It’s July in Melbourne. Middle of winter. I’m my office in the Melbourne CBD trying to make a quid but increasingly thinking about our next adventure on Margaret Pearl. My definition of adventure is “an activity with more than a modicum of uncertainty in the outcome”. Almost any activity can be an adventure if the right mindset is engaged. For me, it’s not always about danger and physical risk. A trip to city by train can be an adventure………The higher the level of uncertainty - the bigger the adventure. And by any measure our 2027 cruise in Margaret Pearl has the makings of a big adventure.

I urge you to slow things down a little and notice the kids playing soccer with a ball made from scrunched up newspaper taped together, and then notice the big smiles on their faces. One thing that I have learned along the way is how little we need to be happy; not how much.

Rose stopped in Melbourne to see his son, and was met by the Australian prime minister Harold Holt, who memorably disappeared later the same day after going for a swim. He also stopped for repairs at Bluff Harbour, New Zealand, before sailing to Cape Horn. He never got near India.

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the intersection between comfort and satisfaction.  I suppose it’s been fuelled by spending time amongst the oversized, over-specced  and poorly considered boats that make up 90% of the Mediterranean cruising fleet. Extreme hardship is without doubt miserable, and extreme luxury is usually unrewarding but somewhere on this continuum, there is a sweet spot, a place where we balance our needs and our desires … a spot that’s probably different for everyone.

Getting dressed seems to take ages when you are trying to get on deck quickly. Mid-layer salopettes, then boots, mid-layer jacket – yes, it's that cold – then foulie salopettes, tugging gently over the boots because pulling hard just jams them… Velcro-strap the ankle, and finally scarf, woollen gloves – eugh, still wet and cold, foul-weather jacket, harness, fur hat and then the gauntlets.

This week we have a chat with Jim Woods about his plans for a trip in 2027 from Hobart to the Louisiades in his beautiful Cray Boat, the MARGARET PEARL. Jim talks about preparing a Bass Strait boat for the tropics, how to manage the fuel supply issues, what keeps him awake at night and why he’s undertaking this great adventure.

No, I haven’t added up the cost of all of this ! Because excitement and adventure only lives on the other side fear. As one gets older, and as a septuagenerian I can say, that the focus has to be on living span and not life span. So lets get on and do what has to be done and have the adventure. The future will take care of itself. 

If Tetley was willing Victress was less so. He'd sailed at reduced pace in the Southern Ocean. The boat's structural problems were severe. The skins and frames of the starboard hull were threatening to part company, yet the prospect of being fastest man around the world was tantalising.

Over the next three decades, MacMillan sailed the Bowdoin north twenty-six times. She carried scientists, students, and adventurers deep into a little known world — into the fjords of Greenland, past the icebergs of Davis Strait, in both Arctic summers and long dark of polar winters. She accumulated more than 300,000 nautical miles in waters that had undone far larger ships.

But my over-riding impression of the adventure is not one of privileged white folk having fun on the back of the colonised, but of an fast disappearing attitude of discovery and adventure, where the only rules worth obeying, are those that you set for yourself.

“The very first cruise in the Sioux II, I took my wife Joan, and the three kids, around to Westernport Bay. We had no radio, no life raft, no lifelines, and no motor, and we went out the Port Phillip Heads on the full ebb tide! Just out into Bass Strait, we were caught in a violent South-westerly change, with rain squalls that blotted out the land. I had an aircraft compass that a friend had given me but I hadn’t fitted. There I was at the tiller with the compass between my knees trying to steer a course that would get us past Cape Schanck.

Ron decided to avoid the local police and set out from Apollo Bay. He worked out that police jurisdiction ended a little off shore so he organised for a local fisherman tow the boat a few miles out and them he jumped aboard. He set off in a nice Northerly breeze with friends on a yacht following him for safety. The trip went smoothly to start with, heading for Grassy on King Island, then the breeze turned SW & increased.

His dedication to building or modifying his yachts to the simple junk rig and proving their seaworthiness has been inspirational to a yachting community of minimalists who find it most important to be at sea or with a community of like-minded sailors.His independent philosophy of design and construction has allowed him to sail the world’s oceans without the burden of sophisticated and expensive systems.

The racing was tight and thrilling, even if the give way rules were unclear. Doing about nine knots we wove in and out of the local craft going about their daily business, and by the bottom mark we were coming third. When, on the first beat, the boat sailing just to windward of us shattered its boom sending splinters onto our deck, we moved into second.

I don’t want it to appear that I am in the habit of taking big risks. I never planned to go out in big seas or high winds, but often the wind and sea becomes more than you would desire. At such times your experience, and the capability of the boat must be beyond doubt. But also at such times, fear will be a component, and a good component, for if it is used properly a bit of fear will give anybody the ability to overcome any reasonable challenge.

With the jib sheet in one hand, and spinnaker sheet in the other from the port side, I braced my feet on the starboard gunwale and stood out trapeze style using the sheet as my wire. This alone didn’t provide sufficient leverage to right the boat, so with each passing wave lifting the port side slightly, I bounced my weight to accentuate the effect. It was apparent this was wasn’t sufficient, so I conserved my energy until I saw the wind too added force when the gunwale lifted. The combination of my levered weight bouncing when a large wave arrived, and the sudden strong wind gust, worked, and I walked up the hull as she lifted, and flopped right way up.

The wind began to howl down from the hills, pummelling the sea into frenzied ripples. “George” had his first taste of front line action holding the tiller down while I lunged forward to disarm the rioting mainsail. The jib strained, I pulled her away and we were away. “Sundance” planed, quickly draining out through the bailer whatever water she’d shipped.

We shipped a couple of growlers over the side; she just took it all in her stride draining her cockpit with ease – now added to the mix as we were sailing on in the maelstrom there was a loud bang from behind us resulting in a blow my head and shoulder and wondering what the f… ! With being pooped and other waves crashing over the boat the hydrostatic valve in the inflatable emergency danbuoy fired off! It blew the pouch apart as it sought to break out do its thing - We now had a 3 metre danbuoy sharing the cockpit!

“I am in the habit of naming and renaming things. I like to personify my possessions—not to lose sight of their eventual worthlessness, but to be playful and in some ways to help me care for them well. I may skip some maintenance on any old Astro van, but I’d never do that to Rupert!”

This story has got everything. A worthy cause, a wooden sailing boat, a restoration, an adventure, and an on going legacy. It’s beautifully made, and the subject matter is as relevant today as when the idea was first conceived.