Sail Report - Newcastle Harbour (tilman)
Tilman and I had our first, albeit tiny, sail on Newcastle harbour on Sunday. The day was almost filled with domestic and family stuff, but at around 3 pm we were liberated and the harbour was the nearest patch of water.
I'd not launched there before but was pleased to find a perfect little beach near the boat ramp proper and chose to kick off there. With a Land Rover tow vehicle, it was easy. We sailed off a windward shore in 5 knots and after 100 yards had our most difficult manoeuvre of the day to negotiate; a low bridge. I was certain the yard would not fit, so I sailed parallel to the underside of the bridge to see if the mast would go clear. Yes! So I loosed the main halyard and dipped the main, or momentum carried us on through.
Passing the main marina for the city was a visual feast, with many large yachts hanging out, few with people attached though. One sleek cat caught my eye, Fantastique, designed by a real sailor for sailing. Sleek and purposeful.
As the harbour opened out before us the NE loaded is up more, now we were clear of massive grain silos and container ship loading facilities. Crank on the sheets and shoulder only small chop. Instant battery recharge right there.
As a fully-crewed racing yacht ran on an opposite heading, a large crew decked out in oilies stood chatting on deck like a yacht club bar, Fantastique motored up from behind. Full-battened main part hoisted, the lone skipper casually walked forrard and worked at the winch setting up for an enjoyable night at sea. An easy run to Sydney harbour from here.
As we talked into the main body of the harbour the wind and wave action cranked up and I decided to head back, the sun was well on the way down, and I was cold enough already to worry about coping some spray. A couple of trailers ran up the harbour, yards outstretched, deck lights blazing, getting ready for their first shots before hitting the swell.
Adjacent the marina, one of the sailors from the racing yacht have a generous wave and I supposed he had a special relationship with the Mirror dinghy somewhere in his past. Back behind the silos, the sun now gone, the surface turned glassy and I considered the prospect of having to hand sail and row back. But tilman tide little puffs to race across the waters that glistened with reflections of street lights, industrial towers and the odd navigation buoy. Shoot the bridge, trailer moved closer to the ebbing water's edge. Running gear and sails stashed in the truck, dinghy lashed, off home in the dark.
I'd not launched there before but was pleased to find a perfect little beach near the boat ramp proper and chose to kick off there. With a Land Rover tow vehicle, it was easy. We sailed off a windward shore in 5 knots and after 100 yards had our most difficult manoeuvre of the day to negotiate; a low bridge. I was certain the yard would not fit, so I sailed parallel to the underside of the bridge to see if the mast would go clear. Yes! So I loosed the main halyard and dipped the main, or momentum carried us on through.
Passing the main marina for the city was a visual feast, with many large yachts hanging out, few with people attached though. One sleek cat caught my eye, Fantastique, designed by a real sailor for sailing. Sleek and purposeful.
As the harbour opened out before us the NE loaded is up more, now we were clear of massive grain silos and container ship loading facilities. Crank on the sheets and shoulder only small chop. Instant battery recharge right there.
As a fully-crewed racing yacht ran on an opposite heading, a large crew decked out in oilies stood chatting on deck like a yacht club bar, Fantastique motored up from behind. Full-battened main part hoisted, the lone skipper casually walked forrard and worked at the winch setting up for an enjoyable night at sea. An easy run to Sydney harbour from here.
As we talked into the main body of the harbour the wind and wave action cranked up and I decided to head back, the sun was well on the way down, and I was cold enough already to worry about coping some spray. A couple of trailers ran up the harbour, yards outstretched, deck lights blazing, getting ready for their first shots before hitting the swell.
Adjacent the marina, one of the sailors from the racing yacht have a generous wave and I supposed he had a special relationship with the Mirror dinghy somewhere in his past. Back behind the silos, the sun now gone, the surface turned glassy and I considered the prospect of having to hand sail and row back. But tilman tide little puffs to race across the waters that glistened with reflections of street lights, industrial towers and the odd navigation buoy. Shoot the bridge, trailer moved closer to the ebbing water's edge. Running gear and sails stashed in the truck, dinghy lashed, off home in the dark.
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