Airlie Beach
Party Town, Tourist Trap, Yacht Magnet, Sailors' Paradise. It's all true and yet
it's also home to a lot of people just trying to make a go of it. I liked the locals,
who were friendly, laid back, straight forward and honest. I liked the town too
with the boardwalks around the bay, the public works and the seedy backpacker dives,
but there is also a big wealthy retiree segment that I suppose keeps a large slice
of the local economy functioning.
After sitting around on the boat for a week waiting for a replacement FPOS card
to arrive after dropping my wallet in the drink, I lost patience and plotted a course
for Townsville. At the last moment the bank rang to say the card had arrived. I
had half a day left in Airlie for shopping, water, fuel, etc and decided I could
pick up the card on the way back from the supermarket. But my head was so full of
shopping lists that I forgot to collect it! Never mind, it will still be there when
I next visit Airlie Beach. Anchoring off the Whitsunday Yacht Club is no fun, especially
if you have a toy dingy like my Zodiac rubber ducky. You have to anchor way out
beyond the moorings or risk poor holding and limited swinging room in amongst the
crowd. There is a huge fetch for the south easterly to whip up enough wave action
to ensure you get thoroughly soaked on your trip to the club if there is more than
10 knots of breeze.
There's a new marina going in on the far side of the Yacht Club which should ease
the congestion but I doubt it will be cheap to stay there.
Woodwark Bay
A short sail north of Airlie is Woodwark Bay, almost the same size as Pioneer Bay
but more remote. At the head of the bay is 'Matavai' the village built in 1996 for
the TV series Tales of the South Seas. I anchored just off the beach but
didn't go ashore.
Double Bay
True to its name Double Bay actually consists of two bays. I suspect someone was
getting tired of thinking up names and decided to kill two bays with one name. East
Double Bay is a lonely, beautiful place, almost as big as Woodwark Bay, but after
a day here I decided to head for Jonah Bay.
Jonah Bay (George Point)
About 12 miles north of Double Bay, just around the corner of George Point,
is a small place called Jonah Bay. I planned to spend a couple of days here before heading
into Bowen. It's a nice enough place but I was keen to move north, not in need of
supplies, and so decided to skip Bowen. Bowen is only a few miles west of here and
I really wanted to check it out. My reluctance to stop
stems from having spent too long
hanging around the Whitsundays. I feel an urge to keep going north now that I'm
on the move again.
When in port there seems to be a general reluctance to go thru all the hoops of
setting sail: checking things out, shopping, planning, weather, coordinating everything.
It's easier to relax and stay put! But sooner or later the sailing urge overcomes
the intertia and you just do it. Then once you are moving, unless there is an overwhelming
reason to stop, it's easier to keep going!
Upstart Bay
A full day's sail north of Jonah Bay, up the outside of Gloucester Island
and on
past some fairly dreary, distant coast is Upstart Bay. Rounding
Cape Upstart is
dramatic with its high rocky point, a very symetrical rock called The Bun (pictured)
and holiday shacks nestled between steep rocky hills. As I rounded the cape I could
see that the holiday shacks continued all down the south side of the bay. There is
no way to get to these places except by sea and I assume they are owned by people
from the Home Hill/Ayr area.
There was a lot of breeze blowing from the south and a lot of short choppy swell.
Eventually, I anchored off Windy Point because it was the only place I could get
in close enough to eliminate some of the wave action. The name was apt: windy, the
tide swung the yacht side on to the westerly waves and it was rock and roll most
of the night. Unfortunately, there is nowhere else to stay on this part of the coast.
Bowling Green
A day's sail north of Upstart Bay is Cape Bowling Green and the bay of the same
name. It's a low featureless landscape but the anchorage was safe enough, if not
very quiet. Again, tide and wind combined for an unpleasant night.
The only thing remakable about Bowling Green was the moonrise. If it hadn't been
for the moon I would have died of boredom. At least it gave me something to howl
at.
Townsville
Tme for some civilization. I planned to spend a day in Towsville, stock up, and
head for Magnetic Island. Townsville is only about 30 miles from Bowling Green and
the wind was perfect. When I got to Cleveland Bay about 1400 I looked up the tide
charts and discovered it was a very low tide, so low that I would not be able to
get through the channel to the marina which has a minimum depth of 0.2 m. So I spent
the afternoon sailing around the bay. Finally, around 1730 I gingerly made my way
up the marina channel and into the calm of the Breakwater Marina.
I'd arranged with the marina for them to leave a key and berth allocation at the
fuel jetty. As I pulled up to the jetty a redhead in a minimalistic frock took my
lines and a blustering bowser attendant came up with the key and berth number. Very
friendly indeed. The redhead asked if I was alone and when I said I was she offered
to help me into the berth, which I accepted. She took the key and walked while I
motored around. As I came into 'D49' I could see a dozen or so people hanging around
on the pontoon, including the redhead. They all looked around as I came in and I
tried to pretend confidence in the face of such an audience. As I put the engine
into reverse to stop, hands went out to grab the rail, others tied off the lines,
and it was done. I stepped onto the pontoon, someone said "I think we need another
glass, Gordon" and I had a glass of champagne in one hand and a prawn in the other.
"Welcome to Townsville" said Gordon. I am afraid I barely had the wit to say goodbye
to the redhead and try to thank her. The reason for the party was a new mast on
Gordon's very nice yacht next door to mine.
I ended up staying several days. I really liked Townsville! Something to do with
the welcoming committee perhaps! But it was also the well preserved colonial architecture,
beautiful foreshore, and the way it easily combined being an industrial town and
a good place to live. The Navigation Center sold me some additional charts and Raymond,
the manager, spent nearly an hour explaining the ins and outs of marine qualificactions,
something that I never previously understood. There are basically two qualifications:
cox and master. For my purposes the Ocean Master qualifications are the only ones
worth having and there are five levels numbered from five to one (five being
the lowest level, progressing to four, etc). There are two parts to each qualification:
one is the oral exam for which there is coursework, and the other being experience.
It appears that recreational sailing does count as experience, but may not be fully
attributed and, depending on the type of experience (eg sail vs power) may result
in some type of endorsement/restriction. I might consider doing the coursework part
time when I get back to Brisbane.
After three days I left the marina and headed for Horsehoe Bay on the northern end
of Magnetic Island. A lovely spot indeed! Just big enough to sustain a yachtie with
basic supplies and a great base for checking out the rest of the island. But again,
I was stocked up and with a fair wind I was ready to set sail for places further
north.
Palm Isles
The Palm Isles are beautiful. I stayed at two places: the first night anchored off
Casement Bay at the south west tip of Great Palm, which is the largest of a dozen
or so islands that form the group. This is a pretty spot, and a good anchorage,
although it was spoilt somewhat by smoke drifting across from fires behind the foreshore
(is that the aftshore?). In fact there were fires everywhere on Great Palm, which
is a major Aboriginal settlement. It seemed as if some sort of celebration
was going on. In the evening a large circle of fires appeared on the hill above
the town. Eerie.
I'd have liked to go ashore but I wasn't too sure if I'd be welcome, especially
after the recent troubles there, and the usual dingy problems pushed the balance
towards staying on the boat.
The second place I stayed was at the northern end of the group at Pioneer Bay on
Orpheus Island. There is a fancy looking AIMS establishment here. On the way I saw
a couple of whales in the distance. I tried to get closer but they didn't want to
hang around. Later, I heard on tha radio that a whale had tangled with fishing nets
just where I'd seen it. Later still I heard that some EPA people had managed to
free it. That would not have been an easy job.
Hinchinbrook
Hinchinbrook Island is one of those places I'll never forget. It's separated from
the mainland by a deep, narrow channel lined with mile after mile of mangroves so
densely packed that you can't see beyond the first row of trees for the most part.
It's northern end is dominated by Mt Bowen (pictured) sometimes incorrectly called
Mt Hinchinbrook (which doesn't exist, at least not on the island). At 1142 m it
is a big mountain by Queensland standards (the biggest is Mt Bartle Frere at 1622
m between Tully and Cairns). Surounded by water it appears bigger than it really
is, its bulk magnified by reflections and clouds frequently wreathed about its ragged
peaks.
At the southern entrance to Hinchinbrook Channel is the small town of Lucina whose
main claim to fame is its five kilometer long bulk sugar jetty. This mind boggling
construction sticks out from the southern point of the channel to eliminate the need
for big ships to pass over the shallow bar. Like nearly all entrances along the
east coast of Australia the channel entrance is barred, although deep water exists
behind.
I stopped at Lucinda and bought wine and local prawns. It's a one pub town and I
bought the prawns from the fisherman who caught them.
I spent the first night in the channel next to Haycock Island, a small, symetrical,
round hill sticking out of the center of the channel. There are plenty of crocs
around here so swimming was off the list of things to do. It is hard to imagine
anywhere in the channel that would be a bad anchorage in the conventional sense,
but Hinchinbrook has its own special considerations and two of these are
mozzies and sandflies. Don't even think about coming here without appropriate defences
and offenses. The insect screens worked well but the bloody things are so plentiful
and voracious that you need armaments as well. The most useful turned out to be a
12 volt 'Stermino' mozzie zapper and good old Aerogard Tropical Strength.
After that I wandered through the secondary channels and creeks, going wherever
the yacht would fit. I travelled only on a rising tide but had no problems
with depths. It's bizarre to be brushing mangroves on both sides and still
have 3 metres or more under the keel. Eventually I made my way north to Scraggy
Point which, despite the name, is quite a pleasant spot. Many years ago (in the
1930's I think) there was a resort here but it's only residents now are the crocs,
mozzies and sand flies. There is a very pleasant fresh creek with a walking track
that extends inland a short way. On the point itself, by the creek entrance, are
old aboriginal fish traps. These constructions consist of low stone walls built out
into the water. The walls flood at high tide and trap the fish inside when the tide
goes out.
Next day I headed for Macushla. This is another scenic anchorage off the northern
peninsula of Hichinbrook Island. You have a choice at Macushla: anchor behind the
point for protection from south easterlies, although depths are such that you'll
be a long way out; or anchor futher south, off the point itself, where better depths
allow anchoring further in, at the expense of south eastern exposure. I chose the
former, although I'm not convinced I made the best choice. The weather was grey
and showery crossing Missionary Bay but without any real rain. However, people I
spoke to at Macushla were pleased at the free boat wash the previous night.
There is a track from Macushla across the peninsula through rain forest to a great
beach at Shepherd Bay. Half way along the track there's a sign to South Shepherd
Bay but I continued straight ahead to the northern bay from where I walked the length
of the beach and then found another track back over the peninsula to pretty Orchid
Bay. This lovely spot has an 'ecco resort', which I heard referred to as an excuse
for a lack of facilties. It looked very basic but I suppose it depends what you want.
It's certainly a beautiful spot. I guess the total distance was about 6 km
each way, but it's an easy walk.
The weather was fine again the following day, the wind and tide were both favorable,
so I screwed up my courage and headed for the creeks. The head of Missionary Bay
is penetrated by eight 'creeks'. Don't let that term fool you though. Where I come
from a creek is something you'd have trouble getting wet in; these creeks are twice
the size of the Yarra River and have depths between 4 and 15 m. The trick is getting
into them. Much of Missionary Bay is dry at low tide and the rest is less
than 4 m deep. Travelling on a rising tide I easily made it into Number Six Creek.
I found navigating by coastal features misleading and if it hadn't been for the
GPS I probably would have run aground. There are a couple of navigation marks and
these are crucial. As I found out later, take care not to drift west of a line between
the outer special mark (yellow x) and the inner starboard (green) lateral marker
as it shoals considerably.
Approaching Number Six Creek, hug the west bank and as soon as you are inside depths
are good, although you need to keep hugging the west bank to avoid an extensive
shoal in the middle of the creek. Once past the shoal area I found depths good everywhere,
with deepest water on the outside of bends, as usual. I used the 'crossover' to
motor across to Number Seven Creek and onward about as far as I dared to go. The point of no return
is marked by a mooring bouy used by the Hichinbrook Explorer for day trippers and
walkers of the Thorsborne
Trail. The creek narrows beyond this point and you can
run out of swing room. There was a small creek just a few meters wide just by the mooring so I
decided to anchor here. Bad mistake.
Keen to see the start of the Thorsborne Trail, I jumped into the dingy and took
off. A few hundred meters up the creek I ran out of petrol. No problem I thought
as I had plenty of fuel in the jerry. But the engine would not start. I yanked away
until I was thoroughly Bushed trying not to think of crocs. No go. I might as well have declared war on Iraq
for all the good it was doing me. So I rowed back which, in a Zodiac rubber ducky
is no fun at all even in still water and no breeze. Back at the boat I pulled the
carburettor apart, cleaned and reassembled it and it started first pull. After motoring
round in circles next to the yacht for a few minutes it died again and wouldn't
restart. I gave up.
While all this was going on the Hinchinbrook Explorer arrived and departed again
but I was engrossed in servicing the Yamaha. So engossed that I didn't notice
that the yacht had drifted onto a bank and the tide had stranded me. So I was stuck
until the next high tide that evening. I was pissed off. So I crawled inside, activated
the defense systems to keep the insects at bay, and burried myself rereading the
Amtrack Wars.
I floated clear at about 5 pm and motored out to the middle of the main creek where
I dropped the hook for the night. It was too late to go anywhere else.
Next day I headed for Port Hinchinbrook Marina to get the outboard fixed. This is
probably the best marina I've been to, apart from the poor depths in the entrance
channel. Another place where you really have to be careful of the tide. I did it
on a falling tide and had several hundred metres where the depth alarm sounded continuously.
I nearly turned back when the depth under the keel dropped to zero, but seven and
a half tons and a bit of throttle proved unstoppable and she pushed through the
mud to deeper water inside. Port Hinchinbrook was built by the legendary Keith Williams
over the protests of greenies worried about damage to the environment. I think it's
a good outcome. I certainly support the conservation of Hinchinbrook Island and
the channel but I think the benefits of the marina outweigh its limited impact on
the environment.
The main problem with the Yamaha turned out to be too much oil in the fuel. But
the fuel pump looked a bit dodgy too so I ordered a new one. It took 4 days for
a new one to arrive from Brisbane, but I wasn't sorry. I met some great people including
Chris Arendsen, an ex abalone diver and resterauter recovering from a back operation.
He showed me the scars. Ouch! We had a few too many one night and found a thing
or two in common including an interest in fiction. Chris read me a couple of chapters
of his work in progress and I immediately abandoned all dreams of writing the Great
Australian Novel. I hope he finishes it so I can find out what happens next.
Off for a second attempt at the Thorsborne Trail. This time the Yamaha didn't let
me down. Again I met the Hinchinbrook Explorer and, having exchanged a few words
with the skipper, headed off across the the boardwalk in bare feet (you get so used
to bare feet on a boat that its very easy to forget to pack shoes). Assured that
bare feet were fine I followed the crowd, feeling it was rather ironic after making
my way through the heart of darkness to get there all by myself.
The boardwalk leads through the mangroves to the beach at Ramsay Bay, a huge open
expanse of water with a perfect fringe of sand nearly 10 km long. I started chatting
with a young couple from Seattle, Randall and Lynn. Randy is Registrar of the Living
Collection at the Washington Park Arboretum, Washinton University, which I understood
to mean that he knows a thing or two about plants and stuff. Every few feet he'd
spot something interesting and bend down to take a closer look, puntuating the conversation
with comments like 'dunno what that is' or 'wierd' or 'obviously a whatchamacallit
but not a species I've seen before'. He sure sounded like an expert to me!
The crowds, including my new friends, went back after an hour or so and I had the
beach to myself. It was a great day and I felt really alive. To celebrate I stripped
to my shorts and ran for half an hour along the beach, swam in the surf
and ran back. I slept well that night.
Dunk Island
The sail through Rockingham Bay from Hinchinbrook was perfect with good winds, friendly
seas, and a Spotty Mackerel that almost jumped on board. I threw out the troll on
leaving Macushla but didn't expect to catch anything. Carefully avoiding the green
zones on the grumpy charts (the incredibly complicated Great Barrier Reef Marine
Park charts that protect fish all along the reef) I really hoped I'd catch something
as I was out of fresh meat. After a while I hauled in the lure and decided that
no fish was ever going to mistake that battered piece of plastic for a squid, but
it was the only lure I had that still had a hook in reasonable condition. After
a bit of ferreting around in the tackle box I managed to combine parts of a spinner
with the good hook and with nothing to loose I threw it out the back with diminishing
expectations. Five minutes later I had a good size mackerel! It was the best fish
I've ever eaten and lasted most of a week.
The sky was showing signs of a change as I sailed through the Family Islands,
of which Dunk is the most northerly and the most famous. Great streaks of cloud were smeared high in the
sky. Anchoring at Dunk was painless and I went ashore to visit the famous bar on
the spit. Unfortunately, the original, which had just about slipped into the sea
anyway, was at last blown away by Cyclone Larry. The new construction looks very
swish but on trying to enter a security guard blocked the way and in a very officious
voice informed me that I could not enter with bare feet. So much for civilisation.
I never went back and I will make a point of avoiding it in future. I guess it's
reasonable to insist on footwear but you've gotta do it with the right attitude
and the brute just didn't have it.
Later that evening a cruise ship anchored behind me and then an AIMS research ship
pulled in. The place was getting crowded. Next day the heavens opened and the cats
and dogs rained down. After two days the rubber ducky was overflowing, so that's over
300mm of rain in two days. Some places on the coast reported up
to twice that and the Bruce Highway was cut in at least one place. I buried my head
in the Amtrack Wars, but after two days of it I was getting cabin fever. On the
third day the forecast was promising although it was still raining. I upped anchor
and set off for Mourilyan
Harbour, just for something to do.
Mourilyan Harbour
This safe haven was only discovered accidentally in 1872 when Captain Morseby and
Lieutenant Mourilyan were looking for survivors of the brig Maria, wrecked in a
cyclone off Hinchinbrook Island. Even with GPS and navigation marks you can't see
the entrance until you're in it, although these days coming from the south east
you do get a glimpse of the sugar storage facilities inside the harbour from a way
out.
Once inside, the harbour spreads out before you in a wonderful expanse. Most of
it is pretty shallow but there's enough deeper water to go around and apparently
it is possible to anchor further up the Moresby River, although I'd had enough mangroves
and insects to want to avoid the experience.
The sugar loading wharf occupies the northern end of the harbour with a collection
of fore and aft moorings to the west. Beyond the moorings is good anchoring although
you have to be careful of depths.
With the weather now definitely on the mend I was keen to keep moving and only stayed
overnight. But this remote place would be a wonderful sanctuary in just about any
weather.
Sons of the Gael! Men of the Pale!
The Long watched day is breaking;
The serried ranks of Innisfail
Shall set the tyrant quaking.
...
The first few lines of the chorus to the Irish national anthem; Innisfail
being
the ancient poetical name for Ireland. I debated a visit to the local 'Innisfail'.
On one hand I was keen to see this famous Queensland town, so badly knocked about
by cyclone Larry. On the other hand Alan Lucas warns against poor holding in the
Johnstone River and difficulty getting ashore in town. In the end I decided to save
it for later. After all, I have to leave something for the next trip.
Fitzroy Island
When Phillip Parker King sailed through the Frankland Islands he was followed by
a large humpback whale. I saw no whales but anchored in pretty much the
same spot as King's Mermaid did in June 1819, just off the beach on the
northern side of Fitzroy Island. It's a beautiful place, much admired by King for
the coral fringing the beach. I was keen to go ashore but when I got there in the
dingy I discovered it to be coral. As I had learned the hard way back in the Whitsundays,
my Zodiac is incompatible
with coral beaches in a big way. Rather than risk another deflating experience I
gave up on the idea and went back to the yacht.
Fitzroy Island was named by Cook in his 1770 voyage. In the late 1800's it became a
quarantine station used by over 3000 Chinese imigrants to the northern goldfields.
Those who were not healthy at the end of the mandatory 16 day detention stayed until
they got better or died. Hundreds are buried there.
Cairns
I'm writing this in the Cairns Marlin Marina. The marina is OK, a bit windy today
as the SE Trades funnel through a gap in the mountains, up Trinity Inlet and through
the marina. But Cairns is a Big City these days and not really much fun unless you
are a backpacker looking to go diving, flying, speeding, fishing, fucking or anything
else the locals can make a buck out of. Yes, they even manage to make
a buck out of backpacker sex with a Condom Emporium in the main drag. Cairns is
not my scene, but a good enough place to
rest up and replenish. The nearest Woollies is walking distance but with very sad 'fresh' food
at least half as much again over prices I'm used to, it doesn't get my custom. I'll
hire a car and check out the Atherton Tablelands in the next few days and look for
a cheaper supermarket in the suburbs.
Arlington Reef
At the last minute my old friends Neville and Cherryl decided they couldn't handle
any more Melbourne winter and caught a plane to Cairns for a few days sunshine and
sail. They are great crew and we have enjoyed many trips together including the
South Gippsland Lakes, the Whitsundays and on outings in Port Phillip Bay. They
even brought perfect weather with them!
Having been evicted from the Cairns Marlin Marina to make way for the annual marlin
fishing competition, we agreed they'd catch a ferry across to Fitzroy Island. In
the mean time I sailed the few miles south, into a moderate SE breeze. It made me
realize how hard sailing to windward really is. Especially as the drive for the
Autohelm self-destructed in the process. I had just tacked (I always tack manually
as the autohelm is too slow) and on hitting the 'Auto' switch after lining up on
the new heading I noticed that nothing was happening. Usually the autohelm makes
its usual 'rrrr' 'rr' 'rrrrrr' noises as it nudges the tiller back and forth but
this time it was silent. As I looked at it more closely it suddenly struck me that
the drive unit had a five degree bend in the cylinder that wasn't there in the morning.
So I helmed the rest of the way manually, which thoroughly pissed me off as it is
impossible to keep the boat tidy and well organized if you have to helm all the
time. Going to windward is hard enough without having to hang onto the bloody tiller
all the time. Anyway, I eventually dropped the hook in Welcome Bay, Fitzroy Island,
and spent some time cleaning up the mess. On looking at the drive unit it became
clear that it had jammed inside and needed serious surgery or replacement.
The thought struck me that I might get cell phone coverage from the top of Fitzroy
Island. So first thing in the morning I headed up the hill. There's a 270m (vertically)
staircase to the top and it's good exercise for the old ticker. Sure enough, if
I stood on top of a rock at the top of the hill I got a couple of bars on the phone.
I called Nev and asked him to try to bring a new drive unit. Although I got through
to him on the first try it took most of the day to work out that there were no replacement
parts available off the shelf in Melbourne or Cairns. In the end the phone went
flat and I had to admit defeat. However, I met a few people while standing on the
rock (which I dubbed 'Mobile Rock') looking like the Statue of Liberty with a mobile
phone instead of a torch. One such couple were Kevin and Enid who suggested I come
over for sundowners that evening.
Kevin and Enid have a converted trawler and were steaming south on their way back
from Weipa. Amongst other things, Kevin used to fish the reef commercially. He was
a mine of information and reasured me that an overnight visit to the reef was not
only possible but relatively easy and safe, especially if we could pick up a mooring.
I went back in the morning to exchange contact details with them and got to talking
again. By the time we said our goodbyes I was late for the ferry. Neville and Cherryl
were standing on the jetty wondering where I had got to as I came screaching into
the beach in the new tender. My failure as a welcoming committee was soon overlooked
and we made our way back to Saltheart and settled in.
We spent the next day (Saturday) snorkelling around the bay and exploring the island.
It was really great to have company again and despite the intervening years since
we'd last done anything similar we slipped into our old friendship like a comfortable
pair of old shoes.
On Sunday we upped anchor for Arlington Reef. The weather forecast was good with
a light south easterly that day and overnight. Having never been to the reef before
I was anxious about the experience, despite Kevin and Enid's reasurances. I made
one wrong turn but quickly corrected and we had no other trouble finding Vlasov
Cay, named after one of the pioneers of Green Island tourism. There are only two
moorings here, both public, and both taken. So I manouvered amongst the reef for
a reasonable position that allowed us to dive from the boat, and dropped the hook
in about 3.5 m of crystal clear water, with reefs all around.
The color and clarity of the sky and water, the starkness of the tiny cay, which
was nothing but a small patch of sand that got covered in a big tide, and the sense
of isolation combined for a unique experience. I could not help thinking that this
terrific beauty could be terrible indeed if something went wrong. As it was, we
had a fantastic time snorkelling, trying to catch fish (they know exactly what a
Hawiian Sling looks like), visiting the cay, and feasting in the evening. The only
incident overnight was the depth alarm going off when the tide went out. While half
asleep, I actually managed to remember which buttons to press to reset the alarm
-- something I have never been able to do fully conscious.
On Monday we headed for Port Douglas with a stop at Michaelmas Cay. Michaelmas was
deserted when we arrived but there were moorings, inflatables, and water toys of
all description moored off the reef. It was mid morning and the sun was high enough
for a dive so we jumped in. Unlike Vlasov, Michaelmas is a GBRMP 'Green Zone' meaning
no fishing, and it showed with lots of fearless big fish in attendance. A total
contrast to the previous day's experience. We'd been in the water for an hour or
so when two big cats zoomed into the reef and disgorged hundreds of tourists into
the water, herded by the crew riding around in inflatables to ensure none got away.
We left.
It was a long sail from Michaelmas to Port Douglas but we had a helpful wind and
as soon as it eased in the afternoon I started the engine so we made good time and
arrived at Closehaven Marina about 1830 as the sun was setting.
Neville and Cherryl had booked a resort for Tuesday night and disappeared that morning
to sample civilization again. In the evening they took me along to Nautilus Restaurant
-- an unforgettable experience. Though it's off the main street of Port Douglas
the place is set in a rain forest containing some of the most gigantic palms I've
ever seen. Every time a spot of rain threatened the roof would close over, only
to reopen when the sprinkle had passed. And the food was incredible, especially
the pepperberry desert.
A perfect end to a wonderful reunion.