The Voyage of Spectacle

Unfortunately, Andy woke up this morning feeling really crappy.  He has a fever, sore throat and is super-tired since he coughed his head off all night long.  I, however, feel great.  The cricket starts at 2:15 p.m., so I decided to let Andy relax as late as possible.  Plus, we have a lot of errands to accomplish while we’re here. 

The hotel is gorgeous.  It just reopened after a massive refurbishment, and we have the reopening promotion to thank for our excellent rate.  Having most of the morning to myself, I had breakfast in the dining room, tasked the very competent Concierge with confirming our many restaurant reservations, caught up with email, and took advantage of the gym facilities, and indoor pool and jacuzzi. 

Back in 9-to-5 real life, I was a bit of gym rat … workout fanatic might be more like it.  I ran a lot, hiked, did Bikram yoga, Pilates, etc.  Now that my lifestyle is extremely transient, oftentimes strange, logistically complex, and totally ambiguous, workouts for the sake of exercise (especially gym workouts) are few and far between.

Furthermore, my priorities have changed.  I used to say the phrase, “If I didn’t work, I would definitely [insert worthwhile activity],” and the phrase “work out more” often followed.  But it’s funny how when the “if” phrase becomes reality, things pan out so differently.  I guess other things pile up to fill the time, and when the “other thing” is a boat, the pile is extremely high.  Furthermore, we are not on “Outward Bound” and we are not “weekend warriors.”  This is everyday life for us, not vacation, which makes a difference as to how we spend our time.     

A lot of our friends comment that this trip must be so healthy and outdoorsy.  The opposite is true.  What about the sailing part, you ask?  Isn’t that physically active?  No.  Absolutely not.  It’s not America’s Cup racing stuff with a crew like a well-oiled machine.  There’s no high-pressure tacking, very little grinding of winches (unless the electrics are out and then we endlessly gripe because it’s a nightmare), no dropping headsails and flying spinnakers.  On our three-week sail from the Galapagos to the Marquesas, we tacked once and tacked back once.  The rest of the time, the boat basically sailed itself in the very constant and reliable trade winds.  We sat on our asses bored to death.

The other issue has to do with the availability of stuff.  On a trip like this, you have to eat what is available to you, and sometimes the safest thing on the menu is French fries.  In my 9-to-5 life (particularly while marathon training), I would plan a lot of my meals to ensure some balance of protein to carbohydrates, vitamins and minerals, liquids and electrolytes, etc.  In many places, you’re lucky to have fresh meat and you’re subsequently crazy to ask for something extra lean.  When the supply ship doesn’t come in, you’re looking at canned corned beef.  Yummy.  In many places, you’re lucky to have fresh produce.  Everyone views the islands as a paradise of plenty where fruit is plucked from the trees and a ripe banana is never more than an arm’s length away.  Nope.  Produce is seasonal in paradise just like everywhere else. 

Back to my point, the gym is a real treat and I was happy to take advantage of the facilities!

We arrived into Sydney Harbor at about 3:00 a.m. this morning completely haggard and physically and emotionally exhausted.  It was such a strange experience coming into Sydney Harbor in the middle of the night.  Before we left on this trip back in December of 2006, an oft-asked question was what locations we were most excited to visit and experience.  Well, there’s so many to choose from, but highest on my list was Sydney Harbor.  I had fantasies of what it would be like to sail into the world’s most famous harbor … sunshine, huge blue Australian sky, yachts everywhere flying spinnakers, salutations of “G’Day Mate,” the Opera House in all its glory, champagne, etc.  Then we would tie to the dock, hit the yacht club, and regale in the stories of our macho Tasman crossing to cheers of “Goodonya!” 

Um, not exactly how it happened…

First, we rarely approach land at night; we almost always stand off until dawn.  But the harbor is well lit, the ocean was extremely rough and we were totally exhausted and cold, so we decided to go in.  Andy set some waypoints for our approach, and because we were so tired and worried about accuracy and stupid mistakes, we each double-checked the waypoints twice.  We were having difficulty visualizing the approach because it was pitch dark with not even a sliver of moon.  Furthermore, the ocean was so big that while trying to see the approach, a huge wave would come through and block out the Sydney skyline– that will cure you of fixating on the horizon pretty quick.  Not surprisingly, Andy’s waypoints were perfect … always the master navigator … but better safe than sorry.

Using the waypoints and Ryan on deck with a high-powered flashlight looking for obstacles, we steered between the highlands … suddenly there was absolute quiet and the boat went flat.  After 9 days of being heeled over, bounced around, constantly grabbing for something to hold on to, we were flat and calm and quiet.  Then we looked around.  Sydney was sleeping, obviously.  Not a single boat in the most famous harbor in the world except for us.  We turned up into the very light wind, and rolled in the mainsail.

In an effort to reenact some of our fantasies about sailing into Sydney Harbor, I cranked up the stereo and played “Ride of the Valkyries.”  Unfortunately, as the Opera House came into the view, we were a bit dismayed because we couldn’t quite locate it … the lights had already been turned off for the night. 

So we headed towards the customs dock in Neutral Bay.  The dock was difficult to locate as we slowly maneuvered through the crowded and unlit anchorage.  Finally, we saw some orange reflecting vests moving around and assumed that was the place.  Australia requires notification 72 hours prior to arrival, so they were expecting us.  All three of them were very nice guys, but they wanted to chat about the crossing and our trip.  Tying up to something hard, with a flat and still bed so tantalizingly close, really exacerbated our exhaustion to a whole new level.  Andy was so tired and saying such random things that I became a little concerned about his health and well-being.

The check-in process was plenty bureaucratic, but we dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s fairly quickly.  They informed us that officials from the quarantine department would call us in the morning and that we weren’t technically allowed to leave the boat until then.  The supervisor bent the rules and granted us permission to spend the night tied to their dock since nobody else was scheduled to arrive.  Nobody else scheduled to arrive?  Yep, we’re the only idiots to do this.   

Once they left, all three of us realized that we were starving.  We had eaten very little throughout our week at sea and our safe arrival quickly did wonders for our appetites.  Since the refrigerator crapped out, we were short on fresh food, so I went hunting through dry storage for something to cobble together.  I found a package of long-life tortillas, a can of refried beans, a jar of Old El Paso taco sauce, and a sealed package of tasty cheese that was minimally acceptable in the mostly defrosted refrigerator.  Quesadillas voila!  We then slept the sleep of the righteous.  I hadn’t showered since New Zealand and I didn’t even care.  Seriously, what’s another day without bathing?  Bed was the only item on my agenda.  Eight o’clock reveille came so quickly.

 The alarm went off and we were all really dragging.  That little tease of sleep wasn’t totally satisfying, but after a caffeinated beverage, a slightly less intense adrenalin-high kicked in to assist us through this day.  We moved the boat over to Rushcutters Bay to the D’Albora Marina.  Once we arrived and tied to the dock, I suddenly became obsessed with bathing … a hot shower was my mission in life.  So we packed up the shower bag and headed up to the office to get the key to the facilities when the quarantine guy showed up.  He delivered a minor admonishment for leaving the boat without clearing quarantine, and I didn’t care.  I said something to the effect of:  “I haven’t showered in over 9 days so I need you to clear me and my person immediately because I am going to the shower right now.” 

Andy stayed with the quarantine guy as he looked for potential dangers, organic material, and introduced species.  His services cost AUS $416 making this the most expensive check-in process we’ve ever experienced.  He indicated that a good chunk of the charge was overtime to come on a Sunday.  We could’ve avoided overtime rates by staying on the boat until Monday morning, but that just wasn’t in the cards.  And he did take out all of the garbage in a fancy trash bag with official “Danger” and “Quarantine” stencils on it.  Whatever.  I didn’t care as I was luxuriating in a hot shower! 

Icebergs at Bondi Beach

As it turns out, Andy’s close friend from Mizzou was visiting Sydney on business travel from Bangkok, where he now lives and works.  As we pulled into the marina, Jason was waiting for us with hot flat whites and wow that was the most delicious coffee I’ve ever had!  After we cleaned up a little, we jumped in a cab and headed over to Icebergs, the famous restaurant with sweeping views of Bondi Beach.  We had a fabulous lunch with plenty of wine, and experienced the same “land sickness” episodes that we usually experience at our first onshore meal.  I started to relax a little, but I still felt like I was running pretty high on adrenalin.

After lunch, the boys went to check out the Cruising Yacht Club of Australia which is right next door to our marina.  The CYCA sponsors the annual Sydney to Hobart race which is both famous and infamous.  Since we had just crossed the Tasman, we were feeling a special affinity towards those brave enough to take on sailing in those latitudes!  Additionally, tenants at D’Albora Rushcutters are welcome to the private bar and restaurant so I’m sure we’ll be taking advantage of that in the future!  I, on the other hand, went for a relaxing lay down with my book.

Soon it was time to get up and eat again!  There’s so much great stuff to do in Sydney, and with Ryan on his last day, and Jason in town to visit, we were eager to get to it! 

We hopped in a taxi and went to an area called The Rocks which is right on the Bay and across from the Opera House and Harbor Bridge.  It’s a very cool part of town with all sorts of outdoor bars and restaurants and people milling around, so we decided to sit down and have an adult beverage.  We happened to be there during the Luminous Festival, and Sydneysiders were treated to huge, high-powered light shows with the Opera House as the canvas.  It was absolutely stunning and mesmerizing. 

Finished with cocktail hour, we headed to dinner at Quay, which is considered one of the very best restaurants in Australia.  It’s perfectly located also across from the Opera House so our viewing of the light show continued all evening.  The food was amazing, the wine was exquisite, and the company was fabulous … a truly magical night and a far cry from fighting the elements in the Tasman Sea!

We said “Goodbye” to Ryan yesterday evening, and then went out for pizza and beer with Jason.  He stayed on the boat with us last night, and was off to the airport early this morning.  And so Andy and I are left by ourselves with our thoughts.  We both still don’t really know what to think about the passage.  Every time we tell the story, some new detail comes out or some new emotion bubbles to the surface.  It doesn’t help that we both still feel very tired.  It’s hard to sleep soundly after a passage anyway because you’re so used to sleeping in 3-4 hour increments depending on the watch schedule, but adjusting this time is proving especially difficult.  I think we are both suffering from an adrenalin hangover of sorts, and coming down is a real bitch.  The whole experience feels quite surreal.

One way to shake such a strange feeling is to get back to normal things, and for me, that means boat work and check lists.  First on the list is dealing with the head sail.  It needs a new shackle for the halyard, but unfortunately, the halyard and furling drum did not come down the forestay when we dropped the headsail at sea, so someone will need to go up the mast to retrieve it.  The furling line is looking a little haggard as well so I’ll look into replacing that while we’re at it.  The staysail blew out completely.  It seriously looks like it was shot with a shotgun, but the sail loft thinks it may be repairable and will pick it up later today.

I’m also going to find someone to service the autopilot.  If you’re a boat person, or if you follow our travels or the travels of any other cruiser, you realize the importance of the autopilot.  During the crossing, poor old Otto was working really really hard against that huge, following, Tasman swell, and he was making some pretty sad noises.  It was also making a “thunk” noise as if it was slamming into something when turning sharply and completely to port.  Whatever’s happening, it can’t be good.  The loss of the autopilot was a secret fear for the entire crew, but never articulated out loud in an effort to keep everyone’s stress level as low as possible.

At some point during the crossing, a loose jib sheet was whipping around and whacked a big hole in the plastic window of the dodger.  The boat trim guy will come by later this week, and I’ll probably get a quote to re-do the bed cushions as well. 

Additionally, we have a ton of exterior lights that are burned out – anchor light, tri-color, starboard deck light, and starboard running light.  Other than that, I would like to hire someone to help me scrub the deck, work on rust removal, polish all the metal, and sand and oil the teak.  Bayswater Marina in Auckland was a stickler on not allowing exterior boat work, so much of the deck desperately needs attention.

As I mentioned, the furling drum did not come down the forestay when we dropped the halyard on the headsail, and as such, someone needed to go up the mast to retrieve it.  I suspect there’s something wrong up there since theoretically, it should be weighted enough to slide down on its own. 

Going up the mast is a boat task that is simultaneously mundane and terrifying.  You attach a seat, called a bosun’s chair, to the mainsail (or spinnaker) halyard, and use a winch to lift the seated person just as you would raise a sail.  Intellectually, it’s easy to understand that the load on a huge sail, in big wind, involving a 69-foot mast, far exceeds your body weight.  But you just can’t help but wonder if this might be the one instance that the shackle fails.  I was especially thinking this since I was going up the mast because of a failed shackle, but whatever.  And yes, I volunteered to go up the mast because in a way, running the winch is far more nerve-racking … the ascent isn’t that bad as the winch does all the work and there’s a brake preventing the line from feeding out should the winch fail or slip.  But, on the descent, that brake is open, and the line is manually let out.   

I’m not afraid of heights and I didn’t find the whole experience particularly scary, but the very top of the mast is fairly unnerving.  Past the highest set of spreaders, there’s nothing really to hold on to except for the big tree trunk of a mast that I wrapped my legs around.  And it’s weird to see the halyard, with which you’re being hoisted, become so short and then feed into the mast. 

Once I was up to the spreaders or so, I pulled extra slack of the headsail halyard out of the mast, and swung out to the forestay to inspect the furling drum.  That was a pretty strange sensation, but really, holding onto the forestay really freaked me out because it’s pretty loose, that is to say, definitely not as rigid as the mast.  The furling drum was definitely stuck, and no amount of muscle or slack in the halyard would budge it.  One of the connecting points on the forestay’s sleeve appeared to have some bolts sticking out that have loosened themselves. 

I reported down to Andy that the furling drum would not come down, and that I didn’t have the tools to try to fix it.  As such, he lowered me slowly down, and I was a snit for the rest of the day because he forgot to take my picture while I was up there.  Dammit!