Open Writing

One of the most apparently dangerous things I’ve ever done was to sail on our family yacht "Honeywind" in a 75-knot storm from the southern end of Bruny Island to Oyster Cove at the northern end of D’Entrecasteaux Channel which separates Bruny Island from the mainland of Tasmania.

It began when we awoke to a leaden grey sky and strengthening winds on the last day of our Christmas holidays of 1972/3. We were anchored in Tin Pot Bay behind the reef and after breakfast we began to ready the boat for the passage to North Bruny.

The wind was rising and the sky grew darker by the minute. The unfortunate thing about the journey ahead of us was that on the way down from Hobart on Boxing Day we had hit a submerged heavy object in the mouth of the Channel and sheared off both blades of our propeller. This left us, effectively, without an engine. This was ok while the weather was good as it had been for most of the trip. We could use the sails and "Honeywind" was a fully equipped ocean racing yacht; forty-two feet of sturdy steel hull, strong enough for anything 40° South could dish up but with the approaching storm it was, for me, quite frightening. My husband was undaunted as usual. The others on board were my 10-year old daughter, Lisa, and my 17-year old son, Philip.

My son hauled up the anchor and we were away in a 45-knot southwesterly. As we headed up the Channel with the reefed mainsail and no.3 jib hoisted we picked up speed quickly. I began to feel quite afraid and I could see that my daughter was feeling the same way. I got that familiar feeling of heavy doubt mixed with fear in my stomach and I wished I could be on dry land, anywhere but on the boat. My husband was at the helm and my son was in the cockpit, adjusting the sails to the winds as necessary every time we changed course, which was frequently because of the narrow Channel and our unusually high speed. I was below with my daughter reading to her about a little horse, ironically called "Stormy".

The action of the boat became more and more violent and every time we changed course my daughter and I grabbed for support as the 45°: angle of the floor was suddenly tilted to the reverse angle. The floor was the only place to sit in relative safety.

One thing that consoled me was that the boat was very strong and safe, a 42 feet steel yacht designed and built by experienced Tasmanian shipbuilders and fitted out by my equally experienced husband. Right now, I was too aware of the storm to take much comfort in that and so I continued to read to my daughter in an effort to keep us both calm.

Just then, my husband called, "Bev, for God’s sake, look behind us."

I looked, and what I saw made me feel ten times worse. At the southern end of the Channel there was a big pillar of purplish cloud, looking like a 200 feet tornado such as I had viewed on TV. Behind that cloud the sky had a greenish tinge and fear struck deep inside me even more.

With the increased probability of the storm becoming more intense and the winds becoming even stronger, my husband decided to take down the mainsail and sent my son forward on the wet slippery deck to roll the sail down using our wonderful roller-reefing gear, but the wind was so strong the equipment was damaged as soon as it was put to use. My husband then called me to take the helm.

"I can’t," I said.

"You’ll have to," he replied. "Your son can’t hold onto that sail any longer."

So, with my heart in my mouth, I left my daughter and went on deck to do my best.

The wind was screaming now and the world around me was white, the sea and air almost indistinguishable from each other. Needles of spray were hitting my face in painful thousands but that was the least of my worries. While my menfolk wrestled with the sail I tried hard to keep the "Honeywind" under control. Every time I changed tack I overcorrected the helm and the boat went veering off at an acute angle. I don’t know how long they took to get the sail off but it seemed like ages.

It was probably about 20 minutes and by that time I was controlling the boat fairly well and in a perverse way taking some pride in that. The speedometer showed us doing 10 knots with only the no.3 jib to drive us and that was really amazing. My husband took over the helm again and I gratefully went below to my daughter. I just sat on the floor and cuddled her. Wind gusts were hitting the boat with audible thumps like a huge fist and the whole vibrated from stem to stern.

As we progressed north the police boat "Vigilant" was under full power beside us and as we watched she was blown around in a 360° turn. Amazing! We struggle on for what seemed an internity for me though my husband seemed unperturbed. Incredibly, as we got to a narrower part of the Channel the storm suddenly disappeared and we were becalmed. This gave us an opportunity to pull the dinghy alongside and see if we had our faithful dog and our gear left. We did. What a relief.

We finally drifted into Oyster Cove where the small village of Kettering nested on the green hills and green fields running down to the water’s edge. We were able to pick up a mooring, which was a blessing, and here we spent a relatively peaceful night. Though it did blow 45 knots again during the night which was not a problem compared to our incredible ride from South Bruny.

The next day we sailed home without a problem. My son got to work on time, that being the reason we set sail in a storm. We rang the weather bureau and were told the winds in that area had been recorded at 75 knots or about 86 mph that day.