Great Sandy Straits

25/6/2016 

 

The time to leave Tin Can Bay finally came.  I was beginning to almost regard it as home, understanding the admonition not to get caught there.  It is a place of unspoilt beauty and tranquility. I was especially enjoying early morning walks along the waterfront, the spectacular sunrises and sunsets from the best ringside seats of Shanti's cockpit. There was an almost jellified torpor around that could creep up on one unawares, perhaps spread by the ubiquitous caravan parks on every corner. Such an easy place to sit easy. 

Heading back out to sea is the perfect remedy.

 

 

And what a brilliant welcome back the Great Sandy Straits gave me.  It was an unexpected thrill to be able to sail most of the way through the 40 or so nautical miles I expected to have to motor. Fortunately a fairly steady 10-15 knot SW was on the beam or behind.  Working the flood and ebb tides gave speeds of 6-7 knots over ground. This could have been very nerve-wracking, flying with committed abandon through the shallow spots.

What boosted my confidence was tailing “Solo Bob” who had been through here 8 times before. If his Swanson 32 touched bottom, I had at least 30 seconds warning before meeting similar sticky halt.

Also, both C-maps and Navionics charts were inaccurate in places, showing us sailing over the land. Where local knowledge came in really handy was crossing the shallows to the anchorage at Big Woody Island. 

After dropping the pick and Bob rowing over for an “arrival survival” drink we were joined by Claus from the 30’ catamaran anchored nearby.  A larger than life, thick accented Swede he entertained us into the twilight with his wry humour. Another verbose single-hander, whose excuse was that these fleeting meetings demand tightly packed condensed histories. It seems as if sharing histories is de rigueur. I am becoming more of a Cheshire cat listener, thoroughly enjoying all these “talking books” but glad of my own quietude after.

An altogether fantastic day.  The only near mishap was when I went up the bow to check the foot of the furling headsail which has been chafing on the pulpit. I noticed the split ring was missing from the upper lifeline and the barrel was close to falling out. Had this gone it could have meant a WOB disaster. I pulled the boat apart down below looking for spares, broke a nail trying to get the tight split ring through the tiny barrel hole (now there’s a girl thing) and then dropped it overboard with a few rare expletives (boy thing?)  All sorted out but a timely reminder to do regular checks of EVERYTHING.