After the somewhat extensive work that we completed on the interior of Emigre during July 2020, it was time to sail her from Port Geographe Marina in Busselton, Western Australia to her new home at the Fremantle Sailing Club in Fremantle, Western Australia.
With the refit taking longer than expected (which is very common for these type of things) , and my university course starting up again post COVID 19 lockdown, time was not on my side.
Any experienced yachtsman will tell you that you should never put to sea under time constraints as you’re guaranteed to have bad weather. This, I can confirm, is absolutely true…
The trip from Busselton to Fremantle is approximately 97 nautical miles, almost due North. The passage takes you up the western Australian coast, passing 10 or so nautical miles west of the city of Bunbury before heading towards Garden Island, a military island south west of Fremantle.
The weather forecast for the trip was for winds up to 20 knots, not over, from the south south west, with swell less than three meters. I had my good friend, past crew member, and experienced sailor Paul on board to keep me company.
We left Port Geographe Marina at 0030hrs after topping off our fuel and water tanks, After turning passing the last channel marker, we pointed Emigre’s bow north and sailed towards Fremantle with two reefs in the main, staysail and number three headsail. After an hour or so, our progress slowed to a crawl with the wind easing so we decided to raise the full mainsail.
As we got further offshore, the wind (and rain) steadily increased until we were in 15 knots of breeze with a full main and staysail. By this point I furled away the headsail. It was a comfortable ride despite the confused seas caused by the tail end of the previous week’s strong northerly front converging with the south westerly swells. Anyhow, the Raymarine ST4000 tiller pilot was steering and all was well.
0400hrs. I’m alone on deck while Paul takes a well earned rest. The rain becomes heavier, I can sense something building however I didnt want to wake Paul. The wind builds from 20 knots to 35+ knots in an instant, swells now standing tall (around 5 m) in the relatively shallow water. The waves are now foaming violently at the crests and spitting green water into the cockpit. The rain is now horizontal, hitting my face like a high pressure hose. Thankfully I was wearing my wet weather trousers, jacket and sea boots. I disengaged the autopilot and took the tiller. It was beeping madly in panic mode! I brought the yacht almost bow into the wind and swell. The wind and swell picked up another 5-10knots. Paul (miraculously) didn’t wake despite the flogging sails, and waves crashing over the decks. I call below and wake up Paul, asking him to come up on deck. “we need to lose this main or we’re going to lose the mast” were the words I used at the time as far as my memory serves.
I too the mainsheet in one and the tiller in the other and attempted to strike a balance between flogging the mainsail to pieces by sailing too close hauled or losing the mast and rigging over the side by powering up the mainsail too much. Paul donned his primitive wet weathers and attempted to make his way to the cockpit. The wind was howling as paul slowly climbed past me and made his way to the aft end of the cockpit. A green wave easily clears the windward gunwale, drenching paul.
We sat in the cockpit for the next 10 mins, alone in this tiny boat in the pitch black. We were only 20 miles or so offshore but it felt as if we could have been anywhere. We were all on our own. After 10 mins, we discussed whether the squall looked like it was going to stop any time soon and agreed that it didn’t look like it was going to let up. Paul took the tiller while i went forward, tethered to the webbing jack-lines while crawling along the deck.
Wave after wave cascaded over the decks as I made my way forward to the mast. 50% of my effort was trying not to fall overboard, the other 50% was trying not to pack my dacks!
Once I reached the mast, Paul eased the mainsheet and I wound the mainsail down , furling it around the furling boom. Once the headboard of the sail reached the boom, I realised that I had furled the sail the wrong way, meaning that the ratchet style lock on the fuller wouldn’t engage, allowing the sail to unroll. I quickly realised re-hoisting the main would be near impossible so I used whatever ropes were swinging around the base of the mast to securely lash the furling handle in place. Then i made the slow crawl back to the cockpit.
Paul swung the nose around and put Emigre back on her course, now powered by the tiny self tacking staysail. (About the same size as the storm jib). We were sailing at a constant 8-9 knots, even faster when surfing down the waves.
After the last half an hour of excitement we were cold, wet and exhausted so we decided to reset the autopilot, put the washboard back in and put the kettle on. The two burner stove warmed the boat up in no time and we enjoyed a cup of extra strong Yorkshire proper black tea.
For most of the remainder of the the trip, we kept watch from inside the cabin, sitting on the companionway steps or on top of the chart table, bracing ourselves against the sink. We looked out the pilothouse windows and occasionally removed the top washboard to closely inspect the horizon. Emigre rocked and rolled in the short steep swells while we made sure to keep a firm grip on something solid to stop us from flying across the cabin.
Once day broke, we could see the squalls coming towards us, you could just about time the next one with your watch. 5 minutes before it would hit, I would go on deck and furl in the number three headsail which was set reefed and poled out on the starboard side. Just as I closed the wash board, the squall would hit with rain and wind significantly increasing. The wind hovered steady around the 30-35knot mark. After 30-45mins, the squall would die and I’d go back on deck and reset the headsail on the pole to suit the 20-25knots across the decks.
As we rounded the starboard marker at the entrance to challenger passage, around eight miles from our destination, we removed the spinnaker pole, furled the headsail and motor sailed up the passage with the staysail.
We pulled into the pen at 1900hrs and made a beeline for for the bar, enjoying a well earned cold beer and dinner.
Despite the rough conditions, Paul and I both loved the trip and look forward to doing it again soon. Emigre performed exceptionally and not at any stage did either of us feel unsafe. It’s trips like these that make me appreciate what a great boat she is. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be out there in a production beneteau, jeanneau, catalina, hanse, bavaria, etc.
Bring on the southern ocean!
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