Australia really is a big country. We left Lake Macquarie, NSW at Easter and apart from 2 ½ weeks in Bundaberg getting a new sail made, we haven’t spent more than 4 days in one place. Often it was only an overnighter. From Sydney to the top of Cape York Peninsular must be about ¾ of the eastern seaboard and it’s taken us 3 months, so we’re about to tick off a big milestone.
We waited in Escape River for a few hours before wrestling the anchor up, so we'd get the right tide for the run up to the top of Cape York . We nearly didn’t escape either.
After wrestling the chain and anchor up from deep water I was catching my breath as we made our way back down river. We were both on high alert for the pearl buoy clusters that had given us such a hard time coming in at dusk the night before.
Suddenly I remembered I hadn’t checked the fuel tanks so I went below and sure enough the tank was just on empty. It was one of those ‘blood runs cold’ moments. We have two tanks on each side and I actually thought we’d been using the port aft one. I whipped up the floorboard on the port side and leaned into the bilge, flipped the full tank valve and returned the floorboard.
As we neared the mouth of the river with its array of sand banks we got a call on channel 16 from ‘Rusty’ the pearl farm owner. He and ‘Bronny’ were watching us leave and liked the look of Wind Wanderer so called for a chat. They’ve had the farm for about 6 years but I guess it’s a lonely life so chatting to the boats coming and going adds to the excitement of watching pearls grow. We wished we’d been able to spend another day there because it would have been really interesting, and they sound like nice folk.
Rusty was just telling us about a sandbank to watch for that isn’t on the charts when our big, trusty old diesel started coughing. I told him our engine was failing, tossed the radio to Sandy and estimated we had about 4 minutes before we’d be on a sandbank. That gave us a couple of minutes to get the engine started before plan B, get the anchor down.
While Rusty was telling us to get a sail up, which is usual practice, I dived below and hauled the floorboards up and opened the two tanks on the starboard side. I’d already dismissed the sail idea in the first few engine coughs. In our position it would have pushed us onto the bank before we could sail out of trouble.
No time to bleed the engine so I hit the generator starter. It has a brilliant primer pump so that would at least get fuel into most of the line. Once the genny was running smoothly I turned it off and cranked the main engine. It tried, then died. Time for one more go before dumping the anchor. This time I left the genny running. I figured with 4 tanks open there would be plenty fuel to go around. They also share a raw water intake so I never run them together because cooling could be a problem, but not in the short term.
Back in the cockpit we hit the starter, cranked away and suddenly all 120 ponies sprang to life! What a sweet sound. While Sandy killed the generator I shoved it into reverse and we started backing away from the sandbank. As soon as we had room to swing we got the pointy end heading for the mouth of the river and were on our way, but not before continuing our conversation with Rusty. I think they were already making up the spare beds.
As soon as we were safely at sea and sailing we killed the engine and I went below to try and work out what had happened.
From day one we’ve had a strange phenomenon on Wind Wanderer where fuel migrates between tanks, even though all valves are closed including the diesel return valves. We’ve had a variety of ‘experts’ look it over but that’s another story. All we can think is that there is some form of equalizing plumbing between the tanks, but we haven’t been able to locate it or understand it because its behaviour is inconsistent.
In this instance, the tank I thought we’d been using, but was showing full, was correct. The tank registering nearly empty was in fact closed. When I checked the gauges I assumed I’d had a memory lapse as to which tank I’d had open. That fact is, as we’d been draining the open tank, the closed tank was topping it up. Under the pressure of heading down river, I just flipped the valve on the full tank, assuming I was now travelling with both the near empty tank and full tank open. In reality I’d turned the full tank off, and the near empty tank was of course already off. We now had both tanks turned off. In reality, I didn’t need to open or close any valves at all. The tank that was full was open and feeding the line.
And so we learn. In spite of knowing what happened, we now have a minimum of two tanks open when entering or leaving ports and rivers. I’m sure the groans drown out the harps when the guardian angels check their work rosters and find they’re on sailor duty, particularly Wind Wanderer! “Oh no. I’ve got Wind Wanderer again. Who wants to swap? I don’t mind the Mexican border, or Somalia...”
The sail north to the Albany Pass was only 14 miles and we had wind and tide helping us along. On the way we sailed past Bird Isles, two interesting coral cays with plenty of vegetation. But it was the flock of black birds at sea that caught our attention. There were hundreds of them sitting in a tight group on the water. At some unseen signal a few would take flight, turn and dive into the water right within the group. Instantly the rest would follow until there was just a black ball of birds moving across the water with the surface churned up and white. They way they circled and dived looked like a WW2 aerial dog fight Then they’d settle down again until a few minutes later it was someone’s turn to start it all again. It was fascinating to watch.
With just yankee and mizzen we were cruising at 6 knots on a big rolling sea. As we approached the channel the waves built higher and we were enjoying long rides on a 30 ton surfboard, virtually. It’s exhilarating sailing but not the way to enter a narrow passage you’ve never sailed before.
We took in the mizzen and sighed with relief when the seas flattened as we entered the pass. The banks are interesting with big red termite mounds, white sandy little beaches and the occasional bushy holiday cottage. It’s actually a beautiful area and hard to believe that at one stage a little cottage in Somerset Bay was the administrative centre for the area, before Thursday Island got the job. Albany Island makes up the northern shore of the passage and was expected to become Australia’s Singapore both in terms of international trade and shipping. Hard to believe today.
The high hills and headlands flew buy at 8 – 10 knots, with just our heads’l and a whole lot of flood tide. It was quite disconcerting at times because the current would sweep us towards a headland, but the wind was also 20 knots and we had enough steerage to easily tweek our heading as we went. It was an amazing experience.
All too soon we rocketed out the other end and continued toward Cape York. In the lee of the Cape there is a reasonably good anchorage, although a bit rolly, and the run to Thursday Island would be an easy half day sail from there.
As we drew near the Cape the terrain flattens and there are a couple of islands off the end. We took pictures and looked through binoculars and noticed half a dozen life size statues of people looking out across the Torres Straits from the northern tip of Australia. I thought it was a rather nice touch even though not that many tourists make it there. Probably another of the many excellent bicentennial commemorative projects we’ve seen coming up the Queensland coast. And then they turned around and headed back.....
We rounded the Cape and were still doing 8 knots. At that pace we’d make it to Thursday Island before nightfall. One less chain and anchor wrestling exercise. We decided to go for it knowing if the wind ran out of puff we could drop south to Possession Island where Capt. Cook claimed possession of the coast of Australia from latitude 38 to ‘this place’. He then sailed on to Batavia, now Jakarta for major repairs and no doubt a load of spices.
The wind held quite well and we scooted over gentle turquoise seas to the gap between Prince of Wales and Horn Islands. It would take us up Boat Channel with a right angle turn at the end leading into Kennady Harbour, Thursday Island. T.I. is small compared to the other islands around it but it is the biggest town and administrative centre for the area.
The entry to Boat Channel was over shallow water again and narrow, between a beacon and the bottom of Horn Island. The sun was getting low but it looked like we’d make it with twilight to spare. We had a strong current pushing us and sailed on just heads’l at 7 knots. As we came to the end we started the engine and furled the sail as we headed for the last cardinal beacon. By the time we had the sail in we’d been swept well past it on the correct side and we headed for the anchorage area. Not a problem, that’s what engines are for.
The battle was on. The wind and current channelling through had us pointing directly into the wind but our COG (course over ground) was at right angles. We were losing ground on our heading while going sideways as 3 knots toward the headland. Eventually we found a heading that let us creep forward at 2 knots and run parallel to the shore. Our lazy old diesel was having to work for a living.
It was dark by the time we inched past the red beacon, behind which Lucas shows the anchorage. For once he was wrong. We were still in line with the beacon when we hit bottom. Fortunately we could back off right away and pushed against wind and tide towards a couple of fishing trawlers at anchor. They were blue, at night and without anchor lights. We picked a spot as best we could and I put the boat in neutral, gave the helm to Sandy and ran forward to get the anchor down as quickly as possible.
We are so used to our anchoring routine. It goes like clockwork and we do it well. Of course I’d forgotten that this time I’d tied the anchor into its cradle because of the worn gypsy. The last thing we’d want is for the anchor to jolt out and head for the bottom dragging all the chain with it, unplanned.
It only took a minute or two to free the anchor and let it go, but we’d been pushed back a fair way. On top of that, the bottom is only good holding once the anchor has slid over the weed and rocky surface and found good thick mud or sand to set into. I could feel it slipping (bare foot on the chain trick) and payed out more chain as soon as I felt it bite. With the worn gypsy it was a good bit extra, but we were set solid at last..... right alongside the red flashing beacon!
And I do mean alongside. We had to put fenders out to try and stop it banging against the hull. We were obviously obscuring the light, a serious problem. There was also no way I was going to be able to get that chain in with such strong tide and wind, given that I’m now reduced to pulling the chain in by hand and dropping it a couple of feet at a time into the chain locker, using an electric foot switch. Sounds easy enough, except when the bow is bucking like a rodeo bull, the weight of chain is wanting to rip back through your hands, and you’re balancing on one foot because you have to use just enough switch to take in the bit of slack chain. Overshoot it and the gypsy can’t hold the chain at all and the last few metres won goes straight back over the side.
I was about to radio T.I. port control when they called us. They were great and agreed we should stay put until slack water, leaving our lights on.
The details of our night are somewhat convoluted but basically when things quietened down a bit I took in chain while Sandy inched the boat forward, using a torch to see my hand signals. We tried to take in enough to pull us away from our bright red flashing neighbour. It worked to a point, but then the reduced length of chain started dragging the anchor. I was still up front and decided to let us drag past the beacon before letting out more chain and resetting the anchor. It worked and we settled back into our cockpit bunks where we always sleep if we have any doubts about our position.
Within half an hour we got a radio call from a different guy at Port Control. I suspect he had just come on duty and he was concerned we were too close to a reef for comfort when the tide turns. We’d had enough of charts and guides being inaccurate so were happy to go with the guy with local knowledge.
Sandy did a masterful job of keeping Wind Wanderer inching forward and positioned right over the chain as I got it up, and Port Control talked us forward to a new position. The anchor set and we collapsed for what was left of the night knowing someone was keeping an eye on us.
The anchorage was windy and a bit bouncy but good holding and in the morning we dropped the dinghy and went ashore to get some groceries.
It was a short walk to the local supermarket and the tiny town had a typical third world, frontier town feel about it. The supermarket shelves were stocked with supplies that were a combination of the usual household food, cleaning products etc, and farmers co-op. Enamel tin mugs that would hold about a pint, large cooking pots, shovels, axes etc. Everything was expensive because it all has to be shipped in, but we got most of what we wanted.
On the way back to the dock we took a walk through the town. One shop that was interesting was a shabby little place that sold pearl jewellery. They had old photos of the pearling industry heydays when classic old sailing luggers took divers out, mainly Japanese and before the days of scuba gear. They worked the bottom with big lead boots and heavy brass diving helmets fed with air from the surface. Unfortunately accidents were all too frequent and the mortality rate was high.
With our galley restocked we considered staying a while longer, but it would mean a move to a more comfortable anchorage across at Horn Island where many more boats were anchored. Thursday Island is a place to stock up and move on, or spend enough time there to get to know some of the local folk and enjoy what it has to offer.
We decided to sleep there one more night and set sail for Darwin, about a week's passage to the west.
Until next time...