Port Lincoln - Wirrina 16/1 - 20/1/2011

One of the questions that bedevil owners of cruising yachts in South Australia is the simple one of “do you have to head to Queensland – or further – to find great cruising waters?” It is not for us to judge this one, except to say that, from our observations, cruising destinations in South Australia, and especially those in the Port Lincoln region and around Kangaroo Island would take some beating, against all company. True the water is colder, and there are no coral reefs, but in every other respect it is only the formidable Bass Strait to the East, and the ferocious Bight to the West, that keep some of SA’s sensational coastal places virtually undiscovered. Then, we have not ventured beyond Cape Catastrophe to SA’s remote West Coast where nautical luminaries such as Andy Haldane talk of their being marine riches of unplumbed depths. For the moment we have not had time to revisit the sublime Memory Cove, and the ever fascinating Sir Joseph Banks Group, both just a day sail from Lincoln. With winds settling from the SSW behind a change, conditions were ripe for a visit to one of SA’s most spectacular anchorages, whose forbidding aspect is sufficient to send many voyagers scuttling for places where it is easier to sleep of a night. We have visited Althorpe Island by day, but now the chance to overnight there was too much to resist.

Another colourful dawn departure.

Because Althorpe Island lay some 65 nm from Port Lincoln, there was a need to clear the Port Lincoln Marina by sunrise for a late afternoon arrival at Althorpe, off the rugged tip of Yorke Peninsula. This would allow us time to be secure at anchor by sundown or give us time to set sail for ports beyond should conditions at Althorpe prove untenable. So with high hopes of places to seaward, we left behind the predictability and social whirl of marina life for whatever might come our way beyond Cape Donnington. The forecast suggested a sailable angle, but the weather spirits were contrary, and we were well out toward Dangerous Reef before our bow and the wind direction were sufficiently separated to allow us to unleash our ship and let her fly over the swells. It is hard to express how magnificent it is to be at the helm of a well trimmed yacht as she carves her way across the contours of the sea, in perfect harmony with the relentless ocean. The whiff of salt spray in the nostrils, the helm finger light to the touch, and miles to seaward slowly unfolding. It is a heady, narcotic, and irresistible experience and all the more so in remote and pristine waters where there are no other ships in sight.

The forbidding Cape Spencer ...." Tiger Country!"

Abeam of the remarkable Wedge Island is found the lurking gnarl of North East Rocks, and beyond this our relaxed mood gave way to some sharp concentration as we closed the narrow passage between the hideous Emmes Reef to starboard, and Reef Head protruding seaward from the land, where fans of spray on the rocks sounded a warning for us to keep sharp attention to the chart and to our course and direction. Moving mountains of blue alternately lifted and lowered us as Archimedes predicted they would, before they disintegrated in towers of spray on the cliffs of Whalers Way. To add to the complexity, cray pots were scattered through the area, including some on the charted navigation line giving a supposedly safe passage to Cape Spencer and beyond. This is a place of spectacular beauty where a mistake could literally prove fatal for a small ship such as ours. Ships finer and bigger than ours have come to grief here in the past, and we wished to not add to the grim history of the place. By now Althorpe Island was clearly in sight just a handful on miles away.

Alone at the amazing rugged anchorage ... Althorpe Island.

Althorpe Island is located SE of Cape Spencer and is a 90 odd hectare limestone buttress, commanding approaches to SA waters via Investigator Strait, the commodious channel separating Kangaroo Island from Yorke Peninsula, leading to Adelaide. Through the glass, the waters surrounding the isle appeared alarmingly white with spume and spray, with heavy rollers deflecting spectacularly from its seaward aspect. When closer, in the lee of the cliffs abeam of the now derelict service jetty, we found tolerable shelter and excellent holding on a sandy bottom. Secure, with all our anchor chain deployed, we settled back in awe of this quite majestic location. To the west surf roared and crashed on the natural breakwater linked to the island whilst above, the limestone cliffs turned ochre in the late afternoon light. A Sea Eagle soared above, eyeing inventorially, the hordes of Shearwaters or Mutton Birds returning to their nesting burrows which honeycomb the island. We rolled easily, but not uncomfortably at anchor and settled back with offerings simmering below, awaiting the beam from the lighthouse to spear out into the night sky. To go below with the roar of the ocean drumming through the portholes was both exciting and disconcerting. Cookie’s diary recorded succinctly that we were “in Tiger country”.

Landing can only be attempted on low tide!

In the morning, with the swell dropping, but still evident, we launched our duck, and with a pinch of derring do, negotiated our way ashore by the jetty. From the cove a posted walking track rises upwards etched into the cliffs and from its vantage point, the views down to the anchorage, and across in a panorama to the wilds of Yorke Peninsula are breathtakingly spectacular. Near the summit the Sea Eagle from the previous eve took flight from a cave in the cliffs, and passing just metres above Cookie’s head, gave her a disdainful glance, before wheeling nonchalantly away into the heavens. On the table top of Althorpe, with Mutton Bird burrows all about, we made our way by path to inspect the now deserted Lighthouse and its keepers’ cottages. The Althorpe lighthouse has traditional, classic lines reflecting the colonial times in which it was built. There is no denying the romanticism attached to Lighthouses and the stoic life of the keepers and their families in days gone by, but in wandering around the cottages, we wondered whether the gloss of remote life on a place like Althorpe might have tarnished a little in the harsh and unremitting blast of winter.

The Althorpe Island Lighthouse.

When we refer to the Althorpe light we should really speak in the plural because, just a short walk from the main lighthouse, facing to the North West and the reefs and headlands noted earlier, lies a second and smaller “lead light” to aid mariners by night. In a piece if ingenious optics, the two lights aligned give mariners a safe “lead” past Emmes Reef etc, and the smaller light is “sectored”, so that if a vessel wanders from a safe line the light turns from white, to red or green, giving the helm an instruction re which way to steer to get back on course. We do all we can to pass this coastline by day.

Althorpe Island fades into the distance, unlike my coloured pants!

Because we were planning to head to Emu Bay or another anchorage on the North Coast of Kangaroo Island and because that meant a passage of over 35 miles to get there, our time ashore and aloft on Althorpe was limited, so we soon re-traced our steps back to Calista and hoisted sail for Investigator Strait. We were immediately checking and re-checking our on-board instrumentation in some disbelief, for facing us was a breeze of about 15 knots, some 70-80 degrees off the bow. Just about perfect! We had not seen sailing conditions like these since the Coral Sea, and maybe once or twice in a brief episode on the East Coast. “Kev” our self-steering wind vane was champing at the bit to grip the helm, but with us romping along at between 6.5 and 7.5 knots over the Southern Ocean swells this was too much fun to leave in the hands of a machine. Later the vagaries of weather in KI waters caused the wind to waft and veer, but by then we were around Cape D’ Estang and the secure anchorage of Emu Bay was in sight.

A reflective cuppa overlooking Emu Bay.

In my (Colin’s) teen years my Grandfather, Archie Buick, Auntie Winnie (Whittle), and Uncle Ted and families all lived within a stone’s throw of the jetty at Emu Bay whilst Uncle Hartley leased land toward Ball Rock at the eastern end of the bay and Uncle Herbie and family had a farm just up the road in the Wisanger Hills. Understandably Emu Bay holds a special place for me and as we settled in the excellent anchorage I thought for a while of wandering down from old Archie’s cottage whilst on holidays, to catch and release stingrays from the jetty, and heading out with dad and Mr Beckman – whose house just up from the beach is still there – to secure a feed of whiting or snook out in the bay. It was a time of wood stoves and simple living with nary an I-Pod or an X-Box in sight. Emu Bay is much changed these days, but I doubted that the plasma TV’s and back-to-back DVD’s that shone out from the picture windows of the “shacks” to the anchorage made the kids staying there today any happier than we were. Maybe they should head to the jetty and fish for stingrays. Just 40 miles distant by sea, Althorpe Island was already, in all other respects, an aeon away.

One of our favourite places - Browns Beach, Eastern Cove. Our long swim is to Rocky Point at the end of the beach in the foreground.

Winds around the perimeter of Kangaroo Island, because of its topography, can be fluky and obtuse, and it is often better to make passage when winds are light, as many mornings are, rather than wait in the faint hope that a sailable breeze is just around the corner. With this in mind, we hoisted anchor early from Emu Bay and were soon comfortably around Marsden Point making for Eastern Cove opposite American River, with a mainsail up but essentially converting diesel to distance. Whilst cruising over these last few months we have spent more time than we bargained for in “fixing our boat in exotic locations”, the fate, it seems, of most sea travellers. On the upside though, we have also had lots of “good times with fine friends in exotic locations” as well. Now, approaching the quality Eastern Cove anchorage, we were again making a change from wilderness to wine and dine as following a connection with long time friend Mary-Alice Ballantine we were delighted to accept an invite from “MA”, and husband Ron to join them for an evening repast at their delightful abode overlooking Pelican Lagoon, just upstream from American River. Ron and MA have strong connections to the environment and eco-tourism, and their work, amongst other things includes sharing their passion with visitors at Seal Bay and at other remote places on Kangaroo Island. It was another of those great nights in top company where it got late early! Thanks Ron and MA for having us “on board!”

A wonderful evening with MA & Ron, at the delightful Pelican Cottage.

One of the ironies of our voyage has been that, as lovers of beach, sun and surf, in provisioning to leave SA waters we packed all of the things that we would need on the palm fringed shores of sun-drenched Queensland. Our minds were filled with visions of lounge lizard days under the beach tent, dipping ourselves in tranquil seas, straight out of the brochures. The reality, for us, was something else, and apart from all of the wonderful experiences that we had, our beach shelter was only unfurled once – on the beach at Mooloolaba – and even then we didn’t lie under it because we were too busy making the most of the surf. So here we were, after all those sea miles, heading to Brown’s Beach, Eastern Cove for – wait for this – a day at the beach! Being guilt ridden about the sloth that had permeated our last few days, our “beach day” did not extend to books under beach shelters and the like. Instead, we charged off on a long beach walk to Baudin Beach, Rocky Point and return, and then plunged in for a 1.6km swim along the shore to Rocky – it is best not to stray too far out in this part of the world – before a beach run in the softer sand back to the duck, where we slumped on the sand in the late afternoon sun. So much for our “lazy day at the beach”!

Sunset and moonrise on our last night on anchor, after a great "not so lazy day"



Being desirous of milking the last drops from our lotus land life, and with the wind tending warm from the North-East, we opted for one more dissipative activity before accepting the grim reality of heading back across Backstairs Passage to responsibilities and home. Pat, from Cooinda Charters at American River, courtesy of his wife Marlene, has offered a unique vehicular service to visiting mariners that sounded like too much fun to ignore. Rod and Sal had spoken to us about this, and now, after a VHF booking via Pat, we were set to meet Carol from VMR American River at Pat’s place on the foreshore before heading out on the Highways of Kangaroo Island. The arrangement is simple: book the car through Pat, fill out your details in the folder in the car, put in some petrol to top up the tank, chip in to defray upkeep costs, and head off at a sedate pace to avoid the intervention of the Road Traffic Act. There was one other thing – all users were required to “sign the bonnet” with texta to record Date, Ship, Crew, and maybe an inscription of sorts. This was a like a mobile “A Frame” of Middle Percy Island (see Yeppoon – Mackay Blog June 2010), or the Ship’s Notice Board of Refuge Cove, Wilsons Promontory, although of more modest proportions.

Signing the "Patmobile" with Carol, who does a fantastic job on VMR American River.

Having completed the above, and re-connected with the wonderful Carol of VMR airways we were off, at the aforementioned pace, in a real car, made of real metal, and with few environmental qualities of note. We made a wallaby line to the stunning Pennington Bay, only kilometres away across the isthmus of the island where in gin-clear waters a gentle swell had coaxed a brace of surfers and a sprinkling of family folk to spend time at what must be one of Australia’s finest beaches Here we revelled in a bracing plunge in the surf before reboarding our land ship (it felt like piloting a ship) for a sojourn to Kangaroo Island’s metropolis, Kingscote.
We love browsing in coastal towns whilst on passage and Kingscote is a long time favourite of ours. Following a splendid lunch at a local café and a browse or two we made for the foreshore to check conditions out at sea before wending our way back to American River in the “Patmobile” as we had now dubbed our conveyance.

The magnificent Pennington Bay.

We have always been wary of conditions on the shoulder of a change on Kangaroo Island. Once, in company with Bill and Pauline on Tibia we had sailed from Kingscote after a similar stroll through town only to be swept up in a change that was forecast to be a comfortable 15-20 knots, but blew in frighteningly across Nepean Bay to 50 knots on our anemometer. We had gone from sublime mode to survival mode in a trice, and it was an experience deeply scoured in our memory. Now, after returning the Patmobile to its pen we returned to Calista on a mooring in the river to pore over the latest info available online from the Bureau of Meteorology.

Reluctantly we cross a glassy Backstairs Passage.

We had intended “overnighting” on the Island before making our way back across Backstairs Passage between KI and the mainland in the morning to Wirrina under the post-frontal breeze. Now, the front seemed to be more aggressive than was originally forecast, and with strong wind warnings now listed for all SA coasts, we thought it best to reconsider our plans. Backstairs Passage in strong winds from either the NW or SE can be a hellish place for mariners as the wind funnels between the Island and Fleurieu Peninsula, to lift the forecast wind way beyond levels of tolerance. If the wind meets and opposing tide in the strait, the resultant maelstrom is something see, and something to avoid! Careful analysis of the weather prognosis suggested that in the confused airs between the northerly and the change, a period of relative calm would prevail, and if we left American River as the northerly faded, we could enjoy a comfortable 4 hour passage back to Wirrina before the wind piped in from the south. To delay to the morning, as Cookie reminded me, would be to ignore the weather-safety rules that we had set for ourselves on our entire journey. Besides, since Bermagui, we had been nursing our standing rigging - the wires that hold up the mast [important!!] – following Cookie’s discovery of a cracked stainless fitting securing two of our side stays, whilst up the mast attending to light fittings. Happily, she does not miss much (!). To be caught in a hard blow in Backstairs Passage within sight of home would not be smart sailing.

We will miss the stunning sunsets at sea. This one abeam of Rapid Head, nearly home!

The rising moon lights the way to the Wirrina entrance.

So, considering the above, as the northerly faded we slid out of American River on the last leg of our journey, and under the iron mainsail (motor), we slid over a sleeping passage and with the looming buttress of Rapid Head ahead, and dolphins welcoming us home at the bow, Wirrina could be seen ahead. Under autohelm we enjoyed our last nibbles at sea under a sunset whose grandeur reflected all the wonder of the things that we had seen on our journey. Did we really sail to Wari Island where on a tropic sea we could see the forested peaks of Papua New Guinea? What would we make of all of the places that we had seen, the people that we had met and the array of experiences that we had shared along the way? For the moment as the sun painted one last picture in the west we made good our docklines, and at 2100hrs inst our noble ship took us through the harbour entrance of Wirrina and after 6593.5 nautical miles at sea, from April 5 2010, we were home. Yes, HOME!
We hugged Calista, our home upon the sea.



Cheers Calista & crew, welcome home !

With a pan of fresh Kangaroo Island flake on the stove we made good the cockpit for a modest welcome home ceremony of our own. As we conveyed some goodies above we paused to reflect on the card that has sat abeam of our companionway entrance for the entire journey. It was a good time to re-read its message…

Twenty years from now
you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do
than the ones you did.
So throw off the bowlines.
Sail away from the safe harbour.
Catch the trade winds in your sails.
Explore. Dream. Discover.

Mark Twain

( ps – a reflective blog will conclude this series, including our “Welcome Home” at the Marina, some thanks, and our thoughts on our months on the bounding main)

Kangaroo Island - Port Lincoln 8/1 - 15/1

The delightful anchorage at Boxing Bay. Ashore with Rod and Sal.

After nine months at sea and with our home port of Wirrina being literally within sight, to be heading west in the direction of Port Lincoln might seem curious to geographically attuned readers of this chronicle. Yet, from Boxing Bay on the northern tip of Kangaroo Island, planning for our next passage took us west around the tip of Yorke Peninsula, rather than East, for home.

In calculating our return to SA waters, we knew that we would have to reach the waters of Gulf St Vincent, in a time frame allowing us a certainty of return to Wirrina by about the 20th of January. We could not afford to get “trapped” further afield at a port like Robe – in spite of its attractions – and risk getting marooned there by adverse weather. Sailors can get hurt when they put to sea, against a forecast, just to meet a deadline. From Kangaroo Island waters we could be “home” within hours if the forecast turned sour. Besides, there were some compelling reasons why we should try and extend our journey to Port Lincoln if time permitted. Being at Boxing Bay by January 8th provided just such an opportunity.

Also, after nine months at sea, there might be signs of us getting soft. The passage from Boxing Bay to Cape Donnington at the entrance to the majestic harbour of Port Lincoln was a substantial 100 miles, and normally we would be away in pre-dawn hours to cover such a journey before nightfall. This time however our 0230 alarm saw us peering out from the cockpit into a coal black sky with a hard Sou-Easter whistling in the rigging. For once we re-set the chronometer and retired to the forepeak.

An exhilarating sail across to Cape Spencer!

Later, with the sky apricot in the east, we were away before there were signs of movement on the other yachts in the bay. Our first waypoint, off the rugged and remote Althorpe Island was 40nm away, and with reefed canvas before a 20-25 knot southerly, we flew. Out in Investigator Strait which separates Kangaroo Island from the foot of Yorke Peninsula, with some tidal assist, Calista churned through the billows at 7.5 – 8 knots. This was exciting, exhilarating and compelling sailing, and although perfect for “Kev” our wind vane, we hand steered, because we did not want to miss a minute of it! With dolphins cavorting on our bow, Althorpe rose from the horizon ahead like a scone in a pre-heated oven.

The forbidding Emmes Reef off Cape Spencer.

Abeam of Althorpe and the Haystack Isles off Cape Spencer, we calculated safe passage through the forbidding Emmes Reef and Reef Head, before resetting a course to leave Dangerous Reef, the ancestral home of White Pointers to starboard, on our way to Donnington. Off Althorpe we cleared with Carol at American River VMR, and logged on with Gary at Tumby Bay VMR, who manages small vessel traffic in the entire zone of southern Spencer Gulf. Volunteers all, these worthy souls, like Mary at Smithton in Tasmania, and Joan at Port Fairy, are unstinting in the watch that they provide for small vessels like Calista out at sea. In spite of the wind backing to our stern quarter, and with the sea breeze filling, we rounded Cape Donnington and slipped into the tranquillity of Fisheries Bay, Spalding Cove, just as the last vestige of day gave way to the lights of Port Lincoln, across the bay. We remembered fondly the homespun honesty of the late Jamie Cowell’s introduction to his Cruising Anchorages in South Australia where he wrote of that unique feeling of completing a tiring day at sea and, with vessel safely at anchor, that matchless feeling of retiring to “dinner in the oven” and suitable refreshment shared with good friends below. Ahhhhh.

Cape Donnigton in sight... we'll make it by nightfall !

Next morning, after an “alarmless” sleep, we completed our passage to Port Lincoln, and after rounding the main wharf where big ships were busy loading grain, we dropped anchor on good holding just out from the Port Lincoln Yacht Club, and next to the smaller yachts Pitchin’ In and Noah. This point, 34 degrees 43.19 minutes South, and 135 deg. 51.88 East marked the westernmost point of our voyage, after Bwagoia Harbour, Misima Island PNG (North), Cape Byron (East), and the unseen dome (by us) of Skull Rock, Anser Group, Wilsons Promontory to the South. What a nine months we have had! Amazing!

Noah, Calista and Pitchin' In anchored off the Port Lincoln Yacht Club.

Through Bill and Pauline on Tibia we knew the respective crews of Pitchin’ In and Noah through earlier trips to the area, and with Mark, off Noah being Bill’s son. The previous eve a call from Mark on VHF as we rounded Donnington alerted us to their presence off the Port Lincoln esplanade, and now we were delighted to get the chance to re-connect. Tenders tethered off little Noah, a tough little 28’ ketch, suggested that everyone might be below and when we rattled to a halt nearby, they streamed out of the companionway, like ants from a nest if you stamp nearby on a bushwalk. Mark, imbued with the Lunn sense of hospitality, invited us on board for a coffee and astonishingly, with wife Kim and their two little ones, plus Ben, Lisa and their growing crew of Seb, Zoe and Elliot, we all squeezed in below. It was wonderful to catch up, get respective family updates, and enjoy some brief time together before Kim drove back to Adelaide with the kids (Adelaide – Port Lincoln by road approximates to Adelaide to Melbourne by road), and the Pitchin’ In(s), re-trailered their little ship and also headed for the highway.

All aboard Noah!

With strong Sou-Easters forecast – will they ever go away – we had time to head ashore to the town before making for the marina in front of the weather. Through a chance connection in our Crystal Voyager days at the superb Memory Cove, just out of Lincoln, we had met and stayed connected with Andy Haldane of the pioneering Haldane family whose Port Fairy constructed vessel Tacoma, had not only transported the family to Port Lincoln (see Port Fairy Blog, April 2010), but started the celebrated Port Lincoln tuna fishing industry in the process. Now Tacoma was having a complete makeover, before heading to the forthcoming Wooden Boat Festival in Tasmania, with Andy and a crew of kindred salts on board. Andy had kept in touch with us throughout our voyage, and when he suggested that we might call in to Port Lincoln, before heading finally for home, the offer was simply too good to refuse. Besides, in regards to home and associated responsibilities, we were still in denial!

Andy and Cookie inspecting Tacoma's vintage Grenaa Diesel engine.

It was wonderful to renew our friendship with Andy, his wife Yo and to get a stem to stern inspection of Tacoma, Port Lincoln’s Queen of the Seas. From the restored Aga coke-fired stove in the galley, to the thumping diesel in the lower decks – Andy’s fiefdom – and the wood panelling of the wheelhouse, this marine treasure had been built by the brothers Haldane to stand the test of time. It was tremendous to see that in spite of all of the challenges of restoration, that soon Tacoma would once again rule the waves. We felt that, if Port Lincoln has a soul, it will see Tacoma ultimately installed in pride of place as a living, working celebration of Lincoln’s connection with the sea. If Port Lincoln has a statue of a racehorse, the incomparable Makaybe Diva, taking pride of place on the foreshore, then surely there is a place for Tacoma. Day trips around Boston Harbour on this grand ship could be a real hit with tourists. Can we come too?

A beautifully restored Tacoma.

Back at the marina we had a predictable list of tasks to attend to in spite of us being quite close to home. Then Mark, single-handing his way back to Adelaide on Noah, was forced back with gearbox problems, and he limped into an adjoining berth to effect repairs. Using transport generously provided by A Haldane esq. we were soon able to connect with marine facilities in town to see our respective ships ready again for sea.

True North, a visiting cruise ship, tied up astern of us at the Port Lincoln Marina.

Before leaving Lincoln, we took up Andy’s recommendation to steam out to Monument Beach in Proper Bay and scale Stamford Hill, from where a magnificent panorama of Boston Harbour through to Thistle Island Wedge Island and the Sir Joseph Banks Group could be attained. This excursion proved to be all that Andy had promised, and at the top of Stamford Hill we had a chance meeting with crew from the mini-cruise liner True North, which had docked opposite us in the marina. With conditions holding fair and fine we dropped anchor for the night under Surfleet Point before heading the next morning back to port.

The magnificent vista from Stamford Hill, with Calista anchored at Monument Beach.

Graham Daniels (see Gold Coast Blog November 2010), long time friend of Andy, and now ourselves, was returning from Adelaide, and we planned to have Andy, Yo, Graham and daughter Nikki join us on Calista before we headed back in the direction of Kangaroo Island under the new Sou-Westerly change. Again a marvellous night ensued, and we left Andy and Graham wishing them well for their forthcoming sojourns to Tasmania. For us, however there were fair winds in the offing and with them, on our return to Kangaroo Island waters, there was a chance to overnight at one of South Australia’s most remarkable of offshore anchorages. So, it was with regret, tinged with anticipation that we set our alarm for the first light of the new day. Again, it was time to put to sea.

A very enjoyable evening onboard Calista with Graham, Nikki, Andy & Yo.

Port Fairy - Kangaroo Island 3/1 - 7/1

The final leg of our journey to home waters...the red crosses mark all the waypoints on our journey to The Louisiades and back... 6278.4nm when we anchored at American Beach, Kangaroo Island !

We had set an early alarm to clear Port Fairy, but with a firm breeze still probing the Moyne River from the south, we took a softer option and delayed our departure until a more gentlemanly hour. Maybe it was our understandable reluctance to leave this welcoming little harbour, and maybe it had to do with us shunning a morning chill that had not been a norm for us for months. It was also to do with the weather pattern emerging, that for the first time in many passages, gave promise of a window that would see us back in home waters in South Australia if we were prepared to accept the 50 or so hours at sea to get there. For once there were no marching cold fronts on the weather charts.

Relunctantly rounding the entrance buoy as we leave Port Fairy.

Along the way there were ports such as Portland, Port MacDonnell, Robe and Cape Jaffa to entice us ashore, but there were two reasons why we opted to keep out to sea for the long haul. For one, we remained very wary of the weather, and dallying in one of these ports might see us forfeit the window of weather that now presented, and become captive to systems that might yet be brewing far out in the Southern Ocean. The other concern though was cray pots with their trailing ropes that can wreak havoc with a cruising yacht, by suddenly entangling the propeller or rudder and causing, potentially great damage to the vessel. Barry Leverington on Onawa in an adjoining berth to us at Wirrina told us of becoming snared in a pot rope off Robe that caused considerable damage to drive shaft fittings and caused him to limp into port for repairs. If motoring at night, the prospect of hopelessly tangling a propeller in a pot rope was a cause for great concern. Avoid pots if you can was Barry’s message to us both. On our way east in April we had noted pots in over 200 feet of water, and we had heard that some crayfishers in the South East were operating out to the Continental Shelf, some 20 odd miles offshore. For this reason we resolved to head out of Port Fairy for the Continental Shelf, and in 1000 feet of water we would be clear of this nautical hazard. This, at least was the plan.

The wind generators on the coastline near Portland.

At sea by 0900, and cleared with Joan at Coast Guard Port Fairy we cleared the flat-topped and delightfully named Lady Julia Percy Island and headed out at an angle to seaward of Portland and nearby Cape Nelson. With fair winds under a reefed main we put out to the 300 foot mark by late afternoon, where a sighting of a group of pots had us re-setting a course for even further out to sea. As our heading bore increasingly North West, the breeze behind played havoc with our headsail until practicalities dictated that best progress would be made by motor and mainsail alone. At 1842 hrs (EST), at 38 degrees 25.09 minutes South and 149 59.00 East we re-entered South Australian waters for the first time since April although 20 miles out to sea from Discovery Bay there was nothing but an endless horizon and fading glimpses of land. We slipped into a moonless night running above the abyss far below, and settled into the routine of watches that had become the essence of our life at sea.

The Vic / SA Border is right here!

One of the evening comforts that we have developed and looked forward to have been the individual “takeaway” packs of a cheesy vegie pasta that is a Cookie speciality, With movement below a challenge, to see these offerings emerge from the oven before the sun sets and we don harnesses for the night – we regard harnesses as mandatory from sunset to dawn, and have a rule that no one leaves the cockpit untethered, and unless the other is on watch as well – gives us an inner warmth to combat the cool of the night watches. A benefit of being so far out at sea was that the ships plying the coast, heading both East and West, held courses inside of us, although thanks to the AIS we knew where they were and could keep track of their paths. By late evening the loom of Mount Gambier became apparent to starboard, along with the lesser glows of a host of smaller ports and towns. In a nagging, following sea, managing sail in the starless night was exhausting and we longed for the dawn to provide some visibility.

We were abeam of the fishing port of Southend by morning, in fading airs and a rolling sea some 25 miles offshore. After a breakfast of pan-fried toasted sandwiches, accompanied by steaming mugs of caffeine, we were keen to stay out to sea and make miles over our charts. We were too far out to observe any indication of land, and if we kept our boat speed above six knots, another dawn should see us sighting the southern coast of Kangaroo Island. It was hard to believe, but as we moved from one nautical chart to the next, the Backstairs Passage to Cape Martin chart – the first chart of our voyage - was next to come. We were making fine progress and the increasing numbers of playful dolphins at bow and the way that they burst from the water from all around to get to us kept us entertained through the day. One particularly “active” group saw Cookie scurrying back from the bow to report that these wonderful mammals were doing much more than simply riding our bow wave. Synchronised swimming, par excellence!

We had plenty of entertaining company on the way !

Out from Robe, the continental shelf veers off to the west in the direction of Kangaroo Island, and in spite of the depth rising to 300 feet there is no alternative but to keep well out to sea to keep the cray pots at bay. At 5.00pm we were 38 miles from land, and in 292 feet of water when, emerging from below, Cookie saw cray pots –alongside! She rushed for the throttle but it was too late. The impossible had happened. Here was a tiny cluster of pots, miles and miles from anywhere, and we had snared our ship on a pot rope! 38 miles from land, in 292 feet of water – not possible! A look over the stern confirmed the worst, however, with a rope around our rudder or prop, disappearing below us into the depths with no sign of the other end of the rope and the rope out of reach of our long boat hook. We were gripped from the stern, with no steerage and no ability to use our motor, and as the weight of the pot far below held us down, and stern-to the building sea, we were in trouble, potentially serious trouble.

No land in sight for miles, deep water .... but there are still craypots!

There was nothing to do but don a mask and fins and armed with a cutting device, go over the side. These manoeuvres are fine in an anchorage or a marina, but far out from land in a lumpy and building top sea is another matter entirely. Besides, we were back in SA waters where tour operators train Great White Sharks to follow boats until they stop, and people jump over the side into cages as they get fed! At least here the dolphins that had been at our bow were now swimming around to keep an eye on things. The easy part was the dive down to the rope, which being guitar tight, parted in a trice. Under Calista, where thankfully the rope had slid up the slot between the rudder and the hull, and had not fouled the prop, after a couple more dives we were free. There was a need to keep clear of the transom when coming up for air, for to meet the stern crashing down on reaching the surface, was to risk serious injury. Once free of the pot, though, Calista had taken off in the current and threatened to quickly separate swimmer from vessel. On board Cookie had anticipated this danger and had trailed a rope from the stern for use in such an emergency, whilst at the same time securing the ship’s ladder to the side to allow me to climb back on board. We were so, so relieved to be free of that pot! As we, literally, sailed off into the sunset, we were given to wonder what we could have done had the fouling occurred in the middle of the night, in a sea that that was much bigger than that. Seas would have immediately swamped (pooped) our cockpit and…… It was too awful to contemplate.

The sunsets on another day at sea and the beginning of a tiring night.

Our last night at sea was long and dark, with only the distant loom of Adelaide providing the faintest of glows in the North West. Still the wind held annoyingly and unerringly on our stern quarter, and if we wished to sail we would have to head miles off of our rhumb line, and thereby lose time and encounter the outgoing tide when we reached Backstairs Passage. We needed to do all that we could to avoid wind against tide conditions in the confines of the Passage (between Fleurieu Peninsula and Kangaroo Island) and if we motored steadily through the night we would reach Cape Willoughby, which guards the entrance to the Passage, at change of tide on dawn.

Dawn light on approach to Cape Willoughby, Kangaroo Island.

We were riding before a lumpy, sloppy Sou-Easter when the rhythmic wink of the Cape Willoughby light on Kangaroo Island’s Sou-Eastern approach gave way to the new day. On April 5, 2010 we had headed seaward out of Backstairs Passage on our great adventure, and now on the morning of January 5 2011 we were making good our return. It was really all too hard to believe. There were still practical things to attend to however, the first being a farewell to the wonderful Mary of Smithton Radio in Tasmania after the 0620 (EST) HF sked, and thank her for shadowing us all the way from Gabo Island when the VHF coastal network became irregular. The other practicality was now looming over the eastern horizon, the car-carrier Atlantic Highway, whose path and ours was now set to converge in the restricted passage between Cape St Alban and Yatala Shoal in Backstairs Passage. We reasoned that it was best to alter course to port to let this ship plough through on its way to Adelaide.

Passing Cape Willoughby.

Cape St Alban, just west of Cape Willoughby heads the beautiful Antechamber Bay, where purely by chance we had met Ann and Cran off Lettin Go in January 2010. They had contributed so much to our voyage and it was nice to message them when abeam of this marvellous anchorage to thank them for their help and company along the way. Back in phone range it was also great to call my sister Helen, who has been managing our home affairs whilst we have been away. We had a fine chat about our father Joe, who had been a cray and shark fisherman on the remote southern coast of Kangaroo Island in the pioneering days of the 1950’s through to the early 1960’s. He had spent many a night sheltering in Antechamber Bay with Nigel Buick on the little Emu Bay all those years ago.

Cape St Albans

Beyond Antechamber Bay, the tide was beginning its strong flow against us, but by snugging the headlands beyond Cape Coutts we passed the Kangaroo Island ferry port of Penneshaw further to the west in comfort as further out in the passage standing waves gave testimony to the conflict now raging between the wind and the tide.

Beyond Penneshaw we could almost sight the entrance to our home port of Wirrina, beyond Cape Jervis on the Fleurieu Peninsula to the north. We were not headed there yet, however and planned to spend the next 10 days or so catching up with some valued friends and visiting some of our favourite South Australian maritime locations. As we rounded Kangaroo Head and made for the tranquil waters of American Beach in Eastern Cove, we were delighted that some fine connections were there to welcome us back. There at anchor were Rod and Sal on Trinacria, Alan and Bron on Allan’s new cruiser Ithaca, and not far away the familiar lines of Twefth Night that we had last anchored alongside in “Bums Bay” on the Gold Coast. Now in the hands of new owners Peter and Wendy, she was on a “shakedown” cruise from Adelaide in company with Trinacria.

Our wonderful welcoming party...Rod, Sal, Alan & Bron.

As our chain rattled out we came to a halt in home waters after 9 months to the day, and a voyage of 6278.4 nm that had taken us within sight of the Papua New Guinea mainland. There was little time to reflect on this however as with the waving of flags, hugs and hearty handshakes, Calista was boarded by Rod, Sal, Alan and Bron and to the clinking of champagne flutes (plastic ships glasses to be honest), the brandishing of chilled ales and the unveiling of a batch of Sal’s most excellent scones we settled back to reflect and reconnect. The sun was still shy of the yardarm, but somewhere out in the Pacific it would be past noon. Allan, in stellar form suggested that we had “done a Crowhurst” [Donald Crowhurst’s tale is a sad one – as a competitor in the first around the world single handed race, it all became too much for him and he sent in false reports of his position, before he disappeared over the side in the mid Atlantic, as the other competitors were on the way home via Cape Horn. Recommended reading – A Voyage for Madmen) and had been all these months snugged up somewhere beyond False Cape on remote Kangaroo Island. The sun was genuinely past the yard before our wonderful borders dispersed, and we fell into a comatose slumber, agreeing to re-convene in the evening on Ithaca for “The return of Calista #2”.Again we had a wonderful evening with host Allan in vintage form as he regaled us with nautical offerings, some of which had passing relevance. With cheeks creased from laughter, and filled to the plimsoll with fine cheer, we eventually made our way back to our noble little ship, and fell into an anaesthetic like sleep, too deep for dreams.

A memorable evening on Ithaca with Rod, Sal, Alan & Bron.

Next day after a tardy start we motored into the anchorage at American River, picked up a mooring as is the fashion and with Rod, Sal, Pete and Wendy, made our way ashore. There were more unscheduled surprises in store for us for on our way to the local store we happened upon other good friends Peter and Jane Thompson who we know from mutual mainland connections, and who own the former schoolhouse on the esplanade and a quaint little shack at the rear. Pete, like Rod, had stayed in touch with us via a range of modes throughout our voyage. Although still a little Kevlar headed from the previous eve, we were instantly prorogued to present ourselves at Thommo’s that eve for “The return of Calista #3”. We agreed with alacrity and again a superb night unfolded. We adore the Thompson shack, for it is all the things that shacks used to be, and few of the things that they have become today. Pete and Jane are marvellous people and equally fine hosts!

More wining and dining with Thommo & Jane at their delightful shack.

Next day in light airs with a promise of a SSW trend later in the day, we made our way in mirror smooth seas past Kingscote, Kangaroo Island’s main town, to Marsden Point (North Cape) where Boxing Bay’s scenic anchorage makes a excellent staging point where boats headed along Kangaroo Island’s sensational North Coast, and those making further afield to Port Lincoln or bound for Edithburg on Yorke Peninsula gather. Here, in company with Trinacria and Twelfth Night we anchored and made for shore to hold a Boxing Bay barbecue on the beach. We had intended to have lots of “beach barbies” on our voyage, but conditions – and often sand flies! – counted against this. This was a good time to make up for lost time, and Boxing Bay turned on picture perfect conditions, just for us. Later, friends Gary and Moya off Madiba from Wirrina happened in with friends. Again there were hearty welcomes and updates about boating friends from our home port. Before we made our way back to Calista in the fading light, Moya had offered to coordinate a gathering of nautical souls for our return to Wirrina. The warmth of the farewell that marked our departure 9 months ago was fondly remembered as a humbling and emotional experience for us both.

Trinacria abeam of us on the way to Boxing Bay.

The next morning we planned to head west down Investigator Strait on our way to a brief visit to Port Lincoln, whist Trinacria and Twelfth Night made up Gulf St Vincent for Adelaide. Rod and Sal’s presence at Kangaroo Island for our return to familiar waters, had made our return a memorable one, and was just wonderful of them both.

BBQ on the beach at Boxing Bay with a great bunch of friends. We have great cruising grounds here in SA !

Wilsons Promontory - Port Fairy 29/12 - 2/1

In spite of our trepidations in leaving Refuge Cove for Port Fairy, it was soon apparent that there were three things in our favour in embarking on this passage across some of Victoria’s most exposed coastline. For one, our AIS ship identification device was working perfectly, so we would have excellent information relating to the path of big ships along the way. Secondly, as the strong winds forecast for Eastern Bass Strait cleared from the west, our passage to Cape Otway and beyond should have light conditions, allowing us to maintain good speed over the ground. Then, as we neared South East Cape at the point of the ‘Prom, it was clear that, with Cran’s help, we had timed or rounding of the rugged rocks to a nicety. Conditions had finally eased and the tough time at night that we wanted to avoid could be removed from our thinking. It was a relief to be free of the lurking dangers of the ‘Prom, but then it would be “race on” to get in to Port Fairy before the forecast change swept in from the South West. With careful navigation around the ‘Prom having occupied both of our minds, the early hours became the early light of the new day before either of us could grab any sleep to speak of. At sea you get sleep when you are able.

Now you see it...

With the broad sweep of Central Bass Strait abeam of Port Phillip and Melbourne off to starboard we settled into the path to our next landfall, Cape Otway, that would be reached sometime before midnight. By day, Bass Strait had become benign although a swell that built to at least 5 metres on an oily sea had us climbing blue mountains where passing ships disappeared in between the swells as though a master conjurer was at work. Now you see them, now you don’t! We were making good time as the first outline of the Otway Coast and the Great Ocean Road formed on the starboard bow. By 2300 hrs we were abeam of the Cape Otway light that winked out its metronomic warning for hours to come. A little after midnight, the value of the AIS to our safety at sea was underlined when we identified a ship, the Neptune Leader, making west around Cape Otway out of Melbourne, which when clear of Otway, set a new course, directly for us. With a little help from the Melbourne Ship Approach station at Point Lonsdale we were able to contact the ship and ensure that they passed safely astern of us.

Now you don't......

Abeam of the Twelve Apostles et al, we remembered peering over the cliffs at this majestic site from the land looking in awe and wonder at the seas crashing on the rocks below. Now, out at sea from this coast of nightmares, darkness was not bliss, and although this was only a massage for our thoughts we were looking forward to there being more hospitable shores off our starboard beam. Out in the cockpit in the midst of the dog watch can be a fertile time for the imagination. Then, with the welcoming loom of the town of Port Campbell on starboard, and with a Nor-Easter rising as per the forecast, we made all haste in a dawn daubed with scudding high clouds as we made for Warrnambool.

Dawn on the last day of 2010.

Taking the reefs out of the mainsail.

Thankfully, our plan was working to a treat, and with the familiar row of Norfolk Island pines and the stoic lighthouse on the headland marking the approach to Port Fairy, we rounded the entrance beacon and made our grateful way into the Moyne River, and the security of the anchorage, just a stone’s throw from downtown Port Fairy. Max the genial Harbour Master took a break from his festive season leave and was at the there on the wharf to take our lines. Rates at the anchorage had escalated since our last visit, but at $25 a night including our own kitchen, laundry and bathroom facilities and ambience beyond belief, surely this was one of the best nautical deals going. Then in keeping with the season of goodwill Max insisted that we settle for only one night, when we were planning on staying at least two in this town of a thousand charms.

A welcome sight.... Port Fairy and no strong winds ..yet!

A matter of minutes later with Calista secure in the cosiest of havens all hell broke loose. Although the change was three hours and more away, the pre-frontal Nor-Wester charged in beyond anything forecast, and in swirling dust and soaring temperatures, applied a blow torch to the Port and environs. The Norfolk Island pines across the river bent like recurve bows and next to the port compound several major limbs were ripped from another giant of this stoic species as the wind screamed in. Our deliverance from this howling maelstrom had been a very near thing, and with a sense of immense relief we walked to the nearby headland of East Bay where looking back toward our recently covered path, spume, spindrifts and gale force winds had reduced everything to a field of white. How we would have coped had we been back off Warrnambool, we will never know. Cran’s priceless advice to us back in Refuge Cove had enabled us to escape a belting by a whisker. Along the nearby coast it blew up to 50 knots and at one stage Cookie was almost blown off her feet by a most fearsome of gusts. Whew!

So glad to be safely tied up.... just in time!

Before we left Townsville at the end of October, it was put to us that our long passage home might be a mournful thing with each mile and each passage bringing our odyssey at sea closer to its end. We saw it otherwise and were determined to make the most of every port and passage along the way, and now, by meteorological chance, we had stumbled into Port Fairy on New Year’s Eve. Little did we know that, with great fortune, we were about to experience one of the true highlights of our entire voyage.

Port Fairy was buzzing with anticipation, and brimful of visitors who had come from all points to be here for the month long Moyneyana Festival which had kicked off, at Christmas. Being the only vessel on the visitor’s wharf, we were probably the only revellers to arrive by sea! Up in the main street the thinly peopled thoroughfares of April had been completely transformed, and we calculated that back at Toorak in Melbourne there must be very few “tractors” left on the roads. In downtown Port Fairy, there were 4-wheel drives everywhere. The information centre suggested we take a Moyneyana program booklet and along with the other ten thousand or so visitors in town we should enjoy the fun. Considering our recent deliverance, this seemed a great idea to us!

The amazing street parade.. eat your heart out "Johnnies Pageant"!

We kicked off our last eve of an amazing year by abandoning ship’s food in favour of a delectable interlude at the Kung Fu Café where over some succulent Asian offerings we had a window seat as people streamed in for Moyneyana’s keynote event, the annual Port Fairy Street Parade, which we found had been capturing interest by both participants and viewers for over 60 years. There is something that suburbs rarely have, but country towns mostly have; that indefinable quality called community spirit. It is a priceless quality, and Port Fairy has it in spades. Agreeably supped, we joined the gathering throng and found that already the crowd was a dozen or so in depth along the thoroughfares. To us the premier viewing location was on the veranda of the Star of the West Hotel in the epicentre of the town square, and soon with thin bona fides and with deft negotiation we had balcony viewing of the marvel about to unfold. The parade was simply marvellous and with awards for “Best Float Community Service…etc” on offer it was clear that preparations for this event had been well under way since footy season.

One of the interesting floats in the parade. Not sure of the theme but everyone was having a great time!

As floats drew abeam of the crowd they drew thunderous acclaim from the multitude and shouts of “there’s aunt Clara” and the like from the small ones in the front who were already being indoctrinated in the value of this happening. There was creativity, homespun humour and the warm connections of country life there for all to see. Up on the balcony, like everyone else we got swept up in the occasion and hardly had a chance to reflect on where we had been just 24 hours astern. Just as we were marvelling at the length of the pageant, we realised that the procession had already completed a lap around the streets and was now coming past for a second time! It was like a two act play where act two was a re-run of act one. It was just like below us in the bar where the second drink was embraced as warmly as the first [note – the “Star” had a billboard outside advertising a “Husband Creche” suggesting that wives leave husbands plus currency in the care of the licensee whilst they embarked on hassle free shopping!].

The Borderers in concert at the Port Fairy Town Square.

As the crowd dispersed in the fading light, the village square opposite the “Star” filled with a gathering keen to kick on through the night. Adelaide folk band The Borderers were ready to rock the port and we happily joined the mob on the green. The Borderers, in a word were sensational, and their mix of Irish jigs and reels blended with bluegrass and a pinch of country, struck a harmonious chord with everyone lucky enough to be there. We just grabbed our ship’s deckchairs, joined the crowd and settled back as the concert unfolded. Above us a raw Sou-Wester had replaced the heat of the morning and between offerings from The Borderers, Cookie made conversation with Raelene from Port Campbell, who in typical local fashion offered her rug to share against the evening chill. We knew no one but felt totally at home.

Enjoying the great music of the Borderers... they now have two new fans !

As midnight approached the anticipation of the Community Fireworks grew to irrepressible levels. The Information Centre had suggested that the detonation location of the midnight pyrotechnics was a secret [probably to avoid revellers wandering into the ignition area] and that the spectacle could be enjoyed from anywhere in town. As in all country towns though, the locals knew where it was all unfolding and we just followed them to a grassed area on the edge of town where based on the crowd already gathered the location of this classified event was common knowledge. On the strike of the clock – probably, these days, the roll-over of the minute on a mobile phone – there were oohs and ahhs aplenty with sprinkles of applause as the skies lit up in a kaleidoscope of light and the booming explosions of rockets. Later, as the whiff of cordite drifted away along with the crowd on the evening breeze, we returned for a final set from The Borderers and were up and dancing with the crowd before wending our way back to our loyal little ship, lying contentedly alongside the pier. Weariness from our long passage across Bass Strait had gripped our beings, and our leaden eyes were ready for some alarm-free slumber. What a night it had been. What a year it had concluded! Thanks a million Port Fairy, from a couple of grateful seafarers!

Awesome crackers !

It was well past dawn when we dawned on Calista, to find ourselves by chance in the middle of the New Year’s Day festivities at Port Fairy. Already crowds were gathering for the Community Craft Market on the wharf precinct, where offerings from local bands and all the fun of the fair was gathering apace. We had to pinch ourselves, because here we were moored in the epicentre of the activities, and unlike those in the salubrious waterfront apartments we had corporate box views at a walk in price. The market was well under way when Andy, a local mechanic came on board to help us with some motor servicing to the strains of the Warrnambool Caledonian Pipe Band across the river. We were astonished that he would come on New Year’s Day, but as his wife explained, “we don’t care what day it is, we just get things done [!]” Try that in suburbia, we thought! Andy turned out to be one of those highly skilled, unfussed, and immediately likeable local blokes who seemed to be as relaxed with spanners as he was in yarning about things marine. In one of his lives he had been a pro fisherman out of Port Fairy, so he had lots to share about the waters hereabouts.

We had prime location at the wharf that was buzzing with markets, duck races and bands playing.

By lunchtime with the needs of our motor satisfied I had discovered a wondrous Indian café at the markets and Cookie had fallen upon a Nepalese stall amongst the multitude of offerings. She was now bedecked in a pair of new cotton pants with colours that might have shamed a Bird of Paradise. It was a market, most excellent, and laden with produce including potted offerings and home grown tomatoes we made our way back to our ship. Our only blemish was an attempt to join one of the guided tours of the Lighthouse on the headland, which could not be managed owing to the numbers who had lined up for the experience. The walk out to the island was, in any case, worth the effort and whetted our appetite for a sunset barbecue overlooking the Moyne River, just metres from our boat. Out at sea the winds had eased, but with the direction still holding in the Sou-West our departure from Port Fairy on the new high ridging in from the west would be delayed until it moved more to the south.

Colin joins the throng of swimmers competing in the Ocean swim.

With Monday January 3 as the likely departure time, this left us with Sunday as an opportunity to actively take part in more of Moyneyana. Ocean swimming has become a growth sport across Australia, and in the Ocean Road region, a three-event program sees opens swims held in January in Port Fairy, Warrnambool, and Port Campbell under the watchful eye of the local Surf Life Saving Clubs. The Moyneyana/Port Fairy leg was scheduled for Sunday January 2 at 11.00am, and with goggles and towels in hand we lined up at the Port Fairy Club to take part. Expecting maybe a sprinkling of swimmers, we were astonished at the numbers lining up for the swim, and it was obvious from the sleek suits that predominated that they took their sport very seriously indeed. In the end the 1.2 km swim was a fun thing to do, and because we take every opportunity to keep up our ocean fitness, we cruised around the course in comfortable style. It distresses your Bloggist to record that the female member of our crew nipped around the course in a little over 28 minutes, whilst just over four minutes later your chronicler strode purposefully ashore. It was a marvellous event to take part in and we would have liked to be around for the other “legs”.

Did the swim, got the T shirt and the swimming cap.

Later that afternoon whilst readying our ship for an early morning departure for ports to the west, we were completing a range of tasks to the strains of The Borderers’ excellent A Time for Change album when a check of the Moyneyana program revealed that at that moment The Borderers were playing live in the beer garden of The Star of the West. Why listen to a band on CD when they were playing live just up the road! Hence in yet another dissipative act we downed tools and enjoyed another session with this wonderful band, and again we were up on the dance floor whilst the sun set on another brilliant day in Port Fairy. Later we dragged ourselves away and made our way back to Calista, in time to complete our readiness for sea.

The Borderers lead singer Alex sings and dances on the table in the beer garden.

If the forecast held, the window of weather now presenting might see us all the way back to Kangaroo Island waters. If that were so, there might just be time to undertake a side excursion further to the west before returning to our home port at Wirrina. There were some wonderful people that we wanted to connect with and some favourite places to see before we headed finally for home. In the meantime, though, there lay a long and challenging 300 or so nautical mile voyage over some of Australia’s most dangerous ocean waters. It was no time to be lulled into complacency by the amazing experience that had been New Year in Port Fairy.