THE HUON OF REFLECTIONS

We came up the Huon River with squally wind and rain. The wind was southwest to westerly. We were tacking and beating hard but the bullets of wind-walls chasing down the river made sailing tough. Eventually we made it into Port Huon and dropped the hook. The wind didn't soften its tone, on the contrary. It gusted thirty five knots (70km/h). By night time we set a second anchor. MYLADY our ocean going craft and home, danced the night away on the port-to-starboard-and-back tune and we could sleep in peace.

The wind was still asleep when we woke up the next morn in Port Huon. We weighed the anchors which were stuck solid in the bottom. Then motored slowly up the river, like walking on eggs, let's not get stuck in the mudbanks. Close to the Wooden Boat Centre we anchored in the river in front of Franklin. We came for the festival but were a week early. So we stayed and occupied ourselves with some home improvements and maintenance.

We enjoyed the fresh pears we could buy on the street. And I cried when witnessing the sad story of the 126 year old Belle Brandon wooden boat being dragged to her grave. Once upon a time, she also braved the seas. The festival gave us a look into local life. We had a superb salmon and brie woodfired pizza - the taste still lingers in my memory. And the graceful black swans greeted us inquisitively every evening on their way to bed.

It was a chilly nine degrees when we left in the morning. Twelve days after our planned two day visit. Franklin mirrored on the windless river. Our nervousness for running aground on the shallows in the Huon were now gone and with the necessary lookout we motored down the river of reflections.

Later the afternoon clouds atop a smoke drew our attention to the sky. It was cold. There were two presumably controlled big fires directly behind the first hill close to us. Like atomic clouds it boiled, brewed and foamed. Up there where the fiery hot, met the cold and humid. Bigger cauliflower-clouds engulfed the smaller ones and then mellowed into a dark brown smoke blanket, streaming out to sea. Two more fires to the west also towered high. Daylight became shadowed and fire danced sadly in golden reflections on the Huon. All of the next day we sailed with smoke veiled vision and smothering lungs.

The seasons have turned and the clock set back. There is a bite in the air and the flames in the heater crackle cosily. We are impressed with our insulation job of MYLADY. And will give her a good clean-up before settling for the winter in Cygnet here on the south-east coast of Tasmania.

We hope you all are well and wishing you the best. Do drop us a line in your spare time.
Sincerely, Mi-sá-lê and Eelco