Way2go adventure Sailing across the Pacific was meant to be a bonding experience for father and son sailors John and Chris Felan, but when the ocean turned against them they found their relationship sorely tested. Chris, 28, explains
DESTINATION: San Diego to Cairns
Growing up by the beach in Far North Queensland, I loved the water. In my early 20s I worked as a coxswain and engineer cruising across the Atlantic and by the time I was 27, I was desperate for a live-aboard yacht of my own.
“The prices are cheaper in America,” my dad, John, advised me.
Trawling through some US websites, I found a huge array of yachts at reasonable prices. San Diego in California boasted the best range. I figured I could fly over, buy a yacht and sail it home to Trinity Inlet, Cairns, stopping off at some Pacific Islands on the way. The trip would take about 70 days.
When I told Dad the plan, he offered to come with me. He was a good sailor and I was happy to have a companion for the long voyage. It was a welcome chance to spend some time together.
We arrived in San Diego a few months later and I found my dream boat, the Moana 4. She was a beautiful 1970s-built 32 footer. Over the next few weeks I took full advantage of the local sail makers and outfitters to get her kitted out.
But when we pulled out the charts to plot our course, it became clear it wasn’t going to be plain sailing. I wanted to take the fastest route but Dad was more concerned about safety. We finally agreed to sail directly to Hawaii, then on to the Marshall and Solomon Islands, past Papua New Guinea and home – a journey of almost 13,000km.
We stocked up on tinned foods, instant noodles, muesli bars and long-life milk, as well as all the fresh food and water we could stow. I’d exhausted my funds and couldn’t afford $3000 for an inflatable life raft.
“We’ll be right,” I assured Dad.
On Sunday June 1, 2008, we sailed out of San Diego Harbour full of good cheer, with the wind in our sails and excitement in our bellies.
Six hours later I was wishing I’d bought that life raft. The winds rose along with the waves and Moana was copping a thrashing.
“We’ll take turns at the helm through the night,” Dad said as we pulled on our wet gear and battled to stand up.
The next day the weather got worse, and the engine refused to go into gear. With no motor it was impossible to manoeuvre the boat across the wind to lower the sail.
“We’re going way too fast,” Dad shouted over the gale.
“I know, but what can we do?” I shouted back. Forty knot winds roared and the waves smashed us mercilessly.
“We might have to switch on the EPIRB,” Dad said, referring to the emergency radio beacon that would be our only hope of rescue if we were forced to abandon the boat.
“Not yet,” I insisted. I came close a few times, but hoped that each passing hour would bring calmer waters.
“Let’s try to get this sail down one last time,” Dad yelled.
Amazingly, at the last minute, the engine clicked into gear and, finally, we were able to pull the sail down. We were about 2000km from land and all we could do was set a course, batten down the hatches and wait out the storm.
We lay on our bunks, fighting fear and nausea, and scarcely speaking. It was a week before the winds died down, and another three before we spotted the volcanoes of Hawaii.
“We made it!” I said, slapping Dad on the back.
“Only just,” he replied grimly.
Mooring in Waikiki, we did a quick clean up of the boat and with wobbly legs, went our separate ways to explore. We spent most of our time on Hawaii’s Big Island, away from the tourist hub of Maui. I was mesmerised by the stark contrasts in the place. The lush forests, cascading waterfalls, black, white and even green sand beaches were like nothing I’d ever seen and their brightness was only enhanced by the blackness of the lava fields. At night, we were treated to a free fire show as the island’s active volcano oozed molten lava that crackled and exploded out of the ocean. It was great for morale. Dad and I got a break from each other and the chance to stock up on fresh food, water and some sanity. All too soon it was time to set sail again.
We headed for the Marshall Islands, taking 19 days of good sailing to get there. We explored Majuro Island, diving its pristine reefs and took a guided banana boat across to the tiny island of Eneko to snorkel in the lagoon.
Then we set sail straight to the Solomons. On September 8, we pulled out a bottle of champagne to celebrate crossing the equator, but the frivolity was short lived. The equator coincides with the inter-tropical conversion zone, which meant although there was no wind and the sea was flat, we were hammered by about 20 electrical storms a day. Still, 11 days later we dropped anchor at our destination and were greeted by friendly locals in dug-out canoes, selling beautiful hand-made wood and stone carvings that they were happy to exchange for a few of our shirts.
We spent a week in the Solomons. Moana had copped a beating in our last stretch and I spent most of our stay repairing the torn front sail with only brief breaks to enjoy the brightly coloured reefs of Gizo. I did, however, have time to develop a strong appreciation for the local beer, Sol-brew.
By now, Dad and I were well and truly fed up with each other. His cautious streak and my inner speed-demon had become arch-enemies; we disagreed over the tiniest things.
Within five days of leaving the Solomons we could see the glow of lights from Cairns. Three days later we sailed smoothly through the Grafton passage. In a cruel twist, we arrived at 6am and had to wait three hours to clear customs. All up, the voyage had taken us 99 days.
“Might as well crack a coldie,” Dad said.
“Something we agree on,” I laughed.
Three hours later we sailed into Trinity Inlet and spotted a banner hanging from the balcony of Shangri-La Hotel: Welcome Home Captain Chris and sailor John. Our extended family had flown from Sydney and booked an executive suite at the hotel to welcome us.
I’m now living on my boat as I’d dreamed – although I’m already thinking of upgrading. Dad and I avoided one another for a while after the trip, but our relationship is very much the same as it always was, with a touch more intimacy. While neither of us would want to repeat the voyage, I certainly don’t regret it. We survived and it’s something we’ll never forget.
*From Way2go, the real-life travel magazine that puts money in your pocket. Launch issue on sale January 2009 at your local newsagent. Phone 1300 782 312 to subscribe.
Chris’ tips for ocean sailing |
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Open Road e-zine December 2008
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