Hill Bay to Avoid Bay   30/3/15

Perfect one day, perfect the next. Beware of complacency. With the evening unfolding on Calista in Hill Bay, our sanguine comforts and sense of security was about to be sullied, turning an anticipated night to remember into one of unwanted challenge. First, just on sunset, with us absorbing the last light of day, Cookie slapped her leg, then again, then uttered the clarion call…’mozzies!” Not a mangrove or a swamp in miles and there we were, under attack, ducking below and assembling our defences. Back in Streaky Bay, fly spray sat atop of our shopping list, following the Battle of Davenport Creek, where our vaporised artillery had been exhausted in the conflict. Now, try as we might, and with a squadron of the horrid insects having followed us below, the can of spray we were sure had been purchased was nowhere to be found. With our counter attack limited, it was battle on again, with hostilities continuing on through the night.

Then, as the tide filled and the small swells overwhelmed the natural breakwater, we rolled, and rolled. Not terribly, but enough to see mugs replace wine glasses for the evening repast. With this instability, which disappeared later when the tide fell, Cookie abandoned the forepeak berth, for sleeping in her ‘nest” amidships, where she gained stability but in the end limited sleep, due to the refusal of the last of the last of the mosquitoes to be found, cornered and despatched.

"The Nest"

 

By 3am, with airborne and anchorage peace at last prevailing, with a light wind shift came a grinding and crunching noise, like a novice driver befuddled by clutch pedals and gear levers. It was surely from the anchor chain, and equally as surely, the chain had grappled with a chunk of limestone below on the bottom. Try as we might to ignore it, this discordant scraping, repeated with metronomic certainty every few minutes thereafter, ensured that, at dawn, we emerged, bleary eyed, to tackle the problem, and hopefully rectify it. A stuck anchor chain, and maybe worse, a stuck anchor is one of those things in a cruising life you do all you can to avoid. When setting an anchor on an unknown bottom we attach a "trip line" and buoy to the head of our anchor so that if worst comes to worst we can try to extricate it by pulling it out "backwards", via the trip line and buoy. Here at Hill Bay one crucial thing was in our favour. Even in the early morning light, we could see the anchor chain, and see that we were just abeam of our anchor, with the chain stretching forward, from it and from us, in the shape of a a bobby pin, with the bight of the chain around a gnarl somewhere ahead. By releasing a little more chain, and driving in an arc to “unwind” the obstruction, we were free. We were lucky, too!

Now free of impediments and with our precious anchor on board, we used our track on the chart plotter to make our way out of Hill Bay to the open sea. The weather was predicted to be wonderful for all things except sailing. Sunny, light airs and smooth seas would make the day picture perfect. Café Calista was promptly open for business and the enticing aromas of cheese and tomato jaffles and brewed coffee soon wafted from the galley into the cockpit. Champagne flutes would have sat in perfect stability in the cockpit, as we cleared Point Drummond, and, with Rocky Island and the broad expanse leading to Coffin Bay somewhere to port, we made for Point Sir Isaac, with an intention of anchoring later in the day in the familiar confines of Avoid Bay.

Dolphin Escorts

 

With the ocean so convivial and the day so fine it was easy to feel the need to make the absolute most of this gift from the Bureau. As noon neared, and, abeam of the point of the Coffin Bay Peninsula, the haunting peaks of Greenly Island became prominent off our starboard bow. What was that “come hither” line from South Pacific….. was it something like come to me my special isle? To this point we had reconciled ourselves to missing Greenly Island, Pearson’s “twin”, on this voyage, due to a host of things that now seemed to recede in importance. There was Greenly. Come to me, my special isle. Crew meetings and decisions arising from them have rarely been as brief or as emphatic as this one! Alter course to starboard…make for Greenly Island was the call. The detour to Greenly, which was 17 miles out to sea when we altered course, would cost us many sea miles and it would mean us arriving at Avoid Bay after dark, but this anchorage was familiar to us and something that would not have been contemplated early in our journey, was now within our capacity. Even the dolphins agreed, for as we rounded on our new heading for Bali Hai, they gathered in numbers at the bow, and with the sea clear to the plumbed depths it was as though these wonderful creatures were swimming in suspension. Greenly Island dead ahead, less than four hours to go!

On a pond smooth, placid sea, with puffs of cumulus like cotton wool against an azure sky, Greenly Island rose as though a conjurer was at work. No failed sponge was Greenly! Proud, prominent and spectacular was its visage. The island is like two conical bluffs, of immense proportions; almost joined at the hip, with a companion islet just away to the South East. As we eased into the “v” between the two portions of the island, it was too imposing to film, too sublime to forget. New Zealand Fur Seals broke the silence with their garrolous cries, as we sat in peace on a limpid sea, gently rising and falling on the ever moving sea whilst the granite buttresses of Greenly towered overhead. Like at Pearson, it was sobering to contemplate the forces at work over the ages that it had taken to make Greenly Island as we see it today. Hand forged by Nature. It was not hard to imagine Sir David Attenborough, emerging from the foliage up on the peak saying something like “..and here on a remote and desolate island off the Southern Coast of Australia, there is an island that has been here since the dawn of time…..”

 

With the afternoon hurrying on, the captivating outline of Greenly Island, refused to recede astern of us, and we left the equally enticing Perforated and Four Hummocks Islands to starboard, as Point Avoid, with Price Island seaward of it, thankfully manifested themselves off our bow. With night falling and a half-moon already aloft, we supped in the cockpit as these extraordinary islands lost substance in the gloom. Then as we rounded the reef that protects the Point Avoid anchorage, well into the night, we resolved to pick up a mooring if one was available and head below to encourage the kettle, and to draw a celebratory measure from the ship’s supply of essence of Scotland. As it turned out Avoid Bay was devoid of company, a mooring was there for the taking, and we had it to ourselves. Did I hear something to awaken me in the forepeak in the dead of night, apart from the penguins ashore? Was it a voice; did it say…special island…come to me. ?

 

Sceale Bay to Hill Bay        27/3/15 - 28/3/15

On board Calista we are careful "passage makers". When planning a move to another anchorage, we take great heed of likely weather on route, the winds that are predicted, the "nautical challenges" such as reefs, shoals, foul ground and the like that might be encountered on the way, together with the features of our destination and the advisable time to arrive there to be securely on anchor before nightfall. This naturally involves a calculation of distance to go and likely speed that we will make along the way. Then, like a billiards or chess player, an idea of our "next move" helps make passage making a key feature of coastal cruising. At the end of this blog we will index the sources of information that we have found valuable in undertaking this voyage.

Back in Sceale Bay, with the weather "on the mend", we were keen to move on, hopefully about 50nm plus, to a destination in the investigator Group, off Elliston. Another consideration, not listed above but significant in these waters is swell. Large swells had been generated by the weather systems passing to the south in the previous week, and as our previous visit to Flinders Bay on Flinders Island in the Investigator group had been made uncomfortable by the prevailing swell, we opted to head for East Waldegrave Island, off Cape Finniss, near Elliston. Here we hoped that in the North East corner, in an anchorage protected from SW to East, and with an excellent sandy bottom for holding, we would find a fine stopover, on the eastern-most isle of the Investigator Group. Besides, Waldegrave came well recommended and we were enthused about the prospect of somewhere new to see. On our "road reconnaissance" trip up the West Coast, we had stood on Cape Finniss and "glassed" Waldegrave Island, feeling a measure of frustration that we could not see around the NE tip of the island and into the anchorage. Now if the winds were fair we could rectify that.

 An examination of predicted weather showed that in the middle of the pre-dawn morning, winds were to swing to a favourable NE direction and remain light all day until a firm sea-breeze from the SSE filled in later in the afternoon. Such a wind would be directly on our bow and would be an annoyance if we were still out at sea. So, given that the passage out of Sceale Bay to Waldegrave was about 55nm in length, this made it essential that we raised anchor in Sceale Bay at the unfriendly hour of 3am.

Sunrise over Cape Radstock

Apart from a handful of feeble street lights eminating from the hamlet of Sceale Bay, the night was tiger-snake black when our motor barked into action with our navigation lights casting a crème de menthe glow to starboard and a sunburned face to port. In the darkness, it was essential for us to pay considerable respect to the charted reefs off Cape Blanche which would be unforgiving if we strayed too close. We gave this area a wide berth, and then some! Once clear of Cape Blanche a course for Cape Radstock to the South was set and we went into a night passage routine of one on watch and another below, in the passage making bunk Cookie calls "the nest". Now, past the equinox, days are shorter and it was 7am before flimsy hues of gold in the east allowed the gnarled visage of Cape Radstock, which in a dream might be confused with the brow of a Sioux Chieftan, to manifest itself against the eastern skyline. The coastline between Cape Bauer, through Cape Labatt to Cape Radstock is classic West Coast coastal scenery with majestic cliffs and spectacular coastal vistas. These are hard to photograph at night.

 

Waldegrave  Island

  

In daylight hours to noon, with our schedule being maintained under motor and mainsail the entrances to both Baird Bay and Venus Bay passed unseen but noted across the broad expanse of Anxious Bay, which formed a 35mile crescent like  indentation in the coastline to Port. Eventually the outline of Flinders Island and the Topgallant Isles rose to starboard, whilst Waldegrave Island, like a failed sponge cake, failed to rise to any degree ahead. The value of close crew attention on approach to a new anchorage paid off as we neared Waldegrave, because although we believed that the commercial fishing farm charted in the area was no longer operational, the distinctive yellow markers, on our course and off the anchorage confirmed that it was.

Waldegrave Anchorage

As our anchor descended to a field of silicon below, a glance at the nearby beach, the impressive cliffs fringing it, and the pair of sea-eagles wheeling above, made the early rise and the long day worth the effort. Besides we had beaten the sea breeze to the punch and now we could contemplate launching the duck and going ashore. Then, Calista rolled, and rolled, and rolled again. So, Waldegrave did not entirely blunt the swell. and, what was more, the waves were pulsing their way ashore to cause a significant shore-break in the Cove. Going ashore there risked us pitch-poling our duck in the surf, or risking a dunking on our way out if we managed to get ashore.

The shorebreak!

We were a little deflated at the prospect of being confined to our ship, but noting that beyond the granitic reef at the end of the island the swells might be blunted, we sought the input of technology to provide more on this possibility. A quick look on Google Earth, confirmed the presence of a secondary sandy beach on the eastern side of Waldegrave, and, with this reassurance, we were promptly launched and on our way. The little beach to the east proved to be both placid and viable and we were soon ashore to join a small group of Australian Sealions who use the area to haul-out and slumber.

Welcoming locals

A cautious clamber across the granite boulders, being ever mindful of the domestic peace of the locals, saw us on the Waldegrave Beach, which on our subjective "cove rating" scale scored highly indeed. If we were of a mind we could have no doubt found a way up the cliffs to the flat summit of the island, but noting in Offshore Islands et al that the ground above was riddled with Shearwater burrows from the estimated 88,000 birds that call Waldegrave their home, we confined our exploration to the inter-tidal zone. The beach at Waldegrave would make a fine spot to come ashore with a beach shelter, a good book and a cut lunch, not to omit the obvious desideratum of fine wine and good company. For us our good company was also mammalian, with some representatives of the Sealion colony, joining us happily for a swim in the eastern cove, with them demonstrating their aquatic prowess, whilst we refreshed ourselves after a long day at sea.

Another stunning beach to explore.

 

 

 

Back on board, the swell had subsided with the tide and over our traditional treat of "sundowners" in the cockpit, we reflected on what had been another stellar day, as the limestone cliffs in the bay faded from lime to clay and then to gold as the day retreated. On sunset, a cray boat, Talisman 3 made its way into the bay, and drew abeam for a cheery word. We have not sighted another yacht making passage in these waters at this "prime time", and to share a few words with some experienced locals, before they set their anchor was a welcome interlude. The guys on Talisman were nearing the end of their summer activities and planned to be out of the anchorage, well before sunrise, bound for Flinders and the Topgallant Isles. We slept well that night in the lee of Waldegrave Island.



"Talisman 3"

At Waldegrave, when not "Googling" beaches for potential landing, we took the opportunity of fair Internet signal to investigate the pattern of weather emerging in the next week leading up to Easter. It seemed that another change, of uncertain intensity, was due on the eve of Easter and following the change the pattern was likely to revert to renewed Sou-Easters in its wake. To us this meant that we would need to seek shelter of some sorts to see out the change, and in the interim, use each "non-SE" opportunity to retrace our steps to Avoid Bay, before with great reluctance, undertaking the final leg of our journey back to Port Lincoln. This might mean that some intended destinations might have to wait for another time. This did not mean, however, us having reached the end of new places to see. Indeed the pre-dawn new day saw us up, primed and ready to move.

Amazing colours at sunset

Talisman 3 was nowhere to be seen as light rose on Waldegrave Island, but we were reluctant to go, as our passage out of Waldegrave would take us between the smaller "West Waldegrave Island" and the clump of adjacent rocks, delightfully dubbed "The Watchers". From the chart this passage seemed quite clear, but being new to it, we preferred to pass through in the light of the new day. From there our track bent to the SE, abeam of Cape Finniss, and Elliston, on to Cap Island, on the 47nm passage to the remarkable Hill Bay anchorage

Dawn depature

As we cleared the passage out of West Waldegrave, it was apparent that we were in luck. Finally, finally, a Nor - Easter of kindly magnitude filled in, giving us the opportunity to loosen our canvas, unfurl the headsail, and let Calista romp under sail as she was designed to do. What a treat. Soon the cliffs beyond Elliston were flying by to port, as beyond their outlines could be seen the contradictory uplands of Mount Misery and Mount Hope. At sea, misery was far from our mind and we hoped that the Nor-Easter might hold until Cap Island and beyond. In our wake, the Investigators, had sunken as though deflated, below the horizon. Then, on forecast, the NE air softened, faltered, and with the fabulously patterned cliffs leading to Hill Bay coming into view, the sea assumed an oily smoothness, providing excellent conditions for approaching an anchorage like few others we had ever seen.



Wonderful sailing at last !

Again, the value of obtaining excellent notes from previous voyagers and us having visited Hill Bay on our "Road Trip", became invaluable assets. By vehicle we had taken the dusty track off the Eyre Highway at Mount Hope, and made our way to the cliffs overlooking the Hill Bay anchorage. From above, a long cove, bounded by limestone cliffs on one side, and protected from the sea by a projection of reefs rocks and an islet, made a haven that only nature could design. The scale of the marine chart of the area gave no assistance, and frankly without having seen Hill Bay for ourselves, and even better, watching a cray boat pilot its way in to one of the moorings, we might not have been game to contemplate Hill Bay as a place to visit.

Our road trip view of Hill Bay

 Now, edging past the towering cliff to port and keeping safe distance from the rocks and reef to starboard, we turned up into this nook of all nooks and dropped our anchor in a sandy patch with blotches of weed apparent below.

Cliffs on approach to Hill Bay

Having viewed Hill Bay from above, it was hard to imagine that yes, we were really here. Soon we were ashore, had scaled the cliffs, and had walked to points of advantage, rueing only that a bank of clouds that had crept above us from over the peninsula was now blanketing the sun. This may have sapped colour from our vista but, considering the grandeur of the scene this did not prevent us from listing Hill Bay as pre-eminent amongst the remote and desolate places we have seen on the West Coast.

Amazing anchorage at Hill Bay in fading light.

 

 

With light and temperature fading, and following a brief immersion in the crackling waters of the cove, we were back on board, with "sundowners" under construction as our new-found anchorage friends on Talisman 3 rounded up into the bay. On their way to a mooring they paused, asked about our passage and wished us a good night. We did not mind having their company as night fell on the cliffs and the waters of Hill Bay. As a half moon rose, its soothing glow and the plash of waves on the reef to seaward, served to underline Hill Bay as a very special place to visit.

Sundowners

 

 

 

Streaky Bay to Sceale Bay     21/3/15 - 28/3/15

 We are self-confessed fans of Streaky Bay. It is like that pair of old shoes you wear on a Saturday morning; familiar and comfortable. At least that's how it felt arriving back at Streaky after a number of days at arm's length from humanity. If we had to drag ourselves back to a town, then Streaky Bay would fit the bill. Besides, it was Saturday eve and despite the fine fare we enjoy on Calista, to "duck" ashore and to grab a table by the front window of the Streaky Bay Hotel, overlooking the town jetty and anchorage, had a special feel to it. We could raise a glass to our noble little ship, and the fine excursion to western waters she was enabling us to enjoy. One could have lingered and mellowed in the SBH, but for the reality that night was approaching, and we needed to get back on board, get the "duck" on deck and prepare for some heavy weather that was due the next day. Reprovisioning would have to wait until the "blow" was over. With this in mind and in the knowledge that shops would be off the agenda until things settled, Cookie was up early and the aroma of a loaf of a light rye loaf, fresh from our oven, was at least a welcome start to the day.

Hot bread for breakfast!

 

The bay at Streaky Bay  is technically called Blanche Port, and is like a 4nm by 2nm oval, almost north aligned, with an entrance about 1nm wide at the Northern end alongside Gibson Spit. The town of Streaky Bay is at the southern end of Blanche Port, with the anchorage, alongside the jetty, in the SE corner. In this semi-protected crucible, one could, in theory, move around to gain protection from strong winds, keeping clear of Sponge Rocks North and South which are hindrances to passage across the middle of the bay. The tricky part, in our case, was to decide whether a modest Northerly, followed by a firm Westerly on the change, and later, heavy conditions from the SW warranted our steaming around the bay chasing the wind-shifts. With this meteorological conundrum to play out on the Sunday, we opted to anchor out a bit and to stay on board for the day, ready to move if things got really nasty. The pleasing part was that this challenge was scheduled for the daylight hours, with a more direction friendly SW, in theory, in place by nightfall.

Boat bound so a good time to "blog"

 

In spite of all the internet weather sites predicting heavy weather later, apart from a light puff from the North in the morning, a calm settled over the Port that might have lulled the unwary into a false sense of security. Often when a strong summer change is to arrive, low scudding cumulus clouds can be pointers to trouble. We acutely recall such an event on Christmas Day 1998, the first time we took charge of a yacht - a rented 27' Northshore, Bruin the Bear - in our own right. We were lounging dreamily in the lee of Spilsby Is, off Port Lincoln, with potted meats, salads, condiments and lubricants in glorious profusion in the cockpit, when over the shoulder of the island swept a couple of dark, rolling clouds bringing a sudden feeling of foreboding. In seconds it hit, with full malevolence and intent. By the time we had reached shelter at a nearby island the wind was blowing to 30kn and the sea had turned white with spray. This same system continued on its horrid way to help concoct the perfect storm that decimated the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race fleet in Bass Strait. On this occasion in Streaky Bay these grey and ominous bullies swept over the western landscape, in late afternoon, almost on cue; raising dust from fallow paddocks and reserves along the foreshore before collecting us amidships. Calista leapt about like a tethered kelpie, but with lots of chain out, we were well placed to see out the maelstrom. Just to be sure, we kept watches into the night and into the early hours of the morning until conditions settled enough for us to get some sleep. An episode like this reinforced our belief in the importance of being well prepared and in a safe place - if possible - when heavy weather is predicted.

The weather gods deliver the tempest on sunset.

 

Although conditions had eased a little the next day, and we re-anchored closer to shore, the duck ride into the shore carried its share of excitement and could have been sold to the daring, like a ride at the Royal Show. Streaky Bay seems not to go beyond second gear, and it exudes country qualities that have been long lost in the suburbs. At the Service Station where I took my trolley and jerry cans to get some diesel, the local bloke came up, introduced himself, we shook hands, and then he explained that he "had been held up waiting for the tanker from Lincoln" and "needed a bit of a hand" with bleeding the diesel lines to the supply tank "around the back". This was the same principle as bleeding our diesel lines on Calista I figured, just the pipes would be bigger. Sure enough,10 minutes of coaxing and elevating flexible pipes and opening and closing cut-off valves amongst tanks and old drums out the back saw the slippery liquid flowing freely from the bowser. He apologised that he could not "run [me] down to the jetty". Meanwhile, at the Supermarket, Cookie, needing a trolley to get her wares to the jetty asked if she could borrow a grocery omnibus for the purpose...."no worries, she'll be fine" was the agreement. A contract with a smile. Earlier, at the Newsagent, I asked the owner if he had an Advertiser footy program to spare. He was sad to say he could not help, when an older gent interrupted saying, "I've got one of those at home if you want it...I'm the third house down the road toward the Caravan Park. Just call in..." Nice place, Streaky Bay.

Easy delivery of our groceries

 

With the larder stocked and conditions on the make, we resolved head for Sceale Bay next day and hopefully to see through yet another change, the 4th in a week after a period of stability, before planning our next leg, to somewhere in the Investigator Group, off Elliston. We toyed with staying in Streaky to see the next burst through, but decided to go on the BOM forecast, of mainly SW winds with a heavier SSW predicted on the back of the change. Sceale Bay we knew was fine in SW through to South, and Easterly weather, so dawn saw us gliding across Blanche Port, before the good souls of Streaky Bay as much as stirred. 

Dawn departure... farewell Streaky Bay

 

 Cookie's Cafe Calista was open early with a couple of her fine cheese and tomato jaffles under construction and the kettle rising to the boil. It takes about three hours to clear the broader Streaky Bay, leaving Cape Bauer and its awful reefs well to starboard. The wind was from a nagging direction not far off the bow, and the swell had risen to significant proportions following the change. Up, up, up we slogged, and down, down, down we slid, time after time after time over mountains of blue. With our motor, mainsail and autopilot managing the passage, there was time to relax in the cockpit, investigate a newspaper, and occasionally to cat nap, between glances at the horizon.

 

The author relaxing at sea

 

 

With Corvisart Bay crossed we kept well clear of Point Westall on the entrance to Sceale Bay, with us hoping that in the corner of Sceale we could find agreeable shelter. Thus it proved to be, although a feeling of some unease was felt on board with the issuing of the afternoon met forecast. Winds from the WSW now preceded the change and the wind strengths were now expected to be more than originally forecast. We could expect little shelter from a WSW wind, but the die was cast and apart from more drastic measures like putting to sea to ride it out, our first option was to tuck in to the headland as best we could, lay out every link of chain we carry (nearly 50m of 10ml chain) and make the best of what was coming. Sleep on the brink of such events is patchy at best.

Cape Blanche struggled to provide shelter from the WSW winds

 

By noon the next day the wind had filled in from the WSW as predicted, and conditions on board Calista were such that moving around below became a challenge in itself. In spite of the confused sea-state and drag on out ground tackle, we rode almost acceptably, owing largely we think, to our "traditional cruiser" wine glass shaped hull. In such conditions we deploy a heavy rubber "snubber", a shock absorber if you like, connecting our bow to the anchor chain. This prevents violent jerking on the chain, thus making things much better, for crew, boat and ground tackle. Hours dragged by with our frustration growing as the wind simply refused to move from the WSW to the SW, which would give us improved protection from the headland. Nearing 5pm a pallbearer black roll of cloud swept up from the SW, and as it approached, curtains of rain could be seen out to sea, and soon its leading edge enveloped the headland before sweeping into the bay. We were not exactly sure what to expect, although in the event of gale conditions we were ready to start the motor to take pressure off the anchor and chain. Wooosh it went, as it enveloped us and our little ship shuddered. Spray flew and we slewed around as, with the tempest, the wind hammered in from...YES....the South West! We knew that now the wind could blow as it liked, as we were under shelter from the headland. We would be secure as night approached and if the wind moved further to the South later, as predicted, the outlook for us would be better still. We could now relax a little on board, knowing that we had survived the storm.  

At last the wind went SSW... we are no longer facing Cape Blanche !



In the morning, with conditions much improved, we re-anchored further out in the bay, and planned to embark on a long walk along Sceale Bay in the direction of Yanerbie. After two days of being "boat bound', walking along this sweeping stretch of Coorong - like beach, and perhaps taking a plunge in the surf was just what we both needed. Besides, if we were lucky, the changeable weather of the past week might be giving way to a more stable pattern, allowing us to move out of Sceale Bay, cross Anxious Bay, and reconnect with the wonderful islands of the Investigator Group beyond. There were still some great places that we wanted to see, and with luck that could still be possible. 

A walk along Sceale Bay



 

Davenport Creek to Streaky Bay        19/3/15 – 21/3/15

The entrance to Thevenard is guarded to some extent by St Peter Island and its smaller companion, Goat Island, to the West. Both of these isles carry the profile of a cake that has been prematurely removed from the oven. Near here a bulk carrier lay at anchor awaiting berthing at Thevenard, while we sailed merrily past, to round Goat Island  bound for Franklin Island which lay only a couple of hours away. This passage took us near Flinders Reef, a nasty protrusion from below, which was white with spume and spray from the 3-4 metre swell that had been generated by the front that had recently passed to the south, bound for Tasmania.

It's swell to be back at Franklin Island

 

It was a different feeling making our way into the anchorage at ‘West Franklin” Island. Gone was the pinch of unease that is often felt when entering a new anchorage, alone. Soon we were lying easily on the chain, positioned both for the WSW currently blowing and the ESE that should arrive before our departure. We hoped to spend a little more time exploring the foreshore and coves on Franklin Island, plus revisiting the sandy isthmus and lagoon that separate “East” and “West” Franklin. On our first visit we were intrigued by the two sheds, one newer, and one dilapidated that were to be found just up from the shore. They apparently date from research in earlier years by National Parks and the SA Museum, into the biology of the Greater Stick Nest Rat and the evolution of the resident Black Tiger Snakes (Offshore Islands of SA, p167). The unique species on Franklin Island has seen this place listed as a protected area in recent years, and respecting this, our visitation has been confined to the beaches and granite platforms that comprise its shoreline. In any case there is one local creature that we would prefer to leave totally alone!

Looking across to eastern Franklin from the ocean side of the isthmus.

Revisiting the isthmus between the isles showed what a substantial swell running outside could do. The lagoon formed by the spit was in a degree of turmoil and the friendly spit walk of our earlier visitation was swept away by seas that met from both sides and crashed together as cymbals might at a dramatic moment in the orchestra pit. Coming from our long surf background, “crossing the isthmus” in these conditions looked like a fun and perfectly safe thing to do, dodging the waves as they approached, running when gaps appeared and getting very wet when they met in the middle. We set a course of crossing the bar as best we could, touching the rocks on the other side and returning as before, playing dodgem with the waves as they attacked from the sides. We both completed the “course,” arriving back dripping, breathless and exhilarated. It was great fun. A plunge in the lagoon, a light lunch and a return to our anchorage for some more beach exploration completed what had been an excellent revisit to Franklin Island.

Now you see him.......

Now you don't !

 

A walk in the park on our first visit !

 

We might have dallied some more at Franklin but for the forecast posted that gave one more day of kindly conditions before a trough of low pressure would bring strong winds to the Far West. We needed to leave Franklin Island for shelter in Streaky Bay, and next morning as an ESE produced an annoying slop in our anchorage we hoisted our pick and, keeping clear of the “bombie” offshore at East Franklin, made our way to the port side of Lilliput Island, before setting a course for Streaky Bay.



The "bombie "

As predicted, the long haul from Point Brown across the bay saw winds lighten, and we rounded the beacon at Point Gibson with the silos at Streaky Bay white and prominent across Blanche Port, as the sea breeze began to assert itself. We like Streaky Bay and as we anchored in good depth off the NE end of the jetty, it felt like we were in friendly and familiar waters. Whether the change due the next day would modify this view was another question. All we could do was to be prepared, and wait and see.
 

Light airs on approach to Streaky Bay

 

 

Nuyts Archipelago to Davenport Creek         15/3/15 – 19/3/15

Creek? It can scarcely be that after extolling the virtues of the spectacular wilderness anchorages of the Nuyts Archipelago, we were headed for a creek. A lowly creek? Not even a river. After all this? Yes we were, and for good reason. About 15 miles west of Ceduna, across Denial Bay lies the extensive mangrove lined waterways and majestic dunes of Tournville Bay, where on the first branch off the entrance a secluded waterway and achorage could be found, popular for years with locals, and with plenty of depth to accommodate a deep keeler such as ours. This protected haven was an ideal spot to sit out some changeable weather in perfect security. The forecast for the next few days included a mix of wind strengths and directions as a trough moved in from the North West and some fronts passed to the south. So, Davenport Creek it was to be, provided we could find our way through the channels, and keep the sand bars at bay. Again we resolved to leave early to arrive at Tournville Bay with the sun aloft to assist in our safe passage to Davenport Creek.\

Sunrise Petrel Bay

Our last night at St Francis Island was a smooth one although our repose was broken by a heavy “twang” in our rigging, a sound loud enough to interrupt slumber, and unusual enough for us to get up to inspect the ship for its source. We could find nothing until the morning when several black feathers found on deck by the mast pointed to a Shearwater strike in the dark of night. We suspect that there are now only 269,999 Short Tailed Shearwaters residing on the island.

It was hard to leave a fine place like St Francis Island but for us, predicted weather rules the waves, and we needed to seek sanctuary. Besides, Davenport Creek sounded as though it was a fascinating place. From there we could plan a visit to Ceduna, which nestles across the bay just beyond the grain port of Thevenard. As we readied ourselves for departure our dolphin friends made yet another foray along the beach, and as if on cue, detoured out to our bow to bid us farewell. We wondered where they went at night, and did they ever sleep

Egg & Smooth Islands astern ...Egg Smoothie !

The 30nm passage to Tourville Bay was free of complication with the first portion seeing us pass between Smooth and Egg Isles to our port, and Dog and Freeling islands to starboard. “We should name this passage Smoothie Passage” was the creative offering from the helm. Many of the isles in this region remind us of some islands like Kirkby and Dalby in the Sir Joseph Banks group, squat, uniform and unspectacular. The wind was from a kindly angle off the bow and we romped along past a quite nondescript Lacy island, from where the low profile of St Peter Island, which guards the entrance to Thevenard rose into view. Far away to port on the mainland, a line of distant sand dunes marked the coast stretching away to Cactus Beach, the local and internationally famed mecca of surfing.

On approach to Pt Peter & the entrance to Tourville Bay

A wind pattern that we have noted on this voyage to the West, is that often a favourable wind in the morning falters in the middle of the day before being re-energised with the sea breeze later in the afternoon. So it was for us on this occasion whilst we were making for Davenport Creek. Eventually we conceded defeat, and resorted to motor-sailing the last few miles to the entrance to Tournville Bay, from where the prominent grain silos of Thevenard were clearly visible to starboard. We were really there. We could see the outline of Ceduna. It was hard to believe.

Successful navigation into Davenport Creek

 

 

With one at the bow, and one at the helm, a combination of careful scrutiny of the chart, plus sun and polaroid assisted directions from up front of Calista soon had us bearing to port and easing into the commodious channel of Davenport Creek. After the contemplative wilderness of the Nuyts group where solitude and silence overlaid the scenery, to arrive at Davenport Creek on a sunny Sunday afternoon might have been a miscalculation. It was clear, as we made our way to a suitable anchoring spot, that Davenport Creek was still immensely popular with the locals. As we settled on our chain, a jet-ski sped by, followed by a ski-boat towing an inflatable donut upon which three shrieking girls clung like limpets. Up and down, round and round they went. Fishers dotted the banks, campervans were fully rigged and open for business and the waft of barbecue filled the air. People waved heartily in our direction and no Customs and Immigration formalities were required although we felt that we had just come from another world. Later in the afternoon a cavalcade of 4WD’s, with boats, dogs, children and grandmas in tow, made their way out across the dunes and back to another planet where Mondays rule supreme. Silence fell on Davenport Creek, and with the mangroves lining the bank to starboard, and the dunes becoming an easel for the gloaming light, we were left in a warp, attempting to comprehend our transition from island wilderness to Coorong-like wonderland. Just perfect we thought, as we investigated an offering from the ship’s cellar, with selected cheeses in the snug recess of the cockpit. Perfect until, as if on cue, alongside the going down of the sun, squadrons of mosquitoes descended on us from the mangroves. We took sudden evasive action and headed for our bunker, below.

Peace is restored in Davenport Creek.

 

 

Having previously sailed to Queensland waters, where sand flies and mosquitoes can be a severe irritation in some anchorages, we were well prepared for such an airborne assault. Flyscreen hatch and companionway covers were soon in place and although we were surrounded, we kept the pests at bay, until later in the night a gap was inadvertently left in our defences when we needed to go out to turn off the gas and hostilities resumed below; with Cookie leading our response with spray, cudgel and tongue. The airborne invertebrates suffered terrible casualties but still more reinforcements droned in from the mangroves. We were left wondering how some of the ill prepared souls camping nearby got on in the miasma.

The surf beach across the dunes.

 

As the Cormorant or the Short Tailed Shearwater flies it was now 212nm from Davenport Creek to Williams Island, abeam of Cape Catastrophe where our journey began. Beyond Davenport Creek to the west lies only Fowlers Bay, with its SE exposed anchorage, and the lonely and forbidding coast stretching past the Head of the Bight all the way to Esperance in Western Australia. Near the end of his guide to the West Coast, Graham Scarce reminds would-be voyagers to this most remote and desolate of places that “the area is so isolated and rugged that one may never be found in the event of a shipwreck (p195)”. We were not going there. It was now time to take stock of where we were and begin planning our reluctant return back down the West Coast in the direction of Port Lincoln. Places that we had visited were already earmarked for a potential return, and there were places that we missed that we hoped we could include as we headed South East. Weather patterns would hold the key and a thundery squall the following morning that blew to 25 knots from the SW and saw us re-anchoring in the stream, were a reminder that we were a long way from home.

View from the galley window.

Meanwhile we had earmarked some things to enjoy in Davenport Creek and surrounds. Davenport Creek, owned by the Lutheran Church, is managed by a Committee of the Ceduna Council, with its charter pledging to preserve the environment of the area whilst maintaining it as a special place for locals and visitors to enjoy. We were keen to make the most of our stay there and already the creek with its linked tributaries and anabranches suggested a labyrinthine water world just perfect for kayak exploration. Then there were dunes to climb, a trek to the back beach to undertake, and if we were lucky there were King George Whiting, allegedly in residence under our keel that we hoped to entice into our galley. Later, if weather permitted, we were keen make the 15nm passage across Murat Bay to Ceduna, to reprovision, and hopefully to saunter into the Ceduna Yacht Club where on Wednesday and Friday evenings visitors were warmly welcomed to sup at the club bistro. Kontiki Tours would not have a fuller program.

All the toys ready for action.

 

With the stormy clouds grumbling and flashing their way to the South, and our vessel relaxing on the tide, it was time to inflate the kayaks and embark on the designated expeditions. A short paddle into the mangroves toward the creek entrance, before an afternoon swim suggested that the waterways needed a half-day, at least, devoted to investigation. First, though, with day-pack in hand we made for the back beach to see how far the dunes extended and what the ocean beach held in store. Feeling the need for some exercise following a period at sea, the long walk along the beach, an invigorating plunge in the surf, and a climb of the dunes overlooking the creek were just the ticket, while the following morning saw us head upstream into the backwaters of the creek, where a watery environment with tributaries heading in many directions proved far more extensive than we imagined. In secluded mangrove lined waterways, we found a world that ratty and moley would have warmed to. It was great to experience, and in our new craft we had the perfect means to get quietly close and personal with nature. One of the backwaters just up from the anchorage led to a sandy bottomed, mangrove lined waterway with water too clear and cool to resist. Our decision to obtain the kayaks was paying off in spades.

 

Paddling the mangrove backwaters of Davenport Creek

Emerging from this tributary to the main stream, we noted a runabout anchored off a complimentary stream on the opposite side and we resolved to paddle over, say gooday to those on board, and maybe pick up some tips on the art of Whiting fishing. The four guys on board had a camp up the stream from us that bore all the hallmarks of a professional approach to outdoor living. Sure enough, as we drew up alongside the rod of one of the party bent like a question mark, and up came HRH King George, flapping aboard. They lauded the use of the heart of razor fish as bait, but even though our onboard bait was malodorous salted squid we were inspired to paddle back and commit to our reels and lines for the afternoon. Our airy notions of bagging out by mid afternoon proved to be illusionary, and with the afternoon lengthening, we had one ignoble Tommy and a Trevally to show for our labours. Enough to be a nuisance to clean, but paltry for a feed we figured. Feeling underwhelmed by our efforts we rowed ashore to clean our fish whilst a group of optimistic pelicans gathered, obviously used to fishers with greater piscatorial skills than our own. As these canny birds eyed our meagre catch, our friends in their runabout pulled in to ask "how we had gone". Cookie shared our ill tidings with the guys, who looked at each other, reached into their catch bag, pulled out two Royal specimens, and duly presented them to her. "Come over for a glass of red a bit later" was their kind offer as they sped away, with the aforementioned sharp birds in tight formation behind. "Best bait of the lot" offered Cookie as she eyed the silvery windfall. "What do you mean?" I asked..."sympathy" she replied.

"The Sympathy Bait" providers and their amazing camp set up.

 

We do not recall where we heard this but a nautical soul in one of our journeys offered the thought that in a cruising life, that "it is not so much the places you visit as the people you meet along the way" that is the highlight. So it proved that afternoon in Davenport Creek as with an offering from our cellar under our arm we sauntered upstream and had the pleasure of meeting Mark, Wayne, Mike and Phil, four mates nearing the end of a two week sojourn in Davenport Creek. Hailing from Adelaide, they were regular visitors to the area, perhaps due to Mark, who lived in Ceduna for a time, and was closely connected to a dear and late friend of ours, the pioneer surfer and legendary lifesaver, Jimmy Miller. These good friends obviously live very well on tour, a certainty borne out by their mozzie protected living and gourmet galley tent, and by the equal quality of the vintages that they consumed. We has a fine time with our Davenport Creek companions, and might have lingered longer but for a sunset that was closing and would herald the arrival of the squadrons from the mangroves.

Sunset over the dunes

 

Back on board the faltering internet connection brought frustrating weather news. Our cherished plan of cruising in to Ceduna, undertaking some re-provisioning and joining patrons at the Ceduna Yacht Club for the Wednesday meal night was now undermined by a Northerly that was now forecast overnight followed by a burst from the SW in the early hours of the following morning. We really should “sit this out” in the Creek, and then use the Sou-Wester to head back around St Peter Island, bound for a return to Franklin Island. The extended outlook suggested a couple of days of stable weather before a weekend change that we could safely sit out in Streaky Bay. We could easily do our re-provisioning there, with the bonus of a return to Franklin on the way. Hence, with a wave to our camping friends, we nosed our way out of Davenport Creek, and slid out of Tourville Bay bound for Franklin Island. Off to port, while our sails agreeably filled, lay the outline of the silos of Thevenard and the town of Ceduna beyond. It is a pity that the marina once mooted for Ceduna, which would have made our visit a breeze, failed to get beyond the architectural plan. Maybe we would get there another time. Once again, we were grateful to have undertaken an extensive look at Ceduna, Thevenard and their available facilities, on our road reconnoitre in February. In the meantime we were on our way, heading South-East, in the direction of home

 

Panoramic vista of Davenport Creek from the top of the dunes.