Author: Spalax 2

The final stage of the world circumnavigation in 2024 will take Spalax 2 across the Indian Ocean, up the Red Sea and into the Mediterranean. 

Here is the itinerary:

Malaysia (Langkawi) – Sri Lanka (Galle), departure 4 January

Sri Lanka (Galle) – Maldives (Uligam), departure 20 January

Maldives (Uligam) – Djibouti, departure 1 February

Djibouti – Sudan (Sawakin), departure 1 March

Sudan (Sawakin) – Port Said, departure 15 March

Port said – Crete, departure 1 April

Crete – Corfu, departure 15 April

Corfu – Slovenia (Izola), departure 1 May

The cost of the adventure of your life is EUR 140 per week. This covers the cost of your accommodation, food, fuel, administrative fees, etc. 

For more information visit www.spalax2.wordpress.com

or get in touch with me at marjangolobic@gmail.com.

I am well on my way to concluding my world circumnavigation. Having crossed the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean with my sloop Spalax and the Pacific Ocean with my catamaran Spalax 2, I made landfall on the Indonesian island of Bali in November 2022.  Spalax 2 is now safely moored in Serangan Bay and will stay there until April 2023 when it will make its way through the Indonesian archipelago to Singapore and eventually to the Malaysian island of Langkawi.

In January 2024, when the north-east monsoon becomes firmly established, Spalax 2 will continue its blue-water odyssey across the Indian Ocean to Sri Lanka, to the Maldives and finally to Djibouti, the gateway to the Red Sea.

March 2024 will see Spalax 2 meandering its way up the Red Sea to the Suez Canal and entering the Mediterranean Sea. Then comes the home stretch to Crete, Corfu and finally to the Slovenian port of Portorož where the globe-girdling voyages of Spalax and Spalax 2 will have come to a successful conclusion.

I am looking forward to meeting my friends and followers at the arrival ceremony in Portorož in the spring of 2024.

Captain Marjan Golobič

Not likely.

Indonesia may be a fascinating, exotic tourist destination, but a cruising paradise it is not. It is a cruising sailor’s nightmare. Weak, shifting winds, strong currents, a myriad of small fishing boats, fish farms, fishing platforms, lack of basic boating infrastructure, hazardous floatsome, water pollution and mind-numbing bureaucracy make it very difficult for a regular yachtie to explore and truly enjoy this incredible tropical archipelago of a thousand islands.

One day, having motor-sailed all day, we arrived in Kilo on the island of Sumbawa. Diring our approach a tropical rainstorm broke and visibility was reduced to twenty meters. When the skies cleared we found ourselves in the middle of dozens of small fishing boats and I still do not know how I managed to zig-zag our way to the anchorage without fouling the props with a fishing net. 

Once at anchor, we could relax and look forward to some well deserved shut-eye. But the local muezzin would have none of it. He cranked up his public address system and started praising Allah at six in the evening and then again at midnight. But then, at four in the morning, by popular demand, he put in a special surprise performance, just to make sure that the Allah-fearing people of Kilo were still on their toes. 

A week earlier we were sailing from Comodo Island to Labuen Bajo on the island of Flores. We were in need of fuel and food. A nice little breeze developed out of the south-east, so we quickly unfurled the code zero and soon Spalax 2 was moving along at a steady pace of six knots. But then I noticed that according to SOG (speed of vessel in relation to land) we were not making any headway. I fired up the two engines and cranked them up to 2000 rpm. Finally we stared inching forward. The reason? We were sailing in the middle of a countercurrent of six knots!

But I have to qualify my condemnation of Indonesia. When you do manage to find a dinghy dock at water level to go ashore without a hastle, you will find the most gentle, helpful and friendly people you ever want to meed. Even though their English is rudimentary at best, they will go out of their way to organize fuel, water, cooking gas, food, sim cards and whatever your little hearts desire at a very reasonable price.

One bright star on Indonesia’s pleasure-boating horizon is Marina Del Ray on Gede Island just off the coast of Lombok. It boasts everything a discriminating yachtie needs and wants: full service berths, swimming pull, atmospheric outdoor restaurant, karaoke. Marina Del Ray is also a stopover of the annual rally World ARC. But the marina is almost empty, supposedly due to the pandemic. Let’s hope that this superb yachting facility will usher in a new prosperous era of Indonesia’s yachting industry.

It has been almost a month since we entered Indonesia at Kupang on the island of Timor. And to be honest, in spite of what I said above, Indonesia, particularly Bali, is beginning to grow on me. 

Arriving from the tropical climate of New Caledonia to Bundaberg on Australia`s east coast, I was surprised to notice that the temperature would drop at night to the low teens. Asking the locals why it was so cold at night, I was told that winter of the southern Hemisphere was setting in. ”But no worries, mate,” I was reassured,” once you make it to tropical Cairns up north, you’ll be praying for a cold snap.”

I did make it to Cairns, the Gateway to the Great Barrier Reef, and still I would scramble for more blankets in the middle of the night as the temperature plummeted from totally balmy 28 degrees Centigrade to the insultingly chilly 12 degrees.

Even though Cairns lies mere 17 degrees of latitude south of the equator, the temperatures during the southern winter can dip to single digits. We can put this down to global warming, La Niña or the proximity of Antarctica.

Whatever the case my be, my boat is I now securely tied to a pile mooring in Marlin Marina, while yours truly is back in Europe taking care of his health issues.

But I haven’t swallowed my anchor yet. Hopefully, the world circumnavigation of Spalax 2 will continue in October.

When Captain Cook explored Australia’s east coast back in 1770, he sailed past an island that made his trusty compass go haywire. The good captain concluded that this was due to the iron ore in the composition of the island and promptly named it “Magnetical Island”. I naively thought that the name came from all the tourists that are attracted to the island.

Magnetic Island had absolutely no effect on my electronic compass as I safely sailed into Horseshoe Bay and dropped anchor. I dinghyed ashore where I met Liz who showed me where the bus stop was and invited me to a sundowner on the beach with her friends.

And there we were on the beach, Liz, Stefan, Moray, Roy and Craig, toasting another perfect day in paradise as the sun slowly sank behind the horizon. Then we moved to the home of Stefan and Moray where a spontaneous party broke out. As the night wore on, we became increasingly incapacitated and my return to the boat increasingly impossible. My new Aussie friends generously offered me a roof over my head for the night, Stefan presented me with a barbecue for my boat and Moray did my laundry.

Aussie generosity knows no bounds.

I tried to reciprocate by inviting my newly-found friends on a day sailing trip. They provided roast chicken and trimmings and I cooked up some spaghetti bolognese. I had the impression that they all enjoyed my spacious, comfortable boat, particularly the sailing.

The following day I visited Bungalowbay, a wildlife reserve, where I learned everything about the unique Australian wildlife and was allowed to touch and pet turtles, parrots, wombats, lizards, snakes and koalas.

A truly unique and unforgettable experience. 

I have been in Australia for three months now and I continue to be amazed by its generous people and incredible wildlife. 

We are into the month of May and this is supposed to be the start of the sailing season on Australia’s east coast. I left Bundaberg on May 3^rd and sailed to the island of Lady Musgrave. An easy downwind sail in perfect wind conditions. I anchored in the lagoon and during the night the port side of the lazy jack broke, but I could not fix it as there was no one to hoist me up the mast. 

I left early in the morning for a day sail to Heron Island. I anchored and dinghy-ed to the jetty but was turned away. So this is why I was the only sailboat there. Still, I decided to spend the night at anchor and continue next day to Cape Capricorn on the mainland. 

As I said before, the month of May marks the beginning of the sailing season on the east coast of Australia. 

As I was leaving Cape Capricorn, the wind picked up considerably and sailing in very choppy seas became very uncomfortable. I had to seek shelter in Keppel Bay Marina near the town with an improbable name of Yeppoon.

Torrential rains, forty-knot winds, rough seas. I was stuck in the marina for a week. 

La Niña was back with a vengeance.

A million-dollar motor yacht that was at anchor outside the marina dragged its anchor, was thrown on the rocks and sank. Apparently the owner did not have the money for insurance and the marina would not accept a vessel without insurance.

My next stop was Pearl Bay on the mainland. I spent a quiet night but in the morning, as I was hoisting the main sail, the halyard broke and the sail came crashing down. I will have to go to Mackay for repairs, but first I wanted to stop over on Percy Island.

There were four other sailboats at anchor in West Bay of Percy Island. According to tradition, all crews gather at the yacht club for sundowners and socializing.

Aussies are probably the most friendly and extroverted people on the planet. Before I even had a chance to give him the once over, a husky Australian shook my hand and said: “Howya doin’, mate. My name is Bob. What’s yours.” And in an instant we were all friends, sharing stories about our sailing adventures.

The following day I sailed to Curlew Island where the anchorage seemed very secure and sheltered. However, during the night strong gusts of wind from both sides of the small island made my boat swing around its anchor. In the morning I found the anchor chain and the bridle tied up in a big knot. It took me quite a while to disentangle the bridle and chain. I left in a hurry.

The wind was getting stronger, peaking at forty knots. Constant downpours, poor visibility and choppy seas made the sailing trip less than enjoyable. I was cold and wet and tired. 

Once again La Niña had reared its ugly head. 

I had no choice but to seek refuge in Mackay Marina. Arriving in the marina, I requested assistance on channel 16 but the marina office didn’t seem to understand what I wanted. As I was single-handed, it would be impossible for me to maneuver the boat into a dock, jump off the boat and secure the boat to the pontoon. Fortunately, two local sailors realized my predicament and waited for me patiently on the pontoon to take my lines.

The wind showed no sign of letting up. I was stuck in the marina for yet another week. Fortunately, my neighbor Greg turned out to be a perfect neighbor. He often invited me to his beautiful Beneteau Oceanis 58 called Escape and plied me with food and drink and provided me with a wealth of information about the local cruising area and Australia in general. 

I hope I can return the favor when he visits me in Slovenia.

Below is the itinerary with approximate departure dates.

8 April – Bundaberg – Fraser Island

12 April – Fraser Island – Lady Musgrave Island

15 April – Heron Island – Port Clinton

20 April – Port Clinton – Percy Island

23 April – Percy Island – St Bees Island

1 May – St Bees Island – Whitsunday Island

If you are interested in this sailing adventure, please call me at +61 484 543 955 or contact me at marjangolobic@gmail.com.

AVSTRALSKA AVANTURA – PRVA ETAPA

Spodaj so navedeni datumi odhoda in destinacije.

8. april – Bundaberg – otok Fraser

12. april – otok Fraser – otok Lady Musgrave

15. april – otok Heron – Port Clinton

20. april – Port Clinton – otok Percy

23. april – otok Percy – otok St Bees

1. maj – otok St Bees – otok Whitsunday

Če vas zanima ta jadralska avantura, me lahko pokličete na +61 484 543 955 ali me kontaktirate po epošti marjangolobic@gmail.com.

After a boisterous, adrenalin-pumping landfall in Bundaberg in the dead of night, I anchored next to the Bundaberg Port Marina and tried to get some shuteye. Next morning I requested clearance into Kangaroo Country and was instructed to proceed to the quarantine pontoon where a reception committee of five Australian Border Force officers was waiting for me complete with flack jackets, army boots and Smith & Wessons .49. No red carpet, no welcome basket of tropical fruit. This is not Fiji. These guys don´t fool around, I thought to myself.

First I had to hand over my vaccination and Covid-19 test documentation. Then I had to get off my vessel and the five officers, including a black sniffing dog, boarded Spalax 2. The canine was supposed to sniff out the laundered cash and cocaine I didn’t have stashed away in the bilges. 

Then I was allowed to climb back aboard and one of the officers asked me to turn on my navigation instruments to check my track from New Caledonia to Bundaberg. The weren’t sure if I rendez-voused with a Russian oligarch’s mega-yacht mid-Pacific and taken on fifty kilos of meth.

Then followed a police interrogation. Only a blinding neon lamp, shining into my eyes, was missing. The first question was: Have you seen or met any suspicious looking persons before you came to Australia? And it just went downhill from there.

Next step was a biosecurity inspection. Rebecca was a cheery, middle-aged lady who chatted with me, confiscated my garlic, onions, eggs, coconut hells and charged me AUD 300 for her services. But she did leave me cooking oil, sugar, coffee, spices and spaghetti, rice and canned beans.

Finally, I was instructed to go to a hospital, get a Covid-19 test and forward the results to Queensland Health. I did so like a good boy and after two days of red tape I was free to roam the continent down under.

I later learned that I was the first overseas boat to make landfall in Bundaberg in 2022. As it was still the cyclone season not much pleasure boating was happening along Australia’s east coast. I was also surprised I hadn’t seen a single water craft on my approach and was later told that the coastal waters were full of floating tree trunks, empty oil drums and other large-size debris resulting from heavy flooding inland. As a flood is considered an Act of God, insurance companies would not cover any damage caused by floating debris.

Notwithstanding my bellyaching tirade above, I as impressed by the exotic wildlife. Odd-looking bird with oversized, thin, curved beaks would poke around by the road looking for bugs. Herds of large marsupials would sit around in the shade of a tree and stare at me, motionless. A school of piranha-like fish would go into a feeding frenzy if I tossed a piece of bread in the waters of the marina. 

But the first memorable impression of Australia was its smell. A sweet, pungent scent of flowering grasses, combined with cinnamon and and cloves assailed my nostrils as soon as I dropped anchor. I came across that very specific smell in my past but simply couldn’t put my finger on it.

As far as human activities are concerned, the Aussies sure know how to take care of their living environment: neatness, orderliness, cleanliness are the order of the day. And I can imagine that their carbon footprint is rather small. 

But don’t get me started on the carbon footprint. I’ve only been here a week.

So long, New Caledonia. Australia, here we come. It’s March 9, 2022. At exactly six in the morning, I weigh anchor and set sail from the bay of Port Moselle in the capital of Noumea.
 
At the beginning the conditions were nearly perfect. A light breeze, code zero fully unfurled and the main all the way to the top. Alone on the boat. Busy doing absolutely nothing. I am still sailing but the wind is dying down, so I crank up both Yanmars to contribute to the speed of the boat.
On the third day at night a stiff southerly starts blowing and the waves are getting bigger and steeper. I don't risk reefing in the mainsail at night, so I steer the boat more downwind to avoid the waves pounding and crashing into the hull of the boat.
When daylight comes, I reef in the genoa and mainsail and steer the boat again more upwind towards my final destination - Brisbane. I soon realize that my catamaran is unable to sail upwind sufficiently to reach Brisbane. I have to find a landfall further north - Bundaberg.
After six days of sailing, I am seriously approaching the Australian coast. To the left is Fraser Island and in front of me Harvey Bay. At the bottom of the bay lies Bundaberg with its marina and anchorage in the mouth of the river.
The wind is rising. In a thirty-knot southerly wind I reef in both sails and motor-sail upwind towards the port of Bundaberg. It's getting dark. Two miles from my destination I lower both sails and motor straight into the wind to reach the channel that leads to the mouth of the river and a sheltered anchorage. I give both Yanmars full throttle but the boat doesn't move forward one inch. I call the marina on channel 16 and request a tug boat to tow me to the anchorage.
Suddenly I get a brilliant idea. I start zigzagging towards the channel and after an hour of struggling against the heavy swell and wind I reach it. Since there is no crew aboard, I say to myself: Dam good job, Marjan.
As I reach the mouth of the river, the wind drops as if someone closed the window. I call the marina and tell them that I don't need assistance anymore. "No problem. We follow your AIS signal and see where you are, ” is their reply.
I drop anchor at the marina. It's almost midnight. After two sleepless nights I can’t sleep: the adrenaline won't let me.
I reached Australia after six days of single-handed sailing. Finally. The Pacific Ocean is conquered.
Lesson learned: Single-handed sailing can be a very pleasant and rewarding experience, if the conditions are favorable, if not ideal. But when the going gets tough, a crew is much appreciated.