FUNAFUTI TO AUSTRALIA
(Across the Pacific)

Funafuti atoll had been very good to me, I felt rested and ready to tackle the next leg of my trip. The islanders had made me very welcome, and it was with a certain sadness that I picked a date to leave.

The South Pacific Sailing Directions states that the threat of hurricanes in the area diminishes to almost nil from April onwards. More so as I was only 500 miles south of the equator. However, the day before setting sail I visited the weather office for a long-range forecast and was told that the trade winds were blowing and that conditions were settled.

My last few days on Funafuti were spent in a round of farewell parties - and gifts of bananas, leis and shells from the friendly and generous islanders.

I cleared directly for Australia and on April 2, 1988, left in the company of an American yacht, "Andruil", which was on her way from the United States to Australia by way of Vanuatu. Together we motored out of the tricky pass with the outgoing tide. Out to sea there was very little wind, and it was hot and balmy.

As our routes would be similar for the first few hundred miles, "Andruil" and I had agreed to keep up a radio schedule, which we were able to do well into the second day on VHF. Once out of contact with "Andruil" the days went by almost unnoticed. Once again I was alone on a huge, empty ocean. Three days later, however, the wind started picking up, blowing from a more northerly direction, forcing me to beat into an increasing swell.

I knew I was in for bad weather by the end of the fourth day. The day had started badly with rain squall after rain squall battering Sunrise Star, and all around us were long, low, ugly black clouds. The pattern was always the same. First the wind would increase, then down came the rain, completely obliterating the horizon and reducing visibility to zero. Then the wind began to veer slowly until it was blowing from the west, increasing in strength all the time - much to my dismay because we were now getting it right on the nose.

As the wind increased in strength, I started reefing down - first one reef in the main sail, then two, then down came the jib and up went the storm jib. Finally, we were down to a third reef in the main.

By now the waves were occasionally washing the deck with huge, foaming crests, appearing as if out of nowhere, to break against Sunrise Star with a huge roar. The nights were the worst, as I couldn't see the seas, only hear the menacing sound of breaking water seconds before it slammed into the hull and covered the decks with tons of water. Sleep was impossible, and I spent nights crouching on the cabin floor with a life jacket on and my "ships papers" close by in a waterproof bag. There was nothing else I could do in the circumstances.

Inside, the cabin was a sodden mess. A seemingly watertight hull had now developed countless little deck leaks, and water trickled everywhere. My bunk, bedding, clothes, books, charts, equipment, were soaked. Even items packed in plastic bags were wet, and loose items had dislodged themselves to eventually end up on the cabin floor where they added to the appalling mess comprising bilge water, spilt flour, rice and sugar, diesel, a few books and a broken bottle of tomato sauce.

After two more days of this constant, wet misery, the barometer reached 1003 millibars. To add to my misery, I picked up a Radio Fiji hurricane warning. Hurricane "Dobie", I was informed by the anonymous voice, was less than 100 nautical miles away from me, with winds up to 70 knots.

For me, there was no choice of action. I came about and ran with the weather - something I would have liked to do earlier but for two shallow shoals which lay ahead of me. By now Sunrise Star's mainsail was ripped and we were running under stormjib only. The following seas, I noticed with some apprehension, were often as high as the spreaders, some 8-10 metres, their crests breaking and being blown into long streamers of spume and spray. Then things started breaking. First the steering itself - with the inevitable result: Sunrise Star broached and was knocked flat by a huge, breaking sea which swept right over the boat and completely filled the cockpit. Slowly, my stout boat came up again, shook off the water and settled into a hove-to position.

I took stock, and found that one of the steel steering cables from the quadrant had snapped. Worse, without the cable to restrain its movement, the quadrant itself was swinging from side to side and threatening to knock a hole in the hull.

I managed to wedge the quadrant, and rig up and emergency steering, and from this point on, abandoned the shelter below and wrestled with the makeshift tiller. All the time the storm raged, I was being constantly deluged with water breaking over the decks.

After a particularly severe knockdown one of the forestays snapped with loud "thwang", and the turnbuckle that held it disappeared overboard. Fearing for the safety of the unsupported mast, I lashed the tiller so that Sunrise Star hove-to, and crawled along the deck to try and secure the broken stay. It was hell in the bows - one second the bow and I were submerged, the next, we were high in the sky, before plunged downwards again. Eventually I got hold of the flapping wire and secured it to the side rail.

But, the sea wasn't finished with us yet. My "hard" dinghy, lashed onto the coach-roof, had come adrift and by luck alone, I was able to rescue it. Then, just as I reached the relative shelter of the cockpit, another wave shattered the Aries steering paddle and bent the satnav's antenna. I lashed the lot together as best I could, and commenced steering again. By now it was dark, and I was miserable, hungry, cold and wet.

Twenty-four hours of misery later I hove-to to try and get something to eat and sleep. But it wasn't much better below - the stove came adrift and spilt copious quantities of paraffin onto the deck. Then the tool locker door broke open, and all its contents cascaded onto the floor. No, I told myself, I'm not having a good time.

About this time I figured there was nothing to do but run to the little island of Rotuma which lies 300 nautical miles north of Fiji and 150 miles east of my last position (before the satnav packed up). It was a dead down-wind run, and less than 24 hours later Sunrise Star was hove-to in the lee of the island.

The seas were still horrific, and the wind still howling - but more from a southerly direction now, the hurricane was slowly moving southwards, and according to Radio Fiji was expected to pass to the west of the island group.

As getting into the exposed anchorage at Rotuma was out of the question, in those conditions, I decided it was safer to stay at sea, but still slightly protected from the wind and seas by the bulk of the island.

The next 24 hours was a respite of sorts and I managed to lash down the quadrant and sew up two torn sails, one of them the stormjib. Then with Sunrise Star and her equipment in slightly better condition I cautiously left the lee of Rotuma. The wind was still blowing a treat, it was overcast and raining.

Slowly, we inched our way towards the south west, not very sure of our position, because the satnav was still out of order and the overcast skies prevented use of the sextant.

There we were faced with another problem - the ingress of salt water over the past few days and violent heeling of the boat had combined to contaminate both my fresh water tanks with seawater, through the breather vents I found afterwards. Of course, by the time I made this discovery, it had stopped raining. All I had aboard now was 20 litres of emergency supply.

I realised then that it would be foolhardy to still try for a direct run to Australia. My best option, I reasoned after studying the chart, was to head even further south and make for Port Villa an Efate Island in Vanuatu.

The actual trip to Efate took 22 days and was fairly uneventful considering my state of nerves and the state of Sunrise Star. We had more trouble threading our way through the island's fringing reefs (I didn't have a large-scale chart of the island aboard), but finally followed a ship into Port Vila - the capital of the independent South Pacific nation of Vanuatu.

Officialdom moves slowly on this Pacific island, and it took much radio calling and talk before I was finally cleared by customs and immigration.

Vanuatu, I discovered over the next few days, is socialist, flirts with Libya and Russia (that explains all the empty holiday resorts), is all but bankrupt and continually troubled by street riots.

Nevertheless, after the hell of the preceding weeks, Vanuatu came close to being a paradise. We were anchored off a white beach and in deep, clear water. My financial worries were sorted out when a local curio shop bought the last of my African curios and the actual town of Port Vila was a short, free ferry ride away. Needless to say I revelled in exploring the island.

Two weeks flew past in a rush of doing chores aboard and repairing the damage sustained in the by now almost forgotten hurricane. By now I was many months behind my sailing schedule, and was anxious to reach Australia. I still had a long way to go - over 2000 sea miles.

Sailing again, the days and miles slipped behind us. We had our share of calms and gales, but the fish were plentiful as we continued to head north-west through the reef-studded Coral Sea. By now, I had officially left the Pacific Ocean behind.

Day by day the row of crosses on the chart grew. Soon the crosses on the chart marched south past Papua New Guinea, at which point we were sailing almost due west and making for the low island that marks the entrance to the Torres Strait.

The island, Bramble Cay, is a low coral outcrop that is only visible from about 10 miles away. To by-pass it without seeing it could mean sailing into the mouth of the Fly River on Papua New Guinea. If one sails to the south of the island, you stand a very good chance of striking a reef, an uncharted area of the Great Barrier Reef.

To complicate navigation here, currents are uncertain near the river mouth where the sea is often discoloured by muddy water - and full of huge logs that are washed down the river and out to sea. They're a real hazard.

Fortunately, I found Bramble Cay. From there on the strait is well marked with lighthouses on many of the islets and reefs. As I progressed further and further south west, the reefs and islands became more numerous, and so too the lighthouses and shipping.

I had by now been on the go continuously for 36 hours, mostly always in sight of breaking water on reefs or islands. In addition, I had to contend with abnormal currents and tides, because Australia's Gulf of Carpentaria to the west experiences higher tidal ranges than does the Coral Sea to the east, and at different times too. This mostly produces a turmoil of water that often, in narrow channels, develops two opposing currents.

The chart told me there was a deserted island nearby with a relatively easy access. A good spot, I decided, to anchor off and get some sleep. Sooner said than done - because just as I was thinking about it, a light plane flew over and "buzzed" me. It was, I learned when I called them on the radio, an Australian Coast Watch aircraft on patrol, and they wanted to know who I was, where I had come from and my destination.

Questions over for the moment, they gave me permission to anchor off the next island for the night - provided I didn't go ashore. I was also advised not to swim as apparently there are crocodiles in the water. I found this a bit hard to believe, as I was still 100 sea miles from the coastline, and after all, it was salt water. (Clearly, Tony hadn't heard about the dreaded saltwater crocodiles that are found in that area, even well out to sea - Ed)

The next morning, refreshed after and uninterrupted night's sleep, I continued eyeballing islands and reefs by day and relying on lighthouses at night. A day later I picked up Cape York, the northernmost point of Australia, and passed Thursday Island. From here our course was almost due west, taking one towards the true strait, itself a very narrow and complicated gap between Hammond Rock and a long reef perhaps a half kilometer to the north. Luckily I had judged the tide correctly, and Sunrise Star literally shot through the gap at what felt like 8 knots.

We were in the Gulf of Carpentaria, safely past the treacherous shallows. Three days later I was at the western side, off the coast of Arnhemland and Cape Arnhem and making for Gove which I had earlier ascertained was an official Australian "Port of Entry"

Alerted by my friends on the Coast watch plane, Gove customs were ready for me, and in the gathering dusk as I closed in on this "outback" port, they came out to Sunrise Star in a small boat. They were friendly and efficiently disposed of official business, leaving me free to anchor and go ashore.

I must admit that I had been a bit apprehensive about clearing into Australia because it has stringent quarantine regulations, and I had heard numerous stories about total confiscation of canned food, special permits, deposits, boat stickers, etc., etc.

However, they only took a can of meat (the only one aboard) and sealed my shotgun. Boat stickers with an "F" prefix (foreign) are no longer necessary.

I had obtained an Australian visa in Western Samoa, but learned in Gove that the master of a vessel doesn't require a visa and can stay in Australia for up to 12 months, regardless of passport nationality (1987).

If the intention is to cruise to a few Australian ports, all one has to do is to notify customs of an approximate itinerary and keep them informed by way of preaddressed postcards. The itinerary can be changed by notifying a collector of customs (1987).

The anchorage in Inverell Bay is excellent, there is almost no swell, and it is shallow enough to lay out plenty of scope. The holding of mud is very secure. When I was there, there was only one other cruising yacht and about 20 local live-board yachts. It appears to be a very good safe place to leave a yacht, if one wanted to tour a bit around Australia. The yacht club at the anchorage offers honorary membership, bar and eating facilities and showers. The people of this isolated community are among the friendliest I have met anywhere.

Gove is a mining town (bauxite) of about 3 500 people. It is very isolated and situated in an aboriginal area, which means that permits are required to visit anything other than the refinery, the mine or town and surrounding area.

The town is modern and boasts a well stocked supermarket, post office, dentist and a hospital. Darwin is the closest city, some 700 km away by air. Flying is the only way in and out of Gove. I was told that there is a four-wheel drive track to Catherine, 600 km south west, but this is just passable in the "dry" season. The area surrounding the town is home to a number of nomadic aboriginal tribes. Life, for them however has become very easy, as they are leasing the land to the mine, which owns the town. There are also countless herds of buffalo in the area. And, of course, crocodiles in the rivers, on the beaches and in the anchorage. Swimming here is a dangerous sport.

And that is the extent of my stay in Australia. Because I wanted to get back home to South Africa before the onset of the hurricane season in the Indian Ocean, I left soon afterwards. Six weeks is not enough time in a great country like Australia.

Oh well, some other time...