Rockhampton to Bundy Bash

North West Island

We all hear stories of the difference between potential and reality, and as an eternal optimist I guess I spend most of the time dwelling on the potential side of things which suits me fine.  Sometimes however, reality jumps up and bites me firmly on the backside.

Some of my most treasured cruising destinations lie in the stretch of water between Hervey Bay, north to the Whitsunday Islands. Included in the area are places that are inaccessible to people without boats and the ability to be self sufficient. There is no tourist investment so they are not promoted by anyone. Places like the Percy and Duke Islands in the North are beautiful anchorages lined with white sand and water clear enough to see the array of marine life that happens to float by. Below them are Port Clinton and Island Head Creek which are off limits at certain times because they happen to lie in the middle of a military training reserve, but when the military are not wreaking havoc are stunning locations that seem a world away from the exercises that get carried out there.

Just below them are the Bunker Group of which most of the pretty Islets are off limits in a strict marine park environment save for a couple of gems. These include North West Island, Lady Musgrave and Lady Elliot  

Lady Musgrave Island

With Razzamatazz, my friends beautiful Bavaria 48 foot yacht, sitting in Yeppoon and needing to come south on its way to Sydney, I gladly volunteered my services, dreaming of the opportunity to spend some quality time in this magic part of the world. I sold the concept to Eva with a plan for a leisurely cruise down to Lady Musgrave Island for an overnight stop and the chance to take a bottle of wine to the beach and watch the turtles nest on the remote shore at sunset. Maybe, with a good run we could even find time for some snorkeling on the reef. I always enjoy negotiating the small entrance into the lagoon and anchoring with a 360º view of the ocean crashing onto the reef protecting the turquoise water inside, miles away from civilisation and free from the world.  The second day plan was a run into Hervey Bay via  the waters off Platypus Bay, playground of the whale's who stop there with their calfs to build up enough strength before making the long journey into antarctic waters. Both of these trips I have done several times before and although a longish stretch, the Razzamatazz is a bigger and faster boat capable of covering the distances.
Part of these exercises is the logistics of a one way trip to the boat and then transport back to your  vehicle home. In this case we were already at the finish end so it was a simple matter of a Greyhound bus from Hervey Bay with a driver that passed away the boredom of the 7hr run by giving commentary all the way to Rockhampton. As with my experience of these things we arrived in Rockhampton at 7.20pm with the last connecting bus leaving for Yeppoon at 6.30 leaving us with a $150 cab fare out to the coast. Undeterred, on arrival at the Rocky coach terminal Eva negotiated with a backpacker company picking up two people in a bus heading for Emu Park for us to hitch a ride with them,  leaving us with a much cheaper taxi fare at the other end. Our driver, a young English lad, keen to catch up with his mates at the pub after the run put his foot to the floor and we rattled and bounced our way through the darkness only to see the blue flashing lights of the local police who didn't seem to appreciate his cavalier enthusiasm. Eventually we were dropped into Emu Park, a small village which was deserted by this time (9.00 pm)

Percy Island 

Eventually a cab ferried us to the marina where we busily prepared for our early morning departure.
By the time my 3am alarm rang out the sound was lost to the rumbling of the diesel engine as we motored out of Rosslyn Bay Marina and straight into 15knots of wind on the nose! The forecast was still insisting that the breeze would back further to the east and my hope was that as daylight warmed up the land, we might actually see it backing further again from the north, giving us our armchair ride south. My hopes were still not dented as a storm cloud swallowed up the sunrise and then soaked us for the privilege!
The Keppel Islands slid relatively effortlessly behind us as we punched our way on. It was apparent even then though that my hope of Lady Musgrave was not going to happen. Never mind I thought, my back up plan was almost as nice. Pancake creek lay not too far south of Gladstone and would provide great shelter surrounded by lovely beaches and a magnificent headland, so I altered course and soon enough we were crossing the Tropic of Capricorn. I have always been fascinated by this circle of latitude even as a small boy. There a 5 significant circles of latitude including the equator, tropic of cancer north, the tropic of capricorn south and the the two poles. The tropic of capricorn represents the most southern latitude that the sun can appear directly overhead. Sitting at approximately 23º south of the equator we share the circle with the Andes in Argentina and  Chile, the Kalahari desert in Namibia and the Kruger National Park in South Africa. (forgive me for not mentioning them all) and I always feel the need to acknowledge its crossing even when I fly over it by plane. Cape Capricorn, our landmark, is a steep, barren headland that people attempted to settle on a long time ago and there are still visible remnants of the carving of rocks and lines that were layed to tie the ships alongside and drag the materials up the the steep embankment to build the lighthouse and small community that existed to keep the beacon lit.

Cape Capricorn

On this day however, it was overcast and the whitecaps persisted in blowing the spray onto our  demoralised faces.
Having passed the cape we altered course enough for us to be able to pull some sails up and we motor sailed right down Curtis Island and the entrance of Gladstone Harbour. A major shipping channel, we needed to pull the sails in and slog our way into the tide throwing up a short and nasty chop reducing our headway to crawling pace.
As the sun began to sink alarmingly close to the horizon it was clear we were not going to make either Pancake Creek or the small town of 1770 by nightfall. The good news was that the coast veered significantly south allowing us to turn the motor off and sail. Not only was this significant for our sanity, it also helped relieve the  problem that we did not have enough fuel to motor all the way to our destination.
The sailing did wonders for Eva's seasickness and she perked up immediately even to the point she insisted on cooking us a beautiful and much appreciated dinner which we ate as the sun sunk below the horizon. With the last dashes of pink in the sky I was wondering how far we could get before the sun reappeared on the eastern horizon.

Sunset off Bustard Head (Pancake Creek)

Really? Its 3 o'clock!!

Unfortunately it wasn't long before the breeze veered back into the south east, the same direction we needed to go and the long dark night passed closing in on the unlit shoreline before digging back out to sea, forcing us to sail two miles for every one gained in our southerly quest.
I have never been so grateful to see the first signs of light penetrate what was a pitch black night sky giving me my first point of reference for the past 12hrs.



And so my question from sunset last night was answered. Exactly 16.7nm north of Bundaberg was the answer and so my next decision was made through the fog of three hours sleep in the last 40 odd hours. We needed to pull into Bundaberg for fuel, with a decision as whether to continue or not made after that.
In an attempt to preserve the alarming low amount of fuel we had left, we inched our way painfully into the breeze which was rapidly building again into our frustrated faces.
At 10.45 we finally tied up at the marina, where once the boat secured I fell asleep with the soft clean pillow approaching my salty unshaven skin, but I was in no mood to care, it could be washed later!
The boat is safe and I'll be back next when the wind direction has a N in it!!

Airlie Beach Race Week

Racing in Whitsunday's is spectacular!
Sailing has been very good to me, it has allowed me to visit some really beautiful places. None have been any better than the Whitsunday's, a boating playground that stretches from Mackay in the south to Bowen in north. Its epicentre is Airlie Beach on the mainland with a string of beautiful islands protecting the waterway, each one a cruising paradise on its own and helping to form the Greater Barrier Reef. Hayman, Hook, Whitsunday, Linderman and Daydream Islands have coral filled surrounds with rocky formations and heavily forested protection from the south east trade winds that blow predominately all year round in this latitude.

 From a yachting perspective it is quite a technical place to go racing. The big tides that run through the main channel and around the Islands combined with the wind shifts bending through the valleys and bouncing off the cliffs of the small landmasses littering the water makes for decision making that belies the overall beauty and laid back nature of the area.     Hamilton Island has an international airport, marina, and is a microcosm for bare boat charters and holidaymakers in general. In September it is over run with an international yachting regatta now hosted by Bob Oatley, the owner of the Island and also of his maxi Wild Oats. Hamilton Island Race week is a week long event for the rich and famous and where normally beautiful yachts look small.   

A maxi lies in waiting at Mackay Marina

For as long as this regatta has been running there has been a more humble "other regatta" from the less ostentatious Airlie Beach Yacht club on the mainland. With a casual bar and welcoming spirit this regatta began as a bunch of cruisers out to enjoy the company of visitors filling in time. The first rule back then was you couldn't cross the finishing line without a topless maiden doing their best figure head impersonation! Like all things, the racing has become more and more serious in the ensuing decade or so to the point now that although not attracting the maxi yachts, it is considered a big regatta in its own right and a great tune up for the ultra competitive one design fleets. Learning the tricky patterns and subtle nuances of this waterway is critical and what better way to get some extra practise by joining the 250 odd fleet registered to match wits in the warm tropical water and enjoy the festivities this great club can offer as the sun slips behind the mountain ranges to the west!

 My days as a racer are by and large complete. I prefer these days to use my skills to navigate out to beautiful Islands with desolate beaches. To travel when the conditions are fair and relaxed rather than just bashing for the sake of bashing. To enjoy the company of friends and loved ones snorkeling or padding or sipping a drinks with an umbrella in it.  Having said all that I still love the water and the cruising lifestyle. just not the focus on how fast you can get there. For some people though there is a definite exception.

      

One of the reasons I consider myself so fortunate is looking at my best friend Mike. I have known him since we were both in our teens and even from an early age his energy and insight were remarkable. Over the years he has proven himself not only to be a successful businessman, he has become a dedicated husband, loving father and considerate and generous friend. He is also an adventurous soul and for years he has dreamt of sailing his yacht to an exotic location  to compete in one of these world class classics. Five years ago he drew the line in the sand and after much preparation his dream came to fruition. Having already enjoyed an epic adventure sailing his Bavaria 48 "Razzmatazz" North from Sydney (a passage of around 2000kms) it was time for us to make our way up here to join Mal, Col, and Mike(2nd one) for four days of racing and frivolity before the partners and wives arrived for the second half of the week to show us up!

Our skipper - Mike

So it was that we arrived to a festive Airlie Beach yacht club looking over our racetrack on a beautiful late Thursday afternoon. Marques had been erected and music was filling the bay as crowds of yachtsmen and women, most adorned in their team gear gathered in anticipation for the week ahead celebrated with cool amber from the sponsors.
There is nothing like the excitement/tension of a marina filled with yachts the day and even morning before racing and I headed down the dock soaking in the adrenaline of people scurrying about, bending their racing sails onto the fine spars, dodging wheelbarrows of anchors and bedding being removed to lighten the vessels up and watching the last minute repairs and maintenance being carried out with renewed enthusiasm on the eve of racing.

Media helicopter swing by for some action for nightly news

I won't bore you with the race intricacy's  except to say we had four perfect sailing days in beautiful sunny warm conditions with the trade winds turning on a perfect amount of wind for us to relish the conditions.

Mike(2) enjoying the ride before an injury cut short his time

Our teamwork and subsequent results also improved with each outing as we gelled into a team showing in our ever improving standings.
Each night after the"Razz" was tucked away we returned to the sponsors marque for an in depth breakdown of the days racing whilst a talented and beautiful female singer performed in an ever decreasing amount of dress! By the end of a racing day the focus of the discussion as we motored back to the marina was centred around what she could possibly be wearing that night! After the racing talk was exhausted we would all go into town to sample a varied fare from one of the many restaurants on offer in the packed hub of the towns activities.
                                                                               
                                                                               

Mal was an inspiration sailing with a broken arm!

                      Here on the eastern seaboard of Australia there is a thriving back packer market beginning at Bondi in Sydney's Eastern suburbs and ending up in Cairns in the far North Queensland Tropics. Along the way are such treats as Byron Bay, the hippie centre of Australia and a beautiful spot to try your hand at surfing.  Fraser Island the largest sand island in the world and home to the only pure breed of dingo, and the Whitsunday's with its centre piece the stunning Whitehaven Beach rated as on the best beaches in the world. As a result the town caters for the masses of young tourists with an ample choice of bars and hangouts with energy to burn for the party revellers to socialise all through the night before recovering in the huge waterside lagoon in the morning. As we made our way home the streets were filled with people staggering from one venue to another, all pumping out music to a variety of tastes. Just being there made me feel old and out of place!

Col and I teamed up as trimmers( he did the hard yards on the Genoa)don 

On the passage up Mal, who sailed with Mike and  Col, had a serious accident which resulted in him being evacuated by helicopter off the boat to Bundaberg Hospital. Mikes wife Rebecca went into overdrive making sure he was transported back to Sydney where she further organised the best surgeons to mend his badly broken arm. During the accident Mal managed to bend a winch handle that defied belief and thus, it was agreed the bent handle should be framed and passed on from crew to crew as they did their best to out injure each other! Mal's extra eyes and input proved a valuable asset to the crew despite his broken wing.
I am still not sure if it was with relief or sorrow (or both) that on the second day of racing he was able to pass on the "bent winch award" to the second Michael who managed to cut his foot under the toes during a tack just minutes before the second race. With blood pouring all over the deck it was decided to withdraw from the days racing and after bandaging up the severed foot sent him to hospital where 6 stitches were attended to his wound.

What this meant was that we suddenly had an opportunity to sail out to Hayman Island for some snorkelling and a relaxing swim for the afternoon. A man down our sympathies went as far as dropping him off and organising transport to the hospital whilst we enjoyed a perfect sail out to this beautiful nook! Having anchored away from the tourist boats gathered we pulled out the masks and fins and sampled some of the delights of coral coast sailing, gliding over coral heads watching colourful fish darting around its perimeter. I was especially pleased as this was an unexpected opportunity for Eva to sample this renowned area. Her one outing to join a race had turned into an experience she will never forget.

As the final days of racing for us completed and we swapped our crew position for Rebecca and the other girls we had a close tussle with several others before crossing the finish line ahead of them I turned to see Mike standing near me with a beaming smile of satisfaction. The pressures of work commitments a race course away I smiled, he looked truly happy and satisfied. Although we didn't set the racing world on fire, we did bond with some people I will be honoured to call friends. Most of all though I will always remember the look on a mans face that I care deeply about and know that I was a part of sharing his yachting journey and dream. I know this because just the day before as we hovered over some fish with masks on he looked back at his boat and remarked to me..."this is your fault you know, you and your sailing. I love it!!"