Sailing around Australia; What you lookin' at?

The Spit, Sydney Harbour NSW

17/5/2015 What you lookin’ at?

Having been in Sydney harbour for a week or so now, I have had the feeling someone has been watching me.

The eerie sensation started as we rounded the headland into Port Hacking and Gunnamtta bay.

It became more pronounced as we came in through the Sydney heads. The sort mystical feeling that has been making my ears burn.

As we have moved around the beautiful Sydney harbour, it was causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand up.

We started our visit to Sydney harbour on a mooring at the Spit. I kept shooting a glance out the corner of my eye, trying get a glimpse of who or whatever was looking over my shoulder.

The next day, we went under the Spit Bridge and around to the vey special Sugarloaf bay. Did we escape the notion of being watched? No. It was there too.

On the Sunday, we tackled 300 steep steps up out of the bay to civilization. A kilometer walk to the shops for a coffee. It was mothers day. The café’s all had long lines of children young and old waiting to treat Mum to a cappucino or a frappe on her special day.

Arriving back on board Easy Tiger a few hours later, as the sun faded, the feeling reemerged. What or who was watching us?

Next morning, I did a stocktake of the surroundings. At Sugarloaf bay, there are steep limestone rocks for water level rising to about 5 metres maybe a bit more in some places. Dark lines highlight the rocks where various plants and fungi grow. Above the rock walls to the water, are natural forrest or bush with large trees and thick foliage swaying in the breeze. We were less than 5 kilometres from the Sydney CBD, but only the sounds of the white cockatoo's could be heard. Maybe it was them boring their beady little eyes into my back.

Arriving in Rozelle bay the next day, the same eerie feeling, the same hairs standing up. Even though it is a completely different environment, anchored not far from the Anzac Bridge and close to the Sydney fish market. No cockies screeching here. Just the white noise or constant low pitched drum of traffic. As we moved along it felt like we were in a haunted house going past a portrait and the eyes were following us.

I looked around the surrounds trying to figure out what all these parts of Sydney harbour have in common. The Spit, Sugarloaf and Rozelle bays might be in different parts of the country, or even in different countries such are their environmental differences. But they must have something in common to give me this overwhelming notion that my every move is being watched.

It’s the windows. Thousands of them. They line the cliffs of every bay. They are stacked on top of each other. Square windows, arched windows, round windows. Dark windows, shining windows all looking down from every possible vantage point, on every cliff, every hill and from behind every tree, windows watch us.

I have had to forgo my early morning pee off the back of the boat, as the windows are watching. I have also had to make sure we have good clothes on and that we keep Easy Tiger clean and tidy or the windows may tsk tsk as go by.

We do get brief respite from the windows, though. That is at night. At night the cliffs and walls of the Sydney harbour come alive with a magic light show. As Easy Tiger swings around on the anchor chain or mooring rope we get a moving vista produced by the vast array of windows with lights behind them.

Of course it’s not the windows that give the feeling of being watched, rather it’s the notion that someone is behind the glass. I am sure that the people who own these windows are busy at work earning a dollar to pay for their harbour views.

It’s just that there are so many windows, from all angles, every where we go in Sydney harbour, that even if it’s the smallest of percentages, someone is watching us, every minute of every day.

So I say to them… What you lookin’ at? Well, it’s 2 people aboard a catamaran on a sailing adventure thoroughly enjoying the beautiful Sydney harbour. Nothing to see here. Draw the blinds.