Airlie Beach and the Whitsundays 6/7 - 21/7

Anchored outside the Whitsunday Yacht Club, Airlie Beach

We returned to Airlie Beach, the self proclaimed gateway to the Whitsundays with anticipation and some trepidation. We wanted to return because of the vitality and verve of Airlie as we had known it, but fearful that overweening commercialism and the big end of town had stolen its charm. We knew that the Abel Point Marina had massively expanded, and that where a promontory once stood, floating palaces were now to be found nid-nodding in this land of gold shoes and platinum Rolexes. To us, however, the soul of Airlie was not to be found in the marina, but in places such as the Whitsunday Sailing Club, which to our relief we found to be as clubbable and as welcoming as ever. The WSC was hosting the National Taser Championships and was totally abuzz. Happily, the whisper from the WSC is that in spite of dollar driven entreaties, the Club remains committed to serving, first and foremost, the needs of yachties, and as such has moved to protect its position for the foreseeable future. Grandiose developments like that at nearby Muddy Bay will not compromise the WSC. It is there to stay. Sadly, we have seen other instances on our journey where clubs with “prime position” have in our view sold their soul for money.

The Tasars at the Whitsunday Yacht Club.

In spite of the carnival atmosphere prevailing at the WSC, we were soon off to check out downtown Airlie to see if its reputation as Backpacker Central still held true, and still put the bubbles in its lemonade. Last time we found it a challenge to play “guess the nationality” as we strolled along Shute Harbour Road in the centre of town as svelte young things with golden tans mixed it with finely chiselled youths with swarthy looks and inventorial eyes. With their bohemian and carefree lifestyle it seemed to us that in an all too serious world they brought to Airlie a breath of fresh air, the concept of breakfast at noon and an addiction – apart from other things – to fun. More than that though, they filled the boats, both sleek and slow, by speed or sail, that left brimming each day to sup on the wonders of the Whitsunsays. The backpackers in Airlie made tourism in the area come alive and they made it pay. Maybe it was their approach to travel that inspired us, two years later, to throw on our own packs and take on the boomer backpacker ultimate challenge. Six weeks from the snows to the surf in India – and survive!

Backpackers working on their tans, Lagoon Pool.

One of our fondest memories of backpacker Airlie came after an evening repast at a highly acceptable Indian Restaurant – sadly, now closed – where a stroll through Airlie central saw us wander in for a nightcap at one of those casual and open plan venues that the youth of the world had clearly deemed the place to be seen. This watering hole, Magnums, was moving from fifth gear to overdrive, and for the hordes gathered there, nightcaps were hours away. Soon, a break in the music saw the MC, with ringmaster gusto, announce competition time, and the princely prize of a jug of foaming product for a “lucky volunteer” representative of each gender. There was a clamour and stampede for the trophy but ultimately two highly presentable souls were identified and met each other for the first time on stage before the populace. We were a bit curious and decided to hang around to see what happened. Soon a large sock like item appeared from stage left with the news that for the “contestants” to win their prize they would have to have this item lowered over them and exchange clothes with each other, within. Total! All clothes!! In two minutes!! Pandemonium now reigned as the “lucky” couple disappeared within the “change room” and frenzied bumps, protrusions and indentations through the cover marked their fumbled progress. Ultimately, to the delirium of the crowd, they emerged with she dressed as he and vice versa! Well…sort of. The foaming items were duly produced but then the MC – warming greatly to the moment – demanded that visual proof was needed to confirm the total exchange of underthings. For the rep of the fair gender his boxers were a neat fit, but for the callow youth, his acute discomfort was clear, for not only did her Roxy shorts not fit, but when he “revealed all” her chic g-string was clearly inadequate for the task now assigned to it! Then, the merciless MC announced that for the suffering souls to finally secure their prize, it was back into the sock to exchange their things. More distorted contortions inside the “sock” followed and finally, the two contestants emerged, restored to original livery and left the stage with their prizes, enshrined as hero and heroine by their peers. We left into the night our eyes red from weeping and cheeks sore from mirth.

Downtown Airlie Beach outside the hub of Backpackersville.

Eight years on downtown Airlie, even allowing for the season, is struggling to maintain its Mojo, and there are 16 vacant shops on main street where once there was a waiting list to be a part of its retail El Dorado. Even allowing for global financial crises, things are flatter than usual and there are lots of package and standby bargains to be had for the discerning traveller. We hear that a new shopping centre out of town has pinched the limelight, but when we catch a bus there we find the same predictable franchise outlets, and once inside this sanitised enclave we found it hard to tell we were actually in the Whitsundays. Happily, back in town two things saved the day. One was the genuinely diverse, regional, and colourful Airlie Beach markets that were a great way to wile away some hours on a Saturday. Clothes, trinkets, bric-a-brac, bountiful local produce and food stalls that seduced the olfactory were there to tempt the visitor. We, being visitors, were tempted, and our tender sat lower in the water as we conveyed our purchases back to Calista which sat at anchor oh so conveniently just beyond the WSC breakwater.


Colourful scenes at the Airlie Beach Markets.


The second of Airlie’s saviours is still without doubt the backpackers. They are still here in numbers sufficient to keep the place afloat, and give it that something special. The night scene still pulses, but this time we have not been tempted by the capers at Magnums in spite of the fluoro signs outside lauding such drawcards as the “Backpackers Olympics”, and the predictable wet T-shirt competition. The day following the second of these, we noted a group of blades gathered around their rent-a-car opposite Magnums. One is affixing a miniscule red undergarment to his radio aerial, much as farmers’ sons attached fox tails to their ‘ute aeriels in days of yore. I catch his eye and offer the thought, “well that’s different!” to which he chortles, “had a great night – it’s a trophy!” Should have guessed! Theirs is a life without boundaries and obligation, but without the youth Internationale, Airlie’s obituary might have been written by now.

The Whitsundays are great to visit but it's difficult to leave!

Backpackers, families, grey nomads, and folk from five continents are drawn to the magic of the Whitsundays, and we remain unashamedly under the spell of these 70 odd marvellous islands. From Airlie Beach or nearby Shute Harbour they are but a brief sail away, and being drowned peaks from a time forgotten, their forested slopes rear majestically from a sea of aquamarine. Whitsunday and Hook Islands, the two largest, have numerous embayments, many with fringing reefs of coral to charm both the snorkelling novice and the serious underwater devotee. There are golden beaches aplenty, and still plenty of places to find solitude in paradise. The islands are almost all part of the Whitsunday National Park, and in recent years the huge growth in the bareboat charter business has seen the parks management install free courtesy moorings in the most popular locations both to protect the reef, and the novice captains who run most risk of hitting them. Beyond the reefs and beaches the teeming forests remain much as they were when the crew of Endeavour first saw them, and today you may sail past a beacon where a pair of sea eagles are perched, and they remain there, not the least perturbed by your passing. May it long remain so!

We have found it hard to comprehend that we have really sailed back to the Whitsundays, and have decided to revisit our favourite places, and get to some others that eluded us last time. This time we are July visitors, whereas last time we sailed these waters was in late August and September when the sou-easters have lost some of their potency and allow for easier passage around the isles. Now we are finding that the “windows” of moderate conditions are fleeting, and that piping sou-easters are more the norm. We end up being like foraging creatures, sailing out to chosen destinations, but retreating to cover when conditions deteriorate.

Anchorage at South Molle Island, Spion Kop in the background, and Calista on Right.

On our first foray to the islands our anchor was deployed at nearby South Molle Island under the majestic Spion Kop, where its resort and particularly its walking trails came highly recommended. Sadly, the resort has clearly enjoyed better times and the additional battering from cyclone Ului in March has left deep scars, both physically and financially. It seemed all but deserted, but has a fine 25m pool with lanes and we fell upon the opportunity to get some laps under our belt to combat the onset of ship born stodginess. Our own 25m pool!

The resident chef's special after a big swim... Reef Fish & Salad.

Next day after a comfortable night that belied the “swelly” reputation of the anchorage, we took off on an enjoyable 12km traverse of South Molle that took us to the top of the “Kop”, and from there via Mt Jeffery to the isthmus separating South from Middle Molle Islands that covers at high tide. Our stay at South Molle was terminated by fresh “bullets” of wind that had now set in and whistled over the island, making the anchorage uncomfortable. Hence we found ourselves setting sail under minimum canvas to find better shelter in commodious Cid Harbour in the hope that a climb to the nearby Whitsunday Peak (at 434m, the highest point in the islands) would provide some more exercise and some great panoramas from its rugged heights. Neville from True Story has joined us at Cid and after Cookie demonstrated her culinary prowess in the production of Chocolate Muffins, Neville returned the flavour by revealing a dab hand in the manufacture of pikelets. With a lack of discipline demonstrated by your bloggist in both of these areas, the need to scale the Peak was now more pressing than ever!

Good times on board True Story.

The path from the adjoining beach to the top of Whitsunday Peak is excellent, with stone formed steps and a clearly marked path wending its way through dappled forest with arboreal veterans of eucalypt and pine being supported below by ferns, lianas and multi hued fungi. Birds nest ferns that we pamper and cosset at home, thrive unaided, like weeds. As we climbed higher, where jungle giants had fallen before Cyclone Uliu, already new shoots were elbowing their way towards the canopy, in a scramble to reach the light. As we neared the summit, forest gave way to stoic blackboys, stunted eucalypts and lichen clad boulders in the exposed land of the winds. Sadly, whilst the summit seemed clear enough from below, now it was wreathed in cloud and apart from an opening giving an enticing sight to the anchorage far below, we had emerged into an oozing, grey and opaque blancmange. Vistas of the islands were off the menu. Maybe we could return on another day.

"Gorillas in the Mist!" - Whitsunday Peak

Undaunted, we resolved to make our way the next day via Hook Passage with True Story to the famed Whitehaven Beach area where a visit to one of the world’s famous beaches and the opportunity of a snorkel at nearby Chalkies Beach held great promise. In 2002 our favourite underwater locations had been Chalkies, Cateran Bay on Border Island and Blue Pearl Bay on exclusive Hayman Island to the NW of Hook Island. On the way to Chalkies we dropped in to nearby Tongue Bay, the sensible overnight anchorage for a daytime foray to Whitehaven Beach which lies around the headland to the south. In the bay, however, we found that the sou-easters had concocted a nuisance swell that saw us reel like a New Year’s reveller. With True Story in company, we left Tongue in favour of Chalkies Beach on Hazelwood Island, directly opposite Whitehaven, but sheltered, we hoped, from our windy nemesis bearing east of south.

True Story ahead of us enroute to Tongue Bay, wind on the button!

Just out from Chalkies the sea bottom plunges, and although Whitehaven is barely two miles away, the abyss plunges deeper here than Whitsunday Peak is tall. To the south the tides that squeeze between Haselwood and Whitsunday Isles ebb and flood via the narrow Solway Passage, and given that we were then in the grip of 3-4m “spring” tides, the tidal flow in Solway Pass was either impressive or frightening depending on whether or not the skipper maintained control of the ship. Off Chalkies, anchoring is difficult, and although good holding is to be found in 12-15’ adjacent the reef, the bottom rapidly falls away and in laying out our anchor and nearly all of our chain (Calista’s locker has 50m of 10mm chain, plus another 75m of stout rode [rope]), we fell back in 60feet of water, and thus came under the influence of the tidal sweep leading to Solway Pass. Anchoring here requires a fine judgement – drop too close inshore and the reef comes into play if the ship swings or the wind veers, drop too far out and the catenary of the chain (its curve relative to the bottom), will see you drag back into the deep when the tide peaks. We resolved to overnight here in the hope of a morning snorkel, and set a depth alarm on our
instruments in case we lost our tenuous connection with terra firma. Predictably, the depth alarm did sound in the wee hours causing herself to rush to the cockpit. We had not dragged, but the tide had stretched us back into 80’ of water thus sounding the alarm. Your bloggist, deep in slumber, missed the episode entirely. It is lucky that one of our crew is sharp through the night!

We were prepared to endure the travails of anchoring at Chalkies to revisit its splendour, but in the morn our efforts to create a snorkelling opportunity proved fruitless as the tides and the sou-easters combined to ruin visibility, and the only plus of our immersion was an up close swim with a friendly turtle that seemed not the least concerned by our presence. Back on board, the day was saved by Neville who hailed us with the welcome news that he had produced a batch of scones, and needed help with their consumption. In the wake of these delightful comestibles, the wind was still up and not at all suitable for a visit to Whitehaven. It seemed prudent to retreat, somewhat reluctantly, to May’s Bay via Hook Passage to reach a more secure anchorage for the night to come.

Nevilles' Bakery......Yummy Scones!

Apart from the weather, we had noticed an instrumentation problem on board that needed attention. We started our odyssey from South Australia with two functional depth sounders and soon after our departure the ‘sounder connected to our primary chart plotter went “down” and could not be replaced without some major surgery to the hull. Now our back-up ‘sounder was playing up although Cookie discovered that a jab in the right place restored the numbers to the screen! This roughhouse approach to electronics might have been ok for the moment, and certainly made her feel better, but it was obvious that we would need to return to Airlie to consult with an expert in marine sparks and wires. To continue with a “dodgy” depth sounder would be foolhardy in the extreme.

Happily, through Hook Passage, with phone connection restored, we located an electronics specialist in Airlie, who could come on board the next day. We also were lucky that through the glasses we noted that Derek and Bella on Pandana were anchored in May’s Bay thus giving us a great opportunity to re-connect with them to find out about their plans in making for Townsville and the voyage to the Louisiades across the Coral Sea. As previous owners of Calista they had made several crossings of the Coral Sea and we were keen to draw upon their experience. It was their initial tales of travels to the enchanted Louisiades that sowed the seeds of this journey. Without Derek and Bella, this voyage would probably not have taken place. We also wished to liaise with them about their timetable for heading north, and happily it now seemed we still had a week or two up our sleeve to see some more of the Whitsundays. There were lots of places that we still wanted to see, but first we would be forced to return to Airlie to attend to the errant depth instrument.

The huge marina at Airlie Beach. ( with huge prices!)

With an early securing of the visitor’s berth at the Abel Point Marina, where sundry works may be undertaken without their excessive marina fees, we had Theo from Ranger Electronics on board whose prognosis was that the dodgy instrument was clearly on the way out. He warmed to Cookie’s elbow method of recalibration, but felt that eventually even visceral threats would not restore the numbers to the screen. The model was now not available in Australia, but happily he had a unit still in stock, and this might ultimately save us from a far more expensive problem, that of replacing all of our depth/speed/wind instrumentation plus the equipment at the top of the mast, if a new depth unit could not be found. These instruments are linked and we would have to replace the lot without the new depth unit that was sitting on his shelves. Perish the thought.

By lunch we had the masts of the Marina drawing astern as we made for Blue Pearl Bay and Butterfly Bay to resume our connection with nature. That sailor’s axiom that BOAT stands for Bring Out Another Thousand, was for us, now underlined and in italics. Without Theo’s stock in hand, however, it could have been so much more. Now the depth of water below us was reading clear in the cockpit. We were lucky, and what’s more there were fabulous parts of the Whitsundays, still there waiting for us. Already,the enticing forms of Hook and Hayman Islands were taking shape off the bow and we could not wait to get there.

Time to explore more of this sailing paradise -looking north to Hook & Hayman Is.