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.