Passaging With Crew

Posted on December 10, 2004 by George Backhus

Because I am a social animal, and my insurance company requires at least three on board for trips of more than 24 hours, I always have at least two or three mates with me for the blue water passages. Having the right number of good crew for a long passage can turn what might be an ordeal into a pleasureable experience.

In my ten years of cruising, I estimate that I’ve had about 50 different people on board for passages, so I’ve learned a bit about what works and what doesn’t, and how to prepare a crew for passaging. I’ve been very lucky in that most of my crew have been (and remained) friends and with less than a handful of exceptions, all would be invited back for another trip. I’ve also been fortunate to befriend a lot of experienced sailors in the five years of yacht racing I’ve enjoyed around Auckland. Many of my sailing friends are keen to venture out on the big blue highway and happy to pay their expenses to or from “Moonshadow.” In the last five years, most of my crew have been racing mates, which is good, as nearly half of my passages have been races or rallies. And then there are a few absolute legends like Nick Bullock, Graham Jones and Todd Meyer who’ve done two, four and five previous passages with me, respectively. They are all rock star sailors, great mates, good company and loads of fun to sail with. When you have that sort of track record of familiarity, trust, camaraderie and experience with crew, it makes passaging a lot more fun and easy, but the head a bit sore the day after arrival.

Nonetheless, I do have a regimen that I follow, even if it is a review for the repeaters, to prepare the crew for the forthcoming passage.

Personal Gear

A few weeks before the passage, I send them my “Offshore Personal Gear List” (see attached) which is a list that I have shamelessly plagiarized, developed and modified over the years. This is sort of a checklist that they can use as a reminder as they prepare for the trip and pack their sea bags.

Medical

Whenever I have a new “MooCrew” I usually take them aside and discuss with them any medical issues or conditions that could affect, or be affected by the passage. We discuss any potential concerns and make sure that any prescription medicines/lenses etc. are available both on board and in the abandon ship bag. I’ve also discovered that there are three types of people: those who get seasick, those who will get seasick and the liars. I can’t tell you how many people who told me they don’t get seasick I’ve seen hanging over the rail feeding the fish. We discuss prevention methods of choice and make sure that they are available. I also keep a copy of the inventory of the medical kit at the nav station so that they know what is available if they have any illness or injury.

Pre-passage Checklist

Starting a month before each passage, I begin to follow a checklist (see attached) to prepare “Moonshadow” to go to sea. If any of my crew has any extra time, they are invited to lend a hand, particularly in the last few days before the passage, to get the boat ready to go. This takes a bit of the burden off of me, helps them become familiar with the boat, and, I think, gives them a sense of security that everything is up to date and had a good inspection before we sail away from the safety of terra firma.

Safety

Just before a passage, I assemble the crew on board for a safety briefing. I take them from stem to stern and show them the layout and familiarize them with all the systems on board. I show them where all the safety gear lives (such as emergency rudder, storm sails, parachute anchor, manual bilge pump, flares, etc.) and explain how it all works. I review use of VHF and SSB radios, EPIRB, and what to do in an emergency. I keep a RED “Emergency Manual” that I’ve made up at the nav station which details in writing the following:

Emergency radio procedures

Use of the damage control pump

Location of all through-hull fittings and bilge pumps

Hurricane preparation checklist

Life raft launching procedures

Helicopter evacuation procedure

Additionally, I assign primary tasks to each of the crew in the event of an emergency. These would be things like making MAYDAY calls, activating the EPIRB, gathering food and water, grabbing the abandon ship bag, and deploying the life raft. If everyone has a job, nobody will have to ask or be told what to do when it all turns to custard.

Weather

I nearly always obtain a professional weather briefing the day before a passage, and update it with weather fax, forecast information and GRIB files along the way. All this information is shared with the crew, and we discuss our strategy as it relates to the weather we expect to be sailing in.

Watch Keeping

Since we usually sail with only three or four, everyone on board must stand watch, formally at night and informally during the day. Before the passage, I give each crew a copy of “Watch Procedures” (see attached) and explain to them each item on it and what is expected of them. If there are any navigational issues for the passage, I usually include evasion procedures in the checklist. If there are any real close-quarters areas or landfall issues, I set an alarm or arrange to be awakened so that I am on deck for that portion of the trip.

Food

In the safety briefing, I discuss safe use of the galley, as well as where to find all the various food items, drinks, snacks, etc. (so I don’t need to be the cabin boy). To make things easy for all, each of the crew and I bring two pre-cooked meals that have been frozen in a plastic bag. Oila! We now have 6-8 dinners that require only heating up. If they are flying in to meet me, I usually get busy in the galley for a day or two and pre-cook 4 or 5 meals. Breakfasts are usually self-serve fruit or cereal. Lunches are easy things like soup, salad or sandwiches. I find that precious few of us like to spend time in the galley when we are under way, especially on the first day at sea or in rough conditions, so we follow the KISS principle. I usually tend to avoid crew with very specific dietary requirements like vegetarian or vegan. It’s nothing personal, but trying to accommodate one person who can’t eat with the rest of the crew falls into my “too hard” locker.

Etiquette

There’s not much worse than being stuck on a passage with someone for a week or more who has poor boat etiquette. This usually manifests itself as sloppiness, unwillingness to pitch in on normal chores, objectionable personality traits, grumpiness or know-it-all-ness. I always say it’s easier to teach a nice person how to sail than to teach a jerk who is a great sailor how to be a nice person.

Most of the time, I have a chance to get to know people pretty well before I take them on board. I’ve passed on many very good and experienced sailors because I didn’t want to spend more than a few hours in tight quarters with them. I’ve made a few marginal calls, and on a couple of occasions, I got it wrong. Shame on me!

While it is a delicate subject, I do try to give my crew some guidelines for keeping life on board harmonious. I offer (if not recommend) a shower every day, try to spread the chores evenly around the crew and myself, let them know where they should keep their gear and encourage them to keep at least the common areas tidy. After the passage, the crew are invited to linger, usually no more than a week, and expected to pitch in on the post passage cleanup. The occasional crew who doesn’t abide by this is simply not invited back.

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The “Hams and Hogs” Regattas: Spring Break for Adults

Posted on October 14, 2004 by George Backhus

 

 
  New kite.

The travel brochures describe the weather in Queensland as “beautiful one day, perfect the next.” The thing is, it’s really true. In the three months I’ve been here, I can count the less-than-perfect days on one hand. This is probably the reason that hundreds of yachties come to the Whitsunday Islands each spring from all over Australia, New Zealand, and a few other countries, to compete in either or both the Hamilton Island Race Weekand the Hog’s Breath “Tropical Shirt” Regatta , a.k.a. the “Hams and Hogs.”

Never mind that many of the top yachts and sailors from Australasia are here, that sailing conditions are nearly ideal in the warm, gentle trade winds, that the Whitsunday Islands make for attractive rounding marks, that Airlie Beach (Hogs) and Hamilton Island (Hams) are rockin’ post-race party venues, or that throngs of comely “racer chasers” show up to mix with the sailors. It’s just plain fun, and its the closest thing to Spring Break for those of us who went to college before Spring Break was invented.

 

I sailed in to Airlie Beach a few days before the start of the Hog’s Breath Regatta after a 600-nautical-mile coastal cruise northward from Brisbane, our Australian port of entry. Airlie is billed as “the gateway to the Whitsundays” and is a vibrant little township full of backpacker’s (budget traveler’s) accommodation, inexpensive pubs and eateries, and scores of brochure-flinging agencies hawking all sorts of travel and adrenaline-inducing activities in the Whitsundays and the Great Barrier Reef. After a month of unhurried cruising, I was keen to get my own adrenaline flowing by doing some yacht racing, so I cruised the docks at Abel Point Marina, looking for a ride for the regatta.

I caught up with mates Anthony and Jeanine, the owners of the Farr 38 GENERAL JACKSON, whom I’d met during the Auckland-to-Noumea Race. They were looking for crew so I signed on as a headsail/spinnaker trimmer for the seven-day, nine-race regatta.

 
  Hard sailing.

While half the crew were “pick-ups,” Ant, our skipper, did an excellent job of getting the best out of crew and boat in the conditions. We managed all single-digit finishes in the fleet of 14 boats in our division, finishing the series in first by just one point in the PHS (second) Division over Auckland sled Hydroflow, which had been celebrating a record run (less than four days) in the Auckland-to-Noumea race. Hydroflow’s navigator, who managed to misinterpret the course sheet on one race and (apparently) the tide/current chart on another, was tossed into the drink by fellow crewmembers after the last race. It seems in yacht racing, as in many other competitive sports, a team player is only as good as their last victory.

The atmosphere of the Hogs was laid-back and cheerful, with many crews kitted out in matching tropical shirts. On the other hand, the sailing schedule was pretty rigorous, with races on six out of seven days, and multiple races on two of those days. We were on the water from 5 to 8 hours a day, so time and energy for spirited socializing was minimal. There was barely time for a couple of rum and cokes at the Mt. Gay party marquee each day before it wound up at 6 pm. For those looking for a big night, the party would usually carry on at the Whitsunday Sailing Club, the official yacht club of the Hoggies, or at the local Hog’s Breath Café, the regatta’s sponsor.

With just one lay day in between the two regattas, we sailed from Airlie the 20 miles to Hamilton Island where I caught up with my Auckland sailing mates and fellow crew from Formula One Ellen, Kevin, Jan and Neil, who flew over to sail with me on Moonshadow for the Hamilton Island Sailing Week.

 
Jazz band.

If the Hog’s Breath is the “pork ribs” of the two regattas, Hamilton Island is the “filet mignon.” It is billed as THE premier regatta of the Southern Hemisphere, attracting nearly 200 yachts, mostly from Australia and New Zealand, the likes of Grant Wharrington’s 80-foot sled Wild Thing, Stuart Thwaite’s 100-foot maxi Zana as well as a plethora of lesser known boats like the 62-foot Deerfoot from Sausalito, California, Moonshadow. On the water, both regattas represent some great yacht racing. Off the water, they are as different as beer and champagne.

First off, the average price of admission is about 50% higher for Hammo. It’s not hard to see where they spend the extra bucks, either. As you arrive in the Hamilton Island Marina, there’s a guide boat to take you to your assigned berth and assist you with tie up. Then a hostess arrives with a logo’d cooler full of chilled Hahn Premium Beers and a race packet. The daily post-race party at Hoggies ended at 6pm; the one at Hamo had a live band going till 4 am, preventing some crew from taking the racing too seriously. There were two fireworks displays during the week, as well as three aerial displays by an Australian precision flying team. At Hamo, they sweated the niceties. For those having a few beers on board after the race, there was a guy with a bin walking the docks, collecting empties and garbage. On the water side during “sundowner time” there was a live jazz band on a pontoon boat, serenading the moored fleet. Hamilton Island’s township with its shops, cafes, restaurants, pubs and clubs, is essentially incorporated into the marina. With nearly 200 yachts and more than a thousand sailors in attendance, the atmosphere was hugely festive.

 
  Party night.

The quality of racing in both regattas was excellent. Plagued by light winds in the Hoggies, we were forced to sail some shortened harbor courses around laid marks on two of the race days. Hamilton Island’s location, well offshore and in the middle of the Whitsundays, makes it more favorable to the setting of courses around islands according to wind speed and direction. We (and many others) found the Hoggies race instructions ambiguous on more than one occasion – the use of wing marks was sometimes confusing, setting multiple courses over the same water challenging, and the changing of committee boats from start line to finish line bewildering. The chatter over rums on the second day was how many finish lines we had to sail through to actually complete the race.

If Hamo racing was a bit better organized, the starts for the 99-boat cruising divisions were, well, nothing short of kamikaze missions. The combined beam of the fleet was easily three times the width of the average start line. Add a breaching whale or two into the picture, and the race starts to get verrrrrry interesting. I’m sure there was a lot of paint swapping going on, particularly in light airs.

 
Beach bum.

In the second race, we managed to take out the bimini top, solar panels and flagstaff of a smaller yacht (appropriately named Helter Skelter) that underestimated our speed and gybed onto port (giving up any rights) before she was clear ahead of us. Neil on the foredeck calmly pushed the boat clear and handed the owner back all of his gear, while passing word to me that Moonshadow had come through without a scratch. On the last start, we were boxed in, with a choice of going over the start line early, or hoping that the slower moving boats in front of us would part like the Red Sea. Being the eternal optimist while hoping for a temporary acquittal from the laws of physics, I opted for choice “B” and either my prayers were answered, or else the skippers ahead were looking in their rear view mirrors and observing the “tonnage rule.” We found a small but ample hole and got the committee boat end of the start line within a second or two of the start gun in clear air, then narrowly missed a breaching whale, for our best start of the regatta. There were lots of high fives on board after that one!

The Cruising Division of Hamo had two lay days during the week. This gave us a bit less stress, a bit more rest, and allowed the crew to spend some time enjoying the lovely tropical resort facilities and social activities on Hamilton Island.

Throughout the week, we made friends and added a few more crew who brought various skills to Moonshadow including: sailing, local knowledge, snacktician and ornamental. True to our form, we didn’t win the regatta, but didn’t lose the party.

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Queensland: Brisbane to the Whitsunday Islands

Posted on September 15, 2004 by George Backhus

Arriving in Australia from Noumea, Scarborough Marina (just north of Brisbane) was a convenient place to check in. In an otherwise nice marina, we ended up parked next to the very ripe-smelling local fishing boats that attracted flocks of birds looking for leftovers. Within two days, a combination of fallout from cane burning, dust from the adjacent boat yard and the birds using our decks for target practice, Moonshadow looked like something from the opening scene of “Captain Ron.” We decided to head 40 miles north to the beach resort town of Mooloolaba, touted by many a cruiser as the best spot on the Sunshine Coast.

We departed Scarborough on a dead calm morning. It was so quiet on the water that we motored the entire way, and didn’t even bother to pull off the mainsail cover. Even though the day was rather hazy, we still had a good view to the stunning Glass House Mountains on our port side as we made our way north out of Moreton Bay towards the Sunshine Coast. I managed to reserve the last marina berth in Mooloolaba, where we hung out for two lazy weeks.

Mooloolaba is situated where the Mooloolah River meets the Coral Sea. It is reminiscent of South Florida with its gorgeous beaches, high rise apartments and resort hotels, a lovely beachfront esplanade, and miles of inland waterways lined with million-plus-dollar homes. Some of the largest homes were easily more than 10,000 square feet, with spectacular architecture, lush gardens, infinity pools, and, of course, a marina out back for the family yacht(s).

After two weeks I’d had enough of the city and throngs of tourists, and longed for a bit of “liquid outback,” so decided to start moving north to warmer climes and to see some of the Coral Coast.

Departing Mooloolaba with an OK weather prognosis, the plan was to reach Pelican Bay, just inside the Wide Bay Bar at the south end of the Great Sandy Strait. The strait is a very narrow stretch of shallow water formed by the Australian mainland on the west side, and Fraser Island, the largest sand island in the world, to the east. By the time we had made it abeam Noosa Heads, about 20 miles north, I was getting a bit concerned. Seas had kicked up from barely a meter to more than 3-4 meters and winds had freshened from 10-15 to 20 gusting 30 knots. This is not so much of a worry for us in open water, but when crossing a river sand bar with a very thin 5 meters of water over it, the seas could easily mount up to half again the size and then break as they do on a beach. This is no place to be with anything but a surf board.

I rang the Coast Guard at Tin Can Bay, the station nearest the bar, to get a report on its condition. The coastie who answered the phone told me that he had no report on the condition of the bar, but said wryly “based on the wind and sea state, I wouldn’t recommend crossing it in anything smaller than an aircraft carrier, mate.” Plan B was to anchor at the south end of Wide Bay in the lee of Double Island Point, described by Alan Lucas in the “Cruising the Coral Coast” as “one of the most uncomfortable on the coast.” Plan C was to sail around the seaward side of Fraser Island, some 120 miles, and make landfall in Bundaburg. Given the declining weather situation I opted for plan B, reckoning that we’d be safe, if a bit uncomfortable.

The anchorage behind Double Island Point turned out to be reasonably comfortable considering we had sustained winds of 25-35 knots for more than two days, plus occasional driving rain showers and a refracting swell of nearly a meter coming around the point into the Bay. Going to shore was impossible, so all that we could do was eat, drink, read and sleep.

Two and a half days later, the weather began to moderate. I spoke to Coast Guard Tin Can Bay again and they had reports of “nothing but white water” in the area of the bar. Just when I thought we were in for another day of forced R&R, we heard on the radio of a small yacht that had made it safely over the bar and was reporting reasonable conditions. Within minutes, the chart plotter was on, the engine running, and the windlass was hoisting our anchor. Two hours later, we were safely at anchor again, inside the bar at Pelican Bay. The conditions at the bar as we crossed near the high tide were not too bad at all, and the short crossing was pretty much a non-event.

Our next challenge was to make it through the Great Sandy Strait. This a rather narrow estuary, mostly lined with mangroves, separating the Queensland mainland from Fraser Island. While there is lots of surface area of water in the Great Sandy Strait, it is quite tidal; much of it drying at low tide, and the navigable area for any sort of keel boat is restricted to a very narrow and winding channel.

The forty-mile long channel is well marked with more than 40 beacons. Various side channels branching from the main channel require one to be very diligent about navigation lest you end up on the sand. This requires constant concentration divided between the chart plotter, the depth sounder and the channel ahead of us. While the trip is calm and scenic, I found myself with one hand on the binoculars and the other on the autopilot course change button for most of the day. It is also important to time the passage through shallowest part of the strait for half-tide and rising. At one point we had less than 12 inches of water beneath the keel! We managed to get it all right, and made the trip without touching bottom.

Departing Pelican Bay at mid-morning, we easily made it to an anchorage off the town of Urangan at the other end in daylight hours, passing a number of small backwater townships with Aboriginal names like Tinnanbar, Poona, Tuan, Boonaooroo and Maaroom.

With dolphins escorting us out of the anchorage the next morning, we motored on a windless sunny day to the town of Bundaberg, forty miles up the Hervey Bay coastline, and another ten miles inland up the Burnett River. The trip upstream to “Bundy” is another that must be undertaken with plenty of water on a rising tide. We took anchorage on the Town Reach in a scenic area characterized by the old sugar mill and the rickety docks of the local fishing fleet. Bundaberg is one of a number of ports along the Queensland Coast where sugar cane is harvested, refined and loaded on to ships for export. One of the by-products of the sugar refining process is molasses. It is usually made into cattle feed or distilled into rum. In this case, the latter is true, with Bundaberg being Australia’s most popular tipple. During one of our two days there we took a tour of the refinery and had a sample or two of the local grog.

Later that afternoon, on the rising tide, we motored downstream to the mouth of the Burnett River, and took anchorage for the night in the site of a future marina. With the forecasted return of the southeast trade winds, we looked forward to a nice sail up to Lady Musgrave Island the next morning.

Once again, the Australian Bureau of Meteorology got it wrong. The 15-knot southeasterlies ended up being 10-knot southerlies, which dropped to about 5 knots as we motorsailed our way fifty miles north. I suppose if they’re going to get it wrong, it might as well be light rather than heavy.

Lady Musgrave is a coral cay surrounding a small, low-lying sand island, reminiscent of some of the formations we saw in the Tuamotus, Tonga, Fiji and New Caledonia. A well-marked pass allowed easy entry into the lagoon with plenty of water over most of the bommies to navigate and anchor easily. Lady Musgrave, in the Bunker Group of Islands, would be one of the southernmost coral cays forming Australia’s massive Great Barrier Reef. As numerous boats made their way into the protective reef at Lady Musgrave, we enjoyed a relaxing afternoon, then sundowners on the beach, with a spectacular crimson Queensland sunset.

Early the next morning, we headed back to the Australian mainland and the port city of Gladstone. Gladstone is a very industrial town, with numerous plants for processing the various minerals mined in the outback of Queensland. Once processed, they are loaded on to ships for transport to various parts of the world. It is a fairly quiet little town that is mostly closed on Saturday, locked up and shut down on Sunday. The marina, however, is very nice, adjacent to a large park where the locals come for some R & R on the weekends.

From Gladstone, we made our way north inside of Curtis Island to Swan Creek. The tides prevented us from moving any further north, but were in a good position to be at “The Narrows,” the shallowest part of this inland passage, for the next morning’s high tide. At low tide, The Narrows dries to as much as 2 meters, or about 6 feet above sea level, so unless one wants to literally be a stick in the mud, you must cross this area when the rising tide has enough water to allow passage of your keel.

By our departure time of 0900 the following morning, the dense fog had lifted enough for us to work our way north again. We got the timing pretty much right and only just kissed the soft mud bottom at the shallowest of points. Having made it through The Narrows on this crisp morning, we made our way through the estuaries toward Keppel Bay. Once again, we were besieged by fog, and found ourselves moving in near zero visibility with just bare steerageway, feeling our way along with the radar, chart plotter and depth sounder, “flying on instruments” for more than an hour. As the estuary opened up into Keppel Bay, the fog once again lifted, opening up the view to the Keppel Islands to the north.

We headed to Great Keppel Island, anchoring off the west-facing beach dotted with resorts, holiday homes and backpackers’ accommodations. We spent a day hiking on the island, and taking in some of the idyllic white-sand beaches that make this place a hit for vacationers from around the world.

Great Keppel Island

Our next stop was a one-afternoon/evening layover in Pearl Bay. This beautiful little bay on the Capricornia Coast is well protected from the east to southeasterly trade winds, has a long strip of white sand beach, and has steep, evergreen wooded hills that plunge to the sea. The mainland, along with the rocky islets just offshore, reminded me of the San Juan Islands in America’s Pacific Northwest.

We split up the next leg to the City of Mackay with an overnight stopover at Blunt Bay in North East Percy Island. The anchorage here was pretty average, but provided a good night’s rest.

With a fresh southerly blowing, we had a swift sail west to Mackay, spotting four migrating whales along the way. While the landfall in Mackay is not particularly notable, what is interesting are the literally dozens of huge tanker ships anchored for miles off the coast of this port city. In the last few years, Mackay has expanded its outer harbor, adding a small boat marina complex with berthing for hundreds of boats, high-rise apartments, pubs, restaurants, cafes, a yacht club and a boat yard. On the weekends, this area is a hub of activity and live music, and appears to be the place to be in Mackay.

The marina offered us a nice deal, essentially three nights berthing for the price of two, so we took a bit of a break from our rather fast-paced movements to chill out and relax. Mackay City, about 6km from the marina, is reminiscent of a Midwestern US agricultural town, with wide streets, mostly low-rise buildings, and lots of art deco and Spanish mission-style architecture from the 20’s, 30’s and 40’s. We took a heritage walk through the city, checking out some of these well-maintained pieces of history.

Once again, the wind gods blessed us with a fresh southerly for our last leg of the trip to the Whitsundays. Departing Mackay at 0800, by the time we were out of the shipping channel, the breeze had filled into 15+ knots and we were enjoying a nice reach northward. As we sailed into the Whitsunday group, we could see why this is one of the premier sailing destinations of Australia. Gorgeous islands dotted with resorts, white sand beaches, warm blue waters, calm seas protected by the islands and the Great Barrier Reef to the east, a plethora of quiet remote anchorages–a sailor’s paradise. We worked our way through the Whitsunday Channel, past Hamilton, Whitsunday and Long Islands, into Pioneer Bay to the little resort town of Airlie. Airlie is the mainland gateway to the Whitsundays, and the venue for the annual Hog’s Breath Cafe’s “Hawaiian Shirt Regatta” sailing week. More on that later!

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Weather Sources

Posted on September 11, 2004 by George Backhus

The first, and most important source of weather information to me is my calendar. The southern tropical cyclone season is officially from the beginning of November to the end of April. The northern tropical hurricane season is the flip-side of the year. Simply put, if you are in areas prone to cyclones/hurricanes, its best to avoid the high risk times of the year. Look at the calendar and head north or south as the case may be, to avoid that hurricane, or in the case of the Caribbean this year, THREE!

That said, even when we are cruising on the right side of the calendar, it always important to be aware of weather systems that may affect our travel plans, comfort and safety.

Over the years, I’ve found that in a given cruising area, there are usually numerous good sources of weather information, although they tend to vary from area to area.

On the west coast of Mexico, for example, when I was cruising there in the late ‘90’s, our best and most reliable source of weather was a Ham broadcast called the Chubasco Net. A guy named Tom gathered weather information from various sources each day and then talked to the cruisers on a ham rig from his car while commuting to work in Southern California. He was usually spot-on in an area that was usually devoid of much good weather information.

The Internet has made a large body of weather information available to sailors almost anywhere on the planet. The equipment necessary to download grib files, buoy reports and weather fax has come into reach of most cruisers. This information is invaluable for passage planning and severe weather avoidance. All this combined with local and regional broadcasts (when available) can give the sailor a pretty good picture of the situation.

Generally speaking, when I’m planning a passage I do the following:

Consult pilot charts and Jimmy Cornell’s “World Cruising Routes” to determine the best time of the year to make the desired passage.
Turn on the weather fax a couple of weeks in advance to gain an understanding of the timing and movement of the local weather patterns. I tune into local fax broadcasts as well as ones well west of the area I’m in. In the South Pacific, for example, I look at maps from both Wellington, New Zealand and Melbourne, Australia to see what’s coming across the Tasman Sea from Oz.
Turn on the Sky Eye and compare the satellite photos to the weather faxes. Faxes are just educated guesses of weather sytems, but the camera doesn’t lie.
I talk to local sailors to learn from their experiences. In New Zealand, for example, I learned to leave just after a frontal passage on a southwesterly change. This strategy can usually get you up to the trade wind belt before the next system hits.
If possible, I use the services of a local weather router, like New Zealand Met Service’s Bob McDavitt for the South Pacific region. I find this is usually money (NZ $60) well spent, and there’s usually a group of cruisers willing to share the cost.
I download grib files for the passage area to see what the predicted winds will be along our course line and adjust my route accordingly to take advantage of the yacht’s best point of sail and wind shifts.
I listen in to the local VHF/SSB/Ham/AM/FM radio weather broadcasts.
Personal observation: sky, wind direction/speed and barometer.
When I’m on passage, I update the information as often as possible from all available sources and adjust the route plan accordingly. In the South Pacific, I usually check in daily with Des on Russell Radio to get his read on the weather along my route and to listen to what other passage makers in the vicinity are experiencing.

Once I’ve reached my destined cruising ground, I do the following:

Check the cruising guides for the best local sources of weather information. There are usually some combination of local VHF, SSB/Ham, AM/FM, TV broadcasts available. Here in Australia, the local Coast Guard stations broadcast good weather information to mariners regularly on VHF and SSB.
Ask the locals for the best sources of weather information.
Tune in to the local cruiser’s nets and listen to any weather information offered.
Evaluate all the sources to see who gets it right most often.
Keep the weather fax on and watch the weather patterns.
Keep an eye on the sky, wind direction/speed and barometer.
Move with the favorable weather patterns.

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Brisbane to the Whitsunday Islands

Posted on August 9, 2004 by George Backhus

Arriving in Australia from Noumea, Scarborough Marina, just north of Brisbane was a very convenient place to check in. In an otherwise nice marina, we ended up parked next to the very ripe smelling local fishing boats that attracted flocks of birds looking for leftovers. Within two days, a combination of fallout from cane burning, dust from the adjacent boat yard and the birds using our decks for target practice, “Moonshadow” looked like something from the opening scene of “Captain Ron.” We decided to head 40 miles north to the beach resort town of Mooloolaba, touted my many a cruiser as the best spot on the Sunshine Coast.

We departed Scarborough on a dead calm morning. It was so quiet on the water that we motored the entire way, and didn’t even bother to pull off the mainsail cover. Even though the day was rather hazy, we still had a good view to the stunning Glass House Mountains on our port side as we made our way north out of Moreton Bay towards the Sunshine Coast. I managed to reserve the last marina berth in Mooloolaba, where we hung out for two lazy weeks.

Mooloolaba is situated where the Mooloolah River meets the Coral Sea. It is reminiscent of South Florida with its gorgeous beaches, high rise apartments and resort hotels, a lovely beach front esplanade and miles of inland waterways lined with million-plus dollar homes. Some of the largest homes were easily more than 10,000 square feet, with spectacular architecture, lush gardens, infinity pools, and, of course, a marina out back for the family yacht(s).

After two weeks I’d had enough of the city and throngs of tourists, and longed for a bit of “liquid out-back,” so decided to start moving north to warmer climes and to see some of the Coral Coast.

Departing Mooloolaba with an OK weather prognosis, the plan was to reach Pelican Bay, just inside the Wide Bay Bar at the south end of the Great Sandy Strait. The strait is a very narrow stretch of shallow water formed by the Australian mainland on the west side, and Fraser Island, the largest sand island in the world, to the east. By the time we had made it abeam Noosa Heads, about 20 miles north, I was getting a bit concerned. Seas had kicked up from barely a meter to more than 3-4 meters and winds had freshened from 10-15 to 20 gusting 30 knots. This is not so much of a worry for us in open water, but when crossing a river sand bar with a very thin 5 meters of water over it, the seas could easily mount up to half again the size and then break as they do on a beach. This is no place to be with anything but a surf board.

I rang the Coast Guard at Tin Can Bay, the station nearest the bar to get a report on its condition. The coastie who answered the phone told me that he had no report on the condition of the bar, but said wryly “based on the wind and sea state, I wouldn’t recommend crossing it in anything smaller than an aircraft carrier mate.” Plan B was to anchor at the south end of Wide Bay in the lee of Double Island Point, described by Alan Lucas in the “Cruising the Coral Coast” as “one of the most uncomfortable on the coast.” Plan C was to sail around the seaward side of Fraser Island, some 120 miles and make landfall in Bundaburg. Given the declining weather situation I opted for plan B, reckoning that we’d be safe, if not a bit uncomfortable.

The anchorage behind Double Island Point turned out to be reasonably comfortable considering we had sustained winds of 25-35 knots for more than two days, occasional driving rain showers and a refracting swell of nearly a meter coming around the point into the Bay. Going to shore was impossible, so all that we could do is eat, drink, read and sleep.

Two and a half days later, the weather began to moderate. I spoke to Coast Guard Tin Can Bay again and they had reports of “nothing but white water” in the area of the bar. Just when I thought we were in for another day of forced R&R, we heard on the radio of a small yacht that had made it safely over the bar and was reporting reasonable conditions. Within minutes, the chart plotter was on, the engine running, and the windlass was hoisting our anchor. Two hours later, we were safely at anchor again, inside the bar at Pelican Bay. The conditions at the bar as we crossed near the high tide were not too bad at all, and the short crossing was pretty much a non-event.

Our next challenge was to make it through the Great Sandy Strait. This a rather narrow estuary, mostly lined with mangroves, separating the Queensland mainland from Fraser Island. While there is lots of surface area of water in the Great Sandy Strait, it is quite tidal; much of it drying at low tide, and the navigable area for any sort of keel boat is restricted to a very narrow and winding channel.

The forty-mile long channel is well marked with more than 40 beacons. Various side channels branching from the main channel require one to be very diligent about navigation lest you end up on the sand. This requires constant concentration divided between the chart plotter, the depth sounder and the channel ahead of us. While the trip is very calm and scenic, I found myself with one hand on the binoculars and the other on the autopilot course change button for most of the day. It is also important to time the passage through shallowest part of the strait for half-tide and rising. At one point we had less than 12 inches of water beneath the keel! We managed to get it all right, and made the trip without touching bottom.

Departing Pelican Bay at mid-morning, we easily made it to and anchorage off the town of Urangan at the other end in daylight hours, passing a number of small backwater townships with Aboriginal names like Tinnanbar, Poona, Tuan, Boonaooroo and Maaroom.

With dolphins escorting us out of the anchorage the next morning, we motored on a windless sunny day to the town of Bundaberg, forty miles up the Hervey Bay coastline, and another ten miles inland up the Burnett River. The trip upstream to “Bundy” is another that must be undertaken with plenty of water on a rising tide. We took anchorage on the Town Reach in a scenic area characterized by the old sugar mill and the rickety docks of the local fishing fleet. Bundaberg is one of a number of ports along the Queensland Coast where sugar cane is harvested, refined and loaded on to ships for export. One of the byproducts of sugar refining process is molasses. It is usually made in to cattle feed or distilled into rum. In this case, the latter is true, with Bundaberg being Australia’s most popular tipple. During one of our two days there we took a tour of the refinery and had a sample or two of the local grog.

Later that afternoon, on the rising tide, we motored down stream to the mouth of the Burnett River and took anchorage for the night in the site of a future marina. With the forecasted return of the southeast trade winds we looked forward to a nice sail up to Lady Musgrave Island the next morning.

Once again, the Australian Bureau of Meteorology got it wrong. The 15 knot south easterlies ended up being ten knot southerlies which dropped to about five knots as we motor sailed our way fifty miles north. I suppose if they’re going to get it wrong, it might as well be light rather than heavy.

Lady Musgrave is a coral cay surrounding a small, low lying sand island, reminiscent of some of the formations we saw in the Tuamotus, Tonga, Fiji and New Caledonia. A well-marked pass allowed easy entry into the lagoon with plenty of water over most of the bommies to navigate and anchor easily. Lady Musgrave, in the Bunker Group of Islands, would be one of the southern most coral cays forming Australia’s massive Great Barrier Reef. As numerous boats made their way into the protective reef at Lady Musgrave, we enjoyed a relaxing afternoon then sundowners on the beach to a spectacular crimson Queensland sunset.

Early the next morning, we headed back to the Australian mainland and the port city of Gladstone. Gladstone is a very industrial town, with numerous plants for processing the various minerals mined in the outback of Queensland. Once processed, they are loaded on to ships for transport to various parts of the world. It is a fairly quiet little town that is mostly closed on Saturday, locked up and shut down on Sunday. The marina however is very nice, adjacent to a large park where the locals come for some R & R on the weekends.

From Gladstone, we made our way north inside of Curtis Island to Swan Creek. We were prevented by the tides from moving any further north, but were in a good position to be at “The Narrows,” the shallowest part of this inland passage, for the next morning’s high tide. At low tide, The Narrows dries to as much as +2 meters or about 6 feet above sea level, so unless one wants to literally be a stick in the mud, you must cross this area when the rising tide has enough water to allow passage of your keel.

By our departure time of 0900 the following morning, the dense fog had lifted enough for us to work our way north again. We got the timing pretty much right and only just kissed the soft mud bottom at the shallowest of points. Having made it through the Narrows on this crisp morning, we made our way through the estuaries toward Keppel Bay. Once again, we were besieged by fog, and found ourselves moving in near zero visibility with just bare steerageway, feeling our way along with the radar, chart plotter and depth sounder “flying on instruments” for more than an hour As the estuary opened up into Keppel Bay, the fog once again lifted, opening up the view to the Keppel Islands to the north.

We headed to Great Keppel Island, anchoring off the west-facing beach dotted with resorts, holiday homes and backpackers accommodation. We spent a day hiking on the island, and taking in some of the idyllic white-sand beaches that make this place a hit for vacationers from around the world.

Our next stop was a one afternoon/evening layover in Pearl Bay. This beautiful little bay on the Capricornia Coast is well protected from the east to southeasterly trade winds, has a long strip of white sand beach, and has steep, evergreen wooded hills that plunge to the sea. The mainland, along with the rocky islets just offshore, reminded me of the San Juan Islands in America’s Pacific Northwest.

We split up the next leg to the City of Mackay with an overnight stopover at Blunt Bay in North East Percy Island. The anchorage here was pretty average, but provided a good night’s rest.

With a fresh southerly blowing, we had a swift sail west to Mackay, spotting four migrating whales along the way. While the landfall in Mackay is not particularly notable, what is interesting are the literally dozens of huge tanker ships anchored for miles off the coast of this port city. In the last few years, Mackay has expanded its outer harbor, adding a small boat marina complex which berthing for hundreds of boats, high-rise apartments, pubs, restaurants, cafes, a yacht club and a boat yard. On the weekends, this area is a hub of activity, live music and appears to be the place to be in Mackay.

The marina offered us a nice deal, essentially three nights berthing for the price of two, so we took a bit of a break from our rather fast-paced movements to chill out and relax. Mackay City, about 6 km from the marina is reminiscent of Mid Western agricultural town, with wide streets, mostly low rise buildings, and lots of art deco and Spanish mission style architecture from the 20’s, 30’s and 40’s. We took a heritage walk through the city, checking out some of these well-maintained pieces of history.

Once again the wind Gods blessed us with a fresh southerly for our last leg of the trip to the Whitsundays. Departing Mackay at 0800, by the time we were out of the shipping channel, the breeze had filled into 15+ knots and we were enjoying a nice reach northward. As we sailed into the Whitsunday group, we could see why this is one of the premier sailing destinations of Australia. Gorgeous islands dotted with resorts, white sand beaches, warm blue waters, calm seas protected by the islands and the Great Barrier Reef to the east, a plethora of quiet remote anchorages-a sailor’s paradise. We worked our way through the Whitsunday Channel, past Hamilton, Whitsunday and Long Islands, into Pioneer Bay to the little resort town of Airlie. Airlie is the mainland gateway to the Whitsundays, and the venue for the annual Hog’s Breath Café’s “Hawaiian Shirt Regatta” sailing week. More on that later!

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Passage Logs: Noumea to Brisbane

Posted on July 4, 2004 by George Backhus

June 30

My sailing mates Ellen McArthur and Neil Spencer flew up from Auckland to Noumea Sunday to join me on the 800-mile trip across the Coral Sea to Brisbane, Queensland, Australia.

A nasty tropical disturbance delayed the start of our passage by a day. The low that passed over Noumea Sunday night brought gale force winds and lots of rain throughout the day yesterday. We were happy to wait it out in the comfort and safety of the marina at the CNC Yacht Club.

With much nicer weather, we sailed out of Noumea this morning at 0830. The winds still have quite a bit of south in them, but are slowly backing around to typical southeast trades. We’ve been beam reaching all day in 10 to 20 knots of breeze, tracking a bit north of the rhumb line at 7-10 knots.

I had just gone down for a short nap this afternoon when I heard the others yelling. I popped up on deck to the sound of the fishing reel unwinding at a fast pace. We furled the headsail and staysail to slow the boat down and began to haul in what seemed like a fairly large fish. It took us awhile to get her on board, but we had landed a 4.5 foot (1.3m) mahi-mahi which weighed in at about 50 pounds. We’re having fish for dinner, and with the freezer chock-full of fish and other goodies, won’t be setting the line again on this passage.

A nice mahi mahi!

As of 1700 hours this evening, we had put about 70 miles under the keel since departing Noumea. Conditions are beautiful out here and getting better, and the sailing is excellent!

June 31

Conditions out here continue to be very good, although the breeze has eased a bit from yesterday. Even though we are heading slightly south of New Caledonia, and are now within a few miles of the Tropic of Capricorn, the weather is getting warmer! No complaints from the crew, as we were able to stand watch all night in T-shirts and shorts, with 3/4 of the moon poking through the clouds and lighting up the night sea.

In the first 24 hours since departing Noumea, we covered 190 miles towards Brisbane, mostly on a nice easy three-sail reach. As of this writing on Wednesday afternoon, we had 545 miles to go to the entrance of Moreton Bay, off Brisbane.

After one sashimi appetizer and two fish meals, we have only managed to consume less than a quarter of the huge mahi we caught yesterday. The rest is awaiting future meals in the freezer.

So far, the sailing has been easy and uneventful, just the way we like it. Speeds last night were in the high eights to low 10’s in 15 to 22 knots of breeze. We’re now doing from 5-8 knots in 10-13 knots of wind and slightly rolly seas.

July 1

The wind gods started to play a game of hide and seek with us yesterday afternoon and then finally went into hiding at 0200 hours this morning. Starting around midday yesterday, the winds would drop to 7 or 8 knots for 15 minutes to a half hour and then roar back in at 20+ knots for an hour or so, then back off again.

We all got a bit of a workout furling headsail and staysail, starting the engine, tidying up sheets and lines, and then reversing the process an hour or so later. Finally, early this morning the wind dropped below 7 knots and has pretty much stayed light and variable since. The barometer is climbing, the seas are flattening to a gentle roll, and we are steaming right into the middle of a BFH (big fat high). Fortunately, we have a good D-sail (engine) and plenty of dinosaur juice to keep us moving along at the rate of 200 miles per day. Other than the noise of the engine, it’s flat and calm and very easy going.

Our 24-hour run from yesterday, hampered by the fluky breeze, was 187 miles towards our waypoint off Moreton Island. At the rate we are steaming, we should arrive there late morning Saturday if all goes well.

We crossed the halfway mark right at noon today, and promptly celebrated with a round of nice cold beers.

Other than a few wandering gannets and a mostly overcast sky, there’s not much else to report.

July 2

We arrived safely in Scarborough, Brisbane today at 2 pm local time. We just got checked in and are enjoying a bottle of bubbles. Will fill in tomorrow.

 

July 3

One of the many unique pleasures of ocean passaging is the ever changing and often stunning skies that can only be seen offshore. On watch yesterday (Saturday) morning, at about 0600 hours, I had the pleasure of watching both a full moon set and gorgeous sunrise at the same time.

Ahead of me on the western horizon with a glassy calm sea, a full moon slowly eased below the clouds and into the sea, lighting up a brilliant shimmering path before Moonshadow’s bow. At the same time, behind us, the sun was beginning its day by lighting up the eastern horizon with a bright orange-red glow like the embers of a fire. The morning star rose above the sun as the stars faded with the new day.

A couple of hours later, a bit of landform from Moreton Island rose up out of the sea ahead. Australia! Neil was very excited to once again see his homeland. I was happy to know that, after motorsailing nearly half the distance from New Caledonia, in a few hours we could silence the engine.

We passed the first channel marker and made our way into the North East Channel between Moreton Island and mainland Queensland. It was a beautiful Saturday in mid winter, with temps in the high 70’s, clear skies and flat seas. Lots of local Aussies were out enjoying the day by sailing, fishing, boating and playing on the huge expanse of Moreton Island’s white sand beach.

We zigged and zagged our way through the shallow sandy stretches of Moreton Bay, making our way 25 miles to Scarborough, our port of entry. With the tide nearly at full ebb, the last stretch into the marina had a pretty high “pucker factor” as we had just inches of water under the keel. Moving the last few miles at a very slow and safe pace, we managed to make it to the quarantine dock without touching the bottom, but kicking up a lot of silt as I reversed the prop to halt our forward motion next to the marina.

Engine off-YESSS! Within a few minutes, two polite and efficient Australian Customs and Immigration officials were on board. We filled out a myriad of paperwork and answered a plethora of questions about where we had been, what we had seen along the way and our tracks from the last two passages. Quarantine showed up two hours later, giving us a chance to tidy up the ‘Shadow and have a post-passage bevvie. We were able to keep most of our food except fresh veggies, eggs and seeds, were granted pratique and moved to a berth just after sunset.

The crew toasted to a safe and pleasant passage and enjoyed a well-deserved meal out.

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My Worst Blunder

Posted on June 20, 2004 by George Backhus

While I’ve made a number of blunders in my cruising life, without question the worst would be running aground on Arutua Atoll in the Tuamotus Island group of French Polynesia in April of 1998.

I still remember the incident as if it had happened yesterday, and every time I go on passage I carry with me the lessons I learned that night in the Tuamotus. As you may have read, our grounding was, as are many sea catastrophes, the result of a cascade effect, in other words, lots of small errors that ended up in one big mess. Hindsight always being 100%, here are some of the lessons I learned from the grounding.

Get and use a good chart plotting system. While a chart plotter is to be considered a supplement to paper chars and traditional navigation practices, it can be a very reliable tool and help make navigation in difficult areas much easier. Had we had a chart plotter on board at the time, I doubt we would have come to grief in the Tuamotus.
Always plot your position regularly when you are in close proximity to land, particularly at night and in poor visibility. Had we begun plotting our position when we departed Ahe to head for Takaroa, we would have quickly discovered the north/south plotting error that landed us on the reef.
Have a second person check the navigation, particularly when in close proximity to land. I’m not saying that I would have caught this error, but two heads are usually better than one.
Give specific written course and heading information to the on-watch person, as well as danger bearings when you are navigating in close proximity to land at night or in poor visibility.
Insurance companies don’t repair yachts, they just, in the very best case, provide the money for the repairs. The owner is responsible for fronting the money until the insurance company pays, coordinating and supervising the work, and paying the deductible/excess. Once you have made a major claim on your yacht insurance, you are the insurance company’s adversary. They don’t want to know you any more. They will try to take every repair shortcut possible. They will do whatever possible to avoid or delay payment for the work. They will then raise your premiums, if they still elect to insure you, to astronomical levels. Should you find yourself in this position, the second call after the insurance company should be to a good maritime lawyer to help you through the process. And DOCUMENT EVERYTHING!

Good luck and safe cruising.

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Five Common Cruising Mistakes

Posted on June 16, 2004 by George Backhus

The biggest problem for many of us when we start out cruising is that we are “unconsciously incompetent.” That is, we don’t know what we don’t know. We then must learn by making mistakes, watching other’s mistakes or through reading about other’s mistakes. This can end up costing a lot of money. . .or worse.

Buying the wrong yacht

The first, and usually biggest mistake people make, is buying the wrong yacht for the type of cruising they want to do. Many people step onto a yacht at a boat show or on the broker’s docks, pop down the companionway and fall in love with the interior of their cruising home while it is sitting placidly in flat water. Dreams of distant ports of call and the romance of sailing in tropical, south sea waters overtake all common sense and all one wants to do is sign on the dotted line and sail away. Issues like sea berths, ventilation, galley layout, systems accessibility, storage, sail handling systems, safety and sea kindliness are as far from their minds as a South Pacific atoll.

Many production yachts available today are, at best a very average compromise between racing and cruising. Once one buys the yacht and moves board, they soon discover that they just don’t have the storage space, if not proper layout for long term living and passaging. I can’t tell you how many people I have known who have purchased a yacht, then spent years of their time and loads of boat bucks (1 boat buck=$1,000) trying to make the boat work better for them. In the end, they may have spent more than if they had purchase the right boat in the first place.

I think the most practical solution is to do your homework before you even look at a yacht. I suggest one read as many books as possible on cruising and yacht design and then talk to as many cruisers as possible about what they like and dislike about their yachts. Armed with this information you should have a pretty good idea of what works and what doesn’t, and then be able to choose the sort of cruising yacht that best suits your budget and requirements.

I spent nearly a year in research before I purchased Moonshadow. I found both Jimmy Cornell’s World Cruising Survey and Steve and Linda Dashew’s Offshore Cruising Encyclopedia immensely helpful. I also found numerous excellent articles in Cruising World, Sail, Ocean Navigator, Practical Sailor and Latitude 38 magazines.

From this, I developed a “must have” list of criteria for any yacht I would consider. In my particular case, they were:

Safety-minimum Category I offshore standard with watertight crash bulkheads fore and aft.
Minimum of 50’ for comfortable offshore passaging and long-term live aboard and gear storage.
Speed-must be capable of averaging 200 miles per day on passage-at least 50’ of waterline.
Short handed capability-must be able to single/double hand as well as mostly maintain myself. And NO TEAK DECKS!

For budgetary reasons, I went to the second-hand market to see what was available that met my criteria. At the time, there were three Deerfooti, and one Amel available. I chose the Deerfoot and, after nearly ten years and 55,000+ nautical miles of sailing, still think I made the right decision for my own requirements.

Some people can’t decide weather to go sail or power.

Not being thoroughly familiar with your yacht before going cruising

I was as guilty as anyone of this one. I purchased Moonshadow in Ft. Lauderdale in July of 1994 and immediately put her into a yard there to do some refitting. She needed a new engine, as well as maintenance and repair to many of her systems, as she had been lying unused for nearly two years. By the time I finished all the work that I needed to do, I had only had the chance to do five relatively easy day sails before departing Florida to sail to San Francisco. Wow, what a learning curve! Shortly after departing Dry Tortugas for Isla Mujeres, Mexico, we encountered a gale in the Gulf Stream. This was not the place to learn about reefing and heavy weather sailing on an unfamiliar yacht.

I have seen this many times with new cruisers. They are so busy getting the yacht prepared to go cruising, that they have not had time to go out and do any sailing. Some literally finish the last project the day that they leave. When they start cruising, they might encounter a less than favorable experience due to lack of knowledge of the yacht’s handling characteristics, not to mention gear failures due to lack of any proper shakedown.

I would suggest some local cruising before heading out on the “big cruise.” Sail the yacht in as many conditions as possible so you can become familiar with reefing, heaving to, sail handling in adverse conditions, night sailing, docking, anchoring, life under way, etc. Spend enough time on the hook to become familiar with all the systems you will need when you are not plugged in to a marina, i.e. battery charging, refrigeration, water maker, windlass, dinghy and outboard, etc. You will also need to be familiar with all your electronics and communication gear before you head offshore. Reading the manual while attempting to program the weather fax when you are bashing into a gale just doesn’t cut it.

Making changes to the yacht without cruising experience

Making changes to your yacht before cruising it would be like altering your clothes without having ever put them on. Get out, sail the yacht, live on board for at least a few months to a year, and then start to formulate a list of what works and what needs improvement.

My good friend Jeff Erdmann, owner of Bollman Yachts in Ft. Lauderdale and the person who sold Moonshadow to me, gave me this bit of advice. He suggested that I make only the repairs necessary to sail her to San Francisco. Once I had gotten there, I would be in a much better position to figure out what I would alter or improve. I can tell you that after three months and nearly 6000 ocean miles, my mindset changed dramatically from when I was in Ft. Lauderdale. He saved me lots of money, because a lot of things that didn’t quite seem right in the marina made a whole lot more sense when I put to sea and did some cruising. I also discovered a few things that I had not even considered until I spent some time at sea and on the hook.

Not taking the time to learn basic maintenance

If you don’t maintain a yacht, it will wear out faster or break, usually when you least expect it, and probably when you are at the furthest point from where you can get it fixed. I think Murphy loves messing about on yachts! I like to joke that cruising is just “extensive repair and maintenance in beautiful and exotic places.” That said, if you spend just a few hours a week on maintenance, you are less likely to have to spend days or weeks stuck in some third-world hellhole while you await parts or make major repairs.

I have always been pretty handy, and owned another yacht for 13 years before I purchased Moonshadow, so I was pretty familiar with the drill. On the other hand, a full fledged cruising yacht has many systems on board that aren’t found on a day/weekend sailor.

It is important to become familiar with all the systems on your yacht. If you don’t know how they work or how to maintain them, get an expert in to do the work and at the same time show you how. You can also get lots of good information about systems from books like Nigel Calder’s Boatowner’s Mechanical and Electrical Manual.

I also suggest you keep all the manuals for all your on board equipment handy. Mine are organized in three binders that I keep handy at the nav station. It’s also important to have a scheduled maintenance checklist for your yacht’s systems. I use the Cap’n Administration program to keep track of everything.

Proper maintenance and a bit of D.I.Y. (do it yourself) repair capabilities, along with a reasonable inventory of spares can mean the difference between pleasurable cruising and costly, inconvenient and possibly dangerous breakdowns.

Waiting till the last minute to organize one’s affairs before going cruising

Many people seem to wait till the very last minute to get their personal and/or business affairs in order before sailing off in to the sunset. I’ve seen people trying to rent or sell their home, flog off the car and sort out other affairs with just a week to go before they depart. This invariably adds to the stress level already imposed by a significant lifestyle change, and can also lead to errors in judgment in the handling of one’s affairs if not the yacht.

If you have your affairs sorted out a few months before your planned departure date, your mind will be free to focus on getting yourself and your yacht ready for the upcoming cruise, as well as to enjoy some quality time with friends and loved ones who will remain behind.

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Passage Logs: The Auckland to Noumea Race

Posted on June 10, 2004 by George Backhus

June 5, 2004

Auckland’s Viaduct Harbour was a bustle of activity yesterday morning. Fourteen of the yachts berthed there (including Moonshadow), ranging in size from 36 feet to 100 feet, were making final preparations for the 1000-mile race to Noumea, organized by the Royal Akarana Yacht Club.

By 1030 hours, we were as ready to go as we were going to be. The pre-race festivities started. TV One was on hand filming for the evening news. Mimes dressed in French costume (New Caledonia is French) were handing out weird little stuffed flowers. A group of girls in costume did a Can-Can on the dock to music blaring from the yacht Hydroflow’s stereo. Lots of our friends and family had come down to come down to give us farewell wishes. At about noon, with a light breeze and mostly sunny skies, we tossed off the dock lines and headed out into the Waitemata Harbour.

From left, Graham, Pete, Todd and George just before heading out of Auckaland’s Viaduct to the start of the race.

With two hours to go to race time, we had plenty of time to get to the start line at Orakei Wharf. Once the committee boat was set up, we began to plan our start strategy–as if a few seconds might make the difference on a five- to six-day race.

At 1350 the first warning gun sounded, and all the yachts began to jockey for position, criss-crossing each other, while dodging a number of spectator boats wanting to get a close look from inside the start box. If this was America’s Cup, they’d be kept a quarter-mile away!

By the time the five-minute gun sounded, the sky had turned black, a squall had unleashed rain and thirty-knot winds on the fleet. Mayhem would be one way to describe the situation. We managed to get a fairly clean start with good air, and had gotten well clear of the smaller boats by the time we had reached North Head.

Moonshadow heading to Noumea with a bone in her teeth, shortly after the start of the race, taken by John Stavely from North Head

The winds and rain passed fairly quickly, leaving us with a nice 15-knot westerly, clean decks, and pleasant views of Auckland behind us. We had a lovely beam reach up the Rangitoto Channel while admiring the rainbows in the distance.

Graham and Todd at work as the rains and Rangitoto fade away

The winds were up and down all afternoon and evening, but mostly on or just forward of the beam, so we were making good time northward. We passed Cape Brett at about 0200 this morning and cleared North Cape, the northern tip of New Zealand, at about 1000 this morning.

That’s about when the winds picked up and went forward. Since then, we’ve been in winds of 20 to 30 knots, well forward of the beam, and rough seas. Nobody on board has much of an appetite and moving about is very difficult. The good news is that the forecast gale hasn’t happened, and it is getting warmer! As we get closer to the high-pressure system crossing our course, the wind is expected to back around and go lighter.

In our first twenty-four hours of sailing we covered approximately 200 miles, and have less than eight hundred miles to go to Amedee Lighthouse at the entrance to the lagoon just south of Noumea. Morning check-in’s put us in the middle of the fleet.

June 6

The wind and sea gods gave us a bit of a spanking as we cleared North Cape yesterday, giving us 25 to 40 knots of breeze well ahead of the beam, and confused seas. While Moonshadow was moving along nicely toward Noumea, the decks were constantly awash, the yacht was pitching and rolling like a bucking bronco, and the most the crew could do was just hold on till the bell.

The gods have been very nice to us today. At around midnight we shook out the reef in the mainsail; this morning we unfurled the jib and, for a few hours, enjoyed an easy three-sail reach, averaging 9 knots. By late morning, the seas had developed to a nice 2-3 meter southwesterly swell, and the winds had backed and abated to 16-20 knots, so we set our light spinnaker. We’re now reaching very close to the rhumb line at 9-11 knots. The stereo is on, we’ve had a great lunch and a shower, and it is warm enough for a T-shirt and shorts. The lads are taking tricks on the helm practicing their downwind surfing techniques. Life is good!

Whew! Back on the computer after a major spinout. You know you’re heeled well over when you see fish going by the port lights in the side of the hull.

Our 24-hour run from yesterday was 213 miles. If the conditions remain as forecast, we expect to cross the half-way point to Noumea around midnight tonight.

The updated weather forecast suggests that the high moving across the Tasman Sea that may have left us wind-less, has stalled, and that the southeast trade winds on top of it (between our position and New Caledonia) should be reinforced, giving us a fast and fun ride. We’ll keep you posted.

June 7

Racing sailors have an old saying; If you don’t take the spinnaker down when it’s time, God will do it for you.

Last night, we were enjoying a nice brisk spinnaker reach around sunset. Conditions were calm and everything seemed well under control. We even decided to break open a bottle of wine to enjoy with our dinner (Todd’s excellent lamb shanks).

Seemingly in an instant, a dark cloud had formed over us and we were in a squall with winds gusting up to 30 knots. Moonshadow was overpowered, spun out, the spinnaker pole bent in half from the compression load, and shortly after, the spinnaker, pushed well beyond its envelope, exploded into bits. All of us, having been through this drill before, clipped on to the jack stays, hit the foredeck and calmly got to work. Within ten minutes, we had the kite on board, had sorted out the mess, and were calmly reaching with the jib in the post-squall 13-knot breeze. Without a spinnaker pole in a downwind race, we will be handicapped a bit. Bugger!

The rest of the evening was uneventful as we three-sail-reached along in light breezes. At 0200, just sixty hours from the start line, we passed the halfway mark to the finish line in Noumea.

The winds picked up a bit this morning, and are now in the 10-20 knot range. We were able to set a small spinnaker off the head stay to get us moving a bit faster, but we are still struggling in relatively light tail winds, sailing high angles to keep moving.

Our 24-hour run was just 156 miles, and we now have just a little more than 400 miles to go to the pass south of Noumea.

June 8

We’re rocking in the trade winds!

After a day and night of shifty, up and down winds from 8 to 18 knots, we’re finally doing some fair dinkum trade wind sailing. The breeze is southeasterly, just behind the beam at 15 to 20 knots, the seas are 1 to 2 meters, the air temperature is 25 Celsius (75 F) and the sky is dotted with trade wind clouds. It just doesn’t get much better than this on passage. The kite is up, the tunes are on, the beers are cold and we’ve just had a great salad for lunch.

As we get closer to Noumea, we are experiencing more traffic on the high seas. Yesterday afternoon, a humpback whale crossed our bow (failing to give way to the right) and we spotted a ship on the horizon heading south. This morning, before sunrise, we had a pod of dolphins give us an escort for at least an hour. Later this morning we spotted the spinnaker of one of the racing fleet about 4 miles behind us. Radar is telling us that we are slowly leaving her on the horizon behind us.

Due to the light and shifty conditions, our day’s run was rather light at 188 miles. But the wind has shifted forward and picked up so we are now moving along nicely at 8 to 10 knots, directly toward Amedee Lighthouse just south of Noumea. If the wind holds, we hope to cross the finish line late tomorrow afternoon or early in the evening. At the moment, we look to be about in the middle of the fleet, with the two fastest race boats having already finished, and the cruising (our division) boats still fairly close.

Sailing on one board with no trimming to do, we have a lot of time on our hands. One guy has been working the lifts and knocks with the autopilot control, and the rest of us, between meals, have mostly been telling jokes and stories, and taking the occasional nap.

June 9It’s a beautiful day in New Caledonia! At the moment we are just 31 miles from the finish line in Noumea and just outside the barrier reef protecting the massive lagoon.

Conditions are near-perfect. The southeast trade winds, blowing about 18-20 knots are driving us along at 8-10 knots under the small spinnaker.

After a few dramas with the kite just before dinner last evening, a detached spinnaker sheet and a massive wrap/knot in the kite, we settled down to a mostly uneventful night at sea. Our biggest challenge has been trying to steer low enough to clear the reef and steer into Passes de Boulari, the entrance to the lagoon for the purposes of this race. With just a few miles to go, we are looking pretty sweet. Then on the last leg, we will harden up at Amedee Lighthouse and sail due north to Noumea inside the protected waters of the lagoon. With the wind on the beam and flat seas, this should be fast and fun!

Our 24-hour run was pretty reasonable at 201 miles, and we are now expecting to finish just in time for happy hour this evening at about 1730 local time. I’m very pleased that we will get to sail the last leg through the reef-strewn lagoon, with good light. We’re still pretty much in the middle of the fleet, but not sure how we’re looking on handicap in Cruising Division.

It’s back to work now, so we’ll fill you in on the results, and our post race party, tomorrow.

 

June 10

At 1751 hours New Zealand Standard Time, we crossed the finish line of the race just inside Petit Passe, Noumea, New Caledonia. Our elapsed time for the 988 mile course was 103 hours, 31 minutes. Average speed was 8 knots made good on the course. This put us third on line and second place on handicap in Cruising Division.

As we tied up to the marina at the Circle Nautique Caledonien, we were greeted by our “Godfamily” who were assigned to look after us during our stay in Noumea. They hopped on with Customs forms, fresh baked baguettes, pate, brie, fruits and some of the local beers. Everyone in Noumea has been most friendly and helpful.

After a few beers and a couple of rums (a kiwi yachting tradition), we had a shower and headed to the yacht club for dinner. The CNC was quite lively with the yachties who had already finished. We enjoyed an excellent BBQ dinner on the deck overlooking a marina full of yachts and launches, surrounded by high rise apartment buildings.

It wasn’t a very late night for us as we were all pretty tired from the long hours of the last day of the race. We were all up early and gave Moonshadow a much needed tidy up.

Now that we are checked in with Customs, we’re free to hit the town and have some fun on Friday night. Tomorrow night is the prize giving ceremony.

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Leaving the Boat

Posted on March 16, 2004 by George Backhus

While I have greatly enjoyed (well, most of the time anyway) living on Moonshadow for the majority of the last ten years, there are times when one needs to get off for various reasons and become an earthling.

I’ve been off the yacht for times ranging from a few days to a number of months for reasons varying from travel, haul outs or major repair/refits. I generally head back to the States every year or two to visit family and friends. On many occasions I’ve left to do some inland travel or even fly to another continent. From Mexico, we flew to Chile and Argentina to spend the holidays with family and friends. After the grounding in the Tuamotus, I returned to the US from Tahiti for a few months to sort out insurance and explore repair options. On the odd occasion, we just want to get away, for a just few days, from the unfinished boat projects staring us loudly in the face. Most of the time, the time frames are relatively short and don’t require much in the way of babysitting.

At one time or another, I’ve probably used all the options for leaving the boat longer term and in almost all cases successfully.

While in Mexico, I felt that it was much safer to leave the boat in a regular marina, plugged into shore power, with someone close by or on board to keep an eye on things. Of course in Mexico it was easy to coax a yachtie friend with a free airline ticket to come down to Puerto Vallarta or someplace similar, to hang out on Moonshadow for a few weeks, feed the cat and sip cervezas or margaritas while we were off touring. For a few hundred bucks, the peace of mind was, as they say “priceless.”

In New Zealand, on numerous occasions I’ve been quite happy to leave the yacht in the marina under the watchful eyes of my live aboard neighbors and the harbormaster. I’ve done this a number of times and never had any dramas. Someone usually even gave her a wash the day before we came home so we didn’t have to wade through birdie poo.

While in Sydney we were fortunate enough to have a great harbormaster to keep an eye on things, as well as some cruising friends (Tom and Pam from Imagine) who flew into Sydney from Brisbane for a visit while we headed to the States. In exchange for boat and cat sitting, they had free accommodation on Moonshadow and the use of our car. It worked very well for us, as the boat was as tidy (maybe even tidier) than when we left, and our car was waiting for us at the Sydney airport when we touched down.

Now it all hasn’t been rosy. When I left Moonshadow on the hard at a Tahitian boat yard, she was burgled. I suspect that someone from the yard who had access to the key had gone aboard and left a hatch open during the day, then returned under cover of night to pillage the valuables from the boat. We lost the outboard motor, TV/VCR, binoculars, camera gear and all the electronics excepting the sailing instruments and weather fax. It’s obvious that this thug was too friggin’ stupid to use a screwdriver!

I think that common sense applies to what you do when you leave a vessel unattended, but here are a few things to consider:

1. As you commission your yacht for cruising, always keep in mind what you will do when you leave the boat unattended. Consider how long you can leave batteries, fridge, etc between engine/genset runs. A short “umbilical cord” can seriously hamper some of the flexibility and freedoms that we enjoy about the cruising lifestyle.
2. Stow as many of your valuables as possible below decks, in secure lockers or off the boat.
3. Lock up hatches, port lights, companionway, lazarette, forepeak and deck lockers.
4. Lock up the dinghy and outboard or put them below decks, if possible.
5. Shut down all non-essential electrical systems.
6. Empty the fridge and freezer if you decide to shut them down, unless you plan to grow your own penicillin. Leave the doors OPEN
7. Close all the sea cocks if the yacht is left in the water.
8. Run fresh water and/or vinegar into the heads to prevent odors, or anti-freeze if you are leaving the boat in a below f-f-f-freezing situation.
9. If possible, leave interior lockers open to prevent mold, or use a dehumidifier in humid climates. The water you get makes good battery water.
10. Shut off LPG at the bottle.
11. If you leave the boat in a hurricane hole, strip all sails and double up on the mooring lines. Be sure you have adequate chafe protection on all lines.
12. Check to make sure that all your bilge pumps and switches are working correctly. Leave your automatic bilge pumps ON.
13. Pull your shades closed if you have them to keep the interior cooler and prevent anyone from seeing what goodies are inside.
14. Put a black plastic garbage bag over your prop to prevent encrustation.
15. Set the alarm if you’ve got one.

While I hardly ever get tired of white sand beaches, calm anchorages, palm trees swaying in the trade winds, etc., sometimes a change of pace in the form of some inland travel is interesting and exciting, if not necessary. I’ve had too many great “side trips” to mention, but some of the most memorable have been busing to the inland of Mexico (Mexico City and the “Silver City” of Taxco), jetting to Chile and Argentina, and driving throughout New South Wales, Victoria and Tasmania, Australia, not to mention a road trip to Middle Earth, also known as the South Island of New Zealand.

I guess my rule of thumb is that if I’m going to leave Moonshadow for more than a week, I would want to have her in a marina with someone boat sitting, unless it is a first world country where I am comfortable with the marina’s security. I don’t think that I would leave her on the hook for more than a day or two unless there was someone on board or close by to look after her. In the third world, I would definitely want someone closely watching her. That said, I’ve had good luck with some of the locals in La Paz Mexico or other cruisers who, for little or nothing are happy to keep an eye on her for us. In some of the dodgiest places like Colon, Panama or Puntarenas, Costa Rica, I would NEVER for one minute leave the boat unattended our out of sight.

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