Who Owns Whom?

An important decision you'll face if you want your cruising adventures to go beyond the edges of the sea.

The fury of cyclonic winds stressing every line on the boat, the driving blasts of rain seeking possible ways to invade Sahula’s cabin, hail stones the size of golf balls trying to shred the bimini. What can we do to protect the boat?

These thoughts kept running through my head as we prepared to fly from Brisbane, Australia, to begin a six-month, shoreside excursion. We’d secured the hatches, removed the furling headsails, frapped the canvas-covered mainsail securely, tied every halyard away from the mast and added chafe guards to each of the lines holding Sahula in her marina berth.

We’d removed the side and stern curtains from the bimini and stowed them below decks. The fuel and water tanks were topped up to prevent evaporation. When I’d checked off the last item on our list, I reminded myself David and I had previously left this boat to fend for herself for four or five months at a time. And our preparations had proven to be successful as Sahula weathered a Tasmanian winter, and later, a long stint in Sydney Harbor. This time, we’d double checked each item because there was one factor that made this departure feel more concerning – Sahula is only a short distance south of the tropical cyclone belt, and last year, the southern edge of a category 2 cyclone actually swept across Brisbane, causing massive flooding in parts of the city.

We’d purposefully chosen to sail south to be out of the cyclone-prone zone of tropical north Queensland where, due to the heightened risk, our cruising insurance is invalid from November through April. We also chose what is possibly the best protected marina in the Brisbane area. What did nag at both of us were the weather reports we’d heard during the days previous to our departure. Heat-induced thunderstorms had dumped drenching rain and hailstones as big as golf balls, damaging cars and shop windows. It was the hailstones that concerned us most. The manager of the small boatyard at the marina reassured us, “Notice they only reported hail in inland towns near the mountain ranges. It’s just a local phenomenon. Never had hailstones bigger than a pea in the ten years I’ve been working around here.”

A few days later in Sydney, after a wonderful day with one of David’s daughters and two of his grandchildren, we settled in for dinner with long-term friends. “ Just heard there is some pretty wild weather around Brisbane. Hope your boat is okay,” Ben commented. Only then did we learn Manly, where we’d left Sahula, had just been battered by a super storm cell with winds gusting over 66 knots, drenching rain and tennis ball-sized hailstones which reportedly smashed car windscreens, injured pedestrians, and destroyed shop awnings.

This morning, despite the power outage in the Manly area, I was able to reach the marina manager. He and his team were walking the docks, assessing the damage and calling owners to come down and sort out their boats and sails.

“Local sailmakers are probably rubbing their hands together right now,” he commented. “At least two dozen roller furling sails broke loose and shredded themselves, four powerboats have broken cabin windows, and there are several shattered solar panels. Worse damage is on a catamaran. It has a large split in one hull. Haven’t finished checking the last three marina sections. I’ll call you after I check your boat.”

A few hours later we were relieved to learn Sahula had come through the hailstorm almost unscathed. The almost – one hailstone had gone right through the canvas of her bimini.

I breathe a sigh of relief but do accept the blame for the relatively small tear in the bimini. David had considered removing the heavy canvas-like cover. But I convinced him to leave it in place to protect the varnish work inside the cockpit area. I knew the harsh summer sunlight would cause the varnish to degrade, leading to a lot of work when we get back to the boat.

As I write this, Sahula’s caretaker is preparing to head down to the boat and place individual covers over the varnished surfaces. David and I are still trying to decide if we should ask him to remove the bimini. It’s not an easy decision. The bimini top, with its tightly stretched fabric had enough flexibility to withstand the vast majority of the jagged hailstones. It protected the varnish and paint work of the cockpit from the dents hurtling chunks of ragged-edged ice balls would have left behind. The tear in the bimini can be easily repaired when we return.

As I ponder the pros and cons of removing the bimini, I am reminded of the first time Larry and I had to contemplate leaving 24’4” Seraffyn on her own in a foreign land. We had more than the usual attachment to that boat as we’d spent more than 4000 hours lovingly building her out of mahogany and oak and teak. Our entire fortune was wrapped up in her. We’d just spent six months exploring the warm, inviting waters of Baja California at a time before there were any marinas there. But our cruising funds were almost exhausted, and we’d just been offered a chance to deliver a large power boat north to California. The delivery would earn us enough so we could continue cruising for another six or eight months instead of having to sail north to California and back to “real work.” Larry suggested setting our own mooring in a very sheltered bay just off an island where a local fisherman and his family lived. He had already spoken to the fisherman who offered to come out and check the boat every day in exchange for us buying parts for his outboard, parts that weren’t readily available in Mexico. Still, I was reluctant. But Larry stated, “Right now we have to decide who owns whom. If we can’t leave the boat and do other things like deliver boats and head off on inland excursions, the boat owns us.”

(In the photo above, Larry is setting a mooring in Knysna south Africa for Taleisin using the headropes and swivel we carried on board. In Cruising in Seraffyn the first book of the Seraffyn series, there are diagrams and a description of how we set our own mooring using two of our anchors and all our chain. We used the same method here when we headed off for a 7 month photo safari to 4 South African countries.)

Through the years, we learned to secure our boat, either on a mooring we set using the gear we carried on board, or in a carefully situated marina. We always hired someone to check on her frequently. That meant we were able to not only earn our cruising funds by doing deliveries but also have several amazing months-long adventures and return to a boat that looked little different from when we set off.

Fortunately, David feels the same. If the six-year-old bimini top needs replacing when we return, it is a small price to pay for the chance to spend quality time with his scattered flock of grandchildren and head on towards the landside events that will fill the next few months of our lives. As I look back on the 47 years of voyaging Larry and I shared, the past 8 years I’ve shared with David, I realize it has been the shoreside breaks that kept me fully satisfied and and eager to wander the world on a cruising boat for as long as I am able.

Postscript - Yesterday David and I returned to Sahula, sated from our time away. I have already patched the tear in the bimini. We did discover one of our solar panels suffered what looks like serious damage from the hail storm and will probably need replacing. But otherwise, everything looks good and I am delighted to be back on board and eagerly looking forward to finding a quiet anchorage and doing “nothing” before we meander north towards the islands and the Great Barrier Reef.

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