We haven’t gotten much rest, but who cares? We’re in Australia. At first light, we’re up and weighing anchor to sail to Bushy Islet. A sandbar with a reef where we’ll spend the night at anchor. We have to reach northern Australia, to Thursday Island, where we’ll go through official customs. Since we don’t want to sail at night among the reefs of the Great Barrier Reef, we’ll make our way north in stages, sailing 40–50 miles a day.
The first leg, from Margaret Bay to Bushy Islet, is incredibly peaceful. A ten-knot southeasterly, a favorable current, the genoa unfurled, and the engine providing a little extra power. Turquoise water and bright sunshine; by noon, it’s sweltering. We cool off with buckets of water. We cover the last 10 miles accompanied by about fifteen dolphins playing at the bow of the ‘Sofía’. We can’t get enough of watching them: there are all sizes, some more playful than others. The boldest ones leap and do pirouettes along the port side, disappear, and reappear on the starboard side. They’re having a blast. For a moment, my mind leaves my body and I see the moment we’re experiencing from the outside. I see the ‘Sofía’ sailing among the reefs and Itxi at the bow, sitting with her gaze fixed on the dolphins. You have to experience it. We have a super starry and calm night. The trade wind is gentle, and, protected by the small island and aided by the reefs, the ‘Sofía’ sleeps motionless.
The second leg takes us to Adolphus Bay, 20 miles east of Thursday Island. The wind is blowing stronger than yesterday, but it’s holding steady at 17 knots. We sailed all day on calm seas. The Great Barrier Reef acts as a barrier, and no matter how hard the trade winds blow, waves rarely get very big. Around 4:00 p.m., we dropped anchor under the protection of Adolphus Island. We’d like to go ashore to explore a bit, but since we haven’t yet completed the legal entry process into Australia, it’s strictly forbidden to set foot on land. The Australians take this very seriously, and we could get into serious trouble if we’re caught. Better not to take any chances. Today, an Air Force plane flew over us and contacted us by radio, requesting identification and our destination. Every night I send an email to the Australian Coast Guard explaining our navigation plan. They’re very professional and polite.
Third and final leg: Today we finally arrived at Thursday Island. In this area, currents can reach 4 to 6 knots, so we have to plan carefully to always have the current in our favor; otherwise, we won’t make any headway. Today we weighed anchor at 9 a.m., and for the remaining 20 miles to our destination, we have the current in our favor. Today the wind has picked up to 20 knots, giving us an extra push. We anchored off Thursday Island in seven meters of water. Mission accomplished!
We launched ‘Daisy’ into the water, attached the outboard motor, and headed ashore to handle the paperwork and obtain legal entry into Australia. The dinghy was christened ‘Daisy’ in French Polynesia. We held a small ceremony at the stern of the ‘Sofía,’ and ever since then, she’s always been there to serve us—or so I thought. On the way to shore, with a head current and 25-knot winds, the engine stalls… I try to start it, but it refuses; I try a second and third time, but it doesn’t respond. We start rowing, but it’s useless: the current and wind are too strong for us. At the rate we’re drifting, I’ll be in Bali in a couple of days, and I’m not too thrilled about that. As we drift further from shore, I spot a buoy downwind of us. We can’t miss it; otherwise, we’ll be out in the open sea heading for Indonesia. Itxi and I row with all our might for what feels like an endless ten minutes. We manage to grab hold of the buoy; later, we’ll toast the person who decided to place this lifesaving buoy here. We signal with our oars to a motorboat passing nearby, and it tows us ashore. The tension suddenly drains from our bodies, and we feel exhausted.
While we’re going through the paperwork to enter Australia, my mind is going over all the engine components: cooling system, lubricating oil, fuel system, carburetor… I just want to get back to the dock to check the carburetor; I think it must be clogged with the leftover gas from the last time we used it, almost two weeks ago now… The engine teaches me a lesson: if I’m not going to use it for more than a week, I’d better drain the gasoline from the carburetor. We head back to the ‘Sofía’ worried it might leave us stranded again, but I’m reassured to see that the current has shifted and we have it in our favor. We get on board, I take the carburetor apart and… surprise! It’s clogged. I get it running like new, and now we have an outboard we can rely on again. Now then… drinks to celebrate our arrival in Australia and a toast to the person who put the buoy in just the right spot.
The Pacific Ocean lies astern… about 8,000 miles from Panama. The ‘Sofía’ remains majestic, taking care of me as best she can and helping me discover new horizons. The Pacific—sometimes not so peaceful—has confirmed that my comfort zone is on the high seas, with all its ups and downs. There are many difficult moments, but when there is only the ‘Sofía’, the ocean, and the present, my mind relaxes and travels with the wind that pushes us forward. Only my world exists; problems dissolve, and the present takes hold. You let go of the past and the future. You don’t know what situation you’ll be in five miles from now. The ‘Sofía’ and I are one, and we depend on each other to face whatever comes our way.