Onlx_Vdco3zw-c3E8c2EUo7gs3tOtjk4XA07ovtaeJrKHXBKuKY02SbN7DzxNdq9wDSN2Y6gzmjqPnM_P0_iEsPg8H-wJTucl0Z2BVV-GhjmIhFmuTluknGjITE-aYz3nFm0k1bR/s640/P1040930.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Morning light on Mt Marum & Mt Benbow</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Just six miles to Ranon’s east lay the
anchorage at Bavanna Bay, which, according to the guide, was blessed with a
“hot spring” leading to a warm rivulet flowing out to sea. There have been
times when cruising in South Australia in winter, when the promise of an
immersion in a hot spring would come as a gift from Heaven, and as we had never
experienced such a phenomenon in our travels, heading to Bavanna was an obvious
choice. Once anchored there, we hastened ashore to a steeply sloping black sand
beach, and a surrounding aspect that was devoid of the lushness of Pentecost
and Maewo, possibly due to the fallout that often descends from Marum and
Benbow. We may have overcooked our hopes for the hot spring, for instead of an
oasis like nirvana with steaming pools set under swaying palms, the soak by the
sea was slimy, weedy and uninviting. There would be no luxuriating in a hot tub
in Bavanna Bay, although where the marsh issued out to the sea the water was
warm beyond tepid, but probably wasted in a clime such as this. There was no
settlement nearby, and so, in solitude, a swim in the bay was an instant and
welcome attraction. The cap to the unusual nature of this place came whilst
swimming when, upon digging our feet into the sand, we struck sub-surface water
almost too hot for the touch. Our thoughts did fly back to our stoic friends at
Port Elliot, where from the Surf Club hardened souls swim through the winter,
and having just endured the coldest and wettest September on record, they would
have liked to have joined us to dive without flinching in the warm waters of
Bavannah. That evening we were disappointed to find that from the bay, we could
not sight the peaks of Marum and Benbow, although on sunset, the plume from
their vents gave us a sunset that was truly spectacular.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJcedNKC9gGSKl-Cu4d-RP_KTBWfhO0ulXcKGmyRiTukqEySiJQQ0JfeprKGeuMtSNwylMe6Xh8APpODtLVt4wZQeH8sq5jBYyfORFEMgMq5WeliJ66lH_M8NwKd18DZGYaO6OG9v3Lem/s1600/P1040902+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJcedNKC9gGSKl-Cu4d-RP_KTBWfhO0ulXcKGmyRiTukqEySiJQQ0JfeprKGeuMtSNwylMe6Xh8APpODtLVt4wZQeH8sq5jBYyfORFEMgMq5WeliJ66lH_M8NwKd18DZGYaO6OG9v3Lem/s640/P1040902+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Water Temperature.....27.9 deg & hot sand !</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN76XBFer5PzKzYAQso0EFIvufCh0JJTd79OvahLYPWNk_eM3pKeZcA1Z5dYPYp_mmSqpic9_C-f-5eTHEOOYQ1HC3Idi431QirEwFsCiPjH-sPypLB2301sLDmYwc43mb-EGUFtGeQ33I/s1600/P1040920+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN76XBFer5PzKzYAQso0EFIvufCh0JJTd79OvahLYPWNk_eM3pKeZcA1Z5dYPYp_mmSqpic9_C-f-5eTHEOOYQ1HC3Idi431QirEwFsCiPjH-sPypLB2301sLDmYwc43mb-EGUFtGeQ33I/s640/P1040920+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Amazing sunset</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was but a handful of miles from Bavanna
Bay to Ranwakon (Dip) Point on the eastern tip of Ambrym and when we got there
in the morning we were happy to find that the winds were agreeable, the sea was
kindly and that we could make all haste to Epi. Just around Dip Point is found
the anchorage at Craig Cove, which we had considered, but had rejected, in
favour of Bavanna Bay. When abeam of it we noted<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Farr Flyer</i> in the anchorage on AIS, so we called up Jerry and
Carmel, to find that, having been delayed considerably in Port Vila with water
maker problems – we do not have a water maker, we have 500l and frugality -
they were headed for the Isles that we had just visited. After helping with
enquiries that they had and wishing them well on their journey, we got a call
from Jody and Simon, off Manoroa 2 with more questions still, as they planned
their passage to the north. Having met back in Noumea it was great to
re-connect with these fine people as we passed, like ships in the night.</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBGCxB9xxDbO6wt1bMdAg4ByMewPUr1AdRo0PheD0BfZSpkm8I411jmoarXYTLECrKHNf1oITVAYhgFkKM5RB7Fb7CYEL_j9_0wmCFFx6kv662PQEUSntWWjg8X2-1Y-1if2P8gXcF9yeW/s1600/P1040936+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBGCxB9xxDbO6wt1bMdAg4ByMewPUr1AdRo0PheD0BfZSpkm8I411jmoarXYTLECrKHNf1oITVAYhgFkKM5RB7Fb7CYEL_j9_0wmCFFx6kv662PQEUSntWWjg8X2-1Y-1if2P8gXcF9yeW/s640/P1040936+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Dolphin escort enroute to Epi</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our passage to Epi was an enjoyable one, with
Ambrym falling astern in the mist, and us “glassing” Paama Island and the
classically cone shaped Lopeui Island, south of Ambrym, to port, where, if time
had permitted, there were more attractive anchorages just waiting to be
explored. For a time the breeze swung off the bow and we romped along under
sail, before, off Epi and on our way to Revolieu Bay, the wind faltered,
dropped out, and we noted a concerning line of whitecaps away off our bow.
Knowing that nearby Lamen Bay probably offered better protection; we swung our
head to port, and found, on anchor, that when the wind did come it issued from
an unexpectedly north-easterly direction, but friendly for us where we lay. In
the end, we had time to go ashore for another stroll around town where we took
a quick look at the local stores, marvelled at some ladies weaving their
colourful mattings, and generally stretched our legs before the final passage
back to Efate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Colourful handicraft</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Apart from some raucous roosters, all was
subdued when we eased out of Lamen Bay in the pre-dawn, just as the sky turned
caramel in the east. In an hour or so we had passed Cape Foreland, succulent cheese
and tomato jaffles had issued from the galley and with mugs of tea at the
ready, we set a stabilising mainsail, before passing Revolieu Bay in search of
better winds beyond Maling Point, in the open seaway beyond Epi. It was not
long before the light airs of the morning became firmer winds of the day and we
were able to set a full pattern of sails and leave the navigation to “Tim” our autopilot.
These were conditions that could make a salt dewy eyed with delight: a
fathomless sea of blue tending to purple, Flying Fish skipping all about, the
majestic Emae and Makura Islands off to port, friendly cumulus clouds floating
over an azure sky, and us with time on our hands once the sails were tweaked,
to lie back, relax and take it all in. Eventually Epi fell over the horizon
astern as Efate, with the grand double peaks of Nguna Island and its handmaiden
Pele to its immediate north, as the entrance to Havannah Harbor became clearer
ahead. Inside the harbor we doused sails and headed for the Ai Creek anchorage
across the bay that we had used on our passage north. Compared with our
experiences north of Epi; to be anchored outside the bright lights of holiday
houses, and to hear the noise of vehicles on the main road behind was to know
that civilization lay ahead and the description of the islands of Vanuatu
where, according to Linda Kalpoi, General Manage Vanuatu Tourism…”<i>unspoilt
living in villages, where life is carefree, and the friendliest people are
waiting to greet you” was now probably astern of us, and over the horizon.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaBju2mSxXYlaC1NhOwC9TALysb0cCKYAhoDOY4zbA_QNTSsS_-C8Hi8LHdIEsk_46eNI-Ug6YP1fa_JxlMi6yIy_q_tTbbZuSUsiGLNwJuUE-BWE2vTeSsdTYD4vaF2jtDH8LeDUilavu/s1600/P1040945.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaBju2mSxXYlaC1NhOwC9TALysb0cCKYAhoDOY4zbA_QNTSsS_-C8Hi8LHdIEsk_46eNI-Ug6YP1fa_JxlMi6yIy_q_tTbbZuSUsiGLNwJuUE-BWE2vTeSsdTYD4vaF2jtDH8LeDUilavu/s640/P1040945.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Great sailing </i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRBWQtVfL2aHJZGNXLpH8PCr1GkX132WJCH5yqc6-oBUN3G444Tse9P_agj9VW4kDpD7XTi1BC-LrzLx6wdb_DqOxK6ofZspueeNUaLGQjH3JfxjXnQQRutoHStrUdUcUavM7G2HB6jhr2/s1600/P1040955.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRBWQtVfL2aHJZGNXLpH8PCr1GkX132WJCH5yqc6-oBUN3G444Tse9P_agj9VW4kDpD7XTi1BC-LrzLx6wdb_DqOxK6ofZspueeNUaLGQjH3JfxjXnQQRutoHStrUdUcUavM7G2HB6jhr2/s640/P1040955.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Entering Havannah harbour...with so many amazing memories & experiences!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In departing Havannah Harbor for Port Vila in
the morning, we passed by Lelepa and Eretoka (Hat) Islands before warily making
our way around Devil’s Point outside Mele Bay, where turbulent currents can
make the entrance into Port Vila an unpleasant experience. A radio call to
Leimara from Yachting World saw us placed in the redoubtable hands of Moses and
Willy who guided us to our mooring off Iririki Resort, where for $15 we get the
same view as those in the Overwater Bungalows of Iririki, but at a fraction of
a cost. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia2Dc3-Tmc0rEKJ8AEh7510YUmg-gOlho3t9bpeJ38E-b_UQvQR5o_v2auAjYrAMwOEabYf5dws-9vMNHf9jqgIgLT-Qpght4l6l_jKRdY2fkbs56o1s1MD8fadiUL4omVQQwgHqBLP2sI/s1600/P1040961.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia2Dc3-Tmc0rEKJ8AEh7510YUmg-gOlho3t9bpeJ38E-b_UQvQR5o_v2auAjYrAMwOEabYf5dws-9vMNHf9jqgIgLT-Qpght4l6l_jKRdY2fkbs56o1s1MD8fadiUL4omVQQwgHqBLP2sI/s640/P1040961.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Moses & Willy escort us to our "Resort" mooring</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our voyage to the fabled isles to the north
of Port Vila had been blessed with a pattern of fine weather that was beyond
our fondest hopes, in stark contrast to what Anne and John Marley on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Essex Girl,</i> had experienced just a year
previously. We had been fortunate, indeed, with the only drawback being onshore
sea-breezes that occasionally made anchorages bumpy during daytime and a
general shortage of winds that sometimes saw us motoring when we preferred to
sail. We had covered 508 sea miles in the islands, and had more memorable
experiences than we could possibly cover in these pages. In some small way we
were reminded of the great traveller Marco Polo, who, in the Middle Ages, made
it all the way to China via the silk road, and returned to the Mediterranean
years later with incredible tales from the Orient. On his deathbed, religious
clerics gathered, hoping to see him recant his extraordinary stories, but Polo
was defiant, and rose on an elbow to declare…..”I did not tell you half of what
I saw”. Yes, we have been fortunate indeed to have had the experiences that we
have shared in Vanuatu’s wonderful islands amongst its wonderful people. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We looked forward to our return to Port Vila
before planning our return to Noumea and the long haul back to Australia. A
great many sea miles still lay ahead of us, but the balmy days we had enjoyed
in Vanuatu’s islands were certain to linger long in our memory, as we make our
way back to New Caledonia and beyond.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJAmr_rYAP3gyzEk2cVhefyD5KVtJb1nX2k5NDncL9mtK6y8y0TUrvTp1Atgh6nyxDy2NG8tffSXZtWm6eEDCh7AAW_Ubt-7nJQoxoCEJIOmvG8-XZKMtr3MH5P7SIhTQg2xYKiBnM9F10/s1600/P1040617.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJAmr_rYAP3gyzEk2cVhefyD5KVtJb1nX2k5NDncL9mtK6y8y0TUrvTp1Atgh6nyxDy2NG8tffSXZtWm6eEDCh7AAW_Ubt-7nJQoxoCEJIOmvG8-XZKMtr3MH5P7SIhTQg2xYKiBnM9F10/s640/P1040617.JPG" width="638" /></a></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-1046984227824982762016-10-06T17:20:00.000-07:002016-10-06T17:20:13.088-07:00<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Luganville - Ambae</i></b></span> </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>13/9/16 – 24/9/2016</i></b></span></span><br />
<b><i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><i><span style="font-family: "arial";">(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.)</span></i><br />
</span></span><div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><i><span style="font-family: "arial";"></span></i><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike><br /></strike></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial";">
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Luganville, even to its ardent admirers could
not be described as a pretty place. Perched on the northern side of Segond Channel
opposite Aore Island, it lacks the attractive topography of Port Vila, and
whereas in islands all around there are current or ex volcanic peaks with
grandeur that demands attention, here on the southern side of Espiritu Santo,
or “Santo” to everyone, the aspect is low lying, flattish and on first
inspection, possessing plainness in considerable degree. </span><br />
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Not far away though there are some world
class attractions that make Santo a premier destination for tourists.
“Downstream’ from Luganville, lies the submerged wreck of the liner <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">SS President Coolidge</i>, sunk during WW2
after hitting a “friendly” mine at the harbor entrance, which attracts divers
from all around the world, and has the practical bonus of being accessed by
simply walking off the beach to the “dropoff” to the wreck site. Then there is
the Millennium Cave which has been a mecca for canyoners and adventurers since
its taboos were lifted in 2000, a host of incredible “Blue Pools” for the more
mortal of visitors, forest hikes, stunning beaches, and for us some anchorages
plucked directly from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yachting World. </i>These
delicious places plus the ever friendly folk of Santo have made it a “must
visit” destination for yachties for years.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJalDXflGPuzBGSolhOwGUe-jolhsnDyYWLC_6abaOjQgk5JxIq5n7zxqP61SnWunPxcFbzfk3MVyk1U5r2UUR1m54NwDQor25U8ZELDpTLF63ndsg7co1wAfEEH5i85K_CC6wyJwW53-0/s1600/P1040328.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJalDXflGPuzBGSolhOwGUe-jolhsnDyYWLC_6abaOjQgk5JxIq5n7zxqP61SnWunPxcFbzfk3MVyk1U5r2UUR1m54NwDQor25U8ZELDpTLF63ndsg7co1wAfEEH5i85K_CC6wyJwW53-0/s640/P1040328.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Secure on the mooring at Aore opposite Luganville</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtIusxbdLMIMnmaV2lxMWHh5pG-r-tmw5dT24v86-hMoYCNDpnNkOQqKGTC9i1q7DprkcR2oOtRonrInRT0t1fbevp1gf6TWrvUJ9Pi20hjzHgZjhU6BHLCtRw8LHUXBXKjvMz1LO6mzw1/s1600/P1040321.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtIusxbdLMIMnmaV2lxMWHh5pG-r-tmw5dT24v86-hMoYCNDpnNkOQqKGTC9i1q7DprkcR2oOtRonrInRT0t1fbevp1gf6TWrvUJ9Pi20hjzHgZjhU6BHLCtRw8LHUXBXKjvMz1LO6mzw1/s640/P1040321.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We have come to Luganville for supplies,
primarily fresh produce from the Luganville Market, some items from the
supermarket, and a cut or two from the butchery, of Santo’s premium beef.
Accessing Luganville, with its long and languid main road presented a
logistical challenge for us, because anchoring off the town is not easy, just
“downstream” off the Beachfront Resort, there are masts to be seen but the anchorage
is exposed somewhat to the SE, so we have settled for a sheltered mooring off
Aore Resort, across the Segond Channel, where the promise of a regular ferry
service direct to the town wharf was a key attraction for us. The resort has
been gathering place for sailors for years, and the cruising notes spoke of
warm welcomes for salty sailors, a ‘yachtie room” for saline bonhomie, showers,
good food, cold beer and of course the ferry. Times have now changed however,
and under new ownership the moorings have been reduced to three in number from
“several”, the “yachtie room” has sunk without trace, and the “shower’ is a tap
by the beach. We can access the resort ferry into town if there is space
available after resort guests are seated, but taking jerry cans or large
volumes of shopping on board is not permitted. We took our second class
citizenry status stoically, but wondered how, in lean tourism times
post-Cyclone Pam where most international carriers refuse to use Port Vila’s
airport until it is fully repaired, any money, even our second class money,
over the bar or in the restaurant, was not a good thing for the bottom line.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOLGDlQIC8aT-By9XarNjQfs9WAiLgnGEVM72BSWDdJxZyR2K8BtocHejvMqpiXYlLFPYgrVDcr3Knz78R8LlBGl59Hq8dmf8MaSW9GlRvlQSIvCacgdIYSfgRPrRySUW7YSwjZtwY6aRu/s1600/P1040324.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOLGDlQIC8aT-By9XarNjQfs9WAiLgnGEVM72BSWDdJxZyR2K8BtocHejvMqpiXYlLFPYgrVDcr3Knz78R8LlBGl59Hq8dmf8MaSW9GlRvlQSIvCacgdIYSfgRPrRySUW7YSwjZtwY6aRu/s640/P1040324.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Onboard the "ferry" to Luganville</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Understandably, apart from some pleasant
dalliance in two of the town cafés we treated our time in Luganville as
“business”, and were keen to get on our way. The market proved to be fine for
quantity and price, but a little thin on variety, whilst across the road at the
local Butcher’s, I had arranged a handful of vacuum packed Scotch Fillets, but
left, deflated, when the staff explained that the machine had broken, and the
timing for its repair was…. “island time”. Cookie came back from the market
with a woven basket full of sweet potatoes, and a similar quantity of
eggplants, having been unable to convince the sellers to reduce their sales
from bulk to portions. We will be getting creative in the galley when we leave
Luganville.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Market produce purchased & washed!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We departed Segond Channel past the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Coolidge, </i>just as a group of divers were
wading into the fray, and were soon abeam of Million Dollar Point, where at the
end of WW2, US Forces, not knowing what to do with a host of trucks, jeeps
earthmovers and the like, simply tipped them into the sea rather than see them
fall into “unfriendly” hands. The needs of locals here on Santo apparently did
not carry much weight in the Pentagon, and most tourists coming to this site
today leave still scratching their heads.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2wa7TRSCdqClL_OzQ-wNREgfDpE5xBNKoq2CK8lxfNtCl2uUWgoD1cHTFdg-KQQtaaZAfAX_ez5loKC7iJGZHjeDLEtniMvQ5nfXSzcp-kwM2GrhATh_NZsU6rA9EFSwUuqdnGct9XUw3/s1600/P1040338.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2wa7TRSCdqClL_OzQ-wNREgfDpE5xBNKoq2CK8lxfNtCl2uUWgoD1cHTFdg-KQQtaaZAfAX_ez5loKC7iJGZHjeDLEtniMvQ5nfXSzcp-kwM2GrhATh_NZsU6rA9EFSwUuqdnGct9XUw3/s640/P1040338.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Million Dollar Point</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Beyond Segond Channel we came around to the
north with an intention of making for the highly regarded anchorages off Oyster
Island, tucked in behind a series of islands and reefs in an area known as
Petersen Bay. Mostly we plan where we are headed and stick to the plan, but
just a handful of miles up the coast as we entered Diamond Passage off Palikulo
Point, which marks the entrance to Petersen Bay, a wave of spontaneity had us
hastily changing our plans. Off to port twinkled the sheltered waters of
Palikulo Bay, coloured as though it was Lapis in Nepalese jewellery. Already
there were two masts there, floating on azure, and in a trice Cookie was
heading below for the “waypoints” from the cruising guide that we would need to
weave our way into the anchorage around some reefs and shoals.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Turquoise waters of Palikuno Bay</i></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLv1OuVTP1e-sdUSr8tQPjPyfJIpJUdvSEMaFSVCJf4Otlrgd2bX_GXU0JTJVPnbL5Rj8npXXD77v1J9m4ft0uahC7pR_SRm07wbjEtQDtmgfsIwpQ1ioU7GfeESHeOC2CZx281VQ-1uqn/s1600/IMG_1006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLv1OuVTP1e-sdUSr8tQPjPyfJIpJUdvSEMaFSVCJf4Otlrgd2bX_GXU0JTJVPnbL5Rj8npXXD77v1J9m4ft0uahC7pR_SRm07wbjEtQDtmgfsIwpQ1ioU7GfeESHeOC2CZx281VQ-1uqn/s640/IMG_1006.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Although we have crossed vast tracts of
lonely ocean there are times when we connect or re-connect with others who are
also living afloat in ways that continue to astound us. Here we were thousands
of miles from home and as we closed on this charming anchorage, we realised
that we had a connection with both of the yachts anchored there. In 2010, on
returning from our ill-fated voyage to the Louisiade Archipelago off the SE tip
of PNG, and with Christmas approaching, we sheltered in the cosy harbor at
Bermagui, waiting as gale after gale blew through Eastern Bass Strait. There
too in a wonderfully sturdy steel sloop, welded by hand, and using materials as
they were scrounged was the sloop <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jannali</i>,
who with owner / builder/ welder extraordinaire Martin, and partner Kerry like
us, were waiting for anything looking like a gap in the weather off Gabo Island
to make for Lakes Entrance and Xmas. Before leaving Aore Resort we had a
message from one of the staff that a “Martin” was trying to contact us, but
think as we did, we had no idea who the “Martin’ could be, or how he knew where
we were. Now as we came up to anchor, there was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jannali</i>, and there was Martin, with new partner Cindy!! Well we
remember sitting with Martin, poring over BOM information and weather models,
and planning an “escape’ from Eden, around Gabo in the briefest of lulls before
yet another gale hit from the NE. We left Eden at 3.45 am on Xmas Eve 2010 –
Cookie’s trip diary tells it unerringly - , and because coast radio stations
were effectively closed for Xmas, we stayed in touch with Martin until he
called us about 2am when we were somewhere off Wilson’s Promontory to say that
he was safely in at Lakes Entrance. We had not heard from Martin since, and
that is just the way of the sea. Now <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jannali</i>
was just about to up-anchor for the Oyster Island anchorage, and naturally we
arranged to re-connect there after our stopover at Palikulo Bay. We were really
keen to meet again and to compare notes after nearly six years of life had
passed under our keels.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Jannali</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The second yacht at anchor was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Stylopora</i> owned originally by SA
orthodontist Don Gilchrist and his wife Robyn, and whose book on their voyage
around the world was eagerly read by us both, given that Don’s original boat, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bandwagon, </i>was the first “big sailboat”
we had ever put to sea on, following an offer to ‘crew” on board in a Saturday
afternoon race off SA’s Cruising Yacht Club, arranged by good friend Geoff
Gowing. Cookie remembers the afternoon well, what with seemingly urbane men endlessly
yelling at each other and for the stiff rebuke she got for leaving the post
where she was placed, to race to the bow to see a pod of dolphins. “The balance
of the boat!” someone barked, as Cookie looked around wondering how her slender
form could upset a 10 tonne racehorse. We have a “dolphin rule” on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista</i> that says that if the sea state
is fine, then to go to the bow to watch dolphins is the thing to do, as one of
the great joys about being at sea is to watch these magnificent creatures
cavort at the bow. We never tire of doing this. Now <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Styropora </i>was owned by Geoff and Di, a Brisbane couple who were
surprised by Cookie’s enquiry that went… “was your boat originally owned by Don
Gilchrist?” The sea is sometimes a small world indeed.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLMtVSn2lvGDYQP9VWMdEkCdk-jHSPe2E1Q8BJJpZlFUid0b0UWVICwMRZvGyd715wAui9t7T-xw2GhTgXY5S2hiYrQ5re5EqxRd_QNN_nMWZXGIk1KRHRpxbIA_LHI3cJFyqzU9C7AW5O/s1600/P1040580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLMtVSn2lvGDYQP9VWMdEkCdk-jHSPe2E1Q8BJJpZlFUid0b0UWVICwMRZvGyd715wAui9t7T-xw2GhTgXY5S2hiYrQ5re5EqxRd_QNN_nMWZXGIk1KRHRpxbIA_LHI3cJFyqzU9C7AW5O/s640/P1040580.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Stylopora</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the tranquil and inviting waters of
Palikulo Bay, we had hoped its reefs might provide some worthwhile snorkelling,
and we identified two areas that we would try. Returning from the first we saw
Paul and Juan on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bumpy Dog </i>heading in
with the alarming news that they had grounded out on the shallow reef entrance
to Oyster Island, and were abandoning plans to go there. We felt that apart
from having a deeper keel than us, they had made their entrance attempt too
early in the rising tide, and that the next day, closer to high water, was the
best time for us to make our passage. With high tide due at mid -afternoon this
gave us an opportunity for a morning snorkel on the reef section guarding the
anchorage in the hope that we might find some nice coral and, if we were lucky,
we might “find Nemo”. Maybe this was our lucky day, because sure enough,
alongside a very substantial coral head, we found not only “Nemo” but a brace
of his clown fish relatives as well. Cookie was in eighth heaven, although
these distinctive little fish are always flitting hither and yon, and are
therefore very hard to photograph.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtf5dYf4Uj9s-qfK6rKHufKIvi1ytzeAHxVdBfaAHp-JdJddjCJz5G5IB0xSXsrpH79lS_TukVTaf9oBKkcVmulhyphenhyphenIv21AwCLlNqLv6KBtkwYvjrgbUiTC7Q7QsSmRVZ-cADAwjfAUYXC1/s1600/P1020511+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtf5dYf4Uj9s-qfK6rKHufKIvi1ytzeAHxVdBfaAHp-JdJddjCJz5G5IB0xSXsrpH79lS_TukVTaf9oBKkcVmulhyphenhyphenIv21AwCLlNqLv6KBtkwYvjrgbUiTC7Q7QsSmRVZ-cADAwjfAUYXC1/s640/P1020511+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>We found Marlin & Nemo !</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now came the moment of truth, negotiating the
shoal entrance to the Oyster Island anchorage. On our way there, several miles
up the bay, Martin called to say that he too had grounded on the entrance, but
he had new coordinates that might help us find our way in. So, after a careful approach, with Cookie at
the helm and me at the bow with my cleanest polaroid glasses deployed, we slid
through, with everyone breathing in, and our depth indicator showing a spare
0.2 of a foot under the keel. The reward for negotiating this entrance, was to
access the Oyster Island anchorage, off the Oyster Island resort, a safer and
more picturesque spot it would be hard to find. A well anchored boat could ride
out a considerable tempest in the tree lined Oyster Island anchorage, which is
a truly sumptuous place.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJnpJ-B_ytFP6Z3DqHdgcP-Zlihu-KKpC9Esz6HiTlsY9lrUd0yevTWVZfS0Tiewc_0wOm4G3TJoYmpSmWOqthF84T_THB67RsyPpFPlA18mE_k4Jkbe3nyQ_tUkb8WnKUNBqE5RK4plR/s1600/P1020563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJnpJ-B_ytFP6Z3DqHdgcP-Zlihu-KKpC9Esz6HiTlsY9lrUd0yevTWVZfS0Tiewc_0wOm4G3TJoYmpSmWOqthF84T_THB67RsyPpFPlA18mE_k4Jkbe3nyQ_tUkb8WnKUNBqE5RK4plR/s640/P1020563.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Beautiful sheltered anchorage at Oyster Island</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was great to catch up with Martin, to meet
the wonderful Cindy and hear the unusual story of their meeting over the sale
of a guitar on e-Bay, after Martin and Kerry had amicably set sail for
different horizons a few years ago. Cindy is an “outdoorsy” lady who, apart
from battling the dreaded mal de mere loves her life at sea on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jannali</i>. We have sometimes mused that to
test a relationship, just put to sea together. Martin is now a key member of
Volunteer Marine Rescue services at Hastings in Victoria, and they too are
making their way: ultimately back to Bass Strait and home, but via Vanuatu’s
northern Banks Group, then north of New Caledonia to Bundaberg. We were keen to
spend a little time in “catching up” about life and times and Martin suggested
we join them at the Sunday Resort Smorgasboard, that was to especially feature
a group of local musicians who were presenting a number that they were
preparing for the South Pacific Song Contest, drawn from a local group of young
musicians, a Bamboo Band and a group of female “water dancers”, who were all
set to perform. We have rarely taken up an offer with greater alacrity and
rapidity! </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix18W05wyDLyyJ9O8TxBi9brFY0PUvUTAzvk9D_pnB7Hj6jLtJUPo0f4K7fOZlXSAFX1Phi3MvyZgliyaOGsltlSHvSAiFH-KWiFbYtcWOd-GlCGm8TFFI9VUByJT7Gv6Ge9QfzFbrCOol/s1600/P1040403.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix18W05wyDLyyJ9O8TxBi9brFY0PUvUTAzvk9D_pnB7Hj6jLtJUPo0f4K7fOZlXSAFX1Phi3MvyZgliyaOGsltlSHvSAiFH-KWiFbYtcWOd-GlCGm8TFFI9VUByJT7Gv6Ge9QfzFbrCOol/s640/P1040403.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Catching up with Martin & Cindy at Oyster Island Resort</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sunday at the oyster Resort turned out to be
a stellar one in every respect. We had the opportunity to meet some fine folk
from other boats and backgrounds, before tackling a buffet that was delectable,
expansive and had the serving tables groaning under their burden, before we too
groaned in sympathy, unable to consume another morsel. If the food was superb,
the musicians were equally meritorious, and we spent a singular afternoon,
marvelling at the performers, especially the dexterity and harmony of the
Bamboo Band and the unique skills of the Water Dancers whose water slapping
percussion skills had to be seen to be believed. All the performers combined
for the South Pacific Song Contest, and what with the rapturous applause from
all assembled under the shade of the coconut trees, they treated us to two
encores. This was a day that we wanted not to end.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHmUENwuHPkjFioUf5tep7-U_NNclg2vAQXG62zwwJzjyzwkT8QlISdbQBYn0KneUrqEC610YimswUWL0pKKGqozFCq2KQdabKYZYXlMDm4ufH8x35v-bM1ZBHpgAdT5VnnbWbZ3rEe1BQ/s1600/P1040368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHmUENwuHPkjFioUf5tep7-U_NNclg2vAQXG62zwwJzjyzwkT8QlISdbQBYn0KneUrqEC610YimswUWL0pKKGqozFCq2KQdabKYZYXlMDm4ufH8x35v-bM1ZBHpgAdT5VnnbWbZ3rEe1BQ/s640/P1040368.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Local Band</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEogOUFrbFGHdzl1-WFT616p_RP-CqG61yuSstz4G2XVWdkJXB3pXBP8L4faNucnu7t7th_u_5L06rLdWvSFnQr5eEWkceoonD2r4hjt3JaX0q5Wzp-RHZSLqA9dR6bVut4skHzSVId29f/s1600/P1040380.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i><img border="0" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEogOUFrbFGHdzl1-WFT616p_RP-CqG61yuSstz4G2XVWdkJXB3pXBP8L4faNucnu7t7th_u_5L06rLdWvSFnQr5eEWkceoonD2r4hjt3JaX0q5Wzp-RHZSLqA9dR6bVut4skHzSVId29f/s640/P1040380.JPG" width="640" /></i></b></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Water Dancers</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimVystRtliZDuNXHOYFoYJ2DzRMIsw7_kqbYyynYauRpg1WroaD_vSUaHKWmcmPj-YMdyiEDo4-x_Pr8PS9PvOP3nW6Y9lL3IC43jjT50KuBELVTib3gfW3rt8c0kAFQ3NI2lFXsj8bOh5/s1600/P1040379.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimVystRtliZDuNXHOYFoYJ2DzRMIsw7_kqbYyynYauRpg1WroaD_vSUaHKWmcmPj-YMdyiEDo4-x_Pr8PS9PvOP3nW6Y9lL3IC43jjT50KuBELVTib3gfW3rt8c0kAFQ3NI2lFXsj8bOh5/s640/P1040379.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Bamboo Music</i></b></span><br />
<b><i><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></b></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Guilt ridden after a day of excess, we set
our sights the following day on a kayak paddle up the nearby Nalgiafu River to
the Blue Hole, a limestone swimming spot fed by underwater springs, and ever
popular with tourists. For us the paddle up the river hemmed in on both sides
by forest giants, wreathes of climbing plants and the marvellous mangroves was
the real highlight, with the swim at the end in a distinctly blue pool coming
as a bonus. Martin and Cindy joined us in their dinghy, and took one of the
images you see below. We were delighted to be back on our kayaks apart from
finding, to our great disappointment, that somewhere in the “practice paddle”
the previous day, or whilst tied up alongside <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>overnight, one of our boats had suffered two small
punctures. Cookie is a skilled operator when it comes to small boat repairs,
and we hope that with her intervention, the air in these fine craft will stay,
next time, where we put it.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNqZvPzl2AsDEvBsQpjWrncIYUybGeEpx8qDgjglPkdlkgamGcDTvUk9qdepuUK6rCoSFcFj_9buZ7cvkzZe_g99uXmxPrWrUJRx6Jil02DqCVVFslwqY6pIiqX_9GOcwUSK5kSxjS2L8p/s1600/P1020570.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNqZvPzl2AsDEvBsQpjWrncIYUybGeEpx8qDgjglPkdlkgamGcDTvUk9qdepuUK6rCoSFcFj_9buZ7cvkzZe_g99uXmxPrWrUJRx6Jil02DqCVVFslwqY6pIiqX_9GOcwUSK5kSxjS2L8p/s640/P1020570.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Lovely paddle....</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAjSiLPagYwKz4SRCySFLUlncQ9bTzuauhJ9yn35bITsFGLfewuwCpvRg1wAeYquUDsvDsaBv7JRETRnixL-bS25z0bt81B8d1SNzNMFdbP4WHVXVNjJQYco7lePDmKVqB2uS5RRFCooc/s1600/IMG_5940.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAjSiLPagYwKz4SRCySFLUlncQ9bTzuauhJ9yn35bITsFGLfewuwCpvRg1wAeYquUDsvDsaBv7JRETRnixL-bS25z0bt81B8d1SNzNMFdbP4WHVXVNjJQYco7lePDmKVqB2uS5RRFCooc/s640/IMG_5940.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>...to the Blue Hole</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The morning high tide on the reef pass into
Oyster Island was timed at 0630, and following s pre-dawn rise, we opted to
join three or four other vessels in making good our “escape” to the north. With
the “snail trail” of our track into the anchorage still there for us to follow
on the way out, the passage over the shoal was easily accomplished and soon we
were hoisting sails for Undine Passage, which leads between Malano and Malugoa
Islands to the open sea. We were headed for the modestly named Hog Bay on
northern Santo where, within its confines, is found one of the world’s
celebrated beaches; a place that we had on our “wish list” since we visited
there on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific Pearl </i>in August
2015. “Imagine being there by ourselves, just us and no tourists” we had mused.</span><br />
<br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On the “big ship” we were up early, leaning
eagerly over the top rail of the eleventh deck as we eased our way between
Lathu (Elephant) Island and Sumgmass Point, and there, away to point, a
crescent of white sand cradled by forest and a limestone escarpment hove into
view, the exquisitely beautiful Champagne Beach. “How would it be sailing
here!” we said to each other. Now, after nearly 20 miles out at sea, and
radioing our farewell to Martin and Cindy on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jannali, </i>who were heading further to the north, we bore away to
port, to our waypoint abeam of Elephant Island which marked an entrance that we
had long dreamed of, and coincidentally, at 15degrees, 06,98 minutes south,
marked the most northerly point of this voyage. Head west to the Australian
mainland and this latitude lies between Port Douglas and Cape Melville on the
East Coast, it aligns with a spot above Wyndham in the west and tracks through
Mataranka Springs in the middle of the continent.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDF3AfkZR6J5TyTVeoZYDLXbzTQj6Br3zmyVstA7ya4tOXk78YcGFm61FTxom_niN4S_-0gxTWNBl-EWVTy2G1X33D_FUD_ei8UrEgKjCGqKNsUuEg5E_CADSx3dCIl7jEPgu6iGHWwuxl/s1600/P1040439.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDF3AfkZR6J5TyTVeoZYDLXbzTQj6Br3zmyVstA7ya4tOXk78YcGFm61FTxom_niN4S_-0gxTWNBl-EWVTy2G1X33D_FUD_ei8UrEgKjCGqKNsUuEg5E_CADSx3dCIl7jEPgu6iGHWwuxl/s640/P1040439.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Passing Elephant Island on way to Lannoc Bay</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To be honest, we were pinching ourselves that
away to port lay Champagne Beach in its sublime splendour, with not another
soul to be seen. Anchoring off Champagne Beach itself - named this not so much
as a marketing ploy as for the fresh water springs that “bubble” through the
sands to the east of the beach – is feasible but not practical due to the coral
heads that are scattered just off from the beach. Like other yachts we headed
for Lannoc Bay, the “next bay around” from Champagne Beach, beyond Sungeun
Point and reef, where in gin-clear water, deeper than we usually consider at
home, we found a patch of clear sand into which we rattled out our anchor
chain. Off <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific Pearl,</i> we had photographed
a yacht riding in Lannoc Bay, with the big ship in the background (see this picture
in the first Blog Post of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Voyage to
Vanuatu</i>), and now <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the</i> yacht in the picture, just as we had
envisaged it could be. This was all just a little surreal.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDA5NRxMX6juvkTSGWPVgKWlr9WDyW8drZgeP837_DttVpPbMhQn0YKwysQIXX3W6DiEQC9FNuvpT3q_SaOHttkqleeSm1nKGrNWdRHVpTvmi1MXT7YiqkZV0w9xr9acLnHlafDVBb3t24/s1600/IMG_1034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDA5NRxMX6juvkTSGWPVgKWlr9WDyW8drZgeP837_DttVpPbMhQn0YKwysQIXX3W6DiEQC9FNuvpT3q_SaOHttkqleeSm1nKGrNWdRHVpTvmi1MXT7YiqkZV0w9xr9acLnHlafDVBb3t24/s640/IMG_1034.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Stunning blue waters of Lannoc Bay anchorage</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNpAYD_jqxQMz0y-Rtx_v8C-LkygPnuQ-er5UppT8yJdJkYCcmVQI7lfQOTDx1opSxqTMhM0PLMfJVdPQAvfKk5HqqweoCgWm3VSTcrXRry_F8KmEKm6uS7IhLGVWoddQ5DXyqE_V8LMeA/s1600/P1040441.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNpAYD_jqxQMz0y-Rtx_v8C-LkygPnuQ-er5UppT8yJdJkYCcmVQI7lfQOTDx1opSxqTMhM0PLMfJVdPQAvfKk5HqqweoCgWm3VSTcrXRry_F8KmEKm6uS7IhLGVWoddQ5DXyqE_V8LMeA/s640/P1040441.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If blue is your colour, then all of its hues,
from deepest to lightest are on display in Lannoc Bay from the richer shades
bordering on purple in the deep sand patches through to lighter tints closer to
shore. A duck ride ashore here is an experience in itself. Then, at water’s
edge rivulets of water issuing from the sand are just another phenomenon at
this phenomenal place. Fresh water springs! Yes, you can head for a swim in
your turquoise sea pool, go for a snorkel to check out the wildlife, and then
wash off in the crystal waters of the spring before thinking about the day; and
keeping in mind that you have not yet reached the jewel in the crown, Champagne
Beach, which lies but an amble away through the coconut grove. By the way, sea
water temperatures here nudge 27 degrees, so the keener waters of the springs
are a skin tingling delight.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To come ashore at Lannoc Bay is to enter a
world akin to what Bali must have been like, when the first of the
“alternative” travellers ‘discovered” it in the 1960’s and 1970’s. Cows graze
on the beachside meadow, chickens fossick and peep, and families of pigs
snuffle about, oblivious to scenery. Collections of thatched huts mark the
modest Towoc Restaurant and Bungalows, like the losmens of Kuta, transported
over distance and through time, but missing the beards and the beads of a hippy
invasion. Bovines eyed us curiously as we made for Champagne Beach, and soon,
there it was, in all of its postcard glory with not a waddling tourist in
sight! </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZq9Wjf5AzI42XfWdPAz1cbu9rOyqBoQXPhqmRP6jF7AZdaHBlUF0btnxgvNXzJKEiiRsGFf55o-SW4VzF-0mvyJmzltxpuNbXa4a7tn4IqlzanGuwPMLubwuGhabA7PsY0r32krKyDnY/s1600/P1040474.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZq9Wjf5AzI42XfWdPAz1cbu9rOyqBoQXPhqmRP6jF7AZdaHBlUF0btnxgvNXzJKEiiRsGFf55o-SW4VzF-0mvyJmzltxpuNbXa4a7tn4IqlzanGuwPMLubwuGhabA7PsY0r32krKyDnY/s640/P1040474.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Towoc Restaurant & Bungalows</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Champagne Beach is a masterpiece of nature,
with the blinking whiteness of the beach nestling under its headland: crystal
waters bathed in sun; against the leafy backdrop of the forested escarpment and
the picture perfect view across the reef to Elephant island, bobbing out there,
cradling the bay. There is a pier in the corner of the bay, for the patrons off
cruise ships and locally hewn shelters along the bay, that come alive when a
ship is in with local sellers pedalling mementos, clothing, Vanuatu – style
takeaways, and of course cold beer. Today
Sarah, who lives next to Towoc, and whose extended family own much of the area,
right up to the escarpment, has finished her chores at home and has taken her
kids to play on the beach whilst she has put out some of her home crafted
wares, just in case some tourists arrive. We wonder if her kids will ever know
that in frolicking on Champagne Beach, building sand castles, collecting shells
and watching crabs endlessly digging their burrows they were growing up in
paradise. For us, we swum, strolled along the beach, lounged under the dappled
shade of a forest giant, chatted to Sarah, and eventually, when a car arrived
with a young couple from New Zealand on board, prevailed upon them to delay
their plunge long enough to take a snap of us at work here in the tropics.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjonmap9TggkF0CViITYjtswIMxOWn24Z6ECeDNbVhwqv6-smgb6KpV8FcGhgsw1JxFoEQ3gkSqlayxDVP304YpFl9tmtGBRPnmZo6Kv_zZcoIDKEOpwIMIa_3ayB1yEl3W8ivjHNQU7_I0/s1600/P1040450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjonmap9TggkF0CViITYjtswIMxOWn24Z6ECeDNbVhwqv6-smgb6KpV8FcGhgsw1JxFoEQ3gkSqlayxDVP304YpFl9tmtGBRPnmZo6Kv_zZcoIDKEOpwIMIa_3ayB1yEl3W8ivjHNQU7_I0/s640/P1040450.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Champagne Beach</i></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3nUxwSl3KKv35UXquaxz2WEBavn2L5U4u-66Iev5OV92f2GBtfo9QpZomKBXo9yLd9P1RnuqNrFP1sFI1y6TOvvouXjAnkJNOtp955cG7cVNpimJA1Lb6Cqn43dMsqiTiAC3tD_CcI4L6/s1600/P1040445.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3nUxwSl3KKv35UXquaxz2WEBavn2L5U4u-66Iev5OV92f2GBtfo9QpZomKBXo9yLd9P1RnuqNrFP1sFI1y6TOvvouXjAnkJNOtp955cG7cVNpimJA1Lb6Cqn43dMsqiTiAC3tD_CcI4L6/s640/P1040445.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At day’s end we strolled into Towoc
Restaurant, met the charming Lena, who manages it seems everything front of
house to cooking and bottle washing, to be told the terrible news that they
were out of beer until someone “did a run” into Luganville, next day for supplies.
With this, we booked for the next night – no booking sheet or diary, just
telling Lena was all that it took – and headed off down the road in search of
the local baker whose whereabouts was uncertain, and Lena’s instructions
petered out at Towoc’s front gate. In Australia, the bakeries at, say, Lameroo,
Willunga and Yankalilla (yum!!), are all there in the main street, whilst here
bread is baked “cottage industry” style, and it took some significant sleuthing
and questioning of locals – several who had conflicting input – before we
stumbled into the backyard of the wonderfully friendly Dimity, the local baker,
just as he was extracting a brace of golden offerings from his oven. Dimity’s
succulent loaves cost around a dollar Australian each, but their aroma……priceless!!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Dimity's Bakery</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><b>Sarah's beachside stall</b></i></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In board <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista,</i>
we have been wondering whether too much of a good thing is still a good thing,
and whether spending time in dissipation at Champange Beach is something that
we should even admit to, let alone write about. In the end we settled on
attending to a raft of necessary tasks in the next two mornings – Cookie, for
example was keen to rectify the punctures in our kayak – before abandoning our on
board life as the heat of the day gathered for a spot on the sand in the
dappled shade, with endless immersions on offer, was the correct approach to
mixing pleasure with pleasure. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bumpy Dog </i>had
been “in residence” here when we arrived, but they had now headed on their way
and our original vision of having this place among places to ourselves was
complete. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Paradise, though, cannot always be perfect
and the light airs that we have welcomed and cherished have ushered in clammy
and misty conditions, born of volcano and village smoke, that meant that
Elephant Island, that stood clear in focus across the bay was now obscured in
haze. None of this dented the enthusiasm that we applied to time on Champagne
Beach, and we were lucky that we took a selection of pictures before the mists
rolled in from the sea.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our evening at Towoc Restaurant, was
memorable for its uniqueness and quaintness, rather than for its haute cuisine.
Between the chalkboard menu, Lena’s kitchen interpretation, and what finally
arrived at the harborside tables there was evidence of non-adherence to script
although the fare was fine indeed given where Towoc was, and the limitations of
the culinary engine room. The aforementioned beer, a commendable local drop
tagged Tusker Premium, came crisp and crackling cold, and was consumed with
aplomb. Also “in’ that evening, were an Aussie guy who has been at Towoc for
weeks and is besotted with the place, a Dutch lass with her Mexican boyfriend,
and Jules and Scott from Christchurch, who it turns out were on their
honeymoon. Jules is a Norwegian engineer, and Scott is a Kiwi who is a
photographer for Discovery Channel. Jules must carry some Amundsen blood, of
living on the edge, because her and Scott have just come from one of the Ambrym
volcanoes where they abseiled down inside the crater, to camp alongside, film
and to be up close and personal with its cauldron of lava. This sort of puts a
new twist on the old line of….”darling did you feel the earth move last night”?
It probably did!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In these climes, winds typically rise during
the afternoon and drop off at night, so with a half moon “’t illume the
heavens” and the promise of a light but nagging easterly to blunt our progress
at sea, we planned our reluctant departure from Lannoc Bay on the 53nm passage
to Anbae Island, for one am, to make the best of the still of the morning,
before the breeze got up. Alas, we could not see Champagne Beach as we stole
out of Hog Harbor, and although a feeble moon did its best to penetrate the
smoke in the atmosphere, we spent the night and into the early morn with Ambae
bold and tall out to our starboard, and could not make out its outline.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihT0SlbBvjAsRpobRxZ0vlBpeY2xlYsZlNTalRFr5cmqX-xLmYqsQqCkgFZAbxcW3TrXeH8jkeGkNXZ-00o_vDvkcl-HfuUY_yH2J_w27ECGeDSpY6Pf_tbz3DKE73DxIyBg7m2VRwfKsv/s1600/P1040526.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihT0SlbBvjAsRpobRxZ0vlBpeY2xlYsZlNTalRFr5cmqX-xLmYqsQqCkgFZAbxcW3TrXeH8jkeGkNXZ-00o_vDvkcl-HfuUY_yH2J_w27ECGeDSpY6Pf_tbz3DKE73DxIyBg7m2VRwfKsv/s640/P1040526.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Vanihe Bay anchorage & black sand beach</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We had heard much about the unusual nature of
Ambae’s Vanihe Bay, with its spectacular volcanic cliffs, black sand beach, and
its solitude, arising from its beetling topography, which prevents anyone from
getting there by land. Having come from the talcum-white of coral sand at
Lannoc Bay, the eeriness of clear water over black sand took some adjusting
too, especially as the clarity of the water at Vanihe Bay was such that it was
possible to count the links on our anchor chain, some 30feet down on the
bottom. Ashore, on the beach was like being in an amphitheatre, as castle-like
walls towered all about, defying anyone to climb out to the village at Lolowai
Bay that we knew was just over the ridge into the next bay. To swim was
unnerving, with the black sand turning depth into guesswork and the pallor of
feet, in contrast with the sand, giving a ghostly effect. Anchoring, tucked
under precipitous cliffs, blunts some winds but causes swirling eddies that
defy any attempt to “hang” on the anchor in a preferred direction. Vanihe Bay
was indeed an anchorage like few others, and with raptors circling above the
battlements and the afternoon sun lighting up the escarpment, it was a treat to
have this quite unique place to ourselves, as the sun faded away from the day.
I will admit to reaching for our strongest torch in the middle of the night
just to make sure the craggy cliffs were where we had left them on nightfall.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Lolowai Bay anchorage & local store</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The entrance to Lolowai Bay is a tricky one,
and although it lay only a short steam from our Vanihe Bay anchorage, it
requires an accurate approach on navigational “leads”, and to safely cross the
reef, and the last third of a rising tide is strongly recommended. We were
unsure whether we would “overnight” in Lolowai Bay, but having entered in the
early morning, if we got ashore and were nimble, we could see the local
village, take a look at the “wharf” area where an inter-island barge was
loading, and still have time to clear the entrance on the tide before noon. In
effect, this is what transpired, for apart from a generously stocked and
friendly local store and a collection of unremarkable built facilities, we saw
little that was to compare with the extraordinary places that we had just
visited. Lolowai Bay had some tough acts to follow, but some 25 nm away there
was a place, on the island of Maewo, which deserved every bit of attention that
we could muster. With this much vaunted destination of Asanvari Bay in our
sights we left little time in clearing the reefs that guard the NE corner of
Ambae Island and setting sail for the southern corner of Maewo Island, one of
two baton-shaped islands that are peculiar to this part of Vanuatu. As we
sailed from Ambae, the skies finally cleared and the smoking dome that is the
profile of this rumbling isle held our rapt attention, astern of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista. </i>We were on time to make
Asanvari before sunset.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Safely across the reef..next stop Asanvari, Maewo Island</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-33308667022203104622016-09-15T04:46:00.000-07:002016-09-15T04:46:27.715-07:00
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Port Vila (Efate) to
Luganville (Espiritu Santo), via Epi and Malekula Islands</i></b></span> </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i>3/9/16 – 13/9/16</i></b></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">The nation of Vanuatu
is a new arrival in the South West Pacific, having achieved its independence
and nationhood, in July 1980, to the great joy of locals who had sought their
freedom from foreign rule for decades. The Spanish and Portugese were the first
Europeans to ply these waters as early as the 1600’s but it was James Cook on
the second of his incredible voyages into the Pacific, who mapped and named many
of the islands and gave the chain the name of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">New Hebrides </i>in 1774. Later interest by the French led to a tug of
war between the British and the French to gain control of the islands that led
to the nonsensical “two-fella rule” by these two countries from 1906 onwards.
Under the so-called “Condominium” rule, dubbed the “pandemonium” by those who
lived under it, both France and Britain imposed their own laws, systems of
punishment, education and health systems in the New Hebrides and there were two
sets of police supposedly keeping order. Locals concluded that if you were
going to get “done” for a misdemeanour, it was better to be pinched by the
Gendarmerie because their food in jail was better. There are not many examples
of colonial rule that would be more flawed than the Condominium and after1980,
the year of independence, the sound of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Republic of Vanuatu</i> rang sweetly for the locals, the ni-Vans. Australia
retains a strong and supportive presence here, and we find that Australians are
welcomed genuinely and warmly as good friends and neighbours.</span></div>
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</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">The isles of Vanuatu
sit parallel to New Caledonia, run broadly SE to NW, and end a couple of day’s
sail from the Solomons. To the south of Efate and the capital Port Vila, are
found the major islands of Erromango, Tanna and Aneityum, whilst to the north,
in a loop popular with sailors, lie the islands of Epi, Malekula, Espiritu
Santo, Ambae, Maewo, Pentecost and Ambrym that take one first to the NW from
Efate, to Santo, and down from Maewo to the north back to Efate and Port Vila.
On <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista</i> we are hoping to make the most
of “working the trade winds” around this northern cluster of islands before
returning later to Vila, and then Noumea and Australia, before the onset of the
cyclone season. We are already beginning to regret the loss of a month
following the near-disaster at Coffs Harbor, but at least we are here and we
are having a fabulous time to boot!</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Heading west from
Port Vila, and heavily laden with supplies, we made our way across Mele Bay and
rounded Devil’s Point, named possibly for the horrible currents that can plague
this area, for the protected waters of Havannah Harbor, which in the early
1940’s became a major port for the allied Pacific Fleet, aimed at repelling the
Japanese forces that were threatening the region from the Solomons. Paul and
Juan on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bumpy Dog </i>were heading on the
“great loop” as well and took the photo below of us on approach to Havannah
Harbor, doing it comfortably under headsail alone.</span></div>
</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzXOwwz8KM9TOp_3DMbYattRJ9DIr2C_TOf48TQyJ2YY46_PSA42KUjK6VwIGgfiKnOCaSfM_4LwkyW3f6Gg8QYA3vvkhnfUyFxznP25JhrWWlNnx3o6-HIXVqk19ic8MgZeal2CipIV4Z/s1600/1609+calista04+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzXOwwz8KM9TOp_3DMbYattRJ9DIr2C_TOf48TQyJ2YY46_PSA42KUjK6VwIGgfiKnOCaSfM_4LwkyW3f6Gg8QYA3vvkhnfUyFxznP25JhrWWlNnx3o6-HIXVqk19ic8MgZeal2CipIV4Z/s640/1609+calista04+-+Copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<br /></div>
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Some cruisers spend
weeks in Havannah Harbor, but we planned only a brief stopover, near the mouth
of Ai Creek, because the forecast for the next day looked near perfect to take
on the long day sail to Revolieu Bay on the island of Epi. The Ai Creek
anchorage served our purpose perfectly although on the shoreline was found a
couple of beachside holiday homes that looked like they had been plucked from
an Australian seaside, and came complete with a couple of Aussie families in
residence, with the guys, tinnies in hand, performing cultural heroics on the
outdoors barbie. Yes, we gave them a friendly wave as we settled on anchor, but
we have not sailed all the way from Australia to find it duplicated off our
starboard bow.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzVfDk7SFpGoWYw0ZxGFAItw_2nxgx6JVol-I8P3NKCfJT45Xx2a8Zo1V-gGJ51Y_lyuQG51-i17-Dj2zmtoRFWRir_37CzjKMtFplCHLKEdlKfeCJTpCGH41HNkkyf1imQcixHXl0f277/s1600/P1040077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzVfDk7SFpGoWYw0ZxGFAItw_2nxgx6JVol-I8P3NKCfJT45Xx2a8Zo1V-gGJ51Y_lyuQG51-i17-Dj2zmtoRFWRir_37CzjKMtFplCHLKEdlKfeCJTpCGH41HNkkyf1imQcixHXl0f277/s640/P1040077.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Anchorage Ali Creek, Havannah Harbour</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwTu0Ezy5_x0PCUcekFUJz0FCg_7tRqSAFUL7xZkj_3dSUW1zC13mXtp7o2OvlJa9cjRpZsXYkd5KwPzeIgVPJxHT4rtfecxYH4vIRI16SAzm2EH63Mxrp_AnUF2JvgrNsBjizVklLUpPi/s1600/P1040081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwTu0Ezy5_x0PCUcekFUJz0FCg_7tRqSAFUL7xZkj_3dSUW1zC13mXtp7o2OvlJa9cjRpZsXYkd5KwPzeIgVPJxHT4rtfecxYH4vIRI16SAzm2EH63Mxrp_AnUF2JvgrNsBjizVklLUpPi/s640/P1040081.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Another delightful dawn departure</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">We were making our
way across Havanna Harbor to Little Entrance, between Mose and Lelepa Islands
before the sun kissed the highlands of Efate, and we were soon in the open
ocean with moderate trade winds nestling, in the slot, abaft of our beam. This
was a perfect opportunity to engage “Kev” our Fleming Wind Vane, a process that
starts with getting the boat balanced, and “light on the helm”, which for us
usually means a reefed mainsail, and a headsail or genoa according to wind
strength. When <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista</i> is “light” to
steer, with little or no “weather helm”, we set the boat as close as we can to
our desired course and then rotate the vertical wind vane on top of the device
until it sits upright, locked square onto the wind, and at this point we engage
the lines that link the vane to the steering wheel. If we have this process
correctly in place, then thanks to the remarkable construction of the device,
if the yacht veers to one direction, wind pressure comes on one side of the
vane and via the gearing and lines to the wheel our ship is brought back on
course, and the vane is again vertical to the wind. This is of course the
sanitised, blog-friendly, version, and in reality setting up and “tweaking” the
vane until it is all working well; in a seaway, with wind blowing, the boat
rolling in a swell, and, the ever present challenge of keeping <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>as close as we can to being “on
course”, is a test of patience and cooperation, that could test any seafaring
crew. When it is set up, though, we can make minor course adjustments by
raising or lowering the boom via our mainsheet, and relax to marvel at it all
as the indigo-blue waters rush past our hull, and the bow of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista</i> makes white furrows at the bow
as we settle back in the cockpit to look for flying fish, the spouts of whales
and to sup on the gently changing vistas as islands form, draw abeam and are
lost astern, as clouds drift merrily overhead. Sailing like this in the trades
is as unforgettable experience, and we constantly marvel at what we are doing,
and just where we are on the globe to be able to enjoy it.</span></div>
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Ygpy7uLj2rV-oCvAvrGgmftCXJJFBzjrSED914LpMM-cDNiNmESEodObUnu34qAznrWcYwNw-LjFhSfFsDk2pVLtD7xw3teeRZR3BJdXVZdseUT8mNyMRoft7bDpGC7osyGjq5jxvuit/s1600/P1040090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Ygpy7uLj2rV-oCvAvrGgmftCXJJFBzjrSED914LpMM-cDNiNmESEodObUnu34qAznrWcYwNw-LjFhSfFsDk2pVLtD7xw3teeRZR3BJdXVZdseUT8mNyMRoft7bDpGC7osyGjq5jxvuit/s640/P1040090.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Kev at the helm</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">On board during
“passage”, we cast regular eyes over the horizon, monitor our progress on our
chart plotter, and every couple of hours or so we commit to navigational work </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">below on our paper
charts and record our latitude and longitude, so that we can cast our eye over
the area that lies ahead for anything of note in planning a safe passage to our
destination. An institution that we have kept is that of having a pot of mixed
nuts and dried fruits at 10.30, the time we call “recess”, although no sirens
sound to herald its arrival. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On this
passage to Epi, the wind held true, Kev was in stellar form, and we romped
along over the combers as the once volcanic peaks of Matasa and Makura, and the
larger isle of Emae slid by out to starboard. Yes, the flying fish were there
in abundance, and whilst the spouts of a pod of whales was sighted not too far
away, they were making cumbersome progress and were soon left well astern.</span></div>
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSZGp9cHvZ42COj4bOnx3tR0ZtHNNySggJ84cToU8vZbtGVnc7J72qpNFHM8dKaCk4CRQz7-Ru_Fl2jbnd8wJpR18mcYO7Bng8m9gmFxBprV4RKMyrtcpxXpSeR3Pg9lQB2jjZxj_NxRK-/s1600/1609+calista08+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSZGp9cHvZ42COj4bOnx3tR0ZtHNNySggJ84cToU8vZbtGVnc7J72qpNFHM8dKaCk4CRQz7-Ru_Fl2jbnd8wJpR18mcYO7Bng8m9gmFxBprV4RKMyrtcpxXpSeR3Pg9lQB2jjZxj_NxRK-/s640/1609+calista08+-+Copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Another tough day at sea!</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">By early afternoon the island of Epi was clearly
in view ahead, a green and forest clad isle, with the misty slopes of Mt Pomare
in the middle, and a golden opportunity missed by those managing local
nomenclature in not naming it Mount Epicentre. Later as we passed Epi’s heavily
wooded coastline, we rounded a reef to anchor at 1445 in Revoulieu Bay, on
Epi’s western side, and we were delighted to have covered the 55nm passage, at
an average of between 6-7 knots, a doddle for today’s sleek “go fast” cruisers,
but for us a wonderful day at sea. We had planned this bay as a safe “stopover”
on the way to Epi’s better known Lamen Bay, and as the afternoon closed on
nightfall, a fine young man in a dugout canoe came alongside to introduce
himself as Pierre, saying that if we again anchored in this gorgeous place with
its river and its leafy uplands, we should come ashore, ask for him and he
would take us for a tour of his local village. </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrh8MAcJ54lUORXv2T_XwRcF_-FKHv6akLtC47BaTJidPjDy6QOR06ynpTIY2t5ujsVlMcgGbaaCn8bYDT7SHa5xpLiNTqTYSVoHUjP-cqNOsNMHQAVUK-UDMYisaSTr3bnuk2HXAF85We/s1600/IMG_0973.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrh8MAcJ54lUORXv2T_XwRcF_-FKHv6akLtC47BaTJidPjDy6QOR06ynpTIY2t5ujsVlMcgGbaaCn8bYDT7SHa5xpLiNTqTYSVoHUjP-cqNOsNMHQAVUK-UDMYisaSTr3bnuk2HXAF85We/s640/IMG_0973.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Revoulieu Bay</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1pULbxgpIiP6p9CZzMMDPscQ1wpAKjnwDgT4NUGcCmEkt7LngYFF0H0x_PYz8yCl7U1iR_KttFvlzdNipo-kKRCZAIPzIZiDhaYWK3ymQdW3DuPzmlLynwuWcHoIfkSZNC2LCtJs8HSgg/s1600/P1040106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1pULbxgpIiP6p9CZzMMDPscQ1wpAKjnwDgT4NUGcCmEkt7LngYFF0H0x_PYz8yCl7U1iR_KttFvlzdNipo-kKRCZAIPzIZiDhaYWK3ymQdW3DuPzmlLynwuWcHoIfkSZNC2LCtJs8HSgg/s640/P1040106.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Pierre</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">In the end we decided not to deflect from our
plans and linger longer in Revoulieu Bay, knowing that there was every chance
that we could pass by this way later, on our return to Port Vila. As a fine
sunset gathered its ruddy momentum, we celebrated our first night out from
Efate with a smorgasbord of Cookie’s stellar salads out in the cockpit, and
mused about the fine folk back home who sometimes asked us...”so what do you
eat when you are out there on your boat?”. We eat very well thank you very
much!</span></div>
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zPRz04yw6qa3rMeXoWNaqzNV2GvF9x9bmJaAs7SFG9wr2ZKR15J-FlwKr9vjvu4Y4W_V4nHuwpaNc_u_Xj2Kol9qpaYSEbA1OmdmkAtdDqvUGjRv27ugTqIVW-_ToQu15v2Juv1KRHWJ/s1600/P1040080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zPRz04yw6qa3rMeXoWNaqzNV2GvF9x9bmJaAs7SFG9wr2ZKR15J-FlwKr9vjvu4Y4W_V4nHuwpaNc_u_Xj2Kol9qpaYSEbA1OmdmkAtdDqvUGjRv27ugTqIVW-_ToQu15v2Juv1KRHWJ/s640/P1040080.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>We do it tough on Calista!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjiiQLnhxVb9ANX1bg6g5y7jGBnOgt6_gM0CS27NwUdGap5Jp8hPNCITCMM4AHylLkC6YDc9PXak6FPqbKSWps5hjBdQbb78z_Z1AFRY0O6kCAOVlQXZAshBwW4_IK1kOxjhRidNVjRueh/s1600/P1040111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjiiQLnhxVb9ANX1bg6g5y7jGBnOgt6_gM0CS27NwUdGap5Jp8hPNCITCMM4AHylLkC6YDc9PXak6FPqbKSWps5hjBdQbb78z_Z1AFRY0O6kCAOVlQXZAshBwW4_IK1kOxjhRidNVjRueh/s640/P1040111.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sunset views from Café Calista</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Not far from Revoulieu Bay lies the headland of
Cape Foreland with its dolphin like visage, and up on top of its summit we
spotted a communication tower, which, we found to our delight delivered
excellent internet coverage. We had converted one of our phones to “local”, via
a regional sim card, and with a modest data allowance, it allowed easy and
unexpected linkage to our Predict Wind weather forecasting system, at a
miniscule cost. Over the next week we would be constantly surprised to find, in
supposedly remote islands, we had internet coverage superior to what was
available in many of our coastal destinations at home. Converting a phone to
“local” and using it as a “hot spot”, linking to our devices was proving to be
a very good idea indeed.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM0FEJnjipYRjrmJsoojWAX-dmbSLDM8dnmOcYc-NF7Qh4sDYvqj0YPqW7DzJ6NcrUpK71PuwbbMLgYbn17XqHDjY6oNJIS-o7vhyzRhDrcFTTq0fdcb0UkcpwNnmvaMe1s3hNGbVIcJfs/s1600/P1040116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM0FEJnjipYRjrmJsoojWAX-dmbSLDM8dnmOcYc-NF7Qh4sDYvqj0YPqW7DzJ6NcrUpK71PuwbbMLgYbn17XqHDjY6oNJIS-o7vhyzRhDrcFTTq0fdcb0UkcpwNnmvaMe1s3hNGbVIcJfs/s640/P1040116.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Morning coffee as we pass Cape Foreland</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">We were eager to be
up early and to head for the coastal town of Lamen Bay, which apart from possessing
an anchorage of some repute, had a number likely attractions ashore including a
“yacht club” where nautical souls from around the world were supposedly wont to
gather. Beyond Cape Foreland in the hour of dawn, wisps of smoke from cooking
fires was all that marked the presence of villages, nestled deep within the
coconut groves and the trees of the forest. Lamen Bay’s anchorage proved to be
a fine one, and we were soon ashore to find a community still getting back on
its feet after the ravages of Cyclone Pam in early 2015. The local wharf was in
disarray, with its concrete slabs all akimbo, but whilst such a teetering
structure would be condemned out of hand at home, here it was “business as
usual” with locals apparently seen lumping their produce over this fractured
structure to the weekly ferry as if it was a graded road. At the end of the bay
we found the local landing strip with its “Domestic Terminal”, limited, quaint,
and deserted. Heading back into town and past the local High School, it was not
a school day, and although a helpful local offered to “open it up for us”, he
needed not to bother, as we found that none of the doors were locked, and
besides, if they were we could have climbed in through the windows. When we
hear of teachers in Australia complaining about the quality of facilities and
resources, we’d like to charter a plane, and bring a group of them to see Lamen
High, via Lamen International, following its necessary upgrade.</span></div>
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQRDr2FPk10PCE7hhiyMj7uE8xxcfavATMPUoPHLi15h0bBRcLjDlVL1cEJUBpOXpjdBjaDa3Tp1Du2TuqvmoiC4h_icFS26ZfRvy622rOc28wYDm_Sa0TWcS6MNNtzUHqKtkJXoBdujg/s1600/P1040120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQRDr2FPk10PCE7hhiyMj7uE8xxcfavATMPUoPHLi15h0bBRcLjDlVL1cEJUBpOXpjdBjaDa3Tp1Du2TuqvmoiC4h_icFS26ZfRvy622rOc28wYDm_Sa0TWcS6MNNtzUHqKtkJXoBdujg/s640/P1040120.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The local wharf</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbfq7mBd4Ldfg3ovTxgd_cQD7S1Zp0YgnbeBzlYkMxmFr4j43Mq8H194gULZxrS0Qv48vqXVxzYfj1QwInuPE7yBRbkmQLtubGbFtBIo4knbeiNDI6aZOL77ucREEkWFNTbbYQ2SrZrXaz/s1600/P1040126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbfq7mBd4Ldfg3ovTxgd_cQD7S1Zp0YgnbeBzlYkMxmFr4j43Mq8H194gULZxrS0Qv48vqXVxzYfj1QwInuPE7yBRbkmQLtubGbFtBIo4knbeiNDI6aZOL77ucREEkWFNTbbYQ2SrZrXaz/s640/P1040126.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Mr Sibly's classroom</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Further into town,
along the foreshore, we eventually found the “Yacht Club”, where tattered
pennants and flags, and a stained and forlorn visitor’s book told of a place
where the good times had been literally blown away, and might not return until
reconstruction was finally complete. Duck and a cold beer would not be on the
menu tonight, although the workers outside suggested that if we waited until
mid afternoon, a local household might have bread on offer fresh from the oven.
</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Back on board, with a
stroll through Lamen Bay completed, it was still shy of noon and Cookie came up
with a wonderful idea. The weather forecast hinted at conditions that might see
us sheltering in Lamen Bay for a couple of days, but if we were nimble, we
could hoist our sails in the direction of the famed Maskelyne islands, which
sit like the paws of a seated puppy, which is a fair description of the outline
of the larger Malekula Island, some four or five hour’s sail to the west. We
had heard a lot about the beauty of the Maskelynes, but with the weather
forecast we might have to head a little further to the north on Malekula where
in Port Sandwich, we could sit out most blows. A brief visit to the Maskelynes
was now possible, and to us brief was distinctly superior to not at all.</span></div>
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitC1ZZSLqjfXveoABrmNVcajpxxPDSOw51rJP30AraDZqDC-SSxgv2ftLyVQ4I6rAYolr1GUTvUkNe4qRgHTXIW4lvQ31LLJaGfCWU96YCgVpNpOWTfxIyMwBEUawULn124eJlcORHI04w/s1600/P1040154+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitC1ZZSLqjfXveoABrmNVcajpxxPDSOw51rJP30AraDZqDC-SSxgv2ftLyVQ4I6rAYolr1GUTvUkNe4qRgHTXIW4lvQ31LLJaGfCWU96YCgVpNpOWTfxIyMwBEUawULn124eJlcORHI04w/s640/P1040154+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Anchorage at Awei Island</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">The entrance to the
Maskelyne anchorages, after a lively passage where rain constantly threatened
but never eventuated, meant sneaking in a channel between Baneuv Point and Vula
Island which cannot be seen until one is nearly on it and but for the </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">reassurance of the
cruising guide and its invaluable waypoints, the waves crashing on the volcanic
rocks all about would keep all but the most adventurous sailors well out to
sea. The anchorage giving best shelter in the area lies in an inlet tucked
behind Awei Island, protected from the open sea by an extensive reef, and
surrounded on all sides by an exquisite vista of coconut palms, forest and
craggy uplands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Minutes after anchoring
a local dugout pulled alongside with Gricken on board, a local villager who had
been waiting all day for three friends to emerge from the forest to a beach on
the other side of the cove, where they supposedly had been sourcing Kava roots.
His “would be” passengers were operating on “island time”, but now as darkness
began to fall Gricken was wondering whether he should wait any longer or start
on the longish paddle to home. He asked if he could use our mobile phone to
call his village for news of the others and he responded to our puzzled looks
by pointing out a phone tower up on the ridge, surrounded by forest. Mobile phones
and dugouts seem an unlikely pairing, but eventually we helped Gricken find out
that he may as well head home, for his friends would not get back to the beach
before sunset. He has a mobile back in the village, and we gave him a zip-lock
bag that meant he could bring it with him with less chance of it getting wet in
the dugout.</span></div>
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhIvEW3Q-Xt2kCrqbKEjw7WhBXzFMKPnmxlVv1PZek1sZMVSIptX4WM2hsmcvUMBpSaBggHlb0eRaJe6kAQUltIm_Hrf_RgmvZr_JaADwg1xH-Awz2ULb4SKakBYritnt6kSfiAIYrIqau/s1600/P1040138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhIvEW3Q-Xt2kCrqbKEjw7WhBXzFMKPnmxlVv1PZek1sZMVSIptX4WM2hsmcvUMBpSaBggHlb0eRaJe6kAQUltIm_Hrf_RgmvZr_JaADwg1xH-Awz2ULb4SKakBYritnt6kSfiAIYrIqau/s640/P1040138.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Our new friend Gricken</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6TEJ9VPsv7aOzcce0uoD6Pzu_xzbzAXO-DIgW9MHLSOnxpqHqAHCcmmJzDJltlYlT1QnOrN_gP-8GKZVIXrpXsSIwZMNXV-TfUGtqM9dHI2dut2tptiSLMPRcTwwg0E6AOXTyuCEufhfh/s1600/P1040142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6TEJ9VPsv7aOzcce0uoD6Pzu_xzbzAXO-DIgW9MHLSOnxpqHqAHCcmmJzDJltlYlT1QnOrN_gP-8GKZVIXrpXsSIwZMNXV-TfUGtqM9dHI2dut2tptiSLMPRcTwwg0E6AOXTyuCEufhfh/s640/P1040142.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Local traffic</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">In the fragile light
of dawn, I looked out into the cockpit to find Gricken and his canoe already alongside
us, with the offer of some gleaming reef fish for breakfast. It was very hard
to heed the warning about the potential ciguatera poisoning, and decline
Gricken’s kind offer. Soon though, Gricken’s friends emerged onto the beach and
we soon headed that way too in our duck to explore a forest trail that led
through the bush behind Banev Point to the ocean beach on the seaward side. The
trail turned out to be a stunning one: at first wending its way through groves
of coconuts before plunging into a lank and dense forest where the very air was
thick with the musky taint of wetted leaves; where creepers draped themselves
around mossy branches, where throaty birds made melodies in canopy branches,
where butterflies flitted in squadrons of gold and where blue-tailed skinks
darted from fern to fern with abandon. All about the plants of the forest grew
rich and succulent, drawing goodness from the volcanic soil. We expected to
come upon a village, but instead we emerged on an open beach where an extensive
reef kept the coastline at arm’s length from the ocean that roared beyond.
There was no one to be seen and we might have been Robinson Crusoes, on a
forgotten island. This was a place of great natural beauty, where pandanas
palms licked at golden sands, in a scene that might have been plucked directly from
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">South Pacific.</i></span></div>
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-PQayuFG3YyJGqPLD8a9LcSx22FBY1YD0b5JENz2jaTB3YL7_0Ba1NCOviMSzKUTschae703wKyhgPv-wH2tCA7B4zHQgWKkrqaGejapplmo_Io7bkAQgRqruwQYvlx1_Zf023mX7PPTw/s1600/P1040164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-PQayuFG3YyJGqPLD8a9LcSx22FBY1YD0b5JENz2jaTB3YL7_0Ba1NCOviMSzKUTschae703wKyhgPv-wH2tCA7B4zHQgWKkrqaGejapplmo_Io7bkAQgRqruwQYvlx1_Zf023mX7PPTw/s640/P1040164.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Beautiful tropical forest walk ........</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilUKv6_4oTOzK-k_1JB63UuQsOI556dVE5pVBmFw2gcQKqIjEkmTo4verMoqQhvdSAQ6g20eSYAJfQ5SCR15uTBBxrYqQqjrUI1a6KpGp9UKslJIRmgA7c14ZUnS7lAj9xMpWdEwoeOqFT/s1600/P1040165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilUKv6_4oTOzK-k_1JB63UuQsOI556dVE5pVBmFw2gcQKqIjEkmTo4verMoqQhvdSAQ6g20eSYAJfQ5SCR15uTBBxrYqQqjrUI1a6KpGp9UKslJIRmgA7c14ZUnS7lAj9xMpWdEwoeOqFT/s640/P1040165.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheVRrxlyj5kOvbIMD27xbV5-1ceP2kRu9fPY1epsO-cr5u2y2T_P59KVrhjkDUUfiiT7fvIYruMg8K2BXwvs2hKHhGsaK_XM9xSFimUuXfcXsQMAZnU70nqq5bv8WaVb3f1hSIzOJVwMoX/s1600/P1040176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheVRrxlyj5kOvbIMD27xbV5-1ceP2kRu9fPY1epsO-cr5u2y2T_P59KVrhjkDUUfiiT7fvIYruMg8K2BXwvs2hKHhGsaK_XM9xSFimUuXfcXsQMAZnU70nqq5bv8WaVb3f1hSIzOJVwMoX/s640/P1040176.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>...........to remote tropical beaches</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2EmxO0M_UAQRqIRT5gb9coAyCoExP0yem27zF7DWPPVZDdPxbYDH5CZs8OyaecGAvnA0tu7EP3C-vxC8PH5kRMJxNTI2i7Pun0DubVf9jNCqvP7lJkJNgiG1O8WMPe2UhekO_pUE25zdY/s1600/P1040181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2EmxO0M_UAQRqIRT5gb9coAyCoExP0yem27zF7DWPPVZDdPxbYDH5CZs8OyaecGAvnA0tu7EP3C-vxC8PH5kRMJxNTI2i7Pun0DubVf9jNCqvP7lJkJNgiG1O8WMPe2UhekO_pUE25zdY/s640/P1040181.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">In the afternoon we
ventured ashore on Aewi Island, and made our way past a traditional copra
drier, and through further stands of coastal rainforest to the tiny village on
the windward side of the island which is now home to three families, where we
met Nasoa, a village elder who was more than willing to show us around. The
scene here Imay have been idyllic, but we soon learned that all was not well in
paradise, with doubts hanging over their tenure on the island, and the tragic
death of his young brother in Port Vila, who passed away suddenly in hospital,
leaving behind a wife and three little children now casting a pall over
everything. Nasoa had high hopes of his own children doing well via education,
but we wondered how this might be possible, from here on remote Awei island.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho5q3Fwa7iwz7uFzadeqEsdfanPBKkfB-HIdtcTBeWWevf3Dx9Uqh5pqPEgF43dbcN9bsfHIcsA2fJi49rvSdDBY-Zzh-S9KA1yo5KOo5ThXyLPvq1vWUkILEnBq6y4xib-ufOztWf55jl/s1600/P1040183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho5q3Fwa7iwz7uFzadeqEsdfanPBKkfB-HIdtcTBeWWevf3Dx9Uqh5pqPEgF43dbcN9bsfHIcsA2fJi49rvSdDBY-Zzh-S9KA1yo5KOo5ThXyLPvq1vWUkILEnBq6y4xib-ufOztWf55jl/s640/P1040183.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The Copra Furnace</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_002wKcTIK3MG345rX_3BLSyKAw5NypSWk249GnCTiw2794cADe4-susiljrmFMJNaxL7vh0kYPQV9xtd2YmeLLgQKnyXgzbS4obWs7fKHxJ7bSinzJfF4xnvJR8J8YlSi2PHJUnKYYvO/s1600/P1040186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_002wKcTIK3MG345rX_3BLSyKAw5NypSWk249GnCTiw2794cADe4-susiljrmFMJNaxL7vh0kYPQV9xtd2YmeLLgQKnyXgzbS4obWs7fKHxJ7bSinzJfF4xnvJR8J8YlSi2PHJUnKYYvO/s640/P1040186.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Nasoa and his youngest son </i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">That night with our
new-found web access, we were delighted to find that the weather in the next
few days was likely to be softer than predicted although we still felt it
sensible to make for the shelter of Port Sandwich, which seemed to have other
features of interest, all of its own. Later in the evening, from the cockpit,
we noticed a reddish glow in the eastern sky, which, in Australia would be
diagnosed as a bushfire out of control, somewhere beyond the ranges. Here in
the Maskelynes, the chart showed that looking down the channel, we were in a
direct line with Ambrym Island, some 20 miles away. That<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>
surely was it, the twin volcanoes of Ambrym, Mount Marum and Mount Benbow, with
their eruptions colouring the night skies, and warning everyone that there are
powers of nature afoot that reduce humans to insignificance. Reefs,
rainforests, lagoons, mangroves, and now volcanoes with their Vanuatu version
of Dante’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Inferno</i>…what manner of
places are the Maskelynes!</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">It is recommended
that in piloting a way out of the Maskelynes, care should be taken to “go with
the tide”, which for us meant a morning passage past Lemboy Island, Gricken’s
Avokh Island then Vendeuv island from where we entered Cook Bay, before<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>leaving Gasgard Point to port and finding the
open sea between Malekula and Ambrym Islands. We could see Ambrym more clearly
now and the plumes of smoke that constantly rose from its volcanoes drifting
away in the trade winds before congealing as a line of clouds heading
north-west to the horizon. Scudding showers again threatened but they did not
mar our passage, while ashore, past the fringing reef, only the wandering
bovines on the shoreline, and the waft of smoke from cooking fires gave any
indication of habitation hidden in the woods. Peunoamp Point with its
navigational tower marks the rounding point into Port Sandwich, where around Lamap
Bay and a further point the anchorage </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">itself opens up, and
we could see that we were not the only yacht that was seeking safe anchoring in
this well regarded haven.</span></div>
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnR7pWmFXxKwMMCUanMY-s3d2d0hQZUzUh_yl_qir8OZ0L9jd1cXy72Nlo4X7GVxsujuMcQH1nZyJVdUzgccfPM6DfBT9PRWDa9K8VY6WkZk7SR_FYg5LMqSqUAUqTzi5Vk6zDdRj6yR5E/s1600/P1040226.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnR7pWmFXxKwMMCUanMY-s3d2d0hQZUzUh_yl_qir8OZ0L9jd1cXy72Nlo4X7GVxsujuMcQH1nZyJVdUzgccfPM6DfBT9PRWDa9K8VY6WkZk7SR_FYg5LMqSqUAUqTzi5Vk6zDdRj6yR5E/s640/P1040226.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Anchorage at Port Sandwich</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">The word “port”
conjures up many things, but this port, apart from a clutch of yachts laying on
their anchor chains, had only a rudimentary jetty, laden with local produce, as
the sole piece of infrastructure that might confirm its status as a “port”.
Visually, though, with its surrounding hills clad in green, down to mangroves
fringing its shores Port Sandwich was pleasing to the eye, and we soon had our
duck afloat and were heading ashore in search of the Rainbow Store, where apparently
mine hosts Ruac and Noelle have been fine friends to yachties over many years.
We had expected a town of sorts, with a bank, small stores and an airfield
apparently not far away, but ashore, apart from doe-eyed cows grazing under
coconut palms, and the odd chicken scratching underfoot, there was little to
see, as the main settlement of Lamap lay nearly an hour’s walk along the only
road out of town. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">We ultimately found
the Rainbow Store, and going there was quaintly like entering someone’s back
yard, where a “store” for supplies was really a rear room under a back
verandah. The Rainbow Store, too is still recovering from the cyclone and
whilst the charming courtyard, leading to the locomotive-like wood oven was
ambience personified, an eatery of sorts was no longer functioning but Ruac
assured us that the oven would be at full steam in the pre-dawn of the next day
and orders for fresh bread could be placed, and be collected for deployment on
board for breakfast.</span></div>
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUnXB79JQI5ZIGPkWCJuLWzJPsZPvoXjzInKtB-PLm9QKBPxwbCuy6bpBtKONRKsZtvqVHaJq9wFeYvrCUGqW-yXsFAVY9JNBCK-d-FjQ9MWoRMVvgUhAPPXTXVM2oauPyk29Lt3HQsrff/s1600/P1040210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUnXB79JQI5ZIGPkWCJuLWzJPsZPvoXjzInKtB-PLm9QKBPxwbCuy6bpBtKONRKsZtvqVHaJq9wFeYvrCUGqW-yXsFAVY9JNBCK-d-FjQ9MWoRMVvgUhAPPXTXVM2oauPyk29Lt3HQsrff/s640/P1040210.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Delightful Rainbow Store</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgE5sPE3YILpsjnMpoRaPm3hlOwn4XHNxigpRnnts6_nCyM6GH_23IifopMxAd9OfsTAy8251G4nr4woppvhrnJ_-7ChKkHak-he2UIYr1rFjmfBAiPS0WqlPS4huu3tAQ817fzOdAaH2l/s1600/P1040237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgE5sPE3YILpsjnMpoRaPm3hlOwn4XHNxigpRnnts6_nCyM6GH_23IifopMxAd9OfsTAy8251G4nr4woppvhrnJ_-7ChKkHak-he2UIYr1rFjmfBAiPS0WqlPS4huu3tAQ817fzOdAaH2l/s640/P1040237.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Collecting our fresh bread from Noelle at Rainbow Store</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, as the afternoon progressed, Ruac
suggested that we should not miss the big event of the day, the afternoon
arrival of the ferry, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Big Sista, </i>in
the middle of its weekly jaunt, linking Port Vila with Luganville, and many of
the islands in between. The throng of locals arriving on foot plus a handful of
utilities bumping down the village road to the wharf were sure signs that the
ferry was on its way. There were kids playing in the shallows and locals; some
with goods and chattels, and others taking up vantage points for the
entertainment, plus sundry hounds of mixed parentage, all mingling and milling alongside
the wharf, making up the welcoming party as the twin hulled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Big Sista </i>made its way around the point
and growled its way into the wharf. Soon all was a bustle of people, produce,
and chiselled young men lifting impossible loads, such as bags of coconuts, to
a cacophony of orders. Where we had picked our way carefully over jetty
plankings, broken and loose, swarthy young fellows now danced like gadflies,
laden to the gunwales, and nary missing a step. Pigs in bamboo baskets were
lifted and deposited on the upper decks with their squeals of protest lost in
the haste to get all aboard and secure in the fading light. Then, with no
ceremony at all, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Big Sista’s</i> lines
were let go and with a throaty roar and brimming with people and cargo, she
made for t</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">he open sea. What a
night aboard might be like in a stiff sou-easter we could only imagine. At Port
Sandwich in minutes there was no one to be seen and the gentle lowing of a cow
in the coconut grove was the only sound of note as we headed for our duck to
make our way back to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista</i>. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikAPumE-xyr5nBBSq5pvkqe_3GtsRVRBlKGkeD5BS-v4v1UYP2NoD9aemffy7EoS4PH1XVMj-gTVHRtAs7h7v1XBmv5ALBCnhp_LA5p_YBJl1g3Cxb_RAq_0rcp7Q7yv0A3MxOSU6Z78CB/s1600/P1040233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikAPumE-xyr5nBBSq5pvkqe_3GtsRVRBlKGkeD5BS-v4v1UYP2NoD9aemffy7EoS4PH1XVMj-gTVHRtAs7h7v1XBmv5ALBCnhp_LA5p_YBJl1g3Cxb_RAq_0rcp7Q7yv0A3MxOSU6Z78CB/s640/P1040233.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Loading Big Sista</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">With <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bumpy Dog </i>and<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Serafina </i>now joining us in port, Cookie decided to make a batch of
her peerless scones and invite their crews over for Devonshire Tea. As ever her
baked produce was a gastronomic triumph and our visitors arrived hungry and
left replete. This excess, led to a decision to take a long walk in the
afternoon, up the road to Lamap, where we were informed a local soccer
tournament was under way. Eventually we found the rudimentary bank and local
store, and the hotly contested game of soccer where young men threw themselves
at the ball with commensurate skill and courage. We deflected the offer to join
a group at the Kava Hut, thinking that stumbling back along a darkened road,
with no light to illuminate the way was silly in the extreme.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYgCa1aWoilJyERO0SGG6U_Wb1_uVA3ZB-0IlH0drE8dYwiHwbUzOUHax1uDxmPvA6YZpPR9Ln4BHKNnW5QwOOIKQnuofULW9XD6JfYK6pDwHdPY3CEytkDSTH9CReJ76OZB1Tuo1GKk2B/s1600/P1040243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYgCa1aWoilJyERO0SGG6U_Wb1_uVA3ZB-0IlH0drE8dYwiHwbUzOUHax1uDxmPvA6YZpPR9Ln4BHKNnW5QwOOIKQnuofULW9XD6JfYK6pDwHdPY3CEytkDSTH9CReJ76OZB1Tuo1GKk2B/s640/P1040243.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Devonshire tea on Café Calista</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Banam Bay is a mere
handful of miles up the coast and with a more desirable weather forecast on
offer, we made our way there easily and were soon anchored and heading ashore.
We had planned a swim along the beach, but the children from the nearby village
had other ideas and soon we found ourselves <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">kid</i>napped!
They swarmed around us all a-chatter and were soon joined by the mum of three
of them, Judy, who offered to “show us around the village”. We had visions of a
10 minute excursion but what unfolded was a near three hour connection with the
wonderful people in the local villages that left us misty eyed in wonder at the
fathomless friendliness and kindness<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>of
people we had only just met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After
showing us through her local village, and with the clutch of kids in tow, Judy
took us to a copra kiln where we met the local chief who welcomed us warmly,
and took time out to explain the process where coconut flesh is kiln-dried for
local export to Luganville.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqhZzRmZGsE75XAh9i06KpaHIWsXPxDeBaAjL3QF7UjjW1uk1oFudNhIOMFHKUDZ08nje-_dSnTyrekgt26YbkqZ0tsPLZ_xXVdAfk0ra_XxIOMSVp6wBUEh8TfsdHHXB6R359OpA7Qs-N/s1600/P1040249.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqhZzRmZGsE75XAh9i06KpaHIWsXPxDeBaAjL3QF7UjjW1uk1oFudNhIOMFHKUDZ08nje-_dSnTyrekgt26YbkqZ0tsPLZ_xXVdAfk0ra_XxIOMSVp6wBUEh8TfsdHHXB6R359OpA7Qs-N/s640/P1040249.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The chief, Judy and lots of kids at the Copra kiln</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmg5CDwkGq94CW8Rkp4aAQxrYKvCZVTeNaz2s51mOUPQeE2jRhAEA8-FrE5IuZZLBeGyP-Z9Q48WF3lzWyypR-LrjA7F-qcxOiRoEEmqr17yEF2cakgnmaqclwhoQMhMOzmczu-KPbXwbr/s1600/P1040263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmg5CDwkGq94CW8Rkp4aAQxrYKvCZVTeNaz2s51mOUPQeE2jRhAEA8-FrE5IuZZLBeGyP-Z9Q48WF3lzWyypR-LrjA7F-qcxOiRoEEmqr17yEF2cakgnmaqclwhoQMhMOzmczu-KPbXwbr/s640/P1040263.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Wonderful stroll through the villages with Judy & her children</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">With paths weaving their way past coconut groves,
villages and wells we shook hands with many, gained an insight into daily
village life and eventually found our way to the ocean coast where Ambrym
smouldered away in the distance. Knowing that our background was in education,
Judy offered to take us up the hill to the local school, where Rolina the local
kindy teacher met us and her grandfather insisted that we take with us a trio
of his freshly baked bread rolls. She insisted that we return the next day,
Sunday, to share some lunch with her and to meet other members of her family
who lived a short walk away. Rolina’s work is demanding in the extreme as
Cyclone Pam had destroyed her schoolroom, and her 42 pupils were still
“roughing it” in temporary shelter. As we wended our way back to the beach, we
stopped off to meet Rex, Judy’s husband who is hoping to take up contract work
on farms in Australia as part of an agreement between the Vanuatu and
Australian governments. We returned to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista
</i>laden with gifts of bread and fruit having experienced a singular excursion
ashore, one that we would not forget.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbxLVobMgPWFntMNhIBLXn2LkD4tjAXapK0fuXeFTNrSj06ryz9I1apNC_FcuhNhn8yTiG0Ws9caQyy58kOaad7pQUorYU95DVi9t2RmEPw7Bcsrapo_H-LAP479Hua-KYz23Lz0j7Pizv/s1600/P1040269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbxLVobMgPWFntMNhIBLXn2LkD4tjAXapK0fuXeFTNrSj06ryz9I1apNC_FcuhNhn8yTiG0Ws9caQyy58kOaad7pQUorYU95DVi9t2RmEPw7Bcsrapo_H-LAP479Hua-KYz23Lz0j7Pizv/s640/P1040269.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Judy, Rex, Jaster, Erneth & Emil</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">We were relieved that
the heavy rain that fell overnight and into the next morning stopped before
noon and, as it often is in the tropics, with a pinch of sun and a waft of
wind, there was soon little evidence that it had rained at all. We took inshore
a secondary mooring line that Judy and Rex needed to tether an errant cow, some
fishing gear for Rex, some home products like margarine and coffee that were
not available at Banam Bay, and Cookie who is a dab hand at making jewellery,
presented<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Judy with a necklace that was
received with both gratitude and delight. In no time we had made our way back
to the village by the school where Rolina had prepared a tasty vegetarian lunch
before leading us to meet her brother Jim whose partner is Brittany, originally
from Florida, who he met on a tall ship experience in local waters. Jim and
Brittany have a son Isaac, and Brittany has an academic background, and is keen
to undertake a PhD specialising in local languages in Malekula. Brittany
somehow manages a foothold in two very different cultures. Jim’s extended
family and a sprinkling of friends were also there and, as we shared plates of
delicious fruits from the garden and forest, time skipped away, and before we
knew it, we could struggle to get back to our duck in daylight hours. It was
hard to leave this wonderful place and when we ultimately got back to our duck,
with plans to sail further along the coast in the new day, Judy insisted that
she and her children join with us to hold hands as she prayed for our wellbeing
on the great voyage that still lay before us. Although her words were in
Bislama, the message was abundantly clear, and this was a moment as poignant
and as moving as one could experience anywhere. What did we say in an earlier
blog about the wonderful people of Vanuatu? We returned to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>with an experience at Banam Bay that we would never forget.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19IUyMI0XznJkH7ETuq1iMw2B2PUg4sTmdtRjGE1802jNeJuXNuvSM9hcn7Mvx_7CDZO4HS5SxXGi25bRQk19Y7U-FDaxBrgGQeSO_FeTeWypj1p88XJ-2m-R1brcJXJak2LfyMxbOs2y/s1600/P1040273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19IUyMI0XznJkH7ETuq1iMw2B2PUg4sTmdtRjGE1802jNeJuXNuvSM9hcn7Mvx_7CDZO4HS5SxXGi25bRQk19Y7U-FDaxBrgGQeSO_FeTeWypj1p88XJ-2m-R1brcJXJak2LfyMxbOs2y/s640/P1040273.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Lunch at Rolina"s home.</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZN_b4g1rO9TiBu3zMFJjFYmoWp5MMiyZeF-4TkkQfkngSvIjn4RtPabdrXqi8SjT2U1YL4_3CAxwf96n08O3yvAgatghoRs_06-jeN_ilQTbfM069Rv7DbZ7WGVj4ReoF73R0GXLO5UnE/s1600/P1040278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZN_b4g1rO9TiBu3zMFJjFYmoWp5MMiyZeF-4TkkQfkngSvIjn4RtPabdrXqi8SjT2U1YL4_3CAxwf96n08O3yvAgatghoRs_06-jeN_ilQTbfM069Rv7DbZ7WGVj4ReoF73R0GXLO5UnE/s640/P1040278.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Brittany, Jim, Isaac and extended family </i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">From Banam Bay it is
a sail of five or six hours to Port Stanley, and in a tailing breeze, we were
joined by <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bumpy Dog </i>in a pleasant
romp up the coast, before we turned into the passage between the mainland and
Uripiv Island and found a snug anchorage protected by an extending reef, as the
afternoon winds whistled in and confined us to on-board activities. After our
remarkable time at Banam Bay, our solitary existence in the low-lying Port
Stanley, came as a stark contrast.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1GFCjyDJUMWxlqJ7EA9B5WRM4CetiEtQh3BqUlw3zvxSiYbDcsLJ95pYnSzrMnY4DdXylR7OY5vjfXxnt1HVipzzEwQZ0ouHGzCKeAUcyskAGQ21p3G4IDVwPK94J3hBq96z31fg7KR_3/s1600/P1040307.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1GFCjyDJUMWxlqJ7EA9B5WRM4CetiEtQh3BqUlw3zvxSiYbDcsLJ95pYnSzrMnY4DdXylR7OY5vjfXxnt1HVipzzEwQZ0ouHGzCKeAUcyskAGQ21p3G4IDVwPK94J3hBq96z31fg7KR_3/s640/P1040307.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sunset at Port Stanley</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">By now we had reached
the “head” of the “seated puppy” that is Malekula, and we were within a day’s
sail from Luganville on Espiritu Santo, lying across the Bouganville Strait. We
planned to reach Luganville in two hops, one to the northern Malekula Island of
Vao and another to the Ratoua Island Resort via the tricky currents of Bruat
Channel, between Malo Island and Luganville. After an early getaway from Port
Stanley we soon drew abeam of Vao Island and it was clear that with the fresh
SSE wind prevailing, the anchorage at Vao would be an uncomfortable one and it
would be prudent to move on across the strait to Ratoua. With the breeze
holding at a moderate strength, we soon covered the fifteen or so miles to the
entrance to Bruat Channel, where we had timed our approach so that wind and
tide were aligned. Yachts must pick up a mooring at Ratoua but when we got
there we found the available mooring in a poor state, and not wishing to
duplicate our experience in Baie de Prony, we decided that for the second time
in one day we would change our plans and this time head for the Aore Resort moorings
opposite Vanuatu’s “northern capital”, Luganville. What had started out as a 15
mile jaunt to Vao Island became a 49mile passage via the Bouganville Strait,
Bruat and Segond Channels to the lights of Luganville. Our passage from Port
Vila had exceeded whatever expectations we had and whetted our appetite for
what there was to discover along Santo’s eastern coast, and the islands that
lay beyond, over the horizon.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHXiT7sqebKVpr8TM3GnYMpSiyWakSiuaFq_MWU7EHpJnZ1PpPG0-_-GQMpep70inncZIL1w1nAPDbc4eZ2HhMlGEtdS6yqrxUQO3KfGssBtKf5OIw-6wLDcfEuY9fNt7zDBv9Qqz1qLf/s1600/P1040318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHXiT7sqebKVpr8TM3GnYMpSiyWakSiuaFq_MWU7EHpJnZ1PpPG0-_-GQMpep70inncZIL1w1nAPDbc4eZ2HhMlGEtdS6yqrxUQO3KfGssBtKf5OIw-6wLDcfEuY9fNt7zDBv9Qqz1qLf/s640/P1040318.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Luganville</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiri-yeqPUntqpvvDWayWVQPZoPxj0j7Mb7cuIcu3VT7fERPRrJJQcrwIIJfiwdp9UnNPJQvbz6Vckc1Frr5qutkVXRFNFNxfcG8-auCm9swfp7ksWxz4R8X9b1nUeLRl5reeUb_4D34aze/s1600/P1040328.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiri-yeqPUntqpvvDWayWVQPZoPxj0j7Mb7cuIcu3VT7fERPRrJJQcrwIIJfiwdp9UnNPJQvbz6Vckc1Frr5qutkVXRFNFNxfcG8-auCm9swfp7ksWxz4R8X9b1nUeLRl5reeUb_4D34aze/s640/P1040328.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Secure on a mooring at Aore resort </i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></div>
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Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-32641503938309289552016-09-14T06:41:00.000-07:002016-09-14T06:41:15.319-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Port Vila, Vanuatu
(including Mt Yasur volcano, Tanna Island)</i></b></span> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>23/8/16 – 3/9/16</i></b></span></span></div>
<i><span style="font-family: Arial;">(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.)</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></i><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike><br /></strike></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With only Immigration
entry processes to complete, we came ashore at Yachting World, Port Vila, to
the very spot we had stood when we had disembarked from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific Pearl </i>in August 2015. We remember standing there,
visualising <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>on one of the
moorings out from the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Waterfront Bar and
Restaurant</i>, and asking ourselves – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">could
we really sail Calista all the way from South Australia to here in Port Vila?
Could we really be like the world cruisers we could see laying on moorings in
the harbor, with their flags from the seven seas? Could we?? </i>We walked away
thinking, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">if they can, why not us? </i></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2-p10L15K8uB5pnIcDt3PpqCJvCgu0K7JDEmWjrr5l4Bbm5LQajgHYoWMEeq90n_GoPEiLOBsIpFaW4yg195MAItc2fJcgAuUbOPWCbxoy0r5tjd9Xhlg5kOtoj84PYLY_NAxRbq_4BrT/s1600/P1030821.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2-p10L15K8uB5pnIcDt3PpqCJvCgu0K7JDEmWjrr5l4Bbm5LQajgHYoWMEeq90n_GoPEiLOBsIpFaW4yg195MAItc2fJcgAuUbOPWCbxoy0r5tjd9Xhlg5kOtoj84PYLY_NAxRbq_4BrT/s640/P1030821.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><b>A vision becomes reality, anchored off Yachting World, Port Vila</b></i></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvGTzJDBXh-k95If5tuceqtQdRRNwc2IbUJbAx_eYdFz2MZy6ExpvwaD9Tu9aUOU1IWRe9u-7xxvuJDlKUhqOyq_oKaLVy-16UFc2mcRhlAHEvbjAB6o__HjfUbjYt8dXG1SEFbM0nCRqB/s1600/IMG_0928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvGTzJDBXh-k95If5tuceqtQdRRNwc2IbUJbAx_eYdFz2MZy6ExpvwaD9Tu9aUOU1IWRe9u-7xxvuJDlKUhqOyq_oKaLVy-16UFc2mcRhlAHEvbjAB6o__HjfUbjYt8dXG1SEFbM0nCRqB/s640/IMG_0928.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To be there in Port
Vila in 2015, to visualise ourselves sailing there too, was crucial to us
setting our sights on these faraway isles. Without the voyage on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific Pearl</i> there is every chance that
we would not have made it to Vanuatu. It is easy to get sidetracked by the day
to day humdrum of life and see a year and a priceless opportunity slip away. Still,
we felt like pinching ourselves....we <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really
</i>had made it to Port Vila! To stand on the spot and visualise something that
you are keen to achieve, to see it, sense it and almost touch it is a powerful
thing indeed. We had even gone to the extent of checking out the menu at the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Waterfront, </i>knowing that whilst this
might seem absurd at the time, what with us soon to re-board the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pearl, </i>which was full to the plimsoll
with food, and knowing that the only way we could ever place an order and
select a table with a view over the harbor, was to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sail there</i> to do so. In my mind I had pencilled in the Beef Curry
with all the trimmings, a “speciality of the house”, and now it was time to
order that curry...and there was the small matter of the Sparkling Shiraz, now
chilled and ready to go. Yes, there are easier ways to enjoy a Sparkling
Shiraz, than to sail to Vanuatu to do so, but we doubt that Sparking Shiraz has
ever tasted sweeter, than this one was for us. Bon appétit!!</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4dyWmsZHcXHxJEXkDjGZ5K_GjAXAKcjLbv8Tl3ZbmwyRx7FGrS8s2qD0QeQTIBhxqj6kI__88HvPkCTPBLe0k8XimFcfqnQZqAVEOfuxO8nycL_lPg9DVhWUERkO-O18oGxdQsuG81K8k/s1600/IMG_1407.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4dyWmsZHcXHxJEXkDjGZ5K_GjAXAKcjLbv8Tl3ZbmwyRx7FGrS8s2qD0QeQTIBhxqj6kI__88HvPkCTPBLe0k8XimFcfqnQZqAVEOfuxO8nycL_lPg9DVhWUERkO-O18oGxdQsuG81K8k/s640/IMG_1407.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Celebrating our arrival at the Waterfront Bar</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As much as we enjoyed
our time in Noumea, in no time we were wedded to Port Vila, not so much for
what is there but for the people, the ever smiling and ever friendly people of Vanuatu.
Yes, the fact that nearly everyone manages English, apart from the native
Bislama, was important, but somehow it was more than that, and it started with
Moses and Leimara at Yachting World who have been friends to yachties from all
over the globe, for over 40 years! Cookie and Leimara had been conversing via
email, and when Cookie strolled to the office to introduce herself, Leimara
rushed up and gave her a true Vanuatu hug, just like that. In Vanuatu, you may
come for the islands and their sumptuous anchorages, but you will never forget
the people. Both are beautiful we have been assured and we can’t wait to
experience the Vanuatu that lies beyond Vila for ourselves!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">First, though, apart
from places to see in Port Vila, there were some crucial things to do; the
first of these being the stolidly practical process of re-provisioning and
re-supply, which came after we had strolled through town to Immigration where
our arrival was finally and easily formalised. At home shopping is a functional
activity and we spend as little time doing it as we can and yet when away, and
especially when arriving somewhere by sea, a curious alchemy takes place and
the humble process of purchasing our needs can become a valued part of the
experience. Fortunately, from mooring 62, just opposite Yachting World we were
just a step or two from our major sources for re-stocking <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista</i>. The first of these, the Port Vila Market, became an
instant favourite of ours where fruits and vegetables – not to forget flowers –
of every exotic species imaginable, plus the colour and the conviviality of the
sellers, made this a place we returned to, time and again. You could buy a
delicious home cooked meal here, and sit at a trestle to enjoy it, elbow to
elbow with the locals; all of whom wanted to know where you were from, and
wished you well in these friendly isles. Cookie, who cannot manage a brimming
plate for lunch, left me contented whilst she browsed the myriad of clothing
and veggie stalls, sometimes turning browsing into buying. The Port Vila Market
is open 24/7, Monday to Friday and closes Saturday afternoon and Sunday. Yes,
that is right, open 24/7, so that if you really want to, you can buy a bag of
eggplants, or a succulent papaya, at a fraction of the Noumea price, on your
way home from a good night out. The sellers camp out in their stalls, although
we suspect that not much retail occurs in the wee hours of the night. By day
though, the Port Vila Market is abuzz and is a destination in its own right and
It was so easy to find ourselves saying...”must pop down to the market and get
some tomatoes” - oh, the succulent beauties they sell there, real ones from
someone’s garden, that you can smell when you dissect them, and you can eat
like peaches - and find that a half day has wafted away. Just like that.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9GuUVfOgDDqAqbVle7pXtw6HH_FkLuvLtyVD5mvKEsWp_29bTnXLxHD0D9Z8nuv8Cn9o3LKBRilzhuv0ofN4UFj4ZjwOZyUa_z19vDqsm4YvXb0EjQuGW2XkZE_aliVF0jC5Yg5Xvk_5r/s1600/IMG_0931.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9GuUVfOgDDqAqbVle7pXtw6HH_FkLuvLtyVD5mvKEsWp_29bTnXLxHD0D9Z8nuv8Cn9o3LKBRilzhuv0ofN4UFj4ZjwOZyUa_z19vDqsm4YvXb0EjQuGW2XkZE_aliVF0jC5Yg5Xvk_5r/s640/IMG_0931.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The colourful local market</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhldZyc1p5Umz8dLrzHcxeNPwG9ZtNiOs0FmT1KelO6yYeR3S8dB1D_3OCxG2Ch-6ikbDJIzmqoWPTQazzlHWbN6jy6hTORTn0efvsrFZqLzeoUh3BD5tLCdzVuBJf0-te5D_CVIOQCmEWN/s1600/IMG_0932.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhldZyc1p5Umz8dLrzHcxeNPwG9ZtNiOs0FmT1KelO6yYeR3S8dB1D_3OCxG2Ch-6ikbDJIzmqoWPTQazzlHWbN6jy6hTORTn0efvsrFZqLzeoUh3BD5tLCdzVuBJf0-te5D_CVIOQCmEWN/s640/IMG_0932.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"></span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The other key
re-supply need was to find a well stocked supermarket, and again, on our <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific Pearl </i>trip to Port Vila, whilst
most other passengers donned flowers, went on tours and sat in bars, we went
searching for the best facility in town and found it just up the road from
Yachting World, where we now lay to our mooring; yes the one we had imagined in
2015. There are probably not many cruise ship visitors to Port Vila who go up
and down supermarket aisles, and come away with lists of products and their
availability, down to sauces for stir fries and the cost of a vacuum packed
porterhouse, for an omnivore like me. The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bon
Marche </i>supermarket was just like being at home, with prices to match, and
what was more, for 150 Vatu (85 Vatu to the $AU), we could jump on one of the
local 10 seaters, the ones with B on the numberplate, and get dropped off back
at Yachting World with our booty, as easy as winking, and with a smile to boot.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Whilst we found
browsing and shopping in Port Vila both fascinating and fun, and without the
predictability at home, there were always delightful eateries, like Jill’s
Place, to snare our attention, where Cookie’s fondness for a Mocha milkshake,
had the ladies there heading for the blender, almost before she stepped in the
door. By night, if we chose to dine out, there were options aplenty, all
agreeably priced and including, to our absolute delight, a fine Indian
Restaurant, called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spice </i>that we
would have happily lifted and “helicoptered” to our home town where we would
become epicurean devotees.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Amongst the
practicalities, such as food, water, gas and fuel, we wanted to take the
opportunity whilst in Port Vila to source some cultural experiences which we
certainly could not get at home. Just up the hill from the town is found the
modestly promoted Vanuatu Cultural Centre, which has an absorbing snapshot of
exhibits, collected over time from far-flung isles. We easily wiled away some
time here, fascinated by the exhibits, which included hand hewn dugout canoes,
the incredible regional crafts fashioned from local materials, an insight into
the former practice of cannibalism, and even down to an example of a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Namba,</i> the woven leaf fibre that makes a
receptacle that cocoons the primary male appendage. On the island of Malekula,
you apparently have Big Nambas and Small Nambas, and as we left that exhibit,
just a little bemused, in the direction of the excellent sand sculpture display,
I had already decided that beyond a sarong for sleeping there were clear
limitations to my adoption of local culture. It is not likely that the Namba
will catch on back at the Surf Club at Port Elliot!</span></div>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYvt5zcoOFtGSxUwVRuC48npzn0v_DmpucKe5IZl0c_ZphAv1kKLWT3vM69MUMNvBuGfgCirjEkMiqksGknUaVMW7c77WzfO-5eI3jT5srJJOQrvoGFHrqFtsC2q7FwA0-L28qfGEdX52E/s1600/IMG_1413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYvt5zcoOFtGSxUwVRuC48npzn0v_DmpucKe5IZl0c_ZphAv1kKLWT3vM69MUMNvBuGfgCirjEkMiqksGknUaVMW7c77WzfO-5eI3jT5srJJOQrvoGFHrqFtsC2q7FwA0-L28qfGEdX52E/s640/IMG_1413.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Not sure if it's a big Namba or a small Namba!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy8Q0BG8VGMucDLV7LUf0QRYlC_VZe89XEAF3AZPES_29Xr3EQXV6CLUev657W-gt5NmpEN8bbMKaWB0_pB0in7aDpU1UVhFcNaE5Ai1ucjjUHU0TQ8h8_J_Wwdtk0uk-VU5eJEnPLhb1W/s640/IMG_1420.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Demonstration of traditional sand drawings</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"></span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The other cultural
experience we fixed on was to see a Fire Dance, which involved us heading for
nearby Mele Bay, the heartland of Aussie Culture on tour, where a group of
local performers do a regular dance with fire. The Fire Dance was great and we
marvelled at the athleticism of the performers who combined gymnastics, on the
ground, in ensemble, and on the high and low bar and wire, with extraordinary
skill and dexterity. Seeing this, however, amongst Aussies on tour and waist
deep in cocktails, made us yearn for the gentle souls in the market, and delete
Mele Bay as a haven in which we might anchor.</span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYkP63A_mvjsvVDrGB-GezvxBvXkXERwIC0ZxdewMmm3_zyT1pi4NDN_2fm2l48tVbOlN3eSCB3COVxB4kosg9PXJO2zVS34ZUF-2zGtxJCfBVzhMsO_4fcG9ROsKuq_74t6f4hNxCq7HW/s1600/P1030809+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYkP63A_mvjsvVDrGB-GezvxBvXkXERwIC0ZxdewMmm3_zyT1pi4NDN_2fm2l48tVbOlN3eSCB3COVxB4kosg9PXJO2zVS34ZUF-2zGtxJCfBVzhMsO_4fcG9ROsKuq_74t6f4hNxCq7HW/s640/P1030809+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Amazing fire dances</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the meantime we had planned a fire-dance of
sorts of our own. We had always yearned to visit the island of Tanna and see
its famous volcano Mount Yasur up close and personal. As we have noted, we had
originally planned to island-hop to Tanna on our way to Port Vila, before the
practicalities of time and trade winds had us seeking another way to see the
island’s smoking giant, and to do so from Vila. In our tramping around town we
had been busy sleuthing information about packages to Tanna and Yasur, and
although there were modern travel agencies aplenty, wired, packaged and ready
to go, we sauntered into a low-key agency, between the wharf and the market,
where with John and his nephew Stuart, a fine young man who works at night at
the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Waterfront, </i>arranged it all for
us, at a good price and with not a computer in sight. Then, with our bags and
peril glasses packed and primed to go, I fell ill and we had to delay everything.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoW4XxnVx14XNS8M1IujwwP4E0YtWukMjQIjvPEWik6rW_nguTnh6rHj8nlVnT9Z-xROpq3myI9UMkJh9VU3_DHiGonJKU9ZI-1e9FoO3fNFSBjkbtp-yy5ZrH9OZygwnWn5ZGrfvCZbJ9/s1600/IMG_0907.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoW4XxnVx14XNS8M1IujwwP4E0YtWukMjQIjvPEWik6rW_nguTnh6rHj8nlVnT9Z-xROpq3myI9UMkJh9VU3_DHiGonJKU9ZI-1e9FoO3fNFSBjkbtp-yy5ZrH9OZygwnWn5ZGrfvCZbJ9/s640/IMG_0907.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Finalising our Tanna trip with John & Stuart</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The day before our
Tanna excursion was due, I awoke feeling flat and listless, a touch nauseous,
and, presenting, which is the key for me, with no appetite for anything except
sleep. Luckily John was able to put our plans on hold and, not being certain of
the nature of my Melanesian malady, or its time-frame, and with the local
medical clinic being just across the way, Cookie found out that this was
something that was “going around”, and that a course of antibiotics would
probably do the trick. Then, on the following day, with my graph rising, Cookie
succumbed to a close cousin of my condition and was “flattened” as well, a
state that for her is seen less frequently than Halley’s Comet. Unfortunately,
with all the buzz of the marina happening right there, just metres away, we had
no option but to lie low until our equilibriums were restored. Yasur would have
to belch, hiss, roar and wait!</span>
</span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vxuAyLcVwLboDqxjO1JKTarR8vyPolZAVdsDCn7hu0qGvfcUoLI3jbsx-IFvJkGZwcyHgZUSh5Y0IoYQmCUoTmEdhu3nU4E87FE4YoPfA3YV0eUE3KuzhHQopmvRAnl-G7htEPKWGr9i/s1600/P1030825.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vxuAyLcVwLboDqxjO1JKTarR8vyPolZAVdsDCn7hu0qGvfcUoLI3jbsx-IFvJkGZwcyHgZUSh5Y0IoYQmCUoTmEdhu3nU4E87FE4YoPfA3YV0eUE3KuzhHQopmvRAnl-G7htEPKWGr9i/s640/P1030825.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><b>Unity Airlines unique airport transfer vehicle</b></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzPkcHJnnXXwyS9Ej3Y3NDwOsC9XBm_xORJXliqJgysCLJFmBZtx355LR13HHMqrBTQnml3fxezYxl_I4G8lXzIqwoq539nKEDD-HIg1Qd1NzyWcmQCWBwpONPRuBxwrYiTlrB1LvK9KUM/s1600/P1030835.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzPkcHJnnXXwyS9Ej3Y3NDwOsC9XBm_xORJXliqJgysCLJFmBZtx355LR13HHMqrBTQnml3fxezYxl_I4G8lXzIqwoq539nKEDD-HIg1Qd1NzyWcmQCWBwpONPRuBxwrYiTlrB1LvK9KUM/s640/P1030835.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Birdseye view of the Port Vila anchorage</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"></span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The package to Tanna
and Mt Yasur made life easy, with a smart 10 seater plane taking a small group
from Vila, with transfers, overnight accommodation, meals, and a guided
experience at Mt Yasur, in the hands of experienced and trained locals. We had
heard horror stories about opportunistic “cowboy” operators on Tanna, but the
package run by Unity Airlines was hard to fault, and what is more, as we gazed
out the window of our Piper Cherokee near Erromango Island at a turbulent sea
below, we marvelled at covering the 112nm to Tanna, not being hammered by the
incessant trades, and with Mastercard managing the self steering. The Airport
at Whitegrass on Tanna still bears the scars of its pounding by Cyclone Pam in
early 2015, and our transfer to the low key but delightful Evergreen Resort saw
it, too, still mending its scars, and, with a film of ash settling on our
bungalow from Yasur, we were already mindful that we were in a place where the
power of nature ruled over all.</span></div>
</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_UC1Oi4mTKjBg1qW7pl6Dc4nxX76P1EcFyr-bVhRFBQmNQTeDw-qaIEAjDotF2I6w1j0zBV1Ix9WJAMR7QB2Kzs5Ye2o83Ebfhe9Kav9dRfk22nkMItF4etFU8nBFW5G60XmLTkE5HBhQ/s1600/P1030850.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_UC1Oi4mTKjBg1qW7pl6Dc4nxX76P1EcFyr-bVhRFBQmNQTeDw-qaIEAjDotF2I6w1j0zBV1Ix9WJAMR7QB2Kzs5Ye2o83Ebfhe9Kav9dRfk22nkMItF4etFU8nBFW5G60XmLTkE5HBhQ/s640/P1030850.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The easy way to get to Tanna!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWxpLydeyTpxayRsV5pZy2xfro42ly9MwYh3B31LyThitti8Wyb8Xmwr8UBP5zp51eHXNFxNs2ufqIHe4bEgwzU25K6F9StGakbVcf4yNNCnpRdBxgLjipNJ6FuPATkqCPyuGCA_EZ5UHZ/s1600/P1040046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWxpLydeyTpxayRsV5pZy2xfro42ly9MwYh3B31LyThitti8Wyb8Xmwr8UBP5zp51eHXNFxNs2ufqIHe4bEgwzU25K6F9StGakbVcf4yNNCnpRdBxgLjipNJ6FuPATkqCPyuGCA_EZ5UHZ/s640/P1040046.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Our room at Evergreen Resort</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"></span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our group included
Julian a young ex-pat Brit, Bethany, a Sydneysider, in Vila visiting friends,
Ken and Leanne from Bulli, members of the remote Era SLSC in the Royal National
Park between Wollongong and Sydney, and Naoto, an ever smiling young man from
Tokyo, with a drone in his backpack and with lofty visions of flying it over Mt
Yasur and its fires of hell. Sometimes the world is a small place, and in
chatting with Leanne and Ken, we found that given our different connections to
good folk at the Wollongong SLSC, we had common friends there, and given the
kinship shared amongst “clubbies” whenever we meet, Leanne suggested that if we
found ourselves in Cronulla on a weekend on our “return journey” later in the
year we should catch the ferry to Bundeena next the National Park, do the
four-hour cliff walk to their shack at the walk-in only hamlet of Era, and
share a weekend with them by the sea. According to Ken, I could even borrow a
cap, don my speedos and do a surf patrol at Era. You never know.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We had heard horror
tales about yachties who had endured bone shaking utility rides to Yasur from
ports on Tanna, but with Kelson, an experienced tour operator on Tanna, and a
friend of John’s, we were soon trundling across the countryside in
air-conditioned comfort, on post-cyclone roads that had been upgraded thanks to
foreign aid from countries like Australia, New Zealand and China. Then, after
ascending the spine of the island, the smoking monster with its surrounding
plain of ash lay just in front of us and in no time, with Kelson’s guidance, we
had alighted onto a field of grey, every bit as desolate as the surface of the
moon. </span></div>
</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbYrG1jggzQg1paBUSvTsfUq89SXY3M6d3iySXrejAgNFmrM9-fYWOMKAkQ6vvvrovPJm6iYSgoDjQrLHEdOpvNUHHEuawKDEF-OYdwjHDXMiU7ukn00henkKRM2X42RYLkCcXNwaIIP4-/s1600/P1030855.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbYrG1jggzQg1paBUSvTsfUq89SXY3M6d3iySXrejAgNFmrM9-fYWOMKAkQ6vvvrovPJm6iYSgoDjQrLHEdOpvNUHHEuawKDEF-OYdwjHDXMiU7ukn00henkKRM2X42RYLkCcXNwaIIP4-/s640/P1030855.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Mt Yasur moonscape!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"></span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With us skirting the
volcano, Kelson pointed out his tree house accommodation and
soon-to-be-completed eatery, and we wondered what sleeping alongside the firey
giant would have been like, because had we not succumbed to the virus, John had
arranged for us to overnight there, up in a tree with one of nature’s greatest
fireworks displays, right out of our bedroom window!</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At the base of Mt Yasur,
we were met by the Volcano Guides, who led us to a shaded area where people
from the local village conducted a ceremonial welcome, complete with a local
dance, in which Cookie was invited to join, where and she performed admirably,
demonstrating a nimblicity of foot that drew wide acclaim. From there it was
only a short 4WD drive with our guide to the assembly point, only a couple of
hundred metres, below the crater rim from which smoke billowed skywards, and
the sound of eruptions filled the air. </span></div>
</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8H96xri54515M_qQTrdl8uudFUkpJwLxu25cn25iSRWc6akGToQHr9Mr_IPRvGFd5MQu1ajtYLL_sXuQ8-2Zu10935ESqsPCqw4WiztPVa4A6NwAOLLqAgGBApENDR53egQDBcB3XE0tS/s1600/P1040008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8H96xri54515M_qQTrdl8uudFUkpJwLxu25cn25iSRWc6akGToQHr9Mr_IPRvGFd5MQu1ajtYLL_sXuQ8-2Zu10935ESqsPCqw4WiztPVa4A6NwAOLLqAgGBApENDR53egQDBcB3XE0tS/s640/P1040008.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Glad I didn't have to wear the grass skirt!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"></span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Soon we were on the
crater rim itself and we watched in awe, and with some trepidation as at
regular intervals the roar of a hundred jet planes was heard accompanied by a
burst of lava high into the sky. Smoke billowed, gasses hissed, and bombs of
magma fumed as they cooled below us from arterial red to the brown of ochre. All
around were chunks of cooled magma, some as big as mini minors, that had
clearly been hurled out by Old Yasur in a fit of pique. The experts monitor
Yasur’s activity, and give it a “safety rating” on a scale of one to five.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For us Yasur was grumbling along at two on
the “volcano scale”, but more than this and our visit to the rim might have
been cancelled. Nonetheless, whilst our activity was guided and monitored, you
got the feeling with the power of nature on awesome display below just about
anything could happen next.</span></div>
</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqfm8ZLtQM_JxwJJLODprwNdwdVMmRk06-_SpZoVX-zD_GgSOXoQYpq97XkRky1QzCebMgAPNvLso65uGN_maHWjJ3Dn7Hu9dEbdEG0pIZ7R88RLYzb58ChKT-yLjuGYLsCliZBy2AY9Mo/s1600/P1040018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqfm8ZLtQM_JxwJJLODprwNdwdVMmRk06-_SpZoVX-zD_GgSOXoQYpq97XkRky1QzCebMgAPNvLso65uGN_maHWjJ3Dn7Hu9dEbdEG0pIZ7R88RLYzb58ChKT-yLjuGYLsCliZBy2AY9Mo/s640/P1040018.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The climb to the viewing area</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXJ8xnofEbB-IfPHQSpesg9s1Tc5nqPLBxoaFIjRzYmZOboAoaiFxbAuSE8ykxOk7rzx6-0Q90XgbXIQ1H_nfns-izFvPCFjCuh0Bh1sCv9so2m446GHj9rGfUuv4uE0WMzpPVqcWyxoxT/s1600/P1040017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXJ8xnofEbB-IfPHQSpesg9s1Tc5nqPLBxoaFIjRzYmZOboAoaiFxbAuSE8ykxOk7rzx6-0Q90XgbXIQ1H_nfns-izFvPCFjCuh0Bh1sCv9so2m446GHj9rGfUuv4uE0WMzpPVqcWyxoxT/s640/P1040017.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Unbelievable!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijXPP5lSMhlRir-YE4qV6QgSDV7BmGu2_CDcXGiwHYLgKwphgAjMrKiEApZxtb5AfxwD9pPNkFV_jjaavWlx4F-SeE8S9gzgLBzA9D_PGY37_wD_eQ2VaFi4OMudmT5ACQKlK5xgQDdZ41/s1600/P1040023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijXPP5lSMhlRir-YE4qV6QgSDV7BmGu2_CDcXGiwHYLgKwphgAjMrKiEApZxtb5AfxwD9pPNkFV_jjaavWlx4F-SeE8S9gzgLBzA9D_PGY37_wD_eQ2VaFi4OMudmT5ACQKlK5xgQDdZ41/s640/P1040023.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"></span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With the afternoon
closing and the promise of some amazing fireworks in the early evening ahead of
us, the guides suggested that those who chose to could proceed up to the
elevated crater rim, from where, and after a climb, unforgettable views into
the caldera would be on offer. Unforgettable indeed! </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We had just ascended
the upper rim of the caldera, and were taking in the astonishing display below,
when, with a pyroclastic roar of volcanic reflux, Yasur went ROOOOAAAARRRR!!!
And KAAAABBBOOOOMMMM! flinging magma, smoke and fire high into the sky. Time
seemed to congeal as we watched the ruddy projectiles head aloft in a parabolic
arc and head closer and ever closer to the path where we were perched. THUMP!
One chunk of magma landed just metres below the path where we were about to
head! Surely, this was not in the script! It then occurred to me that filming
the explosions below, which we had been doing, carried the enormous risk of one
not seeing a deadly projectile about to descend from the heavens. This was very
dangerous! </span></div>
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Some of our group,
including Naoto with his tripod, had by now made it to the top of the rim, when
a roar to end all roars saw belching fire and hundreds of projectiles hurled
into the heavens, including some fiery chunks bigger than ever before. We
watched in horror as one massive piece headed up, up, up, then down, down, down
straight for Naoto, and his tripod! Others yelled at the last moment and Naoto,
jumped back from his camera as THHUMMMPPP!!! The ground shook beneath us as a
table-top size glob of magma smacked into the side of the path, where it lay
ruddy, crackling and sizzling, only a metre from where Naoto had been filming.
He had missed an instant and horrible death, by a whisker, and was now standing
back shaken, trying to comprehend what had just occurred. It had been a very
near thing.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8oocutId2sffNDL2rpRCNIIzMVsakytT8NYVBrlrfPUZUWcsvOkHWKYeGXHqZ0O5QNlltsNhqqFtgmdqcEqxvIKqUOxX3dmdMFARogvEzzbFwv_w6wSbWh6f4qWR6qIPnxECPL1hNKpyW/s1600/P1040027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8oocutId2sffNDL2rpRCNIIzMVsakytT8NYVBrlrfPUZUWcsvOkHWKYeGXHqZ0O5QNlltsNhqqFtgmdqcEqxvIKqUOxX3dmdMFARogvEzzbFwv_w6wSbWh6f4qWR6qIPnxECPL1hNKpyW/s640/P1040027.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The molten missile !</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhWArdzddHzfB_YkJemiPFrEJUdVsZG7A-NqepaOi7Uw7e8vhFH8IaSzm1YJvyx8-4J9zxxnvP2P4ztAwCy7-Shgot7Ucu1hn_nFSq3Pg9HC6oexHL5gcama81Y2HrlFYspPHw4tFKx-w/s1600/P1040030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhWArdzddHzfB_YkJemiPFrEJUdVsZG7A-NqepaOi7Uw7e8vhFH8IaSzm1YJvyx8-4J9zxxnvP2P4ztAwCy7-Shgot7Ucu1hn_nFSq3Pg9HC6oexHL5gcama81Y2HrlFYspPHw4tFKx-w/s640/P1040030.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"></span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For the guides, it
was clear that Yasur was angry and had gone from controlled to dangerous, and
they moved to get those of us on the upper rim to a safer place as soon as they
could. One local up on the top took off down the scree slope on the back of the
mountain and headed for his village. In the fading light we just had time to
take a grainy snap of Cookie alongside the smouldering blob before we too, with
a wary eye on the sky, headed for a lower and safer location, from where, the
early evening, lava explosions were spectacular beyond description, and left
all of us open mouthed in awe. </span></div>
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEaDNeVVN0gLfd_7RFcvE2W8D2fs-_uusf-lCpxX5RbSg77_3yXIFQHFze9xh73xIeKyLezyNzHjU3gxlODqspijf-DU9ulTl66MXoKhsIPaE3WzdakdJu-EfccvRP2WEfKtGWhgnBko4F/s1600/P1040036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEaDNeVVN0gLfd_7RFcvE2W8D2fs-_uusf-lCpxX5RbSg77_3yXIFQHFze9xh73xIeKyLezyNzHjU3gxlODqspijf-DU9ulTl66MXoKhsIPaE3WzdakdJu-EfccvRP2WEfKtGWhgnBko4F/s640/P1040036.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl_YTReacp4VHkvfVtiTFVX2HsP9ngCj9OWLKm3n9IBr-QfTuqFevm10xUBdmz2b411fRe4sTS9oB_ByJ-E_wCYtuS2GfogdUTKFLtd5ZtaEm3BYcVd4Ht3mwB1vDV0iNPxDXt4PbDDnxe/s1600/P1040038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl_YTReacp4VHkvfVtiTFVX2HsP9ngCj9OWLKm3n9IBr-QfTuqFevm10xUBdmz2b411fRe4sTS9oB_ByJ-E_wCYtuS2GfogdUTKFLtd5ZtaEm3BYcVd4Ht3mwB1vDV0iNPxDXt4PbDDnxe/s640/P1040038.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYIY2yS_qwuTcEK4H5mQ-S1yA-oEGT2B6_4RAGgoa0Gyxfo-c-hukzhITzCvEkBV99A_H-KRKJX05Tar101l0Sb9IlbalxeaWBiKfwBw4AozO6mwGVP5mZtfZNNyjdB4CFI-RQ67fHTeK/s1600/P1040040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYIY2yS_qwuTcEK4H5mQ-S1yA-oEGT2B6_4RAGgoa0Gyxfo-c-hukzhITzCvEkBV99A_H-KRKJX05Tar101l0Sb9IlbalxeaWBiKfwBw4AozO6mwGVP5mZtfZNNyjdB4CFI-RQ67fHTeK/s640/P1040040.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>What an amazing experience!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Seeing Yasur and
experiencing the astonishing display of the power of nature, as close and as
personal as we did had us musing....bucket list....stand on rim of active
volcano.....TWENTY TICKS!!! Unreal. Now we knew why the young couple, Mark and
Millie, off the large cruising yacht on the next mooring to us in Vila had said
to us “we have just sailed across the Pacific, and going to Mt Yasur is the
most unforgettable experience of all”. Ditto.</span></div>
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</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Next day, as we
waited for the plane to take us back to Port Vila Naoto showed us <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the footage </i>of his near-death experience
up on Mt Yasur. He was still a rattled young man. His film shows the magma
explosion below, and there is an eerie wait before the glob of lava flashes
past the camera and jolts the tripod on its foundation (should we get the link
to this remarkable footage if it appears online, we will share it in a later
blog). Unreal, again! </span></div>
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</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back in Port Vila it
was time to finish our fresh provisioning, before, with a double check of the
weather, heading for the string of islands to the north of Port Vila and Efate.
Port Vila had been all that we hoped it would be, and more, and whilst there we
had either met or re-connected with so many other folk who, like us, have a
home afloat, under canvas. Paul and Juan off<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">
Bumpy Dog,</i> were headed in a like direction, whilst the vastly experienced
Fred off <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Serafina, </i>with a
“boatpacker”, Lena, from Belgium on board as crew, were planning to be not far
behind. Fred is on his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">THIRD </i>circumnavigation
of the globe! </span></div>
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</div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As we planned our
first leg from Port Vila, to nearby Havannah Harbour, we wondered whether we
would experience anything that could match that extraordinary day when we stood
on the rim of the great volcano and stared into the fires of Hades. In the
meantime the beautiful isles of Vanuatu lay to the north, offering the
opportunity for other experiences that we were sure would linger long in our
memory. We could not wait to sail to them and see them for ourselves.</span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-72849927738933254682016-09-02T19:54:00.000-07:002016-09-02T19:54:49.872-07:00<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Ouvea (Loyalty
Islands, New Caledonia) to</i></b></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Port Vila (Vanuatu)</i></b></span> </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><i>13/8/16 – 23/8/16</i></b></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>(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.)</i><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Think 25km of long perfect white beach backed with
grass and wild tropical flowers. Look further out, over an exquisite lagoon stretching
out as far as the eye can see. Add a chain of tiny islets, the Pleiades. Sound
unreal? Nope. Its just Ouvea. (Lonely Planet </span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vanuatu and New Caledonia<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> p165)</i></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ouvea is a true coral
atoll, formed over time beyond imagination by the industry of coral polyps
whose bodies deposited calcareous remains here, which over the millennia have
become the limestone spine of the island and when weathered, its brilliant
white beaches. Add a sub tropical sun over the sandy shallows and for a newly
arrived yacht nid-nodding at anchor, all is blue both above and below the
horizon in hues too alluring to paint in words, and even via our cameras, too
vast to capture. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Ouvea as seen on our digital Cruising Guide</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With sou-easters
dominating the wind rose upward of 90% of the time, nature got it about right
when constructing Ouvea, for its reed-thin form sits like a crescent moon, east
of north through west of south, and in theory one could move along the
crescent, achieving complete shelter from winds south-east and either side
thereof, in perfect marine content. The good news is that contrary winds from
the quadrant sou-west to north are rare and even there, one can find
hidey-holes in the Pleiades du Nord, on the opposite side of the vast lagoon. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For us the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cruising Guide </i>pointed us to an anchorage
option in the SE corner of the lagoon near the village of Lekiny. Here, Ouvea
is breached by a flow-through lagoon, the Baie de Lekiny, where spanned by a
road bridge, the water flows in and out to the Ouvea Lagoon via a sandy
channel, which has formed a set of sandy spits extending some way into the main
lagoon. In the “crook” formed by the main beach and the spits is found a haven
offering excellent sand anchoring, providing shelter from most winds SSW to NE,
and it is there that we anchored, in the hope that we might have found the best
place to be. Moreover, nearby was the island’s only real resort the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Paradis d’Ouvea, </i>where we hoped to find
some essentials for our ongoing plans: wi-fi access to the internet, transport
to and from the Ouvea Airport for the passports and clearance plans with Chloe
in Noumea, the possibility of sourcing fresh water, and, apart from this the
chance to hire two and four wheeled conveyances, and naturally enough, a shady
spot in paradise where a mid afternoon ice cream might be on offer, not to
forget a crackling cold beer watching the sun lower its colours over the
lagoon. Anchoring where we did, we could head immediately ashore and set up our
beach shelter in perfect seclusion, or via a short stroll, access the
facilities of the Resort, to the south, or via a similar walk along the beach
to the north-east find the spit of the Baie de Lekiny, and the fine snorkelling
to be had abeam of the road bridge that effectively joins “south Ouvea” to the
rest of the island. Beyond this was Cookie’s realisation, that here on this beach
extending as far as the eye could see was a shellaholic’s form of heaven. Add
balmy, sunlit days with water temperatures nudging 24C, and where else would
one want to be? How long were our visas?</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Say no more!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtmd91sUV_wLfb6vDecabKz1AKKxwAwWQ3PTtQbO5sBQ4wwxZMGcR_3XVgtjX39SAY_sE2byfXOWCAcyN3kV00E6jXivkCDWbYAoTC3AU03gGCvgcKDgDl2FzLqiPaFYwdFkZT-4GyvN6r/s1600/P1030624.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtmd91sUV_wLfb6vDecabKz1AKKxwAwWQ3PTtQbO5sBQ4wwxZMGcR_3XVgtjX39SAY_sE2byfXOWCAcyN3kV00E6jXivkCDWbYAoTC3AU03gGCvgcKDgDl2FzLqiPaFYwdFkZT-4GyvN6r/s640/P1030624.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We were not the only
boats to see the sense of anchoring where we did as a little further out was
Sharon and Jim off the big cat, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Big
Galah, </i>and we were soon joined by Sue and Kerry off <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Billaroo, </i>followed by Carmel and Jerry, plus their young crew
members Greg and Toby off the 56’ <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Farr
Flyer, </i>whilst sometime later <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bumpy
Dog, </i>with Juan and Paul, made it nigh on a flotilla. The “pot luck” night
promised on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Billaroo </i>turned out to be
a stellar one, underlining the value of chance meetings in places far from
home, and ended with Sue and Kerry, both keen sports people, offering to host a
sunset game of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Finska, </i>the
Scandinavian game akin to skittles, ashore the following eve. We loved the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Finska </i>and the keenness of the contest
that only ended when it was getting too dark to see. Talk about white sand
fever!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sunset "Finska"</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So, after the social
whirl,....where to start....we felt it wise to finally head ashore, set up the
beach shelter, stroll along the beach, go for a swim or two and just think
about it....if all of that was not too demanding. Then we ambled along the
beach, sandals in one hand, to the Resort where we found that; yes, bike, car
hire, wi-fi, airport transfers, and (keep this one a little quiet from other
cruisers) easy access to de-sal water was readily available, with the bonus for
Cookie who sees ice creams as a treat – and deservedly so - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>were readily available, as Coffee Cornettos,
courtesy of the delightful Lana whose smile (except when photographed!) easily
deflected her struggles with English and ours with French. The beauty of fresh
water access meant that post-swimming wash-offs plus the odd beach shower via
the dipper kept us cool and free of saline encrustations and that with our
trusty 5L water container in the duck, back on board we conserved our stored
supplies. Viola!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Icecream time with Lana</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our Ouvea discoveries
and exploration started with a 5km stroll along the beach to the southern hamlet
of Mouli, which we found visually without peer but a little “trudgy” in the
softer sand as we somewhat misjudged the time of low tide. At Mouli we found a
sleepy village, a fondly regarded local church, and the odd “tribal
accommodation” where appointments appeared to be decidedly modest. On Ouvea, we
found, there was chasm in cost between the resort accommodation, where you
could easily part with &A500 per night for a pillow and a sea view – our
360 degree sea view cost A$0!! – down to the “tribal huts” where backpacker
costings prevailed. There seems to be nothing ”in between”, and maybe this
accounts for Ouvea being a frontier land, still, for travellers from Australia.
In down town Mouli, marred only by a poor fellow in the centre of the main road
awash with grog, and spared danger due to the paucity of traffic, we resolved
that Cookie’s trusted thumb was the best way to retrace our steps, to the
offerings of the wonderful Lana, reflecting on our day of discovery, a la
Ouvea. As usual, Cookie delivered, and so did Lana.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkfaX3s0gdW_uxIiEv247v5B0kQhjOkGdbVrTCbQNL6uguL42yIXbONFe_ea2j2y9AuyGww-e8yXqUZV0h0s534DakKaxmFH7ilHPqsPeNtR8zmWz4xCrpdCHGtGs0acD7cbjZp9RyoFEF/s1600/P1030661.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkfaX3s0gdW_uxIiEv247v5B0kQhjOkGdbVrTCbQNL6uguL42yIXbONFe_ea2j2y9AuyGww-e8yXqUZV0h0s534DakKaxmFH7ilHPqsPeNtR8zmWz4xCrpdCHGtGs0acD7cbjZp9RyoFEF/s640/P1030661.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Looking south...</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiShEXJsfk8EarcH0YPG3v9BuV-1n9VRl-3-jkCl4ur4pIZ3mcm7aok2uRKDGLA-ODbRQcwVijmoQKVBiiatUFRQsfJbQPn84Y_4M43Vhl4XK63_4PhCKEzHp3EcMpDDERVIv36-iNV76DE/s1600/P1030662.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiShEXJsfk8EarcH0YPG3v9BuV-1n9VRl-3-jkCl4ur4pIZ3mcm7aok2uRKDGLA-ODbRQcwVijmoQKVBiiatUFRQsfJbQPn84Y_4M43Vhl4XK63_4PhCKEzHp3EcMpDDERVIv36-iNV76DE/s640/P1030662.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>.....looking north on our walk to Mouli</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Delightful old church in Mouli</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfoQLEVE1Pcd-r2kpx9fFY-aQ9sBnilba45Bf9Grigjg27HWvn0-bDT_jI3oZPV2HcV9OvbFFxKd2WBBl0PEUN3SbZ7AAsOB3EgOlTG0s6h_XlzAWlxKUaHdm9rW06wTvvGVJhJet1filY/s1600/P1030706.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfoQLEVE1Pcd-r2kpx9fFY-aQ9sBnilba45Bf9Grigjg27HWvn0-bDT_jI3oZPV2HcV9OvbFFxKd2WBBl0PEUN3SbZ7AAsOB3EgOlTG0s6h_XlzAWlxKUaHdm9rW06wTvvGVJhJet1filY/s640/P1030706.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Choice of Resort or...</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>........or Tribal?...Calista's lookin'good!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Flushed with touring
success, we secured two bicycles for our own foray on the open roads of Ouvea.
Lonely Planet had extolled the virtue of the island’s roads, so we reckoned
that a cycle up to the main settlement of Fayaoue, on the Ouvea M1, was
decidedly in order, provided we remembered on which side of the road we might
encounter oncoming traffic. The concept of the cycle tour was a grand one, the
scenery a delight, and the ever-changing vistas between forest, rural dwellings
and meagre villages always engaging to the eye with the ever present allure of
the lagoon, blue and beseeching, appearing through the palm groves like a
flickering lantern, from the days of silent film. Then, just when, apart from
the odd vehicle, we felt we had stepped back in time, there it was, literally
in the middle of nowhere, although most of Ouvea is in the middle of nowhere, a
communications centre with tower bursting beyond the palms, and wait for
this,...complete with a roadside ATM!! Yes, from backyards with pigs and
chickens to the hole in the wall....just like that. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQwqjilOyCR6YqtdYUxSZiRS_qRyrh6FeM6DoWb4X_Gy0PK69SSHhVDG-tmA_xJYXN2k8NG8i0uiSZDzOwsaKosUYQVm3Od6CkC-6oeBQ_hty1U8eu0ryIUEr9whWBzDM3VqkbOiYs6ULx/s1600/P1030711.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQwqjilOyCR6YqtdYUxSZiRS_qRyrh6FeM6DoWb4X_Gy0PK69SSHhVDG-tmA_xJYXN2k8NG8i0uiSZDzOwsaKosUYQVm3Od6CkC-6oeBQ_hty1U8eu0ryIUEr9whWBzDM3VqkbOiYs6ULx/s640/P1030711.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Fayaoe store</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr2sPyjzDH68_5JjaypNALYrzh-yuLC9jq8oPfARe2NNisEtDKds4pV0LWFIo_vHaABs3-2F83lfzQ663ztTN_oDjTfxaMEPsY2SPs028mUhvSEMVhEulXNNm3qHBS4UrsQb0aUUTkzevV/s1600/IMG_1366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr2sPyjzDH68_5JjaypNALYrzh-yuLC9jq8oPfARe2NNisEtDKds4pV0LWFIo_vHaABs3-2F83lfzQ663ztTN_oDjTfxaMEPsY2SPs028mUhvSEMVhEulXNNm3qHBS4UrsQb0aUUTkzevV/s640/IMG_1366.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Fayaoe Aquatic Centre</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our expectations of Fayaoe
had overshot the mark, and again its modesty prevailed, although, again to our
total surprise, on the beachfront, was a stunning Aquatics Centre, brimming
with sea craft of all flavours, the result, as in Lifou, of a substantial
funding of sea-borne training for the youth of the Island, maybe courtesy of
the French, who are as we know are devotees of pastimes nautical. Having
reached the extremity of our two-wheeled voyage, its general delights,
including the purchase of a couple of fine baguettes that extended from my
back-pack like antlers, had obscured something that was becoming increasingly
evident to us both. Apart from being obscurely geared - although we were
cruising, not racing - the seats, which were akin to perching on an anvil, were
tolerable at first, but were now affording us both some considerable
discomfort. Stoically, we winced our way back down the M1 to the Resort where,
perched a cheek at a time on the edge of a comfy chair, one of Lana’s fine
offerings ameliorated to some extent the discomfort that we both felt down
through to our keels. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnCR9RSoz0euW5vdvfEDTSO08C-AXZlov42UI_u-bVHM9eX4Jz-3-SEJbpDgsi4RDqlgvrGyVE1DUSy9HuPtg3vOxsryH_Fhq5Bj1jSGKSGRFHZS48JlYEtHI9JNKSh8_0uCVndlvhpcsG/s1600/IMG_1373.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnCR9RSoz0euW5vdvfEDTSO08C-AXZlov42UI_u-bVHM9eX4Jz-3-SEJbpDgsi4RDqlgvrGyVE1DUSy9HuPtg3vOxsryH_Fhq5Bj1jSGKSGRFHZS48JlYEtHI9JNKSh8_0uCVndlvhpcsG/s640/IMG_1373.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Tour De Ouvea</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjifu4cUkhW02RcEOdfluLCMQQJlLKcrVN00zVVV0KCqibUMZs0QbPwIzKoTh0NU2KJaNJQRJURCJmv89ZO4LzXa1WZX3rfwVXgonDkU7iMtHTI83WKtfMZH9KN7sg4OCKMAefidRjgd4JC/s1600/IMG_1387+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjifu4cUkhW02RcEOdfluLCMQQJlLKcrVN00zVVV0KCqibUMZs0QbPwIzKoTh0NU2KJaNJQRJURCJmv89ZO4LzXa1WZX3rfwVXgonDkU7iMtHTI83WKtfMZH9KN7sg4OCKMAefidRjgd4JC/s640/IMG_1387+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The sufferings of our
nether regions caused us to declare the next morning a time of recumbence on
the beach followed by a bow-legged hobble to the Lekiny Bridge where the
promise of swimming with large reef fish, turtles, and maybe a reef shark or
two had our cautious attention. In the channel under the bridge and its surrounds,
yes there were shoals of huge fish enjoying this marine reserve, but no, the
turtles and the black-tipped reef sharks kept their own company, just beyond
our gaze. Eyeing off these sizeable specimens, Cookie motioned me to the
surface where all she had to say was “they’d fillet well!”. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A bonus of this delightful immersion was the
chance spotting of a family of anemony fish flitting in and out of their Lekiny
home, just like in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nemo.</i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></i>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvZjM_kk04UNEW_3cZsL6hPJ8rYFHTVocEqtM5pn9sY8FKCUHifE0GhqzoDaLN6bELex7VMuVveTHH5JqReCAahzB7FKpcpQqUgOpMx3khn1qR1dBTgs0xC7h_Qt-rQQcpjoXDcuncls0r/s1600/IMG_0885.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvZjM_kk04UNEW_3cZsL6hPJ8rYFHTVocEqtM5pn9sY8FKCUHifE0GhqzoDaLN6bELex7VMuVveTHH5JqReCAahzB7FKpcpQqUgOpMx3khn1qR1dBTgs0xC7h_Qt-rQQcpjoXDcuncls0r/s640/IMG_0885.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></i>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhAyZp06luFboWR1j_7XpJp3gRwahHSFgl6T3tw-St6APZwz3UoFHjgcxjj2d9VwlEZJN-fMuZDo_uy7jLgRqPEL6KbQPl8pFifu-o2iUohM0NK2tdOc0CcYtfWrjKg8f6FxHLTatg5Ajg/s1600/P1030646+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhAyZp06luFboWR1j_7XpJp3gRwahHSFgl6T3tw-St6APZwz3UoFHjgcxjj2d9VwlEZJN-fMuZDo_uy7jLgRqPEL6KbQPl8pFifu-o2iUohM0NK2tdOc0CcYtfWrjKg8f6FxHLTatg5Ajg/s640/P1030646+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Friendly locals under the Mouli Bridge</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJDq4GJ7LrXVCyieQH5A0AfnWk91P_eZtJyCw3mE0GTP_O8xbYKaBmesuufJlMmX9LYZyBF1i2Sqm-0TJr_pQvZWaMEuCsK6i4X4VRJifhLvgF50I4sqLbmB3Zzv4gW4QyEwLwXRIZhzdn/s1600/P1030782+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJDq4GJ7LrXVCyieQH5A0AfnWk91P_eZtJyCw3mE0GTP_O8xbYKaBmesuufJlMmX9LYZyBF1i2Sqm-0TJr_pQvZWaMEuCsK6i4X4VRJifhLvgF50I4sqLbmB3Zzv4gW4QyEwLwXRIZhzdn/s640/P1030782+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In a couple of days
only <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bumpy Dog </i>and ourselves were
left in the anchorage and with both of our sights set on Port Vila, we agreed
to wait until the heavier sou-easters had cleared and we might travel there, in
company for a while. In the meantime we joined forces to have our passports
sent to Noumea, and for them to be returned the following day, giving us, in
theory, four days to leave New Caledonia although we felt it unlikely that
anyone in Ouvea, cared the slightest how long we had been there or where we
were headed. In the meantime, we had the chance to hire a car, for a unique
opportunity to fully explore this enchanted isle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXRK9VxR-Kiyh78qg8yuXoVsErVRVVv2BSQDsiLFoRmDe8XZ_Wtp7QXksxW4fjj90EF3KNtKzO5M_9rSJUxSWLTrZPTG-iL5wRwexl2VsFOAtDnWsJM12NANMpPmDb3y77R5FdA1jjfryh/s1600/IMG_1403.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXRK9VxR-Kiyh78qg8yuXoVsErVRVVv2BSQDsiLFoRmDe8XZ_Wtp7QXksxW4fjj90EF3KNtKzO5M_9rSJUxSWLTrZPTG-iL5wRwexl2VsFOAtDnWsJM12NANMpPmDb3y77R5FdA1jjfryh/s640/IMG_1403.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Tour De Ouvea Peugot style!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If it pays to give
way to experience, then Cookie’s experience of driving a two cylinder Citroen
in Europe, aeons ago, fully qualified her to take charge as we hit the “wrong
side” of the roads in Ouvea. With everything coming to Ouvea via plane and
ferry we had visions of some jury-rigged contraption arriving for our
deployment, and were pleasantly surprised to see a sleek and trim Peugeot there
waiting for us, just purring for Cookie to take control. Soon with Her
galvanised and me glancing at the scenery occasionally, we were off with palm
trees disappearing in a blur. Soon I relaxed from pushing the phantom pedals in
the passenger seat, and settled into my secondary role as navigator. By
circuitous byways we found Fayaoue’s sad-looking sporting ground which lay just
before the Airport. Paul had described this facility in unflattering terms, and
whilst Heathrow International it was not there was something to be said for its
engaging and tropical exterior, and its welcoming interior, in kind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Denp18ChYPAoNXN2bYVHypSHjh05kJkt70I3TckbnIX1NPWg36LwVyrUnitqELKkVW7I3m69CDkjHhg-UrfS9UcoSckmehrg4MPN_JYkmihtgnxEjxdMvBHTL1pUKDqz3IUVnO6B_Xq_/s1600/P1030713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Denp18ChYPAoNXN2bYVHypSHjh05kJkt70I3TckbnIX1NPWg36LwVyrUnitqELKkVW7I3m69CDkjHhg-UrfS9UcoSckmehrg4MPN_JYkmihtgnxEjxdMvBHTL1pUKDqz3IUVnO6B_Xq_/s640/P1030713.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The "G"</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sometimes it is not
the grand attractions that you are keen to see, and in walking into local
shops, and buying a thing or two, a ‘feel’ for a place is easily and
delightfully gleaned. Further up the coast, and to be honest there is nowhere
else to go but further up the coast, just past the location of Hwardrilla we
found a comfy cafe by the sea to enjoy a sumptuous local ham and salad
baguette, with freshly squeezed local juices, before taking the short walk to
the renowned Blue Hole, a sea accessed limestone chasm where sunlight played
with the spectrum, turning the forested pool a deep indigo blue. From here it
was not far to the significant local northern town of Saint Joseph, renowned
for its commodious local church, a testament to the arrival of missionaries
here back in the 1850’s. Locals here cannot be fond of Australian sailors, for
driving through the village, we found nary a soul, apart from an elderly lady
who advanced upon us, waving and gesticulating, and with obviously something
crucial to share, but in the language gulf that separated us we smiled and
drove on, none the wiser. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbROj9jo_zEBkFU7W73JpnL84LS_WfYyBL_QvxGJMJ6KCZgmTfJIZ3U2SoLM7GWofs1RY-rFCPI27dgbAE-Cc-ITGVYh35AfWDVlBnjg39VJof6LGhCl59prA_KNSOlc6k_gv1qMDSUDSJ/s1600/P1030725.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbROj9jo_zEBkFU7W73JpnL84LS_WfYyBL_QvxGJMJ6KCZgmTfJIZ3U2SoLM7GWofs1RY-rFCPI27dgbAE-Cc-ITGVYh35AfWDVlBnjg39VJof6LGhCl59prA_KNSOlc6k_gv1qMDSUDSJ/s640/P1030725.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Café stop near the Blue Hole</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT6Faw4-6YyPcGKnvahwmvj6OidGz75RedZjGkb0zS7dqP3TU6jQXcbk7yBN-7sgxMnb_hoOpg3mJMaV-8yCoWPMe4kCO0uACqjRaLEliJLnRIM6HUEq8aPSlGViB31Tt2omWF7jk3khzD/s1600/P1030726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT6Faw4-6YyPcGKnvahwmvj6OidGz75RedZjGkb0zS7dqP3TU6jQXcbk7yBN-7sgxMnb_hoOpg3mJMaV-8yCoWPMe4kCO0uACqjRaLEliJLnRIM6HUEq8aPSlGViB31Tt2omWF7jk3khzD/s640/P1030726.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Just beyond St.
Joseph the road veers towards the “windward” or exposed coast of Ouvea and
terminates abruptly at the most north easterly point of the island, Point
Escarpee, from where, after assessing the forbidding eastern coast, with its
jagged outer reefs, a place where for boating folk like us, there is nowhere to
run, we turned and headed south for some attractions we had deliberately left
for the return run down the coast. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivEBw5tlDspHqbkx91vzOJgV-e96KUqHIIamehe7AQgrz1rZxiDQ5DCnBIjzVWtYGlLADbjGOsXgG0a76-7ibWdkyZVouXqGiUnKsFFTy8pl03dSrM76xI0NtZhiBw98Ofv4vlJFalmDso/s1600/P1030740.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivEBw5tlDspHqbkx91vzOJgV-e96KUqHIIamehe7AQgrz1rZxiDQ5DCnBIjzVWtYGlLADbjGOsXgG0a76-7ibWdkyZVouXqGiUnKsFFTy8pl03dSrM76xI0NtZhiBw98Ofv4vlJFalmDso/s640/P1030740.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Windward side of Ouvea</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If we had thought
that all was perfect in this island paradise, then we were soon to see that
Ouvea, like most places has its yin and its yang, its lighter and darker shades
that mark its reality beyond the brochures and the dew-drop lagoon. Near the
local wharf we came upon a group of young men, just “hanging around” with
bottles of wine in tow, and whilst this might come across as double standards
from wine lovers like us, the seeming lack of purpose and direction for these
young guys was what saddened us the most.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Not included in the
tourist map, but vital for visitors to see is the memorial to 19 fallen Kanaks,
which occupies pride of place on the main road not far from Hwadrilla. In 1988,
with independence feeling reaching boiling point on Ouvea, the local
pro-independence group captured a group of Gendarmes and held them hostage in a
local cave. The French military response was brutal: they stormed the area and
19 local Kanaks died in the shootout that followed. To make matters worse, at a
memorial just a year later, two Kanak leaders were assassinated by local
firebrands, because, in the aftermath of the killings it was believed that too
much ground had been ceded to the French. The memorial is a melancholy and
poignant tribute to all who lost their lives; is respectfully and poignantly
tended by locals, and, on the day we visited, it was bedecked with flowers,
nearly 30 years on. “Free New Caledonia” flags fly everywhere here and there is
not a French flag to see. The result of a “Frexit” vote would be a given
although without the substantial funding of infrastructure that France
obviously provides, one wonders what would happen to the roads, water and
electricity services, let alone the human services, within a few years. Not all
that you see at first in paradise is as it appears to be.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6OvY5iViLIYyIgZUF19zODPOmo3tLZDV_BtmIDjON9y9lK5UBCs5feG8M8NugoIaQhAU0mKZd7GjUDiBKnTh882MGfYbEGJKzRoEb7vLn8ZDOdzqQ7bErEuCHw-8JHIbR3N1gxKkjx1Al/s1600/P1030743.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6OvY5iViLIYyIgZUF19zODPOmo3tLZDV_BtmIDjON9y9lK5UBCs5feG8M8NugoIaQhAU0mKZd7GjUDiBKnTh882MGfYbEGJKzRoEb7vLn8ZDOdzqQ7bErEuCHw-8JHIbR3N1gxKkjx1Al/s640/P1030743.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The Kanak Memorial</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With our snapshot of
the tapestry of life on Ouvea showing many hues, and our day having been a
fruitful and fulsome one, we headed for Lekiny, with just one more feature that
we hoped to see. The Baie de Lekiny is fringed by some spectacular cliffs and
we were puzzled that no local road clearly led to them. By dead reckoning and a
little luck we emerged from a track just opposite this remarkable feature, just
as the sun cleared in the west whilst storm clouds gathered in the east, giving
Cookie just enough time to leap to her lenses and capture the images you see
below. There must be a very good reason why these formations with their
dripping stalagmites and stalactites, are not pre-eminent in tourist
paraphernalia, and why a better road does not lead to where we took these
images.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnKCkzCLWPbqBvupehvTadJQwyfpICmrejKS8qmIhrOg8zjCF4uLVlZnmxjt8MkyItNaVGccjtu3JjbZb-sZ9oT9znAZ8Y-yKN95qwv1aXSmP1U8S80eDaMr0we1DIDoII2ssJJl3u2RZ5/s1600/IMG_0898.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnKCkzCLWPbqBvupehvTadJQwyfpICmrejKS8qmIhrOg8zjCF4uLVlZnmxjt8MkyItNaVGccjtu3JjbZb-sZ9oT9znAZ8Y-yKN95qwv1aXSmP1U8S80eDaMr0we1DIDoII2ssJJl3u2RZ5/s640/IMG_0898.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back at the resort
the wi-fi access was proving its worth and the weather modelling that it
allowed us to access showed that by waiting a further day, hardly an imposition
here(!), a safe departure from Ouvea, through to Port Vila on the island of
Efate was in the offing. We could make a pre-dawn run across the lagoon by moonlight
in company with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bumpy Dog</i>, to the
Passe Du Taureau through the Pleiades du Nord, where we would meet the open sea
and hopefully reach Efate some 36 hours or so later.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A 0215 alarm is
normally a cruel thing, but in truth we were already half awake and keen to go,
once the decision had been made to put to sea. An 80% moon danced its
luminescent farewell as we raised anchor, and with navigation lights showing
red and green at the bow, we set a reefed main, filled our headsail and bade
farewell to Ouvea, a place we would never forget. The track across the lagoon in
sublime moonlight was an easy one although when we reached the passé, try as we
might we could not see the port light marking the lead to the open sea. It was
not working, so with waypoints, and the lit starboard beacon, we found the
channel with ease as the sky lightened in the east. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDSssUFfNvykHSA6C-tQfuhFDSf2_9ZJ08LrX1vOh0nWN1hN0gITpIjClg0js4tiAigeAMZQRmIg_4DzKMhyphenhypheneMcYTdqseWapa0QX9zSzSO1vCp_bWkoHA5DJF2nfL53oMYMVUpmJ8j18aw/s1600/P1030787.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDSssUFfNvykHSA6C-tQfuhFDSf2_9ZJ08LrX1vOh0nWN1hN0gITpIjClg0js4tiAigeAMZQRmIg_4DzKMhyphenhypheneMcYTdqseWapa0QX9zSzSO1vCp_bWkoHA5DJF2nfL53oMYMVUpmJ8j18aw/s640/P1030787.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Dawn light just beyond Passe Du Taureau</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was just shy of
200 miles to Port Vila and with the wind at 50-55 degrees to the port bow in a
lumpy sea we took little time in setting up our Fleming Wind Vane which, with a
little luck would do the bulk of the steering on our way to Vanuatu. Our
original plan was to make for Vanuatu’s southern islands and from there make
for the island of Tanna, where we hoped to visit the island’s famous and
spectacular volcano, Mount Yasur. Logistically, though, if we went to the
Loyalties, it would be too hard to beat back into the trade winds to reach
Tanna, so we decided to make directly for the national capital, Port Vila, from
where we should be able to take in an overnight package to Tanna and Yasur. For
now all this lay over the horizon and getting <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista</i> balanced and sailing well occupied all of our time,
especially as the sou-easter, instead of holding firm, varied annoyingly in
both strength and direction.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSOUCDX_K7vd7JrvLx5AkLyFY-t8nZZ8I7xgVmObu8cr8KgBtAJcZ1xb0A-QBkgmkHY_Gv1WKcQNqbPN3EqYKxLMvRGjEkKPygFvHAnZQ91F7BpyqfoxRPGk6esZVJu3g9-V9qeXMPjb4/s1600/P1030793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSOUCDX_K7vd7JrvLx5AkLyFY-t8nZZ8I7xgVmObu8cr8KgBtAJcZ1xb0A-QBkgmkHY_Gv1WKcQNqbPN3EqYKxLMvRGjEkKPygFvHAnZQ91F7BpyqfoxRPGk6esZVJu3g9-V9qeXMPjb4/s640/P1030793.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Bumpy Dog</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the conditions
every movement on board was difficult, and moving from the cockpit through the
cabin below was a balancing act, like an audition for Cirque de Sole. For hours
on end it seemed that as we shortened sail in a rising wind, so the wind fell
away and we had to adjust our sails and our wind gear all over again. Then
approaching midnight the wind caused great exasperation by coming tighter on
our bow, leading to some hours of hand steering through the night so that we
did not concede too much ground off our line to Vila. Such is the lot of
cruisers in some passages, and there is little to do but work through difficult
patches, in this case avoiding getting too far west of Port Vila in the
morning, if the predicted easterly rose with any strength. Somewhere during the
night we lost the lights of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bumpy Dog, </i>somewhere
off our port bow, and with scudding clouds and the threat of showers, we were
again alone at sea.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By dawn the breeze
that had taunted us all night finally eased from our bow and we were able to
vane-sail in manageable conditions although breakfast in the cockpit was more
an “eat in hope” than a formal repast. No croissants, folded napkins and
frangipani flowers here, although after a long night at sea, muesli and fruit
felt like food for a sultan. We hoped to see the lofty highlands of Efate by
late morning, but instead we faced squalls of rain, that required us to be ever
watchful on the sea state ahead, where a white line advancing would be a
warning for us to douse sails and prepare to head to windward, whilst it
passed.. As we closed the coast of Efate, we kept to the east of Port Vila to
avoid a charted zone of turbulent currents where in any wind against tide conditions
seas could be fearsome, before, a little after noon, the clouds parted
sufficiently for us to see it for a time, our first glimpse of Vanuatu!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQI5-1qgn2n-IQbAcGniVEWuSmU1laErVL80Oci1tgAXTi6Ooop4fgbEyZVvl4N4ezKck6whUXU5-nrv2xJqnCWfDICILNXqR5y6I9ZVaBwaGuGO40w3n1g3u1M-t7mbnH597AY1qCjkhE/s1600/P1030796.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQI5-1qgn2n-IQbAcGniVEWuSmU1laErVL80Oci1tgAXTi6Ooop4fgbEyZVvl4N4ezKck6whUXU5-nrv2xJqnCWfDICILNXqR5y6I9ZVaBwaGuGO40w3n1g3u1M-t7mbnH597AY1qCjkhE/s640/P1030796.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>On approach to Port Vila</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With the clouds
swirling and the rain threatening we drew ever closer to Efate, hoping that
conditions would ease and we could eventuallyget a visual fix on Pango Point
with its white light tower, which we would leave to starboard as we entered
Mele Bay, Port Vila’s “outer harbor”. With <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista</i>
bowling along in the softening trade wind and our little ship seeming to sense
the sights of “home”, this was all too good to be left in the hands of
contraptions, so we took turns at the helm as bit-by-bit the clouds lifted over
Efate. It was no time to ease our concentration though as a roar off to
starboard heralded a foaming dump truck that was impossible to avoid and left
your scribe awash, dripping and bedraggled whilst the Admiralty, dry and snug
in the comfy recess of the cockpit offered, being the sage she is,....”I told
you to watch out for them!” Soon, though, the outline of Pango Point hove into
view with the promise of the calm waters of the bay beyond and now it was time
to make for the VHF microphone with the message...”Port Vila Customs, Port Vila
Customs, Port Vila Customs,...this is the Australian yacht <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>registering our arrival in Mele bay awaiting Customs and
Quarantine instructions....Over”. We had come a long way to send that
transmission!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Port Vila Customs
and Quarantine area is an anchoring zone marked by a large yellow buoy and we
knew that by finding the port hand beacon off Malapoa Point to the left of the
inner harbour and passing it on our port side, the rest should be relatively easy.
By arriving now, in early afternoon, our pre-dawn exit from Ouvea made great
sense because had we left there at a ‘gentlemanly’ hour, we’d be doing all this
in the dark against a perplexing array of town and harbor lights that, as the Admiralty
might say, “would do your head in”. It had been worth the loss of a few hours
of sleep and, besides, that sail across Ouvea Lagoon by moonlight had been one
for the highlights reel.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Just when all was
tranquil and I was about to make for the anchor at the bow Cookie gave a sudden
start..”Take the helm! Ease back! I nearly forgot!!!!” She darted below,
leaving me mystified at the wheel and I glanced below to see her bent over and
rummaging deep in a stores locker, where she produced something, cocooned in
one of my “lost” explorer socks, and revealed it with a cry of triumph. I had
forgotten....well almost. Way, way, way back at Wirrina, Cookie had “stolen”
one of my explorer socks and in it she had inserted a ruby-red and succulent
bottle of Pirrimimma Winery Sparkling Shiraz, to be stored in the deepest
recess of our wine locker with the edict “we are not going to drink this until
we have arrived in Vanuatu, and have earned the right to do so”. Hear, hear!
Now with 3244 nuautical miles, five states, and now three countries under its
keel, and with a Noumean round of French Camembert, in glorious accompaniment,
it was now time for the Admiralty to issue the general order.....”Chill the
Skiraz!”. Hear, hear! Again.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vanuatu...the happy
isles, the celebrated land of smiles; our anchor now held firm in Efate
incognita, and as we awaited the arrival of the Officials, we splashed a little
salt from our faces, and in abandoning our now sub-optimal t-shirts that had
overstayed their time at sea we “shirted up” and dressed with as much respect
as we could muster. One is never sure how fastidious Arrival Officials will be,
but with Simon from Customs and later Tom from Quarantine, soon coming on board
they lived up entirely to the reputation of their country, could not have been
more helpful and extended to us the warmest of welcomes to Vanuatu. What an
utterly delightful way to arrive and Tom was more than happy to take part in an
official re-enactment of the “Official” bit, just for us to remember and for
you to enjoy.</span><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">VANUATU!!!!</span></i><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We are here!</span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We made it!!!</span></i></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-59243204589996579642016-08-19T21:03:00.000-07:002016-08-19T21:03:04.268-07:00<br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"><i><b>Lifou to Ouvea (the Loyalty Islands)</b></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><i>9/8/2016 – 12/8/2016</i></b></span></div>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "arial";">(</span></i></b><i>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.)</i><br />
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<i></i><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike><br /></strike></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The physical and cultural allure of les Iles
Loyaute dates from when James Cook first visited them over 240 years ago. As
places of great beauty they have few peers, and culturally they possess a
uniqueness, colour and subtlety that has always added to the fascination of
visiting there. There are three main islands in the Loyalties, and each has
their own distinctive language, Negone on Mare, Drehu on Lifou<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and Iaai on Ouvea, the result being that
locals from one of the isles may not understand the tongue of another just a
half day sail away. These days French is a common thread for all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We decided to make for Lifou and Ouvea, given
the quality of their sou-east friendly anchorages, their stunning vistas and
the recommendations of fellow cruisers. We arrived at Lifou, delighted that we
had resolved the “clearing out” of New Caledonia formalities and that when we
had experienced the delights of these magnificent places we could finally set
our sights on Port Vila in Vanuatu, less than two day’s sail to the NNE. Yes,
Vanuatu. Finally: but maybe not exactly as we planned to arrive there, but more
of this later. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhINiGg8vQj5ukkew9ptBLibcOYrSkzFnCyzetzqJMojOiPD_Zo4lzJt7X-rs0cK-9VAsgtyWB2CIVRf1QY2muVW5U6DXel5Vy4-E0RWJbfLxqH0hgvA9cV9AgnbDEOGXd79SCR9HbgQsEF/s1600/P1030557.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhINiGg8vQj5ukkew9ptBLibcOYrSkzFnCyzetzqJMojOiPD_Zo4lzJt7X-rs0cK-9VAsgtyWB2CIVRf1QY2muVW5U6DXel5Vy4-E0RWJbfLxqH0hgvA9cV9AgnbDEOGXd79SCR9HbgQsEF/s640/P1030557.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Local kids enjoying the aquamarine waters at the Drueulu anchorage</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We were sharing the Drueulu anchorage with
Paul and Juan on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bumpy Dog </i>who had
left Baie de Prony in advance of us and gave us a hearty wave as we settled
back on anchor. Although a little sleep deprived, we were nonetheless keen to
get ashore and Paul came over to let us know that, following local custom, they
were soon heading ashore to find the Village Chief, and present a couple of
small gifts in seeking permission to access the village and its delightful
surrounds. We have fond memories of interacting with local villages in places
such as India, Sri Lanka, the Maldives, Indonesia and in PNG’s Louisiade
Archipelago, over many years of travel, both on sea and on land, and back in
Noumea we had commented that although we passed locals in city streets, shared
buses and were together in markets and the like, apart from a brace of smiles
and bonjours, our connections with true locals had been limited. Now at Drueulu
village, we hoped to interact a little more closely with the real locals of the
Loyalties.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCAOFYYIamnqCbA0N4YWnPqug7nfJWmk0Sfb0AEDMmOKJZUYIkj8w4_yfQ-4iP2zKL6imlfm-ge4w9OmLQwBs-AckmtN9-DhFNcsLyxQrdCkHk5c9n1EH5AAKNFfXb2n6W8N6YU_POeUc8/s1600/P1030545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCAOFYYIamnqCbA0N4YWnPqug7nfJWmk0Sfb0AEDMmOKJZUYIkj8w4_yfQ-4iP2zKL6imlfm-ge4w9OmLQwBs-AckmtN9-DhFNcsLyxQrdCkHk5c9n1EH5AAKNFfXb2n6W8N6YU_POeUc8/s640/P1030545.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The precinct of the Chief...a blend of tradition and modern architecture</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv4mujH70hC7gCYrxHqdHY-s56o0-6eSQ3R8NYe9GRKGGRRI1VmK_zN3L3cIdX-s2jXz0dJ8y-anWs2deceWTzA4fKCn05wpxR0ozTlW_t7C73onBnwvlt1rRGv6Fo_lO0aiVOGUCO8kjP/s1600/P1030548.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv4mujH70hC7gCYrxHqdHY-s56o0-6eSQ3R8NYe9GRKGGRRI1VmK_zN3L3cIdX-s2jXz0dJ8y-anWs2deceWTzA4fKCn05wpxR0ozTlW_t7C73onBnwvlt1rRGv6Fo_lO0aiVOGUCO8kjP/s640/P1030548.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Once ashore though, our first thoughts were
not so much “where is the Chief?”, but “where are the people”. No swarms of
runny nosed kids, no mixed grill of doubtful hounds, no curious adults, no
chickens and piglets, no one wanting to trade, barter or cajole, and no one
seemingly interested at all in our arrival in their bay; in fact it was hard to
find anyone, much less the Chief. Undeterred, we pressed along the shoreline
road abeam of neat and modest houses that reflected both a respect for
tradition and a taste for modernity, until eventually we happened upon what
appeared to be a ceremonial enclave, a spiritual centre, a traditional beehive
dwelling, a carefully tended cemetery and an impressive and modern bungalow
that we rightly concluded belonged to the Chief. Unfortunately, the Chief was
not at home and we presented our tokens to his mystified son, who via Paul’s superior
French gave implied approval for us to anchor, swim and to frolic in local
waters, and explained that the Chief was not at home because he was at a
wedding. We found that we have arrived, in wedding <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">season, </i>where village nuptials were apparently enjoyed by all, to
the point where a schedule of approaching ceremonies and who was taking the
plunge, was posted prominently on the door of the local shop.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Drueulu’s retail precinct extended to two shops
that we could see, both of which were noted for early morning sales of
baguettes, and for the fact that after 11am they were likely to be found
closed. Retailers do gentleman’s hours here! Along the main road we passed a
couple of cars and found that, if we liked, there was a local bus to Lifou’s
main town We, across on the other side of the island, that could be accessed by
standing on the side of the road by 7am, and returning to Drueulu by 11am. No,
there was no afternoon option, because accessing markets and doing business all
seems to happen before 11 when it appears to be time to find some shade and
take in a noon-time siesta. With our beach permission now invoked, we felt it
culturally appropriate to return to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista</i>,
unearth our beach shelter and return to the foreshore to gaze upon the swaying
palms, and perchance to swim and to doze as the sun made its way to the western
horizon over Baie du Santal.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyd8hrE7Oj_dl4H-CJXCdVHFbP00zZmqiAYtM4xouoTKQmNOOKAYMJNb1yc18ARNaO7lpZK-ZrAcxoUSLBtlyB9CJNNg0dwOnhOQrQImWQ3vrzlKXUyjZ37ppm_LqLL5l6RJYM9OwHyDVc/s1600/P1030520.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyd8hrE7Oj_dl4H-CJXCdVHFbP00zZmqiAYtM4xouoTKQmNOOKAYMJNb1yc18ARNaO7lpZK-ZrAcxoUSLBtlyB9CJNNg0dwOnhOQrQImWQ3vrzlKXUyjZ37ppm_LqLL5l6RJYM9OwHyDVc/s640/P1030520.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Another tough day in paradise</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCFS_mcBgypCPyRpQj0bVi7KTPUNqHhhf5M41Bfe9VT07MYqcll6XW7h4gFDcifJpQFcUi0JjWUoK5txjFzSffUnnU-MoCPxif-Pkqhq90_KaaaX34hYgPhFpF2IKDBATH_juLvgLkJZ-u/s1600/P1030533.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCFS_mcBgypCPyRpQj0bVi7KTPUNqHhhf5M41Bfe9VT07MYqcll6XW7h4gFDcifJpQFcUi0JjWUoK5txjFzSffUnnU-MoCPxif-Pkqhq90_KaaaX34hYgPhFpF2IKDBATH_juLvgLkJZ-u/s640/P1030533.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There is something about waking up in strange
places, and on this voyage we have woken up to some incredible vistas that
bedevil you for a moment if you head out into the cockpit from the deepest of
sleeps. It can catch one out for a second or two while the mind moves from
stand-by to function and you work out just where you are. On our first night in
Drueulu, with us both yearning for our pillows following an uneasy night
passage, I awoke in the early hours to the undeniable cacophony of a party in
full swing ashore, with discordant singing, loud and garrulous voices and no
hint of it all winding down. Maybe it was the post-wedding festivities, but
whatever it was it kept me from returning to sleep for about 14 seconds, with a
wry smile my face.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our alarm jangled us into a form of action at
an early hour, and in the crisp air of the new day we tumbled into the duck and
made for shore to join Paul and Juan at the main crossroad in town, that is in
every respect; including the public notice-board about tsunami dangers, well
short of Piccadilly Circus. Wondering if we had being led astray about the bus,
we waited for some minutes before a dishevelled group of young men lurched
unsteadily towards us and when in range offered a volley of staccato “bonjours”,
with unstable voices and eyes that struggled in the morning light. Here was the
party, now mobile, but like a function without a venue. We returned our hearty
best wishes, wondering if in spite of our desire to engage with some locals,
this group of Rastafarian revellers was a good place to start. One unsteady
young man doing a military two–step minus the music, came at us brandishing something
from the depths of his coat that turned out to be a half consumed bottle of
Bordeaux. “Would ya like a drink” I’m sure he said in fractured Gallic as the
clock ticked past 7.15am and as I tried to explain that in spite of a fondness
for red wine I had just cleaned my teeth. His mate, not to be outdone and no
doubt recognising the calibre of the newcomers in town, stepped forward to the
presentation line and with a commendable flourish revealed the ace in the pack,
a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label, which, with an unsteady grip, he offered around
with pride. ‘It was now 7.16 and we were on a street corner on a remote island;
not later at night on the chesterfield lounge, with smoking jacket and cigar.
Sadly, in spite of our earnest best wishes and expressed bonhomie, we declined
the offer of the scotch and to be conscripted into the party. Just then a car
pulled up and a gentleman of obviously some standing in the community, wound
down his window to enquire if we were ok. Despite our reassurances, a clipped
word from the elder saw the young men immediately disengage, and wander off
down the street, just as a white and nondescript van pulled up to the curb,
This was the bus to We!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXS7m1SMGrwQT-UeJ6icbrchC2dL1iI3ApANx5X3qKgQ0ONF36kOMulA7FFqo0R6taRFx1gdjboWMfufsPvuO2JY1t6idwdwsjeQuG0yOA1AnmzpkB7ujwRA7eRBzKZ1mgKw7tG4FFH12U/s1600/P1030514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><i><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXS7m1SMGrwQT-UeJ6icbrchC2dL1iI3ApANx5X3qKgQ0ONF36kOMulA7FFqo0R6taRFx1gdjboWMfufsPvuO2JY1t6idwdwsjeQuG0yOA1AnmzpkB7ujwRA7eRBzKZ1mgKw7tG4FFH12U/s640/P1030514.JPG" width="640" /></i></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Roadside bus stop with Paul & Juan minus the partygoers!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We feel sorry for those who visit foreign
lands, stay in the cosseted enclaves of their hotels and rarely get out to
engage with real locals on their home turf. Some of our most memorable times
away from home have emerged from random moments in distant places. This is not
to say that things always pan out in a way that you’d hope; take for example
the time that we secured seats for a jeep ride through the lofty Himalayas from
Darjeeling to Gantok in the misty highlands of Sikkim, and the vehicle that
seated six eventually had eleven on board, plus bags of produce, live chickens,
sacks of potatoes, and bundles of sticks perched on the roof, before we pulled
over to take a twelfth on board, a guy who proceeded to sit on the driver’s lap
and operate some of the levers, plus steer whilst the driver accelerated on
voice command!! With crumbling verges and a precipitous drop to a ribbon river
of raging melt-water far below, and with us evading sundry vehicles, like
dodge-‘em cars at the sideshows, I felt it time to raise a concern about
occupational health and safety with the driver, who looked at me blankly and
uncomprehending. When in Sikkim! In Drueulu, an eternity away from the great
Himalayas all was well, and with lusty bonjours the payment of a modest fare,
and meeting the puzzled stares from brown limbed tykes perched on matronly
laps, we were away on our way to We.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwc8fDN0V26Lh-vm6233ein__GN9lUyqHFwAwGI8_FzGvTFGkj8S-Z0Iku_NrUMdZrU7FIiQK83n51pkIE2hXDs0ksSJ0-0QgnztZktn3P_Xrzj-FlV2mPmfBrBAE4rQ484Ii6eEg6gnaX/s1600/P1030577.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwc8fDN0V26Lh-vm6233ein__GN9lUyqHFwAwGI8_FzGvTFGkj8S-Z0Iku_NrUMdZrU7FIiQK83n51pkIE2hXDs0ksSJ0-0QgnztZktn3P_Xrzj-FlV2mPmfBrBAE4rQ484Ii6eEg6gnaX/s640/P1030577.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">A community building near the market</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Central We is the administrative hub of the
Loyalties, and we knew at once that considering the turn-around time of the bus,
and it being the only service of the day, a visit to the thinly appointed
visitor’s centre, a sweep through the local market, and a check-out of the
local “supermarket”, would see it time again to re-join the locals for the
trundle back to Drueulu. We had hoped to procure a hire car for a whistle-stop
sweep of the island, but this was, after all, wedding season, and everything
that was mechanically viable, and contraptions that were not, had been hired
weeks ago; a fact confirmed by regular cavalcades of vehicles, bedecked in
streamers, and almost trailing old boots and cans on strings, that blared their
way through town, to the great acclaim of locals and four bemused visitors
alike. We had wanted to see We’s new marina, the Marina de We, that might offer
stopover potential and a refuge in foul weather, or an all-weather haven for
rest and re-supply. For now, after a stroll through the local market, and the
purchase of some delicious potato patties and a portion of sponge cake, we
needed to access the ATM and to extend our local phone credit at a facility
where, already, they were lined up to overflowing as if queuing for Grand Final
tickets. It was clear that these things would have to wait for another day. The
frenetic morning voyage to We on the local omnibus is as close to stress as one
gets on Lifou and on our return to Dreuelu, in keeping with local custom, we
felt it appropriate to seek afternoon shelter under our beach awning on the
delightful foreshore, having already concluded that a re-visit to We on the
morrow was both desirable and unavoidable. As the sun set on our first fine day
in Lifou, we charged our glasses in our comfy cockpit, and raised one to the
newlyweds, to the delights of Lifou and to a golden sun that sent shafts of
filtered light above Cape Lefevre across Baie de Santal – a promontory that we
had already re-named Point Porcupine – and concluded that wherever the good
souls on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific Dawn </i>were by now they
could not be having better times than we were.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The downside to all of this of course was the
clarion call of the alarm, at an unearthly hour, to summon us to re-join the
good souls of Dreuelu on a bus voyage to We. This time it was just the two of
us, reassembling at the appointed 0700 hour in downtown Drueulu, minus our
boozy revellers (we had mused how many 7.00am’s would pass at the corner of
North Terrace and The Strand, at home in Port Elliot if we were standing there
waiting for an offer of a cabernet, much less a dram of Red Label!) but also
minus any other locals, and the bus. We wondered what we could or should do
just as a car stopped and a couple asked where we were heading. Their English
was limited, but their goodwill was boundless and in 20 or so minutes, with
sincere proffering of thanks by us both, there we were at the entirely slick We
Marina.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn6DcJ30NEUIew8X8LYjdKqggoolsCHPCf7v9n4gmyp68J0G1iliUBZLWv7ETWMc1FFUhzeAVOakb3LBN6-Ls8ekG1dFjs94eGu2o75EbXGhBbA8RT8oHYIzMUt6e8ZNoCovKEPfiVy_C8/s1600/P1030572.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn6DcJ30NEUIew8X8LYjdKqggoolsCHPCf7v9n4gmyp68J0G1iliUBZLWv7ETWMc1FFUhzeAVOakb3LBN6-Ls8ekG1dFjs94eGu2o75EbXGhBbA8RT8oHYIzMUt6e8ZNoCovKEPfiVy_C8/s640/P1030572.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>We Marina with "big Galah" in the foreground</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It is hard to get a “feel” for a marina
complex from its brochures or website, much less to assess its “approaches” to
answer the ultimate question – could we run in here at night in difficult
conditions? The outer section of the
small harbor at We provides a terminus for the fast ferry from Noumea, whilst
in the inner harbour, around a breakwater chicane the little marina looked just
the place to be if dirty weather was on its way. In fact the marina looked a
perfect delight on this fine day, with its attractive office complex,
appointments for visitors and evidently a range of repair facilities that
obviously served clientele far beyond Lifou. Its attractiveness was enhanced by
the short walk out to the end of the breakwater, where modern “leads” into the
marina were all that a visitor by night or day would want, and a glance into
the gin-clear waters abeam of the entrance showed an array of tropical fish
that would put the Darling Harbor Aquarium to shame. Just then a Dive Tender
eased out of the entrance with a party about to head below, not somewhere
across Chateaubriand Bay, but right there, just a stone’s throw away from where
we were watching. Just then from a large Aussie Cat, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Big Galah, </i>perched on the end of the main boat finger, came a call,
in quintessential Australian - “g’day there, I’m Kerry, do you want to borrow a
mask and snorkel? The snorkelling here is the best we’ve found”. A look at the teeming creatures, both under and
around the big cat, confirmed the recreational potential of being tied up here,
and only our civilian, not beach attire stopped us from taking up the offer. We
had seen Sharon and Jim, the owners of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Big
Galah, </i>back in Noumea, and that morning Jim had taken the first flight out
of town in the hope of getting to the city and completing all “clearance”
requirements for the four on board in time to catch the last flight back to
Lifou. It was an endeavour studded with potential pitfalls, and everyone on
board had their fingers crossed. We were happy with the clearance arrangements
that we had in place via Chloe, back in Noumea.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The marina is a fair hike out of town so,
flushed with our snaring a lift in the morning, an outstretched finger soon had
us picked up and deposited in the centre of town. Just like that! Cookie was
loving the free-wheeling arrangements of this day and mentally she was back in
Europe in the early 80’s: backpack, bathers, ciggies, bottle of scotch and a
change of smalls – after all what else does an Aussie girl on tour really need?
These ethereal thoughts were soon dragged back to place and time at the Telco
office, for phone re-charge, where at the electric ticket machine she became
client 51, whilst client 14 sat at the help window, part way into a ream of
forms. Jim off <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Big Galah </i>might be
back in town from Noumea before we got to upgrade our phone! I was no luckier
outside with an ominous sign on the ATM saying that, maybe because of the
weddings, it was out of money! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiNkBDExevSekJjgc49ahK43ODZmc9hLR7SLNPPJbe0YKsmULwLGnHapByPlTHZuKuX5TzheYM2AzBddZKZPJnALuNlgMO9om_LlTvweYOw926wI33hiWgx2OLSsBptkSALgTKkPV4SjOy/s1600/P1030578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiNkBDExevSekJjgc49ahK43ODZmc9hLR7SLNPPJbe0YKsmULwLGnHapByPlTHZuKuX5TzheYM2AzBddZKZPJnALuNlgMO9om_LlTvweYOw926wI33hiWgx2OLSsBptkSALgTKkPV4SjOy/s640/P1030578.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Local dwellings in We</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Happily though, the urbane and fluently
English spoken Telco manager sensed Cookie’s presence in the madding throng;
came personally to find what she required and took over a computer to see her
on her way, with renewed phone credit, both grateful and relieved. As there was
another ATM further up the road we sauntered there and around a corner came on
the hub that we were seeking: the aforementioned bank, a wonderfully stocked
supermarket, the well regarded Snack Makanu Café, a hardware come general
store, and out the front a family of enterprising locals who had a charcoal
grill in full swing, producing some succulent marinated chicken satays that
would have put the BBQ outside Bunnings on Port Road to shame.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSfSRY9pqR_bhX4piXdVbcZyjOkulQnfZYGPl5HbRnDsiURNxcGo7vBVKfAkozUIX93V5Bbwu8D5zXBUUeZpqQwXPHOkdkCqXmRNbds35fUEN-KsE4IklA9N3MZzugxu69yxezyl0GpRL0/s1600/P1030589.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSfSRY9pqR_bhX4piXdVbcZyjOkulQnfZYGPl5HbRnDsiURNxcGo7vBVKfAkozUIX93V5Bbwu8D5zXBUUeZpqQwXPHOkdkCqXmRNbds35fUEN-KsE4IklA9N3MZzugxu69yxezyl0GpRL0/s640/P1030589.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With backpacks brimming with produce, we
lumped our way back to the corner where we knew we were already too late for
the bus, even if it had been running. We remembered a crucial piece of
information that the Information Centre had to offer; that if you need a lift,
just “thumb it” and locals will stop and pick you up. Sure enough, in no time
at all an extended digit did the trick, and this time it was a form of local 10
seater, doubling as a freelance taxi, where for a modest fee we could get back
to Dreuelu. The genial fellow at the helm asked if he could slip in some music,
as we took in the countryside, and sure enough, out from the speakers came the
anthem of all tropical places in the world….Bob Marley! We should have guessed!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiADktZrTjrBALLa8r4L-6xYrvTQzwCAZYz0EiJ5vjuIe4Y3fNkLCvPIIsP8OWEU8gXlbfEKO9ybnYs2Cc08oEKaug2nGBh3_KLn5RsKCKUxamKXWYOJ-87zBn-fgnABJEDNCM1C-R7zu7U/s1600/P1030555.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiADktZrTjrBALLa8r4L-6xYrvTQzwCAZYz0EiJ5vjuIe4Y3fNkLCvPIIsP8OWEU8gXlbfEKO9ybnYs2Cc08oEKaug2nGBh3_KLn5RsKCKUxamKXWYOJ-87zBn-fgnABJEDNCM1C-R7zu7U/s640/P1030555.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Our favourite "Tribal Hut" in Drueulu</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After a further stroll through Drueulu, where
beehive huts and their distinctive thatched roofs had become a favourite, and a
swim in the cove we returned to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>thinking
that if the weather was fine the next day it could be good to make passage on
the 40-odd mile journey to what is the arguably the jewel in the crown of the
Loyalties, the incredible coral atoll of Ouvea. Besides, Chloe had assured us
that getting our passports onto a plane from Ouvea, when we had tired of
paradise, was an easy thing to do, and that again, we just needed to go there
and enjoy our holiday!</span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggorRV1eqm5KW1OhxJI162kjO8pX5TVzGMJKUfg-91MFpkibkDeta8UpZmegZBzbQprcMNlh0jfn-Zyvl1YZEov6ZJqLO_EspO8UgRa65CC7Tt_dnnxT1gnWt8vYEpvM9NqSirblI31814/s1600/P1030592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggorRV1eqm5KW1OhxJI162kjO8pX5TVzGMJKUfg-91MFpkibkDeta8UpZmegZBzbQprcMNlh0jfn-Zyvl1YZEov6ZJqLO_EspO8UgRa65CC7Tt_dnnxT1gnWt8vYEpvM9NqSirblI31814/s640/P1030592.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sunset over "Point Porcupine " ( Cape Lefevre )</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4t0C1MkWhJHJCf9A9snM7SYhQsEzKWkhOb9b7Qu7OkM-SCiObV0VaOKGoaHETJBeba4H0Bm2Pg3CW8yTctYwChOaOQc9n6RUGWz4G66UFivIef5Gq59Bcc2wOxp9-gkDvJ0YxmRwTWfmb/s1600/P1030608.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4t0C1MkWhJHJCf9A9snM7SYhQsEzKWkhOb9b7Qu7OkM-SCiObV0VaOKGoaHETJBeba4H0Bm2Pg3CW8yTctYwChOaOQc9n6RUGWz4G66UFivIef5Gq59Bcc2wOxp9-gkDvJ0YxmRwTWfmb/s640/P1030608.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Entering the Ouvea Lagoon</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We had hoped for an agreeable wind angle to
clear Cape Lefevre and make for Passe de Coetiogon, the southern entrance to
Ouvea’s glorious lagoon, but whilst we were favoured for a while, when half way
there the wind moved astern of us away from our quarter, and then to a point
north of east, that caused us to re-assess where we might ultimately anchor. At
sea in these waters we normally monitor VHF radio channel 16, the emergency and
call-up channel, but understandably, apart from a number of general calls in
French, it came as a total surprise to hear our radio leap to life with the
meassage….”<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista, Calista, Calista, </i>this
is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Billaroo, Billaroo, Billaroo, </i>do
you receive, over” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Billaroo! </i>We could
hardly believe it. We had first met Kerry and Sue off their big Queensland cat,
oceans away on King Island, where they gave us a lift in their hire-car from
the little port of Grassy to the main town of Currie on their way to check out
local golf courses. They had mentioned, in passing, that after rounding
Tasmania they were ultimately heading for Noumean waters, and now, seeing our
“target” on AIS, and being just astern of us, they called us up. They asked
where we were intending to anchor in Ouvea’s Lagoon, and suggested that with
the 56’Yacht, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Farr Flyer, </i>also bound
that way, we should all catch up on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Billaroo,
</i>to share a meal and maybe a ceremonial “arrival” glass or two. Indeed! As
we rounded the southern coastline of Ouvea, and set a course for the beacons
that guarded the pass, the extraordinary lagoon of Ouvea came into view, and we
were eager to see for ourselves the delights of this beautiful place, to find
out whether it was as good as James Cook Master Mariner, and seafarers ever
since, have judged it to be. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ile Ouvea, </i>in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">les iles Loyate,
</i>just specks in the great Pacific,<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>we
have arrived!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVXwtKmbnEUtJSJsh1wAtqW1cglnM93fF7nvc0qmP-yTFkABsJ2PHRKioSdpKLkoBukUM0y2JstxOBcI5kGXCFXa1e4SbniN0ObPGG5HIK7xVP8wJ5vywTdEjR0ZD_AG0cMY9UDTX8WNiu/s1600/IMG_0837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVXwtKmbnEUtJSJsh1wAtqW1cglnM93fF7nvc0qmP-yTFkABsJ2PHRKioSdpKLkoBukUM0y2JstxOBcI5kGXCFXa1e4SbniN0ObPGG5HIK7xVP8wJ5vywTdEjR0ZD_AG0cMY9UDTX8WNiu/s640/IMG_0837.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>WOW! Welcome to Ouvea</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
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</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-71373584464369280502016-08-15T23:30:00.000-07:002016-08-15T23:30:30.858-07:00<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Noumea to Lifou (Loyalty Islands)</i></b></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><i>2/8/2016 – 9/8/2016</i></b></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><i>(</i></b><i>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.)</i></span><br />
<b><i><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What did Lennon have to say about life being
what happens to you whilst you make plans for other things? Was it not the
original doyen of travellers, Marco Polo who in the 1200’s, before Lonely
Planet, went with his uncle Matteo to Constantinople, to satisfy a curiosity
about where spices and silk came from and ended up in the court of the Great
Khan in China, long before the great celestial kingdom appeared on the first
maps? Back in Port Moselle, as we made plans to make for a side excursion to
the Bay of Pines, our program was due to be adjusted, as much as anything by
the controller of all sea voyaging, the weather.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Eb6Fph10Fj9soSITmA9N9Yv01ArxsRfU3CCuuvldANYBCBnxwfKFe-bAbvLjSHowB6X0I6c6BBDNMGkAAfWWk8CKIia2YnF9spt4288yGKrF80obYQXBKjfAlcde3FDEpxYI8bfpJgbp/s1600/IMG_7175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Eb6Fph10Fj9soSITmA9N9Yv01ArxsRfU3CCuuvldANYBCBnxwfKFe-bAbvLjSHowB6X0I6c6BBDNMGkAAfWWk8CKIia2YnF9spt4288yGKrF80obYQXBKjfAlcde3FDEpxYI8bfpJgbp/s640/IMG_7175.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Chinatown area of Noumea</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We have grown very fond of our Port Moselle
life, apart from the ongoing flimsiness of our AUD, the Pacific Peso. For all
of our supposed wealth and modernity, our dollar would not light a cigar, and
the New Zealanders here – there can’t be too many back in the land of that long
white cloud – are chuffed that with three mountains, a flock of sheep and a
herd of cows, the $NZD is real money that you can exchange for real things,
like provisions and French wine, here in the market and in retail Noumea, not
that the New Zealanders take any delight in outscoring us Aussies!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio1b4UMDy3hVRzJGlHiuPulxJomBdKs8Nu-NcxrDshA1vTbpHxKp-ieQ4vN5E3sQhNBiAIBTvjkvydN8kZwD0yHSmeGjCwquFbdldns3upq-vPaQoBi66kPSSgssqaeoRAEFliGB_tUUp_/s1600/P1030370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio1b4UMDy3hVRzJGlHiuPulxJomBdKs8Nu-NcxrDshA1vTbpHxKp-ieQ4vN5E3sQhNBiAIBTvjkvydN8kZwD0yHSmeGjCwquFbdldns3upq-vPaQoBi66kPSSgssqaeoRAEFliGB_tUUp_/s640/P1030370.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Marcel's Yacht Diddy's</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At times our world is the size of an acorn,
as we found when we spotted Marcel off <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Diddys,
</i>back in Scarborough, which in reality was only a month, but seems an
eternity away. We were delighted to meet Maggie, a long- time friend of
Marcel’s, who took the opportunity to come over for a visit; and her arrival
coincided with yet another fine night of local music, just a stroll away in the
marina bistro. There were mundane things to do in port such as converting our
antipodean ship into a Chinese laundry, seeking sundry items to re-stock our
lockers, sourcing comestibles, condiments and local delights at the marina-side
markets, meeting and re meeting fellow cruisers, and keeping an eye out for
anything of interest going on in town. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0uGEFjyy8xQ00VLEtBWDyQ6H286CKNL8yNrMaDyLsvmUJ8_9bs1wPo7KFeGBiixeA0SV5FwXTdC4iThwdIH9hfF8iVTlFiL8MtBWnOs6zM9IrnBTEorX81KpB8hKAeteB-PID7TG9m9Y4/s1600/P1030373.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0uGEFjyy8xQ00VLEtBWDyQ6H286CKNL8yNrMaDyLsvmUJ8_9bs1wPo7KFeGBiixeA0SV5FwXTdC4iThwdIH9hfF8iVTlFiL8MtBWnOs6zM9IrnBTEorX81KpB8hKAeteB-PID7TG9m9Y4/s640/P1030373.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs6Z1uMXTLrTB3OhJ8ko8cQfhUouykTomjgPmVEbHAGUVLgyMTRXhii_hF0Kax5eLCm6oDltihKqr6camYCmRSiaepij_0M-dSdL8HwkwQDYgyD7kNgQgzcIMAqog_1QfQAzG8VtEQROcC/s1600/P1030376.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs6Z1uMXTLrTB3OhJ8ko8cQfhUouykTomjgPmVEbHAGUVLgyMTRXhii_hF0Kax5eLCm6oDltihKqr6camYCmRSiaepij_0M-dSdL8HwkwQDYgyD7kNgQgzcIMAqog_1QfQAzG8VtEQROcC/s640/P1030376.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Plenty of fresh fruit, vegies & pickles</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi_VDcRNiL4nPPi9VWshMsiNmAp_Zca-14LdGiB5YpmfVxzBKiIfrY_dojl2RmTYDS0pZo18Ex5MMaCF7f_dBC1B_Z-PGaLhHsVAfOJ8Z6wXAmhoTklS7Ra8OwdBT0KpfiSMLrb1O6mzAh/s1600/P1030378.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi_VDcRNiL4nPPi9VWshMsiNmAp_Zca-14LdGiB5YpmfVxzBKiIfrY_dojl2RmTYDS0pZo18Ex5MMaCF7f_dBC1B_Z-PGaLhHsVAfOJ8Z6wXAmhoTklS7Ra8OwdBT0KpfiSMLrb1O6mzAh/s640/P1030378.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Noumea Laundry Service</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our only real frustration, one that irked
Cookie to an understandable degree was the production and despatch of our last
blog. Behind the scenes, with Cookie’s extraordinary diary at my sleeve, I
amuse myself with nouns and adjectives, and when “the writing” is complete
Cookie takes over, marrying her compendium of photos to the text, selecting
pictures, “downsizing” them with commendable skill and inserting them in the
finished product.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The worm in this apple
is that this editing and publishing process must be done on line and whereas in
Australia, with internet at hand this is a fine and creative activity that
often takes place on a ship-board evening, here wi-fi is the access to the web
and it is notoriously fractious. Wracked by frustration at a flickering
technology, Cookie ultimately gave up trying to achieve an end product, either
on board or in the marina lounge and resorted to getting the job done, perched
on the ship’s folding stool directly under the wi-fi node at the end of our
arm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiADKPpevCI9tpqG_kRdiZVJjUUGdnjbdiz8_qilcbblLXcoWch1GZzCLWXcpdCesDMebVlftlDfdVAHMVzb92_gb5E8Gns-ogLns8SKNOvm_5nmE3h6XpuUdYcXMYVcVJY5bfhUIibXKYi/s1600/P1030372.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiADKPpevCI9tpqG_kRdiZVJjUUGdnjbdiz8_qilcbblLXcoWch1GZzCLWXcpdCesDMebVlftlDfdVAHMVzb92_gb5E8Gns-ogLns8SKNOvm_5nmE3h6XpuUdYcXMYVcVJY5bfhUIibXKYi/s640/P1030372.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The Blog office!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jerry,
and his cruising “backpacker” companion Christina, on his delightful wooden 28
footer drew our particular interest. Jerry is an ex US Navy guy who has been
seeking sunsets in tropical places for the last eighteen years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No problems there, we would have to say, but
the fact that he voyages without a fridge, and does all his primary navigation
by sextant and chart – yes he does occasionally GPS check his calculations –
flying in the face of the gadgetry of today’s cruising life at sea. Christina,
of a Vietnamese / US background, is a new type of backpacker, a competent
sailor who voyages around the world with good people looking for good crew. We
don’t often meet interesting and engaging people like these at Wirrina. We do
here and we have found, this to be an unplanned and ongoing bonus of our life
in the “visitors” section at Port Moselle. The people who you meet are the”
cherry on top” of the places that you see.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Port Sud Marina..no shortage of boats!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4p-heG8Kh3qZsogts2G2MnJ9jp23KashMItiEK4SpUMWTCbeO634hGCHNKoc4CmoNZDdjaFglBXziUFgXxKPsUKjqAsv5xB2F28LVZhnKUIISQK9QtM7-PYAluTlqh-mpIy_R72nepnah/s1600/IMG_7171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4p-heG8Kh3qZsogts2G2MnJ9jp23KashMItiEK4SpUMWTCbeO634hGCHNKoc4CmoNZDdjaFglBXziUFgXxKPsUKjqAsv5xB2F28LVZhnKUIISQK9QtM7-PYAluTlqh-mpIy_R72nepnah/s640/IMG_7171.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Besides people, at Port Moselle, there are
the boats. This is an enclave for world cruisers and the “boat candy” here on
display is an ever-changing delight. Take the just –arrived youngish couple from
New York on the extraordinarily beautiful Cabo Rico 38, who tell us, in the
midst of a sentence, that they have been cruising for nine years !.. As one
does! Then, the throaty and mournful note of a ship’s horn heralds the arrival
of P&O behemoth, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific Dawn, </i>again
tying up to tower over the city, with its elegant lines and its off-pouring
inhabitants. For us the 10 minute stroll to the wharves at 9pm provided a
must-do opportunity, to be dockside to see the great ship depart, lit up like
the Royal Show, but afloat. Again we marvelled at being able to be right there,
amongst the hawsers and mooring lines, and not being kept a suburb away as
would be the case back home. So many of these things were invaluable add-ons to
our life in Noumea, but we were mindful that they were not the main event. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">
Calista</i> brimming with victuals, fuel and water, we put to sea, with a plan
to make the use of some softer and then non-SE weather to make a push for the
Isle of Pines. A NZ couple and their young family had just returned from Ile
des Pins, to report an extraordinary event on their way back to Noumea,
alongside the annoyance of some nagging engine problems. Their boat became
“adopted” by a pair of enormous Humpback whales who ignored all the protocols
of separation in the “rules about approaching whales” in the great lagoon and
NC waters. They refused to keep 100m away and insisted on swimming right
alongside the family on their yacht, who kept a steady course and were thrilled
beyond description once they realised that these great creatures, who
occasionally came up for a good look at the awe-struck humans, presented no
harm either intended or otherwise and “held station” right alongside the yacht
for more than an hour. Jodie, the mum on board, still struggled to find the
words to describe this Attenborough-like encounter! She did add that her kids
were allowed up on deck away from a daily regime of studies recommended by
their NZ school to take in this experience of a hundred lifetimes!! Maybe they
could share this with their Maths teacher when they get home.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Making our way south from Noumea we had hoped
to make as far south as we could before the afternoon trades kicked in but we
were too late to avoid them and we quickly resolved to seek easy shelter in a
familiar spot, Ile Uere, just out of town. Cookie rarely errs, but this time,
looking at the saline spattered decks and coach house, courtesy of the stiff
sou-easter we had recently endured, and comparing this with our pristine
appearance as we left Port Moselle, she offered a brief quip that “we need a
shower of rain to wash our ship!” I would remind her of this request in the
days that followed. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With us settled in at Ile Uere a little
earlier than planned, the admiralty announced, to rapturous acclaim, that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cookie’s Patisserie </i>was about to re-open
for business, this time with the constructed objective being a batch of
Blueberry Muffins. An excruciating interregnum ensured in the confines below,
with the wafting aromas of these baked delights seeing herself finally issuing
a clipped edict that I was to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">remove
myself from the galley!!.</i> I go on the public record in saying this cruel
period of delayed gratification was finally worth it, for it was followed by a
sumptuous sampling of the finished product. 10 out of 10, was my score.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The break of day saw us hoisting anchor, and
as Noumea fell astern, we made our way, under leaden skies for Canal Woodin,
the deep and fjord-like pass that provides a passage for ships both big and
small in the far south of Grand Terre, New Caledonia’s “big island”. The south
of Grand Terre is a lusher and better watered area than further north and
tangles of vegetation rise to the lofty summits of commanding uplands. Canal Woodin,
lying between Ile Ouen and the “mainland” is well marked, but for “first –
timers” like us it requires attention to waypoints, although we found our way
through it easily with the assistance of a tide that was now on the ebb. Beyond
the Canal the broad entrance to the popular Baie de Prony opens up to port
whilst those making for Ile des Pins bear away to starboard, and those
continuing on meet the challenging Havanah Passage, which sees vessels exit the
great lagoon, and either head for New Caledonia’s East coast, for the Loyalty
Islands about a day’s sail away to the North, or to Vanuatu’s string of
islands, a day or two beyond.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Approaching Canal Woodin and the rain!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Baie du Prony is far more extensive than we
ever thought it would be, with a number of wooded fingers leading to a raft of
potential anchorages, linking with walking trails, waterfalls, hot springs,
whale watching vantage points and even a spa for visitors. A popular anchorage
is found off the Baie’s Bonnie Anse, where in the bay named Anse Majic, the
popularity of the walk from here up to the Cape N’doua Lighthouse has led to
parks authorities putting in five courtesy moorings, to make berthing easier
and to protect the fragile corals that line the bay. Not far at the town of
Prony itself a five day walking trail in the great south caters for footed
adventurers, and in the middle of it all big ships can be seen making for a
nickel ore loading facility which commands a commercial presence in the next
arm of the Baie du Prony, north from Bonnie Anse. All about the scars of either
erosion, or more likely mineral exploration, besmirch the forest and the
hillsides, leaving the appearance a compromised one, like a pretty girl whose
face has suffered the ravages of smallpox.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_wT_cOE1_O7L-zyxhEvEsLe3r3Y5hM_9C7aaeERpZ_yeH8NRDBPN2Imd2sCODRrJZ6Omu-RzvC0mL5Uq8Hp9Xbdm7fm2DiA5h8AnoTAG47EeXr_8hxoHEmuphorXsq-Ipn7vHL_Z2aS3o/s1600/P1030455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_wT_cOE1_O7L-zyxhEvEsLe3r3Y5hM_9C7aaeERpZ_yeH8NRDBPN2Imd2sCODRrJZ6Omu-RzvC0mL5Uq8Hp9Xbdm7fm2DiA5h8AnoTAG47EeXr_8hxoHEmuphorXsq-Ipn7vHL_Z2aS3o/s640/P1030455.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Scarred hillsides in Bonnie Anse</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKvVDWDtEEtVV6CSc4OvtjUs14IVmTzlgR2VpSA57x39RHwheCd9tsGLF5wmsOpCUFYr6NQP9cQYCDaQUoeBv8a3oI61JJ1SZt6hC5AdFAfDOtqAXBqM_YHxHriWIeQgHUrM-2tlJQBY5j/s1600/IMG_0825.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKvVDWDtEEtVV6CSc4OvtjUs14IVmTzlgR2VpSA57x39RHwheCd9tsGLF5wmsOpCUFYr6NQP9cQYCDaQUoeBv8a3oI61JJ1SZt6hC5AdFAfDOtqAXBqM_YHxHriWIeQgHUrM-2tlJQBY5j/s640/IMG_0825.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>View across Bonnie Anse from Anse Majic anchorage</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With a mind to stop over in Baie du Prony
before heading for the Isle of Pines, we made for Bonnie Anse, intending to fit
in a forest walk to the lighthouse, to see how some potentially changeable
weather developed and to set our compass for the Isle of Pines. Normally we are
cruising souls who prefer anchoring – “real cruising” – to moorings, but the
anchorages in the Baie du Prony have come with a reputation of ochre-like red
muds that when hauled on board via an anchor chain can be stubbornly difficult
to remove. Our soft solution to this was to pick up a mooring, given the brief
nature of our stay, and to plan things from there. Having developed a raft of
questions about the waters leading to the Bay of Pines, and the passages
leading from it, we called Richard, the author of Noumea’s Cruising Guide, who
was more than happy to assist. We had some misgivings about heading to the Isle
of Pines on the changeable weather on the way and Richard confirmed our
inklings. Heading for the Isle of Pines, some 35 miles away was not recommended
for the next couple of days, so we settled on going ashore, walking to the lighthouse
and taking things from there. The Ile des Pins was now looking far more than 30
odd miles away, just as Cookie’s request for some rain to launder our decks was
delivered; in spades. For the better part of a full day it pattered down and
all shore-related activities were suspended as we put down the “clears” in our
cockpit shelter and peered out from below.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sunset colours</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLGf-aNSnn1ASDiI0JeTnJLNGm318Mxu1U4BaAxSm0E9pd0TP9tA7OYlgSXwbaR9wx0xn5QB1Q9Sbkh-dpi_YF7eo7zuLJXtfI4gro3vLIjv_z-3YP9uNTK3mRMou_AigLzc5BQfX_vgpu/s1600/P1030423.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLGf-aNSnn1ASDiI0JeTnJLNGm318Mxu1U4BaAxSm0E9pd0TP9tA7OYlgSXwbaR9wx0xn5QB1Q9Sbkh-dpi_YF7eo7zuLJXtfI4gro3vLIjv_z-3YP9uNTK3mRMou_AigLzc5BQfX_vgpu/s640/P1030423.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In spite of a forest still dripping, next day
we took advantage of clearer skies and went ashore. The track up to the
lighthouse was slippery under foot and we made our way up the clay-brick
roadway with commensurate caution. Atop the hill and next to the light, we met
two enthusiastic young ladies, complete with clipboards, mobile phones and
walkie-talkies; keeping station as volunteer whale watchers. Sadly, they were
scanning the waters out to Havannah Passage, for cetaceans that were refusing
to appear. For us though the view from the top was 360 degrees and spectacular,
although a misty air to the south-east kept Ile des Pines just beyond our gaze.
Just down from the summit a young guy, a colleague of the girls up by the
light, had set up his observation post in a facility that provided two sets of
fine telescope-binoculars, and lots of information about migrating Humpbacks,
all in French. The young man’s English was good and we fell into a conversation
about the area, the Isle of Pines and the feted Loyalty Islands, over the
horizon beyond Havannah Pass. We talked about the wonders of the Loyalties,
which he underlined, and the difficulties faced by cruising yacht folk such as
ourselves who, if we intended to ultimately make for Vanuatu, and to see the
Loyalties as well, we needed to undertake a difficult return from the
Loyalties, all the way back to Noumea, just to “clear customs”, only to repeat
the journey back to and past the Loyalties all over again bound for Vanuatu.
Doing this was already looming as a logistical and passage making nightmare and
the young man suggested that we consider either flying or ferrying one of us
back from the Loyalties to Noumea to complete these formalities. In this way a
seed was sewn that led to adjusting our existing target of the Isle of Pines
for a richer destination, the island of Lifou in the Loyalty Islands; if only
we could solve the problem of the “clearance”, back in Noumea. We had an idea
about who could help, but needed to make a phone call to clarify our options
and to do this we needed to complete out lighthouse walk and get back to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista.</i></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The muddy shoreline made landing interesting!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvU71YO7wcqWbFGSlwZHbe1SL_Eqo8nPaXclK7JzlcrUxH2MeMZPoQRmZpJdVDIkAkoYghnnUc2l-lIbtxy73BqhORqoABePHoYwusriZe4qIVG162FwpHW3RC7smPHJPSZtgfcb0ShAo/s1600/P1030434.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvU71YO7wcqWbFGSlwZHbe1SL_Eqo8nPaXclK7JzlcrUxH2MeMZPoQRmZpJdVDIkAkoYghnnUc2l-lIbtxy73BqhORqoABePHoYwusriZe4qIVG162FwpHW3RC7smPHJPSZtgfcb0ShAo/s640/P1030434.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>A very eroded approach to the lighthouse</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQnXBswOPmS01qY7MkvZAQ5R0yXKuhvEsxzDSb20z2w8LgBap7bZsuyeHeXzQtN31BA6pFvKhTUAFJPZ-_G1kUvVy-NhEmNTnwjZ6gOYNbdlaYL1kXiKvQnykCt0fm5cSeKLzX6jfCm6h0/s1600/P1030441.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQnXBswOPmS01qY7MkvZAQ5R0yXKuhvEsxzDSb20z2w8LgBap7bZsuyeHeXzQtN31BA6pFvKhTUAFJPZ-_G1kUvVy-NhEmNTnwjZ6gOYNbdlaYL1kXiKvQnykCt0fm5cSeKLzX6jfCm6h0/s640/P1030441.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Misty vista of Baie de Prony & beyond</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP9rKX0MeXKkdw-tuL8AqBqe0Xp-xwaaPBTdZHWZ6zFd2V7i1lZvYiXI7E6b14LK4GIGNlG6PFm8gaxdB9U8YA-_CVtp8cOLbDEdmgEMsum0uy63qGmxHhxsmoY2dm-hIT7_QQgGKB4W8b/s1600/P1030438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP9rKX0MeXKkdw-tuL8AqBqe0Xp-xwaaPBTdZHWZ6zFd2V7i1lZvYiXI7E6b14LK4GIGNlG6PFm8gaxdB9U8YA-_CVtp8cOLbDEdmgEMsum0uy63qGmxHhxsmoY2dm-hIT7_QQgGKB4W8b/s640/P1030438.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Havannah Pass</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sometimes events conspire against good
intentions and we were about to experience some challenges that we did not
foresee. Half way down the forest trail on a steep and gravelley pinch my right
leg shot from under me and in the sudden wrench, my back was suddenly and
significantly hurt and I doubled up in agony. I had been nursing my lumbar
region ever since some over-extension back on that horror night in Coffs
Harbor, and in Noumea with a couple of long swims under my belt in Baie de
Citron I thought my recovery was nigh on complete. Now, ginger and hobbled I
had to get back to the boat, get on board and do whatever I could to regain
some functionality. We decided that medication, massage and some time in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista’s </i>rest bay would be the way to
go.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To tackle the Loyalty Islands issue Cookie
resolved to ring Chloe Morin, of Noumea Yacht Services, a young lady well known
for her assisting of yachties, who we had been in e-contact with from back in
Australia, who had arranged for us to get the Cruising Guides and who had
helped us get some Vanuatu currency via her bank in Noumea after they informed
us that confirmed that converting $AUD to Vanuatu Vatu could only be done via
someone with a local account. Chloe is great and it was her who observed that
“gee you don’t get much for your Aussie Dollars!” Indeed. Picture Cookie in our
cockpit, about to call Chloe, only to be informed, in French, that “you are out
of credit, and you will need to recharge your account” - or words to that
effect. If at home getting help from Telstra will deliver an afternoon of
frustration, then trying to get help here in Anse Majic was likely to be
impossible, unless you are as flinty and as determined as she is. Finally we
remembered a 14 figure code printed on a small wallet-tab that had our original
sim card attached, that had been put away in a very safe place and once
unearthed, we were again connected to the world. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Again Chloe was a saviour, and suggested that
for a set fee we could send our passports to her on a designated flight from
the Loyalties, she would process our departure documents, return-send our
passports and when we had supped to our measure on the Loyalties, and a
“weather window” was in the offing, maybe for Port Vila in Vanuatu, following a
call to her, she would lodge our papers and we were on our way. Again Chloe
sized up our communications restrictions and said “if you need some help, call
me, anytime, hang up and I’ll call you straight back to preserve your credit
[and sanity]”. Her final piece of advice was spot on, “just get on with
enjoying the Loyalties and your holiday”. Indeed, again, and with this plan in
place we figured that we had saved a goodly chunk of time and sea miles, and
for the cost, it was likely to be really worth it. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Viva la Chloe</i>!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back in Anse Majic with strong winds now
having set in we decided to declare some recovery time for me, for a day or two
before taking a look at some better weather that was forming in a couple of
days. Now, on the mooring next to us, a NZ based couple, Paul and Juane, on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bumpy Dog, </i>who had been alongside us
back in Port Moselle, arrived with similar Loyalty Isle intentions to our own.
It was nice to see them again and whilst we might not share the same patch of
sea to Lifou, we planned to connect in a SE – friendly anchorage when we got
there and raise a joint glass to a remote tropical place. After two days of
triple intervention my skeletal graph was climbing, and with another night of
rest I envisaged a return to normal nimblicity (verb – status of being nimble).
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0x5t-H0xIHeWQP1L0JBQLETP4fPMATr9mR07TShGkFTaGBhAvvWFP9VsJvsm2-t9qJvJjhheZIv9Nm07Xc2RCbmUrbHVwPZ5XgjvPRlPJUwhD0ZmdvnUnh6zaH3btGexhVf3vq4boYVtE/s1600/P1030429.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0x5t-H0xIHeWQP1L0JBQLETP4fPMATr9mR07TShGkFTaGBhAvvWFP9VsJvsm2-t9qJvJjhheZIv9Nm07Xc2RCbmUrbHVwPZ5XgjvPRlPJUwhD0ZmdvnUnh6zaH3btGexhVf3vq4boYVtE/s640/P1030429.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>A not so secure mooring!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was about 0530 in the early shades of dawn
and in deep slumber when...<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">BANG, BANG!!! </i></b>Cookie, in two
cat-like leaps was in the cockpit yelling, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(GOSH!!)
we’re AGROUND!...(GOSH!!) we’ve broken our mooring!!!” </i>it took no time to
confirm all of the above, and we rushed to see what we needed to do to re-float
our ship. The cruising information for Anse Majic pointed to coral formations
along the shore – hence the moorings to protect them – and the bumps heard and
felt below were clearly boat on coral, just the thing we wanted to avoid.
Luckily, although the wind was supposed to be blowing with strength, it was
lighter in the heavy hours of dawn, but still we were stranded, on a lee-shore,
with a tide about to fall. We just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">HAD </i>to
get off to deeper water, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">NOW! </i>A check
over our stern showed some hope of clear water, so we put the wheel in
starboard lock, started the motor, slid off the bottom and eased our way off
the headland and out into the bay, discarding the mooring buoy and its
fractured ground tackle as we went. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">WHEW!
</i>Anything could have happened as a result of grounding like that! So much
for picking up a “Parks Mooring”, for safety in a blow!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbaBZyQYPqkRIiHh2izGAofrsZK9xEiW5zbIXpmcWKJ1jfDRv2otRevUW8fu8DFaBX7xcQMMdpXofqbK4y_Oz9bzrLTDdBStRLT0aAmo1jcwrEkonYlvoj49yXT6jRFpZaKiWbUtDcBjKt/s1600/P1030459.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbaBZyQYPqkRIiHh2izGAofrsZK9xEiW5zbIXpmcWKJ1jfDRv2otRevUW8fu8DFaBX7xcQMMdpXofqbK4y_Oz9bzrLTDdBStRLT0aAmo1jcwrEkonYlvoj49yXT6jRFpZaKiWbUtDcBjKt/s640/P1030459.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Could it be a good luck omen!?</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With us safely afloat we scurried for the Cruising
Guide, to see where we would be best placed to re-anchor to inspect our
“bottom”. The options were not obvious, so we puttered over to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bumpy Dog, </i>to let them know what had
happened, so that they would not be puzzled by our sudden disappearance. Paul’s
sensible suggestion was that we raft up alongside them, come on board for a
stabilising coffee, and assess things from there. None of us could fathom how
we missed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bumpy Dog, </i>and a blue local
cruiser on our pilotless drift across Anse Majic to the eastern headland.
Strong coffee is a commendable cure-all, as is the support given by fellow
cruisers, but better still was the sound of a motor nearby indicating a mooring
that was now becoming “free”, allowing us the chance to reposition and assess,
not to re-locate as we thought would be required. Then, re-tethered nearby, a
French local with dive gear on an adjoining yacht came over, offered to dive on
our hull, check our ‘new’ mooring, and retrieve the broken mooring gear from
across the bay. He was at a loss to know why the mooring failed, and he often
used the moorings in Anse Majic. In the interim, I donned my snorkelling gear
to make a preliminary check of our undersides, which showed that, apart from
some superficial scratches on the port-side of our keel, we had suffered no
mortal or debilitating wounds. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We had
been lucky!!</i></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></i>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBdKhki3BphtuQmx-4AhLA7gLSuHrDoKKaXTtorPPBbUehQ5QDANVNOlSTRM-ODNzdFe4TnQc5azdVxNoBKjK1Dt7w1m3pKm3o8nCO6WzXTshZ-4phK-rUQiyIvH32qGRgjK9v3LPgLM87/s1600/P1030467.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBdKhki3BphtuQmx-4AhLA7gLSuHrDoKKaXTtorPPBbUehQ5QDANVNOlSTRM-ODNzdFe4TnQc5azdVxNoBKjK1Dt7w1m3pKm3o8nCO6WzXTshZ-4phK-rUQiyIvH32qGRgjK9v3LPgLM87/s640/P1030467.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Rounding Phare de Bonne Anse</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-1dFH_pk-H8oCocgbm4g4EOZGueMC9lLCGe7z5fFnXycKTFQe8Pnp5IXYVeWYk2uYQorSoAHlAWNDR_WO4-qx2wD_MHc2FTHKi0kQroDUd4v8auZM20qvnNa3FFHKaytCZTN2QOUFJDS5/s1600/P1030479.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-1dFH_pk-H8oCocgbm4g4EOZGueMC9lLCGe7z5fFnXycKTFQe8Pnp5IXYVeWYk2uYQorSoAHlAWNDR_WO4-qx2wD_MHc2FTHKi0kQroDUd4v8auZM20qvnNa3FFHKaytCZTN2QOUFJDS5/s640/P1030479.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Past Cape Ndoua and the lighthouse we'd walked to</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></i></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now, afloat, and hopefully secure, we planned
our passage to Lifou in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">les Iles Loyaute,
</i>the Loyalty Islands. Heading there from Baie du Prony required close
attention to both wind and tide, and in particular the tidal patterns in Canal
de la Havannan, the Havannah Pass, which has to be negotiated before reaching
clear water on the way to the Loyalties. Opting to leave one more day for the
winds to settle, we slipped out of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Baie
de la Incidente – </i>Anse Majic is correct, but Bay of Incidents would be more
correct for us – making for the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Phare de
Bonne Anse </i>light tower that guards the entrance to Havannah Pass from Baie
du Prony and directs vessels away from the fringing reef that lurks below the
surface. Passing Cape Ndoua, and following the “leads” through the passage, we
hoped that we would reach the eastern end of the pass, abeam of the 85foot
tower light of Phare de Goro at full tide and slack water. There is an
“overflow” effect of tides here, with tides running in and out for over an hour
beyond the technical high and low, as the southern lagoon empties and refills.
As we passed the Goro Light tower we were pleased to have gotten our
calculations right and to avoid the awful wind against tide conditions that
have made life difficult for many mariners over time, and caused others to end
up on surrounding reefs. We were pleased to see Havannah Pass astern of us and
in making our way across the submerged Banc du Coetogoa, set a course for our
overnight passage to Lifou.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpc7sBXvy5-i8aZ_zyIXK0KePkf8AmovQz5GJlwTHKruQ671YUgpv8W5TWu9Yc9SmrCbiwFCZFFGlX9yl88kMXpeFmJy7tbiXLcHiWqlSXcP6NK9_EbCx532KFGtkLxhNrK45tqKO_vzjH/s1600/P1030487.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpc7sBXvy5-i8aZ_zyIXK0KePkf8AmovQz5GJlwTHKruQ671YUgpv8W5TWu9Yc9SmrCbiwFCZFFGlX9yl88kMXpeFmJy7tbiXLcHiWqlSXcP6NK9_EbCx532KFGtkLxhNrK45tqKO_vzjH/s640/P1030487.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sunset over east coast of New Caledonia</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBGAyquZ3gTNzcRyZtxLZWL5SzTyzJmZr76NJFBoif3TNw4OCaiwvc-NSZZ8QNKAfu8qjsUBRJyHClu_AyHR7nUFVc4vJAI0aZqYzOaSZ0Jrigr1ADNIyBmGPDlsENWL6zt304_E4Xfw0w/s1600/P1030490.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBGAyquZ3gTNzcRyZtxLZWL5SzTyzJmZr76NJFBoif3TNw4OCaiwvc-NSZZ8QNKAfu8qjsUBRJyHClu_AyHR7nUFVc4vJAI0aZqYzOaSZ0Jrigr1ADNIyBmGPDlsENWL6zt304_E4Xfw0w/s640/P1030490.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sou-Easters! The devil wind! After muttering
many things about the devil wind over time, we now wanted one to fill our sails
at an agreeable angle, but now, clearing Grand Terre, the wind, although fine
in strength held stubbornly close to the south. This saw us taking a
frustratingly awry course to the north-west, nearly parallel to the big island,
before we might alter to starboard and make a direct line for Lifou. The wind
astern is a difficult point of sail and the following sea that it creates makes
our self-steering mechanisms recoil in horror. We were left hand steering to
cover the miles in the knowledge that dawn would see us nearing Lifou the
middle of the Loyalty Islands.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With us both bleary-eyed and the light of
dawn sketching an outline of Lifou, a ‘target” came up on our AIS, indicating a
ship approaching from our stern quarter. We considered ourselves out of the
“normal” shipping lanes and thought that the approaching vessel might be a
liner, headed, like us for Baie de Santal, the sheltered bay to the west of
Lifou, that is accessed by rounding Cap Lefevre, that was now outlined for us
off our starboard bow. A check of the AIS target showed the ship to be<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Pacific Dawn</i> closing on us rapidly, and
whose presence was soon obvious due to the blob of light on the horizon. With
our little ship and the very big ship both making for Cap Lefevre, our paths
were likely to intersect, so, following the size rule – size rules! – we called
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific Dawn </i>on VHF, to offer to hold
a line to port to allow the liner to pass between ourselves and Cap Lefevre on
our starboard side. The Officer on Watch on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific
Dawn</i> appreciated our call, because, whilst we had come up on their AIS as a
vessel nearby, and on a common course, they could not be sure that, in spite of
their obvious size, we had actually seen them, and getting closer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi537xpq8Bm2S3ypzGoyoXPPWF-NOhFqeGPR7GdjWTq0HYZuAGGdhmp4FDDk2o8zHan3u07M25AL_1A7KYH_9GsOtEqe8YTpnu-COiqF91oJ7hLL1MfS57-0pnEOpvuycHMPa6-v-UA1dF1/s1600/P1030498.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi537xpq8Bm2S3ypzGoyoXPPWF-NOhFqeGPR7GdjWTq0HYZuAGGdhmp4FDDk2o8zHan3u07M25AL_1A7KYH_9GsOtEqe8YTpnu-COiqF91oJ7hLL1MfS57-0pnEOpvuycHMPa6-v-UA1dF1/s640/P1030498.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>"Dawn" on approach to Lifou</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqmf1yIbf_xNz2Q0rmUV4f3r4utNOlSPMPJnkFYE7CAGyif7YkWLT9_PiuNNTkhyphenhyphenXiWlPPpunI1XyKDv48n90NP6_t_swntMjvOOcnv8v3LWxH8LSBoQSu_0nqIeuVWM2qbSh_Vo6oCuPl/s1600/P1030508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqmf1yIbf_xNz2Q0rmUV4f3r4utNOlSPMPJnkFYE7CAGyif7YkWLT9_PiuNNTkhyphenhyphenXiWlPPpunI1XyKDv48n90NP6_t_swntMjvOOcnv8v3LWxH8LSBoQSu_0nqIeuVWM2qbSh_Vo6oCuPl/s640/P1030508.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Cape Lefevre</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the end both ships cleared Cape Lefevre in
style, the big ship heading for the town of Chepenehe in the far north-east of
Baie de Santal, whilst we appreciated the calm waters of the bay, where via the
ship’s glasses, off the village of Drueulu, white sands and swaying palms
called us enticingly, like the scent of sandalwood. With our anchor chain
rattling out into water that was blue and impossibly clear, we had arrived at
the Loyalties….but yes, there was more. According to the chart we were now
geographically,<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a> undeniably and officially in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">THE PACIFIC!! </i></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6VLWsza1k8gXXJAate7vhku56sEmi0-qceRkeJ4kHK8jwmMPgTHRhe0Jjjw2VSABBJ_djLd2NfnKIukTwny4UpWe7J_EA3ypkHVzOVz9amNqh4t0GxGBpNW0oIZEYbMnXW1PLAxAp3KMO/s1600/P1030527.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6VLWsza1k8gXXJAate7vhku56sEmi0-qceRkeJ4kHK8jwmMPgTHRhe0Jjjw2VSABBJ_djLd2NfnKIukTwny4UpWe7J_EA3ypkHVzOVz9amNqh4t0GxGBpNW0oIZEYbMnXW1PLAxAp3KMO/s640/P1030527.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>South Pacific palms!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><i></i><i></i><i></i><i></i><b></b><span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-19867137095702822302016-07-31T18:01:00.000-07:002016-07-31T18:01:57.975-07:00<br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Noumea to Baie St
Vincent</i></b> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>17/7/16 – 28/7/16</i></b></span></span></div>
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(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.)</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></i><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Viewed from space or viewed from Google
Earth, New Caledonia’s encircling lagoon, its emerald cloak, is one of the most
stunning features on earth. With a 1600 km barrier reef, only second in size to
Australia’s, it encloses a 24,000 square km lagoon, a marine treasure
encircling Grand Terre, and stretching from the Isle des Pins (Isle of Pines)
in the south east to beyond the Beleep Islands in the north-west to form the
largest lagoon system on earth. When we arrived here we began to appreciate
that we had found a marine playground, the dimensions of which we had scarcely
appreciated. From our brief foray out of Noumea (see last blog) we decided that
we needed see a good deal more of Noumea’s incredible nautical environment
before setting sights on Vanuatu, which lies well away to the north-east.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The great lagoon of Noumea extends north-west
from Noumea with openings such as Passe Dumbea, Passe de Uitoe and Passe St
Vincent providing gaps in the Grand Recife (the barrier reef) to allow passage
for smaller and larger ships alike. Dotted along the Grand Recife are rusting
remains of a number of wrecks that one way or another have fetched up on the
reef, and remain there to this day, providing a salutatory message to all who
ply these waters to not be fooled by their intrinsic beauty, for dangers are
lurking, all about. Beyond Passe St Vincent and Baie St Vincent the Recife
heads coast-wards, and the lagoon narrows considerably before, on the charts,
disappearing into a narrow finger of shoals and reefs that are largely
unsurveyed. Those exploring Noumea’s west coast are obliged to exit the lagoon
at Passe St Vincent and head seawards along the outside of the reef before
taking a pass further north to once again access the shelter of the lagoon.
Because the lagoon to the north is not as highly regarded, we set the northern
boundary of this excursion as some stunning anchorages in Baie St Vincent, and
with this in mind we exited Noumea’s Passe Petite and made to the north-west.</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwgL5IdIclyGwhp_cdm69w_uM6SZcn_Kmtp9nhT7PCZ5TVRqc7m7Ao82r6XhpQvnn4jYxZm6qrAZ1xpW3EQcXhwaqwVX7v97dkt7GAmmRrpBxwbYKRmTcjBw-KdNIGpH26NPPLRvM3nOqt/s1600/IMG_0799.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwgL5IdIclyGwhp_cdm69w_uM6SZcn_Kmtp9nhT7PCZ5TVRqc7m7Ao82r6XhpQvnn4jYxZm6qrAZ1xpW3EQcXhwaqwVX7v97dkt7GAmmRrpBxwbYKRmTcjBw-KdNIGpH26NPPLRvM3nOqt/s640/IMG_0799.PNG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Example of the great Predict Wind weather forecast models</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span id="goog_235398725"></span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span id="goog_235398726"><br /></span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Winds in Noumea are dominated by the trade
winds blowing from the south-east, and for most cruisers, when they push in
with a vengeance it is a good time to be in port. When they blow moderately,
cruisers can get about or make passage by as they say “working the trades” Typically
the winds are softer in the morning before rising in the afternoon; so for
those “working into them” it is good to leave early and be tucked in to an
appropriate anchorage when they whistle in later in the day. In Noumea weather
reports are thorough and valuable, but they come in French! Happily, Cookie is
proving a dab hand with the Predict Wind models and her sleuthing of conditions
in New Caledonia’s south-west indicated that after a couple of days of modest
trades, a period of calmer days should follow, so with this in mind, we planned
to use the sou-easters to push us up to Baie St Vincent, before heading south
again into lighter airs. </span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our first anchorage was little more than a
necessary stopover at Baie Maa, and whilst we were glad to be making passage
again, our good friends the Maa Remoras were there again, aggregating under our
hull and exploding in a flurry of activity when morsels were dropped over the
side. In reality we’d have swapped a couple of remoras for a dugong, as try as
we did, a sighting of one of these ponderous sea-grazers still eluded us. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio2wU3nfIHbTUU5U_lcZieSzwr_jMU5RD8-_12tuA9-hxZSAbXaTuRLyEJOVbo5-UiQzUNl520QWdJ_O1LEzF5A8OPtZxlPRVJC7iykWHZnOfXe6HSYI-8fyAkYtRwa6_mMm3Z-58K-zBP/s1600/IMG_0806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio2wU3nfIHbTUU5U_lcZieSzwr_jMU5RD8-_12tuA9-hxZSAbXaTuRLyEJOVbo5-UiQzUNl520QWdJ_O1LEzF5A8OPtZxlPRVJC7iykWHZnOfXe6HSYI-8fyAkYtRwa6_mMm3Z-58K-zBP/s640/IMG_0806.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Anchorages and waypoints for exploring Baie de St Vincent</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One of the problems in using the Rocket Guide
to Anchorages in New Caledonia is that in the region out of Noumea there are so
many options, that selecting the best places presented a pleasant challenge for
us on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista; </i>although we settled on
destinations based on their qualities, the things we like to do whilst cruising
and ultimately what the wind was forecast to do. Heading north then from Baie
Maa, we were intrigued by a isthmus anchorage at Ile T’Ndu where we could
access this feature at low tide and at the same spot take a look at a new
canal-style development that was now open and now selling, a day’s sail north
of Noumea. By early afternoon though the tell-tale signs of a rising sou-easter
sent us scooting north from Ile T’Ndu in search of an anchorage with good
holding and SE protection, and by using our electronic guide we sheltered in perfect comfort at Presquille de
Uitoe, tucked away in the corner of Baie St Vincent. We could have withstood a
gale in Presquille de Uitoe, but as we sat snugly in this anchorage overnight
in a fulsome and gathering moon the gentle illumination all about made us
reflect on what a difference even a sliver of moon would have made to our long
black nights getting here across the Coral Sea.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2QlRbxQU_sdG8nJkGughE9TfcTFISxVke3Z-qMQpDKZ6QFAwdm_n9_65vboX7DBofPJvH9qYDmrdhq0ejyrmpd8pwJj5PScXX_5mTpQ46L-zsAgoidjksMIU0ZU9RbcCX_Z3vLCJnV5a0/s1600/P1020956.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2QlRbxQU_sdG8nJkGughE9TfcTFISxVke3Z-qMQpDKZ6QFAwdm_n9_65vboX7DBofPJvH9qYDmrdhq0ejyrmpd8pwJj5PScXX_5mTpQ46L-zsAgoidjksMIU0ZU9RbcCX_Z3vLCJnV5a0/s640/P1020956.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>T'Ndu anchorage and marina housing development</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlBS7DiR0A3qj9FcS0WbHzqE0JF4frNVkIgG0EWZdB9jdpAPPd2868P9WNvKjTCutGfqu_UYry_N1_7G95xL-zVXUwA96eEhgDCbmYmZJvk5UGpKoc_2OpYqgTzkqegguzhluNQqsd_kf/s1600/P1020959.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlBS7DiR0A3qj9FcS0WbHzqE0JF4frNVkIgG0EWZdB9jdpAPPd2868P9WNvKjTCutGfqu_UYry_N1_7G95xL-zVXUwA96eEhgDCbmYmZJvk5UGpKoc_2OpYqgTzkqegguzhluNQqsd_kf/s640/P1020959.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So far the winds had kept us from places
where we might have access to some in and under water activities, and with this
in our thoughts we sought out possible anchorages to the north where in the
anchoring / information portal of the guide a ‘snorkeller” was shown,
indicating a spot where we might finally get wet, and look for Nemo. One such
spot was Ile Mboa, a few miles off the mainland, but on arrival there the
sou-easter was like a thumb across a wet canvas, and it had stirred up the
anchorage, making it possible but not welcoming to anchor. Our high hopes for a location for aquatic
pursuits between reef and shore now fell on Ile Ducos (Canal Ducos), but when
we got there, water visibility was compromised by a milky current issuing from
onshore and we had to reconcile ourselves to heading for the SE tolerant Baie
des Moustiques, where, apart from not living up to its name, we could at least
get ashore for a walk along the coast, on an island that presented a visage of
surprising dryness. Our coastal “hopping” had been worth doing, and ever
interesting, but with the winds softening we were certain that beyond Passe St
Vincent we would find the brochure perfect places that we knew were there for
the finding in the great lagoon.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXP5O2iqo1krdFQ-0s_SDPKAhIY2d27ZUvsxzs1kOEZxcgdBFt5zhIQR5EKz4xDqQVknH9ig0MbHFyfexqIkuH2BNclKp2dpxwZDo81N-H8hWHxRS6iQRFLgkAsAkL8ajqdk8aQyjWKw_2/s1600/P1020989.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXP5O2iqo1krdFQ-0s_SDPKAhIY2d27ZUvsxzs1kOEZxcgdBFt5zhIQR5EKz4xDqQVknH9ig0MbHFyfexqIkuH2BNclKp2dpxwZDo81N-H8hWHxRS6iQRFLgkAsAkL8ajqdk8aQyjWKw_2/s640/P1020989.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Anchorage near Canal Ducos</i></b></span></div>
<div>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAxlQVUZa1y3Hdow2dBN0zoHiF-8atujpkCmnMuEdWaQ3CkuxKN2-ugH9B_C02t5L3Ywksn7sb0UlAp5Jcb4nLhJ-LP2NawsjOW22RXQFoRsgtBUssAa3UEsCRMfmpAJtTTkYH-sCcl-C_/s1600/P1020995.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAxlQVUZa1y3Hdow2dBN0zoHiF-8atujpkCmnMuEdWaQ3CkuxKN2-ugH9B_C02t5L3Ywksn7sb0UlAp5Jcb4nLhJ-LP2NawsjOW22RXQFoRsgtBUssAa3UEsCRMfmpAJtTTkYH-sCcl-C_/s640/P1020995.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Baie des Moustiques</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">From Baie des Moustiques, we passed through
but discarded Canal Ducos, and considered Isle Tenia, just in from the outer
reef, but settled instead on Isle Isie some 15 miles to the north-west, where
two recognised anchorages were located and we hoped that at least one would
provide adequate shelter in the lingering trades. The easterly anchorage on Isle
Isie was too exposed to the afternoon winds, but on the nor-western side, protected
by projecting reefs the location was like Goldilocks’ porridge, just right, at
last! Just a short duck ride away, alongside the outer edge of the reef, we
found the brochure; immense coral heads, “bommies”, staghorn corals in
brilliant purples, green and blue, and soft corals like velvet fans of lavender,
smoke grey, and ivory and more fish than we could possibly count and more
colours than an Indian festival. Wow! That night, with a full moon approaching,
we slept easily, with the trades blunted by Isle Isie and its girdle of reefs,
looking forward to a long walk ashore in the early morn when the full tide gave
access to the beach that surrounded two-thirds of the island.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4R8xE8n-7mI7Ywnr8v8G7pzO_LDGVLGEKAMlW-Sc09ZPIiPzQHNA43d_k8aYQgYeq0zd8A4T5C5cLYTWtcs9lejL4u5gmn_t1tDi9_RN0NO608F86MmFxwPPzvsgan7L398pRbtAER8Ab/s1600/P1020977.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4R8xE8n-7mI7Ywnr8v8G7pzO_LDGVLGEKAMlW-Sc09ZPIiPzQHNA43d_k8aYQgYeq0zd8A4T5C5cLYTWtcs9lejL4u5gmn_t1tDi9_RN0NO608F86MmFxwPPzvsgan7L398pRbtAER8Ab/s640/P1020977.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Ile Isie</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ashore our beach walks have met our joint
love of exploring new places, our desire to include some exercise whenever we
can, and by the need to pay heed to a behavioural trait of Cookie’s for which I
believe there is no cure available through science. She is an unabashed,
indefatigable, and irretrievably committed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">shellaholic.</i>
When she discovered that the shelled Naitilus lives in numbers in New
Caledonia’s great lagoon where it is recognised as a national emblem, and what
is more, their shells often wash ashore in remote places, the search was on,
and no bloodhound on a fresh scent, could strain at the leash like Cookie on a
deserted beach, on a remote tropical island, on the search for calcareous
booty. Thus our early walk, at an intemperate hour, was dominated by her
forging ahead, often with a shriek and a pounce, like an owl swooping on a mouse,
only for her to recoil in dismay as the unearthed treasure turned out to be
damaged and incomplete, and the search was resumed again. Time and again
promising “finds” proved to be fool’s gold, but we trudged on nonetheless. In a
glorious environment such as this though, the absence of complete Nautili, was
but small change considering the riches all about us. By morning’s end we could
have opened our own website, specialising in Nautilus spare parts, in a pastime
where four quarters definitely do not make a whole. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Excellent anchorage information from our Rocket Guide for Ile Tenia</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One of the things that attracted us to “our
next island”, Ile Tenia, some dozen or so miles to the south was that it
nestled in a hook in the outer reef, the Grand Recif, just alongside Passe St
Vincent, making it a tropical isle just an ocean’s roar from the Coral Sea. The
approach to Ile Tenia takes a keelboat just abeam of a lengthy spit, that
viewed from above must appear like an azure finger in an emerald sea. When we
arrived there and set our anchor, we walked around our decks, not able to
comprehend the beauty of this truly remarkable place. Yes, we were anchored not
far from the ribbon of surf crashing and roaring on the outer reef, but that
was not what held our attention. It was the water itself, clear, aquamarine,
stunningly alluring from every aspect, and instantly pleasing to the eye. With
keen vision you could count the links in our anchor chain, all the way to the
pick. Wow, again! </span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After loading our duck with more toys than a
child’s Christmas - we needed to take everything imaginable given the distance
to shore - we made for Isle Tenia, to find that we were not the only souls to
be attracted to Tenia’s considerable charms, and that given its relative
proximity to “mainland” hamlets, it was a popular local destination for New Caledonians
in runabouts. Recognising this, the NC authorities have responded to Tenia’s
popularity and its invaluable ecology by putting in a handful of sturdily built
picnic settings, shelters and the like to cater for the needs of visitors. Mini
try-pot fires are also there to be used and to reduce foraging in the
undergrowth, netting bags of sawn wood are provided, just to complete the
picture. After seeing all of this and selecting a spot for our encampment, we
found ourselves under a sturdily constructed wooden beach shelter, ocean view
across the extensive reefs to the Passe itself, and, wait for this, our own
beach lounges, the ones with the adjustable backrests, for our personal and
private deployment. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Viola! Viva la
France! Muraroa is partially forgiven.</i> For those who read these lines and
believe that in some small way we are hard-driven adventurers, we can now come
clean and confess, that at Tenia, what with all of the things to explore in the
sea, and the softness and comforts of a lounge-lizard life available ashore, we
succumbed to this enchanted isle and without requiring a plebiscite, voted to
stay for a couple of days. If all of life’s great decisions were as simple as
this!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Visions of Ile Tenia</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Tenia looked gorgeous and her beauty was more
than skin deep, for it extended under the water as well. To have days of coral
snorkelling, beach walks – we only added to our Nautilli spare parts drawer and
no more – and lounging under the shelters contemplating our novels, was just
about as good as it gets. There were only two disconcerting aspects to note.
One was the erosion on the Recife-facing shoreline which had come from a
relatively recent storm, likely to have been the horrid event that we
experienced at Coffs Harbor, which extended its destructive influence across
the Coral Sea, and confined a cruise liner to the harbor in Noumea until it
abated. Yes, lie under a shelter gazing at a lagoon we might, but allow
ourselves to have a warm and calm day blur our respect for the capricious
nature of the sea we should not. The other consideration was just observable,
across the lagoon to the north. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista. </i>She
was reduced to a bobbing dot on the horizon, like we were seeing her through
inverted binoculars, and come the afternoon sea breeze and the swell of the
fuller tide leaping the Recife; we would have to give thought to abandoning
this nautical nirvana, to seek a sounder anchorage overnight. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If in the land of the internet you “just ask
Gookle”, then in the lagoon abeam of Passe St Vincent, and you are looking for
an anchorage, just ask the Rocket Guide. Sure enough, just an hour’s unfurled
headsail away was the delightful cusped anchorage at Ile Puen, just offshore
from a farm and farm-stay, and perfect for overnighting in a afternoon
sou-easter. What is more, with a nearby reef and beach fully exposed at the low
end of the tide, and the blessing of the manager to go and explore, there was
the prospect of finding a shelled object of flotsam perfection as an added
incentive for our stroll. Again though, the walk was great, and we marvelled at
the immense Osprey nest in a forked tree just along the beach, but alas, in
regard to Nautilli, complete treasures remained somewhere else to be found. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sheltered Ile Puen anchorage</i></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Next morning in light airs we retraced our
steps to the lovely Tenia and along the way were passed by a New Zealand family
in their sleek yacht Zinabar, who photographed us as they cruised past. With it
being a weekend, and the weather perfect, we thought that Tania would be a
popular destination for locals and this proved to be true; although there was
plenty of space, plenty of lounge chairs and plenty of water to go around.
Whilst on land there was plenty of life, underwater it was as colourful as a
pageant and in Cookie’s daily diary she described it thus….”I’d just got in and
a sea snake glided past! The coral and fish were beautiful, ,with some great
coral gardens…found some larger Nemos, saw a white tipped reef shark and heaps
of fish. I swam with a huge school of big black fish – Ringtailed Surgeon Fish
– colourful parrot fish and found more Nemos, this time tomato anemone fish. A
great snorkel”. It was hard to resist another lap of the island, so we strolled
around, and with three extensive snorkels, periods of indolence in the tropical
shade, and the ever present vistas of forest, beach, lagoon and Recief to
delight, we felt it time to use the last of the day, and the unusually gentle
afternoon airs to make south to one of two seaward anchorages, again courtesy
of the Rocket Guide and its detailed waypoints, for approaching and anchoring,
at Ille Nduke. Besides, too much of a good thing might become not enough of a
good thing and we might never leave the seductive Ile Tenia.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Another day in Paradise</i></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On a voyage like this we have many
unforgettable moments, and all about there is a smorgasboard for the senses,
the hues of sunset, seeing raptors, up close and personal, the tickle of a
hermit crab that you have placed in your hand, more images than you can store
on your hard drive, and a shared Bordeaux with French Camembert as you debrief
on the day. This moment though, one that I had been yearning for, came with the
last of our “Noumea bread” disappearing into one of Cookie’s famous cheese and
tomato jaffles atop our ship’s stove. Deep in a store locker lay a box of
Lauke’s most excellent grained bread mix, and Cookie announced, to rapturous
cheers, that she would rise early, as it were, and bake an offering in the
ship’s oven. Where there is a knead as they say, and all of this would
transpire whilst I remained a loafer, as it were, in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">boudoir</i>. In the end I was galvanised by my olfactory at the
alluring aromas wafting from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cookie’s
Patisserie </i>and had a selection of potted conserves, honeys from Kangaroo
Island and Tasmania, and the ship’s breadknife at the ready when the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">piece de resistance </i>emerged golden,
glowing and succulent for official photographing (see below!) and our joint
delectation.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>And so there we were,
nid-nodding in a tropical anchorage, filtered coffee at the ready – actually
mine was green tea with jasmine – taking in all about us from the comfort of
our cockpit, whilst we gave thanks to the farmers of South Australia, Lauke’s
the wonderful millers, Cookie’s skills in the galley and to life in general.
Sadly, the on-board diet police drew a line at my extending<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>two ample slices into three, saying something quite unfair and
illogical about needing to save some for later.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0KcgY9WKqQ2q2wlgXjw8r1gopqYXM45T0TnvaNl1E39AgqlQBXVOt_QHD1EF62nOw9navlrBagCbBx0XX7o9syzfuXurQ2_N5Mb0e3korf9Au0ivTgLjhpmr-4WhNSwyYeBlJJ-MseoHM/s1600/P1030203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0KcgY9WKqQ2q2wlgXjw8r1gopqYXM45T0TnvaNl1E39AgqlQBXVOt_QHD1EF62nOw9navlrBagCbBx0XX7o9syzfuXurQ2_N5Mb0e3korf9Au0ivTgLjhpmr-4WhNSwyYeBlJJ-MseoHM/s640/P1030203.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Cookie's Patisserie</i></b></span><br />
<b><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We had programmed a leisurely burble down the
lagoon to Ile M’bo some 15 miles away, where more underwater exploration lay
awaiting, and this was a very good thing, as Tim our autopilot did much of the
thinking and piloting, whilst your scribe, being lately sated, lay like a
beached narwhal in the cockpit. Such is life in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nouvelle Caledonie, </i>and we find that we are adjusting to it. As we
arrived in the anchorage at Ille Uere, Noumea was in sight away to the south,
and given that the day was a pearler, many locals had headed this way too, and
there were vessels of many flavours lying languid on a slumbering sea, with
their occupants committed to hedonism, with fine foods, and fine wines adorning
their cockpits whilst others swam, snorkelled, laid under shelters ashore or
draped themselves over foredecks, tanning their lithe bodies in the winter sun.
For us, given that we had settled at anchor a little distance from the coral,
and that the water looked as though it had leapt from a post card, we slid over
the side, and after some earnest strokes found ourselves over some attractive
coral gardens where a highlight was a banded sea snake, totally immersed in
whatever sea snakes do amongst the deep recesses of the formations, before
re-emerging to smile sweetly for the camera. Ile M’Bo, tick.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTIyyabMqVamr3s9AGE5cnM1d62dj8FwraBTZqysP9I3bX9T8CafdtvYEJRCSBIagxH9553xUZoUJwNKRPAmvhBs7JFO9HFJsKOZQBIQnLhktY2PNB8W83fKrmoueow6rMFTLZEueITKxg/s1600/P1030206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTIyyabMqVamr3s9AGE5cnM1d62dj8FwraBTZqysP9I3bX9T8CafdtvYEJRCSBIagxH9553xUZoUJwNKRPAmvhBs7JFO9HFJsKOZQBIQnLhktY2PNB8W83fKrmoueow6rMFTLZEueITKxg/s640/P1030206.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Another great snorkel at Ile M'Bo</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4iMTiCgb1i5dYFjTn9s2Sw-btDPtULS5aV47uXwb00LwbjaGduEQSG5GfDyQy9b5qFsW0js5s_Skrr2mlWNbmn1e83MeY4wOkdBChhRTj_VBbJeIyCZzPEdbSTJPm560Mv1DZ5bWKaJO/s1600/P1020399.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="406" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4iMTiCgb1i5dYFjTn9s2Sw-btDPtULS5aV47uXwb00LwbjaGduEQSG5GfDyQy9b5qFsW0js5s_Skrr2mlWNbmn1e83MeY4wOkdBChhRTj_VBbJeIyCZzPEdbSTJPm560Mv1DZ5bWKaJO/s640/P1020399.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Banded Sea Snake</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ6z0V1L2ixFUvmoB1EmvwVvDSfcyUgTdXsfnewprQUPMqzAiLAEubBS-ED2WNBwpgAsOESdiTJx69tfN1s3zJa4hx6dw4-_1rHziKVqQrpW2QO4TgCCEHY4V7IyDNnL0pOW6DS-bmJPjR/s1600/P1020404.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ6z0V1L2ixFUvmoB1EmvwVvDSfcyUgTdXsfnewprQUPMqzAiLAEubBS-ED2WNBwpgAsOESdiTJx69tfN1s3zJa4hx6dw4-_1rHziKVqQrpW2QO4TgCCEHY4V7IyDNnL0pOW6DS-bmJPjR/s640/P1020404.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhev7O7ww1Jxx-8oxcpeAIeM0Odk5Y7R2n9hhhgU7J5aCh17ke2Oi9znVFYrSsS9I5LgrgKX1G_vhaI-Xh13snru0pmVre9fox_jBhbU3VNI53b02OTqibAVPT2MR7Ozi_pUUh7F776rDzz/s1600/P1020412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhev7O7ww1Jxx-8oxcpeAIeM0Odk5Y7R2n9hhhgU7J5aCh17ke2Oi9znVFYrSsS9I5LgrgKX1G_vhaI-Xh13snru0pmVre9fox_jBhbU3VNI53b02OTqibAVPT2MR7Ozi_pUUh7F776rDzz/s640/P1020412.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Knowing that a mass exodus from the Isles out
from Noumea would gather momentum in the late afternoon, we headed south for an
overnight stop at Ile Uere, a fine anchorage, just out from Noumea, hoping
that with the stellar weather continuing we could manufacture a visit to the
famous Amedee Island and lighthouse out by the Grand Recif, which lords over
Passes de Boulari, the triple set of passes into the lagoon via Passe du Nord,
Passe Central and Passe du Sud. Ille Uere is a wonderfully protected anchorage
which is really a bay within a bay, just out from the southern suburbs of
Noumea, but this time with the wind at the lower end of the Beaufort scale, its
qualities as a haven in strong weather would not be tested. We hoped, too, that
given our arrival at Amedee was a Monday, not a Sunday, we might find it free on
recreational craft, and apart from those arriving via the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mary-D </i>tourist excursions out of Noumea, the island could be as
free of human clutter as it was ever going to be. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1dFONifj17Huox2sYvdzdX1p6RlxxcfyPGDaP9zqu2PO5V_SziMqaJaENtKPNEr7LpRvqwenhgU0zdweITnslWkJNB53Waf91LJmO3aTQQODsyjVrFXRqLEeWH2ocQz28usDLt2knBGF8/s1600/IMG_0741.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1dFONifj17Huox2sYvdzdX1p6RlxxcfyPGDaP9zqu2PO5V_SziMqaJaENtKPNEr7LpRvqwenhgU0zdweITnslWkJNB53Waf91LJmO3aTQQODsyjVrFXRqLEeWH2ocQz28usDLt2knBGF8/s640/IMG_0741.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Ile Ueure</i></b></span><br />
<b><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Amedee Island, is an understandably “must
see” destination for Noumea tourists and the large and sleek <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mary-D </i>vessels do a healthy trade. For
terrestrial visitors without their own water transport, as we have, the day
package to Amadee, complete with its cringe-worthy elements such as “cultural
dances”, featuring local lasses wearing half coconut bras (try finding one of
these in a local market!), is a fine option, especially as a glass bottom boat
ride can be had on the island allowing anyone to be wowed by its underwater
delights. Really, Amedee is a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mary-D </i>island
which is “open for business” only when the tourist boat is there, and when we
arrived, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mary-D </i>was clearly not
there. Ashore we rustled up the caretaker, who bore a passing resemblance to
Johnny Depp, aka Captain J Sparrow, who informed us that, no the boat was not
coming until tomorrow, nothing was open, including, in our heart of hearts, the
famous lighthouse, but in the meantime we could snorkel, stroll around the
island, and he was prepared to turn a blind eye to our use of the beach-side furniture, which for non
- <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mary-D
</i>clients would normally cost us 1000CPF (about $A14) for the pleasure. At
that point we would sit on the beach.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyunrefn6uNcZTfRrNqu0EzrPsAhzWIzNShMKi7J7O6NVUUtL0yA4emzu3pjCXQBpCGCNm4ngr6MAMwhtXzlXPmQjZCdQq65s4z9qD0otbeCvyWGddOvRhyAJSZ_nPFIQ7vjSdYglqJvtd/s1600/IMG_0746.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyunrefn6uNcZTfRrNqu0EzrPsAhzWIzNShMKi7J7O6NVUUtL0yA4emzu3pjCXQBpCGCNm4ngr6MAMwhtXzlXPmQjZCdQq65s4z9qD0otbeCvyWGddOvRhyAJSZ_nPFIQ7vjSdYglqJvtd/s640/IMG_0746.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Amazing Amedee</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So not all was lost: we had this remarkable
isle to ourselves, we had undisturbed snorkelling, and given the rare calmness
of the weather we could overnight at Amedee, with a full moon rising, to enjoy
the spectacle of the great light sending forth its rhythmic beams, whilst we
lay comfortably attached to one of the island’s outer moorings. Later in the
afternoon, post-snorkelling and lounge reclining, courtesy of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mary-D </i>we embarked on a pre-sunset
stroll to find one, then two and in all five banded sea-snakes slithering
around the precinct. We commented that it would be easy for us to slide off a
beach lounge and step right on one of these creatures. Then, as if on cue, a
serpent emerged casually from nearby cover and made its way, untroubled by our
presence, under the very lounges we had been occupying. When ashore at Amedee,
the message is clear, watch your step!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjec3JGysLDBLtL-f2Go4LpeFTseJEKRQeNnp1ChdKQ0w2GX3pBaZuAMBJKZ7CXvT4lD3rvl6YzQSOHDjEEhy7kVCTKAZW3Lj7ZvmSyWuArg9hyS9RuI7_OZulxrIcLqYcxvRL-iBkd2FFg/s1600/IMG_0755.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjec3JGysLDBLtL-f2Go4LpeFTseJEKRQeNnp1ChdKQ0w2GX3pBaZuAMBJKZ7CXvT4lD3rvl6YzQSOHDjEEhy7kVCTKAZW3Lj7ZvmSyWuArg9hyS9RuI7_OZulxrIcLqYcxvRL-iBkd2FFg/s640/IMG_0755.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On sunset we were joined in the anchorage by
an Australian yacht, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Skylark 2, </i>who
in the morning assembled their crew of three on the foredeck whereupon a bugle
was produced, and to a creditably played rendition of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Les Marseilles </i>the French tri-color was lowered and the Australian
flag raised aloft. We saluted, and then applauded, and they slid past calling
out…. “we are bound for Brisbane!” We wished them “fair winds” and watched as
they went, out through Passe du Nord, and into the Coral Sea.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYkTVFIaRXEgj46G6umXnZAEDmax26FRrSd91CMaeDRsrF7izealw9tzY0Ven6uOsMD1bgnzlOx_DdDEpzr31-8J4xm96aUXekZ0H5bCpphPgcjuFtrphi0vsn4qZfo9FZ6aRSnbPICP4I/s1600/P1030245.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYkTVFIaRXEgj46G6umXnZAEDmax26FRrSd91CMaeDRsrF7izealw9tzY0Ven6uOsMD1bgnzlOx_DdDEpzr31-8J4xm96aUXekZ0H5bCpphPgcjuFtrphi0vsn4qZfo9FZ6aRSnbPICP4I/s640/P1030245.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKFYmu1tK4l6DpuBHTIZgLoarm0i5Y_auftT_1R3gfO0ZQmzD6zbYzxSOwfH8L8v-vlN0F2FwFCbVdnDvx9pvOd3SkyVkNKyQCjSOjg7ggyOL0ZrgHrq1bC7vsxfeA_TR1a5ZgzkoItf7W/s1600/P1030249.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKFYmu1tK4l6DpuBHTIZgLoarm0i5Y_auftT_1R3gfO0ZQmzD6zbYzxSOwfH8L8v-vlN0F2FwFCbVdnDvx9pvOd3SkyVkNKyQCjSOjg7ggyOL0ZrgHrq1bC7vsxfeA_TR1a5ZgzkoItf7W/s640/P1030249.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Amedee Lighthouse</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgavBNYhMYz4zK6aCLv9lxgW8P14ldmuNdHFhgz_ofM1WYvuUA7yV5gAOAEDhaUmNBW5jqipGJffRMoMxfvCaxUTE19eeJNufnNrdWVTEKnmHOZ4e4GZZW_-n-TB5L3gPn4h9DyngzHz1cV/s1600/P1030337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgavBNYhMYz4zK6aCLv9lxgW8P14ldmuNdHFhgz_ofM1WYvuUA7yV5gAOAEDhaUmNBW5jqipGJffRMoMxfvCaxUTE19eeJNufnNrdWVTEKnmHOZ4e4GZZW_-n-TB5L3gPn4h9DyngzHz1cV/s640/P1030337.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The next day, the hordes arrived, although by
effecting a landing ashore out of official gaze, we side-stepped the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mary-D </i>hoopla and by timing our approach
to the lighthouse, to align with the cultural activities and the glass boat
rides, we gave our 300CPF tickets to J Depp and climbed the 250 odd steps to
the parapet. The Amedee Lighthouse is a doyen of its breed, commissioned by
Napoleon the third in 1862 in the grand style of the Eiffel Tower, with its
ballerina-slender waistline and its elegant staircase, it came to New Caledonia
as the ultimate cast iron Lego challenge, to be assembled in situ, rising some
167 feet above Amedee. Unlike in Australia where “safety rules” stifle almost
everything aloft, we ascended to the parapet with no official, or bunting to
hinder our progress. In Noumea we saw a saying in an arty shop that said
something like “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">it is not about the
number of breaths you take in life, but rather the moments that take your breath
away”. </i>Well, the view from the top of the Amedee lighthouse, on this
picture perfect day, took our breath away. It was superlative and stunning,
provided you did not look over the edge and down! We hope that the pictures,
below, can do it justice. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Viva la Amedee!!</i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></i>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA01CGjePyXO9dUQ0Ibgqhfu5kxyZXZEjyhwqUdcKTb1oZ6SVKaWo4QzXP5ZWvg4VRsupH-S0Lptxyz-TNHHAI28Q6rs2bGfRWXFmu9yD6bziibPnuHp5yya5GsidxtsWQmPv6SDNkehbI/s1600/P1030317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA01CGjePyXO9dUQ0Ibgqhfu5kxyZXZEjyhwqUdcKTb1oZ6SVKaWo4QzXP5ZWvg4VRsupH-S0Lptxyz-TNHHAI28Q6rs2bGfRWXFmu9yD6bziibPnuHp5yya5GsidxtsWQmPv6SDNkehbI/s640/P1030317.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Enjoying the amazing panoramic view from the top of Amedee</i></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii28Uy1mWXh9Gnm4Gkw6wjSGmr6ybOqREOl73hJFZq_yYh3HDnjMm9Tpxr6sJqXq2FCkjcfffhz_M5XMsrLix2952K2gtPpoFtlKBhL8QjHCDWBbfk-SCV_dczjF_WrO0SyQJ99BbLKZEh/s1600/IMG_0765.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii28Uy1mWXh9Gnm4Gkw6wjSGmr6ybOqREOl73hJFZq_yYh3HDnjMm9Tpxr6sJqXq2FCkjcfffhz_M5XMsrLix2952K2gtPpoFtlKBhL8QjHCDWBbfk-SCV_dczjF_WrO0SyQJ99BbLKZEh/s640/IMG_0765.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was hard to leave the eyrie of Amedee for
ground level but eventually we did, making a visit to, yes, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mary D, </i>souvenir shop once we had
gathered our “ground legs”. Cookie strolled over to the t-shirt section where
amongst the garish and dreadful offerings there were a couple of styles that
did credit to this glorious place. Soon she was at my arm whispering….“in the
drawer of small t-shirts over there they have put a rubber snake!” Thinking
that if this was an establishment ruse designed to test reactions of the
visitors in loud shirts, I thought a re-assessment of management might be in
order, so I went to see the “serpent” for myself, where as I looked in, the
creature moved….<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">it was REAL! </i>Yes a
sea-snake in the small t-shirt drawer, would you believe! Because we were the
only ones in the shop, and we were clearly not about to expire at the sight of
our serpentine friend, the delightful lady in the shop held the bemused
creature aloft, we took the picture that you see below and, swearing a joint
pact of secrecy about what we had found in the smalls drawer, found a more
appropriate home for our banded friend (sea snakes are venomous, but not
aggressive and cases of bites occurring are rare). </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTM-TNeT9isK3rsnfNjJSFBdWzm1zGtK_2AGXBjBCUux8TEIRSY2QxxS10J2qJfmXUfMaLFAPgEHkKmydAIXepS4RYdzb-dTjiz2VBPVEm6lOEP0iRy90OHFsZW3of2HhF7tTGN_74AqBo/s1600/P1030296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTM-TNeT9isK3rsnfNjJSFBdWzm1zGtK_2AGXBjBCUux8TEIRSY2QxxS10J2qJfmXUfMaLFAPgEHkKmydAIXepS4RYdzb-dTjiz2VBPVEm6lOEP0iRy90OHFsZW3of2HhF7tTGN_74AqBo/s640/P1030296.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Free snake with your T Shirt!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Amedee Island, which is a conservation zone,
is well known for its turtle population, and on our last snorkel, getting up
close and personal with these encrusted and inoffensive creatures was easy to
do. Some turtles came complete with ‘hangers-on”; remoras that thumbed a lift
to wherever the turtle was heading, whilst for us, gliding over and around the”
bombies” and coral gardens was a treat that we do not tire of. With our duck
tethered nearby to board when we were feeling chill, we swam to it and boarded
just as a substantial reef shark glided underneath. The pity was that Cookie
missed the finned visitor, as it might have prompted a record for duck re-entry
that would stand for a while. Back on board, as we prepared to leave, we
speculated about what would happen to the raft of remoras that had taken up
residence on our keel. Cookie’s droll observation was that “they are getting
attached to us you know”. Indeed.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>They looked quite attached to one another!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">All that remained was for us to release from
our mooring, unfurl a full headsail, and paying heed to a couple of nearby
reefs, make our way across the lagoon for Noumea, or more correctly, Ile Uere,
where snugged in and with plenty of chain deployed, we could plan our return to
Port Moselle, because although we were far from scouring the shorelines for
discarded morsels, we were in fact running out of some lines of produce. To be
out of capsicums and eggplants – which we were - is an annoyance; to be out of
cheese and wine – which we were not – meant that life could continue. The
weather was holding though, and via Predict Wind we found that the next day saw
breezes tending to the north-east around Noumea, just perfect for us to anchor
off the “nightlife coast” of Baie de Citron, go ashore for a long swim and
maybe treat ourselves to a meal at one of the cosmopolitan cafés in the
evening. In fact, after an easy trundle out of Ile Uere, this is exactly what
we did, blending in with the beachside tourists by day, and in the eve,
attending a relaxed, open air pasta and pizza eatery, with a musical ensemble
that created a pleasing and soporific ambience that softened us a little for
the bill to come.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijQwUNEso4Ts5HUyQrJboOH8x0CdQvoJz65ztppSugJJfk4eiztwDd2KH4dkcoMgkJ3WcoZibzg7VbOaW7-Kg5QaDli2TZpNgv3SfYHnQI49wY3EW3o5kr0_BcGzWqDr6ADyxSeT5_QBo_/s1600/P1030342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijQwUNEso4Ts5HUyQrJboOH8x0CdQvoJz65ztppSugJJfk4eiztwDd2KH4dkcoMgkJ3WcoZibzg7VbOaW7-Kg5QaDli2TZpNgv3SfYHnQI49wY3EW3o5kr0_BcGzWqDr6ADyxSeT5_QBo_/s640/P1030342.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKfI3aPXeRugz6TU7ByuoucM0rcYEraDsuSVcMPIp9jegapPbSrCUo0iAtEggYaDdrjG-7-7mTCgLHe3peYWWQhzge-oQ1yWUbd5saFkIMScvKJ-ms64oh5TV00uWqi8YsWWfLl0c8WAJB/s1600/P1030357.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKfI3aPXeRugz6TU7ByuoucM0rcYEraDsuSVcMPIp9jegapPbSrCUo0iAtEggYaDdrjG-7-7mTCgLHe3peYWWQhzge-oQ1yWUbd5saFkIMScvKJ-ms64oh5TV00uWqi8YsWWfLl0c8WAJB/s640/P1030357.JPG" width="640" /></i></b></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Baie de Citron</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By now, apart from a need to re-supply,
Cookie’s notepad was brimming with a raft of required tasks, most of which
needed for us to be in port to complete. First of these was to re-fuel at Port
Moselle, and in the morning we came alongside the fuel wharf, taking on board
our first fuel since Scarborough. Across the harbor and abeam of Noumea we
noted with fondness, the unmistakeable lines of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific Pearl, </i>and we reflected for a while on the incredible
experiences that had occurred for us since our trip here on that very ship,
just 12 months earlier. Voyaging on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific
Pearl </i>left us deep in thought about the idea of sailing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>to these waters and left us
asking the key question…”could we really do that?” (see Blog 1 March 2016)</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWW2lgjtFqbVJ9ubPPQRQcx4c4Lu07JeYLQ-arejvdyFIdtgMUFJDcizwncOl_Qu35twSnO6fott7gZHMjNjYu0cYojjQ8iQvEsuuBJRwvb2n5P15f1ro0tD2gvofGPya1j1NRlvh2Xob/s1600/P1030367.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWW2lgjtFqbVJ9ubPPQRQcx4c4Lu07JeYLQ-arejvdyFIdtgMUFJDcizwncOl_Qu35twSnO6fott7gZHMjNjYu0cYojjQ8iQvEsuuBJRwvb2n5P15f1ro0tD2gvofGPya1j1NRlvh2Xob/s640/P1030367.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Refuelling with Pacific Pearl in the background</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When we arrived at Noumea on 7/7/16, our
thoughts were to make a brief exploration of local waters before setting sail
for Vanuatu. Now with the experiences that we have had in the great lagoon of
Noumea, we are admittedly in a quandary. We would dearly love to visit the
Loyalty Islands, a part of New Caledonia, but this would require a longish trip
out there and another back because, although the geography would be perfect to
head for Vanuatu from there, we would have to return to Noumea to “clear out”
of the country. Also, we have yet to explore the marine delights to the south
of New Caledonia, down to and including the Ile des Pins - the Isle of Pines.
With all of this in our thoughts and Vanuatu still lying on our radar, far away
to the north-east, we have planned to re-supply, attend to a few things, catch
up with some good souls and pencil in a departure for the south of Nouvelle
Caledonie, in the fair weather predicted for the following week. Our foray into
the great lagoon of New Caledonia has exceeded all of our expectations, and has
left us thinking that if there are cruising yachts enjoying better surrounds
than we are then we would like to know where these places lie. Next week
though, providing all goes well, we hope to see the Ile des Pins take form off
the bow of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista.</i> We can hardly
wait.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyaPJ6nHaCyZfDan3gbTMezgep8op_DliZts-OsPJuvloq0TfDAWLTONKlJTPPh6_U4_uQqqBpPEBoERzyo8RvA0uxuKXMNgNNv6MLAZGUw9hQAJMTdCn4S444gAu1toww3PDYCXc7E8-l/s1600/P1030364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyaPJ6nHaCyZfDan3gbTMezgep8op_DliZts-OsPJuvloq0TfDAWLTONKlJTPPh6_U4_uQqqBpPEBoERzyo8RvA0uxuKXMNgNNv6MLAZGUw9hQAJMTdCn4S444gAu1toww3PDYCXc7E8-l/s640/P1030364.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-38966736782534485212016-07-29T16:07:00.000-07:002016-07-29T16:07:46.055-07:00<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Noumea and local Isles</i></b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>7/7/16 – 17/7/16</i></b></span></span></div>
<b><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">( </span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">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.)</span></i><br />
<i></i><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Port Moselle Marina Noumea: almost a
champagne destination. The port of Noumea nestles in a bay, whose entry via
Passe Petit – small pass – is wide enough to admit cruise liners, the French
Navy, some commercial traffic and more cruising yachts that we have ever seen.
Here, large motor cruisers are in the minority and sail rules the waves. A view
from Google would show marinas crammed to overfilling and a host of boats
moored or anchored alongside the shipping channel, cheek by jowl, stern by bow,
with nary a space to allow transit between. Who owns all of these boats may
remain a mystery to us, because, where it really matters, out at the islands,
cays and reefs within the lagoon protected by the barrier reef and floating on
turquoise and aquamarine, sublime solitude can be had with the city of Noumea
still in sight. We had to pinch ourselves when we realised this to be true.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGlGnEgFvAU5UgKmCkN_lBlJfgIZcB54M93ack8AmMMygZslmML8ok9X8D_mAIhIDRH46FdeTeDA7CJg_j6zjLxbgLOu7r2zopDIgKu0XAeSbAsonMzBRwpTjnsxmyASby1njrJ6OvFK8v/s1600/P1020875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGlGnEgFvAU5UgKmCkN_lBlJfgIZcB54M93ack8AmMMygZslmML8ok9X8D_mAIhIDRH46FdeTeDA7CJg_j6zjLxbgLOu7r2zopDIgKu0XAeSbAsonMzBRwpTjnsxmyASby1njrJ6OvFK8v/s640/P1020875.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sunset Port Moselle Marina</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sadly, too many cruising yachts arriving in
Australia report a stifling level of officialdom connected with the formal and
sometimes draconian entry processes, and we carried a pinch of unease about how
we would find the French gendarmerie in Noumea, and we were ready to appeal to
the new links between France, South Australia, and Submarines, should the
wheels of bureaucracy have needed some greasing. We could refer to at least
having sailed past the Adelaide Submarine Corporation, if we needed to resort
to name dropping, and maybe that back home we knew people in high places – take
the folk who live up on Cut Hill out of Victor Harbor for starters. Anyway, our
concerns proved to be utterly baseless, with the Customs and Immigration
formalities extending to one form and two smiles and the Quarantine Officer not
choosing to come below and inspect our fridge, our pantry, or our wine
collection, in spite of our earnest entreaties. Being pillars of society and
having honesty and probity as our core values, we came clean, and showed our
comestible contraband; in effect three cheeses slices, a couple of bananas and
an open packet of Vita Wheats. The affable Bio-Security gent suggested we make
a cheese sandwich and finish of the bananas on our way to the bin with the rest
and….by the way….welcome to Noumea! And, the cost of this process, zero, zilch,
zippo and nought – although it is double on Sunday!</span><br />
<br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There has to be a catch, we figured. So, we
had already sailed past postcard coral isles abeam of the ship channel: the
markets where a kaleidoscopic array of tropical fruit, legumes (vegetables) and
poissin (fish) were just alongside the marina; Noumea itself, a cosmopolitan
delight of 100,000pax was a five minute walk away; whilst between all of this
was a bistro that served, as we were assured very cold cold beer, and here we
were being welcomed like lost cousins from Whyte Yarcowie, by the Officials of
the Republic, and by the charming staff of the marina, and all the time shorts
and loose shirts were de rigueur whilst at home the hardest edge of winter was
grating like carborundum. Yes there <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">had </i>to
be a catch, because there were squillions of winter-weary folk back home who
would love to be doing as we were about to – and lots of them fly further away
to places in Asia to find their April sun in Cuba. Maybe we were about to find
out what the catch was. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0M9P_yNuxI3pAbzCfIHPRgNmtyWOM9ntUTzjtbQUxGj_hyZ_yIM-pq0r3GrkriGAznqvYu9fV9Cix7e95uXK8Krm2_vNg11XCfMCxuO6ypBmDO4tqrFtQ9RlCWjTwL_8LKfR8HkSQwOiT/s1600/IMG_1343.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0M9P_yNuxI3pAbzCfIHPRgNmtyWOM9ntUTzjtbQUxGj_hyZ_yIM-pq0r3GrkriGAznqvYu9fV9Cix7e95uXK8Krm2_vNg11XCfMCxuO6ypBmDO4tqrFtQ9RlCWjTwL_8LKfR8HkSQwOiT/s640/IMG_1343.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Celebrating our arrival with local beers and dinner at the</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Le bout du monde Bar Brasserie (which means The tip of the world )</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My French is at the embryonic stage, but I
can confidently manage three offerings: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bonjour,
au revoir, and Veuve Clequot </i>Cookie on the other hand with Year 10 French,
and experience in backpacking through the Republic in the ‘eighties, was sworn
in as our emissary. Soon, with herself still to arrive from a much longed-for
post - voyage launder, I made my way to the Bistro Bar, used one of my language
trilogy, but was stuck at this point because it was a large beer that had my
focus, not champagne, and I had no intention of leaving just yet. The svelte
young thing behind the beer taps took my solitary word in her stride and in a
voice as sweet and heady as Drambuie – is that French because if it is that
makes four – asked me I think, “so what’ll it be”, and I struck hard on a
linguistic reef. Now I was seeking the mercy rule or the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">merci </i>rule – that might be five – and with pointing, gesticulating
and salivating I hinted at the ice clad taps, indicated large, and made praying
gestures. It worked! Then…to decide which of the </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">offerings
</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I might try, my flummoxed visage had her glancing over
her shoulder in the direction of the management before she started a process of
pouring a little of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">each</i> for me to
try. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Viola! </i>(six?).</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">
</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Bon apetit! (eight
and on a roll). </span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With the Admiralty now having arrived we
settled on two beers of bird-bath dimensions – hers a Whisky beer [throwback to
earlier period of decadence] and mine a lemon beer [delicious] - and it was
time for our bill. I showed her my wallet with its Australian money and she
nodded. I took out a $10 note – I had forgotten I was not in Indonesia - and
she frowned. This was not a good sign. Then she gestured something like “one
more” and I fumbled for a $1 gold coin. Still she was not appeased… until I
realised…..<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">one more $10 note</i> was it, and
once produced she smiled, very sweetly, and sashayed away. $20 for two beers! A
couple of rounds would add up to a second mortgage. So <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that </i>was the catch. Get used to New Caledonia being expensive, and
you’ll be fine. Lucky Cookie and I had been to see her Uncle Dan (Murphy, on
the Irish side), back in Scarborough and our seven day passage was due more to
the burden of the cellar in our bilge, rather than to a paucity of wind. We wondered at this point what a brace of
Submarines must be costing us back home, and whether a sweet young thing with a
voice like liqueur had clinched the deal.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC13KECc3gG8Az1Wnt5uh6cp8wyO25-7rph2KBkKEZQUue5V_76w5tLysATe1v6Te4xOXFzVkgBBfqJBCfjQMGdPqstjWSNRgNp5rnkHsYePqgmoSjW-93d7GecOLI7zSEus6HLchjrclc/s1600/P1020921.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC13KECc3gG8Az1Wnt5uh6cp8wyO25-7rph2KBkKEZQUue5V_76w5tLysATe1v6Te4xOXFzVkgBBfqJBCfjQMGdPqstjWSNRgNp5rnkHsYePqgmoSjW-93d7GecOLI7zSEus6HLchjrclc/s640/P1020921.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Enjoying a beer with Marcel</i></b></span> </td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back in the Marina at the “new arrivals”
finger, a mixed grill of yachts had pulled in each with a story to tell. A New
Zealand couple had been beaten up in passage and with shredded sails they had
limped in to repair a little more than their canvas, but most had a more
positive experience and were, like us, just pleased to be in Noumea and with
some rest, reprovisioning and some slumber, looking forward to heading out to
explore the nautical delights of this enchanting country. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Diddys </i>had arrived a day before us, with Marcel, his son Phillipe, brother-in-law
Justin and crewman Brian, which we thought was fine considering we applied the
“brakes” and had under-sailed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>for
more than the last 24 hours at sea. By heading north out of Scarborough they
had placed themselves in heavier conditions, and in the wash-up we were pleased
with the softer path that we had chosen. There is a commonality of experience
amongst cruising yachtspersons, and as a result getting to know some fine folk
from other places, was an easy and enriching thing to do. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">New Caledonia with its spectacular forested
uplands, is dominated by the main island, Grand Terre, the third largest in the
Pacific, which lies like a 300km by say 40km sausage roll, wrapped in an
emerald lagoon, laying SE – NW abeam of the Coral Sea. To its east lie the
sublimely beautiful Loyalty Islands, Ouvea, Lifou and Mare whilst closer, and
to the SE is found the Isle of Pines, an ever popular destination for cruise
liners. Those who arrive here on a liner avoid the expense of on-shore
accommodation, but get only a lick of what is turning out to be a very
delicious ice-cream, or more commonly sorbet, as is the style here.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We arrived flying what we were assured in
Adelaide was the “New Caledonia flag”, but this turns out to be the
“independence” Flag of NC, and by flying it and not the French Tricolour, we
have committed a diplomatic <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">faux pas </i>(nine?),
and if the amphibians find out we might be shown the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Passe Petit.</i>and be asked to recant or leave. We are still flying
the NC Flag, and note that in a year or so the locals will get a form of Brexit
vote, although we fear that in spite of some aspects of French rule being
overbearing and the understandable desire of some locals to paddle their own
canoe, as it were, we would hate to see the French sail away and New Cal become
yet another failing state in our region.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv3kcmESk2vvJjpKwhyphenhyphenxigBOjttKAAfmpVwmXxf9OcMBWTat9gYFtum8JPwIGpftWKr3-GSIH-Z6FOcTIK8Dh_GiWiqSEIBNn-UcnMoXJRkVzI3Hx-KvsjoIBQyRUnpEd1vTuTPBq-xgdP/s1600/P1020795.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv3kcmESk2vvJjpKwhyphenhyphenxigBOjttKAAfmpVwmXxf9OcMBWTat9gYFtum8JPwIGpftWKr3-GSIH-Z6FOcTIK8Dh_GiWiqSEIBNn-UcnMoXJRkVzI3Hx-KvsjoIBQyRUnpEd1vTuTPBq-xgdP/s640/P1020795.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Our neighbour from California.. been cruising round the world for 18 years!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There are similarities in relation to French
rule in New Caledonia and British rule in Australia, not the least of which
could be listed the awful treatment of the native Kanak population and the use
of this pacific outpost as a dumping ground for the hardest of France’s
convicts in the 1800’s.. It was the great mariner James Cook who “discovered”
New Caledonia, and named it thus, after its physical similarities with the
Caledonia district in Scotland. The French eventually beat the tardy British to
erecting their flag here, although what British rule might have led to is
anyone’s guess. Part of current-day Australia: who knows? </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For us the real attraction of New Caledonia
was likely to be its remarkable coast-hugging lagoon strip, dotted with enough
tropical islands to whet the appetite of any marine visitors. New Caledonia has
the world’s second biggest barrier reef, and the lagoon that it encompasses was
listed by UNESCO as a World Heritage site in 2008, which saw the locals
brimming with pride. By comparison with Australia’s Barrier Reef, the outer
reef in New Caledonia is only a short boat ride from the mainland and hence the
vast lagoon system is an easily accessed playground for all, including those of
us who have recently arrived to sip on its delights. The UN listing has
presented a challenge for the country though, because whilst committed to the
preservation of this unique marine treasure, the country also earns most of its
cash from its abundant nickel deposits, with the processes of extraction and
processing being totally at odds with the preservation of pristine coral. There
have been mining “mishaps” that have sullied rivers and the precious lagoon to
the ire of all bar the miners. The clash of economic and environmental
imperatives has caused great angst here. Sadly, we know who is likely to
prevail.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In Port Moselle, all the talk was of the
Bastille Day celebrations on the 14<sup>th</sup> of July, and from the marina
we could not only have ring-side seats, but if we wanted, we could actually
take part in the parade portion of the festivities, from a nearby park to the
centre of town, the charming and sublimely peaceful Plaice des Cocotiers. We
figured, though, that rather than wait in port for all this to unfold; we could
head out of Noumea for a couple of days to see if the lagoon and some of its
closer islands were as delightful as some cruisers made them to be. We admit
having a tall order but we were searching for a tropical isle, one that we
could walk around, sandals in one hand, that had sand of alabaster white, some
trees for shade, placid waters for swimming and maybe some nice reef, complete
with Nemo, to entice our snorkelling gear out of the front locker. Whilst at
it, we should throw in a request for some local wildlife, and a secure
anchorage where we could overnight, after watching the sun set over something
like paradise. Then, because we might as well go totally for broke, could we
have this idyllic isle to ourselves, and could all of this be just out from
Noumea so we could get back for Bastille Day and play our part in the parade?
Well…with a little help from a friend….we found it…actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">them, </i>because as we were about to find
out, there were lots of islands just like this in the tropical lagoons of New
Caledonia. This was hard to believe, but it was true.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With potentially so much to see, we needed
help to find islands, navigate our way around them and to go to the best and
safest anchoring places amongst the reefs, shoals and coral heads. We had come
armed with some information from Australia, but having met a New Zealand couple
at Port Moselle, they showed us the extraordinary “Rocket and Cruising Guide”
to sailing in New Caledonia and Vanuatu, an interactive guide of such detail
and quality that it was an imperative to purchase, and to have on board. Cookie,
who thought her mastery of the satellite systems meant the end of technology
for a while, found that the disks of the newly purchased guide would not “load’
properly and would not “talk” to our on-board laptop. None of this was helped
by the NZ couple who airily told her “all we did was put in the disks, pop in a
code and we were up and running”. Some hours later, a frustrated and
incandescent sailing companion discovered that a key part of the instruction,
including a vital code, had not been received by us because our e-address had
been misspelt!! Now, armed with state of the art cruising information, we went
in search of our islands in the sun.</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSB5bhVoMuT3C-1hHV39c7ZxmYsgE1TzqmfSBW6Nyd7fl4dw5hTsmelWB9bPtyJjoopiw2CaBWLm_YRmDTIcyX1AM9ppXV6QFofBFNIr5W-7vwWE8QCkf6ZvSEn1Ujj39CvGpqWHOFU5tr/s1600/P1020849.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSB5bhVoMuT3C-1hHV39c7ZxmYsgE1TzqmfSBW6Nyd7fl4dw5hTsmelWB9bPtyJjoopiw2CaBWLm_YRmDTIcyX1AM9ppXV6QFofBFNIr5W-7vwWE8QCkf6ZvSEn1Ujj39CvGpqWHOFU5tr/s640/P1020849.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Exploring the wonderful sheltered anchorages inside the lagoon</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our Noumea sojourn had been brief but we
would be back in a few days, and the call of the islands was too great to
ignore. On Sunday 10/7, with a 10-15 knot sou-wester gripping our canvas, we
slid out of Passe Petite, and charged up the lagoon to the nor-west in search
of sand between our toes. My over charged imagination on our arrival hinted at
dripping rainforests, lianas, and perhaps the odd Macaw, but as we headed up
the lagoon, a closer inspection via the ship’s glasses showed that yes, the
mountainous spine of New Caledonia was clad in forest, but closer to the coast
there was evidence of rain-shadow dryness on the narrow coastal plain that
looked not unlike, but grander than the lower Flinders Ranges between Port
Pirie and Port Augusta in SA, after a good season. Whilst all this unfolded to
starboard, off to port, and not too far away was the line of breakers,
endlessly expending their energy on the outer barrier reef, Le Grand Recife.
Between, and after a couple of hours, just ahead, lay the first of our chosen islands,
Ilot Ndue, and because we had coordinates for finding our way to it between its
surrounding reefs, with one at the helm and one observing ahead, we were soon
rattling out our anchor chain, and settling back to enjoy our first tropical
isle. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9DktSERwBavzmcP4L6aQ12O355ApNucUF-UHn38dNsUYVhuotRZeiy57NmwrER3ogkBzt8LtE1kPeTLFh1er7AXZXWDEDz99UrdSD0Eat0hIfAK-IlU32aZQyHxTbFs_hFfvr8LAXOoj/s1600/P1020806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9DktSERwBavzmcP4L6aQ12O355ApNucUF-UHn38dNsUYVhuotRZeiy57NmwrER3ogkBzt8LtE1kPeTLFh1er7AXZXWDEDz99UrdSD0Eat0hIfAK-IlU32aZQyHxTbFs_hFfvr8LAXOoj/s640/P1020806.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Beautiful Ilot Ndue</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6FSS82DwLjqQwkbkUsNt5NlNplMsprdJtpv4_ASJO2Mhs4iwtbOm4fGXJGG8yHLCdmbjAFJw1FBEsgMGRamq0FAjloh-2tu1tU9V4bBtn-VmqpoeI-BTjmueZ1dWa7OS-rpPnXNDIxCVW/s1600/P1020820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6FSS82DwLjqQwkbkUsNt5NlNplMsprdJtpv4_ASJO2Mhs4iwtbOm4fGXJGG8yHLCdmbjAFJw1FBEsgMGRamq0FAjloh-2tu1tU9V4bBtn-VmqpoeI-BTjmueZ1dWa7OS-rpPnXNDIxCVW/s640/P1020820.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Yes, we went ashore, walked around it, wondered at the activity of a pair
of Osprey feeding their young in a nest just alongside the beach, and flopped
in its enticing lagoon, as the sun commenced its inexorable slide toward the
western horizon. Cookie tells me that just shy of midnight and through to the
wee hours, a stiff sou-easter arose and had us dancing about on our ground
tackle, compromising our comforts below. She felt obliged to set alarms for
depth and drag, and lay nervously awake whilst I slept untroubled through to
the calm of the morning. I subscribe to the dictum of Capt. Cotton, that links
of anchor chain render little service if they remain in the anchor locker – we had
plenty of chain out and was never going to move.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdwpXn7m2tkVsOdHfD4-t1nTMCDRSca9nyLk9EcDAlU7YrQikR_CHWhQ4-mYwYzwvTfWiFFpUoPKnhoaTgza02w7KBzBNwCDMnkScfod8kYSzIDom4CIY4jGfGGL-qX3EZWcxce8t_xuVU/s1600/P1020813.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdwpXn7m2tkVsOdHfD4-t1nTMCDRSca9nyLk9EcDAlU7YrQikR_CHWhQ4-mYwYzwvTfWiFFpUoPKnhoaTgza02w7KBzBNwCDMnkScfod8kYSzIDom4CIY4jGfGGL-qX3EZWcxce8t_xuVU/s640/P1020813.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The Osprey hovering over her chicks</i></b></span><br />
<b><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></b></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpJSj3xTdREfz0z-n9aQhIZw73YDcUibmexdBEF_Mfx28kfyogidsvG9beZrS29fqYP4s9vdO05qzSEOM5XtFR0aQXHEGdczLaHncZD9rhJht20oYXLb4R7XbHFNkyJ_MCyvOT2BlnxCOe/s1600/P1020818.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpJSj3xTdREfz0z-n9aQhIZw73YDcUibmexdBEF_Mfx28kfyogidsvG9beZrS29fqYP4s9vdO05qzSEOM5XtFR0aQXHEGdczLaHncZD9rhJht20oYXLb4R7XbHFNkyJ_MCyvOT2BlnxCOe/s640/P1020818.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The next day, we felt, could hardly be
superior in quality, and yet at Ilot Mbe Kouen, it was, with plenty to spare.
The way to this little gem, between Ilot Mba, Ilot Mbo, and would you believe
it Ilot Mbe, was easily found via “Rocket” our electronic navigator, and after
5nm, there it was, the classic “desert island” , yes with the turquoise water,
gleaming sand, a handful of trees and an allure that was irresistible. We were
ashore in record time, and with beach shelter erected to deflect the late
winter sun we were at a loss whether to swim, snorkel, walk around the island
or to pinch ourselves that this place really existed and that yes the city of
Noumea lay just across the lagoon, only miles away. In the end after a 5minute
stroll around the islet – we did it twice, the second to better our time - we
did all of the above and watched in awe as a pair of raptors perched on the
southern spit of the cay, and allowed Cookie to approach within metres, as
though they were waiting to be photographed to feature in this blog. It was a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">jour extraordinaire</i></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Life's a Beach</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We were understandably reluctant to sail away
from the wonderful Ilot Mbe Kouen, but in the new morn we did, believing that
too much of a good thing might lead to three much of a good thing, and without
much temptation we might eschew “civilised” life and go and live with the
Osprey. Our other incentive in this whirlwind tour of familiarisation, was to
experience a “mainland” anchorage, one that came recommended and one that would
offer shelter from the stiff sou-easter, due later in the day. All this saw us
setting waypoints for the popular Baie Maa, just an hour or so away. This bay,
or baie, offers a couple of cusped beaches and with excellent holding and we
tried two spots, going ashore for a shell-fossick each time. Cookie is a
non-reformed “shellaholic”, whose focus in these waters is to find one of New
Cal’s famous nautilus shells, and twice at Baie Maa she shrieked and rushed
forward on the beach to find a partial nautilus laying on the high tide line.
We enjoyed our beach walks here but would not stray far into the bush, as it
seemed that from every tree the webs of Golden Orb spiders threatened ensnarement,
and with the bodies of some of these creatures as large as handsome grapes, we
stayed well clear of them. Predictably Cookie’s daily journal, plus her “sketch
of the day”, which has been a personalised feature of our voyages for years
now, predictably featured a tree adorned with arachnids. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Baie Maa ...beware the Orbs!</i></b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Morning light.. Baie Maa</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">John and Ann off <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Essex Girl </i>(see Newcastle and Port Stephens blogs) had reported seeing
dugongs whilst anchored in Baie Maa in 2015 and we hoped that we might spot
some as well. There are about 1000 of these lumbering sea grazers in New
Caledonian waters and they are now strictly protected. However, scan the waters
as we did, their presence eluded us, although other creatures soon captured our
attention, as they were directly under <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista
</i>where she lay at anchor. We were unaware that they were there until Cookie
flicked overboard some crusts from her jaffle production below. There was a
sudden rush and splash, made by brace of ghost-like fish with tell-tale
sticking cups on the back of their heads. Remoras! Maybe they had mistaken, in
their myopic way, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista’s </i>rounded
hull for the flank of a humpback or even a dugong. To photograph these unique
fish we decided to break up a crust and jettison four of five broken bits into
the bay. In the end we decided that five was better than four as, obviously,
one does not give a sucker an even break.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The Remoras became quite attached to us!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span id="goog_1111873184"></span><span id="goog_1111873185"><br /></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The eve of Bastille Day was the following day
so our fabulous little excursion into the lagoon needed to end and
consequently, with a final and futile look for sea-cows, we retraced our way
out of Baie Maa and made for Noumea. We had considered anchoring out near the
city but in the meantime headed for Baie de Citron, to the south of the city,
where a strip of eateries lay alongside the local beach where swimmers had a
designated area set aside, especially for triathlon training, although it was
also popular amongst travelling beachgoers, more committed to tanning,
appearance and sloth. We felt the need to balance recent excesses with a longer
swim, but before this we sauntered into one of the aforementioned
establishments, because, as they say, when in Noumea, you have a coffee at
noon. It was lucky that we did, because in awaiting our cappuccinos, a glance
at the broader menu and a tourist broadsheet, soon had us coming up with a start.
The Bastille Day parade, fireworks and all the hoopla, was on the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">EVE </i>of Bastille Day, in other words
TONIGHT! In no time we had urgently called the marina for a berth, swum the Baie,
returned aboard with haste and made for the Petit Passe once again.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl5YvQql26OoY0ab3hG-yncSgufoEreTG7hHT0lYi3obPRO5Eol58_CyVxcMPLTOiSewZ6RTL0gzeRxUncyfAoM7wanpafAcFe_6FzamSEERUA9yrcyVTAu9cI6ws2WyS2-6p5-4729eJi/s1600/P1020887.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl5YvQql26OoY0ab3hG-yncSgufoEreTG7hHT0lYi3obPRO5Eol58_CyVxcMPLTOiSewZ6RTL0gzeRxUncyfAoM7wanpafAcFe_6FzamSEERUA9yrcyVTAu9cI6ws2WyS2-6p5-4729eJi/s640/P1020887.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Enjoying the Bastille Day Lantern Parade</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As we eased into a berth at Port Moselle with
the marina staff there to catch our lines in the rising sou-easter, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Diddys </i>was just opposite us and Marcel,
now crewless, readily agreed to join us in the festivities to come. In his
youth in France he fondly remembered lantern parades, and how they had an
enduring connection to the overthrow of the French aristocracy, way back in
July 1789. In Noumea locals gather as the latter day proletariat, and the city
authorities had 5000 candle lit lanterns ready to distribute for the parade
into town. As one does, we joined the masses, and amongst mums and dads, kids,
teens with iPhones, older folk and the young and the free, we got our lantern
and stormed into town to the Plaice des Cocotiers where fireworks and not the
burning of the Bastille were the order of the day. Not sure if we should have
chanted <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">libertie, equalitie and
fraternatie, </i>but the crowd erupted<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>again
and again as the pyrotechnics lit up Noumea’s night sky. In the middle of it
all I could feel heat on my leg and could smell burning and sure enough it was
one of our lanterns, on fire by mistake and causing a flurry of stamping and
rapid response by those around us. The night ended with some slick music and
dance centred around Palaice de Cocotiers’ iconic bandstand, and the proximity
of Port Moselle to the centre of it all was highlighted by the fact that it
took us only minutes to be back on board with the kettle on, one lantern short,
but enriched by the experience.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifhM_rPrFeV-vFS-SfOTDFUe-Chdkor-XYDKJu8-WcD-esFgdZuoOx3DC8i5gQBjqkTFsqjXkJ7YwpDiI5W1k-gM6I3gIsoNO1FZqHROXU26x37sbcJFIXeJCbeTeU7p1bovwClaOfkkOd/s1600/P1020896.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifhM_rPrFeV-vFS-SfOTDFUe-Chdkor-XYDKJu8-WcD-esFgdZuoOx3DC8i5gQBjqkTFsqjXkJ7YwpDiI5W1k-gM6I3gIsoNO1FZqHROXU26x37sbcJFIXeJCbeTeU7p1bovwClaOfkkOd/s640/P1020896.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Great Fireworks...including our lantern!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Next morning, and again just across the way
from us Bastille Day proper was celebrated with a military parade, colour
trouping, speech making and a New Zealand style <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">haka </i>in front of local dignitaries, featuring a collection of
French Navy personnel; complete with shoes polished like mirrors, and appearing
as so many pressed white flowers. All of this was broadcast in French which
utterly overwhelmed my trilogy and left us thinking “well, that must have been
important – wonder what it was all about?”</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaGRnPZ0KKXBKWOJd8kv1J9VI9YYG47b8mJlW2hwOwifEgRo1q1o5JKh7Txocl-GrfMQGlgCpEAWcVotyBDNVRYeyVkJSDSMhDhA901YP7V6ZlD-eIF8Ypx78sjFeJW-NPJMLxuK_ujfm1/s1600/P1020907.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaGRnPZ0KKXBKWOJd8kv1J9VI9YYG47b8mJlW2hwOwifEgRo1q1o5JKh7Txocl-GrfMQGlgCpEAWcVotyBDNVRYeyVkJSDSMhDhA901YP7V6ZlD-eIF8Ypx78sjFeJW-NPJMLxuK_ujfm1/s640/P1020907.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The Military Parade</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Bastille Day ushered in what was a big weekend
in Noumea. At Port Moselle we had front row seats, given that the Bistro was
right next to where we were moored, and for three nights local bands knocked
out some fine music and we just strolled up, bought a beer and mixed in with
the festivities. By this time we had adjusted to “Noumea prices”, and the sad
state of the “monopoly money” that is Australian currency, but not quite to the
propensity for the French to smoke like a Lancashire mill when
socialising.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The level of smoking by the
French at play reminded us of what Australia was like decades ago, if you went
out to a pub for a night out. Fortunately, the bands were playing outdoors and
we were able to use the lingering sou-easter to stay upwind of the spirals of
smoke rising upwards, not unlike those that had emanated from our red, white,
blue and blackened lantern. The best of these rock shows, was that put on by
the New Caledonia Free Bikers, who arrived with throaty roars leading to line-up
of machines that would have thrilled any two wheeled aficionados, although we
were not sure if by mingling with this crew we might be mixing it with a band
of local ruffians and reprobates. Were they bikers or bikies? In no time
though, it was clear if this leathered lot was once ruthless, they were now
toothless – both sexes! We had a great night, carousing, smiling broadly where
my trilogy, failed and inspecting their magnificent machines between sets. With
the greatest of respect to Messrs Harley and Davidson, a sleek shiny and
utterly imperious Indian, for us stole the show. The couple who owned it
stepped regally onto this monster at the end of the night, and with an
imperious wave, left in a symphony of gears and cogs that would have shamed the
Royal Philharmonic. Cookie whose past includes a period as a two-wheel devotee,
nearly wept.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>What a Bike.. and great band too!</i></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCvlI5VhyxErkZic4P1-2uHOxkmKA9sYfjfUwGP9EBCEbHIXXt9dpYhMk9RCe8-JHTWzg2KxtdI7LToiIfjsSpF2PL2WHCWZG7ICTbI08LBPN6Qq8nZw4cCUSP84EqFwLLqyUNtLcHZou/s1600/P1020925.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCvlI5VhyxErkZic4P1-2uHOxkmKA9sYfjfUwGP9EBCEbHIXXt9dpYhMk9RCe8-JHTWzg2KxtdI7LToiIfjsSpF2PL2WHCWZG7ICTbI08LBPN6Qq8nZw4cCUSP84EqFwLLqyUNtLcHZou/s640/P1020925.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To top it all off Bastille Weekend ended with
the immense and ghostly form of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific
Jewel </i>arriving in port – everyone on board must have breathed in as they
slid through <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Passe Petite – </i>and took
up residence just abeam of downtown Noumea, and, yes, just a stroll away from
Port Moselle. We started these blogs by referring to our “familiarisation”
cruise to these waters on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific Pearl </i>but
failed to mention an aspect of the cruise that caused us to cringe. It was
clear that some of those on board had boarded as passengers, but was determined
to leave as cargo, due to their unending commitment to the ship’s smorgasbord;
waddling in to the eatery and never seeming to leave. Seeing some of them had
us musing that P&O should be re-tagged as M&O: morbid and obese. Cookie
in a cheeky moment that was unkindly and undisciplined suggested that given our
cruise experience and the propensities of and dimensions of some of those on
big ship that “we need to get down there….might be our best chance to spot a
dugong.” Leaving this aside, though, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jewel
</i>became at once the tallest edifice in town, lording it over the city and
able to be seen for miles around. We know how cruise liners fit like a hand in
a velvet glove at Circular Quay in Sydney, gloriously bookended by the Sydney
Harbor Bridge and The Opera House, and yet here in Noumea, stepping out from
the Plaice des Cocotiers, the central park, and looking down the street to see
the immense form of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific Jewel </i>just
there, just down the road was something else again. Naturally, we were there to
see her leave, traditionally and beautifully at sunset, although we were
surprised to be able to saunter down onto the wharf right where the lines were
being freed from the bollards where we could have easily helped out with the
bow lines and springers had they been short-handed on the dock.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO6VcNvRN4F7Ki35PdZxIa2HpanLf5QE8FINFdpUBTnbMC8FE3P8kSZUCgqsKLR-60KBUJFb544kSDCvNTPfhUSsuWsJE965DkaJ8Hm_r5oRoWHL6ep0xOAnCTLBY6HzxSEaHD9MOWugv6/s1600/P1020933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO6VcNvRN4F7Ki35PdZxIa2HpanLf5QE8FINFdpUBTnbMC8FE3P8kSZUCgqsKLR-60KBUJFb544kSDCvNTPfhUSsuWsJE965DkaJ8Hm_r5oRoWHL6ep0xOAnCTLBY6HzxSEaHD9MOWugv6/s640/P1020933.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Pacific Jewel towering above the city landscape.</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific
Jewel</i> sailing away like a floating suburb into the fading light it was time
for us to make a move out of port as well. A cursory look at our cruising guide
told us that the enchanted islands that we had briefly and recently visited was
but an entrée and that laying there, languid and enticing in the lagoon, stretching
up some 30nm to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Passe St Vincent </i>and
beyond, might be some islands and other attractions that could bring us to a
greater understanding of the wonders of New Caledonia. We were now a one
lantern ship, but we were ready again to leave port and head north into the
great lagoon, to investigate its nautical<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a> attractions for
ourselves.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9c7_WS6Puf3Ye2HiOUBJNQfweHK42-L89VygA5K0gp_UuzvGIMpHONyiLb33Lpt1F15HWdQ-hjXQHiesFQESl311c6peR0XPppGKmIAYfOwRfKXDMi6E_ncPIBj4yAf4uHsgwVcrKorJI/s1600/P1020938.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9c7_WS6Puf3Ye2HiOUBJNQfweHK42-L89VygA5K0gp_UuzvGIMpHONyiLb33Lpt1F15HWdQ-hjXQHiesFQESl311c6peR0XPppGKmIAYfOwRfKXDMi6E_ncPIBj4yAf4uHsgwVcrKorJI/s640/P1020938.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Time to cast of the bowlines to explore, dream, discover !</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-14678243648449137802016-07-14T16:32:00.001-07:002016-07-15T15:33:04.158-07:00<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Scarborough Marina (Brisbane) – Noumea</i></b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>New Caledonia</i></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: medium;"><b><i>30/6 -7/6/2016</i></b></span></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">MAD. Marine Anxiety Disorder. This has been newly
coined by the crew of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista, </i>identifying
the malady of pre – voyage fears, doubts, uncertainties and concerns that
afflict most souls on small vessels who are about to embark on a long voyage
over the broad and boundless sea. Anxiety rears its horrid head in many forms,
but the experts have made the diagnosis of this condition a little easier by
coining a one size fits many term called GAD, or General Anxiety Disorder. We
think that MAD is a confirmed disorder, and should be recognised in nautical circles
for the marine disease that it is, for those who are sufferers of it may sadly
never leave port, or even sadder still, never experience the joys of owning a
boat in the first place. Even those who appear to be seasoned salts, have to
deal with, it, and if not slay it, learn how to overcome that gnawing feeling
of being “uptight” before putting to sea. The reassuring thing for us is that
although MAD is common, it can be overcome, especially by those whose keenness
to do is overridden by the temptation to defer, possibly forever. After our
traumas at Coffs Harbor, it would be easy to sideline our Voyage to Vanuatu for
the comfort of heading north, maybe to the Whitsundays, and beyond. To put it
plainly though, we would never forgive ourselves if we did, so head east to the
South Pacific it is to be, when the time was right.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2389GL4Jg4Cv-t3xj4v9ozqrs12zDm-Z8NHiSjWzg4NfCL-mPYdlVlq1rFG2s-jCwmxMCQFxhMftN9IYe82N7BrVmzWMG9w7fow7bMcVoKeF57cVIQMrMvZ7hwI0OWe9qL_QPs0Hp1inA/s1600/P1020589.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2389GL4Jg4Cv-t3xj4v9ozqrs12zDm-Z8NHiSjWzg4NfCL-mPYdlVlq1rFG2s-jCwmxMCQFxhMftN9IYe82N7BrVmzWMG9w7fow7bMcVoKeF57cVIQMrMvZ7hwI0OWe9qL_QPs0Hp1inA/s640/P1020589.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Time to go....It's cold here!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At Scarborough, after months of planning,
viewing and reviewing weather prognoses, provisioning, checking and re-checking
our systems on board, and dealing with the endless items on Cookie’s daily
lists of tasks, there is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and we are facing the
MOT, the moment of truth. A pattern of weather had formed over the Coral Sea
that could deliver a reasonable passage to Noumea. A front was due to pass
through Tasman Sea waters, turning winds to the nor-west around Brisbane, and
in its wake creating a sou-wester, which would tend to the south, and later
sou-east out into the Coral Sea. We had been watching this pattern as it
developed, at first thinking that it would be too strong out at sea, for us to
embark – setting out into rough conditions carried too many risks – and it also
presented potential problems at the Noumea end of the passage as winds looked
like swinging to the nor-east, and “heading” anyone well before New Caledonia
was reached. For us a passage of over 770 nautical miles might take us 7 days
to complete, and we had to be confident that conditions would be reasonable,
for the entire journey, and not just part of it; and with some to spare. Now,
with a focus on the modelling of Predict Wind and Windy Ty – which provides an
up to 14 day prognosis – it looked as the weather at the Brisbane end was not
as strong, and out near Noumea, the headwinds might be replaced by something a
lot calmer. We checked and re-checked this pattern before a decision was made,
and agreed to by us both….yes, yes, it was time to go, provided we could deal
with the anxieties of leaving in the process. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0RjAOqqkLpPvOIs-jDFUgXDwrB9mJ3PtQtvNg-4GzCQfxoHOB3HFjxX7R56pl2xTwgrJ9QIC3ahs3J2nX1wGIYLej5xCy7u6ZPCKCy6yfid8DPezcmcV1TmMIeLEOAd9XaRsvkzHeYCpm/s1600/P1020591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0RjAOqqkLpPvOIs-jDFUgXDwrB9mJ3PtQtvNg-4GzCQfxoHOB3HFjxX7R56pl2xTwgrJ9QIC3ahs3J2nX1wGIYLej5xCy7u6ZPCKCy6yfid8DPezcmcV1TmMIeLEOAd9XaRsvkzHeYCpm/s640/P1020591.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>No more excuses!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When normally leaving port, we can make a decision
to go at any time, when conditions look good and we are ready to go. Leaving
Australian waters for an international destination is another case altogether,
for we are a Registered Australian Ship, and cannot depart until we are cleared
to do so by Customs, or Border Security, as this service is now known. For us,
these formalities involved contacting Customs days in advance and arranging for
officers to visit our yacht, to check our passports and papers and to see that
we were compliant with the rules and regulations that apply when leaving the
country. Yes we have to each fill out one of those embarkation cards, just like
you might do when boarding a Qantas flight, except that in our case it was not,
say, QF22, but SV Calista. We were chuffed by that. With Customs booked for
0700 on Thursday, 30 June, there was no turning back now, and no scope for MAD,
to stop us from setting free our lines and putting to sea.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoOUsaU0_Hgz98rIl3RaPyqkBCcDsRl3xZCwnamV2RUi1mO4P5N7_mAbvZVmyIADOiGKHU2S-20SCfcTEp_uIhkJ5fm6x7-2A0M-2ZoBYu8cFmHSxluDQJmy1oIfX6zuhMIBvzuzSgUuuB/s1600/IMG_1337.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoOUsaU0_Hgz98rIl3RaPyqkBCcDsRl3xZCwnamV2RUi1mO4P5N7_mAbvZVmyIADOiGKHU2S-20SCfcTEp_uIhkJ5fm6x7-2A0M-2ZoBYu8cFmHSxluDQJmy1oIfX6zuhMIBvzuzSgUuuB/s640/IMG_1337.PNG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><b>MOT!</b></i></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Thursday 30 June began crisply with a lick of
southern chill in the air, and after a delay in the arrival of the Officers,
the formalities were met quickly and convivially,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and we were free to go, or, as the two female
officers firmly put it, we <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">must </i>go,
and as soon as we could. So, that was that, and with no ceremony at all we
loosed our lines and made for Moreton Bay, and the open ocean beyond. Day 1 of
our passage was finally under way. After all of the uncertainties of putting a
date on our departure, it felt good to be finally going, come what may. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Moreton Bay, bounded by Moreton Island to the
east, the coastline of Brisbane and the Redcliffe Peninsula to the west, and
Bribie Island leading to the Sunshine Boast, is a large and shallow expanse,
beset by a labyrinth of channels and shoals, and requiring some careful
navigation if we wanted to avoid the long haul south to the Brisbane ship
channel, to follow the commercial route to the sea. With <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Diddys </i>booked to clear, and depart behind us, we had pre-set a series
of way-points that should provide safe passage beyond the bay to Flinders Reef
and the open sea beyond. We did not want to fetch up on one of the shoals and
have to activate one of the emergency procedures that could be employed to see
a “cleared” ship return to port. Creating a diplomatic incident was something
that we were keen to avoid.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1YmFPQPVI1P4iymWdrXdh_cSokkjSi6L3yu9QokEL3fSktOgYj225ygtO0HXs618jSvV1RPkH_fCoiQg5pWSD8ikABqNqrQmksDkhQbqkavrLm0t2MtFZwcgnFxK0Esrq_I4tHM0l4_Cg/s1600/P1020611.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1YmFPQPVI1P4iymWdrXdh_cSokkjSi6L3yu9QokEL3fSktOgYj225ygtO0HXs618jSvV1RPkH_fCoiQg5pWSD8ikABqNqrQmksDkhQbqkavrLm0t2MtFZwcgnFxK0Esrq_I4tHM0l4_Cg/s640/P1020611.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Cape Moreton</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Had we been able, we would have left port on
Wednesday June 29, because a friendly southerly caressed the waters of Moreton
Bay and beneath it we would have romped out of the bay before rounding Cape
Moreton and setting a course to Noumea. A day later though and conditions had
softened, but with winds predicted to lift from the nor-west with the leading
edge of the change. We hoisted sail but needed to motor to assist our progress
under what we call on board the “5 knot rule” that says,” if you are not doing
five knots when on passage, it is time to start the motor”. Our at sea passage
times are all calculated under the 5 knot rule, although we know that there are
many purists who are happy to drift on a painted ocean for hours, sometimes
days waiting for the wind to arise. When we first bought <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>in 2007, one of the first projects we undertook was to
install two stainless steel saddle or “day tanks” in lockers alongside the
motor to double our fuel carrying capacity, so that with 4 additional jerry
cans in reserve, we carry about 280 litres of diesel on board, and given that
in calm conditions our Yanmar 40 hp motor, consumes just shy of 2 litres an
hour, and takes us between 5 and 6 nautical miles in the process, all this adds
up to us being able to motor from home to Sydney if we really wanted to. These
are crucial calculations for us, and would mean everything in a passage to
Noumea where fluky winds might impair our progress.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Flinders Reef, abeam of Cape Moreton guards
the entrance to Moreton Bay, and here with the shoals behind us we had a pod of
Humpback Whales, heading north, put on a display especially for us, with
cetacean animations such as breaching and tail waving to see us on our way. We
were now in the shipping channels, about where the wonderful Jessica Watson had
a brush with a steel monster, having just left on her around the world odyssey
and we were keen to not duplicate that experience. Then just to remind us of
the importance of watch keeping and checking our AIS on the chart plotter for
approaching ships, the immense MV Eugenia, a 902 foot steel leviathan, more
like a Manhattan sky scraper on its side, than a container ship, churned past
our nose, before turning to starboard in the direction of Sydney.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bQTaC8Z41nLWIy4O1i5pWp1edy3EG099mBLlrjVXRt8aGn22WQ58XnuF6UBNsgroxdHIMokNI4w7VWr-dbkjQ7xGfTMAoCRD-jVaKdyiyprH_DXIzYIgOVKS2YtmLtyIkGjaXKTLEsnw/s1600/P1020616.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bQTaC8Z41nLWIy4O1i5pWp1edy3EG099mBLlrjVXRt8aGn22WQ58XnuF6UBNsgroxdHIMokNI4w7VWr-dbkjQ7xGfTMAoCRD-jVaKdyiyprH_DXIzYIgOVKS2YtmLtyIkGjaXKTLEsnw/s640/P1020616.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">MV Eugenia</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With the day receding we had set a course to
the East and were readying ourselves for the routines for our first night at
sea. We had watched as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Diddys </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>with four crew on board, had come up from Cape
Moreton, and with everything aloft, they took a northerly course and
disappeared over the horizon. It had been recommended to us that the best
passage to Noumea, which lies to the North East of Brisbane, was to head east
for two or three days before picking up the south-easterly trade winds further
out to sea that would give a cruising yacht an ideal angle to bear north and
make for New Caledonia. On a chart, this course would appear as a Glenn McGrath
outswinger, straight for much of the journey but curving away to the slips at
the end. Whether we could execute this plan and whether the winds would align
with the theory, we were about to find out. What was certain though, as the outline
of Moreton Island sunk into the horizon and the Glasshouse Mountains became
pimples in the west was that our nights would be long and dark out at sea. We
were near to the winter solstice, and there was not a sliver of moon to assist.
</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7s2Byg55Q9WhiTfl88Y0N2vvm43BDDT_A8sIhNtcC2VcebVDDfjXatCPWeXhADsCs1kah0P8uJcJJcgb6bBzNFi71YtYBnWvR7-txQfhShEDeOKurJXb4deNH-HX3pZnR9QD1QveTnM6_/s1600/P1020618.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="372" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7s2Byg55Q9WhiTfl88Y0N2vvm43BDDT_A8sIhNtcC2VcebVDDfjXatCPWeXhADsCs1kah0P8uJcJJcgb6bBzNFi71YtYBnWvR7-txQfhShEDeOKurJXb4deNH-HX3pZnR9QD1QveTnM6_/s640/P1020618.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Sunset, day one</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On our first eve at sea, as we dined early -
on one of Cookie’s famous veggie pastas - lit our navigation lights, donned our
safety harnesses and settled into our overnight watches, there were only two
reminders of the vast continent that we were steadily and inexorably leaving
behind. The first was the bright wink of the Cape Moreton light that for a time
defied the curvature of the earth, before being extinguished for good. This
left only the loom of humanity emanating from Brisbane, the Gold and Sunshine
coasts, that appeared for hours as if they were moons that were endeavouring to
rise, before they too were snuffed in the west and an all pervading darkness
fell upon us, that was only relieved by a glimmer of starlight when the clouds
parted and gave access to the heavens. The long, dark nights of this voyage
became a burden for us both, and it seemed that no sooner had the sun risen in
the east, it was already contemplating its decline in the west. O we longed for
summer cruising in SA when at 9pm at night there is still potable light, which
returned again by 5.30 in the morning. Being dark shortly after 5pm was a
gloomy prospect, from every respect.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Then, in the early hours of the new day my
attention on watch was drawn to a string of flashes in the south, which might
have marked the northern frontier of the change sliding away and underneath us.
Lightning! Drawing ever closer and possibly heralding the arrival of a storm!
Go away I mused, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">just go away</i>. We
have had some frightening experiences in recent years with lightning and storms,
and their approach does little for our anxiety at sea. Only this year a balmy
late summer eve saw us nodding at anchor under Beatrice Shoal out from
Kingscote in South Australia - we will forever link this lagoon like locale to
the position report to VMR American River, from the incomparable Alan Cotton
who once intoned that he was “lying comfortably under Beatrice” – when our
evening of relaxation post-passage from Investigator Strait was shattered by a
vicious storm with its forked handmaidens, cracking and shattering its way down
upon us from the north-west. Out at Beatrice Shoal we felt like a teal on Bool
Lagoon at the onset of the shooting season, and voted to make with all haste to
a spot abeam of the Kingscote jetty where there were at least other structures
taller than us might draw the attention of the deadly forks, now drawing ever
closer. When the tempest hit, the simultaneous bolts of light, bombs of thunder
and the whipping winds, came in a terrible trilogy, and saw us huddled in the
cockpit, just hoping for the best. Then one terrific crack lit up the entire
landscape; lights on the jetty were doused, and we just held on, hoping and
hoping for it all to pass. A direct hit and only a couple of hundred metres
away! Would we be next…..???! This had been a narrow miss, a call too close for
comfort, and left us with a distinct aversion to electrical storms at sea.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbGq0-eGzqyA7TKgt8bxxu2sKHj-DM4mw1rd8BtP6AQD4B2KSxeuFkdDpjb_JkKLsUi7nMOmnNbSnRfL21S3XVqrPMzWlbKfNoZcDFdJdkCKKbJl2xU9J6IdDmq4I4SMCB_4GRmCGRAaL5/s1600/P1020660.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbGq0-eGzqyA7TKgt8bxxu2sKHj-DM4mw1rd8BtP6AQD4B2KSxeuFkdDpjb_JkKLsUi7nMOmnNbSnRfL21S3XVqrPMzWlbKfNoZcDFdJdkCKKbJl2xU9J6IdDmq4I4SMCB_4GRmCGRAaL5/s640/P1020660.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>We eat well on SV Calista !</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Whilst we were lying winged at Boat Works on
the Coomera (see earlier blog), I reflected on this horrid experience and
sought, in this precinct of marine eminence, to find someone who was qualified
to advise us about what we might do to “lightning proof” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista, </i>for our proposed voyage. Our yacht has a “deck stepped”
mast, and is not like other modern keel-linked rigs that are often “earthed” to
their keels so that, in theory, a lightning strike will pass through the boat
and not shatter everything on board in the process. For us there is the fear
that with “nowhere to go” a strike might travel down our stainless shrouds and
explode its way out the side of our boat via the chain plates to the sea. I
wanted to seek advice about having a temporary battery cable, or similar, attached
from our shrouds to the sea, that might encourage a strike to travel that way
to the sea. So with all this in mind I sauntered into the biggest marine electrical
facility on the Coomera, and shared my enquiry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“You need to see Sparks about that” was the collective view of the
blokes in the workshop. Soon “Sparks” – I never learned his real name, but
figured that anyone dubbed “Sparks” was my man – arrived and listened to my
query with great interest. “I’ve had boats up the Queensland coast sit through
hundreds of storms and only one ever got hit…..and they ended up ok” was his
assessment. Then he went on to suggest that having a temporary conductor to the
sea might actually encourage what was called the “pre-flash”, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">upwards </i>flash of energy that precedes
the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">downwards </i>bolt. That was the
latest research, he declared. So, with this in mind I asked him what he would
do in our situation and he thought wistfully for a moment before declaring…”go
sailing”. Now as the lightning became more pronounced off to starboard, I
thought of the good Sparks and wondered whether I should have gotten the
reassurance about lightning in writing. It was now past 3am and as Cookie and I
changed watches, we hoped that the disturbance to the south would stay exactly
where it was, south of us.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUFHTYhQyxd2u7LqoioggS47w7wWzWV-05xomBLW1rWNiz8S61dq-6iIjXRw5nWW-BgpF9psY35oLlbJjEYUj7pEVJRiW-NvIo-OXs2D-E2ZPbcIGVznsA_6D6XlgEnC9tuyZUkfG6r3qB/s1600/P1020622.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUFHTYhQyxd2u7LqoioggS47w7wWzWV-05xomBLW1rWNiz8S61dq-6iIjXRw5nWW-BgpF9psY35oLlbJjEYUj7pEVJRiW-NvIo-OXs2D-E2ZPbcIGVznsA_6D6XlgEnC9tuyZUkfG6r3qB/s640/P1020622.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Through the squall line!</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! was the clarion
call from the helm. The approaching weather in the pre-dawn had arrived with a
handful of drops that in seconds became a torrent, accompanied by a gale of
wind. Cookie had leapt to the helm, disconnected the autopilot, and was now in
a waterfall, holding the boat head to the weather. For her it was too late to
think about dryness, but to me she yelled, “get your wet weather gear on and
come up!” She was dressed for the comfort of the cockpit and was now soaked to
the skin and starting to shiver. Then as I arrived, the clouds parted, and the
wind fell away. A very sodden <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista</i>
crew member was last seen heading below where the sight of her clad in head
torch only as she searched for warm clothes caused me some mirth. My call to
“hand me the camera” went unanswered.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After the storm came the dawn and the calm,
as the weather swung to the sou-west in fluky proportions. Optimistically we
set up “Kev” our windvane autopilot, only to find that it struggled in the
light following sea and we reverted to sailing and autopilot before we fell
below our 5 knot limit and engaged the motor. For this and the following two
days we chased the wind, setting sail when it allowed, engaging the wind vane
when we could, but falling back on motoring and mainsail when the airs wafted.
All the while we held course steadily to the east, and by now, as we left
Australian waters, we felt that we were well and truly alone.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimRP8SlePslNEu5de32zSgG23CKYoFnYVSIygcRSa_pcFpmcEBAG_fd8zFHFKtiUtL6EEoKzWzOSdlfE6zoTpN3u28NGAePv7ndy1AW0uolTkmAtf3B_46hyDNa8Cy99St2n8yWO0xkjtK/s1600/P1020632.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimRP8SlePslNEu5de32zSgG23CKYoFnYVSIygcRSa_pcFpmcEBAG_fd8zFHFKtiUtL6EEoKzWzOSdlfE6zoTpN3u28NGAePv7ndy1AW0uolTkmAtf3B_46hyDNa8Cy99St2n8yWO0xkjtK/s640/P1020632.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>KEV at the helm</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF8F1mtbuAQ-ZdAotpuNuU3u_WY8y-gL0af3PKN9eyXBYANPRWjhvzZ0KybGOLAsX56Efx3AButF4oiZOkYPmjKMCT3LT-8KsWtJdAniU0AWg6lAaSRVIARQPADyU4mXkdNqOqUSBROKdN/s1600/P1020654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF8F1mtbuAQ-ZdAotpuNuU3u_WY8y-gL0af3PKN9eyXBYANPRWjhvzZ0KybGOLAsX56Efx3AButF4oiZOkYPmjKMCT3LT-8KsWtJdAniU0AWg6lAaSRVIARQPADyU4mXkdNqOqUSBROKdN/s640/P1020654.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Captain Araldite at the helm</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our daily routine saw Cookie each morning talking
to the satellites, as via our Iridium Go system, linked to X Gate and Predict
Wind, we were able to obtain the latest wind prediction “grib files”, and via
the last of these technologies get computer generated routing options, between
our location and Noumea. When these charts emerged on our screen, to a
triumphant cry from Captain Araldite (because she sticks to the wheel), all the
frustrations that we had encountered in sourcing, installing and
troubleshooting these devices and their programs, seemed somehow worth it. The
models told us that yes, by staying south of the “rhumb line” (the direct line
to Noumea), we had avoided heavier weather to the north, but we would need to
keep our progress up as, closer to New Caledonia, winds might turn
frustratingly north of east. However, if the new models held, we might just be
able to drop into a temporary pool of calm a day out from Noumea, from where we
could motor or drift to Dunbea Pass, the navigable gap in the barrier reef,
just 12 miles from journey’s end. Seeing all these things come together, and
actually work, was in the realm of miracle. For me, I kept us in touch with the
outside world via our HF Radio, and a daily “sked” to Charleville Radio, giving
our 0900 position, status, course and speed. If something happened to us out at
sea, Charleville Radio, which is linked to the Australian Maritime Safety
Authority, would have a good idea where to start looking. They were not the
only ones listening. One morning Tas Coast Radio in Hobart came up to wish us
well on our voyage. In effect, we were alone but still in touch with the
outside world.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On Sunday July 3, we altered course to the
north-east and tried to hold a line south of the rhumb, to keep “money in the
bank”. The frustrations of sailing and motoring, setting up self-steering then
motoring again, continued into Monday as we clawed our way to the nor-east.
Coming up the East Coast, we traversed our marine charts at a gallop, and two
hourly plots showed the progress we were making. Now out in the vast reaches of
the Coral Sea we crept across the chart plotter and the marine chart at glacial
pace, cruelled by scale, and not much to show on the chart for 24 hours of hard
work at sea. At least, day by day, Noumea inched closer.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_Hvfdlb4z6USlTDHvDFPDo1O2jUFyhlGkG_oy8_60t7wIJnXyLgvdPVNYXpPp6XEmPVXwJtYoNfj8ghifzjEaShH6hOgfLH0GNXMhbaMo5bEnWUIfV14MeXQ9qPNVtPbQYL3ZTZ_3JCb/s1600/P1020626.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_Hvfdlb4z6USlTDHvDFPDo1O2jUFyhlGkG_oy8_60t7wIJnXyLgvdPVNYXpPp6XEmPVXwJtYoNfj8ghifzjEaShH6hOgfLH0GNXMhbaMo5bEnWUIfV14MeXQ9qPNVtPbQYL3ZTZ_3JCb/s640/P1020626.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Welcome dawn</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Monday night into Tuesday proved to be the
testing time as we resolved to maintain our “easting” into difficult headwinds,
sharing watches of two hours on, then two hours off, as we fought to hold our
line before we might bear away and sail on the easterly as close as we could to
Noumea. Turn too soon and we would miss New Caledonia altogether. Late in the
afternoon, an AIS “target” showed the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific
Jewel </i>over the horizon, and out to starboard. Apart from an Asian “long
liner”, adrift before a night of fishing, this was a rare encounter in the blue
expanse, of the Coral Sea. We thought of the cruisers on the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jewel </i>hitting the cocktails and the
dance floor, whilst for us the night fell black and horrid, as we pitched and
ground our way forward on our course. With the wind varying in both direction
and speed, we helmed to make the most of what we had. Keeping our course proved
to be difficult enough, but clouds drifted in giving us few “sighting”
respites, from staring at the instruments. Added to this was the onset of the
contrary New Caledonian Current, which cruelly headed us and reduced our speed
over the ground to a miserable three knots an hour through the night. Each of
us slumped from the wheel to our bunk, before returning to the wheel all over
again. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We</i> were on autopilot, and not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista</i>. Would the dawn ever come?</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiydhvjTaiQkdDkefWFHhptEf66n1PXxL-W0WDuXWwYviPo9w-6YV9Y0hmwd7LhzikoLCXWwUNjK0dvJ6X70yBc4vi0TJ0ZBF3dpytwsNyhsrvxKlMM-OTE8Thhyphenhyphen1f_xlLFu_dry-L4_pnI/s1600/P1020665.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiydhvjTaiQkdDkefWFHhptEf66n1PXxL-W0WDuXWwYviPo9w-6YV9Y0hmwd7LhzikoLCXWwUNjK0dvJ6X70yBc4vi0TJ0ZBF3dpytwsNyhsrvxKlMM-OTE8Thhyphenhyphen1f_xlLFu_dry-L4_pnI/s640/P1020665.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Lovely sailing at last</i></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhejZdhTUahi48TJcQWRJgTurx6JchqH0KAuLb8s7YuDdRtM3ZhkjGCPqUk909czWlEMQLIMBYgfQIchei_u6HkSYssSX8WfUOkh2vEtPeFnDcyTZtmtkl_IZNVB-jLgWaXu3k3RA8YvteI/s1600/P1020639.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhejZdhTUahi48TJcQWRJgTurx6JchqH0KAuLb8s7YuDdRtM3ZhkjGCPqUk909czWlEMQLIMBYgfQIchei_u6HkSYssSX8WfUOkh2vEtPeFnDcyTZtmtkl_IZNVB-jLgWaXu3k3RA8YvteI/s640/P1020639.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At first light we bore away to the nor-east,
trimmed our canvas and made for “home”. Our efforts in holding our “easting”
had been worth it, and now with the grip of the easterly we hoped we could hold
our line until we were within “sight” of New Caledonia, that is, provided the
wind held. Even now we could not relent as when we engaged our autopilot in the
close hauled winds to starboard, we could not make the best of it, so, to
maintain our course, and keep our line, we were back again, on the wheel. For
hour after hour we worked the wind, “making ground” when it firmed and doing
our best to hold our line when it softened. Our weather models predicted that
at about 0200 Wednesday morning the wind would collapse and, as if on cue, this
is precisely what happened. Cookie was about to emerge for the “dog watch”, and
I broke the welcome news to her that it was time to engage the autopilot and
bare away in gentle airs for “home”. “Tim” our autopilot – we are not sure of
the origin of Tim but we have kept the name nonetheless – would do the work
from here on in. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg0K5YOE1FfDMifpYYPFTh0hZSFawr5GNADaYFlomQGQ_495pH8fDPSvX15cxcurshuHsg1dkRsCrzgf49FWuWUwGVY_2a6UGhiDtb_ddmx_RnwJFLt81hs9MV4XP-cjV-chGQHctAm8mO/s1600/P1020695.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg0K5YOE1FfDMifpYYPFTh0hZSFawr5GNADaYFlomQGQ_495pH8fDPSvX15cxcurshuHsg1dkRsCrzgf49FWuWUwGVY_2a6UGhiDtb_ddmx_RnwJFLt81hs9MV4XP-cjV-chGQHctAm8mO/s640/P1020695.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Pleasant slow sailing Day 6</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XU_tTPQ1UZ48GuT7tkA6ups-zOvUY4BfJXtnRVRxEczn_3rts3w06C4_BxDTMiMC-hddbPggxkS9iCMnXXKlxDpN9joUDQ4aBpkfRUYmjnh_Q1bGUdePXQHWTx94TzWM20MDW3zf7rJJ/s1600/P1020711.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XU_tTPQ1UZ48GuT7tkA6ups-zOvUY4BfJXtnRVRxEczn_3rts3w06C4_BxDTMiMC-hddbPggxkS9iCMnXXKlxDpN9joUDQ4aBpkfRUYmjnh_Q1bGUdePXQHWTx94TzWM20MDW3zf7rJJ/s640/P1020711.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Preparing our flags for entry to New Caledonia</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our last day at sea was ironically one where
we reduced sail and speed so that we reached our waypoint off Dunbea Pass at
dawn, giving us the best sighting of the entrance and the personal pleasure of
a morning arrival in Noumea. We celebrated our last day at sea with a hearty
breakfast, we call it a Port Lincoln breakfast – grilled tomatoes and baked
beans on toast - followed by a generous basin wash in the cockpit, laundering
hair, body and soul. It was a glorious day for a “drifter” and as we edged
closer to Noumea, the trials and vicissitudes of the previous two days seemed
also to drift away, astern. During the day we encountered the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">African Weaver </i>bound for China with what
remains of Australia’s forests, and when we called them up to discuss the
proximity of our intersecting courses, they immediately offered to bear away to
port and pass safely astern of us. As we settled into our last night at sea,
which as if by reward, was as pleasant a night at sea as one could imagine –
the absence of moon notwithstanding – we peered ahead on watch, until in the
early hours of Thursday 7/7/16, we could see it! Yes, there it was: the loom of
the lights of Noumea, just over the horizon, right where it should be. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><b>Land Ahoy!</b></i></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At dawn a triumphant Cookie headed forward
for a photo of the outline of New Caledonia, and yelled back “goodness me, what
is that mess on our deck” or words to that broad effect. It was as though a
formation of pelicans had strafed our ship in the dark hours. The mess,
whatever its source, was spattered everywhere (we later traced the source to
sailing through a shoal of squid), and now instead of making for the entrance,
just a mile or so away, we hove-to and on hands and knees with scrubbing
brushes restored our ship to a presentable state for entry into a foreign port.
We were relieved to have found this mess before it baked on like enamel in the
morning sun.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirybiZsPqhrd2tmN-JxXBezPcTPCkRFO8Q475dFWqjTEe62RY1vQxsJFY5ZshvzxeSrXATgEvmVN2ALkYEdpTcMQb5EqC8zeKtnxCW0gdNZ9tuWsUeVH_9MxnLj-mGloYLJrZJnKyRivzS/s1600/P1020755.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirybiZsPqhrd2tmN-JxXBezPcTPCkRFO8Q475dFWqjTEe62RY1vQxsJFY5ZshvzxeSrXATgEvmVN2ALkYEdpTcMQb5EqC8zeKtnxCW0gdNZ9tuWsUeVH_9MxnLj-mGloYLJrZJnKyRivzS/s640/P1020755.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Safely through Passe de Dumbea... the white light mark in the background. </span></i></b></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As we made our way through Passe de Dumbea,
and picked up the fairway to Noumea, conditions were as benign as one could
imagine and we were both totally and utterly elated. We had made it! We
remembered joining Captain Tony Herriot on the bridge of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific Pearl, </i>a day or so out of Noumea bound for Sydney. The good
Captain, a delightful and engaging British professional, asked us, after a
“look around’ the nerve centre of the great ship whether we had any questions.
We had a night passage out of Dumbea Pass, and whilst all others on board were
engaged in the aforementioned excesses of life, we were on the top deck, in a
nipping air, examining the processes of departing the harbour for the open sea.
To the good Captain, Cookie said “yes, we saw where you dropped off the pilot,
and picked up the port and starboard entrance beacons, but could not make sense
of the white flashing light out from the port light as we made seaward. Could
you tell us what that flashing light was?” The good Captain looked at her in
utter disbelief. “Well…well…we need to consult the chart…Number 1 can you get
the Noumea entrance chart for us…” Now we saw the pile which holds the white
flashing light – it marks the end of the fringing reef – and remembered fondly
our time on the “big ship” as we steered our little ship into the channel that
leads to Noumea, just 12 miles away.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNF-oI-d95nTvvMe9_TAHkyhvp3RCKAlF8s16dncevdkStSKaj833F7WwXQNAdOJv7IowUkPLgt4GmIaurWAMTTmV6V8jaOTMZqdMsXS74FcIdr2i65_c8aZvyV8GYY2IgPMBEucDGRTPV/s1600/P1020740.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNF-oI-d95nTvvMe9_TAHkyhvp3RCKAlF8s16dncevdkStSKaj833F7WwXQNAdOJv7IowUkPLgt4GmIaurWAMTTmV6V8jaOTMZqdMsXS74FcIdr2i65_c8aZvyV8GYY2IgPMBEucDGRTPV/s640/P1020740.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>VHF Channel 67... We have arrived in New Caledonia !</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As we eased our way down the ship channel
toward Petite Passe, and the harbour of Noumea, we called Port Moselle Marina
on VHF radio, so we could complete the arrival procedures for New Caledonia.
Cookie went to the mast and hoisted aloft three flags, the new Caledonian,
Australian and yellow pratique flag, indicating that we were arriving from far
away and needed clearance, into the country. Was that a hint of burnt coconut
husk in the air? Was that a waft of cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves?</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Entering Petite Passe into the harbour ... we did it ..we are here!</i></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2rqLsthzbeRS0T_1epqfZ6Nf051yB2dCZQ9H0Je-axlHS2LEfmbMDohfsGXBDk38lFennvAV031wK1rq25e7GCxUxFIJG2D-_YqejWTRPQXXO3FrGclmnuvSwNtMql5USmbBytAsGbUFl/s1600/P1020770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2rqLsthzbeRS0T_1epqfZ6Nf051yB2dCZQ9H0Je-axlHS2LEfmbMDohfsGXBDk38lFennvAV031wK1rq25e7GCxUxFIJG2D-_YqejWTRPQXXO3FrGclmnuvSwNtMql5USmbBytAsGbUFl/s640/P1020770.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTSifWKSkyjv-E6fHFxYM2u46KdBu6EO7ppNKWHpFQkytRaxKVTi0kMknQBO8e9QQ4IeeFSv7WPPAm2ofl6E2XaowbzVc03t3kjwqB0fu-SaulXUOWd5SKCe0UPWF5rDcZCqt927GzQ139/s1600/P1020771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTSifWKSkyjv-E6fHFxYM2u46KdBu6EO7ppNKWHpFQkytRaxKVTi0kMknQBO8e9QQ4IeeFSv7WPPAm2ofl6E2XaowbzVc03t3kjwqB0fu-SaulXUOWd5SKCe0UPWF5rDcZCqt927GzQ139/s640/P1020771.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Port Moselle Marina</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We entered the port of Noumea after 7 days
and two hours at sea, and with 24 hour passages of 123, 144, 131, 133, 106,
100, and 87 nautical miles, we had traversed 843 nautical miles since leaving
Scarborough Marina, Brisbane. After four months, seven days and 2620 nautical
miles from home we had arrived in New Caledonia, ever grateful that we had
crossed the great Coral Sea, and had arrived in one piece.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDj6K1_KA9X61N9pARUYNW35oiqPLFReeLj3ELvFBJjvGN6OTo6caEvdmIWr3dAuh-SFzXg8a0eYHdY-0PjOtnB06D2_ALy6k1dLo3chq2NCyLCiFhlvD5SGOmOXz6wmot6uKbGgPIz3tV/s1600/P1020720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDj6K1_KA9X61N9pARUYNW35oiqPLFReeLj3ELvFBJjvGN6OTo6caEvdmIWr3dAuh-SFzXg8a0eYHdY-0PjOtnB06D2_ALy6k1dLo3chq2NCyLCiFhlvD5SGOmOXz6wmot6uKbGgPIz3tV/s640/P1020720.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Our route across the Coral Sea</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The first of March, when we left Wirrina and
headed sou-<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>east for Robe seemed an eternity ago.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Noumea
– vous beaute sanglante! Allez equipage de Calista! Allez Calista vous
merveilleux petit bateau! Nous l’avon cree!!</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">(English translation)</span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Noumea
- you bloody beauty! Go crew of Calista! Go Calista you wonderful little boat!
We made it!</span></i></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-42292720028110438842016-06-29T04:55:00.001-07:002016-06-29T04:55:52.843-07:00
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Scarborough Marina to
Noumea.</i></b></span> </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i>18/6/16 – 30/6/16</i></b></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In part 1 of this blog we shared our voyage
to Noumea and Vanuatu on the very big ship <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific
Pearl. </i>Now on our small ship <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>we
were about to follow in her wake. With Marcel, his son Phillipe and two other
crew, on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Diddys </i>we are about to clear
Border Security and make our way out of Moreton Bay and head east by north east
for Noumea, 770 nautical miles away as the gannet flies. We suspect that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Diddys </i>with greater length and a crew of
four will not be with us for long.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhukXsUXm88r1UR9y0RYRhuSEfgjSSbZYBPDUxOT2bnK8BbXGGf1o8g0xgHH3EDrqXYDsXcqpTMwWYOdd1sGNl1x_eA28GCv3r9KpgjWOQ_1DVFQqOL9ljFIhltbKnp4y6Ol-rrkjgjEZw7/s1600/P1020587.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhukXsUXm88r1UR9y0RYRhuSEfgjSSbZYBPDUxOT2bnK8BbXGGf1o8g0xgHH3EDrqXYDsXcqpTMwWYOdd1sGNl1x_eA28GCv3r9KpgjWOQ_1DVFQqOL9ljFIhltbKnp4y6Ol-rrkjgjEZw7/s640/P1020587.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Dining on Calista with Marcel</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggmLcANo9wHpx9DcnVIrgPesy0F4uvjnzYO-PN7zLtHZtBcfABHPnz5usYb8s0LF2MOj0shqBG9UkjBLW8XL3b_nhjhkehNvBicYzviWU8Zcqz-YrN1Fm-HSZxtoCpY1XfUmEh17txpQkb/s1600/P1020588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggmLcANo9wHpx9DcnVIrgPesy0F4uvjnzYO-PN7zLtHZtBcfABHPnz5usYb8s0LF2MOj0shqBG9UkjBLW8XL3b_nhjhkehNvBicYzviWU8Zcqz-YrN1Fm-HSZxtoCpY1XfUmEh17txpQkb/s640/P1020588.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sorting the charts to Noumea</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our preparations have been extensive, and
when space and internet permits, we will share a little of our voyage across
the Coral Sea to Noumea, and our travels in the islands, and atolls. We look forward
to bringing this to you, and will publish when we can. Our final few days have
been challenging in analysing the weather models that relate to this passage.
We are hoping that fair winds will prevail.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-34555666312715671082016-06-26T19:06:00.000-07:002016-06-26T19:11:23.227-07:00<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Coffs Harbor to Scarborough Marina</i></b></span> </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>10/6/16 –
18/6/16</i></b></span></span><br />
<b><i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><b><i>( </i></b><i>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.)</i><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Leaving Coffs Harbor was a necessity born of
the need to reach the Gold Coast for repairs, but also because the fuel wharf
and unloading dock to which we had been tied was the property of the Fishing Cooperative
and not the Marina, and the Coop wanted yachts off their wharf so that commercial
activities could return. This was totally understandable: so on the morning of
Friday 10 June, we released our lines, and before dawn, made our way out of the
Marina and then the harbour. The forecast for fine conditions and a low swell
might mean an easy over-nighter to the Gold Coast, although we were leaving
port against the old adage that you do not do so on a Friday.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQS83KIqI4-jqr61aTwV2J9gQl7ahn7M8g0a-qEA0ayYZAHgzJCL-CAtggP2_nFXMPfMD145HjkOD4iQPg9i27SzYSdBwJ7hDbLVB1SoH-PiCx_hIZmVTo1f12fTKW8XnL7LtPGujnUfbD/s1600/P1020388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQS83KIqI4-jqr61aTwV2J9gQl7ahn7M8g0a-qEA0ayYZAHgzJCL-CAtggP2_nFXMPfMD145HjkOD4iQPg9i27SzYSdBwJ7hDbLVB1SoH-PiCx_hIZmVTo1f12fTKW8XnL7LtPGujnUfbD/s640/P1020388.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Morning light, South Solitary Island</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As we turned our head to the north, with the
light of South Solitary Island flashing off our starboard bow, it was good to
hoist sails again, and settle into a day at sea, leaving all that had happened
at Coffs Harbor receding in our wake. There was no water egress into the
bilges, the motor and rudder were functioning as they should, so we set a
course between the islands and reefs that dot the seas to the north of Coffs
and made for our waypoint off Wooli. We were not the only ones making north, as
in the afternoon; Cookie’s sharp eyes spotted a pod of Humpback Whales, making
north like so many voyagers on yachts, for the warm seas of the Whitsundays. We
wondered how they had gotten on in the storm. Later the pines ashore on the
skyline marked the headland at Yamba, and into the dusk and evening Evans Head
was seen and passed to port. Closer to midnight with us hugging the coast,
allowing the plethora of big ships their space out to sea, we slipped past the
surfing mecca of Ballina and before long the powerful light of Cape Byron
indicated that we were approaching Australia’s most easterly point. We are
acutely fond of Cape Byron, with its iconic lighthouse and light station,
although our fondness for Byron Bay itself has crumbled over the years under the
relentless pressure of people; too many people for our liking. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCk49Ll_RnQKtcLdVS1ynlIGdIzd3BZuSMcejUDrRAVTXWfYJm20a8oCCN0BcDyAWiWXM6sSjwb3wxvEpqKRxqTgMtYQYVWazd0n2idouZMa4-3ZK5ewWcxwTdoFtsqj1JdhdN-9NHsOxy/s1600/P1020398.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCk49Ll_RnQKtcLdVS1ynlIGdIzd3BZuSMcejUDrRAVTXWfYJm20a8oCCN0BcDyAWiWXM6sSjwb3wxvEpqKRxqTgMtYQYVWazd0n2idouZMa4-3ZK5ewWcxwTdoFtsqj1JdhdN-9NHsOxy/s640/P1020398.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Splicing new mooring lines</i></b></span> </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg01eGv1ghDV-AEFw0rMol_NGRfpmO93sZybpWW3peABdQuIhEkaxogrb6itI665byluSeC7tkHDdYshWox1-rM64QnXduUdpN6WwAq-N_i2Dd8KZ9fB2N4KMHSBjafCNbHLzI48sYk4hyM/s1600/P1020408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg01eGv1ghDV-AEFw0rMol_NGRfpmO93sZybpWW3peABdQuIhEkaxogrb6itI665byluSeC7tkHDdYshWox1-rM64QnXduUdpN6WwAq-N_i2Dd8KZ9fB2N4KMHSBjafCNbHLzI48sYk4hyM/s640/P1020408.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sunset over Evans Head</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Cookie knows that on occasion I can be
accused of being a person of habit. Before, when passing Cape Byron, I have
celebrated this geographic milestone in an entirely philistine way. I have a
bowl of Weetbix. Knowing this, and knowing me, as we changed watch on midnight,
and I completed our scheduled radio check-in with Marine Rescue Byron Bay, she
looked at me curiously until, with nary a word, I reached for the time honoured
bowl, the biscuits, the milk, and abandoned a portion of my off-watch time in
the interests of a time honoured tradition.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As the revellers lurched and swayed in the
hotspots of Byron, we slid past unnoticed, whilst I slept and Cookie duelled
with a fishing boat ahead that held an erratic track, causing us to change course
to port, then starboard, because although we are well lit at night, we can
never be sure that the other boat has seen us. In the pre-dawn we kept the
reefs of Point Danger on the Queensland border well off to port, as the loom of
the Gold Coast morphed into high rises aplenty and the keenest of the fishers
made seaward in their boats. We are not fond of the Gold Coast: its glitz, its
brassy pretence and its hubbub do nothing for us, although as the sun peeped
above the horizon in the east, and ruddy light danced on the myriad of windows
on the high rises, like a mirror ball in an 80’s disco, it was a flash sight to
behold. </span></div>
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoOSzDkX7us7zdcMRrQvgaaptnfI_BRgHuwySSKy7bnjNac6V1dOPChCQ_KfZCFtTAL79j2icGWqS1zx5rjolOrvGgAC_752HEMY275oUi9yU3xwALVOH1e3Bf_z3BLyHhjsISM1SjrrSj/s1600/P1020430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoOSzDkX7us7zdcMRrQvgaaptnfI_BRgHuwySSKy7bnjNac6V1dOPChCQ_KfZCFtTAL79j2icGWqS1zx5rjolOrvGgAC_752HEMY275oUi9yU3xwALVOH1e3Bf_z3BLyHhjsISM1SjrrSj/s640/P1020430.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Gold Coast skyline</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So many of our legs of this journey have been
governed by the time we needed to arrive at our destination, and arriving at
the Gold Coast seaway was a prime example of this. Back in Coffs we had
calculated the sea miles to the Gold Coast, examined the tides at the Seaway,
and worked out that if we wanted to arrive at the Seaway, on a rising tide,
with a low swell, then departing Coffs at 0530 was what we had to do. If
counting back meant leaving at one am, then this is what we would do.
Gentleman’s Hours, with a light breakfast, a sip of Earl Grey and a look at the
morning papers before setting sail might suit weekend sailors, but cruisers
march to a different drum.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVtJJmPnRaSW67hYxzZxdc44ob1nMQNs0WMH6YRrxKzYXMaZ2v3oaVv82Z3P5feWXs62maUo_a8xB06ri7owsgpxpqGwEyyoNViLiFA7dq6T-M6HeUruGcULvb28xSprzsEp14-rx6E82u/s1600/P1020438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVtJJmPnRaSW67hYxzZxdc44ob1nMQNs0WMH6YRrxKzYXMaZ2v3oaVv82Z3P5feWXs62maUo_a8xB06ri7owsgpxpqGwEyyoNViLiFA7dq6T-M6HeUruGcULvb28xSprzsEp14-rx6E82u/s640/P1020438.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Entering the Gold Coast Seaway</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We have seen photos of yachts risking all,
making seaward from the Gold Coast Seaway, but this is something we try to
avoid, at all costs. As it was a gentleman in a 1920’s clinker dinghy, in
striped blazer and boater, with lady and parasol reclining in the stern, might
have dibbed and dabbed in the seaway on this most salubrious of mornings. We
passed through without challenge, except from a mixed grill of craft, which
flitted hither and yon with little reference to safe passage procedures in a
confined waterway. One guy had anchored in mid channel to fish in his tinnie.
We were now in Queensland!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Anyone wanting to do a refresher on marine
marks, buoyage and safe working indicators should spend a morning plying the waters
of the Gold Coast’s Broadwater. They are all there, lateral marks, special
marks, isolated danger marks, cardinal marks and safe water marks. Then again,
you could do as many of the locals seem to do, hold down the throttle, ignore
the navigation beacons and go like the clappers. When we turned into the
Coomera River, with mansions on the left and mangroves under threat on the
right we hoped that we might be free of the boat-jocks in the Broadwater until
we heard a high pitched buzz from a host of motors, all screaming at the top of
their limits. Then they roared toward us, tinnies, a brace of them and more, each
helmed by a teenage maniac, with wild eyes under the twin impacts of
testosterone and benzene. What on earth were these kids doing, tearing along a
public waterway, on the brink of losing control, with the obvious risk that, in
the event of a capsize, a lad could so
easily be chopped to pieces by a following boat before anyone knew what
happened. The Gold Coast! You can stick it we think. It is not our cup of
anything.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></i>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKN-D0z4joasus9Sw9oiImTDIdP66O6gy9nNzEgid_iw63P-tpL5zWw12pj5RbLRTw0oPfPkdRm0PNjXaiAlICOxJSxSuXuN-9okhhHoQ27JRvUmgQxI8tSGsc5R1WfR5v6Zno-sEouyE7/s1600/P1020449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKN-D0z4joasus9Sw9oiImTDIdP66O6gy9nNzEgid_iw63P-tpL5zWw12pj5RbLRTw0oPfPkdRm0PNjXaiAlICOxJSxSuXuN-9okhhHoQ27JRvUmgQxI8tSGsc5R1WfR5v6Zno-sEouyE7/s640/P1020449.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Luxury lifestyles on the Coomera River</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></i></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Having made good time up the Coomera River,
we arrived at Boat Works in time to see the faces of two old friends, Cran and
Ann, who were about to leave for Brisbane, but had allowed enough time to show
us “the ropes” of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lettin Go </i>before
they departed. It was such a bonus to see them again. Then, Craig from
Signature Yacht Services arrived with more good news. Due to a cancellation on
the slipway, we would be able to be hauled out on Monday morning, first thing,
and lose no time in getting our hull inspected and a plan put in place to
repair <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista.</i> So far, so good, in
fact so far, much better than good we thought.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtnLzLP1e4F4htI1vHUCGXvRCrCForNZNzuGQX4lJaTiMmnT0JIvzJAR_9sScEpw9KZ26En72tkwyKLxnz87ZEY4_ZhdRpWfxSEQF_ekBbr5_hB_GbNUN4BhsxvxQjIsegTn06MeXT2TY/s1600/P1020495.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtnLzLP1e4F4htI1vHUCGXvRCrCForNZNzuGQX4lJaTiMmnT0JIvzJAR_9sScEpw9KZ26En72tkwyKLxnz87ZEY4_ZhdRpWfxSEQF_ekBbr5_hB_GbNUN4BhsxvxQjIsegTn06MeXT2TY/s640/P1020495.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Tropical garden facade on one of the Boat Works sheds</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Boat Works on the Coomera River advertises
itself as Australia’s Greatest Boat Yard, and it would be hard to find anyone who
would dispute this. It is the doyen of boat facilities, and we had never before
seen anything like it. On cue at 8am on Monday, a lift out crane, crawled
toward us like a Stegosaurus on wheels and plucked us from the river as a sea
eagle might snatch an eel from a sluggish stream. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>disappeared under the care of a host of boat paramedics
whilst we were ushered into the hotel-like foyer to complete our arrival
formalities. We were made comfortable, presented with our <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">welcome pack</i>, and given vouchers for coffee and muffins at the Boat
Works Café, just in case we were shy of nutrients. “Go and get a coffee, we’ll
look after your boat” was the word from the delightful Amy, who is as friendly
a face of an organisation as one could imagine. “Do you need a car” she
continued, “If you do, I can have one of our courtesy cars available for you
this afternoon if you need it…and by the way, this key will get you in to the
en-suite bathrooms that are there for our guests. We’ll show you where they
are…maybe after you go and enjoy your coffee. We can recommend the blueberry muffins…” All this in a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">boat yard!</i></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU3eDlvwTeyBfpg8HVSv1tbfPgig4TyeErv5O8SWoWlsNW_2zk96lj6RJdu0Jb1_F-R-iZYU7MXuNFE8x1tF_4pha7Yog0g2xMfvBC0PHJ1NQmj06sH2t0_vnmoMsq2wD0Bcw3g8PJYhyI/s1600/P1020481.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU3eDlvwTeyBfpg8HVSv1tbfPgig4TyeErv5O8SWoWlsNW_2zk96lj6RJdu0Jb1_F-R-iZYU7MXuNFE8x1tF_4pha7Yog0g2xMfvBC0PHJ1NQmj06sH2t0_vnmoMsq2wD0Bcw3g8PJYhyI/s640/P1020481.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>One of the hardstand areas at the Boat Works</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Outside another boat was plucked from the
water by a mechanical monster, and disappeared in the direction of the biggest
repair sheds we have ever seen. ”Amy, the yard looks pretty busy, so how many
boats would you haul out here in a year” we asked. “Over 2000” she replied,
without so much of a blink. Yes, this <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was
</i>some boat yard. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Galley </i>is far
more than a boat yard cafeteria, and with its charming aspect, marine décor,
diverse menu and ever friendly staff, for us it was manna from heaven. The only
things stressed here were the boards on the Indonesian style tables, that were
so attractive that Cookie, in a moment of weakness, spoke about “borrowing” one
for our outside setting at home, although home, for us, felt far more than a
half a continent away.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3B0db4z_Ize4zUll_894fmuCG-E6FquOXQx_eJbGsMKPBENZ2k03a0mVI-kPgRHw4Go-CS6_CddX7abjxIQOw8JTc16QmcQeNT2dEOEchpDP7OZwLvccEAP8aoMZ3zD60MTb-Ms0pWwZ2/s1600/P1020464.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3B0db4z_Ize4zUll_894fmuCG-E6FquOXQx_eJbGsMKPBENZ2k03a0mVI-kPgRHw4Go-CS6_CddX7abjxIQOw8JTc16QmcQeNT2dEOEchpDP7OZwLvccEAP8aoMZ3zD60MTb-Ms0pWwZ2/s640/P1020464.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Being lifted out</i></b></span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrVJwttDPSXq8U17MbhvwRa-nqUHuDakNvvQY75KeMDOMXuJ1FLmS-HliRYXHyTZpvDDpWipbhD4gJCn2aDhny8CPqv3HY21e9No0RBGxDVNFLxGVoWkz0iuxRqJqdW3Aur4I3jfrcAncf/s1600/P1020465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrVJwttDPSXq8U17MbhvwRa-nqUHuDakNvvQY75KeMDOMXuJ1FLmS-HliRYXHyTZpvDDpWipbhD4gJCn2aDhny8CPqv3HY21e9No0RBGxDVNFLxGVoWkz0iuxRqJqdW3Aur4I3jfrcAncf/s640/P1020465.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWhO5w15P6TZOziGaYxcxwEJ2CDTPXdHPhfA_M5oBYgJlcfNMU7e5XJ7DqRR7grxaJNMmnmCqlP557fBeVl0fG1lFDvBQCZ9lcP7V6LEcI9A108brG5CgbN9GNGrxP9Rs_BUBZreM9q53R/s1600/P1020494.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWhO5w15P6TZOziGaYxcxwEJ2CDTPXdHPhfA_M5oBYgJlcfNMU7e5XJ7DqRR7grxaJNMmnmCqlP557fBeVl0fG1lFDvBQCZ9lcP7V6LEcI9A108brG5CgbN9GNGrxP9Rs_BUBZreM9q53R/s640/P1020494.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The amazing remote controlled travel lift for large catamarans </i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After the pleasure cometh the business, and
with the welcome processes at the Boat Works having worked a treat, it was time
to find Craig, and our ship. She had been cleaned below the water line and,
now, on a hard stand outside Craig’s work sheds, it was evident that, yes we
had been lucky to save <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>at
Coffs Harbor. Her port-side had suffered significant above water abrasions, and
below the water, where the finger had threatened to breach her hull, the deep
lacerations, showed how our intervention in the tempest had come in the nick of
time. We found Craig deep in thought, and wondering how best to get us
repaired, in a reasonable time frame, and with an end result that was
satisfying for us and acceptable for his devotion to professional excellence.
We knew that the last thing that Craig needed was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>to repair: his crew were booked solid for weeks and we knew
that he was already turning away work from other vessels damaged in the storm.
Craig was doing us a favour by offering to help us out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiur90P6faO5kdjhvhyCojsm0O7dgPiu6Ez4JPkvnSmuULYndccjR2R7iaojlks-tSCi370qhbemvkI4WjpP7fYpiyXKzMQxMMLU-GzpdBJvuxU61iS-G1KteD4840Ra6EokKReB_RTxTib/s1600/P1020498.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiur90P6faO5kdjhvhyCojsm0O7dgPiu6Ez4JPkvnSmuULYndccjR2R7iaojlks-tSCi370qhbemvkI4WjpP7fYpiyXKzMQxMMLU-GzpdBJvuxU61iS-G1KteD4840Ra6EokKReB_RTxTib/s640/P1020498.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Calista outside Craig's shed at far end of one of the many rows of sheds.</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><b></b><i></i><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPS5GpX6T00QHcAOGH2LdZa84-U6NZwW_D9iW67dWkRtk9OhsoRxYsPQUs39ORShyzuVseYHuciuyiUDx7e0jWnVaQj4nueHgii9H4rsYW2f8O3siuEPkH51mtd5jJIzZ5KRFyXdawu_yQ/s1600/P1020469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPS5GpX6T00QHcAOGH2LdZa84-U6NZwW_D9iW67dWkRtk9OhsoRxYsPQUs39ORShyzuVseYHuciuyiUDx7e0jWnVaQj4nueHgii9H4rsYW2f8O3siuEPkH51mtd5jJIzZ5KRFyXdawu_yQ/s640/P1020469.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Repairing the gouges with a layer of fibreglass</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjHML_2c5Xh13yoqkUylg3kWzQPLc9aHtDiVvNSit_-PS9djUeuYzbA7UqL_jHUVwO4q1DERodNCaIMAThSlXdFhwVhgrkhYVnPO8goVgzTaW4M53UdcnTR7pGn_4qIOal5hHvUCsXWT1W/s1600/P1020491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjHML_2c5Xh13yoqkUylg3kWzQPLc9aHtDiVvNSit_-PS9djUeuYzbA7UqL_jHUVwO4q1DERodNCaIMAThSlXdFhwVhgrkhYVnPO8goVgzTaW4M53UdcnTR7pGn_4qIOal5hHvUCsXWT1W/s640/P1020491.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Craig painting the final coat</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKr3ODkX62xYOoePWDjhaSlKqTtm0-dlg3nKmSnRVrgRmuJS8OpcY82rhQHYVkv7-6LYhUgtTtQb2bAbqM8vpDzODtj8OS5Dah26Ypy9XT7iIwlvrTEc0-WZg-biwVllPA4XYwfPFJrw7q/s1600/P1020515.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKr3ODkX62xYOoePWDjhaSlKqTtm0-dlg3nKmSnRVrgRmuJS8OpcY82rhQHYVkv7-6LYhUgtTtQb2bAbqM8vpDzODtj8OS5Dah26Ypy9XT7iIwlvrTEc0-WZg-biwVllPA4XYwfPFJrw7q/s640/P1020515.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The final gelcoat patchwork</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On the face of it, the necessary repairs
looked reasonably simple to achieve, but there were complexities and
difficulties that we had not foreseen. Fibre-glassing the gouges were the easy
bit, and applying gel-coat for a “finish” was not hard, either. From there
though, things got tricky. The gel-coat could not match the rest of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista’s</i> port-side and the best outcome
could only be achieved by painting the entire side and not just the 40% that
was damaged. Going down this pathway though required our boat in a shed to meet
EPA spraying regulations, and that involved taking down <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista’s </i>mast and dismantling all of our stays, ropes, mast
fittings and the like. As Craig explained it… “spraying gives our best outcome,
but the mast has to come down, and my experience is that with the mast down you
will find a host of other things that are needing to be done, and you are
likely to still be here in August.” He could see the looks on our faces, and
continued…”and then there is the problem of a shed. We don’t have one and can’t
get one at present, even if we decided to go that way.” Our fine morning was
now tarnished and the blueberry muffins, which had been nestling agreeably
within, might easily be making a second appearance. Then Craig continued….”but
there is another way. If the insurance company agreed that a haul out, mast
out, and paint was the only way to achieve an agreeable outcome, they might
approve of us doing a structurally sound fix for now, getting you back on the
water and on your way on your trip, and agreeing to do the ‘proper fix’ later,
maybe even when you get back to SA.” We remembered the words of Michael, the
Marine Surveyor back in Coffs Harbor. “Get yourselves to Boat Works if you can
and we’ll be guided by what Craig says is needed to repair your boat”. Then,
Craig continued, “if you want to go that way, this gets us a practical outcome
in a reasonable time frame, and with a bit of luck, you’ll be back on the water
by the end of the week. I’ll talk to your insurers, about the sense of this
plan if you like”. Now we knew why Cran and Ann had so strongly recommended
Craig as being one of the best in the business, whose bottom line was not just
dollars, but about good folk like us who needed the help of a caring
professional. Craig had been a sailor too, and had an idea what we were going
through.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The only sticking point was the potential for
our insurers to baulk at Craig’s plan. When other repairers confirmed the “mast
down” pathway as having no alternative, our insurers agreed that if we were ok
with a “functional fix now, proper fix later”, then we should proceed with this
as soon as we could. In truth, Craig was already underway with repairing the
hull, which had to happen, whatever the outcome with the insurers. This gave us
the opportunity to get a courtesy car, courtesy of the good Amy, and head into
the Gold Coast to get some things crossed off Cookie’s never-ending list.
Whilst Craig glassed, gel-coated and faired our hull we took the opportunity to
attend to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista’s </i>undersides, by
changing an anode, and applying some antifoul paint to some trims and leading
edges. She would look as good as she possibly could when the Stegosaurus
arrived to return her to the brine.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWxPT7T5vpqgRxBOAGOwMu3mhFfU7ftL8zbF8_Ba4WptaBSuX9BUcIzCr8i90b_EzjcPirA-dPqE1enG33kYURUcY4zxy3l6Ol_altYp5hfMU7f2yooo3laxqUtPIYLOQI4WNw1-aMumaE/s1600/P1020520.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWxPT7T5vpqgRxBOAGOwMu3mhFfU7ftL8zbF8_Ba4WptaBSuX9BUcIzCr8i90b_EzjcPirA-dPqE1enG33kYURUcY4zxy3l6Ol_altYp5hfMU7f2yooo3laxqUtPIYLOQI4WNw1-aMumaE/s640/P1020520.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Touching up the antifoul</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We took the opportunity on Thursday night,
the eve of our re-immersion, to dine at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Galley </i>to celebrate an outcome that, thanks to Craig, Cran and Ann, was beyond
our expectations. The week had seen the edge of winter arrive, and patrons at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Galley </i>were understandably thin on
the ground. Our desire to carouse was truncated a little by the decision of
management to shut shop early, and the staff was deeply apologetic, at having
to hustle us off into the chill of the evening. The following morning, with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>afloat, Craig came down to see
that our backstay was correctly re-fitted and to see us on our way. We were
deeply grateful for all that Craig had done for us. Cran and Ann had been spot
on, in their estimation of Craig and Signature Yacht Services.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmmtHf67n-gbnSpE3BjBk-x0GXsyXtzLYenTUn5xIsUktkoQ1psZ85Htr_pf226B4gYxJ2_nTpDLz338ZK94-Y6kB9qw8S4FEC0uQO_wvb63hEkj3vacgRn6Mt_CofILkrbsNUgDBNbFuL/s1600/IMG_1324.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmmtHf67n-gbnSpE3BjBk-x0GXsyXtzLYenTUn5xIsUktkoQ1psZ85Htr_pf226B4gYxJ2_nTpDLz338ZK94-Y6kB9qw8S4FEC0uQO_wvb63hEkj3vacgRn6Mt_CofILkrbsNUgDBNbFuL/s640/IMG_1324.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Dining at the Galley Restaurant at the Boat Works</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Just before we released our lines and headed
off down the Coomera, Cookie was passing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Galley, </i>and the Manager rushed out to say farewell. She had a parting gift
of three muffins, just to see us on our way and to say sorry, again, for the
early closure the previous night. Then the very good Amy arrived with our
departure pack, yes, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">departure pack, </i>including
a host of goodies, a Boat Works stubby holder and a fine Boat Works cap. On the
side of the cap is the claim, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Australia’s
Greatest Boatyard</i> and this is a claim that few, ourselves included, would challenge.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The adage about time and tide waiting for no
man, applied also to us as we made our way down the Coomera River. With us free
to resume our voyage, we had a decision to make. We were now at a point that
apart from a range of achievable tasks on Cookie’s list, we could ready
ourselves to take advantage of the next weather window, and following Customs /
Border Security clearance, leave Australian waters for Noumea. A key question,
was, from where did we want to manage our final preparations? We could have
headed for the nearby Gold Coast, but we needed to be in a marina to get best
access to provisioning and, for us the Gold Coast was expensive and
undesirable. Our other alternative was to make for one of the more agreeable
marinas on the shores of Moreton Bay just outside the port of Brisbane, and
with some internet sleuthing and a phone-call or two we had set our sights on
the Scarborough Marina, near Redcliffe, just north-east of the city. Besides,
accessing Border Security officials was easier from here as the port of
Brisbane was not far away. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Getting to Scarborough could be done by exiting
the Gold Coast Seaway and making by sea via the outside of South and North Stradbroke,
and Moreton Islands, or by taking the inland waterways that snaked their way
from the Gold Coast and emerged on the shores of Moreton Bay. With unpleasant
weather on the way, we opted to lose no time in taking the rising afternoon
tide and from the Broadwater, make our way up the up the main stream, and over
a set of shoals, to drop anchor in the vicinity of Jacob’s Well on sunset.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm3eNx6iieJm0y6omXmFy4N3YZMYv5VT3W5MfIV9raWFnAN9dGdL_XBY-LHG2-qIfAvotbzu_5qDDR67hC1Xa33oHa3brsWOZyu5F7UUv-0FkSWWC0zF1TJTQwO1jFBcp1wAPEptL1Yaa1/s1600/P1020526.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm3eNx6iieJm0y6omXmFy4N3YZMYv5VT3W5MfIV9raWFnAN9dGdL_XBY-LHG2-qIfAvotbzu_5qDDR67hC1Xa33oHa3brsWOZyu5F7UUv-0FkSWWC0zF1TJTQwO1jFBcp1wAPEptL1Yaa1/s640/P1020526.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Our anchorage near Jacob's Well</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Gold Coast to Moreton Bay region contains
a labyrinth of channels, a number of islands, some riverside towns, and is a
mecca for boating and fishing enthusiasts. Our evening on the edge of the
channel not far from Jacob’s Well was interrupted by runabouts and tinnies,
piloted by weekenders we assumed, making their way up and down the river,
setting crab-pots and getting in an evening fish in the calm of the Friday
night. We set an extra anchor light and hoped that the fishers kept their eyes
open as they made their way up and down the stream. It was good to be afloat
again and to have our anchor and ground tackle deployed, to give us security
throughout the night. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPGicyGbzq7Z977WxuWx9-5JwvI-vQINri19nl_y2i4UsytS2vBJrS5gqAkY2tyAtJQvJe3_VwhgfmrCXw1fpzXimV3NBPVACLTjgrd7-ZZSrb__blNedcxeurHbSt00D8LZ38gCs13Cum/s1600/P1020533.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPGicyGbzq7Z977WxuWx9-5JwvI-vQINri19nl_y2i4UsytS2vBJrS5gqAkY2tyAtJQvJe3_VwhgfmrCXw1fpzXimV3NBPVACLTjgrd7-ZZSrb__blNedcxeurHbSt00D8LZ38gCs13Cum/s640/P1020533.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The maze of channel markers near Karragarra Island</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Shallow drafted vessels heading north, like
catamarans and houseboats, can take the Canipa Passage, abeam of South and
North Stradbroke Islands, and the delightfully named Jumpinpin Bar that
separates the two, whilst for us, being deeper of keel we are best served by
taking the Main Channel to Jacob Wells and beyond. Our early morning rise and
departure, was designed to pre-empt the crab-potters and we were soon making
our way beyond Jacobs Well, to Steglitz and the Horizon Shores Marina, Cabbage
Tree Point and upstream where a vehicular ferry does a busy trade in conveying
cars and people to Karragarra Island by the boatload. By some dint of fortune,
we have charts for these waterways, and luckily we had included these in our
chart portfolios, before leaving home. This passage was both interesting and
comfortable, and being well marked allowed us to make our way to Moreton Bay,
easily and in good time.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Hazy, glassy conditions in Moreton Bay as we pass the Fairway Beacon</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Beyond Macleay and Peel Island the waters of
Moreton Bay open up with a glimpse of Brisbane’s distant skyline appearing off
the port bow. The day was fine, the waters mirror smooth and a number of boats,
both large and small were out to take advantage of the Saturday and the
delicious conditions. Passing St Helena and Mud Islands, the Fairway Beacon of
the Brisbane Ship Channel came into view, with beyond it the Redcliffe
peninsula and to starboard, the outline of Bribie Island to the north. To the
north-east we had a clear view of Moreton Island, where to its north, and
around Cape Moreton, we would make our way seaward to Noumea.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Scarborough Marina Basin</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Afternoon light on the fishing fleet</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In no time, it seemed, we had picked up the
leads to the Scarborough Marina, and found our way into the extensive basin
that accommodates the Scarborough facility, along with the Moreton Bay Boat
Club and the smaller Compass Marina. We tied up, met Brian the cheerful weekend
manager, and immediately felt at home. The Scarborough Marina is a convivial
and laid-back facility, which we felt would suit our needs perfectly. With the
weather about to change and some further complexity in the extended outlook, it
was likely that we would be at Scarborough for several days at least. Then, in
returning to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista, </i>we noted a
figure emerge from a boat on another row. We had last seen Marcel Didelot, who
we had known when he lived at Middleton, next to our home at Port Elliot, on
his newly acquired yacht, at Wirrina before his departure for a new life afloat
somewhere on Australia’s East Coast. We strolled around to Marcel’s 42’ Dufor, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Diddys”, </i>and Marcel was as surprised to
see us as we had been to see him. We asked him about his plans and he said that
as soon as possible he was heading for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Noumea!
</i>Marcel was hoping to have his son Philippe, and brother of Robyn, his late
wife, join him for this passage, which would be his first beyond the coast of
Australia. We quickly agreed that provided the weather and our respective
programs aligned, we could travel in convoy. That would be a win-win for us
both. </span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">In the meantime, having travelled 1881
nautical miles from Wirrina to Scarborough Marina, since March 1</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><sup>st</sup>,
we would have time to prepare for the long haul across the Coral Sea to Noumea
in New Caledonia. We had missed good windows of weather whilst under repair,
and now we would have to be patient in waiting for another window to arrive. It
was a good time to pause and reflect on what had been a truly remarkable one
hundred and twenty days at sea.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When the weather permits, our last blog
before departure should give our departure details and an indication of how
this blog can be posted given the restrictions that we will have in accessing
the internet.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sunset Fish"n"chips Scarborough Beach</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-59808664322724626522016-06-20T20:54:00.000-07:002016-06-20T22:42:39.893-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Coffs
Harbor</i></b></span> </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>3/6/16 – 10/6/16</i></b></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></i></b> </span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><b><i>( </i></b><i>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.)</i><br /><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></span></span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></span></span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfidhDf9sNlwofmUJasHleQX5-5QGMUxqp4mgKQcrMxEW84087A8Su2TeU1HrlI9FEbyO_ClWmlIC34cGD1HAuJaUjnCcEeSbKdSrH7QOS7xFCvvt0ztOp3-Lpn9ChCl6jxbwCG0C-Lgyh/s1600/IMG_3970.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfidhDf9sNlwofmUJasHleQX5-5QGMUxqp4mgKQcrMxEW84087A8Su2TeU1HrlI9FEbyO_ClWmlIC34cGD1HAuJaUjnCcEeSbKdSrH7QOS7xFCvvt0ztOp3-Lpn9ChCl6jxbwCG0C-Lgyh/s640/IMG_3970.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Coffs Harbour Marina</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"> 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. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that” </i>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.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Coffs Harbor International Marina, </i>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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista. </i>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. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1NbygwaGC2-pcYasQPMSMeCiJkEKQTBdT5LF98v43eovnmTWJvhT3a4bKdc8ada5L0haQ1KAD4eVRaGmdZbxVuQHQBU3CKRvudzm5aLDSBwFBzVzW5V5B3YVauoyjykPBxzdZ5mGVpx93/s1600/IMG_1256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1NbygwaGC2-pcYasQPMSMeCiJkEKQTBdT5LF98v43eovnmTWJvhT3a4bKdc8ada5L0haQ1KAD4eVRaGmdZbxVuQHQBU3CKRvudzm5aLDSBwFBzVzW5V5B3YVauoyjykPBxzdZ5mGVpx93/s640/IMG_1256.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Brewing storm conditions on Saturday</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Amber, </i>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! </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">whoomph </i>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.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiguW8nQE706to06POdEXS19nOqEKzWpwh0aAdR4a6t5aa5TiojxjhovDRGpjipvMtS_nlKCaooAJKNYCejF_jjEPc6Z7AdYdYVmql6I3i0Z7sGT1biFRU7pCGSM0gFff0M0DtJ8TQ3NR9q/s1600/P1020303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiguW8nQE706to06POdEXS19nOqEKzWpwh0aAdR4a6t5aa5TiojxjhovDRGpjipvMtS_nlKCaooAJKNYCejF_jjEPc6Z7AdYdYVmql6I3i0Z7sGT1biFRU7pCGSM0gFff0M0DtJ8TQ3NR9q/s640/P1020303.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Access to D Row gone and a trimaran badly holed</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7CVvUHU0Z-qDmUkKr6TDqHhGnB33GpxVghKQ2FzP95QMjukR1itnsWKASOSGQQJM-nUozK-Z022xMKdBPrvfGHg-4Sgr1IYYTxYRL-Lx5x0tb6wcb-dZjUm8zGei4wS5duCKq_aZLoxsb/s1600/P1020313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7CVvUHU0Z-qDmUkKr6TDqHhGnB33GpxVghKQ2FzP95QMjukR1itnsWKASOSGQQJM-nUozK-Z022xMKdBPrvfGHg-4Sgr1IYYTxYRL-Lx5x0tb6wcb-dZjUm8zGei4wS5duCKq_aZLoxsb/s640/P1020313.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Huge seas constantly pouring over the breakwater</i></b></span> </td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Zephyr, </i>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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>holding her
rails. Just then, there was a sudden <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">crack
</i>and the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">entire finger holding Calista
</i>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. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The marina, with us attached, was
breaking up!!! Marinas should not break up like this!!!</i></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxeVfUy2HD0j5WebKarCMx5XfZNvMWhMExULrypG9bHGaXjNA3oF09oMhNtBFBN3TFYZJfEmUbswhQohqwGNcDPqpC30zSb5TsYIdPnOx_SrhJf6WlibrDhZLl0EDIUhpYlK_BRMsmd7mv/s1600/P1020315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxeVfUy2HD0j5WebKarCMx5XfZNvMWhMExULrypG9bHGaXjNA3oF09oMhNtBFBN3TFYZJfEmUbswhQohqwGNcDPqpC30zSb5TsYIdPnOx_SrhJf6WlibrDhZLl0EDIUhpYlK_BRMsmd7mv/s640/P1020315.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>On Saturday night add......darkness, driving rain, 30-50 knot winds and a king tide !</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSJ3mz3y9jTQfLVePzNZhKom5tp8kXVwYWutMXLcXIC6KYkVdoXHMrRihZ2gaK6Kpa4tn65h073robcf77x4jm4RSAyIPMqBn5A2UuQ0iUCKVClIszC84LKxAu1MZF4Fd1Dj4kaG7PnQUH/s1600/P1020322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSJ3mz3y9jTQfLVePzNZhKom5tp8kXVwYWutMXLcXIC6KYkVdoXHMrRihZ2gaK6Kpa4tn65h073robcf77x4jm4RSAyIPMqBn5A2UuQ0iUCKVClIszC84LKxAu1MZF4Fd1Dj4kaG7PnQUH/s640/P1020322.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>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….<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in a marina!!!</i></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">In
the scheme of things, especially in tough times, the priority, always, is: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">people</i>, then<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> things. </i>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.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgFWogluy0GXLL9H2WixCHWafu7PvaSWSPoB7HuyfcN9drXXK3xZlZLrbrQIWgw2Cpi0JZEwnPk-uI8xzuRVoe_kLMymbdjey346OYL89B9gHCd7sdvBhVc3f_z-9kJNqsjPDIcHGDrWWF/s1600/P1020298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgFWogluy0GXLL9H2WixCHWafu7PvaSWSPoB7HuyfcN9drXXK3xZlZLrbrQIWgw2Cpi0JZEwnPk-uI8xzuRVoe_kLMymbdjey346OYL89B9gHCd7sdvBhVc3f_z-9kJNqsjPDIcHGDrWWF/s640/P1020298.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>First it broke free & tilted ...(example of another finger next day)</i></b></span> </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkDU5fbcvAyqmaAJGdboA94yqWI_wBwfVtKMxbu5esbi_ukXM4O7za1nFMAU8aVIiTTPmezv3igmtaNy8sSVXRUTDjneznLMcEDjfyfpBJkB9b_b9qcgSMin1CIrVM6phuaYp6scm1S2AU/s1600/IMG_1262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkDU5fbcvAyqmaAJGdboA94yqWI_wBwfVtKMxbu5esbi_ukXM4O7za1nFMAU8aVIiTTPmezv3igmtaNy8sSVXRUTDjneznLMcEDjfyfpBJkB9b_b9qcgSMin1CIrVM6phuaYp6scm1S2AU/s640/IMG_1262.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>..... then rolled over to become a barnacle encrusted battering ram </i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">To
secure our valuables, we climbed off <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista
</i>and headed for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Zephyr, </i>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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>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 – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the entire finger had broken from the arm and the pylon and had turned <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">upside down</b> 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.</i></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Somehow,
something had to be gotten between the grinding finger and the side of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista, and in a HURRY. </i>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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista. </i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></i>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgasTwfR1cVDP718DuAwbAeBJF5OfyNNc-DxgpcIU1gGh_42VKrsrZ8i8nk45fM4j6HFQk40gnEGNF4i6H_YmwckNh__pblK9DzB4KVRyFQKGkLQ6ehhCwizr_4ZAmozYFesqEIl1ICeTaG/s1600/IMG_1263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgasTwfR1cVDP718DuAwbAeBJF5OfyNNc-DxgpcIU1gGh_42VKrsrZ8i8nk45fM4j6HFQk40gnEGNF4i6H_YmwckNh__pblK9DzB4KVRyFQKGkLQ6ehhCwizr_4ZAmozYFesqEIl1ICeTaG/s640/IMG_1263.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Our fenders & barge boards saved our boat</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">There
was no time to go for help because I knew that in time, with my non return to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Zephyr, </i>help would come. The finger was
hard against <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista’s </i>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.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>had risen,
but although the high tide was now past, we were by no means out of the woods.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8IJJUMiJkbUZd_DB2kN8OidsQnj7qk7T6O4OAQUXuK9p1ZlLfv0oyXSy3i_cKCRz4FuB-4iupaFof-lzWqRGDdc_sd1cgYwNa5ItuFsKFmJUkFeMELFfVPpsqRL7w6AGERTyPShbBPhvW/s1600/P1020296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8IJJUMiJkbUZd_DB2kN8OidsQnj7qk7T6O4OAQUXuK9p1ZlLfv0oyXSy3i_cKCRz4FuB-4iupaFof-lzWqRGDdc_sd1cgYwNa5ItuFsKFmJUkFeMELFfVPpsqRL7w6AGERTyPShbBPhvW/s640/P1020296.JPG" width="640" /></i></b></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Our new style pontoon</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista, </i>regular <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">wooomphs </i>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. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista. </i>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.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsfToSUiskC3u7LbcqtJqSQiH8LqkLa-ZXYwmYHdSnF0Paa4pajNqvi2t9MPH72JO9SfUSumeFOyGfLlkycjPLFB4hGG4sQW21hKUyUfYY1kWEfInIAVWPb4rljZWFErR8Xvs7Q2LpGcjr/s1600/IMG_1266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsfToSUiskC3u7LbcqtJqSQiH8LqkLa-ZXYwmYHdSnF0Paa4pajNqvi2t9MPH72JO9SfUSumeFOyGfLlkycjPLFB4hGG4sQW21hKUyUfYY1kWEfInIAVWPb4rljZWFErR8Xvs7Q2LpGcjr/s640/IMG_1266.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>More ropes had enabled us to lasso the pontoon to the pylon</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>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!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ6giA1sKYh-gpsxESIZlwUsZYDNIDP4z_3DWyg9FGaGjiXDUy9_4V_iCOy-c1oXPx57tc2tDbqhHTzQJ1Y9FrPhLppPlw7e6ZiG4Y6aLk_Td5RsGE8PtNyn7b3DxpNi99tKd2jNqg2taZ/s1600/P1020380.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ6giA1sKYh-gpsxESIZlwUsZYDNIDP4z_3DWyg9FGaGjiXDUy9_4V_iCOy-c1oXPx57tc2tDbqhHTzQJ1Y9FrPhLppPlw7e6ZiG4Y6aLk_Td5RsGE8PtNyn7b3DxpNi99tKd2jNqg2taZ/s640/P1020380.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Returning the "boat savers " to Don</i></b></span> </td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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…”<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">will you
not effing go AWAY!” </i>Then, on cue, it did. The wind fell away to an eerie
calm and we said to each other…”<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">it’s
OVER!” </i>As we slumped dripping and weary into our cockpit we were about to
celebrate the saving of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>…when….<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">BANG…</i>the wind screamed in, again, to 40
knots and above, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">from the opposite
direction! </i>It was as though we had passed through the eye of a cyclone.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>Now there no time to lose in getting
stay-lines from the adjoining yacht <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maskali</i>
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.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiaWFTLyVsVZOad-XrX8ztDM5a_VxrwWVj9mwgGfP6NFgTWkk4OXLfJWrseVITIixugZsBFJgXKKdXmX-p0iM5QUwWNlZH84oXd5hXTJComy5fHJKCILUDbVDBoprgP33sD55FcGjjgbXQ/s1600/IMG_1269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiaWFTLyVsVZOad-XrX8ztDM5a_VxrwWVj9mwgGfP6NFgTWkk4OXLfJWrseVITIixugZsBFJgXKKdXmX-p0iM5QUwWNlZH84oXd5hXTJComy5fHJKCILUDbVDBoprgP33sD55FcGjjgbXQ/s640/IMG_1269.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Huge wild seas still rage outside the breakwater wall on Sunday</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL_JLNlWnXDtIwz1zvsYdGwY9l03Kb3WFgRmov5OBC2IqZQpPfwwTWqm6ZcZyxqN9bKtDGBHcW1fsrY8xSknrtMoemHboknjyP7E2ZFuCec-2hVayOH3nORf-bjbfRs2VyqhRzBz7E2R6J/s1600/P1020346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL_JLNlWnXDtIwz1zvsYdGwY9l03Kb3WFgRmov5OBC2IqZQpPfwwTWqm6ZcZyxqN9bKtDGBHcW1fsrY8xSknrtMoemHboknjyP7E2ZFuCec-2hVayOH3nORf-bjbfRs2VyqhRzBz7E2R6J/s640/P1020346.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>D Row...Sunday morning</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfJ-WMWF1mSgS5pjbrrrsiQDyT50kX5N9Rvw6gUNYNdLiywFfOzcLsaBUVzOLt2QnzL17B3CsJnAtYG4DEi_ZziTv3G9_g-9zegfsEahG0ILvoVcprBoqW0TwsEQJY5ZCVwit0mKCNmwNX/s1600/P1020349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfJ-WMWF1mSgS5pjbrrrsiQDyT50kX5N9Rvw6gUNYNdLiywFfOzcLsaBUVzOLt2QnzL17B3CsJnAtYG4DEi_ZziTv3G9_g-9zegfsEahG0ILvoVcprBoqW0TwsEQJY5ZCVwit0mKCNmwNX/s640/P1020349.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Boardwalk access to marina -Gone!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisWHfCHTsWdONfu4hDi10BDze4fwO1sH210yYKhMpDCQSdej-HJm7q-ahrXDPELiX9f2zJxOfOn0UXvhKZbHuOnKpSE1_81Sfxl4dv-CH5irloh4y1G1ObJVhrBm50UV0lMQJk7tHnHV9L/s1600/P1020350.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisWHfCHTsWdONfu4hDi10BDze4fwO1sH210yYKhMpDCQSdej-HJm7q-ahrXDPELiX9f2zJxOfOn0UXvhKZbHuOnKpSE1_81Sfxl4dv-CH5irloh4y1G1ObJVhrBm50UV0lMQJk7tHnHV9L/s640/P1020350.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>One of the many damaged spots on our hull</i></b></span></td></tr>
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</div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista, </i>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. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista</i> 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. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy_HPgteIM_VWbT8sHn1cnNGjDgHQcoIbR-3lBiqvxy4F2ANi3tk7BX266l11mic5QUroX8MxQ9V8lygHFVOR32fdFiEv7MPx2yw5RKRm8B9eqxgWINhu2PK-kIB8NAtS-ZmFirSjouLdx/s1600/P1020327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy_HPgteIM_VWbT8sHn1cnNGjDgHQcoIbR-3lBiqvxy4F2ANi3tk7BX266l11mic5QUroX8MxQ9V8lygHFVOR32fdFiEv7MPx2yw5RKRm8B9eqxgWINhu2PK-kIB8NAtS-ZmFirSjouLdx/s640/P1020327.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Being towed to the wharf</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">On
board <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>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.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaAOKmKD7ZDEh2gxiUMCFDFHANDvF-5e6ANC-BJXO3u_92ZEx1e3pNrLgy5hlidmwZs-l80xeckXpSMxsoUlyPDmVD4-H0_PrCyQzjwRs1uAeU6X-6p1h6bk8BA3LRWvNOAhGUjk11kL0T/s1600/IMG_1299.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaAOKmKD7ZDEh2gxiUMCFDFHANDvF-5e6ANC-BJXO3u_92ZEx1e3pNrLgy5hlidmwZs-l80xeckXpSMxsoUlyPDmVD4-H0_PrCyQzjwRs1uAeU6X-6p1h6bk8BA3LRWvNOAhGUjk11kL0T/s640/IMG_1299.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Coffs Harbour International Marina Office....in the skip bin!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Vega Jack, </i>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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista. </i>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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista, Vega Jack </i>had suffered
extensive hull damage and was fortunate to survive, afloat.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgroyGU1rSGFqGvGz5mpEkLpomvcpds4BNFEhlVGjUs7bjAvbnfbdI7uedwvE3P-Wf5SgJf1_OFzz4Bd0OAbetN-1Onfn6arBtoYnTCPHpirC5BAuMitaBhNxiu534X7WJYEpH0uatP_Utr/s1600/P1020365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgroyGU1rSGFqGvGz5mpEkLpomvcpds4BNFEhlVGjUs7bjAvbnfbdI7uedwvE3P-Wf5SgJf1_OFzz4Bd0OAbetN-1Onfn6arBtoYnTCPHpirC5BAuMitaBhNxiu534X7WJYEpH0uatP_Utr/s640/P1020365.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Eric our new neighbour and friend on board Vega Jack</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghs8zVUiLQPLq_2M-VzY1YMtBVHlF0LWTDOCnAvlwrNAf4tSZEFYFXPYCAd-uuxh93Go-xD9YpnxHSFglcFFBwC2vo9mHsci3C-9L5SpRRK42iqvsA7vSDCHR1yQ-EDsOZ3Nm9ljdR-dqk/s1600/P1020554.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghs8zVUiLQPLq_2M-VzY1YMtBVHlF0LWTDOCnAvlwrNAf4tSZEFYFXPYCAd-uuxh93Go-xD9YpnxHSFglcFFBwC2vo9mHsci3C-9L5SpRRK42iqvsA7vSDCHR1yQ-EDsOZ3Nm9ljdR-dqk/s640/P1020554.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><b>We became media celebrities ! </b>(Pg 3 The Australian,6/6/16)</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"> Our dear friends Jonathon and Wendy, and new
friends John and Ann on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Essex Girl</i>,
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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr2St935i9nyBC_fAiKL7s8bSyffAw5cLNc6yfrxEUy66k1xyrKry0_s82oHfzexqTgOywXsN1Yx5qwDXtOSqfqajWusnHweOI6X9gWQy8QFazU0dI6jr47417HQS9I1sL9_wveXEBFvgo/s1600/IMG_1284.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr2St935i9nyBC_fAiKL7s8bSyffAw5cLNc6yfrxEUy66k1xyrKry0_s82oHfzexqTgOywXsN1Yx5qwDXtOSqfqajWusnHweOI6X9gWQy8QFazU0dI6jr47417HQS9I1sL9_wveXEBFvgo/s640/IMG_1284.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Rotting timbers, loose cleats and rusted steel....didn't stand a chance of holding together.</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtu40X0Fapvll36EnSsiJdTVdJ49nhrawBPuLM_VErvnBo4VW8Sj1NjGX3jkRvrT6u2N0pkK7zANbpAUhdkqLFCR_lDKCB5dmsDeYEk986SUwLfXATgI8hwafXV5iMRBE-UmVfQt1rINhJ/s1600/P1020334.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtu40X0Fapvll36EnSsiJdTVdJ49nhrawBPuLM_VErvnBo4VW8Sj1NjGX3jkRvrT6u2N0pkK7zANbpAUhdkqLFCR_lDKCB5dmsDeYEk986SUwLfXATgI8hwafXV5iMRBE-UmVfQt1rINhJ/s640/P1020334.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Marina fingers washed up on the outer harbour beach...note the waves closing out across the entrance.</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTpquuqM_rp5y81q6T-o_CZwjxoaXCemGSlhuo0wkidY1O-LuCqknMPS6Rwm_gC612qx6OhjiJRmtiHj2Y4g8oB9rBAtfs-wR0VpqcZ1iHNvQmn5nu5QuoNsbcc7_pH1O7qWmwz2_EflvS/s1600/P1020342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTpquuqM_rp5y81q6T-o_CZwjxoaXCemGSlhuo0wkidY1O-LuCqknMPS6Rwm_gC612qx6OhjiJRmtiHj2Y4g8oB9rBAtfs-wR0VpqcZ1iHNvQmn5nu5QuoNsbcc7_pH1O7qWmwz2_EflvS/s640/P1020342.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Close up of the surf at the entrance we had come through 3 days earlier.</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3YyCZghK_nblROFLGIk7TTBsNwxwKDJMEz5rFxkqGYgjeR5DxNULEXqvaUzfrfHhAFLbW6MpEvEcuiTU2ybezScyYwL4WapFzMSdeZHG3R1baz2A61jOG6DEbF6CFL0qig4-eADAUpHqw/s1600/IMG_1297.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3YyCZghK_nblROFLGIk7TTBsNwxwKDJMEz5rFxkqGYgjeR5DxNULEXqvaUzfrfHhAFLbW6MpEvEcuiTU2ybezScyYwL4WapFzMSdeZHG3R1baz2A61jOG6DEbF6CFL0qig4-eADAUpHqw/s640/IMG_1297.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Dining with new friends who rallied to help save Calista</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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,<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a> 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?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMg5S9n5d5plrmIlQ-_61qYeojlG8mCBP0cykELTNOy7CGQu02OtxF1sr644zDD6P1FQcPiAWpfhfpE4NynNmmqNUn-12xaXyLa_7HKi3VC8B-xOq9QFdjY7yttxwr4EHsdBJc_H4_zGvU/s1600/P1020371.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMg5S9n5d5plrmIlQ-_61qYeojlG8mCBP0cykELTNOy7CGQu02OtxF1sr644zDD6P1FQcPiAWpfhfpE4NynNmmqNUn-12xaXyLa_7HKi3VC8B-xOq9QFdjY7yttxwr4EHsdBJc_H4_zGvU/s640/P1020371.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Morning tea with Eric</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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! </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9hCFNNXbf4MKLLoZAgLeG2ccj5aO0byzSBFneqQIj0xbYTc8tAldFTthILl8CXQ4gyzZn1rSlEhN-kof4TbHypDIWIM-L15DeWvEU-lNps3CAKZ0NgWWYjwJS2gpXwzHYBhyphenhyphenHXelZhaFk/s1600/P1020367.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9hCFNNXbf4MKLLoZAgLeG2ccj5aO0byzSBFneqQIj0xbYTc8tAldFTthILl8CXQ4gyzZn1rSlEhN-kof4TbHypDIWIM-L15DeWvEU-lNps3CAKZ0NgWWYjwJS2gpXwzHYBhyphenhyphenHXelZhaFk/s640/P1020367.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Chatting with another Calista saviour...Susie</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Then
we got lucky. In 2010, we had met a wonderful couple, Cran and Ann McLean on
their 52’ Chamberlain Cat, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lettin Go,</i>
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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lettin Go </i>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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lettin
Go </i>and that we could stay on board, for as long as we needed. What did we
say about the people that you meet?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn8ztXFC7CS1pqEjE_gf7EwJ85h2JFl5byaEqTPC0N9slN6q3TQVFu6vs_ItAovnwcKnAgdjfW-J4JTkXecjgo_uHGyMBXMBC7VBrog1fQoVnSTlV-7an3cj8Kk5Th78Mum2FE30RE_OAT/s1600/P1020381.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn8ztXFC7CS1pqEjE_gf7EwJ85h2JFl5byaEqTPC0N9slN6q3TQVFu6vs_ItAovnwcKnAgdjfW-J4JTkXecjgo_uHGyMBXMBC7VBrog1fQoVnSTlV-7an3cj8Kk5Th78Mum2FE30RE_OAT/s640/P1020381.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Underwater inspector found no damage</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia5KYc-Q_cd3iX9E9LrNqPTNxyqtdPhG6tSkbimVl22NrNWn7lQVem2CzAqjSyfYz2nppqEMVlOeLSfrOEJORpgz00mx3qMUwlk20vwUoxNSaZOOZQJzL_UfpyXeWRDHLy57Vw1sjLC9Dw/s1600/P1020379.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia5KYc-Q_cd3iX9E9LrNqPTNxyqtdPhG6tSkbimVl22NrNWn7lQVem2CzAqjSyfYz2nppqEMVlOeLSfrOEJORpgz00mx3qMUwlk20vwUoxNSaZOOZQJzL_UfpyXeWRDHLy57Vw1sjLC9Dw/s640/P1020379.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Time to cast off the bowlines & leave the crowded Coffs Harbour wharf.</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Vega
Jack </i>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 4</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> June and Sunday 6<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> June at the Coffs Harbor
Marina. Nor would we forget the wonderful people that we had met.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"> </span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-6121376617213095712016-06-17T05:19:00.000-07:002016-06-17T05:19:41.515-07:00<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Port Stephens to Coffs Harbor</i></b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>24/5/16 –
2/6/16</i></b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></i></b>
</span></span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><b><i>( </i></b><i>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.)</i><br /><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></span></span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial";">
</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Everyone we have spoken to with a saline
inclination is fulsome in their praise of Port Stephens, and those confined to
the terrestrial world share the same view. On our 2010 voyage we were hard
pressed to get to Coffs Harbor on the “up” portion of our journey, and on our
return, despite earmarking Port Stephens as a “must do” stopover, heavy rain
and collapsing conditions, with worse to come, had us scuttle past the entrance
to seek refuge in Newcastle, rather than attempt a night entry with zero
visibility into a port that was unfamiliar to us. At the time, we attempted to
retrieve some of this lost opportunity by hiring a car and driving back to Port
Stephens so that at least we got to see what we had missed. As things turned
out, we were out of luck on land too, because the day was spoiled by abysmal
conditions, with sheets of rain that allowed only glimpses of attractions
through the tempest. Even so, adorned in the top end of our foul weather gear,
we splashed and slithered our way to enough locations to tell that Port
Stephens is a destination of considerable merit, not to be missed next time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXIbH6rRNgDAIhwKe4KxsxiP9HFDGZ7A3N6Cst8z308kVIbW4okCXyXoxyhKO7ADawEUg0UpvRmDQIVvEqfMq8MGSctyIpcqgaa1FYZPGMUq01MoFyTImlzEoTUZu__H4bEno-AV7TzypA/s1600/P1020162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXIbH6rRNgDAIhwKe4KxsxiP9HFDGZ7A3N6Cst8z308kVIbW4okCXyXoxyhKO7ADawEUg0UpvRmDQIVvEqfMq8MGSctyIpcqgaa1FYZPGMUq01MoFyTImlzEoTUZu__H4bEno-AV7TzypA/s640/P1020162.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Port Stephens</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now, courtesy of John and Ann Marley, here we
were, in row A of the glamorous d’Albora Marina, with its palatial
appointments, raft of marine facilities and eateries – Cookie, in the absence
of a freezer on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>had her
attention immediately taken by the gourmet ice cream shop (should that be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">shoppe</i>) – and literally across the road,
it was but a doddle up the rise into the charming tourist mecca of Nelson Bay. If
we thought back to our home marina at Wirrina, the d’Albora Nelson Bay Marina
is, by comparison, on a distant planet and we chuckled about the wind-blown
Atco Hut that masquerades as an ablutionary facility at Wirrina compared with
the personal staterooms at Nelson Bay; leading off the relaxation lounge, with
their individually tiled appointments, gleaming vanity areas, glamour mirrors
and personal hair dryer. At Wirrina, if you want to dry your hair, you stick
your head outside the dunnies and count to twenty…or more often, five, when the
sou-easter is whistling down the valley. To get to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista</i> in Nelson Bay, the stroll down A Row saw one passing a
line-up of wedding cakes afloat, which if sold in a lot, could purchase a brace
of African Republics. Sadly, there were few masts to be seen, and we wondered
if the multi-tiered luxury cruisers found here are more often show than go.</span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBxFQrZLzBGwz0_KxdFtfioUabGfcS3H3M6dr8ojWNSD6Xmj6J2yillSGp-s7-GbTs2tzdmIM0ypAWu7BEvpKMcn2kXRA_rLtgQPaxwEA2G_Nfai5i8imDLYYsAZMOPFjYXBR-fweGgyF_/s1600/P1020168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBxFQrZLzBGwz0_KxdFtfioUabGfcS3H3M6dr8ojWNSD6Xmj6J2yillSGp-s7-GbTs2tzdmIM0ypAWu7BEvpKMcn2kXRA_rLtgQPaxwEA2G_Nfai5i8imDLYYsAZMOPFjYXBR-fweGgyF_/s640/P1020168.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Spot the sailboats!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You would think that here in the zenith of
living afloat, we would have become lounge lizards, seduced by a program that
flowed from latte, to tapas, to canapés with a view, washed down with selected
extracts from the Hunter, Margaret River, or even the Barossa; with a window
table selected for sunset. Not so. Although we noted the great range of
temptations close to hand, and the menu at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mavericks
on the Bay</i>, which lords over the marina, is acceptably and fairly priced,
our focus was taken more by what we had seen on our approach to Port Stephens and
what we soon gleaned from the friendly staff at the Information Centre, which
was - you may have guessed - only a short stroll away. Yes, we had some vital
voyage-related issues to resolve before we left Port Stephens, which would
steal slabs of our time, but in amongst this we wanted to see more of the wild
side of Port Stephens than we had been able to glean from our vantage point out
at sea.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Port Stephens is a substantial waterway,
greater in area than Sydney Harbor, and offering recreational opportunities
afloat that, like Lake Macquarie and the Pittwater, could mean that one might
be delightfully content without ever putting out beyond the headlands to the
open sea. Given our tenure in A Row, and the need that we had to be close to
both facilities and to on-board technologies, we resolved to stay put in the
marina, do some exploring by land and maybe see some of the anchorages of Port
Stephens on another day. The clincher in achieving a work and play balance at
Nelson Bay was to find, again courtesy of the Information Centre ladies, two
brochures of great value to us: the Port Stephens Bus services timetable that
would give us scope to visit a range of places beyond the marina, and the
Tomaree National Park brochure that revealed a network of coastal and forest
trails that looked just there for the walking. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Added to the list of features at Nelson Bay
was the presence of two fresh fish outlets alongside the marina, giving us the
opportunity of dining aboard on fruits of the sea without getting a line wet.
The broader marina complex is also home to the fishing fleet, the Police and
Marine Rescue vessels, a raft of tourist boats and the ferry that plies a
regular trade across the harbor to the centres of Tea Gardens and Hawks Nest.
Offerings such as snapper cutlets, sand whiting fillets and whole pan fried
flounder – Cookie took a little convincing re the flounder and wanted to know
if the beseeching eyes of these creatures had been attended to in the gutting
process – graced the griddle on board <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista.</i> Whatever the good patrons of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mavericks on the Bay </i>were enjoying, our
on board marine fare, complete with lightly tossed green salads, olive oil
brushed potato and sweet potato wedges, was incomparable. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Having been regular visitors to “fisherman’s
cooperatives” along the NSW and QLD coasts for our on-board dining in 2010, we
have noticed, this year, a concerning trend. We are very fond of “Flake”, gummy
or school shark fillets, which are delicious steaks of the sea, and have been
the staple of good fish and chip shops for decades. This year though, our
imprecise survey of fish outlets has shown that flake, as we have known it, is
rarely seen these days on trays at the fishmongers. The sad conclusion is that
we have fished the species of potable sharks to oblivion. It is clear that the
science of sustainability being aligned to catches is missing; and that those
in authority have done little to address the disappearance of some species from
our seas. A result of this is that some species, once discarded as offal, are
now promoted as premier table fare. Humble and harmless shovel nosed rays are
now swept up in nets; meagre fillets are separated from their tail sections, and
sold as a variety of “flake”. At Nelson Bay the sign of “flake fillets” had me
excited until some further quizzing revealed that the “flake” was really chunks
of shovel nosed shark, fine to use if you were re-soling your walking boots.
The same applies to other species such as leatherjackets, once condemned to the
status of Crayfish bait, and now proffered as premium fare.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEU1Oze4TiwlN1-szIP5vJ6mWni53rXRZ_PU6X87h0SthMqjOeJYwfmJcNioVpi3g_XXLRmbKAIHQm5FkB80_JmMCptRpm60vtHm05ARIdQZ8xYeKJjwU8Rf7McQHG5sW-epHwcSSgljC6/s1600/P1020218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEU1Oze4TiwlN1-szIP5vJ6mWni53rXRZ_PU6X87h0SthMqjOeJYwfmJcNioVpi3g_XXLRmbKAIHQm5FkB80_JmMCptRpm60vtHm05ARIdQZ8xYeKJjwU8Rf7McQHG5sW-epHwcSSgljC6/s640/P1020218.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Anyone for "Flake"?</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Up in Nelson Bay though, there was another
gourmet outlet that we had noted in 2010, and had more than proved its
sustainability over time. The term “Pie Shop” does not conjure up all that
much, unless you are referring to Red Ned’s Pie Shop, Nelson Bay that deserves
a status above and beyond all other outlets for baked produce. Red Ned’s is a
bakery that needs no interior decorating, because its walls are completely
adorned with trophies and banners, won over the last 18 years from competitions
all over Australia. Prevarication is a problem at Red Ned’s, because apart from
the range of specialty Pasties, Sausage Rolls and “favourite” Pies, is the
Gourmet, Seafood and Vegetarian Pie range, over 50 in all, that has to be seen,
and tasted to believe, and leaves the
client with impossible decisions to make. Take wagyu Japanese marbled beef,
with onion and cheese: Thai authentic green curry lamb with capsicum and
shallots; scallop and prawn in honey lime and chilli sauce; crocodile with baby
spinach, mushrooms in white wine sauce and deluxe vegetarian with 9 hand cut
vegies in hollandaise, garlic and pesto seasoning. Wow! Yum! I couldn’t help remembering growing
up in Port Elliot, where if you strolled into Willats’ Bakery, Mrs Willats
would keep it simple with the time honoured line “what’ll it be, Pie Pasty or
Sausage Roll?”. I wonder what Ernie Willats would have made of Red Ned’s.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA1ukeEXc_dTf1-oAJLybeXM9WxBwTLDfzxUc4xVxx2IvX5SVMVrkssFSuDJ3JwGn-BQySDw0wpWCMbErk2cOporXqkxCjloF5dNdUZueTKx0D7N9AcbC0el-3leaVgZqrfSr6lgP7txtH/s1600/P1020170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA1ukeEXc_dTf1-oAJLybeXM9WxBwTLDfzxUc4xVxx2IvX5SVMVrkssFSuDJ3JwGn-BQySDw0wpWCMbErk2cOporXqkxCjloF5dNdUZueTKx0D7N9AcbC0el-3leaVgZqrfSr6lgP7txtH/s640/P1020170.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Decisions.. Decisions!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On board, our frustrations in achieving a sat
phone driven connection to the internet for offshore weather and communications
was growing apace. Try as we might, the signal from our highly regarded Iridium
9555 proved not strong enough to link to either email or weather sources.
Experts from afar were called to lend a hand, but the goal of achieving a
reliable connection via this technology to the outside world proved elusive.
Cookie has been in the driver’s seat of this quest, and to quote her verbatim…”this
is doing my head in!!!” Hours slipped by on board <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>and everything we touched turned to clay. Happily, though
we were well positioned to seek relief from our screens and to head out, off
the boat to the outside world. Call it respite care for non-geeky sailors if
you like.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The day after our Nelson Bay arrival saw
swells of up to 5m forecast and we decided that with deft use of the bus
timetable and the Tomaree National Park map, we could head for Fingal Bay, and
with luck, take some walking trails to see the spectacular coastline for
ourselves. Compared with the hoopla of Nelson Bay, the solitude of the Tomaree
National Park, and the grand vistas that it offered, were a delight. Many more
hours of hand wringing and peering at screens might have injured our mental
health. Maybe those who suffer from technological morbidity could do as we did,
and on the Big Rocky Walk, watching huge seas pummel Little and Big Rocky
islands; hurling cascades of spray aloft, they, like us, might find peace of
mind in the wilderness. There is nothing like salt spray and wind in your hair
to restore equilibrium.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8EPeK7mjg2UdVl-c4VnAUCRhZPAkA9Ju7vBBBvhy8RymA6umZfv4azQG9LPUlVcGfzNGbdAD_b_7VCvO7fAiwSXy_IUJxbhIYS6Iwg1wYY41mbYZOBnG386aknpub9PqduN5X_lHiTZ6i/s1600/IMG_1225+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8EPeK7mjg2UdVl-c4VnAUCRhZPAkA9Ju7vBBBvhy8RymA6umZfv4azQG9LPUlVcGfzNGbdAD_b_7VCvO7fAiwSXy_IUJxbhIYS6Iwg1wYY41mbYZOBnG386aknpub9PqduN5X_lHiTZ6i/s640/IMG_1225+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMq1L0xFWN_wXQq0UVZ68R6DmDu6OD4yHbIQzMrvjCiuPKfNhgG-VFz0Od9ODwYcwZ6zLlVaNn9W6WDFKEQy1Y7j4rwahFFmvTIt21ciuDw1JK_iwH8TZDYnoxReRwRjCqQ5WbirVW6rxt/s1600/IMG_1220+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMq1L0xFWN_wXQq0UVZ68R6DmDu6OD4yHbIQzMrvjCiuPKfNhgG-VFz0Od9ODwYcwZ6zLlVaNn9W6WDFKEQy1Y7j4rwahFFmvTIt21ciuDw1JK_iwH8TZDYnoxReRwRjCqQ5WbirVW6rxt/s640/IMG_1220+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIFOMSb8nZA294CKyL9InLYBP52ezGnJP0fCqw9316VTvNBkBEj3sE1C8g3MeOMEO4IjaJamIoa3e53BH9VijBMzhOU1EsZg_6N9PvFJwgek1u-gNHOp66F7242UoShYqknmkY9attRctR/s1600/IMG_1229+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIFOMSb8nZA294CKyL9InLYBP52ezGnJP0fCqw9316VTvNBkBEj3sE1C8g3MeOMEO4IjaJamIoa3e53BH9VijBMzhOU1EsZg_6N9PvFJwgek1u-gNHOp66F7242UoShYqknmkY9attRctR/s640/IMG_1229+-+Copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Spectacular coastline south of Fingal Beach</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Flushed with the success of our outdoor
activity, we embarked on more. Another foray saw us head to Shoal Bay, the next
bay around from Nelson Bay ,and next to the Port Stephens entrance, from where
a hike to the top of Tomaree Head offered stunning views to all points of the
compass. From here, having a sea eagle like elevation, our attention was drawn
to Zenith, Wreck and Box beaches that were crescent shaped indents in the
coastline extending to Fingal Bay. At Fingal, it might be possible to nimble
our way across the Fingal Spit, and in spite of the dire warnings about being
swept away by seas covering the isthmus, get to the Lighthouse on Fingal
Island.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOJ3deBWmrQRMwjjxFkh3yaJ18NXwzUhZl8Cj4UP9xg4PJ18dQNB3dfyVldT653wlBUBEjJtlC2ZbA2N-N4pcESFdzEfrGQScp6bTA5mliaSsLWhUMKJ5PBMWCbtax4mEtrruYETU051_/s1600/P1020153.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOJ3deBWmrQRMwjjxFkh3yaJ18NXwzUhZl8Cj4UP9xg4PJ18dQNB3dfyVldT653wlBUBEjJtlC2ZbA2N-N4pcESFdzEfrGQScp6bTA5mliaSsLWhUMKJ5PBMWCbtax4mEtrruYETU051_/s640/P1020153.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Great walk and views from Tomaree Head</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvSyXyyloinsiXTcjnxePi4IhBHH257hG-MhZYYY7pyYKRXXIwyRRs8i96BRNtvCcp87GIEEmcuawE9H4uE-0WL-hnlMIhyphenhyphenj0sT_9YGWimVv013OxyEwGXydchZOZNh6H2liRhLLNYa9wz/s1600/P1020165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvSyXyyloinsiXTcjnxePi4IhBHH257hG-MhZYYY7pyYKRXXIwyRRs8i96BRNtvCcp87GIEEmcuawE9H4uE-0WL-hnlMIhyphenhyphenj0sT_9YGWimVv013OxyEwGXydchZOZNh6H2liRhLLNYa9wz/s640/P1020165.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In between, though, we planned a weekend
foray to Solder’s Point, deeper into Port Stephens, where another marina is to
be found, that might be a valuable referral point on another occasion. The
Sunday bus to Soldier’s Point required a stopover and bus change a Salamander
Shopping Centre, a facility that, in spite of attracting a host of locals
seeking retail entertainment, had little to maintain our interest or
enthusiasm. After a trundle down the peninsula in the Soldier’s Point bus, we
arrived at the marina to find it more like a two-story restaurant, brim-full of
people seeking gourmet entertainment to while away their Sunday. We are folks
who are not wedded to lunchtime dining, and the thought of a pricy nosh-up,
leaving us replete, dreamy, and lighter of pocket, had us seeking solace in a
middling café around the corner. We just had time for a bite before catching
the bus, when, in the process of seeing good our bill we were aghast to see our
cherished bus streaming past at a merry clip, in the direction of our intended
travel. Rushing outside and waving like castaways on a desert island was to no
avail….and worse was to come, beyond admitting to my minor mis-reading of the
timetable; on breaking the news to my travelling companion that because it was
Sunday, the next bus was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">two hours away!!
</i>Cookie is a solution seeker and her response was both immediate and to be expected….”we’ll
walk”. Then, with the realisation that walking might see us still at it beyond
sundown she had plan B in hand in a trice….”we’ll hitch!.....hitched my way
around Europe in the 80’s…and we can hitch our way back now!” She strode off,
arm outstretched like a railway signal whilst mine was extended limply, like a
spinach leaf left too long in the sun. On we trudged, as our confidence and
ebullience steadily eroded. Car after car swept past, judged us as
inappropriate, and drove on. No dreadlocks, no piercings, no black t-shirt with
skulls, and not visibly affected by substance or drugs; we were shunned. What
has society come to when a respectable gent and his more than respectable
partner can draw no response in their hour of need? Then…a car stopped. A
lovely lady hailing originally from back of Dubbo took pity on us and offered
us a lift. What’s more she was headed for Nelson Bay and could drop us off,
just abeam of the marina. In the end we got back before the convoluted bus
process via Salamander, met a charming lady who typified everything that is
“country”, and we had time to investigate a glass or two to restore our jangled
nerves before sunset. I resolved to triple check bus departure times in the
future.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtzduRkQPhTMlQVFLt2pwsrnT4TNM_un8IcG8nAx1rDpU7AbQtwkT8sL8chVprs8KErGGP72TL_9js6H57lN8oaJCmzX2Y260DZBK5pTd8H2IDTfFon2ImoQ_uOeZhzV7ILUAKYWViXCK7/s1600/P1020181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtzduRkQPhTMlQVFLt2pwsrnT4TNM_un8IcG8nAx1rDpU7AbQtwkT8sL8chVprs8KErGGP72TL_9js6H57lN8oaJCmzX2Y260DZBK5pTd8H2IDTfFon2ImoQ_uOeZhzV7ILUAKYWViXCK7/s640/P1020181.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Now what time was that bus?!!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our last Tomaree excursion, achieved via a
carefully constructed connection with the local bus, took us to Shoal Bay from
where the walking trail to Wreck and Box Beaches originated. These beaches,
reached after an enervating stroll through the forest, were every bit as good
as they had appeared from Tomaree Head. With a warm sun and gin-clear water a
swim here was tempting, although with the tide on the turn; to swim would mean
that we might not have time to cross the isthmus to Fingal Island. A swim is a
swim, but crossing the isthmus was something else!</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFTGTtcnRaTRK4ko4o9Xj4VR6hUKARAUmJ4m2hs7TTokLx3uB4_CV72nFQ2PjJcr6HWjo4qSxarRlAWTvQi79FF7_8Geo4ze4xfSInfQsfx4k7bN-RsBS_dC2n-PEKjDwUdD2JI21-Evne/s1600/P1020183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFTGTtcnRaTRK4ko4o9Xj4VR6hUKARAUmJ4m2hs7TTokLx3uB4_CV72nFQ2PjJcr6HWjo4qSxarRlAWTvQi79FF7_8Geo4ze4xfSInfQsfx4k7bN-RsBS_dC2n-PEKjDwUdD2JI21-Evne/s640/P1020183.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Wreck Beach</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgObQ6xxLpSvA3twmXRUwXEMxJZ_ca_1G_RJ4LMj0itMQWIyss42NAK2LwmjWERU8fKM0HuSNqZL0KmAGzyrpptPngamehIklbZjePGhVUb2mflJWH9Gjkh7ph94PtNRXuNVddEk1W2_zZP/s1600/P1020187.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgObQ6xxLpSvA3twmXRUwXEMxJZ_ca_1G_RJ4LMj0itMQWIyss42NAK2LwmjWERU8fKM0HuSNqZL0KmAGzyrpptPngamehIklbZjePGhVUb2mflJWH9Gjkh7ph94PtNRXuNVddEk1W2_zZP/s640/P1020187.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The Isthmus</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On our arrival at the spit, with the seas of
earlier days in retreat, the stroll across appeared a breeze and what was more
there were vehicles on the Fingal Island side that underlined its viability. On
arrival there, with our feet nearly dry, we came across a group of net fishers
intent on getting a cast around a shoal of sea mullet, or black bream, that
were schooling just off the headland. They were using a jet boat for net
deployment with the ends of the net hauled ashore by vehicle. We sauntered across
to say hello and they were surprised to hear about our background of jet boats,
mulloway fishing on SA’s wild Coorong beach, and experience of setting heavy
nets in equally heavy surf. They referred to a SA fisherman who had been on the
ABC Landline program, about net fishing off the Coorong Beach, and were
astonished, again, that our good friend Alistair Wood, known fondly by us as
the Mulloway King, was the very same identity. It was a one in a million
connection because, with the isthmus profile deeper in recent times, they had
not been fishing at this spot off Fingal Island for the last nine years. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0baGizOpvfMxTNC5QC-Gx7NC00jDwyxaHk7nHp0NrVxZl4hSeEONXF31qyTH5mSfJpqRuS6wSzt9tQMb93mzmdRuFh3MVJXP0hx6RPVmxlFa5BI4KGIR7D3noq88lW0DscPa16N5Pptdc/s1600/IMG_1245.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0baGizOpvfMxTNC5QC-Gx7NC00jDwyxaHk7nHp0NrVxZl4hSeEONXF31qyTH5mSfJpqRuS6wSzt9tQMb93mzmdRuFh3MVJXP0hx6RPVmxlFa5BI4KGIR7D3noq88lW0DscPa16N5Pptdc/s640/IMG_1245.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Retrieving the net</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fingal Island is not huge and a short walk
along a clearly marked trail saw us at the Point Stephens Lighthouse, a regal
structure with bright blue trim that we had ogled from out at sea. Sadly, the
equally grand keeper’s cottages, with the head-keeper’s residence, complete
with its bay window overlooking the cape, was gutted by fire in the early
1990’s and the residences are but a forlorn relic of their former glory. If we
were well heeled tycoons we would love to see the buildings restored to what
they used to be. Good company, a roast in the oven and spray leaping from the
rocks beyond the lighthouse….we wonder if tycoons are as attracted to these
things as we are.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyphenhyphenRtesyNyouwnfHyoIPwGzjMkOh5gLtRSMEHmyQeRJsgs0eIZPet6XY_SBNz0W4pP4UrjUIdwTVX5NSpcF92cQZGG98xprLvvjeJ7FMokT0Hx5MxJNJQ707MWh7LgnMquFEyVB6wlvBQw/s1600/P1020198.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhyphenhyphenRtesyNyouwnfHyoIPwGzjMkOh5gLtRSMEHmyQeRJsgs0eIZPet6XY_SBNz0W4pP4UrjUIdwTVX5NSpcF92cQZGG98xprLvvjeJ7FMokT0Hx5MxJNJQ707MWh7LgnMquFEyVB6wlvBQw/s640/P1020198.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Relics of a a bygone era at the Lighthouse</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrHZuF5BQqlvt7stX3WAWeWUE6qi_WMMClx89Z6-K3XLCaLaTgwxiaKskVlS0OLDB8megglJaZUk1F9DNg8fK5UQ22OYWDrbCMd9AP1-Q2lTgrYVSMw3TNpN63I3nSsq-Y-UvrNT5m9_RO/s1600/P1020201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrHZuF5BQqlvt7stX3WAWeWUE6qi_WMMClx89Z6-K3XLCaLaTgwxiaKskVlS0OLDB8megglJaZUk1F9DNg8fK5UQ22OYWDrbCMd9AP1-Q2lTgrYVSMw3TNpN63I3nSsq-Y-UvrNT5m9_RO/s640/P1020201.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv_PJIo3s1C-OcL-6j2F7p-f8gNdhE7Us7GjXxRtiglQ8WTKbP_LNQF1ueRh6nC-q-s8n_BqsmTzMfCBPQrmxBPYqsieOBjKS09ImmJMXgfnYri2-5i-6eOEP3pqoquFJgA0zn1oO7S7jv/s1600/IMG_1250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv_PJIo3s1C-OcL-6j2F7p-f8gNdhE7Us7GjXxRtiglQ8WTKbP_LNQF1ueRh6nC-q-s8n_BqsmTzMfCBPQrmxBPYqsieOBjKS09ImmJMXgfnYri2-5i-6eOEP3pqoquFJgA0zn1oO7S7jv/s640/IMG_1250.JPG" width="640" /></i></b></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Incoming tide and threating skies as we returned across the Isthmus</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL_ejhKY4SO8nzo_Y16IK97uGH214UalqSCl4uykxhL2RqxmsblYZ0k620SZffdU1KKEfuLwGLgF1x2yG1WAvtQd1Hq32z3S66FtTcjMu2qwKutboHQmZs8Q8N3nJbSem3h0obGsGwM8fe/s1600/IMG_1252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL_ejhKY4SO8nzo_Y16IK97uGH214UalqSCl4uykxhL2RqxmsblYZ0k620SZffdU1KKEfuLwGLgF1x2yG1WAvtQd1Hq32z3S66FtTcjMu2qwKutboHQmZs8Q8N3nJbSem3h0obGsGwM8fe/s640/IMG_1252.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our last excursion in Port Stephens was the
easy stroll from Nelson Bay to Nelson Head, to visit the Port Stephens Marine
Rescue Centre, sitting up on its position of advantage overlooking the port
entrance. Manned 24/7, the facility is impressive with facilities that
underline the importance placed in volunteer Marine Rescue, both by government,
and by the broader community. We thought of the fabulous work done by Carol
Miell of American River VMR, and Garry and Sue Smith of Tumby Bay VMR, back in
SA, and how their threadbare funding was light years away from what we now saw
in front of us. The MR Officers, there were three on duty, were very welcoming,
and willing to discuss any aspect of their work in the area. They were proud of
the work done by their group, sometimes responding to emergencies during
horrendous conditions out at sea. Earlier this year, yachts returning from the
Pittwater to Coffs Harbor Yacht Race, were hit by a terrible storm when
returning south; one yachtsman was drowned and the Marine Rescue vessel was
knocked down by the enormous sea. To us,
with weather events like this now predicted and not random, we wondered what
the yachts were doing out there in the first place, especially as the incident
occurred on a Tuesday and concerns about the weather prognosis were shared with
the boats at Coffs on the Sunday before. Hearing the harrowing tale of what
eventuated, with Marine Rescue personnel clearly putting their lives on the
line in the process, we reflected on the differing mentality that exists
between racing “yachties” and cruisers like us. We would have stayed in port.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiRPlIXmtRxYm354JKJ28Qmt-AhrZbHZM2vWFSxOKL_K_WxmSTu-bwo82bi2auNaChdpIghDcXoaPD-yMqvkpDQLPjCG4fNoYWrYW44uMw2il1X1JrHht4vIBHOWKfAVwq-VNwgpe6sBo3/s1600/P1020137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiRPlIXmtRxYm354JKJ28Qmt-AhrZbHZM2vWFSxOKL_K_WxmSTu-bwo82bi2auNaChdpIghDcXoaPD-yMqvkpDQLPjCG4fNoYWrYW44uMw2il1X1JrHht4vIBHOWKfAVwq-VNwgpe6sBo3/s640/P1020137.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Port Stephens Marine Rescue</i></b></span> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46xdki7zySxsmzxgg8yGv-OgyC9ix1i4ZBaxnfwI8m5Uj_Fg_5JPEA2Afuh0yFuBrmFItCSsgABHNquNEGqoKMyD1W9X5pLvZXpCu32ju4mDxmXTTs2w0GzMDLnjmiV18rycfw_nzPb7C/s1600/P1020216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46xdki7zySxsmzxgg8yGv-OgyC9ix1i4ZBaxnfwI8m5Uj_Fg_5JPEA2Afuh0yFuBrmFItCSsgABHNquNEGqoKMyD1W9X5pLvZXpCu32ju4mDxmXTTs2w0GzMDLnjmiV18rycfw_nzPb7C/s640/P1020216.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back on board, the need to head north,
combined with a temporarily fine weather prediction, had us readying <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>for sea. Following our
discussion at the Marine Rescue centre, a detailed look at the weather outlook
back on board showed the ominous development of a weather system in a few days’
time, out in the Coral Sea but heading for the NSW coast. Although showers were
currently forecast, winds were expected to be light, giving us the opportunity
for a comfortable passage, north to Coffs Harbor; a voyage of 165 nm that would
take about 30 hours at sea. The strong westerlies of previous days had
dissipated, but the chill in the air had an unmistakeable sniff of winter. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyH6-yDHpD180mo9YizGuXoHYwKbtxCXKOZUcd9EbJMnSkZaAgS82kuwKoYCQ2TfjvW757vDXgeCCXg6k_DaPG83-yvsN7BjcCGoi1cZNgfh1aIthQ06N2ADy-LxDziRF5r3P8bImc3uHZ/s1600/P1020179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyH6-yDHpD180mo9YizGuXoHYwKbtxCXKOZUcd9EbJMnSkZaAgS82kuwKoYCQ2TfjvW757vDXgeCCXg6k_DaPG83-yvsN7BjcCGoi1cZNgfh1aIthQ06N2ADy-LxDziRF5r3P8bImc3uHZ/s640/P1020179.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Last sunset at Port Stephens</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We were away and out of the d’Albora Marina,
before many had stirred and well before the first coffee was stirred at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mavericks on the Bay.</i> The passage beyond
Tomaree Point was disturbed with an outgoing tide in conflict with a light
onshore wind, and what the passage would be like in a dedicated Nor-Easter,
against an ebbing tide was horrible to contemplate. Soon, however we were free
from the area of confluence and making between Cabbage Tree and Boondebah Islands,
we set a course for a point off Seal Rocks. With our at sea routines in front
of us, we set a double reefed main, engaged the autopilot<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, </i>and attempted to get some rest in between taking turns on watch.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Not far out of Port Stephens, beyond Hawks
Nest and Providence Bay lie the Broughton Islands, where island anchoring
offshore, common in South Australia but not so in NSW, is possible. We glassed
the islands but did not linger, with a long night, and some, in front of us
before we reached Coffs Harbor. Of more appeal, with its beach anchorage
sheltered by Sugarloaf Point, was the Seal Rocks anchorage; just the thing if
the weather was holding fine from the South or Sou-West. For us though it was
not the time to delay and explore, and we made our way past Seal Rocks, and
later Cape Hawke, to see the wink of the Crowdy Head light, off our port bow as
darkness fell. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfg1Lc2Z2GizpICeEFZMnxFMjqDmqJCx7cp9fdo_a2hhbA5O5J19faOP-ftPMRaB143mE1VddlWHNhDdYv3peRn9Xhp0YHgpd8cavIdA_I0QkSKjkl4tQ7QL-K5EwvcbgLT_mR21ul7a6l/s1600/P1020238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfg1Lc2Z2GizpICeEFZMnxFMjqDmqJCx7cp9fdo_a2hhbA5O5J19faOP-ftPMRaB143mE1VddlWHNhDdYv3peRn9Xhp0YHgpd8cavIdA_I0QkSKjkl4tQ7QL-K5EwvcbgLT_mR21ul7a6l/s640/P1020238.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Seal Rocks Lighthouse</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlVYzy2AyuDm3O2SDYyVLjJAf4R25sgMYaHQIkCOKq8AqMWFSxqVpOEuja-L9tfYRYKVXbyxqGfWFMc0uO87_75aPR9lHeWVDDqVIW6ZHh6QQR3v_boW_XfsEZCesVj0hMt1FWHfk0Fl0/s1600/P1020243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlVYzy2AyuDm3O2SDYyVLjJAf4R25sgMYaHQIkCOKq8AqMWFSxqVpOEuja-L9tfYRYKVXbyxqGfWFMc0uO87_75aPR9lHeWVDDqVIW6ZHh6QQR3v_boW_XfsEZCesVj0hMt1FWHfk0Fl0/s640/P1020243.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Another amazing sunset</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Port Macquarie, like a number of the
prominent Marine Rescue stations, is manned 24/7, although probably “staffed”
would be a better term as these days, as, like Carol on Kangaroo Island, female
voices calling the shots on the airways is becoming more common. On leaving
Port Stephens we were asked to nominate a coastal station, somewhere near the
mid-point of our passage, to call up and register our progress. We drew level
with Port Macquarie at 1am, and despite some reticence from us in calling at
such an untimely hour, a chipper voice came up in a moment or two, deflecting
our apologies for disturbing his peace, and saying that our call was a good
excuse to put on the kettle. Some cruisers choose not to log in with the Marine
Rescue network, although we prefer to have our presence known to the
professionals ashore. If something went wrong out at sea, they have our
particulars, and in the event that we did not reach our destination, time would
not be lost in starting a search for us. Our experience is that if we say we
will be arriving at a location at a designated time, and we do not radio in,
they will place VHF calls out for us and will start calling us on our mobile
phone, as this contact is part of the standard log-in procedure. With our home
port far away, we appreciate this.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMsneWlIwNoTZYgVu-nSzh5ctdmUp61duoDsaMdvQCmxzYM10w77o3Xem7NTt3SinsLhQuHeUxk4-3cfGovwxGPpZ2DSNQoo3D0FS8tAuT00kHej1XNAg3gHSWsV1DGt0CXUsNWL_sEHi7/s1600/P1020251.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMsneWlIwNoTZYgVu-nSzh5ctdmUp61duoDsaMdvQCmxzYM10w77o3Xem7NTt3SinsLhQuHeUxk4-3cfGovwxGPpZ2DSNQoo3D0FS8tAuT00kHej1XNAg3gHSWsV1DGt0CXUsNWL_sEHi7/s640/P1020251.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Snug in the lee cloth berth off watch</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Through the night we could see that something
was brewing out to sea, but in spite of faraway flashes of lightning, nothing
malevolent presented itself and we emerged into the new day off one of our
favourite NSW places, Smoky Cape. With its Trial Bay at Sou West Rocks and a
fascinating past as a penitentiary by the sea, it would be good to drop our
anchor here, although thunderheads out to sea, lit by the ochre rays of the new
day, kept our focus on the fresh waypoint past Nambucca Heads, and battling the
notorious East Australia Current; the topic of much fun in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Finding Nemo, </i>but a bane to any cruising yacht making to the North.
The EAC bares its fangs between smoky Cape and Coffs Harbor, but in our corner
on this occasion was a sprightly breeze from the SW, which allowed us to
trundle along past the unmistakeable Hat Head, before the islands off Coffs
hove into view. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-WJRGlvGC1We3gA-1n9hBHDZH0dwcuCIBdpt8tRZfhF6IHeMe-WlsSPWF34Z1duBiGNiwHaW2-eQABl4WBoLEeMM65bYDMAJm078QyH00UuvFCl0CGfTYFR1vHKz76zCBwdByy_6iWAg/s1600/P1020286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-WJRGlvGC1We3gA-1n9hBHDZH0dwcuCIBdpt8tRZfhF6IHeMe-WlsSPWF34Z1duBiGNiwHaW2-eQABl4WBoLEeMM65bYDMAJm078QyH00UuvFCl0CGfTYFR1vHKz76zCBwdByy_6iWAg/s640/P1020286.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The southern breakwater wall at the outer harbour entrance</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRvEnsIlk_AhBltoO1JLe5IjTMw-krpBskzJ4ZQRq8yUj7ej9Zqm1T8xiMEw_EaRXm5avsAw7Bvi19Y1s5fRRzmFZgBKhRLX5hUkOHKGIoRTiGplpimhNgKN-XlId5tvgjWbHKTX6oS5hK/s1600/P1020288.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRvEnsIlk_AhBltoO1JLe5IjTMw-krpBskzJ4ZQRq8yUj7ej9Zqm1T8xiMEw_EaRXm5avsAw7Bvi19Y1s5fRRzmFZgBKhRLX5hUkOHKGIoRTiGplpimhNgKN-XlId5tvgjWbHKTX6oS5hK/s640/P1020288.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>On approach to the Marina entrance</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We rounded the Coffs Harbor breakwater and
made for berth D42, at the behest of Marina Manager Elise who, when we
presented at the Office, suggested that given the ominous weather forecast for
the weekend, with gale force winds, sheets of rain and seas building beyond 6 metres
in height, having our bow to the weather would be a very good thing. We had a
day to prepare for the tempest, and do all that we could to be ready for the
storm when it arrived. In an ironic touch a sign near the port facilities
proudly declares<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a> that works are about to start on raising
and strengthening the north-east facing breakwater, the barrier that will bear
the brunt of what is to come. Previous storms have seen seas crash over its
wall to cause considerable damage to the marina, and in the marina office is a
photo taken during a blow that shows the breakwater completely smothered by an
enormous sea. With locals telling us that “this one could be the worst one
yet!” we felt a growing sense of apprehension……as our ship’s barometer began to
fall. </span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-39928543124520149542016-05-30T15:16:00.000-07:002016-05-30T15:16:24.432-07:00<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Lake Macquarie to Port Stephens</i></b></span> </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>18/5/16 –
24/5/16</i></b></span></span><br />
<b><i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><b><i>( </i></b><i>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.)</i><br /><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Planning a voyage such as this one has been
made more complex by all that is involved in leaving Australian waters for
another country, in our case, to New Caledonia and Vanuatu. In our first post of this blog we spoke of
journeying to these destinations on a “big ship”, in this case P&O’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific Pearl </i>as invaluable background
for what we are soon to undertake. There have been many other things to
investigate, before we consider ourselves remotely ready to go. Linking with
others who have been to these places is invaluable, and in January this year
our fine Port Lincoln sailing friends Jonathon and Wendy Newbury put us in
touch with medical friends from Newcastle,
John and Ann Marley, who fortuitously sailed to this part of the
south-west Pacific in 2015. Coincidentally, John and Ann, on their 37’ Beneteau
Oceanis, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Essex Girl</i> have future plans
to sail to PNG’s Louisiade Archipelago, a fabulous string of tropical isles
that we have visited in 2008 and again in 2010. It was natural then that we
have had things to share about these respective destinations, and before we set
sail from SA we exchanged cruising notes, and marine charts with each other and
resolved to try to meet when heading north, in the vicinity of Newcastle. When
we found that Jonathon and Wendy planned to join John and Ann about the 23<sup>rd</sup>
of May to jointly sail north in the direction of the Whitsundays, we decided to
do our best to connect with them prior to their departure. We were very much
looking forward to meeting John and Ann, and this was uppermost on our minds as
we slipped from the mooring at the Swansea Bridge, and made our way down the
channel on the short leg to the major port of Newcastle. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUo5xywZgMNs1-0Xj5OOpeD2GefmsNDVNLRdj0fosEDpUEQDia7cCfWb3VqgetE5xHobKfhyRJ8KcByRWYq6dDc6Vb3_Y7PNxYeuXu1rENbmSuDvRRr6qAquIm1lBYYzCbZstyUfT0STqJ/s1600/P1010997.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUo5xywZgMNs1-0Xj5OOpeD2GefmsNDVNLRdj0fosEDpUEQDia7cCfWb3VqgetE5xHobKfhyRJ8KcByRWYq6dDc6Vb3_Y7PNxYeuXu1rENbmSuDvRRr6qAquIm1lBYYzCbZstyUfT0STqJ/s640/P1010997.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Leaving Lake Macquarie entrance</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Beyond Swansea a long sweep of coastal dunes
hides the bustle of Belmont from those out at sea until the ruddy bulwark of
Red Head marks the resumption of coastal cliffs and bays that end with Nobbys
Beach and Nobby Island, which lie abeam of the breakwaters that shelter the
entrance to Newcastle. Many will remember Nobbys beach as the scene of the
stranding of the 76,000 tonne <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pasha</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bulker</i>, in a gale in June 2007, and the
remarkable efforts by all and sundry to re-float her and return her to the high
seas before she broke up. Often these marine dramas are played out in remote
places, away from the public gaze, but this incident took place not more than a
short walk from Newcastle’s Town Hall, with the good folk of the city having
front row seats. As we left Nobbys Beach to port it was in conditions that
could hardly be more benign. We were grateful for this.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_sySfgzKebnIlWPMY1BEHuDmYPV4M3CYVvnDaXPmQVmxsifMQhw6R6FRic3luIMwp9teMYT-aqIMwMANLg4na2hFQVf3KIFLhO9hCYCWfOPBYvQdqRR2bKHYgmPuAy5dRzB-VJfru5HQJ/s1600/P1020031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_sySfgzKebnIlWPMY1BEHuDmYPV4M3CYVvnDaXPmQVmxsifMQhw6R6FRic3luIMwp9teMYT-aqIMwMANLg4na2hFQVf3KIFLhO9hCYCWfOPBYvQdqRR2bKHYgmPuAy5dRzB-VJfru5HQJ/s640/P1020031.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Nobbys Beach & Nobbys Head</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The port of Newcastle is one of Australia’s
busiest, and entering here often sees a small ship like ours sharing the channel
with a steel monster and its clutch of tugs fussing in close attendance.
Newcastle is in fact the world’s biggest coal export port although with growing
concern about the role of burning coal and global warming, this may not be the
point of pride that it used to be. Our first entrance here in 2010, saw us miss
the last of daylight and having to squeeze past an immense coal ship in the
entrance, complete with courtiers, heading seaward. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, using our AIS to assist, we were
delighted to see a VBS, very big ship, depart the port and head south for the
other side of the world. In drawing level with the breakwater “leads” we were
relieved to see that, almost literally, the coast was clear.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEico76-7p2nkpNIrbfcBn-r2_gRAbDkZzg3ExoHzjgRnU2duKs6WBKUeUXZiCW3Em0NShBGjkPFogbyCx_FDWNO3sEbtun2AUqwQFTWyF4PGR3TXtOj55mHrCGfJEkwSX_ygmvzNRSW-XSp/s1600/P1020040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEico76-7p2nkpNIrbfcBn-r2_gRAbDkZzg3ExoHzjgRnU2duKs6WBKUeUXZiCW3Em0NShBGjkPFogbyCx_FDWNO3sEbtun2AUqwQFTWyF4PGR3TXtOj55mHrCGfJEkwSX_ygmvzNRSW-XSp/s640/P1020040.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>On approach to the Newcastle Cruising Yacht Club Marina</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After tying up at the Newcastle Marina and
exchanging the requisite paperwork and payment – it costs $240 per week to stay
at the Newcastle Cruising Yacht Club, with excellent facilities available
either there or near at hand – we set about working on the endless lists of
tasks that were underlined and in italics in Cookie’s notepad. Newcastle has
long been a worker’s city, and we would be working here too, for much of our
stay. What we needed though, was some mobility to get to places that were not
close to hand, and we were fortunate in that, after meeting John and Ann over a
coffee, and having them accept our invite to dine on board <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista, </i>they let us know that we could make use of their
daughter’s car whilst in port, given that she was currently overseas in London.
This was a kind gesture from a fine couple of kindred sailors.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV6IfQzXVg88tv5VQLozV2nsHYsMmF5ElvCuUXFyu7Ptl11zQJ6g2d5tNXigusPN8C20Rui7U9zNlK6nhu4Tl5psohdVYfYobkrdrC4Ba6ylguul1g7Wkl7BN52-D597Gl2mNMkj9_t3CD/s1600/P1020043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV6IfQzXVg88tv5VQLozV2nsHYsMmF5ElvCuUXFyu7Ptl11zQJ6g2d5tNXigusPN8C20Rui7U9zNlK6nhu4Tl5psohdVYfYobkrdrC4Ba6ylguul1g7Wkl7BN52-D597Gl2mNMkj9_t3CD/s640/P1020043.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Nobbys Beach</span></i></b> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Having transport also allowed us to “down
tools” for parts of each day to see Newcastle, to make for Nobby’s Beach for a
plunge in the surf and, predictably, to head for the Newcastle sea – baths to
get in some daily laps to keep ourselves nimble. Our fondness for town “Baths”
has grown on this voyage, with these seaside attractions dating from days
before modern pool technology where clever engineering created shore-side pools
that were filled and refreshed by the natural processes of swell and tide. Once
built, these facilities largely ran themselves and provided a safe place for
many people to go “sea bathing”. These were the days of striped jackets, straw boaters
and ladies in parasols. With their ornate facades, baths like those at
Newcastle have played a key role in creating a fondness for the sea in
Australia that today we call “beach culture”. Certainly, plunging into the
Newcastle 50m sea-pool was very different from the Olympic Pool in Homebush.
Unlike the 26 degrees of Thorpie’s kingdom, the Newcastle pool had nudged down
to 18 degrees and swimming 20 laps left one with a gathering chill. Although
this pool has seen better days and many moons have passed since the cement
steps of its amphitheatre have brimmed with spectators, the pool does have some
remarkable features, such as the numbers of fish that have made their home
there and look up with curiosity as you pass overhead. Amongst the fry was a
trio of substantial Bream that looked as though they were doing just fine in
their predator-free home. We have no idea how they got there. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP4oap5oDD0YWhb1KqRqMw0HD5ZkBFqCDhgXM1KUqwl-aerkW2MiBaLVbB9i6_KCTxR9SCKm_7k71U6S3ndv2V9X406eSLxYr2jQ9ejtkqWTXrSS5FVfV1q8vM2PFTKHDQYkEfKPI9aH3A/s1600/P1020053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP4oap5oDD0YWhb1KqRqMw0HD5ZkBFqCDhgXM1KUqwl-aerkW2MiBaLVbB9i6_KCTxR9SCKm_7k71U6S3ndv2V9X406eSLxYr2jQ9ejtkqWTXrSS5FVfV1q8vM2PFTKHDQYkEfKPI9aH3A/s640/P1020053.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The Ocean Baths, City Beach</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGsKiYYDIQUr516Yed4wWqNRINBzaTAwWZR9cs2PBL6KpTwqmYiD99dW2x-IAk7Fq0e70PA1kxyx_ALkR0JJNAxSNy6g0aTaaWUzSZsyLRQSzuj8WNQYDATrZatBE9e5bDzOOme9sXM5fZ/s1600/P1020054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGsKiYYDIQUr516Yed4wWqNRINBzaTAwWZR9cs2PBL6KpTwqmYiD99dW2x-IAk7Fq0e70PA1kxyx_ALkR0JJNAxSNy6g0aTaaWUzSZsyLRQSzuj8WNQYDATrZatBE9e5bDzOOme9sXM5fZ/s640/P1020054.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJQWHJHKtWN5bvPPqYQZHul0Yr_MdYbFN9NUUk8GP9_N-llD_40VO63T7JukfBFXVIa4Gjp5DvMmbJDCYkD7Kra930sneV294CZe-qhNbHbZok5QqxUpXVtoMe0DFXtFmjs_3SRoEFsDC/s1600/P1020055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJQWHJHKtWN5bvPPqYQZHul0Yr_MdYbFN9NUUk8GP9_N-llD_40VO63T7JukfBFXVIa4Gjp5DvMmbJDCYkD7Kra930sneV294CZe-qhNbHbZok5QqxUpXVtoMe0DFXtFmjs_3SRoEFsDC/s640/P1020055.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
were uplifting moments for us too, such as attending a program of evening
lectures at the Newcastle Town Hall on Humpback Whales and Seahorses; by marine
aficionados, around the theme of preservation of oceanic species. We were well
aware of efforts in recent decades to restore the numbers of Humpbacks in
Australian waters, but the compelling story of preserving populations of
seahorses in Port Stephens to the north, was truly enlightening. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beyond this though, to be able to head into
town for a product or part, and to head to the shops to re-supply made life so
much easier, especially, had we hired a car, it would have sat idly in the
marina car park for much of the time whilst our heads were down in anchor wells,
bilges, lockers and the like. At times on board our boat it looked as though we
had been in a blender, with tools, gear, locker contents and equipment strewn
in all directions.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We were saddened to see that central
Newcastle, which suffered considerably from the serious earthquake that
devastated the area in1989, killing 13 people and injuring many others, has
left many buildings too costly or complex to repair. To us it seems as though
by one means or another, locals have shifted their enterprise and their focus from
the centre of town to the suburbs. Empty shops, faded facades, and businesses
that struggle to make ends meet seemed to us to be a hallmark of the centre of
Newcastle City, 2016.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Above all though,
on passing by the grand Newcastle Railway Station, we were appalled to find
that a recent “development” plan has seen the rail from Sydney terminated some
way out of town, with plans to erect high rise properties on railway grounds,
winning the day over strident opposition to the closure from locals. The power
of money has won the day. At least just alongside the old station, where
shuttle buses have replaced the trains, the legendary “Café d Wheels”, an iconic
Pie Cart that has seen to the internal needs of locals and visitors since 1945,
is still plying its gastronomic trade. Its gourmet piece de resistance is a pie
– flavour of choice - topped with mashed potatoes, mushy peas and gravy. I can
be now included amongst its converts and devotees. Cookie cannot. Should the
developers place their grimy sights on the “Café d Wheels”, we think that the
people of Newcastle will take to the streets, and march upon Town Hall. The
tomato sauce will flow! </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzgyd6br5BKrk90HjPT7TslEzFDPwBUkxKXhyvvdTqbWARBBHgKuOWu6vbOZzwBSwP4fpf7rmPgxtGqUft5HwLfRnNndHHgQW5sTgT1rQ9lyLvC3mvJQ5OQqW_Qu04Gt48JrPfsA_6zg4T/s1600/IMG_1202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzgyd6br5BKrk90HjPT7TslEzFDPwBUkxKXhyvvdTqbWARBBHgKuOWu6vbOZzwBSwP4fpf7rmPgxtGqUft5HwLfRnNndHHgQW5sTgT1rQ9lyLvC3mvJQ5OQqW_Qu04Gt48JrPfsA_6zg4T/s640/IMG_1202.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">A very happy Colin!</span></i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With our “tasky” regime at the Marina, days
skipped by and we were looking forward to seeing Jonathon and Wendy again
before making ready for sea. Their time in Newcastle was to be fleeting, with
John and Ann ready to head for Port Stephens and their imminent departure to
the north. This left one opportunity for us all to dine at the Yacht Club;
spend a little more time with John and Ann, catch up with some old friends from
Lincoln, and chat - until the staff called time on our conviviality by
pointedly clearing tables and shutting the doors. It had been a fine, but all
too fleeting night in the Port of Newcastle.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTqYL5APuTTscNAqC4YXGZDw3TXjYxpi8kvGj94hyphenhyphenYtW9oq7zEBC-Gd6CuTRWisnN3P8aQy_Hb3jmhGK9lCx3ovhw_iWGxSZpzIOOWg_QTG46YtwHujpdO0cJaDhQk-oIWWz6zJaOiVXzs/s1600/P1020057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTqYL5APuTTscNAqC4YXGZDw3TXjYxpi8kvGj94hyphenhyphenYtW9oq7zEBC-Gd6CuTRWisnN3P8aQy_Hb3jmhGK9lCx3ovhw_iWGxSZpzIOOWg_QTG46YtwHujpdO0cJaDhQk-oIWWz6zJaOiVXzs/s640/P1020057.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Servicing the anchor winch</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGHhvUNaBGDu3CEmImLaa6gW0rs91_Gsqj08qsuW3eUxjDeAaHso3x19T1r7Bx4v-OvNa1NVBzzM969ZF_cylUMwHELv6IjXPFaGvuha4WzRicIkhlZsKKKynfGSj8GFKJFjLVj88elt9a/s1600/P1020060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGHhvUNaBGDu3CEmImLaa6gW0rs91_Gsqj08qsuW3eUxjDeAaHso3x19T1r7Bx4v-OvNa1NVBzzM969ZF_cylUMwHELv6IjXPFaGvuha4WzRicIkhlZsKKKynfGSj8GFKJFjLVj88elt9a/s640/P1020060.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Oiling the teak Hungry Board</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNxHlY92KLoCxEqf0LRzwrdsOuksfLbQgagS9f_zlAurei6QvsRqlRxWc5SDv-tm569KeCeDdrOrsCJC73u_ri6GezyzibAHzVvvLkrfhN65r3ktQSJRGqmrl519_D3Dg5DH0Hvx5hwo3/s1600/P1020065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqNxHlY92KLoCxEqf0LRzwrdsOuksfLbQgagS9f_zlAurei6QvsRqlRxWc5SDv-tm569KeCeDdrOrsCJC73u_ri6GezyzibAHzVvvLkrfhN65r3ktQSJRGqmrl519_D3Dg5DH0Hvx5hwo3/s640/P1020065.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i>Dining at the Yacht Club with Jonathon, Wendy John, Ann & family</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</i></b></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back on board the fresh southerly change
which had swept Newcastle’s dusty air to the north brought with it strong wind
warnings to the Hunter Coast. Closer inspection though showed that whilst
further out to sea the winds would be formidable, closer to the coast they were
a little easier and would allow us to depart Newcastle with fresh airs on our
stern quarter, providing us with the opportunity to sail the 32 nautical miles
across the Stockton Bight to Port Stephens. There was another incentive as
well. The BOM forecast for the Hunter and nearby coastal areas carried a
“marine caution” for the next two days relating to a developing 3-5metre swell
that would make conditions potentially hazardous for vessels entering or
leaving ports. Because we had not entered Port Stephens before, we were wary
about entering there in adverse swell conditions, in spite of cruising notes
that suggested that due to the depth of water in the entrance channel, swell
size should not be a concern.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYjT9To-TEsjPH3z_zrNZ4jhi80yqMDdQI9LOFZBanEFxX8Frm4y0qzBPeKKT4hwNHaBZsLL1ag-a-QmK_5sSd0f2IVIX84DQEuei7Lu8kR4p9kgrQ5gKMilXG20XW2YJ0TgMkryrzI8-y/s1600/P1020072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYjT9To-TEsjPH3z_zrNZ4jhi80yqMDdQI9LOFZBanEFxX8Frm4y0qzBPeKKT4hwNHaBZsLL1ag-a-QmK_5sSd0f2IVIX84DQEuei7Lu8kR4p9kgrQ5gKMilXG20XW2YJ0TgMkryrzI8-y/s640/P1020072.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>7.5 knots!!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista
</i>bearing a reefed sail pattern the next morning saw us make our way down the
ship channel and out to sea. Ahead, the ocean appeared in profile like
corrugated iron, and the sharp WSW streaming off the dunes of Stockton Beach
threw up a top sea that ran contrary to the building ground swell, and caps of
white were all about. Our prudent sail selection had us in good stead though,
and after setting our headsail<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a> we romped away in the
direction of Port Stephens. This was a sleigh ride with hand – steering ruling
the waves. Times like this have been in short supply on this trip, with either
too much or too little wind being the norm, but this time we shared the helm
and allowed our Swanson 36 to show what she was capable of delivering. The
swell had built to an extent that, when a “set” was upon us, the wind fell to a
zephyr in the “valleys” and hit us with conviction up on the crests. In no time
though, it seemed, the fans of spray off Fingal Point and Big Rocky Island had
us scanning the coast in awe, and the lighthouse on Point Stephens signalled
that the turn to port into Port Stephens was not far away. On rounding Point
Stephens and with Tomaree Head, the entrance to Port Stephens closing, the
swell was blunted and it was clear that our concerns about waves in the
entrance channel were groundless. In fact, of more concern to us was the
out-flowing tide backed by the wind, now on our bow, that with our sails
furled, and motor engaged had our speed reduced to three knots. Getting in to
Port Stephens would be a bash. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimH7Xuv2weOnGhyz-2bIhM8l_wfOOfZsy_wRMHQZE0VcPxzd2Bg-ofnLTop93vBKR8Sx70tDg6Y0RjYzCisKXw2yJT8btX22m-GHgWC6HyD5_EypK0tW0apLk_mKFv6nR8ua94hhDhN8lV/s1600/P1020085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimH7Xuv2weOnGhyz-2bIhM8l_wfOOfZsy_wRMHQZE0VcPxzd2Bg-ofnLTop93vBKR8Sx70tDg6Y0RjYzCisKXw2yJT8btX22m-GHgWC6HyD5_EypK0tW0apLk_mKFv6nR8ua94hhDhN8lV/s640/P1020085.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Approaching Tomaree Head and the entrance to Port Stephens</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the calmer waters near Nelson Head, with
our destination almost in view, the sight of a sleek cruising yacht hoisting
sail and preparing for sea had us reaching for our binoculars. It was<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Essex Girl, </i>with John, Ann, Jonathon
and Wendy on board, making for the entrance and an overnight passage to Coffs
Harbour. Instead of tying up alongside our friends at the Nelson Bay marina, we
were about to wave some hasty farewells as our two ships passed, and we made
our way to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Essex Girl’s </i>pen, which,
by the kindness of John and Ann, might be our home for a time as we readied
ourselves for our own passage to Coff’s Harbor. Our voyage to New Caledonia and
Vanuatu was getting closer, but still there was a great deal to do before we
would be ready to go. In the meantime, in Port Stephens we might get a chance
to take in some of the highlights of this exquisite destination. As a premier
drawcard for visitors, both afloat and on land, we had heard a lot about Port
Stephens and now hoped to see some of it for ourselves.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpLX9U0dpgxYb2g68Y_Jom6NhAFsPYOlEQ9x3zfaGW4gf-5fJ80NDmzNpuRDy1XpbmzpPS_3xda_AyR1CUbbSELoMs-JaiQvLpIh6ZZ9t-4QwgZeeeoEztpwTz4IImd-V2Fxijg3uG8Kp-/s1600/P1020093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpLX9U0dpgxYb2g68Y_Jom6NhAFsPYOlEQ9x3zfaGW4gf-5fJ80NDmzNpuRDy1XpbmzpPS_3xda_AyR1CUbbSELoMs-JaiQvLpIh6ZZ9t-4QwgZeeeoEztpwTz4IImd-V2Fxijg3uG8Kp-/s640/P1020093.JPG" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Farewell Essex Girl</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-59265288998495833502016-05-22T05:59:00.000-07:002016-05-22T05:59:41.852-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Broken Bay to Lake Macquarie</i></b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>13/5/16 –
17/5/16</i></b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></i></b> <span style="font-family: "arial";"><b><i>( </i></b><i>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.)</i></span><br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The russet hues on the new day were apparent
in eastern skies, but we had beaten the sun to it with our cabin lights
radiating a warming glow below, the kettle simmering; and with a last check of
the BOM website underway before we ventured outside to ready the ship for sea.
Days were measurably shorter now and as the breeze had lost it purpose in the
late evening, the settling airs off Little Patonga Beach had gifted their
moisture to the decks of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>which
now glistened with dewdrops in the dawn. Bare feet gave way to ugg boots, and a
warming windcheater was required to deflect the chill of the air and underfoot.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnZBbg5agcgmfrpfkTiBJ8Iz_cW4brBWbsdMA-9EcEfxxFNnYoXGx_HqipRy-NSMb3AhTPb7RxQ7pAe_d_RmeZDt6hvX9ThprrEXg90J1CIl_LCifqKm7LONa8SflYypyrlIDuNWrgR1wJ/s1600/P1010850.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnZBbg5agcgmfrpfkTiBJ8Iz_cW4brBWbsdMA-9EcEfxxFNnYoXGx_HqipRy-NSMb3AhTPb7RxQ7pAe_d_RmeZDt6hvX9ThprrEXg90J1CIl_LCifqKm7LONa8SflYypyrlIDuNWrgR1wJ/s640/P1010850.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Another beautiful sunrise - Little Patonga Beach</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We were far from the first up though, as
across Broken Bay to Flint and Steel Point, a runabout with its ruby light to
port was hurrying at pace in the direction of Pittwater. It had been good to
anchor in Patonga Beach after the regimentation of moorings in Cowan Creek;
undertaking the process of selecting an anchoring spot, considering the swing
on the chain that could be required at night and the joint efforts of the bow
and the helm in seeing the chain laid in accordance with the wind, and tackle
set to provide reassurance through the dark hours. Picking up a mooring is
secure we admit, but anchoring out is real cruising to us.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8MB3mXKOubQIpsy3GwxHKNFcS2rUbgI1c6jEFeS_KD2guTSsumBIyY70kOxTzjlNMYKrGN_ysBPJp1_EXSMrRuR_MAwu2p9RMFQo59Ny4oXKNll_NCpHtm8ksC8YtXMTQnwR7J9-vxWfi/s1600/P1010858.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8MB3mXKOubQIpsy3GwxHKNFcS2rUbgI1c6jEFeS_KD2guTSsumBIyY70kOxTzjlNMYKrGN_ysBPJp1_EXSMrRuR_MAwu2p9RMFQo59Ny4oXKNll_NCpHtm8ksC8YtXMTQnwR7J9-vxWfi/s640/P1010858.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Lion Island</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With our chain and anchor retrieved we
rounded the port light at the entrance to the bay, and made for Lion Island and
the entrance to Brisbane Water, before keeping a watch for East Reef, a shoal
that might provide a challenge for an unwary crew making to the north. We
reflected on the diverse and extraordinary experiences of recent times, of Port
Hacking, Sydney Harbor, and now the waters accessed via Broken Bay: a trilogy
of destinations too fulsome to see in one autumn, one year, and maybe in a
lifetime on the water. You could live in this region from a callow youth to a
seasoned salt and still be discovering special places.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDchwCVFRldCjCjf738qmoEzhku6ocN4tDOERK4SyLTFWaMTeu34E1cpVMvvl_b5RAOlaYFw2FecC0DOK623qV_JLo8fbj5eXWiVmB9PhKdpVGfeqZ8KQETM78_cX3jSvpaK5g_GDmPvq/s1600/P1010862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDchwCVFRldCjCjf738qmoEzhku6ocN4tDOERK4SyLTFWaMTeu34E1cpVMvvl_b5RAOlaYFw2FecC0DOK623qV_JLo8fbj5eXWiVmB9PhKdpVGfeqZ8KQETM78_cX3jSvpaK5g_GDmPvq/s640/P1010862.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>First Second & Third points</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">These were fleeting thoughts though as upon
rounding Third Point, and with Second and First Points in view, the sandstone
cliffs so typical of the Sydney coast were duplicated, except where they had
been breached by nature to gift us the beaches of Killcare, McMasters Beach,
Avoca, Copacabana and Terrigal, and there was much to see. Sailing had been
challenging to this point with some steady breezes from the WNW giving us the
chance to hoist everything and romp along, followed by failing airs which saw
us ignite our motor to assist, before, as the zephyrs tended northerly, we
doused our headsail and made distance by motor and main alone.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWP0bHnLfAD6x6P1YfCpl8ancpK48YTEzprJQnwzYTKLzsBC-viHWPEaiUAcTulbeywZQGsHqEsS7vRsiyWTh9p-fkOw02AU0RvVToJQBaGixYkesVAXSIp0gYapioR9NGb5bAXFt0361m/s1600/P1010877.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWP0bHnLfAD6x6P1YfCpl8ancpK48YTEzprJQnwzYTKLzsBC-viHWPEaiUAcTulbeywZQGsHqEsS7vRsiyWTh9p-fkOw02AU0RvVToJQBaGixYkesVAXSIp0gYapioR9NGb5bAXFt0361m/s640/P1010877.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Wonderful to be sailing!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsFM4JN3nemlx9wDNL33w87XC6sllRxA98ZnOWzFtmrpvy3sx7BTW8mZ1h6rvNmz4AnWJ1t50BW1FsgEAnDF4x2Q-iuTWyAUBD9CtHgxLd_ykXBngexBAYZZCpj485SXXSWxBwpRBTNW48/s1600/P1010875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsFM4JN3nemlx9wDNL33w87XC6sllRxA98ZnOWzFtmrpvy3sx7BTW8mZ1h6rvNmz4AnWJ1t50BW1FsgEAnDF4x2Q-iuTWyAUBD9CtHgxLd_ykXBngexBAYZZCpj485SXXSWxBwpRBTNW48/s640/P1010875.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Perched atop Norah Head, the major coastal
feature before Lake Macquarie, is its impressive lighthouse and clutch of
former light station cottages. Happily, like other lighthouse precincts
elsewhere, Norah Head has a new life today, via “getaway” accommodation and
functions, for weddings and the like. In the season, the headland is a popular
whale-watching location as the Humpback whales make their annual migration from
the Antarctic to tropical Queensland and return. Now fully protected, these
leviathans are seen these days in ever increasing numbers. There is some
similarity in the annual migration of the whales as far as the Whitsundays and
the annual migration of cruisers and yachts from NSW and southern Queensland
waters to tropical climes north of Fraser Island. Humans and cetaceans both
prefer warmer seas to cold ones it would seem.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgvPLZ6E9Q5nShKtiDkaUvxbpN0Rqk4t7QGiqTpNIegXRbHk8LgPFIHZB5JoiZBd2sU50LXwhEwJFJT4jFSXHtS4rbQspvg6OBPrCCbu7yJsHJUcHXZxbpigteqt7rVa_3Qr4gDX27u5Nh/s1600/P1010889.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgvPLZ6E9Q5nShKtiDkaUvxbpN0Rqk4t7QGiqTpNIegXRbHk8LgPFIHZB5JoiZBd2sU50LXwhEwJFJT4jFSXHtS4rbQspvg6OBPrCCbu7yJsHJUcHXZxbpigteqt7rVa_3Qr4gDX27u5Nh/s640/P1010889.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Norah Head lighthouse</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It is not far from Norah Head to Moon Island
off the entrance to Lake Macquarie where entrance to the Lake, for keelboats
such as ours – we draw 1.8m – is governed by the tide, and gaining access to
the Lake is via a pre-booked opening of the Swansea Bridge. The wind, that had
been sluggish at best, had now disappeared and the last portion of our journey
from Broken Bay required the motor for us to keep up our schedule. Bridge
openings are arranged via Marine Rescue Lake Macquarie, and with a 1400hrs
booking in place, we needed to arrive in time to pilot our way down the channel
following the lead beacons between the breakwaters, and arrive in the basin out
from the bridge for the opening. When last in the area, in 2010, we had hired a
car and driven to see the entrance, and visit the Marine Rescue station which
perches above the channel, in driving wind and gale force winds. Our arrival
this time could not be a greater contrast, with a calm sea, azure skies and no
swell to speak of. In no time at all it seemed, the wings of the bridge creaked
open, and with dozens of cars with their disgruntled occupants banking up on
either side, we slid through into the channel leading to Lake Macquarie. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8-NGybH2asNvLSFdaE-Gv0UcklfDynJutiJOhe5QIg89cztWBMpZuU2gmmRH3VVrfPUwtK-wBml-MuUrZy7jUfK5I_H3NSSH85BxpCQjZj4VWAzBXDlQcT6-2XvwPjbm8LLxduWO8Hg6/s1600/P1010901.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8-NGybH2asNvLSFdaE-Gv0UcklfDynJutiJOhe5QIg89cztWBMpZuU2gmmRH3VVrfPUwtK-wBml-MuUrZy7jUfK5I_H3NSSH85BxpCQjZj4VWAzBXDlQcT6-2XvwPjbm8LLxduWO8Hg6/s640/P1010901.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>On approach to the Swansea Bridge</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp04QxGXgIlyw56zwlghtS_JTzDvId2_d_uhFkBDS52w_EccXcfDHAAVyoaEyvqeuTOHUZ1wurkqKwKE_Tm8Fl5viBQleGon9jjg3Vwi7PZaS834219-spUha5NLdEWmh93zyJ4DHA6o7H/s1600/P1010911.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp04QxGXgIlyw56zwlghtS_JTzDvId2_d_uhFkBDS52w_EccXcfDHAAVyoaEyvqeuTOHUZ1wurkqKwKE_Tm8Fl5viBQleGon9jjg3Vwi7PZaS834219-spUha5NLdEWmh93zyJ4DHA6o7H/s640/P1010911.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Safely through the bridge....now the channel & "The Drop-over"</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So far, so good, we thought, but the greatest
challenge still lay before us. Locals call it “the drop-over” which in truth is
a nasty, shifting sand-bar further up the channel, that at low tide would
prevent our passage, but now, with a rising tide nearing full, we should be
able to scrape through. Understandably, this troublesome impediment requires
frequent dredging, and sometimes sand accumulation closes off the lake for
keelboats completely. We had been at pains to study the tides at the Lake
Macquarie entrance in detail and although we came close to nudging <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista’s </i>bottom in the shallowest part
of the channel, soon “the drop-over” was behind us and the lead beacons
deposited us into the broad expanse of the lake where depth was not an issue.
Curiously, in spite of the tidal flow in the Swansea channel, such is the
volume of water within the lake that there are hardly any tides in the lake to
see. We could have literally headed in any direction because at 104 sq km, Lake
Macquarie is Australia’s largest sea-water lake, and with a host of bays to
choose from, the options were nearly endless. All of the vessels in the greater
Sydney area could be accommodated in Lake Macquarie, although getting them all
in would create great angst for those waiting at the Swansea Bridge!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Negotiating the well marked channel, keeping red to port ( left)</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On our way up the coast we had considered our
options upon entering the lake, and now it was but mid-afternoon and there was
plenty of time to find our way across Lake Macquarie to the town of Wangi
Wangi, blue-collar to its bootstraps and stridently parochial, even on a good
day. Alan Lucas’ guidebook had referred to the fine anchorage available in the
bay off Wangi Wangi, and that if one was lucky; a visiting yacht might tie up
on the pier outside the Wangi Wangi Worker’s Club, the social and cultural hub
of Wangi. Considering this, we crossed the Lake in good speed before feeling
our way into Eraring Bay, where the worker’s club jetty was already
accommodating a motley selection of vessels, some sleek and expensive, others
modest and functional. Our arrival saw a
couple of blokes off a house-boat sit down their stubbies, and rally to catch
our lines. Their cheery and easy going welcome was typical of Wangi Wangi. This
is not to say that blue singlets totally ruled the day for nudging into the
jetty was the opulent motor cruiser <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Debjohn,
</i>that we recalled taking pride of place in the Bobbin Head Marina, Cowan
Creek. We had seen them earlier in the day, low down and heading north in
torrents of spray, off Norah Head and would never have guessed that Wangi Wangi
was where they were headed. It would have been Sanctuary Cove for them we
thought. Not so. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Secure at the Wangi Wangi Jetty </i></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWH8KMmlAoWjDdKbrNg44dfKIvKNKA9XFQD1VYsNKDvTylBz65CqM-ndOK8WIddtGmCUlB89kuA-FI71LXIAtUvkirYgH_uluAiIJ7Ut296v8vSowJEcI5xDGHoDHVGumTn3s1bEHGvKc7/s1600/P1010921.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWH8KMmlAoWjDdKbrNg44dfKIvKNKA9XFQD1VYsNKDvTylBz65CqM-ndOK8WIddtGmCUlB89kuA-FI71LXIAtUvkirYgH_uluAiIJ7Ut296v8vSowJEcI5xDGHoDHVGumTn3s1bEHGvKc7/s640/P1010921.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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</span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After a stroll into town and making a $10
payment to the Club for our overnight berth, we dressed for dinner and made our
way into the redoubtable WWWC. The Club was well patronised; “meat tray night”
was how one local explained it, but for us the day had been a long one, and we
settled into a fine meal with blue-collar prices, before wending our way back
to our ship, to plan some excursions to the far reaches of Lake Macquarie in
the coming day or two First though, we wanted to take the opportunity to catch
up with some old friends who had urged us that next time we passed through
these waters, we <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">must </i>come in and see
Lake Macquarie. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In 2010, in the Coomera River, just upstream
from Sanctuary Cove on the Gold Coast, we met Kel and Helga Korsman off the
fine catamaran<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Mojo, </i>who, like us
were headed to take in the Sanctuary Cove Boat Show, and like us were headed
north to Townsville and out to the Louisiade Archipelago, across the Coral Sea,
in the waters SE of Papua New Guinea. We connected with Kel and Helga on a
number of occasions up the Australian Coast, in the Louisiades, and on our
return to Australia. We shared some wonderful and some challenging times, and
came away liking Kel and Helga, both for their approach to life and the fine
people we found them to be. Down on the southern portion of the NSW coast we
had called them declaring our intention, weather permitting, to make good our
declaration, that next time in waters north of Sydney, we would try to include
Lake Macquarie in our list of destinations. They live overlooking a waterway,
not far from the Swansea Bridge, and we arranged to head back across the Lake
in the morning, following Kel’s directions, to anchor off the lakeside suburb
of Belmont, and to spend some time reconnecting and reminiscing. It was great
to see Kel and Helga again, and although we had not crossed paths since 2010,
it was as though our shared experiences in a faraway place had happened only
yesterday.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Kel & Helga's waterside home</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Lake Macquarie has been home to Kel and Helga
for many years, and because we have similar interests, we took the opportunity
to have them mark a number of features on our map of the Lake, and quickly
realised that, like in many places, we would only have time to take in some of
the highlights. The good thing though was that the weather was holding at the
stellar end of beautiful, and with blue skies and light winds Lake Macquarie
was presenting herself in the finest possible light.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There are times, we will admit, when
surrounded by fine vessels in different places, we think longingly of other
yachts, that are different here, bigger there, grander there and so forth. This
is not so much the grass is greener syndrome, as the water being bluer; on some
other boat, in some other place. Mostly we feel this way when we come away from
looking at other boats in marinas, which we routinely do, but we soon come back
to our own faithful ship, feeling grateful for what we have. She is home to us,
but in reality she far more than that. On the morning after seeing Kel and
Helga, we came ashore at Belmont where dozens of yachts lie tethered in the
anchorage, and were approached by a gent out walking his dog, who approached us
saying… “Is that your yacht out there, the one with the black trim?” “Yes,
she’s ours” was the easiest reply we could give. There were lots of yachts in
the bay and we had anchored somewhat out from shore. We were surprised that he
noticed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista,</i> amongst the rest. “Looks
like a Swanson….yes they are fine sea boats…she looks great, one of the best I
have seen….I was just admiring her. I wish I had a boat like her…” Then, just
like that, responding to his errant hound, he was away, and we did not get the
chance to tell him that<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Calista </i>had
indeed taken us across just on 20,000nm of ocean and that yes, we were very
fond of her.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Public Jetty & anchorage area at Belmont</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvlLQenFLXMwXXi6GgYkDTKa86WCxHHFTz_5xoDB8yE2eNQp0lxcYVNm2_oXZ93AYkS1Zwy-gvAKf41eefy711Q_SiXs_2IKwdK9I79YR-1AHqIYX1AlDrJIfPfvmb90urc5s-_CyG2ry7/s1600/P1010947.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvlLQenFLXMwXXi6GgYkDTKa86WCxHHFTz_5xoDB8yE2eNQp0lxcYVNm2_oXZ93AYkS1Zwy-gvAKf41eefy711Q_SiXs_2IKwdK9I79YR-1AHqIYX1AlDrJIfPfvmb90urc5s-_CyG2ry7/s640/P1010947.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Anchored at Wangi Point</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back on board, it was an ideal day for a
gentleman’s sail, which could be described as a drift down wind with headsail
unfurled, and marine stressors at the lower end of tolerable. Crossing the lake
again we made for Wangi Point where a reserve provided an opportunity to get
ashore and stretch our legs on a wooded trail. The walk in the forest was
passing pleasant, in spite of some contradictory signage that had had us making
our way by guesswork. Contained on the end of the peninsula, though, with
downtown Wangi on its western perimeter, we had to eventually find our way to
our minor, then major boats. We were never in peril.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With the sun past the yard, we hoisted sail
again and made our way past the forested Pulbah Island and leaving Fishery
Point to starboard, make our way to a bay along Bird Cage Point, where a
completely secure anchorage was available in the lee of the bush, and
tranquillity was likely in that southern portion of Lake Macquarie. The night
provided serenity and sanctuary, and in the morning, having glassed the wooded
shoreline we made our way ashore to a walking trail that Kel assured us would
be easy to find. Again our hours ashore were highly enjoyable, and provided a
welcome opportunity to get some exercise, to avert a feeling of sloth, that
would come from purely lounging on board. To us, a layabout life in the cockpit
or below decks was more reserved for foul weather, than the fine that had been
gifted to us on this extensive body of water.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTGYuyFLmpbw_Ivr7qBRQd8JOa3MB0Q4x47_kb6trd6nppGsWl7icSsLHa9cIPgoFknBLuDSg449jkd6ZZVK-OcZZCTHGOF5bvw1XTrCL5mAGFtwUeYGdWHVyEL17g9_RzAcCuuPvLdP4i/s1600/P1010953.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTGYuyFLmpbw_Ivr7qBRQd8JOa3MB0Q4x47_kb6trd6nppGsWl7icSsLHa9cIPgoFknBLuDSg449jkd6ZZVK-OcZZCTHGOF5bvw1XTrCL5mAGFtwUeYGdWHVyEL17g9_RzAcCuuPvLdP4i/s640/P1010953.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sunset at Bird Cage Point</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By day’s end, with a light overnight northerly
predicted, we made our way north again and found our way to Goonda Point on the
southern side of Wangi Wangi where the NE to NW conditions would be easily
deflected and we would ride easily on our chain. It would be fair to assume
that we had developed a wry fondness for Wangi Wangi, for the next day had us
again ashore in its modest retail precinct, with the lame excuse of needing
some grocery items, although our plimsoll line was mostly awash, what with the
tonnages of grocery items that we already have on board. Maybe it was the
coffee milkshake at the popular Wangi Cafe that had drawn us out of the wilds
of Bird Cage Point.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our travels on Lake Macquarie could have
continued for weeks with each night delivering a different vista, but weeks we
did not have, and considering the state of the afternoon tides, and the weather
that was forecast, we could delay in the lake no longer, although, following
another recommendation from Kel and Helga, we would just have enough time for a
third walk on the wild side, this time north of Belmont in the Green Point
Foreshore Reserve. Having dallied a little ashore in Wangi, we made our way
across the lake with some haste, dropping anchor south of the Reserve, not far
from the Port Macquarie Yacht Club haul-out slipway. Kel and Helga, as it
turned out were spot on and the walking trails through dappled forest, mangrove
boardwalks, and to a lookout affording fine vistas of the lake was excellent
from every respect. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivm6qFy4dEkyD-ng_uBZE1oqR8R6L1mqW65ukz3zsOV8HVZNGGm2DaX7geLb765ofMzuENEBctPjRtyj5VFOvQomfbPAUnrrI4lEo7bSe7F-eS2nqeqBiT_mVt8Hh9cD8BwZxbNMW-KFpA/s1600/P1010967.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivm6qFy4dEkyD-ng_uBZE1oqR8R6L1mqW65ukz3zsOV8HVZNGGm2DaX7geLb765ofMzuENEBctPjRtyj5VFOvQomfbPAUnrrI4lEo7bSe7F-eS2nqeqBiT_mVt8Hh9cD8BwZxbNMW-KFpA/s640/P1010967.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Lovely forest walk at Green Point </i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><b><i><br /></i></b>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhphAvi57rA7Aic_ITHbHJkpgnJ4YxYS9xSmFFQPxAwuXb9iYEDcazxYhQe6S18h9shCsWOMECAq_bP1SnG7NfNE0H8IM62x19dXsxR8iAfPH9Aq3rXsudg54NimkxmLFWmEEObQvxkj_gG/s1600/P1010973.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhphAvi57rA7Aic_ITHbHJkpgnJ4YxYS9xSmFFQPxAwuXb9iYEDcazxYhQe6S18h9shCsWOMECAq_bP1SnG7NfNE0H8IM62x19dXsxR8iAfPH9Aq3rXsudg54NimkxmLFWmEEObQvxkj_gG/s640/P1010973.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Vista of Lake Macquarie from the lookout</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We would later find that this reserve, the
home of a diverse population of creatures in the lower story, and Kookaburras
and Tawny Frogmouths, in the rainforest above was under threat from developers
who eyed the land, not as a home for a raft of creatures without a say in the
“planning process”, but as an opportunity to cash in on the population squeeze
pushing north from Sydney. To us the remnants of Port Macquarie hinterland in
its natural state were now hard enough to find and in years to come areas of
natural vegetation, there to be enjoyed by all, would become priceless assets,
if they are not already Happily, public agitation to save the Green Point
Foreshore has deflected the bulldozers for now and the Kookaburras and
Frogmouths can rest in peace in the forest. We left this delightful place,
thankful that we had seen it whilst it remains. Back on board, on the starboard
side of our companionway is pinned a memento, drawn from an old Cree Indian
proverb. It reads…</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Only when the last tree has died</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">and the last river has been poisoned</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">and the last fish has been caught</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">will we realise that we cannot eat money.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0x1iyeSF6Yep3vTuZVmTuv7LGNKE1HTDcQhcHjB8JaXqtKMcfJKW2Lo7Pl54X1-dRTdu2Ty_KoVTcUajhwz4p80d_ISkC3zDlbGiVrU3m6MRP7rQOLOB9clxBlL7VDk-_b27z7KQexJ6o/s1600/P1010966.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0x1iyeSF6Yep3vTuZVmTuv7LGNKE1HTDcQhcHjB8JaXqtKMcfJKW2Lo7Pl54X1-dRTdu2Ty_KoVTcUajhwz4p80d_ISkC3zDlbGiVrU3m6MRP7rQOLOB9clxBlL7VDk-_b27z7KQexJ6o/s640/P1010966.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At least in Lake Macquarie waterways,<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>at least, the importance of sustaining populations has taken
hold. Locals tell us that with fish stocks plummeting a few years ago, netting
in Lake Macquarie was banned and now, many areas teem with fish. Maybe
“developers” need banning too.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvC_k8f-2RbI9iOwzRDwJeIPJjQ8ymFfPwnXn7fXJ_7pKLmqn1-ahg2ZuBA-C7tGLQqvkXiV5B-YwWf6cqYxmz-19D_YEKE3tBP-yew6Uwm_27Hub4G1u7LREqGInf3nEoXGuoxbSJZqEC/s1600/P1010991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvC_k8f-2RbI9iOwzRDwJeIPJjQ8ymFfPwnXn7fXJ_7pKLmqn1-ahg2ZuBA-C7tGLQqvkXiV5B-YwWf6cqYxmz-19D_YEKE3tBP-yew6Uwm_27Hub4G1u7LREqGInf3nEoXGuoxbSJZqEC/s640/P1010991.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Farewell Lake Macquarie</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With the tide brimming in the late afternoon,
we took the opportunity to book a five o’clock “bridge”; and make our way back
to the leads in the Swansea Channel, to pass through to courtesy moorings
beyond the bridge in fading light. These moorings are just abeam of the Swansea
RSL Club, and heading there involved little more than a short duck ride and a
tie-up at the courtesy jetty. Kel and Helga joined us at the Club and were keen
to hear of our travels on Lake Macquarie. It was great to see them again and to
share the many things that we have as common interests. Soon though, it was
time to go, to prepare for the short haul to Newcastle in the morning, where at
the Yacht Club we could meet some fine people who had already been of
invaluable assistance to us in our plans to sail to New Caledonia and Vanuatu. We
looked forward to meeting them after contacting them some months ago, and with
the weather still presenting a sanguine face, we looked forward to the short
trip up the coast, and entering one of Australia’s most important ports in the
new day. Yes, our visit to Lake Macquarie had been all that that Kel and Helga
had promised.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR0TW-SmyI1eLhmNJz4ZUAGhCabY9M1dmgUjQ9Z-VK73J3rD4sCTXgm-yaqtTpOWJ33FczGEwAN6ghC9QNdYI64UUmN6jJMDgJ2zviTQ_iK8FAZxWJN3je-iI87-NtWQYTEqSPmsgTpvrp/s1600/P1010994.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR0TW-SmyI1eLhmNJz4ZUAGhCabY9M1dmgUjQ9Z-VK73J3rD4sCTXgm-yaqtTpOWJ33FczGEwAN6ghC9QNdYI64UUmN6jJMDgJ2zviTQ_iK8FAZxWJN3je-iI87-NtWQYTEqSPmsgTpvrp/s640/P1010994.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Secure on the mooring with the Swansea RSL in the background</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-80704478350886178472016-05-16T05:50:00.000-07:002016-05-16T05:50:25.515-07:00<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Sydney to Broken Bay (Pittwater)</i></b></span> </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>7/5/16 –
12/5/16</i></b></span></span><br />
<b><i><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></i></b>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><i>( </i></b><i>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.)</i></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Having left Brian and Maree on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Urchin, </i>we retired to our on-board
accommodation in the expectation of a sparkling morning for leaving Sydney
Harbor rounding North Head, and, with the forecast being fine for the morning
before an afternoon nor-aster, enjoying a “tourist sail” up Sydney’s northern
beaches, to compliment the voyage we had enjoyed immensely up the southern
beaches from Port Hacking. We thought that in the morning, with an alarm set,
we would see ferries busying their way across the Heads, in the golden light of
dawn. How wrong we were.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM2RSqjP2XAHEjbJn0pJJdZhPZDhmjpnUkg4Txqt0uHqLfSm5NZmU1cKfvErlFFnkFux4Np6JRudRZkwhCyxpwNCaa7oNKbZGwOJcttM8UxjyHC2i80C8Ses2a-AXjYWjmJoTP7-hkayG8/s1600/P1010665.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM2RSqjP2XAHEjbJn0pJJdZhPZDhmjpnUkg4Txqt0uHqLfSm5NZmU1cKfvErlFFnkFux4Np6JRudRZkwhCyxpwNCaa7oNKbZGwOJcttM8UxjyHC2i80C8Ses2a-AXjYWjmJoTP7-hkayG8/s640/P1010665.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Dawn farewell to Urchin</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Peering out the cockpit at first light was to
look upon the world as through one was seeing it through one of Grandma’s
frosted sherry glasses. Spring Cove was
obscured by a bronze haze with visibility down to a hundred metres or so. It
was a smoky pea-souper, with the hint of burnt eucalypt in the air. The day
before, environmental authorities had advised that up to 40 “fuel reduction”
fires were to be lit in the Blue Mountains, but with the cool of the evening,
the smoky air had slithered down from the hills and over the city like a carpet
snake, oozing down the valley of the Parramatta, to where it now squatted, over
Sydney. It was a classic temperature inversion, and it might take hours to
clear. Yuk.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv-e3vTJIqvPhI5NvyGz_lUGEUtZdLtrKZFCHpe0VBHqk1b0OVjHqqG4NMdmo7BcKyb3raeG6AN1EI2CabWHcFYPPcdLtQ-qhcEulFCo2-7BJSx0tecZ5qaUAeFmSjJ2IrOAkdNNFG31ug/s1600/P1010669.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv-e3vTJIqvPhI5NvyGz_lUGEUtZdLtrKZFCHpe0VBHqk1b0OVjHqqG4NMdmo7BcKyb3raeG6AN1EI2CabWHcFYPPcdLtQ-qhcEulFCo2-7BJSx0tecZ5qaUAeFmSjJ2IrOAkdNNFG31ug/s640/P1010669.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Hazy vista beyond North Head</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hoping for better out to sea and to the
north, we hoisted anchor and made our way out of the harbour and around North
Head. Abeam of Manly Beach, we knew it was there because of our chart plotter,
but, not a glimpse of the land could we see. Luckily we could set a course
parallel to the coast and monitor our progress on our instrumentation. The
great northern beaches including Freshwater, Curl Curl, Dee Why, Long Reef and
Collaroy passed by unseen although off Long Reef, we were able to see an
airborne view of this potential hazard courtesy of a function on our chart
plotter. The C-Map program has thousands of aerial views of Australia’s
coastline and its islands in its system, and to access these we merely have to
click on one of the camera icons and the view of that spot from aloft is there
to be enjoyed. The practical value of this function is enormous, particularly
when approaching an unfamiliar coastline. At night on watch, we often take
ourselves on a “tour” of relevant sections of the coast, sometimes to prepare
for what is to come, and sometimes, purely for entertainment. Now, off Long
Reef, a click of the cursor has us seeing from above, on a clear day, that
which lay unseen, only a mile away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHqGbHJnBjMIA2Tu1AdnG9XtIlXLEgcRVZeNrT55SKd2X7u7HkDaIqVGrcVIj0oVtt7lQZVK-T8RnCgz-xpmjnyuJ7nzhK3EvU9ewKOMUxu6W1cHh3yrkvVbhwsDl1tiup9xERtSXWqUm/s1600/IMG_1194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHqGbHJnBjMIA2Tu1AdnG9XtIlXLEgcRVZeNrT55SKd2X7u7HkDaIqVGrcVIj0oVtt7lQZVK-T8RnCgz-xpmjnyuJ7nzhK3EvU9ewKOMUxu6W1cHh3yrkvVbhwsDl1tiup9xERtSXWqUm/s640/IMG_1194.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Image of Long Reef on the Chart Plotter</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Off Narrabeen Beach, the air at last cleared
and we emerged into a bright and sunny day with a cloud of boot-polish brown
obscuring the horizon and disappearing astern. The evening news that night made
much of the blanket of “smog” that had frustrated tourists viewing the Sydney
Harbor Bridge and the Opera House, and had been a genuine irritant to those
managing chest conditions. With Bungan
Head ahead, Warriewood, Mona Vale and Bungan Head beaches were passed before we
reached it and, then, we made for Newport, Bilgola, Avalon, Whale, and Palm
Beaches, before the exclusive northern suburbs gave way to the prominent
buttress that is Barrenjoey Head. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xqsxDxRvZPPInvtq3gDACUeqcFucGcVmcZBpt1DMwfsXezo2BgQ_raLqlCVNe-BFDyK3LRukohHsHjx09teokYMJjPk3OKCDdJPiojx6GUs93CBGa3kO2NBZ30yOm_vJLx98oypX96SR/s1600/P1010673.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xqsxDxRvZPPInvtq3gDACUeqcFucGcVmcZBpt1DMwfsXezo2BgQ_raLqlCVNe-BFDyK3LRukohHsHjx09teokYMJjPk3OKCDdJPiojx6GUs93CBGa3kO2NBZ30yOm_vJLx98oypX96SR/s640/P1010673.JPG" width="640" /></i></b></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>There is a coastline here!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYqUBUj2W7hYYsw06RnD8XeLF0BNzn6GMCdVfqjFYRc2hvODK4R6vbG5pSSZjxkszEs8hSq5vaKATt783x4cYL6cDicgwG1gOPv1IqdtSoTFv40yvp3mP6VHMouvQ0eeFtGxV1EgPxcSFS/s1600/P1010682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYqUBUj2W7hYYsw06RnD8XeLF0BNzn6GMCdVfqjFYRc2hvODK4R6vbG5pSSZjxkszEs8hSq5vaKATt783x4cYL6cDicgwG1gOPv1IqdtSoTFv40yvp3mP6VHMouvQ0eeFtGxV1EgPxcSFS/s640/P1010682.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Coastal beach shacks near Palm beach</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Broken Bay opens up once Barrenjoey Head is
cleared, and it is the gateway to a remarkable set of waterways that are
diverse, divine and impossible to ignore. Immediately to port once Barrenjoey
is rounded, is the famous marine playground of Pittwater, a five mile finger of
boat-mania, with a thicket of masts, like a Sumatran bamboo forest. We had been into Pittwater in 2010 and at the
Prince Alfred Yacht Club, and the Royal Motor Boat Club, we had ooooh and
aaah’ed enough for twenty voyages (see our blog – calista10.blogspot.com, posts
May and November). Whereas we cruise the coast on a budget, it was apparent
that in Pittwater money rules the waves. Having stocked our larder, we had no
need to divert to the south, and besides, we could ill afford to make an error
and hit anything in Pittwater.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Barrenjoey Head</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On the northern side of Broken Bay, Lion
Island, crouches like an Egyptian hieroglyph, and watches over the entrance to
Brisbane Water. Here the marked channel leads to the broad bay that is the
actual Brisbane Water, ending on the shores of Gosford, miles away. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By heading west and into Broken Bay, the wide
entrance to the Hawkesbury River opens to the north-west where entrance for
cruising yachts is soon thwarted by the Sydney-Newcastle railway bridge,
although power craft make the waters above the bridge their own and they are
able to ply the waters of this system for almost 70nm, reaching as far as
Sydney’s western suburb of Windsor. This is a watery playground in its own
right, complete with marinas, designated jetties and courtesy moorings: and
enough towns, shops, pubs tourist attractions and waterside facilities to last
a lifetime; without ever feeling an ocean swell. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As we burbled our way into broken Bay we
eschewed all of these, heading for the unremarkably named Cowan Creek, which
fingers its way deep into New South Wales’ second oldest reserve, the
Ku-Ring-Gai Chase National park. Since briefly entering this waterway in 2010,
we had Cowan Creek listed as one of our “must see” destinations this time
around. Cowan Creek bears many similarities to its famous neighbour to the
south, Sydney Harbour, and is a drowned river valley, of recent geologic
standing, just like Sydney. Unlike Sydney, whilst Cowan Creek and its
offshoots, Coal and Candle, and Smith Creeks, are immensely popular waterways
that can be navigated for miles, the uplands and spurs between, being part of
the Ku-Ring-Gai Chase National Park, are natural bushland and forest, and not
part of suburbia. These waterways carry the name ‘creek’, but their dimensions,
and everything else about them make them unlike any other creek we have ever
seen. Like South West Arm in Port Hacking, but on a grander scale, once you
round the entrance into Cowan Creek, the frenetic world just over the horizon
is left behind, and the surrounds are much as they have been for an eternity.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>View back to Barrenjoey from Fishermans Beach</i></b></span> </td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In response to the popularity of Cowan Creek
and its offshoots, National Park authorities have installed courtesy moorings
in 14 of the bays and coves, so that visiting there can be an easy steam between
moorings of preference, according to the wind and fancy. The first bays off
Cowan Creek, the joint America Bay and Refuge Bay inlet lie before the National
Park zone, and because of its proximity to Pittwater, its all-round shelter,
and that it has a plethora of moorings as thick as hundreds and thousands on a
tot’s cup-cake, it is impossibly popular. This was our sole Cowan Creek
visitation in 2010, and we must have been there in mid-week, for now it was
crammed with boats and we quickly voted to move on upstream, where to be on a
boat was less like being at the Royal Show. We selected Fisherman’s Beach on the northern
shore of the creek for lunch and later shifted to the lee of Little Shark Rock
Point, where we felt we could gain excellent shelter from a predicted
northerly, and take the chance to go ashore and explore. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Little Shark Rock Point</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Beaches are few in this region owing to its
steep-sided topography, but at this point, a small patch of sand emerged,
periodically, at low tide, enough for us to haul up our duck while ashore. From
the beach, a challenging clamber across jagged and oyster clad rocks along the
shoreline was possible, but going far was out of the question. Taking what
appeared to be a path of sorts heading up and away from the cove, soon had us
in thickets of scrub under towering eucalypts, where a machete might have been
handy and every gap in the foliage had golden orb spiders dangling malevolently
from intricate webs. Not seeing one of these webs and having it tangle on your
face alongside a cranky arachnid would be enough to bring on a phobia. To head
deeper into the forest was out of the question and we returned, defeated, to
the beach. It was not hard to understand why the first settlers of Sydney were
thwarted in their attempts to blaze a trail across the Blue Mountains, and it
was not until 1813 that Blaxland, Lawson and Wentworth finally got there by
following the ridges and not the valleys, into the unknown.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFwtN0mjCQWYRDukLnbD4TLpdQzHSweyYE-1idrWCpR3IeRErmRupjtP-HXBx0s-0XyJ5Kt3MHvS4osgnGl9scfpBQNlFwYYcwBI-eIXfaRC9e97zn-Pr1tDPmUJl4gwLOCkFMB2tn9Ot/s1600/P1010709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFwtN0mjCQWYRDukLnbD4TLpdQzHSweyYE-1idrWCpR3IeRErmRupjtP-HXBx0s-0XyJ5Kt3MHvS4osgnGl9scfpBQNlFwYYcwBI-eIXfaRC9e97zn-Pr1tDPmUJl4gwLOCkFMB2tn9Ot/s640/P1010709.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Successful landing on low tide at Little Shark Rock Point</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back on the beach we noted that our
footprints of only minutes earlier had been crossed by a creature of sorts, and
given its drag and claw markings, we suspected that our progress up the beach
had been monitored as it were, and sure enough, not far away there it was, a
black Goanna, lying as still as a stick with flickering tongue and bead-like
eyes. It eyed us curiously and we left it in peace, content in the autumnal
sun. Aloft, a juvenile Sea Eagle wheeled effortlessly before alighting on a
tree on the point, eyeing speculatively the shoals of fry flitting in the cove,
oblivious to the fine line that they were drawing between swimmer and dinner.
It was hard to comprehend that earlier the same day we were in suburban Manly.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI3zV5nCTt_Al6Apd_Wx2JgJjbt9dersHkGBygoBJCfC2IbLRfaN4_5P_9XBkJXWvCYqVslk9W4Ra0pLatJ8ennpOVrC7AZ0MYDQ1FePwp0lhXR4a-uP5yFyWVMmo6vXUu2WT0iEC_04vD/s1600/P1010715.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI3zV5nCTt_Al6Apd_Wx2JgJjbt9dersHkGBygoBJCfC2IbLRfaN4_5P_9XBkJXWvCYqVslk9W4Ra0pLatJ8ennpOVrC7AZ0MYDQ1FePwp0lhXR4a-uP5yFyWVMmo6vXUu2WT0iEC_04vD/s640/P1010715.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Wonderful wildlife</i></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI-vC3LXVaOFvUeuRe863U7SvpFvRoIfi9HU7hmvyeT7U9-ENqA5y6y76U-04OHkVc6iwcG8Kbm33x-vggX3jTLU_MSXqV0Ag7LZ4bnNbb7EMJyuZzd13XchnnIfs-VMf3yf7N1TwHEPjG/s1600/P1010720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI-vC3LXVaOFvUeuRe863U7SvpFvRoIfi9HU7hmvyeT7U9-ENqA5y6y76U-04OHkVc6iwcG8Kbm33x-vggX3jTLU_MSXqV0Ag7LZ4bnNbb7EMJyuZzd13XchnnIfs-VMf3yf7N1TwHEPjG/s640/P1010720.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Given the beauty of the forest all about, we
yearned to explore a walking trail in the area, but realised that many of the
trails into the Chase from suburbs to the south made their way along the ridges
far above but did not wend their way down as far as the water. Given our
experience, we could understand why. Weekends attract hordes of craft into these
waterways; gleaming motor cruisers, sleek yachts, fishing runabouts sprouting
rods like antlers, houseboats like eskies afloat, and the odd jet ski, as
irritating as a blowfly around a carved joint. For those on a mooring the
palatial motor cruisers - we are like many sailors and dub them “stink boats” -
are the worst, growling their way past like a highway b-double, furrowing the
water like a mallee plough and leaving us to dance and heave in their wake. We
were happy to see the end of the weekend, and we suspect that the sea eagles
were happy too.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The return of tranquillity saw us embark on
our own exploration of the waterways. Out at sea, there were strong wind
warnings for nearby waters, but here in Cowan Creek the winds passed harmlessly
overhead with only the scudding clouds giving hint to the difference between
the outside world and the peace for us deep in the forest. There are three
marinas in these waterways, Akuna Bay on Coal and Candle Creek, Cottage Point
where this creek meets Cowan Creek, and Bobbin Head, located as far down Cowan
Creek as it is possible for boats to go. In between, yellow courtesy moorings
strategically dot the waters, and we opted to see how much of this remarkable
system of bays and inlets we could take in whilst we were there. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHqkUvHpPKnfRvR1ZkCD2awjXhGS_l_istr1MkVHi_-tmG6_oTtzd0sZ0V3vzw-f8NiSBBeS2Z0YcDHQYKIxDDF8p2dFC6kDvxlNotuGE4oYcQZzmgnrC5D21-preDymj2JTTA8724sErh/s1600/P1010779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHqkUvHpPKnfRvR1ZkCD2awjXhGS_l_istr1MkVHi_-tmG6_oTtzd0sZ0V3vzw-f8NiSBBeS2Z0YcDHQYKIxDDF8p2dFC6kDvxlNotuGE4oYcQZzmgnrC5D21-preDymj2JTTA8724sErh/s640/P1010779.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Cottage Point and all the boats moored at the Royal Motor Yacht Club</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Many years ago we sashayed through Sydney on
holidays and apart from traversing the Bridge, checking out the Opera House and
catching the Manly ferry, we took a self- guided drive up into Ku-Ring-Gai Chase
National Park, out of innocent curiosity and our clear preference for
wilderness over suburbia. Entering the Park, the road took us down into a
valley where to our utter astonishment we came upon a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">marina</i> complete with svelte cruisers, an up-market café and a
multi-layered storage shed for runabouts, all snuggling into a cove deep in the
bush. It was hard to comprehend that here, miles from anywhere, was an offshoot
of the sea complete with tides, fish, and water that was salt to the taste. To
us this was boating for the rich and famous, aeons away from the tinny we had
at home, and a place that we were certain, we would never enter from out at
sea. This marina was Akuna Bay, and now, although we were neither rich nor
famous, we planned to make our way down Coal and Candle Creek to Akuna Bay, in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista, </i>just because we could.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixXy0Y7PSL-t1rU_Dzru_MmPOCskKgEod9ZUMmRx1BPtl-WHP2tUEOORnZ3WnvIgSfvOIWYSyEMNrzPG7FgO_g30SFBP_jeDLyu2TPrIOUptHcU7JQ2xHBPEzUD8KY2Dev1vuf79G8K52-/s1600/P1010752.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixXy0Y7PSL-t1rU_Dzru_MmPOCskKgEod9ZUMmRx1BPtl-WHP2tUEOORnZ3WnvIgSfvOIWYSyEMNrzPG7FgO_g30SFBP_jeDLyu2TPrIOUptHcU7JQ2xHBPEzUD8KY2Dev1vuf79G8K52-/s640/P1010752.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Calista (centre )in the crowded Akuna Bay Marina</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On approach this time to Akuna Bay Marina,
although seeming as delicious as our memories told us, we were seeing the facility
through different eyes, via those in on board a cruising yacht and not as
visitors by road. What we saw this time, in spite of the welcoming entreaties
of management over the phone, was a cramped marina where the bow-thrusters
often seen on motor cruisers (this is a small propeller inserted into a
horizontal tunnel below the waterline in the bow, giving “push” to port or
starboard when docking) would be invaluable, but for us to get into a visiting
“pen” deep in Row B would require careful piloting and docking by our crew. Not
quite close your eyes and breathe in, but close. Ashore, and with a stabilising
cappuccino under our belts, in spite of ticking the “getting there” box, Akuna
Bay was just not a place where we wanted to stay. Give us a forested bay over
the glitz, the gold shoes and canapés any day. Yes, our revisit to Akuna Bay
would be a brief one, and now came the hard part, getting back out of the
marina in a boat that was reluctant to reverse in the direction that we
desired. We felt like a porcupine trying to back out of a burrow.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On our way to Akuna Bay, we had noted, off
Yeoman’s Bay, a further offshoot called Castle Lagoon that was cosy and as
close to idyllic as any place one could imagine. Yes, there were two other
boats in this secluded spot, but we could easily understand why this haven was
a local favourite. A hurricane could rage hereabouts and one could lay in
tranquillity in Castle Lagoon. We noted that although the rules for moorings
state that only 24hour stays are permitted, in Castle lagoon, the other boats
there made rules of their own, probably knowing that intervention by National
Parks officials was less than likely. Yes, Castle Lagoon lived up to its billing and
for an extra treat we had a cove – side sunset that held us in the cockpit
until the last rays receded in the west. It was spectacular.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj10bZFo7fKIXSifS1Az6U9LhIEZXLyH2dKeU0ZoHe0alPVONxiM_ocM6FHMIeuTqiqUxaK_R6f7NZoI52AppI44847f3WXWD51fQ71USILyYTUCcj4Yweckszo27EMfIoz7L1RzWzHX2xD/s1600/P1010771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj10bZFo7fKIXSifS1Az6U9LhIEZXLyH2dKeU0ZoHe0alPVONxiM_ocM6FHMIeuTqiqUxaK_R6f7NZoI52AppI44847f3WXWD51fQ71USILyYTUCcj4Yweckszo27EMfIoz7L1RzWzHX2xD/s640/P1010771.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Stunning sunset at Castle Lagoon</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK66Ap6nbg4ByLpMMkJTESpu_Je2z3Fd4nopAFoQlE8DaMKbstq7fJcn5PPuwjKkKsdfPnzS8oub0qXR5uhFz-AZ23ni3KqegVl50D4bYyR8vn0aTIbyZMmjGMVV1SPkyNhVr71Nqp9mFM/s1600/P1010772.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK66Ap6nbg4ByLpMMkJTESpu_Je2z3Fd4nopAFoQlE8DaMKbstq7fJcn5PPuwjKkKsdfPnzS8oub0qXR5uhFz-AZ23ni3KqegVl50D4bYyR8vn0aTIbyZMmjGMVV1SPkyNhVr71Nqp9mFM/s640/P1010772.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the new day we resolved to follow Cowan
Creek as far as we could go, as far as the Bobbin Head Marina. Close by was the
Cottage Point Marina with a lower-key appearance compared with Akuna Bay, and
with a fleet of boats tethered to Marina moorings bobbing in the stream out
from the jetty. Landing here did not grip our imagination, so we continued,
upstream, on our way. Along the way we
spied numerous mooring locations of great beauty, but we thought it time that
we got off the boat seeking a closer look at the local environment. Many
cruisers would be happy to pick up a mooring and spend the day relaxing,
fishing or imbibing it would seem, but we weary of just looking at places; we
want to experience them too. </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP5oGVjF3ycNMDf5fVhc5hqda_QM0jIzxd2r3QGWLzHb254w07IK9d4_34W-p7viZNjIV5ypSy4TeCTSFmwGVa6KnfqECVUMxlUyQevI_5HOGl0Ij0ltWrJa7doOmvD33nD8EYt0wUCLbN/s1600/P1010787.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP5oGVjF3ycNMDf5fVhc5hqda_QM0jIzxd2r3QGWLzHb254w07IK9d4_34W-p7viZNjIV5ypSy4TeCTSFmwGVa6KnfqECVUMxlUyQevI_5HOGl0Ij0ltWrJa7doOmvD33nD8EYt0wUCLbN/s640/P1010787.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>One of the many mooring areas enroute to Bobbin Head</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On arrival at Bobbin Head, although there were far
too many expensive motor cruisers to count, there was a distinctly different
feel to the place that for some reason we warmed to. For one, just across the
bridge over Cockle Creek, at the National Park Information Centre, we discovered
that a loop walking track originating at Bobbin Head was literally waiting for
us to don our walkers and head off into the wilderness. Great!</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Bobbin Head – Sphinx Memorial – Bobbin
Head track of about 12km was just the ticket, offering a fascinating shoreline
tramp amongst the mangroves, followed by a climb through the forest to the
Sphinx, before a ridge-top return to Bobbin Head where elevated views of the
Park were a panoramic delight. The Sphinx is a post - World War One memorial, a
scaled down version of Egypt’s famous monument, carved from stone by an
ex-digger who in spite of lungs that had been scarred by gassing on the Western
Front, completed this remarkable sculpture in the 1920’s. The Sphinx was truly
a noble memorial to this awful time in our history, and seeing it was well
worth the effort that it took to get there.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSSELO5BrbcSkDDIgZEHXolRw5f0wUIiuOMrKlGvj0WQ3wK493W7Yf26OCyUfPzd9e6-5rdF1S5aLMO2dlhpqMe4OLohyphenhyphenzHdkhf28YCXpc9L1IdLUL8uVxdKGvL7lQFq-ZWgQwLHeQD7Ze/s1600/P1010802.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSSELO5BrbcSkDDIgZEHXolRw5f0wUIiuOMrKlGvj0WQ3wK493W7Yf26OCyUfPzd9e6-5rdF1S5aLMO2dlhpqMe4OLohyphenhyphenzHdkhf28YCXpc9L1IdLUL8uVxdKGvL7lQFq-ZWgQwLHeQD7Ze/s640/P1010802.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Wonderful forest walks</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS1ti2GXyj0uFdF6BdMevaAjlulp5YLBW86r5Bscgn6SCCBgmDt39syBisSFZgO8LmP8riF3-6dlU3PqmklppJj1a2layKD-bZmcQ7AOyP5bod03IXJgwCTD5Fy3wfuhWCzRRwBf1eqwGR/s1600/P1010822.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS1ti2GXyj0uFdF6BdMevaAjlulp5YLBW86r5Bscgn6SCCBgmDt39syBisSFZgO8LmP8riF3-6dlU3PqmklppJj1a2layKD-bZmcQ7AOyP5bod03IXJgwCTD5Fy3wfuhWCzRRwBf1eqwGR/s640/P1010822.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back at Bobbin Head, our original intention
was to head out to one of the anchorages we had spotted on our way down Cowan
Creek, but the views of the waterways on our bushwalk, lined with mangroves and
sandstone cliffs, had been so enticing that we resolved to stay another night
and via our inflatable kayaks, to explore the area more fully. There were other
benefits too, including the opportunity to launder both some clothes and the
crew, and to take a longer look at some of the fine vessels that called Bobbin
Creek home. On one of the fingers we spotted a cruising yacht of exquisite
beauty, a Cabo Rico 38’ called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Resolution.
</i>With her sleek lines, classy timberwork and immaculate presentation she was
as beautiful a yacht as we had seen. There were many motor cruisers at Bobbin
Head that would have been far more expensive to purchase, but for sheer class,
and appeal to the crew of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista,
Resolution </i>had our attention. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-us6U7a0LOz5qBmoF1Nw9PIBK_utLRwYGAn-FhHmeuFE3qVNAVeo1BrNAZ6iMgmHiPmxGBwuYf82i8DF5ua42qu3y8xhbX_vBNcYcqcF8CXnVWBiqaSDnOdcmjG7y6g1Uf50pik3OFrtz/s1600/P1010827.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-us6U7a0LOz5qBmoF1Nw9PIBK_utLRwYGAn-FhHmeuFE3qVNAVeo1BrNAZ6iMgmHiPmxGBwuYf82i8DF5ua42qu3y8xhbX_vBNcYcqcF8CXnVWBiqaSDnOdcmjG7y6g1Uf50pik3OFrtz/s640/P1010827.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Beautiful Cabo Rico 38 "Resolution"</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At Bobbin Head, the last outpost of Cowan
Creek, the creek divides into Cockle Creek and Cowan Creek proper. With kayaks
inflated, we resolved to follow both waterways as far as we could go. They were
superb. At once our Kayaks took us away from all trace of humanity, and we
glided over the ever diminishing creeks until they disappeared into streams
trickling over moss-clad boulders. Fish dashed hither and yon, including on one
sand bar a flathead as large as I have ever seen. Flooding tidal waters from a
distant sea slid amongst the mangrove shoots, drawing crabs from their holes,
whilst above, canyon walls of stone presented ochre coloured caverns, and all
about, ferns and sturdy forest giants lorded overhead. No motorised craft are
allowed on these waters and we were transported back to a landscape that has
been much like this for centuries. It was hard to comprehend that just beyond
the ridge-tops beetling above us, were the bustling suburbs of Sydney. This was
a fabulous experience, a genuine highlight of our time in Ku-Ring-Gai Chase
National Park.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifBSkMO6bKgU91tqo7I7tYijrsF_i1XEuG-lcBPmRR6FoMNri4PrC4FxgtObqVcfBaPZxu5oytPWa6YEw68nV_KHnzSSS2nKmGj7y3sQUX_NcCL5Qpa9KHrplt0rugetKzZVUKF_ZVc0gf/s1600/P1020348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifBSkMO6bKgU91tqo7I7tYijrsF_i1XEuG-lcBPmRR6FoMNri4PrC4FxgtObqVcfBaPZxu5oytPWa6YEw68nV_KHnzSSS2nKmGj7y3sQUX_NcCL5Qpa9KHrplt0rugetKzZVUKF_ZVc0gf/s640/P1020348.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Exploring Cockle Creek on our kayaks</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgNb0VIl7SLDMAS_ROzIEYqCGbG3i_re8Vw4bhyphenhyphenPvVHYhq0m51d-IrBcysOi-VWpvcMVDnnBCa3wz8nMGfU1KaztU4Y5txWrj5blij2vv6cgkAlauEMODXJG0FOYVpOq4uSf8TD0EVIs5r/s1600/P1020365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgNb0VIl7SLDMAS_ROzIEYqCGbG3i_re8Vw4bhyphenhyphenPvVHYhq0m51d-IrBcysOi-VWpvcMVDnnBCa3wz8nMGfU1KaztU4Y5txWrj5blij2vv6cgkAlauEMODXJG0FOYVpOq4uSf8TD0EVIs5r/s640/P1020365.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our track out of Cowan Creek left but one
tributary of the main stream to explore. This is the mildly-termed Smith’s
Creek, which duplicates the grandeur of Cowan Creek, and is especially
attractive in the Twilight Inlet and Spirit Cove portions of the waterway.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">
Returning to Cowan Creek, with shadows lengthening, we thought to select a
northerly aspect cove and pick up a final mooring, but a closer inspection of our
chart showed that across the mouth of the Hawkesbury lay Little Patonga Beach,
and if we hastened, we could drop anchor there before darkness fell. From there
we could easily make our way seaward at first light on the 40 miles at sea to
Swansea, to cross the bar into Lake Macquarie. As we settled on our chain and
dinner was on the make, we reflected on our days in the Cowan Creek waterways.
We found them visually stunning and just perfect for those who love boating but
without the challenges of the open sea. For us, though, the open sea beckoned,
and in the dawn of the new day, we would set a course out of Broken Bay, turning
beyond B<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>ox Head to the North in weather that was forecast
to be near-perfect for the purpose.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs48rMzwcv1KVQT8QQG0hO5l6zt_bFpgx5GsQBwriicMnSeKiAviWR2ada8ga7j8lvcXFTbZ19G1bxBXiyjjf13tdqYDJ__AIG2KUqLMnTNBN7wazChcGDISI9gDy7Tr7cI9QFBsTpZhDr/s1600/P1010957.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs48rMzwcv1KVQT8QQG0hO5l6zt_bFpgx5GsQBwriicMnSeKiAviWR2ada8ga7j8lvcXFTbZ19G1bxBXiyjjf13tdqYDJ__AIG2KUqLMnTNBN7wazChcGDISI9gDy7Tr7cI9QFBsTpZhDr/s640/P1010957.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Our extensive exploration of Cowan Creek recorded on our Chart Plotter!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-36414939592223113082016-05-10T07:17:00.000-07:002016-05-10T07:21:06.380-07:00<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Port Hacking to Sydney</i></b></span> </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><b>2/5/16 – 7/5/16</b></i></span></span><br />
<b><i><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></i></b>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><i>( </i></b><i>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.)</i></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It is less than 20nm from Port Hacking to Sydney Harbor
and we were bent on supping on every inch of this journey. In addition we hoped
to cross bows with good friend Rod Hunter on board a 50’ Catamaran making south
with new owners, bound for a new home in SA. As we rounded Cape Baily just
short of Botany Bay, we glassed the cat out to sea on the horizon, making for
Jervis Bay and Ulludulla. Maybe they would get to see the elusive Point
Perpendicular, although, with cold fronts brewing in Bass Strait, and a
significant anniversary pending for his partner Sal only a week or so away,
Rod’s thoughts were no doubt more on the challenges that lay ahead.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkvk4MUOPXw9tSswbiHVZdfjKsrZAObgfic-u02hH2sKuuGvfT36o74DdrOMfw8Mj-xXYuqIovB1_bgR-Ukc8vTcOljzOpFrtZaRbcJ0EKdb7e1pkOMBYN8MT1GE0Uvd_QKDVg-p1lcgwZ/s1600/P1010381.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkvk4MUOPXw9tSswbiHVZdfjKsrZAObgfic-u02hH2sKuuGvfT36o74DdrOMfw8Mj-xXYuqIovB1_bgR-Ukc8vTcOljzOpFrtZaRbcJ0EKdb7e1pkOMBYN8MT1GE0Uvd_QKDVg-p1lcgwZ/s640/P1010381.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Entrance to Botany Bay with skyline of Sydney behind</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The craggy battlements of sandstone that typify the
coastline north from Cronulla to Sydney are breached in a handful of places
where some of Australia’s iconic beaches are to be found. Coming from our
background in Surf Life Saving, these beaches are Australia’s surfing
heartland, and with the ocean a shimmering mirror and our feeble mainsail aloft
but without purchase, we could make our northing close in to see them at close
hand for ourselves. Maroubra, Coogee, Bronte, Tamarama, and the doyen of them
all, Bondi, with its sea-bathing pavilion from a pre latte era, all glided away
to port as we basked in the pre-winter sun. Soon the Macquarie Light and the
signal station atop Dunbar Head told that the Heads, just past the notorious
Gap, were not far away.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLH5_QnM-HNN7WEd3nA9lV28bG9DkeYX8LIhf_xD7T-MeZWHr-QYPu1_guHr1DyWYpqz4ih8BcF9VRj5TVYA3kN9gESkKn2p9fRZ7EqFlx3E_zjivUjFVq50mKmAXPqxRinzvpMa04iwF5/s1600/P1010416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLH5_QnM-HNN7WEd3nA9lV28bG9DkeYX8LIhf_xD7T-MeZWHr-QYPu1_guHr1DyWYpqz4ih8BcF9VRj5TVYA3kN9gESkKn2p9fRZ7EqFlx3E_zjivUjFVq50mKmAXPqxRinzvpMa04iwF5/s640/P1010416.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Bondi Beach</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_rqGVutB5ipTHeP8FPb9AvmpSCjFqZOm56COtU6wJwO8MjlIGecngjmOVYSUPfv6rziwvatMYKpBdvbXhMN3GeON5_Zh95Q4HFafovWG5V85rl6auYn5mCpBLt0ha2cTdG9rtVdjld6Wl/s1600/P1010421.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_rqGVutB5ipTHeP8FPb9AvmpSCjFqZOm56COtU6wJwO8MjlIGecngjmOVYSUPfv6rziwvatMYKpBdvbXhMN3GeON5_Zh95Q4HFafovWG5V85rl6auYn5mCpBLt0ha2cTdG9rtVdjld6Wl/s640/P1010421.JPG" width="640" /></a></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It is fitting that South Head is adorned by the unique,
candy-striped Hornby Light, and when you have passed abeam of it you have
entered Sydney Harbor. We just reveled in the placid nature of the sea, and the
grandeur of the day to take it all in. Sydney, beautiful, unforgettable
Sydney…yes you can be one of the thousands who arrive on aluminum birds at
Sydney Airport, but to arrive there by sea is something else. To arrive by our
own hand, on our little ship, piloted across many sunsets to get there is
something else again. On our journey, we cherished our arrival at Sydney as a significant
milestone; just unforgettable!</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN2EUzEMEci_AyBUTv73-eLiAvj5Wlf-WBg8tenTTup2ABzkAErC-DycrMTx4hRsFi3ofd3W-kT7sxVExkCeUbIihvtU-c1svzpjW14iJFVYEGPuYIYNKG73dP0g8bdhyphenhyphenncBclHR7OE9wT/s1600/P1010439.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN2EUzEMEci_AyBUTv73-eLiAvj5Wlf-WBg8tenTTup2ABzkAErC-DycrMTx4hRsFi3ofd3W-kT7sxVExkCeUbIihvtU-c1svzpjW14iJFVYEGPuYIYNKG73dP0g8bdhyphenhyphenncBclHR7OE9wT/s640/P1010439.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>South Head</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzrjf24-YXPq_5O5UKWTvXDbFIjxA25YURIBOzKIQfZYKp50ADr68tlZ9UXGbTCxdXPezvdGodMXHoTJOWdcTTxDhsDLHsLh50qAjM-rwQyf9ScfeRvhQzxsn-0wQNNl6fzwJ9LPSwilgA/s1600/P1010448.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzrjf24-YXPq_5O5UKWTvXDbFIjxA25YURIBOzKIQfZYKp50ADr68tlZ9UXGbTCxdXPezvdGodMXHoTJOWdcTTxDhsDLHsLh50qAjM-rwQyf9ScfeRvhQzxsn-0wQNNl6fzwJ9LPSwilgA/s640/P1010448.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Piloting a small craft into Sydney Harbor though does not
leave much time for dewy-eyed contemplation, for in a nautical sense it was important
to have one’s marine wits about you. Leaving behind the lonely horizons of
passage making where ships large and small were often a novelty, the mixed
grill of vessels both large and small that seemingly emerge from all quarters
requires sharpness and not tardiness at the helm. Ferries, yachts, pleasure
cruisers, barges, kayakers (yes, kayakers!), apart from the odd Cruise Liner or
Tanker now kept us on our toes from all quadrants of the compass.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5VdtKOvppUcnZ6CYk7l94pKga72ynWXGMTcBaIhxCGpAgScpBU4ugFCLH8eHC0pWTHf-fc8mLPChGb7_GtyQrx4Dk6IfNsfiBwhL5xQwELGKou_z-ZY-imekkUdKgwK_z1FcMICOC458E/s1600/IMG_0632.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5VdtKOvppUcnZ6CYk7l94pKga72ynWXGMTcBaIhxCGpAgScpBU4ugFCLH8eHC0pWTHf-fc8mLPChGb7_GtyQrx4Dk6IfNsfiBwhL5xQwELGKou_z-ZY-imekkUdKgwK_z1FcMICOC458E/s640/IMG_0632.PNG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Plenty of traffic as we enter Sydney Harbour</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> In 2010 we had
anchored in Collins Bay, Spring Cove, where, near the old Quarantine Station,
excellent shelter was to be found in the company of a remnant population of
Fairy Penguins that cling tenuously to their life alongside the challenges of
suburbia. This population, the only one now to be found on mainland NSW, is
jealously guarded by Environmental authorities,Taronga Park Zoo, and by the
locals of Manly. Everyone has been devastated of late by the ravages of a lone
Fox which breached security and killed many of the birds. Noting the new
anchoring restrictions in the area, and making a mental note to return to this
delightful location we made our way around to the waters off Manly Pier, where
the Manly Ferry has been operating its famous run from Circular Quay and across
Sydney heads since the days of steam. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG80DRZN8_-4Yl6pHr1M9ZVo-0q5RWl3kqonegXijmu3HQHCA6__ClDnhb7_pnvjBACk8F_sIrAaA0BiSVfpw7mx3cIBZ_rxDAFgTAUpzxTDgv8Hgmze675K72DL-LkQyvYT3W07w8iAtG/s1600/P1010459.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG80DRZN8_-4Yl6pHr1M9ZVo-0q5RWl3kqonegXijmu3HQHCA6__ClDnhb7_pnvjBACk8F_sIrAaA0BiSVfpw7mx3cIBZ_rxDAFgTAUpzxTDgv8Hgmze675K72DL-LkQyvYT3W07w8iAtG/s640/P1010459.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><b>Collins Bay</b></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Alongside the Manly Ferry Terminal, is a sandy beach, a
swimming enclosure, and courtesy moorings for visiting vessels such as ours.
Here it is possible to pick up one of the public moorings and overnight here
for….wait for this …FREE! International cruisers are staggered that here in
Sydney Harbor, there are many places where anchoring is permitted or where
courtesy moorings have been installed, and you can stay here for FREE. Yes, we
know of cruisers who have moved around Sydney, dining on its delights, for
months on end without paying a cent. It is one of the world’s great freebies we
think, especially, in a place like Manly, if you dip into the internet for
“Cheap Accommodation in Manly” to gauge the cost of sleeping ashore. Yes, as we
glided in to pick up a mooring – you can anchor further out on sand to protect
the sea grasses if you prefer – there was a care-worn cruising vessel that
would never head beyond the harbor, with a lone guy on board, surfboards on the
deck, and no rent to pay for a life afloat. Back at Winifred Falls we had met a
young couple now resident in Sydney, who were dumbfounded when we let on that
our accommodation in the great city would cost us zilch. They ruminated on what
it was costing them for a pokey one bed apartment with no view and zero
ambience. We could of course head for one of the dozens of up-market marinas
that dot the harbor, and pay accordingly, but to us the mooring in the
epicenter of Manly would do us just fine! </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3HXljQqcqYKVrDGOpxoFN6OqmT8vCU4RV07fdR4eLA0QRl6P-s6UVvMrx7mGXuYPnspJ836DC-MXZEuyr2-_sg8r4E2DFgSVHk6LatShJXQ2AHknXynXGA3GEuWhbKAYr0LDJqhyphenhyphendpMNV/s1600/P1010493.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3HXljQqcqYKVrDGOpxoFN6OqmT8vCU4RV07fdR4eLA0QRl6P-s6UVvMrx7mGXuYPnspJ836DC-MXZEuyr2-_sg8r4E2DFgSVHk6LatShJXQ2AHknXynXGA3GEuWhbKAYr0LDJqhyphenhyphendpMNV/s640/P1010493.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Our mooring in the epicentre of Manly</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3lSAHwnzUjHNfwTagokPr8rcFBXcVgbgmEhBrbsvVR0paWudjt35z6123Yf9js6DVzpZ5EYPy015NaZqocA4FOVSU6BpGg6zrKWioKjya4AAAABPCmQqKo6foEF9g_NBzOMpX6fl7WUCn/s1600/P1010496.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3lSAHwnzUjHNfwTagokPr8rcFBXcVgbgmEhBrbsvVR0paWudjt35z6123Yf9js6DVzpZ5EYPy015NaZqocA4FOVSU6BpGg6zrKWioKjya4AAAABPCmQqKo6foEF9g_NBzOMpX6fl7WUCn/s640/P1010496.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now, as we found to our utter delight, we had another
sail – surf cruising destination to add to our list. A short duck ride in and a
stroll down Manly’s mall had us emerge on what is probably Australia’s silver medalist
in the iconic beaches list; Manly Beach. Warm sun, warm sea – compared with
home – and all the delights of one of Oz’s most popular tourist destinations
would have been sufficient, but to the mix we added the proximity of the 125m
swimming enclosure just meters away and the ever present thrill of being just
here, right alongside the Manly Ferry precinct; this was enough to have one
pinching oneself time and time again. In addition, there was the obvious
practical advantage of walk-to re-provisioning, and the chance to head inshore
to maybe find a Thai or Indian eatery, where BYO rules the day and, if we had
to justify our accounting, what we saving on accommodation, and some, made us
eligible for a culinary treat or two, ashore. Fabulous.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHv12tN_UplNTfgDfcRekND-ovBY1aW0vTGOKNttHJCeBYpbjYqcy9QDbPodRHpM_LHoGTG9ohSCd0PpgXS6KFCAryAzfwL7CWiQkOT5wdphNOLw03ptXY7dqY0f61KZNZcdkuM1mN9sU2/s1600/P1010494.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHv12tN_UplNTfgDfcRekND-ovBY1aW0vTGOKNttHJCeBYpbjYqcy9QDbPodRHpM_LHoGTG9ohSCd0PpgXS6KFCAryAzfwL7CWiQkOT5wdphNOLw03ptXY7dqY0f61KZNZcdkuM1mN9sU2/s640/P1010494.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The ferry " Queenscliff "</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Watching the great Sydney ferries, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Freshwater, Queenscliff, and Narrabeen, </i>all named after North-Shore
beaches, dock at Manly from ringside seats was not at all like the allure of a
remote anchorage, but had a very different attraction all of its own. What is
more, whilst we feared that we would be plagued by ferry-wash through the
night, we found that with these ships slowing to come alongside the pier, their
wakes were left out in the harbor and we nid-nodded on our tether in perfect
harmony. To get up in the middle of the night, to see one of the ferries
nestled alongside the pier, and the lights of the cove dancing across the
waters had us saying…”just look where we are”! Yes, Manly Cove.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFvX2dWVyJCB0ctv7v1_eQg6TwPPedICa0_22LNWwgUOS5YyXwqAJQ8Win6TfAwdcBfhRvG8GdsxvF62yeJfW00SMqw8c9Xx8wBC_RQY1Kfsl4XZ4x4Gdl-N-FCHpmGOmInL8vT97bEitV/s1600/P1010473.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFvX2dWVyJCB0ctv7v1_eQg6TwPPedICa0_22LNWwgUOS5YyXwqAJQ8Win6TfAwdcBfhRvG8GdsxvF62yeJfW00SMqw8c9Xx8wBC_RQY1Kfsl4XZ4x4Gdl-N-FCHpmGOmInL8vT97bEitV/s640/P1010473.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Lights of Manly</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR47uDJZaQh8nm5uEHHw7Cfj-eJ32yDtUH2sY5CnFTqWxIJx40C6BinVTCjiHPeBhahcLYau1yijsI1gAyFy-i_LMBeD_zHrGCs97xTMXpcwJFF5lueaA-6rQd5WsgqLCwWe6-l5jIeife/s1600/P1010505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR47uDJZaQh8nm5uEHHw7Cfj-eJ32yDtUH2sY5CnFTqWxIJx40C6BinVTCjiHPeBhahcLYau1yijsI1gAyFy-i_LMBeD_zHrGCs97xTMXpcwJFF5lueaA-6rQd5WsgqLCwWe6-l5jIeife/s640/P1010505.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>View along to Manly Beach from North Steyne</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ashore, we walked from the Pier area to glean more from
this unique destination. One stroll took us to the end of greater Manly Beach,
beyond South Steyne beach and its art decco Surf Club to Queenscliffe in the
north. Following the suggestion of the Information Centre staff, we took the
North Head walk, treading warily through penguin country in Spring Cove before
heading along the National Park trail to Shelley and eventually Manly Beaches.
Up on the headland Banksias were in flower, not far away from the spot where
Sir Joseph Banks first saw them and named these unique flowers in 1770. There
was so much to discover in Manly and we had prime seats to take it all in.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-IYfwntUv_Mp-tE5VL9yhcOL3dpQTGsS29Bwd1GpU-4uLToqKGdfz2ypy8JfWo25DpbC_tDeu5iN-pH3pybiINIgOB950K-ZuhvyjtVOoGNMl0SsyN025bavoGPGQ2QA2IvnSXvmf20l_/s1600/P1010501.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-IYfwntUv_Mp-tE5VL9yhcOL3dpQTGsS29Bwd1GpU-4uLToqKGdfz2ypy8JfWo25DpbC_tDeu5iN-pH3pybiINIgOB950K-ZuhvyjtVOoGNMl0SsyN025bavoGPGQ2QA2IvnSXvmf20l_/s640/P1010501.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Our ocean pool, with our ship moored on the left</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We were reluctant to slip away from Manly, but with the
weather still delivering brilliant sunshine, we opted to take a self-guided
tour of Sydney Harbor, wondering, again, what one might have to pay to hire a
boat to do as we were doing. Across the Heads we cruised through Camp Cove and
Watson’s Bay, keeping the Sow and Pigs reef to starboard as we made our way via
secluded and exclusive coves to Rose Bay. Here there were more courtesy
moorings, where protection from one of Sydney’s famous southerly busters was
available for those who needed to seek shelter. Just beyond Rose Bay came the
exclusive beyond exclusive headland of Point Piper, where Sydney’s well heeled,
and social glitterati lived in residences that are close to priceless. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Mansions on Point Piper.....then the famous view!</i></b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>A sea of masts in Rushcutters Bay and the Cruising Yacht Club of Australia</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Rounding
Point Piper the world famous Sydney Harbor Bridge and the graceful lines of the
Opera House hove into view, explaining, in part why properties at this location
are beyond bankcard. The opulence did not stop there, and continued on through
Double Bay and around Darling Point to Ruscutter’s Bay where sleek oceanic
greyhounds emerge from the Cruising Yacht Club of Sydney each Boxing Bay to
make for the Heads, and Hobart, some 640 nautical miles away. Our life aboard <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista,</i> is as far removed from their
rarefied life of testosterone, carbon fibre and kevlar as it is possible to be.
In their time though, Swanson 36ers, like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista
</i>fared well in the Sydney to Hobart Yacht race, because they were built by
the Swanson Brothers to take weather in their stride without flinching. We can
vouch for this. We might trail the fleet if we entered this year’s race and
then again if the weather turned dirty we’d probably prefer to head into Bermi
to the River Rock Café rather than to stay out at sea.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA0Hsh65lvyNAhFrKcyzVBI_JWzVdpUJ2XinQTW3uCEBBkXbveHj7kpekRL3dBcrGPNVZLLjFp9URYdlkeO2pHFpnHLwslOcyt2pAhpe-wlJejXByudvMANeQCzkEsLYKmPIgws7ypphMK/s1600/P1010559.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA0Hsh65lvyNAhFrKcyzVBI_JWzVdpUJ2XinQTW3uCEBBkXbveHj7kpekRL3dBcrGPNVZLLjFp9URYdlkeO2pHFpnHLwslOcyt2pAhpe-wlJejXByudvMANeQCzkEsLYKmPIgws7ypphMK/s640/P1010559.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Close encounter with the Naval Ships!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Whereas gleaming white was clearly the colour of choice
for floating palaces nestling in the harbor, the environs of Potts Point was
dominated by the hues of military grey, with Australia’s naval ships clustered
around the base at Garden Island. Happily, in spite of the enhanced security to
be seen anywhere near sensitive facilities these days, we found that the buoys
indicating restricted areas in Woolloomooloo Bay gave us plenty of scope to get
up close and personal with Australia’s ships of war, although in recent years
they have performed magnificently in our region promoting peace and friendship
following natural disasters, without firing a shot. May this remain the case.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It is a bit hard to believe, but not so long ago a
cruising yacht could drop anchor and overnight in Farm Cove, ducking ashore as
it were, dragging the tux and gown from out behind the wet weather gear and
strolling up to opening night at the Opera House, to hob nob with those who
have had to get there the hard way, overland from Point Piper. Sadly neither
our ship’s wardrobe, or waterway restrictions will allow that now and there are
clipped warnings on yellow markers to say, yes glide past Australia’s most
famous building, but stay 120m away, and make sure that you comb your hair and
put on some lippy as you’ll be on a thousand images in cameras and iPhones from
visitors who flock here from all over the world. Smile…you are on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>at the Opera House.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1mgQ1JOUKWh8htgl1EG52iHcHK0LyvZ5HyZxXBgQlOc1SZrv1qBfJLSv5c4YeBGCKdPhX7ktyb53Cy91H5p6DALV35NjCAaFMEMie7n3dLKIXNxJWXpN7Zom9JzaCdUoc9imeng2ODC2/s1600/P1010574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1mgQ1JOUKWh8htgl1EG52iHcHK0LyvZ5HyZxXBgQlOc1SZrv1qBfJLSv5c4YeBGCKdPhX7ktyb53Cy91H5p6DALV35NjCAaFMEMie7n3dLKIXNxJWXpN7Zom9JzaCdUoc9imeng2ODC2/s640/P1010574.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>WOW.....The Sydney Opera House!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRthbj_E_2Gx8dLgZQDl6VNQEV6sr4VV7mqLnRY67fT_8B5XHR-LG9VFcH9IW2PVags8COhwXD9RKStzoK7tfcHJXPLBdd9h5Yu6zLQemKHlZ-_zjtUWSBAk7cli5xMXny35MedeuVwZTX/s1600/P1010575.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRthbj_E_2Gx8dLgZQDl6VNQEV6sr4VV7mqLnRY67fT_8B5XHR-LG9VFcH9IW2PVags8COhwXD9RKStzoK7tfcHJXPLBdd9h5Yu6zLQemKHlZ-_zjtUWSBAk7cli5xMXny35MedeuVwZTX/s640/P1010575.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>then under the Sydney Harbour Bridge</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKd9ksuehu5zJTUeT70ipkCUGFk1MT4aAouz3bDhd0I2kOpZuGDUNdOWwsBs2BUTfChK55EMTqvWnlFlS-vipmawEmvODN_ib6fIFWaZMcw34kmtzkMFk5BUHOaMIBgSOKyQRlZt57ROs/s1600/P1010642.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKd9ksuehu5zJTUeT70ipkCUGFk1MT4aAouz3bDhd0I2kOpZuGDUNdOWwsBs2BUTfChK55EMTqvWnlFlS-vipmawEmvODN_ib6fIFWaZMcw34kmtzkMFk5BUHOaMIBgSOKyQRlZt57ROs/s640/P1010642.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In reality there was a limited time to ooh and aaah as
just around the corner from Bennelong Point where the Opera House sits grandly,
is Sydney Cove, and Circular Quay, where at any one time a wandering yacht
stands a good chance of being mown down by any one of a plethora of passenger
craft, all driven to the max to meet tight schedules around the harbor and to
whom, having to duck around a cruising yacht lolling around taking panoramic
pictures would be an irritation, if not a danger. Still, by adroitly keeping a
ferry and water taxi watch we were able to take some time to take it all in, saying,
“look where we are…just look at us…Circular Quay…..and….. we are about to go <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">UNDER SYDNEY HARBOR BRIDGE!...wooo…hooo…what
a buzz….oops here comes a fast cat, and the Kirribilli Ferry, a water taxi…and
a tug…head to port….no starboard…maybe we should get out of here!..”</i> Yes,
going under the grand arch of the Harbor Bridge is really something to those
like us who have had many nautical miles pass under our keel just to get here.
There is no doubt that in spite of our love of wilderness and remote places,
the Sydney Harbor Bridge and the Sydney Opera House capture one’s attention as
no other objects ever built here, and yes they are our Taj, our Eiffel Tower
and our Statue of Liberty. To see them as we did on a superlative azure blue
day, on our own little ship was again unforgettable.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNiUBEjw8_hsAwnbKdP_LuNgtPuIQxhbyrA-SYlvX4ThuZsS4RrAgq2sLivC_KMPr030VNSv3N3KV09Hr6G6DWf5Ga1rkSf9i52MgMKDbu2IA-n_Ys7z3LxrljyHWYJPyTAIOA2JuHJLJt/s1600/P1010591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNiUBEjw8_hsAwnbKdP_LuNgtPuIQxhbyrA-SYlvX4ThuZsS4RrAgq2sLivC_KMPr030VNSv3N3KV09Hr6G6DWf5Ga1rkSf9i52MgMKDbu2IA-n_Ys7z3LxrljyHWYJPyTAIOA2JuHJLJt/s640/P1010591.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Darling Harbour and Maritime Museum below</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But it did not end there. Just around the corner from
these famous landmarks lies Darling Harbor, where we have the fondest of
memories of enjoying a dockside beer during the Sydney Olympics, and realizing
that at the next table enjoying the moment just like us were the greats of the
Dutch swimming team, having finished their competitions and doing just as we
were. Can’t help but think, as well, of a girl from Tassie also there, who
meets a young guy who says he is a Prince from Denmark….as they all do! We bet
that they, like us, remember that special time in Darling Harbor, watching
craft of all shapes and size come and go, just drinking it all in. Yes, we now
wanted to be one of those craft, so after allowing a ferry to pass we idled in
to see the Sydney Aquarium, the Maritime Museum with its famous ships, and
watched throngs of visitors wine dine and take pictures without end. Maybe,
without knowing it, we will feature in a slide show somewhere in a Penang hall,
or in downtown Osaka, sometime down the track. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNGx0_OP94XnZdy6gQOBSGjtP3LgUucwXP5_ojQUINfZ-AmNA_sX4s4KzYIHbSzxr1eeo3nsRhY7_xxa3cI-2dZ6SyQ9j9-h1BGucftmtro4xH0QB0_cBZHCSXKPALrpmddzfVSZFT-n1I/s1600/P1010597.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNGx0_OP94XnZdy6gQOBSGjtP3LgUucwXP5_ojQUINfZ-AmNA_sX4s4KzYIHbSzxr1eeo3nsRhY7_xxa3cI-2dZ6SyQ9j9-h1BGucftmtro4xH0QB0_cBZHCSXKPALrpmddzfVSZFT-n1I/s640/P1010597.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>On approach to the Anzac Bridge</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEUokA-UdIK6E9ppERLrAJ3OcxT19RVWLA3OsrMiP7EuDxKWKoPc3grrIgn31eJWmzs6d1KKpQvSM_WXZIsf7N3S9oaLkQsR6w_wXW6Pqg24lfAJKgV0yCzQzRvUUmxIITVxVoOETEBEb0/s1600/P1010603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEUokA-UdIK6E9ppERLrAJ3OcxT19RVWLA3OsrMiP7EuDxKWKoPc3grrIgn31eJWmzs6d1KKpQvSM_WXZIsf7N3S9oaLkQsR6w_wXW6Pqg24lfAJKgV0yCzQzRvUUmxIITVxVoOETEBEb0/s640/P1010603.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The anchorage at Blackwattle Bay</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Not far from Darling Harbor, a turn to port takes a
vessel through White Bay which is now a popular cruise liner terminal, before
ahead lay the impressive cable stayed Anzac Bridge, described by Alan
Lucas in our much thumbed guide as “looking like Madonna’s brassiere”, although
we had to take a couple of closer inspections to discern the likeness. The bridge itself perennially swarms with cars like an ant nest
stamped on by a bushwalker, and its lofty span is way above the mast height of
any yacht we are likely to set foot on.
Below it sits the forlorn swing bridge, the Glebe island Bridge, that it replaced, now permanently
set to open with lights-controlled access via the eastern span, allowing
passage into Blackwattle and Rozelle Bays. Here in buoyed zones, anchoring is
permitted for visiting vessels, and again for free. We like to have plenty of
what is termed “swinging room” when anchoring, but it was clear that here we
would have to take what we could, and set a shorter riding chain than normal,
given the benign state of the weather.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzkeHB5WMqsCWQDya814wPcoDBMvDXs8iUFOMidLG0NW2KNlLxblceYkgHW4qHoRz0_RU-HwjE8evsPj-Id9CHOOqOqVF-UKCQx6ty56NUiBzI7_E3KCITCCXrmu3wXrQuS8NaM2Q-V2i9/s1600/P1010599.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzkeHB5WMqsCWQDya814wPcoDBMvDXs8iUFOMidLG0NW2KNlLxblceYkgHW4qHoRz0_RU-HwjE8evsPj-Id9CHOOqOqVF-UKCQx6ty56NUiBzI7_E3KCITCCXrmu3wXrQuS8NaM2Q-V2i9/s640/P1010599.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The famous Sydney Fish Markets</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMiKvpx9NjrYJnpT-qNFUwNkFuEgzEt3Kx9TmQxoyJIRx_4bTkZd4NLl7DHstiedPUWXwniMI6i9MulEDFONQg81nBlotRrx29ci6X_acz1d3ruqCFxuQ4GvS3nDLwYMdDFNqMgWwBVSh8/s1600/P1010600.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMiKvpx9NjrYJnpT-qNFUwNkFuEgzEt3Kx9TmQxoyJIRx_4bTkZd4NLl7DHstiedPUWXwniMI6i9MulEDFONQg81nBlotRrx29ci6X_acz1d3ruqCFxuQ4GvS3nDLwYMdDFNqMgWwBVSh8/s640/P1010600.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After a memorable day on the harbor, it would have been
understandable to relax on board to take it all in. Not far away though, was
the acclaimed Sydney Fish Markets, so we launched our auxiliary vessel complete
with its 2hp drive unit, for the trip across Blackwattle Bay to take a look. We
had been there in 2010 and now there was only space for commercial fishers
alongside and others like us were left to duck in, tie up on the designated
pontoon and go fishing – gold coin style. To step in to the market where both
fresh and cooked seafood was available in volumes was to abandon any sense of
solitude and country. We could have been somewhere in Asia, but certainly not
Sydney as both the vendors and the droves of customers were unmistakably from backgrounds
to our north. It was fun to see a Japanese tour guide - we think he was
Japanese – try to issue instructions and advice to his wayward group above the
din and hubbub of sellers, buyers, groups bantering, families, kids in
strollers, old, young, in between and everybody else, trying to raise their
voices above those of others. It was mayhem with purpose, as commerce and
tourism met head on. Clearly though, visitors were agog at the platters of
seafood that could be procured for a pinch of costs at home, so they ordered by
the truckload and consumed, it seemed, in kind. We saw some visitors eyeing
slivers of sashimi by the plateful with tears of contemplation in their eyes. Our
modest purchase of a brace of fresh sand whiting fillets for an on board repast,
put us amongst the small fry, and with booty in the bag, we were able to
manufacture an escape on our little ship back to our larger one. Working at the
Fish Markets must be as busy as a pre-school excursion to the zoo. Fabulous
experience, though, for two simple folk who come from a simple country life
where three is a crowd.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaWdEKyZAvf9PEFvmySe1yUoj1mDKECryMTQyUVDFQ7CQDUgEPB6r0v-KGE2McetE6fr1NrYj0llYJKywjtVs4DKdb6EjotIT_rwIDYny3XKeLCRY7zUxyHpyUtOXNVE8ddLYDLB0cwhoo/s1600/P1010605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaWdEKyZAvf9PEFvmySe1yUoj1mDKECryMTQyUVDFQ7CQDUgEPB6r0v-KGE2McetE6fr1NrYj0llYJKywjtVs4DKdb6EjotIT_rwIDYny3XKeLCRY7zUxyHpyUtOXNVE8ddLYDLB0cwhoo/s640/P1010605.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Magnificent Moreton Bay Fig Tree</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Still we were not quite done for the day, as a walking
trail astern of us that curved around the bay, toward Rozelle Bay, was just too
good to ignore. Local environmentalists had been keen to re-establish a green
corridor of local habitat and maybe, in the process engender a balance between
its peace and tranquility, and the eternal cacophony of the Fish Markets. This
was a noble goal given the overweening thrust of city and suburb that was all
around. On the walk we thought we could take a look at the Rozelle Bay
anchorage, and maybe find the Light Rail station at the head of the park that
we could employ the following day. Yes the park walk was delightful, with a
brace of Moreton Bay Fig Trees of immense size dominating the arboreal
landscape, and from the numbers of locals using the trail to stroll, skate,
cycle and run, the corridor project was a winner. And, yes, we found the Light
Rail station at Rozelle which gave us a curious opportunity to construct for
the following day. Back on board, we noted a sharp looking yacht nearby called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Blue Dog,</i> with what seemed like a South
Australian registration. When the owners rowed past, we discovered to our
astonishment that yes, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Blue Dog </i>was
from SA, built in a backyard in Yankalilla. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yankalilla!
</i>How many times have we driven through Yankalilla on our way to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista’s </i>berth at Wirrina? What were
the odds of us connecting here? That evening, we finally settled in our cockpit
and we compared our incredible day with that of those now rushing across “Madonna”
Bridge; in a peak hour that never ended.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPk9QgMrbbcRNECnZC0LodVmdf_9dfkLq36tuowkIxBQCHKho2tWaG5X9nq5OnSsswtbMeZsuHKu4Z8TCAgVsDi2PQgLOWqQAyNtpTDXkNGQ7RSllyiWseEPamJ1bdoOuI_-gdqMEj63uE/s1600/P1010616.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPk9QgMrbbcRNECnZC0LodVmdf_9dfkLq36tuowkIxBQCHKho2tWaG5X9nq5OnSsswtbMeZsuHKu4Z8TCAgVsDi2PQgLOWqQAyNtpTDXkNGQ7RSllyiWseEPamJ1bdoOuI_-gdqMEj63uE/s640/P1010616.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Nightscape Blackwattle Bay</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Attending the Sydney Olympics for a few days in 2000 was
a time of great excitement for us both, especially the night that we splashed
out and went to a brace of swimming finals. We have always wanted to swim in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">THE </i>Olympic Pool and now maybe we had
our chance. Getting there though might have posed a problem, until we
discovered the Light Rail connection that would deposit us via Darling Harbor
and the markets to Central Station. From there we could board a train for
Olympic Park, just a stroll away from the pool. Having checked the best times
to attend, we had the immense pleasure of finding lanes there to ourselves.
There, you have to rate your current speed in the water though, and there are
lanes for Fast, Medium Fast, Medium and Slow swimmers, apart from the squad and
training lanes where the water was steaming. Cookie was on good form and was
quick to say, “Well that’s bad luck, there’s no lane for you.” “What do you mean?” I enquired, puzzled.
“Well, swimming pace…there’s no lane for glacial !!” In the end we both
completed 1000m in the Olympic Pool. Same water as Susie, Kieren and
Thorpie…just a different finishing time!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk5v7k0u5qYd9Z4ye-6kPqx-hh1RJLGEoBlAelTKG_ejkSdi8bZaHk5qmp34BHKv9hhxSQqPBavB6ui4WaLLvZeiExX6MXQTF5j9chQfBw3Frs0Rhge6O32QkvLwiCN4cFwEk2TT71duXd/s1600/P1010617.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk5v7k0u5qYd9Z4ye-6kPqx-hh1RJLGEoBlAelTKG_ejkSdi8bZaHk5qmp34BHKv9hhxSQqPBavB6ui4WaLLvZeiExX6MXQTF5j9chQfBw3Frs0Rhge6O32QkvLwiCN4cFwEk2TT71duXd/s640/P1010617.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Catching the Light Rail at Fish Market Station</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhWc9VSQNyMEtALcf5odwCXHvixcp1poAZKSC5yhR1xsvEPlWfPtKGX905fA7dEH9GuiSI1OxHiQcgv0RSr3t8u9QRJTvDezOEyT8quMDav4AYpKcni2Q7mUedoC2gKJPEIpdRwD1UIuQl/s1600/P1010620.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhWc9VSQNyMEtALcf5odwCXHvixcp1poAZKSC5yhR1xsvEPlWfPtKGX905fA7dEH9GuiSI1OxHiQcgv0RSr3t8u9QRJTvDezOEyT8quMDav4AYpKcni2Q7mUedoC2gKJPEIpdRwD1UIuQl/s640/P1010620.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Rio here we come!</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Later that afternoon we trundled out of Blackwattle Bay,
under “Madonna” and dropped our anchor at Ball’s Head Bay, on the North Shore,
not far from the Harbor Bridge. Here in a bay headed by a park and surrounded
by forested headlands, one can anchor, yes, for free. The holding here is
excellent and Alan Lucas cites a Canadian family who left their boat at anchor there
for two months whilst they headed to the outback. They returned to find that
their boat had easily ridden out some stiff southerlies, and was lying happily
where they left her. At this anchorage, we left our ship at anchor for a
morning in relative calm whilst we walked up and across the highway, to the nautical
retailers, Whitworth’s and Boat Books, but leaving <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">two months? </i>Never.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4P3SMfYoNz4YVYON9sihNZk7m4uJJFa5g3e6hkgCoBqWLUuc9hbTnURcmrJxHnBkdaUk4yxY7aeDRDOK8Cnc1emaqeJPnBg5-WN3GFDc4Fh1k_bnIZoliwjFQvnooeBPXMeFprXGy5DOF/s1600/P1010628.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4P3SMfYoNz4YVYON9sihNZk7m4uJJFa5g3e6hkgCoBqWLUuc9hbTnURcmrJxHnBkdaUk4yxY7aeDRDOK8Cnc1emaqeJPnBg5-WN3GFDc4Fh1k_bnIZoliwjFQvnooeBPXMeFprXGy5DOF/s640/P1010628.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Balls Head Bay</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgghqlHzST8PKl2nRo9BkL6UULdpvkjyyQfo8d00beGmWgFVZb5rRRzTYvkBQbGO7h_RkZVtZ46MReLypM3lFSc7Lj6lQcoXYgop-mhhyzmNnsRlLu1Y4XEc4HuXU0PeA3dSltv1xxkt75r/s1600/P1010633.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgghqlHzST8PKl2nRo9BkL6UULdpvkjyyQfo8d00beGmWgFVZb5rRRzTYvkBQbGO7h_RkZVtZ46MReLypM3lFSc7Lj6lQcoXYgop-mhhyzmNnsRlLu1Y4XEc4HuXU0PeA3dSltv1xxkt75r/s640/P1010633.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span id="goog_242009770"></span><span id="goog_242009771"></span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Next day, with the stellar weather still holding, we
retraced our way down the harbor, under the Harbour Bridge, this time examining
the northern aspect of the great waterway. Just beyond the Bridge and abeam of
Kirribilli Cookie suggested that she go below, grab some cheese and crackers
and tie up outside “Malcolm’s”, to invite them down for afternoon tea. We
glassed their Prime Ministerial abode, but there were no signs of anyone there
hanging out the washing, or doing the front lawns. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7c-7o9WyWAR3fGNQoqdh82Gqod6tmyu7a-ARbtKTBf2ZeQV54r86exhLphK9R-FaE8r5h1iSHkBKE1bcLDmHB4qwkNPrbC9BMqCUxp1Lc7-3Z5DfZdOoFxMAcIVV7SoQjL7JTOHIv7mEX/s1600/P1010654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7c-7o9WyWAR3fGNQoqdh82Gqod6tmyu7a-ARbtKTBf2ZeQV54r86exhLphK9R-FaE8r5h1iSHkBKE1bcLDmHB4qwkNPrbC9BMqCUxp1Lc7-3Z5DfZdOoFxMAcIVV7SoQjL7JTOHIv7mEX/s640/P1010654.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Malcolm's House</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Taronga Park Zoo is one of Australia’s finest but apart
from the ferry wharf outside that seems always busy, there are courtesy
moorings available where, the roar of lions and tigers notwithstanding, good
shelter can be held from weather out of the north-east under Bradley’s Head. By
mid-afternoon we had re-crossed the heads, making again for Manly, to
re-provision before heading north, and to re-connect with Brian and Maree on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Urchin </i>who had just arrived from Port
Hacking, in Spring Cove. There was just time to squeeze in a swim at the Manly
enclosure before the short journey to Collins Beach, Spring Cove, one of our
favourite places to anchor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfrBlG1wOGCHRc7p6BeJ-xSo6tS-SllUdqWJhsQR7BNhUhdZrjw4iSCAsej884B8ywT6g-m4PKtJTDuYVbIYENoIJAsd4AXXc17PNLTrrYODJrKaFjozMeIqKtKIe9zmuKqOt0ULWphHV8/s1600/P1010655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfrBlG1wOGCHRc7p6BeJ-xSo6tS-SllUdqWJhsQR7BNhUhdZrjw4iSCAsej884B8ywT6g-m4PKtJTDuYVbIYENoIJAsd4AXXc17PNLTrrYODJrKaFjozMeIqKtKIe9zmuKqOt0ULWphHV8/s640/P1010655.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The anchorage at Taronga Park</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Re-connecting with Brian and Maree led to a fine meal on
board the cat, and a welcome chance to compare notes about passages, places we
have visited and our plans for the next part of our respective voyages. Like
us, Brian and Maree gained a great deal of satisfaction from their arrival in
Sydney, and they were eagerly looking forward to seeing Sydney’s sights much as
we had. For us, the next day promised to deliver a fine morning before winds
built from the north. This would give us a chance to leave the Harbor, make our
way north to Barrenjoey Head before turning to port into the magnificent
waterways of the Hawkesbury and Cowan Creek River systems. Here, according to
many, is to be found some of Australia’s finest waterway cruising, in the
superb Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park. This opportunity was high on our “must
do” list leaving South Australia, so whilst there were many more things to see
within Sydney Harbor, the allure of what was to see to the north was too much
to resist. <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a> </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8pVYYPjS4KNxGEmiD7hL-rAD1xaoyFGZpnPjk_axAvrK7-75cbl7RlDrrDEYBTSgKlfMav35s3rDcy_5ky23Vp-a4HSyyPnKchO7G6BloYu_S9rCxWGmCtg2_hNoZ1j7yclZOzvxHQIwM/s1600/P1010664.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8pVYYPjS4KNxGEmiD7hL-rAD1xaoyFGZpnPjk_axAvrK7-75cbl7RlDrrDEYBTSgKlfMav35s3rDcy_5ky23Vp-a4HSyyPnKchO7G6BloYu_S9rCxWGmCtg2_hNoZ1j7yclZOzvxHQIwM/s640/P1010664.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sunset on board Urchin at Collins Bay</i></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></div>
Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-1539857768652420552016-04-30T21:44:00.000-07:002016-05-08T21:59:22.396-07:00<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Port Hacking</i></b></span> </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>26/4/16 – 1/5/16</i></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>( </i></b><i>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.)</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></i></span></div>
</span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The ports of greater Sydney area, of which
Port Hacking is a gem in its south, are geologically, as recent as the
internet, and addiction to coffee. Indeed, we were headed for Cronulla, where
outside one of four thousand coffee houses a sandwich board declared that we
should “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">save the planet – it is the only
one with coffee”.</i></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8z8fAqUu6OXBzmq__6YbMSTC5gsqHdOvapWb0tpBIg4j77lTuJTdOzXj1X0c6k8uwgPS_LRcxGDaXwGQW83Dbh8Dwnu2wxEl808aivQLyT3VXeONf9CathDGBueTVKNaEAP0KToGW-cN3/s1600/IMG_1169.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8z8fAqUu6OXBzmq__6YbMSTC5gsqHdOvapWb0tpBIg4j77lTuJTdOzXj1X0c6k8uwgPS_LRcxGDaXwGQW83Dbh8Dwnu2wxEl808aivQLyT3VXeONf9CathDGBueTVKNaEAP0KToGW-cN3/s640/IMG_1169.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Happy Birthday Colin! 26th April</i></b></span> </td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> There
is evidence aplenty to suggest that about 12,000 years ago, the same rising of
the seas that cut off Tasmania from the mainland and marooned its peoples to a
life of isolation until sails appeared on the horizon, also drowned the valleys
of the Hacking, Georges, Parramatta and Hawkesbury Rivers, and in the process
created some of the world’s finest harbours and playgrounds for those who enjoy
a life afloat. Back in Bermagui, Marina Manager, Keith put it to us that to
sail on past Port Hacking to higher profile locations to the north was to miss
one of New South Wales’ finest cruising destinations. Because Port Hacking
requires some skill in working around troublesome sand bars, and managing the
tides in the process, many cruisers fail to make the most of the delights that are
to be found here. We were happy to take Keith on his word, or as he put it to
us….”would I lie to you?” So Port Hacking bound we were.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Still though, the problem of the batteries,
the regulators and the solar panels irritated us like a prickle in a sock. Every
day was compromised by this issue and it looked as though more time and money
would have to be thrown, or thrown away, at this before it was resolved. BOAT! <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bring out another Thousand!</i>, is the line
said sometimes in jest although it is not funny at all to those who have to pay
for any service labelled “Marine”. In common parlance the battery and solar
issue was doing our heads in.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVIBCm74EYfMyTaR3KptBctm_SLZRN08E6oOWFUJPtwjF5vzrAPjXaXkn3SDUgpuL96It8kjoGrkseyL2Y5RduKj-Hw5YK_GmYBxHE2dV3Z4jHw_drNFV1-Imtn6u3udjySspDJUweplnU/s1600/P1010180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVIBCm74EYfMyTaR3KptBctm_SLZRN08E6oOWFUJPtwjF5vzrAPjXaXkn3SDUgpuL96It8kjoGrkseyL2Y5RduKj-Hw5YK_GmYBxHE2dV3Z4jHw_drNFV1-Imtn6u3udjySspDJUweplnU/s640/P1010180.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>The channel into Cronulla Marina</i></b></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Whatever we yearned to do may have been one
thing, but what we had to do was to was to head for the Cronulla Marina, tucked
away at the head of Gunnamatta Bay, where another SA cruiser, Jim Shepherd had
found a local marine electrician who he could highly recommend. In the
meantime, though, we had our first significant breakthrough in our power
systems problem courtesy of Phil from Solar 4 RV’s, the Victorian company who
had supplied the panels and regulators. Phil was puzzled by our power surge
problem and provided excellent assistance as we tried to troubleshoot a number
of potential solutions. It was Phil who suggested that we start again with our
wiring connections, by disconnecting everything and then re-connecting it all
following exactly the procedure in the instruction manual. This we did, with
Phil providing expertise on the phone, a little like a station owner setting
the broken leg of a stockman over the radio via the Flying Doctor. Phil really
was outstanding, giving us his personal phone number and saying, “call me if
you get stuck, anytime over the weekend is fine”. Now, that is real after sales
service, above and beyond the norm. We did as Phil suggested and waited…. Touch
wood! The panels were making power, the regulators were regulating it and the
batteries were storing it, but not to excess. Maybe, just maybe…</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBWbvDCPNKcuug42_0p9e0rMRs4PbLs1HyWMyA5itaSnxKnuRg3DAu3E2DI8QZxJOpn1QTkvHExJB39GfciJvgpsaweQxnFjzOrlM5p9jeiuc2HtEpBA6DthJfwVRvP3cNB_KuTHV0iUsy/s1600/P1010186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBWbvDCPNKcuug42_0p9e0rMRs4PbLs1HyWMyA5itaSnxKnuRg3DAu3E2DI8QZxJOpn1QTkvHExJB39GfciJvgpsaweQxnFjzOrlM5p9jeiuc2HtEpBA6DthJfwVRvP3cNB_KuTHV0iUsy/s640/P1010186.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Secure amongst the Bull Mastiffs again</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNOnMp1g4u5DnRNEZNYmtTI5kOD4YPRgo8qSkoFFc7oXdUxNrkdD4F1PmdnxE0HiNGOaHYgHZOBNyrrM0Xw3U7J3piRA-AQdLUXUEH80kmpJ9i7-SEstopH_NnhPo6z9SLPd8auhANwDmB/s1600/P1010187.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNOnMp1g4u5DnRNEZNYmtTI5kOD4YPRgo8qSkoFFc7oXdUxNrkdD4F1PmdnxE0HiNGOaHYgHZOBNyrrM0Xw3U7J3piRA-AQdLUXUEH80kmpJ9i7-SEstopH_NnhPo6z9SLPd8auhANwDmB/s640/P1010187.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>A sea of masts behind us in Gunnamatta Bay</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Arriving at Cronulla, via a well-marked
channel through the bar, we were concerned that here in Sydney’s southern
suburbs, we would lose the friendliness that is a hallmark of most country
destinations. Not so. The Cronulla Marina is oh so convenient and the staff was
excellent from every respect although the attraction of the marina, for us, had
not to do with the railway station, only a five minute walk away, the shops
beyond or the fine cafés and eateries that were dotted all around. Cronulla is
perched on the Cronulla Peninsula, and Gunnamatta Bay curves back into it so
that the Marina is but a short stroll from the beaches of Cronulla, North
Cronulla, Elourea and Wanda. Yes, from our boat to the surf was just a couple
of minutes across the peninsula! We were in seventh heaven!</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfz9alVe17yh5SRBYyvuzxr2bkoCj3n8rdRnQEKnHjxduJvj6Zo2H0jYJGPv4Wv77gDiMolFFH8LBO70LLpWipdl6G8ucp7sPqWceyloDEW4vgp6-p3WA8fQLVfWe1RMLtnroL8KivcCcq/s1600/P1010195.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfz9alVe17yh5SRBYyvuzxr2bkoCj3n8rdRnQEKnHjxduJvj6Zo2H0jYJGPv4Wv77gDiMolFFH8LBO70LLpWipdl6G8ucp7sPqWceyloDEW4vgp6-p3WA8fQLVfWe1RMLtnroL8KivcCcq/s640/P1010195.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Cronulla Surflifesaving Club & Pavillion, Cronulla Beach</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There are a small number of marine places
where one can park a cruising yacht within easy walking distance from the sea
and the surf. Mooloolaba is one, where at the Wharf Marina the beach in front
of the surf club is so close that when we were there in 2010, a pre-breakfast bodysurf
or long swim along the bay was a daily treat for us both. On this voyage we
have shared how at Port Fairy, especially, and at Bermagui we often left the
boat with towel across the shoulder. We should have listed Robe as well in this
category, for its proximity, although the water temperature was fiendishly
unfriendly. When not at sea cruising folk do many things, but we are never
happier than when in the ocean, taking in our daily dose of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">vitamin sea!</i></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMk-sZxjry6PCU8_n87hJ1gcV9mpFqSCmItMCxnt3mWwEkScFCfJ9uu4_HH325nqrMPl_yWXR66uF9VQr18G5NVMFqUxTfhewmt8cAXRCWfCBJsN3deGb3I9m_pVYsfrXpNlSQ9dO4fHR_/s1600/P1010202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMk-sZxjry6PCU8_n87hJ1gcV9mpFqSCmItMCxnt3mWwEkScFCfJ9uu4_HH325nqrMPl_yWXR66uF9VQr18G5NVMFqUxTfhewmt8cAXRCWfCBJsN3deGb3I9m_pVYsfrXpNlSQ9dO4fHR_/s640/P1010202.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Laps in the Cronulla Ocean Pool .....</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJJa6MQcMCkR1nybNgOj6A1Beh4w-qs46IOJDvVs4B3VppsFDrRzNFvZ9mYlnGXxpHfKfWL6SXAodVzghxQ6Qxc6rfeM6QTG1wg6zfPNoWX03uAGJU9v2iYZa8y2cEyTu0Gdd1vq8T3KzA/s1600/P1010212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJJa6MQcMCkR1nybNgOj6A1Beh4w-qs46IOJDvVs4B3VppsFDrRzNFvZ9mYlnGXxpHfKfWL6SXAodVzghxQ6Qxc6rfeM6QTG1wg6zfPNoWX03uAGJU9v2iYZa8y2cEyTu0Gdd1vq8T3KzA/s640/P1010212.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">...then a bodysurf at North Cronulla</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now, as we hoped, we could add Cronulla to
the above list of surf ‘n sail destinations. Maybe we need to write a guide to
this. To our delight we found that at Cronulla, a walk through the train
station tunnel, and down the main drag had one with sand beneath the toes at
Cronulla Beach in a trice. What is more, there was a free beach pool available
for laps, an indoor heated 25m pool next to the surf club, and for some
bodysurf with some more grunt, the North Cronulla beach was only a stroll
around the headland away. If one adds a brace of fine shops for reprovisioning,
and a selection of good value eateries to provide a variation from our on-board
menu – we eat really well on board <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista
</i>it must be stressed – then Cronulla ticked many boxes. Indeed, when the
recommended sparkie came on board to check our electronic work, and to see that
the wiring for the solar panels was linked in sympathy with our wind generator,
he gave us the much longed for thumbs up!! “You should be fine now I think”
were the magic words, “everything seems to be working well now” were what he
said, words as sweet as Tasmanian Leatherwood Honey. Could we really get on with
enjoying our voyage now? We were greatly encouraged but preferred to wait and
see before sliding the champagne into the fridge. There is old adage about not
whistling at the helm lest you bring on a storm.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhGBYS-yD7N_vqGGHHXx1iJDLFsgfKgRjM1H3BpA1qEaSxdtTPJSXfQj3fh6wbYev3e4WK5jffbBH8dhsW3gQFPDj2mpIPC4Klms1MbQwKLDtDf-3UogtQal2jXq9L_EXFvGhz5YKT7VH/s1600/P1010204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhGBYS-yD7N_vqGGHHXx1iJDLFsgfKgRjM1H3BpA1qEaSxdtTPJSXfQj3fh6wbYev3e4WK5jffbBH8dhsW3gQFPDj2mpIPC4Klms1MbQwKLDtDf-3UogtQal2jXq9L_EXFvGhz5YKT7VH/s640/P1010204.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Should have brought the surfboards !</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back at Bermi, Keith had stressed to us that,
even if time was pressing, no sojourn in Port Hacking was complete without
plying the waters upstream past the sand bars on the tide to South West Arm,
where, in midweek especially, solitude in a sheltered backwater of Royal
National Park was an experience not to be missed. With an afternoon high tide
scheduled for the next day we hastened to refuel and head to the shops before
departing the Marina for the South West Arm. First though, there was one other
Cronulla treat to enjoy before we slipped our lines. Surprisingly, this did not
involve hopping on a train out of Cronulla for a trundle on Sydney’s extensive
rail network, or boarding a ferry from the train at Circular Quay, or as good
friends Brian and Maree found, that the Cronulla train linked directly to the
airport, for an oh so convenient way of getting home to WA to see family. Yes
it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was </i>a ferry, but not one of Sydney
Harbour’s famous fleet, rather a unique Port Hacking vessel, that we had seen
depart and arrive every day, from no more than a stone’s throw from our stern
in the marina. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">M V Curranulla </i>is a
beauty, and built in 1939, she is the oldest Australian ferry to be still
serving the route for which she was purpose built. Lovingly cared for and
resplendent in her wattle livery, she is the Grand Dame of Ferryism. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHDTtBwVKSRrhr3rpWi1jrdfQ6adD3-j7-qs_tQKKuWqvaNkTBfy_3rlj2iUm2g5o_oeCvh5MZUhdvYkAZCS-utqWluSvSx5KrYvwtScyXb8eK-pxIAFuGbQynIyrFzyy0-RCf7dGv30Qm/s1600/P1010220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHDTtBwVKSRrhr3rpWi1jrdfQ6adD3-j7-qs_tQKKuWqvaNkTBfy_3rlj2iUm2g5o_oeCvh5MZUhdvYkAZCS-utqWluSvSx5KrYvwtScyXb8eK-pxIAFuGbQynIyrFzyy0-RCf7dGv30Qm/s640/P1010220.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>MV Curranulla</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A number
of times each day she departs from alongside the Cronulla Marina for the suburb
of Bundeena, across Port Hacking, alongside the Royal National Park and Jibbon
Beach where we first dropped anchor from Bermagui. Should some upwardly mobile
boffin in a remote office push for a service upgrade and putting old <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Curranulla </i>out to pasture, there’d be
riots on the streets of Cronulla, for sure. Fax us; we’ll hold a banner too. The
trip to Bundeena on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">MV Curranulla, </i>needs
to be written into the must-do list for visitors to Sydney, who have a nautical
pulse in their bodies. Forget the Bridge, forget the Opera House, go <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">MV Curranulla.</i></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEhmSFQ10BugqtK1rTQS_Kf7gAMYiHyKlkofoQerkZYXsTsDbyY8Kzas_x9KRetpaZcsET4rdq2-oxb_TRb4pv5uH3Mx7QnCMaxYepC9_xkFzpL55VKDt4ksRaxL5RWPF8cBg7M0TLN_4J/s1600/P1010228.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEhmSFQ10BugqtK1rTQS_Kf7gAMYiHyKlkofoQerkZYXsTsDbyY8Kzas_x9KRetpaZcsET4rdq2-oxb_TRb4pv5uH3Mx7QnCMaxYepC9_xkFzpL55VKDt4ksRaxL5RWPF8cBg7M0TLN_4J/s640/P1010228.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Aboard MV Curranulla</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">From Gunnamatta Bay, the passage up the
Hacking River to the South West Arm required strict adherence to the river
markers and close attention to pilotage.
On the way out of Gunnamatta Bay, if not maintaining a hawk-like watch
on the beacons and shoals, a highlight is the period river-front houses, some
of which perch up on the peninsula and have regally layered gardens spilling
down in descending contours to ancient boat houses, that give exclusive river
access. Ratty and Moley would have loved life here, messing about in boats Soon
we needed the NSW Waterways buoyage update, provided by the good marina folk to
sharpen our focus on staying afloat and not fetching up on a shoal near Lillli
Pilli and Gorgeley’s Points. In the end, the slalom course through the sand
bars was worth the effort, and as we rounded a curve in the deep waters of
South West Arm, all signs of suburbia disappeared, and surrounded by the
forests of the Royal National Park, we were in a wooded fjord of great natural
beauty. A sea eagle wheeled overhead, cast an inventorial eye in our direction
and glided to roost in a nearby tree. Keith was right, South West Arm really
need to be visited.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-OkbkmVMfSitwa3olRjxUEcq7srx5KEKSIfj8XLEF1g1AdxV6jWG1c_HcHW-ZNqf1aEiik986lAqTSYUsHeiBkZX9Y_W9OvPB5q_RNb4t6hT5pcXkAxp3-h47nqYj1jf0bpZ8-icdzKmJ/s1600/P1010353.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-OkbkmVMfSitwa3olRjxUEcq7srx5KEKSIfj8XLEF1g1AdxV6jWG1c_HcHW-ZNqf1aEiik986lAqTSYUsHeiBkZX9Y_W9OvPB5q_RNb4t6hT5pcXkAxp3-h47nqYj1jf0bpZ8-icdzKmJ/s640/P1010353.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Entering South West Arm</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Our free accommodation at South west Arm</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A feature of this remote place, on the
doorstep of suburbia, was the voyage up the arm in our tender to reach the
Winifred Waterfall, deep in the forest. Again, only high tide provides access,
and again, careful negotiation of shallows and sandbars was the order of the
day. The creek meets the forest in an expansive pool and from there a trail
leads upstream to a fine cataract with plunge and swimming pool to boot. In our
coastal naiveté, we assumed that the falls, as remote as they seemed, were
rarely visited by man. We were wrong. At
the falls there were a number of people, none of whom had sailed from South
Australia, and chanced their arm amongst the shoals by boat and by duck to get
here. Up on the ridge there was apparently a car park, and any Thomas, Richard
or Harold, could put on their scuffs and tolerably wander down to the falls, or
so it seemed. Some, we noted, had done just that. Few however, shunned the
evidence on their Certificates of Birth as we did, by plunging in the pool,
swimming its perimeter or perching beneath the torrent, in the buffeting shower
of all time. Carrying on like a pork cutlet should not be the sole province of
the Gen Y’s or Zedders. Too much fun to be wasted on young people we figured.
And, it was too!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Checking out our swimming pool & spa</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Lovely walk through the bush to the head of the creek</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQTRyE4HmSLMJ7msEi4_2Fttbxg5gp-gafG3LzxDjdzRBAv-ZKm_Cyc66-rvvPnMj_JeY1hcUMeJyMl2XBdCRhznlDjFQXje4JBLR-E86kynAx8lvUQxNYPvp3bSPea3rT584VqMu4Lkaj/s1600/P1010319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQTRyE4HmSLMJ7msEi4_2Fttbxg5gp-gafG3LzxDjdzRBAv-ZKm_Cyc66-rvvPnMj_JeY1hcUMeJyMl2XBdCRhznlDjFQXje4JBLR-E86kynAx8lvUQxNYPvp3bSPea3rT584VqMu4Lkaj/s640/P1010319.JPG" width="640" /></i></b></span></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our way back out of the Arm and back into
suburbia via the labyrinth of watercourses was uneventful, partly as we had our
track on our plotter to guide us along the way. Cookie handed me the helm, figuring
that the hard work had already been done. Abeam of Gunnamatta we cast fond
glances to port, hoping to see old <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Currunulla
</i>doing her thing as only she could do.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Safely through the sandbars and back to civilization</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our last eve in Port Hacking was
spent in the cosy confines of Jibbon Beach</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> with wilderness to the south and the
murmur of a city that never sleeps to the north. Jibbon Beach is not far from
the runways of Sydney Airport that protrude into historic and industrial Botany
Bay. Sipping on an evening coffee in our cockpit, we played a game for a while
to see how many planes, we could see in surrounding skies, either leaving, or
on finals for Sydney. They were lined up like kids for free ice-creams at the
Sunday school picnic. A plane-spotter with the destination app going into
overdrive would have a field day here. Would not be a Flight Controller at
Sydney for quids. Across Bate Bay, beyond Cronulla to Cape Bally, the final
sail up to Sydney would commence. Sydney! Going through the heads! Sydney
Harbour, all the way from Wirrina in our little ship! Wow. The forecast for the
next day promised a pearler and sleep, for all the right reasons, might be
challenged by the thought of the forthcoming sail up to and into the Great
Harbour. Brin<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>geth on the dawn.</span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5405897475836777807.post-25906870821259644342016-04-30T21:36:00.001-07:002016-04-30T23:10:06.225-07:00<br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Bermagui to Port Hacking</i></b></span> </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>24/4/16 to 25/4/16</i></b></span></span><br />
<b><i><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></i></b>
<b><i><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></i></b>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>( </i></b><i>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.)</i></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoxD8mOmF366ywPICDR7t3SFOsyHXWBooklYIuurDnUW_QjeZOuRcHASCL5InMYQkoJiJ_PUfnmvL0BJrB3TzWLUf1thNiuE12oCm2NruQdU83JOhBSs8bw_xXjIw_Ar_N3qJOaB5CARfT/s1600/P1010031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoxD8mOmF366ywPICDR7t3SFOsyHXWBooklYIuurDnUW_QjeZOuRcHASCL5InMYQkoJiJ_PUfnmvL0BJrB3TzWLUf1thNiuE12oCm2NruQdU83JOhBSs8bw_xXjIw_Ar_N3qJOaB5CARfT/s640/P1010031.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Dawn Departure... Farewell Bermi</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When you leave port on the heels of a change
and a strong blow, you can be left with a remnant and messy sea, even if the
wind has eased. As we made our way out of the Bermagui harbour it was clear
that there was plenty of “top sea” outside and a fair swell to boot. All this
made for unstable conditions for moving about on board, both out on deck and
below. The wind had dropped to a direction friendly sou-wester of 8-10 knots,
but with a stabilising main set (the main sail helps to combat roll aboard and
makes for greater comfort in passage making), and our course in place between
Montague Island and the mainland, our “apparent wind” fell to a less than a
handful of knots: too few to sail. We engaged the motor, hoisted a headsail
when there was useable wind, and headed north.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As Bermagui subsided into the southern
horizon, the forested heights of Mount Dromedary stood proud to port and would
be a landmark ashore for hours to come. When Captain James Cook came this way
in 1770, on board the bark <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Endeavour </i>his
crew no doubt found their gaze drifting to this mountain, which as one makes
north takes on the unmistakeable profile of another ship, a ship of the desert.
You have to feel for Cook and co, given the number of gulfs, bays, capes,
islands and uplands that they were called upon to name. You have to wonder
whether this was the sole province of the Master, or whether the officers, over
a draft of ship’s rum, had some input in the process. The dubbing of Mount
Dromedary was another case of the great mariner getting it right.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkzjkLXtR9Mb2kFuyGGps5Jo7iD8iwRMR2xmkYSta28gugo5DJzltYKUmb7p1gzMngJdzEWD3L3rUTFurACMLH62dk39-rni4RnxSwsftc7BD5oScnABj7B4Q5Kp9ZPQhUPa_3Pu9KBQsh/s1600/P1010042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkzjkLXtR9Mb2kFuyGGps5Jo7iD8iwRMR2xmkYSta28gugo5DJzltYKUmb7p1gzMngJdzEWD3L3rUTFurACMLH62dk39-rni4RnxSwsftc7BD5oScnABj7B4Q5Kp9ZPQhUPa_3Pu9KBQsh/s640/P1010042.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Mt Dromedary</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Unlike Cook, as we made northing, we had the
enormous benefit of Alan Lucas’ premier guide <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cruising the New South Wales Coast, </i>which is essential for visiting
cruisers, and the endless information available via the internet. Abeam of
Mount Dromedary, for example, we read a fascinating blog from a walker who had
ascended the mount, albeit after a significant struggle, and as Montague Island
drew near, the web info was abundant in content; about its flora, fauna, marine
life, and about the light keepers cottages which can be rented by souls who
want a taste of island life and would prefer that the ground underneath did not
dance and sway.. We eagerly glassed Montague as we passed and concluded that it
would be a stellar activity to be marooned there for a few days, with good friends,
good food, and selected vintages to ease one through the evenings. Not sure if
you can pick a stormy night or two when you book. Montague in a gale would be
some experience.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNmTOhVPoG2u1PsVnLO5ws1F0PAw5MTTLcqMwHB0XWOI7qAFyNnqX_x5m1zqyqr19Z6IxVoci_Ri6_8U8wOAfp2z6urnvmDlFw-Nt5qXf_EyXbvtHsJV_ZDBki_x2-KEaweThKE9V_xER1/s1600/P1010044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNmTOhVPoG2u1PsVnLO5ws1F0PAw5MTTLcqMwHB0XWOI7qAFyNnqX_x5m1zqyqr19Z6IxVoci_Ri6_8U8wOAfp2z6urnvmDlFw-Nt5qXf_EyXbvtHsJV_ZDBki_x2-KEaweThKE9V_xER1/s640/P1010044.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Narooma</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Off Narooma we logged in with Marine Rescue,
advising them of our passage details together with an estimate of our passage
time and our likely arrival in the Sydney area. Yes, Sydney! Soon Dalmeny,
Tuross Head and Marouya drew alongside and fell astern as we approached the
wider expanse of Bateman’s Bay, the playground of those seeking respite from
the National Capital. We had not sailed in to Bateman’s Bay before, and it now
has a refurbished marina that we were keen to see. Entering Bateman’s Bay in a
vessel like ours though, comes with some cautions. There is a sand bar entrance
in the Clyde River, that falls to 1.4m at low tide, and considering our draft
of 1.8m we would need to enter on a fuller and rising tide, just to be sure.
The problem for us was that high tides were in the mornings, and in planning a
passage from Bermagui, there was not sufficient time to leave Bermagui in the
post-dawn and make it to Bateman’s Bay before we were on the “wrong” side of
the tide. To counter this we had considered making instead for an anchorage
under Broulee Island, just to the south of Bateman’s Bay, from where accessing
the bar at the right tide would be easy. This plan however was derailed, with
the unscheduled length of our Bermagui stay, and now the approach of a batch of
northerly days beyond the current window of calm. If we undertook the Broulee
and Bateman’s plan, which we were keen to do, we might get “stuck” in Bateman’s
Bay for several more days when we really needed to be making to the north.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtNVPtx4zGZVYN0DjApQcHK13cepZnZKr2O3OqO__3VuxIW7Fhp6ySNhdx2c2sItQUzcBsitKtcYnsmyif6ACu8QElEW1cb1m5JAkj3_TqvvAEdAvvrfEj5RJYM4WRRuEGSrAVWihpwGKs/s1600/P1010046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtNVPtx4zGZVYN0DjApQcHK13cepZnZKr2O3OqO__3VuxIW7Fhp6ySNhdx2c2sItQUzcBsitKtcYnsmyif6ACu8QElEW1cb1m5JAkj3_TqvvAEdAvvrfEj5RJYM4WRRuEGSrAVWihpwGKs/s640/P1010046.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Black Rock off Bateman's Bay</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There was one more reason why we wanted to
tie up in Bateman’s Bay, and it was to do with an old school mate from my
Victor Harbor High School student days, Frank Bottomley, who now resides at
Broulee and works at Bateman’s Bay. At a school reunion in late 2014, I
re-connected with Frank after many years and we discussed the possibility of
meeting up at Bateman’s Bay when next plying the NSW coast. We contacted each
other again during our Bermagui sojourn and discussed the “Broulee – Bateman’s
plan”, which met with Frank’s approval given that he is a keen boater and
fisher in the area.. It would be a fine thing to “raise one” with Frank, just
for old time’s sake, and for now as well. Now, unfortunately, with the changed
circumstances, a stopover was not possible, although the ever creative Frank
had a plan. On our day making north past Bateman’s Bay, Frank and a mate would
go out fishing, and as we passed the area we could at least connect at sea, and
maybe hove to for a while for a ship-to-ship yarn. So, with us heading north,
we texted Frank our progress with a notion of ducking behind the Tollgate
islands at the mouth of the Clyde, where in tolerable shelter, we might have
been able to have Frank come alongside and come on board for a time. Frank was
hinting at talking champagne for a toast, and we felt that the significance of
the occasion might override our normal dictum of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>being a “dry” ship whilst at sea. We agreed to use the VHF
radio to fine tune this scheme, based on a ship to ship link established off
Burrewarra Head, south of the Clyde entrance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguI4tkIOSl4_woNVOSQI0r7lHg24rzj4OuYb0Nv1biHEkid98q4I0On7vh9f_wUCH_t_zUaObL2BBGQHZQOcOs130HuOvLHxwrIlXmJ_EwGjL_4mi2FwLAKhr-MLQ6OyJE3nZllRgCuiKs/s1600/P1020339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguI4tkIOSl4_woNVOSQI0r7lHg24rzj4OuYb0Nv1biHEkid98q4I0On7vh9f_wUCH_t_zUaObL2BBGQHZQOcOs130HuOvLHxwrIlXmJ_EwGjL_4mi2FwLAKhr-MLQ6OyJE3nZllRgCuiKs/s640/P1020339.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Frank and Rod "all at sea"</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At our first call, Frank was ebullient,
confirming that the Tollgate Islands plan was ON, all was in place and that he
had <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a fish </i>for us. Approaching Black
Rock, just shy of the Tollgates, our radio again crackled to life. It was
Frank, this time sounding not his upbeat self, and meekly advising that he was
a couple of miles out to sea, with a flat battery and drifting with a motor
that could not be started! He had called Marine Rescue Bateman’s Bay and help
was on its way. We took directions and after steaming seaward for a time we
eventually spotted the hapless fishers, wallowing in a sloppy sea, but like Mr
Micawber, waiting for something to turn up. As we drew near, it was clear that
coming alongside in this sea, without Frank’s manoeuvrability, was fraught with
peril and things were bad enough as it was. As we slid alongside, but at a safe
distance, Frank confirmed that apart from feeling crestfallen, they were and
would be fine, and did not need a tow. Then Frank held up <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">THE FISH! </i>It was a glistening snapper, a catch of the day, more
like a trophy than a catch. Frank, what a legend….now to get close enough to
poke a boat hook across ….to manage the transfer. No champagne, to be sure, but
think succulent snapper fillets, tossed salad, and minted potatoes. I was
prepared to shun the Bull Sharks and swim across for a delectable offering like
that. We failed to photograph the fish because our wide angle would not
encompass it! At sea size does matter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgULUuSuK4Kg4UyNL3Jma6M5WQs8x0zW4VfmCEksKACyseFiDuGIVbglSKXWkaps1gpweWJ2hPS-fAk_z4hNg1lX_A2pVnfAZcb-RHhnEY4mkjQT9vvK17awISckVjC_emDTChHoAk2nsRZ/s1600/P1020342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgULUuSuK4Kg4UyNL3Jma6M5WQs8x0zW4VfmCEksKACyseFiDuGIVbglSKXWkaps1gpweWJ2hPS-fAk_z4hNg1lX_A2pVnfAZcb-RHhnEY4mkjQT9vvK17awISckVjC_emDTChHoAk2nsRZ/s640/P1020342.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Rescue...Rescue.....Rescue</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWVCxdoZNHK2lIpQuoEzqgubQhtf8iE5UNQMkwzgCeAXcKkqyiF7dPLj8Tjf0L3FGCHU_32DHUUoelokGdklYcdw7ThCVZ1kkOjpxDNg4OMAdcgbl2OE0WSfgu4cUWY8PrXGCv1cK3qa9/s1600/P1020344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWVCxdoZNHK2lIpQuoEzqgubQhtf8iE5UNQMkwzgCeAXcKkqyiF7dPLj8Tjf0L3FGCHU_32DHUUoelokGdklYcdw7ThCVZ1kkOjpxDNg4OMAdcgbl2OE0WSfgu4cUWY8PrXGCv1cK3qa9/s640/P1020344.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>We were </i>Frank<i>ly......disappointed!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><b></b><i></i><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And just then, just at that miserable moment,
with a siren and flashing</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> lights Marine Rescue arrived. No entreaties about old
mates catching up carried any currency with these businesslike officials, and
in a trice we were shooed away, Frank was taken in tow and our last image was
of Frank holding his arms wide in appeal and totally defeated. So too were we. As
we watched them go we turned the head of our ship again to the north, and set a
new waypoint for a point off Ulludulla. Maybe, just maybe, later in the year we
will get our chance to have Frank on board. By that time we will be able to
re-tell the tale of the flat battery and the one that got away. Battery
problems! They were haunting us even out at sea…..the cruel sea.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSOrdGfF5mBAhTH5AIzS0RqqF4Hmw9NVQ1izYM6LcUBfV-UsSw_3Wr33_hjryCKXZc3V79fTqBA259HTkfwuYSauuqpl-dBUSXshcm20ggHcrCCcE9egJbHtDs-9_1SkxsaBuK4WGybkO_/s1600/P1010053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="372" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSOrdGfF5mBAhTH5AIzS0RqqF4Hmw9NVQ1izYM6LcUBfV-UsSw_3Wr33_hjryCKXZc3V79fTqBA259HTkfwuYSauuqpl-dBUSXshcm20ggHcrCCcE9egJbHtDs-9_1SkxsaBuK4WGybkO_/s640/P1010053.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Sunset north of Bateman's Bay</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By the time we reached our Ulludulla mark,
darkness had fallen, and on this voyage of disappointments, there were two more
to come. We had longed to detour to port beyond King George’s Head, and make
our way into Jervis Bay where, in from Bowen Island, lies the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hole
in the Wall</i> anchorage, one of New South Wales’ finest. We had fond hopes of
overnighting there, and proceeding back out to sea in the shadow of the Point
Perpendicular Cliffs, which viewed from out at sea are a truly remarkable
natural feature. On our voyage of 2010, darkness had fallen when we were making
north, and when heading south later in the year, yes it was day-time but the
entire coast was blanketed in fog, and we stood well clear and proceeded away
from the area with caution. One day we will see these magnificent cliffs as
Cook, who named them, saw them, and no doubt we will be as impressed as he was
in his time here. This time, in spite of the glorious full moon that had risen,
and the cheeky wink of the Point Perpendicular light which seemed to taunt us,
we passed on to the north, and when out from nearby Beecroft Head; the
unmistakeable loom of lights from the Illawarra Coast became noticeable off our
port bow.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There were other lights as well. At some
distance out to starboard, carrying the lights of a city, but making next to no
knots was the cruise ship, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pacific Aria. </i>Our
AIS confirmed her name and that in the new day she would get going for Sydney.
In the wee hours though, she was a ship alight, but going nowhere. This was one
of the cruises where the liner heads out to sea and without any particular
destination, they return a day or two later. Give us a destination every time.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLPayCRAD_fxb1NGoBMpaLw_NAj1Lk3bWiJ5pvBVmU-1RDMIypiTP1p3GJZjZ1R01TQClyilcrIXx40ZXlGefd6dghMfb1YkBeKJ9hGh70zkySZnrTkgVuG00eed6juJAp1t7O_qfy-gq/s1600/IMG_1160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLPayCRAD_fxb1NGoBMpaLw_NAj1Lk3bWiJ5pvBVmU-1RDMIypiTP1p3GJZjZ1R01TQClyilcrIXx40ZXlGefd6dghMfb1YkBeKJ9hGh70zkySZnrTkgVuG00eed6juJAp1t7O_qfy-gq/s640/IMG_1160.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Calling Island Chief to avoid a collision !</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC84oV4okw_wum6K3TFRpU6MfQPunfP8Bg45-sT6BAuQf_8a4eJZuphZu8jU4MO2h1AteM-tsyPBZqpMlHOPj-towbPK4B0hyphenhyphenID-WvqMmL1TU8dU3zlsAECdoMrW1X45Bs8tM_a5ybISze/s1600/IMG_1157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC84oV4okw_wum6K3TFRpU6MfQPunfP8Bg45-sT6BAuQf_8a4eJZuphZu8jU4MO2h1AteM-tsyPBZqpMlHOPj-towbPK4B0hyphenhyphenID-WvqMmL1TU8dU3zlsAECdoMrW1X45Bs8tM_a5ybISze/s640/IMG_1157.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><b></b><i></i><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Of more concern though was a bulk carrier,
coming up rapidly from behind but with few of the luminescent adornments of the
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Aria. </i>As the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Island Chief </i>closed on us, the AIS confirmed that with her
destination of Port Kembla, she would cross our path, and on current heading,
her CPA (closest point of approach) was a miniscule 0.01nm;a way, way too close
for comfort. It was time to communicate with the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Island Chief, </i>so that we might pass each other in safety. At sea
Channel 16 VHF is used for this purpose, and in no time the Officer of the
Watch on the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Chief </i>came up in
response to our call, and with great politeness and consideration offered to
alter course to ensure that a one-mile separation between our ships was
maintained as they slid by. It feels strange that an eight tonner like us would
have the radio officer of a many thousand tonner like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Island Chief </i>ask us “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista, what would you like us to do”.</i>
We know that big ships appreciate little ships like us communicating in regards
to safety at sea, especially if courtesies like referring to the officer as
“sir” on call up are followed. We thanked them and continued on as the sky in
the east turned peach, then apricot in the advance of the new day. It was Anzac
Day and on board <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista, </i>and via the
national broadcaster we tuned into the dawn service from Canberra. In the morning, on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista </i>we did remember the fallen. Lest we forget…..lest we
forget.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TyaxpYlbFfWnZzs3MFm9ZN7RGhJ5qEpBW357pxMHKgO2gisaQAawyC-uPFYgNKRRgc37EGpFQLUXeg3bssHFYI9vDFpUCyyNpSf4xf8GHygeeQ34LPppMSYgnLo3pR35zJXbCm1ot7AO/s1600/P1010072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TyaxpYlbFfWnZzs3MFm9ZN7RGhJ5qEpBW357pxMHKgO2gisaQAawyC-uPFYgNKRRgc37EGpFQLUXeg3bssHFYI9vDFpUCyyNpSf4xf8GHygeeQ34LPppMSYgnLo3pR35zJXbCm1ot7AO/s640/P1010072.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>....And in the morning....lest we forget.</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back at Port Elliot our Surf Club has a
sister club relationship with Wollongong SLSC that dates from the 1950’5 and
lasts to this day. Last year we travelled there for the centenary of lifesaving
celebrations at our sister club. Now, picking a slalom course betwixt a raft of
ships anchored in the area awaiting their turn to disgorge at Port Kembla, we
spied the seascape of Wollongong via our glasses and scanned north as the
coastal suburbs of Bulli, Corrimal, Coledale, Thirroul and Austinmer came into
focus. A direct line to Port Hacking would have taken us well out to sea, but
we had altered course to view these fondly held shores and to take a seaward
look at the coastline of the Royal National Park that stretches north along the
Illawarra coast to Port Hacking. When at Wollongong in February 2015, we
returned to Sydney via the coast road, and like everyone who sees it for the
first time, marvelled at the amazing Sea Cliff Bridge that curves out from the
cliffs at Stanwell Park and has been the understandable focus for
advertisements, travel shows, Sydney and Illawarra travel promos and the like.
It truly is impressive and whilst travelling over it we longed to stop the car
and get out for a bridge – eye look as it were. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZT7QQ6iNzEq_62UUYas5Hj5gPhSx2ld6Z_x7f84KyhqlR29qaNj0ienzzOmYEbDzu89Zrj4tQhXeO5u758-zFbmhpRk8arMcG85NifmvwORttMjkZsMp2kT9aGhVptQG3H0TH-fQUORp/s1600/IMG_1161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZT7QQ6iNzEq_62UUYas5Hj5gPhSx2ld6Z_x7f84KyhqlR29qaNj0ienzzOmYEbDzu89Zrj4tQhXeO5u758-zFbmhpRk8arMcG85NifmvwORttMjkZsMp2kT9aGhVptQG3H0TH-fQUORp/s640/IMG_1161.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Great view of the Sea Cliff Bridge from the sea</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><b></b><i></i><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Alas this is not possible
although one can view the bridge from afar at a viewing point a little up the
coast. At the time, traversing the bridge and gazing from the lookout we
wondered what this scene would look like from out at sea. Last time heading
north off this coast we had awful conditions with rain squalls rising winds and
darkness to contend with and we arrived off the Sydney coast bedraggled, sleep
deprived and just wanting to get inside the heads. This time we had picked a
calm and with a warm April sun it was a peach of a day to divert, and yes, to
see the Sea Cliff Bridge as she was built, at our leisure from a sea
perspective. It was worth committing this to our wish list because now the
chance had come to convert this wish to a reality.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3qQ-XqQRbkbcUs2WBJcg7eJFB4nRZ1CsdtvtZ-j_lPzNEbXuDFqV3o5-zTCLdZuxF9bJIg5BRPAOPGsYkXhb8KftNOhLchE3-8icJ2ofmGq-2AnM8XJgZSe8OSeJ9PKhyzJfcZn51urOU/s1600/IMG_1165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3qQ-XqQRbkbcUs2WBJcg7eJFB4nRZ1CsdtvtZ-j_lPzNEbXuDFqV3o5-zTCLdZuxF9bJIg5BRPAOPGsYkXhb8KftNOhLchE3-8icJ2ofmGq-2AnM8XJgZSe8OSeJ9PKhyzJfcZn51urOU/s640/IMG_1165.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht_SQZPfzdpLdQgoyos05_AIxdPibZOmNER0NXXcq3gBTWSmBCr8KnlfMuQnlMhyphenhyphenF0ZMLM2tZBUNIj5Z5jcERPCgkc13UfE8UnkNrRfGjqERpxKRbePK5bdH5Rcm-sMaDeuevMkI7w6adT/s1600/P1010108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht_SQZPfzdpLdQgoyos05_AIxdPibZOmNER0NXXcq3gBTWSmBCr8KnlfMuQnlMhyphenhyphenF0ZMLM2tZBUNIj5Z5jcERPCgkc13UfE8UnkNrRfGjqERpxKRbePK5bdH5Rcm-sMaDeuevMkI7w6adT/s640/P1010108.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Yes, the Sea Cliff Bridge <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> remarkable from out at sea and yes
to be able to putter along the coast as the coastline of the Royal National
Park drew alongside was a pure delight. We commented on how Sydney, sprawling
Sydney, benefits from being located alongside fabulous National Parks to the
north, south and west and adds so much to the quality of the city. These are
natural treasures that in another time were set aside and protected, from what
we curiously call “development”. We hail those who with great foresight had
these places preserved for all generations, and on behalf of the living things
that call these parks home. There are lessons here aplenty for the decision
makers of today. Maybe we need to take them on an excursion along the coastline
of the Royal National Park on a day like we had, and they might draw
conclusions about the value of conservation that, seem so abundantly clear to
us. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOZil14QeXL0erkTHGjpz-sbc7HET5WjtGiN_eaGQEsZ98JndFvSRZY7y00eahQ5jlCCdTCaU6Mgk7QlTSf19yPnqjOoFFqUru0ji5HQHPTUWPiROHDdxD_iQQhavM-ZbvTQmUYyZvR5_f/s1600/P1010116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOZil14QeXL0erkTHGjpz-sbc7HET5WjtGiN_eaGQEsZ98JndFvSRZY7y00eahQ5jlCCdTCaU6Mgk7QlTSf19yPnqjOoFFqUru0ji5HQHPTUWPiROHDdxD_iQQhavM-ZbvTQmUYyZvR5_f/s640/P1010116.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Coalcliff with the Royal National Park behind.</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho69DaTTtDtf0H-ZVUaRG8NgJ9EYxvy3F3Y6zuPbUq97fOCIxDnB7qjCoCFd_RBkAO90RjFkBGVrArG9TmcKeQ2zSv3p5eolfOkFR7AM5syVi-581_JrBNrTuJ3pqwpq2urUnixkbF3qGt/s1600/P1010129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho69DaTTtDtf0H-ZVUaRG8NgJ9EYxvy3F3Y6zuPbUq97fOCIxDnB7qjCoCFd_RBkAO90RjFkBGVrArG9TmcKeQ2zSv3p5eolfOkFR7AM5syVi-581_JrBNrTuJ3pqwpq2urUnixkbF3qGt/s640/P1010129.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Wonderful wilderness coastline</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIo8EnU9VqCLB7Hn1YmXnjEUh3ZuEULEB0LQzpnPebeZGF2CzfplXhUCWIEnd3DNVWLvHfYPxX7BL0uECzRfsD51f92UgXH4bBzZLrLnE56XattucuCk6yiRsDEqyYQi5a8M7ZVBeZX28W/s1600/P1010139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIo8EnU9VqCLB7Hn1YmXnjEUh3ZuEULEB0LQzpnPebeZGF2CzfplXhUCWIEnd3DNVWLvHfYPxX7BL0uECzRfsD51f92UgXH4bBzZLrLnE56XattucuCk6yiRsDEqyYQi5a8M7ZVBeZX28W/s640/P1010139.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Marley Beach</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Beyond Marley Beach, a delightful nook that
had drawn a host Anzac Day visitors, we could discern the headlands off Botany
Bay and it was time to bring our wider thoughts back to the navigational
reality of the present. Sliding along this pristine coastline, with our ship on
autopilot, and us lying like iguanas out on the deck in the kindly autumnal sun,
had been a moment to remember, and yes, as historic planes flew overhead from
Nowra bound for the Anzac march in Sydney, we did not forget. We felt that the
air crews of these magnificent machines were probably enjoying their coastal
flyover as much as we were enjoying our time out at sea. What freedoms we
enjoy…yes…lest we forget.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY12BjxWmW2VIFjpboVR2Kme9XQzEj3fRalH4GGjuVOkJDPQ63NEss4bk9F8aKLdU1tNmiwRz9sHnS9zb7E034kuxVH2C_Zu8VruqzuIroPVG1a-IZ3Jx7BbwLWHwrLRu75BQtsq0_0SuV/s1600/P1010135+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY12BjxWmW2VIFjpboVR2Kme9XQzEj3fRalH4GGjuVOkJDPQ63NEss4bk9F8aKLdU1tNmiwRz9sHnS9zb7E034kuxVH2C_Zu8VruqzuIroPVG1a-IZ3Jx7BbwLWHwrLRu75BQtsq0_0SuV/s640/P1010135+%25282%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOlWne02DE5Mw-uPtjqgW9ADiQrqzlCpRcOvFUAVPtTFwdmyhXJuWGOlKo6t0YJO8f28IEzT8ePdmbPjaZWf6Gidi5quZUhqy9Af-mg3_bUVeP3f1aEqWIaOYVxRRk6hvyvR55ycWtp3GG/s1600/P1010134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOlWne02DE5Mw-uPtjqgW9ADiQrqzlCpRcOvFUAVPtTFwdmyhXJuWGOlKo6t0YJO8f28IEzT8ePdmbPjaZWf6Gidi5quZUhqy9Af-mg3_bUVeP3f1aEqWIaOYVxRRk6hvyvR55ycWtp3GG/s640/P1010134.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Headlands of Port Hacking then Botany Bay</span></i></b> </td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sydney is remarkable. You can go from
wilderness to mayhem in a trice, and the suburb of Bundeena that backs upon the
Royal National Park is a case in point. As we rounded Point Hacking, giving the
Jibbon Bombora discreet space to port, the elite coastal suburb of Cronulla,
Burraneer Point, Bonnie Vale and Lilli Pilli hove into view and with the
expanse of Port Hacking unfolding one enters a different world. For one, the
rise and fall of the ocean swell had gone. We called Marine Rescue Sydney to
record the safe arrival of the yacht <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Calista
</i>in Port Hacking and thought back wistfully at signing off with Carol from
American River VMR when we had arrived safely, say, at Emu Bay on Kangaroo
Island. Carol and Emu Bay were an eternity away. Yes, Marine Rescue <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sydney!</i> </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>On approach to Jibbon Beach</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back at Bermagui, Keith had promoted Jibbon
Beach, tucked away in the lee of Hacking Point as the place to head to drop our
pick, to rest and regroup. There were courtesy moorings in this cove and with
Bundeena at one end of the beach and the National Park at the other, this was
quintessential Sydney. This was, however, a stellar day and we were not the
only ones to be drawn to the delights of Jibbon Beach. With our arrival this
made 20 boats, mostly sleek harbour craft that rarely feel an ocean swell, and
with a casual glance it was clear that each vessel had arrived with larders
brimming and eskies overflowing. So this was boating Sydney style. Wow, maybe
we needed to adjust, from our oceanic behaviours to a latte land afloat. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjynlT8SWhXZ_sCjzElhjtjkLf1dXqMeh86RGmmaqQe2MCgTJvh95DJM_iIBx6SvwY5wLcfN5dYLFRN78B_uCDzsuTdn1HJuqo2L0jpcI8IUITMbilAb8GKU2CL66Z0BwJ2GDnsdS8rKGUz/s1600/P1010166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjynlT8SWhXZ_sCjzElhjtjkLf1dXqMeh86RGmmaqQe2MCgTJvh95DJM_iIBx6SvwY5wLcfN5dYLFRN78B_uCDzsuTdn1HJuqo2L0jpcI8IUITMbilAb8GKU2CL66Z0BwJ2GDnsdS8rKGUz/s640/P1010166.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Not such a remote and desolate place!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We longed to launch our duck and launch
ourselves into the waters of Jibbon Beach, or maybe to take a stroll through
the bush on one of the trails heading off<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a> into the park.
Alas! Batteries! With us on anchor, the voltage in our batteries, egged on by
our new solar panels spiralled to 14, 15 volts and beyond. Something was
terribly wrong with our charge controlling system and no, it was not ok. If we
left the boat with the batteries charging like a runaway train we ran the risk
of both our batteries and our boat being cooked. Frank had no charge. We have
too much. We are living the dream…..and going from port to port fixing out
boat. We disconnected our charging system and slumped down in dismay. At least,
with the sun setting, the other boats left as though on cue, and by the time we
settled back in the cockpit with dip, biscuits, olives, sliced gherkins and
tomatoes to review this quite extraordinary passage, it was time to reach into
the ship’s fridge to raise a glass to our arrival on Sydney’s shores. Batteries
are one thing, and yes we would have to devote even more time to this nagging
problem. Today, though was Anzac Day, and as the sun set on Jibbon Beach, we
were a solitary ship in a solitary cove, and all was well. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">All the same, fresh baked snapper, salad and
minted potatoes would have been nice…. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Lest we forget.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Colin and Cookiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04139721026660480572noreply@blogger.com1