Bullets of wind have been sliding across the water all night, but our anchor held. I have had my rank lifted to first lieutenant today, Robert has come down with something and wants to rest. Aimee and I raise the tender onto the stern and make ready to sail. Felicity is on the helm as we weigh anchor and motor off to the south to avoid numerous rocks and reefs around Point Lesueur. We head up into the wind and raise the main. We bear away in a comfortable 12 knots of wind and reach southward. I roll out the headsail. I briefly think this is going to be a nice sail. Then comes the first squall which hits us like a brick. The boat heels and the wind shifts. We tack to avoid the south shore. We have to tack three times to get out of Chinaman’s Cove, always keeping the the south of the bay to avoid the reefs. Once clear of the bay the wind dies out to five knots, and then shifts to be right on our nose. I roll in the headsail, tighten the main and unfurl the diesel sail (start the engine). We motor off up the Mercury Passage toward Triabunna.
There is a wood-chip export plant at the mouth of Spring Bay with an exclusion zone around it, which Robert says is reserved for canoeists with dreadlocks, so I helm straight past it, and soon locate a starboard marker which indicates a shoal. We pass a fish processing factory. Hundreds of seagulls are circling above the main processing building and a couple of very grubby north sea trawlers are tied to it’s jetty. One has had its entire superstructure removed and hauled on to the shore as if it were a plastic model. I pick up the channel markers and we motor in to a very tight harbour. Robert takes the helm to dock. Stan the harbourmaster has told us to raft next to a fishing boat. All good except the curtains of rain that have been coming at us from the south have heralded their arrival with a squall, and there is a submerged rock right in the middle of the harbour, which means Robert will have to turn Escapade on itself with little room to spare. At least the rock’s location is clear, it has a bent metal tripod on top of it, clearly a few boats have hit it in the past.
The dinted reef marker in the middle of Trianunna Harbour
After deftly swinging the boat, we are aboard the fishing boat scrambling over cray pots to secure lines. With fenders in place Escapade is secured with springers and we come to a rest. Shore leave, and a chance to explore the fleshpots of Triabunna.
Escapade rafted at Triabunna
This could be our last stop before home, we need to refuel, take on water and supplies, and wash ourselves and our clothes. It is lunchtime, so we indulge in the delights of teh fish and chip van parked on a grass strip directly across the road from the jetty. There is a choice of Flake, Trevally or Barracouta. I choose the flake, which is caught on long lines off the coast here, and it is very good. Memorable in fact. When fish is fresh and fried in clean oil at the right temperature it is delicious.
The Triabunna fish van - "Fresh from our boat to you"
The afternoon goes quickly, I manage a quick visit to the Triabunna Coiffure for a quick hair cut while the washing is drying in the laundromat next door. They say the difference between a good and bad haircut is two weeks so what the hell. After that I manage a quick shower at the tourist information centre. Not quick by choice, but the damn thing has a coin in the slot controller that charges $4.00 for three minutes. Ca-ching Ca-ching.
The town has a very friendly tourist information center, and a few stunning examples of Georgian architecture. The barracks ruins are a superb example. Originally built in 1843, they housed marines that were stationed at Maria Island. From 1926 until 1955 they housed a bakery that manufactured its own yeast, but then fell into disrepair. A project to restore them into a museum and restaurant in 1969 failed due to financial restraints, and so they sit in the main street, disused and shabby but thankfully they have escaped the wrecking ball.
The barracks
We are booked for dinner at the Seafarers Inn by the docks, your typical country pub. From the outside it looks like a quaint dockside inn. The inside is sadly the victim of some uninspired 1970s renovation, where beige is the chosen colour, vinyl the chosen upholstery. I was not expecting much and I am not disappointed. The menu looks OK, plenty of seafood and a collection of steaks. I line up at the bar to order dinner. The barmaid, clearly someone not to be toyed with, slides the glass window open. “What are we having love?” In five short words she has made two errors. Firstly, I am not dining with her, and secondly she is certainly not my lover. “Is the fish fresh?” I ask gingerly. Her lips tighten and she rolls here eyes. This is clearly a question she is used to fielding and responds with a mechanical, “Its frozen fresh when we get it love, twice a week”. The old adage used to be when in a pub order a steak, they can’t bugger that up, but experience has sadly told me they can, so I order the kangaroo sausages, which end up tasteless and dry, served with the usual soggy frozen vegetables. On the way home I think, “Fisherman Inn, Drunks Out”. Sadly a prosaic experience, an opportunity missed. The food at the fish and chip van was a third the price and triple the quality, we should have eaten there.
The Seafarers Inn
