Wikipedia 'The Rip Melbourne' if you must know.
I woke Monday morning (now that's a lie, I was awake most of the night) to nil breeze. A lesser curse than breeze against tide in which case The Rip is populated by massive standing waves (to die for).
But no breeze is no comfort if you have just self serviced a diesel of unknown heritage. Engine failure (or mere palpitations) would allow the tidal current to park Galatea amongst the bleached skeletons on either of the rockshelves that make up the bulk of the Rips girth (R.I.P).
Slackwater was scheduled for 12 noon (11.59 am to be precise) so I aimed to cross at 11.40am lest the returning ebb reverse my progress. I spent the morning listening to motivating music (You know the ones where the protagonists overcome the most ludicrous adversity)
As I edged around Observation Point I observed the largest ship in the southern hemisphere - incoming and fully occupying the narrow channel (see pic). Wheeling back around to safety I was able to hold my ground (but alas not return to Brighton for more pecans).
I returned to the whirlpool and marvelled at the discrepancy between my bearing and course over ground on the GPS. I am sure Galatea will never again travel at double her hull speed.
And then. I was spewed from Port Phillip into the large swells of Bass Strait.