10 days at sea: My epic voyage on the historic Endeavour replica ship
Seasickness. Sleeping in a hammock. Watch duty through the night. Sailing on the replica of Captain Cook’s ship is no picnic but it is an adventure | WATCH
I stepped on deck for HMB Endeavour’s voyage from Hobart to Sydney, the return leg of the ship’s first outing on the open sea in five years. Here’s my diary of what life was like on board.
DAY 0
For much of my 28 years, I’ve avoided the ocean’s call. So why am I sitting on my suitcase on the floor of a Hobart hotel room trying to zip my bulging suitcase, which is full of a pharmacy’s worth of seasickness remedies? My home for the next 12 days, HMB Endeavour, is docked 700m away at the pier, awaiting the arrival of its 50-odd crew to take it back to Sydney. The trip south for the biennial Hobart Tall Ship Festival was the first time the replica vessel, built in 1988, had hit the high seas to complete a full voyage since 2019. I have no idea what to expect on its return journey.
DAY 1
It is a full hour before we are required on deck, and the crowd of fellow seafarers and their families is growing. The age range of the 36 volunteer crew is surprisingly broad, ranging from 20s to 70s, and about a fifth are women. We are split into three groups named after each of the masts. The 14 people of Mizzen watch, led by professional crew members Paula and Ryan, are who I will spend work and downtime with over the next week and a half.
We quickly get two lots of bad news. The winds are unfavourable, so we won’t be able to sail out for two days. It also means our planned first stop in Recherche Bay, on the southern edge of Tasmania, has been scratched from the itinerary.
The silver lining is our sailing crash course is now in the dock. That certainly makes clambering up and over the rigging of the main mast more manageable. Heights are not for me, despite my safety harness. Suspended more than 10m up in the air and trying to put my feet into an angled rope ladder, I quickly learn the meaning of swearing like a sailor. Thick, sticky black tar, a historically accurate substance that covers kilometres of rigging, sticks to forearms and clothing.
Let’s hope that setting sail on a Friday – the unluckiest day according to an old sailor’s superstition, and the 246th anniversary of Captain Cook’s death – isn’t a bad omen
Next, we pick our bed for the next two weeks, “bed” being a generous term. I’m assured that most people have trouble leaving their hammocks behind when the voyage is over. I’m not convinced. We string the slings up between beams on the middle deck above tables and doorways. Some hammocks are so close they touch; others are hung so high it’s a struggle to climb in. The saving grace is that back in the 18th century this level would also have been where meals were cooked and served. At least we have a full kitchen and dining hall on the lower deck, where coal and other goods would originally have been stored. Thank goodness the bathroom facilities are modern, too.
DAY 2
I know my limits, and there is no way I’m climbing out on to the yard. One by one, members of my crew step on to the footropes that run along the horizontal poles at the top of the sails, flinging themselves like ragdolls over the front to fidget with ties that adjust the canvas sheet. It’s incredible that sailors would have expertly navigated the rigging without any safety precautions. On deck, we practise hauling and easing on the lines used to position the sails, and do emergency drills in case a poor soul falls overboard.
There’s one more chance to hop off the ship for last-minute supplies, and we’re encouraged to get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, we are off. Let’s hope that setting sail on a Friday – the unluckiest day according to an old sailor’s superstition, and the 246th anniversary of Captain Cook’s death – isn’t a bad omen.
DAY 3
This is bloody miserable. It’s nearing midnight somewhere off the Tasmanian coast, and sheets of ice-cold rain are beating down on the deck. Fourteen hours earlier, we motored down the Derwent under the morning sun of an unseasonably warm summer day. A group of women dressed as sailors’ wives, in waistcoats and gloves, waved handkerchiefs to see us off, and we fired the cannon to mark the start of our voyage.
Every hour of the day, one of the three groups is on “watch duty”, ensuring the ship is under the correct sail, moving in the right direction and not at risk of collision. Today, Mizzen is working 11½ hours – the long day – with shifts that run from midnight to midnight. There is little opportunity for sleep between compulsory meal breaks and cleaning, optimistically known as “happy hour”.
Under motor (it’s a replica – there are some luxuries), we travel about 26 nautical miles by lunchtime. I jump at the opportunity to take the helm as we round Port Arthur and head out to sea. The Endeavour is special, I’m told. It likes to sail towards the weather. The swell and winds are stronger than expected, causing the round belly of the ship to roll side to side, up and down, and side to side again.
One by one, seasickness claims its victims. A moment downstairs and the first wave of nausea hits. It’s only taken nine hours. I dash back to the deck and grab a bucket. For the next 45 minutes, I see my lunch again, and again, and again, but it quickly passes. The same can’t be said for others, who are still green around the gills after dinner, which they politely decline.
As the sun dips, the rain sets in. Antarctic southerly winds create an awful combination as the temperature drops. We are on duty over the four hours to midnight. There was a split second while packing that I considered keeping the tags on my new waterproof pants and jacket in the hope of returning them unused. That’s off the cards as beating rain soaks through my running shoes and socks. Standing at the ship’s bow on the lookout for the lights of other vessels or abnormalities on the horizon, all I can think is this will be a long nine days.
DAY 4
No alarms are allowed on the sleeping deck, so instead I’m abruptly woken at 7.10am by crew leader Paula. “Time for breakfast,” she says. Despite a midnight knock-off, we are back on watch at 8am. Some of us are more refreshed than others.
Of the voyage crew who have paid several thousand dollars for the privilege of sailing the Endeavour back to its home at the Australian National Maritime Museum in Sydney, there are three so-called supernumeraries. They have spent more than double the usual amount for a more comfortable passage in the private cabins of botanist Joseph Banks and his companions, with the freedom to participate in duties at their leisure. Two of them are in our group, including Patrick, a 75-year-old Canadian who wants to follow the path of Cook’s southern explorations. He lives in Hawaii, where he grows pineapples.
The seas are calmer today. Those without an immediate task to perform can relax on the deck in the warm sunshine until they are required to adjust sails. We need to grab sleep whenever we can, so many of us retreat to our hammocks after lunch, waking for dinner and our next watch.
The warmer winds propel us at 7-8 knots, a great pace for a tall ship such as Endeavour. Even the professional crew are excited. To make up for our wretched night, Mother Nature conjures one of the most magical sunsets I have seen. Golden hour sends a warm yellow glow across the sails, and a rainbow appears on the starboard side. A huge pod of dolphins then arrives to greet us, bursting out of the waves and playing in the ship’s drag. This kind of beauty is possible only at sea.
DAY 5
Wooden ships are not quiet. The Endeavour creaks and groans as it rolls through the water, and it seems louder at night. I lie awake under the glow of the red lights that illuminate the ship’s lower levels after dark, listening to the movement. The best thing about the hammocks is they sway side to side with the ship’s movement. I’m like a baby in a bassinet – if only I could sleep.
We edge past Flinders Island at 4am. In conditions like this, it’s as though Endeavour is relishing the open water. Navigator Natalie explains that heading due north with a strong southerly is the vessel’s favourite, and to prove it we clock 12.4 knots, the equivalent of 23km/h.
If we thought the rolling was bad before, we’re unprepared for the notoriously choppy Bass Strait. Anything not tied down is flung to the floor, and another wave of seasickness hits. Safety lines have been strung across the deck to offer something to grip when the ship lurches mightily. At times the angle is so acute it feels like you could touch the waves. Endeavour also leaks. Water seeps in through the walls, wetting chairs and dripping on to tables. No one seems particularly worried, which is reassuring, I guess.
DAY 6
Midnight marks the start of another long day on duty, but for the first time the night isn’t bitterly cold and stars dot the sky. Two lighthouses on the mainland interject the darkness, marking a major milestone of our voyage.
A strong swell makes it difficult to steer, and I throw my whole body weight behind the push and pull on the wheel to set the reluctant rudder into place. The ship’s defiance makes for a nervous passing of a 270m container ship in the dead of the night.
Sleep interruptions are certainly catching up; I can barely keep my eyes open during an optional lecture on the physics of sailing. But once I emerge on deck after lunch, I begin to understand why people love sailing.
As we pass Bega on the NSW far south coast, a cool southeasterly is juxtaposed with blazing sunshine. People clamber up the ratlines and rigging to get better views of the seas from above while others relax on the bow. Today is a perfect summer day. Conditions remain idyllic well into dusk and as the sun sets behind the town of Bermagui, the stars emerge.
As a resident of inner-city Brisbane, I generally forget to look up, and one of the best things about the trip has been the chance to really observe the night sky. Until now, I couldn’t tell you the last time I saw a shooting star or noticed a satellite zip across the constellations.
DAY 7
We are over halfway and everyone is getting into a rhythm. Adjusting the sails is getting faster as the crew get more confident on the lines, but for the first time we have no wind. Luckily, we are ahead of schedule.
The ship is turned 180 degrees to point due south. Half a dozen Mizzen crew climb the foremast at the front to shake out the ties – called reefs – that shorten the sail, to allow those below to pull the fully extended canvas tight.
We had hoped to make it to Jervis Bay, but that is increasingly unlikely. Much of the day is spent bobbing off the coast south of Batemans Bay as we try to swing back the right way. The track map shows our path is shaped like a chicken drumstick. By the time watch begins after dinner, we are slowly but surely headed towards Sydney at 2-3 knots.
DAY 8
Fatigue is setting in. It took an hour to shake the haze of the 4am wake-up. A few of us are having weird dreams. Maybe it’s the seesawing of the ship or lack of sleep. At the daily morning meeting on deck, Captain Anthony tells us we’ve travelled 530 nautical miles since our voyage began, or just shy of 1000km.
Although storm clouds surround us, we escape much precipitation. A gentle breeze has picked up, sending us in the right direction towards the headlands of Jervis Bay. It’s all hands on deck after lunch to prepare for the ship to anchor. I had imagined the large anchors on the side of the boat would be dropped with a mighty splash but there are modern versions built into the ship that plummet out of sight.
DAY 9
We set the sails shortly after breakfast, and Captain Ant reckons this is the first time in a decade the Endeavour has been able to sail off anchor, rather than motor. Today has been uneventful, with the normality of our newfound life at sea interjected only by the thump-thump-thump of an army chopper circling the ship as though checking us out.
It is still warm on deck at 8pm as we cruise past Kiama and Wollongong. As it gets darker, crewmate Sam calls out: “Look, bioluminescence.” I’ve always wanted to see this phenomenon – flecks of algae illuminated by the moon. The blue flickers burst from the spray made by the hull, dancing among the sizzling bubbles that surround the boat. It is magical and I try to commit the sight to memory.
Paula says: “We brought the stars to the seas.”
DAY 10
Fire the cannons! The high-rises of Sydney and its mighty Harbour Bridge come into view this morning. As I sit and watch the stern, another set of masts and sails approaches: tall ship James Craig. The fully restored barque, built in 1874, has also been in Hobart for the Wooden Boat Festival and is heading back to its dock at the maritime museum at Pyrmont. It swings around to us towards midday, and we decide to greet it the old-fashioned way. Newspaper is loaded into the barrel of the cannon, and … bang.
Hours later, after the excitement has died down, the ship rounds the headland at Palm Beach, and we drop anchor at Jerusalem Bay in Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park. It’s a picturesque place to stop as the trip draws to an end.
DAY 11
It’s a hot, sunny day at anchor, and everyone is ready for fun. The ship is given a deep clean, and all the portholes are open to air out the lower decks. Several people don their swimmers and have a seawater shower on deck, which I am promised is very refreshing. Smelly towels and clothing have been strung up along the starboard side. While some people try to rock the ship by running from side to side, most take the time to chat, read a book, journal or paint in the fresh air. I’m ready to go home, but I think I’m in the minority.
DAY 12
The sound of the motors wakes me, and I head up on to the deck with a cup of tea to see a beautiful sunrise as we approach Sydney Harbour. How many people can say they have steered a ship called Endeavour under sail through one of the world’s most famous waterways on a busy and beautiful Sunday afternoon? I can name one – me. Not even Captain James Cook entered the harbour in 1770; he sailed into Botany Bay instead. I’m bursting with pride – how cool is this?
It is the first day in almost a week that Sydney hasn’t copped rain, and locals are taking advantage of the perfect weather. Mizzen crew member Tom is an engineer on tall ship Windeward Bound and is also on the helm, taking orders from first mate Mike.
Captain Ant blasts the horn as revellers come close to say hello or cut across our path.
It is enchanting as we round Bradley’s Head and catch our first sight of the Opera House and Harbour Bridge framed by the ship’s lines. Crew members begin climbing the rigging to bring down sails for a final time as we pass Circular Quay and Kirribilli House. We proceed under the “coathanger” and flick on the motors for the final 300m to the pier after navigating almost the entirety of the harbour under sail. We have managed to sail 94 per cent of the voyage, an incredibly rare achievement for Endeavour. Ant says sailing half the distance would usually be considered a success.
Our sea legs are remedied by a refreshing ale as we gather one final time to reflect on our adventure. Would I do it again? Probably not. Do I regret it? Not a bit.
In the know
The HMB Endeavour replica is on display at the Australian National Maritime Museum in Pyrmont, Sydney. Museum entry, including all exhibits and vessels, is $35 for adults. The museum is planning a new voyage in 2026 along the Australian east coast. Individuals interested in learning more can lodge an expression of interest at sail.endeavour@sea.museum.
On this year’s voyages between Sydney and Hobart, working passengers paid $3500 or $4000, depending on the direction; supernumeraries, who are not required
to work and are assigned a cabin, paid $7000 or $8000.
Mackenzie Scott was a guest of the Australian National Maritime Museum.
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