In the summer of 1969, dad decided to bring Katandra to Coles Bay for our annual summer camping holiday. This was quite logistically challenging, but as always dad was up to the challenge. The prevailing winds in Tasmania are from the South West, and the preferred moorage corner in Cole’s Bay is sheltered from these winds. However periodically, South East gales blow up and the Cole’s Bay moorage is open to these, presenting a lee shore. About half a dozen commercial fishing boats were moored in the bay at that time.
Rather than risk anchoring in Coles Bay for two weeks, dad once again hired Roger Maxfield, this time to help him place a heavy mooring for Katandra. The mooring was assembled from two huge cast iron steam engine wheels recovered from the foundry scrap heap, tethered with a heavy chain yoke. I participated in the placement of the mooring and remember much huffing and puffing as the components were lowered into place.
Then came the task of sailing Katandra up the East Coast of Tasmania to Coles Bay. Friends with offshore sailing and navigating experience were signed on as crew for the trip. Sailing around the outside of the rugged Tasman Peninsula can provide challenging sea conditions, but the option is a short cut through a man made canal at Dunally, which for a deep keeled boat like Katandra has to be negotiated at high tide. We accomplished this and eventually picked up our brand new mooring in Cole’s Bay.
The following week we made our usual pilgrimage by road to the Cole’s Bay camp site and set up our camp. We would row out to Katandra in an 11’ plywood dinghy borrowed from the Harmon family, motor the yacht over to the short fishing dock owned by Roger Maxfield, pick up our passengers for the day and sail the pristine waters of Great Oyster Bay.
Our longest day cruise was to Bryant’s Corner, a delightful South West facing bay close to the southern tip of the Freycinet Peninsula. We had eleven people on board, including dad, mum, brother John, and I. The only other crew member I remember from that day is Geoff Fysh, aged 11 at the time.
After a leisurely sail south, we dropped anchor in Bryant’s Corner and set about enjoying a beautiful sunny day lounging on deck, playing guitars, swimming, snorkelling and paddling the dinghy ashore. Little did we know that we were enjoying the calm before a horrendous storm.
At about 2.00 pm, we noticed a commercial fishing boat making a beeline for Schouten Passage, just to our south, separating Schouten Island from Freycinet Peninsula. The fishing boat suddenly altered course dramatically and veered straight towards us. Slowing a moment to seaward of us, the skipper shouted that unseasonal hurricane force winds had just hit Hobart, 100 miles south, and were wreaking havoc in the city. Our anchorage was badly exposed to the winds and we should leave immediately.
The fetch across Great Oyster Bay from Swansea to the Freycinet peninsula is approximately 10 miles - enough to enable hurricane force winds to whip up very heavy seas. Suddenly our idyllic summer cruise turned into a great drama. We bellowed at those ashore in the dinghy to hurry back to the boat and readied for a quick emergency departure, shortening sail and preparing to hoist anchor. By the time the shore crew arrived, large swells preceding the hurricane were already heaving the foredeck. Dad started the engine and asked me to take in the anchor. We had no anchor winch, so it was challenging work hauling the anchor chain by hand on a now wildly heaving foredeck. We had limited experienced sailors on board - women and young people out for a leisurely cruise. Dad sent all of them below and closed the hatch as we began dealing with the ever increasing wind now screaming in our rigging. We debated turning tail and following the fishing boat that had warned us of the storms approach, through Schouten Passage. However dad reasoned that the building storm surge funnelling through the passage might make for dangerous waves that would cause the dinghy to surf down on our stern, endanger our transom-hung rudder and poop us. So the decision was made to claw our way off shore, motor sailing directly into the storm.
Sea conditions grew so wild that everyone below became violently seasick - everyone except my poor mum, who spent her time reassuring our young passengers and passing buckets from one to the next. At one point the dinghy took on a lot of water and the extra weight caused the deadeye that the tow rope attached to to pull out of the bow. To recover it we had to do a dangerous gybe in true hurricane conditions, sail back to the dinghy and try to secure it. I was assigned to climb into the dingy in the heaving conditions, bail out as much water as possible, attach the tow line to the forward seat (there was nothing else to tie off to) and climb back aboard Katandra.
We got back underway again but the tow line attached to the seat meant that the dinghy no longer towed straight but veered off to the side, taking on more water. Eventually her weight caused the seat to break away and once again we watched the dinghy recede astern. Dad decided that it was too dangerous to attempt another recovery and we would have to write it off.
We clawed our way directly into the storm for about 5 hours before we were able to run before it into Cole’s Bay. I remember being quite nervous as we approached the dock in its confined space but we managed to round up nicely, drop the sails and motor into the more protected waters in the lee of the jetty. We barely had our bow line ashore when young Geoff Fysh virtually walked the tight rope to the dock shouting over his shoulder “Thank you Mr Brand!”
We soon learned that the hurricane had left a trail of devastation across Tasmania. Roofs were torn from many homes and commercial buildings, trees were uprooted and boats sunk. Had it not been for the warning from the passing fisherman, combined with our good seamanship and tenacious sailing, Katandra could certainly have been wrecked on the eastern shore of Freycinet Peninsula and who knows what might have happened to our crew.
As a strange post script to the adventure, the following day the name plate of the Harmon’s dinghy washed up onto the beach in front of our camp site!
A few days later a South Easter blew up, threatening our mooring spot. We watched Katandra closely until we decided that the combination of wave action and receding tide was making the mooring unsafe. We rowed out to her, climbed aboard and felt her touching the bottom between waves. We quickly started the engine and motored over to the jetty once again. We discovered later that the two large cast iron wheels of our mooring had not had time to bury themselves in the sand, and dragged together, lessening their effectiveness and now putting the boat too close to the shallowing beach. Unfortunately the mooring was abandoned and we were not able to safely use it again.
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