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August 12, 2000

Solomons to Australia voyage - Update #25

Lat/Long as of 19.45 hrs local time
14 degs 39. 44 S
147 degs 18. 25’E

Day 26. Wind SE 25-30 knots. Heading: N/A

It was three and half-hours later. Jason had finished his shift with disastrous results. Continuous heavy seas and 25-30 knot winds had gained him 8 miles west with only 0.75 miles made good south. At that rate within 48 we would impale ourselves on the Great Barrier Reef. Jason made the decision to deploy the sea anchor. This devise - essentially a parachute for water, designed to stabilize small boats and to create a lot of drag – would hopefully reduce our westerly drift. He crawled into the rear storage compartment to retrieve the anchor and its huge 100meter coiled rope. Please note here the quirkiness of rope. No matter how carefully it’s put away previously it has the innate ability to twist and knot itself between uses. This rope was no different and lay in a twisted heap on the floor of the boat. After 20 minutes of de-tangling and searching for ends we were finally ready.

Two ropes maintain the sea anchor. One is thick and heavy to help sink the chute beneath the disruptive action of the waves and attached by way of the stern to keep the boat end on to the sea. The other rope – a lightweight polypropylene line attached to the farthest end of the chute – is designed to float on the surface of the water and be used to collapse the chute thereby allowing it to be hauled back in. As we deployed the anchor through the open hatch, my job was to feed the retrieval rope at the same proportion as Jason controlled the stern rope. As a kid I’ve handled livestock with ropes – so what’s a little sea anchor? The farther the anchor got from the boat, it would sometimes lay very quiet, then sometimes take off wildly. My complacency got the best of me. With only a two and a half-foot margin of error left in my hands the anchor took off. The rope sizzled through my fingers, slamming my hands into the oar I was braced against. Stunned, I watched the trailing end disappear over the side into the waves. Jason said however that all was not lost. He still controlled the stern end that kept the anchor attached to the boat, but my lax in concentration would now make the anchor very difficult to pull in.

The last step was to re-attach the main rope to the stern. In the darkness of the night and the wildness of the sea (sound familiar?) Jason made his way to the end of the boat to wrap things up. Finally back inside, soaking wet and exhausted, we could let the sea anchor do its job. No pedaling tonight. Once in place the anchor drastically reduced our drift west and we could look forward to a relatively decent night’s sleep – though still taking it in 3 hourly shifts to sleep in the forward compartment. I would worry about hauling in the anchor from the one that got away. Another day.

April

Most current update (as of 2200 hrs local time 12th August)
We’ve had the sea anchor out for 24 hours now, drifting slowly but surely at a rate of 0.85 knots towards the Great Barrier Reef, now only 70 nms away. With the entrance to the Grafton Passage still more than 110 miles away, the situation is beginning to not look good The wind is forecast to continue at its current strength until Monday when a shift to the ESE and a reduction in speed to 15 knots will help to give us a window to drive south again. But by this time we will be too near the reef to still entertain plans of making it to Cairns. Cooktown to the north is the next option, but there’s no easy way to make it through the reef anywhere nearby – the chart indicates “Unsurveyed water” meaning that you just don’t go there, not least in a pedal boat.

We spoke to Kenny this morning by satellite phone. He’d just arrived safely into Cairns from London to prepare for our arrival and film for the documentary. Having spoken to a few folks there in the know, it seems as if the reef has all sorts of problems associated with it: the tides (we’re coming up to a full moon), inter-reef currents, submerged coral heads etc. Basically we don’t want to try and get through on our own.

At least we’re buying time by having the sea anchor out: for Kenny to accumulate local knowledge, contacts and to arrange for a support boat to come out from either Cairns or Cooktown; and for us here on Moksha to see if the wind calms down and we get a last minute reprieve from the Coral Sea to let us pass. As I write this (2200 hrs – pitch black outside) the sea is the most angry I’ve ever experienced it. Every 10 seconds a wave will break over the stern, submerging the entire vessel. There was a Booby sheltering on the deck behind my head just a minute ago, but it seems the last wave washed it away. There was the roar and hiss of the wave, a muffled squawk and then nothing more. Even with all the hatches sealed water is still managing to find its way in. The wind is howling in fury and Moksha yaws and lunges on the anchor line as if trying to escape. God what a ride. It’s actually quite frightening at times. April is huddled in the sleeping compartment as I write this, oblivious – for a few hours at least – of the hellish nightmare going on outside. No other way to put it folks. This is a bloody nightmare.

Jason

Posted on August 12, 2000 2:56 PM