Our exit from the river was slowed slightly as we countered the remains of the incoming flood tide. As we rounded the last corner and got our first look at the open sea, it looked worse than I had expected from the forecasts. The ideal path out of there is to take a left turn at the north breakwater to avoid the breakers that form directly out of the entrance. From my vantage point, the waves looked to be about two meters, with maybe the occasional three meter ones behind. It would have been nice to have flat water at this, the most favorable state of the tide, but conditions were well within what Begonia can handle. Besides, we weren't planning on going that way. We were going left, where the seas were smoother still. I remember reminding myself that we weren't in any sort of hurry and that if I didn't like it, we could always wait.
I continued to the end of the breakwaters, keeping an eye out for smoother water to the north. When we got there, the path out looked rougher than I would have hoped, but nothing worse than we have seen before when crossing other bars. It was going to be uncomfortable, but we would be through in a few minutes and then our big worry on the other side would be not having enough wind to keep us moving.
We cleared the northern breakwater and encountered our first breaker. It slammed into us and then we fell into a bigger trough on the backside than I had expected. The next one was more of the same, with Begonia falling off of the top of the wave and landing with a bang. I had taken it too fast on that one. I need to slow down when passing over the crests. It looked like we would have two or three more of those and then we would be in the clear.
A couple more waves bore down on us, both even bigger than the last. I managed to avoid the worst of the crests and head for the edges. This was not going well. I wanted to turn around, but I was also fully aware of the general rule, and advice on the government's own website about safely crossing bars. They said that once you commit, don't lose your nerve. It is almost always quicker and safer to continue on to the smooth seas in deep water beyond the bar than it is to attempt to turn around in the middle of it.
Then the starboard engine quit with a clunk. The warning buzzer was screaming over the din. I got it started again, but as soon as I put it in gear, it quit just like the first time. Okay, now we're doing this on one engine. I yelled again to Maryanne about the failed engine, who disappeared from view to see what she could do to help from inside. {Maryanne: Actually on this news, I went straight to the radio to call in to the local VMR (Volunteer Marine Rescue). Knowing we were one engine down, and our engines are only 18hp each, I was concerned we'd not make it over the remaining swell and out to safe water - I called in our first Mayday; it could always be cancelled if not needed but I wanted them to know we had an issue of concern. When not on the radio I was down below in our rear berth, pulling off the bedding and mattresses to access the engine below, just in case I could find a problem I could fix}
The next breaker hit us and slowed us down. Even with the rudders hard to port, I couldn't counteract the pull of the working engine. The best we could manage was to go straight ahead. I tried to add power to increase speed and thus water flow over the rudders, but all that did was turn us more to starboard. I could pick up some speed and control while going down the backs of the waves, but then I would start to lose it again as we decelerated up the approaching faces. We were now heading straight out of the breakwater into the bigger waves there instead of the slightly better seas to port on the north side.
We had a couple of bad hits and then it looked like we might be done. All there was in front of us was a one-meter swell coming at an angle, but it was growing quickly. I advanced the port throttle as far as I dared in the hopes that we could get over it before it broke. The engine would help us turn to hit it head-on where we had the most stability.
The wave built so fast. I watched with horror as it rose to block the horizon. It rose further until it was a vertical wall of water charging at us and ending as far above my eye level as the water next to us was below. I later estimated it to be about five or six meters (16-20ft).
The top of the wave broke into a huge curtain of falling water, then Begonia pitched up sharply. I yelled through the closed cabin door to Maryanne, “Hold on! HOLD ON!!!”
Then the wave landed on us and there was nothing but water, accompanied by the roar of tons and tons of it smashing into itself. The cabin was gone from view. The instruments were gone too. All I could see was water rushing past me. I could still feel the wheel jerking back and forth in my hands and I could still breathe, so I wasn't completely under, but the water pouring over the cabin top had me submerged up to my chest.
The water seemed to boil on forever. After looking at video footage later, I learned it was because the mass of the wave had completely overwhelmed our momentum and we were being shoved along with the breaking crest. During the next seven seconds, we surfed backwards five boat lengths, which works out to a speed of about fifteen knots. We've only been faster than that a handful of times while going forward.
Begonia pitched forward onto the foam behind the crest. As the din receded, a high, piercing note emerged. Both engine alarms were screaming. I looked down at the engine panels by my right foot. ALL of the warning lights were lit, including a few I had never seen lit before. Both tachometers read zero. “We've lost both engines!!”, I yelled at the door. I had no idea where Maryanne even was.
I desperately started mashing both start buttons in the hope that at least one of them would run. On about the third attempt, I got the starboard engine running. Before I even had time to put it in gear, I heard the roar of another wave. I looked up and saw another wall about the same size as the first, except this one was about to broadside us.
”HOLD ON!! HOLD ON!!! AAAAHHHHHH!!!!”
I ducked down and in an instant, the wheel and throttle were ripped from my hands. I must have hit the helm seat, but I don't have any memory of it. I tumbled over backwards and twisted in the muffled chaos of swirling water. The boat! I'm being swept off of the boat! Maryanne!
The water receded enough for me to draw a breath. I was aware that I was being held against the underside of the bimini on the far side of the cockpit by my buoyancy. As the water drained, what was left seemed completely unfamiliar. The table top was gone, the floor was covered with all of the items in our cockpit storage. Mainly, the sky was now the torn fabric of the bimini crisscrossed by twisted and broken support poles. The cabin door was now open. Inside, I could see a patch of swirling water filled with floating debris.
I could hear more waves coming. I pushed my way under and out of the side of the bimini, which was collapsed on top of the helm seat. Both engines were dead again. I screamed to Maryanne, but could not hear any response over the noise. I got the starboard engine going again after the next, smaller wave and had managed to turn about ninety degrees before a drenched Maryanne appeared and said she could smell smoke coming from it. I tried the port engine again and after a few tries, it stabilized at idle. I put that engine into gear and shut down starboard until we could figure out the source of the smoke. {Maryanne: I again called Mayday to the local VMR and updated them with our situation, it was NOT looking likely that the boat would escape the rocks}.
A few more waves hit. They seemed to be getting smaller. The flood was taking us back out of the zone of the worst breakers. The wheel was stiff, but I could turn it. I advanced the throttle, but even with the wheel all of the way to the left, Begonia would only circle to the right. My hope was that since we couldn't go left, we could build enough speed in a 270-degree right turn to make the rudders effective enough to at least make the boat go straight coming out of it.
At the end of the turn, all I could do was turn in slightly slower circles. With the effect of the flood added in, Begonia was corkscrewing closer and closer to the end of the northern breakwater. I yelled to Maryanne that I think we have now lost the steering. I couldn't make out her distant response, but I gathered that she understood. {Maryanne: I again called the local VMR and updated them with our situation, then headed down inside to see if I could identify and fix what might be jamming the steering}.
After the second circuit, I pushed my way back under the bimini to the radio and made our first mayday call. I didn't realize it was actually the third or forth from us.
By varying power and the use of what steering we had, I was able to increase and reduce our turn rate to slightly bend our spiraling path towards the channel between the breakwaters. It didn't look like that was going to be enough. We were still going to impact the rocks on the northern side somewhere in the hundred meters or so from the end. Waves were pounding that area pretty badly. I couldn't imagine that it would be possible for either of us to get a grip on the wet, steeply slanted boulder faces and scurry uphill to safety before the next wave washed us off and bludgeoned us on the others. The boat was surely going to be reduced to splinters in minutes.
At the southern end of the next circuit, at the furthest point from the rocks, I took the engine out of gear hoping to buy us some time, but the wind was still pushing us enough to keep us turning and heading for the breakwater. I put the engine into reverse to counter this. That worked, but after a few seconds, the engine failed with a clunk. The throttle lever was now jammed. I had to give it a good hard whack to get it back into neutral so I could restart the engine. I didn't want to imagine what was going on with our drive train. By now, Maryanne had resurfaced and reported that she couldn't find anything she could do about either the engines or the steering from inside. She asked if I needed help outside, but I told her to stay where she was. Moving around was too difficult outside with the wreckage of the bimini filling the cockpit and I didn't want us getting in each others' way.
The engine ran again for just a few seconds before seizing. After the third time, it jammed and wouldn't even turn over. I decided again to try the starboard engine. It would run, but failed each time I tried to put it into either forward or reverse. We were now adrift between two lines of boulders, still angling toward the north wall.
I put out another mayday call. This time the VMR (Volunteer Marine Rescue) came right back, saying a boat was already on the way. Maryanne spoke to them while I tried to gauge how much time we had and where we would hit. The water was now shallow enough to anchor, but the swell and the fast currents that regularly scour the bottom made me worry about whether it would hold.
We waited while the last of the flood pushed us further up the channel into smoother water. Maryanne came on deck. When we both thought we had no more room to spare, she dropped the anchor and let out as much chain as she dared. We had about two boat lengths of water behind us. Surging back and forth in the leftover swell, it took us a few seconds before we were finally sure the anchor was holding and we were safe from the rocks behind, at least until the ebb started.
Before we even had a chance to let out a sigh of relief, the Maritime Police came zooming around the corner towards us. For the first time in what seemed like ages, but was really only ten very long minutes, I felt like we might just get out of this without losing Begonia.
I don't know what I was expecting, blame, admonition, a giant dope slap. I was glad they didn't have to venture into danger for us. Instead, the guy at the bow said, “So, having a bit of a rough morning? Don't worry. Throw us a line and we'll get you out of here.”
They took the strain off of the anchor for us as we pulled it up. They then tried to tow us, but Begonia seemed determined to hang a right and head for the rocks like a dog sniffing yet another hedge. It took them no time at all to adjust and find a stable position forty-five degrees off our port bow, where they could drag us around at an angle.
Begonia towed back to safety with no engines or steering functioning
I'm uncertain who to credit photos to - but THANK YOU!
Further up the river, the VMR rib joined us to act as a tug to help the police maneuver us up to the public dock, (our apologies to the fishoes who had set-up there for the day). Once we were tied up, we gave thanks to everyone and did our best to recount what had happened for their reports. At that point, our minds were both a jumble of noise, fear and water. We hadn't had time to process any of it.
Begonia was way more of a mess than we could even think of tackling in one day. We decided to focus on getting the water out and seeing if it stays that way, and making sure we would have dry places to eat and sleep later. There was water in both hulls, but the port one had the most. It was apparent from the state of things that the water got there the same way we usually do, by going through the main door and down the stairs. When that second wave smacked us from the side, it had thrown our main sliding door open, then taken the path of least resistance downstairs. We took bucket after bucket out of that side, but the water didn't seem to be going down very fast at all. I was worried something worse had happened and we were barely keeping ahead of the ingress. Because our hulls are shaped like elongated bowls, the top five cm holds a lot more water than the next five below it and so on. We persisted and in time, we were mopping up the last of the little rivulet making its way to the sponge waiting at the low point.
Things escaped everywhere, and anything that made its way to the floor was soaked with seawater - There was a LOT to deal with
As we were taking our bedding to the trampoline to dry, and dismantling the remains of our bimini frame, we had several visitors. Most were just curious and wanted to know what had caused the damage. One guy brought out his young son in what later seemed like a lesson in what can happen if you don't stay in school.
Then the news reporters came. They were all more polite than I had expected, but very persistent. Maryanne managed to get the first couple of them to leave by explaining that our memories of the morning's events were still too jumbled to be coherent; we were still very much in shock. All we could recall was waves, water, rocks, fear, screaming and engine alarms, in no particular order.
As the six-o'clock news approached, we were visited again. This time the argument from the reporter was that they were going to air footage anyway, so I might as well give what first-hand account I could, rather than let them speculate. Fine, where do I stand?
Fortunately for everyone, my interview was edited down to well under ten seconds of air time, “I was scared. I didn't like it. I'm shocked and relieved to be safe.”
7News report - 44seconds
The news brought a few more visitors, most of whom pointed and muttered to each other without bothering us directly. A few offered sympathy, which was almost always followed by a similar harrowing story of their own.
The bimini frame and canvas didn't fare well
We had to dismantle it all before we could consider moving on
The next day, we did a more thorough inspection of Begonia for damage. Apart from the obvious damage to the bimini frame, our davits had been bent thirty degrees downward and the dinghy's inner hull had been holed in four places. Begonia had three cracks in non-structural bulkheads, Our battery compartment's vent cover had been stove in, filling it with sea water and rendering most of its contents useless, including all four solar panel regulators. Our eyebrow visor for the main windows, which we had just fixed in Exmouth (WA), was now attached by only one end, the rest only held in place by gravity. Our starboard engine had broken two of its mounts, which pushed it over far enough to yank the exhaust hose out of the muffler, leaving the exhaust fumes to fill the cabin. That turned out to be the source of the burning smell and smoke Maryanne had reported.
The steering was a real mess. Our rudder posts are attached to the steering by tiller forks which clamp down on them like crab claws. On the port side, one side of the fork was completely broken off, allowing that rudder to free-caster like a shopping cart wheel. It is just close enough to the propeller to hit it (and thus kill the engine) every time it swung through 180 degrees from its normal position. A dive below also revealed that the propeller on the same side had about a dozen turns of our port spinnaker sheet wrapped around it.
Kyle checks over the steering issues - one of the many jobs that would keep us busy for a few days at the dockside
On the starboard side, the rudder had spun in the tiller fork (gouging the metal) until it was about seventy degrees to starboard. That meant that when I was turning the wheel, The starboard rudder could be moved between fifty and ninety degrees to the right, while the port one was streamlining to go opposite the direction of the surrounding water. We had no hope of ever making anything other than right turns.
Our autopilot actuator arm was bent to where it could only be moved with a whole lot of force (i.e. a hammer), our helm seat was only attached by two of its four bolts and the starboard head door was thrown off of its tracks and into the passageway. The sudden inrush of seawater to normally indoor spaces caused a lot of other damage primarily to all the items that were tossed to the floor in the chaos.
I removed both steering tiller arms and got both engines working again while Maryanne managed to find a local machine shop to fabricate copies of the former. They drove the shiny new ones out to Begonia twenty hours after her initial call (A big thanks to John and Jerry of Blue Diamond in Chinderah, NSW who went out of their way to source the material and engineer the parts for us - 0403 977 100).
Since the weekend was fast approaching and we were quickly getting weary of being infamous and being asked to relive the details; we made plans to leave the public dock and head to a slightly more private public-mooring in the river. This would also free up the dock for the fishos over the weekend. Before we did, though, Nick and Caitlin of Mahana, who we had been looking forward to seeing in Coomera (about 50km north), drove down to give us much-needed hugs and words of support and to get us away from Begonia for a night out. We had both been so tense up until that point that neither of us knew what a relief it would be to see them both until we saw their smiling faces. It's going to be okay. Boats can be fixed and we have lived to see another day.
At the mooring, we received a message from the reporter who interviewed us with links to her story as well as a couple of videos of the whole incident. The longest one was a bit shocking to watch. It simultaneously brought it all right back, while giving an out-of-body view that made me think the poor people down there are done for.
At the end, I noticed that there were a couple of comments. The great thing about the internet is that you can always find people who are experts at everything and are more than willing to share their knowledge. Oh, great! A chance to better myself with a little constructive criticism!
Well, that wasn't helpful. How does, “Don't be such a tool, dumbass!!” tell me how I could do better? Too vague.
I later learned that among my other shortcomings, I am American, I am not Australian, I do not have the knowledge of someone who has been surfing the Tweed bar every day for thirty years (obviously true), I just bought the boat without having any idea how to operate it, I was in a hurry, I am an adrenaline junkie and I have a death wish. I am also illiterate, which makes me incapable of reading forecasts or really having anything other than a first-grade education.
Wow! It's like these people can see inside my soul! I was a bit perplexed by a moment when one of them made what seemed to be intended as a joke, where they 'quoted' me as saying we had left early in order to avoid paying for the marina where we have never been. This immediately became fact, to which was added the tidbit that I genuinely thought the conditions at the marina and at the bar would be exactly the same because, as I mentioned before, I am a dumbass.
C'mon, guys! If you want to get mad at me for stuff I haven't done, get your story straight. The reason I wanted to duck out of the marina without paying was because I was mad at them. The previous night, their restaurant refused to make me a meal made entirely out of endangered species and I flew into a rage. When I stormed out, I took my frustration out on a nearby seeing-eye dog by kicking it, which veered its poor owner into a hat rack where he bumped his head. This caused me to break out in uncontrollable, maniacal laughter. I am a monster. There. I've said it first hand and put it on the Internet. It will become unassailable truth ten milliseconds after it gets posted. It's only a matter of time before they discover my real identity: Strawman McSchmucko.
Anyway, the mooring was much better; although we did notice more than a few boats slowing down to take pictures as they passed. Mostly, I tried to wave using all of my fingers. After a couple of days online studying ASL (Australian as a Second Language), I was able to determine that we really would have a genuinely calm, no-wind day to leave. I knew this because all of the surfers were complaining about conditions being so mild that they would have to go to their jobs at the toke shops instead of doing what's really important: scoping out awesome waves (maybe I'm mixing them up with Californian surfers?).
We snuck out of Tweed under the cover of the noonday sun. Conditions weren't bad, but they weren't flat, either. We were really hoping to put zero load on our temporary repairs. Instead, we had to get through some one-meter swell to get to the ocean. I don't know why, since we just bought the boat, but it seems like a very long time since we have been so nervous about a simple one-meter swell. It was good to get into the deep water behind the bar.
Departing Tweed Heads (for real this time)
Our entry at Southport was equally mild, apart from the weekend boating crowds, many of whom really did buy their boats last week. The wakes in here were way worse than the ocean swell. After an hour or so, we were excited to pull into Paradise Point and drop anchor right next to Mahana. They had just left the boat yard and were now making plans to head north. It looks like our stay there is going to be a lot longer than originally planned, so it was good to spend another evening with them before parting ways again. They gave us lots of insider tips and even lent us a few power tools that would be invaluable in the coming weeks. Returning them will give us an additional reason to seek them out later.
[Maryanne]Lessons learned?
- Shit happens! Boat ownership (and use) comes with some risks, as does life generally. Crossing any ocean/river bar comes with additional risks and caution is always required. We work hard to maintain our boat and keep it fit for the job, and we do a lot of research looking for the best advice before crossing any bar. We knew the exit would be uncomfortable, we underestimated the size of the actual waves at the bar and we were unlucky that the starboard propeller caught something and caused the engine to fail right when we needed its power most. We'll always regret our decision to depart when we did (given the outcome). Our insurance assessor made a point of getting in touch with the local VMR and Marine Police to get their side of the story; they vindicated our actions with comments that we were 'unlucky', that we had left at the right time, and they verified that other boats had arrived and departed without issue in those same conditions.
- Use ALL the forecasts available - Despite taking a lot of care over marine forecasts, I think we have learned that where surfing forecasts are also available we need to make use of them. In this case it would certainly have warned us that the expected swells were larger than the ocean forecast generally. That knowledge would have (I think) prevented us from believing what we were seeing was within the forecasted wave conditions (both via the webcam and as we approached the bar), and may have had us turn around before we were in the middle of things.
- Secure all lines to prevent them getting into the water - We had prepared for a calm spinnaker day and installed our lines ready to deploy as the spinnaker sheets. We'd stored the coiled tail ends on the deck (as we always do). One of these lines was washed overboard with the waves and this led to the loss of the second (port) engine, greatly complicating our extradition from the chaos (understatement!). We will be sure to secure all lines for any future bar/channel crossings (or in rough seas under motor). We still don't really understand how the first (starboard) engine quit, but it seems some floating weed or line must have caught around the prop at the worst possible of times.
- Secure/stow everything loose outside before entering rough waters. We have a tiny single cockpit locker aboard our catamaran - primarily it stores the propane tanks and the spare fuel tanks. For all the extra stuff we want to hand in the cockpit we have a heavy-duty storage tub which works well for us. However, with never an issue, we got lax and some stuff was just stored on top of this tub, additionally the violent motion broke open the tub and spilled the contents among the mass of water, losing a host of things overboard. While we could not have prevented the breaking open part, we should not have entered a bar with things loose on top.
- Secure/stow everything loose inside before entering rough waters - especially your electronic stuff. Again after years of sailing without issue we got lax.. things get stored to hand rather than in their proper place. I had just backed up my computers and had yet to put away the backup discs in their dedicated waterproof storage tub - these flew to the floor (along with a host of books, and cables, etc) and were soon ruined in the wash of seawater we took aboard. Things could have been worse: we lost an ipad, but our kindle was fine, the PC went on strike after the incident (needed a new hard disc), but the MAC was fine.
- Don't read the on-line comments! This is of course common knowledge, but it was the first time we were targets of internet vitriol. The incident was reported on numerous local, national and even international forums. While there were some kind and compassionate comments, there were also a lot that were not so kind. While I was able to skip over the nasty ones, Kyle took them quite badly, he was both enraged and depressed by them. With all we were already coping with, they were not a help. Kyle wanted us to have zero internet presence, while I welcomed the support from my own internet community. The blog has been a treasured history of our cruising life for us, to see it being selectively used to find ways to 'prove' that we should not be allowed out on a boat was crushing for Kyle and left him not wanting the blog or his name to exist anywhere on the internet for such people to use.
- Kyle has decades of weather experience and checking the forecasts generally falls to him. There is no reason I can't do it, but I didn't that day and don't generally. After many 10,000nm I have good reason to trust Kyle is doing it right. As we were heading towards the bar, I saw the bigger waves ahead and should have spoken up about my unease. Rather I reasoned, "he's checked, it", "things look different from my lower perspective", "it must be OK", "I shouldn't criticize him after all the work he's done", "the exit isn't through those waves anyway so it will be OK". In reality, I should have spoken up, I have all the same skills, we didn't need to exit the bar that day, and I didn't like the look of it. While no passage needs two captains, any captain should be prepared to listen to any uncertainty from the crew. If I'd have spoken up, it may have amplified any uncertainty that Kyle had and caused him to turn around earlier. We'll never know.
And on the plus side..
- We both stayed calm. The whole episode was truly terrifying, and conditions and priorities were constantly changing. Amazingly we both stayed calm and kept working the problems as we encountered them. I was convinced we were going to end up on the rocks (that was the best case scenario I was imagining while in the middle of it all), but I didn't curl up into a ball and stop functioning - so I learned that about myself. Despite being washed off the helm seat and with the bimini collapsed on top of him, Kyle kept returning to the helm, and attempting to start engines, making use of any brief spurts of power he could nurse from them; he kept monitoring how the boat was maneuvering and how he could counter that motion to avoid the rocks.
- The Marine Police and VMR are amazing Australian resources. Both were there for us during and long after the incident. The Marine Police in particular could not have been kinder to us in our frazzled state immediately after the incident, and as the days progressed they offered a host of support, and let us know we were permitted to remain on docks and moorings beyond the normal legal limits until we felt it safe to move on.
- Our Insurance company/policy is a good one (Merkel/Jackline)! They assigned a local assessor who evaluated our claim, and it was paid out without issue. At such times with so many stresses and worries, knowing you have a good insurance company is a huge help. I'm sure our policy will go up in price, but the peace of mind is invaluable, especially since the boat is also our home.
- Our boat is one tough cookie! While we hope to never put it to such a test again, looking over the webcam footage we are amazed how well it held up to the tossing it was subjected to. We are both grateful it didn't capsize (but feel we certainly came close). We were also glad to have new rigging (less than 6 months old); I can't imagine having our mast topple in addition to all we were dealing with.
Local Swellnet Surfcam - 9 terrifying minutes, no sound
Thinking of crossing the Tweed River Bar - here are all the useful tidbids and sources of information we managed to acquire.
- Tweed River Entrance Barcam (within and at end of the breakwaters) here
- Tweed Heads BarCam (outside the breakwaters) here
- BOM marine forecast (Tweed and north to Gold Coast) here. Remember forecast wave height is an average of the heighest third, not a max wave height to be expected.
- BOM marine forecast (Tweed and south to Wooli) here. Remember forecast wave height is an average of the heighest third, not a max wave height to be expected.
- Wave buoy data (real time) here
- Tide Predictions here (Willy Weather) or here (BOM)
- Willy Weather Swell forecast here
- Point Danger Marine Rescue - (07) 55369 333 - VMR listens in on both VHF 16 and VHF 19, for more info see here
- An article on bar crossing generally (USA based, but relevant to all) - here
- And tips from NSW regarding coastal bar crossing - (be wearing your lifejackets, etc). For more info see here
- There is a local (private) facebook group that can be a great source of info too (and lots of local knowledge) called Seascape Trawler Watch
- Conditions you are looking for when crossing
- Daylight/Good visibility
- Looking for a slight flood tide (incoming tide), avoid ebb especially if against any wind as this really messes up the entrance. We never want too much of a flood as we want to be sure we can make headway with our smaller engines.
- At this location slack water is generally after
- High tide + 2hours (Note ebb genearlly starts 2 hours after high tide - AVOID EBB crossings)
- Low tide + 2 hours (Flood generally starts 2 hours after low tide) - but beware the shallower seas and bigger waves at low water (high water preferred).
- We were told that On flood tide (incoming currents) - currents generally not that strong, but picking the flood closest to slack water keeps flood to a minimum.
- Seas (Waves) and swell within your safetly limits and comfort zone for the size and type of vessel you have.
- Approach/Exit on the NORTH side from NE direction. (At least this is the safest path when we were there, but (like all bars) channels can change frequently so check in with Marine Rescue/VRM / local knowledge)
