A Regatta to Remember - Part 2

The relentless swells crashed past, as did smaller, wetter, and motor powered yachts. For a moment I wondered why we kept on going, my lapse in concentration was halted abruptly when another 38 knot gust came up from the sou-west. But if there was ever going to be a race for Saona, this was it, no matter how many cameras/forward hands got wet. To be out in this weather, doing 6 knots, bashing through the seas, wind blowing through the rigging, spray coating every surface, was truly an awesome experience.

As we rounded Ninepin Point, a tiny white speck flickered between the waves. Getting closer, we found ourselves in the wake of Oyster, Ian McConaghy’s H28 sloop. She was still under sail and keeping us at bay. Back on the port tack, it felt as if the weather was beginning to abate – the wind had dropped back to 30 knots, the seas were hardly as ferocious, and the Huon Estuary was in sight. But we were still on a losing tack, as nice as the Verona Sands shoreline is, it was getting a little close.

It appeared as if the job of tacking was about to come a little more frequent – so I relinquished my warm, cosy corner of the doghouse and made a mistake that I probably deserved by staying warm for a good ten minutes. Just at the moment that I poked my head out, a good amount of spray decided to call my face home, and yet again, I couldn’t wait to get to bloody Cygnet.

As we approached Garden Island, Oyster disappeared around the point and we were alone again. No yachts in sight on such a forbidding day really makes you feel isolated. On this thought, I decided it was soup time. Since Gordon, Ben and I had been munching by the handful, a good size block of chocolate, the ultimate comfort food. But as the amount of foil overtook the amount of chocolate, I headed down below.

There is a suspicion onboard Saona, that whenever the gas is turned on, it sparks a change in the weather – and this race was no different. Having stumbled my way down the hatch, I became well acquainted with both the port and starboard cupboards as I played a game of chasings against cabin. Once wedged in between the stairs, sink, stove and engine cavity, I managed to light the stove and get some warmth happening! Cup-a-soups are possibly the best form of hot foodstuff in these situations, but as I opened the cupboards, the pain of having dry wooden decks before a wet race dawned upon me. Pulling apart sopping wet boxes, I found something appetising and chucked it in the storm mug, another great invention. Before pulling back the hatch, I used my head and checked for rogue waves before making a quick dash around the deck, checking headsails and sheets, then jumping back into the doghouse before the weather beats me to it.

Now coming past Eggs and Bacon Bay, the weather was definitely calming. As we adjusted our course north, the wind followed our every move, so for yet another tack, we were punching into a headwind – albeit half what we had earlier. But now we had some company ahead of us, three white sails more vertical than horizontal, something we hadn’t seen since leaving the marina.

20 knots of wind soon became 15, then 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, and finally 8.8 right on the beam. Saona stood up straight, looking quite conservative still having a reefed main. As the reef was shaken out, the wind piped up again, 18 knots at 60 degrees. A huge smile lit up Ben’s face as he freed sheets and watched the speedo surge. We even joked about doing 8.5 knots over the line with a bone in her teeth! I don’t know whether it was my excitement, or just mother nature toying with us, but the wind dropped again and we had a good 7 knots right on the nose.

We were in sight of the moored fleet, and what confronted us now was just as daunting as anything out where we came from – a bay without a breath of wind. I remembered what I was told one time at the Club; “anyone can sail when there’s wind, but only true sailors can sail without.” As we slipped our way through the millpond, and the line edged closer and closer, by some miracle we didn’t stop. Then out of nowhere, a squall of about 3 knots gave us enough way on to tack – what a stupid decision! Countless times we have waited and hoped for a lift, and eventually got it, but we bit our tongues and tried to tack about 200 yards from the buoy.

Tacks on Saona are slow as a given, but this one felt like an eternity. With Phil Jeffs and Brian Wilson in the box, there was nowhere to hide, and all we could do was laugh at how stupid our situation was. Finally, the weather ceased to mock us and gave us the final puff we needed to get over the line.

I can assure you, that I have never been so glad to pull down, fold and pack those big, red sails. Then waiting in the doghouse, still drenched, but so relieved, for the water taxi to find us, was a moment to savour. The sense of achievement was amazing, the sheer feeling of relief to be moored and the ‘smell’ of the Port Cygnet air just made that whole race an event to remember.

On the second day, the winds were far lighter, but still Saona managed to pull through the crowded waters of Port Cygnet. Once back at the rooms, the crowd gathered for the prizes, and the fun continued.

Our performance on Day 1 and Day 2, had netted us two firsts on handicap – we were both speechless. As Ben was presented with some very nice prizes, you couldn’t wipe the smile off either of our faces – it was a great experience. To cap it all off, we were given the title of ‘Best Vintage Yacht’ combined with ‘Overall Regatta Winner’, sailing back to Kettering with a new found bounty, and a huge amount of pride in ourselves. Cygnet ’09 was a regatta to remember.

North & South - A Three Peaks Adventure

NORTH AND SOUTH

A three peaks adventure in 2003

'The Examiner' April 16, 2003

This story really starts about 12 months ago when John and Bubbles Haynes told us a little about the Three Peaks Race. John had just received an award as the oldest competitor. Something in their enthusiasm was catching so that, as the months passed, the idea of participating grew.


My brother Edward is a similar age to John and was keen to participate. As a contribution he provided a GPS chart plotter to help us with navigation. Sadly he was unable to join us in the event but he and Gillian were there to cheer us on as we made our final preparations.


Participants in the race have generally been keen racing sailors with fast, modern boats. I had just turned 60 and Saona, a 40ft cruising ketch, was seven years older. Were we about to make fools of ourselves?


We decided to call ourselves "Iron Overload" and to raise funds and profile for the Iron Overload Support Group of Tasmania.

The Cruise North

At 7am on Monday morning we cast off from Kettering bound for Beauty Point. The delivery crew for the journey north were Dave Moore, George, Jaffa and me.

Our task was not merely to deliver the boat, but to explore and set GPS tracks in three key areas of the race, Marion Narrows (a short cut to the East Coast), Coles Bay and Franklin Sound.

Sue and Tony had set off a couple of days earlier in Brolga to share the cruise north, but had chosen to heed warnings about the increased difficulties of Blackman Bay and Marion Narrows. They took the longer route of Storm Bay, rounding Tasman Island.

We motored and sailed in fine weather, through Norfolk Bay and Dennison Canal to the shallows of Blackman Bay. It was half tide and the shoal waters were clear. George had operated his fishing boat out of Dunalley for a number of years and knew the route well. The navigation marks have been updated and gave good guidance. We placed many waypoints in the plotter to guide us back in the event of poor visibility.

We followed the directions given by Justin Forster of Marine and Safety for the passage out through the narrows, along Bullkelper reef to the new mark, and found there to be ample water for our 4'6" centre-board-up draft. We concluded that while the route has changed, in some ways it is easier than before. This knowledge, we decided, would be our secret weapon. All we needed to do now was to tell other competitors how shallow and dangerous the area has become.

Out in Marion Bay we made radio contact with Brolga and agreed to make for Oakhampton for the night. It was a long hard slog into a 25 knot northerly, but at the end we felt that we had accomplished a good first day. We rafted up for tea with Sue and Tony while George took Jaffa ashore for a run and for a visit to some of his fishing colleagues, who were also moored in this bay. Sue and Tony told us that Storm Bay had lived up to its name and their route around Tasman Island had been far from an easy option.

In the morning the northerly turned southerly, making Oakhampton a lee shore and Jaffa's second trip ashore rather wet. It also caused some anchor dragging before speeding us rapidly up across Great Oyster Bay to explore Coles Bay. We had all visited Coles Bay by land, but none of us had visited by sea. As the race may well require us to visit at night we thought that a good eyeball was in order, as well as the setting of waypoints.

We furled the Yankee jib and short tacked about the little bay. What a horrible harbour! In that building southerly the short, high waves of Great Oyster Bay were breaking over the end of the nasty, stony wharf. There was no reasonable prospect of going alongside. Oh well! Let’s hope that in the race we have quieter weather.

As we rounded up to beat back south to Schouten Passage we faced a much increased wind. It was time to drop the main. With staysail and reefed mizzen we tacked out into 40 knots. The motor helped us to make progress over the short, stopping waves.

After a short, wet time, the yankee jib began to unfurl and to flog unmercifully. Our attempts to deal with this resulted in the jib sheets thrashing about like ferocious, mad things. They tied themselves in knots. The whole rig was vibrating dangerously.

Somewhere in all this I lost my lunch, soon followed by my breakfast. George and Dave, however, achieved some degree of order and we finally bashed our way into the relative shelter of Schouten Island.

A quick inspection showed that we had rips in both the yankee jib and the staysail, the wind instrument had been shaken off its fitting on the mast, and, mysteriously, we had water over the carpet in the cabin. This was a bit depressing. We hadn't even started the race yet.

Dealing with the last problem first, George and David found a steady flow of water from adjacent to the stern tube. It appeared that the tube had corroded through just inside the deadwood.

"Thank God for 'Knead-It'", the epoxy putty was forced down the side of the tube and eventually stemmed the flow.

Next morning Dave stitched up the sails. The wind instrument was returned to its place after he carried out some micro-surgery which involved a safety pin and his favourite toy, George's gas soldering iron. All this was followed by a hearty breakfast before we began to chase Brolga up the coast.

Two days of splendid sailing, separated by a rather rolly night at St. Helen's Island, brought us to the beautiful wilderness of Preservation Island. Here Tony told us the story of the wreck of the Sydney Cove and about the early settlement of the area.

The south easterly which had given us broad reaching up the coast now went north east and increased. Brolga decided on an early start to catch the tide into Franklin Sound, aiming for the small harbour at Lady Barren. Saona decided on breakfast first, and then followed suit. But the wind howls out of Franklin Sound and Brolga, unable to make way against it, turned back. We gave thanks for Saona's sturdy Perkins and solid dog house. It was wet, slow progress, but exciting as we explored our way up the narrow south passage, constantly checking the chart, Brettingham Moore's guide, our plotter and depth sounder.

This is a wild and beautiful place which seems to have changed little since the first visits by white settlers 200 years ago.

The reinstalled wind instrument showed between 30 and 40 knots on the nose, and progress was often only 2 or 3 knots over the ground.

Eventually we reached that point where small ships can turn north, across the eastern end of Tin Kettle Island, before picking their way through the shallow channel to the gap between Great Dog and Little Dog. As we turned north, with Tin Kettle a lee shore, the trusty Perkins died. No warning, no ifs or buts. Going one minute stopped the next.

George dashed for the anchor and let out all 100 metres of 3/8 chain. I made reference to incompetent skippers who fail to keep a log of fuel consumption. The anchor dragged slowly while I bled the system and, just before George dropped the second anchor, fired the engine up again. Tin Kettle was very close.

As we entered the channel between the Great Dog and Little Dog we saw a new port hand pile, not shown on the charts. We passed close by, thinking that it marked the channel. No problem. Then the old pile, the various leads of the twisting channel, and finally, as dusk fell, we arrived at Lady Barron.

With the wind still serious we chose to pick up a mooring rather than attempt the weather side of the jetty. We had promised ourselves a meal and shower at the pub, but it really didn't look sensible to take the dinghy ashore and back in the dark. So we feasted aboard.

David and George are both good and generous cooks, both keen on hearty sailors' foods. With this and a little scotch, all was well with the world.

Next day we thought that we should explore the jetty in readiness for the race, and give Jaffa another run ashore. In wind and stinging rain, with the tide pushing us on, we executed an accidental pirouette before lying alongside the jetty. It was wet and cold. Two fishers huddled in their car while parrot fish played with their rods and lines. There was no reason to stay.

It was now low tide and we made our way even more carefully back through the leads, relaxing as we approached the safety of the new pile. But no! The pile is on the shallows. The channel is well to the east. Our centreboard swung up with a thump and jammed in the slot. Well, here was another secret weapon. How many other boats will be fooled by this new mark?

We worked our way free and unfurled the yankee to drive us at 6 knots towards Trousers Bay at the north west entrance of Franklin Sound. As we passed Pigs Head Point we received a telephone call from David, one of our runners who was making some last minute arrangements. "How does Strzelecki look?" he asked.

"Can't see it for driving, stinging rain" I replied. But he didn't seem at all deterred.

We dropped anchor in Trousers Bay. This must be one of the beauty spots of the world. It is a bewitching place, even in mist and rain.

Now it seemed that both Tamar Coast Patrol and Lady Barron base had intermittent faults in their radios. But when the small hand held VHFs which Rob Gasperini had lent us were able to get through, we concluded that perhaps the problem was ours.

Here we used various rods and levers, much discussion and a little brain power to unjam the centreboard, replace a slipping alternator belt, and contemplate our plans. The wind in the bay was seriously squally. George, ever the fisherman, had put out all 100 metres of chain again. The forecast was for 20 knots north easterly, becoming north, and then north westerly and increasing. Our destination, Beauty Point was 70 miles south west. We decided on a night passage, after a good feed, before the wind changed.

It was downhill all the way. Five miles away from the island the wind steadied to the predicted strength. The only hiccup was that navigation lights and the auto helm so drained the batteries that we were forced to hand steer the last few miles to the Tamar River. Good practice for the race.

A fine sail up the Tamar to Beauty Point in the morning light, and the warm welcome of Port Dalrymple Yacht Club. We were wet and tired, but felt that we had done what we set out to do in this leg.

A Brief Interlude

Race rules had required us to be at Beauty Point two days before the start for safety checks and briefings, but cutting short our stay around Flinders Island gave us five clear days.

Port Dalrymple Yacht Club is the friendliest and most helpful place. Sam the sailmaker took our headsails home on Sunday evening and returned them on Monday all stitched up.

Graeme the Caretaker made up wedges to improve our new mainsheet track cleats and a beautiful Huon pine block to fit on the mast under the partners, to meet the safety inspector's requests.

Geoff produced a set of bronze screws to fasten the block.

Ron drove me to Launceston to buy a new VHF radio, and took us all out to a superb meal.

After a while the wet and windy weather gave way to clear sunshine, helping much needed drying out of the bedding and carpets. It really is more pleasant to sort out a ship in the sun.

The bad news was that the Race Committee had decided to close off the option of using Marion Narrows because of supposed increased silting, and the new mark on the reef had dragged in the days of North Easterly since we came through. We argued the point, but to no effect.

Jan came to collect Dave who had been a tower of strength and a great companion on the journey north. Jane came to be our land based support crew for the race. Mary and Andrew provided an idyllic spot in their garden for her caravan.

Provisions and other last minute supplies were packed aboard. Other competitors arrived, most with impressive sponsorship advertising. All but one of the other boats have done this race before, and most of the crew have participated several times. We are all new and feel it.

On Thursday evening our Canberra contingent flew in. David Baldwin and Gary Lilley came as our runners, and Julie Quinn as our sailor and stand-by runner. The race really seemed imminent.

Saona at Port Dalrymple Yacht Club

The Race South

Good Friday, the day of the start, dawned bright and clear. The Bureau of Meteorology said that a huge high pressure system had settled over Tasmania and looked like staying for a few days. Clear skies with light and variable winds. Not what a 15 ton cruising boat would ask for in a race against so much tupperware and clingwrap.

At the race briefing we learned that we had been given 40 miles of motoring allowance.

We had had no idea how much attention this race receives in the north of the state. The Inspection Head wharf was crowded for the start, with food stalls and funfairs. A fleet of spectator craft were anchored or sailing around the start line.

Jaffa Ben George Julie David Garry

Light airs and strong tides created great opportunity for public humiliation at such a start, and we went some way to obliging. A slow gibe took us a little late to the line, and then we failed to make the first mark without a tack, which took for ever.

All the fleet except Patrick Harbro caught the last of the breeze and drew away towards the mouth of the river, while we just sat there. Then Patrick Harbro began to row. Why had we not put oars aboard?

Should we use some of our cruising boat's motoring allowance? A debate on the democratic republic of Saona considered this option but noted that we were required to use 10% in any one occasion, and not more than 50% in any one leg. We might need all we could get in Franklin Sound. I felt that we should not let the need to be doing something push us into making the wrong decision.

The tide eventually carried us down river and into the breeze where we soon began our chase of the now distant fleet. For a while we sailed at 6 knots out of the river into Bass Strait. But not for long.

As dusk fell the breeze died. Notorious Bass Strait was oily calm. The booms and sails began to slat from side to side, as they would for much of the next 24 hours. Slowly Tenth Island came and went, but Ninth Island took more than two three hour watches to move from the horizon ahead to the horizon astern.

Leaving Port Dalrymple

The lack of progress and sloppy roll were a serious test for tummy and temper. All tempers performed well, but the three new tummies gave varying degrees of grief.

A piece of toast thrown overboard after Saturday breakfast threatened to still be there at lunch, but finally it headed off for Flinders Island while we began to drift the other way.

The one relief was that Patrick Harbro were still in sight, a little to our north. The rest of the fleet were long gone.

Eventually Mt. Strzelecki appeared in the blue distance, and we wondered if there might be a little more breeze ahead. With their first target in sight the runners put on their shorts. We decided to motor for 4 miles, using 10% of our allowance. This boosted our moral considerably and placed us in front of Patrick Harbro, but at the end we were still in an oily calm, 20 miles from the mouth of Franklin Sound.

Motoring towards Flinders Island

On the 4pm sked we heard the other boats reporting in, giving positions in Franklin Sound or at Lady Barron. At this rate we could be another 24 hours to get there. I called Race Control, a little concerned that they may not want to keep marshals on the mountain for that long. After some consideration they directed Patrick Harbro and ourselves to motor in, directing that we were to put our runners ashore 5 minutes after the other boat in order to retain our relative positions.

What a relief. We motored in the evening light, in conditions which were an absolute contrast to our visit a week earlier. We followed our carefully laid track, choosing to motor ahead of Patrick Harbro and then wait for them at the jetty.

The sun set as we passed Tin Kettle. The tide was low and we took particular care to give the new red pile a wide berth. We nosed our way between the Great and Little Dog, watching the GPS and using a torch to pick up the reflectors on the leads. We were gladder than ever that we had plotted this course in daylight.

Finally we arrived at Lady Barron Wharf, alongside the Furneaux Explorer. There we waited, and waited. Patrick Harbro appeared as a set of navigation lights between the Dogs, but she appeared to be doing a weird dance.

"Another one's gone aground!" came the cry from the shore based experts.

An hour later, with Patrick Harbro still trying to pioneer a new channel, Race Control agreed that we should let our runners ashore. Like rabbits out of a trap they proceeded through the gear check and took off for the mountain.

Peter Robinson, who had been allocated as their support person, set off in pursuit, with drinks and food to pass to them at various intervals.

Time for George, Julie and I to accept the kind offer of a shower aboard Furneaux Explorer, and then a good stiff scotch and a friendly chat with Peter Gibson and the guys from Patrick Harbro, who eventually got through, before a way overdue sleep.

Peter Robinson woke us at about 5 am to say that our runners were nearly back. They had completed the 64 kms and 756 metres altitude in an amazing 8 hours 37 minutes, all in the dark. Peter was most impressed with their professionalism "The best boys I have ever supported on the mountain".

I was impressed that they seem so cheerful and bouncy that you would have thought that they could do it all again! But no time to wonder, we were racing again. Away in the dark, retracing our plot and the complex marks under motor. The race committee had decided that, in view of the light conditions, all competitors should motor from Lady Barron to Eddystone light.

The sun rose on this Easter Day as we slipped between the islands, sending glorious bursts of rosy pink into the pale blue sky. Strzelecki emerged from the night bathed in gold.

George cooked breakfast while David and Gary had bucket baths on deck and tended to their hard worked feet. I explained to Julie that one of the advantages of a well found cruising vessel was a solid and reliable motor. The Perkins diesel is a tractor engine, designed for years of hard work towing a plough. We would be able to tow the tupperware boats if their modern, light weight auxiliaries broke down.

We broached the Easter eggs as we purred along in the warm sun.

Just as we emerged from Franklin Sound on this glorious morning there was a very solid "clunk-bang". I grabbed the engine stop switch. Then silence. After a brief discussion we made one brief attempt to start the engine again, but the "clunk bang" was of the heaviest kind. David put all our thoughts into words when he said that "this is not a user serviceable fault."

Later we were to learn that we had a broken crankshaft.

Grateful that we had just emerged from the most dangerous waters, we raised sail and gave ourselves some offing. Then the democratic republic got to work in earnest. There were strong tides, a light and variable breeze, together with shallows and off lying rocks. We could call for help from Lady Barron, get towed back and end the race. We could sail to a Tasmanian mainland port, where access and repairs would be easier. Or we could race on under sail.

Why not keep going? The runners had come to conquer three mountains and our job was to get them there. Let’s keep going! And so we sailed the light airs and swift tides of Banks Strait, and then down the East Coast.

Sometimes there was a pleasant sailing breeze, sometimes not much at all. It was 140 nautical miles from Lady Barron to Coles Bay. Sunday came and went. On Monday a steady breeze began to blow, from the south east. We beat steadily down the coast, picking off one or two more hills each time we tacked. As darkness fell we were approaching Wineglass Bay and we heard Patrick Harbro radio their imminent arrival at Coles Bay. We were heartened to feel that they were not so very far ahead.

With the fading light the breeze faded also, but the tide was in our favour as we finally made the entrance to Schouten Passage in the starlit darkness before the moon rose. A slight mistiness enhanced the drama as we wafted between the rocky shores. We had long since ceased to use our navigation lights in order to save batteries. We could see the lights of campers on Schouten Island and at Brians Beach. Julie said that we were rum smugglers, and it did feel very secret and special.

David and Gary put on their running gear and packed their bags ready for the off. But there were still several more hours of wafting up Great Oyster Bay. In the almost silent night two other competitors sailed past us heading south, making us feel that we were still part of the race. Finally, at Coles Bay, in complete contrast to our last visit, there was no wind. The water was black glass, and we stayed.

Crossing this small bay to the jetty took an hour, and that was hard won with the minimal paddles from the rubber ducky.

A Coles Bay windshadow like no other!

As soon as we crossed the line off the end of the jetty Rick Edmunds brought Wild Card out to tow us in. It was 2 am. Patrick Harbro was still there, her runners still on the mountain.

Jane, who had been waiting at Coles Bay since lunch time, was there to welcome us along with Race Marshall Bain, who quickly checked the runners gear. We wished them well as they headed into the night, free to do their thing at last.

Bain also helped us with a power lead for the battery charger and a fresh water hose for our tanks.

Coles Bay jetty - out of the wind

Jane had organised for George, Julie and I to have much needed showers at Colin and Betty Beecroft's house. We crept in and out, trying not to disturb the children.

The runners took only 6 hours 9 minutes to complete the 33 kilometres and 620 metre climb of the Mt. Freycinet circuit. They returned in the early light, jubilant but a bit scratched and bruised. This was a harsh run to do by night.

Rick Edmunds towed us back out to the line with such gusto that we crossed at speed and glided for a while on the still black water. But our wash was the only disturbance to this millpond. Eventually we came to a stillness which was only emphasized by a slow pirouette.

Gary jumped over the side to cool off with no risk that we would sail away. He could have stayed in the water for quite a while, but it seemed that the cooling process was pretty quick.

The zodiac paddles helped again to turn us in the way we wanted to go. Jane came down to the water's edge and called out to wish us well, before she set off for Hobart. Four hours later we were still in sight of the Coles Bay Jetty. She was home in Kettering.

Occasionlly a light breeze came up and helped us to sail south. There were some moments of real breeze, spells of not much and spells of nothing at all. By nightfall we were approaching Maria Island.

Eventually a light north easterly sent little messengers towards us, and then we began to move again. Steadily we made our way down the outside of the Forestier and Tasman peninsulas towards Tasman Island.

Julie had undertaken to be an extra runner on Mt. Wellington so we tried to exempt her from night watches, but she was there as a steady breeze built and we made Tasman Island before dawn.

Given the odd tides and down drafts in this region it made no sense to try to go inside the island without the safety net of a motor, but this is too special a place to give a wide berth. I took us as close as I dared to the barking seal colonies and wash rocks, the suck, roar and echo under the towering cliffs. This was dungeons and dragons weird and a bit frightening. Julie would have preferred more distance, for speed or for safety?

Almost windless in Great Oyster Bay

Dawn brought a healthy 20 knot north easterly and we powered from Tasman Island to Cape Raoul, a few points off the breeze and really sailing at last. It was quite refreshing to beat up Storm Bay with Mt. Wellington in sight. The runners made for their shorts again and this time Julie was preparing her gear too.

Dawn over Tasman Island

Sailing at last

The wind veered gradually and eased as we entered the Derwent so that we approached the heart of Hobart at about 3 pm. As we crossed the line Peter Gibson brought Patrick Harbro out to help us into Kings Pier Marina where a small reception party made us sailors feel like conquering heroes, but the runners had one last mountain in their sights.

They set off into the afternoon traffic with a spring in their step. Jane followed by car with their drinks and struggled to keep up. They passed the returning Patrick Harbro runners in Davey Street.

One final hurdle

Three hours thirty one minutes later, having run 33 kilometres and climbed 1270 metres, they bounced back through the finishing line at Constitution Dock and the race was over.

Julie, David and Gary on the summit of Mt Wellington

It really had been a marathon for all concerned, not least the race organisers.

Over a happy and well earned meal that evening we relived the previous 5 days, enthusiastically sharing our experiences with our supporters, and discussing what we will do differently next time.

Fact File

..........Nautical Miles .......Kilometres run ........Metres ascended

First Leg: .........90 ......................65 ....................................756

Second Leg:....145 .......................33.................................... 620

Third Leg: .....100....................... 33 ...................................1270

TOTAL: .........335................ 131........................... 2646

Saona with some of her competitors in Kings Pier Marina

The Final Wrap

Work and family called for Gary who flew home the next day. Almost continuous mal-de-mere had not prevented him from being a most cheerful crew member and running some very good times.

On Saturday evening Jane, George, David, Julie and I attended the race dinner at the Royal Yacht Club of Tasmania. Much to our delight we were presented with a splendid bronzed running shoe as a trophy for being last boat home. To our surprise we were also awarded first in the cruising division and the skipper’s prize. This at last was, we think, recognition of some perseverance.

Our runners won King of the Mountains, cruising division, and were fourth overall on the mountains - a very creditable effort for first attempt.

As the evening progressed the talk of "next time" became more serious. It had been a most enjoyable interlude.

The winnings

Saona at home, enjoying a well earnt rest

A Regatta to Remember

"A Regatta to Remember"

Saona in Cygnet – March 2009

A Sail Trimmer's Account

by Michael Short

Saturday morning broke on the 7^th of March, and as my senses woke too, I could hear the wind howling through the trees and the rain spitting down onto the roof. It’s a Saona day.

As I opened the curtains, I saw a beautiful sight – white caps and near-horizontal reefed yachts. Ben was to pick me up at 1050 at the top of the driveway as it was just the two of us sailing, like most races. I grabbed a few snacks to take as well as some of our favourite cup-a-soups which tend to make an appearance in most races. Before I left, mum was horrified to see me wearing my worn and torn trackies off the property; she demanded I changed into something a little more aesthetically pleasing. Denim jeans it was - mistake number one.

As we drove down to the marina we saw a myriad of over-trousers, sail covers and bags hanging off all ends of the town boats – we in Kettering Div 2 call them “the go-fasts”. This sight made me realise that mine were still hanging in the laundry and with the state of the weather, they might be handy. I rang home and they swiftly arrived within minutes much to my relief.

We made our way up to the end of Pier B to Saona passing by many rugged-up friends as well as a few town boats organising themselves in the blustery conditions. The wind was streaming through at about 20 knots gusting to 27 in the way direct out of the western valleys. We gathered our gear and stowed it below in places that would cause the least amount of damage. I then began to remove the covers which were aided by the stiff breeze, but it was trying to fold 3, 4 and 7 metre sail covers with a westerly that remained the problem until Ben finally saw me and said that they didn’t need to be at Wooden Boat Festival standards – for this race only!

The next problem came as to getting out of the berth. After a minute of discussion, we came up with a plan of waiting for a break in the squalls and then just revving out like usual - simple in theory. We picked our gap in the wind and began to reverse but like we had pissed off Mother Nature, the wind decided to pick up just the wrong moment which then resulted in the newly-painted white-tipped bowsprit poking its way through a go-fast’s stanchions. After a few more revs, a bit less wind and a whole bunch of townies pushing us away, we were underway.

With the wind behind us cruising out of Little Oyster Cove, we rounded up and began to hoist the colour. No sooner were the Mizzen and Main up, the donkey was off and we were cruising around at 6 knots. Finally all sails were up and we were well and truly away. The start was mid-channel through Roberts Point with about 95 boats, it was a spectacular scene.

We began with a reefed main but as the wind turned to rain, we hauled it out and sailed higher, faster and more angular. In the lighter airs, the lighter yachts gained on us and it seemed as if we had suffered the worst of the wind before the start. For a period of about 5 minutes, the drizzle eased, the clouds broke open and the sun shone through – a welcome change.

But this momentary lapse in the weather brought about fresh winds.

As we powered past Kinghorne, the seas began to build, the wind began to shift and the sailtrimmer/ballast (me) began to hold on to the rails for dear life! We were still doing about 6 knots with the wind directly out of the SSW at 28 knots. Diomede II and Saona seemed to be having a competition to see who could show more antifoul to the windward yachts and I think we might have been winning – though I am sure Dave and Jan Moore will disagree!

As Ben and I raised our eyes above the protection of the doghouse, we could see that the weather was getting worse further south – more wind, more waves. It was mutually decided that now, at Flowerpot, was the time to put the reef back in the main. Unwillingly, I took over the tiller as Ben made his way forward. Being the kind crew I am, I diligently avoided making the waves crash over the bow and all over the captain! As the brake was taken off the winch, the main dropped and bellied a few inches like a posing model after leaving the catwalk. The first reefing line was hauled in and fastened, the tack lashed and all was well again on Saona. Not only did we gain half a knot, but we also gained a few more degrees vertically.

Now approaching Middleton Light, I turned around to see neither Diomede nor Meander who were following earlier – only a scattered fleet of small white sails and many square metres of black, red and blue antifoul. This made us wonder what it would be like on a 30’ sloop with reefs and many wet crew – the beauty of a semi-dry, 40’, 16t ketch.

As we kept our eyes peeled on the horizon, we saw something expected but still worrying. That tiny Hobie catamaran that passed us at Woodbridge doing about 15 knots was now horizontal with two wet, very wet crew standing on the bottom hull. The first thought was to go straight over to see if they needed any help but to be able to do that would require us to be fully in control of Saona, i.e. under motor. It was decided that as we were slowly getting closer towards the stricken vessel, we would closely monitor how they were doing and if they really looked troubled it would be in our duty as a Kettering yacht to lend a hand.

The moment came where they were still in the water trying desperately to right the cat and we thought it was time for us to head over, when a motoring yacht appeared off our stern and was going in the direction of the hapless craft that was bobbing up and down in a much more sinister way than can be described. “They must be going over” I though and began to concentrate more on what was happening on Saona. No more than five minutes later, I turned my head back around to see the motoring yacht nearly out of sight and the Hobie cat still on her ear. As Ben and I discussed which sails to pull down and in what order, they finally managed to right her again – much to my relief and theirs too no doubt.

Due to no fault of our own, but the natural coast, we found ourselves a long way over on the Bruny shore. Over here, the wind was gustier, the waves were stronger and the water lonelier. We had slowed right to 4.5 knots mainly because we had the stanchions in the water slowing us down! After a huge gust, (wind speed not accurately noted due to the fact that holding on and releasing sheets was a higher priority – approximately 39 knots) and having waves breaking into the doghouse over the washboards, engulfing a very reliable camera (note to self – cameras don’t like water), the only real option of reducing sail was to ditch the staysail – mistake number two.

As the bowsprit pierced through the seas, I began a quick dash up the windward deck to the base of the mast to release the halyard. All seemed to be going swimmingly before I was really swimming through the white-water which swallowed the bow. I let go of the halyard and lashed the boom to the rails but the sail wouldn’t come easily. I grabbed the bungee cords off the cabin rails in anticipation for a quick tie down but they were soon attached back to the windward rails – just out of my reach as I would soon find. Eventually I got the sail down ready to be tied but as soon I released the head, it would fly back up the stay like a kite in a hurricane. After some hand juggling with sheets and some swift footwork, I got my hands back on the bungees with no help from the waves which took a liking to my red “waterproofs”.

Wet, windswept and truly washed up, I made it back to the doghouse where Ben greeted me with a cheery grin asking if it was all okay and if I was at all damp. I looked up at the speedo and we were going slower! We had also lost all our push and it felt like we were bobbing up and down on the spot. To make things worse, Pisces II sailed right under us with a good 5 knots behind her; we had to make a change.

Saona finally built up enough way on to tack and we headed towards Ninepin Point on a rare, winning port tack. No sooner were we under the shadow of Mt. Grosse, the waves died and the wind eased slightly. Quite content we were, to continue sailing on this tack, but the rocky shore below Gordon Jetty persuaded us otherwise and back out into the weather we headed.

To be continued, stay tuned…

A Little Bit of History...

Saona was the last boat built by Charles Lucas in his own yard at Battery Point, Hobart, Tasmania. She was built to the ‘Saona’ design by Phillip Rhodes who gave permission for the name to be used again in this distant land.  The original Saona was renamed ‘Lady Patty’, is understood to be in Chesapeake Bay.

 Saona was built for Mr Maldon Weston of Austins Ferry, near Hobart.

She was subsequently owned by Mr Len Nettlefold who held the agency for General Motors in Tasmania. He had the quaint dog house build aft of the mizzen mast and it is said that the design for this was drawn from the cab of a Chevrolet truck.  It is a modification which has certainly proved its worth in Southern Ocean waters.

 In 1951 Saona was purchased by Vice Admiral Sir Guy Wyatt, shortly after he had retired as the Royal Navy Hydrographer and moved to Tasmania. Sir Guy, often with his friend Justice Sir Peter Crisp, undertook numerous expeditions around Tasmania. He prepared many beautiful charts of bays and harbours, some of which had not previously been surveyed in detail.

 In 1976 Sir Peter Crisp, with a crew whose average age was 65, cruised Saona to New Zealand, circumnavigating both islands.

 Over the next few years ownership was passed within the family and friends to reside with the Martin and Maddock families who continued to cruise southern Tasmanian waters.

 In 1993 Saona was purchased by her present owners, Ben and Jane Marris of Kettering, Tasmania.  In addition to local cruising and racing she has been on some significant adventures.

In 1998 she participated in the Tall Ships Race from Sydney to Hobart.

In 2001 she circumnavigated Tasmania.

In 2003 she won the cruising division of the Australian Three Peaks Race.

In 2009, Saona sailed in very gusty conditions (~30 - 40 knots) on the Race from Kettering to Cygnet. With Ben on the helm and Michael Short crew, she managed to clean up the fleet winning first on handicap. Combined with a win on the second day of racing at Port Cygnet, Saona took out the Port Cygnet Regatta as well as the best Vintage Boat on the water. 

Blokes In Boats - Again!

BLOKES IN BOATS – AGAIN!

 February 2009

Another cruise in which nutrition played a part

Somehow plans evolved for the flotilla to assemble off Kettering at a gentlemanly 10am on Tuesday morning.

 On Monday night Thor put on an extraordinary and extended display of fireworks in preparation our departure. Rain thundered on roofs and wind howled in eaves.  All this had not quite subsided in the morning when a still, small voice on the telephone asked if it might be wise to defer out departure.

 “Yes! Let’s wait ‘til after lunch.” Whereupon the rain ceased, the clouds rolled back, the sun smiled and the first decision of the day was democratically reversed. By 11 am we were all out in mid channel and agreeing to make south to the Quarries for our first destination.

 Dave had wounded his wrist and opted for the rapid comfort of Nefertiti with Geoff from Geelong. Rod was on Tamahini, apologising for not having slipped (or shaved) in living memory. Young Roger was riding bravely on the recently ungreened Meander. Paddy, nursing a wounded shoulder, joined Ben on Saona. Chris was due to join us all on the morrow.

 We all braved the solid southerly with shortened sail and full oilies. As the wind built towards 30 knots the fleet spread out. The crew of Nefertiti was probably enjoying tea and biscuits and might have been relaxing belowdecks. Meanwhile, on mainsailless Saona, Paddy was dodging the occasional spray and working the helm to scrape past Satellite Island.  Meander’s beautiful cream sails seemed somewhat over pressed but Roger, having our evening meal aboard, battled gamely on. Rod hoisted a diesel mizzen.

 The Quarries provided a quiet haven as the fleet reassembled and gathered for afternoon tea and sympathy aboard the very civilized Nefertiti. Much of the sympathy was blended with advice for Rod who seemed to be having alternator problems.

 Later we all enjoyed a Jo curry, superbly reheated by Roger on Saona, washed down with a certain quantity of red wine.

 Next morning Paddy created a stylish breakfast of scrambled eggs on lightly toasted muffins with fruit in season.

 We had contemplated making for Cloudy Bay but a text from George warned us that the swell had made severely in Storm Bay so a reach to Dover was proposed. The suggestion of a visit to the Pink Bakery clinched the deal.

 In a 20 knot southerly Saona rarely fell below 7 knots from Ventenat Point to Dover Jetty and helmsman Paddy’s smile was a delight. The others arrived eventually. Tamahini’s engine failed to start so a slightly undergruntled Rod altered course for Rabbit Island where the engine is reported to have leapt into life.

 Meanwhile Chris, aboard his fine but nameless motorsailer, Gardnered purposely south from an early Kettering start and, seeing Tamahini’s new course, made for Rabbit also. 

Geoff savoured the Pink Bakery’s scallop pies in a most discerning manner but judged them to be marginally astern of those made at the Bottom Pub at Cygnet. The rest of us simply enjoyed the fare but Roger bought two spare pies for our absent friends.

 The now complete fleet congregated off Rabbit Island where, over a toasted hot-cross bun or two, with tea, a gleeful Rod reported that all his problems had been a small, red switch.

 In the generous comfort of Nefertiti the evening meal of lamb casserole was washed down with numerous stories, a few more drops of red wine and a little whisky. (Maybe there is a pattern developing here).

 If the anticipated south easterly came in during the night it went unnoticed. The morning dawned quite still. The tannin dark waters like a mirror darkly.

 Squeezy breakfast below decks on Tamahini was a hotel of alternative cereals, fruit juices, toast and coffee. There could be little discussion about our destination for the day. Since Geoff had cast his aspersion upon the scallop pies of the Pink Bakery, the challenge was on.

 Saona made for Cygnet while taking advantage of the engineer’s advice that her engine needed a good, fast run. In the mouth of the Huon River we hoisted sail and delighted in the silence, but the wind was barely sufficient to carry us over the tide. Eventually the fleet motored to the jetty just south of the PCYC. Here, with many recollections of dragged anchors, Chris was encouraged to swap his toy for a fisherman. Only as we watched him at work on his foredeck did we realize that this was a true admiralty pattern of naval, disk slipping proportions. Roger also took this opportunity to trial his new ground tackle.

 The cloud now folded away and the early afternoon march to the Bottom Pub established a serious thirst for cold beer. Pie tasting followed with the judges being full of praise but the final assessment being in doubt. While Geoff stood his ground there is a definite need to repeat the exercise before making a championship award.  

Ungreened Meander, finally!

 With a forecast of 25 knot NE that evening we made for beautiful Sandrock. First, however, there was a degree of struggle with new anchoring systems. By the time we reached our destination Roger had rearranged his system in order to cheat the chiropractor. Chris had confirmed his resolve to purchase something more proportionate.

 At Sandrock some gathered in the sunny cockpit of Saona for tea and Jo cake while others sampled Jam slice on Nefertiti. Then, following a brief interlude, we rowed across to enjoy Chris’s hospitality. Over a fine spag’ bol’ and a couple of reds we learned why he wished to distance the boat from its previous name. While pouring the port he told us that he was considering calling her “Talisker”. This, being the name of a single malt whisky from the Isle of Skye, met with general approval, as did his plan to bring this lovely boat back to its rightful state. 

Although the forecast wind had not materialized, we took various precautions. Nefertiti slipped anchor and made for Randals Bay, thus getting a head start for the morrow. Meander slipped her lines from Saona to try her revised anchoring system.

 After all the preparation the night was entirely quiet. Friday dawned through a rolling Huon mist which gradually evolved into a warm and sunny day. After breakfast on Saona the Sandrock contingent set a course for home, although Chris was somewhat delayed, perhaps held by his humungous anchor.

 Saona, with appointments to keep, motored home to arrive at Kettering at about 2pm. Nefertiti sailed magnificently up the channel into an inconsistent northerly and arrived soon after. Meander and Tamahini were seen to be sailing north and Talisker was reported to be making good use of her Gardner.

 At Kettering cheerful wives met the prodigal sailors with tales of fun that they had enjoyed in our absence.

 It had been a most enjoyable cruise.

 

 

Saona's 70th Birthday Bash

SAONA IS SEVENTY

We know that Saona was launched in 1936. We have a photograph of the moment when the champagne bottle burst on her bow.

 The men stand solidly by in trilby, collar and tie, while the niece of the owner pulls back in dismay as the bottle she has launched becomes glass foam and spray, and the builder wishes his last boat goodbye.

 The builder was Charlie Lucas and Saona was the last boat that he built in his own yard at Battery Point. The designer was Phillip Rhodes and the proud owner, Maldon Weston of Austins Ferry, must have glowed in the realisation of his dream, this modern, elegant and fast gentleman’s cruising ketch.

 Jane and I were entrusted with the custody of Saona in 1993. She came to us with many stories of her past adventures. Bob Martin and Bruce and Suzanne Maddock told about her exploits, some under the command of Vice Admiral Sir Guy Wyatt and Justice Sir Peter Crisp. We heard of her “geriatric” cruise to New Zealand with a crew whose average age was 65, which seemed to us, at that time, to be improbably ancient for such adventuring.

 They gave us the neck of the champagne bottle from her launch, complete with lanyard, and the photograph of that moment. But we have no date for her birthday. When did she first slip into her element? We can see that it was overcast and that the participants in the ceremony are all well dressed. Was this a cool spring launching, ready for a glorious first summer?

 There was never any doubt that in 2006 we should celebrate her 70 years, but we had no firm plans. As summer gave way to autumn Jane and I enjoyed a delightful cruise around Norfolk Bay, but once again Saona’s ageing Perkins engine, which had replaced her original Ailsa Craig forty years ago, caused some anxiety.

The new 50hp Nanni was a 70^th birthday present. Installing it was a winter project which, like every other boat project, developed in depth and intricacy. One thing led to another and thus to a new shaft, revised hydraulics, much new wiring, a new instrument panel and engine box, and so on. With the advice, interest and assistance of many friends the winter season was well occupied. But projects must end, and there is no better way to focus the mind and force progress than to set a date.

 In mid September we sent invitations to many friends who had played some part in our life with Saona, asking them to join us at 10am on Sunday 15^th October for a picnic cruise to celebrate her 70 years.

 We ticked off more items on the “to do” list, thought of more that should be done, and hoped that the varnish would be dry. Final preparations included a new red saloon carpet. Jane made new red cockpit cushions.

 In the last week we watched the weather anxiously. Tuesday was lovely, warm and sunny. Wednesday was 30°C with strong north westerlies driving a bushfire through Hobart suburbs. On Thursday it snowed on Mount Wellington and we collected the champagne amid cold sleet and showers. On Friday the rain lashed the windows as I lofted Phillip Rhodes’ lines onto three of Jane’s large ginger cakes, iced them and applied the spars.

 The sun appeared on Saturday as Jane made an acre of sushi and arranged for the oysters. But a cold front was due that night, bringing rain and wind. We moved Saona to a more sheltered berth in the marina.

 Sunday morning dawned a bit windy but the racing clouds were high. Dressing ship was fun in the breeze.

 Boats and people began to arrive. Flags and wet weather gear gave colour to the scene, as did children in brilliant hats. The Saona cake was supplemented by another onto which John and Barbara had copied a photo of her under sail.

More than 60 people joined the celebration. Yarns were swapped and the star of the show was open for inspection. It seemed for a while that we would be spared the rain, but it came in time to ensure that my few words were kept short. I waved my arms and thanked our many friends and helpers. Special mention for Jane who became my best friend when Saona was a mere 26 years old, and who told me when I was 40 that I could have another girlfriend so long as she had at least 4 tons of lead in her bottom.

Then we toasted Saona’s health for her next 70 years. Jane cut the cake and we announced that while the original plan for a picnic on Snake Island was not viable in a 20 knot south westerly, we would head due east for the sheltered  Duckpond in Barnes Bay.

 Twelve boats set off across the Channel, many with bunting streaming forward. George’s fishing boat, Amanda J, was adorned with children climbing the rigging like a barrow load of monkeys as even she rolled in the swell.

Arriving at the Duckpond boats rafted up as the squalls of rain made it clear that there would be no rug-on-the-grass picnic ashore. Saona was rafted with Amanda J, Gulls Way, Jezebel, Apache and Aranjee.

Meanwhile Diomede, Brolga, Sotalia, Matsu. New Zealand Maid, Triddar and Baudin anchored individually or in more sensible rafts. There was some dinghy movement between boats and rafts as the morning’s champagne, oysters and sushi was followed by more substantial fare, but the squally weather kept most people below decks where hard boiled eggs, quiche of every description, chicken and much else beside is said to have been washed down with numerous bottles of red, white and brown.

 But the weather was not to be so easily ignored. Gradually the south westerly shifted more to drive more rain from the south, a direction from which we were less protected. There was a brief interlude in the cheerful camaraderie when first one, and then another of the more pessimistic gender aboard our raft claimed that we were dragging our two anchors. The skippers were all comfortably settled and such inconvenient intrusions had little effect until one of the alarmists called out “If you bloody men want to loose your boats, just stay where you are!”

  No spitfire squadron scrambled more rapidly.  

 Lines were cast off and commands given as boats peeled away in various states of order. Like cockatoos disturbed from a tree, they wheeled and reassembled in smaller rafts, perhaps with more chain this time. But before long the decks were clear and various feasts were resumed in cosy cabins, while another squall raked the Duckpond.

 Soon it was time for coffee and Saona cake for those who were within reach. Then Saona raised her anchor and circled the fleet, thanking the intrepid souls who had come to share her day, before heading for home.

The fleet followed and some sails were set close hauled into the strong and squally breeze which streamed out of Kettering.

 Now the sun came out and the sky returned to blue.

 Many hands took lines in marina berths. Bunting was lowered and boats were snugged down. Eskies with scant remains were trudged back to car boots. Sail covers on and hatches closed. “We’ll bring the vacuum cleaner down tomorrow to get the crisps and cake crumbs out of the new red carpet.”

 Saona’s seventy years had been well and truly celebrated and, as some wag commented, “The old girl always did like a bit of weather.” It had been a good day.