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 NorthAt 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
