North to The Whitsunday Islands

Cruising Destinations

For boats making their first crossing it helps to arrive at the bar half an hour or so early. This allows plenty of time to call the Coastal Patrol to check the lead positions and to actually find the lead lights on the shore and line them up. They can be hard to spot especially at sunrise, sunset, in the rain and in strong wind, so having extra time to find and line up the leads makes the crossing less stressful. We are not experts at bar crossings however, and this is not a sailing manual, so the actually crossing of the bar is a matter for each skipper. Would Dione's crossing be a ''real learning experience'' or blissfully unspectacular?

For Dione, having two metres of draught meant leaving Mooloolaba after local high tide (11am) and running out with the ebb. The wind strength indicated a passage to Double Island Point of nine to ten hours. That meant anchoring for the night behind Double Island Point and waiting until 11.30am the next day to cross the bar. Dione set off at a good pace with fifteen knots of following breeze. An established swell made the ride rolly but we made good progress until the wind disappeared along with the daylight, leaving us wallowing in a big, rolling swell. Seeing little sense in heaving to in busy shipping lanes in the dark, Glen motored just enough to maintain progress and prevent everything below from being shaken apart by the violence of the rolling motion.

The passage was noisy, rough and slow, but gradually the plots on the chart began reaching towards Wide Bay and soon we were steering in towards the shore to anchor. Glen steered while I tried to pick out the line of rocks and sand marking the shore. Invariably, when using a spotlight from the deck of a boat, there is just enough mist in the night air to render it practically useless! We had never anchored off any coast before and doing it for the first time at night added an element of tension. Once well in the lee of the headland of Double Island Point though, we were out of the wind, the sea was smoother and the cliffs and shoreline became clearer and easier to distinguish. We used the echo sounder to find the correct depth for safe, sheltered anchoring and were relieved, for a short time anyway, to get the anchor down and set.

I don't think I will forget that night in a hurry. For reasons best known only to the weather gods, the coast's predominant southerly swell turned easterly during the night and two metres of ocean swell rolled relentlessly into the bay where we had anchored. Does this happen only to us? Hundreds of boats anchor here every year because it is protected from the swell! We have never, not before or since, heard of an easterly swell behind Double Island Point. Yet for us, the swell turns easterly and we spend the night bouncing between the mattress and the headlining in the forepeak. I was literally lifted off the sheets several times and eventually moved camp onto the lounge in the middle of the boat. To no avail - when anchored, two metres of swell is HUGE! Nobody slept that night; at the very crack of dawn we upped anchor and sailed towards the bar, four hours too early to cross, just to be free of the motion.

On the way across to the bar we passed another sailboat headed back to Double Island Point. They called out that the bar was impassable and they were going back to the anchorage to have breakfast and wait. We tried to warn them about the swell but they were keen for a break after sailing non-stop from Brisbane. We continued on towards the bar until we could see for ourselves that it was an unbroken line of breaking waves. I called up the Wide Bay Coastal Patrol for their opinion of conditions on the bar and to confirm that high tide was 11.30am. Their opinion was that we should definitely wait for full high tide. A local fishing boat had crossed the bar earlier that morning and waves had smashed their boat's windscreen. The forecast of a westerly breeze was more encouraging as that would flatten the bar substantially. We hoped so - from what we could see, only a helicopter would be crossing the bar any time soon.

As we spoke to the locals the other yacht returned from the Point - they had discovered the swell for themselves, finding setting and retrieving the anchor safely in the swell a challenge. We all introduced ourselves while we stood off waiting for high tide and this is where we met our good friends John and Rosalie from Brisbane on their Salar 40 named Realm. After two more hours of watching and waiting, John decided to take a run at the bar. There was much less white water in the entrance now and only the occasional large wave was still breaking; we agreed to follow them and watched the sets more closely to see how best to time the crossing. It seemed that after a big swell rolled in, the next four or five were smaller, so we decided to steam in as fast as we could behind a big swell. We thought that would give us the most time before the next big swell and therefore the best chance of not being overtaken by a breaking wave.

Being a little nervous I insisted we both put life jackets on ''just in case''. Realm headed in and after lining up the leads and letting a big swell go under us Glen drove Dione across at full speed. The deep area of the bar is not very wide and steaming between lines of breaking surf on either side is exciting to say the least. Glen kept focussed on the leads though and we were across the bar and safely inside before we knew it. Glen is just such a cool, calm customer behind the wheel of a sailboat. His un-flappability is a great source of confidence; his calm competence had kept us safe once again.

Realm headed towards Tin Can Bay, a southern coastal settlement of Wide Bay. We continued north to Garry's Anchorage, arriving after a perfect sail, and set the hook for the night at 3.30pm. After a hot meal and coffee, I fell asleep on the way to the forepeak berth. While I caught up on my zeds, Glen rigged a lifting bridle for the dinghy and set a line, hoping to catch dinner. Thinking I would wake up to the smell of frying snapper was wishful thinking indeed! We may not be completely incompetent at fishing but we won't be hosting our own fishing spot on television in this lifetime! After perusing our cruising guides for the area we turned in for the night and slept like bricks. Garry's Anchorage has a strong tidal stream so we did get some chain shudder at full ebb and flood, but otherwise this is a very peaceful and secure anchorage.

The next day we set off for a long walk on Fraser Island. Fraser is a huge sand island covered in typical coastal tea trees, eucalypti and scrub brush, fringed with mangroves sheltering mud crabs and fry. The Island is famous for its miles of wide sandy beaches and huge dune systems. Four-wheelers flock here for the driving, beach fishing and camping. This creates an uneasy situation however, as wild dingoes are native to Fraser Island and several people have been mauled after the dingoes became used to being fed by visitors. [The situation turned to tragedy recently when a child died of wounds from a dingo attack and many dingoes were shot as a result (April, 2001).] Reckless drivers continue to cause severe damage to bush tracks, forest roads and sand dunes as well. While the Queensland government continues to play amateur conservationist, population pressures continue to undermine efforts to preserve the magic of Fraser Island.

Feeling fully rested and ready to explore further. We had met a couple on the large motor launch, Wind Rode, while walking the day before and decided to join them at South White Cliffs anchorage, further north. Being much slower, by the time we arrived at the anchorage they had moved on to North White Cliffs. Perhaps the mozzies had driven them away - they are certainly a well-drilled army, the mosquitoes at South White Cliffs. We couldn't show an inch of bare skin without becoming a meal for a squadron of starving strike pilots. We tried fishing in the dinghy without luck and the skeeters eventually drove us below for the night. We had some route planning to do anyway, and we enjoyed the quiet anchorage with just one other boat nearby.

Driven mad by mosquitoes, we moved up to North White Cliffs anchorage after breakfast. This is a good stop-off before heading on to Bundaberg. The anchorage comprises a fairly narrow trench, shoreward of which the seabed shoals rapidly. The 'trench' lies some way off the beach so it is important to know where the tide is in the cycle before leaving the dinghy ashore. One poor guy had quite a swim out to his dinghy, fully clothed, after the tide floated it off the beach and left it bobbing a hundred metros offshore. It was fortunate that he had buried the anchor in sand with enough rode for the dinghy to float otherwise its buoyancy would have torn the anchor free and the dinghy would have disappeared downwind. Similarly, you can anchor your dinghy in a metre of water, twenty metres off the beach and return to find it high and dry, fifty metres of muddy silt from the water.

The Kingfisher Resort at North White Cliffs has a visitor's bar and pool with telephone and hot showers. Visitors can enjoy a meal, a drink, a swim, relax on the beach or by the pool, or hike along bush trails. We hiked up to the lookout along the pretty conservation trail and raced the tide back to the Resort via the beaches. This is a wonderful hike through native sub-tropical forest with plaques describing the species of flora and fauna and some impressive views across Hervey Bay from the Lookout. We took the hard way back, scrambling down to the beach from the trail and clambering over logs, rocks and mangroves. It is only possible to come back this way at low tide and we had to wade in several areas as the tide filled. When we arrived back at the Resort we picked up some bread and the newspaper at the café-store, phoned home then freshened up in the shower on the way back to the boat. It was a most enjoyable way to spend the day. A regular ferry from the mainland drops day-trippers off at the Resort's jetty and returns to collect them in the afternoon, when it drops off overnighters and staff. We didn't try it but it is possible to take the ferry over in the morning to spend the day on the mainland and be dropped back to the Island later.

The weather had continued fine since leaving Mooloolaba; it was time to be moving on, but winds were light and from the direction we wanted to go - of course! Glen decided to leave the next day for Pancake Creek so we looked over the charts of northern Hervey Bay. The northern entrance to the Bay is deep, wide and open, though bounded to seaward by perhaps the most dangerous feature on this part of the coast - Breaksea Spit. This long, shallow sand spit extends well north from Fraser Island's most northern beach. Though marked by a lightship, vessels continue to come to grief by trying to cut across the Spit inside the light. It wasn't a concern for us though as our route followed the central shipping channels out of Hervey Bay.

We did manage to break the monotony by setting the galley on fire - well, a pan of oil anyway. I was making papadams in flat calm seas when the only ripple of the day caused the pan to lurch. A drop of oil slopped into the gas flame setting the whole pan alight. Glen quickly covered the pan with the fire blanket and no harm was done but it was a good lesson - deep frying at sea is never a great idea! It was a relief to finally turn around Bustard Head and run down the leads into Pancake Creek.

Good luck: the current was in our favour. The current is very strong at full flood and ebb here, up to four knots. We had over two hours of flood with us and soon had the anchor firmly set. Pancake Creek is deep only in a narrow, winding channel, with very visible sandbanks. It is a very pretty spot to spend a sunny afternoon and we had hand lines overboard in short order. To my eternal shock and amazement, my line went whizzing upstream as soon as I had settled in for the duration. A quick tug to set the hook and we were soon staring at two kilos of plump, juicy parrot fish - dinner for two coming up. Glen had baked bread and opened a Chablis; we dined like czars. I was beginning to see how the cruising life could catch on!

As usual, Glen's practicality solved the immediate problem of preventing damage to the sail and rig. He decided to lower the mainsail to the second reef and secure the remaining flap of headsail as best we could - not an ideal sailplan but definitely a good solution until we could fix the problem. We quickly adjusted the sails and bore off once again for Great Keppel Island. The plan was to anchor in the first sheltered bay around the back of the island while we sorted out the headsail. It was a wild, wet ride, fast and furious, with the wind now steady at twenty knots and gusting considerably harder. I am constantly amazed by how rapidly, how radically the ocean is transformed as the wind increases. The sea darkens, waves build up quickly, visibility is reduced by fine salt mist and the idyllic, island-blue ocean turns rough and lumpy with curling white crests on jagged waves and foam-streaked troughs. The calm and gentle breeze becomes a long, low moan that stretches from the horizon until bursts in a gust over the boat, whistling through the rigging, straining sheet ropes bar-taut, shuddering down the mast, rippling the waves as it moves on across the sea. It is all part of sailing, but not a part I enjoy immensely.

Fixing the Furler problem meant unwinding the tangled sheet and sail turn by turn and re-setting the sail on the Furler. This took nearly two hours and we had just enough time before dark to sail around to Svendsen's Beach, the main northern anchorage on Great Keppel Island. The eastern end of the beach is too shallow for overnight anchoring. While we were there, several boats were grounded at low tide when they anchored too close to the shore. We moved further west towards the 'resort end' and anchored among some other cruising boats. It was great to be out of the wind; the beach was warm and sunny and the water almost inviting enough for a swim - almost! Glen & I needed some 'quiet' time after the day's drawn-out dramas so Glen went off to ''check out'' the beach and I caught up with log records and cruising notes. It was a good feeling knowing we could explore the island the next day.

As it turned out, we had been lucky to arrive ahead of a strong southerly weather system. The wind that day preceded three days of strong winds, up to thirty knots from the southeast with up to three metres of swell. Nasty. We could have sailed on to the Percy Islands quite safely but that amount of swell would have made the anchorages there untenable. We made the best of the time, hiking all over the island, exploring further around the island in the dinghy, lazing on the beach writing letters, reading a book. The water was a little too cool for enjoyable swimming most of the time though laying on a beach towel in the sun for a while made Glen hot enough to brave the chilly water a couple of times. Not super wimp Sue though! I was happy just absorbing the atmosphere and relaxing with Glen. We met another couple, Sue and Graham, on Flying Cloud, a Nantucket 33. This was their first season of cruising also and we spent a great afternoon together, swapping stories over lunch.

We were glad to leave when the wind finally eased. In anything over twenty knots and about a metre and a half of swell, Svendsen's Beach is an uncomfortably rolly anchorage. The swell seems to curve around the eastern end of the island and flows in towards the shore with the tide. Full high tide is the worst, with the rolling being bad enough to encourage us to spend the whole day ashore just to avoid it. We couldn't do that at night obviously so nobody could sleep very much for the three days we were anchored at Great Keppel Island. It is usually a relief to arrive at an anchorage after a day's sailing; this time it was a relief to be leaving.

The next day we clambered up the hillsides to the top of the island for the view. It is a tougher climb than it looks, with no marked tracks to follow, but the view from the top of Digby Island on a clear day is worth the effort. We saw some sea turtles swimming off the rocks below and some dolphins cruising by a little further out. We could see the mainland and several islands to the east and north. Back down on the beach, Glen cooled off in the bay and I found a lovely warm rock pool, heated by the sun all afternoon; a more pleasant way to freshen up would be hard to imagine. As we were drying off another sailboat turned up, shattering the illusion that we were the only people on earth! It was nice while it lasted.

That night a swell made its way into the bay. Dione rolled gunwale to gunwale for ten miserable hours. Every loose item onboard tinked and clunked to and fro in every cupboard; halyards clanged, blocks banged; sleep was impossible. While we had it rough, Glen's family had it worse. We didn't know it at the time but learned later that Glen's uncle Dennis, respected club sailor with Mooloolaba Yacht Club, had died that night from heart failure. We will always remember his zest for life and his passion for the sea and sailing. It is nice to think that he is keeping an eye on us as we travel the oceans of the world.

The rolling in the bay was so bad that the other boat weighed anchor sometime during the night and disappeared. We heard on the radio the next day that they had gone to St Bees & Keswick Islands but had lost their dinghy from behind the boat; the call was for boats nearby to keep any eye out for it. We were heading for Thomas ourselves that morning, until an updated forecast caused us to divert to the better protection offered by Scawfell Island. Another southerly system was growling up the coast. The wind was south ten to fifteen knots by the time we pulled out of the bay so the run up to Scawfell was fast and COLD!

Scawfell Island is unfortunately shaped in a way that funnels south winds between two hills, accelerating it out across Refuge Bay. The bullets ripping across the bay were up to thirty percent higher than the average wind speed. Glen put out plenty of chain and we dug well in; but with the wind building to twenty-five, then thirty knots, gusts of forty knots were hitting the boats regularly. We watched the other boats sheering left and right on their chains and Dione also covered plenty of water, heeling to the gusts at the end of one arc then swinging wildly back the other way.

A fishing trawler came into the bay and anchored west of Dione. As usual, that part of the bay began to look more sheltered than our chosen spot and we were thinking of moving until we noticed that the trawler was dragging anchor and retreating rather rapidly back out of the bay. We were surprised that a trawler would drag anchor - fishermen seem to possess an aura of infallibility when it comes to their seamanship, but this boat was going backwards fast! I tried contacting them on the radio; nobody responded but a short time later someone emerged on deck and re-anchored the boat. I wondered whether they had any fish onboard - some fresh snapper would have been nice - but it was just too windy to launch the dinghy.

We tried sailing across to Goldfield Island the next morning but found that with a two metre sea and a three metre swell the going was just too rough and we returned to Scawfell Island. The storm blew for three tedious days with winds steady above twenty-five knots and occasional periods of thirty to thirty-five knots. The wind refused to ease long enough to enable us to launch the dinghy to go ashore and explore, so we were stuck onboard for three nights and two days. By Friday morning, the wind had eased to twenty knots. The swell was due to ease as well, but we left Scawfell in the morning and spent the day surfing on up to four metre waves. We had targeted Thomas Island as our next destination but its course lay too side-on to the swell. The best we could do was to run with the swell up to Shaw Island.

It was pretty cold on this passage and I kept Glen warm with hot chocolate, coffee and soup. Being below most of the time meant I could do all the navigating as well. After eight hours of heavy rolling we were both happy to turn under the lee of Shaw Island and nudge in close to shore, out of the wind. What a day! What a wild ride. What a contrast Shaw Island was to the rushing waves and whistling wind and spray.

Waking up anchored off such a pretty island, knowing we had sailed all the way from Sydney, over a thousand nautical miles south, was a special feeling; a mixture of pride in the achievement, of aesthetic pleasure and of excitement at what lay ahead. We had come a long, long way, (in more ways than one), from the snarling, snapping traffic, the crammed suburbs, the pressure-cooker atmosphere, of Sydney. Glen finished off the cable repair and we packed the dinghy to spend the day ashore.

A shallow reef extends a long way off the beaches of Shaw Island so going to and from shore is easier with some tide. Once ashore a walk along the beach stretched our legs after four days onboard. The beach is covered in tiny ''ha'penny' shells with holes in their centres. We collected some larger ones and some other small shells to make a wind chime for Dione. The sand was warm and soft; by midday, we felt quite hot and looked around for a tree to spread the towels under for a picnic lunch. I think there was only one tree on the beach large enough to sit under, but since we were alone on the island, it was all ours.

Is there anything more peaceful than a picnic on a deserted tropical island on a warm, sunny day, your boat anchored a short distance off, not a cloud softening the brilliance of the sky, the first whispers of an afternoon sea-breeze just beginning to stir the crystal water? After lunch we relaxed on the beach, talking, reading and dozing, watching the tide return so that we had to jump up and pull the dinghy up the beach two or three times. Eventually, the sea-breeze became strong enough to cool the air too much and we headed back to Dione with a pocket full of shells and happy memories.

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