The first part went great. We joined the ebb and with one engine and a bit of sail in the light winds, we shot away from the anchorage at seven knots. That lasted until we turned the corner just inside the Jumpinpin Bar. Since we were now going away from the bar, we were now fighting the ebb. Our speed dropped to almost nothing. Since the ebb would be decreasing soon and since there was no point burning fuel to stay in one place, I shut down the engine. The wind was now pushing us at four knots against a 3.6 knot current, leaving us with a speed over the bottom of about a boat length per minute.
Anchored off of the port side of the channel was a monohull. We snuck up on them silently. They were in a narrow section of water, so the closer we got to them, the faster the current ran. We were now going backward in lulls and forward in puffs. As we approached, I was about to go on deck and introduce myself, followed by a longish conversation as we sailed in formation with them.
Just then, my brother called (from the USA). He is still dealing with Mom’s estate, so I devoted my attention to him. That made me the weird guy sitting at the helm and talking on the phone while being too close for the other boat’s privacy. I turned five degrees right, which gradually eased us sideways toward the navigation buoy on the starboard side of the channel. The current was stronger there, but there was also a little more wind, so we were still going nowhere.
Half an hour later, after enjoying a particularly nice spell of wind, we had finally crept abeam the other boat. It seemed to be occupied by a couple, like we were. Both of them had occasionally come on deck to check on laundry drying on their lifelines and to offer a wave. This time, the guy went forward and hoisted a spinnaker sock. Oh, no!
We were still technically behind them when they pulled up their anchor, eased forward 3/8ths of a mile and dropped it again. The current started to drop and we crept forward. There, we entered the wind shadow of a stand of trees, which slowed us down and we backed into our original spot. Well, I’m pretty sure this is the first time we have ever lost a race to an anchored boat.
The ebb decreased a bit, which finally let us crawl to a wider, slower part of the current. Half an hour later, we were finally abeam the other boat and moving smartly at half a knot. Then the guy came on deck. I thought they were going to get underway again, but then he dropped the spinnaker sock.
Oh, this guy is crafty! 80% of anchored boat racing strategy is knowing how to play the psychological game. As we rounded the next corner, I was half expecting them to lift their anchor again, unfurl their spinnaker and go rocketing past us, but they never did. We might have actually won that one.
The rest of our trip was uneventful. Not just uneventful, but TOO uneventful. Because of the floods and all of the floating debris, and probably also because of the occasional rain, everybody was staying put. This area is usually lousy with jet skis, speed boats and all of the traffic going to and from Australia’s three biggest boatyards. For the whole afternoon after the race, we saw only two tinnies, each with a diehard fisho at the bow. The quiet was a little eerie for such a normally busy area.
We finally anchored in a wide spot in the river right opposite The Boat Works. We got some debris there, but it was all moving by slowly enough to bump its way by without hurting anything. We have some prep to do for our haulout, but the idea is to spend most of the time resting so that my back will be ready for the yard once we lift out.
We were safely anchored well in time for the days of rain and lightning storms
The picture of Begonia with a rainbow was kindly taken by Eva Oldfield
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