To the Alternative Portland Harbour
Not the Portland Harbour we are familiar with in Dorset but its counterpart down under on the Victoria coast.
After a last supper, games of Mexican Dominoes and scrambled eggs and smoked salmon breakfast the next morning we were making our way back to Strahan when our separate thinking came together; the weather conditions would be perfect the next day but they are also perfect NOW. With the favourable weather windows being so short we could not afford to delay; the sooner we get there the more comfortably we would miss the predicted 40 knot Northerlies.
I nudged Zoonie alongside Nichola and managed to just touch her, the one and only time in all my close manoeuvrings and basically because I had to get close enough to drop Ken and Bron off to take lines and of course Nichola had no fenders out. No damage to either yacht but a little to my pride. We exchanged hasty hugs and kisses and gas bottles because Ken’s had more in than ours and we were off at 12.15 pm with 278 Southern Ocean miles ahead of us.
I prepared a snack of coleslaw with cheese sandwiches and we washed it down with a welcome shared Speckled Hen beer all the way from Ringwood Brewery in Hampshire as Zoonie trundled back down her black line towards Hells Gate.
Two and a half hours later she was leaning under the pressure of a 16 knot SE wind, her working sheet creaking in the winch. Dolphins welcomed us back to sea and we could see Nichola approaching the rock training wall about an hour behind us as they had done a quick shop. From then on our paths separated but we could still see her white sails well into the evening. We were back among the world of the albatross, continuing our long journey.
We had spoken with Alison and Randall while we were crossing the harbour, they were planning their crossing of the Bass Strait to Tassie, so our next reunion would be somewhere down the line since we had now left the shores of that jewelled isle, and with Jane in Jilliby whose recovery from her double knee replacement is going exactly according to plan.
By midday the next day we had started crossing Bass Straight and were leaving the continental shelf in a 3.5 metre sea state when suddenly one of those bigger than the rest waves thumped Zoonie on her side, deluged the windward deck from bow to stern with liquid anger, sending her into a spin, then all goes quiet for a few moments as the sea says “Ooops, sorry about that!”
There are many seabirds over the precipice of the shelf because that is where huge shoals of fish live, gannets, shearwater and sometimes albatross fishing the same waters.
It is bright but with 8/8 cloud cover and there is a chill in the air brought northwards by the southern ocean swell.
The Watt&sea wave generator is working well, keeping the batteries at 100% and providing the power for the autopilot with its new ram to work 24/7. Mary on Tas Maritime Radio welcomes home all the fishermen who call in their safe returns to port and notes down the location of those who are anchoring out overnight in some sheltered cove “Thanks George, you have a good one”.
So they are settled for the night but I only wish my tummy was. For the first time in ages I have nausea and an over active tum so I am enjoying the ride from behind a curtain of frequent sips of water and gulps of fresh air. The motion is not uncomfortable as Zoonie corkscrews her way north east, shoved onward by a quartering swell. Out beyond the continental shelf, shown by the crammed close together lines on the chartplotter, over the deep ocean and flat abyssal sea floor the swells are further apart and more forgiving.
Zoonie has produced between 4.9 and 8.2 knots of speed on this, I remember, her best sail in months.
The Emu Arrow kept us company for a while, motoring NE to Portland too and behind us on our starboard side until he did a considerable turn to port to pass behind us as we had been between him and the channel marker in to the harbour. It can look dramatically close on the chart plotter but with his alteration of course so obviously intended to give us a wide berth 1.2 miles astern I wasn’t at all concerned.
We tied up off the long hammer head pontoon at the outer end of the marina mid-afternoon having averaged 6 knots under sail and sailing 254 of the 296 mile journey. Marina Manager Scott came on board and warmly welcomed us suggesting we move around to a really tucked away berth out of the worst of the swell and water motion in the harbour. Well that was easier said than done but thankfully he came along to take our bowline and make sure Zoonie, on her tight turn didn’t clout the beautiful restored crayfishing boat moored next to us as you can see in the photo.
Hairdryer winds the next day made short work of cooking the washing and I clung on to it on the line as I gathered the articles in for fear of being blown away.
On leaving Tasmania we have passed one of the five southern-most capes in the world, SE Cape Tasmania, at 43’38.37South. It is in fact the third most southerly cape with just South Cape NZ and Cape Horn, both of which we won’t round, further south. Another two of the five are Cape Leeuwin SW Aussie which is next and then Cape Agulhas off South Africa, for the rounding in January next year.
Fast forward to today 9th Feb. Excuse me now as we go ashore here in Ceduna for breakfast with Kylie and Brad and await the arrival of our dear friend Hannes from Cayenne as he travels west to east along south Australia on his way back to the mothership in Tassie.
Around Portland
The busy westerly wind we had been promised that brought about our respite in Portland arrived as we set off one morning for a good look around Portland. The poor wallaby in the water beside Zoonie must have been a victim of the recent rains and the two classic crayfish boats were as restless in the water as Zoonie, constantly being jostled by the disturbed water. Despite the size of the harbour and the generous distance from the harbour mouth many of the moored vessels had doubled up on their lines in case chafe caused breakages and set them free. Just infront of us was one such fishing tinny, a small aluminium boat belonging to Mark.
Very shortly after we arrived a fisherman came along the jetty, tapped on our hull, “Would you two like to come to dinner tomorrow evening?” Mark didn’t even know our names at that stage and when he came to collect us he said, “I do this whenever there’s a new yacht in the marina, Sandra’s quite used to it,” and so started a lovely evening looking at their family history of cray-fishing; see the size of the monsters from the one on the wall to the pictures of Sandra’s relatives from the past at work from here right down to the north west coast of Tasmania. There is a strict, re-enforced quota on them now and most of the locals were reaching theirs for the season. We walked the short distance back to Zoonie from their home, which Mark bought on a whim from an elderly lady who hadn’t done any modernising on it since she moved in. Sandra got her own back and had it gutted and refitted to her taste. The work was almost done when we visited.
Back to the walk out of the marina heading east along a coastal path which goes for many more miles than we would have time for. Sand from the harbour mouth is pumped along a big black pipeline to the point where it is shot up and out into the bay well away from where the big ships transporting wood and wood chip to China just to bring it back as pulp (!) need their deep channel. There is also a big fertiliser plant that is being phased out and a gypsum works all of which combine to make it a busy port with lots of ship movements, (for me to watch!)
We came to a fenced off area beyond which we were told on a notice that it was dangerous to walk because of falling cliff face on one side and the risk of dangerous waves breaking over the rocks to the right. As the tide was low and the waves only just reaching the rocks let alone breaking over them we proceeded with caution and only left the low path where a single family were enjoying a swim beside some wooden steps that led up to an area of sizeable detached houses with expansive sea views. There was an old water tower that was used in the Second World War as a lookout tower watching for enemy planes, such as the Japanese ones that attacked Darwin and Whalers Bluff Lighthouse lovingly moved stone by stone to where it sits today. A leisurely stroll back down along the track of the old tram that runs regularly and daily from the far end of town right up to the bluff brought us to the pub called Mac’s for a refreshing beer and soaking up of the history within its walls. I loved the wooden tan-sailed boat suspended in full flight over the bar and the tale of how the survivors of the Admella wreck were brought here to be cared for. Not a stranger to these waters, the Admella was so named because it traded between ADelaide, MELbourne and Launceston; the sea is not particular who it claims.
The contrast between the wrought ironwork of Mac’s and the classical style of the old Post Office, now The Clock on the Bay Restaurant where we dined well one evening, suggested an affluent and worldly view when it came to choosing architectural style for the town buildings.
So that was the east and central town explored which left the western end for another day. As it turned out we had arrived in time to share in the Australia Day weekend commemorations not the least of which was the fishing competition that ran from very early in the morning, as you can see from the queue of tinnies being launched at dawn in the picture, throughout the weekend.
Australia Day Weekend in Portland
Despite the unforgiving wind we watched as tents and a covered stage were erected in readiness for the weekend events. There were the usual craft stalls covered with the quaint products made at times chosen by their creators in the privacy of their homes. The activity at the skate board park was quite a spectator sport with families picnicking on the grass while watching the impressive skills and risks taking by the youngsters, it was roller skates when I was a kid, clatter clatter over the gaps in the pavements.
The chap at the marine rescue coastguard stall let me photograph the sea areas on his phone. We were now in West Coast Victoria and Cape Otway you see in the picture was the landfall much hunted for on the horizon as the sailing ships used to arrive from the west, and originally England, full with settlers.
A bored wombat did not like being looked at and was doing his best to dig underneath the mesh of his pen and we lunched on delicious spinach and ricotta rice cakes with tzatziki and sweet chili sauce.
Beyond the Foreshore we climbed up the hill, waited for the pretty and busy tram to pass, on past the two well restored buildings I told you about towards the botanic gardens, which were peaceful, we were the only visitors, I think everyone was at the event. There are some lovely wetlands and lagoons beyond which are a haven for ducks and teal but we wondered what advantage had been gained when the town decided to cut a canal from the area to the harbour, letting in salt water, maybe they didn’t like the tea like colour of the brackish water.
On our return we noticed piles of burned tree trunks in the lumber yards that must be from the fire torn areas. Later we heard about a tragic occurrence at a private blue gum plantation just outside Portland. The official logging company had finished extracting in November, checking every tree for koalas before felling it as they have to do by law. Then another company came in and just felled the rest of the trees with the koalas still in them, knowing what they were doing. A walker came across the area with koala corpses piled up, some had been killed by the bulldozer and a few were wandering around injured. Over three hundred felled koalas of which more than a third died. Animal Welfare people called for the imprisonment of the offenders but too late of course.
That evening we enjoyed our dinner out, watching the concert begin on the grass opposite our table and as we strolled back to Zoonie a famous Australian, Jon Stevens was giving it his all to a good crowd.
The annual speeches and address by the lady mayor, Councillor Anita Rank came the next morning. Last year we were sat in our hotel room in Darwin watching the speeches at Canberra by the lake on the TV as the monsoon rains hammered down outside. Again this year amidst rain showers Anita in her Aboriginal print dress opened the proceedings and welcomed seven new Australians, awarding them their citizen certificates. She then went on to introduce Simon Lewis, an inspirational man who has taught life-saving skills all over the world among many of his selfless and giving activities and shared with our Queen in her Christmas Day speech by emphasising the importance of ‘small steps’ to achieve big goals. I liked that, but I think the little spaniel had had enough.
A Sunday Drive with Friends – And more motoring to Kangaroo Island
Mark and Sandra hadn’t finished with us yet and mid-afternoon on the Sunday they came and collected us and we were whisked off to enjoy an overview, literally, of the spectacular coast and vast bays that bless this area of Victoria. We sat outside at the café in Bridgewater bay for a coffee and it seemed our hosts knew most of the people there, a favourite haunt and understandably so.
There is a series of limestone caves nearby where the weather has worn away the front of the caves revealing the interiors with stalactites and stalagmites that have been formed by chemical laden dripping water over millions of years and no doubt used by the first Australians. Nearby whatever lives in the lakes has to tolerate the water skiers that frequent the area and Mark drove us slowly around the big wood chip plant where he works when he’s not out fishing. He kindly volunteered to help us get out of our tight little spot the next morning and move Zoonie to the outside pontoon ready for a departure on the Tuesday, so we said our farewells to this kind couple after yet another short and sweet friendship.
After supper the two of us wandered along the as yet unexplored harbour wall towards a big moored and unladen ship. A dockworker came towards us in his 4×4 and warned us to not go beyond the gate this side of the ship. “We’re about to fumigate it, China doesn’t want our insects!” Coronavirus was in the news and not only do they not want infested ships there but they didn’t want any more of the crayfish either. It appeared they didn’t want to handle any ships, even their own. The local commercial fishing boats were bringing all their pots back in to port until the ban was lifted or until the start of the new cray season quota, whichever came first. These viruses are a seasonal thing and hopefully when the climate moves on in China so will the virus. So much is exported from Aussie to China, the ‘factory of the world’ as it is known.
This of course has repercussions for the crews. One of the speeches at the Australia Day gathering was about the local Mission to Seamen, The White Angels, which is very busy providing a second home to these mariners who are often away from home and family for months and those absences are often made longer by events like disease, industrial action and of course the weather. A hard, uncertain life.
The next morning Mark had gone off early to collect his pots too but when he came back with 35 crayfish and all his pots safely stored onboard, (tough for the fishermen but good for the crays and us!) he came over and held a long line from Zoonie’s stern to gently help pull her around the tight corner while Rob reversed while I let another long line out at the bow so she would not swing too far across towards the delicate little boat next to us. All was good until Mark threw the line back aboard. Unfortunately the end fell over the side and was promptly gobbled up by the bow thruster Rob was operating at the time, “Oh so you’ve got a thruster” Mark commented watching helplessly from the pontoon. “No worries I stopped it as soon as I saw the line disappear” Rob called reassuringly. That’ll be a trip overboard for him I thought.
Squeezed into his rubbers once Zoons was safely tied up Rob descended astern to say the water wasn’t at all bad and by floating next to her bow and reaching down he could feel the rope was only once around the little prop and was easy to unravel, no damage having been done to the blades. A quick check in the foc’sle revealed the seal was intact and no water was coming in so it was all good.
We had ahead of us a day of getting ready for sea. I did a big cook using TVP and adding all the veg I could find and some nice flavourings so I could quickly turn it into a Bolognese, or chili or curry for use at sea. In fact, because we didn’t have it every night the portions lasted us 11 days, stored in the coolest part of the fridge right at the bottom.
We left at the civilised hour of midday on the Tuesday and had a nice sail southward to clear the headland but as we turned west the wind was on our nose so it was on with the iron topsail and back amongst our marine friends the albatross and lots of dolphins and gannets feeding. There is an area around here called and upwelling and the cold nutrient rich water is plentiful in just the sort of small fish the birds like.
During the night the wind dropped away to nothing so we were motoring with 1700 sea horses pushing us along and still only making 4.4 knots against the tide. We moved Zoonie out to the 500 metre contour because we were approaching Rock Lobster and Giant Crab fishing grounds knowing we would meet more ships out there but maybe also find a favourable current. It was frustrating for a while, all this effort and not much progress, but it was also warm with a lovely blue sky and sparkling sea.
That night all the world and his fishing boat were out there scooping up the oceans plentiful harvest.
The next day was another long day of motor-sailing but at least our destination was at the end of it; would we make it in in daylight through the narrow river entrance or would we have to anchor in the bay for the night in amongst the fish farms? All day the barometer was slowly falling so we knew the westerly blow was on its way. Motoring across the bay in the evening we had a lovely video chat with Rich, Rupert and George so we knew there would be some internet there but as it turned out is wasn’t strong enough a signal to send photographs on blogs.
The next day, as we sat on our ‘Cotton’ buoy I mentioned in the blog ‘The Weather Calls the Tune’ you were all about to go through Brexit Day at last.
Position update 35:47.35S 137:46.41E
The Weather Calls the Tune in more ways than one
It is time to bring you up to date with our progress as it stands now and before we move on again. I cannot send photos with this blog because here on fire torn Kangaroo Island the internet signal is too weak to make it across the water to us from the nearby phone mast, so blogs about Macquarie Harbour and our time in Portland will have to wait until I can send them intact.
We arrived here in American River on Kangaroo Island the day before yesterday after a 50 hour motor sail from Portland in light winds that were barely in the right direction for sailing. Knowing our weather window would be short lived, it was important to maintain five knots of speed at least and this we did by finely tuning the engine revs to what we could get out of the sails which was fun and really worked, saving fuel where we could.
There was plenty of wildlife about under the blue skies, hundreds of dolphins feeding with the diving birds and our dear friends the dignified sky masters, shy albatross watched over our modest progress all the way and settled in groups on the water in the evenings, their watery roost.
We are sailing without paper charts from NW Tassie right around to Dampier on the NW coast for the first time in our entire circumnavigation, unless we can procure some in Ceduna or Albany which is pretty unlikely. Some cruising friends now in Phuket, whom we met in Whangarei gave us the address of a friend of theirs who lives in Albany on the west side of the Bight and loaned them paper charts of the Bight, but we have not been in a place long enough to receive them by post so we are reliant for the first time solely on the Navionics Charts on the chartplotter. Which is how many seagoing vessels do all their navigation nowadays and so far has served us well. Although I do miss the instant overall picture a chart gives without recourse to altering the visual display on the screen of an electronic device.
The continental shelf along the coast we were sailing drops from 150 metres to over 500 metres very quickly and along this steep wall Giant Crabs and Rock Lobsters thrive and so the chartplotter display describes this entire area as a fishery for those two species which meant we could expect to come across vessels fishing in the area with pots going down hundreds of metres. We were under engine and of course at night one cannot see the water ahead. I humbly asked Neptune if he would kindly pull any such dangerous buoy with its attached line out of Zoonie’s path and unbelievably he agreed.
We had fishing boats all around us the first night and so moved out to sea beyond the 500 metre line and then met lots of ships who also avoid the working area and make use of the current over the precipice, which was against us at one knot, but better that than a fouled propeller. By this time the wind was too weak to lift a leaf.
So the night watches went quickly with copious cups of tea and dozens of trips up and down the companionway ladder for an all round check. At one stage the fishing boat lights appeared to be travelling with us as if we were towing them and one vessel appeared to be towing numerous illuminated lines, we kept well clear of him. He may well have been one of the two seismic vessels testing for oil, towing twelve 4 mile long cables behind it and harming most sea creatures around it with its sonic blasts.
In the afternoon we had headwinds and a current against us of 1.2 knots and even at 1700rpm the engine could only push us along at 4.4 knots over the ground. The temperature was nice and warm, the skies all over blue, no clouds allowed, the marine entertainment was great but what we needed most was PROGRESS. It seems at the moment that the weather windows are short and lodged between extreme weather patterns.
We were not sure of our destination and were open to it being determined by the weather calling the tune. The forecast told of a powerful front coming in on Saturday followed by a big Low passing to the south bringing rain and westerly winds so we would need to be somewhere protected by then. Kangaroo Island it would be.
I got in touch with the Adelaide couple who were then on holiday in the States and they told us of a sister who lives in American River and her friend Carol who is a volunteer on the VHF American River Station, she was to prove invaluable once we had gained entry to the estuary.
The final day of this short trip was a long one of motor sailing on calm seas in the company of different types of dolphin, the short beaked common dolphins with their ochre thoracic patches, a much bigger and darker common bottle nosed dolphin and a pod smaller than the short beaked but the same colour and maybe a group of youngsters tasting independence from their family. They always bring joy and humour to us in an oceanic wilderness.
To get nearer the island we had to cross back over the continental shelf but the chart information said we were entering an ESSA, Environmentally Sensitive Sea Area where marine activities are strictly limited, maybe no more fishing boats then.
Throughout our last day on passage the barometer was dropping continuously so we knew we could trust the forecast, the question was would we make the narrow river entrance before dark or have to anchor in the bay outside overnight, slotted in between the fish farms?
Kangaroo Island appeared low on the horizon within a strange mirage that looked like a wall of water along the horizon all around us. A smoke haze Rob thought but it seemed to be the wrong colour, more like a reflection of the ocean, an approaching tidal wave? Thankfully not. We had planned our arrival approaching the channel between the island and mainland carefully to coincide with the start of the rising tide as the ebb can produce a tide rip which runs at 4 knots against us, just like the Needles Channel between the Isle of Wight and Hurst Spit.
We had a welcome video chat with Richard and the boys as we crossed the Eastern Cove with the sun setting, giving us a race against failing light. Still the mirage continued making out-lying rocks look as if they had a waist and the shoreline quite indistinct. The chartplotter showed a well-marked channel dredged to 3 metres so with a height of tide of at most one metre we could expect 1 to 2 metres below the keel as the keel it two metres below the water surface.
I hugged the numerous red channel marker posts a little too tightly as at one stage the depth went down to 1.3 below the keel and that was on high tide, so mental note, on the way out I will give Zoonie’s black line a little space to our right and be on a nearly full tide.
We found a nice spot amidst some moored yachts in the channel to anchor and had supper in the cockpit amidst the beautiful setting you may well have seen on Rob’s Facebook page. But it was soon to change, as expected.
The next morning Rob discovered that the engine was 145 hours overdue for an oil change, “Oooh, that’ll be black oil then babe” I commented as he disappeared aft clutching the pump and looking like a man on a mission.
Outside I could see the wind was rising and opposing the strong tidal flow out of the harbour. The neighbouring yachts were pressed forward over their mooring lines despite the strong tide pushing them the other way. I started to think. Zoonie had 15 metres of chain out to the anchor in only 2.9 metres of water. If she were to change direction when the tidal turned, with the chain creating such a shallow angle with the seabed her keel could easily catch it as she swings and lift the anchor out. We had gone through the night ok because there was little wind.
It was 11.45 and we had three tense hours ahead to Low Water at 14.30 during which I kept regular lookout using the moored yachts nearby against the shoreline as transits.
This combined with the fact the engine was now empty of oil and unusable created a degree of tension in my mind as you can imagine. Rob did the fastest oil and filter change ever which included fitting a new water cooling pump impellor and making a rather worrying discovery. Not only had one complete flange on the impellor come off and disappeared into the system, and hopefully out the other end, but the inside surface of the pump was not the regular smooth surface it should be and would have to be replaced asap.
Later in the morning Rob called Carol on American Radio and she immediately asked where we were. “You’re not safe there under anchor, pick up the buoy marked Cotton opposite the jetty, it will take 50 tons and you’ll be fine there.”
Carol also told us how the beautiful island has lost 50% of its bush, 90 homes and the fires have consumed so much wildlife they are still assessing the damage. As we approached we saw intact countryside so the damage must be on the western side. The residents must be in a state of shock. “With Big fires come big rains.” Carol said, the voice of experience.
A quick look through the bins showed me the buoy was right behind us but it was low water and we were surrounded by sand banks, so where to safely take Zoonie without grounding? However all’s well that ends well and after a few sweaty moments Rob did a great job of picking up the line lying on the water from the buoy after I directed Zoonie gradually nearer with the tide pushing her one way and the wind the other.
But more fun was yet to come. Carol was right, the thunderstorm arrived in the afternoon and lasted overnight bringing that phenomena feared by all mariners, fork lightning. With Zoonie’s mast being the highest in our area we decided prudence was in order and ‘cooked’ three IPads, two phones and the handheld VHF in the oven hoping they would be spared and still give us the means to navigate if the Chartplotter really did get ‘cooked’. The rain was generous and welcome by all except perhaps the chap on the operating table in Port Lincoln Hospital where the storm had outed the electricity and he lay helpless but reassured when the theatre sister said to him “It’s alright we’re using the light on my phone.” For us it washed the salt off a treat.
So that is where we are now, feeling mighty safe and comfy and waiting for our favourable weather window to arrive on Monday so we can set out and head for either Streaky Bay or Ceduna with the weather again calling the tune. The forecast if for a Southerly backing to Southeasterly with a 5 metre sea state at the start dropping gradually as the High spreads over the Great Australian Bight. Nice offshore winds. I wonder if we will be in time to use this one to cross over to Western Australia? We shall see.
Come Walk with me to Pinky Point
Our first day ashore was immensely successful. Having eaten our breakfast to the calming sounds of the indigenous Karma radio station based in Alice Springs we sped the long distance from Zoonie to the Sailing Club Ramp thinking we might find someone there, but there was no sign of life. We had made contact with Kylie who runs the club with her teacher hubby Brad. She confirmed that she would keep the package containing Bron’s memory stick of the Australian Charts until we arrived.
So we then took our rubber ducky, as we’ve heard it called around here, across to the old town jetty where once the trading ships used to tie up before the new one was built. Leaving ‘Ducky’ tied to some landing steps and drifting away from the barnacle encrusted legs of the jetty we made our way in to town and Andrew in the Tourist Information Office. He confirmed he could print out the charts from the stick on to A4 then the Post Office could enlarge them.
He sent us to find Kylie who he said owned and worked in the sports shop. Well she no longer did, so the good folk in there sent us to the Post Office because Irene who works in the PO also caters for over 100 by herself at the Sailing Club on a Wednesday and Friday nights. Well we knew that already from the sign but clearly it’s not what you know but who you know around here!
Irene is one of those turned on humorous types and she quickly found our package awaiting us and I bought a birthday card for Emily and wrote and sent it there. Irene’s also advised they could do A4 – A3 enlargements but not from a memory stick, we would have to email the charts to her.
So it was back to Andrew with the news and to confirm he would be around the next day. At the garage the nice chap advised us if we turned up at 4.45pm and filled the cans with 80 litres of diesel he would run us back to the ‘Ducky’ as there were no taxis in Ceduna. Imagine that no need for taxis.
In the Ceduna Bakery and Coffee Shop we drank delicious iced coffee and shared a slice of carrot cake to help us take stock so far.
We had been in ‘Messenger’ contact with Hannes and he confirmed he would be arriving late the next day, travelling from the west across the Nullabor Ranges at 700 – 750 kms per day.
Next stop, Foodfare which was well stocked with all our minimal needs, then back to our ‘Ducky’ for a long and drenching trip back to Zoonie. The rest of that busy day was spent writing the Strahan Blogs and getting in touch with friends. In the evening we started watching Handmaids Tale after loading Bron’s charts on to our Open CPN charts on the computer and selecting 7 which would be of immediate use to us and copying them onto a memory stick ready for Andrew the next day.
Kylie gave us a lift to the fuel station which was great and we arranged to meet for breakfast in the Community Foreshore Hotel/Motel opposite the old jetty the next morning.
It wasn’t in the TI Office but Nancy, who tried hard and failed to send the charts to the printer either direct from the stick or via Bluetooth or email. She said they were not allowed to plug the memory stick directly in to the printer because the computers had been messed up by a virus and they didn’t want to go through all that palaver again. “Go to the Red Cross, they can do it for you, there is nothing they cannot do along these lines.”
We had hoped to get ashore to the Club that evening where Irene had promised to cook us a meal we wouldn’t forget but the daily afternoon breeze was still strong and the distance put us off.
It calmed down after the sun went down and the next morning the water was flat, so we moved Zoonie in to a spot just off the pier and anchored where you will also see a three master moored in the photo I will put in a future blog, now that I am writing this half way across the Bight.
The water was generously deep over a triangular shape from the end of the jetty as it appeared marked on the chartplotter I believed to have been dredged back in the days when it was the main loading jetty for the exports of grain, salt, fish and gypsum and so is still deeper than the surrounds. If it was good enough for the old traders it was good enough for Zoonie I reckoned.
Two lovely hours were spent chatting with Kylie and Brad and Kylie’s mum, Val who up until her husband died had a 46 foot Roberts Ketch. Val came armed with a laminated chart of the local area and told about all the best anchorages to enjoy, that she once frequented with her late husband. We didn’t have the heart to tell her that when we leave we would not linger in the local waters as we were passage making. As usual we could spend a year in this idyllic spot, exploring.
It was a hot sunny walk to Pinky Point, energised by our ample breakfast and the views were beautiful. I had to keep stopping to take them in and gather my breath.
Just before the end lookout there was a new shaded picnic area complete, as they all are, with a fresh water tap. Bliss, sitting in the shade, the lightest breeze drying our damp areas with water from the tap cooling my face.
Onwards to the lookout and we saw our ship the Darling River finally tied up and taking on her load of gypsum, delivered twice daily in up to 63 truck-loads on the train. Rob counted them for me.
So what now could be more perfect than a pub selling nice cold water and beer on the way back to Ducky on the beach?