Port Fairy to Wilson's Promontory (Refuge Cove) Fri 16/4 - Sun 18/4


Friday saw us up and keen to go on one of the really long legs, two nights and then some to the 'Prom. We had been in Refuge Cove twice before, once via the long sweat as backpackers, and the other as crew aboard Leda, a wonderful Swan 42, helping good friends Tess McGrath and Geoff Gowing complete a Sydney - Adelaide delivery. On that occasion we sat out a real Southern Ocean blow at the Cove, so were well aware of what a wonderful haven it was for small ships. If ever a place was aptly named.

Our new friend Anton called by as we readied the ship for sea, and that just left a stroll to the nearby knoll to glass the sea toward Warrnambool and Cape Otway. Our course to Otway was roughly SE and the breeze looked NNE and finally gave us some prospect of hoisting canvas (sailmaker Ray Brown would be appalled at our loose reference to our new Genoa [headsail], and main as "canvas") on the passage. Soon we were sliding out of the Moyne River with fond memories of our time in Port Fairy.


Colin "on watch",Tim (the autopilot) at the helm.

As we cleared the harbour and set course for Otway, our bouyant hopes of a rollicking sail proved to be an illusion. The main set well but the headsail was unable to hold the angle of the breeze and had to be re-furled. It was back to the motor and main, and thus it proved for hour after hour. The huge swell that had been the offspring of the recent dispute between Neptune and Boreas was still there, and as the grand cliffs of the Great Ocean Road came up on our starboard side we were sliding up and down over blue mountains. Go below to make a sandwich, or brew a cuppa, and out of the galley window there were alternatively walls of blue or cliffs of gold that were majestic in the soft afternoon light. It was clear to us the those who drive the Great Ocean Road only get to see a portion of this remarkable coastline. Although we were steaming a safe distance from shore - the line from PF to Otway runs parallel to the coast - the white fans of spray dashing up the cliffs was a reminder of exactly where we were and how the beauty and danger of this area are inseparable twins. By mid evening as the lights of Port Campell drew abeam, the wind had drifted onto our bow and as we made for Cape Otway, it was under motor alone.
Spot Colin "off watch " at night central Bass Strait.

Calista rounded this notorious cape at 12.08 am (by the ship's log) in a bumpy but non malevolant sea. What was concerning us however, was that one of our primary defence mechanisms, the wonderful AIS, had seemingly gone on the blink. We were able to identify large ships out of and bound for Melbourne on the radar but come up as AIS hits giving their course and direction relative to us, and most importantly, whether they posed a risk to us, they would not. We resolved to attack that problem later, and with neither of us being "technos" of even modest acclaim, we tried to put concerns about this in the background as we ploughed on through the night with the loom of the lights of Melbourne far away to the north.

The new day saw us do a radio connect with coast guard Melbourne on VHF and with our great friend Allan (and Carol) at American River VMR on the 4metre band HF for our position report and weather update. The morning once more gave us optimism about sails, but with the head and main aloft we found that to sail the angle we were heading for King Is and not the prom. With regret we put aside thoughts of Brie and filtered coffee on King, accepted the verdict on sails and settled for a day with no land in sight as we motorsailed under main alone over central Bass Straight.

Cookie updating her illustrated diary-note the Derwent pencils!

With night approaching, so did the 'Prom. It is a notoriously tricky feature for mariners with scattered islands, two "ship separation" channels for the volume of large ships that round the 'Prom bound east or west, a mix of navigation lights, and weather and currents that are invariably obtuse. Our designated path would see us squeeze between the ominously tagged Skull Rock of the Anser group of islands and the ship channel for west-bound shipping, before finding a less taxing seaway after we rounded SE Cape on the foot of the 'Prom. That was at least the theory and plan, after meticulous examination of the charts of the area. For us however, it was our first "rounding", we were fatigued after many hours at sea, and our radar, that had served us so nobly in the blue expanses, now threw up confusing signals that blurred the difference between land and sea objects as we neared the oceanic confusion off the 'Prom. It was also an unrelentingly starless and black night. We yearned for our AIS and ruminated on technology in general. It would be really handy, no essential, to identify ships in our path. As midnight closed we gave way to a large ship crossing our path, out of Melboure, making for the east-bound channel. Then as we neared Skull Rock in the first hour of Sunday (18th) the wind lifted from the East and in the confused sea it became difficult for us - by cockpit head torch - to consult the manual about how to adjust the radar screen and maintain connection to all that was happening aroud us. In the end we went back to the GPS, chart, and eyes to get us through (later in the cold light of day and a stable examination of the Radar Manual we found the adjustment easy to make, and we learned much from the experience!).

There is something about closing land at night after the broad blue horizons out at sea. Give this land the name of Skull Rock, see it loom out of the gloom to port, and only the stoutest of souls could resist veering a little to starboard to give this melancholy landmark a little more berth. This is what your faint-hearted correspondents in fact did. However, in doing so it drew us closer to the west-bound ship channel, not a problem at all if the way is clear ahead. Predictably, at this juncture, out through the spray smattered windscreen could be observed the lights of a ship heading, it seemed, directly for us and closing fast. This ship was snugging the near side of the channel and we needed to act in haste. We corrected to port and peered ahead into the night to see if this move ensured our safety or placed us in peril. We were no longer sleepy(!), and stared forward, yearning to pick out the ship's starboard light to confirm that, indeed, we would pass starboard to starboard, and that all was well. An anxious minute or so passed with desperate eyes trying to get a clear sight on the ship and its lighting configuration. We were bobbing and lurching, binoculars were useless in these conditions and try as we did, nothing seemed clear - apart from the certainty that the ship was headed our way and getting closer. Eventually, a green light (the starboard running [navigation] light) could be seen on the ship and we knew that we were in the clear.

After we rounded SE Cape we left the ships behind us and prepared to negotiate the narrow entrance to Refuge Cove, to anchor and get some welcome rest. In our planning for this voyage we sourced and purchased a good quality spotlight, and now as we reached the jaws of the cove, this item of ship's equipment came into its own. The wink of the cove entrance light certainly helped, but distances are so hard to judge on a black night, and using the spot we were able to light both sides of the entrance and pilot a secure path into the anchorage. It was 3.45 am when the rattle of our anchor chain marked our arrival at Refuge Cove. It felt good to slump into a bunk and to try and get some sleep. We had covered 215nms in nearly 41 hours at sea from Port Fairy.