End of the road

Today’s adventure begins with a personal favorite of the night manager of the Warrnambool Motor Lodge. His tip last night for a nice quiet pub with Australian Open tennis on the telly sent us to a massive, expensive, incredibly noisy family fun restaurant. Not our taste. Being the forgiving Yanks that we are, we decided to give him a second chance and followed his tip to visit the Tower Hill Nature Reserve, which requires a small detour on the way to Port Fairy. Finding a room around these parts has been unusually difficult and we just found out that a traveling car racing series has been following us causing no-vacancy signs to light up all over the area. I suspect a spot of price gouging as well, even though we’ve reached the end of a The Great Ocean Road.

After a breckkie featuring a couple of egg McMuffins at Macca’s we Escapees wound-up the Lagoon Blue Hyundai and were off. It’s not hard to find the Tower Hill Nature Reserve; after all it spans an entire huge caldera of an extinct, one can only hope, volcano. Immediately one plunges down into the bowl along a strange side wall displaying signs of intense geothermal goings on. The passenger window reveled a huge meandering swamp-like lake, on the floor. The whole park has been reclaimed and revegetated after being stripped bare by European settlement in the 1800’s. In the 1960’s using a painting by Eugene Von Guerrad done 160 years ago, as a reference to what kind of trees and plants were there, volunteers planted tens of thousands of trees over several decades.

Official greeters, these two adult emus, posed for us as soon as we entered the park.

On a quiet walk through the park this guy startled us by crashing through the underbrush just to check us out.

Once again our Koala radar was well tuned and we found a couple of cuties doing what they do.

From the lookouts up on the edge of the caldera.

Next up, after a short drive, we entered lovely Port Fairy, said to be the most livable town in the world, looking for lunch. It is nice. Wide tree lined streets, a fort with cannons up on Battery Hill, and last but not least the retro and irreverent Port Fairy confectionary.


Finally we Escapees arrive in Hamilton at our home for the night and take our obligatory picture with the patron saint of Aussie rats.

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No turning back now

You can’t go wrong anywhere on the Great Ocean Road. We had a google map that we downloaded from a photographer’s blog post marking each favorite overlook or access point and we used that as a guideline. But early on I noticed a long lane out to a point that wasn’t marked and wondered if we ought to explore that promontory too. We turned off the main road onto an unsealed drive. “Four kilometers on this,” I told Jack, as I followed the track on the iPad.

But soon, the road deteriorated into a deeply rutted, corrugated two-track and we bounced and rumbled as Jack eased the Hyundai around the deeper bits and over the humps. I worried about doing damage to the car.

“Should we turn back?” I asked.

“Nonsense! We are the Schulzes!”

And I began to sing.

We are the Schulzes, my friends!

We’ll keep on driving to the end!

We are the Schulzes, we are the Schulzes!

No turning back now

‘Cause we are the Schulzes

On the road!

The track led to a sheltered path and out to a lonely viewpoint. We saw no one else the whole time and had the overlook to ourselves for the last time during the day.

We went back to following our photographer’s waypoints but honestly, you just can’t go wrong. It’s a beautiful coastline and we took the same snaps that thousands of travelers before us have in their vacation albums.

We were driving east to west and at each stop-and-hike point the car parks grew fuller and the trails and overlooks more crowded. The temperature was rising too, and by noon we had topped 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Our legs grew heavy and our pace slowed.

We always appreciate it when we see scoff-laws ignoring the warning signs.

The closer we got to the money shots the more tourist noise disturbed the tranquility of the wind and surf. It wasn’t just the incessant chatter of people, but the sightseeing helicopters and drones as well. Don’t get me wrong, nothing takes away from the sheer rugged beauty of the vistas, but it’s hard to ponder the forces of nature when there are busloads of day trippers wielding selfie sticks jockeying for position.

Wind and waves are bold sculptors, and you can almost imagine you are viewing in real time the erosion of solid rock.

The oppressive afternoon heat sent us to cool shelter and a quiet lunch. I mean, how much beauty can one take in a day?

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Where’s Waldo?

Our first full day on the Great Ocean Road was everything we’d hoped for, no crowds, fine weather, and the kind of land-sea interface that makes your heart sing.

The road was built by servicemen returning from World War I both to connect the isolated towns along the coast and as a memorial to the Australians who lost their lives in the war. It is the world’s longest war memorial and attracts millions of tourists from around the world.

We stopped every few miles to hike out to the promontories, ooh and ahh over the views and take dozens of photographs. When we hiked down to a beach we found where all the people were, taking advantage of the last few days of summer vacation before school starts again.

Several people recommended the Kafé Koala as a place where the iconic little bears could be spotted easily. We dutifully endured the less than appetizing food, then ventured deep into the nearby eucalyptus forest in search of the elusive buggers. We saw a couple of fuzzy balls way up in the treetops before finally hitting paydirt, six within fifty meters or so along the forest road, and a bonus fearless kookaburra, not laughing.

We could have watched for hours, especially since they weren’t sleeping but rather quite active, shimmying along the branches and nibbling leaves. Eventually our necks cried out in protest and we reluctantly tore ourselves away.

At the bottom of the forest road we stopped to watch a couple of tourists feeding beautiful parrots and cockatoos across from the Kafé. All in all, a pretty spectacular day. But have lunch somewhere else.

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Trains and boats and planes

Vacation day finally arrived. Our mooring owner picked us up on EV and took us a couple hundred meters to the ferry dock where we joined the morning commuters, all dressed in black and busy with their mobiles. From the ferry to the train to the airport and before we knew it we were in a hire car on the road to Geelong for lunch with Elizabeth, one of the three sisters from Christmas Day, and her husband John.

We checked into our first lodging with plenty of time for a preview run at the Great Ocean Road before day’s end, the stunning Point Addis and famous surf spot Bell’s Beach. Surf conditions weren’t great but there were still a few hopeful souls waiting for break that never came, at least while we were watching, sheltered from the sharp wind behind dense beach shrubbery.

Torquay is all about surfing and many clothing and equipment manufacturers have outlet stores here. We thought after nearly six years traveling the ocean it was high time we got wetsuits. A young dude at the Ripcurl Outlet patiently helped size us correctly and ignored the uncontrolled giggling coming from the dressing rooms as we both struggled to don and then doff a full suit. Ripcurl, even at outlet prices, was over our budget but we both got suits at other shops and now we can snorkel a little longer before getting chilled and Jack can clean EV’s bottom without getting covered in sealice and other itchy underwater things. I’m not sure having a wetsuit is going to make Jack willingly volunteer for bottom cleaning duty, but at least it removes one barrier.

Tomorrow is the true beginning of our Great Ocean Roadtrip.

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Squeeze play

Being in one country for this long has made us complacent about the calendar-watching that’s normal when traveling by boat. Cyclone seasons and other weather patterns impose a strict framework on when and where a sailboat can safely go, and our decision to wait out two cyclone seasons in Oz shoved that whole awareness out of conscious thought for the past year. Now, as we approach the end of the second cycle we’ve become painfully aware that not only have we failed to explore, as we meant to do, the far reaches of this country we’ve grown to love, but we note with sadness that our time with precious friends is also growing short.

We’re spending much less time in Sydney than we did last year and our friends Diana and Alex have travel plans too, so we’ve tried in the last couple of weeks to cram in some quality time before we scatter to other parts. That quality time has meant hours of good conversation and bread-breaking both in their gemütlich kitchen and in EV’s cockpit. We’ve done our best to encourage them to buy another boat and continue the cruising life with us. In fact we’ve begged. But as we’ve all learned, this life brings us together and tears us apart. The memorable, even life-changing experiences we share cement our friendships but they don’t make it any easier to know our time together is coming to an end.

I know I’ve been sentimental lately and it’s because we’re also saying goodbye to some of the first people we met when we started cruising. Meryl and Walter of Flying Cloud are moving back to land after their journey from the States to Australia. We first crossed paths in Oriental, North Carolina, during our first year aboard and spent our year in the Caribbean crisscrossing tracks.

That same year we met Snow White, What If, Anything Goes, Macushla, Field Trip, Two Much Fun, True Colors, Moana Roa and Shamara III. There are surely others, but of the ones we spent the most time with, many came to the end of their cruising ambitions and moved on to other adventures, one lost his boat, one is pausing to address health issues. Only two are still actively cruising but not in areas we’re likely to intersect any time soon. I’ve been marking the end of that chapter of our cruising life, the year many of us were still new on our boats, still figuring out the lifestyle and the boat systems, meeting at strategic places to share our frustrations and celebrate our successes, all the while singing variations on the theme of How Lucky Are We?

While I’m wallowing in pity at the prospect of saying goodbye to friends, we’re starting to feel our touring time running short. With the glorious Australian summer in full heat we know it’s too hot to travel to the desert regions so we’re planning to head south again. But first we have to find a safe place to leave EV for a couple of weeks. Last year we had no trouble securing a mooring near our friends on Toucan but this year it seems every available affordable mooring or slip has been spoken for. Our anchorage in Rozelle Bay has been cozy and good holding but we can’t leave our boat at anchor while we travel, nice as it is.

I’ve been afraid to start booking flights and hotels without knowing the boat has a place to live, but we have a bucket list item to knock off — a day at the Australian Open in Melbourne — and that only happens in a short window. Eventually I had to have faith that a mooring would become available and start booking the trip.

While that was happening, we developed a leak in our kitchen faucet. Alex took us on a day-long shopping spree and we picked up a new tap but when Jack installed it the leak got worse. What??? We called Mark from Erie Spirit, anchored nearby, and he came over to lend an extra pair of eyes and a few more neurons to help solve the problem.

As with any boat problem, fixing one thing leads to another problem and fixing that just leads you further down the rabbit hole. Thank goodness the whole thing got mostly sorted, leaving us with a very small seep from the drinking water filter canister, which will have to be addressed later. At least for now, there’s no more flooding under the sink and the kitchen is back together again.

I finally found us a mooring up the Parramatta River, sturdy and safe, but when we moved the boat four days before leaving on vacation, stormy weather moved in and we were stuck on board in 35-40 kts of wind with no place to land a dinghy.

Let me tell you how happy we were to get off the boat and head for the airport! The next couple of weeks will be a completely different adventure. And we deserve it!

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The view from the back porch

Close enough?

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Is it me or is it hot in here?

Yesterday the mercury broke the all-time record in Sydney, topping out at 117 degrees Fahrenheit. We watched our cockpit thermometer hit 108 in the shade before accepting an invitation from our anchor neighbor to shelter in his air-conditioned boat during the worst of it. When we emerged a few hours later it had cooled down to a more bearable 96 degrees and by sundown we were comfortable again.

Today was again hot, but the shift in wind direction to southerlies brought slightly cooler air and a thundershower and we only reached the high 90s. The rain chased us indoors to watch a movie and when it ended I came out on deck to check our position and the weather. It’s beautiful, a perfect tropical night in the city. Traffic on the ANZAC bridge is thinning, and beyond I can see the flashing red light atop the Sydney Harbour Bridge. About 100′ from our bow groups of two or three stroll the path through the waterfront park. A young couple pushes a pram and dogs lead their owners on the last walk of the day. I can hear muffled laughter from one of the super yachts at the marina on the far side of the bay. Bats fly overhead.

As I wait for the stars to reveal themselves the breeze kicks up and EV pulls back on her anchor chain. The two boats near us do the same and we three swing in the familiar choreography of boats at anchor to the slight change in wind direction.

It’s still warm and I retrieve my yoga mat from the cockpit and do a few sun prayers on the foredeck in the near darkness. By the time I finish the air is starting to chill and I roll up my mat and reluctantly go inside.

Earlier, apropos of nothing I can recall, Jack said, “I love living on a boat.”

I do too.

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Big on Bombs

The decision came down from on high. We were to decamp a day early from Rozelle Bay, steam down through the ruins of the old railroad swing bridge, under the Anzac Bridge and the Sydney Harbor Bridge, past the magnificent Opera House, sliding into Farm Cove, staying as far out of the anchorage as prudent without challenging the powers that be. Tomorrow The Man would be setting a line of yellow floating cones to establish a border between what’s fair and what’s foul. Yes, we’re breathless with anticipation because the countdown for the greatest show on earth has begun. It’s New Year’s in Sydney Harbor!

We’re here a day earlier than last year because we Escapees wanted to announce our presence with authority. Last year we had a few problems with Johnny-come-latelies and so far it looks good because there are very few boats in Farm Cove this morning as we sidled up to two serious looking cruising yachts and anchored. They came out into their cockpits with a smile, a nod, and a knowing wave. That’s at least a couple of boats near us that we won’t have to worry about. The day developed with an overcast sky and the chop from Ferry wakes was exactly what you’d expect. Nasty.

I couldn’t tell you when the Sydney chop subsided but it was dark and it was the kind of thing that sneaks up on you, kind of like a lobster in a gradually heating pot who thinks that man, we’re having a heat wave and next thing you know you’re cooked. The flip side is that in the morning the wakes started, one at a time at first, until Sydney fully woke up and huge cruise liners were added to the ferries and the tugs and the motor yachts and the sailboats and the fishermen in tinnies until we were engulfed in the full symphony of Sydney Harbor on eleven.

Vessels of all description began to enter Farm Cove. The later it got the more desperate the boaters seemed and the more ill equipped they were with the skills that are required for anchoring in really tight spaces. Cramming ten tons of boats in the five ton sack of Farm Cove just has disaster written all over it. For us it became a defense of our ground tackle. Time after time people tried to drop their anchors on ours or they dropped their anchor but the clothesline they just bought and hastily tied to it was all in knots. So many boats got their ground tackle tangled together that rescue boats just circulated Farm Cove waiting for the inevitable death spiral as tangled boats tried to separate, but couldn’t.


We three amigos who spent the night here helped each other with all the yelling and pointing — “no, not there!” — and only one of us was hooked by a huge stinkpotter whose windlass stopped working so he drove around the cove dragging his anchor like a grappling hook, snagging four boats in the process that followed him around like little ducklings. This apparently panicked him into gunning his engines causing huge clouds of black toxic diesel smoke obscuring the scene and covering the water with a shiny black oil slick.

In between all the anchoring schmozzle, two stunt planes trailing smoke chased each other around the harbor but really the big show is the wizardry of the bombs and sky rockets. Helicopters hovered, coming and going, and with all the police boats it started to feel a little weird, but when the show started, well, there aren’t many things that can make me feel like a little kid again.

It was magnificent!

Watch the news video of the full program here.

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Boxing Day at Sydney Heads

It seems so odd to us to keep comparing this year to last. We haven’t spent a year in one place since leaving Pittsburgh and now we get to decide whether we want to spend the holiday season repeating last year’s successes or doing things a little differently.

Case in point: one of the big events for sailors is the start of the Sydney-Hobart race on Boxing Day. It’s a rambunctious logjam of every kind of boat you can imagine all jockeying for a good view of the huge and fast racing sailboats trying to beat each other over the starting line without incurring a penalty. Brave souls take their own boats out and chase the leaders through the harbor and past the headlands into the Tasman Sea. Others book a spot on one of the tour boats and let someone else do the driving. Last year, after a few false starts and with the help of a savvy taxi driver, we found the perfect spot on land overlooking the starting line and enjoyed a picnic lunch and a wide angle view of the fleet.

This year, not wanting to try to replicate last year’s fun, especially without Nancy and Dave here, we had a hard time deciding whether we wanted to stay home and watch on TV — now that that’s an option — or find a different overlook. Boxing Day morning found us still foggy from the wine-soaked Christmas lunch. We wavered, contemplating a day spent with our feet up watching on the tube, but at the last minute we jumped in the dinghy with not much in the way of plans hoping to get anywhere near the South heads for a view of the Tasman Sea as the boats turn south.

Not sure what this is about but we passed them while chasing our bus.

We read about a special bus that starts when the ferries stop running during the height of the start frenzy but after jogging from bus stop to bus stop with an increasing number of similarly inclined folks and watching in frustration as the special X bus passed us by, we eventually took the next best thing, a regular local bus to our general destination, Watson’s Bay. It was an excruciatingly slow ride and we thought we might miss everything. As we neared the Bay we hit a traffic snarl and the murmur among the passengers was that it would be better to get off now and hoof it the rest of the way. Jack and I followed them out and over a hill only to find it wasn’t where we’d hoped to be.

We ran back down to the street, which by that time had cleared of traffic, jumped on the next bus and rode it to the end of the line. It was beach level, and although we could see the starting line in the distance, it wasn’t the view we wanted either. A quick check on Google maps suggested if we climbed over the next hill we’d at least find a view of the boats passing the heads out to sea. By now it was about 15 minutes to start time and our knees were not happy with the last two decisions, but at the top of the hill we found exactly what we were looking for, a pretty good aspect of the starting line, and an excellent clear overlook of the heads and the point where the boats would be tacking to turn south.

Hooray! There was even a wide bench to sit on. Our knees were grateful.

We had a few minutes to catch our breath before the start, then we spectators lined the benches to watch the magnificent racing machines charge the line.

After a few minutes we lost sight of the leaders as they passed behind the rocky promontory of south head and we watched as the spectator boats starting coming out ahead of the fastest sleds. And then the leaders came out, not as fast as you’d want because the wind was light, but once they could turn south they’d pick up speed quickly.

We knew some friends were on one of the big blue chase boats, and we passed our binoculars to some of the spectators hoping to find their friends’ boats. There was a near collision between two of the leaders which we happened to catch, and we learned later that sealed the fate of one of them when they were given a time penalty that took away their win on elapsed time.

We watched for another half hour or so then climbed back down the hill to join the crowd on the beach and eat fish and chips, then stood in line for the ferry to take us back to the other end of the harbor. Quite the odyssey for 45 minutes of excitement, but it’s what you do in Sydney on Boxing Day. And now we’ve done it twice. How lucky are we!

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And to all a good night

Last year we had my sister and brother in law aboard EV for the holidays and despite several offers to spend Christmas with friends we opted for a quiet family-only celebration. It may have been a little too quiet for Nancy and Dave, and devoid of the usual tree and other decorations that mark the holiday, but for Jack and me it was as special as it comes. The year before we two were completely alone in the beautiful Bay of Islands, New Zealand, where we hiked all morning and made our traditional curry dinner. It was a little lonely, truth be told.

This year we were facing a letdown after a warm and wonderful visit from Drew and Ericka in November but no family visitors for the holidays. To our delight, the same two invitations we had last year were extended once again and we happily accepted both.

We renewed our old cinnamon bun tradition on a small scale with buns delivered to nearby Erie Spirit and Starry Horizons. Then it was on to the ritual making of our traditional Christmas Eve samosas to take to Alex and Diana’s Schnitzel Fest.

All day long the VHF radio piped up every half hour or so with a dire strong wind warning for Sydney Closed Waters, a sudden 180 degree change in direction and 30 kts with higher gusts. This is the situation we experienced last year when a 35 kt. buster slammed EV from behind so hard that it popped our anchor out and for the first time ever with our Rocna anchor we dragged through an anchorage. The warnings were absolutely specific that between 8 and 9pm this front would move across our position. We listened with increasing concern about leaving the boat in a crowded anchorage with nothing but potentially damaging obstacles on all sides. We decided to wait for the 4pm forecast hoping for a slight change in direction or intensity of the prediction. The updated forecast did nothing to allay our fears and we reluctantly called Diana to say we needed to stay on the boat because of the weather.

In the end, while the wind did pick up and a small thunderstorm blew through, we didn’t get anywhere near the predicted dangerous conditions and we could have safely left EV at anchor, but that’s boat life. When all you have is on one small floating vessel you really can’t take chances. We salved our disappointment with a few samosas and some wine and cursed the alarmist forecasters of the Bureau of Meteorology for screwing up our Christmas Eve.

Christmas Day was gloomy, chilly and breezy but at least there were no strong wind warnings. We left the boat just before 10am for the dinghy, bus and train journey to the suburbs for a mid-day dinner at the home of — stay with me now — the landlady for my brother-in-law who lived and taught here in Australia for a year after college 45 years ago. How’s that for a connection? Noreen and her three daughters and other family and friends made a lively and welcoming group and we were delighted to be included.

There was plenty of bubbly, an abundance of delicious food, great conversation, and most appreciated by us, the easy, familiar story-telling that families do when they have a virgin audience. This was the best part for us, as it was reminiscent of our many years at the holiday table of our adopted family of three Irish Cassidy sisters in Pittsburgh, where singing and storytelling is a finely honed art.

After lunch, while there was much bustling about readying the Christmas pudding, we were entertained by the matriarch Noreen relating what we came to understand is a well-rehearsed tale of a long-ago train journey from Sicily to Switzerland involving a husband who missed the train and a mother left with no passports or money and three children. “Two!” piped up the older two daughters. “I wasn’t born yet,” added the youngest.

There was much prompting and challenging from the listeners, with Noreen occasionally putting her foot down. “Let me finish!” And at each sticky moment in the tale, Noreen declared, “You can imagine, with three children…”

“Two!”

“I wasn’t there.”

At the end of the story, Noreen imparted her well-earned wisdom, “Never travel with three children.”

“Two!”

“I wasn’t born yet.”

We loved every minute of it and were sent home with bags full of chocolate, fruitcake, homemade jam and little gifts, including the most thoughtful gift of all, donations made in our names to CARE Australia of farm animals to families in need around the world. This is a generous and open-hearted family and we are so lucky to be included in their circle of friends.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

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