Archives pour janvier, 2013
Shirley has left to visit friends and family in various parts of the world, so I’m now left in Sydney to sell the boat. The last few days have been very rainy, so I’ve had a chance to reflect a bit on the past six months, and I’ve put together a litle collection of lessons learned from crossing the Pacific on a sailboat:
- Have local cash before you leave, as a number of islands don’t have ATMs, and you often have to pay a clearance fee immediately upon arrival.
- Don’t expect lights and navigational aids marked on your charts to actually exist, or lights and navigational aids that exist to be marked on your charts. Fiji was especially bad for this.
- Don’t expect your charts or their datum to always be accurate. Use your eyeballs, and stay away from unlit obstacles at night.
- Be prepared to deal with your anchor not wanting to come back up from the bottom.
- Noonsite and other sources of information regarding clearance procedures & fees are often inaccurate. That’s not a reason not to check them, of course.
- People have very different opinions of how interesting, boring, pretty or unpleasant anchorages, cities, islands, countries and other places are; one person’s paradise is another’s hell. Take advice with a grain of salt.
- It’s really easy to spend your whole time somewhere catching up on email, weather, news, facebook, blogging, planning your next stop, etc. Get out of the boat and explore!
- Island time starts at 05:00, sometimes earlier. Lots of things are over by 10:00. The market in Niue is empty by 08:00.
- Many islands have very limited resources, and their people often live in fairly precarious conditions. For the most part, there’s no bargaining or tipping in the South Pacific. But there is plenty of trading.
The closest call we had was in Fiji. We were just leaving an anchorage. We threaded our way past some reefs, and when I thought we were clear I put the autopilot on to help Shirley get the sails ready to hoist. I was keeping an occasional eye on the water up ahead, and I got a bad feeling, and thought I could see a tinge of brown in the cobalt-blue water about thirty feet in front of the boat. I ran back to the tiller and gave it a big pull, then watched us sail over rocks and coral as we passed by a big bommie. If we’d been three feet to the right, we’d probably have hit. We also spent a sleepless night at anchor in Fanning. A gale hit the atoll in the middle of the night, and we found ourselves about 200 feet off a lee shore in 30+ kt winds and heavy rain, with the anchor lying on flat stones and broken coral in an area with notoriously poor holding. Luckily the chain wrapped itself around a coral head and the boat didn’t budge. I was too sleepy to be really worried at the time, but in retrospect this was a very delicate situation to be in, and in a very remote place.
As always when we get someplace new, we’ve been pretty busy. I’ve been cleaning up the boat, disposing of much of the cruising gear, and have put her up for sale. Our friends the Taits have kindly invited us to stay with them for a while in the Northern Beaches, so we’ve been adapting to life on land at the antipodes. We’ve enjoyed a lot of the sights of Sydney: opera house, museums, restaurants, nightlife, driving on the left, bush fires and the occasional forty-five degree (celsius) heat. The one thing that constantly eludes us is still the kangaroo!
On a whim, we decided to leave Pittwater for Sydney on New Year’s Eve. After only a couple hours’ sail we entered the harbour, a zoo of sailboats, motor boats, ferries, jet boats, dinghies, floatplanes, kayaks, and a cruise ship with attending tugs and security boats. As the famous opera house and harbour bridge came into view, we sailed past huge mooring fields of boats waiting for the pyrotechnic display of the evening. We’d decided to keep away from the stress of that mess and took a turn into the quiet of Blackwattle Bay, seemingly one of the only places in all the nooks and crannies of Port Jackson where a boat can actually anchor.
In the afternoon we went ashore at the Sydney Fish Market and fought our way through a busy crowd of tourists, diners and shoppers onto the city streets. After a bit of provisioning, the shadows grew long and the streets became more and more deserted. We came to the scenic part of town and the roadblocks and people in neon vests with loudspeakers shepherding the crowds made it seem as if some apocalyptic event had happened. But it was only preparation for the New Years Eve fireworks. Most vantage points on the harbour had been closed off because of overcrowding, so we had to backtrack towards Observatory Point, on a hill in the middle of town. We found a spot in the grass and waited amidst a growing crowd.
At some point during the final hours of a given year, I usually get a bit of a nervous twinge, a combination of melancholy at the memories of past events, regrets for missed opportunities, shame for past mistakes, and sadness for the general insignificance of human life in the constant flow of time. But lying in the grass, in my t-shirt and shorts on a warm summer evening, it was hard not to feel slightly happy at the passing of another year. Maybe it’s easier to feel melancholic in the wet cold of a Seattle winter’s night, or maybe the last six months have just made me feel like the future is full of adventure and opportunities…