Sailing Yacht Vestlandskyss Archives

South from Queensland

We ate dinner at anchor on our new yacht Vestlandskyss, after motoring south down the Main Channel to the Gold Coast from Moreton Bay in Queensland.

Ahead of us we had planned three days and nights of continuous sailing, to get her even further south, to Pittwater in New South Wales. Aboard were Bronwyn, Brendon, myself, and our nine-year-old daughter Berrima, who had never experienced a passage before.

After dinner, we motored out of the Gold Coast Seaway in an exciting and bouncy bar crossing.

Once out of the heads, we hoisted a full main and a staysail. We’ve never had a boat with a cutter rig before, so we were interested to see what it was like to have an extra sail forward. The staysail stabilised the boat without the tugging that you get from a foresail in a brisk wind, so we gave it a thumbs-up and faced the fall of night with good cheer.

As the sun set, we realised that we weren’t experiencing the forecast easterlies. Instead we had 18-knot southerlies and lightning storms over Gold Coast. We put a reef in the main, and Vestlandskyss picked up the pace, sometimes exceeding 9 knots.

Sunset over the Gold Coast, Queensland, looking south — Sunset over the Gold Coast

As the night drew in, though, the wind became patchy, with frustrating circling winds of less than 9 knots. What gusts there were, were on the nose, taking us on one occasion to 10 knots speed over ground, but we weren’t seeing the forecast 12 knot nor’easters on which we were, in a very real sense, relying on to move us out into the Eastern Current and then south from Queensland to New South Wales.

The Eastern Current can give a boost of over two knots to yachts heading south, but its exact location relative to the shore is subject to change. I used Windy to forecast the edge of the fastest part of the current, which was currently about 20 miles out to sea, and then plotted a course to suit. Our plan was to get far enough out into the current to get a good boost down the coast.

Map of the Eastern Current as it churns north to south — Eastern Current is the white snake to the left

We worked out a watch system, and found that gybing Vestlandskyss with the preventer is a gentle and easy task, settling into a routine of gybing back and forth to try to keep the light quartering winds as useful as possible.

The forecast steady southerly tail-winds never came. They were still showing in the weather models as prevalent right over our position, but not in real life. We decided that we would motor whenever the Speed Over Ground dropped below 5 knots (which would equate to about 3 knots of real speed, accounting for the Eastern Current pushing us south). We motored. The winds didn’t come. We motored some more. We put away the flogging staysail, and started to fret about diesel.

On the plus side, we had albatross and petrels and a pod of orcas.
On the negative side, the wind often died almost completely to leave us motoring through a quartering swell, which is nobody’s idea of a good time. I for one was feeling seasick, and of course it was me that forgot to bring the seasickness tablets. A couple of us threw up over the side.

Then, finally, we caught a rain squall that had us breezing along at 7 knots on a single-reefed main alone, for a whole glorious hour.

Reinhard enjoying a brisk tailwind to push us south from Queensland

Then it was back to watching the wind indicator spin round and around. Occasionally, it rained.

Bronwyn enjoying the rain as we sail south on Vestlandskyss

Berrima enjoying the rain as we sail south on Vestlandskyss

Early in the morning, a big rain squall came through. It was very, very wet. An empty coffee cup on the deck was half full of rainwater in the first fifteen minutes. It did bring a nice wind, though, so Brendon and I stayed out and got soaked to take advantage of it.

Reinhard and Brendon sailing south in the rain on Vestlandskyss

A little later, the blessed tail-wind finally materialised, pushing the yacht to the south, floating along in 11 to 18 knots of following breeze. I managed to keep some plain food down, and went to sleep for five hours.

Reinhard enjoys a ginger biscuit while sailing south on Vestlandskyss — Ginger biscuits

Reinhard sleeping in the cockpit while sailing south in Vestlandskyss — Ginger biscuits

I was woken by the sound of Bronwyn starting the engine because the wind had died again. The diesel tank was now showing only a quarter full, and we contemplated refuelling at Port Maquarie, but it has a shallow bar that only opens up on a rising tide. If we made our way out of the Eastern Current and towards the coast, we would lose our boost and still have to wait bobbing at sea for three long hours before we could attempt the crossing.

There were plentiful notes from the previous owner about how long Vestlandskyss could motor at different RPM and tank levels, and these gave us confidence that we had another 102 miles in the tank. At this point we were passing Laurieton and were 80 miles from Nelson Bay, which we know from experience has an easy bar and ample fuel docks.

We had already motored for most of one night. It would take us a second full day and evening to get to Nelson Bay, and then a third day to get to Pittwater. We were tired and more than a little seasick, so we agreed to anchor in Nelson Bay and get some welcome sleep.

Stranded in Nelson Bay

Night fell, and we continued to motor until finally we rounded Boondelbah Island and could see the red white and green leading light beaming out of the entrance to Nelson Bay. The wind started to pick up just then, and the 3 metre shallows – not really a bar – got quite lumpy. Then we were through, chugging into the moonlight shadow beneath Yacaaba Head.

The Speed Over Ground dropped. That was odd, had the opposing tide picked up? I cranked up the power and we continued in, taking a turn to port to avoid charted sand-bars and to run up the southern shore toward – hopefully – some courtesy moorings, currently hidden in the darkness. It was really hard to see the dim and distant channel markers, but the cockpit plotter always knew where we were, and we carefully felt our way along the deepest part of the channel in the dark.

The SOG dropped again. Had the tidal flow increased that much? And then all became clear as the engine gave an apologetic ‘huff’ and stopped altogether as the fuel ran out.

We were out of fuel, in the dark, drifting toward a lee shore without any sails up.

It could have been worse. We were being pushed by the wind toward Little Beach, where the chart said the water was relatively deep with a sandy bottom. The outgoing tide was pushing us to the easterly end of the beach, away from the markers and the jetty. We had just enough steerage left to point the bow at the shore, and Bronwyn held the course while Brendon went forward to ready the anchor.

I was poised to hoist the foresail into uncertain winds if it all went wrong, but we calmly and gently drifted closer, and closer, until we reached 8 metres of depth and Bronwyn said ‘go for it’. The chain rattled out, and we stopped dead in the water, a couple of boat-lengths from the beach. We had arrived.

While Brendon and I assembled the dinghy on the foredeck, Bronwyn got on the phone and cajoled a taxi to come and take me to the nearest service station so that I could get some diesel. She also rang the service station to check that they had clean jerrycans (to keep the taxi-driver’s wife happy), and the local Marine Rescue for advice on the stability of our current anchorage. Marine Rescue were cheerfully optimistic, so I took the tender to the jetty where the taxi was already waiting, and within half an hour was back with fifty litres of fuel.

We put half of it in the yacht tank, and prepared to start the engine. I was pretty certain that it wouldn’t start without bleeding, but gave it a go anyway just in case. It turned over but didn’t fire, and then suddenly stopped turning over at all, as if the starter battery was flat. This had happened once before, but on that occasion the battery had changed its mind and decided to fire after all on the third try. This time, there was nothing but a dry click.

I had noticed a box of spare high-current cables in one of the lockers, so jump-started the cranking battery from the LiFePO4 house bank while Bronwyn cranked the engine. There was now plenty of power, but still no ignition.

I undid the bleed valve and we started manually pumping diesel, but neither fuel nor bubbles emerged. We pumped for quite some time but my mind was blank. Realising that I was very tired and still a bit seasick, I downed tools and we all went to bed.

I was woken next morning by a phone call from Marine Rescue checking that we were all OK. They’d been monitoring our position on AIS, and the boat had not moved at all in the night. We briefly discussed where I could get a mechanic if I needed one, and then I returned to the engine.

Rested and clear of mind, I had no trouble bleeding the fuel filter. Seasickness is a subtle thing. I cracked the injector lines, turned the engine over a few times, and then started her up, which woke the crew.

She ran sweetly, and we motored up the channel to Peppers Anchorage, where a berth was waiting for us.

The Anchorage at Peppers Resort. As far south as we're going to get. — The Anchorage at Port Stephens

Bronwyn and Vestlandskyss at The Anchorage

Main Channel

We had begun our trip down the Main Channel to the Gold Coast by anchoring at Big Sand Hill at the southern end of Moreton Island, and woke to a beautiful millpond morning.

A beautiful calm morning under Big Sand Hill

It was going to be a long day, wending our way down the tortuous curves and narrow dredged channels of the Main Channel. There is another route, the Canaipa Passage, which is said to be more picturesque, but it involves shoals and shallows that we didn’t fancy in our deep-keeled boat, so the Main Channel was our target. After an early breakfast, Berrima took us out into the bay.

It was a beautiful day with very little wind, so we didn’t put the sails up but instead motored down Moreton Bay, from Moreton Island to North Stradbroke Island.

At Macleay Island, we began to thread the needle, a process that would take the remaining hours of summer daylight to complete. There were channel markers at the edges of the main sandbanks, but the paths were narrow, especially when criss-crossing with the frequent car and passenger ferries servicing Macleay Island, and we were glad to have a real-time chart display in the cockpit to guide us through the shallow parts.

The sun burned hot as we entered the mangroves near the southern end of Russell Island, passing under an unusual pair of electricity pylons sticking up out of the river.

Threading the pylons at Russell Island, on the Main Channel — Threading the pylons at Russell Island

Following the markers and chasing the deeper water, we switched from side to side of the river at a steady 6 knots. We passed a German ketch which was doing a similar speed apparently under sail, but I am nowhere near a good enough sailor to try that in an unfamiliar boat.

Threading the mangroves near Steiglitz, on the Main Channel — Threading the mangroves near Steiglitz

Parts of the Main Channel were crowded with houseboats, others with moored yachts. Here and there, private fishing boats scurried about. On the whole, though, it was pleasantly quiet and – if you were not at the helm nervously staring at the depth gauge – relaxing to watch the mangroves sliding gently by.

Finally, after nine hours of intense navigation, we emerged into Tipplers Passage, where Main Channel rejoins Canaipa Passage. This is at the northern end of Broadwater, which is the body of water that leads down to the Gold Coast Seaway and the flashing lights of Surfers Paradise. When we visited this area on Pindimara in 2009 we anchored close to Sea World and Surfers Paradise and it was very busy indeed, so this time we decided to stop a bit farther from the madding crowd. We dropped anchor in a well of 5-metre water off to the side of the channel in the company of a catamaran and a private trawler, and ate dinner on deck with the lights of the Gold Coast comfortably distant.

Storm clouds raced overhead. Lightning flashed in the distance. We sat in the warm breeze, serenaded by cicadas. To seaward were sheltered beaches on South Stradbroke Island, and locals drove their tinnies up to quietly sit by fires and sink a few beers before moving on for a night’s fishing.

Grounding at Paradise Point

We spent most of the day at anchor in Broadwater, cleaning Vestlandskyss and getting ready for sea. There were shops about a mile across the river in Paradise Point, so Brendon, Berrima and I unrolled the electric dinghy and set off to get some provisions.

It looked like a simple river crossing, but it wasn’t. We knew about the sand bar next to us, but the tide was up and we crossed it easily. What we hadn’t expected, because we had carelessly not examined the chart, were the many weedy sand banks just below the surface as we crossed the river.

Map of the Broadwater channel showing the shallows between Vestlandskyss and Paradise Point

We grounded the dinghy several times, and at one point mid-channel, Brendon stepped out of the boat and waded ankle deep as he towed us to deeper water.

We finally turned into the entrance to Paradise Point marina (grounding once again), where I gave myself a scare when I saw that the indicator on the electric motor said that we had only half an hour of power left, probably not enough to carry us and our shopping back across the river to the yacht. However, a little experimentation showed that the motor was displaying a real-time estimation based on the current throttle setting, so if I backed off the power, I had well over an hour of motoring in hand.

Paradise Point had ample shops to stock up on food for the passage, though I didn’t think of dropping into the pharmacist for some seasickness tablets, which was short-sighted. We filled a load of bags with food, and made our way back to the jetty, where the local kids were using our tender as a dive platform.

We fired up the dinghy and did what we should have done in the first place, plotted a course through the shallows using the Navionics app on my phone.

Mindful now of power drain, I drove quite slowly back across the channel, which meant that we had to keep a good lookout for fast-moving marine traffic up and down the river. Generally they were keeping watch and politely detoured around us, but we made a tempting target for one bogan on a jet-ski who split out from his pack of buddies and attempted to swamp us with a fast doughnut before accelerating off grinning. We got wet but thankfully our daughter and food were OK. Charming.

Vestlandskyss was clean, provisioned, and secured for passage. It was time to leave Main Channel and head out into the Tasman Sea.

First Sail on Vestlandskyss

Having now purchased a new cruising yacht, we needed to move Vestlandskyss from her existing berth in Queensland down to our home in Tasmania, over a thousand miles away. We plan to do this in stages, first down to our old stomping ground of Pittwater in New South Wales, and then across the Bass Strait as time and tide permit.

The most urgent need was to get her off her berth at the Royal Queensland Yacht Squadron, because pens there are only for the use of members. We flew up to Brisbane and were joined by our friend Brendon who had agreed to help crew for us, as we needed at least three adults to operate an overnight watch system.

Vestlandskyss at the Royal Queensland Yacht Squadron — Vestlandskyss at the RQYS

Preparations and Repairs

We had a lot to learn about Vestlandskyss and how she is configured, both in terms of sailing gear and technology. Thankfully, the previous owner, Ruben, had made himself available on WhatsApp and was very helpful in answering our endless questions.

It became clear that our most obvious problems were that neither the water-maker nor the fridge were working, and we would need both of these on passage.

Schenker Zen30 on Vestlandskyss — water-maker

Frigomatic compressor on Vestlandskyss — water-maker

The water-maker, a usually reliable and completely automated Schenker, would not get up to pressure. All of the documentation and troubleshooting in the manuals and online were about the opposite problem, with the pressure being too high. Reuben patiently listened to the symptoms and my thoughts, and suggested that when they had pickled the system on leaving the boat, perhaps one of the hose clamps had not been fully tightened, and some air was getting in. I tightened all of the clamps, and – behold! – we had water.

Vestlandskyss’ 26-year-old original equipment Frigomatic built-in refrigerator proved to be more difficult to fix. Ruben said that it had been working perfectly all the way across the Pacific. I could see and hear that the compressor and fan were running, but the cooling plate inside the fridge remained stubbornly at room temperature. I messed with the thermostat and cycled the power and banged the coils, but to no avail. We left it on for a few days to see if it would reach temperature, using the insulated box to store fresh fruit and vegetables in an attempt to protect them from the fierce Queensland heat. After a couple of days the compressor was running so hot that it cooked the carrots in the bottom of the fridge.

Rather than continue to fuss with it, we disconnected the Frigomatic, bought a camping fridge on sale at Anaconda, and strapped it temporarily to one of the bunks. We’ll sort out the Frigomatic unit later.

Dune camping fridge temporarily installed Vestlandskyss — Temporary fridge strapped in

We also had a third problem to fix. When the surveyor was walking around the boat, he stepped on one of the many bilge access hatches. These floor panels are designed to be load-bearing, so even though he is quite a heavy-set man there was no reason to expect that the hatch at the bottom of the companionway would suddenly give way beneath him. Since then, we had all fallen in at different times, and had scratched ourselves up quite badly on the keel bolts beneath.

Each hatch is only supported across the short end, and in this one the stepped frame had come away from the deck. We checked around, and some of the other high-traffic hatches were showing similar signs of wear. I bought a length of Tasmanian oak and some Liquid Nails and some wood screws, and Brendon kindly lent us his new power drill, and we beefed them up a bit.

All this time, we had been watching the weather window for our first leg down to Pittwater. We were looking for three days and nights without too much bad weather, because we were keenly aware that we had never sailed this boat before and we had a child aboard who we wanted to enjoy the experience.

We waited a week for the weather to settle. In the meantime, we worked on a few more tasks.

The first time that we used the relatively new gimballed stove, the varnish on the wooden side mounts began to smoke. We found some metal ducting tape at Bunnings, and heat-proofed the wood. Then I relabelled the clutches which were in Norwegian, updated the navigation software, rewired a number of instruments whose switches were broken, and charged up everything that might need charging for the voyage ahead.

Metallic foil to protect the galley woodwork on Vestlandskyss

Temporary re-jigging of the switch panel on Vestlandskyss

It was a Saturday, and we could see a weather window opening within the next week. We had paid for our RQYS berth up until the following Friday, but we badly needed some experience sailing Vestlandskyss before venturing out to sea, so we decided to take a shakedown trip across Moreton Bay to the famed artificial reef at Tangalooma.

Sailing to Moreton Island

And we’re off! The nice couple who share our RQYS pen gave us a hand with the lines because we’re still not sure how our new yacht handles, but we backed out just fine and motored up the channel in light winds.

Reinhard very happy to be aboard Vestlandskyss as she passes Green Island

Berrima on the foredeck of Vestlandskyss as she passes Green Island

As we passed Green Island we hoisted the sails in 15-18 knot easterlies. The main went up easily (more easily than on the survey sail, where we found that all the reefing lines were tightly secured). We found that the main was a bit overpowered for the wind speed so we put a reef in, which was a learning exercise because we were not clear which line did what.

We had understood that Vestlandskyss had single-line reefing but this did not seem to be the case, we needed to manipulate five different lines along with the main halyard before we got it right. No doubt it will make more sense as we learn how she is set up.

Bronwyn at the helm, sailing to Moreton Island

We reefed the furling Genoa too, and Vestlandskyss settled into a lovely smooth 7-8 knots into the easy wind. Because this was a proving and familiarisation run, we experimented with different instrument settings, including a test of the autopilot which was very smooth indeed. We dropped in the Watt & Sea hydro generator and it seemed to be charging the batteries very well indeed. We forgot to lock the oven door, and all the metal trays spilled out as we heeled. You live and learn.

Tangalooma Reef is an attempt to make an artificial breakwater by sinking a load of old surplus ships in a line along the shore of Moreton Island. It was never very successful as a breakwater, but became very popular with snorkelers from the nearby resorts.

The reef is approached by a thin channel between the beach and the Sholl Bank sandbank, and the whole area was packed with yachts, tinnies, power boats, jet skis, resort barges, and swimmers. There was very little room to swing at anchor and we tried a few times to get our position on a narrow contour exactly right to avoid swinging into the sandbank. A couple of times the anchor chain jammed, once because it hadn’t been correctly flaked into the locker, and the next time because it got ahead of itself and several links tried to pass through the gypsy wheel at once, which took a quarter of an hour of disassembly to sort out. All of it just learning about unfamiliar equipment, and we got the job done.

We put out a mermaid line and went for a lovely swim in the warm sea, then spent some time (and more queries to the previous owner) figuring out how to turn on the deck shower. Then dinner at the cockpit table with a glass of wine, as the stars came out.

It wasn’t especially quiet, though. Tangalooma Point is a hive of activity. Jet skis buzzed past on the water, quad bikes on the land. A tourist helicopter, dolphin boats with running commentary. Then, as we put Berrima to bed, the disco started up ashore.

We still weren’t sure about our swing room. We turned on an anchor alarm, and a depth alarm, and a drift alarm, and went to bed. We had to set the limits very tight to be sure that we weren’t going to swing into Sholl Bank and the alarms went off with monotonous regularity all night, which had Bronwyn and Brendon up on deck checking the situation, but I didn’t hear them at all and slept on blissfully unaware. Apart from sleep deprivation, our first night at anchor was a success.

Tangalooma Reef

The main purpose of this part of the trip was to get used to all the equipment, so we spent much of the morning unpacking and installing and wiring up and testing the three ancillary solar panels that were usually stored under the forepeak. Between these and the permanently fixed tilting panels by the cockpit, Vestlandskyss can generate a quite astonishing 780 Watts of solar power.

The next task was to assemble the tender, which was rolled up in a bag under the forward bunk. It has an aluminium floor in sections which have to fit together in a non-intuitive way, and the cable from the electric pump was only just long enough to reach the only compatible socket at the chart table… but with a little help from the internet, we got the thing installed and pumped up and winched into the water.

The tender has an electric motor, another first for us, and luckily I had remembered to charge it up back at the marina, so it was snorkels on and off we motored to Tangalooma Reef.

It was a bit busy. There were swimmers everywhere, mostly in large groups marshalled by guides floating in inflatable rings, and an endless criss-crossing of tenders and tinnies. We found a gap in the throng, dropped the dinghy anchor near to the wrecks, and hopped into the water.

The water was warm, but my was the current strong! We got to the jagged rusty metal of the reef, but it was a real fight to keep station, so instead of diving down on it we returned to the tender and motored to the beach.

The beach was as crowded with vehicles as the sea was with boats, but the water was still and warm and a lot more enjoyable.

Finally we made our way back to Vestlandskyss, experimenting with the electric dinghy which was responsive and completely silent and very easy to drive.

Once aboard, we disconnected all the extra solar panels, hoisted and rolled up the dinghy (securing it in its bag at the base of the mast, rather than cluttering up the forward cabin), lifted anchor and Berrima took us out of the channel.

Berrima takes us out of the channel at Tangalooma Point — Berrima takes us out

The dunes of Moreton Island — Berrima takes us out

Instead of going north around Moreton Island and crossing out to the sea that way, we had decided to head back to the south to enter the complex river system that winds and forks its way inland and down to the Gold Coast Seaway. This would give us some more experience of controlling Vestlandskyss at close quarters, and would put a few more anchorages under our belt.

The winds were fair, 9-13 knots, and we put up a reefed main and reefed genoa and got up to 6 knots before letting the foresail fully out and giving Vestlandskyss her head.

We noticed the twin dunes and clustered yachts at the southern end of Moreton Island, and as light fell we anchored in 8 metres in the wind shadow of Big Sand Hill. We had a pleasant dinner on deck under the stars, with no resort disco and perfect peace and quiet.

Let’s go cruising again

Long-term readers of this blog will know that our cruising lifestyle came to an abrupt end while living in England with our second yacht Elizabeth, when we reconsidered sailing half way around the world with our infant daughter. We sold up and flew (with a few detours along the way) to Tasmania and became normal responsible land-bound parents.

Well, kind of. We bought our little project yacht Cheval de Mer, and I spent a happy couple of years refurbishing her and getting her ready for some local cruising. One day she was ready, and although our daughter had already outgrown her little bunk, we poked our nose out of the marina for a family sleepover across the channel. The boat performed well enough with a few teething problems, but on the return trip next morning we ran into some big winds and big waves. None of the conditions were outside our capabilities and little Cheval got us home safely, but apart from slightly scaring our nine-year-old when a big greeny did some minor damage to the stern, we recognised that if we wanted to experience family travel further afield in Tasmania, then we needed a bigger boat.

There was no rush. We started browsing the yacht brokers.

The Hallberg Rassy 42

The first serious contender was a Hallberg Rassy in our home marina. We’d always fancied one of these Swedish classics, but they were usually well out of our price range. This one was … just … affordable, and we went to have a look.

At first glance, she was quite lovely, cutter-rigged and well equipped with cruising gear and spares, and with the trademark HR teak deck.

On closer examination, everything was just a little bit too worn. You expect a few dings on a boat of this vintage, but this one seemed to be carrying more small dents than we’d expect. The boat was serviceable, but showing its age, and the teak deck definitely needed replacing.

We calculated the cost of removing the teak deck. We didn’t even consider the massive cost of replacing it, just fairing out the screw holes and painting the deck with something like Kiwi-Grip. We knocked that off the asking price, and made our offer. The seller rejected the offer, so we walked away.

Curiously, much later and in a different part of Australia, we met a man who had delivered this same boat quite recently, and he told a tale of a bunch of guys who would sail her drunk and crash into things, which made a certain amount of sense.

The Arends 33

We have had good experiences with DBY Yacht Sales in the past, so we flew up to see them in Sydney, initially to look at a Vancouver 34 which turned out to be a bit tired, but nearby was a lovely Arends 33. We were blown away by the amazing condition of her inside and out, and she had a solid bimini which would work well in Tasmanian conditions. The only minor issue was a sun-damaged foresail so we deducted the repair cost from the published price, and the vendor accepted our offer subject to sea trial and survey.

Together with the surveyor, we sailed her around Pittwater on the way to the haul-out. She was a sweet yacht and we really enjoyed the experience.

We expected the out-of-water survey to be a box-ticking exercise, but then disaster. The entire hull was scattered with coin-sized osmosis blisters.

She was such a lovely boat and the owner had taken such incredible care of her since new, it was hard to fathom how so many blisters could have appeared since the previous survey two years ago. We even got a quote to have her stripped back and reglassed, but in the end we just couldn’t stomach the work, and walked away.

The Sweden 390

We had been following the progress of a Sweden 390 cruiser as she sailed around the world. She had departed from her home port in Norway some years before and was now crossing the Pacific to Australia, where the owners intended to sell up and fly home.

The spec and pictures appeared too good to be true, but we were set on flying up to Brisbane when she cleared in. Then she got damaged in a storm off Tonga, and spent a while having repairs in New Caledonia, and the whole idea went on the back burner.

Eventually, though, she had her autopilot and rig repaired, and we watched on AIS as she made her way across to Australia, exceeding 7 knots most of the way.

We flew up and found to our amazement that the 26-year-old boat presented like new, from the mahogany interior to the teak decks. Everything was exactly as described in the specifications, and all the photos were accurate and up to date. Anybody who has shopped for yachts will know that this almost never happens! Thanks to Sonia at EziYacht for checking and double-checking every item.

Sweden 390 cruising yacht on the berth at the Royal Queensland Yacht Squadron

Reinhard takes the helm of the Sweden 390 cruising yacht

She was about twice our price limit, but she really was just perfect for us and the sailing conditions that we expect to use her in. We made an offer, went for a lovely sail in Moreton Bay, and then lifted her out of the water with some trepidation. We had been here before…

Sweden 390 cruising yacht out of the water

But everything was perfect, both inside and out.

We have a new cruising yacht. Welcome to the family, Vestlandskyss!

Vestlandskyss, our new ocean cruising yacht