26/10/2024
Leg 3/4: A Tale in Two Parts
We decided to take a breather at Shelter Bay instead of setting off early like we’d planned. The winds had picked up, and the thought of crossing the sandbar exit at Dirk Hartog for the first time had us feeling pretty sketched out. The next day’s forecast looked far more favorable, and this trip south, heading out into the open ocean, had been weighing on us—a weird mix of excitement and terror. We'd heard plenty about this coastline and, having only sailed in the Mediterranean before, we were determined to go cautiously, give ourselves some grace on this new boat.
Turned out, it was the best call. We spent the day basking in the stunning surroundings, coffee in hand, perched on the bow, just soaking it all in. Only one problem—our bike garage, the forward berth, door was jammed shut. Inside? Our tools and the bloody outboard. S**t.
We spent a good while scratching our heads, trying everything from brute force to turning ourselves into contortionists. And then, Jobbo had a lightbulb moment. Instead of wrecking the door, he sliced a small section of the floor, found a tiny gap—just big enough for an arm—and squeezed into the bilge. After some wrestling, he managed to pop the floor up on the other side, shift the rogue drawer, and voila… we broke in. 😆
After that bit of hard graft, we rewarded ourselves with a proper brekkie and flicked a line off the back. We took a moment to reflect on how lucky we were to be here, on our way south, and how many stars had to align to get us this far. We’d planned to make it all the way to Rockingham, but with the autopilot out and the very real possibility of me going down with seasickness again, we decided to stop in Geraldton for a halfway breather.
Later, we got the dinghy out, headed to shore to stretch our legs, and had a good chat about the next morning’s sketchy sandbar crossing and our impending plunge out of the sheltered waters of Shark Bay into the vast Indian Ocean. If I said I wasn’t anxious, I’d be lying.
After a fitful night’s sleep, we woke to no wind—perfect. A stress-free exit was just what we needed, as leaving Dirk Hartog in high winds on an ebb tide with big ocean swell isn’t something you want to mess with.
We eased out of Shelter Bay, waving to a few fishermen near Monkey Rock. Everything was going so smoothly, my anxious knots began to unravel into something closer to excitement. That fear of the unknown was slipping away. We headed offshore around the 100-meter depth mark, leaving behind the confused waters smashing against the cliffs at Steep Point. Then, the swell started rolling in, the seas got choppy, and like clockwork, my seasickness kicked in hard. Once again, Captain Jobbo was left at the helm, while I wrestled my stomach and my mind, doing my best to give him some rest between throwing up. One hand on the wheel, the other gripping a bucket.
About 26 hours in, things started to shift. The slow, agonizing crawl inland gave way to a calm I didn’t think possible. As if by some miracle, my stomach settled, the misery melted away, and we finally moved into the second phase of the sail.
With 10 knots on the beam and calm seas, we were flying—hooning along at 7, sometimes 8 knots. We were ahead of schedule, set to arrive a full six hours earlier. Spirits lifted as we dug into our first proper meal of the trip, took more photos and videos, and marveled at the endless pods of whales. We soaked in the sheer joy of sailing this wild coastline, the weight of the previous day lifting with each passing mile. What a difference a day makes.
As Geraldton appeared on the horizon, we were buzzing with that giddy mix of pride and exhaustion—chuffed at what we’d just pulled off, and absolutely gagging for a beer and some real rest. After anchoring just after sunset, we didn’t waste any time—hit the bunks and passed out.
We were over halfway!
