St Helens to Lady Barron

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We arrived St Helens early afternoon on Friday, hoping to get going immediately and make our way to Eddystone Point, where we would spend the night before sailing to Flinders Island on Saturday. Tides are a real issue at St Helens and, even though we only draw 1.8 metres (6 foot) we needed at least half a tide to get out. With high tide around 1pm that meant we would have to wait at least 18 hours to get out if we couldn’t leave.

The weather forecast had changed dramatically, however, and there was 25 knots blowing at Eddystone Point. Not wanting to scare Prue witless on her first passage, I elected to wait and take another look at the weather in the morning. We had a very peaceful night as, of course, the wind died completely just after dark.

Looking at the weather Saturday morning showed that we had about 24 hours to get to Flinders before a pretty severe cold front moved in, so we left the dock to get to the bar by 10AM. We were still a bit early and the Marine Rescue boat had to drag us over the shoals at Pelican Point.

The passage up to Flinders was pretty full on, it was blowing 20 knots plus when we got out there and it varied between 18 and 30 knots all day. It was also forward of the bow so we were close reaching with two reefs and a semi-furled genoa. Spray flying, wet and cold.

Wet and wild across Banks Strait

Wet and wild across Banks Strait

We then faced getting into Franklin Sound in the dark with 30 knots blowing over the flood tide. We used the southern channel just north of Vansittart Island with GPS coordinates from the Cruising Tasmania Anchorages guide book by J Brettingham-Moore. This was stressful in itself because the directions of are indeterminate age… I can report that the channel still exists and we never had less than 1 meter below our keel (i.e. the shallowest part was about 2.8 meters at the state of the tide (tide was about 1 meter at the time we crossed). That’s a bit less than the charts promised.

We’re now holed up in Lady Barron, tied up to barge at the boat harbour. It’s been howling outside, we saw up to 42 knots at the height of the blow, and we’re really grateful to be here and not out to sea.

Crossing the bar

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One last challenge remained as I made my way to St Helens yesterday: the Georges Bay barway. Early morning I contacted Tamar Sea Rescue and asked about the state of the bar. If it was expected to be impassable I wanted the option to still divert to Flinders Island

They called up St Helens who advised that they would not give instructions but would send a rescue boat out to lead me across the bar.

St Helens / Georges Bay Bar

St Helens / Georges Bay Bar

I felt fairly comfortable as the day progressed, having done several bar crossings in the last couple of years, some in breaking surf. My apprehension grew, however, as the day wore on. By 1500 it was blowing 25 knots from the north-east again, directly onto the bar, and I was dog tired. The Marine Rescue also indicated that they would inspect the bar and only take me through if the conditions were safe. The likelihood of safe conditions was reducing with the rising wind and I couldn’t bear the thought of another 10 hours sailing, in the dark, to get to the anchorage at Wineglass Bay.

The Marine Resque RIB arrived within minutes of my arrival in Georges Bay and they weren’t happy: the tide was late (still rising) and the bar was breaking in a mass of white water.

We agreed that I would cross at my own risk. By that stage I had doused all the sails, had my lifejacket on and had the boat closed up in case we got swamped by the surf or thrown on our beam ends.

As we went for the bar I suddenly felt a lot of vibration, and realized I’d picked up some kelp on the prop. I stopped the engine, put her in reverse to fold the prop, and restarted. Gunning her in reverse I felt the familiar smooth running and knew the kelp had been cleared. Then it was full throttle behind the rescue boat. Crossing the breaking surf was relatively easy – I only surfed down one breaking wave and then we were in the calm water of the river. What a relief. I then ‘bumped’ my way past Pelican Point in slightly less than 6ft of water, closely following the rescue boat.

The Marine Rescue organisations are entirely self funded institutions, operated by volunteers . Chatting with Ian Hollingsworth at the base later I was amazed to learn that they help around 100 boats annually that get into all sorts of trouble (2 to 3 times a week), sometimes towing boats in from over a 100 miles away. Needless to say I was only too happy to make a donation to help them continue the great work.

Across the ditch on my own

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Safe but exhausted in St Helen’s, Tasmania, tonight… I motored in dead calm all day on Thursday. There was still a good 3 metre south-easterly swell with a long period – a bit like driving over long rolling hills – but basically it was pretty boring. My main concern was running out of diesel!

Calm Seas in Bass Strait

Calm Seas in Bass Strait

Then, half an hour before sunset, someone turned on 20 knots of nor-easter. Having been caught out with over-enthusiasm at sunset before, I decided to reef the main immediately – a decision I was very grateful for as the night wore on.

After a long night, with Sunny Spells constantly surfing in a big cross sea (1.5m sea kicked up by the breeze on top of a 2.5m south-easterly swell) dawn found me 30 miles east of Flinders Island. The pain was not over yet as the wind was shifting to the west and I had to gybe unless I wanted to go on to Antarctica…

The gybe was not too bad – the main had two tucks in and I just waited for a break in the breeze. The poled-out headsail was a pain, so I rolled it away first. Once the main was gybed and set out to starboard I first re-run the preventer to keep the boom in check and then re-set the pole to port. Then I had to re-run the headsail sheets as the working sheet had to be led through the lifelines to avoid chafe. Once the pole was set again, I rolled out about 75% of the headsail.

To the foredeck and back three times on a bucking, rolling boat while trying to not get the tether/jacklines tangled with the sheets, kicker, brace, preventer all snaking across the decks…

Through all of this I was kept company by hundreds of albatross, soaring and swooping over the churned-up sea.

Albatross over Bass Strait

Albatross over Bass Strait

The breeze soon died and left me with no power and a confused sea state. The engine came on and I motored for St Helens.