Tell Tales - The Sailing Adventures of Norlee

TELL TALES

The Sailing Adventures of Norlee

by

Diana Neggo and Rob Manning

© 2012

SMASHWORDS EDITION

ETEXT PRESS PUBLISHING

PO Box 3488, Joondalup,

Western Australia, 6097

Australia

etextpress@optusnet.com.au

www.etextpress.com

TELL TALES

The Sailing Adventures of Norlee

Version 1.0

AN ETEXT PRESS BOOK

ISBN: 978-1-921968-43-3

This edition published at eText Press 2012.

Copyright © Diana Neggo and Rob Manning 2012

Diana Neggo and Rob Manning have asserted their rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 and any and all other applicable international copyright laws to be identified as the sole authors of this original work.

This eBook (electronic book) is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade, transmission or otherwise, be redistributed, sold or hired, without the publisher’s prior written consent. Further, this eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by the applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

CONTENTS

Introduction

Chapter 1 Beginnings

Chapter 2 The Great Australian Bight and South Australia

Chapter 3 Hello Victoria

Chapter 4 Sydney

Chapter 5 Clarence River to Ballina

Chapter 6 Queensland

Chapter 7 Moranbah

Chapter 8 Breaking free and heading north at last

Chapter 9 Back home

Chapter 10 City living – Brisbane

Chapter 11 Another motley crew

Chapter 12 Seisia to Gove 360 miles in 60 hours

Chapter 13 Darwin in July and Kimberly cruising

Chapter 14 The long way home

Chapter 15 The last leg

Prologue

INTRODUCTION

Sailing has been a preoccupation for both Diana and Rob since they were first married way back in 1992. Sunday afternoons were spent pounding the rattling boards of yacht club jetties looking for the right boat; something not too small and not too big. The Court 750 at South of Perth Yacht Club (SPYC) looked tidy, the broker was young and enthusiastic, and before long, they were making plans to sail her back to their river mooring on the Swan right out front of The East Fremantle Yacht Club (EFYC). Now this is a sail of some 5 or 6 miles along a mostly benign river with the only challenge being the odd sand bank. They approached it as you would a rounding of Cape Horn. There were sleepless nights, anxious mornings and stomachs thick with butterflies.

They pushed off from SPYC and into 5 knots of fierce wind with seas noisily lapping inches above the waterline. Hours later, they tied up to the mooring outside EFYC and toasted their first successful voyage. They had made it. What relief. Little did they know that this tiny sail was to be the first of many voyages on yachts and in particular their circumnavigation of Australia. If someone had come on board after they pulled up at EFYC and said that one day you two will sail a yacht across to Sydney and in fact all the way around Australia they’d have told him, ya dreamin. Dreams, however, have a habit of coming true.

And so to Tell Tales.

This is a story of two people who set out to do something huge and who manage to pull it off. It’s also been told by two people. You will notice a change in font style as the voices of Diana and Rob take over the story. Diana’s story is told in ‘normal’ format type like this and Rob’s version of the truth appears in italics. On the rare occasions that the two authors have penned the words together, and for editions of The SV Norlee News, those sections are set in bold type.

With the two voices comes two different personalities and so two different perspectives on the whole experience. It’s these dual perspectives that provides a certain tension throughout the book and which opens a private door into the realities of this often idealised cruising life. There were tears along the way and some of those for joy. There were friendships made that will last a lifetime and there would be genuine fear as lightening boomed 50 metres from the boat half way across the Great Australian Bight. But there would also be discovery of the most exquisite kind.

So, sit back and enjoy the journey as Rob, Diana and Motley the ship’s cat set out to sail Australia in their trusty Norlee.

A map of Australia’s coastline showing the Norlee’s journey

CHAPTER 1

BEGINNINGS

I glanced up from the navigation table and caught sight of Rob’s face. In the waning light, it had a greenish grey sheen, but it was the look in his eyes that stopped me in my tracks. Rob, Mike and I had left Hamlin Bay late in the afternoon hoping that the southwester would drop and give us a nice trip around the notorious Cape Leeuwin on the evening easterly. Well that was the theory. As we headed south towards the cape, the wind picked up and blew relentlessly from the south. It gradually dawned on us as the sun slipped to the horizon that we were in for it. Hamlin Bay was not a place we wanted to sail back to in the dark, navigating our way through a maze of rocks lying in wait just below the water’s surface. We felt we had to push on and hope for the best.

The wind held steady at around 30 knots, it blew exactly from where we were heading, and seemingly, in partnership, the waves rose and started to crash on Norlee’s bow, rolling in white barrels towards the stern. I was so glad to have Mike on-board. He was a rock with the uncanny ability of remaining calm and optimistic despite any condition. Between us we navigated and cooked for the next three days while Rob remained doggedly on the helm too sea sick to go below deck. Rob clung to the wheel, hour after hour, water streaming from his face and through his wet weather gear as the Indian Ocean dumped bucket load after bucket load of seawater into his face. This face spoke to me of abject misery. My heart contracted. This was not the champagne cruise I had dreamt of.

The dream had probably started for me as a child when I consumed books such as Robinson Crusoe, The Swiss Family Robinson, and writers such as Thor Hyerdel and later Kay Cottee. I thought that perhaps the dream would take the form of building my own house, growing my own food, having a few chooks and being self-sufficient, but my Dad had also planted the sailing seed. As a twelve year old, he taught me how to handle our old clinker built cadet dinghy, Scylla. The three of us, Mum, Dad and I would tack, gybe and weave our way around the Swan River during Perth’s long summer days. Mum, a determined, yet nervous sailor never forgave me for gybing the boat suddenly. She claimed she fell off the boat, but I suspect she jumped and felt a lot safer in the green waters of the Swan.

Sailing took a back seat in my life for many years, years, which were filled with study, children, a failed marriage and a new career and relationship. An opportunity presented for a crewing position on Dunrobin, a 22ft yacht sailing with an all-female crew from Royal Perth Yacht Club. The flickering pilot light of adventure had been ignited. A country posting and a two-year sojourn in Japan where I married Rob seemed to satisfy the need for adventure and again placed sailing in the background. On our return to Perth in September 1992, it became obvious there was a gap that needed filling. We started doing jetty crawls, an affliction that affects most boating people. Jetty crawling involves walking up and down these long wooden walkways in a desperate search for that yacht you saw in the broker’s window. Meanwhile, you breathe in the salty air, the wind gently ruffles your hair and your eyes seem drawn to the jagged horizon just over the sea wall. It’s the stuff of dreams. I am sure bored landlubbers, after having done their Sunday jetty crawl, can actually taste the fresh crayfish and the chilled chardonnay and feel the warm glow from the sunset seen on anchor in some remote island far away. To jetty crawl is to drift pass boats that quietly sing their siren song of seduction; why don’t you step aboard, untie my lines and I will take you wherever your heart desires...

Before Rob knew what had hit him, we were the proud owners of Chardonnay, a 24ft Court. Six years of racing around the river taught both of us much about sailing, but there was more to be made of this life than sailing circles around the Swan River. Then Cruising Helmsman came into our life. It’s a magazine that relates stories of people who have thrown off their mooring lines and gone cruising. The Cruising Helmsman is often the source of much jetty crawling. Our fate was sealed and the pilot light of a dream ignited into the flame of an idea. We were going to go cruising!

Harmony, a Viking 30, was the next stepping-stone in our journey. We thought we could transform this river racer with its spongy deck, lightweight rigging, and limited stowage into a cruising boat. It only took us eighteen months to realise our folly. Harmony would only ever be suitable for day sails and the occasional longer journey to Rottnest Island, a popular destination some 13 nautical miles off Fremantle or maybe even Geographe Bay, a sailing haven a hundred miles south of Fremantle.

I am a great believer in fate and resigned to the fact that I am just a leaf in the wind, going where the wind dictates. Norlee came into our life on a Saturday morning at a family function. During an inevitable lull in the conversation, Rob piped up and said, I’ve found the boat of our dreams

Funny about that, so have I! I quickly added.

Separately, we had perused the paper and found the same advertisement.

"NORLEE S&S 39 THE BEST IN AUSTRALIA 130 000 ono"

We were a bit daunted by the price, but what the hell; it couldn’t hurt to have a look. It was time for a jetty crawl. In no time we were down on C Jetty at Fremantle Sailing Club hoping for a meeting with the owner. We found Norlee and we were in awe of her elegant lines, her size and ‘I mean business" demeanour. We were in love. However, the owner failed to show, so, despite a sneak peak though the hatch (it was unlocked…) we reluctantly walked away. It really wasn’t meant to be and anyway, she was way beyond our means. As we dejectedly walked back along the jetty, I spotted a figure hurrying towards us. It had to be...yes it was the owner. Maybe this was meant to be. He didn’t have to sell the boat to us, we sold it for him. Down below Norlee did not disappoint, with her polished teak, beautiful galley and fresh upholstery. The owner had spent $70,000 refurbishing her only to have a change of heart and a different goal in mind. Our only problem now was how we were going to afford this beautiful vessel. To every problem, there is a solution and the solution was to move on board, rent out our house and continue to work for two years until we had paid her off. Within a week of signing over the papers, we were moving on board and starting a new phase of our life.

FAST FORWARD TWO YEARS

Someone once said parting is such sweet sorrow; boy did he get that wrong. Leaving to sail around Australia involves a great deal of parting and it builds in intensity the closer you get to the day of departure. Work colleagues continually ask the same question, So when are you actually leaving at about the rate of 10 a day. They don’t know that you have just passed another colleague in the corridor who asked exactly the same question. You reply, oh, when the weather forecast sounds right, probably around Boxing Day. Christ, you mutter to yourself, if one more person asks that… and then, right on cue…

Rob, hey... when do you reckon you’ll head off then?

Leaving family is when the sorrow really starts to bite. We decided to head off on Boxing Day and so Christmas Day was, to say the least, interesting. The usual Christmas banter was tinged with a melancholy that was so obvious it took on a physical presence. Mournful looks, pensive sighs and sudden outbreaks of tears gave our last family Christmas that special feel. One of the more telling moments, lost on most, was when Gaida, Diana’s mother gave us both inflatable life vests for Christmas presents. Gee, I hope we never have to use them, I pondered, trying to fit the bright orange harness on and failing dismally. Gaida and her husband, Olaf, drove us down to Norlee after our final goodbyes at the Christmas do. I now know how the condemned feel as they hug their families for the last time. Did I mention the thing about parting and sorrow? I’ll never forget the look on Gaida and Olaf’s faces as we waved them goodbye. It was then that the reality of what we were about to do really struck. Olaf’s last words spoke to us as only a true sailor could. I asked if he had any final words of wisdom. He was a man who always had plenty, and he said with typical sagacity Always keep a weather eye about. It is a simple maxim but it’s one that probably saved our lives on more occasions than we know. That was the last time either of us would see Olaf alive.

Next morning arrived and we were keen to get going early. Perth summer mornings have a softness to them that is lost by about 10 o’clock. The light is new and the colour rich. The wind is gentle and makes for a good feeling about starting a journey. Motor on, hatches closed, things stowed and we were ready to go. Diana was backing us out and I was in charge of the lines. My job was to pull them through the rings on the jetty and they should have come slipping through with ease. They didn’t. The port side tangled on the mooring ring and the boat suddenly shot forward. Diana did her best to sort it out from the helm and I sorted out the mess on the bow. In our seesawing, we managed to scrape Norlee’s top sides along the razor sharp barnacles on the pylons marking the entrance to the pen. I could see the shavings of gel coat from the bow and my mood suddenly darkened. I was at breaking point already and this was just what I needed. Being a little obsessive compulsive about Norlee’s pristine condition didn’t help, but it was like the last straw. SHIT! What are we doing I asked myself? Are we really going to sail to Sydney? Well God help us because we cannot even get out of the friggin pen!

Well we got out eventually and leaving Challenger Harbour was one of those big moments. Diana had the video camera rolling but I was not really in documentary mode so to speak. To push out through the sea wall entrance with a cool 9000 miles to sail before we could steer Norlee back through the same entrance is a thought too big to digest. You just do it. You do not think of how far there is to go. You only think about the next anchorage and slowly, mile by mile, you make your way. Norlee seemed to pick up the idea that this was the big one, this time she wouldn’t be slotted back into her safe little pen and that this time they were serious. She lifted her bow and as the south easterly filled the sails, we pointed her south to Challenger Passage and our circumnavigation of Australia had begun.

For me, the idea of sailing around Australia had a kind of its crazy but why not feel to it. I had recently been reading an interview with David Malouf, a highly respected Australian writer. In it, he stated that the one thing we have as humans is the capacity to step off in to the unknown, to move from where we feel comfortable and to experience the thrill of the new. It’s something that I thought more and more about and it gave some shape to this almost instinctual urge never get too comfortable, too complacent with life. So, here we were, leaving family, secure jobs, comfortable house, beloved dog (so long Charlie girl), friends and the routine of a normal life to live in a space not much bigger than some peoples’ bathrooms and to journey across seas that had claimed lives of sailors much more experienced than us. It’s an awesome thought and the sheer audacity still brings a smile to my face. It was a smile, however, that could quickly fade to a look of grim despair and anger. All journeys allow for moments of discovery. Cook, Flinders and Baudin were preoccupied with finding land and securing great chunks of it for their imperialist masters. Our discoveries were often going to be personal and sometimes painful as we pushed our little yacht across unknown waters, tested our limited sailing skills and exposed the strength of the fabric that made up our marriage. To say I had mixed feelings as we motored out of Challenger Harbour is an understatement. Really, what the hell were we thinking?

THE "SV NORLEE" NEWS

Well we are feeling a lot more like yachty cruisers now. We are here in Hamelin Bay just 10 miles north of Cape Leeuwin waiting for the right weather window to get us around this nasty bit of coast and around to Albany. We have been here for a couple of days in this beautiful sheltered bay, safely anchored and enjoying the clear water and white sandy beach. The wind has been strongly from the SW so we are happy to just wait it out.

Our journey here was interesting to say the least. Talk about baptism of fire, or should I say wind and water. We left Busselton about 2am with a perfect weather report which would give us moderate winds on the beam. (Every yachties dream) Unfortunately the 7.30am report gave us a different story 28 knots right from the direction we wanted to go. As conditions got stronger we reefed the sail and put on the motor to make better headway. We had taken our Stugeron (Thanks Chris) and the tummies were handling it all well. Norlee was magnificent and handled the conditions beautifully, punching through the heavy seas and making good progress. Doing anything below was a major chore as everything was sliding everywhere. I had to laugh when the oranges I was cutting for our breakfast just slid away from me like kids on a slide. Being on the helm was great fun but it reminded me of those old windjammer movies where buckets of water are chucked over the actors to appear as if they were at sea. After about thirteen hours of bashing we were only a few miles away from Hamelin, but our adventure wasn’t over yet. Let’s throw in a motor that is sounding like it is going to self-destruct and is working as a beautiful central heating system. Here is the scenario… 30+ knots of wind, 2m seas, an unknown anchorage, no motor and wind blowing right where we wanted to go. Blood pressure was off the dial. We tacked back and forth trying to get our bearings and eventually worked out the best entry, dropped the anchor and breathed a huge sigh of relief. The bay was beautifully sheltered and the people on shore were probably wondering what we were doing out there going back and forth. We were so exhausted that we couldn’t even eat dinner, but scoffed a bit of cheese and several beers to steady our nerves.

Luckily the motor is OK. It was something quite simple that Rob had a spare for so we didn’t, as I imagined, have to face buying a new motor or sailing all the way back to Busselton for repairs. Morale was at low ebb there for a while but now we are well rested and looking forward to the next leap…well I am, Cape Leeuwin, one of the great capes of the world.

Diana & Rob

5/1/02

BUSSELTON TO HAMELIN BAY

I hate middle-of-the-night departures but I really couldn’t complain about this one.

Once over that claggy feeling where body and mind are saying, "Why are you dragging me out of this warm comfortable bed?" I began to notice the beauty of the full moon, its reflections dancing off the waves and the freshness of the untainted sea air. This was really it! We were now pushing into unfamiliar territory and rounding Cape Naturalist, the first of many, many capes. Spirits were high as the sun peeped over the horizon and the gently rolling swells caressed Norlee’s flanks. Breakfast was the basic tea and toast. We still had lots to learn about living and working on a moving platform. As we rounded the cape, the wind picked up and we found that we were sailing hard into the wind. That means of course that everything is at an extreme angle, with objects below deck rattling and banging as they adjust themselves into their new resting places. The unsecured rubbish bin falls to the floor disgorging its contents, charts, pencils, rulers slide to the floor, and your food slithers unceremoniously into your lap.

Norlee was flying! The wind speed continued to climb and we hurtled past Cowaranup. She must have been putting on a good show as we picked up radio call from the shore.

"Yacht sailing south, yacht sailing south. This is Four Seasons Resort. You are looking great out there!"

Now anyone who compliments your boat is held dear, that is for sure! Unfortunately, although we might have been looking great, the head wind was driving us off shore and further away from our goal, Hamlin Bay. This bay was our first unknown entrance and studying the charts demonstrated that an entry with plenty of light to spare was a must. Therefore, mindful of our time constraints, we decided to put on the motor in order to be able to point higher into the wind and keep more to our desired track. This means however that Norlee pounds more into the waves and life aboard gets just that little bit harder. The motion of the boat intensifies and water starts to come over the deck. Norlee was pounding but doing well. Suddenly there was a horrible high-pitched shrieking from the motor and steam was pouring from coolant hoses. We cut the motor immediately and thought the worst.

We’ve cooked the motor, it’s back to Fremantle… I knew we weren’t ready for this…

We had to make a decision to either turn back or try to sail into Hamlin Bay without a motor. I don’t give up that easy and I suppose my stubborn streak will get me into trouble one day, but I couldn’t even entertain the thought of going back. Mike was with me but Rob wasn’t that sure. I knew that if we turned back now, in these early stages of the trip, self-doubt would engulf us and we wouldn’t go on.

Hamlin Bay wasn’t far off and when in sight we radioed the commercial fishing boats in the bay to alert them to our situation. They offered to stand by and help if needed. Our passage into the bay not only required a careful negotiation of outlying rocks, including the notorious Edith Rock that sits 1 metre above the water’s surface, but was also dead into the wind. For the uninitiated, sailing boats cannot sail straight into the wind but must tack backwards and forwards over their course to make headway. I was navigating using a GPS and paper charts and the process involved taking the coordinates off the GPS and plotting them onto the chart. This generally works very well and is very accurate, however, the complicating factor was this tacking backwards and forwards. We sailed past the bay several times before we had the courage to take the plunge. Norlee was screaming along at 7 knots so I could barely plot fast enough. We tried to spot Edith Rock and thought we had it.

Rob said, We’re going in!

I wasn’t confident. I kept getting disorientated and losing my place. My stomach was a knotted mess and I was sweating heavily into my wet weather gear as I poured over the chart and my GPS coordinates. We were tacking towards the shore now and I lost my bearings yet again.

I went up on deck in despair.

I just can’t DO this!

Rob said, Don’t worry I’ve got Edith Rock. It’s OK

I took a deep breath and thought I have to pull myself together. This is critical. I took yet another set of plots and looked at our track. I checked it again. We were heading STRAIGHT for Edith Rock without a doubt.

I yelled to Rob and Mike. We’re heading for the rock!

No it’s OK it’s way over there, they yelled over the wind.

I flung myself out of the cabin and insisted that they go to the bow and actually look ahead under the sail. There it was, not 50 meters away, a large flat moss covered rock waiting to take off our keel. Just in time we eased off and Edith Rock slipped away harmlessly to our starboard.

Before we knew it, we were out of the rough sea and wind, gliding into the most beautiful tranquil, turquoise bay. Under the guidance of the fishing boat skipper, we dropped anchor and Norlee was still. The emotion erupted then as I felt a huge sob erupt from deep within me. I flung my arms around Rob and Mike and wept.

On our departure, sailing friends of ours, Chris and Steph had given us a small survival package with the instructions To be opened in emergencies only. We ripped it open. Inside were a delicious chocolate and a small bottle of Wild Turkey whiskey, which we devoured on the spot. It was, in fact, our first proper leg of the journey and already we had used up our survival pack. I hoped the worst was behind us. In hindsight, perhaps we should have allowed for more than one survival pack.

THE "SV NORLEE" NEWS

Hamelin Bay to Albany

Departed Hamelin Bay Sunday 7th Jan 1800 hours

Arrive Albany 0300 hours Wednesday10th Jan

Time at sea 57 hours

Well this was the big one, so far anyway. We waited in Hamelin Bay for a weather window, monitoring the radio closely and in the meantime feasting on fresh Dhue Fish and crayfish supplied by Mark and Don Morrissey in Hamelin Bay caravan park. Motor problem was a self-destructing impeller on the water pump, throwing big chunks of rubber into the intake... not good but sorted. We pushed out from Hamelin as the South easterly looked like it was easing and when we turned to head up to Cape Leeuwin it sort of hadn't really eased at all. 25 ish knots and right on the nose all the way out to Geographe Reef and then further out to Cape Leeuwin. 10 hours later we finally rounded Cape bloody Leeuwin, and the old adage, a watched cape is never passed rings very true. Next we were becalmed. After bashing into it for about 14 hours we were stuck in the rolling swell of the Southern Ocean for about 4 hours.

Finally got under way and made reasonable speed towards the various Capes that dot the coastline towards Albany. Had a big ship encounter during the night. Saw the lights of a ship someway off and kept a close watch. It was getting closer and all we could see were its green (starboard) and red (port) lights which meant it was on our bearing and getting close. We tried the radio to alert the Captain but no response. Other ships were trying to raise them but no joy. Finally, with them only two miles off, Diana suggests we throw on our spreader lights (a big light on the mast that lights up the sail and deck). It turned Norlee into a ghostly galleon and the ship altered course immediately, probably out of sheer fear.

Fairly uneventful for most of Tuesday but the coastline down towards Albany is spectacular, especially as the sun sets. With about 60 miles to go to towards Albany, we hear on the radio a strong wind warning coming with an approaching front. Pressure is on to get into Albany before it hits. We do, after sailing around the outlying islands off Albany and its getting quite blowy. 0300 and it’s still dark so we hove to and wait for daylight before entering King George sound. We do and have a great sail up to the town jetty. We tie up to this rickety old jetty, take off wet weather gear and just begin to feel pretty chuffed about making it when the Ranger appears. Ah, Hi, he says, there are charges and it will cost you $6 per metre per day $6 for power and $3 for water. Total for one day $77 outrageous you say we agree. We are writing emails don’t you worry!!!!!

Wind begins to pick up and poor Norlee is being tortured on the lines that are holding her to the jetty. A local suggests we move to Ellen Cove, a sheltered anchorage near Middleton Beach. We do just that and drop the pick in paradise. Calm water. After a shower, a feed of fish and chips (very average) we go to sleep and sleep the sleep of the righteous, 14 hours of wonderful recuperative slumber.

King George Sound is an undiscovered paradise for sailing and we have found some wonderful spots, like this one, Whalers Beach. Natural Spring water, Caravan Park for showers, bread, milk and paper and beautiful granite scenery. But it’s cold, no summer down here as yet. Well folks, that's all the news for now. Next destination Esperance and we are getting itchy feet already.

Bye for now, Diana, Mike and Sea Dog Robbo!

HAMELIN BAY TO ALBANY

All adventures start with the first step and Hamlin Bay was our first step. Our inexperience stung