QLD 2012 #2 Guano in NSW
reprinted from the Tasmanian Yachtsman - Spring 2012
In my last salty chapter about our northern winter sojourn we had ducked into Lake Macquarie to the hospitable welcome of the Marks Point marina guys and a more than reasonable rate for a mooring (at least by NSW standards) of fifty bucks a week, whilst I returned to Port Hedland to shunt the iron ore elephants around for a month.
Sadly, while we were away, Tubby (Golden Haze) ended up with some unwanted tenants. Six weeks of assorted bird life feasting away on every bit of deck space has left Tubby looking a sad and sorry sight. The left over bits and pieces of bones layered in guano reminded me of the aftermath of a post Pipe Opener party at ‘Three Finger Ted’s’ restaurant in Barnes Bay a number of years ago. Ted’s sliced off digits, lovingly preserved by the restaurateur in a bottle of formaldehyde and brought out on occasion to shock the clients ended up implanted in our then Commodore’s nose. That wasn’t pretty either, but that’s another story. So Vic now has a summer job lined up driving the paint brush. Every inch of the old girl (Tubby not Vic) is so badly stained that a new coat of paint is the only option. So, coupled with a flat starter battery and a duly re-tensioned fan belt, leg two of our winter tour can only improve.
Having said that, we spent an extremely uncomfortable day north bound, banging around in a 30 plus knot southerly with the attendant 5 metre swells, in an attempt to wash some of the guano off the foredeck (at least that’s what I told Vic) and still the stains remain! Discretion being the better part of valour I even opted for harnesses after one particularly ambitious wave tried to join me in the cockpit for the breakfast of champions; beer and barbeque shapes. With Vic enjoying some 2 day old roast chicken (never a good look) for the second time round, there weren’t a lot of breakfast options that day.
Port Stephens, our next port of call and a chance to wash the salt off turned up in short order with the boat averaging up around eight knots for the 35 mile passage. Arnold, the auto pilot, who has subsequently been renamed Fonzi coz he’s way too cool to be called Arnold, set the boat speed record for the day at 9.9 knots. Now anyone who knows Tubby, weighing in at a matronly 18 tonnes, will appreciate that this boat does not surf. The old girl reached this phenomenal speed falling into the trough of one of the larger waves that wandered by that day.
So, with a forecast for more of the same we have decided to enjoy the charms of Port Stephens for the next few days, kicking off with a couple of hours in Nelson Bay to resupply. D’albora operate the marina here and kindly supplied us with a hospitality berth for a few hours. While there are also three or four free casual berths at the public wharf these seemed to be pretty tightly held by a couple of sea gypsies at the time. But we aren’t here for the bright lights although Nelson Bay is a delightful place to drop into.
With the galley restocked and the salty decks washed down we cast off in search of their equivalent of Fortescue and I’d have to admit that Fame Cove on the northern side of the harbour turned out to be a pretty and secluded little anchorage. It was even calm enough to allow me the enviable task of donning the wet suit and hopping in to remove the genoa sheet tail from the prop. In good old traditional fashion I’d blame the for’d hand for this overboard oversight except she’d probably take a swing at me if did so I guess, as usual, I’m the idiot.
I thought I’d spotted Jack Chesterman, who is also north bound, on the other side of the bay so wandered over to say g’day only to find Chris and Dave, a couple of locals out for a day sail on a sister ship to Jack’s. In due course and over a wine or three we managed to wangle an invite for dinner and a shower (our hot water system has just died and I’m starting to smell like a pom) at their place the following day in exchange for a story or two about cruising and a pep talk from Vic to Chris about the joys of girls going to sea. Suffice to say I think we’ll see them in Tassie soon.
Sadly, while we were away, Tubby (Golden Haze) ended up with some unwanted tenants. Six weeks of assorted bird life feasting away on every bit of deck space has left Tubby looking a sad and sorry sight. The left over bits and pieces of bones layered in guano reminded me of the aftermath of a post Pipe Opener party at ‘Three Finger Ted’s’ restaurant in Barnes Bay a number of years ago. Ted’s sliced off digits, lovingly preserved by the restaurateur in a bottle of formaldehyde and brought out on occasion to shock the clients ended up implanted in our then Commodore’s nose. That wasn’t pretty either, but that’s another story. So Vic now has a summer job lined up driving the paint brush. Every inch of the old girl (Tubby not Vic) is so badly stained that a new coat of paint is the only option. So, coupled with a flat starter battery and a duly re-tensioned fan belt, leg two of our winter tour can only improve.
Having said that, we spent an extremely uncomfortable day north bound, banging around in a 30 plus knot southerly with the attendant 5 metre swells, in an attempt to wash some of the guano off the foredeck (at least that’s what I told Vic) and still the stains remain! Discretion being the better part of valour I even opted for harnesses after one particularly ambitious wave tried to join me in the cockpit for the breakfast of champions; beer and barbeque shapes. With Vic enjoying some 2 day old roast chicken (never a good look) for the second time round, there weren’t a lot of breakfast options that day.
Port Stephens, our next port of call and a chance to wash the salt off turned up in short order with the boat averaging up around eight knots for the 35 mile passage. Arnold, the auto pilot, who has subsequently been renamed Fonzi coz he’s way too cool to be called Arnold, set the boat speed record for the day at 9.9 knots. Now anyone who knows Tubby, weighing in at a matronly 18 tonnes, will appreciate that this boat does not surf. The old girl reached this phenomenal speed falling into the trough of one of the larger waves that wandered by that day.
So, with a forecast for more of the same we have decided to enjoy the charms of Port Stephens for the next few days, kicking off with a couple of hours in Nelson Bay to resupply. D’albora operate the marina here and kindly supplied us with a hospitality berth for a few hours. While there are also three or four free casual berths at the public wharf these seemed to be pretty tightly held by a couple of sea gypsies at the time. But we aren’t here for the bright lights although Nelson Bay is a delightful place to drop into.
With the galley restocked and the salty decks washed down we cast off in search of their equivalent of Fortescue and I’d have to admit that Fame Cove on the northern side of the harbour turned out to be a pretty and secluded little anchorage. It was even calm enough to allow me the enviable task of donning the wet suit and hopping in to remove the genoa sheet tail from the prop. In good old traditional fashion I’d blame the for’d hand for this overboard oversight except she’d probably take a swing at me if did so I guess, as usual, I’m the idiot.
I thought I’d spotted Jack Chesterman, who is also north bound, on the other side of the bay so wandered over to say g’day only to find Chris and Dave, a couple of locals out for a day sail on a sister ship to Jack’s. In due course and over a wine or three we managed to wangle an invite for dinner and a shower (our hot water system has just died and I’m starting to smell like a pom) at their place the following day in exchange for a story or two about cruising and a pep talk from Vic to Chris about the joys of girls going to sea. Suffice to say I think we’ll see them in Tassie soon.
