Well… it appears I’ve become a rather neglectful blogger!
I’ve been having far too much fun learning how to post videos of our sailing adventures on Instagram. Avery, together with their partner Julz (whose dog-training account halen_thesableshepherd has become hugely successful), have appointed themselves my social media managers. They’ve patiently taught this old sea dog how to put together short videos that, hopefully, give a much better glimpse into life aboard Stars End 2 than pages of photographs ever could.
The bonus is that I’m no longer filling my blog with endless media files, and if I can eventually work out how to link the videos directly to my blog, I’ll be positively dangerous! The videos also appear on my Facebook page, but if you haven’t stumbled across them yet, you can find me on Instagram as Nikkiloolah.
Meanwhile, our son Michael—whose very popular YouTube channel, Micington, documents the painstaking rebuild of his 25-foot Bertram powerboat—has been telling me for years that I should start a YouTube channel of my own. Given the surprisingly enthusiastic response my little Instagram videos have already received, and the steadily growing number of followers and views, this little mumma is becoming ridiculously excited by the possibility!
Where all this social media adventure might lead, I honestly have no idea. At the moment I’m busily filming little snippets of our daily life afloat, although it has to be said they’re consuming Starlink data almost as quickly as I can buy it.
So, while I continue my unexpected apprenticeship as a content creator, here’s a catch-up on what we’ve been up to since my last blog, when we were once again sitting out another weather front in the Sandy Straits.
All rugged up to go sailing
Whether it’s global warming or simply changing weather patterns, Frank and I certainly aren’t the only cruisers who feel the weather has changed over the years.
When Frank and I cruised Australia’s east coast back in 1983 aboard our much-loved little 30-foot Stars End 1, there seem to be far more strong fronts and volatile conditions.
Since leaving Brisbane in June we’ve felt as though we’ve been sailing from one weather window to the next… waiting out fronts in Moreton Bay, then Mooloolaba, and then again in the Sandy Straits.
The large bay at the top of Urangan
After our son and his family headed home, we spent another peaceful week anchored off Kingfisher Resort. Once the rain eased and the wind finally behaved itself, we moved to a lovely shallow bay north-west of Urangan in Hervey Bay, where we could tuck in close to shore with excellent protection from the persistent south-easterlies.
The following morning we finally pointed Stars End 2 north.
Our original plan was to sail only as far as Bundaberg, but the wind had other ideas. It pushed us along so beautifully that somewhere along the way we looked at each other and thought, “Why stop?” Instead we kept going, committing ourselves to an overnight sail all the way to Great Keppel Island—a healthy little hop of about 150 nautical miles.
It was our first overnight passage in many years and, initially, the conditions were ideal.
Sunset
Frank carefully checking the container ships movements
I’d managed an hour or so of sleep around 11pm, but was lying awake trying unsuccessfully to drift off again when I heard an almighty commotion on deck.
I flew outside to find Frank wrestling with the mainsail.
Without warning the wind had shifted, the mainsail back-winded before crashing violently across in an accidental gybe. Because we’d been sailing downwind with the boom well out, Frank had rigged a preventer line as a safety measure. Thankfully it did exactly what it was meant to do—at least long enough for him to release it—but not before the tremendous loads bent one of the stainless steel stanchions and tried to launch our liferaft overboard. One of the deck eye bolts holding the liferaft snapped clean off, while the mainsheet traveller swept across the cockpit and neatly shredded the rolled-up shade awnings I’d so carefully rolled up.
Still… nothing that couldn’t be repaired.
Or so we thought.
Barely half an hour later Frank noticed something far more concerning on the AIS. Two enormous container ships heading for Gladstone were converging, and unfortunately we were the filling in the sandwich.
Turning to port wasn’t an option because of the shallows. Turning to starboard would have placed us directly in front of one of the ships.
Frank repeatedly called them on the radio but neither responded. Instead, Gladstone Port Control came on the radio to suggest that we should alter course.
Well… that settled that.
We gybed the sails, fired up the engine and diverted about sixty degrees to safely clear both ships. Once the excitement subsided we settled back into our night watches, weaving our way around the steady stream of commercial shipping entering and leaving Gladstone.
Just another peaceful evening at sea!
Rosslyn Bay Marina
By mid-morning we dropped anchor at Great Keppel Island. It was a glorious sunny Saturday and there must have been thirty boats scattered across the bay. It felt wonderful to have made such a big leap north.
Unfortunately, by then Frank’s cold—which he’d picked up the previous week—had really taken hold. Congested, tired and generally feeling miserable, he spent the next few days taking life very quietly aboard while I happily pottered around him.
One unexpected delight has been rediscovering my art.
I’d packed a small collection of sketchbooks, pens and paints almost as an afterthought, and for the first time in years I’ve found myself happily sketching, doodling and painting whenever we have a quiet afternoon. I’d forgotten just how relaxing it is, and I think I’ve finally rediscovered my artistic mojo.
Our peaceful anchorage didn’t last long before yet another front appeared on the forecast, so we ducked the short eight nautical miles into Rosslyn Bay Marina to refuel, replenish supplies and let the weather do its thing.
The bent stanchion
Timing our arrival required a little planning, as we’d been warned there was barely a metre of water over the entrance at low tide. Thankfully we entered close to high water and still had no less than 4.3 metres beneath our keel—quite comforting when your yacht draws around 1.8 metres.
Because of our bowsprit and davits we were allocated a generous 14-metre berth. We were immediately impressed by how quiet and pleasant the marina was and happily accepted the bonus offer of paying for five nights while staying for seven.
With nowhere to rush off to, we finally tackled the ever-growing jobs list.
Finding someone to repair the bent stanchion was our first priority. After several phone calls Frank found a wonderfully obliging steel fabricator in Yeppoon who repaired it beautifully for a very reasonable price.
Frank hoisted by winch up the mast
Frank ready for a roast dinner
Then came the masthead light. I lost count of the number of times I winched Frank to the top of the mast while he removed, adjusted, tested and eventually replaced the light. Every marriage should include a healthy level of trust… especially when one partner is suspended sixty feet in the air!
He also rebuilt the toilet with new pumps, valves and seals, replaced ageing ropes and removed the saloon headlining so he could access and replace the eye bolts securing the liferaft.
My jobs were rather less technical.
Normally I stay on top of the washing by hand, doing a few pieces every couple of days and catching the cold water from the shower before it warms up.
However, after family had stayed aboard, we suddenly had lots of sheets, towels and bulky washing. I can safely say that hand-washing sheets and toweks on a yacht remains firmly on my list of least favourite cruising activities. The marina laundrette became my new best friend, and as often happens while cruising, I also came away with several lovely new acquaintances.
Rescue repairs
We caught the bus into Yeppoon a couple of times for groceries, and I spent a happy day cooking meals for the freezer, knowing our next leg towards the Whitsundays would involve some long sailing days.
By the time I’d finished we had Thai red curry, beef and lentil soup, beef massaman curry, enchiladas and Vietnamese ginger chicken all safely tucked away.
One luxury aboard Stars End 2 is our wonderfully large freezer. It proved invaluable during our eleven-week passage home from India, and with a well-stocked pantry full of herbs, spices and ingredients, I’d like to think we eat exceptionally well aboard. I still bake most of our own bread, and powdered milk works perfectly for the tiny amount we actually use.
We ended up extending our marina stay by another couple of days while the front blew itself out, but if I’m honest, both Frank and I always feel happiest back at anchor rather than tied to a pontoon.
So, at 5.30 on the morning of Thursday 22 July, we quietly slipped our lines in the dark, timed our departure with the tide to ensure enough water beneath the keel, and pointed Stars End 2 towards the Whitsundays.
Finally…
We were on our way again!
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