Pearson Island      3/3/15 - 4/3/15

Our track in to Pearson Island took us in to the eastern anchorage, under the Lighthouse, and like new tourists anywhere, we wanted to "take it all in", having come so far to get there. This would have to wait however, as more pressing marine matters were at hand. Our enthusiasm to do a sweep through the Eastern bay was tempered by it being a lee shore, with the gathering afternoon sea breeze blowing into the bay and with the swells smashing onto the rocks sounding a warning to us to keep away. Of primary importance was to find a secure anchorage in the northern bay just a short steam away around the headland.

To be honest, just about everything we were about to do filled us with trepidation as we rounded the point and entered more of an amphitheatre than a bay and wondered if this was where we should anchor. Fantastic shapes of weathered granite towered above. One bore the image of an Eagle, cast in stone, another a mask from Phantom of the Opera, and yet another was that of a face drawn from a painful, horrible death. Mostly, these ancient monoliths were clad in a greenish lichen, except where rivulets of water had scoured their flanks, exposing hues like the Olgas in dribbles of colour akin to an ochre custard flowing over granitic puddings Up on the ridge some heroic trees survived what must have been a lifetime of terrible tempests.

Anchored securely close to the rocks!

 

It would have been easy to be totally distracted by this scene if it were not for the urgent things that we needed to attend to on board. Pearson Island is an ancient inselberg rising abruptly from the deep. In this northern bay, near its fjord like head, in excess of 30' of water, was reputedly the place to set the anchor. We were about to set our ground tackle in possibly the deepest water we have ever contemplated. Could we see the bottom and find a safe place to drop our pick? Were there rocks and snags to foul our gear? Would we be safe here overnight? These things elbowed their way into our consciousness. To be fair we had found out all we could about this unique destination before arrival, and back in Port Lincoln we had installed a sonar device to augment our depth readings so that valuable insight into the ground terrain might be gleaned before we released our anchor into the depths. To our relief, a couple of passes over likely spots showed no outcrops below, and with the benefit of some glimpses of full sun we could discern the unmistakeable indications of patches of sand far below. It is standard practice for us on board to deploy the anchor in a chosen spot and then to pay out plenty of chain in the direction of the wind. To her credit Cookie soon had our chain stretched out as straight as the Nullabor Railway. There was no more that we could do.

Spinning around in the "willy willies"

 

Then it happened. Any smugness about our anchoring processes was shattered by a howl in the rigging as a swirling wind dropped on us from above to reignite all of our anxieties. The vastly credentialed SA yachtsman, Ion Ullett, a contemporary of Alan Cotton, had recorded his experience in this bay and Cookie had deftly found this report in the website of the Royal SA Yacht Squadron prior to our departure. As Ion described it...                                         

This is one of those anchorages you love to talk about after you have left    safely. We were hanging back far too close to the rocks. The wind whistles down off the cliffs, and although the wind aloft is from the shore, down under the cliffs it reverses and swings you shore-ward. "Whistles" is not the word - for a few minutes there is silence and no wind, and then a willy willy hits the water turning it white, and heads across the bay for you. At one time from Port and then Starboard, then astern, each time laying us over and screaming through the rigging. Some anchorage! But it's worth it, for what an island. (Ion Ullett, "With Achernar to the Investigator Group" P13, courtesy RSAYS)

To the above we can attest and relate. What these furious eddies achieved was to dismantle our meticulous chain laying processes as first one way then another our little vessel was blown about our anchor far below, dragging our chain with it, to where we could only imagine. Ashore a handful of New Zealand fur seals slumbered in crevices, a couple of the unique Pearson Island wallabies nimbly hopped about, whilst, above, a sea eagle soared above the ramparts, glancing down with disdain. All we could do was to accept our hand as dealt, settle back and enjoy the wilderness around us whilst enjoying a well-earned libation as the colours of the cove moved from tans and green to, magenta and purple on sunset. Later, with dinner on the stove, and a glass of shiraz restoring our equilibrium there were further treats in store as the hues of the cove changed yet again with a near full moon rising and our anchorage became bathed in a violet and haunting light. To complete the picture, we were surprised to hear the raucous cries of Fairy Penguins, which started up up their distinctive calls that would continue through the night. This was one of those places where you didn't want to go to bed in case you missed something, and when one arose in the middle of the night, it was hard to believe that we were in a place like this. Surely our experience on Pearson could not get better than this.

The stunning eastern anchorage.

 

 

Then, in the morning, it did. The northern anchorage is chameleon like, changing its appearance at a whim and a fancy in tune with the hour. At dawn the golden sectors of the spectrum lit up the battlements as we planned a move to the eastern anchorage, opposite a small beach near the isthmus which divides Pearson into its southern and northern portions. We were in luck. Our meteorological planning had paid off and for the first time in days a softer wind from west of south allowed us to anchor in the eastern bay, from where the entire island could be explored.  We were also relieved to find that, having performed a Queen's Waltz around the bay throughout the night, the chain and anchor were easily retrieved and we noted with interest the tape-weed that came up with the tackle, a sure sign that there was sand below.

  

 

Amazing vistas of Pearson Island

 

 

 

The Veterans and Dorotheea Islands from atop Pearson.

 

Pearson Island is not only unique, it is priceless too. Separated from the mainland - about 10,500 years ago - by the same event that saw Tasmania become an island, the flora and fauna of Pearson have proved to be a Mecca for scientific study for decades. Many species found here on this island refuge are found nowhere else. Humans thus far have not introduced the feral plants and creatures that have ruined so many Australian mainland and island environments. May this remain the case with Pearson. As the only souls here, as we puttered around to the eastern anchorage we felt a responsibility to leave a light footprint on this incredible place. That meant doing as much as we could to preserve the wellbeing of the creatures that live here. See, enjoy, photograph, but try not to disturb. We were also in luck with this anchorage, which, off a small beach below the lighthouse, had excellent sandy patches and was therefore was fine to anchor in. Soon we were bobbing securely on the chain, contemplating the excitement of going ashore. But there was one problem. The delightful little beach in front of us was fully occupied by a colony of Australian Sea Lions. With most of them slumbering on the sand or playing in the shallows how could we get ashore without disturbing the tranquillity of their island home. Also, with a shore break of significance to consider in getting ashore, there could be no gentle approach to land. We would have to arrive with a bit of a rush and then risk a diplomatic incident as we dragged our minor craft up the beach. We needn't have worried! Our approach to shore saw a brace of young seals come out to guide us in and, once ashore, apart from some raised heads and the opening of a watery eye or two, the seals remained in perfect repose as we picked our way amongst them carrying our duck to higher ground. A couple of the creatures actually flippered their way towards us, being no doubt curious as to who we were and what we were carrying. It was though we had entered another world.

Friendly locals

 

Unique Pearson Island Rock Wallaby

Marbled Gecko

With rock-hopping runners donned, we made our way across the boulders of the isthmus, and, with curious wallabies sunning themselves outside their crevice homes began to ascend the southern tor. The weird shapes in granite that had loomed above us overnight were now in equal profusion as we climbed. It was as though a group of Easter Islanders had been here centuries ago, serving their apprenticeship in carving images in stone. To be able to pick our way about, making discoveries everywhere we looked, was an extraordinary experience, the more so because there were no tourist paths, signs and warnings to impede where we went. The island is potentially a very dangerous place, with some of the wind carved boulders perched above horrible slopes that would see one fall to the maelstrom of the southern ocean below. Everywhere stunning vistas unfolded that left us in disbelief. Atop the tor the Veterans and Dorotheea Islands stretched to the south, in the distance Flinders Island could be seen, and below us the panorama of Pearson was glorious to behold. We also noted that up on this vantage point our mobile phone crackled into service and we made a scratchy call to Garry at Tumby Bay VMR to inform him that we were more than well on Pearson Island.

 

  

By mid-afternoon we had explored the southern tor, scaled the hillock of stone where the lighthouse was located, and now faced the prospect of edging past the sea-lions to make our way back to Calista. Again our concern in relation to the peace of the sea-lions ashore was not matched by the animals themselves. We were soon perched on the side of our duck on the sand, with seals all about, and with them showing not the least concern for our presence. Only a matter of a few feet away a mother seal, with head facing away from us, lay dreamily on the beach whilst her pup suckled. Young seals played with each other, and the larger animals remained peacefully at rest. Before launching and returning to our ship, we wanted to head in for a swim to refresh, given our exertions during the day and that the water looked oh so welcoming. It was soon clear that we would not be permitted to swim alone, and just off the beach we were joined by a brace of flippered companions, who, in their preferred element, just wanted to get as close as they could to us to check us out. We dived and bodysurfed together and a very fine time was enjoyed by both species of mammal. We returned to Calista, wondering when in our lifetimes we had enjoyed a day quite like this. Wow! It was such a day that Cookie, who writes a regular daily Diary, including "picture of the day" devoted a double page to this day amongst days on Pearson Island.


Relaxing with the locals

Swimming with the locals, Colin on the left

 

Cookies diary entry

 

The next day, with the sou-easter back again and freshening to 20 knots we bade farewell to incredible Pearson Island. With a reefed main and headsail we romped across the 17nm towards Flinders Island whilst all the while glancing back to see Pearson sinking on the horizon until, finally, it was lost in the mist.



Pearson Island drawing astern.