After 4 nights sheltering from big wind and seas in Port Clinton we decided to stick our nose out and see if there was any way we could continue north. The early morning gave us a falling tide so we ran at an easy 6 knots down South Arm to the bay area. We passed 3 other yachts at anchor and could only imagine they’d decided to give the seas another day to settle.
The seas were big and as we were getting buffeted crossing the bay we had serious second thoughts about turning back for one more day. Once clear of the northern headland we got some sail up and the ride became easier even though it was a big following sea. We skipped past Pearl Bay, reputed to be one of the prettiest bays along the coast but the best we could do was look at it through binoculars between the fringing islands. It looked like a good spot but not overly impressive.
We ended up having a good sail all the way to Cape Townshend sitting on 6 knots and were glad we’d decided to brave the conditions. As we furled the sails and motored around the cape we found we had it to ourselves which was a nice change, until Sandy noticed a sign on the beach. Big red letters told us in no uncertain terms to be well clear of the area during firing and bombing exercises! Suddenly having the place to ourselves was not so reassuring. We put the radio on knowing there would be something on Channel 16, hopefully before any bombs started raining down around us.
A couple of hours later a broadcast came through announcing light arms firing practice in the Shoalwater Bay area. The message was difficult to hear and we missed the co-ordinates for the exclusion area, but heard Townshend Island listed with the few safe anchorages. We turned in with fingers crossed I’d heard correctly.
The anchorage was well protected from the swell and with the wind down to a more normal 5-10 knots we were looking forward to a comfortable sleep. And we had it, apart from 2 hours either side of the high tide sometime around 1 am. On one side of the anchorage there is a low reef between Townshend Island and a rocky outcrop forming a natural breakwater. Two thirds of the way towards the other side of the anchorage the island has a deep inlet from the Shoalwater Bay side called Canoe Pass that almost cuts off the tip of the island. At the top of the tide both sides cover over and the water rushes in turning the peaceful anchorage into a washing machine. We couldn’t work out what had happened to our great anchorage until the tide fell enough to restore the calm.
We got underway early with our next destination the Percy Isles, Middle Percy in particular. With 3 sails up we were soon clipping along at 6.5 knots and although the seas were still running quite high they were following and we were enjoying a comfortable ride. Looking back at Cape Townshend we saw a green hulled cutter with a distinctive bright yellow UV strip on its headsail rounding it. We’ve not seen too many sails like that and it turned out to be Rozanne. We’d met Ron in Iluka and seen his boat briefly while we were stuck in Bundaberg. We called him on the VHF and he’d recognized Wind Wanderer too.
He was heading to the Duke Islands group and Hunter Island in particular. With the wind due to head east, then north, west and south again over the next few days he felt he’d have more anchorage options to move to as winds swept around the clock. Having been to Middle Percy before he warned us that the most popular anchorage, West Bay was notorious for its roll, confirming the information we had from Alan Lucas’s bible on sailing these waters.
We decided to push on to Middle Percy and would get there around 2pm. That would give us time to anchor at West Bay and go ashore where sailors have called in for decades from miles around to enjoy it’s beautiful beach and of course the A frame shed. More on that later. We would then have time to anchor in another bay, most probably White’s Bay where the protection from the North wind would be good.
It was close to Midday when Sandy suddenly jumped up and pointed behind me. “There’s a dinghy floating out there!”
Sure enough a white inflatable dinghy was bobbing along, upside down in the waves. I started the engine and swung up into the wind to loop back for acloser look.
“We’re going back?”
Sandy couldn’t believe it. No matter what has gone overboard before we’ve never turned back. She thinks it’s just stubbornness on my part, but the reality is, by the time we turn this little ship around with three or four sails flying, the hat, or fishing net, or whatever is impossible to see a hundred meters out, let alone manoeuvre in close enough to snatch it from the sea.
In this case, while highly unlikely there is always the chance someone may be hanging on to it, unable to right it again. The most likely event by far would be a boat towing it and the line breaking. In the seas we’d had it wouldn’t take much for the wind to get under it and flip it.
With sails flogging all over the place we took a run in close to the dinghy and there was nobody attached to it! But it did have a long yellow painter and on the next run Sandy managed to get it with the boat hook. I left the wheel and ran to the side to grab it but it slipped away through the hook inches from my hand. Around we went again and this time we were close enough that she could get the line in to me and with the painter looped around the shroud we had the dinghy captured. The sails were still driving the boat at a couple of knots but we managed to transfer the line to the aft cleat for a more secure tow.
While it would have been better to have the dinghy right side up there was no simple way to flip it back over. There were no side handles to hook and I was not about to do anything that might result in either of us in the water, particularly with the swell running. The yellow line wasn’t frayed so hadn’t broken. It appeared whatever knot had been used had simply come undone. The alternative was someone landing on a beach and not pulling it high enough to avoid the rising tide washing it out.
We decided to tow it slowly to an anchorage and sort it out there.
It wasn’t 5 minutes and Sandy called out, “The dinghy’s gone!”
We turned into the wind and could see the dinghy bobbing in the waves some distance back. Had this been a tacky old dinghy we’d have abandoned it, but it looked new. It also still had an outboard motor on the back which would have little chance of surviving the submersion.
Back we went but this time there was no line to hook. It had broken right at the dinghy. This was going to be a trickier operation than last time. While I furled the sails Sandy got the gaff which has a cover over the spike so works as a shorter handled boat hook.
The swell was rolling us all over the place as we closed in on our prey. Sandy got the gaff under the lip of the transom and not realizing the forces involved, the gaff pulled right out of her grip. This is the gaff that is the only means of getting a big fish on board since Davey Jones took a shine to our net crossing the Pacific. We watched in horror as our beloved gaff floated away, point down with just the top 6” of handle sticking out of the water.
Now we had 2 recovery projects. It made sense to try to get the gaff back first because we’d lose sight of it the quickest, and there was a good chance we’d need both it and the boat hook to recapture the dinghy.
For 2 hours we circled again and again trying to get the boat hook deep enough to snag the gaff’s hook. Most of the time we were circling and lining up because the actual moment to capture it as it went past was only a few seconds. Once we lost sight of it completely and had just about given up when it appeared not 50 feet from the boat.
There was no way to stop next to it because we had a ton of windage and it had none. The only solution was to put the side ladder down, open the lifeline gate and climb down to grab it. The co-ordination and timing was incredible. We decided to use a harness because if it’s so difficult to get a gaff and a dinghy with both of us on board, one of us on the boat trying to recover the other in the water doesn’t sound like a great idea.
Sandy tried one go from the ladder as I brought the boat in close but with the rolling swell it unnerved her. The day Sandy says any bit of fishing gear can be abandoned is rare. In fact it’s never happened. I could see a wonderful opportunity to score Brownie points here so we circled a few more times and each time I left the wheel, dashed to the ladder, hooked on the harness and scrambled down while Sandy tried to ‘herd’ it in with the boat hook, just to miss it. But eventually it all came together and I managed to pluck the tatty old $15 treasure from Neptune’s grasp.
I climbed back on board dripping from numerous waist deep dunkings and we headed for the dinghy.
I’d noticed a white rope stretching straight down from under the dinghy, most likely with a small anchor at the end. I couldn’t see how we could get to it and figured a rope loop around the outboard motor leg might work although it was totally under water.
Sandy figured she could try the boat hook extended enough to reach under the dinghy and get the white rope. She did it on the first attempt and I think she totally surprised herself. Between us we hauled in the rope and sure enough it had a small vicious rock anchor. We got the line secured to a cleat amidships and took a breather while we figured out what to do next.
There was still no way to flip it easily. Eventually we used the topping lift from the main boom as a crane and lifted it with the winch over the life lines and onto the deck. We got the motor off and lashed both dinghy and motor down and motor sailed for 3 hours to Middle Percy. Someone was going to be really upset about losing this lot and we hoped they’d be at Middle Percy. We know what we would feel like if we lost ours and how delighted we’d be if someone found it for us.
As we crossed the water between South and Middle Percies we had to decide on the best anchorage, West Bay or White’s Bay which would be better when the wind swung north. The wind was still coming straight out of the east so we gambled on West Bay, given that the northerly shift would be with light wind.
We got there just before sunset and were immediately struck with the beauty of the place. There was one yacht and one cruiser already at anchor and we picked a spot a bit away from them where we had better depth. Later in the evening another cruiser came in and anchored. We found out the following day that they’d gone to White’s Bay and it was so uncomfortable they decided to relocate even though it was dark.
Before we lost twilight I decided to see what could be done for the drowned motor. It’s an almost new 5 hp Honda 4 stroke, an excellent and expensive motor. The dinghy itself is in new condition with and has an aluminium bottom. Also an expensive choice. With no growth on them time in the water could be no more than a few days. I took the cover off and all the cable ends and connecting rods were coated with grease. No water damage there. The spark plug was the only thing showing rust, but that could be from salty air before the dunking. I took the plug out and salt water ran from the cylinder. A few pulls on the starter cord and brown water gushed out. Maybe this motor has been in the water longer that we thought. All I could think of was to drench the cylinder and piston with WD40 and work it up and down. The rest of the motor got a similar dowsing. Hopefully I’ll be able to save it but that rusty water makes it a 50/50 chance at best.
We had a very comfortable night with only gentle rocking and in the morning two of the boats had left, both with dinghies!
There is a large A frame shed on the beach, sometimes called the Middle Percy Yacht Club, and it’s a tradition for passing boats to leave their boat name and date hanging anywhere you can find a space. We put our details in a bottle and hung it off an old stringless guitar hanging from the rafters. We could not believe the names and messages, some of them decades old on everything from T shirts to lacy panties to painted coconuts, life rings, fenders. It was an extraordinary sight. Out the back there is a large stone oval with a fire pit in the middle. In the season there could be 30 boats at anchor and their crew would sit around the fire playing guitars and chatting, eating and drinking.
While we were looking around a guy called Steve turned up. He spends a lot of time living in a cottage just a little way back in the bush. He had wonderful tales of the boats that had called in there and the good old times before internet and computers turned crews into unsociable recluses. I really do think in many ways we’re enjoying the end of a cruising era.
We took endless photos of the place with its sand and palm tree charm. When we got back to our boat we were on an absolute high. It’s no wonder West Bay is so popular.
Within half an hour we were on our way for the 25 mile sail to Curlew Island. The wind was coming out of the north at a light 6 knots and we got our sails up knowing that we’d never reach Curlew before dark with wind alone, especially as we were heading west and that was where the wind was to swing to next.
The skies were overcast anyway but ahead of us they were dark and stretching right across the horizon with ominous threat. As we got closer we took in the main sail and within minutes the big wind and seas started. The next 4 hours we had wind gusting to 33 knots and waves crashing over the deck. Water crept in and our cockpit cushions got drenched.
We eventually crept around the headland and joined the 6 boats already sheltering there. Three of them turned out to be boats we’d shared anchorages with before, Arkaydes, Rene, and Rozanne. The wind howled all night and we decided to spend an extra day drying out cushions and getting washing done.
It slowly improved through the day and Ron rowed over from Rozanne to forage for small pop rivets and stayed for a few hours. Miss Organized here managed to dig out a couple of small bolts that would do the trick after we’d given up and resorted to plan B, talking boats and sailing.
We wanted to leave at first light for Scawfell Island, about 45 miles from here, but during the night the wind started howling again and was still going strong at sunrise. We decided it give it another day.
Around 9:30 Rene and Arkaydes set off for Mackay and Rozanne set sail for Brampton Island. The day steadily improved and by lunch time it was beautiful.
Out of the north we heard an approaching helicopter. It soon came into sight, flew across ‘our’ bay and landed on the beach. It was bright red and 3 people got out with the engine still running. From this distance we couldn’t see what they were doing. Eventually it took off again and circled part of the island before making a low pass along the high ridges. All of a sudden thick smoke started rising from at least half a dozen places and within 10 minutes we were all suffering the effects of the firebombing. This is an uninhabited island so the need to burn off to protect houses isn’t there. It doesn’t smell like they’ve discovered a marihuana plantation so it’s a bit of a mystery. What is particularly galling is the fact that the chopper could so easily have made an announcement on channel 16 as they came in letting us know what was going on. We would have had time to up anchor and sail to Digby Island about 8 miles away, or at least close up our boats. We’re just glad we did our washing yesterday!
But they still have to show up for work.
Until next time...
After 4 nights sheltering from big wind and seas in Port Clinton we decided to stick our nose out and see if there was any way we could continue north. The early morning gav us a falling tide so we ran at an easy 6 knots down South Arm to the bay area. We passed 3 other yachts at anchor and could only imagine they’d decided to give the seas another day to settle.
The seas were big and as we were buffeted crossing the bay we had serious second thoughts about turning back for one more day. Once clear of the northern headland we got some sail up and the ride became easier even though it was a big following sea. We skipped past Pearl Bay, reputed to be one of the prettiest bays along the coast but the best we could do was look at it through the binoculars between the fringing islands. It looked like a good spot but not overly impressive.
We ended up having a good sail all the way to Cape Townshend sitting on 6 knots and were glad we’d decided to brave the conditions. As we furled the sails and motored around the cape we found we had it to ourselves which was a nice change, until Sandy noticed a sign on the beach. Big red letters told us in no uncertain terms to be well clear of the area during firing and bombing exercises! Suddenly having the place to ourselves was not so reassuring. We put the radio on knowing there would be something on Channel 16, hopefully before any bombs started raining down around us.
A couple of hours later a broadcast came through announcing light arms firing practice in the Shoalwater Bay area. The message was difficult to hear and we missed the co-ordinates for the exclusion area, but heard Townshend Island listed with the few safe anchorages. We turned in with fingers crossed I’d heard correctly.
The anchorage was well protected from the swell and with the wind down to a more normal 5-10 knots we were looking forward to a comfortable sleep. And we had it, apart from 2 hours either side of the high tide sometime around 1am. On one side of the anchorage there is a low reef between Townshend Island and a rocky outcrop forming a natural breakwater. Two thirds of the way towards the other side of the anchorage the island has a deep inlet from the Shoalwater Bay side called Canoe Pass that almost cuts off the tip of the island. At the top of the tide both sides cover over and the water rushes in turning the peaceful anchorage into a washing machine. We couldn’t work out what had happened to our great anchorage until the tide fell enough to restore the calm.
We got underway early with our next destination the Percy Isles, Middle Percy in particular. With 3 sails up we were soon clipping along at 6.5 knots and although the seas were still running quite high they were following and we were enjoying a comfortable ride. Looking back at Cape Townshend we saw a green hulled cutter with a distinctive bright yellow UV strip on its headsail rounding it. We’ve not seen too many sails like that and it turned out to be Rozanne. We’d met Ron in Iluka and seen his boat briefly while we were stuck in Bundaberg. We called him on the VHF and he’d recognized Wind Wanderer too.
He was heading to the Duke Islands group and Hunter Island in particular. With the wind due to head east, then north, west and south again over the next few days he felt he’d have more anchorage options to move to as winds swept around the clock. Having been to Middle Percy before he warned us that the most popular anchorage, West Bay was notorious for its roll, confirming the information we had from Alan Lucas’s bible on sailing these waters.
We decided to push on to Middle Percy and would get there around 2pm. That would give us time to anchor at West Bay and go ashore where sailors have called in for decades from miles around to enjoy it’s beautiful beach and of course the A frame shed. More on that later. We would then have time to anchor in another bay, most probably White’s Bay where the protection from the North wind would be good.
It was close to Midday when Sandy suddenly jumped up and pointed behind me. “There’s a dinghy floating out there!”
Sure enough a white inflatable dinghy was bobbing along, upside down in the waves. I started the engine and we swung up into the wind to loop back for a closer look.
“We’re going back?”
Sandy couldn’t believe it. No matter what has gone overboard before we’ve never turned back. She thinks it’s just stubbornness on my part, but the reality is, by the time we turn this little ship around with three or four sails flying, the hat, or fishing net, or whatever is impossible to see a hundred meters out, let alone manoeuvre in close enough to snatch it from the sea.
In this case, while highly unlikely there is always the chance someone may be hanging on to it, unable to right it again. The most likely event by far would be a boat towing it and the line breaking. In the seas we’d had it wouldn’t take much for the wind to get under it and flip it.
With sails flogging all over the place we took a run in close to the dinghy and there was nobody attached to it! But it did have a long yellow painter and on the next run Sandy managed to get it with the boat hook. I left the wheel and ran to the side to grab it but it slipped away through the hook inches from my hand. Around we went again and this time we were close enough that she could get the line in to me and with the painter looped around the shroud we had the dinghy captured. The sails were still driving the boat at a couple of knots but we managed to transfer the line to the aft cleat for a more secure tow.
While it would have been better to have the dinghy right side up there was no simple way to flip it back over. There were no side handles to hook and I was not about to do anything that might result in either of us in the water, particularly with the swell running. The yellow line wasn’t frayed so hadn’t broken. It appeared whatever knot had been used had simply come undone. The alternative was someone landing on a beach and not pulling it high enough to avoid the rising tide washing it out.
We decided to tow it slowly to an anchorage and sort it out there.
It wasn’t 5 minutes and Sandy called out, “The dinghy’s gone!”
We turned into the wind and could see the dinghy bobbing in the waves some distance back. Had this been a tacky old dinghy we’d have abandoned it, but it looked new. It also still had an outboard motor on the back which would have little chance of surviving the submersion.
Back we went but this time there was no line to hook. It had broken right at the dinghy. This was going to be a trickier operation than last time. While I furled the sails Sandy got the gaff which has a cover over the spike so works as a shorter handled boat hook.
The swell was rolling us all over the place as we closed in on our prey. Sandy got the gaff under the lip of the transom and not realizing the forces involved, the gaff pulled right out of her grip. This is the gaff that is the only means of getting a big fish on board since Davey Jones took a shine to our net crossing the Pacific. We watched in horror as our beloved gaff floated away, point down with just the top 6” of handle sticking out of the water.
Now we had 2 recovery projects. It made sense to try to get the gaff back first because we’d lose sight of it the quickest, and there was a good chance we’d need both it and the boat hook to recapture the dinghy.
For 2 hours we circled again and again trying to get the boat hook deep enough to snag the gaff’s hook. Most of the time we were circling and lining up because the actual moment to capture it as it went past was only a few seconds. Once we lost sight of it completely and had just about given up when it appeared not 50 feet from the boat.
There was no way to stop next to it because we had a ton of windage and it had none. The only solution was to put the side ladder down, open the lifeline gate and climb down to grab it. The co-ordination and timing was incredible. We decided to use a harness because if it’s so difficult to get a gaff and a dinghy with both of us on board, one of us on the boat trying to recover the other in the water doesn’t sound like a great idea.
Sandy tried one go from the ladder as I brought the boat in close but with the rolling swell it unnerved her. The day Sandy says any bit of fishing gear can be abandoned is rare. In fact it’s never happened. I could see a wonderful opportunity to score Brownie points here so we circled a few more times and each time I left the wheel, dashed to the ladder, hooked on the harness and scrambled down while Sandy tried to ‘herd’ it in with the boat hook, just to miss it. But eventually it all came together and I managed to pluck the tatty old $15 treasure from Neptune’s grasp.
I climbed back on board dripping from numerous waist deep dunkings and we headed for the dinghy.
I’d noticed a white rope stretching straight down from under the dinghy, most likely with a small anchor at the end. I couldn’t see how we could get to it and figured a rope loop around the outboard motor leg might work although it was totally under water.
Sandy figured she could try the boat hook extended enough to reach under the dinghy and get the white rope. She did it on the first attempt and I think she totally surprised herself. Between us we hauled in the rope and sure enough it had a small vicious rock anchor. We got the line secured to a cleat amidships and took a breather while we figured out what to do next.
There was still no way to flip it easily. Eventually we used the topping lift from the main boom as a crane and lifted it with the winch over the life lines and onto the deck. We got the motor off and lashed both dinghy and motor down and motor sailed for 3 hours to Middle Percy. Someone was going to be really upset about losing this lot and we hoped they’d be at Middle Percy. We know what we would feel like if we lost ours and how delighted we’d be if someone found it for us.
As we crossed the water between South and Middle Percies we had to decide on the best anchorage, West Bay or White’s Bay which would be better when the wind swung north. The wind was still coming straight out of the east so we gambled on West Bay, given that the northerly shift would be with light wind.
We got there just before sunset and were immediately struck with the beauty of the place. There was one yacht and one cruiser already at anchor and we picked a spot a bit away from them where we had better depth. Later in the evening another cruiser came in and anchored. We found out the following day that they’d gone to White’s Bay and it was so uncomfortable they decided to relocate even though it was dark.
Before we lost twilight I decided to see what could be done for the drowned motor. It’s an almost new 5 hp Honda 4 stroke, an excellent and expensive motor. The dinghy itself is in new condition with and has an aluminium bottom. Also an expensive choice. With no growth on them time in the water could be no more than a few days. I took the cover off and all the cable ends and connecting rods were coated with grease. No water damage there. The spark plug was the only thing showing rust, but that could be from salty air before the dunking. I took the plug out and salt water ran from the cylinder. A few pulls on the starter cord and brown water gushed out. Maybe this motor has been in the water longer that we thought. All I could think of was to drench the cylinder and piston with WD40 and work it up and down. The rest of the motor got a similar dowsing. Hopefully I’ll be able to save it but that rusty water makes it a 50/50 chance at best.
We had a very comfortable night with only gentle rocking and in the morning two of the boats had left, both with dinghies!
There is a large A frame shed on the beach, sometimes called the Middle Percy Yacht Club, and it’s a tradition for passing boats to leave their boat name and date hanging anywhere you can find a space. We put our details in a bottle and hung it off an old stringless guitar hanging from the rafters. We could not believe the names and messages, some of them decades old on everything from T shirts to lacy panties to painted coconuts, life rings, fenders. It was an extraordinary sight. Out the back there is a large stone oval with a fire pit in the middle. In the season there could be 30 boats at anchor and their crew would sit around the fire playing guitars and chatting, eating and drinking.
While we were looking around a guy called Steve turned up. He spends a lot of time living in a cottage just a little way back in the bush. He had wonderful tales of the boats that had called in there and the good old times before internet and computers turned crews into unsociable recluses. I really do think in many ways we’re enjoying the end of a cruising era.
We took endless photos of the place with its sand and palm tree charm. When we got back to our boat we were on an absolute high. It’s no wonder West Bay is so popular.
Within half an hour we were on our way for the 25 mile sail to Curlew Island. The wind was coming out of the north at a light 6 knots and we got our sails up knowing that we’d never reach Curlew before dark with wind alone, especially as we were heading west and that was where the wind was to swing to next.
The skies were overcast anyway but ahead of us they were dark and stretching right across the horizon with ominous threat. As we got closer we took in the main sail and within minutes the big wind and seas started. The next 4 hours we had wind gusting to 33 knots and waves crashing over the deck. Water crept in and our cockpit cushions got drenched.
We eventually crept around the headland and joined the 6 boats already sheltering there. Three of them turned out to be boats we’d shared anchorages with before, Arkaydes, Rene, and Rozanne. The wind howled all night and we decided to spend an extra day drying out cushions and getting washing done.
It slowly improved through the day and Ron rowed over from Rozanne to forage for small pop rivets and stayed for a few hours. Miss Organized here managed to dig out a couple of small bolts that would do the trick after we’d given up and resorted to plan B, talking boats and sailing.
We wanted to leave at first light for Scawfell Island, about 45 miles from here, but during the night the wind started howling again and was still going strong at sunrise. We decided it give it another day.
Around 9:30 Rene and Arkaydes set off for Mackay and Rozanne set sail for Brampton Island. The day steadily improved and by lunch time it was beautiful.
Out of the north we heard an approaching helicopter. It soon came into sight, flew across ‘our’ bay and landed on the beach. It was bright red and 3 people got out with the engine still running. From this distance we couldn’t see what they were doing. Eventually it took off again and circled part of the island before making a low pass along the high ridges. All of a sudden thick smoke started rising from at least half a dozen places and within 10 minutes we were all suffering the effects of the firebombing. This is an uninhabited island so the need to burn off to protect houses isn’t there. It doesn’t smell like they’ve discovered a marihuana plantation so it’s a bit of a mystery. What is particularly galling is the fact that the chopper could so easily have made an announcement on channel 16 as they came in letting us know what was going on. We would have had time to up anchor and sail to Digby Island about 8 miles away, or at least close up our boats. We’re just glad we did our washing yesterday!
But they still have to show up for work.
Until next time...
been a very interesting few days.
After It’s been a very interesting few days.
After 4 nights sheltering from big wind and seas in Port Clinton we decided to stick our nose out and see if there was any way we could continue north. The early morning gave us a falling tide so we ran at an easy 6 knots down South Arm to the bay area. We passed 3 other yachts at anchor and could only imagine they’d decided to give the seas another day to settle.
The seas were big and as we were buffeted crossing the bay we had serious second thoughts about turning back for one more day. Once clear of the northern headland we got some sail up and the ride became easier even though it was a big following sea. We skipped past Pearl Bay, reputed to be one of the prettiest bays along the coast but the best we could do was look at it through the binoculars between the fringing islands. It looked like a good spot but not overly impressive.
We ended up having a good sail all the way to Cape Townshend sitting on 6 knots and were glad we’d decided to brave the conditions. As we furled the sails and motored around the cape we found we had it to ourselves which was a nice change, until Sandy noticed a sign on the beach. Big red letters told us in no uncertain terms to be well clear of the area during firing and bombing exercises! Suddenly having the place to ourselves was not so reassuring. We put the radio on knowing there would be something on Channel 16, hopefully before any bombs started raining down around us.
A couple of hours later a broadcast came through announcing light arms firing practice in the Shoalwater Bay area. The message was difficult to hear and we missed the co-ordinates for the exclusion area, but heard Townshend Island listed with the few safe anchorages. We turned in with fingers crossed I’d heard correctly.
The anchorage was well protected from the swell and with the wind down to a more normal 5-10 knots we were looking forward to a comfortable sleep. And we had it, apart from 2 hours either side of the high tide sometime around 1am. On one side of the anchorage there is a low reef between Townshend Island and a rocky outcrop forming a natural breakwater. Two thirds of the way towards the other side of the anchorage the island has a deep inlet from the Shoalwater Bay side called Canoe Pass that almost cuts off the tip of the island. At the top of the tide both sides cover over and the water rushes in turning the peaceful anchorage into a washing machine. We couldn’t work out what had happened to our great anchorage until the tide fell enough to restore the calm.
We got underway early with our next destination the Percy Isles, Middle Percy in particular. With 3 sails up we were soon clipping along at 6.5 knots and although the seas were still running quite high they were following and we were enjoying a comfortable ride. Looking back at Cape Townshend we saw a green hulled cutter with a distinctive bright yellow UV strip on its headsail rounding it. We’ve not seen too many sails like that and it turned out to be Rozanne. We’d met Ron in Iluka and seen his boat briefly while we were stuck in Bundaberg. We called him on the VHF and he’d recognized Wind Wanderer too.
He was heading to the Duke Islands group and Hunter Island in particular. With the wind due to head east, then north, west and south again over the next few days he felt he’d have more anchorage options to move to as winds swept around the clock. Having been to Middle Percy before he warned us that the most popular anchorage, West Bay was notorious for its roll, confirming the information we had from Alan Lucas’s bible on sailing these waters.
We decided to push on to Middle Percy and would get there around 2pm. That would give us time to anchor at West Bay and go ashore where sailors have called in for decades from miles around to enjoy it’s beautiful beach and of course the A frame shed. More on that later. We would then have time to anchor in another bay, most probably White’s Bay where the protection from the North wind would be good.
It was close to Midday when Sandy suddenly jumped up and pointed behind me. “There’s a dinghy floating out there!”
Sure enough a white inflatable dinghy was bobbing along, upside down in the waves. I started the engine and we swung up into the wind to loop back for a closer look.
“We’re going back?”
Sandy couldn’t believe it. No matter what has gone overboard before we’ve never turned back. She thinks it’s just stubbornness on my part, but the reality is, by the time we turn this little ship around with three or four sails flying, the hat, or fishing net, or whatever is impossible to see a hundred meters out, let alone manoeuvre in close enough to snatch it from the sea.
In this case, while highly unlikely there is always the chance someone may be hanging on to it, unable to right it again. The most likely event by far would be a boat towing it and the line breaking. In the seas we’d had it wouldn’t take much for the wind to get under it and flip it.
With sails flogging all over the place we took a run in close to the dinghy and there was nobody attached to it! But it did have a long yellow painter and on the next run Sandy managed to get it with the boat hook. I left the wheel and ran to the side to grab it but it slipped away through the hook inches from my hand. Around we went again and this time we were close enough that she could get the line in to me and with the painter looped around the shroud we had the dinghy captured. The sails were still driving the boat at a couple of knots but we managed to transfer the line to the aft cleat for a more secure tow.
While it would have been better to have the dinghy right side up there was no simple way to flip it back over. There were no side handles to hook and I was not about to do anything that might result in either of us in the water, particularly with the swell running. The yellow line wasn’t frayed so hadn’t broken. It appeared whatever knot had been used had simply come undone. The alternative was someone landing on a beach and not pulling it high enough to avoid the rising tide washing it out.
We decided to tow it slowly to an anchorage and sort it out there.
It wasn’t 5 minutes and Sandy called out, “The dinghy’s gone!”
We turned into the wind and could see the dinghy bobbing in the waves some distance back. Had this been a tacky old dinghy we’d have abandoned it, but it looked new. It also still had an outboard motor on the back which would have little chance of surviving the submersion.
Back we went but this time there was no line to hook. It had broken right at the dinghy. This was going to be a trickier operation than last time. While I furled the sails Sandy got the gaff which has a cover over the spike so works as a shorter handled boat hook.
The swell was rolling us all over the place as we closed in on our prey. Sandy got the gaff under the lip of the transom and not realizing the forces involved, the gaff pulled right out of her grip. This is the gaff that is the only means of getting a big fish on board since Davey Jones took a shine to our net crossing the Pacific. We watched in horror as our beloved gaff floated away, point down with just the top 6” of handle sticking out of the water.
Now we had 2 recovery projects. It made sense to try to get the gaff back first because we’d lose sight of it the quickest, and there was a good chance we’d need both it and the boat hook to recapture the dinghy.
For 2 hours we circled again and again trying to get the boat hook deep enough to snag the gaff’s hook. Most of the time we were circling and lining up because the actual moment to capture it as it went past was only a few seconds. Once we lost sight of it completely and had just about given up when it appeared not 50 feet from the boat.
There was no way to stop next to it because we had a ton of windage and it had none. The only solution was to put the side ladder down, open the lifeline gate and climb down to grab it. The co-ordination and timing was incredible. We decided to use a harness because if it’s so difficult to get a gaff and a dinghy with both of us on board, one of us on the boat trying to recover the other in the water doesn’t sound like a great idea.
Sandy tried one go from the ladder as I brought the boat in close but with the rolling swell it unnerved her. The day Sandy says any bit of fishing gear can be abandoned is rare. In fact it’s never happened. I could see a wonderful opportunity to score Brownie points here so we circled a few more times and each time I left the wheel, dashed to the ladder, hooked on the harness and scrambled down while Sandy tried to ‘herd’ it in with the boat hook, just to miss it. But eventually it all came together and I managed to pluck the tatty old $15 treasure from Neptune’s grasp.
I climbed back on board dripping from numerous waist deep dunkings and we headed for the dinghy.
I’d noticed a white rope stretching straight down from under the dinghy, most likely with a small anchor at the end. I couldn’t see how we could get to it and figured a rope loop around the outboard motor leg might work although it was totally under water.
Sandy figured she could try the boat hook extended enough to reach under the dinghy and get the white rope. She did it on the first attempt and I think she totally surprised herself. Between us we hauled in the rope and sure enough it had a small vicious rock anchor. We got the line secured to a cleat amidships and took a breather while we figured out what to do next.
There was still no way to flip it easily. Eventually we used the topping lift from the main boom as a crane and lifted it with the winch over the life lines and onto the deck. We got the motor off and lashed both dinghy and motor down and motor sailed for 3 hours to Middle Percy. Someone was going to be really upset about losing this lot and we hoped they’d be at Middle Percy. We know what we would feel like if we lost ours and how delighted we’d be if someone found it for us.
As we crossed the water between South and Middle Percies we had to decide on the best anchorage, West Bay or White’s Bay which would be better when the wind swung north. The wind was still coming straight out of the east so we gambled on West Bay, given that the northerly shift would be with light wind.
We got there just before sunset and were immediately struck with the beauty of the place. There was one yacht and one cruiser already at anchor and we picked a spot a bit away from them where we had better depth. Later in the evening another cruiser came in and anchored. We found out the following day that they’d gone to White’s Bay and it was so uncomfortable they decided to relocate even though it was dark.
Before we lost twilight I decided to see what could be done for the drowned motor. It’s an almost new 5 hp Honda 4 stroke, an excellent and expensive motor. The dinghy itself is in new condition with and has an aluminium bottom. Also an expensive choice. With no growth on them time in the water could be no more than a few days. I took the cover off and all the cable ends and connecting rods were coated with grease. No water damage there. The spark plug was the only thing showing rust, but that could be from salty air before the dunking. I took the plug out and salt water ran from the cylinder. A few pulls on the starter cord and brown water gushed out. Maybe this motor has been in the water longer that we thought. All I could think of was to drench the cylinder and piston with WD40 and work it up and down. The rest of the motor got a similar dowsing. Hopefully I’ll be able to save it but that rusty water makes it a 50/50 chance at best.
We had a very comfortable night with only gentle rocking and in the morning two of the boats had left, both with dinghies!
There is a large A frame shed on the beach, sometimes called the Middle Percy Yacht Club, and it’s a tradition for passing boats to leave their boat name and date hanging anywhere you can find a space. We put our details in a bottle and hung it off an old stringless guitar hanging from the rafters. We could not believe the names and messages, some of them decades old on everything from T shirts to lacy panties to painted coconuts, life rings, fenders. It was an extraordinary sight. Out the back there is a large stone oval with a fire pit in the middle. In the season there could be 30 boats at anchor and their crew would sit around the fire playing guitars and chatting, eating and drinking.
While we were looking around a guy called Steve turned up. He spends a lot of time living in a cottage just a little way back in the bush. He had wonderful tales of the boats that had called in there and the good old times before internet and computers turned crews into unsociable recluses. I really do think in many ways we’re enjoying the end of a cruising era.
We took endless photos of the place with its sand and palm tree charm. When we got back to our boat we were on an absolute high. It’s no wonder West Bay is so popular.
Within half an hour we were on our way for the 25 mile sail to Curlew Island. The wind was coming out of the north at a light 6 knots and we got our sails up knowing that we’d never reach Curlew before dark with wind alone, especially as we were heading west and that was where the wind was to swing to next.
The skies were overcast anyway but ahead of us they were dark and stretching right across the horizon with ominous threat. As we got closer we took in the main sail and within minutes the big wind and seas started. The next 4 hours we had wind gusting to 33 knots and waves crashing over the deck. Water crept in and our cockpit cushions got drenched.
We eventually crept around the headland and joined the 6 boats already sheltering there. Three of them turned out to be boats we’d shared anchorages with before, Arkaydes, Rene, and Rozanne. The wind howled all night and we decided to spend an extra day drying out cushions and getting washing done.
It slowly improved through the day and Ron rowed over from Rozanne to forage for small pop rivets and stayed for a few hours. Miss Organized here managed to dig out a couple of small bolts that would do the trick after we’d given up and resorted to plan B, talking boats and sailing.
We wanted to leave at first light for Scawfell Island, about 45 miles from here, but during the night the wind started howling again and was still going strong at sunrise. We decided it give it another day.
Around 9:30 Rene and Arkaydes set off for Mackay and Rozanne set sail for Brampton Island. The day steadily improved and by lunch time it was beautiful.
Out of the north we heard an approaching helicopter. It soon came into sight, flew across ‘our’ bay and landed on the beach. It was bright red and 3 people got out with the engine still running. From this distance we couldn’t see what they were doing. Eventually it took off again and circled part of the island before making a low pass along the high ridges. All of a sudden thick smoke started rising from at least half a dozen places and within 10 minutes we were all suffering the effects of the firebombing. This is an uninhabited island so the need to burn off to protect houses isn’t there. It doesn’t smell like they’ve discovered a marihuana plantation so it’s a bit of a mystery. What is particularly galling is the fact that the chopper could so easily have made an announcement on channel 16 as they came in letting us know what was going on. We would have had time to up anchor and sail to Digby Island about 8 miles away, or at least close up our boats. We’re just glad we did our washing yesterday!
But they still have to show up for work.
Until next time...
4 nights sheltering from big wind and seas in Port Clinton we decided to stick our nose out and see if there was any way we could continue north. The early morning gave us a falling tide so we ran at an easy 6 knots down South Arm to the bay area. We passed 3 other yachts at anchor and could only imagine they’d decided to give the seas another day to settle.
The seas were big and as we were buffeted crossing the bay we had serious second thoughts about turning back for one more day. Once clear of the northern headland we got some sail up and the ride became easier even though it was a big following sea. We skipped past Pearl Bay, reputed to be one of the prettiest bays along the coast but the best we could do was look at it through the binoculars between the fringing islands. It looked like a good spot but not overly impressive.
We ended up having a good sail all the way to Cape Townshend sitting on 6 knots and were glad we’d decided to brave the conditions. As we furled the sails and motored around the cape we found we had it to ourselves which was a nice change, until Sandy noticed a sign on the beach. Big red letters told us in no uncertain terms to be well clear of the area during firing and bombing exercises! Suddenly having the place to ourselves was not so reassuring. We put the radio on knowing there would be something on Channel 16, hopefully before any bombs started raining down around us.
A couple of hours later a broadcast came through announcing light arms firing practice in the Shoalwater Bay area. The message was difficult to hear and we missed the co-ordinates for the exclusion area, but heard Townshend Island listed with the few safe anchorages. We turned in with fingers crossed I’d heard correctly.
The anchorage was well protected from the swell and with the wind down to a more normal 5-10 knots we were looking forward to a comfortable sleep. And we had it, apart from 2 hours either side of the high tide sometime around 1am. On one side of the anchorage there is a low reef between Townshend Island and a rocky outcrop forming a natural breakwater. Two thirds of the way towards the other side of the anchorage the island has a deep inlet from the Shoalwater Bay side called Canoe Pass that almost cuts off the tip of the island. At the top of the tide both sides cover over and the water rushes in turning the peaceful anchorage into a washing machine. We couldn’t work out what had happened to our great anchorage until the tide fell enough to restore the calm.
We got underway early with our next destination the Percy Isles, Middle Percy in particular. With 3 sails up we were soon clipping along at 6.5 knots and although the seas were still running quite high they were following and we were enjoying a comfortable ride. Looking back at Cape Townshend we saw a green hulled cutter with a distinctive bright yellow UV strip on its headsail rounding it. We’ve not seen too many sails like that and it turned out to be Rozanne. We’d met Ron in Iluka and seen his boat briefly while we were stuck in Bundaberg. We called him on the VHF and he’d recognized Wind Wanderer too.
He was heading to the Duke Islands group and Hunter Island in particular. With the wind due to head east, then north, west and south again over the next few days he felt he’d have more anchorage options to move to as winds swept around the clock. Having been to Middle Percy before he warned us that the most popular anchorage, West Bay was notorious for its roll, confirming the information we had from Alan Lucas’s bible on sailing these waters.
We decided to push on to Middle Percy and would get there around 2pm. That would give us time to anchor at West Bay and go ashore where sailors have called in for decades from miles around to enjoy it’s beautiful beach and of course the A frame shed. More on that later. We would then have time to anchor in another bay, most probably White’s Bay where the protection from the North wind would be good.
It was close to Midday when Sandy suddenly jumped up and pointed behind me. “There’s a dinghy floating out there!”
Sure enough a white inflatable dinghy was bobbing along, upside down in the waves. I started the engine and we swung up into the wind to loop back for a closer look.
“We’re going back?”
Sandy couldn’t believe it. No matter what has gone overboard before we’ve never turned back. She thinks it’s just stubbornness on my part, but the reality is, by the time we turn this little ship around with three or four sails flying, the hat, or fishing net, or whatever is impossible to see a hundred meters out, let alone manoeuvre in close enough to snatch it from the sea.
In this case, while highly unlikely there is always the chance someone may be hanging on to it, unable to right it again. The most likely event by far would be a boat towing it and the line breaking. In the seas we’d had it wouldn’t take much for the wind to get under it and flip it.
With sails flogging all over the place we took a run in close to the dinghy and there was nobody attached to it! But it did have a long yellow painter and on the next run Sandy managed to get it with the boat hook. I left the wheel and ran to the side to grab it but it slipped away through the hook inches from my hand. Around we went again and this time we were close enough that she could get the line in to me and with the painter looped around the shroud we had the dinghy captured. The sails were still driving the boat at a couple of knots but we managed to transfer the line to the aft cleat for a more secure tow.
While it would have been better to have the dinghy right side up there was no simple way to flip it back over. There were no side handles to hook and I was not about to do anything that might result in either of us in the water, particularly with the swell running. The yellow line wasn’t frayed so hadn’t broken. It appeared whatever knot had been used had simply come undone. The alternative was someone landing on a beach and not pulling it high enough to avoid the rising tide washing it out.
We decided to tow it slowly to an anchorage and sort it out there.
It wasn’t 5 minutes and Sandy called out, “The dinghy’s gone!”
We turned into the wind and could see the dinghy bobbing in the waves some distance back. Had this been a tacky old dinghy we’d have abandoned it, but it looked new. It also still had an outboard motor on the back which would have little chance of surviving the submersion.
Back we went but this time there was no line to hook. It had broken right at the dinghy. This was going to be a trickier operation than last time. While I furled the sails Sandy got the gaff which has a cover over the spike so works as a shorter handled boat hook.
The swell was rolling us all over the place as we closed in on our prey. Sandy got the gaff under the lip of the transom and not realizing the forces involved, the gaff pulled right out of her grip. This is the gaff that is the only means of getting a big fish on board since Davey Jones took a shine to our net crossing the Pacific. We watched in horror as our beloved gaff floated away, point down with just the top 6” of handle sticking out of the water.
Now we had 2 recovery projects. It made sense to try to get the gaff back first because we’d lose sight of it the quickest, and there was a good chance we’d need both it and the boat hook to recapture the dinghy.
For 2 hours we circled again and again trying to get the boat hook deep enough to snag the gaff’s hook. Most of the time we were circling and lining up because the actual moment to capture it as it went past was only a few seconds. Once we lost sight of it completely and had just about given up when it appeared not 50 feet from the boat.
There was no way to stop next to it because we had a ton of windage and it had none. The only solution was to put the side ladder down, open the lifeline gate and climb down to grab it. The co-ordination and timing was incredible. We decided to use a harness because if it’s so difficult to get a gaff and a dinghy with both of us on board, one of us on the boat trying to recover the other in the water doesn’t sound like a great idea.
Sandy tried one go from the ladder as I brought the boat in close but with the rolling swell it unnerved her. The day Sandy says any bit of fishing gear can be abandoned is rare. In fact it’s never happened. I could see a wonderful opportunity to score Brownie points here so we circled a few more times and each time I left the wheel, dashed to the ladder, hooked on the harness and scrambled down while Sandy tried to ‘herd’ it in with the boat hook, just to miss it. But eventually it all came together and I managed to pluck the tatty old $15 treasure from Neptune’s grasp.
I climbed back on board dripping from numerous waist deep dunkings and we headed for the dinghy.
I’d noticed a white rope stretching straight down from under the dinghy, most likely with a small anchor at the end. I couldn’t see how we could get to it and figured a rope loop around the outboard motor leg might work although it was totally under water.
Sandy figured she could try the boat hook extended enough to reach under the dinghy and get the white rope. She did it on the first attempt and I think she totally surprised herself. Between us we hauled in the rope and sure enough it had a small vicious rock anchor. We got the line secured to a cleat amidships and took a breather while we figured out what to do next.
There was still no way to flip it easily. Eventually we used the topping lift from the main boom as a crane and lifted it with the winch over the life lines and onto the deck. We got the motor off and lashed both dinghy and motor down and motor sailed for 3 hours to Middle Percy. Someone was going to be really upset about losing this lot and we hoped they’d be at Middle Percy. We know what we would feel like if we lost ours and how delighted we’d be if someone found it for us.
As we crossed the water between South and Middle Percies we had to decide on the best anchorage, West Bay or White’s Bay which would be better when the wind swung north. The wind was still coming straight out of the east so we gambled on West Bay, given that the northerly shift would be with light wind.
We got there just before sunset and were immediately struck with the beauty of the place. There was one yacht and one cruiser already at anchor and we picked a spot a bit away from them where we had better depth. Later in the evening another cruiser came in and anchored. We found out the following day that they’d gone to White’s Bay and it was so uncomfortable they decided to relocate even though it was dark.
Before we lost twilight I decided to see what could be done for the drowned motor. It’s an almost new 5 hp Honda 4 stroke, an excellent and expensive motor. The dinghy itself is in new condition with and has an aluminium bottom. Also an expensive choice. With no growth on them time in the water could be no more than a few days. I took the cover off and all the cable ends and connecting rods were coated with grease. No water damage there. The spark plug was the only thing showing rust, but that could be from salty air before the dunking. I took the plug out and salt water ran from the cylinder. A few pulls on the starter cord and brown water gushed out. Maybe this motor has been in the water longer that we thought. All I could think of was to drench the cylinder and piston with WD40 and work it up and down. The rest of the motor got a similar dowsing. Hopefully I’ll be able to save it but that rusty water makes it a 50/50 chance at best.
We had a very comfortable night with only gentle rocking and in the morning two of the boats had left, both with dinghies!
There is a large A frame shed on the beach, sometimes called the Middle Percy Yacht Club, and it’s a tradition for passing boats to leave their boat name and date hanging anywhere you can find a space. We put our details in a bottle and hung it off an old stringless guitar hanging from the rafters. We could not believe the names and messages, some of them decades old on everything from T shirts to lacy panties to painted coconuts, life rings, fenders. It was an extraordinary sight. Out the back there is a large stone oval with a fire pit in the middle. In the season there could be 30 boats at anchor and their crew would sit around the fire playing guitars and chatting, eating and drinking.
While we were looking around a guy called Steve turned up. He spends a lot of time living in a cottage just a little way back in the bush. He had wonderful tales of the boats that had called in there and the good old times before internet and computers turned crews into unsociable recluses. I really do think in many ways we’re enjoying the end of a cruising era.
We took endless photos of the place with its sand and palm tree charm. When we got back to our boat we were on an absolute high. It’s no wonder West Bay is so popular.
Within half an hour we were on our way for the 25 mile sail to Curlew Island. The wind was coming out of the north at a light 6 knots and we got our sails up knowing that we’d never reach Curlew before dark with wind alone, especially as we were heading west and that was where the wind was to swing to next.
The skies were overcast anyway but ahead of us they were dark and stretching right across the horizon with ominous threat. As we got closer we took in the main sail and within minutes the big wind and seas started. The next 4 hours we had wind gusting to 33 knots and waves crashing over the deck. Water crept in and our cockpit cushions got drenched.
We eventually crept around the headland and joined the 6 boats already sheltering there. Three of them turned out to be boats we’d shared anchorages with before, Arkaydes, Rene, and Rozanne. The wind howled all night and we decided to spend an extra day drying out cushions and getting washing done.
It slowly improved through the day and Ron rowed over from Rozanne to forage for small pop rivets and stayed for a few hours. Miss Organized here managed to dig out a couple of small bolts that would do the trick after we’d given up and resorted to plan B, talking boats and sailing.
We wanted to leave at first light for Scawfell Island, about 45 miles from here, but during the night the wind started howling again and was still going strong at sunrise. We decided it give it another day.
Around 9:30 Rene and Arkaydes set off for Mackay and Rozanne set sail for Brampton Island. The day steadily improved and by lunch time it was beautiful.
Out of the north we heard an approaching helicopter. It soon came into sight, flew across ‘our’ bay and landed on the beach. It was bright red and 3 people got out with the engine still running. From this distance we couldn’t see what they were doing. Eventually it took off again and circled part of the island before making a low pass along the high ridges. All of a sudden thick smoke started rising from at least half a dozen places and within 10 minutes we were all suffering the effects of the firebombing. This is an uninhabited island so the need to burn off to protect houses isn’t there. It doesn’t smell like they’ve discovered a marihuana plantation so it’s a bit of a mystery. What is particularly galling is the fact that the chopper could so easily have made an announcement on channel 16 as they came in letting us know what was going on. We would have had time to up anchor and sail to Digby Island about 8 miles away, or at least close up our boats. We’re just glad we did our washing yesterday!
But they still have to show up for work.