Sailing is dangerous. When a yacht leaves the sight of civilisation, anything can happen. There’s no one to help, no one to witness anything, no evidence. A boat is a tiny speck on that big blue. People fall overboard, and they aren’t found. Was it an accident? Could it have been a deliberate act?
I’ve sailed. My solo time was done just off Queensland’s coastline. As long as I stayed within 12nm of a familiar shore (and I had my VHF radio switched on), I felt okay to continue to sail by myself.
Moreton Bay was my training ground. It’s not quite an ocean, but due to its size, it behaves a bit like one. I managed to clock up 200 sailing hours inside the bay before I decided to head out of it and do what’s known as a coastal trip.
(My next two novels include Moreton Bay sailing narratives, see bottom of this post for info.)
Coastals are said to be safer than ocean crossings. Remaining in sight of familiar land gives sailors a sense of security. Originally, I wanted to do just that. My plan was to live on my 27-foot sloop, Last Laugh and sail her around Australia while writing novels. A short voyage to Fraser Island was to be my trial coastal. It’d be a way to measure fuel, electricity, and water consumption while I was at sea, while experiencing life in confinement. I could sail to Fraser in a day. I could sail back the next.
The trip out of the bay went well. It was a pleasant twenty-four-hour voyage, with about eighteen of those hours spent on the open water. There was another port on the way, but I was determined to forego a stopover and push on to the Wide Bay Bar and Inskip Point. (The bar is troublesome. Lives have been lost crossing it.) I knew I’d achieved a significant milestone by making it through unscathed. I thanked the ocean’s grace for the safe passage as I settled into the placid waters beyond the point. It was time to take a deep breath and enjoy the moment. And It was worthwhile. The straights were calm, picturesque and offered cosy nightly anchorages for the entire length of Fraser Island. For two weeks, I explored them, the island’s shores and all its sights.
And then playtime was over — the end of the trial trip was near. I needed to turn toward home. That’s when everything unravelled.
I made a terrible mistake and chose the worst time to cross the bar and re-enter the open sea. It wasn’t windy, but it had been overnight. The waves take time to settle.
It got hairy there, and I just couldn’t stop the journey, get off and go home. I had to deal with the consequences of my error. Those waves crept up on me and caught me out. Most were higher than my mast. They kept coming. I couldn’t turn around and outrun them. Once the first one presented itself, the next followed right after. They were relentless. So I pointed the boat’s nose over the first curling wave and felt my yacht fall seven metres off the back of it as I watched the next one rise in front. This sequence repeated itself for twelve more hours!
I was committed, battling that raging sea whether I liked it or not. I became exhausted, mentally and physically. I didn’t think I’d make it. Only adrenaline kept me going.
In retrospect, I decided that solo ocean sailing wasn’t for me. It takes a special kind of person to sail alone, and I’m not that person. Patience and psychological endurance matter. I’m patient, but fear prevails. I didn’t want to drown. It would’ve been days before anyone would’ve known to look for me or my boat. By then, my body would’ve been lost to the saltwater and sharks. The fragments of my vessel would’ve been the only memorial to my existence.
I didn’t die. I lived. I sold the yacht and went on to write novels anyway. SEETHINGS 2 came out of my sailing experiences, and it’s now available to be read on SMASHWORDS.COM. Someone on a yacht goes missing. Another sailor discovers a body caught on his yacht’s propeller at an anchorage. The body wasn’t supposed to be found. The rest is mystery, sex, and dark adult fiction.
-Michael Forman (Author of SEETHINGS 2 )
SEETHINGS II follows the return of the Storm Killer as a body on a secluded beach in Moreton Bay, igniting fear and denial. While police dismiss the link, the media doesn’t. Mitchell Felding forms a dangerous bond with a man who understands his darkest impulses. When Natasha enters his life, carrying love letters from her murdered mother, intimacy deepens, and truth closes in. Some futures are inherited. Some have escaped.
Discover more from Michael Forman – Author of Dark Fiction & Drama
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