Sailed from Svenson’s beach on the north
side of GKI to Port Clinton, a distance of 44 nM.
A strong wind warning with heavy rain was
forecast for the rest of the week, so I opted to make the break while it was
still fine and sail north to shelter in the inner reaches of Port Clinton,
somewhere new to me.
If no one else is leaving, it’s
questionable whether to follow the herd mentality and stay, or sail one’s own
course. On closer inspection there are
often reasons why others choose to remain where they are, such as engine
problems, fear of leaving the flock, or simply plain inertia. Many of those clinging to their anchors have
no other places to be, or any time constraints.
I have both, and a fine day in which to put another 40 miles behind me
is not to be lost.
So at 0600, I weighed anchor (still 16kg)
and continued north. It turned out to be
one of those glorious day’s sailing that are so few and far between. The wind never went above 16 knots and stayed
comfortably just aft of the beam. Only
later when it backed further to threaten a gybe did I take over hand-steering.
Then I really got into the zone.
I can understand why many sailors have
written of the great advantages of tiller steering, not the least being the
direct feel of the boat and its responsiveness.
Also it’s possible to sit side-on with tiller in hand for hour after
hour without the fatigue that those standing behind a wheel suffer.
So what does it mean for me, to be in the
“zone”? When I sit for a few hours
hand-steering it does have an interesting effect, almost mesmerising. It’s a feeling of eternal now, an immediacy
and connection to the wind, the waves, the motion, without distraction of mind. It is a sense of being completely alert and
tuned in to the present moment with no strain; being at one with everything,
being here and now. An endless now. This is what I love most about being out
here.
In Port Clinton I anchored near a sleek,
magnificent looking sloop of 60 plus feet.
We chatted a little on the VHF radio, it being far too wet and windy to
cross the distance between us by dinghy. They were leaving soon, heading to
Mackay to sort out a dental problem. Strong wind and rain were no deterrent to
them in that fully enclosed yacht.
It occurred to me how we all are having
such different experiences out here on the same water. Some are very much more
protected from the elements than others, have water-makers and washing
machines. I might envy those creature
comforts for a minute, but then I think of the richness of my proximity to the
environment, so much so that I am almost a part of it. At times it stings and bites me, but I would
not trade that for a hot shower. Perhaps in another ten years.
19/5/2017
Island Head Creek
Woke at 0700 to a rainy, windless day. Batteries were low. I had turned the fridge
off overnight to defrost it and save power, but needed to run the engine if
turning it back on again on such an overcast, no-solar power day. Decided to motor out of Port Clinton to the
next stop.
I followed my track in from last year. This is proving to be such a great help to me,
relieving a lot of the anxiety and stress I felt last year when approaching
unknown territory. Having traversed this
section of the coast before, up and down, gives me a lot more confidence, knowing
what’s ahead. I noticed a big difference
in myself.
The entrance to Island Head Creek is a fairly
narrow channel, with breakers washing over the rocky outcrops and shallow
shoals on either side. Add a heavy
broadside roll and it’s not easy to hold a straight course in. I hoped that the thin yellow line on the
Navionics chart showing last year’s track was accurate.
Sunday, 21/5/2017
One week since leaving Bundaberg. Feels like a lot longer. Departed Island Head Creek at first light
(0600 these short days of winter) and made my way to Hunter Island in the
Dukes.
I hadn’t originally planned on anchoring off Hunter Island after my
awful experience there last year with the strong tidal race, but I followed the
herd instinct and joined three other yachts, which appeared peaceful enough.
Big mistake! I foolishly thought to myself, it’s not full
moon so should be alright; I’ll give it one more go here. The new moon neap
tide was just as ferocious and I got into all kinds of strife with my
inadequate chain/rode situation. A
restless night of dragging and re-setting rope that kept kinking, knotting and
jamming in the rope/chain gypsy was followed by a dismal dawn, with nearly an
hour of fighting to get the anchor up. The circuit breaker kept tripping out
against a howling cross-wind and tide that had us riding forward with the rope
back under the keel. It took several
goes with rolling hitches led back to a primary winch to take the load off, and
lots of running back and forth between cockpit and foredeck before I was
finally off. As with last year, I again
envisaged myself being stranded on Hunter Island forever.
The next stop was Curlew Island, where
there seemed to be an interesting magnetic anomaly on the approach. The entrance to the northern lagoon is on the
far right, or Eastern side of the island.
Despite already sailing further East than my rhumb line, the island
appeared too far West, looking almost as if I would miss it entirely.
I kept on going without changing course.
Then, with less than a mile to go, the GPS showed a sudden Westward deviation,
lining the chart up with what I was seeing.
I quickly altered course and the
eyeball and chart concurred. Of course
one should always prefer the eyeball, but it was interesting to observe this
phenomenon happening right before my eyes.
Last year, Curlew was a relatively quiet
stopover, with an encircling reef and shoal water breaking the swell. Perhaps due to the bigger tides, this year it
was one of the rollier anchorages.
En route from Curlew to Mackay, I was speaking to youngest daughter Shoni,
telling her how fortunate I was to be having positive tidal influence with me
all the way, enabling an average speed of 5 knots. Shoni was rather bemused by this, commenting
that it seemed slow, in fact, even slower than walking.
Yes, I am travelling at a slow walking pace
up the coast. I have 2000 nautical miles
to go to get to Darwin. It’s like
walking 2000 miles over the next two months.
Never really thought of it like that before. Shoni asked if I don’t get very bored and
frustrated by going so slowly. Not at all; it’s necessary to slow down in
oneself. But yes, part of the
frustration is in having to “walk” 2000 miles up the coast before I even kick off to begin crossing an
ocean. I guess this coastal passage is
part of it, but not too many long distance cruisers begin their journey in such
a manner.
Mackay Marina, 24th May.
Even though TC debbie skirted Mackay, there
were still signs of her passing nearby.
 |
| Extremely low tides make the ramp soooo steep for legs that haven't walked for 10 days! |
In Mackay I did all the usual marina
stopover chores: refuelling, filling jerry cans with diesel, refilling gas
bottle, taking the bus to town for provisions, doing the laundry, putting on a
new fan belt and topping up fresh water tanks. And most enjoyably, taking a few
hot and cold running water showers. I
allowed myself two days instead of the one that I usually try to cram it all
into, which made it much less hectic.
Friday 26/5 I departed at the respectable
hour of 0900, considering I only had a short run of 20 miles to Brampton Island
at the beginning of the Whitsundays. As
it turned out, the ebb tide was so helpful I decided to continue on to
Goldsmith, an island I haven’t been to before.
I anchored rather too close to exposed rocks which looked like
crocodile’s eyes peering at me as the tide dropped and more emerged. It was another rolly night and the chain was
growling, telling me it was more rock than sand on the seabed. Day-hopping up the coast like this is full of
little anxieties, when my mind often runs down the “what-if” trail. So far, that important element of luck has been
with me. I do my best with the knowledge
and skills I have, but never fail to appreciate the hand of fate that guides
the uncontrollable. Every time I leave a
potentially tricky situation in one piece I take a moment to give thanks.
Saturday 27/5. Another fortuitous tidal assistance today,
covering a distance of 32 miles in 8 hours, with very little wind and no
motoring. The first half of the passage
was slow until the tide changed at midday. As I approached Whitsunday Passage,
boat speed was less than 3 knots, but SOG was up to 7.2. Anchored in favourite spot at Sawmill Bay,
Cid Harbour, Whitsunday Island. The
water is a bit milky but still a beautiful pale jade with sunshine
shimmering over the ripples. There are
signs of TC Debbie’s visit. The treetops
are bare, looking as if a bush fire had denuded them. The general feeling is of recent carnage, but
the charter boats are still aplenty, so business as usual.
I wanted to hike to the top of Whitsunday
peak but the trail had too many obstacles with fallen trees and branches. One
of the loose rocks, slippery with recent rain, toppled me and I landed heavily
on my left hip, which is now very sore, despite Arnica. I have noticed I am not as sure-footed yet as
I should be, but it’s early days, so hopefully soon I’ll stop knocking myself
about so much.
 |
| Dugong beach on a magic day. |
 |
| Trusty inflatable kayak makes going ashore so much easier. |
No comments:
Post a Comment