Still in the Whitsundays! 6/7 - 21/7

It is easy to loose track of time in the Whitsundays. The only things that really matter are the strength of the wind, the direction from which it is blowing, the state of the tide, and making it securely to the next anchorage before sundown. Day and date are only of passing interest. We sometimes muse that on board Calista, in these islands a Monday looks pretty much like a Sunday, although at home they are as far apart as Mercury and Pluto.

Our sundowner fare.

On Calista we have fallen into a daily ritual of “nibbles” in the cockpit as the sun recedes in the west. First formed in Southern climes, we have brought this on-board tradition north with us. On the ship’s nibbles platter is placed the following: eight Vita Wheats, sliced tomato, gherkins, selected cheeses, pitted kalamanta olives, a dip (Kraft Gherkin is a favourite), with rice crackers and soya crisps as support players. A crackling cold offering – Pale or Sparkling Ale, South Australian iconic products, is distinctly preferred – becomes a welcome lubricant as we reflect on the day or rate the ruddy hues of the sky to the west. Those who see a cruising lifestyle as being a “swim-through” at sea would be disappointed in us. At sea we are a “dry” ship, and at anchor we need to be able to respond effectively to a sudden change of conditions that might see us putting to sea at short notice. This has happened before, when we have least expected it. It will happen again. We see charter boats rattling in with champagne corks popping, but their style is not ours because it cannot be ours. We look forward greatly to our “sunset ale” and a glass of selected vintage over dinner, but normally no more than that. This time, after our departure from enigmatic Airlie the search for public moorings at Blue Pearl Bay and Butterfly Bay proved fruitless but we had better fortune at Stonehaven Bay on Hook Island, and the display in the west had us standing in the aisles.

On our way past exclusive Hayman Island we had called up the island marine office on VHF to explore the possibility of visiting the island, an got an unexpected, and pleasant surprise. The voice from Hayman was Melanie (Mel) Stonnill, a young lady who we had both taught over the years, with our last connection being in Colin’s Senior Tourism class at Victor Harbor High, before she headed for study and then interstate seeking exciting times and new climes in the travel industry. Her father David is proud owner of a beautiful Moody 40’ yacht which has been moored diagonally opposite us, since we had brought Calista to the marina at Wirrina in SA in early 2007. David had told Mel that we were heading up the East Coast, and now, by pure chance we had connected. Happily, Mel had the next two days off, so as a rare fine weather day was forecast we arranged to have her on board for the day. We were grateful that Mel was able to bring with her a couple of grocery essentials – milk and bread – that were now in short supply on board.

Local traffic hazards on approach to Hayman Marina!

Collecting Mel from Hayman, which is directly opposite Stonehaven, proved a novelty in itself as in the narrow entrance to the marina we had to allow clearance for a seaplane exiting the resort in the same restricted channel. Different, we thought! As we made for Blue Pearl Bay on the NW side of Hayman with our new crew member it was great to hear about some of Mel’s experiences on Hayman and some of the plans that she has for the next chapter of her life. She had been at Hayman for 15 months and it did not surprise us to hear that she now held a position of responsibility in marine operations on the island. Heading seaward, our hopes of a snorkelling opportunity at either Blue Pearl or Butterfly Bay were thwarted by mooring availability and tidal depth, so it being a brochure-perfect day we hoisted sail and simply had fun by heading out to sea. Mel proved to be a highly competent helmsperson, and with the day being so sublime it was hard for us to eventually bring Calista’s head around to get her back to the resort before sundown. This was the kind of weather that would have allowed us a sojourn at Bait or Hook Reef, on the outer reef, lying just over the horizon. Another time maybe? It was wonderful to have Mel on board and to see what a tremendous young woman she has turned out to be. The worrying thing is that she has subsequently emailed us to say that her thoughts about her future have now taken a new tack and that “my savings may be going to my own sailing boat [because] the relaxing / exploring / spontaneous life on a yacht is incredibly tempting …” Mel, we know the feeling!. Maybe she saw in our day at sea that the idea of chasing dreams and adventure is not just a province of the young. We would love see how Mel’s story evolves, because she has so much to bring to her world. Go, Mel, go!

Colin & Mel all at sea.

With such a stellar day in our wake, we felt a warm anticipation as we picked up a mooring in Stonehaven to re-enact our “nibbles in the sunset” of the previous eve. It had been a perfect day in paradise. As we settled to imbibe with gold becoming russet in the west, our mobile phone rang. It was Paul Richardson’s partner, Sue; calling from Melbourne to deliver the awful news that Paul had died following the sudden onset of an untreatable cancer [see earlier blog Yeppoon to Mackay re Paul’s background]. Paul had left a message on our phone before we left home wishing us well at sea. We had planned to call him to confirm that his thoughts on Queensland’s Curtis Coast [Bundaberg to Mackay] were spot on and to thank him for the loan of Noel Patrick’s cruising guide to the area. We had no idea that Paul had been ill, and the news of his passing was devastating. We asked Sue about the cruising guide, and she felt that Paul would have wanted us to keep it in Calista’s ship’s library. It was so kind of Sue to call us in spite of the pall that has descended on her life. The night that we spent with Paul and Sue at nearby Middleton, talking about our planned trip is warmly enshrined in our memory. Paul was so enthused by what we had planned. Now Curtis Coast is a treasured item on our shipboard shelf. Cookie keeps a daily diary with colour pencil illustrations drawn from our daily travels. This blog is drawn from her excellent chronicle. The pic at the top of Wednesday 14 July shows a sailboat sailing into a distant sunset. The inscription reads simply “R.I.P Shorty”. Paul is fondly remembered on Calista, and we “raised one to him” on that eve as the light faded over the islands leading north to Gloucester Passage.

" R.I.P Shorty"

After the sweet-bitter times of the previous day we felt a need to shake off our leaden thoughts by continuing exactly as we had planned to do. Positive activity is a wonderful antidote. Abeam of Stonehaven lies Langdon Spit, a sandy finger that dries at low tide allowing visitors ashore, and if the mood takes, to set up the deck chairs, table, Cinzano umbrella, strawberries and champagne, to take that “eat your heart out” snap with sand, blue sea and sky that malicious travellers can send to long suffering work colleagues at home. Langdon lacks only a solitary coconut palm to complete the picture. Missing some of the above ingredients, and being not vindictive e-mailers, we, instead, went ashore, and noted a group of backpackers who were there to snorkel, but were laid out in drowsy disarray like weary seals on Heard Island that had fetched ashore to sleep. It was mid-morning after all, and backpackers don’t do mornings.

Langdon Spit

We knew that the underwater offerings at Blue Pearl Bay were superior, so we left Langdon to the internationals, in favour of the NW shores of Hayman. There we found the required snorkel and dive moorings occupied, so, in view of the sou-easters that were again forecast to freshen, we sought an early mooring in the fiord-like Butterfly Bay were stout ground tackle and protective ramparts towering above meant that only a cataclysm of nature could imperil us. There was hope for a snorkel, too, and on entering the bay we found that the mooring deep in the bight of the bay was there waiting for us. As we settled in the anchorage and marvelled at the wilderness that rose above us, a Manta Ray, like some sepulchral marine carpet, rose alongside us before gliding away, to continue its harmless and mysterious life elsewhere. Sometimes the unexpected can outshine the planned. Alas, the snorkelling we had sought was not possible as the best parts at the head of the bay were affected by deep tides and a gathering-breeze top sea. Returning to our ship, we were more than happy for a swim over the nearby reef before taking in the majesty of our surrounds as night fell on Butterfly Bay.

Picking up the mooring in Butterfly Bay.

The next morning proved to be a victory for persistence, with maybe a pinch of third time lucky, on board Calista. Side panels on the plastic zip-in blinds that give us cockpit shelter on board had really proved their worth, but after seeing Neville’s structure on True Story we decided to get mid-way zips installed in the side panels to give greater flexibility of shelter, both at sea and on anchor. This meant a quick trip back to Airie Beach for a sail maker to do the job and hence we left Butterfly Bay early to get within phone range to make arrangements. That was done and a course set to the east of Hayman Island when Cookie had a sudden impulse to swing to the north of the island to get a last opportunity of snaring a spot at Blue Pearl Bay. We were in luck! A mooring just near some excellent coral heads – known to coral cruisers as “bommies”- had just become available and we had enough time to drop in for a look. Minutes later, a short fin from our ship saw us enter the watery wonderland that we were longing to see. Soft and hard corals and fish of every hue and configuration made up a liquid landscape of indescribable beauty. Everywhere there were things to marvel, and the undersea creatures seemed not the least perturbed by our presence. When we eventually drew ourselves away to return to Calista I decided to use the opportunity to inspect our propeller and steering mechanism before climbing aboard. After a minute or so of focus on this task I became aware of something large, just next to me alongside my shoulder. It was a huge bat-fish, and it, and two friends had followed us back from the reef, being curious about who we were and what we were doing. When I dived to the keel they followed alongside; when I was scraping the prop they were there too, just inches away.

A great snorkel in Blue Pearl Bay. At last!

It was hard to leave these wonderful creatures, but out to sea the wind was rising and a vigorous sail back to Airlie was in the offing. With a building breeze that grew to 25-30knots off our port bow, and with a reefed main and reduced headsail, Calista stood proud and romped over the 15 miles to the shelter to be found in the anchorage off the Whitsunday Sailing Club.

With canopy adjustments under way, the weather outlook suggested a brief window of lighter winds before yet another bout of heavier conditions to follow. On our chart plotter, the lines around the Whitsunday Isles marking our recent tracks looked as though we were enmeshing Hook and Whitsunday islands in silken thread, although two of our favourite destinations, Cateran Bay on Border Island, and Whitehaven Beach still remained unvisited. We resolved that yet another foray through Hook passage the next day might attend to this. The next morning, with our anchor catted (yes, this is the nautical term for securing an anchor!), we were under way, headed for Border Island when our phone rang. It was Neville from True Story, who had come in to get work done on his refrigerator compressor – it seems that all who cruise go from port to port fixing their boats – calling to say that he had a bright idea that might interest us. He carries a motorbike on True Story, yes, true story, and was thinking of a ride to Bowen, our next major port to the north, beyond the Whitsundays. With three on a bike being a bit busy, he had an idea for us to hire a car and take off to the north for a day on Highway One. This seemed like fun to us. Thus with a rapid re-anchoring, and a couple of calls to arrange a vehicle, we were off, headed north to Bowen, and then on the 200kms of highway to Townsville. It was a great chance to check out marine facilities at these towns, and while at Townsville we drove to the top of Castle Hill to gaze out over Magnetic Island in the direction of the Great Barrier Reef and the Coral Sea beyond. It was scary to look out at that distant horizon and think that if all went to plan we would be heading out there in just a few weeks time.
Maybe we might just hang out in the Whitsundays forever.

The Coral Sea behind us at the Castle Hill lookout!

We had a wonderful day with Neville on the open road, and covered over 600kms at speeds a dozen or more times quicker than we do on Calista. The next day, however, we resumed the Border Island plan, and were in luck as in the late afternoon we were able to pick up a mooring in Cateran Bay, for a morning snorkel on the low tide in the morning. We were joined at Border by Kel and Helga Korsman on their large cat, Mojo. We had first met Kel and Helga on the Coomera River with Ann and Cran on Lettin’ Go (See earlir Gold Coast to Moolalaba Blog), and they, too are heading for Townsville and the Louisiades for the first time. We had decided to grill some Coral Trout – procured on our northern excursion – on our BBQ ashore and Kel and Helga joined us for a sumptuous repast on the shores of Cateran Bay. We resolved to connect with them later, and perhaps we could leave in convoy out of Townsville. There is strength and some security in numbers. Returning to our boats as night fell, our hopes of a tranquil eve in paradise was fractured by the late arrival of a large red catamaran, packed cheek by jowl with – you guessed it – backpackers! We were there to snorkel, they were there to party! Good luck to them.

Cateran Bay Bistro..... someone's gotta do it!

The underwater experience the next day was excellent, with a highlight being a swim with a family (not sure of the collective noun) of Maori Wrasse, huge creatures that can grow to over 2 metres in length and tip the scales at nearly 200kg. These were not that big, but wrasse enough for us. They allowed us to hover nearby as they crunched away at the coral with their chisel like incisors, and we winced in our masks at the sound of it all. There were fish in swarms, and in colours to match an Indian wedding. It was marvellous, and only a seeping chill saw us retreat, eventually to our ship.

One of our favourite places : Cateran Bay anchorage, Border Island.

Now, only Whitehaven remained on our “must see” list in the area, but as we pulled out of the Bay, the SSE that had built overnight was now piping in up to 30 knots and as we turned Calista’s head for Whitehaven via Dumbell Island, the wind and an ebbing tide hit us square on the bow. In driving spray, conditions had become hideous, and we were still miles shy of Whitehaven. We battled on for a time before we gave in to reality and turned our ship’s grateful head around and headed for the sanctuary of Cid Harbour where relative tranquillity reigned. Although Whitehaven still proved a beach too far, a consolation prize beckoned, for at Cid, Whitsunday Peak towered above, and if we were nifty in getting anchored, and ashore, we might get to the top to see the view that we had been earlier denied. It was a mad scramble and scamper, but as we ascended the last of the tors to reach the peak, the entire Whitsunday Chain, like a Persian mosaic was laid before us, and there, in the middle distance, was Whitehaven. It is a stellar and unforgettable panorama from atop Whitsunday Peak with the distant form of Scawfell Island away to the south and the buttresses of Gloucester Island now bathed in apricot to the north. A hundred magic miles in one sweep of the compass! Amazing!

The tropical forest enroute to the top of Whitsunday Peak.

Rewarded by clearer views this time.

Back at the harbour the redoubtable Neville had been busy too, and a tray of his most excellent pikelets with selected jams and a steaming coffee put the seal on what had been day in these Isles that we would not forget. As ever, however, the weather plays the last card, and as we lounged on board True Story, the truth was that several days of heavy sou-easters were upon us, and we could either sit this out at Cid or make our way downwind via Airlie for the Gloucester Passage with Bowen and Townsville to follow.

Cid Harbour Anchorage with a clearer Whitsunday Peak, in the background.

The decision to make passage in the morning was the correct one to make, and after hoisting our anchor we bade a hearty farewell to Neville and set a course to Airlie to collect our renovated canopies. We hoped to stay in touch with Neville and maybe at another time our rhumb lines will intersect. We calculated that with luck we could collect the shelters in Airlie, and still make Woodwark Bay, a few miles to the north by nightfall. Later, at Airlie Beach, as we made our way back on board via the WSC, with canopies under arm, a Greyhound Bus drew in to the local terminus. Streaming out were reinforcements for those of their ilk who were by now partied, reefed and snorkelled out. They were the next legion of backpackers, now arriving at Airlie Beach. Their islands in the sun lay just beyond the bay. We now left in favour of other islands to the north.