What is the stereotypical way to spend Christmas Day in Australia?
Cooking shrimp on the barbie at the beach.

Well, Randall is too seeped in northern hemisphere traditions to relinquish his second excuse for roasting a turkey within a month (in this case within 2½ weeks thanks to our delayed Thanksgiving). But we did go to the beach.

A 15-minute, mid-morning drive eastwards took us to Manly where our unexpected holiday treat was to find free parking and a pleasant wander along the waterfront. Plenty of people were taking advantage for the marvelously clear skies for a spot of sunbathing (yes, a few people still do it even in this skin-cancer-conscious country) and a frolic in the waves. The main Manly beach borders the Tasman Sea and its popularity as a surfing destination attests to the sporty waves that pound the beach.



Surfer and surf life-guards (complete with Santa hat) at Manly Beach

In their yellow and red uniforms, the surf-life-guards are conspicuous, numerous, and attentive. Most people are well-used to the waves and behave accordingly but the occasional tourist might be overwhelmed by a big one or get trapped outside the breakers, afraid to come back in through them. More likely, visitors could get caught in a rip current which explains the relatively narrow areas of the long beach that are flagged and patrolled as safe for swimming. A sign warned of bluebottles (the tiny Portuguese Man o' war jellyfish with a nasty sting - as we discovered in Baja Mexico) but seeing none in the water and no-one complaining of them, I decided that this was a low risk threat. We could not tell whether there was anyone specifically looking for sharks (this area was not netted) but with so many other bodies to pick from, I also rated an attack from one as a low probability risk per person.

Thus, with Randall and Martha looking-on, I represented our family and headed into the water to complete this part of a traditional Australian Christmas Day. The water temperature was perfect and I could have played in the surf for hours although it was crowded enough, and the waves were breaking late enough, that body-surfing was not really practical.



One of the swimming areas at Manly Beach on Christmas Day (Alison in the circle)

Manly is a popular destination for tourists who visit by ferry from the center of Sydney, getting a bit of a harbour-tour in the bargain. It was possible to imagine that it might once have been a sleepy, surfer hang-out but it now has its share of high-rise hotels and condominiums and with attractive pedestrian shopping streets and a wide, well-maintained waterfront walk. Longer-distance treks (about 10 km or 6 miles) can be made on the Manly Scenic Walkway either a loop southeast around North Head or west towards (the questionably named) Spit Bridge, which we drive across on our way to visit Tregoning at Balmoral.



Martha and Randall at the south end of Manly Beach

The three of us took a short stroll on the walkway at the south end of the beach before returning to the house to open our gifts (stockings had been broached on waking) and to cook and eat our turkey feast. The day was concluded with a cutthroat game of Mexican-train dominoes.

Boxing Day (December 26th) as in Britain is a secular public holiday with the name probably derived from the old English tradition of giving tradespeople a "box" with a gift or gratuity for a year's good service and/or of providing servants with a day off (they, of course, had to work for the wealthy on Christmas Day) and a box of gifts to take to their families - usually including left-over food. That morning, Randall and I rose early to drive to the airport where we met Jan and Michael who arrived from Olympia, Washington, having completely missed Christmas Day when they crossed the International Date Line.

They had both slept reasonably well on the flight, which was just as well because after dropping their bags at the house and having quick showers we drove down to Balmoral and boarded Tregoning. Sadly, Martha had come down with a nasty cold so she decided not to join us. With both Jan and Michael recovering from sinus infections and colds/coughs, Randall and I have been popping zinc lozenges and trying hard to stay healthy.



Jan and Michael on Tregoning with the city and Opera House beyond

Aboard Tregoning, we had time to take a cruise under the Sydney Harbour Bridge and past the Opera House before the exclusion zone was enforced at noon, an hour before the start of the 74th consecutive Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race. With the start lines between Bradleys Head (west) and Shark Island, the race heads northeast through the harbour to curve around South Head and out to sea. The fleet of 85 yachts of various sizes then races south to Hobart, Tasmania, with the crossing of the Bass Strait providing a potentially treacherous ending to the 628 nm passage. Many boats and six lives were lost in 1998 when a nasty storm caught the fleet in the Strait so this is not a race for inexperienced sailors.

While the "time-corrected" winner (finishing time adjusted for the boat-size handicap), may come from the classes of mid-sized yachts (around 50 feet or 15 m), the excitement of which boat leads on leaving the harbour and which will actually cross the finish-line first (the line-winner), is claimed by the maximum-length racing yachts, the 100-foot long (30 m) super maxis. Costing around US$20 million to build and US$2 million a year to maintain in racing condition and with around 17 racing crew members, few of these behemoths compete each year. The 2018 race started with five super maxis but one had to drop-out early because of a broken bowsprit. These yachts have the potential to finish the race within 48 hours, whereas we would expect such a passage to take around six days.



Three of the super maxi boats (and a smaller one) race up Sydney Harbour

As soon as the 1 pm start-cannon fired, with a fresh northeasterly breeze the race-boats had to tack into the wind on their way to the harbour mouth. Whereas we would have been weaving back and forth tediously across the exclusion zone (unable to point any closer than about 60 degrees into the wind), these racing yachts made only a few, speedy tacks, being able to point much more closely into the wind (maybe less than 30 degrees). It was quite intimidating when a yacht came screaming towards the edge of the exclusion zone, trusting that the crew would make the tack (turn) before ploughing into the spectator fleet, including us, crowded just outside the zone.



Preparing to tack, a race boat approaches the yellow float marking the edge of the exclusion zone with Tregoning's life-sling at bottom left

While the race-boats were a truly impressive spectacle for Jan, Michael, and me, poor Randall did not get much of a chance to watch them. He was completely concentrating on the surrounding spectator fleet.

We had chosen to go on the east side of the race-course where it is possible to follow the racing fleet around South Head and out into the ocean. It was nerve-wracking enough before the race started, as the hundreds of boats of all sizes (from tiny inflatable dinghies to crowded multi-deck tour-boats) vied for good views of the start lines. Randall did a good job of keeping us near the exclusion zone without getting trapped. Spectator boats are not allowed to sail but, even under power, sailboats are generally less maneuverable than powerboats so he had to be careful to keep sufficient room around us to avoid drifting into other boats as we waited (the flooding tidal current was moving us all towards the city).

Once the race had started, however, things became even more challenging. Although most of the spectator boats were moving towards the ocean at similar speeds (6 knots maximum), a few tried to stay in place at the edge of the exclusion zone and these had to be dodged. The chop of all the wakes was very confused (requiring the crews of smaller dinghies to bail-out water) and we were surprised to come across one of the small, mid-channel lighthouses on our path. Luckily, Randall could dodge around it but one boat had become trapped next to it with boats flowing around on both sides. Although some boats came very close, Randall avoided any collisions and for the rest of us the spectacle of the spectator fleet was almost as fascinating as the race itself.



A powerboat passes almost under Tregoning's bow as we are swept along in the spectator fleet (the small white lighthouse just left of center was a bit of a surprise)

Once around South Head, the spectator fleet quickly thinned-out. No longer constrained by an exclusion zone, the faster powerboats took-off and crowded shockingly close to the race-boats as seen in this photo from the Rolex (race sponsor) website (South Head is on the left).



Exposure to the ocean-swell also discouraged smaller boats. We rounded South Head but with the leaders of the racing fleet quickly out-pacing us and spreading apart, we soon turned around. We did not have to go very far back into the harbour before we were behind the slowest racing boats and were thus allowed to cross the exclusion zone and return to our mooring at Balmoral. We had to ask a day-tripper boat to leave our private mooring but they did so quickly and amiably.

It was a thoroughly memorable day and something that we were very glad to have done in Tregoning. Well, Randall might have been more relaxed if we had joined the 600,000 spectators on the shorelines (our house-mate, National Park Ranger Steph was on crowd-control duty at Middle Head) but then someone has to deal with all of the parking and road-traffic congestion. Anyway, this was possibly good practice for dealing with the hoards of boats that we expect to surround us when we anchor-out to watch the New Year's Eve fireworks. But that will be a whole new adventure...