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.

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.

Yeppoon - Gladstone 3/11 - 11/11

The leafy gardens surrounding the Keppel Bay Marina .

Our time at the friendly Keppel Bay Marina started on a high note. We had arrived from Great Keppel Island with sumptuous timing, considering the wind and rain forecast for the next day was some hours away, leaving balmy conditions outdoor for the Barbecue – Bistro put on for marine souls good and true, compliments of the management. News of the event had spread, however and the catering for the event was stretched to the limit, with a few participants, we felt, having thin links to the sea! We had a fine night, in particular re-connecting with Paul and Cathy off Jemima, and their friends Steve and Dulcie. Paul was facing difficult times, having to leave the next day with bereavement in the family, but Cathy was a beacon of effervescence, with a smile to light up the night. Dulcie, also from PNG had recently arrived in Australia with Steve, having met whilst he was on managerial duties in Port Moresby. With good food and warmth of company, it was one of those times when it got late quickly.

After a washout the following day when an inch of rain fell on the Marina, Friday dawned clearer and Brian the mechanic was on, board early to complete the 50hr service on the new motor, including an alignment of the drive shaft. Brian obviously knows his spanners, and ultimately we found out that at $110 per hour, his professional services come at some cost! A brain surgeon would have been cheaper, muttered one of our crew!

The friendly Capricorn Coast Cruising Club

Keppel Bay Marina provides an excellent service where marina clients can book a courtesy car for a couple of hours to head for nearby Yeppoon for reprovisioning. Cathy joined us on this jaunt and it was great to spend some more time with her. She has been in Australia for many years, and her trip back to PNG with David was the first time that she had re-connected with family for a very long time. Later, courtesy of Cathy, we had a look at Jemima, an Oceanic ’46 with excellent pedigree. Back on board, the latest weather suggested that the SE might soften in the morning enough for us to make a dash to Hummocky Island some 20nm away. Sue and Tremain off Kool Sid had praised this anchorage which sits on a twin “hummocky” island just a few miles north of the better known Cape Capricorn. As Hummocky would be a new stopover for us, we thought that it was worth investigating. From Yeppoon, craft like ours making south can take the seaward passage to Hummocky and then to Cape Capricorn just beyond, before making across the broad approach to the port of Gladstone with Bustard Head, the Town of 1770, and ultimately, to Bundaberg on Hervey Bay. There is another and unique alternative to the “Cape Cap” route, involving negotiating the sheltered waterway known as “the Narrows”, and when the wind is hard from the SE, this route grows in its attractiveness.

A disappointing retreat from Hummocky Island.

Our passage to Hummocky the next day started promisingly, but became harder as we went as the Sou-Easter piped in, smack on our bow. Closing on the anchorage in the early afternoon with another yacht ahead, we noticed a tidal rip with standing waves sweeping through the bay where we would want to anchor so the effort to get to Hummocky Island was clearly wasted, and the wind swept seas ahead to Cape Capricorn looked equally untenable. Our original plan was to head for The Narrows to the west, after a night stopover at Hummocky, but now with Hummocky a scratching, we had time to bear away and make for the legendary Narrows, prior to sunset.

The mangove lined waterway .. "The Narrows"

The “Narrows” is a thin tidal waterway separating Curtis Island from the mainland, with the opening to the south leading to the industrial port of Gladstone, and the northern exit leading to Yeppoon. Being some 25nm by12nm in size, Curtis Island is a large chunk of land nestling along the Qld coast, with the probing finger of Cape Capricorn spearing into the Capricorn Channel in the east. Lined with mangroves for its greater part, waters from both “ends” meet at the legendary Cattle Crossing, which dries at low tide permitting, for a time, the passage of bovines to and from the pastures on Curtis, whilst at high tide there is sufficient depth for a keelboat such as ours to scrape through, provided all of the crew breathe in! This is the first time that we have plied a waterway that is shared, alternately, with ruminate quadrupeds! From colonial times local users of this waterway have adroitly worked the tides to further both their marine and landed needs, although for newcomers like us, the benefits of the passage came with the fear of a stranding on a falling tide, and a longer than planned stay in the vicinity! Detailed tidal information, advice in cruising guides, and the benefits of on-board chart-plotter technology, gave us a pinch of confidence in planning this passage, although lingering concerns about the waterway would last until we were “through”.

The muddy waters on approach to the Narrows.

In an hour or two from Hummocky Island, we had closed the entrance to The Narrows at Sea Hill Point on Keppel Bay, but long before this we were aware that we were entering a very different environment indeed. Nearing this point, the sea had turned a clay colour, reminding us of our first broad water foray in our first yacht, the wonderful 26’ “trailerable” Crystal Voyager. We had sailed from Goolwa near the mouth of the Murray, and on entering Lake Alexandrina abeam of Point Sturt the lake horizon ahead met the azure of a summer sky in an unbroken line. It was our first open-water navigation challenge, and we fondly recall how first the trees on Nalpa Station became evident and the chiselled shape of Pomanda Island at the entrance to the Murray, confirmed that we were on course. This voyage probably sowed the seeds of our current odyssey and in the cockpit of Calista we recalled with great fondness weekends where we would sail the 40nm to Wellington across Lake Alexandrina, dine at the local Pub, and make our way home to the Goolwa Regatta Yacht Club on the Sunday. At the time we had no idea what we were getting ourselves in to. Now, the low form of Curtis Island to port, and the dun colour of the water, from the mighty Fitzroy River that exits nearby, reminded us uncannily of the Lower Lakes in SA. At sea there is ample time for reflection.

Could this be Lake Alexandrina?!

Our plan for traversing The Narrows, involved us entering the Keppel Bay end, heading up the waterway for a few miles and anchoring overnight in Badger Creek, before making for the Cattle Crossing on the rising morning tide. With a tide nearing 4 metres in the offing, and us drawing under 1.8m, we felt it would be ok to get through. Settling in Badger Creek in late afternoon in a tranquil mangrove lined setting, had us contemplating “sundowners” in the back cockpit until squadrons of mosquitos honed in on us, driving us below. Cookie has been a match for these airborne fiends, as before leaving home she had constructed flexible flyscreens for our main hatch and our main cabin hatch, above, out of screen cloth and the clever use of marine lead rope. In Badger Creek, these wonderfully creative devices earned their keep, and the “mozzies” had met their match.

Another magic sunset... Badger Creek.

Next day our plan involved making for the Cattle Crossing with an hour or so of rising tide to run, using the navigation leads and markers to guide us through. When the iconic cattle yards drew abeam we had 1.8 feet under our keel, and soon, with the passage broadening, we were through. In no time at all, it seemed, the outline of huge ships at wharves ahead, and the towers and gantries of port infrastructure, confirmed that we had reached Gladstone. Our passage through The Narrows, apart from delivering us from a beating off Cape Capricorn, had been a fascinating interlude, so different from all of the other experiences on our journey. As a postscript, we hear that with the discovery of Natural Gas on Curtis Island, a bridge across the Cattle Crossing may be in the offing, and if this eventuates, passage by yachts like Calista may become a thing of the past. We are so glad that we experienced The Narrows, this time around.

The Cattle Crossing with water!

Safely through negotiating the maze of beacons.

There were a number of good things about being in Gladstone, apart from gaining shelter from the Sou-Easters that would not go away! For one, at under $30/night, a pen at the Gladstone Marina, was the most economical that we have found on the coast. Then after lengthy negotiations with underwriters, came the email news that almost all of the cost of installing the new motor would be met by the insurers. This was welcome news because in order to leave Townsville, with a new motor below, we had been forced to finance the total installation plus costs (over $25,000), ourselves. We simply could not wait for the insurance process to undertake its unknown period of gestation. With the great help of Rosshaven Marine, and a pinch of subterfuge, we were done, dusted, and on our way, with the insurers believing that the motor was still in a box in the workshop. Now the ordeal was over and the money was in the bank. The other thing about being in Gladstone was the opportunity to investigate another destination, because we have found all ports to be different and the sense of land based “discovery” has added greatly to our seaborne experiences.

Enroute to the Gladstone Marine past busy shipping wharves.

Ashore, however, we found that downtown Gladstone had not much to offer. A new shopping precinct on the outskirts seems to have sapped lifeblood from Gladstone Central, and although we had looked forward to a meal and convivialities at the Gladstone Yacht Club, we found that as in some other prime locations, a club leasing a prime vantage point to a restaurateur results in elevated, white napkin prices, beyond the expectation of cruisers. The other annoying trait is that of a price of a main course being inflated, if you enjoy a salad, and maybe a sauce to embellish your meal. With free press button barbecues in a fine marina-side setting, and excellent fish available at the local co-operative, we left the Yacht Club minus our patronage.

The local chef cooked up a storm....wouldn't get food like that at the Yacht Club !

Great restaurant with garden and water views!

With the ever nagging Sou-Easter still bearing its teeth, a layup of a few days was inevitable, so we hired a car in order to head for the nearby locations of 1770, and Agnes Waters, and the much anticipated prospect of making it to Bundaberg to see our wonderful friends Audrey and Fred Green. With the weather being so uncertain, we were not sure if a stopover in Bundaberg would be possible, and we were so keen to see Audrey and Fred before heading south.

Our racey hire car.

If downtown Gladstone was a disappointment, then the twin locales of 1770, and Agnes Waters, just south of Bustard Head, were an absolute highlight. Good friend from home Mary-Alice Ballantine, having a charming “Queenslander” set in wooded acreage just out of 1770, had long extolled the virtues of the region, and once we were there we could see how easy it would be to come under its spell. “MA” was right! What at a delight the locale is, with its natural setting of wilderness and waterways being complimented by the first surf to be seen on the coast south of the Barrier Reef. We could have easily spent days, not just hours here, and our impression was not dimmed by the showers that had come in with the Sou-Easters.

Mary-Alices' beautiful Queenslander on 40 acres of scrub. It's for sale so let us know if you're interested.

At last a surf beach... pity it was so wet & cloudy.

Heading south to Bundaberg added another dimension to our day with Audrey and Fred being so welcoming and us being so keen to hear of their reminiscences of their voyages in Coorong around Australia, and around the world. Hearing of our motor-less journey across the Coral Sea saw Fred smile wistfully and share that when he had embarked on his solo voyage from Fremantle to South Africa, he had discovered that his motor was defunct, just one day out into the Indian Ocean. He made landfall across the ocean and somehow found his way into ports under sail alone. His remarkable story again had us putting our own experience in perspective.

Fred in his studio with his great water colour of the Coorong.

Then when we asked about traversing the notorious Wide Bay Bar, that we would soon face in Calista, Fred and Audrey shared an experience in Coorong when with winds and seas in turmoil they faced the bar from outside, following a hard slog up the East Coast. They simply had to get into shelter behind Fraser Island and Fred resolved to use his immense skill as a surf-boat “sweep”, and his innate ability to “read” surf to find a way through the maelstrom. With Audrey sent below and the washboards in (Fred believed that if Coorong was upended in the surf, he had built her with the strength needed to wash Audrey, and yacht ashore!), and himself stripped to surf-boat attire (he reasoned that, if necessary, he could swim in through the surf like he had done in big seas off the Goolwa coast), he examined the backs of the breaking waves to pick the best way in. Then with Coorong in a new guise as a 34’ surfboat, he picked his moment and plunged on through the roaring surf to safety. Just like that! Ashore they discovered that the “Bar” was “closed” due to the conditions; closed that is to all bar the remarkable Fred and Audrey Green. There was much to think about as we made our way back to Gladstone to plan our next leg, heading south in the direction of Fraser Island and the Wide Bay Bar. We had decided to get away early the next day to take advantage of the morning tide.

Auckland Creek .. The Gladstone Marine entrance is at top left.

Townsville - Yeppoon 25/10 - 3/11

Apt words of wisdom carved into a rock on Middle Percy Island......

If our arrival in Townsville in August was filled with a sense of achievement, and great expectations for our voyage to the Louisiades to come, then our departure across Cleveland Bay, holding Magnetic Island to port had us feeling a sense of release, and the eternal thrill of feeling our little ship carve her way through the billows. Kel and Helga, on Mojo just a mile or two ahead, were also making south, and given our circumstances we were keen to put some miles under our keel.

Great to be at sea again......Townsville behind us at last!

Colin in relaxed mode again.

Normal weather patterns see the prevailing SE trades give way to some northerly tending weather by the end of October, but this year the Sou-Easters had a firm grip and showed no sign of relenting. We resolved to push on into the trades, easing the head some 20degrees to the sea to make travel more comfortable and to ease stresses on our yacht. With the wind building to 15 -20 knots by mid afternoon, we were new-motoring with a reduced main for stability. As afternoon faded, Mojo made a heading to overnight at Cape Upstart, while we gambled on the breeze softening after sunset, and pointing a little to the NE. If things panned out in our favour, we resolved to push on through the night, all the way to the Whitsundays. Unfortunately, although most nights saw the breeze fade in the early eve, on this night it did not, so we pushed on in uncomfortable conditions past the coaling port of Abbott Point toward the port of Bowen. Past midnight the breeze finally softened although by this time we had already adjusted course for the anchorage at Bona Bay on Gloucester Island, where we finally dropped anchor at 0230hrs. We had covered 112 nautical miles, and the glow of Townsville’s lights to the north had long faded into the gloom.

Looking towards Gloucester Passage from the anchorage at Bona Bay.

Next morning we arose to stellar conditions that we rarely saw in our voyage north through the Whitsundays. Bona Bay looked as though it had been downloaded from a tourist website, clear, blue and beautiful. In hauling up our anchor, however, the winch completed the retrieve up to the last metre of chain before whirring and loosing all capacity to lift. Plenty of power was reaching the device, the motor and gearbox seemed fully operational, but transfer of lift to the gypsy had ceased to be. More frustrations and another mechanical breakdown! When would this end? It was clear that we needed to find a troubleshooting safe haven where, if necessary, mechanical expertise was at hand. Being only a couple of hours out of Airlie Beach, we decided to seek the maintenance wharf there to solve our problem. Anchoring in Whitsunday anchorages, as planned was off the agenda until we got the winch fixed. The pity was that with the breeze softening to a rare 10-15 knots, here were the conditions that we had long yearned for, and here we were heading for a Marina!

Anchor trouble again! Armstrong winch engaged!

We called forward to Airlie Marine Electrics, and soon after docking, our winch was dismantled and the diagnosis was that we needed to get a slotted sleeve for the drive shaft on the winch as the key on the winch had failed because it did not fit properly. Adam from AME scurried off to source a sleeve and returned, a touch crestfallen, with the news that a device to fit the unit would have to be ordered in the overnight bag from Brisbane, and that yes we would have to overnight at Airlie, either at the expensive marina or by picking up a $6 a night mooring in the anchorage just outside in the bay. We opted for the outside mooring. Once we had the sleeve, it would be just a 10 minute job to fix the problem. Again we were confounded by more delays, more costs and more mechanical irritations.

"Cruising...Going from port to port fixing your boat!"

Next morning we had an arrangement to have our phone at the ready awaiting the late morning courier. No call came, so by early afternoon we returned to the AME office where we found the staff both mystified and apologetic. They had ordered two packages from “down south”, a very large one that would take a day or two to get here, and our tiny one, travelling business class overnight. “We can’t believe it” they declared, “the big package has arrived, but there is no sign of the small one. Maybe the despatch clerk didn’t see the small one? We are really sorry; this doesn’t normally happen”. We nodded, accepted our fate and resolved to try again another day. We are getting used to despatches getting “lost”. The winch gearbox at Mooloolaba, Easy Foods parcel at Townsville, and, believe it or not, a Yanmar engine “disappeared” for four days in transit to Rosshaven, again in Townsville. Really, how does one lose an engine?!

One upside to the delay was that Kel and Helga had arrived in port, also with winch issues, and there would be an opportunity to join them at the Whitsunday Sailing Club for their renowned Wednesday evening carvery and salad bar. Also we would get a chance to get in some laps at the Airlie Lagoon Pool, provided we could pilot our way between the backpackers.
All was not lost, and both the aquatic and culinary opportunities proved to be highly enjoyable, and we made our way back by duck to our tethered ship, replete, sated, and re-energised. Cookie’s diary which declared that it had been “Buffet Night so Colin ate heaps” carried, admittedly, an element of truth.

Relaing on the balcony of the Whitsunday Sailing Club with Kel & Helga.

Following a brace of redeeming laps in the new day, the errant part duly arrived, and by mid-afternoon we were on our way. With the new motor making merry music below, we made for May’s Bay on Whitsunday Island with an intention of seeking a final snorkel at Border Island, and maybe a visitation to the fabled, but elusive Whitehaven Beach, before making our way south. Cateran Bay at Border Island proved to be disappointing. Again we were out of step with the weather. Having “wasted” light conditions whilst in Airlie, sure enough, the Sou-Easters built again and by the time we got to Border, the visibility for snorkelling was less than desirable. Having got there, we were determined to make the best of it, in one of our last snorkels over coral. There was a giant clam to be marvelled at, with its Picasso like hues, and towards the end of our immersion, we spotted a Queensland Groper seemingly half asleep only a few feet below us as we hovered overhead. Normally fish such as these would dart away, yet this beauty seemed to be reluctant to move, and then we saw why. Fussing about were two striped cleaner wrasse, and the Groper was dreamily at ease on the bottom at a designated cleaning station as the little fish delivered a service of piscatorial pampering. We had come on the scene in the middle of an undersea detailing or a marine massage depending on how one saw this symbiotic event. We never tire of observing and trying to understand the myriad of things to be seen under the sea. Oh to have the knowledge of a marine biologist!

Snorkelling time, in the new stinger suit!

Heading back via Hook Passage.

Back on board Calista we resolved to leave Border, and take a look at Whitehaven before heading for an overnight anchorage, somewhere to the south. Leaving the shelter of Cateran Bay, the path to Whitehaven seemed most unfriendly, so we bore away and made for Hook passage to make our way south in the lee of Whitsunday, Hamilton and then Lindeman Islands. Again the wind was contrary, but by nightfall we were snugly at anchor at Shaw Island in time to enjoy a sublime sunset over Burning Point to the west.

Awesome sunset over Burning Point, Shaw Island.

Leaving Townsville, we were scheduled to have the new motor serviced after 50 hours of operation as part of the running in process. Originally, we had fixed on Mackay as a place to get this done, but now just 38 miles away, we did not have enough hours “on the clock” to get the service done there. Nonetheless, we decided to head for Mackay, refuel there, and if possible catch up with friends from a distant past, who now had an apartment overlooking Mackay Marina. When tethered at Mackay in June we decided that we would try go get in a plunge at Mackay’s “surf” beach, not far from the Mackay Surf Lifesaving Club, and just adjacent to the Marina. A regular weekly “event” back in SA has been to join the group of swimmers who ply the waters of our own Horseshoe Bay on a Thursday afternoon, rain or shine, summer and winter. A long tradition of “Icepicks” swimming has been maintained at our club, although your bloggist remains in a diminishing number of those who shun neoprene, and swim “the Bay” in speedos and bathing cap only.
Peering out of their 4th floor eyrie, in June were David Burke and partner Raelene, and they freely admit to making disparaging remarks about the couple they noted, with towels over shoulders, returning, dripping, from the nearby beach. Then, on closer inspection, David mused to Raelene that “that looks like Colin & Cookie…but surely that can’t be…” For us below, it was Thursday, and we were following tradition; besides, the water at Mackay was like a warm bath compared with the 12degrees that might be the grim reality back home. We have been amused by the concept of “winter” in these parts. In Townsville, few people did recreational laps at the Tobruk Pool in August because it was “winter”! We could not believe it.

We had not seen David and Raelene in aeons, so we were chuffed that in spite of the passage of decades (or decadence!), we still retained some semblance of recognisable structure. As a post-college teacher back in SA Cookie had come to house share with “Burkey” via a mutual friend. It was one of those arrangements that “clicked” and many good times were shared in that modest abode in the western suburbs. Partnering for our first overseas foray overseas together, to India, David decided that we needed a celebration of sorts to send us on our way. A “quiet night” amongst friends on the eve of our departure gained momentum and traction, and we fondly recall arriving at the airport on dawn, bleary and weary, with Burkey waving us off, with us not having the foggiest of notions whether we had what would be needed to tackle the Sub-Continent. In more recent years as a Tourism Teacher, covering the unit on “Preparing for Travel” had me fondly recalling that riotous night on Bickford Street, but sharing none of it with students!

After the swim sighting, David let the matter lapse, but next day, with curiosity lingering, he made an enquiry at the Marina Office whether marine souls answering our description were currently at a berth. With the answer in the affirmative he dashed to our “pen” only to find it empty, with us then at sea making for Brampton Island. He called us – it was one of those “out of the blue” calls – and after some fond reminiscence, we agreed to make for Mackay on the return voyage if conditions and contingencies permitted.

Unusual brown algal blooms filled the waters near Mackay.

Now, leaving Shaw and the persistence of the Sou-Easters still causing us angst, we made for Mackay some 38nm away, with the fond outlines of the Smith group, Brampton, Keswick and St Bees, and the distant and aloof Scawfell to port. The Islands of the Whitsundays, the 100 magic miles, were disappearing astern.

David and Raelene had suggested that we drop in for “a bite”, that this left us ill prepared for the gastronomic sware that unfolded. First they arrived with at Calista with a selection of gourmand offerings, compete with a complimentary, and chilled offering from a winery of renown from our local Langhorne Creek area. Then, ushering us up to their lavish “room(s) with a view”, we settled in to a marvellous evening of reminiscence, catch-up, and a meal that would have graced the table of any culinary establishment. In between successful professional lives, Raelene has obviously developed the skills of dine-in into an art form, and David, forever the connoisseur of the cork, dipped into his formidable selection of first-rate reds, and they fell like skittles. It was a long distance from those rudimentary barbies in the back yard at Bickford Street!
Some time after midnight we gurgled our way back to the modest appointments of Calista, with one ear on the sou’-Easter, and an inner glow about the evening just enjoyed. Thin threads!

A great night with Burkey & Raelene.

The only “downside” to our marvellous night ashore, was that we had resolved that if the SE softened in the night we would make a pre-dawn break from Mackay, in the hope that we could reach the Percy Islands, some 65nm offshore on our way south to the Yeppoon area. At 0330, with the pillow still screaming for attention, a “comfort moment” came with the indication that perhaps the SE had softened, so by 0415 the computer was alert and coastal observations on the Capricorn Coast, plus latest weather updates were being keenly analysed. So with David and Raelene no doubt enjoying a richly deserved lie in, we were up, perhaps not bushy tailed, but freeing our lines for the open sea.

Dodging ore carriers on the way to Curlew Island.

As the new day emerged, we were making a slalom path amongst the bulk carriers anchored in the roads off Hay Point, headed for Curlew Island just 20 or so nautical miles shy of the Percy Isles. On our way north earlier in the year, the weather window allowing a Middle Percy stopover did not permit pausing at the many highly regarded anchorages on islands that dot the local chart. Now at least we determined to anchor at Curlew Island, which according to the cruising notes was one of the premier stop-offs in the region. Given our weary state, we were pleased to find the SE to be not too obdurate, and by mid afternoon the outline of this impressive island with its crescent-shaped beach lay before us. In the anchorage, and probably grumbling about our arrival to dash their tropical solitude, was the yacht Jemima with Dave and his PNG partner Cathy on board. We had last connected, via HF Radio when in the Louisiades, and now, hundreds of sea-miles away we had a chance to meet. This was another thin thread. Cathy pointed out the tracks of a likely turtle-nesting event ashore, so we headed for the beach in our duck to see Curlew for ourselves.

The lovely Curlew Island anchorage.

Ashore, and in the process of ascending a beach-side sand dune we realised a serious lapse in our planning. Swarming around us in countless profusion were numbers of tiny flying insects, and we wondered, too late as it turned out, whether they were sand flies. Soon we were beating a retreat to Calista to fetch the repellent, which, in our muddle-headedness we had left on board. We returned to the beach, for a walk, to marvel at the turtle nest (completed the previous night), and for a most enjoyable swim, but in regards to the sand flies the damage was already done and Cookie, in particular, would be faced with days of misery as a result of their attacks.

Turtle tracks crisscrossed the beach.

Curlew proved to be idyllic, and comfortable as an anchorage, just as the guide had recommended it to be. In the morning, however we were again away early, making for Middle Percy, in the hope of completing the hike to the homestead in the centre of the island, a place enshrined in local nautical folk-lore. The forecast was looking poor after the next couple of days, so time was precious. Again, travelling in the softer airs of the morning, we closed on the Middle Percy anchorage by 0900, and were soon ashore, enjoying the longish stroll up the leafy track to the centre of the island. Long a Mecca for visiting yachts, the path to the homestead presented some picture-perfect views to South Percy Island, a chance for some welcome leg exercise, and along the way was posted some entertaining and uplifting slogans, posted on trees and places of advantage, to lift the spirits and the wearying legs.

The scenic walking track that leads to the Homestead on Middle Percy Island

Looking south towards South Percy Island.

Part-way along the path we met the Island ‘ute with Cate and John, current managers of the island together with Steve, who it turned out had spent some of his early years on nearby Pine Islet where his family held the romantic position of Lighthouse keepers. Cate and John were headed for the mainland and although Steve would be returning later, Cate’s cheery message was “go on up to the house and go in and make yourself at home…just see that the goats don’t get in”. This was typical Percy hospitality.

In days of yore mariners would settle in the anchorage and following a long-held tradition would use the telephone line strung amongst the trees to call to the homestead to secure lunch for the crew, all for a modest, seafaring stipend. Island grown fruits and vegetables, local honey and goat casserole were popular on the menu, and for travelling yachtsmen a visit to Middle Percy became a must. In recognition of their passing, seafarers started leaving inscriptions in the telephone hut to mark their passing, a tradition that has expanded to the hundreds of items of nautical memorabilia (see June Blogs) that festoon the nearby “A Frame” today.

The rustic Homestead, Middle Percy.

As instructed, we parted the goats, fowl, and peacocks outside the house and made ourselves at home, before Steve returned; we “put the billy on” and enjoyed chatting about the island, and what was envisioned for its future. We were drawn to Middle Percy because of Derek and Bella’s effusive stories about “Percy life” following the period that they had spent as caretakers-managers on the island. Being at the homestead, we could now see why this place held such a warm place in their hearts. What an extraordinary and special place is Middle Percy Island! How glad we were that we had made the effort to get there! How important is it that, somehow, its “magic” is preserved!

We were reluctant to leave this special place.

Back on the beach with a rare calm prevailing, we reconnected with our good friends Kel and Helga who had just arrived from Scawfell before bidding them the fondest of farewells, and heading back on board to put to sea. Kel was planning to inch Mojo into the adjacent mangrove lagoon, and with winds from the SE forecast to strengthen to 30 knots they would be as snug as a sand fly in a rug in there. In the lagoon, Mojo would alternatively float and dry on the 4m plus tides, and Kel had set aside a fortnight to get some things done under the waterline, that would save an expensive haul-out at a marina somewhere. He also was looking forward to lending his adept electrical hand to works that might be needed on the island. They were weary of bashing into sou-Easters and were looking forward to languid days without a schedule. Hard to fault, really!

The south easterlies found us just after sunset!

For us, with our need to make south, we needed to cover the long leg of over 120nm and get in to an anchorage near Yeppoon before the strong wind warnings were posted. We left Middle Percy in light airs, hoping that contrary winds would not pester us through the night. We knew that from midnight the entire Shoalwater Bay coast was off limits with a military exercise that involved live firing, and that therefore potential refuges like Pearl Bay were decidedly off limits. Then, almost predictably, the SE filled in, to leave us battling these contrary winds through the night. As we neared High Peak Island with its clutch of dangerous islets extending to the west, there was another menace to contend with. Jemima and another yacht ahead were sharing sorrows over the radio re the “knock” by the 4m tides in the area, which for both of these vessels, apart from the SE’s, had cost them 4knots of their boat speed in the waters around High Peak. By good fortune as much as anything, by the time we reached the area, the tides had changed, leaving just the wind to wrestle with through the night. By contrast to the luscious moon that gleamed on us across the Coral Sea, this night was inky black, and careful navigation past the islands and reefs called for very careful navigation with a great deal of checking and double checking between our printed and electronic charts. We were pleased to see the gnarl of nautical obstacles behind us by Dog Watch time.

By dawn, we rounded the headlands abeam of Port Clinton, and with Great Keppel Island forming on the horizon, we hoped that as the coastline dipped to the SW, so, on this new heading, we would make better progress, and might be able head south under sail alone. Then, as we changed course to the SW, so the wind changed – to blow from the SW!! It seemed that for us, following the military theme, that gaining ground for us had been as difficult as the AIF had found in the Battle of the Somme.

Svenden's anchorage, Great Keppel Island.

It was nearly 1.30 that afternoon, with the wind finally abating, that we dropped anchor in Svendens Bay on Great Keppel Island (GKI to the locals). On our way in we had mused again at the curious titles associated with some islands in waters to the East. Alongside Barren Island lay, curiously, The Child, with Husband and Wife Rocks and an islet called The Egg not far away. We figured that they were so named in the embryonic stage of local nomenclature! As we settled on anchor, we noted two familiar yachts nearby. The first was the South Coast ’36 Kool Sid with Tremain and Sue on board.

Kool Sid setting sail.

We had last crossed bows way back in Wilson’s Promontory on the Victorian coast, and here they were again, all these miles away. They were just as surprised to see us but our re-connection gave a fine excuse to catch up over “sundowners” to share experiences out on the blue. Reconnecting with Tremain and Sue was yet another thin thread and a marvellous opportunity to learn from the experiences of fellow cruisers.

The other yacht anchored nearby, Cooee, with single-hander Jill Knight on board we immediately recognised from her numerous contributions to Australia’s Cruising Helmsman magazine. We dropped past to say hello and to thank her for the many fine articles that she writes. A freelance nautical writer, and a vastly experienced sailor, it was nice to get the chance to meet this well known scribe. She seemed to us to be as fine a person as the stories that she writes.

Jill Knights' classic yacht "Cooee".

We have been guilty of a serious omission in this chronicle, and that relates to the extra crewmember that we have had on board, without papers, down the coast from Townsville. Shortly before our release from Rosshaven, we had noted a shipyard gecko scurrying across our decks late one afternoon, and not long after putting to sea, sure enough, there he (she?) was flitting across the cabin sole and into the deep recess of the quarter berth. We appointed our little translucent friend as Officer in Charge of Invertebrate Control, and gave the creature carte blanche to ingest as many sand flies as he (she?) pleased. Periodically we spotted our OCIC, scooting about, presumably in pursuit of shipboard duties. We became quite fond of our little stowaway although it seemed that if we could apprehend the little lizard, we could put it ashore in a monitor-friendly locale, given the shortage of reptilian company on board. Besides, noted Cookie, if it expired in a closet somewhere, it would create a terrible skink.

The stowaway!

Now at GKI an opportunity presented itself, as not long after arrival, our OCIC made an ill considered dash across the galley floor, and Cookie’s sharp hands soon had it apprehended. In putting ashore to explore the beaches on the NE of GKI, we took our little friend ashore and he (she?) leapt in a trice into a bush and disappeared into the undergrowth. There was not a croak, or a blink of thanks, mind you, just a quick dash for freedom. Our little friend certainly had a story to tell!

A very happy gecko.

The beaches on Great Keppel are superb and well worth the rock clambering and the trudge through the bush to reach. Being offshore and presumably away from the nuisance of stingers, the chance to plunge in clear blue waters was one that we relished.

One of the many pristine beaches on GKI.

Back on board however, the weather forecast suggested that the slog from Middle Percy had indeed been a wise move and that a short foray across the 9 mile passage and into the Keppel Bay Marina at Yeppoon would give respite from the weather to come. Besides, it would provide an opportunity to get the required service and alignment work on the motor completed, and just by chance we learned that Keppel Bay management was hosting a bistro style barbecue, and all the trimmings for visiting yachties and the local marine community. Having some bona fides by this time as seaborne travellers we headed for Keppel Bay in high anticipation of a stellar evening amongst nautical friends. Yeppoon was a desirable place to be in a blow, and the Marina at Rosslyn Bay was one of our favourites. For a few days our making of ground to the south would have to wait.

Keppel Bay Marina.