Rounding Cape Leeuwin
- Sophie Hollingsworth
- 3 days ago
- 5 min read
It was finally time. The Clipper Round the World Rally was set to make landfall in Fremantle, and our slip was needed. One-week before the fleet’s arrival, the Fremantle Sailing Club started broadcasting the livestream of the Clipper Round the World Race and the fleet’s progress towards Fremantle. Initially this was an interesting spectacle, but as the countdown to leave the dock got closer, these screens became my enemy.
Today was the day. Friday. No matter what, today we had to leave Fremantle. I awoke with an empty dock arm and plenty of sea room to spin the boat around and depart. That confidence was broken before my coffee had even brewed when a catamaran parked next to me - giving us about 1 meter (3 feet on either side) to depart. Kindly the marina towed us off the dock, we fueled up, followed the channel and headed for Challenger Pass.
Outside of Fremantle was a minefield of “craypots” (lobster pots with a buoy and long line attached). I mean thousands, all ready to foul our propellor if we sailed too close.
Once we were reasonably clear of craypots, we set our course to Mandurah and engaged the autopilot – or thought we did. Hands off the wheel, 30 seconds later the boat started doing doughnuts! We tried the auto-pilot again and again. Offshore was unable to hold course, instead going in circles like a teenager on a wild night out.
Hours went by as I tested everything we could think of. I checked the belts, checked the hydraulic fluid, checked the pressure. Everything was working and seemed to be at the right levels but the hydraulics were not engaging with the rudder. Nearly ready to turn around and head back to Perth, I made frantic call, email and text to the previous owner, and one of his friends.
Within 5 minutes I get a call. Low and behold there is a 5-inch chrome bar that must be pulled to engage the steering quadrant. Voila! Autopilot engaged and we were on our way. By this point the wind and waves are starting to pick up, as I was about 3 hours behind my intended departure. I hoisted the sails with a reef in the main and continue to dodge craypots in route Mandurah.
Seas continue to build. About 7nm away from our destination we start to take a serious beating.
Standing at the helm Craig hand steered us through the waves at a 30 degree heel, getting completely drenched every 10 minutes or so as salt spray came over the bimini and water slapped him in the face.
As Mandurah and the mooring field come into view, we are delighted to see a spare mooring and a remarkably calm mooring field. I pick up the mooring, shut everything down and dove in for a swim!
On Saturday morning, I took the tender into Mandurah to pick up our delivery captain who was going to help us learn the boat and sail with us across the Great Australian Bight to Adelaide (a journey of some 1,500+nm. Alone in the tender, I looked back at Offshore bobbing faithfully on the mooring. The beauty her stops me for a moment, along with the realization, that as stressful as this is, it is my wildest dream. I cannot believe it. Tears fill my eyes. In my moment of reflection, reality hits, I take a wave over the bow and flood the tiny tender with water.
A flotilla of dolphins escorted us out of Mandurah, as we head south towards Cape Leeuwin. Cape Leeuwin is one of the three great capes of the Southern Hemisphere. The others: Cape Horn in Chile and the Cape of Good Hope in South Africa both bookend the South American and African continents respectively. Whilst Cape Leeuwin is not the most southerly point of the Australian continent, its exposure to the abundant swell of both the Indian and Southern Oceans is unparalleled.
The first full day on passage was remarkably calm. So calm in fact, I could have stacked champagne glasses on the floor. Given that we were heading directly into the wind, the sails stay in their furler and bag while the engine hummed us along. It felt silly having brought in not 1 but 2 delivery support crew to round the Cape and cross the Bight.
But as I start making dinner, the seas pick up. By the time dinner is served in the cockpit, seas have built to 2 meters. By the time dishes are finished and we are plotting watch schedules, it is 3.5 meters and growing. I no longer feel silly for bringing onboard the support crew. We devise a watch schedule of 3 on 3 off with 2 people on each watch for the first night as we learn the boat.
I go straight to bed to attempt to catch some sleep before my 0000 – 0300 watch. The bed is wet. Not just a little damp, we are taking on water from not one but two spots. The hatch above the bed in the master cabin is leaking and the wind scoop porthole, although “sealed off” was also taking on water. With a steady flow of significant waves coming over the bow, there is a constant trickle of water into the cabin.
To add extra excitement, I’ve gained new levitation skills. As we pound through the heavy seas, I am literally tossed up and down in my cabin. Too tired to put up the lead cloth in the saloon I muddle through the levitation and trickle of water. Rookie mistake. 0300 comes quickly. I don my foul weather gear, lifejacket and clip into the tether onboard. The stars are majestic. With no moon, no cities remotely nearby and the stars are unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
There seems to be a shooting star every 10 minutes. I am here. There is salt on my lips, my ribs are sore from being tossed in my bunk, my pajamas under my foulies are wet from the hatch leak, but I am here. On my own boat. A dream come true. I am really living it.
The seas begin to calm and we settle into more of a rhythm. I am feeling seasick, an unfamiliar feeling. I’ve only been seasick once before in 2013 between Panama and the Galapagos after spending a disorienting amount of time in the engine room and high seas. Determined to power through, I logged into my work computer, attended some meetings and tried to push through my to do list. Yet focusing on excel sheets in high seas got the better of me. Within 30 seconds of my client call finishing, I was clinging to the side of the boat.
I succumbed to the sea bunk and slept for the next 10 hours in the salon. I was woken up in time for dinner and to learn we rounded Cape Leeuwin…hours ago. The next round of watches passed uneventfully. We spotted a handful of cargo ships on the horizon, very few pleasure vessels transit this notoriously treacherous stretch of water.
As King George Sound and Albany came into view, were finally able to let the sails do the work and turn off the engine. There is something magically peaceful the moment the engine stops to hum and the sails take over. We tied up to the dock in Albany for what we hoped would be a week or two to wait for a weather window.
Nautical miles traveled 387
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