Albany to Tasmania - Day 4 Departing Esperance and Navigating Through the Recherche Archipelago.

Wednesday, April 22nd 2026.

Departure Day.

We woke around 0630hrs after a good nights sleep. With the voyage expected to take well over seven days, I didn’t see any point in racing off at the crack of dawn.

My new crew Kevin had arrived on the bus from Albany on Monday evening. He’s an experienced sailor and doctor with a wealth of knowledge about all things boating. He and his wife live aboard their 52ft steel ketch ‘Thomas Tinboy’ which is currently moored in Albany.

Kevin has worked as a doctor in Antarctica, Pitcairn Island, Christmas Island and aboard many navy ships. A very handy person to have on board indeed.

With diesel, water, gas and a mountain of food stowed away, we departed Esperance Bay Yacht Club at 0800hrs.

My friends and family know Esperance is not my favourite place. The sailing community is great but the town leaves much to be desired.

I had never intended to stop off when leaving Albany but as all boaters know, plans always change. I was certainly looking forward to getting back to sea.

Leaving Esperance was very different to leaving Albany. I was exhausted from 70 days of boat work, emotionally drained from saying goodbye to friends and family and stressed about undertaking my (and Emigre’s) longest ever voyage. This anxiety quickly subsided after the first night but made me seasick to the point of throwing up over the side. I’ve never experienced this before.

Leaving Esperance, I had a renewed sense of trust in Emigre. The leg from Albany to Esperance re-affirmed what I love about the Duncanson 35. It really is a forgiving sea boat.

We motored slowly clear of the port and raised the mainsail to the first reef. The wind was light, around force three from the North East.

Unfurling the jib, we set the Aries Windvane and enjoyed a gentle cruise out of Esperance Bay, passing Woody Island to Starboard. It was sunny and warm with my solar panels quickly recharging the lithium battery bank.

The afternoon was pretty similar to the morning. Quiet conditions, a lot of navigating around islands and smooth protected seas.

At 16:40, I switched the HF radio on check into the Austravel HF Safetynet sked.  It’s nice to hear familiar voices on the air each morning and afternoon and to know that people are listening out for you. I believe every cruising boat should have and use HF radio, not only for emergency calling but for regular and free long distance communications. If you join a network such as Austravel, you can even make phone calls and send text messages or emails from your HF.

Before dark, we reefed the boom furling main from first reef to third reef with the head of the main barely peaking above the spreaders. The wind was now a steady force seven easterly complete with accompanying easterly wind chop and south east swells.

After reefing the mainsail, we had dinner that consisted of a big bowl of mum’s minestrone soup, removed from the freezer and heated in boiling water in vacuum bag. Yum.

I lay in my bunk as I type this. It’s 1900hrs, I’ve just taken my boots and salopets off after reefing the headsail to a ‘snippet’.  That’s a technical term invented by the great Australian yachtsman  Jon Sanders who I am lucky to call my friend.

Jon always describes a fueled jib, heavily reefed with only a couple of square feet of sail unfurled as a ‘snippet’.

Emigre’s now lifted high on the peaks, awash with

green water to the deckhouse. The rigging whistled, and the jib occasionally back winded as the bow plunged into a trough. Progress was slow between two and five knots. I wasn’t interested in going fast, the only objective is to protect the boat and reduce load on the gear.

Reducing sail also reduced our heel from around 20° to around 10°. That made the accommodations infinitely more comfortable and easy to move around.

The wind built during the night, ranging from force seven to force nine. The rigging howled and green waves regularly broke over the deckhouse. I kept a watch from inside, scanning the horizon for ship and checking for AIS targets on the chart plotter every twenty minutes or so.

The centre hatch was dripping onto my bunk. As green water broke over the boat. My new windows remained dry. The bright starry sky was quickly filled with heavy cloud an and the rain began to pour. The sky was lit up with lightning to the north and distant thunder joined the symphony of whistling rigging wires.

The seas built from 2-3m to four to five meters with the wind blowing a constant 30-40kn. At this point, theirs nothing much to do other than lie in your bunk and hope nothing breaks.

At first light, the wind was still over 30kn from the North East and the seas were heavy and confused.

At 0805, I called into the Austravel sked, identifying our position as 14 nautical miles due south of Salisbury Island, one of the most Southern islands in the Eastern Recherche Archipelago.  I am familiar with this area having spent a couple of months assisting to survey it from a 40ft manned/unmanned survey vessel last year. The rough night had slowed our progress to two or three knots, making our 24hr progress just 88 nautical miles.

My radio sked was interrupted by a loud clanging that I quickly identified to be my 21kg Manson Supreme anchor that had broken its lashing and jumped out of the bow roller. The fluke was attempting to puncture the hull whilst the chain sawed through my timber tow rail.

Kevin and I donned foul weather gear, harnessed up and I went forward to stow the anchor. Thankfully the damage is only cosmetic.

As the morning went on the wind and seas subsided and gave us both an opportunity to get some rest.