Ship wrecked

We woke on day two of our cruise to the awful news that two sailors competing in the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race had tragically died during the night, the first fatalities since 1998.

Catastrophic conditions in 1998 saw six sailors die, five yachts sink and more than 60 yachts retire – the boats were hammered by wild winds and 20m-high waves. Yikes. I’m glad I didn’t watch the ABC-TV special on that before we sent sail.

Fast forward to 2024, which saw one race captain describe the conditions as the toughest he had faced as a participant in the bluewater classic.

And we were right in the middle of it.

In the early hours of December 27 our ship diverted course to lend a hand in the rescue of a man who’d gone overboard. He was in the water from 3am to 4am before his fellow crew members managed to retrieve him – alive and unhurt – from the ocean. I can’t imagine how terrifying that must have been.

By lunchtime, we were struck down by sea sickness. I don’t usually suffer from it, but I flinched when a prawn and barramundi laksa was placed in front of me.

Bass Strait was like a washing machine. While the waves weren’t too high, they were close together and coming from every direction. The ship would go up one wave, crash down onto the next, then do a figure eight from side to side … over and over and over again.

We struggled through a couple of mouthfuls of food before admitting defeat. We went outside with glasses of ginger beer and hoped they would make us feel better.

They didn’t make us feel better.

We were laid out in our cabin for the rest of the afternoon. Around 5pm DD staggered off in search of something, anything to settle our stomachs.

As he stood at the front desk he realised he was about to throw up.

He ran back into our cabin at exactly the same moment I bolted from bed to be sick … and didn’t quite make it to the loo …

I stood in frozen shock at the entrance to the tiny bathroom staring at the mess I’d made.

As I continued to heave, DD shouted “ON YOUR KNEES!!!!” at me … so my head would be closer to the toilet bowl.

Then he started hurling decorously behind me in the sink.

(“ON YOUR KNEES!!!!” has already entered our funny storytelling folklore, DD’s workout mates found it highly entertaining …)

When my retching and subsequent clean up of the bathroom ended, I mournfully listened to the announcement that complimentary Aperol Spritzes were being served in the dining room.

We were too ill to even raise our heads from our pillows.

As the ship wildly rocked through the night we finally fell asleep, praying our Bass Strait hell would end soon.

When we woke the seas were calm again and so were our stomachs, as the captain had sought shelter in the Flinders Island group.

DD asked Captain Andy what had caused him to be sea sick for the first time in his life and he replied: “Every man has his wave.”

We had been scheduled to make a stop at Deal Island for an excursion that day, but the sea was too rough.

Instead we jumped into the tender for a tour around Babel Island and it’s turquoise waters, spotting seals and lots of birdlife along the way.

Two seals slid into the water and put on a show for us, lolling on their backs with their flippers in the air, just metres from our boat.

Then it was back to the ship for a wine tasting with matched canapés, followed by roast duck for dinner and a showing of David Attenborough’s Tasmania documentary before turning in for the night.

Happy post-sickness selfie above!

Verdict: I would be very wary of attempting another Bass Strait crossing, but the post sea-sickness canapes were delicious.

Song of the day: John Mellencamp “Wild night”