Casting off

I’m bad at leaving. When the moment comes to go, I always want to stay, very badly. So even though I had been making it plain for days that I was impatient to go, to get out of the house and on with the voyage, the brutality of those last hugs shocked and bruised me. I wasn’t at all ready to leave my children. I never am.

We motored up the coast to Pittwater – the Hawkesbury really, for we aren’t much attracted by Pittwater itself. There was next to no breeze. The day before’s rain had let up, and skin of the ocean was pearly, the swell so gentle I hardly noticed it. In fact, I hardly noticed anything. Alex took the helm and I sent teary texts to my kids. I wanted them to know how much I loved them, as if they didn’t already. Each reply consoled me and pushed me on my way. They know me well.

By the time we were parallel with Avalon, or thereabouts, I’d pulled myself together sufficiently to mix up some bread dough, and laugh at the digital scales crazily trying to keep up with the boat shifting its own weight across the sea. Digital scales don’t have sea legs. Fortunately, we have cups and spoons to measure with.

So, you want to know, don’t you? Did the bread work out in the galley oven? Yes, yes and yes again. Hallelujah, as my dear dad would have said. I cooked it at full blast (number 6 on the dial) for the usual time – 30 mins in the pre-heated pot with the lid on, and then another 15 mins with the lid off. It looked the part. It tasted the part. Mission accomplished.

It’s the rainy season here at Refuge Bay. The waterfall is streaming hard and fast off the escarpment. In summer when this anchorage is like a caravan park, with music blaring, kids roaring around in rubber duckies, yachts and Rivieras rafted up, the big thing is to stand under the meek cascade’s stinging droplets and dry off on heated sandstone shelves. I couldn’t imagine anyone stripping off under this wintry deluge. But I forgot that I was old, didn’t I? First I heard the shrieks and when I peered out through the cockpit windows I saw pale bodies leaping about on the wet rocks. Within 10 minutes the beach was cleared, and the kids were back on their rented houseboat.

I’ve pared down to just the one Icebreaker merino on top and track pants, and the drift stops there. It’s cold.

We’re sharing the anchorage with John and Shauna De Launey’s yacht Destiny. Destiny is not just any old boat. She’s got form. In a previous life, she served as a youth training ship, and many a Sydney sailor who learned his or her ropes on her in Theo Taylor’s day, including our mate Wayne, has tall tales to tell of life on board Destiny. She’s had a complete makeover since then and John and Shauna sail her in considerable comfort. Their espresso machine makes fine coffee - and they’re good company too! We expect to be sailing north to Coffs with them, when the weather allows. Perhaps tomorrow, but there’s no rush. We’re underway even when we’re at anchor. That’s the beauty of this life.