In October I enjoyed a cruise to the end of the world and beyond on the MS Fram. She is the smallest of the three Hurtigruten line ships which sail in South America.

We sailed from Valparaiso, the closest port to Santiago and a really interesting city in its own right.

After two days at sea we made our way through the Chacao Channel to Castro which is the main city on the island of Chiloe and the third oldest city in Chile, founded in 1756 by the Spanish. One of the main sights is the palafots or houses on stilts. These were used for workers but are now mainly hotels, hostels or boutiques.

The next port was Puerto Eden on Wellington Island. It is one of the three most isolated townships in Chile. It was the home of the last of the Kaweshar people but there are no more full blood natives and the population is less than 300. The main industry was fishing. There is no road transport just a weekly ferry and the paths are boardwalks. It is reputed to be the place with the highest rainfall in the world.

The route through the fjords was spectacular with waterfalls and snow capped mountains.

The major port of call on mainland Chile was Puerto Natales. This city is only half an hour from the Argentinian border. We spent a night berthed here which allowed an excursion to the spectacular Torres del Paine National Park.

From there we proceeded through part of the Magellan Straits, briefly into the open ocean and then the Beagle Channel. Turning south we sailed past Cape Horn and then across the dreaded Drake Passage.

Cape Horn.

We spent six days in total visiting various harbours and bays on the Antarctic Peninsula. Of course there were plenty of penguins as well as albatross, terns, skuas, seals, a few whales and lots of icebergs.

One of the most spectacular sights was Paradise Bay.

We recrossed the Drake Passage and made landfall at Puerto Williams, Chile which claims to be the most southerly town in the world. This title previously was held by Ushuaia, Argentina at 54o 48’ S whereas Puerto Williams sits at 54o56’ S. There is a small marina at Puerto Williams. There were two Australian boats moored there. One had sailed from Southport and was headed to Antarctica and the other was from Jervis Bay.

The Beagle Channel forms the border between Chile and Argentina. This boat came out of the marina in Chile flying both countries’ flags. We caught up with it outside Ushuaia with just the Argentinian flag on show.

After Puerto Williams we headed to Punta Arenas for a flight back to Santiago. Punta Arenas is the administrative capital of the most southerly of Chile’s sixteen regions. Thus ended the tour.

/ Dorothy Theeboom

Some people think of umbrella drinks, decadent luxury and a trouble-free existence when they hear you’re going sailing in the Whitsundays for a week. That’s not my cup of tea, luckily. Our Whitsunday sailing week may not have offered rejuvenating relaxation, but it did allow us to grow as people, which is the new black when it comes to holidays.

Morning at Maccona Inlet, Hook Island

Our dear friends had booked Wazabi, a 16-year-old Catalina 350 without skipper, and invited Martyn and I to share the experience. Boat years is a bit like dog years so you have to multiply by 7 to understand the vessel’s true condition. The grand old dame looked rather perky on first (external) inspection but some of her internal organs needed an urgent transplant, we soon learnt.

Our aft cabin gave us a taste of what a final ride at the back of a hearse will feel like, but a few bruises and forehead bumps into the week, we got the hang of it. Kind of. Luckily, we didn’t find out the hatches weren’t waterproof until it rained.

The saloon’s wood panelling featured knee high water stains, which may or may not have been connected in a fascinating way to the bilge pump expelling large amounts of water every half hour.

The fridge/freezer tried to compensate for Wazabi’s shortcomings by working overtime. The name iceberg lettuce finally made sense, and we enjoyed the breakfast novelty of frozen yoghurt and frozen everything. This very cool storage unit featured two hatches in the benchtop as well as a door on the front. The door allowed access to the frozen beer, wine, gin and tonic at the bottom, but care had to be taken that the food stacked on the fridge shelf above didn’t come tumbling out. Shaken, not stirred, if you please.

But the part of Wazabi that offered the most opportunity for mental growth was the head. (Land crabs may call it the toilet but if you’re a sailor with any amount of pride it’s so much more logical to call it the head). Many years of dealing with affluent effluent meant this poor loo had had enough. After less than 24 hours of macerating marine grade toilet paper and our deconstructed seafood dinner, it decided we needed to be taught a lesson about eating such a fibre rich diet. Captain Martyn was head of operations, so to speak, as he emptied the offending content of the clogged facility.

We had only reached as far as Nara Inlet on Hook Island, so when Queensland Yacht Charters told us to return to base for the loo to be fixed, we obliged by getting up at dawn and motoring back to Coral Sea Marina. By the way, motoring, we were told at the induction, also happened to be necessary for a minimum of three hours a day, as without solar panels there was no other way to feed the fridge beast or anything else on the boat requiring power.

By about midday, Wazabi’s constipation issues had been sorted, and we set off anew. The breeze was good so we managed to arrive at Maccona Inlet only a little bit later than the daily anchoring time stipulated by Queensland Yacht Charters. All vessels in their fleet were recommended to reach their overnight spot by 2pm and requested to be securely anchored no later than 4pm.

A friendly potato cod at Maccona Inlet

That night we enjoyed a lovely dinner in flat-as-lake conditions and were blessed with a visit to the back of the boat by a fish as big as a big person. The potato cod was almost as long as our inflated tender, and it stayed with us for an hour, grazing on minnows gathered to nibble on our hull.

Next day, after a quick morning stroll on land and a few swim strokes along the golden beach, we upped anchor and steered towards Hook Passage. We also contacted Queensland Yacht Charters to let them know the only toilet on board was again out of order. They said they’d get in touch with us a bit later about it, and when they did, we were on the eastern side of Whitsunday Island well on our way towards Whitehaven Beach. We were told to immediately return to base to have the toilet that they fixed the day before, fixed.

The first time the toilet broke, they told us to use a bucket for our needs until the toilet had been repaired. This time, we were a long way away from Coral Sea Marina and suggested that we use the bucket for now, but this solution was suddenly not an option according to the manager of Queensland Yacht Charters who now put on her school principal voice and DEMANDED that we return to base OR SHE WOULD SEND SOMEONE TO GET US. We suggested to the manager that surely there would be a variety of solutions to explore, including them sending someone out to us in a fast runabout to fix the toilet, or to get it fixed at Hamilton Island marina once we got closer. Bucket ablutions are not on most people’s bucket list but we reiterated that it was a preferred option in the meantime so as to not steal any more holiday time from our week.

Hill Inlet looking towards Whitehaven Beach

The radio communication must have sounded like a daytime TV drama to the surrounding yachties. The manager told us to call her on a mobile phone but unfortunately, we were out of range. We stopped for lunch at Tongue Bay, then walked up to the lookout and marvelled at the brochure-like view of Hill Inlet with its marbled turquoise and sand coloured expanse. The wind had picked up a fair bit by afternoon as we set a course for nearby Chalkies Beach. The radio communication with Queensland Yacht Charters resumed but reception was erratic, adding confusion to conflict. It was finally agreed that we’d meet them the following morning at Hammo which was a relief after a day of an extreme case of uncooperativeness and unwarranted aggression.

Chalkies Beach

A public mooring buoy suddenly became available to put a cherry on top of our positive turn of events, and the evening was spent frisbee throwing on the white sandy beach, swimming, cheese and crackers eating and champagne drinking. Ahh, holidays.

The bliss didn’t last long though. Early next morning we motored towards Hamilton Island when we were contacted by Queensland Yacht Charters. Why hadn’t we spent the night at Hammo marina as agreed, the manager demanded to know!? The fact that we had checked in with them at Chalkies to let them know we were safely attached to a green/blue buoy the night before seemed to not have registered with the irate manager, and our poor Captain Martyn had to endure a telling off that exceeded the previous day’s blasting from her. We all felt sick and in utter disbelief at this person’s idea of customer service which resembled the ramblings of a maniac on drugs.

At least the employees of the charter company were nice, normal people, and we were pleased to again see the young mechanic-turned-plumber who’d been sent to fix the darn toilet. We stocked up on seafood at the excellent IGA before casting off and head to Turtle Bay for the night. The anchorage proved a little rocky for the south-easterly swell, but we did enjoy a lovely pre dinner swim and being able to use the loo on board – all toilet paper disposed of in a lined bucket placed in the shower cubicle just to be extra cautious.

Exploring Long Island

A beautiful breeze the following day brought us around the south end of Hamilton Island, then we took advantage of the tidal flow leading past Pine Island and up around the tip of Long Island which was our next destination. Exploring Happy Bay by foot we came across a variety of typical local creatures including a large goanna, a couple of inquisitive wallabies and a bunch of friendly tourists staying at the Palm Bay resort.

A day of exploring South Molle Island’s many walking tracks

Some people say all good things come in threes. Well on Wazabi that’s a load of cr*p. Our next and final overnight stop was at South Molle Island which is surprisingly, stunningly beautiful with a varied landscape and many walking trails which we took advantage of. There is also a public amenities block which we eagerly made use of because, guess what. Our toilet had given up again.

Anna Alvsdotter, SV SnO

It was at Foys, the restaurant at the Flying Squadron, where us Middle Harbour Yacht Club Cruisers had our annual Long Lunch, where I read a little bit of history about the club on one of the plaques on the wall. Strange that it couldn’t be had at our own club.
It seems Mark Foy, founder of the Sydney Flying Squadron challenged the River Medway Yacht Club to a race, whilst on a business trip in the UK, which took place in in 1899. The prize was he Anglo Australian Shield.  

The Australian challenger was Irex, the former Champion 22-Footer Foy purchased  in 1898 and sent to England. Built by Joe Donelly* in 1887, Irex had been Intercolonial Champion in both 1894 and 1897

Irex and Maid of Kent

Maid of Kent, the boat the Medway Yacht Club had built for the challenge. A considerably different boat to Irex, the only similarity was that the combined deck length, waterline length and beam totalled 53'6" in both boats. Maid of Kent was designed by Linton Hope and most resembled the rater class of which he was one of the leading designers. She was built by Gill and Sons of Rochester in a few months.

A series of 5 races was agreed on, and Maid of Kent was built very rapidly as the first race was on Saturday 17 September. Maid of Kent took a lead of 10 lengths early and continued to increase it. She appeared to be sailing evenly whereas Irex was regularly putting her gunnel under. Over the 13 mile course, Maid of Kent won by 11 minutes.

The second race was on Tuesday 20 September, and with smaller rig and crew, Irex performed much better, leading early by 15 seconds. Maid of Kent however was clearly faster downwind, and won the race by 2 minutes. The third race was the very next day and consisted of a race upriver from Queenborough to Chatham and was mostly upwind in light airs. Maid of Kent won, and having won three in a row, the remaining two races were not necessary.

(Words and pictures solicited from the Sydney Flying Squadron website). Read the full story here: http://www.openboat.com.au/the-anglo-australian-shield.html

The lower reaches of the River Medway, where the Medway Yacht Club is situated are not quite as attractive as Sydney Harbour.

It brought back my own memories of the River Medway and my first experience of being on (and in) the water in my own waterborne vessel, other than Uncle Nevil’s friends rubber dinghy on Thames estuary waters at Seasalter. It developed a leak, so the other Uncles had to swim us to shore. Reminds me of my current deflatable.

I have limited experience of the lower reaches, apart from observing the mudflats below whilst driving over it at high level on the M2 motorway.
I do however have experience of the upper reaches of the Medway which are somewhat narrower and prettier.

As a younger boy I grew up within easy reach of the river. Desperate as I was to go fishing I wasn't allowed to go near the river until I passed my 50 yard swimming test. I lived in a little village called Teston, where my Dad was the village Bobby. Great Uncle Percy drowned by the medieval stone Bridge. The waters were quite precarious, there being a weir and an ancient water mill, creating turbulence. My school class had weekly lessons, at the horrid Victorian era, chlorine infested, Maidstone swimming baths, under the wrathful eye of the grim, and very scary, Mrs Horsfall. It was the type where they had individual wooden changing cubicles around the rim of the pool, which you had to queue up for. The bottoms of the doors were rotten through lack of maintenance and there weren’t enough hooks to hang up clothes and towels. You were shouted at if you were late for the lesson.  I did pass my test and was finally allowed to go fishing. I never caught anything, apart from a few sticklebacks. Being only 20mm long they didn't make for good eating.

A few years later, living on the other side of town, I bought my first canoe. It had a fibreglass bottom and a timber top. I gave it the original name of Martinique. Two of my friends also bought canoes. The river was at least a mile away and it was pre car days, not that I was old enough to drive, so we made trolleys out of old pram wheels found at the local dump. With the addition of a timber cross piece and bent plywood, they worked a treat.
None of us had canoed/kayaked before. They were quite unstable and very difficult to paddle in a straight line. It was so exciting to be manoeuvring upstream trying to avoid the overhanging branches whilst trying to keep our craft in a straight line. It wasn't long before either Ray, or Mick, capsized, followed by Mick or Ray. I can't remember how they managed to right their craft. They probably swam to the river bank. With me feeling very smug on the return journey, of our very first cruise, we arrived at the bank from where we set off. Mick and Ray alighted, safe, but wet. I hadn't realised how cramped my legs were so one step on to dry land followed by two steps back, into the water, I didn't feel smug anymore. 

The river Medway eventually flows into the river Thames, where, at a later stage in life, I continued my watery pursuits.
As a student I lived in Deptford, which at that time, was one of the least salubrious areas of inner South East London. Deptford did have a pre-eminent history in the days of Nelson and ship building. The shipyards and
Wharves (Warehouse Along River Front) closed in the late 60's and moved downstream. Many of the old buildings remained including a few Rum warehouses which had been converted into flats. The lower ground floor of one of these had been adapted as a sailing school.  A crane was used to lift the dinghies from a pen, over the river wall into the water. It was here that I had my first experience of sailing. The boats were Wayfarers. They were about 14 foot long and could comfortably fit four people. Many Wayfarers were adapted for extended cruising and went on extraordinary expeditions.

We were taught how to capsize and right the boats in the murky w ater, which wasn't as clean as it is now (when raw sewage isn’t being pumped into it by Thames Water), and Weils disease was not uncommon. Once that was mastered the sailing comprised figuring out how to tack and gybe out of the way of the rubbish barges and party boats whilst in a 6 knot tide with a fickle wind. The rubbish barges were particularly scary. There would be one tug boat towing three huge barges full of junk. Needless to say, they had almost zero manoeuvrability and couldn't avoid us dinghy sailors.

Surprisingly, I wasn’t put off and I did actually buy a Wayfarer with a friend, a few years later. We kept it at Chichester harbour and had lots of fun exploring the inlets, picnicking on the sandy beach at East Head and kind of racing at the local Dell Quay sailing club, next door to the Crown and Anchor, one of the beast pubs in the south of England, which also sells proper beer, at room temperature.

The Wayfarer lives on and is currently in the care of my nephew in South West England awaiting further escapades.

Martyn Colebrook S/V SnO

Listening to Lisa Blair presenting her ideas of the past and future, she was talking about building a new boat in volcanic fibres and that triggered my interest. What are these fibres and how good are they??

After some research I found more info about them, and the material is actually called Basalt and the fibres are indeed extracted from the volcanic lava that exists plentiful around our globe. It's more environmentally friendly as the process of creating the fibres is simpler and less energy consuming than producing fibreglass or Carbon fibre.

Basalt fibres are becoming more used as rebar in construction, as it's not susceptible to corrosion and have strength characteristics similar to steel. For a boat builder it sits somewhere between fibreglass and carbon fibre in strength and cost. It can also be used with Epoxy resin or Polyester.

As it happens I was planning to install an autopilot on our sailboat RaRa and for that I needed a tiller arm to fit on the rudder stock. The tiller arm needs to be very strong and this part is unfortunately not something Whitworths sells as a stock item. A bronze version could be ordered from the US to the approximate cost of $1200 + shipping. I also contacted a few local people about fabricating one, but it was both expensive and a long lead time to get it done. So, what to do? I decided to make one, using basalt fibres, Epoxy and a core of Oak.

Constructing a simple 'mold' out of a bottle with the same diameter as my rudder stock and a piece of chipboard I got going on the balcony of our flat.

I used a 360g woven basalt cloth tape 100mm wide, and at the thickest points there are 15 layers of fibres.

At the time of writing the Autopilot isn't yet 100% completed and commissioned yet, but hopefully it will prove to be strong enough and not 'erupt' at the most inopportune time!

/Niclas S/V RaRa