Streaky Bay to Nuyts Archipelago    10/3/15 – 14/3/15.

In bidding adieu to Streaky Bay and finding our way to Franklin Island, the closest of the Nuyts Archipelago, we admit that in a navigational sense, with paper and electronic charts, we have it easy. Easy that is when compared with the lot of the first Europeans to cast their eyes on this part of the world. The 16^th Century saw the Dutch explorers and then commercial adventurers appreciate the treasure trove of spices and other riches that were to be obtained in what came to be known as the Dutch East Indies, now Indonesia. Getting there was the hard part.

Early seafarers soon determined that the quickest way to the East Indies via the cape of Good Hope was to head west on the westerlies from the Cape, judging the right time to head north to be favoured by the prevailing Sou-Westers, in the run up the western coast of New Holland, bound for Batavia. One problem though was that ships might easily be captured by Southern Ocean storms and be blown well along the southern coast of Australia, before being freed from the tempest. One can only imagine what that must have been like for those earliest of sailors to ply our southern seas.  In this way, though, maybe more by fate than design, sailors like Peter Nuyts aboard the 't Gulden Zeepaert (the Golden Seahorse) in far off 1627 came upon the terrifying cliffs of the Nullabor and the more friendly isles out from present day Ceduna. Matthew Flinders, that superb explorer, mariner and cartographer so admired the efforts of the Dutch that he gave the name Nuyts to the Archipelago for which we were now bound.

Around the Pt Gibson Spit mark.

With our departure from Streaky Bay delayed by the need to access shops, particularly for bread and vacuum packed meats, in the wake of the horse race holiday, we finally hoisted anchor and prepared to hoist sails bound for Point Gibson and out of Blanche Harbour. Time was significant in covering the planned 40 plus mile passage to Franklin Island but sometimes too much haste leads to time costly errors. In this case a faulty application of the main halyard (the rope that lifts the mainsail) by the current bloggist saw it fly away from reach, and despite feverish attempts with boat hooks to coax it down, it finally required Cookie to be winched to the spreaders (half way up the mast) in the boson chair in order to retrieve it. By this time the tide had changed and was flowing against us. As we made our way across the wide expanses of Streaky Bay toward Point Brown we were concerned that we would be arriving late in an unknown anchorage with no other option on the table. Would we find a safe place to anchor in the late afternoon with a low sun making it harder to find the right place to lay our ground tackle?

Big swells breaking on foul ground on approach to Franklin Island.

 

Compounding our unease as we neared Franklin Island was the formidable swell pulsing up from the South-West and exploding in cascades on the tiny Blefuscu Island, which provides flimsy protection to the South-West of the island. As we rounded the North-Western tip of Franklin we hoped that the swell would not be sweeping around the island and into the bays where one might anchor. Our experience is that by tucking in as close as one can to a sheltering headland the impact of refracted waves is reduced. The physics of refraction no doubt plays a hand here. In this case we were delighted and more than a pinch relieved to find a secure spot in good shelter, primed to rest well and to explore as much as we could of this new destination in the new day.

Sundowners  Franklin Island......It's a tough life!

 

Visually, Franklin looked an alluring sight in the light of the morn, and normally we would be ashore and clambering up off the beach, keen to explore a new destination like this. After all we knew that Franklin carried populations of delightful creatures such as the Greater Stick Nest Rat and the Southern Brown Bandicoot. Tempering our enthusiasm however was the sobering knowledge that Franklin also was home to a frightening serpent, the Black Tiger Snake, which according to Graham Scarce in A Cruising Guide to the Historic West Coast, lives in and around the many Mutton Bird burrows and “with no natural predators, and with little contact with humans, they may attack without provocation”.  The presence of the Black Tigers on a number of islands off Eyre Peninsula - in the Sir Joseph Banks Group for instance they are found at least on Reevesby, Winceby, Hareby and Roxby islands - is or should be a deterrent to those who, like us, enjoy exploring the new places that we visit. The toxicity of their venom is far more potent than that of the King Cobra for example. These repulsive reptiles, which have, as we know, a valued place in the natural world, plus the large White Pointer sharks which silently cruise these waters, had Cookie musing ”imagine what we’d do in places like this if there were no snakes and no sharks”. Indeed.

Inflating our new toys.

 

To counter this we had bought two new toys that we planned to deploy at Franklin. Local Lincoln sailor Mike Stockdale introduced us to his new inflatable kayaks / surf skis at Reevesby Island early this year and we were delighted to take them for a test paddle. We were hooked and voted to purchase two for ourselves before departing Port Lincoln. Because they store compactly and perform remarkably well, they were “made” for cruisers like us, in places like this, for close-in coastal exploration. So, at Franklin, we were pumped and ready to discover.

The anchorage on Franklin Island

 

 

So far we have referred to Franklin Island in the single sense although really the island is divided into what should be East and West Franklin Islands with a sandy isthmus joining the two. For this part of the island we headed and to our delight our minor ships worked a treat. Sliding close hauled past the coastline gave an entirely different perspective from either walking ashore along the beach, or using our duck. Somehow, and literally, we were closer to this new environment in an entirely new way.

 

Discovering the Isthmus on our kayaks.

 

Then, we came upon the isthmus and we were totally unprepared for what we saw. The sandy spit loosely connected the island (s) and formed a lagoon on the seaward side that was remarkable for its clarity, security and its pure, natural beauty. We could swim in this languid lake, snorkel if we pleased, and because of a natural breakwater at the entrance, without nasty intruders spoiling our fun. We did not have it to ourselves though for as we watched, a seal emerged from the bay, cast us a casual glance, and proceeded to waddle across the isthmus to the lagoon. If this place was accessible to tourists it would be enshrined as a “must see” in these parts. Again with not another mast in sight, we had this gem to ourselves. It was hard to return to Calista to leave this unforgettable experience, so to complete what had been a fabulous day; we “ducked” ashore for a barbecue on the beach as shadows lengthened and we reflected on how lucky we were to be in a place like this. Happily, not a shark, or a serpent did we spy.

Wonderful Beach BBQ

 

In the Nuyts Archipelago we had targeted two locations with credentials to go on our “must visit” list. Beyond Franklin was the St Francis Islands some 20 miles to the west, including St Francis Island itself and Masillon Island, another of the group that some in Port Lincoln regarded as possessing an anchorage par excellence. So, torn between wanting to dally at Franklin, and move on to St Francis, a flickering internet connection indicated that there was some changeable weather on the way, so if we wanted some time at St Francis, we really should move. Besides, the wind was edging towards the East, an angle better suited to Petrel Bay on Franklin Island, we believed.

On approach to St Francis Island

 

A special aspect of this voyage has been the seeing of anchorages in the islands for the first time, with no preconceived opinions and simply finding them as we saw them. There have been so many special places, so, with Franklin slipping below the horizon, and the Isles of St Francis rising off the bow in the kindly East – Sou Easter, we were again in eager anticipation of some fresh delights for our senses. Somewhere along the way we passed the shipping channel for bulk carriers bound for Thevenard, so somewhere out here there must be other people afloat. Nearing the group, St Francis Island as the biggest was clear, although it has a clutch of offspring isles; Dog, Smooth, Egg and Freeling Islands to the North and Masillon and Fenelon Islands to the South that took some separating, using our paper and electronic charts, and the ship’s glasses. Finding our way into Petrel Bay was easy, and soon our anchor was secure in ribbon weed over sand under our keel and we were set to take in our new surrounds.

Panoramic view of Petrel Bay

 

We have been fascinated by the historic and ecological diversity of the islands that we have visited and St Francis Island was no exception. One of the best sources of information about SA’s many and varied islands is the, SA Department of Environment reference South Australia’s Offshore Islands (1996), by Tony Robinson et al. Regrettably, it is now out of print. We have scoured bookshops for a hard copy, but now thanks to the wonders of technology, it can be sourced and downloaded online. This invaluable tome spelt out for us (pp153-158) the colourful human story of St Francis, which was often at odds with its unique and precious ecology. It is home for example, to up to 270,000 Short Tailed Shearwaters (Mutton Birds), which on dusk flit and wheel in profusion as they return to their burrows in fading light. They are as cracked pepper sprinkled against the evening sky. However, because the island was big enough to farm and to run sheep, early settlers impacted on this population by digging in the Mutton Bird burrows, and according to the above reference (p 156), even boiling up the Mutton Bird chicks to produce oil for their machinery(!). From the anchorage the ruins of farm dwellings can be seen and the privations suffered by those benighted souls endeavouring to eke out an existence on this isle, can only be imagined. Suffering was not limited to the farmers however, as on one occasion, a flock of sheep was optimistically moved to nearby Lacy Island, but it was a fierce summer; heavy Sou-Easters and swell prevented support for the animals to be provided and by the time the farmer got ashore there, the poor creatures had all succumbed to thirst (p 164). We carry 500lt of water on board Calista, and because we are frugal with it we should avoid the dreadful fate of the sheep on Lacy Island.

Western end of Petrel Bay

 

As on Franklin Island, there were other reasons why we did not go roaming on St Francis Island. Apart from the danger of the Mutton Bird burrows and not wanting to intrude on their domesticity, there are also (you may have guessed) Black Tiger Snakes, which, as before are both nasty and highly venomous.  Another reptile on the Island is the intricately patterned Carpet Python, rare on the mainland but apparently flourishing on St Francis, courtesy of the abundance of Shearwater chicks, supplemented by the odd Bandicoot. My enthusiasm to see one of the Pythons was squeezed by my co-traveller who insisted that our time ashore would be restricted, or should that be constricted, to the beach.

 

Our swimming beach we shared with the dolphins.

 

 

Happily, directly in from our anchorage in the Eastern portion of Petrel Bay was a fine little beach with a most excellent swimming area that looked crystal clear and safe. Soon we noted a “family” of Dolphins that seemed to spend their day cruising up and down in the bay, often coming in remarkably close to shore, including into our newly adopted swimming area. One of the Dolphins carried spotty markings, whilst another was a mother with a tiny babe in tow. Maybe, we concluded, our connection with local creatures might come at sea rather than on the land, and, from the confines of our beach shelter ashore we watched their movement along the beach, drawing ever closer to our cove. With swimming goggles donned, our moment had arrived. We stole out into the shallows and under the water we could see the Dolphins coming into view. Then with a crash, splash and flurry, the water in front of us convulsed and the Dolphins scattered. It was not our fault. It was a young seal that had cruised in from the side, and frightened both itself, ourselves (we admit) and our local friends in the process. Not to be outdone, we committed to a seal-free repeat the next day. The odds are probably immense, but exactly the same thing occurred, with a different but slightly larger seal. We could not believe it. Later, minus our Sealion intruders, we got to swim in close with our finned friends, with the Dolphin mum coming up to us to test that we were approved persons to swim with her little one. Apparently we were. Later we wondered what tourists might pay for an experience like this. No matter, for us, this was unforgettable.

Our tour of the De Nuyts Archipelago to Masillon Island

A day of relative calm was welcome and we opted to devote it to a cruise around the adjoining islands with an intention of a visitation to the feted Masillon Island, which we were eager to see. Making around the western fringe of St Francis we spotted the “missing” local island, West Island, which had, to this point, been shielded from view. A healthy swell kept us from the beaches, cliffs and blowholes of the southern side of St Francis before we bore away for Masillon Island and its singular NW facing anchorage. It surely was spectacular! We slid into this truly remarkable location which gave the appearance of a half-colosseum; limestone cliffs beetling overhead in a deep semi-circle, and us the gladiators of the day. We must have looked tiny to anyone peering down from the balcony. Soon our exclamations of “wow!”, and “check this place out!” gave way to a more practical concern, that of where and how to anchor. The water was deep and crystal clear, and eventually we selected a sandy spot in the depths, towards which our anchor plunged while our anchor chain rattled, and rattled, and rattled out of its locker. Incredibly, there it was, our anchor, bulls-eye in its playpen of sand, as we peered down from above. The Three Tenors might have made fine melodies in this incredible theatre, but given the absence of operatic capacities, we settled for trying to take in the beauty of this place, where eyes and not cameras gave the only realistic way of taking it all in. As Calista lay languidly on the deepest of moorings we enjoyed a light lunch in one of the most remarkable and desolate of places. Wow, again!

On approach to Masillion Island anchorage

Chart plotter showing depth & location!

Catch of the day.

Later that afternoon we slid out of this unforgettable anchorage to complete our circuit of St Francis Island and to prepare for our departure the next morning from Nuyts Archipelago for the environs of Ceduna. With Shearwaters again wheeling in to roost, Cookie noted a fin cruising on the surface a little way across the bay. It did not belong to one of the local Dolphins, and in the light, it was not possible to see the size of the creature that swum underneath. It was a salient reminder that, yes, we were still in Tiger Country.