Christmas Down Under

Christmas in Australia is not a very big deal – I have seen few homes with any decorations, and the radio airtime spent hyping Christmas sales and Christmas Caroles is minimal.  It gets about the same amount of press as Veterans Day does in the US – maybe even less.  The stores are all closed, but that is about it.

Which is just as well for me, since it hardly feels like Christmas when the temperature is in the high 70’s and the sun is shining in that sky that is so blue it almost hurts to look at it!

I’ve been on the move since my last post, so to catch you up…

Once we arrived in Sydney, we put the boat on the mooring for the owner and – for the first time in 10 weeks – slept in beds that were not moving.  The owner’s daughter has a house high on a cliff over the water north of Sydney and we stayed there for a couple of days while Bill and the owner did a bit of work on the boat.   

From there, Bill took off on another delivery and I was invited to the owner’s home in the Hunter Valley, north of Sydney.    

Hunter valley

They run cattle on 450 acres in a very pastoral area.  I woke up to the chatter of kookaburras in the morning, learned how to rustle cattle the Australian way  (with a truck, not a horse), and saw my first kangaroos in the wild, bounding across the paddock.  I hated to leave, but I had a lot more sightseeing to do.

Moving cattle with the truck

Kangaroos hang out in the countryside

From Sydney, I took the Greyhound bus (which is quite deluxe in Australia, not like its US counterpart) to Canberra, the federal capital.  Unlike Sydney, where 18^th century homes stand chock a block with glass and stainless skyscrapers, Canberra is a planned city, a bit sterile and dull. 

Art installation outside the National Gallery

However, there is an amazing National Gallery with exhibits of traditional and modern indigenous art, as well as some stunning modern art (a Pollock, a Rothko, a few Warhols and Picassos, to name a few).  It's a bike friendly town, so I rented a bike and cruised along the (planned) pond, capturing some of the local  birdlife.

 I also spent most of a day in the War Memorial Museum, which documents Australian war efforts from the Boer War to Afghanistan.  Although I knew that the Japanese had bombed Darwin in WWII, I did not realize that their submarines had made it to Sydney Harbor.  A fascinating perspective on history from Down Under.

Australian war dead are listed on a large wall inside the memorial

War memorial - note the impossibly blue Australian sky

View of the capitol from the war memorial

From Canberra, I boarded a bus/train combo to Melbourne, arriving 90 minutes late since it was so hot (105) that the train had to run slower.   Melbourne is a very hip, vibrant city, reminding me in many ways of Portland – very cosmopolitan, liveable, wired, easy to navigate on public transportation and chock full of interesting little places to eat.  A foodie haven. 

I only had a couple of days there before I rented a car and headed down the Great Ocean Road to do the circuit of the state of Victoria.

There are many reasons it’s called the Great Ocean Road…first, it borders on a daunting stretch of water that was the scene of scores of shipwrecks in the days before GPS and radar, many of which are still visible.   
Second, because it was a real feat of engineering in its day, constructed pretty much by hand by soldiers returning from WWI as a way to give them gainful employment (much like our CCC during the depression).  And, finally, because it is, quite simply, stunningly beautiful – mile after mile of azure water, crashing in endless breakers against gold and ruby cliffs, which are themselves crowned with shrubbery of every shade of green and emerald.  It took me twice the estimated time to traverse the distance as I was stopping for photos at every lookout.   

 
And, where the road dipped inland, there were lovely walks in the rain forest among ferns
that arched overhead
in bowers, or in glades of eucalyptus replete with 
adorable koalas.   







I had been told that the koalas would be hard to spot, but, in fact, it was quite easy because wherever there were koala you would find cars pulled over to the side of the road and telephotos pointing them out!  Unlike the kangaroos, they move VERRRRRY SLOOOOOWLY so it is easy to get good shots of them!

 
 


In each town there is a story of the shipwreck that happened off that village.  During the Gold Rush in Australia, there were 100 ships a day passing any given point, and that stretch of ocean is particularly treacherous, given the fog, the shallow seas, and the winds that can shift suddently to an onshore gale.  

I spent a couple of days driving along the coast before turning north into the Grampians, a hilly national forest known as the site of many aboriginal cave paintings, and a very well done aboriginal cultural center.

I’ve learned a lot – between the museums and the cultural centers – about the history of the aborigines in Australia, which, sadly, follows the general pattern of native peoples being dispossessed on the arrival of the white man.   Their art is enjoying a real renaissance at this time, and it was fascinating to learn more about their mythology and ways of portraying it.

  I’ve also learned much about Australian social mores and politics – many interesting differences from the US.  Australians have very strict gun control laws – they actually surrendered their weapons when the law was changed some years ago.  Voting is compulsory – if you don’t vote, you get a significant fine, and tickets can be issued on the basis of a camera that sees you going too fast.  Each ticket turns into demerits; after 10 demerits you lose your license for some period of time.  No excuses.  The minimum wage here is over $16/hour, even for McDonalds workers – this means that meals are generally more expensive, but tipping is not the norm here, so it kind of works out even for a traveller here.

Driving on the left took a few minutes to get used to – trying to get out of Melbourne was a bit nerve-wracking, but now I am used to it.  I have to remind myself to stay on the left each time I get into the car, but otherwise, it was an easy transition.   Clearly not everyone remembers that it is different down under, because there are signs on all the tourist-travelled roads to remind you!   



 
As well as signs to remind you of OTHER hazards of driving in Australia.  In fact, when I was at one tourist information office, seeking information about my planned trip into the Grampians, the person behind the counter reminded me that I should plan to get to my destination before dark, as the kangaroos and wallabies and emus tend to wander the roads at night.  And I did see several of them, right around dusk.

Why did the emu cross the road?

 












 The Grampians provided an interesting contrast to the Great Ocean Road...a rugged, rocky forested area, replete with waterfalls, wildlife and a world-class indigenous cultural center.  Getting out of the car for a hike to the falls was a welcome diversion. 

Tomorrow (Christmas Day) I fly to Hobart, which will be my base of operations for the next 10 days – visiting Tasmania and watching the yachts come in on the Sydney-Hobart race.  I am expecting to be back in my jeans by then, as the weather is getting steadily cooler as I move south – a bit like the NW in May – hot one day, cool the next.  I am glad to be out of the tropics.

Bright lights and big Australian Cities

From Cairns, we have been moving steadily southward, holing up on occasion to wait out the next south-easterly, as we did when we put into Mooloolaba last night.  The glow of the city lights that we can now see each night signal that we are arriving back in 'civilization,' where Ken and Bill's cell phones are able to get a signal.

The passage has pretty much been uneventful.  Overnight passages seem to alternate with nights in port, and Ken and John have been using the nights in port to train me in the intricacies of 500, a card game that was new to me.  In the process I am learning 'the Australian way' to deal cards, and to drop my 'r's when they come at the end of a syllable.  I keep trying to explain that I am the one who has no accent (:-D), and, of course, they think that is quite funny.

The weather is getting better as we move south (at least, to me), feeling much like summer in the PNW.  The humidity is dropping as well, which - for me - is a welcome relief.  The first few weeks in Malaysia and Indonesia were very uncomfortable - I have decided that the tropics are a nice place to visit, but not the place I would be able to stay for long periods.

As we pass Brisbane, the plan is to keep moving when the winds allow, and, based on the weather forecast, we expect to arrive in Sidney on Sunday or Monday.  I'm very much looking forward to a few days there, since I had to cut my visit short last year.

49 KNOTS of wind!

In Seisia, while we were waiting for the winds to abate and allow us to move around Cape York, we met some other cruisers who were heading the same direction.  One boat was owned by an Australian couple; the other by a Japanese couple.  They had been cruising together on and off for 3 years and we joined them for the trip from Seisia to Cairns.  Potlucking together was very pleasant – we shared some of the fish we had caught and Yo, the crew member on the Japanese boat, turned it into sushi.

Once, we left Lizard Island, the sailing conditions improved dramatically – the seas were much flatter, since the Barrier Reef to seaward broke up the waves, and the winds were light and more easterly, so we were able to motorsail and make good progress all the way to Cairns.  We stopped there for provisions and water, and then it was another day to Townsville where Ken, the owner of the boat, and John, a friend of his, joined us.

The plan from Townsville was to complete the importation formalities in Townsville (the boat had been bought in Malaysia and had not yet been formally ‘imported’ to Australia) and then to bring the boat to Brisbane with the owner.  Having sailed the boat nonstop for 5 weeks, we had a lot of experience with the boat to share with the owner.  It only took a day to get the paperwork done, which gave us a bit of time to do some sightseeing.  Townsville is very picturesque, a very boat-friendly place.  After reprovisioning and refueling, we pulled out of the marina headed south.

With the owner aboard, we could relax a bit about out schedule and move at the pace that he wanted, rather than hurry to get the boat to him.   However, the wind was now the deciding factor, as the prevailing SE winds can make it very uncomfortable to move as fast as one might like.  When the winds were favorable, we motored through the night, and when the seas got rough, we found a place to anchor up.

Our fourth day put from Townsville provided some memorable moments.  A front was forecast to roll in, bringing higher winds and rain, and so we decided to anchor up in a large bay about 400 miles north of Brisbane.  We had already taken two reefs in the sail and had entered the bay, a long, somewhat narrow inlet with fringing reefs along each side and a particularly nasty rock awash in mid channel.  We were about a mile from our anchor spot, just talking about taking down the sail when the front hit us – HARD.   The winds went from 10 knots to 25, then 35, 45 and finally 49, in a matter of just a few minutes, and the boat heeled hard to starboard.  I was at the companionway watching our course on the navigation computer below as I let the sail out to help the boat stand back up.  Then the wind veered, and I was grinding back in to keep the sail from flogging.  In and out, in and out, I worked the winch and John helped, him grinding it in when the wind veered and me letting it out as the wind backed.

The rain was coming down in buckets and Bill’s glasses were running with water – he said afterward he was essentially steering blind.  Not that it mattered, because visibility had dropped to absolute zero, so we could no longer see the rock.  No-one could see anything except churning water.  So, as I worked the sail, I was watching the chartplotter below and giving course instructions to Bill at the helm – the nasty rock was just a few hundred feet from his to leeward and we did not want to blow down on it.

The formerly azure seas were whipped to a frothing mass of steel grey that looked like something from the Perfect Storm.  Spume was flying off the wave tops in sheets, the bimini was ballooning like a big-tent spinnaker and water was coming through the zipper teeth on the dodger.  Bill and Ken were trying to roll the bimini flap back in as it whipped out of their hands.  I was aware that my knees were literally shaking, although, interestingly enough,  I just kept on doing what I was doing – as we all were, since there was no alternative but to keep the boat moving forward and keep the sails from flogging hard enough to bring down the mast.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour (but was probably only 20 minutes), we could see brightening all around, and we knew the cloud must be passing.  A few minutes later, the seas began to settle, the boat got back on her feet and we got the hook down.  Whew!  None of us had ever seen anything like that and some serious debriefing was in order…after getting into dry clothes, having some hot tea and fresh baked bread (the loaf I had made kept rising through the event!), followed by a cold beer. 

Cruising inside the Great Barrier Reef!

Water, water everywhere….

…and not a drop to swim in.  This is what the Ancient Mariner might have said about northern Australia!  Here we are, cruising down the coast in North East Australia, stopping at islands just inside the Great Barrier Reef in tropical temperatures, and when we arrive we can only look longingly at the azure blue waters.  Swimming is NOT recommended, because the waters abound with crocodiles, not to mention sea snakes and sharks.  Every town and every cruiser has a story about someone who was taken by a croc, so these are warnings not to be taken lightly.  In fact, last year when we arrived in Torres Strait, the first thing the customs people said on boarding the boat was “Don’t even think about swimming.”

The view from Cook's Lookout

A nighttime skinny dip from the swim step or the beach would be particularly ill advised, since the crocs apparently hunt at night.  Ick.

Cairn marking the spot of Cook's surveillance

For that reason, the stop in Lizard Island was a very welcome treat, since the island is far enough offshore to be croc-free.  First thing in the morning after we arrived, I dove in and swam to the shore and back – it felt good to stretch my arms and legs!  Before the sun really got high in the sky, we tossed the dinghy in the water and went ashore to climb to Cook’s Lookout, the hill from which Captain Cook, frustrated with the reefs that continued to threaten his boat, sought a way to open water.

What Cook saw (minus the fiberglass)

The namesake of the island

When cruising in BC and Alaska, I never miss an occasion to visit a spot where Vancouver stopped, and, since Vancouver crewed for Cook, I’m enjoying following in Cook’s wake as well.  Cook is the mariner who charted Australia with the same attention to detail that Vancouver brought to BC, and the names Cook bestowed on coves and islands and points reflect the frustration he was feeling: Tribulation Bay, Misery Bay, Endeavor River, etc.  I guess he had given up the complaining when he arrived at Lizard Island, for he just named it for the one living creature he saw there...of which we saw several when we hiked to the top of his lookout.

I was sweating profusely by the time we reached the lookout – while I have acclimated to the heat on the boat; hiking in it is another matter!  So, once back on the beach, I went in with all my clothes on.  Then, back to the boat to put on swimsuits and goggles for some snorkeling.

WHAT A TREAT!  The best photos of the trip would have come from yesterday’s snorkeling along the fringing reef of Lizard Island.  Tropical fish in all hues – yellow, black, white, turquoise, lime, pink and orange, striped, spotted…a piscatorial candy box.  Coral in all shapes and configurations piled over and around each other: brain coral, stag horn coral, amorphous blobby coral and lime green sheets of coral shaped like giant heads of hard lettuce. 

But most amazing were the clam gardens – clusters of giant clams, some 3 or 4 feet across.  While the outsides of their fluted and scalloped shells were covered in a coral camouflage, the insides were in a variety of brilliant jewel tones, each clam vying with the next for my attention.  Fuji film would never have been able to replicate the brilliance of the hues.  In one grouping, there were five clams, each with flesh of a different color: lime, celery, turquoise, teal and chocolate…each one speckled with flecks of fuchsia, orange, yellow and topaz.  No rack of prom dresses would have held a candle to the array of color.  When the clam was open, and its mouth was also open, you could see inside the body to meat that was as white as coconut milk.  I hovered over the grouping for 10 minutes just watching the interplay between fish and clams, trying to memorize every aspect of the display.

A typical anchorage on the reef

Lizard Island provided a much needed respite from the relentless beat against the South-Easterlies, as well as an important turning point.  The trades are finally abating and as I type this, we have all sails up and are moving along in almost flat seas at 7.5 knots.  Lovely.  Every few miles, a low sandy island slides by, part of the barrier reef that knocks down the ocean swell.  Such a different kind of anchorage from what the northwest: breaks the waves, but not the wind.

Having turned the corner at Cape York, we are now heading almost due south to Cairns where we will take on water and food before heading for Townsville; from there the owner and a friend of his will join us for the final leg to Brisbane.

Another way to visit the seaside: is the bag croc-proof?

Refueling in East Timor and Arriving in Australia

Before I begin this blog entry, let me just say that I will never again gripe about having to check in to US customs in Roche Harbor.  Sometimes it takes an experience like ours in East Timor yesterday to decide that perhaps our administrivial procedures are not that bad.

But I digress.  A bit of a back-story is needed for the reader to fully appreciate the trials of Timor.

We had left Bali at about 9 in the morning and climbed north to the Java Sea, as we had decided to stay north of the Indonesian Island chain to have smoother water.  

Bali landscape

Sunset over Bali

There was a reason that the old navigators sailed around the world from east to west (even though they were sailing to the Far East): that’s the way that the trade winds blow.  Unfortunately, the boat’s owner was not interested in having us sail 23000 westward to move the boat 3000 miles east, so we are motor sailing most of the time. 

The good news is that the winds are light this time of the year in this area, so we are not pounding into wind and wave, but the bad news is that we are burning diesel at the rate of 2.75 liters (about ¾ gallon) per hour.   Our fuel tank holds 200 liters, so that means that we need to refill the tank every 72 hours.  Fuel stops being few and far between in Indonesia, we carry 23 20-liter jerry cans in the cockpit lockers, and we refuel on the fly.  This is a tricky manoeuver, since each jerry can weighs about 40 pounds, and the fuel must be filtered before it can be poured into the tank…all underway, with the boat heeled to one side or another, riding up and down in the swell and/or chop. 

Having now transferred hundreds of liters of diesel this way, we have our routine down so well that we hardly need to discuss it. 

Step 1: Bill lifts the first can to the side deck of the boat where the fill tube is and inserts one end of a hose into the fuel tank and the other end into the tank.  Wrapping a cloth around the mouth of the jerry can, to form a seal he blows into the can (yum, yum!!!) and starts the siphon going into the tank while I hold the can steady.  This creates an empty can which now becomes our transfer can.

Step 2: The transfer can now goes on the cockpit floor and the next full can goes on the table.  I hold the filter in the transfer can, while Bill starts the siphon from the full can, allowing us to filter that fuel into the transfer can.  When the second can has been filtered into the transfer can, we then siphon the transfer can into the tank as in step 1.  Then we repeat steps 1 and 2 until we have filled the fuel tank. 

And we do this every 2-3 days, seizing opportunities when the seas are calm.

Even with full tanks and another 460 liters of diesel, we figured that we could not get to Thursday Island without another fuel stop, and the only place between Bali and TI to do that was Dili, East Timor.  Yes, East Timor, known in recent years as the scene of a very bloody civil war, and piracy in the surrounding waters.  The civil war was, like most wars, rooted in religious differences, since East Timor was colonized the by Catholic Portuguese and West Timor was Muslim, yet both East and West Timor were part of Indonesia.  Apparently the East Timorians did not feel that they were getting their fair share of care and attention and investment from the Indonesian government and decided to form their own state; this was not to the liking of the West Timorians who retaliated with heavy artillery and huge loss of life.  The Aussies, the UN and others came to the rescue and East Timor is now an independent nation – and safe again for cruisers.  We had been told by another cruiser in Bali that check in there was easy and that fuel was available.  So we headed for East Timor.

Now, I need to explain the process of ‘check-in.’ Throughout the world, when a boat enters a foreign port, the skipper is required to check into the local authorities, which usually involves some kind of review by any or all of the following entities: customs, immigration, quarantine, harbormaster and (when we checked out of Bali) the Navy!  The order in which these authorities must be visited is not standard, nor is the cost.  The skipper must bring with him the boat’s registration, passports for all aboard, and the paper he was given by the captain of his last port when he ‘checked out.’ 

Sometimes, as in Australia, the authorities will come out to you in their own boat, but more typically the skipper must go ashore.  In Roche Harbor, one just pulls up to the customs dock – which is clearly marked – and walks a few paces to the office.  But in Dili, there is no marina and no public dock, so getting ashore involves untying and inflating the dinghy and lowering it overboard.

Dili harbor - boats pull right up to the shore.

Which we did.  After we had filtered and transferred 9 jerry cans of fuel.  In 95-degree heat and 96-percent humidity. 

After inflating the dinghy, we needed the outboard.  The lock on the 3HP outboard had seized, so we unlocked and lowered the 5HP outboard to the dinghy.  Bill hooks up the fuel can, opens the choke and pulls the cord.  And pulls the cord.  And pulls the …. Well, you get the picture. I dig through the toolbox and hand tools into the dinghy as Bill removes the carburetor.  An hour later, with the fuel jets unclogged, the carburetor devarnished, and the engine reassembled, the Yamaha springs to life and we motor to shore, papers firmly in hand.  In 95 degrees and 96 % humidity.

Finding the Harbormaster’s office was not easy since (a) there were almost NO signs and (b) the signs there WERE were in Portuguese or Indonesian.  My Indonesian vocabulary consists of 7 words – ayam (chicken), nasi goreng (fried rice), tutup (closed), air (water) and thank you (terima kasih), and although I could make out the Portuguese with my Spanish, there was no sign for what we sought.  We headed in the direction indicated by the man on the VHF radio when we arrived and attempted to ask directions from locals, but English is a third or 4^th language in East Timor and few East Timorians even know what a harbor master is, much less where he might be located.

At last we arrived to the purported office, a 3-story affair with open holes in the roof, peeling plaster walls, faded paint and crumbling concrete.  Like something you would have seen in a “Saving Private Ryan” war zone… which it probably had been.  On the first floor, we found a sign for customs, and peered in the windows to see a beat up desk and a pile of folders behind a locked door.  Strike one.  On the second floor, we found immigration, also locked, and the Maritime Police, locked as well.  Three strikes, we were out and back on the street, where we learn that the offices will not open until 2:00 p.m…. a few more minutes away.

Since the purpose of our visit was to buy diesel, we decided to tackle the next challenge: getting East Timorian money.  Between us we had a fair amount of Malaysian and Indonesian money.  I had $20 US dollars and Bill had Australian dollars and Euros.  Given the history between East and West Timor, we doubted that East Timor would use Indonesian money, but we were not sure.  In addition, Bill was having trouble with his debit cards, one of which had not worked since we left Malaysia while the other had been blocked for 3 wrong pin tries. 

Across the street we noticed the Hotel Timor, behind a faded sign welcoming delegates to a conference that had happened several weeks before, and there we found some friendly English speaking receptionists, a bank machine, and air conditioning.  We learned that in East Timor, the currency is US dollars.  Now we needed to find a place to change our Indonesian Rupiah to dollars.  Over the course of the next hour, we visited Western Union and 2 different banks, each of which had a posted exchange rate for Rupiah to dollars, but none of which would change our Rupiah to dollars – we have no idea why.  

Deciding to solve that problem later, we headed back to the immigration office where we tendered our passports and were informed that we needed $30 each for the visa.  ARRGH.  Customs was still ‘tutup,” and the exact location of the harbormaster’s office was still a mystery, but after seeking directions from a few more people, we found the harbormaster himself, and managed to get our check in and check out papers completed. 

Now we still needed to get money for the visas, so we went back to the hotel and Bill tried their cash machine – it was “Fora Servicio” – out of order.  Explaining our predicament to the receptionist, they indicated that the machine was not for international cards, but they gave us directions to a bank that would take our cards (a different bank from the ones that were supposed to change money).  Off we went in a taxi, whose driver had installed some very powerful bass speakers on either side of the rear seat and played unintelligible heavy metal at very high decibels for the 2 mile ride to the bank through an urban landscape as bleak and broken as anything I had seen in Africa.

Leaving Bill in the cab, with bated breath, I slid my card into the machine, noticing that the one just to the right had an ‘out of order’ sign on it.  I had barely entered my PIN when Bill appeared at my side, concerned about the small knot of people closing around me.  Sure enough, I looked over my left shoulder to see a young man no less than 4 feet from me and two others watching me just as intently from a few paces. 

Well, we needed the money, and I was happy to follow the instructions on the machine, take my card and the $500, and hustle back into the cab, where my heart beat drowned out the bass vibrato in my head.  I did not feel threatened, but I definitely did not feel safe.  I gave the cab driver a $20 and got back a $10 and 5 of the dingiest dollar bills I have ever seen – tender that would not have been accepted at any store in the US.

We made it to immigration in time to trade our passports for $60 cash, and we even got a receipt!  All of this still in 95 degrees and 96 % humidity…and none of the offices we had to visit had A/C.

Now we needed to get the diesel.

Back to the boat in the dinghy for the 13 empty jerry cans.  After motoring back to shore, Bill climbed up the sea wall and I handed up the cans.  He hailed a cab, and loaded the cans in the truck and the back seat.  He was only able to fill half the cans on each trip because the cab driver (understandably) did not want jerry cans of diesel in his back seat.  I watched for his arrival and ferried the first load of cans back to the boat while he went for more.  Needless to say, the gas station did not take his VISA card, but my $500 came in handy.  The saving grace for all of this was that the fuel we got was as clean as anything you would get in the US, so at least we won’t have to filter it.

Exhausted but relieved to have all of that behind us, we changed into swimsuits and jumped in the water, which was amazingly clean given that this was a ‘harbor.’  With a fresh water scrub and rinse, we toasted our day’s work with a couple of ice-cold beers.   And then decided we deserved a second round.   After all, it was 95 degrees and 96 % humidity.

I don’t think I have slept so soundly in a few years.

Since we had checked in and out in one step, we took off the next morning, rounded the northeast corner of Timor and set sail for Australia…600 miles away.    The first 300 miles were a coast – smooth seas, light winds.  But as we dropped from the Timor Sea to the Arafura Sea, the direction of wind and wave was no longer favorable, and we had to work to find a comfortable angle to both of them.  We zigzagged south and east and raised Australia north and east of Darwin just as dark was falling.  We’d picked out a promising cove to stop in and felt our way by depth sounder with no moon. 

It did not take long for the Australian Coast Guard/Customs plane to find us.  They patrol this coast quite assiduously to intercept smuggling of refugees from Indonesia.  We had already been overflown when we were still in the northern Timor Sea, so we were not surprised when we saw a plane come in low over our anchorage and then peel away. 

It felt good to be in Australian waters, although we still had 1500 miles to go.  We set off the next morning, cruising along the northern coast with about 650 miles to go until the Torres Strait where we planned to check into Australian customs.  The first 200 miles were uneventful, but I was watching warily as a thin veil of cirrus clouds crept across the sky.  The wind and waves were building at the exactly wrong angle and we continued to be forced to motor off our intended track to keep a comfortable ride.  It was clear that we needed to hole up for a day or two and wait for conditions to improve.

Scanning the charts, we picked out a promising anchorage in the middle of the Wessel Islands, a chain of low islands that juts into the Arafura Sea from the Northern Territories.  Arriving at 8:30, we transferred some more diesel, cleaned the boat and looked longingly at the water – from my trip here last year, I knew that a swim was not an option – the North Australian coast is inhabited by crocodiles, and cruisers are told never to swim or even sit on the edge of the dinghy.  So we hauled up buckets of seawater for a cooling shower and fell into our bunks for a much-needed rest.

The next day, we caught up on boat chores.  Bill did some troubleshooting on a couple of lights that were not functioning and managed to get the Windex working again.  I baked bread and made up several dishes that we could eat underway once we got going.  Going ashore was not an option because we had not yet checked into customs, nor did we want to untie and inflate the dinghy.  But we were surprised to come up on deck after a much-needed nap to find another boat in the anchorage!  Hailing them on the radio, we were even more surprised to hear an American accent and to find that they were from Whidbey Island and Ketchikan!

Deva leaving our shared anchorage in Guruliya Bay

They were sailing the other direction, heading for Langkawi, Malaysia – our point of departure – and so we spent an hour in conversation on the VHF sharing tips and information.  They had recently downloaded weather, something we were not able to do since this boat does not have a HF radio, and we were pleased to hear that light winds were forecast for the next few days.  Our next leg would involve 350 miles across the Gulf of Carpentaria, and we did not want to tackle it in the steep seas we had been battling the day before.  That body of water has a ‘reputation’ among Australian cruisers and we knew we wanted to wait for a good weather window.  Like the Arafura Sea, it is relatively shallow (40-60 meters), so the seas can get steep and short.

Armed with their good news, we took off the next day, having decided to head for Weipa instead of Thursday Island.  Heading for Weipa would give us a better angle to the wind and allow us to refuel at a dock, instead of having to tote jerry cans by dinghy back to the boat. 

And we were back into the routine.  With only two of us, we split the night watches, taking 3-hour shifts in turn.  During the day, we are much more informal, and one might go down below to catch up on sleep while the other one reads or does some boat chore in the cockpit.  The fishing lines go out at first light and come in at dark, and we have kept the fridge pretty full of fishy fare.  Bonito have been easy to catch, as well as tuna (Bill caught 4 at once a few days ago).  We also managed to bring in a small Dorado, a trevally a Spanish mackerel and a 40 pound wahoo.  

4 tuna on one line

The wahoo that did not get away

 The freezer is full of fish.

Our trip across the Gulf of Carpentaria to Weipa was almost anticlimactic.  “The Gulf” as the Aussies call it, is infamous for its ability to turn quite nasty.  Last year when I was here (going the opposite way) we met a man who told us that he had been around the Horn three times and never had it as bad as his trip through the Gulf.   

Last year’s transit with Alice was uneventful, but this year, going to weather, we were a bit apprehensive.  Yet, the water was flat and the winds were very light and we crossed in 2.5 days with no discomfort for us or the boat.

Motoring into the Gulf of Carpentaria through the Wessel Islands

Weipa is a mining town.  The mines have put in a very sturdy infrastructure to support the industry, and the basics of creature comforts - supermarket, fishing shops and hardware stores.  But that's about it.  The colors remind me of Baja - red red soil, bright blue sky and emerald green brush, but the topography is low and scrubby - very arid.  

Swimming is out of the question because of the crocodiles, but the breeze is balmy and the people have been incredibly friendly and helpful - giving us a ride to the supermarket, selling us diesel out of their own tank, and generally doing what boaters seem to so world wide - help each other.

From here, we will head around Cape York and take the shortcut through the Torres Strait, turning south along the Coral Coast.  We’ll be racing against the start of cyclone season, staying between the Australian Coast and the Great Barrier Reef, most likely doing a bit of coastal cruising, anchoring up at night as needed to avoid the afternoon headwinds.  We expect to have email access next in Cooktown or Cairns.  The boat's owner and a friend of his will come aboard in Townsville and sail with us to GoldCoast, just south of Brisbane...so we have another 1500 nm to go.  It will be a great way to see the Australian east coast, much more scenic than the passage from Dili!

Crossing the Equator and Exploring Bali

We arrived in Bali four days ago, the end of the second leg of the trip from Langkawi to Cairns.  This leg was 1018 miles from Nongsa, and it took us 7 days and 23 hours.  Internet service here is expensive and slow and so I will not be sending any photos at this point. 

Some highlights of the trip:

It was absolutely magic arriving in Bali this morning literally at first light at 5:00 am.  I was on watch and was startled to see a swarm of small craft come flooding out from the shore.  They were slender pirogues with double bamboo outriggers, powered by brightly colored “crab claw” sails lashed onto a pair of bamboo poles. 

They whizzed across the water behind and ahead of us as they headed out to fish.  Once at their favorite spots, they were able to literally stop the boats dead with the sails flying like colored flags in the wind.  We motored down the east side of the island over the next few hours to Denpasar, encountering fleet after fleet…a couple of hours later, they all headed back in, and by 7 am there was not a single one left on the water.

Before leaving Nongsa, we had bent on the new mainsail, and installed the battens from the old mainsail.  Old of them had cracked and a neighboring cruiser had given us a spare.  This was fortunate since the Velcro tab system that the sail maker had used to enclose the battens was not very strong and the first time we needed to reef after leaving Nongsa, the Velcro yielded and two battens got flicked out, probably spearing some unfortunate fish on their way to the bottom.  After a review of the chart, we pulled over to the nearest likely anchorage, arriving at 3 a.m. and waited until morning to (a) install the spare batten, leaving one pocket empty and (b) sew all of the pockets closed. 

When we woke up we discovered that we were surrounded by dozens of bamboo structures – each one was a platform on stilts about 12 feet above the water, with a generator, several ice chests and a bamboo hut on the top.  These had been brightly lit at night by squid fishermen, who use the lights to attract squid to the nets strung beneath the platform. 

 As we worked on the sail, one of the fishermen came out in his brightly colored wooden boat to watch us.  We exchanged a few words and more in sign language before he took a couple of photos of us with his cell phone (!!) and buzzed away. 

Where are Kevin Costner and Tina Turner now?

We had not installed the new genoa in Nongsa, hoping to be able to get a few more miles from the old one, but the top seam on it also yielded in one of our brief opportunities to sail, and so we motor sailed the rest of the way with the main in various stages of reefing depending on conditions. 

We had very balmy weather for this entire leg, no adrenalin rushes like our adventure in the Malacca Strait.  We motor sailed most of the way, since the wind always seemed to be on the nose or there was too little to sail, although we did have several opportunities to take in and shake out the second and third reefs. Along the way we encountered rusty ferries, brightly colored fishing boats, and a few oil rigs, providing an interesting study in contrasts.  

We had fishing lines strung out the stern most of the time, and we caught more bonito than we could eat, as well as a Spanish mackerel and a Trevally.

We have been pleased and impressed at how well the boat, the engine and the autopilot have handled the various conditions.  We feel like we have mastered most of the electronics on the boat – we are VERY MUCH appreciating the AIS!  Bill managed to troubleshoot and rewire the Raymarine plotter so that it now works ALL the time, not just when the engine is running.

The entrance to Bali was a bit disappointing – the entry to the harbor is a bit tight, but clogged with tugs, working fish boats and tour boats blaring loud music.  On top of that, the jet skis and parasailors whip in and out, a bit disconcerting when you are trying to pick your way into an unfamiliar harbor. 

Bali harbor

Our main reason for the stop here was to refuel, bend on the genoa and fix (hopefully for once and for all) the battens in the mainsail…once again living the adage that cruising is working on your boat in exotic locations.  Being able to improvise is critical, since there is no West Marine around the corner.  Hooking up to the electrical panel in the marina was an adventure in hot wiring - this panel would give and inspector plenty to write up in the US.

Bali marina electrical panel

We got the genoa bent on the day we arrived and found a local worker who was happy to find us a piece of PVC pipe the next day.  We boiled and flattened one end to fit into the batten pocket and sewed the other end closed, and got the engine serviced – new filters, V-belt and oil.  We emptied all the jerry cans into the fuel tank in preparation for the fuel barge, which came alongside and transferred 480 liters of fuel into our jerry cans.  WHEW!

Fueling up in Bali

We tried to check out on the 15^th, but found that it was a national holiday, so we went provisioning.  Knowing little about the city we asked the cab driver for a recommendation to provision and he took us to the Bali version of a supermarket: Lottemart.  What fun browsing the aisles and deciphering the labels (few of which were in English) to find sugar and flour.  The produce section had all kinds of tropical fruit: mangosteen, mangoes, tiny pineapples, chayote, guava, soursop, starfruit and others I had never seen. 

With the boat stocked, the next day we rented a motorcycle for $10 and took off into the interior of Bali.  What an adventure!  Indonesia is by no means a third world country – the cities are teeming with small, clean, new cars, motorbikes and buses that thread their way seamlessly and without much use of horns, through the narrow streets.  We were hardly out of town when we were diverted to the side of the road for a routine traffic stop, along with every other motorbike rider.  Like many of the others, Bill had no international license and we were given the choice of going to court and paying a Rp 1,000,000 fine, or paying right there for a mere Rp 250,000.  I should mention that $1=Rp 11000, so after forking over a wad of cash the equivalent of $23 we were on our way.

The rest of our drive was a visual delight.  In Bali, streets are lined with intricately carved stone walls, stupas and shrines in the flowing and flowery Hindu tradition, Bhuddas, bodhisattvas and images of Hindu gods and goddesses.  Outside the town, we drove past terraces of rice fields where people were planting, threshing and plowing.  Even the banks and gas stations were built in traditional style with tile rooks and carved stone walls.  We marveled at the constant unfolding of visual treats.

Each time we stopped, a motorbike would pull up alongside us to ask where we were from and where we were going – this was very welcome as the lack of signs meant that we were often happy to have confirmation of our direction.  An hour into our ride, one such meeting turned into an invitation to visit a ecological preserve where they cultivated Bail coffee and offered tourists a real taste treat.  In addition to regular coffee, you could sample coffee that had been ‘processed’ in the digestive tract of civets, mongoose-like cats that looked singularly unfriendly in their cages.  I guess I would not be too friendly if I was expected to live on coffee beans either.

Cat-poo-cino - turd at the top, turd-freed beans on the bottom

Cat-poo-cino processor

They showed us the turds, lumpy with undigested beans, which are then put through the ‘standard sanitation and hygiene process’ before roasting and grinding and selling them.  We sampled this ‘cat-poo-cino’ (as they called it) and found that, as advertised, it was much smoother and richer than the Bali coffee.

From there we motored into Ubud and explored the local market, and tried, unsuccessfully, to get money from two ATMs before hitting the jackpot at the third one.  Flush with Rp. 500,000 ($45) we could afford lunch at a stall in the town square: rice and veggies on a paper-lined bamboo tray, topped with juicy pork sliced right off the carcass of a whole suckling pig.  We ran up a big tab with two vanilla ice teas each to wash it down, and the total bill came to Rp 40,000 – less than $3.50.

Then we had to find our way back, but being sailors it was easy to just keep the sun to our right and trust that we would end up headed to Denpasar.  We had to be back in time to check out, an administrative feat that involves stopping at 5 different offices, all in different buildings, none of which are labeled in English, to clear out of the port.  The harbormaster, customs, quarantine, immigration, even the Indonesian Navy all needed to see the boat papers, have us fill out forms with carbon paper and get copies of our cruising permit before signing and stamping all of our copies very officially.   It took us two hours and we barely made it before the offices were all ‘tutup’ (closed).

We leave today for Thursday Island, Australia, which we expect to take 12-14 days.  We are hoping to be able to sail, but since we are still in the tail end of the SE trades, we expect to do a fair bit of motoring, and so, if we run low on diesel, we will check into Dili in East Timor for fuel.