Leaving Australia

I'm in Margaret River, Australia today, where I've been for the last five days. This two week stay in Australia has been so different from the other stopovers, for several reasons.

First of all, having the time to spend one day doing anything not boat related was impossible in France, Brazil, or Africa. Here it had been anticipated for the last year.

Secondly, Fremantle feels as much like a home to me as there is in the world at this point. The story (and photos) will have to wait until later. I'm on a dial up connection here (was surprised to find they still existed) and it's taken far too much of my time here to simply add titles, photos and videos to the Africa-to-Australia entries. But I have, and so it might be worth going back to see the images associated with anything you might have already read over the last month or so.

We leave here tomorrow, Sunday, at 5:00 a.m. At 9:00 a.m, after a long drive, I'll be back on the boat to work hard for the next two days. Tuesday morning, New Year's day, our next race begins in Fremantle's Swan River as the keynote event of an annual river festival.

For now, however, I'm going to savor what bit of warm sunshine and even warmer fellowship I've got here on land while I can.

Signing off until I'm back out at sea.

The last few days before Australia

"We've just rounded Rottnest Island...Fremantle is on the horizon, just a couple miles away. These last four days have been the roughest of the 22 days it took us to get from Durban to Australia."

With the noise of the wind and the limitations of my digital camera's ability to record a movie, it might be difficult to understand that the above is what I'm saying a few moments into this six minute video (sporting a 22 day old beard that was shaved two days later).

The rest of the tale being told should be aurally and visually obvious.

Everyone knows I can't dance

Here's proof, recorded in the Southern Ocean midway between Durban and Fremantle:

Thanksgiving Safari

Unlike the voyage between Brazil and South Africa, where I often enough had the time and comfortable enough conditions below deck to write about the Brazil stopover, this last voyage between South Africa and Australia was not as conducive to working on a computer.

Not only was the boat heeling at 30 degrees most of the time, the hull was often pounding through wave after wave and dropping with a heavy thud into the troughs behind them. Sitting at an angle on the narrow bench in the Nav Station, trying to type on a keyboard that wanted to slide left, then right, then left again didn’t inspire as much devotion to story telling as I might have otherwise felt.

This story of my Thanksgiving Safari, then, will be picture heavy and word short. The story of my Christmas and New Years here in Australia will have to wait until I get to Singapore in a few week’s time.

The heavy toll the sea took on our boats during the sail to South Africa dictated that our seven days in Durban would be busy ones. Due to this and other personal demands, Carrie and I realized on Thanksgiving morning that our only chance to see anything beyond the marina would be over the next 24 hours. Rather than find the best restaurant we could for a Thanksgiving dinner that night, as we’d long planned, we decided to see what kind of a safari we could privately arrange in those 24 hours.

The closest game reservation to Durban was a 45 minute drive away. When we called to make a reservation for one night, we were told that the only available accommodation was either camping or the honeymoon suite.

A few hours later a cab driver dropped us off at the honeymoon suite; a thatch-roofed cottage buried in the bush a few miles from the Welcome Center and only restaurant.

It was beautiful and certainly seemed like something we'd expect to find in Africa. It did have running water, though lighting was only candles or gas laterns. Carrie was happy enough with this.

A few odd sounds as the sky darkened did cause a bit of anxiousness but…

…we were happy enough in our ignorance.

I built a fire in the pit but it wasn’t long before we noticed the abundance of two-inch long millipedes and their penchant for climbing anything they could, which meant they’d eventually fall, often onto you. Carrie draped herself in a blanket to ward them off.

Millipedes climbed the interior of of the cottage walls as well, so Carrie never shed the blanket, even during our Thanksgiving feast (pickup truck delivered and slightly cold, as earlier arranged with the restaurant).

Carrie spent the night in a chair underneath her blanket, too wary of the millipedes that would periodically drop on the two beds (a honeymoon suite with two beds did make one wonder about the nature of South African marriage). In the morning, we found grazing animals all around us.



Our cab driver returned at 8:00 a.m. as arranged and, after we treated him to breakfast at the Welcome Center's restaurant, he gave us a private tour of the range and all the animals to be found.

By lunchtime we were on our way back to the marina, where Carrie and I spent the remains of that afternoon and the next day, Saturday, engaged in final pre-race preparations. She worked on her field of expertise, the bow...

...and I worked on mine: below deck engineering. Inevitably this means dealing with malfunctioning heads.

The next morning, the race to Australia was on.

Antipode

[photo posted in Fremantle December 28th]

Position 36 24.88S 104 51.04E. I've brought an inflatable globe on the boat with me that, from the beginning, I've marked with our position each day at noon. I've also added an 'X' on the spot just to the south west of Australia which is the antipode, i.e., the opposite side of the world from the area in Northern Virginia that has generally been my physical and spiritual home for the last 40 years or so.

Sometime between yesterday and today we passed with 150 miles of that point. I am truly, therefore, on the opposite side of the globe from what had been my home. I grew up there. I raised a daughter there. Now, however, I'm homeless.

I currently live on this boat but I won't return to Virginia once this voyage is done. Next up for me are plans with my Spanish friend German to recreate Homer's 'Odyssey' on a boat we'll prepare together. This will take six months (perhaps three in preparation in northern Spain and three actually doing it in Greece).

After that, sometime in the winter of '09, my intent is to build a simple dwelling somewhere with my own two hands. Just exactly where has been THE question for quite some time. New Zealand has long been my dreamland out of habit. Northern Spain (German's area) is a new possibility, but it truly could be anywhere the spirit and people seem right.

Where the next antipode to my home will be remains to be seen.

Airing Out the Laundry

[photos posted in Fremantle December 28th]

Position 39 07.72 S 092 46.97 E. Typical. One reason I withheld bringing out the dry suit was that it was buried deep in the cubby holes beside our bunks we use to store our gear. Coming off watch in those rough seas, it took all my energy just to undress and crawl into my bag. Once I went through the effort of digging it out and wearing it-you guessed it-it's sunny and shirt sleeve weather now. The deck is awash not with water but clothes drying out.

Drysuit

[photo posted in Fremantle December 28th: here I've learned that I can pull the neck seal of the drysuit up over my mouth and inflate it like a balloon, much to the amusement of the entire crew]

Today, for the first time, I actually put on my dry suit; a one-piece completely sealed goretex unit that isn't much different than the one I use to scuba dive in the winter. It has integrated water-proof socks, tight rubber seals around the wrists and neck (it takes a while to ignore the strangling sensation it gives you) and no other place that water could enter. Its one zipper crosses my chest from upper left to center below the waist. Most zip upper left to lower right, so my suit makes me the envy of all the other men wearing dry suits, as they take a fair effort to get on and off and only mine allows me to urinate without taking it off.

Now that I've finally broke out the dry suit, it will probably turn sunny and warm.

Happy as a lark down here (now above the 40th parallel so technically back in the Indian Ocean). I'm so happy, in fact, that I'm wondering if someone who's spiritually in tune with me has their finger on the 'Happy' button.

Haven't shaved in two weeks so now my usual sign-off emoticon of

=B^)

is now

=B^)=

Nadir

[video posted in Fremantle December 28th]

Position 40 35.17 S 84 27.69E Two days ago our southward arc to find the best winds reached it's nadir at 41 degrees and 21 minutes South. We are now arcing back up to Fremantle's latitude.

In just that much time one can tell the difference. Last night was the first night I wore fewer layers (six top, three bottom) than the night before (seven top, three bottom). Two nights ago I even considered a fourth layer on my legs but instead just stood up and did knee bends to keep them warm. Today, though it's still entirely wet (waves crashing over the full length of the boat at random intervals), I can feel the return of warmer climes.

Our Southern Ocean experience (so far at least) was probably tame by most standards. High winds? Yes. Rough seas? Not really. Huge trains of massive swells that could hide oil tankers? On the Brazil-Africa leg at 36 degrees south just before we reached Africa, yes, but here? Nope. Last year one boat reached 28 kts. surfing down such a wave while under a spinnaker but the biggest number we ever saw on the instruments was 13 kts. while on a beam reach (apparent wind at an angle of 90 degrees) in 25 kts. of wind. Fun...but not what some of us had hoped for.

I shouldn't be too hasty, though. Even though all weather forecasts predict we'll finish this leg in fair comfort, we could of course be surprised (and delighted).

In the Southern Ocean

[photo posted in Fremantle December 28th]

Position 40 00.001 S 55 20.543 E.
We're HERE...in the southern ocean!!! I just got off watch 45 minutes ago at 8:00 p.m. but refrained from going to bed, knowing that we'd drop below the 40th parallel within the hour. Above me on deck, people are lifting a few cheers and back slapping before getting back to the business of sailing this boat in high winds.

That unusually warm weather I wrote about a few days ago? Gone. Long gone. It's cold enough that when I go back on watch at midnight, I'll have three layers on my legs and five layers on my body and two layers on my head...but no gloves. You just require too complete a state of dexterity in your hands to limit them with gloves. You keep your hands in your pockets and pull them out bare when you need them.

I'm off to bed. It will be cold up there tonight in the 20+ knot winds we're experiencing so I'm going to savor my sleeping bag while I can.

Personal GPS

[photo posted in Fremantle December 28th]

Position 38 14.45S 49 30.37E

I have my own personal GPS with me. This morning as I got off watch at 10am and went to bed, I turned it on and learned that Durban was 1000.64 miles behind us, with Fremantle 3254 miles in front.

Each time we sail, putting that first 1000 miles away is a key moment for us. It makes these immense distances we're covering at such a slow pace seem so much more conceivable.

Right now, those next 3000+ miles seem even more immense than usual. After blistering along at 10-12 kts for the first few days in high winds and rough seas, right now we are limping along a less than one knot in calm seas with flapping sails in little wind. Even though we are as far south as we've ever been, today some of us wore shorts and Anna, the hardiest of us all, even had bare shoulders. "This is the Southern Ocean?" we mocked.

No, not yet. It begins theoretically at 40 degrees south.