Finally He Who Hums and I made the trek to The Wooden Boat Festival in Hobart, and let me tell you, it is everything I imagined it to be (and more).
The harbour is bustling with like minded people watching vessels jostling into their allotted moorings. The drawbridge has lifted to allow more of the fleet to enter and prepare to med-tie in another safe haven basin of the vast harbour.
Hundreds of maritime flags are fluttering in the late afternoon sea breeze, masts disappear into the low lying clouds trapped by the surrounding hills of Hobart city.
Should you look up you’ll spot the crew out on the booms diligently stowing the sails, old school style. When you poise along the old timber wharves you are privy to conversations.. one between a crew out straddling the extremely long bow sprit (with no safety net) and a school boy, spinning his yo-yo whilst enquiring about this foreigner’s job.
These crew teams, the majestic vessels, the intoxicating smell of Timber and the sights and the ol’ sea salts of every description are a few reasons the children and adults alike, will dream of sailing away from life as they know it and be cast into stories of their own imaginings.

I discovered a sailor way back amongst the great, great, greats grandfather of our family tree, I guess that explains my need to be here absorbing all things nautical.
Not many women sailors to speak of, but my camera missed a fabulous moment in time when a female captain embraced her first mate after successfully docking her ship wharf-side. Their embrace spoke of great achievements. Looking at them through the lens set the scene of a long voyage achieved and gratitude for successfully navigating the notorious Bass straight.
The bi-annual event reals of history. If only these ships could talk and share more than their credentials listed on the sandwich boards. I swear if you step one foot onto any of the gangways here, you would be transported into a maritime world trapped in the bygone years.