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.

Pearson Island to Streaky Bay      5/3/15 - 10/3/15

After our Pearson experience we admit to finding it a little difficult to focus on what we tackled next, although concentrating on helming Calista as we approached Flinders Island soon gained our attention. With a strong Sou-Easter predicted overnight, and a swell visibly building, we selected Flinders Bay on the Northern shore of the island, around from the lighthouse at Point Malcolm as the place to head. We could have chosen to pass to the NW or South of the Island but ringing in our ears was the advice from an Avoid Bay fisherman who recommended great care in piloting around Flinders. "You'll see a fishing boat up on the rocks on the western side" was his warning. Given that passing to the west of Flinders, near Ward Island, was a slalom course of spray, rock and reef, we opted for the southern route. Besides this, heading via the South Coast we might see Groper Bay on the Southern coast and Homestead Bay to the East, that we should be able to at least “glass” from on board as we slid by. It was soon clear from the fountains of spray erupting from the coast on the southern side that standing well clear, even if that meant forgoing the anchorage inspection that we sought, was prudent ship management.

Seal Point and Bobs Nose on approach to Flinders Island.

Flinders Island is, at 1518 hectares, is an isle of substantial size, which saw earlier settlers target it for agriculture. Sadly, this landed past led to the clearing of its vegetation for grazing and cropping, and in the process, the decimation of its wildlife. Some species simply disappeared. Today it has a tourist focus with a farmhouse, island wilderness experience on offer. For us as we rounded the reefs off Seal Point to the SE, there were compelling coastal vistas to enjoy, including the lifelike Bob's Nose, and the Topgallant Islands further to the SE, named thus by Flinders, because as they appeared on the horizon they put him in mind of the uppermost sails of a four-master looming into view.

Pt Malcolm from Flinders Bay anchorage

Rounding Point Malcolm, and in theory sheltered from the swell, we noted that the scale of the chart of the area gave an obscure impression in relation to a nearby reef. According to our chart plotter, we had passed clearly over a reef, when a triple visual assessment put if safely away on our port side. Selecting a location to anchor, comfortably out from shore in the middle of Flinders Bay, we found ourselves again in deep water (nearly 30 feet) although, happily, apparently over a bottom dominated by sand over weed. Our reluctance to go in a little closer resulted from our observing, and then feeling the twin influences of the large swell, sneaking around from the SW side of the island, and a secondary swell rounding Point Malcolm produced by the Sou-Easter. Not far away a point break broke on a reef and out to sea a "bombie" occasionally broke on a deeper reef that apparently only reared its horrid head in heavier swells. Two things resulted from these circumstances. One, was that we rode uneasily at anchor, and were likely to do so well into the night. The second was that our plan of heading ashore to undertake a walk to the lighthouse was in serious doubt owing to the heavy shore break now impacting on the beach. We concluded that to harshly judge Flinders Bay on this one experience was probably unfair, and, that in a smaller swell on our return, the delights of the island may be more apparent. We were nonetheless pleased to drop our pick safely in any anchorage, as picking and choosing was not an option. Resigned to an afternoon on board, we put on the kettle, and topped it up a little more for an inventorial hot wash in the cockpit.

 

Moonrise over Flinders Bay

 

Later in the night there was a more positive profile to our stay. A bulging full moon cast a delightful light over the bay and Point Malcolm, and, in its silvery beams we noted that the swell had perhaps backed off a little. Thus, cleansed and rested, we were up and away early on the longish 51nm passage to Sceale Bay. Heading for Cape Radstock, and leaving Baird Bay and Venus Bay out of sight to starboard it was clear that the swell was still formidable, and it made for a spectacular if a little disconcerting display ashore as we closed on Point Labatt. Apparently there is a seal colony at the point, but with the dimension of the swell running, they were welcome to it. This part of our journey reveals classic West Coast country with jagged limestone cliffs, rock platforms, reefs and gin-clear water. Later, having crossed Searcy Bay and making for Cape Blanche we were held in more than a little awe as the foul ground guarding the entrance to Sceale Bay extended  for two miles out to sea, with crashing seas and acres of white water confirming the conflict thus raging between the ocean and the reef. With great respect, and with the gentle SE now giving us a favourable point of sail, we made for the bight of the bay, leaving yet another sunken nasty well to starboard on the way.

Downtown Sceale Bay

 

Three things were immediately apparent about Sceale Bay. One was that anchoring in excellent weed and sand holding in a user-friendly depth, provided billiard table smoothness. The swell had been completely blunted by the efforts of the entrance reef. We could walk about on board, no longer wishing that we had feet like a tree frog. The second was that, with a glorious sandy beach stretching away to Yanerbie in the North, we could, if necessary, use the dual anchorages at Sceale Bay and Yanerbie Beach to sit out a Northerly to Sou-west change. Thirdly, ashore at Sceale Bay were things that we had not seen for a few days. Houses.

Comfortable smooth night at Sceale Bay

Anchoring at Sceale Bay, with its tape weed over sand bottom on flat water was a profound contrast to what we had managed in the previous few days. Even though shadows were lengthening we took the opportunity to hastily launch the duck and embark on the longish steam to shore, if only to stretch our legs and to reacquaint our balance receptors with a surface that does not move. Sceale Bay is a coastal hamlet that really might be called Scale Bay, because those who reside here - the minority - and those who holiday here - the majority - live for fishing. There is no retail precinct in Sceale Bay, but it does boast of an award winning dunny, whimsically dubbed "Camelot", boasting a limestone portico, grand walled entrance and a plaque commemorating in its finer points, that you could read whilst seated. If a force twenty hurricane swept through the town it would be safe to seek shelter in this singular public facility.

"Camelot"

 

A quick saunter along the esplanade and a stroll on the beach unearthed only one group of locals, pleasantly committed to their patio drinks, as we passed by and shared pleasantries. As we puttered back to our ship a gentle Sou-Easter nestled us perfectly into the crook of the bay and we concluded that one could ride out a formidable wind from that quadrant in this anchorage. For the record, a fine stir fry was soon burbling away below, and with a glass of relaxant to accompany it, it was not long before the combination of a stable residence and the prospect of an early getaway in the morning had us in fathomless slumber.

Sunset Sceale Bay

 

The lights of Sceale Bay were fading astern, and our navigation lights cast red and green splashes at our bow, before the eastern sky lightened and we were able to see the craggy cliffs of Point Westall emerge in the morning light. Not far from here is the popular Granites surf spot, but our attention was more on a course to the NW, that saw the sweeping crescent of Corvisant Bay steal the coastline off our starboard quarter. Eventually land and an island became apparent ahead, with the land, Cape Bauer, and the island, Olive Island, forming a guard of honour to the entrance to Streaky Bay. With surf crashing ominously on the reef system extending to the NE from Olive Island, we picked our path with care before entering the broad approaches to Streaky Bay. To be honest, total responsibility for pilotage on this day, was taken by Cookie, whist her companion on board, spent slabs of time below on this chronicle. It is a good test for one's internals to concentrate and type in a swelly seaway.

 

 Streaky Bay is a bay of considerable dimension. Rounding Cape Bauer, the southern point of approach, sees the northern entrance, Point Brown, but a smudge on the horizon, for it is 15miles away. For us, there was still a further twelve miles to traverse in the South Channel (Streaky Bay has three channels), before a  sharp starboard turn at Point Gibson had us entering Blanche Harbour, and four miles away the grain silos at the township of Streaky Bay became apparent, white and proud to the south. Curiously, having worked our way to the north at sea in the morning, now, past noon, our final approach to Streaky took us in the opposite direction. It was not only the direction that was different, our surrounds were too.

South Channel Marker with Streaky Bay township & silos in the distance.

Gone were the towering cliffs, and terrible seas plunging on rocks, replaced now by a flattish and featureless shoreline more like that of Lake Alexandrina at the end of the Murray. Gone too was the swell, for in Blanche Harbour, beyond the shield of Point Gibson, tranquillity reigns. It would be easy for seafaring souls, having escaped from Neptune and Boreas outside, to succumb to the delights of Streaky Bay, and find it hard to lift their anchor to flee the cosy nook in the lee of the town jetty.



Anchoring in Streaky Bay

Our seeming haste in leaving the very acceptable Sceale Bay is explained in a way that will shatter any notion that we are hardened souls, preferring the rigours of a saline life to the softness of town. We confess that we had timed our arrival to treat ourselves....wait for this…to abandon our floating home in favour of a Saturday Night out at the Streaky Bay Hotel. There is something to be said for country pubs. We have lots of favourites and each seems to represent the character of the locale from which they draw patronage. Think the Blinman Hotel, the Black Stump at Mintaro, Bompas at Beachport, etc etc. Streaky's pub with its fabulous nautical themes and decor is a winner in our view. Besides, it is a Community hotel, which like the caravan park is owned by the good people of Streaky Bay. In short, the SBH did not disappoint, and we left sated and satisfied, before an obligatory stroll along the jetty and a short ride in our minor ship had us back on board and happy. Slumberosly happy.

Cheers.. we sailed to the Streaky Bay Hotel !

Dear oh dear! The unthinkable had occurred! We must be in either an early onset of a cerebral dysfunction, or we have truly removed ourselves from a previous life where we were not at sea. In our former life long weekends were identified, underlined in diaries and eagerly anticipated, months in advance. Often they presented, it might be guessed, an opportunity to put to sea and to leave the desk, the phone and the world of meetings, sirens and recalcitrant teens astern for a time. Now, having come ashore at Streaky, we were dumbfounded to discover that owing to a holiday for an obscure horse race, our plan of taking some r&r on the Sunday, and reprovisioning on Monday would have to be put back by a day. There are worse places to be marooned, and it took us no time to declare that with a Sunday Roast night in the offing we could be pressed do "back-to-back" visitations to the Streaky Bay Hotel.

We need to make a second confession. With the focus of our youth and adult years being on the opposite side of the state we are almost ashamed to admit that our knowledge of the alluring country beyond Port Lincoln and surrounding waters was scanty. When we were in the planning stage of this trip, we realised that apart from scouring the internet for relevant information, and heading for Google Earth to peer down on potential ports and anchorages, there really was no substitute for “seeing it for ourselves”. Hence, not long after Port Lincoln’s Tunarama Festival, we hired a small touring vehicle to embark on a familiarisation and information collecting land excursion to Ceduna and return. This was of immense value to us and is highly recommended to anyone planning to head West by sea. Naturally we could not gain access to the offshore islands, but by visiting every accessible coastal vantage point and shore anchorage, we gained a priceless appreciation for and respect for what lay ahead.

Checking out the coastline south east of Cape Bauer by road.

 

 

The charming coastal port of Elliston for example, which sits on the coast not far from Flinders Island, was dismissed by us as not desirable to enter in anything more than millpond conditions. The narrow entrance to Waterloo Bay has a reef surf break on either side, and within the bay the anchoring options seemed problematical. Steer clear we felt. On the other hand we warmed to Sceale Bay as a great refuge from weather with SW to SE content, and what is more, because we found our way to Yanerbie across the bay via some less travelled local roads, we appreciated that despite its shallower aspect, this spot complimented Sceale perfectly as a place to manage a N-NW, to SW-S weather change, as we noted earlier. Not perfect, but distinctly viable. Now, at Streaky Bay, we had already pencilled in this spot as a fine victualling location, with easy access to water, fuel and of course to that most commendable of watering holes the Streaky Bay Hotel.

Washing drying on the clothesline.

 

For any readers of nautical literature, and even of this modest contribution to it, do not be entirely seduced by an imagery of idyllic days at sea, because for starters it can be often a life of rolly, and not riley. You may also have to forego some things that you consider essential to life in this millennium. Take washing, for example. We carry only 500 litres of water on board for all purposes short of flushing our “head” (the ship’s toilet). No lounging in the bath or luxuriating in a 20minute hot shower, on board Calista. In any case, we do not have piped hot water on board. If you want hot water you boil the kettle. As for “showering”, whilst we have a cold deck shower, we prefer to use bottled water to wash down post swimming because it is a non-wasteful process, and as for our persons, you can achieve wonders with a warm bowl of water and a soapy flannel. Every now and then we reward ourselves with a fuller laundering in the ship’s cockpit where we can treat ourselves to shampooing our hair. Even then the residual water left in the bowl might be given a final duty of washing some “smalls”.

 

Loaded up with essential reprovisions.

 

 

With this in mind, our layover at Streaky Bay saw us dedicated to a raft of menial but essential tasks. With collapsible trolley in tow and fuel drums attached, I made for the local servo, whilst herself was seen by a host of tourists drawing attention by doing a load of ship’s washing by the jetty standpipe. “Poor dear” we are sure some of muttered to themselves, “must be down on her luck doing her washing in public like that”. I suggested to her later as we hung out our things to dry on the ship’s safety lines that next time she needed to put out a tin cup for alms, next time we air our dirty laundry in public.

Dawn light over Streaky Bay

 

It would not be hard to leave an anchor down for a long time in Streaky Bay, although for us our curiosity to see one of SA’s fabled set of islands, which could be found less than a day’s sail away to the North-West would see us heading there. Our duck, laden with fresh supplies and provisions had helped us to, again, be fully stocked for the next phase of our journey. We were headed for the land of Lilliput, the Nuyts Archipeligo, a place with a name alone to make one want to go there.

  

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.