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.