The swell flattened out as we rounded South Cape on our way back East from Port Davey. The wind was behind us, a preventer on the enormous boom to insure against mishaps. The stars came out.
C Watch grabbed some sleep between midnight and 4am, and then again after coming off watch at 6am (love these short two-hour watches!), waking to glorious sunshine as we rounded the dolerite stacks of Cape Raoul.
It was a beautiful day, but somehow bittersweet. Our little group of disparate travellers had spent the last week together in the wilderness of buttongrass country. With only ourselves and our wits to rely on, we had weathered storms and breakdown, supported one another with good humour through times of hard toil and not a little pain. We had learned one another’s little quirks, and had knit ourselves together into a cohesive and reasonably effective sailing team.
But now, rounding the Cape, our telephones reconnected to the outside world. Messages appeared that had been waiting days to be delivered. The crew started to interact with loved ones and civilisation outside of the boat, and the group began to lose cohesiveness. We were still effective, but we were aware of the outside world and the outside was aware of us; in the back of our minds, we knew that the end of the trip was approaching.
We headed north and into more sheltered waters, although there were still almost no other vessels to be seen. We passed Mount Brown and Crescent Beach, with views across the to the Tasman Peninsula, home of the Three Capes Track.
The buildings of the historic colonial site of Port Arthur hove into view. We could see people moving about, the first humanity since we bumped into those pilots half way up Mount Rugby. We dropped the pick and took the dinghy in to the end of the jetty.
Supplies had been low on Silver Fern for some days, and the crew were keen to hit the restaurant and eat some fresh food. I started out with similar intentions, but quickly felt uncomfortable with all the unfamiliar faces of the milling tourists. I left the others to it, and instead wandered off to explore the farther reaches of the historical site.
The Port Arthur Penal Colony was active from 1833 to 1877 as a place of incarceration for repeat offenders elsewhere in the colonies. The curators of the historic site have done a great job of bringing the characters to life, whether convicts or the military or their families, through historical and court records. I had a very pleasant time ambling poking around in the extensive gardens and restored buildings.
I hadn’t eaten lunch, of course, but my watch were still looking after me. Knowing that I prefer more fat and protein than were available aboard, they brought me back a big bag of nuts and fruit, as well as some left-over wine. Thanks, Ange and Mish.
Back aboard Silver Fern, we nipped around the corner to Safety Cove, and dropped anchor for the night.
An advance party swam to the beach, and the rest of us joined them in the tender for sundowners.
We were really plumbing the depths of the ship’s stores now, with sweet white wine and mid-strength beer, so I was delighted to discover a forgotten bottle of Jaraman Merlot at the bottom of my kit bag.
There was much hilarity and general fooling around, until finally we launched the tender into an increasingly rambunctious surf, getting thoroughly soaked in the process.
Brendon and I had already pre-prepped dinner. Again, supplies were really low, so we had to get creative with chopped-up beef sausages, butter chicken sauce, and frozen vegetables. For the vegetarians, we made a packet coconut vegetable curry topped with fried tofu. It all actually tasted pretty good.
