Arrival at Eucla Roads

 

The night and day passed blissfully calm. The light easterlies were perfect for our downwind sail pace to insure a mid-morning arrival time at Eucla. Once again, the skies were clear for a near full moonrise, a knock-your-socks-off sunset and a star-studded sky.

Just after 0500, a squall (luckily on the tail end of David's watch) gave us an adrenaline rush (mine from my bunk) as the light easterlies became a 35-knot burst from the SW, overwhelming our poled-out jib. David handled it admirably and had all under control before I even awoke from my sleepy stupor and offered help. Gotta love my captain. I was up shortly thereafter for my 0600-0900 watch, but the radar showed all clear. That said, my previously “star-studded” sky was now obscured by heavy clouds and the boat was surrounded by pitch black night. Sunrise wasn't due till 0812. Lazy, lazy sun in this western part of South Australia.

We are usually prudent when arriving at an unfamiliar port, but in the case of Eucla, we were particularly cautious. Whenever the charts indicate “inadequately surveyed”, it gets our attention. We had a guide book and sketches from a fisherman indicating how to approach Eucla Roads and where the anchorage was. The appealing aspect of this anchorage was that it was behind a huge sand bar which deflected the SW swell and waves and yes, it was off the beaten track. The less appealing aspect was that no depths and little information appeared on our charts. We needed to feel our way in and wanted to do it in good light. The landmark to watch for was “Wilson Bluff, which is 90m high and of dark rock and east of which the lower cliffs are white.” Would we really be able to discern this? Well, yes, it was pretty noticeable actually.

We followed the notes implicitly, thinking at any minute we might be in the sand up to our through-hulls. We sailed directly to a point ½ mile (.8 km) offshore on the 129º longitude (which incidentally coincides with the state line between South Australia and Western Australia). We were on a rising tide for some extra insurance, but we never saw anything below 16 feet (4.8m) at mid-tide. No rocks, no shoals, just clear water all the way. We paralleled the cliffs and sand dunes for about 6 miles before spotting a derelict old wooden jetty, our landmark for dropping the hook. We settled in behind the sand bar known as Eucla Sands in about 15' (4.2m) of the clearest, most vibrant aquamarine water we've seen in ages.

Even before we backed down on the anchor, we had a welcoming committee. Tiny welcome swallows chirped and tweeted, hovered and fluttered, all around the boat before finally lighting on the pole which had yet to be stowed. They seemed quite content to rock in the breeze and observe our tidying up process.

Our timing was perfect. Within an hour of being settled and tidied up, the promised SW winds piped up … 20-25 kts. By the way, that tower you can see on the bluff behind the old jetty … it's a Telstra tower … five bar internet. Yahoo! Sometimes things work out just right.

St. Francis Island to Eucla

 

Yes, we did leave St. Francis Island in a hurry, didn't we? It's that way sometimes. There's no internet at St. Francis, so we rely on SailMail to receive our GRIBs and weather once a day. This morning's weather showed a one-day delay in the strong SW winds we were expecting and better winds for heading to Eucla, 232nm to the west. We decided it was worth the rush and the push to get to Eucla, rather than remain at St. Francis for the next 5-6 days.

The morning calm was very welcome. We dug out our old genoa out of mothballs under the forward bunk and had it rigged, hoisted and furled before you could say “what happened to the calm?”. We folded our clewless jib down below because the wind had come up again. It was a comical scene … too much sail in too little an area. But we managed to get it folded eventually and into a sailbag and snugged back in its place on the port settee secured with the lee cloth.

While David removed the sail cover from the main, I made a quick chicken-rice passage soup. (Gotta love that ready-to-go chicken I canned/preserved last month.) Before we hauled anchor, David backed down on it to see if we were really hooked. We definitely were … which was most reassuring. Grass on the anchor was thick and reminded us of our days in Patagonia when hacking off the kelp with a machete was a typical occurrence. Then we were off and the St. Francis Islands were behind us, soon lost from view. Leaving around Noon assured us we'd arrive at Eucla in daylight hours as long as we watched our speed.

We sailed with a fine 15kt SE wind. We glided up and down smooth, long period 10' (3m) SW rollers. It was cold, despite the clear, sunny sky. We were back in sweats, hats, gloves and heavy offshore weather jackets. The SE winds blew themselves out during the night and we motored in 5kts of wind for a few hours, making some fresh water and charging all our gear below as we went. I'd forgotten just how beautiful and peaceful a night watch could be. I watched the moon rise in the east and the sun set in the west and followed upside-down Orion towards Eucla in a sky full of stars.

Gradually, the wind switched to the east and at first light, we rigged the whisker pole and enjoyed a good downwind sail. One more day to Eucla. If all goes well, we should arrive mid-morning tomorrow. Stay tuned.

A Day Aboard at St. Francis Island

 

We never woke till 0930. It seemed late even  though we hadn't slept much during the night. It was the calm followed by thunder that woke us. Thunder rumbled, roared and clashed throughout the rest of the morning and afternoon. Wind and heavy rains … big, noisy, splattering drops … followed each thunderous outburst, but we remained firmly ensconced. The anchor held. The continuous cycle of calms and squalls left us unsettled, alert and tired.

We anchored off the north side of the island in St. Francis' crescent-shaped Petrel Beach. The island, at least what we could see of it, was either shrouded in the mist or the rains, looking grey and dismal or barren in the sun. We could hear birds from the island. Silver gulls lit on the water beside the boat and eyed us nonchalantly.

We busied ourselves with chores and “what-if” conversations, usually in snippets. As a new thought or alternative occurred to one or both of us, we'd discuss it for a bit, then go back to our chores, noodling the new idea. We were hoping to come up with an alternative to returning to Streaky Bay. Not that we don't like Streaky Bay, mind you. It's just that we'd give up the 50 miles we'd gained, waste fuel by motoring back and not much more could be gained by being there.

Closer inspection of the torn out clew indicated that the stitching had indeed given way. One piece of webbing was still attached to the clew itself and several others were missing. This part of the sail is not one easily tackled by my SailRite sewing machine. It's just too thick with all the webbing and reinforcements and there's too much of it to try to repair by hand. We reckon we'll need a sailmaker's expertise and equipment to effect the repair.

The deck needed to be washed down and the grass either mowed or removed. The sail cover needed to put on. The wind had not subsided in the least which made folding the damaged jib, hoisting the old genoa or even launching the dinghy out of the question.

Lighter winds were promised in another day or so. We'll wait patiently (as if) and read and write and chat and do chores and eventually the weather will change and we'll be good as.