We're anchored by the Big Sandhills, Moreton Island. Sheltered, quiet, a few fishing trawlers anchored too. I hear Adrienne chatting on the phone to a friend, saying, we hope to get home for Christmas. In this remote place we connect with the world.

Twenty-seven hours - one hundred and ten sea miles or 200 kilometres, bouncing and bobbing, rolling and roiling, strange lights - are they ships? and the winding zigzagging 40 mile path through the shoals of Moreton Bay. And that bar! 2.5 knots against the tide, and those silly, sloppy waves pushing you everywhere so you can't steer a straight course ... never again! Waves breaking right by you!

One too-exciting event was coming to a waypoint in the channel in Moreton - about to change course - and suddenly torrential, blinding rain - and two ships coming up fast behind us (their 20 to our 6 knots) and overtaking, one on each side! Adrienne was like a kid at her first thriller movie, I was cool, of course, well, - on the outside ...


* Strange name ... wonder if there is a history .... ?