Round-the-World Journal. The Ocean in Winter off the Coast of Tasmania

What a journal that was never meant to become a post looks like The countdown began three weeks ago. We’re poised for the final, enormous dash across the Pacific Ocean, closed because of COVID. Tick-tick-tick... and there wasn’t even time to publish these sketches. At last, the day before we head out into the ocean, I found the time. And these are echidnas :). Such a cute little Tasmanian hedgehog 11 August We returned to Tasmania from Bass Strait and cut off our route back to mainland Australia. Ira was waiting for us in St Helens. Together, we travelled to the far north-west of the island to visit an amazing family of post-revolutionary emigrants. We wrote posts about that and more on our Instagram After spending around half a month in the town of St Helens, we’re ready to set off for Hobart. Wait for our parcels, stock up and then be on our way. Christelle, a journalist from the local newspaper, came to interview us. We had a good chat; she’s an energetic, upbeat young woman. And here is a photo of the article Christelle wrote about our expedition in the local paper. Saying goodbye without saying goodbye... And that evening we said goodbye to Irina, our friend from the little town of St Helens in eastern Tasmania. During our time in St Helens, she had become almost one of the family. Irina bakes amazing cakes to order, and she used to be the chef at her own restaurant. Of course, she saw us off with a delicious dinner and a unicorn cheesecake. I’m still so sorry that I filled up too quickly and only managed one slice of cake! We prepared so thoroughly for our farewell dinner that we even forgot the guitar on the yacht. We had to sing to the ukulele and do a bit a cappella—about daisies hiding and buttercups drooping. Irina’s dog Misha, who patiently travelled with us by car for three days to north-western Tasmania and was meek and affectionate the whole way, once back home again refused to let me hug him goodbye. Australia Post + Russian Post = love To our surprise, we’ve received a whole heap of parcels here quite easily; some of them flew all the way from Russia. Leonid sent wonderful gifts from Vologda and a watercolour portrait of our young sailor—it’s simply a miracle. The parcels were sent to our Irina’s address. Three more parcels are still due to arrive, which guarantees that we’ll meet, if not Irina herself, then her husband Peter. She works in Hobart one week on, one week off. Perhaps Irina will come to see us there one last time too—if she decides to put everything aside and dash 350 km. Irina and me in north-western Tasmania 12 August, Thursday Until lunchtime, we prepare the boat to leave, hang the curtains we washed at Ira’s yesterday and try to finish a new video for our YouTube channel. We left at lunchtime on high water, just as the ebb began. Twenty knots of wind on the nose as we cast off. That, of course, is a challenge. We’re berthed in a very narrow spot, with literally a metre between us and the neighbouring yachts fore and aft, so we have to extricate ourselves carefully. From a fishing boat, a bearded owner-craftsman, who looks like Santa Claus because of the whitish dust in his beard, shouts something, but over the roar of the engine and the wind it’s impossible to make out the words. To run aground or not to run aground? The ebb current adds 3–3.5 knots to our speed. Andrey is lashing the fuel cans to the side while I’m at the helm. The channel here is treacherous because of its shallows. At high water, the deepest point in the fairway is 4.7 metres. When we entered St Helens, the depth in a couple of places was 1.7 m. This is the first time I’ve helmed alone through such a narrow passage, several miles long. At the river mouth there is even a bar, a sandbank where the surf breaks. During our previous stay in St Helens, one yachtsman asked me how we had managed to get through the first time without running aground. The secret is that Andryusha was at the helm then. And now it’s me. Well, now we’ll notch up our first grounding. Gusts of up to 25 knots sometimes blow the bow right off course. In a couple of places, there are only about 15 metres between the green and red buoys marking the fairway. A screenshot from the video—the shores are this close, with shallows in front of them and the bar ahead. There’s probably a photo somewhere too “Andrey, I’m scared! The wind’s blowing us off course,” I periodically whimper in fright, while the captain calmly gets on with his job. Well, he can’t hear me over the wind anyway :). And really, what am I afraid of? Have I forgotten how to steer in confined waters after such a long break? Everything’s fine, after all. And with the wind whistling, I pass within a few metres of the bar without touching a single shoal. Today, Friday the 13th We thought we’d go straight to Hobart; it’s only 180 miles. But we ended up stopping. Half a day and a night at sea would have been as calm as it only ever gets when you’re sailing close to shore with the wind blowing from the mainland: no waves. Even so, it wasn’t boring. During the night, the wind died to nothing, and on Nastya’s watch the yacht ended up pointing the wrong way. But no sooner had I woken than the wind perked up too: in ten minutes it rose from zero to 30 knots, gusting to forty. We rushed to get the mainsail down; the mainsail jammed, a slide popped out and broke, and somehow we managed to lower it and lash it down. We set the baby staysail and crawled along under it until morning, with brief bursts of speed in the gusts. I had barely got the captain up to set the genoa—the large headsail—when the gusts of up to 30 knots started again, and we spent the rest of the morning entertaining ourselves by reefing it. I really couldn’t be bothered. My neck had seized up from an awkward position, plus my arm had already been hurting for a week—I overdid it playing ball, and something went wrong. We refreshed the forecast and managed to duck into Wineglass Bay before the headwind arrived. Right at the entrance, a pod of dolphins bounded towards us. You don’t often see an entire pod leaping symmetrically out of the water. Wineglass Bay—we stopped, but didn’t go ashore Entering the bay gave me precisely the pleasure that makes everything else worth enduring. Wineglass Bay is considered Tasmania’s most beautiful beach. I didn’t get enough walks along Binalong Bay, where our Irina lives, and now it’s the same with this bay. The two compete with each other for the title of best beach. The bays themselves couldn’t care less, of course, but it’s an interesting fact. The name of this bay, where we stopped to wait out the headwind, comes from its resemblance to a wine glass when viewed from above. But today is no weather for drones, and instead of going ashore, the captain and I flopped down to sleep. The girls are doing lessons and making slime. Guess who’s doing what? A couple ashore at Wineglass Bay envy us on the yacht, while we on the yacht envy them :) The summary is: We didn’t get enough sleep, didn’t go for a walk, didn’t finish the film, I didn’t finish writing the book... Everything is “didn’t quite...” And tomorrow we have to set off again at 5 a.m., before the headwind drives us into some intermediate anchorage for another three days or so. Does everyone fail to get anything done, or is it just me? Those were excerpts from the journal for 11–13 August. Today is 3 September 2021. They’ll be coming soon to clear the yacht for departure. Twenty-four hours until we head out into the open ocean. Follow our satellite updates on the website. And join us at 2 p.m. Moscow time on 3 September for the live broadcast, right here. A recording of the broadcast will be available on the channel. Hobart Botanical Gardens