The run from Colac into Melbourne and beyond to Mount Martha on the Mornington Peninsula was notable for two things....a camera which was playing up and some ferocious northerly winds. So unfortunately I have no photos to share of the leg between Colac and Melbourne, and you will just have to take my word for the fact that between Geelong and Melbourne on the open freeway past Avalon and Point Cook, I was pretty busy.
As for the remainder of today's run of just over 200 kms, once we were on the approach to the Westgate Bridge, we were in familiar territory. We had done all this last year (see blog 17 March 2016).
Let us therefore go directly to the home of our very good friends the Vogts where, as we had done previously, I reversed the van up the somewhat challenging slope of the driveway and we again took up residence on what was now a beautifully grassed 'site' in their backyard.
Last year this entire area was virtually bare as John embarked on a vigorous campaign to eradicate weeds to prepare for a new lawn, clearly a great success.
Let us therefore go directly to the home of our very good friends the Vogts where, as we had done previously, I reversed the van up the somewhat challenging slope of the driveway and we again took up residence on what was now a beautifully grassed 'site' in their backyard.
Last year this entire area was virtually bare as John embarked on a vigorous campaign to eradicate weeds to prepare for a new lawn, clearly a great success.
As we had done previously, we again took turns in the kitchen, and I was delighted (as was everyone else) to be able to share some of the tasty FNQ Spaniard fillets (mackerel) which I had caught off Kurrimine in July. And comfortable as I am in the van's galley, it was good fun to have seemingly endless elbow room in a 'real' kitchen
We spent a delightful week here at Mount Martha. Long walks with 'Bob the Dog", several visits to the nearby shopping centre as we completed our final logistics before heading off to Tasmania, and the odd spot of socialising.
The nearby Baxters Tavern was the venue for one outing. Here we were joined by a couple we had first met at Robe in the south-east of SA a number of years ago. It was good to catch up (and we were actually having a very good time despite the somewhat glum faces!)
Baxters do a fine lunch, and are the purveyors of most acceptable wines. Someone was particularly happy with hers, a pinot noir if memory serves correctly.
Another highlight on our social calender had to be Rhonda's afternoon tea....probably more accurately described as 'High Tea', a delightful occasion when we met a couple from across the road who were planning to arrive in Tasmania the day after us as part of a group of restored sports car enthusiasts. We decided that the odds of a meeting we somewhat slim, but, on the road one never knows.
But apart from anything else, I was a man on a mission whilst here. For a number of reasons we had decided to pack our generator for our adventures over the next couple of years in Tassie and then back in the West, but I had a problem. The generator locker at the rear of the van is spacious, but to take full advantage of this I had to devise a system whereby I could stack things properly.
This storage spot is home to all sorts of 'stuff', mainly my fishing gear, much of which I had already consigned to plastic tubs, but the curved top handle of the 'genny' was not an efficient base on which to pile things and apart from the contents of the tubs there was a heap of odds and ends to also be housed. Importantly I wanted our jack stands to be within easy reach.
I had been mulling this over for weeks, and I had a plan. All I needed was some expert advice, materials and proper tools.
Enter my good mate John. He concurred with my proposal to build a shelf to go over the generator, was happy to take me to the local hardware store for the required materials, and even more importantly, broke out his tools and his skills.
So, after emptying the locker and much subsequent wielding of tape measures, construction began.
Simple as the end result appears, it did take some time to cut things to size and screw it all together.
Now for the acid test....will it fit?
The initial answer was not quite...the shelf was fine, but the jack stays were just a tad too wide to allow the hatch to close. A quick trim was required (which meant we had to deconstruct the entire shebang),
but take two was a winner. With support batons screwed and glued, the end result was as solid as a rock.
And it all worked as planned, which for me was nothing short of a miracle....simple as this looks it made a huge difference.
I could now slide the generator in and out with a minimum of fuss, or more accurately put, without having to take out everything else in the locker.
The two jack stands were front and centre as planned and my big fishing bag sat happily on top of them. This had solved a problem which had been vexing me for quite some time.....I was now a very happy chap and again indebted for the expertise of my good mate. It seems that every time we leave Mount Martha it is with improvements made (last year it was the rear tool box, an A frame 12 volt plug repaired and new mudflaps).
Sunday 15 October had arrived. We were ready for our next big adventure. Today was sailing day, but in the Voggie household Sunday is also 'cooked breakfast day' (well it is when they are on the road). It had been decided that we should maintain the tradition.
The BBQ was fired up, and JV, who is the acknowledged O/C tongs when it comes to breakfast cooking, took station.
A full breakky is a real treat for us, and with the van already hitched and ready to go in the background, we sat down in bright Mornington sunshine (yes it does shine on the odd occasion in Melbourne) to enjoy our last meal for what would be some time with our most gracious hosts.
All was on track. We had planned to leave at about 1330 hours to make the 50 kilometre run up to Port Melbourne in plenty of time for a 1630 hours arrival at pre-boarding quarantine and security. This may have seemed excessive, but the Spirit of Tasmania does not delay its departure for late-comers, and we were both keen to have plenty of time in reserve.
And then disaster struck, or it could have been. This apparent surfeit of time soon became a godsend as Murphy once again descended on the hapless Mobile Marshies.
I had noticed a few days ago that the Cruiser had been a little sluggish to fire up. At the time I put it down to the fact that it was bitterly cold and the diesel heating coil took longer than usual to do its job. From then on it fired as normal when I hit the starter button, and I thought little more of it. In the words of that idiot who now struts the world stage pretending to be a real President of the USA, 'bad mistake'!
You guessed it. As I prepared to fire up for our departure, all I got from under the bonnet was a laboured moan from the starter motor and then....nothing. Our batteries had completely died. So there we were, on a Sunday afternoon at Mount Martha, with dead batteries and but a few hours to make the boat. And we were on our own. Rhonda and John had gone out and would not be back until evening.
As I was debating our options and concluding they were extremely limited, Liz came to the fore with the eminently sensible suggestion we make the most of our top RAA cover and call the Victorian equivalent for roadside service. Yes, they could send one of their battery blokes. "But how soon?", was our immediate rejoinder. "Within 50 to 70 minutes". This had the potential to be a very close run thing......thank God we had allowed the extra time.
After what had to be the longest hour of my life for some time, true to what we had been promised, the most obliging RACV chap pulled in, fitted two brand new batteries, and did so without loosing any of the systems which are stored in the Cruiser's computers (which would normally die once all power is lost and have to be restored....not a simple process).
'On our way rejoicing' has never rung truer as we made our way out onto the Nepean Highway for the run into Melbourne. Most of our spare time had now evaporated, but we were still on schedule with a bit up our sleeves.
As we finally made it onto the St Kilda Esplanade, the heavy traffic we had been told to expect (this was the first warm Sunday afternoon Melbourne had experienced for some time) materialised,
but we were by now just ahead of the clock, and actually had time to pull in to the kerb on the seafront on Beach Street
and take in our first view of 'The Spirit of Tasmania' as she lay alongside Station Pier against the backdrop of the Westgate bridge, all shrouded in the afternoon haze.
We had made it, and as we thought back over the events of the past three hours we did bless our luck. The thought of having arrived here, or worse, into the line of vehicles awaiting boarding, or even worse still, as we were about to disembark at Devonport, to then find we had no means of starting our rig, did not bear thinking about. We had dodged a potentially very nasty bullet indeed.
But this was no time to feel too smug.....there was still work to be done, all of it brand new for us. At the appointed hour we edged onto the dock and presented for security and quarantine checks, all of which was a tad ho hum we decided, and far less rigorous than we had anticipated.
Then it was time to begin the boarding process, which is interesting to say the least. Firstly we had to make our way through the large shed you can see in front of us
at the end of which a sharp left hand turn
brought us into the queue for the ticketing office which is located near the stern of the ship.
As part of the booking process we had to measure our rig and provide advice as to our overall length. Inaccuracy in this will result in an immediate surcharge. As I pulled up at the wharf ticket office I was directed to stop at a precisely specified point. Here our actual overall length was verified (they have an ingenious scale of distances marked out on the pier surface), we were given a special animal ticket to hang on our mirror (goodness knows why...I'll explain shortly)
and we yet again took our place in the two lanes of vehicles awaiting the boarding bell
with the bulk of port side of 'The Spirit' looming high above us.
Fortunately I had pre-read the loading procedure, and knew that once we got going again it would be 'round the mulberry bush.' And so it was, past the bow of the ship and the waiting semi trailers, and past the line of later arrivals who were yet to be processed.
At the end of this section of dockside roadway, another sharp right hand turn took us onto the forward loading ramp and up, up and away
in through the bow entry doors
and onto our assigned parking bay on 5 deck. If this shot (taken later...I was a tad busy on arrival) suggests that things are tightly packed on the vehicle decks, this is indeed the truth of it.
In fact, once we had settled (we were in the first row of three parked side by side on this deck) I immediately pulled in my right hand mirror. This proved a wise precaution as a clown in a large mobile home sped past us with but a hair's breadth of clearance. Had I been less cautious, our day of potential disaster would have been complete, but not so our full set of mirrors.
By now the reason for our somewhat convoluted approach had become clear...this ship is definitely 'roll on roll off'. As was later confirmed on our arrival in Devonport, she berths stern on to the loading ramps and we were indeed facing the right way to drive straight off.
But that was to be twelve hours hence. Our immediate problem once we had parked was to see to Max, who by now was decidedly less than relaxed. And his state of discomfort just got worse, the poor little chap.
We had been given to believe that once we were parked up, a crew member would escort us to Max's assigned kennel for the trip. Not a bloody bit of it. We were bluntly told by our one deckie that the kennels were "over there, help yourself". Great. And now you will understand my comment about the pet tag we had been given. Utterly superfluous to need.
And this is where Max spent his crossing. Fortunately we were able to fit out this dog box with his own bed and his water bowl. We disregarded the rule relating to 'no food' and also left him with what we hoped might be a calming snack (food usually does the trick with Mr Garbage Guts).
Another bit of luck (and reward for our early arrival) meant that we found him a spot at the top of the kennel bank (he always likes being high) and at the end which was behind a canvas sheet of sorts. Max is terrified of diesel motors, and we were hoping that this might offer him some form of comfort as the remainder of the deck was loaded.
And here I should comment that anyone who thinks cats are incapable of facial expression has never owned one. Big black eyes were set in a pleading little face.....you're surely not going to leave me here are you? Sorry Max, rules are rules, but the rules we later discovered had mislead us. More of that later.
With serious misgivings about the welfare of The Black Panther, it was now time for us to make our way to our overnight accommodation, cabin 7727, oddly enough to be found on 7 deck.
Our photos did not work out, so I've lifted this one from the net to show what our cabin looked like. This is a standard cabin.....for those willing to part with over $400 for the crossing, a much larger cabin with a double bed, TV etc. is offered. Why bother....all we were planning to do (and did) was sleep here and for a quarter of the cost this was more than adequate.
The head was squeezy but functional. It reminded us a lot of that we had on the Ghan many years ago.
The Spirits (there are two of them) are not small vessels. Each of these 'ropax ferries', as they are officially designated (roll on roll off passengers), are 194 metres long, weigh in at just under 30,000 tons and have a maximum speed of 31 knots. Decks 1-6 carry cars and trucks, deck 7 houses cabins, lounges, bars, a theatre, cafe and restaurant, deck 8...more cabins and the sit up seats, deck 9 is the crew deck, deck 10 is home to a bar and the disco and deck 11 houses the helipad.
Each ship has 750 berths, can carry 1,400 passengers, and 1,000 vehicles.
One wit we met on the road (cannot now remember who it was) quipped that, given Bass Strait is only about 50 metres deep (that surprises most people), if the ship goes down bow first, head for the stern.....it will still be above the waves when the bow hits the bottom. Thanks for that!
With our meagre luggage stowed it was off to explore our new surroundings. "Come on Lizzie, what's keeping you?" We roamed 7 deck to start with,
where we found the cafeteria
and varying styles
of seating (as well as the Purser's office, the theatre, the souvenir shop and so on)
There were also a couple of bars on this deck. The largest was crowded by the time we had done our orientation tour. Here those lining up for a refreshing beverage (I suspect some were self-medicating!) included a group wearing the colours of the Outlaw motor cycle gang (they have a clubhouse in Devonport). Whilst they did behave themselves, I decided photography was not the best option, apart from which The Matron wisely suggested that we were better off elsewhere (even long into retirement I still detest these thugs).
So we initially opted for a relatively quiet spot for a celebratory glass or two, a vantage point from which
we were able to look out over Station Pier
and back along the Beach Street esplanade.
We had no sooner settled in and we were on the move....thirty minutes early as it happened. Irrespective of the designated sailing time, once the ship is fully loaded and all who should be on board are accounted for, the crew slip the lines. Makes sense....no point hanging about just for the sake of it, and this does give the skipper extra time to slow the ship's speed somewhat if the seas are less than kind
Much to Liz's delight, our crossing was forecast to be relatively smooth. Two metre westerly swells were predicted in Bass Strait. But first we had to negotiate the long passage out of Port Phillip Bay. As we sat back and took it all in, before we knew it the sun had set, the horizon in front of us was painted with the pastel colours of the dying day,
whilst astern, the buildings of Melbourne city glowed in the gathering gloom.
The lights of the homes along the Mornington Peninsula cast an eerie reflection in the low clouds above. It was odd to think that some four hours earlier we had been driving thought this very area.
By this time the worms were beginning gnaw and we repaired to an upper deck where we had previously found a bar which not only dispatched liquid refreshments but also excellent little pizzas. These, we thought, would be just the shot for a late snack before retiring, and indeed they were.
On this deck, too, we found the ship's minstrel, a passably good muso who kept us well entertained for an hour or so whilst we happily munched away on our modest supper.
By the time the lights of Portsea gave way to the darkness of the Heads, we were well sated. Our bunks beckoned, and not a moment too soon.
As we made our way back to our cabin, the deck beneath us began to move, disconcertingly so for the uninitiated. Our smooth passage out of the sheltered bay changed dramatically as the bow of The Spirit plunged into the maelstrom which is The Heads, the narrow passage out of Port Phillip Bay into the ocean of Bass Strait. No matter what the weather, this is always a disturbed area of water as the tidal ebb and flow funnels masses of seawater through this narrow neck.
Liz was more than keen to get her head down. Her sailing philosophy is simple....have a drink whilst it is calm and then stay horizontal, and preferably asleep, for as long as possible.
As the swells of Bass Strait began to make their presence felt, we both did just that. Even with a ship of the size of that on which we were sailing, a beam sea will always exert its influence, and tonight was no exception. Undressing in the confines of our small cabin was an interesting challenge.....the wise soon learn that this is best achieved sitting on the bunk.
So it was that we tucked up for the night to the lullaby of the throb of the engines of our ship good and true as she ploughed on relentlessly at 25 knots towards Tasmania.
Tomorrow would bring the dawn of our new adventure.
The head was squeezy but functional. It reminded us a lot of that we had on the Ghan many years ago.
The Spirits (there are two of them) are not small vessels. Each of these 'ropax ferries', as they are officially designated (roll on roll off passengers), are 194 metres long, weigh in at just under 30,000 tons and have a maximum speed of 31 knots. Decks 1-6 carry cars and trucks, deck 7 houses cabins, lounges, bars, a theatre, cafe and restaurant, deck 8...more cabins and the sit up seats, deck 9 is the crew deck, deck 10 is home to a bar and the disco and deck 11 houses the helipad.
Each ship has 750 berths, can carry 1,400 passengers, and 1,000 vehicles.
One wit we met on the road (cannot now remember who it was) quipped that, given Bass Strait is only about 50 metres deep (that surprises most people), if the ship goes down bow first, head for the stern.....it will still be above the waves when the bow hits the bottom. Thanks for that!
With our meagre luggage stowed it was off to explore our new surroundings. "Come on Lizzie, what's keeping you?" We roamed 7 deck to start with,
where we found the cafeteria
and varying styles
of seating (as well as the Purser's office, the theatre, the souvenir shop and so on)
There were also a couple of bars on this deck. The largest was crowded by the time we had done our orientation tour. Here those lining up for a refreshing beverage (I suspect some were self-medicating!) included a group wearing the colours of the Outlaw motor cycle gang (they have a clubhouse in Devonport). Whilst they did behave themselves, I decided photography was not the best option, apart from which The Matron wisely suggested that we were better off elsewhere (even long into retirement I still detest these thugs).
So we initially opted for a relatively quiet spot for a celebratory glass or two, a vantage point from which
we were able to look out over Station Pier
and back along the Beach Street esplanade.
We had no sooner settled in and we were on the move....thirty minutes early as it happened. Irrespective of the designated sailing time, once the ship is fully loaded and all who should be on board are accounted for, the crew slip the lines. Makes sense....no point hanging about just for the sake of it, and this does give the skipper extra time to slow the ship's speed somewhat if the seas are less than kind
Much to Liz's delight, our crossing was forecast to be relatively smooth. Two metre westerly swells were predicted in Bass Strait. But first we had to negotiate the long passage out of Port Phillip Bay. As we sat back and took it all in, before we knew it the sun had set, the horizon in front of us was painted with the pastel colours of the dying day,
whilst astern, the buildings of Melbourne city glowed in the gathering gloom.
The lights of the homes along the Mornington Peninsula cast an eerie reflection in the low clouds above. It was odd to think that some four hours earlier we had been driving thought this very area.
By this time the worms were beginning gnaw and we repaired to an upper deck where we had previously found a bar which not only dispatched liquid refreshments but also excellent little pizzas. These, we thought, would be just the shot for a late snack before retiring, and indeed they were.
On this deck, too, we found the ship's minstrel, a passably good muso who kept us well entertained for an hour or so whilst we happily munched away on our modest supper.
By the time the lights of Portsea gave way to the darkness of the Heads, we were well sated. Our bunks beckoned, and not a moment too soon.
As we made our way back to our cabin, the deck beneath us began to move, disconcertingly so for the uninitiated. Our smooth passage out of the sheltered bay changed dramatically as the bow of The Spirit plunged into the maelstrom which is The Heads, the narrow passage out of Port Phillip Bay into the ocean of Bass Strait. No matter what the weather, this is always a disturbed area of water as the tidal ebb and flow funnels masses of seawater through this narrow neck.
Liz was more than keen to get her head down. Her sailing philosophy is simple....have a drink whilst it is calm and then stay horizontal, and preferably asleep, for as long as possible.
As the swells of Bass Strait began to make their presence felt, we both did just that. Even with a ship of the size of that on which we were sailing, a beam sea will always exert its influence, and tonight was no exception. Undressing in the confines of our small cabin was an interesting challenge.....the wise soon learn that this is best achieved sitting on the bunk.
So it was that we tucked up for the night to the lullaby of the throb of the engines of our ship good and true as she ploughed on relentlessly at 25 knots towards Tasmania.
Tomorrow would bring the dawn of our new adventure.
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