Townsville-Louisiades

Townsville to Louisiade Archipelago ( the Coral Sea Crossing)

(Followers of our Blog, please note - we will be posting this and other Louisiade entries via Satphone and hence pics [sadly] will be absent and the text will be briefer. We will, however, provide Latitude and Longitude details of our anchorages, and you may follow us on Google Earth)

We cleared Customs in Townsville on Monday 16/8, 1000hrs with official forms, check of medications, Duty Free, passports, and our safety systems by the two officers who came on board. Our Australian Registered Ship then has 48 hrs to exit Australian waters. Calista is groaning under weight of provisions, fuel, water, - enough for over two months.

Departed Townsville 1445hrs in light conditions to overnight at Magnetic Island, and left Horseshoe Bay on the island at 0615 on 17/8 in 15kn ESE in company with Pandana for the 590nm passage to the Duchateau Islands in the Louisiades. At 6kn our chartplotter gives our passage time of 99hrs, and we are nervously excited as we make for Magnetic Passage through the Great Barrier Reef. It is our moment of truth. We have soon lost sight of land and our Fleming Wind Vane is holding our course admirably. Cleared Myrmidon Reef 4.10pm and in rougher conditions entered the Coral Sea. By next morning, with little sleep we have covered 147 nm - great going.

For the next two days with our Fleming holding course we encountered winds 20-25kn but uncomfortably on our bow. Calista was handling the conditions well but the passage had become an uncomfortable bash with spray everywhere, and movement on board, and sleep below very difficult. The hardest parts were in the early hours, with the part moon gone, trying to keep dry on watch in the cockpit.

Day four brought a new problem, because although the angle of the wind had improved and we could really fly, we had to slow the boat down so that we did not reach the reefs off Duchateau in darkness. We sailed Calista like a hobbled kelpie. Our final night at sea brought a new challenge, that of extensive ship traffic, to and from Australia via the Jomard Entrance to Asia.

Dawn on Sat 21/8 saw us searching the horizon ahead for signs of islands, and soon, there they were! By 8.45 we were abeam of Duchateau (11.18S, 152.23E) and at 0950hrs our anchor was deployed in the Pana Bobai Ana Is lagoon (11.16S, 152.21E), alongside Pandana with Derek and Bella on board. We had travelled 593.4nm from Townsville, and 3162nm from home. We had made it!

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Airlie Beach - Townsville 22/7 -16/7/2010

The Anchorage at Woodwark Bay.

With the wind firm from the South East, and with the sun beginning to fade, our course for Woodwark Bay, just a handful of miles up the coast from Airlie Beach, left little scope for reflecting on our Whitsunday experience. It made sense, however, for us to head north to new scenery, rather than linger in the Whitsundays until conditions improved. From the sound of the forecasts, winds were not set to abate for some days to come. If we could get to Cape Gloucester and find shelter, there were a host of onshore activities to keep us entertained. The first step, however, was to gain overnight shelter in Woodwark Bay, before pushing on to Gloucester the next day.

As one heads north from Airlie, one of the first things of note is that the legion of charter boats, both bareboat, and backpacker, are left behind. We are back in the land of cruising boats, and those joining us on the path to the north are travelling sailors like ourselves. As we rounded Grimston Point and entered the deep finger of Woodwark Bay, the sea state settled, the impact of the wind lessened, and as we settled on anchor off a sandy beach ashore, it was a different world. Soon the renovated shelters were proving their worth over nibbles, and a coconut curry stir fry was tempting the olfactory from below. It felt good to be making passage again.

Woodwark Bay behind us as we head north to Gloucester Island.

The anchorages to the north of Airlie are poor relations in terms of their recognition, and yet, in Woodwark Bay, after a smooth night where the winds slid harmlessly overhead, we awoke well rested and left the bay for Gloucester at the gentlemanly hour of 0930. Our only regret was that our keenness to seek succour that evening in the locale of Cape Gloucester meant that lingering in a selection of attractive day-stops along the way was probably out of the question. We needed to reach Gloucester on the tide and with the wind forecast to pipe in later we wanted Calista well settled before nightfall. We would have to be content with examining the local environs from sea. Soon, with our eternal friend the Sou-Easter building beyond 20 knots, we cruised northward to George Point at a comfortable 6 knots under headsail alone. Beyond Grassy Island, and drawing abeam of Saddleback Island, our cruising notes suggested that the latter of these isles “has been reported to have a considerable number of Death Adders on it”. This might be a calculated ruse to protect a premium fishing spot, but this serpentine theory had to be left for another time as the wind built to 30knots, and a gust abeam of Saddleback lifted spindrifts from the sea at a ferocious 44knots. There was no time to delay in making for Gloucester Passage.

Big breezes off Saddleback.

Gloucester Island is a towering chunk of land, lying just over 20nm from Airlie, with its craggy Mt Bertha standing over 570m above the sea. Measuring about 8km by 2km, its raised battlements lean into the Sou-Easters, and where a mid-island saddle breaks its imposing spine, the wind compresses and plunges into a cove below which carries the well-earned title of Squally Bay. Like most other islands in the region, Gloucester is a National Park, and although a hike to the top of Mt Bertha would produce a prodigious view, a binocular scan of its untouched uplands suggests that visitors would be well advised to stick to beach walks along the coast. The island remains a tropical wilderness, much visited but rarely traversed by humans.

Making our way through Gloucester passage.

Gloucester Passage is a narrow pass separating Gloucester Island from Cape Gloucester, and although it carries clear navigation beacons, there is reefy ground and shoals just outside the channel, and for newcomers, a daytime passage at high tide is the safest way to go. On the Cape Gloucester side through the passage lie Monte’s Resort, an old favourite amongst yachties, and the newer Cape Gloucester Eco Resort which has installed moorings, which for a fee ($25/night) gives access to Resort facilities including the 25m pool and showers. Our navigation through Gloucester Passage proved to be comfortable, and with a mooring holding our vessel, we had soon launched the tender and were headed ashore. With fewer boats and in more intimate surrounds, it is easier to meet other voyaging travellers, and this unplanned nautical networking adds enormously to the experience, as does cardamom to Goan coffee. On our way ashore we called past a handsome timber yawl and met Roger and Jill who had trailered the Margaret D from their home at Merimbula in Southern NSW, and with our background of having trailered Crystal Voyager to this same region and to this anchorage in 2002, there was a common experience on which we could draw. Roger had been past Commodore of the Twofold Bay Sailing Club in Eden, a port that we will almost certainly re-visit on our way back to SA, later in the year. Ashore, we walked to the renovated and well presented Monte’s Resort, before returning to the Eco-Resort where a shower and a game of pool was a valued pre-cursor to a “treats night” at the Resort Bistro. Roger and Jill had lauded the quality of the fare, and with herself selecting Coral Trout with mango, avocado salsa and seared scallops, and my selection of steak with Asian sauces and condiments, we settled into a most singular evening. After a post dinner chat over coffee with Roger and Jill, we repaired to our duck and returned through the darkness to Calista. Unfortunately, the wind had backed to the south, and we now lay exposed to a nuisance slop that made for uncomfortable sleeping on board. Herself abandoned our forward facilities in favour of greater stability in steerage, amidships.

A great meal at the Eco Resort Restuarant.

Although conditions settled a little overnight, by morning the slop was back and we needed Velcro on our toast at breakfast. It was not long before we abandoned our unstable vessel in favour of firmer terra ashore, although our first move was to churn out some laps in the resort pool, before heading toward Edgecombe Bay on a coast walk to check out the local scenery. About mid-day our attention was drawn to a small ceremony taking place by the sea. It was a young Brazilian couple who were getting married by the sea. They had planned a ceremony on the beach at Whitehaven, but their seaplane had been driven back by the strong Sou-Easters – we know the feeling! Later that afternoon Bella and Derek on Pandana anchored off Monte’s, having come up from Little Jonah Bay, inshore of Saddleback Island. Their anchorage seemed smoother than in front of the Eco Resort, but with the winds persisting, we felt that Bona Bay on Gloucester Island might provide better shelter. In the meantime, another fine evening at the Bistro was enjoyed by a growing coterie, as we re-connected with Roger and Jill and met Jim and Maz whose impressive motor cruiser was moored near ourselves as they too, sought refuge from the pest from the SE.

Enjoying a few laps at the resort pool. (water temp 28 deg.!

Next morning before slipping out of the anchorage for Bona Bay, Jim had us over for a coffee and to take a look at the electronics on the boat that he had recently bought. The nerve centre below had more screens than Harvey Norman, and when we asked how any mortal could figure it all out, he showed us the instruction manual, a thicker document than the Sydney phone book. We were astonished, but then Jim suggested we take a look up on the fly-bridge where lo and behold there was a complete duplicate set of gizmos, a sort of his and hers of the sea. Jim is like an astronaut in a lunar module who just wants to find the toaster! He is thinking of selling for something simpler. Boating like this is too hard.

Back on our simpler ship, we skipped across Gloucester Passage and dropped anchor close to shore on Bona Bay, with Gloucester Island towering above to blunt our ever-lingering Sou-Easter. Ashore, on this lonely and beautiful coastline we were looking forward to exploring the beach although we were circumspect about wandering too far into the bush. Again the cruising guide 100 Magic Miles sapped our resolve, with its cheery message that “there are Death Adders about; if you are moving about at night always carry a torch”. An evening barbie ashore seemed to lose some of its appeal.

The Bona Bay anchorage, with "Wolfmans" tent at the far end of the bay.

Strolling along the remoteness of Bona Bay with focus more on shells at our feet, it was not a serpent that halted us, but rather a sudden voice from the bush. There strung between two trees in a hammock was a German backpacker! Wolfram, an Environmental Lawyer, from Germany, had been dropped over in Bona Bay by Monte’s staff several days earlier, in search of some wilderness time away from the rat-race. Here in Bona Bay, Wolfram was certainly away from the rat-race. There was not a rat in sight, although this creative recluse had perfected solo-volleyball by firing spikes up the slope of the beachside dunes which then returned play to his feet. He had four more days of personal discovery at Bona bay, and beyond that he hoped that a retrieval team from Monte’s would collect him from his green side of the world.
Next day we were joined in Bona by Derek and Bella, and given Bella’s Austrian background and nature, she was soon in animated connection with Wolfram when she met him on an exploration that we undertook to the end of Bona Bay in search of a path beyond the beach through the forest. Heading up a boulder strewn creek bed we headed up the flanks of Gloucester until terrain and time saw us return to the beach. Happily we saw no Death Adders, although Derek discovered a handsome Brown Snake skin, lying as a potent reminder, amongst the cobbles in the creek bed. Crocs and shorts were probably inadequate apparel for our excursion.

Exploring the gully with Bella & Derek.

We ought to record that through Derek and Bella, Wolfram’s last days in these climes became a social whirl after his days in the wilderness. They introduced him to the Bowen yachties who had gathered nearby for the hotly contested ‘Round Gloucester race and the equally earnest celebrations at Monte’s that followed. Re-dubbed “Wolf Man” by the visitors, he was feted, housed, and warmly included in the festivities. We hear that Wolfram was both grateful, but reluctant to leave when his new friends dropped him off at the Proserpine Airport. He has probably found it all a bit hard to explain, back in the wilds of Cologne.

In the meantime, we had taken the opportunity to make for the port of Bowen, via Squally Bay and a lively sail by Middle Island and Stone Island, which protects the entrance to the harbour. With a lowering sky, scudding clouds and a wind that whistled through at 25-30 knots, we covered the 14nm in good time and were soon making ourselves secure in this very different northern town. The harbour at Bowen is limited and many vessels take up for and aft pile berths as the standard accommodation. We were fortunate to secure a berth at the small Bowen Marina, and soon set off to check out the town. Not long after we entered the harbour, we were followed in by the superb septuagenarian of the seas, Nyora with Alex, Suzy, and their two boys Aiden and Jack, who had sailed up from Eden bound for Lizard Island, north of Cairns, and coincidentally shared the same yacht club with Roger and Jill, who by now had headed south. We had briefly met the Nyora crew at Gloucester, and getting to know this wonderful family from Jindabyne was a genuine highlight of our passage to Townsville.

Calista & Nyora at the Bowen Marina

Bowen is as laid back as Airlie is frenetic and where Airlie is pressed for space, Bowen has boulevards as broad as those that Colonel Light bestowed on Adelaide. Bowen has been a poorer cousin in some ways when compared with the Whitsunday bright lights and hoopla, although in recent years it achieved notoriety as the base for the Nicole Kidman, and Hugh Jackman epic, Australia, due to its nautical setting and unique sprinkling of genuine heritage civic buildings and “Queenslander” watering holes. There is no doubt that Bowen embraced the Austraila enterprise, for if one strolls into the local Joachim Bakery, there are signed testimonials from our greats of the silver screen, lauding both the people of Bowen and the delectations to be had from this local oven. On the menu are a Hugh Jackman pie, and a beef and mango chutney pie that had your bloggist in raptures. After all, just out of Bowen is the Big Mango, an attraction with info centre and café attached which offers the highway one travellers a pit stop and digital opportunity on their way south to Airlie, or north to Townsville.

The wide streets of Bowen.

In Bowen, with the wind still whistling down its voluminous streets, we settled on a stroll around town, a little reprovisioning, and a welcome set of laps at the local pool. We had intended to walk to Bowen’s award winning Horseshoe Bay, but ran out of time when an ongoing noise in the steering system that we felt would be quick to fix morphed into an obdurate pest that saw us dismantling half of the boat – or so it seemed to us – before a contortionist’s application of grease to the upper reaches of the rudder post finally silenced the irritant. Yes, you go from port to port fixing your boat. Later at the marina we joined Alex and Suzy from Nyora and the boys at the North Queensland Yacht Club for an exceeding pleasant repast. The NQYC is a cruisy cruising club, which rates highly amongst the yacht clubs that we have visited since leaving SA. Later, with internal contentment leading to easy slumber, we almost missed the early morning event. It was the wind! After over a week of constant harassment, the Sou-Easter had suddenly collapsed, from a torment to a zephyr. Its iron grip was released, and with the morn came the urge to move, to make our way north via Capes Upstart, Bowling Green and Cleveland, on the 110 or so nautical mile passage to Townsville. This was the last leg;at last.

The majestic Cape Upstart.

Making for sea through the North Channel via Stone Island we found a friendly 10-15 knot remnant breeze that saw us poling out a headsail as we viewed Bowen’s growth zone to the north. This pleasant breeze, however, proved to be ephemeral, and before long, after re-furling a flaccid headsail, we were back to making miles under motor, main and autopilot. In the flukey airs we set and then furled sail as the breeze varied. Soon a ship on the horizon actually turned out to be the very long Abbott Point coal loading jetty, with loading infrastructure at it seaward end. After passing this important regional facility, the buttress of an imposing Cape Upstart was rising prominently ahead. By mid afternoon we drew abeam of the cape, and after rounding a plum-pudding of a rock called The Bun, we dropped anchor in the lee of the majestic cape, with sandy beaches, beachside shacks, and the imposing Upstart National Park lifting above to the clouds.

Miles of coves,shacks and clear water.

As night fell on Cape Upstart, we were both taken by the unique charm of the place, and resolved to delay our progress up the coast by a day to go ashore and explore. It turned out being a decision that was richly rewarding from every aspect. By the cape itself we drew ashore in a small enclave of coastal shacks where a mini community lived an idyllic lifestyle in a cove with no roads, and the nearest access to a road being at Mongole Creek 11kms away by sea. Cheryl, one of the owner’s wives met us with her not so fearsome guard terrier, Gus, and gave us a guided tour of the point. Apparently there are some 200 shack owners on the northern flank of Cape Upstart, and with electric power now supplied, life here by the sea had an irresistible allure for all who called the Cape home. We spent the next few hours beach-hopping by duck, exploring nooks and coves and finding some absolute treasures in the process. At every turn the coastal scenery was superb and the variety of dwellings kept our camera clicking. The constant was the wilderness of the National Park heading skywards, and the subtle connection to the sea that is invaluable for all who live here. Clearly, like shacks elsewhere, on a Friday, there were few souls at home. After a dip in front of our “favourite shack”, we repaired to Calista to enjoy the late afternoon, and the sunset over this beautiful place.

The lovely beach shack on a private cove, Cape Upstart.

Next morning, with the breeze at a kinder angle, we obtained a far greater sail assist on our way to Cape Bowling Green, a low-slung sandy spit at the opposite end of geographic qualities when compared with Cape Upstart. We had heard contrasting opinions of Cape Bowling Green, but we resolved to overnight there, both to break up the leg to Townsville, and via experience, to form an opinion for ourselves. The cape is scythe like in shape with low vegetation holding the dunes against attack from the elements. After rounding the tip and securing our anchor we hurried ashore for a swim and a brief explore. The cape can be reached by a long drive along the beach, and apart from a couple of distant palms, some heroic, salt tolerant shrubs, a lighthouse and evidence of a bird rookery, it does not have a lot to attract the visitor. The ocean in the area is tidal and muddy, and our swim was brief, with the benefit being personal laundering, rather than anything else. It is an unremarkable place. Cape Bowling Green reminded us of the Murray Mouth area in SA, minus the appeal. The anchorage lay considerably exposed with the fetch likely to cause a menace if the wind was up. We were happy that the winds were gentle and that in the morning we would be on our way to Townsville. Not far now!

The not so majestic Cape Bowling Green.

The thirty odd nautical miles to Cape Cleveland, before Townsville could be observed, saw the sea regain its azure allure, and the outline of Magnetic Island take form to the north. We could scarcely believe it! We recalled purchasing a map of Australia during our exploration of Eden in southern NSW. We had just crossed Bass Strait, and thought that we had come a long way. Then we looked at the scope of the East Coast of Australia, and we were staggered by how far we had to go to get to Townsville. Now, just beyond the next cape, there it was!!

Enjoying the warm, sunny day near Cape Cleveland.

A quick check of the chart, however told us that now was no time to lower our glasses, as lurking off Cape Cleveland, which guards the Port of Townsville, lay Salamander Reef, and Four-Foot Rock, two undersea nasties, there to challenge us with the tape in sight. Beyond Cleveland, with the leads to the Port in evidence we resolved to take the opportunity to delay our final approach to Townsville, by anchoring in Horseshoe Bay, Magnetic Island, to get the chance to take a look at one of Queensland’s most visited islands. We have come over 2500 nautical miles from Horseshoe Bay, Port Elliot (SA), to a bay with the same name, but with little more than shape, and granite, in common. For the next two nights and a day, we bussed to Maggie’s collection of interesting settlements, bushwalked to some highly attractive coves, and went ashore to enjoy a bistro evening as the lights from vessels anchored in the bay swayed like fireflies.

Colin at Horseshoe Bay, Magnetic Island

Then, on Tuesday 3rd August, four months minus two days since leaving Wirrina Marina in SA, we rounded the NE cape of Magnetic Island and picked up the entrance leads for the Breakwater Marina, Townsville. With our arrival cleared with Coast Guard Townsville, we rounded the breakwater of the marina at 1335hrs, after 2568nm at sea, and visiting 48 separate ports and anchorages. We were thrilled at what we had achieved, and were keen to tie up, and head out to celebrate. Already, though, our thoughts were turning to all that we needed to do to prepare for the big trip, beyond the Great Barrier Reef, and across the Coral Sea to the Louisiade Archipelago off the SE tip of PNG. In the meantime, however, we wanted to enjoy discovering Townsville, Australia’s largest tropical city, and to reflect on some wonderful times in four months at sea. Townsville ! WOW!!

The Breakwater Marina entrance in sight.

We're here!

It did not take us long to settle into life at the Breakwater Marina, and most of the city attractions were just a walk away. Getting ready to leave Australian waters left us with many things to do ranging from having the motor serviced and inspected, provisioning Calista for two months out of the reach of shops and supermarkets, to starting the formal processes with Customs and the like. In between we wanted to sup on the attractions of this fascinating northern city. There were lots of highlights for us both including:

Ø Enjoying the wonderful environment of the Strand, a ribbon seaside park with gardens, fountains, water parks, cafes and walking paths, starting just at the marina. The Strand is a marvellous place for all, by both night and

day. To see the number of people out on the Strand exercising was heartening to see.

We enjoyed the Waterpark with the kids!

Ø Re-connecting with long time friend Greg deNys and his new wife Suzannah, after several years in time and half a continent in distance. Greg, Suzannah, and her teens, Adrian, and Steph. They kindly took us for a tour of Townsville, including up to the towering Mt Stuart which overlooks the city where remarkably, we could just pick out the hook of Cape Bowling Green to the South, and the more prominent form of Hinchinbrook Island to the north.
Ø A “cultural evening” at the local NRL grudge match, Townsville Cowboys vs the Brisbane Broncos. This Qld “derby” had dominated the airways and we thought it would be interesting to go along to check out the “Eastern Code” in the flesh. The contest did not last long, with the Broncos scoring early and often, taking some of the sting out of the crowd, although the Cowboys fought back later to leave some respectability on the scoreboard. A local tradition at these games is for families to bring rugs and to find a spot in steerage out on the mound. This was great to see. We have had our rugby experience, and that will do us for now!

A Cultural evening of rugby!

Ø Lots of swims at the Tobruk Pool, at the start of the Strand, literally a two- minute walk from our ship. This iconic venue saw a host of world records set when distances were set in yards. Lorraine Crapp kicked things off in 1950 with the 880 yard World Mark (11min 02sec), and the names of Konrads, Fraser, Rose and Devitt, etc are etched on the Honour Board at the pool along with some excellent 50’s and 60’s pics dating from wnen Australia ruled the waves. Some 18 world times were set in the pool by the Australians, either individually, or in relays. The “old girl” has recently been refurbished and, happily, will last a while yet. We have swum in lanes where World Records have been set, but alas, that is about where the comparison ends.

Ø Enjoying many strolls around “old central Townsville” where many 19th Century public buildings and traditional pubs have been tastefully restored. There is a positive comparison that might be drawn with some heritage enclaves in Adelaide.

A fine example of Townsville's Architecture.

Ø A morning at Reef HQ, the magnificent tropical aquarium and learning centre, run in conjunction with the Great Barrier Reef Marine Park authority. This is an absolute must for anyone visiting this region, and the quality of the exhibits is stunning. We have come over 2500 miles across the oceans to see Nemo, Dory, and their friends, and here they were, just in front of our face, with no challenging seas, and a Mango Smoothie just meters away.

A close encounter with a Leopard Shark.

Ø A remarkable natural event when a male Peregrine Falcon brought down a pigeon in flight, on the lawn, just beyond Calista’s walkway. This beautiful raptor allowed a close approach to be photographed whilst plucking and devouring its kill. It was hard to comprehend that this was a “wild” bird.

The Peregrine Falcon

Ø Some great social times with the crews of Nyora, Mojo, and Pandana, culminating in a hike to the top of Castle Hill with Bella and Derek to gaze out on Magnetic Island and beyond. It was exciting but more than a bit scary to boot. Out there, there will be no port to seek refuge, and we will have to trust that Calista and her crew are up to the task.

Another trip up the mast! Nice view.

With Calista low in the water with fuel, water and supplies, it is nearly time to go. Cookie has done a wonderful job in masterminding our provisioning from markets, stalls and the big retailers. Our hand trolleys have lugged more provisions and ordinance than the Allies had at the Normandy landing. The officials from Customs have been to clear us and it is nearly time release our lines for the Louisiades. Derek and Bella on Pandana are joining us.

Getting our passport stamps with the Customs boys.

Last night at an Irish pub for our last land-food for awhile, we recalled with fondness the times we had with Bill and Pauline on Tibia where the idea for this journey originally took form. It is a good time to recall Bill’s favourite quote –

Twenty years from now
You will be more disappointed
By the things that you didn’t do
Than by the ones you did.
So throw off the bowlines.
Sail away from the safe harbour.
Catch the Trade Winds in your sails.
EXPLORE

DREAM

DISCOVER

Mark Twain.

Time to explore new horizons across the Coral Sea.

[NOTE TO READERS - From Townsville and beyond in the Louisiades, we will be beyond phone and Internet service and will send location info to the Blog (via satphone) in brief updates only. Pics of this incredible destination via Blog will have to wait until we return to Australia. We are planning to return, probably via Townsville, in the last week of October. We send our best wishes to all and thank you for being supporters of our journey. C,C&C ]

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

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

Our sundowner fare.

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

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

Local traffic hazards on approach to Hayman Marina!

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

Colin & Mel all at sea.

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

" R.I.P Shorty"

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

Langdon Spit

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

Picking up the mooring in Butterfly Bay.

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

A great snorkel in Blue Pearl Bay. At last!

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

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

The Coral Sea behind us at the Castle Hill lookout!

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

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

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

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

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

The tropical forest enroute to the top of Whitsunday Peak.

Rewarded by clearer views this time.

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

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

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

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

Anchored outside the Whitsunday Yacht Club, Airlie Beach

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

The Tasars at the Whitsunday Yacht Club.

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

Backpackers working on their tans, Lagoon Pool.

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

Downtown Airlie Beach outside the hub of Backpackersville.

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


Colourful scenes at the Airlie Beach Markets.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good times on board True Story.

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

"Gorillas in the Mist!" - Whitsunday Peak

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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