August 4-10, 2022 (posted October 8, 2022)
We finally had a weather window to sail from Noumea, New Caledonia to Gladstone, Australia. We basically had three Australian entry points to choose from. One of them, Bundaberg, we’d already been to before and Rich would pretty much rather jump off the boat than go back there. The other two, Gladstone and Mackay, were both small cities with big coal-mining ports. We’d originally planned to sail to Mackay, the gateway to the Whitsunday Islands, but we noticed we’d have to do a fair amount of maneuvering through the barrier reef on the final day or so of our trip. Since we knew we’d be tired at that point, we thought we’d make it easier on ourselves and go to Gladstone, especially since that option would also cut a day off the passage.
As it happened, Rich had started doing a series on weather planning for passages. We’d originally hoped to leave New Caledonia within two weeks our arrival, but this turned into a month, then two months, and now we were headed into three. This was an unnaturally long period of time to not get a window, but then it had been an unnaturally difficult year for weather. On the other hand, this happened to be a great way to point out some new tools from Predict Wind on Rich’s video series.
As time continued on, I started to worry: were we like the man with too many watches, who never knows what time it is? In our case, with multiple weather models and so much detail about conditions, were we being paralyzed by too much information?
We did end up choosing the best window we’d seen since we’d arrived in New Cal, but as it turned out it was less than ideal, especially near the end of the passage. At one point Rich was feeling a little down, thinking of all the work he’d done and this was the passage we ended up with? I quickly pointed out that in spite of this being less pleasant than hoped for, it was much better than any other passage opportunity we’d had. In other words, in a world of sucky passages, we’d picked the least sucky one.
I also pointed out that this showed the tools were spot on. Under time pressure we chose a passage with a shorter swell period and more roll than we’d normally like. And those conditions were every bit as uncomfortable as we knew they could be! Had we been “the man with too much information?” No, just the opposite—all that information told us portions of the trip would be uncomfortable, and in exactly which ways and to what extent.
Do we wish we hadn’t taken the window? Well, no, I can’t say that. What I can say is I wish New Caledonia would allow visa extensions! Although with time marching on, shortening the season we hoped to have in Australia, we may well have taken the window anyway.
As it turned out we had one really nice day on the passage, with a night of glassy water and beautiful bioluminescence. Rich has already posted one of my photos, but I have a few more favorites (click any photo to enlarge) . . .
Aside from the nice day, the other days were mostly OK, but the last couple of days were a big disappointment. We knew we’d have wind, but it turned out to be stronger than forecast.
Unfortunately this was a good demonstration of a common occurrence in planning a passage: We might pick something tolerable, say 18 to 20 knots barely aft of the beam. Then the forecast gets a bit worse—maybe the wind goes 20 to 22 knots, or maybe the angle inches up to on, or just ahead of, the beam. Really, it’s not much worse so it doesn’t seem like a deal breaker. But if the conditions were marginal to begin with, maybe getting worse should be a deal breaker. But one gets used to an idea; so why not tolerate a bit more? It’s like the story of the frog in hot water—put a frog in to hot water and it will immediately jump out, but put a frog in cold water and gradually heat it, and the frog will remain until it perishes.
In our case, the forecast did get worse as the window arrived, but not a lot worse. But as the days went on during the passage, the final two days’ outlook just kept deteriorating. It wasn’t a lot worse than the forecast window we took off in, but it was a fair amount worse than the forecast window we originally chose.
Below, a video clip from one of the OK days of the passage. It looks fine at first, but when I turn the camera to the bow of the boat, you can see how rolly it was . . .
For all the complaining I’m doing, the wind did stay below 25 knots; so it’s not like it was storm conditions. But knowing we’d have some uncomfortable days, we really looked forward to getting near the Australian coast and getting a break. Not getting that break and having things get worse, was, well, grumpy making, especially for me!
I didn’t know much about Gladstone when we chose it, but Google photos indicated the city, though unremarkable, had supermarkets, eateries, and a few things of interest. My interest picked up greatly when Rich showed me the marina’s brochure book online. The booklet was impressive, and the marina looked pretty nice. Still, I was simply hoping this would be a reasonably pleasant place to rest up before heading north.
We spent a chilly, windy sunset maneuvering through a field of cargo ships anchored outside of Gladstone, waiting their turn to be filled with coal. By the time we entered the 8-mile channel to go to the marina it was well after dark. The wind followed us in but finally died off as we got further up the channel. At this point we both felt more tired than excited, anxious to be tied up and done with this passage already.
Below, a video from the final hours of our passage as we approached the Australian coast. The expression on Rich’s face sums up our moods at that point. . .
And a few photos from our arrival to Gladstone . . .
We turned and started heading into the Gladstone marina, motoring by a park on the small peninsula that serves as the marina’s breakwater. Suddenly Rich said, “Look at the blue trees!” What? I looked and this big area of trees was beautifully lit in blue light. We stared at them, wondering if this was for some special event, but the park was otherwise dark and empty. The display of blue-lit trees was spellbinding, especially in our weary and beaten-down state. I thought of this as a sign that good things might be in store for us here.
Suddenly I felt uplifted and had more energy to help locate the Quarantine dock and get tied up. By this point the wind had died off and the process was easy, except I felt pretty woozy on flat land when I jumped off the boat to tie the lines. What a relief when that was done. Next, showers and a celebration drinks! Getting in is wonderful, but there’s always the looming prospect of having to go through the check in process the next morning. Until that happens, we aren’t really “in” a country, just in a sort of limbo. Still, it’s a nice limbo, especially when it comes with drinks and a full night’s sleep!
–Cyndi
(Note from Rich: Here’s the last video in our weather planning series. It sums up our passage pretty well.)
