Crossings and Passages

Cape Tribulation

As we made our way north from Cairns, on our way to the tip of Australia and then to Indonesia, we made a series of day and overnite sails, and I was struck by the way sailors talk of passages and crossings as they describe their voyages. Typically, a passage is any multi-day trip between ports, and a crossing is when one, yes, crosses a major body of water. Thus, Jennifer can be said to have two “crossings” under her belt, since she has sailed across both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. Together, she and I have undertaken many “passages,” notably the 3000 nm trip from Galapagos to the Marquesas. On our northing, we undertook a few shorter, land-based passages and crossings, which reminded us of three ever-present features of the Coral Coast, as this part of Australia is known: Captain Cook, the exuberance of nature, and the wildness of this coastal terrain.

Boulder hills at Bathurst Bay

As we sailed along the desolate and rocky Northern Queensland coast over the last week or so, we headed northward into a steadily compressing area of water between the mainland and the world’s largest living organism: the Great Barrier Reef (GBR). In 1770, Captain Cook, whose voyages, passages, and crossings we have been tracking ever since we reached Tahiti, sailed these waters as well, and found himself inside the GBR headed north, as we did. Unlike us, he lacked charts, GPS, and depth soundings. In fact, Cook realized only very late that he was inside the reef, as he began sailing along the coast in Sydney, in what he named Botany Bay, and, hugging the coast as he sailed north, Cook was largely unaware of the Reef’s existence. He sailed north oblivious to the reef’s gradual westing, steadily squeezing his ship between the land and the treacherous shoals.

Keepin' Cool with 12v fan and Icey Pops

By the time we reached Cape Tribulation, the inner reef had narrowed significantly, and we were happy to rely on modern charts, our GPS, and the depth sounder. Left, you can see that one of the crew benefited from her own personal fan, while enjoying a frozen fruit juice stick. Clearly, Cook had it rough, even without considering the navigational challenges on sailing inside the reef.

Later, we’d hear a fisherman say that north of here, “the paddock gets smaller.” Increasingly, the passes between the massive inner reef, which covers 2000 km of the northeastern Australian coast, and the adjoining ocean become few and far between. Back in 1770, Captain Cook’s luck finally ran out, and his ship, the Endeavor, struck a reef which now bears its name. He spent the next six months in repairs, and then began to feel his way out of the GBR, stopping at a small hilly island from which to examine ways out of the “paddock.”

We stopped at this island on our way north, named Lizard Island by Cook after the many 3-foot reptiles that inhabit the island. It’s a lovely place, with a resort and a separate, well-protected bay for the cruisers that visit during the winter dry season when the trade winds blow steadily. We took an afternoon to cross the island’s ridge to the 1110 foot “Cook’s Look.”

Watson's Bay, Lizard Island

It was a steep walk, and we managed to keep an eye on our boat as we climbed – we’re the catamaran in the foreground. You can see the reefs that curl into the bay; we spent the prior day snorkeling, and were astounded at the number and size of the clams in the reef. These were the same clams that Jennifer harvested, cleaned, cooked, and ate while we were in Manihi (see this post), but here, the protection of the national park that surrounds Lizard Island led to the surreal underwater sight of clams easily 4 feet in diameter, surrounded by sea anemones that were equally outsized – some approaching 8 feet in diameter. Nature, unchecked, can generate astonishment.

From the top of Cook’s Look, we could easily see the several narrow passes that gave the Endeavor safe passage out of the GBR, and we came to appreciate more fully the nature of early sailors’ challenges in navigating new waters. This will be the last we see of Captain Cook’s historic voyages; Captain Bligh, of Mutiny on the Bounty fame, explored the northernmost waters of Australia.

A few days later, we found ourselves anchored at Cape Grenville, in Margaret Bay. We had heard from the same fisherman who warned us of the shrinking paddock that there was a path through the headland to a southern, windward shore that was great for beachcombing. We were a bit apprehensive to go ashore, since these waters and shorelines are filled with salt-water crocodiles; our rubber dinghy would be no match for these creatures, and walking ashore has its own risks, obviously. However, we were lucky to be anchored next to a couple, Tony and Chris, who also wanted to cross the headland, and had more experience in traversing Australian bush (they also had an aluminum dinghy, which Aussies, in their inimitable slang, call a “tinny.”)

Tony (center) and I carried a long stick, and Chris (right) slung a baseball bat over her shoulder, and, thus armed, we made our way across a mile of swampy overgrown bush, our sticks probing the tall grass to scare off any snakes. On the way, we saw some quintessential sights, including some lovely blossoms and the common termite mounds.

Crossing Cape Grenville; termite mound, with Tony on left.

Crossing Cape Grenville; lovely blue lotus flower in swamp

Cape Grenville; blooming shrub

Once on the southern shore, we encountered the usual evidence of man’s presence: thousands of pieces of plastic – flipflops, bottles, fish buoys, polypropylene line – as well as the detritus of nature: logs, coconuts, shells, vines. It is so disheartening to witness huge amounts of plastic wash up from the ocean. We brought a bag for such trash, as we usually do when we go ashore, but the amount here would have filled several large dumpsters. We walked along the mangroves, picking our way through the branches, keeping our eye out for “salties,” as the crocs here are called. It was a lovely “crossing,” and after a post-hike rest, we hosted Tony and Chris for dinner on ile de Grace, serving barbecued fresh tuna, caught the day before on our way north.

The following day, we left Margaret Bay in 25 knots of southeasterly wind, and, under a reefed jib, said goodbye to our new friends Tony and Chris, who were taking 6 months off from their jobs in public health to sail the Coral Coast. Not twenty minutes later, the fishing tackle began to bend, and I stripped down (cleaning fish is a messy business, so forgive the garb), and hauled in a massive tuna – measured at 36 inches, which will provide us with at least 6 dinners … our freezer is now full, so no more fishing for a while.

Up here, in these rarely-travelled and clean waters, the reef is rich in fish and shrimp. Solitary fishing boats ply these waters by day (fish) and night (shrimp), and spend weeks filling their holds before steaming south to Cairns to sell their catch. For provisioning, they rely on the “barge,” a grocery store of sorts, that sails up and down the far north Queensland coast on a regular schedule, delivering fuel, water, and supplies to these solitary hunters. In fact, our friends Tony and Chris also have an account with the “barge,” and can make a call to the Woolworth’s grocery chain in Cairns, order a bit of this and that, and ask that it be delivered to the “barge.” Two or three days later, the order appears on a barge anchored in a convenient cove.

Yesterday, we arrived at Thursday Island, the northernmost port in Australia and just a handful of miles south of Papua New Guinea. The tidal currents here are extreme, as tides from the Coral Sea meet tides from the Arafura Sea, and we anchored in a 3 knot current and spent the night alert to the possibility of our anchor giving way, as the currents swing back and forth, streaming past at 3-4 knots. Happily, it was a quiet night, but when we woke this morning we were once again reminded that we were in an alien environment: a 5 meter “saltie” out for its morning swim just 30 meters from our boat. Keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times!

It was a lovely sail north, with a few overnight passages, and several “crossings,” and after a week of some domestic business, we’ll leave for Indonesia.

At anchor, looking aft from our main cabin/salon