I’m two months into the maiden voyage from Hobart to Sydney on a sailing vessel made from rubbish found in the marine environment. She looks like something out of a Mad Max movie.

For the past thirty minutes progress has become difficult: the wind has shifted direction and it’s charging at me.

Darkness is about an hour away. I chat with my support yacht Captain and he offers a tow. I say “No” because I’m sick of people slagging me off and a tow would give them more ammunition. They’d say “Your vessel is crap, you’re an idiot and you’re going to die”.

I know there’s sheltered bays a few hours north and even though I haven’t planned for this journey I feel confident to go.

Rain starts coming down and darkness sets in. The wind and sea push me in a safe direction but I put out my sea anchor to slow my progress.

Inside the cabin she’s flexing, bending and warping while her thin plastic walls move in and out: much like she’s breathing.

The wind strengthens to around 30 knotts and the swell increases beyond 3 meters. It dawns on me that I can’t make the sheltered bays and my only option is to ride out the storm.

Over the next hour I notice my direction change slightly. There’s a decent sized island nearby and now I’m pointing directly at it. Luckily,
I’ve got about 5 hours up my sleeve.

I watch and hope things change for the better.

An hour goes past. We haven’t changed direction. My stomach starts to tighten. The future looks like a very cold, painful,
dark and lonely death.

There’s kilometres of rocky shoreline and unless I do something about it – I’m mince meat.

Setting off my EPIRB is the last thing I want to do – I doubt they could even attempt a rescue in such conditions anyway.

My mind races through the options and time slows down. I’m feeling incredibly uncomfortable and ungrateful.

I choose to meditate and focus on my breathing to calm down. It doesn’t seem to work so I start to pray for help and that my situation changes.

Something inside of me says that if I don’t get up and try to sail I’m most likely going to have an incredibly uncomfortable or potentially embarrassing experience.

Unwillingly, I put my cold, wet clothes on and poke my head out of the cabin. Luckily, I’ve been out in worse and a glimmer of hope comes over me.

I start taking action and pull the drogue in. Surprisingly, it’s ripped to shreds.

I also get creative with some rope and manage to get a small triangle of sail up – somewhat reefed.

Waves have been breaking over the outboard engine, but surprisingly, I manage to get her started after a few splutters and spurts.

My confidence builds.

Together, we start to travel across the towering waves, but it’s dark and my digital navigation charts are struggling in the rain. I’m not sure if I can make it past the rocky shore but I focus on knowing that I’ve done my best.

The safety light on my lifejacket keeps turning on with all the salt water – causing me night blindness. In frustration I rip it off so I can see the faint outline of the distant shore and the wild waves as they charge past.

I keep going with determination and I get into a bit of a rhythm.

When some of the large waves roll underneath I stand on the edge and look down to see many meters of nothing below. A thought pops into my head about how other vessels would’ve capsized by now.

Together, we ride across the wild stormy ocean into the early hours of the morning.

Around 3:30am we just sneak past the edge of the dangerous shoreline and I’m exhausted.

I create makeshift sea anchors, throw them out the back and go to bed.

It’s still rough inside the cabin but I’m beyond caring – just super glad to still be alive.

The next day I think hard about if I really have made an unwise or foolish choice to attempt this journey.

But I realise the whole event was avoidable and I’d now choose a tow from my support yacht.

Plus, I worked out that the vessel is capable of operating in storms of 48 knots and 5-7meter seas – not bad for a big piece of trash!

Off to Sydney we go!

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