Mooloolaba - Gold Coast 18/11 - 25/11

The wonderful Wharf Marina precinct.

Leaving Mooloolaba was hard but necessary, and like crossing Hervey Bay to Fraser Island, we now needed to ply the waters of Moreton Bay prior to the tempest. Again we cleared harbour before the bacon was sizzling in the beachside cafes, and just beyond Point Cartwright we had to alter course to make way for a towering container ship, ploughing its way up the coast. This was the spot where Jessica Watson nearly came to an early grief, and it is easy to see how these steel leviathans come over the horizon and are on you, in what seems a blink of an eye. For us, it was daylight, there were two of us and we were not exhausted by the hoopla of departing on the journey of a lifetime.

It's a good idea to avoid these... this came close!

Later, nearing the shoals of the North-East passage offshore from Moreton Island, there were further challenges with swell and an outgoing tide, and visual checks confirming that with shifting sand bars, the actual position of the navigation markers differed from what showed on the chart plotter. To not pick the new channel was to risk a conflict with wind against tide waves that were now breaking on the outer bar. The value of constantly checking the screen against the real world was underlined for us both on board Calista. Off Moreton’s Tangalooma Resort, the main ship channel leading to Brisbane runs nearby, and again we had to make way for a big ship heading north. By nightfall we had made over 70 nm to the a secure anchorage in Canipa Passage, in the lee of North Stradbroke Island, and whilst storms had been forecast, we were happy to see the flash and grumble stay well away, on the other side of Moreton Bay.

Storm clouds brewing on approach to Moreton Island

Next day, with winds rising, but us in the shelter of North Stradbroke Island we headed for the Gold Coast via Canipa Passage with our routing following the onshore advice of Cran McLean, who, on Lettin’ Go we had followed up these waterways earlier in the year (see May blogs by clicking on “archive” in our site). At one stage we found ourselves aground and unsure how to find our way out of the shoals until we realised that one of the port beacons had been removed and that we were looking for the channel in the wrong place. Cran had cleverly “passage routed” us around the sand shallows of Jumpinpin Bar (love the name!) which separates North and South Stradbroke Islands leading to the sea, via McKenzie Channel, Tiger Mullet Creek, and Whaller’s Gutter, before we emerged in the safer depths and wider aspect of the aptly named Broadwater. Visibility in nagging drizzle had been poor, and without Cran’s advice about the best way through the labyrinth of creeks in the area, we might still be on some drying bar in the waterways!

Negotiating the waterways in the misty rain.

Eventually, with the Gold Coast high rises forming between scudding showers, we slid out of the remote waterways and found ourselves suddenly abeam of the mansions of Soverign Islands but, with winds rising, we were more interested in port and starboard channel beacons leading to the Gold Coast Seaway than the excesses of the palaces on the Broadwater. We might be strange, but a rustic corrugated iron shack set in the sand dunes, with flotsam of the oceans as decorations, hurricane lamps for lighting and a tinny out the front for transport would do us nicely. We look at the quadruple storied Corporate Castles and wonder how you could live in all of those rooms and where you would put your feet. We slide past these villas, snug in the cockpit of Calista, feeling like happy aliens from another land.

Northern view, Bums Bay.

Gliding past the Seaway, which leads from the Broadwater to the open sea, and looking for a haven, we eschewed the well-heeled marinas to the south, preferring to anchor in the nicely protected Marine Stadium, just north of Seaworld – proudly embraced as “Bum’s Bay” by cruisers – as the Sou-Easter filled in beyond 20 knots. There were things that we were looking forward to doing in our weather induced stopover, and things that we wished to avoid. Primarily, we were keen to keep away from the razzamatazz of the Gold Coast with its garish retail zone at odds with the peace and tranquillity of our recent life at sea. Besides, in a quirk of timing, our arrival coincided with the start of Schoolies, and there were 26,000 reasons why we did not need to make it 26,002 in downtown Surfers! We figured that the revellers should be left to pilot their own way through this week of mayhem and fun. Good luck to them!

Southern view......Twelfth Night waiting at Bums bay for a weather window to head for Adelaide.

We anchored in Bums Bay, next to Twelfth Night, a classy 40 foot Passport cruising yacht that was soon to be delivered to its new owner in Adelaide. On board was good friend Graham Daniels, whose cheery smile was well known to us from our trips to Port Lincoln, and our first meeting some three years ago when Graham, and his son Tom, had delivered Calista from Mooloolaba to Wirrina, from the stewardship of Derek and Bella, now on Pandana. Graham, recommended to us by Port Lincoln marine icon Andy Haldane, had piloted Calista to SA in the remarkable time of 11 days and 19 hours, a Blue Ribband like feat that drew acclaim from our circle of cruising friends back in Adelaide. It was hardly surprising that they called us seeking Graham’s contact details when one of them purchased Twelfth Night, and needed a master mariner to deliver her to her new home. We had been in touch with Graham over the last few weeks about his delivery plans, wondering if we might re-connect at the Gold Coast, and now with Graham and crew Danny delayed by the weather now brewing, and us arriving to ride it out, we were delighted that our orbits had aligned for a day or two.

A great night with Graham & Danny on Calista.

A high pressure system had cemented itself in the eastern Tasman Sea and was directing heavy winds onto Australia’s East Coast but as Graham and ourselves were noting, that from about Cape Byron to the south, the winds deflected south and would make for viable seat-of-the-pants passage making, whilst to the north, and toward the Gold Coast, the winds bent to the NW, delivering a hideous Sou-Easter to Gold Coast shores. If a small weather widow emerged, Graham was prepared to accept some hours of hardship at sea, if the prospect of better conditions further south was in the offing. Having endured so much contrary weather south from Townsville, we were resolved to holing up in Bum’s Bay until conditions ameliorated. Meantime, it was great to have “the boys” on board for a meal and our own low-key festivities, whilst to the south the Schoolies were in high octane overdrive. It seemed that with a bit of pluck, Graham and Danny might set off in two days time when a small hole in a week of heavy winds was available.

For us, there were things to do on board, and at the Southport Yacht Club, a duck ride and 20 minute walk away, we had the chance to re-connect with Neville off True Story, and bid him farewell. Then, with wind and rain in the ascendant, and even locals bemoaning the weather – calls of “can’t remember so much weather like this!” were common – we resolved to make the best of things by hiring a car for a couple of days to do a costal hop to Cooloongatta, and a longer excursion to one of our favourite places, Byron Bay, and the legendary Cape Byron, Australia’s most easterly point.

Our very red car at Point Danger.

Our “Surf Crew” trip to the fabled point breaks off Greenmount and Kirra also included a visit to the Point Danger Marine Rescue Station where we looked on in astonishment as a cruising yacht headed out of the Tweed to play a dangerous game of dodgem with the surf breaking beyond the breakwater. This was either an act of great courage, or crass stupidity, depending on how one viewed it. On this occasion the yacht got lucky, and after some bashing and crashing in the wild conditions, and moments where spray enveloped the ship, the vessel made it to the open sea. We last saw the boat rolling hideously, and disappearing in the troughs between the swells as it made its way abeam of the reefs off Point Danger. They must have had some desperate reason to head south. We were glad that Calista was back safely nid-nodding on anchor in Bum’s Bay!

On the balcony of the Rainbow Beach Surf Club after a great lunch.

After this excitement an excellent lunch on the balcony of the Rainbow Beach Surf Club overlooking the Rip Curl Pro point break, and watching the locals carve the crests at Snapper Rocks and Kirra, had restored our equilibrium. There were some fabulous surfers out there, and it seemed that their etiquette, in relation to surf protocols such as who “owned” the wave, matched their exquisite skills. Later in the afternoon we plunged in for a body surf at Currumbin, where the sweeping wind blown currents heading north had us keeping close to shore and thinking longingly of Mooloolaba.

The delightful main street of Bangalow.

Next day in our mail-box red buzz box (aka Getz), we headed south on the motorway, tie-dyed scarves and all, bound for Byron. On our way north in May we had hoped to call in to Ballina to reconnect with Cookie’s former aquatics colleague, Serena Cox who lives near Byron with husband Matt and their young family. At the time, swell forecasts prevented a Ballina entrance, so we now hoped to somehow connect with Serena in our fleeting hours at Byron. Serena, from a devoted surfing family in SA, had set up a successful Surfing School at Byron where her skills on a board, plus her infectious personality were serving her well. Yes, people feel good being around Serena. Last year on a brief return to nearby Middleton on SA’s South Coast, Serena had talked of life in the quaint little town of Bangalow, tucked in the ranges just out of Byron. It had sounded wonderful, so we thought a brief detour to this retreat in the ranges could be really worth it.

Colin with one of the colourful locals.

Bangalow more than lived up to Serena’s rating, and we could have wiled away far more than a couple of hours there. It is a town where preservation of colonial character is now supported by a delicious array of browsy shops, cafés and places of interest. The art deco Bangalow pub had a parlour to enchant and a menu to match, whilst just a few verandas down the street you walk into a Persian rug shop whose wares, drawn from the Khyber to Khartoum, might easily have graced the well-heeled locale of Toorak Road in Melbourne. Equanimity and tolerance are silent certainties here as alongside the Craft Centre of the Bangalow Country Womens Assoc. (the CWA don’t do Factory Outlets!), where obedience to God Queen and Country are mandatory, you can drift into a Sub Continental Bazzar, where posters of Ganesh vie for space alongside the soothing words and images of His Holiness, the D Lama Esq.

An amazing Persian carpet shop, like the ones we saw in Darjeeling, India.

The arty crafties, bless their little Kaftans, have embraced the town and the waft of incense, filtered coffee and oven baked pastries pervaded all. Alongside old wares, antiques, and trinkety baubles came the soothing feeling of yin, yang, and peace with the world. Ommmmmm. We were suddenly cocooned in Bangalow’s tranquillity, and after drooling over the menus at the Asian and Indian eateries, we settled upon a mango smoothie at the corner café that, on reflection, ought to be a template upon which all further smoothies in this world are constructed. We supped on this golden delight, and so fell under its trance that we drifted away without settling our bill (note the honesty and veracity of this chronicle) and a distraught scullery maid had to pursue the two outsiders down the road to extract remittance. With bowing, scraping, and feeble apologies, and under the probing gaze of a table of locals - into their third soy latte - we slunk back to settle our account. We were not used to an eatery where a sense of trust allowed one to settle, after supping. That will have to remain our flimsy defence. After this dreadful lapse we felt it prudent to scuttle out of town before our mugshots appeared on the local noticeboard!

Great to be back at Byron Bay, one of our favourite places.

Descending from the ranges, and entering the ever expanding outskirts of Byron, we realised that in leaving Surfers to steer away from the hordes of schoolies, we had seriously miscalculated! One glance at the seething masses of young things along the main drag – your bloggist took two glances – suggested that the true epicentre of the “rite of passage” party time may not be the Gold Coast, but here in Byron, and here we were in the thick of it. Our arrival had clearly altered the down-town age demographics. It was hard to get a park, and once out and on foot, the whiff of testosterone, last night’s grog, and “something else” was everywhere. Now past noon, it was recovery time for our next generation of community leaders, professionals, and captains of industry, but their drawn faces and lascivious looks suggested that the here and now, and not the challenges of the future dominated their thinking. There were amusing sights everywhere, but no hint of malicious intent, as a majority of those now upright and mobile were using their iphones in a forlorn attempt to reconnect with friends and to reconstruct the events beyond last night’s mosh pit. “Did I really do …What?!”, I think I heard one say.

Gazing out to sea at our next passage, from the Cape Byron Lighthouse.

The raw Sou-Easter had ruined beach plans for the graduates, and our vision of a swim at the main beach seemed to be in tatters, too. After some crowd navigation we sought refuge in the excellent Cape Byron Gallery which specialises in coastal photography drawn from this beautiful region. Schoolies only do pics of human scenery we figured. A couple of examples drawn from this gallery are on our walls at home and remind us of the uniqueness of Byron Bay. The only trouble is that it would appear that we are not the only ones attracted to its qualities, so after lunch at one of the many healthy, and not so healthy options available – being not in recovery mode we selected the former – we headed for the local Longboard Shop where surf wares beyond the predictability of normal surf shops might be obtained. We were not disappointed, and moreover, the laid back manager – by definition in Byron – not only knew Serena, but gave us her number to call. Stepping outside, and across the road, who should nearly run us down, but Serena! Yin, yang, karma, luck, destiny, call it what you like! Serena could hardly believe it, and neither could we.

The most eastern point in Australia... The Cape Byron lighthouse.

In no time we had arranged to call in to Serena’s later in the afternoon before heading for Cape Byron, that noble promontory where once upon a time we had wondered what it would be like to sail past the lighthouse in a boat of our own. How good would that be! With winds due to back to the East in a couple of days, we were hoping to actually do this, and if things aligned, Serena, Matt and crew might want to go up to the Cape to see us sail past, if we could manage to get there in daylight hours. By now the sun was revealing itself and to celebrate its return we headed for the less populated Watego’s Beach where a plunge in the surf preceded an all-too-brief re-connection with Serena, her sister Theresa, her cousin and a couple of energetic little tackers. On our way back to the Gold Coast via the coastal drive, Cookie’s sleuthing in local brochures saw us at the Tweed Heads Golf Club, on the banks of the Tweed, to sup on their fabled smorgasboard spread. This proved to be a gourmand’s hole in one and left us wending our way back to a darkened Calista wondering how we could cram anything else into the day.

The view back across to Byron Bay from the Lighthouse, the million dollar homes behind Watego Beach in the foreground.

Before departing the Gold Coast for waters to the south, there was one more event on our agenda that we had warmly anticipated. Our good friends Ann and Cran McLean off Lettin Go had planned to re-connect with us at Mooloolaba, but Cran had been laid low with a chest complaint, so we resolved to re-schedule for the Gold Coast, before we headed south beyond the border. With Cran’s sister, Cherie a welcome addition to our party, we headed for the Tandoori Palace Restaurant in Southport where the waft of sub-continental spices led us in out of the rain. With waiters fussing like tugs around a bulk carrier docking, we munched, shared and sated ourselves into a contented state where slumber was imminent. Ann and Cran presented us with a Blue Water Tested badge, plus a superb bottle of Fox Creek Champagne, that they insist we drain on our safe return to SA. This was a wonderful gesture from this fine couple, and it was hard to head back to our ship later in the evening, knowing that it might be some time before our paths cross again. We know that they will be following our return voyage with intent, and that, if required, Cran’s weather routing skills on the sea miles before us, are only a phone call away. Before leaving home a nautical sage suggested to us that whilst cruising, the scenery will be good, but not as good as the people you meet alon

g the way. How true this has proved to be!

Cran & Ann's lovely gift.. we were so busy talking and having a great time we forgot to take a photo on the night!

Next day the Sou-Easters finally lost their purchase, and as winds shifted East, we knew that it was time to go. Cran had told us that when the wind shifts to the North East, it is the time to make miles to the South whilst it lasts. The entire coast of New South Wales lay before us even before we thought of Bass Strait and beyond. The forecast had Nor-Easters posted on the northern NSW coast for the next few days, and we needed to be out at sea to make the most of them.