Yeppoon - Mackay Thursday 17th - Sunday 20th June

Snug at Keppel Bay Marina !

Leaving a marina is something that not all boaties find easy to do. Some, who no doubt start with lofty plans – especially with a couple of lubricants over a barbie – eventually find that the reality of undertaking significant sea voyages is more than they bargained for. Hence, for some a condition that might be termed “marinaitis” sets in, and unless this treated in its early stages, it can prove fatal to a life on blue water. In its earliest stages, yacht owners, with hamper packed, arrive at the marina for a day or two at sea only to sniff the breeze and declare that the wind is a bit stiff to head out. The next week a similar breeze is probably a bit light to try out the new headsail. A sense of comfort sets in, with a boat that does not rock, anchors that do not drag, warm showers in the facilities and the seductive prospect of a cold one or two in the marina tavern. There is no salty gear to wash out and no one got sick or frightened. Soon there is an algal beard growing below the waterline, and in its advanced stages the yacht acquires pot plants in the cockpit, and a plasma TV below. After all, in the marina there is permanent shore power. There are fine ships of the sea to be found in all of the marinas that we have visited, caged and mouldering in their pens. It is a piteous thing to see.

Maybe in our first forays at sea we got lucky. What we found was that there is nothing like planning a sea voyage according to the weather, and getting out there to work with the key elements of wind wave and tide and tucking in at a distant cove after a day of blue horizons shared only with the dolphins. With the anchor set, plenty of chain laid out and the authorities advised re our arrival, there is the prospect of selected cheeses and condiments in the shelter of the cockpit, as dinner goes into the oven, a cold offering appears from the fridge and nature constructs yet another of its wondrous displays on sunset. And, with each new anchorage, we change the setting. Some people pay a ransom for an apartment sea vista that never changes. Already we are reflecting on the beauty of the places that we have seen on this voyage, enough maybe to eclipse a lifetime ashore.

Before we left home, lifesaving colleague Paul Richardson lent us a copy of Noel Patrick’s Curtis Coast – The Complete Cruising Guide - Bundaberg to Mackay, which nicely augmented the classic Allan Lucas tomes, Cruising the New South Wales Coast, and Cruising the Coral Coast (Qld), that every serious E-coast cruiser has on board. Paul was a founding member of our surf club at Port Elliot, and like us found sailing by chance in middling years. We like Paul and his approach to sailing. Invited be a member of a ‘gentlemen’s crew” on a Adelaide – Port Lincoln Yacht Race a few years ago, this band of convivial salts came around Troubridge Light, some hours into the race, only to find a hard southerly, and the prospect of a 40nm bash to windward to reach the turning point to Lincoln, in the forbidding seas off the reef-studded and remote Cape Spencer. A hasty board meeting and a quorum vote saw them withdraw from the testosterone and Kevlar event unfolding around them, ease the headsail to a doable angle, and set a new course across Investigator Strait for the whiting grounds in a comfy bay on the north Coast of Kangaroo Island. Oh yes! It was not that these guys did not have what it took, for they re-entered the Blue Water Classic in a subsequent year, and took out handicap honours. And, because their approach was so laconic, they were not present at the award presentation to collect their silverware. For us, on Calista, Paul’s advice was that the “Curtis Coast” between Bundaberg and Mackay was a mother load of cruising treasures, often missed by yachties making a bee-line for the bright lights of the Whitsundays. In our planning for this voyage, we had hoped to leave sufficient time to explore the Curtis Coast, if the weather permitted. Now, with heavy Sou-Easters in the offing the weather was proving to be a pest, and we needed to take every opportunity that came our way.

By Friday 18th June we were keen to leave the cruisy confines of the Keppel Bay Marina at Yeppoon and make for the highly regarded Pearl Bay in the Shoalwater Bay Military Training Area, some 47nm to the north. With a strident alarm sounding early we were clear of the entrance, with Yeppoon abeam, as the horizon shifted from violet, to mauve, to apricot to the east. After days of winds that gripped the coast, now they lacked substance and drifted on to our stern quarter. The breeze was a bit too soft and astern to be of great value, so we set what we could and made northing. Another yacht, coming up from Yeppoon took a different approach. They left their main unfettered and as the boat rolled in slop left over from the past few days, so it gybed with a whack, whack, as alternatively the breeze found one side of the sail and then the other. We watched in disbelief. If their yacht had been a child we would have rung the police to report abuse. Soon the tide was with us, and the beauty of the coastline unfolded like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. In the ship’s log Cookie reported “miles of stunning wilderness, white beaches and mountainous lush hills. Like 100 Memory Coves (Memory Cove – a beautiful and remote sandy cove in a national park south of Port Lincoln) joined!” It was all that Paul had promised it would be.


Making passage to Pearl Bay.

We had timed our Keppel departure to give us a chance to go ashore at Pearl Bay, for now the news from the Met at Rockhampton was not good, and a new high was on its way to bring more strong Sou-Easters to the entire Queensland coast. So, instead of spending a day or so in this area, we might only get a couple of hours ashore there at best. Our window of opportunity was closing fast. By early afternoon we had negotiated the unstable waters between Delcomyn Isle and the main and after capturing our sails made our way through the narrow channel entrance to Pearl Bay between the South Hervey Isltes that guard it to the north, and the protective headland opposite. With lush tropical undergrowth, and white sandy beaches that stretched without end to the north, Pearl Bay was at once stunning, captivating, and impossible to capture in a single frame of a photograph. We set a record for anchor setting and deployment of our tender before getting ashore. Up on the beach we strolled to the protected corner of the bay where we found a group of guys emerging from their tents after huddling under canvas for three days under the heavy rains that had come hand in hand with the tempest now departed. Their bivouac was sodden but thanks to a sturdy outdoor generator and a generous supply of canned restoratives, they remained in good spirits! They related a lamentable tale of yachting folk who had decided to sit out the blow in Pearl Bay, and who had to come ashore to escape the relentless rolling in the bay as the SE swell snuck in between the passage. Maybe life in a marina needs some rethinking.


The delightful Pearl Bay Anchorage.

For us, the forecast now meant that if we were to make it to the fabled Percy Islands, we would have to again set out at first light, and in the light airs predicted make diesel distance to the Percy’s. Middle Percy Island, some 50 miles offshore, has had legendary status amongst travelling yachties for generations and more, and at West Bay on Middle Percy, in an “A Frame” structure, yachties had been leaving mementos marking their calling for 50 years or more. Being bona fide sea travellers – we hoped that by now we had some credentials – we intended to leave some nautically appropriate and inscribed token to mark Calista’s visit. A search amongst some flotsam above the high water mark at Pearl Bay unearthed a weathered plank attached to boat wreckage and with a little persuasion to extract it; this gnarled remnant would prove eminently suitable as an inscribed offering on Middle Percy. Soon we were collecting shells to adorn our “find”, and after a required swim it was back on board for a repast in this idyllic setting, and for herself to set about the decoration of our “calling card”. There are some things that men at sea need to leave to those best qualified!



Making our Percy Island memento.

After a sometimes rolling and uncomfortable night in a diminishing sea, we were away again in pre-dawn light leaving the South Hervey Isles to starboard and making our way across the broader expanses of Pearl Bay. The coastal forests and ramparts leading inland were wreathed in mist that flowed like vapours of honey in the dawn light, all the way down to the sea. Too beautiful a place to play war games we thought. Above the drifting fogs towered remote buttresses that were reminiscent of the likes of Rawnsley’s Bluff in SA’s Wilpena Pound. For a time with the panoramas ashore it was hard to maintain sea watch on the blue expanse ahead. These sublime parts of coastal Queensland are rarely visited, as they cannot be reached by road and for boat owners this is well off the beaten track. You certainly cannot see this from the Keppel marina.



Morning mists on the stunning coastline near Pearl Bay.

We were not able to dally in the highly regarded Island Head creek, and before we drew abeam of Cape Townshend we had a reminder of the large tides that are common in this region – the largest on the E Coast of Australia - when we noted Strong Tide Passage that has overfalls in its sometimes 6 metre tidal differential. On board we asked the naive question, “Where does all the water go?” Soon we were threading our way through the Duke Isles, part of the wider Northumberland Group with High Peak Island to the east and Hexam and Marble Islands to the west. It was a day to remember with azure skies, a flat sea, and unbridled pleasure from every aspect. Like lizards in September we crawled from the cockpit and lounged on the mid-deck in the winter sun as the autopilot did the thinking at the helm. The only detractor was the fact that with stronger winds again due from the end of tomorrow, a number of glorious anchorages might have to go unvisited. If this weather system turned into a 5-day burst, none of these fine stopovers would be tolerable and we might get marooned in an environment where both ship and crew had a dreadful time. We wanted to avoid this. So, on we churned, with the Percy’s steadily taking shape on our bow.


Neville's ketch "True Story" at West Bay, Middle Percy.

As we rounded Middle Percy to make for West Bay in mid afternoon, we were aware that we would not be alone here. An ageing wooden cruiser was here with a group of German backpackers – on Kerguelen Island in the remote Southern Ocean, you’d find German backpackers we think! – plus three other yachts, a fishing boat, plus Neville on True Story a 52’ Irwin Ketch that is over 30 years afloat, and yet just looks as though it has just been presented at Sanctury Cove. Neville was kind enough to show us aboard True Story in Keppel Bay, and now with fellow Kiwi friend Craig on board, they were like us, heading north. Protecting all ships was an Australian Navy Patrol Boat that was at anchor outside giving some naval cadets an experience at sea that they were unlikely to forget. It was an R&R day for them and the support rigid inflatable was doing a treat as a towing craft for water sports. Have our time over again, and pick us we thought! As at Pearl Bay we were instantly ashore on a beach that might have inspired James A Michener to write about adventures in paradise. The backpackers were in fun in the sun mood, and soon the navy came ashore with the cadets with watermelon slice smiles. Good use of our taxes we thought.



Standing outside the famous "A frame."



Some of the yachties' mementos inside the A Frame.

An "artistic photo" before hanging our offering in the A frame.


Just above high tide however we were inexorably drawn to the “A Frame” of Middle Percy renown and tradition a modestly hewn structure that is now thankfully re-roofed to preserve it. This was all that we thought it might be and more. Both inside, outside and upstairs were “offerings” from seafarers and their crews down through the years from all parts of the globe. The creative talents of visitors over the years have shown no bounds with every conceivable item of nautical memorabilia being left to add to the uniqueness of the place. On each could be read testimonials, attesting to their time in paradise, and to read these was to wonder at the pleasure that this special place had given to marine visitors over time. Then about 50 metres away we found an even more modest structure, the original “A Frame” where faded affirmations on ageing message boards dated back to the 1950’s. Surely this informal nautical catalogue is of national significance from a marine viewpoint and needs to be preserved and respected for the special place that it is. We felt honoured to make our modest contribution to the tradition of Middle Percy. [The story of the Percy Islands is a fascinating one, and a Google search for the Percy Islands or Middle Percy Island will give plenty to digest. Middle Percy has a home page, and the article appearing in Coastal Passage entitled The Hicklings of Percy Island makes heartfelt reading - again, Google this.] Soon, however, a grand sunset drew us back to the beach and it was a special moment for us to see Calista in this iconic anchorage with a ruby backdrop such as this.


Calista at sunset, Middle Percy.

Back on board the news re the weather was not good with a change and building winds due later the next day, so the tranquillity of this sublime evening was in reality the nautical equivalent of a sugared pill. We had resolved to go ashore in the morning with Neville and Craig, in the hope that we might manage a quick tramp to the Island Homestead and lagoon before departing for a more tenable anchorage closer to the mainland. For us there was more than a passing interest in a quick excursion ashore. Previous owners of Calista Derek and Bella (as per earlier Mooloolaba blog) are close friends of Liz and Jon Hinkling [as above] and from time to time they took over as relief managers of Middle Percy with Bella maintaining, among other things, the unique Percy tradition of providing lunches and a host of baked, grown and preserved products for visiting yachties. When we first met Derek and Bella and Calista at Hamilton Island, we were fascinated by what they had to share about their life on Percy. In nearby Dent Passage they introduced us to Liz and Jon and we spent a fine night together on Calista. For Calista, Middle Percy was really a second home, and she spent considerable time in the lagoon where, tethered to the jetty and held upright by lines to nearby trees, she alternately dried and floated according to the tides. Calista’s wheel is bedecked with goat skin from Middle Percy.




The lagoon which was once Calista's home.

The morning, however gave us concern that the weather “window” was no longer open. Already the breeze was up, and from a direction that saw Calista now backing toward the easterly headland, in a lee shore situation that that held a growing concern for us. We needed to be out of there and soon. There might be just time to put ashore and quickly make it to the lagoon, but the walk to the homestead was sadly off the agenda. The one piece of fortune was that, by chance, John and Cate Morris, the new caretakers were there at the lagoon and we at least got to meet them. They had heard that we might be calling in. John had just returned from the mainland in his motorboat, and felt that if he had delayed his return he might not get back for the better part of a week. They understood why our visit needed to be fleeting and wished us a safe passage to Digby Island, some 20nm closer to the coast.

We were soon on our way with the enchanting Middle Percy Island losing form in the haze to the south east. We had hoisted sail in a gentle breeze but in no time it built to a constant 25kn with gusts into the 30’s. We were reefed down and flying. If it had built so quickly to the forecast, and more, where was it headed? We had decided on Digby as a stopover because our two other possible destinations, the Marina at Mackay and Scawfell Island were at a distance that would now mean a night arrival in conditions that were obviously collapsing. We felt that Digby could only provide overnight shelter, and that we would have to tackle whatever the weather had to offer the next day.

The anchorage at Digby Island could be described in three words. Rolling, rolling, rolling! On our arrival at Digby we noted that Neville and Craig had also sought refuge there, and after dropping anchor at near low tide conditions were comfortable compared with those outside. Digby Island, part of the Beverley Group has a crescent shaped anchorage that is secure in SE weather and is part protected by Keelan Island that extends to the north-east. Its achilles heel is that when the tide fills then so too does the shoal between Digby and Keelan and admits the SE seas into the bay. In extended SE weather the anchorage would prove intolerable. Soon Neville on True Story had moved in an attempt to find greater comfort, but we resolved to eat early and literally brace ourselves for a long night. It was now apparent that Mackay was our only option for the local cruising notes cautioned against sheltering in Scawfell in strong and extended SE weather. Now the forecast was predicting days of this!



Leaving Digby in a building breeze.

It is often that strong winds abate slightly in the heavier pre-dawn hours, so we resolved to once again to be up and away at first light. Happily, conditions had temporarily softened and soon we were gliding past islands of the Beveley Group, and the 49nm to the Mackay Marina was being chewed up quickly with us doing between 7 and 8 knots over the ground. There was only one other obstacle in our path – actually about 60 of them! Ships! They were in neat rows at anchor; all waiting their turn to take on their fill at the Hay Point coal facility, just south of Mackay. We were not sure what we were required to do in relation to this metallic obstacle course, but in the end we decided that we would ply our trade through the middle of them. What else could we do?



One of the "many" ships at anchor off Mackay.

By 1400hrs we had cleared with VMR Mackay and had slid through the turbulent entrance to the comfy confines of the Mackay Marina. This place has fond memories for us that we may share next time. For the moment we will have to be patient as the Sou-Easter blows its heart out for the next few days, at least! In the meantime we will be ever vigilant lest we observe the slightest sign of "marinaitis" on board Calista!

Entering Mackay Harbour.

Bundaberg - Yeppoon Monday 7th - Wednesday 16th June

Calista under sail at last!

Our departure from Bundaberg saw us slip our moorings and slide out into the Burnett River to the open sea beyond before dawn had broken. Our time with Audrey and Fred had given us so much to reflect on. We recalled Fred describing how in an Atlantic storm they hove to (where you stall the yacht by putting the reefed headsail and mainsail on opposite tacks and lash the helm to hold the ship in a slow drift) for four days and retreated to their bunks below while a tempest raged. “What about ships?” we asked. “No point”, Fred had replied. “Visibility was so poor that we could never have seen them until it was too late! In any case there was a greater risk of being washed overboard by the sea if we were up in the cockpit.” Then, after an enquiry about navigation, Fred recalled how after a long ocean passage by sextant alone, he calculated that a volcanic island should lie dead ahead, and sweated until, unerringly, the smudge of a craggy peak appeared on the horizon just off the bow. Audrey too had become proficient in sight calculations, and the use of the nautical almanacs to plot a position. At sea responsibilities are shared. Now, for us, with dawn light dimming our navigation lights, we had GPS on a chart plotter to set our course, and if we failed to see that departure from the Bundaberg ship channel required a wide berth to escape the shoals to the port side, we should not be out at sea.

"Kev" the autohelm at work.

When sea room permitted, we came up on the wind and with a reefed main and a reduced headsail paying respect to the 20kn SSW, and then bore away to the north with Calista in full flight. Turning with the wind and feeling the boat grip the breeze and surge ahead is one of the truly wondrous feelings about a yacht at sea. The boat, the wind, and the sea sing in unison, and if something irritates your ship, like an unseen wind shift or a mainsail that needs trimming, she will let you know. Sails will flap, or the helm will become heavy. For us, as the uniform landscape of Bundaberg drew astern to be replaced by the bold outline of Round Hill Head on our bow, Cookie was in marine heaven as she drove Calista forward over the billows as though she were a 36’ surfboard. Later we had Kev, our Fleming wind vane (a marvellous piece of engineering that steers the boat, using a wind vane and a transfer mechanism to the helm to hold course. [Kevin Fleming of Port Lincoln invented this amazing device]), take charge of the ship as Agnes Waters and Cook’s landing place at the town of 1770 drew abeam. Beyond here we would lose the swell of the Tasman Sea as the Great Barrier Reef to our east began to temper the sea. With an hour of light remaining, and in fading airs we rounded Bustard Head, and negotiated the tricky, but well marked channel into Pancake Creek, in the lee of the headland. Our reward for a full day at sea was sundowners before a sumptuous sunset and the first winks of the Bustard Head light that seemed to say to us that it was safe now to go below whilst its reassuring beam kept watch through the night. There is nothing like being in an anchorage at night with its own lighthouse!

The lovely anchorage at Pancake Creek, at low tide.

Next day we resolved to go ashore and negotiate our way through the Bustard Head National Park to the lighthouse. This proved easier in the contemplation than in the completion, as for a start, the signpost on the shore did not mark a walking trail and it was not until we found some rudimentary indicators left from some earlier visitors, that we were on our way. The way ahead was uncertain in places, with a sleek goanna at one stage halting on the scrubby path ahead to offer some reptilian advice – you are going the wrong way! The final climb to the light station saw us come upon a graveyard that, on inspection, revealed a series of melancholy events that had overwhelmed the keepers of the light and their families in earlier times. In a place of great beauty, sickness and tragedy had been a frequent visitor. No trauma counsellors in those days. We are not tremulous travellers, but we should not have warmed to the idea of camping out in that area of the park. The rattling of anchor chains is enough for us. We were reminded of the time a few weeks back, that we had spent with an ex lighthouse keeper, now Marine Rescue radio operator, at Ulladulla who shared with us that when his family was stationed at remote Neptune Island in South Australia, his son was taken by a white pointer shark. Maybe the life of the Lighthouse Keeper and their families was not so romantic after all.

Bustard Head Light Station.


One of the many gravestones, Bustard Head Cemetery.

Sensational views south to 1770 and the huge expanse of National Park.

Our reward for the Bustard Head excursion was an excellent day’s activity, and a marvellous panoramic view from atop the headland. This inspired us to commit the next day to a long walk along the forest-clad beach to the north, before putting again to sea the following day on the 45nm haul to Cape Capricorn, where one nautical mile to the south of the Cape we would cross latitude 23 degrees 30’S, and officially enter the tropics. We ought to record that at 1416 inst the next day under a ghosting breeze, and at 151 16.08E, we entered tropical Australia when we breasted the Tropic of Capricorn. It seems a world away in both distance and setting from our southernmost point of our journey, off Skull Rock, Wilson’s Promontory. By now though, with island and mainland destinations aplenty, night passage making might be behind us for a while as we made northing through day sailing along the Capricornia Coast. With our next destination Great Keppel Island, we were now in the land of resorts, aquamarine water and Pina Coladas. In theory.

Crossing the Tropic Of Capricorn! Another milestone!

From Cape Capricorn it is a mere 28nm, to Great Keppel, not much more than a morning sail, compared with the miles that we have covered since leaving SA. Again we were reminded of the wisdom of Fred Green who advised us to simply manage the sea demands of each day as it came. To look at the overall map can be frightening. For us on Friday 11/6, having departed the Cape at 0715, and leaving the imposing Hummocky Island to starboard, we soon closed Monkey Beach on Keppel, and passed through the narrows just past the Resort to drop our chain in Leekes Beach where the best shelter could be gained from the stiffer Sou’ Easters that were on the way. In no time we had the duck afloat and we were headed ashore to see how great, Great Keppel really was. We expected to see hordes of sun-bronzed tourists at play, strains of Bob Marley music wafting through the palms and the resort in full swing. After all, we were on the brink of the June long weekend, and Great Keepel is just a ferry ride from the mainland. What we found was a fenced and boarded up resort, a struggling shop selling some faded surf gear and some private dwellings that seemed mostly empty. It was like an abandoned Hollywood set. A lonely young couple wiled away their time on the beach, and seemed as though they would be pleased when the ferry came to return them to the mainland. They were the only tourists in sight. In Leekes Bay however there were 20 or so boats at anchor, and more arriving as sunset approached. That night we received a reminder that we were now in the land of huge tides as the broad beach that we strolled on by day was swallowed by a rush of water by night. On board Calista the snug anchorage in the corner of Leekes Beach at low tide by day became a washing machine by night as at the top of the tide waves cleared the protective shoals and made our life a misery. We rolled like a town square drunk, and in the morning moved to a deeper and smoother part of the bay.

The anchorage at Leekes Beach.

In its heyday, Great Keppel promoted some fine onshore bushwalking, so although the resort had clearly fallen on bad times, there was nothing stopping us from seeing where some of the island pathways would take us. This was a rewarding thing to do as we tramped around the island in leafy glades and discovered broad and stunning beaches like Long Beach on the southern fringe of the island. There are apparently moves afoot to re-energise Great Keppel, but the new owners are finding the redevelopment approval process a challenge. Local employment suffered when after taking over the resort, the new owners closed it overnight. On the island they still mutter about accountants making decisions in far-off boardrooms.

Great Keppel panoramas.

Back on board Rocky Met, the excellent thrice-daily weather update on our VHF had bad news for us. A massive high pressure system was now squatting like a sumo wrestler over the southern part of the continent and its influence was spreading to all parts of Oz. Winds flowing in an anti-clockwise pattern around this meteorological monster would be impacting on our weather soon, and for the next few days. Firstly, as isobars ridge up the Queensland coast they produce a pressure gradient which in lay terms means strong winds; for a few days at least until the high lumbered off across the Tasman. The other impact would be on general weather indicators like temperature and rain. The high would suck chilled and moist airs from southern seas and dump them without ceremony on lotus land to the north. All of this meant that either we endure some misery on anchor on board, or we make for an admittedly soft option, in a marina ashore. We had heard some excellent reports about the Keppel Bay Marina, just south of Yeppoon, and we reasoned that if we sat out the blow there we could become landed tourists for a few days, get a few things attended to, and reprovision for our next leg to the north. We might then be able to avoid a detour to Mackay, and stay longer out in the islands to the south of the Whitsundays.

Entering the Keppel Bay Marina, Rosslyn Bay.

The Keppel Bay Marina did not disappoint, with outstanding facilities, a marvellous setting next to a striking volcanic bluff and easy transport by bus or courtesy car into town, all for $38/night. You could stay here for a while. We were soon on the local bus for a trip into town and a break from ship board eating, although we dine very well on board! Along Yeppoon’s foreshore, in search for the local Sailing Club and its much vaunted Bistro dining we came upon a sad edifice that was clearly the local Lifesaving Club. Not far along we found the Sailing Club, which is of such dimension that it occupies two sites, the actual sailing facility by the sea with restaurant dining overlooking Keppel Bay to the islands, and, across the road an imposing Bistro facility for the masses. Here, after a beer by the sea, we crossed the road where herself selected a highly acceptable vegetarian lasagne, whilst your scribe somewhat disgraced himself at the all you can eat carvery, salad and roast vegie bar. In the background wafted the discordant tinkling that explained the opulence of this Sailing Club that has obviously progressed from a few boats and a sausage sizzle to a multi-million dollar industry. Behind the partition, there they were; pokies, rows of them, with plenty of takers to subsidise my gluttony. Down the road the Surf Club holds on by the slender thread of the chook raffle, and hope.

This is not Bali, it's Ned Creek Pottery and Studio.!

Next day we had booked the use of a “buzz box” from the Marina, a Getz to explore the local coast, and the hinterland to the north. The weather that we noted above had by now filled in with a vengeance, with rain squalls and coastal visibility down to zero. At nearby Rockhampton the temperature struggled to 19 degrees and locals bemoaned shoes, long pants and, yes, windcheaters. We were glad that we were not out on Great Keppel in this. Heading inland and north, we came upon the hamlet of Byfield, and nearby a local gem, a regional pottery and craft icon that settles in the forest like a Balinese temple. It is a treat to visit. Steve and Sue, the mine hosts at Nob Creek Pottery had much in common with us and having a yacht in the Keppel Bay Marina, they provided valuable information about the coast and the islands that for us lie ahead. We could not wait for the weather to lift.

Our "Getz" with it's next clients ready to go.

By Wednesday 16/6 the sun was again peeping through, the winds were softening and we were planning our departure the next day for beautiful Pearl Bay on the mainland, followed by an offshore haul to the must-visit Percy islands. Again we settled upon a dawn departure to make our way along the coast. Our sojourn at the Keppel Bay Marina had been a fine diversion, but we now needed to be heading north.

Mooloolaba - Bundaberg 1/6 - 6/6

Sunrise abeam of Noosa.

There is something different, special, and attractive about leaving port at night. For starters, just as the populace is turning off their plasma televisions and computers and heading to bed, you are putting to sea. A half hour shy of midnight saw us finally sliding out of Lawrie’s Marina at Mooloolaba and wending our way down the Kawana waterways and its prestigious enclave as misty rain made the job of sighting the way ahead difficult for the forward watch at the bow. By day the narrow canal had been easy to negotiate, but now with conflicting lights, reflections, and the absence of navigational beacons in the narrow channel, a strong light at the bow to spot potential hazards was a must. There were unlit yachts and cruisers tethered to private jetties and they might easily be missed in the dark. Eventually, the red and green port channel markers of the primary ship channel abeam of the Mooloolaba Yacht Club gave us nautical reassurance. Soon the movement of the ocean under us and the panorama of lights strung along the coast from Mooloolaba to Noosa told us that we were out of the Mooloolah River, and, indeed, we were at sea.

Our departure schedule from Mooloolaba had little to do with wanting to experience the Sunshine Coast from the sea by night – although this was a bonus – but more to do with our calculations to arrive at a location some 59 nautical miles up the coast, by day, with the tide on the make, and with the swell in our favour. Planning our arrival at the Wide Bay Bar, the snarling passage challenging all seafarers who wish to make their way between Tin Can Bay (the mainland) and Fraser Island had occupied much of our internet and forecasting time at Mooloolaba. The Wide Bay Bar separates the rigours of the open sea from the tranquillity of the Great Sandy Strait waterways snuggled behind Fraser Island, and is not to be taken lightly. When wind, sea and tide conditions are obtuse, this marine gauntlet can be horrific and it regularly claims lives. Back in SA we had heard of its reputation, had spoken to sailors who had traversed it, and hence we respected it greatly. A terrestrial blog follower might blithely suggest that we simply “go around” it, although, in practice this means a very long haul along and around Fraser Island and the dangerous shoals which protect it from the north. For any vessel battling heavy seas and punishing winds, a weary and beleaguered crew would view the calm waters beyond the bar as being too enticing to defer, or for the over familiar, there might be a temptation to be too cavalier if you know the bar well. Locals drown here too. Passage over the bar requires strict adherence to three waypoints, with points two and three leading vessels through a deepish channel separating the pounding surf on the bar from the SE coast of Fraser Island. It is a passage requiring careful navigation and execution. We had been in contact with the Coast Guard at the bar, and all of the meteorological information favoured a safe crossing, so having cleared with Coast Guard Mooloolaba we were on our way.

In the meantime, with the Bar about eleven hours away, we settled into watches and night routines, and yes, because our course held us abeam of the coast and its lights, we settled in and enjoyed the view. In light airs we made good and predictable time with our motor again getting us there. Morn saw us round Double Island Point on the famed Rainbow Beach, and close on the entrance to the bar. By now a zephyr had grown to a breeze and we were under canvas at last. Through the glasses we could see that we were in luck, and as the long outline of Fraser Island stretched to the north, it was apparent that we would cross the bar with nary a ripple in sight. Yes! Soon, without a hint of the reputation of the bar to be seen, we were through.

Mechanical Monotrenes waiting at Inskip Point.

As we entered the Great Sandy Straits we noted the two vehicular ferries on Inskip Point, lying like a pair platypus with beaks on the sandbar, waiting to gobble up 4WD’s and spit them out on Fraser Island, just a flick of the tail away across the passage. We recalled with fondness a time some years earlier when in our Subaru we had been ingested by these mechanical monotremes, and deposited, happily, on the vast sandy beaches of Fraser. Then, we trundled up the amazing island beach and found nirvana in one of the fresh water streams that percolate from the wilderness and make their way to the sea. Imagine reclining in a deck chair under a pandanus tree in a gin clear stream with the rest of the world a million miles away. If thirsty, topple forward and drink the sweetest water to your fill. If too warm, topple in as before. We slithered up the stream like returning salmon, and as shadows lengthened on our camp, we found a gutter in the beachside surf to secure a brace of sand whiting for dinner. Crumbed whiting, a tossed salad, a chilled libation, and thee – not necessarily in that order! We elevated Fraser to gold medal status as a destination, and now as we viewed it from Calista, it was wonderful to be back.

The Wide Bay Bar behind us!

Garys Anchorage, Great Sandy Strait

By boat, the traveller gets a different and equally fascinating view of the world’s largest sand island. Behind Fraser there are broad sheltered waterways, and a brace of enticing places to anchor. We selected a snug backwater with the modest title of Gary’s Anchorage, and by mid afternoon, with the “pick” secure, Mooloolaba already seemed an aeon away, and we made our way ashore to stretch our legs and to reacquaint ourselves with the natural wonder of Fraser Island. As we made our way along a delightfully wooded track, we were reminded that nature has balance and that probably few places have everything in their favour. As we paused to enjoy the solitude of the forest, a black cloud like ground pepper descended on us from above. The smaller specks were sand flies, and their larger cousins, in formation, were mosquitoes. It was time to apply the repellent! Back at the landing we noted a sign that Crocodiles might be encountered in this area, but the only crocs that we could spot were those on our feet, so we plunged in the shallows, regardless.

We returned to our ship, musing about a natural conspiracy that has Great Whites in Southern waters hand over to Bull Sharks from Sydney north until Crocodiles and Stingers take over in the tropics. Hardly room for Tiger Sharks!

Sundowners and an awesome sunset.


From every other aspect, Fraser Island was as fine to visit as we remembered it. With a spectacular sunset, and pre-dinner drinks served on the back deck against a backdrop of tropical forest, and with miles of waterways ahead to explore, we were looking forward to our Great Sandy Straits experience.

The next day in glorious sunshine we negotiated the shoals of Sheridan Flats and cruised to anchor off Kingfisher Resort to take a look at this yachtie - friendly tourist destination. A duck ride to shore and a look around the visitor and retail areas of Kingfisher left a favourable impression, but we were happy enough to leave the enticements of the land in our wake and return to Calista. Our plans were to spend a day or so in this locale but the late weather issue had winds the next day building from the sou-west, and the anchorage off Kingfisher would become untenable. It made better sense to use the rising winds to make our way across the 55 nautical miles to Bundaberg. A lively sail across Hervey Bay was in the offing. As ever, the weather dictated our itinerary.

Another lousy day in paradise - Sheridan Flats!

Whilst we would like to report home to those bracing themselves for winter, that with us closing the Tropic of Capricorn, our shipboard attire had become shorts, tropical shirts and swimmers. In reality we have found some of the mornings at least to be raw and crisp, particularly at the helm, and on this occasion the new day broke through mists that flowed clammy and probing from the valleys of Fraser.

Morning chill leaving Kingfisher Bay.

As the sun rose, so did the breeze, and for a time we romped along with almost everything aloft. By midway across Hervey Bay the wind, which seems to have a mind of its own, both stiffened, and then to our dismay, came around to our bow. As the low slung coastline of Bundaberg formed in front of us we were forced to abandon the headsail and complete the passage to the harbour beacons under motor and main. We were keen to get in to the Bundaberg Port Marina by late afternoon to sign in and, importantly, to get a facilities key. Besides, it was Friday and Happy Hour at the Marina Tavern was promoted as being an orientation event not to be missed. A bonus for us was that apart from some excellent conviviality on the forecourt overlooking the marina, the afternoon change in the weather produced a stellar sunset, giving “sundowners” at Bundaberg an entirely new dimension.

Sundowners at Budaberg Port Marina.

As usual arrival at a new port brought a range of tasks to the fore, and for us a difficulty existed in getting from the marina to the town of Bundaberg for reprovisioning, some 18km away. Happily, Ann from Lettin’ Go had been in touch to inform us that her brother Patrick was a local resident and was keen to connect with us and could possibly get us in to town. Next morning Patrick, a local agronomist, and recreational sailor came aboard and after a Calista tour we headed into town, giving us an insight into the agricultural world thereabouts on the way. On our way we passed the home of Bundaberg Cordials at the Bundy Brewery, and as one would, we bowed thrice as we passed. Bundaberg Ginger Beer is a favourite of ours. The distillery for “stronger cordial” is a bit further out of town, and locals say that when the breeze is from the right quarter, you take a full sip of coke then rush outside and take three deep breaths. Then repeat! Our connection with Patrick added much to our Bundy sojourn, and we were pleased that later on Saturday he rejoined us on our back deck for some casual cheer as the sun set over the nearby cane fields.

Then, on Sunday we had an unforgettable experience, one that must rank as a highlight of our trip. Fred Green and wife Audrey have long connections to our home town Port Elliot, and are now retired at Bundaberg. Fred, in particular was an iconic and founding member of the Surf Club at Port Elliot. As a local builder, his infectious energy led directly to the building of the original clubrooms of the new club in the early 1950’s. Although jockey like in dimension, he has a natural affinity with the sea and as a sweep of surf boats he had no peer. Under Fred’s skilful hand the Port Elliot Surf Boat crew took out five successive State Titles against all comers, in all conditions. Later life took Fred to Adelaide, and then to Perth where having turned his enthusiasm to sailing, he became a notary at the Royal Perth Yacht Club. Two years shy of 50 and with children in adult life, Audrey suggested to Fred that it might be time for him to embrace his newest passion and to sail to distant horizons. Typically Fred’s boundless enthusiasm soon had him with sextant in hand embarking on a solo passage from Fremantle to South Africa, and in the process becoming the first to accomplish the feat. Fred and Audrey had joined us on board, and Fred had us spellbound as he recalled a day in the middle of the Indian Ocean when, in a rare calm, he stood on the middle of Coorong, a 34’S&S (the same design as Jessica Watson’s yacht) that he built himself, and realised that there were no other living souls within a thousand miles of where he was, and if something happened to him out there no one would ever know. It was before the era of radios on cruising boats. Fred made it to Africa and Audrey was there to meet him to join him on board to sail Coorong home.

Fred Green leaving Fremantle - solo to Africa.

Fred and Audrey Green would go on to circumnavigate Australia, and circumnavigate the world. Carnival in Rio, anchoring off Istanbul, storms in mid Atlantic, the remote islands of the Pacific, and more. At the time, the early 80’s, Australia 2 was challenging for the America’s Cup off Newport Rhode Island, so Fred and Audrey, having links to Royal Perth YC, detoured from the Caribbean to be there for the event. Soon Fred was in the inner sanctum of the challenge, and with Audrey, they were on board one of the two official challenge support boats, and within shouting distance as John Bertrand crossed the line in the final race to bring home the cup.

Back at their home in Bundaberg Fred and Audrey showed us a world map in their study that outlined their travels and shared their photo albums that brought their words to life. There were other mementos too. Outside their front door hangs a glass ball encased in netting. Asking Fred about it, he replied, “found that one day floating in the doldrums in mid-Atlantic”. As you do!

Fred & Audrey showing us the world map with their amazing journey.

We felt honoured to share in their reminiscences, and inspired by what they had to relate. Then as they drove us back to the marina, the topic of the Wide Bay Bar was raised. Audrey recalled one passage over the bar, where in awful conditions there was no alternative but to go in. Fred had Audrey go below and whilst he remained at the helm, and with the storm boards in place, Fred surfed their 34’ yacht across the bar just like in the old days in the surf boats at Goolwa. For Audrey, her abiding memory was of the roar of the surf as they skated over the bar to safety. What an amazing couple are Fred and Audrey Green.

Fred & Audrey on board Calista.

To cap off the day Fred reminded us that it was he who had built our current house at Port Elliot, and that it was originally built for an eccentric German gentleman who arrived in South Australia on one of the last of the four masted grain ships before World War 2 and “jumped ship” as a result of the dreadful conditions that he had experienced on board. As Fred and Audrey drove away, it was hard to concentrate on the tasks that we needed to complete to ready Calista for the early morning departure. Our minds were as full as the tide that had swept up the Burnett River.

Mooloolaba 24/5 -1/6

The beautiful yacht, Pandana.

It was great to see Bella and Derek again, to touch base personally for the first time since we bought Calista in early ’07. We were keen to see their new yacht Pandana, a classic 80’s, 42 footer with all of the charm of the Perry design, and a marvellous teak fit out below. No wonder Bella and Derek are thrilled with Pandana. There was much for us to share and Bella kindly invited us on board to dine and compare notes. They were shortly to head north and whilst we started to attend to some boat and onshore tasks, our good friends made for Fraser Island with ourselves to follow in a few days. At least this was the plan!

Lawrie’s Marina at Mooloolaba is a wonderful place to tie up for the raft of marine services available literally as one steps ashore, and for the Kawana Waters shopping centre, just across the road. We needed to re-supply our ship, and to attend to a host of boat-related tasks. Of most importance were our concerns re our struggling anchor winch, and the state of the patched exhaust elbow in the engine bay. In no time we had local expertise assisting us with both of these matters: the prognosis for the elbow was to fashion an entirely new component, and for the winch, it was time for a new gearbox. In an earlier blog we referred to Geoff Gowing’s axiom that in cruising, you “go from port to port fixing your boat”!! For us this theorem was becoming as confirmed as gravity.

A lovely meal at Andy & Allysons farm, with Steve & Jenny.

Our mechanical delays were fortuitous though as long time friends Andy Campbell and partner Allyson, and Steve Scammell and partner Jenny were nearby on the Sunshine Coast, and we took the chance to step ashore for part of our time at Mooloolaba. Andy and Allyson (plus our old friend [Golden Retriever] Bundaberg, or Bundy to his associates) now live in the Coolum hinterland, while Steve and Jenny were enjoying some extended R&R at A&A’s beach house perched atop the cliffs at Cape Arkwright, just south of Coolum.

The great Point Arkwright beach house.

Andy and Allyson prevailed on us to disembark for some terra firma time, and generously lent us a farm ‘ute so that, by day, we could get on with the shipping duties that needed our attention. Highlights ashore with our wonderful friends were a sumptuous pool-side barbie – prawns, succulent salads, and fine steaks – at the Cape and a beach day at Sunshine Beach, followed by a superb lunch at the Noosa Surf Club, perched above the beach. Lotus land! We thank Andy and Allyson for their warm hospitality, for fine foods, a bed that remained stable, and for the opportunity to experience rural life in deepest Yandina. The green tree frogs in the electricity meter box, the musical Guinea Fowl and Bundy’s ever present smile made our time in the bush a time to remember!

Bundy and the Electricity meter frogs!

As for our primary boat tasks, the exhaust elbow was soon fashioned and fitted, but the anchor winch caused us some chagrin, as after extensive communications with the supplier in Sydney, they sent up the wrong part! Then with the correct part having been sourced and finally sent, we endured the frustration of it being despatched with the local courier at 7.30am, and it not arriving at the workshop until just on closing, too late for the assembly on Calista. Another day’s delay!

Another job...up the mast to fix the masthead light. A new globe and success!

Finally, with the first rays of the first day of June the anchor winch was reassembled, greased, tested, and hopefully restored to reliable service.
Later, with fuel, water, and supplies aplenty, we spent the rest of the day as Mooloolaba tourists before readying ship and crew for a 2330 departure, heading north to Fraser Island. The curious departure time is explained by the 11hrs approximate passage time to the Wide Bay Bar, guarding the southern entrance to the Fraser Island waterways. The Bar needs to be passed just prior to the High Tide, which peaks at 11.30am. Happily, the conditions, for both wind and swell, are excellent for the passage. All that remains is to complete the Blog, and have this recorded for you all to enjoy!

Colin blogging!