My Torres Diary

Today I salute all my septogenarian loved ones.  Both proud and relieved that I’ve lasted long enough to join this august company – and thankful that I’m well enough to be loving it!  This day, being the last of my first seven decades on the planet, is beyond special – and I’ll get to the day, the day we crossed the Torres Strait.

But first, a quick diversion.  Because it seems impossible – on this day, the day that you’re 69.999 years old – not to reflect just a little about how you got here.  Not just the last four years that I’ve shared with my later-in-life beloved.  But all the twists and turns along the way.  All the decisions that led me eventually to this place on this day.  All the wonderful “waypoints” in between – too many to recount, an embarrassment of riches – people, places and events that are still so joyful to contemplate.  And the not-so-wonderful waypoints – too unimportant now to dwell on.  And not to mention, all the roads not taken – with their what-ifs and lucky dodges.

Not until a few weeks ago did I know with any certainty that we’d be sailing through the Torres Strait – just Bill and me on our 43-foot sailing cat, right smack in the middle of a long crossing, 20+ days long, from Vanuatu to Indonesia.  Oh, we discussed it, and it was a real possibility that our 2025 itinerary would include this passage.  But still, I wasn’t sure and I continued to throw out other options – the Solomons, PNG, New Cal, Australia.  I suppose I was just in denial.

And who wouldn’t be?  Such a litany of reasons to dread the journey. 

The sheer length of it – involving 20+ days and nights of abbreviated sleep shifts.  Three-on-three-off, a torture I hadn’t endured since Sarah was a newborn!

Weather anxiety – anticipating wind and wave conditions for the duration when forecasts are not reliable more than 3 days out, if that.

Range anxiety – what if the wind is contrary or non-existent, and we have to motor, motor, and motor some more – not just noisy, smelly and generally unpleasant, but is it possible we could run out of fuel? 

The special challenges of the Torres Strait.  So many navigational hazards.   Under the water – acres of shallow water, coral reefs, the remains of many shipwrecks, and other stuff that can damage your boat beyond repair.  Tight shipping lanes, among the busiest in the world.

Unique and complex tidal patterns. Not just the usual challenges of ebb tide and flood tide currents, but the added charm of the “equalizing current” that runs westward through the Strait.  In the Coral Sea to the east of the Strait, the water level is generally higher than in the Arafura Sea to the west – how can it be? – so weirdly wonderful. 

And so the water has to flow, sometimes swiftly, from the Coral Sea to the Arafura Sea. That’s the equalizing current, and it can help or hinder your passage through the Strait.

Sea monsters. A great concentration of deadly sea life in the Strait – saltwater crocodiles and poisonous sea snakes, among many others – seriously, these critters can kill you!  Swim at your peril, and don’t go alone.  But I hasten to add, these dangerous critters are just a small subset of astonishing sea life in the unique and bountiful ecosystem of the Torres Strait.

And last in the litany, the special challenges of Indonesia.  Meaning, in general, civil unrest currently reverberating throughout the country.  But in particular for international cruisers, the arbitrary rules, failed systems and rampant corruption among the government officials who administer the clearance formalities for sailors.  To put it plainly, I’m referring here to the “agents” we are forced to hire, aka the bagmen for the bribes required by customs, immigration, biosecurity and health officers – just to enter, and even to exit, the country.   Officially it’s free, there are no clearance fees in Indonesia – but the shameful political and economic conditions in the country are fertile ground for widespread corruption.  Don’t worry, we plan to keep our heads down while in Indonesia.  We’ll miss some of the rich culture, but we’re staying out of the lively cities.

If you read Bill’s most recent post, you know that we approached the Torres Strait with some apprehension.  Well … for me, it was downright trepidation.  I’m usually at the helm when we enter or exit an anchorage, when we’re motoring carefully through a tricky pass or in a congested area.  Captain Bill is on the bow, keeping careful watch and making all the decisions.  We communicate clearly through our awesome Team Talk headsets – the marriage savers!  My job is typically simple – just manually steer the boat where Bill says to go.

 According to the usual procedures – if there’s such a thing when you’re ocean cruising! – as we approached the Raine Island Entrance through the Great Barrier Reef, we would fire up the engines, take down our sails, set a slow but steady pace, and turn off the auto-helm.  I would take the wheel and steer Turtlebones to the other side of the Entrance – that Entrance being the only navigable gap in the Reef for 100 miles or so.

But this was different.  We were in a tempest.  Wind had been blowing for several days, and was still blowing, at 20+ kts.  It had whipped up the sea, and we were climbing up and crashing down on 4-metre waves.  It wasn’t dangerous, we’d been here before, Turtlebones is built for these conditions. We weren’t in any peril – but I was surely nervous about steering through such strong wind and heavy seas.

Turtlebones isn’t exactly nimble – we don’t turn on a dime, even in the most benign conditions.  In these tempest conditions, it would definitely be more challenging.  Turtlebones has lots of freeboard, and therefore lots of “windage” – we catch lots of wind side-on and the ‘bones wants to go where the wind is pushing us.  In such high seas, the waves too insist on having their way.  The waves have thrust of their own in the direction they’re headed, and our rudders lose some of their oomph as the stern rides up and down over the huge waves. 

Magically, the whole manoeuvre turned out to be a breeze.  Literally, a breeze.  200 metres outside the reef, the waves died right down, collapsed to just 2 metres.  And, as we swung the boat around to squarely face the mouth of the Entrance, the wind moved directly behind us – which is a nice slow point of sail.  Back-up engines on, we left up the mainsail.  Just like that, conditions changed from difficult to perfect, and we literally sailed through the windy pass.  Didn’t hurt that the pass was also wider and deeper than we’d anticipated.  I sat at the helm and watched it all unfold, never even took the wheel.  We steered through the pass entirely with the auto-helm from inside the main cabin.  Push-button sailing!

Once inside the Reef, it was even more calm, and our course let us keep the wind behind us, all through the night and the next day.  Champagne sailing, once again!  Minus the champagne, of course. 

Our new charts are proving to be easy and reliable, giving us good eyes below the water.  Not so scary after all to manoeuvre through the Strait, even at night.  

Cargo ships and tankers have been few and far between.  A few showed up on AIS, but easy to avoid and too far away for us to actually see them. 

Which brings us to today September 4.  After two watches and two sleep shifts through the night, I awoke to this perfect day.  The clearest blue sky, tourquoise sea, still calm, perfect temperature, perfect wind, 18 kts on a broad reach.  We started the day more-or-less at the mid-point of our long passage to Indonesia, and precisely halfway through the Strait. 

Islands appeared in the distance, and eventually through the morning hours, we passed them quite closely.  They may not look like much to you – but to us, after 10 days at sea, they looked spectacular!

We practically flew through the narrowest part of the Strait.  That weird and wonderful westward current, equalizing the water level between the Coral and Arafura Seas – it must’ve contributed an extra 3-4 kts to our boat speed. 

I’m still shaking my head about that current.  How did I get through all these decades without knowing a thing about the westward equalizing current?  Without knowing that all the daily and twice-daily ebb tides and flood tides around the world aren’t enough, without more, to keep the ocean from blowing a gasket!  No, there’s this glitch, this mismatch between the water levels in two adjacent seas, that requires constant adjustment. The Coral Sea somehow ends up with more than its level share and spills the excess westward into the Arafura.  Huh!

With one exception, on the entire passage so far from Vanuatu, we didn’t actually see any other boats – no freighters or tankers, no cruise ships or fishing trawlers, no small boats like us.  Several on AIS, but not a single other physical boat.

Playing chicken with the big boats is always a bit stressful, even though we are making our moves strictly on AIS. They’re miles away and it’s a huge playing field.  But still, adjusting course just a few degrees to port or to starboard can change an uncomfortable CPA (closest point of approach) into a nice wide berth – or into a collision course, if you veer just a little the wrong way. Keep paying attention, in case they adjust their course, a little or a lot.

The only exception was an 870-foot cargo ship that appeared behind us in the late morning as we were exiting the Strait. To actually see the physical ship on the horizon added a nice new dimension.

The cargo ship’s Captain called us on the VHF radio. He’d seen us go wing-on-wing – called to confirm we’d hold our course, said he’d pass soon on our port-side.  And then he did.  Very civilized.  He didn’t have to do that, didn’t have to make that connection..  But that little human kindness, swept away every ounce of unnecessary stress.     

I wonder if there’s a parallel to be drawn, or an observation I can make, about the events of the day as they happened on this day.  Or, as Bill might inquire, with love, in his inimitable way – what’s your point, Bennett?  None really, as is so often the case! 

But this occurs to me.  How about stress?  Often bad, it can turn out to be an unhealthy and unnecessary waste of time and effort.  But stress isn’t all bad.  Sure, the repetitive hand-wringing variety is bad, but not all stress is like that. Good stress exercises your creative impulses, it lets us entertain endless possibilities, it makes us feel alive.  Anticipation and excessive worry can surely make us sick, but just being prepared brings confidence – and confidence is what lets us accept and even savour whatever happens. 

When it comes to sailing, Bill is the poster boy for preparedness.  Imagining, planning, getting ready – it’s all a huge part of the journey – and the journey IS the thing.

Also, this idea of the halfway point.  In relation, that is, to a start point and an end point. The halfway point is just a state of mind.  We’re always in the middle of something.  It’s good and instructive and important to glance back at where we’ve been, recall the stress, embrace the outcome – and then we hasten to move our gaze to the days and nights and the people, places and adventures ahead.

The end of this long passage will also be a new beginning – the start of our journey home.  Imagining, planning, getting ready to fly home.  Good stress. Aiming to land on October 1^st – can’t wait!

And oh, I can’t help myself.  Just one more truism from the events of the day:  blowhards always run out of gas.