Gladstone - Mooloolaba 12/11 - 17/11

We have found that when we set an early alarm to leave port, we are often awake before it rings, calling us to action stations. So it was again for us both, with our 0400 rise to clear from Gladstone Marina in the dawn of the new day. Maybe it has something to do with the mental energy that is applied to a longish passage at sea, and the conscious need to be up and going, early. In the soft airs of first light we needed to get miles under our keel, and it was with this uppermost in our minds that we entered the Gladstone Ship Channel, heading a degree or two south of east.
Early morning light as we depart the Gladstone Harbour.

After clearing the shipping zone, we set a course abeam of Bustard Head, some 30 miles away where we knew there were three reefs just off the headland to negotiate, dubbed somewhat drearily, inner, middle, and outer rocks. Compared with the nifty nomenclature that we have noted elsewhere along the coast, this trio of marine nasties might have afforded some more colourful tags than these. Maybe it needed an explorer thrice wedded! On board however, we were more interested in clearing between the outer two reefs, one which was visible, and the other white with surging seas, and then seeing if the promised Easterly gave us a chance to do better than motor and main. With Bustard Head and its nasty sentinels astern, we found the breeze at 110 degrees and our line to Roundhill off the Town of 1770, at 130 degrees. Our hopes for a rollicking sail disappeared, for if we sailed and tacked to make ground, we would be hours later getting abeam of Bundaberg, where we would decide whether to head in to port, or continue overnight to Fraser Island.

Passing the cloudy Round Hill Head.

A night approach to Bundaberg requires respect for the shoals to starboard abeam of the entrance to the Burnett River, and then to follow the dramatic line of synchronised red and green flashing entrance beacons before clearing the lighthouse on the Burnett Point. Night navigation can be difficult, particularly as distances at sea can be totally confounding. Chart-plotters certainly help, but not always with mobile objects like fishing boats, trawlers, not to mention the bigger ships of the sea. We had been over 15 hours at sea when we reached the Bundaberg leads (lights that lead a ship to port), but with conditions good for passage making, if not sailing, we pressed on through the night. We faced another 50 odd nautical miles across Hervey Bay, and a more complex set of lights marking the channels around Fraser Island before we might reach a secure anchorage at first light in the lee of Fraser Island, close to Kingfisher Resort. Our hope for a straightforward passage across the bay was complicated by a nagging wind just off our bow which built rather than faded; a pair of red lights on our starboard quarter that we could not identify, and fishing boats that manoeuvred irritatingly in the direction of our course. Although we are well lit, we can never be certain if those in charge of these vessels, some of which might be trawling nets, are aware of our presence. Our reward for vigilance through the night was to glide into the anchorage under a superlative sunrise, and being thrilled at the surfacing of a dugong just meters away, before we dropped asleep in our forward cabin after what had been a longish passage of 141nm against the wind from Gladstone.

A calm dawn at Kingfisher Anchorage.

Because we wanted to move on through the Great Sandy Straits - a sinuous platting of sandy waterways which separate Fraser Island from the mainland to Garry’s Anchorage before nightfall that night, we could only enjoy a couple of hours of slumber before rising for a hearty breakfast (pan-toasted cheese and tomato sandwiches), and moving on for the shallows of the Sheridan Flats which required passage at full tide for a keel-boat such as ours. The Great Sandy Straits are all-weather friendly, and make for exceedingly pleasant day cruising with vistas of Fraser Island unfolding to port and the channels and islands of the Straits, forever unfolding to starboard. We had enjoyed Garry’s Anchorage on our passage North and this time, as we anchored there in the late afternoon, we were tempted to unload the duck and stretch our legs ashore, but concerns about sandflies and the threat of mosquitoes left us ship-bound, watching the setting sun gather its pallet of hues in the west.

As russet drifted to mauve and violet in the west, so, as if on cue, a horde of airborne assailants left the forest, on a bee-line for Calista. We were ready for them however, and with screens in place, their assaults came to nothing. Herself, atoning for earlier hurts, took some pathological delight in spraying a batch of these winged warriors when they settled on the outside of our screen. Sweet revenge!

Sunset and sandflies at Gary's Anchorage.

There is nothing like early morning on the Fraser waterways. Misty airs, soft shades punctured by shafts of gold, turtles surfacing, and for us a white bellied sea-eagle, performing aerobatics at the expense of unsuspecting minnows lolling on the mirror surface of the river bend. As trees formed out of the gloom, the forest stirred and came alive with avian and insectivore sopranos altos and tenors all vying for centre stage. As remarkable as this was, we were nudged from our repose by something else, a baleful, haunting, and melancholy call, which pierced and threatened the pre-dawn air. It was a Baskerville-like howl that might well have wafted over the Great Grimpen Mire in the Sherlock Holmes classic. There was no mystery this time however, for this was no sepulchral hound, but rather, in all probability a wandering and love-lorn dingo. All this had a profound affect on us and moved us to call Ian McNamara on the ABC’s Australia All Over, when he appealed with listeners to phone in and provide a voice-pic of their early Sunday surrounds. It was great to have a short chat to the legendary “Macca” from Calista, in the Great Sandy Straits. Better still, a couple of minutes later, my sister Helen called, saying that waking up to her brother chatting on national radio had been a surprise to really make her day.

The radio star talking to "Macca"!

The rest of the day for us however, promised more challenge than “celeb”, as we were soon making our way downstream for the spit at Inskip Point, to negotiate the notorious Wide Bay Bar, bound for Mooloolaba, should conditions permit. Again our timing coincided with a rising full-tide, and we had hoped that a little flotilla of vessels might be gathering at Inskip, and like Emperor Penguins on an ice floe, we might nervously jump in together, not dodging Leopard Seals and Orcas, but rather finding our way out through the surf abeam of Fraser Island and Rainbow Beach to the open sea beyond. We had heard of recent gatherings of yachts at the Point, prior to traversing the bar, but when we got there we were alone. Was there something sinister out there of which we were unaware? Whilst lashing items out on deck to secure them in the surf, we heard of a larger yacht, King Harald that had just cleared the bar, bound for Coffs Harbour. That was good enough for us, and with Coast Guard Tin Can Bay alerted, we headed for the passage to the bar.

The outside of Skip Point with the whitecaps on the shallow bar breaking.

The Wide Bay Bar requires skippers to tightly adhere to three GPS points on a dogleg passage, to find the best channel through the surf. It is fascinating, and almost eerie to be piloting this channel, with waves cascading over the numerous bars, seemingly only metres away. We noted that well out to sea, we traversed a bar of only 10 foot in depth, which must cause swells to break in heavier seas. We were relieved to be clear of the Bar, and as we made for Double Island Point, our thoughts went back to Fred and Audrey Green and tough little Coorong. We would never want to face this area with conditions as wild as Fred had depicted. It was frightening to contemplate!

Menacing waves breaking nearby on the outer bar.

At last!! We had wind on the beam and under the eager Nor – Easter we unfurled all canvas and with almost a whoop of joy, we turned the brine into foam and Calista was away. This was the sleigh ride that we had so long yearned for; 48 miles or so of off the wind sailing; the very stuff of dreams. We had not experienced conditions like this since leaving Townsville, and now if we were lucky, we might be tied up in Mooloolaba before midnight. In the end the breeze faded from its stellar 15-20 knots to a fluky 10 knots and less a few miles from the entrance, but with the lights of the Sunshine Coast abeam, and the Lighthouse on Mooloolaba’s Point Cartwright beckoning, we were happy to bow to reality and motor the last bit into harbour. We had returned to Mooloolaba, one of our favourite ports of call.

A lovely sail to Mooloolaba...at last!

Picture this. Calista is securely tethered at the Wharf Marina, and for us surf-loving souls we have but a towel-over-shoulder stroll across the road and past the Mooloolaba Surf Club, before we plunge into the sea. Stroll down the beach and we can swim for a few hundred metres before a vigorous body surf and then back for a hearty breakfast. This close proximity of sail and surf can be enjoyed in very few places in Australia, let alone the world, and for the two of us, addicted to both, we were in recreational heaven. We felt like pinching ourselves.

Bliss... a beach with surf, no sandflies or stingers only 100 metres from the Wharf Marina.

Our first day at Mooloolaba unfolded with a watch off the wrist timelessness that saw us alternately lounging on the beach, strolling to the shops for fish and chips, and returning to the beach to indulge in another plunge in the surf, or two, or three! As the sun settled in the west we confess to nodding off on our towels in the late afternoon sun as the beach going families, backpackers and boys in boardies gathered their buckets, spades, and mobiles to head for home. Roused by the public announcement that the Beach Patrol was about to call it a day, had time for one more plunge before the most difficult decision of the day. We were torn between heading upstairs for the Surf Club’s legendary all you can eat carvery – a strong chance given energy expenditure in the surf - or heading for The Curry Bowl, the local eatery that, has so far taken out our award for the premier eatery of the voyage (herself’s magnificent on-board stir fries notwithstanding!). The glorious blend of flavours at the Curry Bowl makes it a gastronomic triumph. If news of an imminent asteroid collision gave us just an hour or so to enjoy, a Mooloolaba body surf, followed by an immediate booking at The Curry Bowl would be an appropriate response!

Another sumptuos meal at the Curry Bowl.

Either way we resolved that as the evening unfolded we would stroll along the seaside promenade and head, unerringly for a venue that has taken out our retail award for the “Shop of the Voyage”, literally by the length of the strait. It would be crass to describe Sapien Arts as a shop because its baubles, trinkets, artwork and enchanting pieces of oriental craft, drawn from exotic places like Marrakesh and Mysore make it more like a Lonely Planet tour of bazarrs on the Old Silk Road. Sapien Arts is a taste of Old Delhi, Darjeeling and Kathmandu, next to the Ice Cream Shop in Mooloolaba. Teens welded to their ipods miss this place entirely, but we browse for ages, and with each visit, there are always new treasures to discover.

Inside the amazing Sapien Arts shop.

Although we have portrayed life in Mooloolaba as a litany of languid experiences, there were still a host of things to do on board, like refuelling, having the experts complete the realignment of the drive system on the new motor, and the one that Cookie loves, the trip up the mast to check globes on the mast light, and to service the wind instrument at the top of the mast, that has been reading incorrectly after the treatment that it has received out at sea. Cruising is fixing your boat in exotic places, so they say.

Calista at the Wharf Marina with Cookie up the mast enjoying the view!

With our beachside experiences continuing, and our social calendar including a welcome re-connection with good friends Andy Campbell and partner Allyson over a bowl of Thai, our constant monitoring of BOM weather came up with the annoying news that another batch of strong Sou-Easters was on the way, and if we wanted to make it across Moreton Bay to the Gold Coast before the change, we would have to pack up our beach towels and be on our way. Unlike land-based travellers, our itinerary is dictated almost entirely by the winds, the tides and the seas.