Author: Chris Tanner

“Hibari, Hibari, Hibari, this is sailing vessel Rafiki, Rafiki.”
…
“Station calling Hibari, go ahead.”
“Hibari this is sailing vessel Rafiki. We are approaching you from the north, distance approximately 5 miles. We will pass close astern of you. Over.”
“Rafiki, Hibari. I understand you. Please stay clear and give us 1 mile distance. Over.”
“Roger. We will pass one mile astern of you. Rafiki standing by, channel one six.”

Ships passing in the night. We’re about ten miles of the Australian coast, heading south. Departed Coff’s Harbour yesterday afternoon. It’s busy tonight, at least compared to the open ocean. Out there in the middle of nowhere we didn’t see anyone for days at a time. Here, big cargo ships charge past every hour, their lights first appearing as specks on the horizon, blinking on and off as they appear and disappear behind waves. After a few minutes the lights are solid, on full time, as the ship rises above the horizon maybe 5 or 6 miles away. Within 20 minutes, they are right up next to us. Before the lights appear, a little mark pops up on my chartplotter; their AIS signal coming in over the radio. I can see their name, speed, direction, destination, size, rate of turn, how close they are going to pass us, and the time to closest distance. Usually we have an alarm set so that whenever a ship is due to come within 2 miles in the next 25 minutes, the plotter beeps – but when it’s busy like tonight, I’ve got it turned off. We also transmit an AIS signal, so that other ships can see where we are and where we’re going. These days all commercial vessels need to have AIS, which makes night sailing on busy coasts much easier!

A spectacular dawn is breaking, sharp clouds etched in black against a vivid palette of soft watercolour peach, orange and red. Soon the bottom of the clouds will turn red, and then the sun will be up. It’s cold out here tonight, can’t be much above ten degrees. Back in Coff’s Harbour, we endured the “coldest spell in fifteen years” as a “polar vortex” (gotta love the media names for extreme weather) came through, driven by the low pressure that we’d sailed hard to avoid being at sea for. Clear skies, windy, and bitterly cold for a couple of days. They even had snow on the hills not far away! I regretted sending all my warm clothes back to England…

Clearing into Australia was straightforward; we pulled into the marina and two burly chaps came aboard in smart blue uniforms and big clumpy boots. Between them they handled customs, immigration and quarantine. Friendly and efficient, by ten we were all done. So we’re officially in!

With the Aussie flag now flying from our starboard spreader, we’re bashing south into choppy seas and a chilly, gusty headwind. Next stop Newcastle, about 140 miles away.

Rafiki and crew are at anchor, safe and sound in Coffs Harbour, AUSTRALIA! We got in yesterday afternoon (Saturday) after a few days’ hard sailing, trying to get to shore before the arrival of some forecast nasty weather – a deep low pressure system coming across the Tasman sea. We didn’t want to find out what conditions would be like offshore when that came through. Even so, as a final leaving present, the Pacific gave us another tough night on Friday. Another bloody gale, this time with torrential rain. We had 40 knots of wind in complete and total darkness for much of the first half of the night, apart from flashes of lightning north and south.

When conditions are rough, we usually just set the main sail with 3rd reef and fore-reach slowly up and over the waves, at about 50 degrees to the wind. I can generally get some sleep while the others are on watch, as there are few decisions to make; we’ll leave the boat set up like this even if it gets windier. Every now and then there’s a huge THUMP on the side of the hull by my head as a wave hits us from a random angle, but there’s nothing we can do about those. But this time, slowing down would mean putting ourselves in potentially rougher weather in a few days, so I gave instructions to “keep at least 5 knots boat speed, but don’t break anything!”. With a scrap of genoa out (too windy for the storm jib) we charged through the night with the wind on the beam. Lots of wind usually means big waves, and big waves from the side are not good – there’s a risk that a large one could roll the boat. As the wind hadn’t been blowing for long, the seas had yet to grow large or steep. We managed to make good speed while I kept a close eye on how the waves were building. No way I could sleep in conditions like this. For a couple of hours when it was windiest, we did roll in the genoa, slow down and head towards the waves – but otherwise Rafiki pushed on, dealing with conditions brilliantly.

The wind and waves eased gradually through until dawn, and by the time the sun came up the sky was almost clear. We had a beautiful last day’s run into Coffs Harbour. Sun shining (but brr, chilly), flat water, 20 knots of breeze and a load of current helping us along. The sea was alive with dolphin, whale, fish skittering over the surface, and loads of birds. I kept looking at the land on the horizon, not quite able to believe that this is the other side of the Pacific. A new continent, not just another island. Over 8,000 miles from Mexico, a third of the way around the planet! As we sailed over the top of New Zealand on our way from Tonga – traversing the whole country’s longitude without stopping – it reminded me of the distance we’ve covered. Chipping away bit by bit, just a hundred miles a day, it’s hard to retain a sense of scale – every mile of ocean looks the same. The cold down here is a sharp reminder that we’re now over 30 degrees south!

As soon as the anchor was down, out came the champagne! While the trip isn’t yet over, this definitely qualifies as the other side of the ocean. We made toasts to thank Neptune and Rafiki for safe passage, and soaked up the feeling of not going anywhere. My responsibilities as always-on offshore skipper were washed away with a nice cuppa, allowing three weeks of sleep deprivation to catch up with me. Tired, relieved, and happy not to have to face another bout of weather at sea, I slept a deep, blissful 15 hours through till this morning.

We can’t go ashore until Monday without paying quarantine overtime fees, so we’re anchored in the bay, sorting things out on the boat. Cleaning, tidying, oiling teak, baking bread, and trying our best to eat all the remaining forbidden foods that the ultra-strict quarantine are due to confiscate tomorrow.

Let’s hope they let us in to Australia!