Australian Customs Authority

Australian Customs have really gotten a bad rap. Maybe it was deserved some time, some place in the past. We've certainly heard several horror stories, but as for us, we've been blessed with professional, courteous, efficient Customs officers who have have taken their jobs seriously without being offensive or officious. Perhaps, we've just been lucky or there's been a change in attitude. Customs officials worldwide are an interesting lot. Their job primarily involves dealing with folks who are entering or leaving their country and are bringing in goods. It could be just luggage. It could be a freighter full of goods for importation. It could be illegal drugs which tend to be frowned upon. It could be cruisers, who are bringing in lots of boat parts from the States. It could even be folks like us who want to extend their stay in a country with their sailboat and don't want to pay Customs duties to import the boat. Some Customs officials, like say in the Eastern Caribbean, for instance, can be officious and haughty. Some can request “gifts” in order to complete the boat paperwork correctly and in a timely manner. Here in Australia, it's by-the-book.

For those who haven't traveled to Australia with a boat, their rules are rather strict. We had to give 96 hours notice to Customs before arrival or face a stiff fine. This was pretty easy actually. We sent an email from the boat about a week before our arrival. They're flexible with dates as long as it's more than 96 hours in advance and you update them as necessary. Not every port is an official Port of Entry. We arrived in Bundaberg, Queensland last November (2011) and Customs directed us to a Quarantine dock upon arrival.

First aboard was AQIS, Australian Quarantine. They clear the boat and the crew before Immigration or Customs even steps aboard. They confiscate any fresh food or specific items that cannot be imported (e.g. honey), empty out the vacuum cleaner, check that there are no pets aboard including the creepy-crawly variety like roaches and generally inspect the boat. We had to show proof that we had anti-fouled the boat within the last six months.

Next came Immigration. Australia is one of very few countries that requires everyone (other than Kiwis) to have a visa to enter. Typically when we enter a foreign country, we receive at least a 30-90 day visa on arrival, no pre-paperwork necessary. Australia makes it easy in that you can apply for and pay for your ETA (electronic transit authority) on line, but it must be done in advance of your arrival. We got our initial visa in Fiji last year and then another one in the States to return to Tasmania in September. We applied for, paid for and received a one year visa, so we're good until September 2013.

Then Customs came aboard. They have the right to go through the boat, checking in lockers, under floorboards, exploring nooks and crannies to determine exactly what you are bringing into Australia. Sometimes they even bring sniffing dogs. We were limited as to the amount of liquor, beer, wine, cigarettes, etc., we could bring with us. It pays to be honest because if you're not and they find any discrepancy, you're in hot water. Additionally, we had to place a value on the boat because if we intended to sell it in Australia, we would have to pay import duties on it. We received clearance which allowed us to keep the boat in Australia for one year without paying any duties as long as we reported in quarterly to Customs via postcard, phone or email as to our whereabouts and intentions.

One question frequently asked is how we know what to do when arriving in a new country. Easy...I do research well in advance of our departure from our previous port. Once again, Australia makes it easy. They have a separate page on their government website specific to arrival procedures for yachts.

Well, here we are one year later. It's November again. We're still in Australia with no plans to leave any time in the near future and we needed to renew our Customs paperwork. We'd been good citizens, didn't get into any trouble and had duly submitted our “Control Permit Location Reports” on time each quarter. Even so, whenever you're dealing with officials in foreign countries, you tend to be a bit uneasy. Come to think of it, whenever you're dealing with officials in your own country, you can get uneasy (think IRS, police, school principals).

We stopped by the Customs Office in downtown Hobart a month ago. They said call back a week before renewal time and make an appointment to come in. Well, this was the week. I made the appointment and gave them information in advance over the phone. The Customs office is on the second floor of a government building. It has a small lobby and a counter with a push button for service. We rang the bell. An officer came out, asked our business and disappeared. Two minutes later another officer appeared and asked for our arrival paperwork. She took it, returned in another five minutes and we were good to go for another year. No fees, no hassle, no problems. I've already marked our postcards with the quarterly report dates and put them on the calendar.

The boat is now legal in Australia for another year. To paraphrase Groucho Marx, we're not sure we want to be in a country that allows the likes of us to stay. ;-) .

Life on the Hard

It's a hard life “on the hard”. Living on land is usually a pleasant treat for us once in awhile, but not when the boat is hauled out of the water and we're living aboard. Many times when we've hauled out for big projects like in Ecuador and Uruguay, we've rented an apartment or a little house locally to make life a bit easier and we'd bike back and forth to the marina. This time, however, we're only planning to be out for week or so, and we've opted to live aboard ... on a boat out of the water, 12' above the ground, propped up by stands strategically placed around the hull to prevent us from tipping over, accessible only by ladder. This is not the ideal life and certainly not one to be envious of. We climb up and down a vertical ladder to get on and off the boat. This is not an easy feat when 1) your hands are full going up or coming down or 2) you really have to go to the bathroom. The hands-full thing is easy. We use a line and heave or lower as necessary or even place things in a bucket for easy transport. Forgetting something up above or needing a tool down below in the middle of a project sometimes elicits curses.

Having to go to the bathroom, on the other hand, is a real pain. We can't use the holding tanks when we're out of the water and thus, every time we need to go (which seems to be quite frequently at our age), we climb down the ladder and walk quite a distance to take care of our business. I counted 270 steps to the toilet block. David counted in yards and we compared measurements to determine that we're ~606' or close to 1/10 of a mile from the toilet. That's a long, long walk when you've really gotta go. We travel down the ladder, down a hill, across the slipway tracks, up a hill and, if it's rainy, through the mud, just to get to the toilet. I confess, we use a pee bucket for middle of the night needs. I'd rather carry the bucket to the toilet block in the morning and empty it out, than climb down the ladder at 2am.

Another issue, of course, is cleaning up after cooking. Where does the water go? Gray water usually just drains back out into the sea. On the hard, we can't do that. We usually stick a hose in the galley sink through-hull on the bottom of the boat and move a large bucket underneath. I use water sparingly to wash and rinse dishes, brush our teeth, etc and we empty the gray water bucket regularly.

There are new and different sounds. Gone is the gentle lap of water against the hull and the usual boat sounds like the eeeek of the docklines as they stretch and strain or the crunch of the fenders between us and the dock. Instead wayward halyards are slapping or plastic tarps are flapping on nearby, unoccupied boats.

Everyone else here lives locally. There are no other liveaboards, so we're quite by ourselves in the evenings. When the wind whips through the boatyard, the boat shakes and shivers. She's well balanced and supported in her cradle, but she still shudders when the wind gusts and it's an unnerving feeling.

Only a week on the hard is planned and it'll go by quickly with so much to do. There's nothing like a little inconvenience to make you appreciate what you usually take for granted.

On the positive side, our new altitude provides us with an absolutely commanding view of the boatyard. When we're not down on the ground working ourselves, we can watch all the activity going on around us from a front row seat, high above it all.

And, we now have three bars on our mobile phone.

Haul-Out Day

Boats aren't meant to be out of the water. That's probably the reason why hauling the boat once every year or so is always met with a bit of trepidation. Like anything else, once you've done it a few times, you at least know what to expect, but still we're hauling a 21 ton boat out of the water supported only by two huge heavy-duty slings. Each marina does things a little differently. Everything usually goes just fine; we've never had a problem. Sometimes things do go wrong, however, and we've seen the results. Not pretty. Fingers are always crossed. The main reason for hauling a boat is to handle under waterline repairs, repaint the bottom with anti-fouling and generally inspect all the parts that usually sit under water. We have our standard list of what needs to be done plus new chores always pop up. We've given ourselves a pretty tight schedule for getting everything accomplished. Being “on the hard” here in Australia is an expensive proposition.

We “kissed a bommie” (read that nudged up against a coral head) in Fiji last season. It wasn't extensive or serious, but the keel will need some repair. David wants to repaint the bootstripe. My job is usually painting the bottom while David is doing the other chores on the list. The boat bottom is never so big as when I'm painting it...three times. Antifouling paint ostensibly keeps things from growing on the bottom of the boat, like barnacles, worms, reef plants, etc. In order to be effective it has a high anti-sea critter growth content and is pretty toxic to humans. I wear my Pillsbury Doughgirl disposable Tyvec coveralls and a respirator. Fashion doesn't count here, thank goodness, plus no one would ever recognize me.

The weather has been seasonably pleasant and sunny the last few days. And then today, when we wanted to haul out, it turned stinky. The wind howled through the night and it rained buckets. It seemed to lighten up a bit around 0800, but a quick trip to the toilet block and we were soaked. I looked at the weather and thought “Nah”. David looked at the weather and said “No worries...ready to go?” There's definitely a major difference in our wiring.

We backed out of the berth around 0930. David finally got the hydraulic fittings he needed and was able to replace the hoses, so we even had steerage as we headed into the TravelLift bay. The rain alternated between drizzle and downpour and the temperature dropped. We were wet, cold and shivering.

The haul-out was a long process. David thought the forestay would need moving. He usually has to do this, depending on the size of the lift hauling us out. But the TravelLift operator thought not. That's a bonus. But then of course, after getting the boat in the slings and hauling her up, it was determined that yes, he would have to detach the forestay in order to raise her high enough to lift her onto land. Another 30 minute delay as he coaxed cotter pins out of place, snipped seizing wire, loosened backstays and finally bound the forestay to the port lifelines to give us enough clearance in the lift. Back up in the lift and still not quite enough clearance. This time, they readjusted the slings and up she came.

Remarkably, after sitting for several months, unmoved in her berth here, her bottom was quite clean. Slime prevailed, but very few barnacles or other growth. We had expected a mini-reef, but were pleasantly surprised. David used the marina's power washer and got most of the slime off. What looked like a black-bottomed boat was indeed still blue without the slime overcoat. What few barnacles there were, we attacked with a putty knife and they popped right off.

Next, wet sanding. Preparation here is important as with most painting jobs. We wet sanded the bottom, roughing it up and removing any other surface debris to insure good anti-fouling adherence. We probably won't haul her again for another 18 months to two years, this has got to be a good job to last us. We were both blue with old bottom paint by the time we were finished, but a good job done. David finished out the day by masking the bootstripe. Painting will begin tomorrow. We're hoping it will warm up so the epoxy work can begin. It's a small area to be repaired and I'll paint around it while David is working or just paint right over David. Depends on my mood!