“I was shivering, not because of the cold, but because I was frightened at the idea of sailing out alone in this small boat to the Shiants. The halyard was slapping against the mast and the tiny waves clucked as they were caught against the underside of the hull.”

With accelerating speed we were driven towards the point, on the other side of which the swell rose to gigantic breakers, which, hurling themselves against the rugged obstacles with thundering fury sent rumbling waterfalls of foam over the rocky ledges. Sunken rocks off the point showed their frothy fangs, thirty, twenty yards away. The tumult was deafening. Oh, how I hated then, those rocks, these breakers, those snarling fangs, threatening, sneering, evil, inevitable….

Turning, I saw little patches of ripples, darkening the water, spread slowly across the sea until the calm shiny areas were reduced to irregular strips on the new pattern of ruffled surface; then a faint breeze whispered in my ear and a breath of cool air caressed my naked back.
“Take in the awning,” I shouted joyously down to Bob; and swinging on to the main halyard, slid to the deck where the breeze stirring aloft was not yet felt. Life aboard exhilarated. Gerry was doing acrobatics descending the main rigging. Bob, with his credulous blue eyes wide open, and grinning from ear to ear for the first time in several days, worked furiously to clear the decks. Mattresses and pillows were tossed down the companionway.

I love a good map.. and these ones are next level, uncovering patterns that govern our environment and society. Its particular strength lies in its ability to show things that are hard to see, yet profoundly affect us, such as economic flows, environmental changes, and social inequalities.

You have to give Nutting credit: he lived, and ultimately died, adhering to his anti-safety credo, insisting to the end that the true purpose of ocean sailing was simply “the fun of the thing.”

She meets a lanky Australian engineer Graeme, with a yen to sail around the world, and together they buy HOPE a traditional wooden gaff-rigged cutter and grab adventure with both hands.

Romance, courtesy, amateurism, respect.  These are all very much virtues of the early days of yachting: a time before marinas; a time when the amateur yachtsmen measured himself against those who sailed for a living; a time when the average middle-class man made it a point of honour not to have manual skills and yet, quixotically took pride in maintaining and fitting out his own craft.

In 2021, I was invited to sail on Sir James’ beautiful timber boat Nerida in a classic boat race on Sydney Harbour. Sir James had retired from competitive sailing, but came down to wish us well. He was about to turn 90, so I told him I was about to turn 60. He decided to give me some three pieces of advice for my 60’s…

He is the true sea-wanderer, in these hurried days, when the professional seaman sees little but ports…. and the wandering globetrotter has his soft way sped until the whole earth is fast developing-for him-into nothing but a nerve-racking kaleidoscope of which, his voyage made, he remembers little. No, give me a wandering such as Dwight Long’s and a little ship, stout as the IDLE HOUR

Graham had raced with the who’s who of Australia’s golden age of racing. His skills were sought out by the great yacht designer, Olin Stephens from New York. Known colloquially as The Yacht Doctor, the boats Graham had tuned for success stand as a litany of that age; Vittoria, Ragamuffin, Love & War, Stormy Petrel, Salacia II, Mark Twain. Queequeg.

With an (almost) long weekend upon us, there are worse ways to spend your time than to settle down, perhaps in a quiet anchorage, and listen to four podcasts from the ABC, all discussing books about islands.

Dylan’s reaction when he first heard what happened was, perhaps not surprisingly, pretty sanguine.

“Man…it’s like that reef has been sitting there waiting for you since the very beginning.”

When the English pirate Henry Every seized treasures from the 1,500-ton GANJ-I-SAWAI owned by India’s Grand Mughal Aurangzeb, off the coast of Surat in September 1695, it was the heist of the 17th century.

Three well known books came across my desk this week, rescued from years of likely abandonment on an Op Shop shelf. They are all acknowledged as historical classics in the Sailing genre, but it’s interesting to see how much of the content remains relevant today and how much becomes just quaint outdated anecdotes.

If you are heading to southern Australian waters, there is a fair chance that you will spot a gaff rigged wooden boat sailing or cruising along the shoreline. And when in full sail they are magnificent in their graceful movement through the water.

Jonathan, who becomes a father again at the age of 58, realises that he is not going to be around forever for his three-year-old daughter Phoebe. Despite his lack of practical experience, decides to build her a 10ft clinker dinghy in real wood, and in the space of a year. The result is, by turns, moving, funny and perceptive.

No, it’s not a fishing manual or boat survival handbook; it’s more a fable-like story. For the old man, fishing isn’t simply a contest; it has a philosophical meaning.

The Wharram Catamaran has always held a fascination not because its a thing of beauty but because they reek of the promise of adventure. And not a modern day adventure clutching a GPS and Sat Phone, but a 1960’s hippy adventure with free love, tropical islands bare tanned skin, and the rejection of boundaries imposed by a disapproving society.

I refuse to call THE ENDLESS SEA a coffee table book. It’s so much more than what that mildly derisive term implies. Once in a while a beautifully designed book such as this, lands on my desk, and …

“I knew there were already plans to electrify the lights. To automate. To relegate man beneath machines. To make us redundant. To take all the purpose out of life. As if richness did not lie in purpose and meaning but in leisure. I was keenly aware that I was in love with a dying life.”