Thankful to be here.

off for a walk in Coffs Harbour

Our quiet family Thanksgiving dinner last night, we went around the table talking around things we're thankful for. To a one, the kids all agreed: they are grateful to be out sailing, to be living this life.

Getting to know Australia

Same same but different

At first blush, Australia is so superficially similar to North America- the differences sometime catch you by surprise. It's like there's a little unexpected twist to everyday things.

The coastline at our landfall, Coffs Harbour, for example- looked so much like the Oregon coast. Evergreen trees, rolling surf crashing onshore, little islets just offshore... but look more closely, and it's all done in tropical shades. Those conifers are actually Norfolk pines, which aren't actually pines and would not survive in PNW temperatures. The noisy birds overhead that looked like crows when silhouetted? Some kind of parrot, when their emerald feathers are seen in the sunlight.

This is going to be fun.

Land ho!

At four days and 21 hours, Jamie sighted the coast of Australia. Poetically enough, it rose from pink clouds at sunrise. I was off watch sleeping (and happy to stay that way), but he woke Niall up for a bleary first look at our destination.

Australia emerges from the pink morning haze

Later that morning, as the shore came into focus, we all sat giddily in the cockpit. It's hard to describe the excitement of the moment, but it all feels right. I'm grateful for the safe completion of another major passage, and ready to rest.

Day 5 - Almost there

Sunrise in the Coral Sea

The wind has backed to the Northeast, which means we're running dead downwind. It's also lightened up considerably to 10-15 knots. We motorsailed, which is easier on the autopilot, a more comfortable motion, and ensures we can get in during business hours on Friday.

I'm devouring a stack of cast-off magazines from a fellow cruiser- mostly fashion oriented, and about half of them Australian. I'm hoping for cues to some of the culture in our destination as well as easing my brain into the fact I'll have to actually pay attention to what I wear soon. But the shiny pages of scrawny models bound up in "look at me" clothes feels false and foreign. So does the message on almost every page, pitching something "essential" to buy. It's entertaining, mostly, but makes me wonder how the adjustment to first world life will sit. In case we missed the point, one magazine is actually named "Shop Till you Drop". Maybe the Aussie fasion mag should gets point for telling it like it us, but something inside me resists.

Siobhan flips pages with me. Her game is to point at something she wants on every page. This could be people for her imaginary game ("I'll be her, and her, and you can be that girl") to things she wants to eat or use (a pizza on one page, an electronic gadget on another). Maybe she'll be our material girl... she's already our fashionista.

MIKE/IO: If all is well on Totem give us a quick tune now please.

BEHAN/TOTEM: (hits tune button)

MIKE/IO: got it, good! all's well on IO. Here's a position- if you are within 20 miles of this mark, give me a tune now.

MIKE/IO: OK, you're within 20 miles of that position. If you are east of this position, along your rhumb line towards New Cal- give a tune now please.

MIKE/IO: OK, good! If you are within 10 miles of this position...

...etc.

It takes some time, but Mike usually pegs us within just a couple of miles.

Day 4 - Fickle Autopilot

Big news today- we GYBED! Yes, it's exciting things like this that make the day of the passage sailor.

Petrels circling Totem

The autopilot needs to be babied. When he opened up the gear box for another lube, Jamie found brass shavings- a sign the planetary gears are wearing. At least we replaced the plastic gears back in Mexico- they would never have lasted this long! We are taking steps to lighten the load on the autopilot- hand steering more, motorsailing when it makes sense. With just two of us trading watches, hand steering all the time would be exhausting. Niall is able to help, which is huge, and we can still rely on the autopilot in some conditions. A new autopilot is now just another boat buck looming in our future.

We're making great progress. Besides near ideal conditions for Totem- 20-25 knots, right on the beam- we're riding the East Australian Current (those who know it can now quote several relevant lines from Finding Nemo...). We've gone long stretches of averaging 9-10 knots, rarely seen less than 6, and occasionally surfed over 14. Not bad!

Ocean-dwelling petrels circle Totem. These dove-gray birds spend most of their life far out at sea. It's beautiful to watch them glide over the water, perfectly anticipating the lift of the waves and and staying just inches above them. Occasionally a wing is very diliberately dipped to skim through the surface: it's magical to watch.

At 6:45pm (NSW time) this evening, Totem crossed into Australian waters. We watched and counted down the minutes until this first hurdle of arrival: it was an exciting moment! It looks like we'll arrive in plenty of time on Friday to complete clearance and avoid the nearly $300 additional in fees that come with checking in on the weekend.

Day 3 - Blue skies!

Totem charges along on a reach.

I wake to the "beep-beep-beep" sound of the autopilot spontaneously shutting down. A less auspicious beginning to our third day, which is otherwise bright and blue. Jamie spends a few hours hand steering. I get breakfast and monitor the morning radio net while skimming through the autopilot manual. The troubleshooting guide lines up with Jamie's gut: excess friction is causing an automatic shutdown of the drive unit before the motor can be damaged from working too hard. I take over steering the waves while Jamie digs up a can of WD40 and crams himself into the lazarette to lube up our old Raymarine as best he can. We gingerly shift back to the autopilot, helping the wheel along to minimize effort on the drive unit. It seems to work, so Jamie and I sit in the cockpit and eventually breathe a sigh of relief.

Jamie not only wore pants last night, but a fleece and sea boots. I resisted the boots, and neither of us have consented to put socks on yet. We're just not ready to condescend to wearing them again.

Even though we can't transmit, the HF radio nets are a key part of our day. Along with friends making the passage to Oz concurrently, we've organzied an informal net with twice daily check-ins. Mike from IO runs the show and is our advocate and guardian angel, tracking Totem's estimated position and sharing weather updates for our benefit.

When the SSB stopped working in Vanuatu, we found that our tune-up was still audible at significant distanc, and we use this single chirp as a basis to communicate. Mike asks us yes/no questions, and we confirm positive responses by hitting the tune button. It can be a bit cumbersome, as the tune process takes about 30 seconds before timing out, but it's effective. Mike has gotten our position within a radius of just a few miles at each of our twice daily nets, and read forecasts taht we aren't able to download ourselves. It is truly wonderful to feel so looked after by our friends, to know that even in this vast expanse of ocean, we aren't alone.

We hear over the net that FlyAweigh has broken a lower stay on their port side. They've dropped all sails and are doing fine motoring through with plenty of fuel to reach Australia, but it's yet another reminder. Anything can happen, an you have to be able to cope with a spectrum of unexpected events. Their boat was commissioned barely a year ago- who would expect this level of rigging problem?

The dryer, cooler air is an exciting reminder of our destination. Pants, foulie jacket, hat and boots were essential for night watch, and I finally submitted ot the tyranny of the socks... sliding into fleece to warm my toes.

Day 2 - Cool and gray

Lumpy gray seas reflect the sunless skes, too overcast to cast a shadow. Our cockpit cushions have a light salt grit from waves that slapped the hull and splashed over the coamings last night. The sea state has eased considerably from our first day, so I cooked a hearty breakfast for the crew/family of eggs, bacon and potatoes. We've all shaken the "blahs" that often accompany the first days of a passage as our bodies adjust to the constant motion. A few squares of dark chocolate, usualy reserved for the wee hours, find their way into my morning watch.

Niall and Jamie in the cockpit- bundled up, but still refusing to condescend to socks.

The children have slid easily into their passage routine as Jamie and I have slid into ours. Their quiet times spent reading or listening to audiobooks are interspersed with rambunctious wrestling in the aft cabin's big bunk. We shift watches in a seamless rhythm found through trial and error over thousands of sea miles.

Late at night, leaning over the binnacle and looking astern, I can just make out the phosphorescence that marks our path. Clouds obscure the stars and no moon shed light, making this the inkiest of nights I can remeber at sea. We charge along at well over hull speed, surving down the front of three meter wave fronts. Without light to expose our surroundings, the feeling of speed is magnified and exhilarating.