Sea kayak paddler on my local river, was the order of today. After a real heavy morning fog I the kayak was lashed atop my Hobie cat atop its trailer. This looks odd but is handy because of its modest height above ground level :)
The mess at the boat launching ramp was a poor omen, the river was filthy. ISome flotsam was expected after recent rain weather, but the next find was the tank from a Porta Potty camping toilet! The day's tally ended up being:
Porta Potty. X 0 5
Boogie Board x . 0,5
Cardboard box x 1
Beer 6 pack carton. X 7
Beer 6 pack wrapper x 2
Plastic meat tray x 2
GAZ camping has canister x 2
PET Bottle (lge) x 2
" " (med) x 4
Glass bottle (lge) x 1
" " (sml) x 4
Styrofoam box x 1
Foam hot food carton x 1
Paper bag x 1
Aluminium can x 1
Plastic pieces x 6
Felt hat x 1
Left in situ:
Cow x 1
1 000 litre cube tank x 1
Returning to the ramp, the kayak looked like a garbage barge. I was glad to be helping out, especially as much of this stuff looked old and as tho it had been floating on the tides for months. But, despairing for our society that does this without consequence (in the short-term).
The paddle? Yes beautiful, and energizing. At age 59 and in the early throws of what may be a destructive legal battle over property from a failed 27 year marriage, a paddle like this is compulsory to maintain sanity. The highlight of the day was listening to bird song in a groove just north of"the mansion". Up in the tops of a stand of tall eucalypts the birds were invisible, but they made short happy calls, like singing rounds to a song we humans could never understand. A predatory kite soared overhead, but the bird chorus never missed a beat, as though after a week of lost weather, they were celebrating and nothing was going to stop them.
Sunday, July 7, 2019
Monday, July 1, 2019
"tilman" Rides Again
It had been some time since little tilman had been let loose on the water ( I've been kayaking). But a Facebook discussion early this week and involving Lemon Tree Passage, had planted the seed of an idea to sail there. This fine winter's day provided the perfect excuse to ditch the housework and get on the water.
Despite stiff winds in the early part of the day, the midday weather outlook presented quite well with light to moderate winds from the south-west.The tide was set to be at its lowest ebb an hour before we hit the water.
The Lemon Tree sail ground is essentially a long creek (Tilligerry) that runs in a SW direction for five or ten kilometres running off the much larger expanse of Port Stephens. For added navigational complexity an island is situated near the mouth of the creek, Lemon Tree Passage to the west and I guess Tilligerry Creek to the east. The waters are tidal and tides reach probably 2-3 knots in the vicinity of the island. The waters are sufficiently deep for a centreboard dinghy, and the only congestion is in LTP, where a mooring field lines the E and W sides of an already narrow passage.
The launch ramp is on LTP, adjacent the SW extremity of the island. It's a rough, but gently sloping entry over sand which ensures fewer users and an absence of rocks.
The first minute after clambering aboard is bound to be the most hectic of the entire cruise. Sails hoisted and the halyards tidied away, tiller lowered and lashed, centreboard placed in its slot and lowered, grab a spot in the village to sit, haul sail and take up the helm. Phew! But once these are seen to the biggest thrill of sailing hits; as the shoal bottom drops away, so do the cars and worries of shore life. I feel like I literally escape the world, at least for a while!
With a stiff flood tide pushing upstream against an 8 knot breeze, the water's surface was lively. We pierced standing waves as we headed S towards a yacht anchored in Tilli' Creek. The Mirror does well to windward and with the tide pushing us upwind we easily laid our mark. It proved to be a cement schooner, with mismatched masts, one white the other black. I was interested to see whether it was the same yacht that sold for the cost of debt with the local marina. It proved not to be, but was nice anyway. A nice change from the sameness of whole beaches of white production yachts. There was someone on board, but they appeared happy enough down below. We gybed off the wind, heading nor-east into a substantial flood tide flow. Tillman had impressed before with his ability to shoot an errant tidal flow with ease, and today was no different. To make it less obvious we kept clear of the main channel and skirted oyster racks on the western side. A boat with a mast was motoring towards us at a healthy clip, sleek design, diesel, favourable current and negligible headwind. We were navigating inside the channel markers (another Mirror forte), so we're in no risk of colliding. I held course and milked the dying breeze for what I could. As the boat with a mast passed I could recognise it as a Beneteau type, all sails furled away, crew sitting on a stern seat, fully closed in with plastic screens. Argh!
Unsure of our prospects for circumnavigation Bull Island due to the fading breeze, I reassessed again before deciding to go about and beat back the way we came. Typically, hard on the wind with a current up your stern, have the effect of increasing pressure on the sails. I even had to sit on the seat (ie. not in the bilge), to keep things safe. We could not retrace our course out and had to drift across the main channel. A healthy chop was being generated by the conditions and the bluff bow was shouldering off the chop on sparkling fashion. The wind was not so heavy to drive any spray aboard, so it was deeply pleasurable. Mesmerized I watched the bow spray against the light of the lowering sun. For the umpteenth time today I reflected on how lucky we sailors are. Some men spend thousands beautifying their houses and yards and work all week to pay for it, sailors spend time in Mother Nature knowing that she will provide all the beauty that's needed.
Tacking up towards where we launched, bearing the channel towards the west of the island, I noticed with surprise how the channel markers reversed colours. I'm sure I knew this, but that's just me. Port track up the Lemon Tree Passage channel dodging moored craft. Up close, most look dishevelled and oversized. Ego!
Ah, but the wind is fading out as is the light, and is getting cold. We about face, tack back down the channel. Yet another boat with a mast is motoring home, my blood boils to see fine sailing craft used like powerboats. Yes each to his own, but really?
The beaching is without drama, unrigging and loading, the same. I lash him down and head to the village for hot chips for the drive home.
Despite stiff winds in the early part of the day, the midday weather outlook presented quite well with light to moderate winds from the south-west.The tide was set to be at its lowest ebb an hour before we hit the water.
The Lemon Tree sail ground is essentially a long creek (Tilligerry) that runs in a SW direction for five or ten kilometres running off the much larger expanse of Port Stephens. For added navigational complexity an island is situated near the mouth of the creek, Lemon Tree Passage to the west and I guess Tilligerry Creek to the east. The waters are tidal and tides reach probably 2-3 knots in the vicinity of the island. The waters are sufficiently deep for a centreboard dinghy, and the only congestion is in LTP, where a mooring field lines the E and W sides of an already narrow passage.
The launch ramp is on LTP, adjacent the SW extremity of the island. It's a rough, but gently sloping entry over sand which ensures fewer users and an absence of rocks.
The first minute after clambering aboard is bound to be the most hectic of the entire cruise. Sails hoisted and the halyards tidied away, tiller lowered and lashed, centreboard placed in its slot and lowered, grab a spot in the village to sit, haul sail and take up the helm. Phew! But once these are seen to the biggest thrill of sailing hits; as the shoal bottom drops away, so do the cars and worries of shore life. I feel like I literally escape the world, at least for a while!
With a stiff flood tide pushing upstream against an 8 knot breeze, the water's surface was lively. We pierced standing waves as we headed S towards a yacht anchored in Tilli' Creek. The Mirror does well to windward and with the tide pushing us upwind we easily laid our mark. It proved to be a cement schooner, with mismatched masts, one white the other black. I was interested to see whether it was the same yacht that sold for the cost of debt with the local marina. It proved not to be, but was nice anyway. A nice change from the sameness of whole beaches of white production yachts. There was someone on board, but they appeared happy enough down below. We gybed off the wind, heading nor-east into a substantial flood tide flow. Tillman had impressed before with his ability to shoot an errant tidal flow with ease, and today was no different. To make it less obvious we kept clear of the main channel and skirted oyster racks on the western side. A boat with a mast was motoring towards us at a healthy clip, sleek design, diesel, favourable current and negligible headwind. We were navigating inside the channel markers (another Mirror forte), so we're in no risk of colliding. I held course and milked the dying breeze for what I could. As the boat with a mast passed I could recognise it as a Beneteau type, all sails furled away, crew sitting on a stern seat, fully closed in with plastic screens. Argh!
Unsure of our prospects for circumnavigation Bull Island due to the fading breeze, I reassessed again before deciding to go about and beat back the way we came. Typically, hard on the wind with a current up your stern, have the effect of increasing pressure on the sails. I even had to sit on the seat (ie. not in the bilge), to keep things safe. We could not retrace our course out and had to drift across the main channel. A healthy chop was being generated by the conditions and the bluff bow was shouldering off the chop on sparkling fashion. The wind was not so heavy to drive any spray aboard, so it was deeply pleasurable. Mesmerized I watched the bow spray against the light of the lowering sun. For the umpteenth time today I reflected on how lucky we sailors are. Some men spend thousands beautifying their houses and yards and work all week to pay for it, sailors spend time in Mother Nature knowing that she will provide all the beauty that's needed.
Tacking up towards where we launched, bearing the channel towards the west of the island, I noticed with surprise how the channel markers reversed colours. I'm sure I knew this, but that's just me. Port track up the Lemon Tree Passage channel dodging moored craft. Up close, most look dishevelled and oversized. Ego!
Ah, but the wind is fading out as is the light, and is getting cold. We about face, tack back down the channel. Yet another boat with a mast is motoring home, my blood boils to see fine sailing craft used like powerboats. Yes each to his own, but really?
The beaching is without drama, unrigging and loading, the same. I lash him down and head to the village for hot chips for the drive home.
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