The Uncrowded Splendour of the Whitsunday Islands Continue

The weather had now most definitely become far more tropical sun and less tropical cyclone and we were burning up good days and good dollars in port. We thoroughly checked the underfloor smuggler hatches and dry stores for stowaway rats, wookies and backpackers and then made our departure from Airlie under perfect sailing conditions. A couple of charter catamarans lay off our bows heading for the islands. We ruffled our luff in a threatening fashion, they spilled their margaritas and thus we soon put them behind us. It was a late departure from the coast so we aimed for Stonehaven again and moored there for the night.

Manta Ray Bay, First Light. Suspiciously tranquil

Many seasoned salts select an anchorage by making a judgement call based on the complex interplay between tides, winds, sea temperature, the movement of the fish schools and the moon. The bareboats out of Airlie and Hamilton select anchorages based on "100 Magic Miles" - presumably the latest edition, not our fourth edition which still covers the best places to hunt wild goat and nominates which beaches a shipwrecked whaler may find coconuts. We however favour the internet-coverage-over-sense approach and thus we selected a mooring buoy at the north end of Stonehaven on the off chance we might have line of site to Airlie Beach. Many vessels we have met on the voyage talk about getting away from modern technology (their 100 gallon per hour water makers and over the horizon radar aside) and question our reliance on the internet as if we were workaholic futures traders from New York. However, this voyage is not about getting away from it. It is about the pure joy of sailing, the sea, fishing, boat maintenance.

The next morning we made the short hop across the channel back to Langford Island to try another day of snorkeling. We moored next to several massive charter boats out of Airlie. The ubiquitous batfish ascended on us once more. The Captain eyed the fishing rod. The First Mate shook her head. The weather was finer than our last visit and there was certainly some coral to behold but the Second and Third Mates were growing tired of snorkeling since they swam ashore and proceeded to basically dig up so much sand that Langford Island was divided into two separate islands throwing dozens of charter vessel customers in disarray by separating them from their ship.

Holy Batfish! On the hunt for arborio rice

Despite the tropical nature of the Whitsundays it is still cold in the water in Winter. So when the crew started getting blue it was time to return to Arjuna and free up the mooring buoy for another waiting vessel. The First Mate took the helm and piloted Arjuna northwards through the passage between Hook and Hayman. The thought was that we might try out Manta Ray Bay while the weather was fine. Manta Ray gets a fantastic write up for snorkeling but is allegedly terrible to stay overnight because of the swell. We drifted into Manta Ray Bay at about 1450 hours. There are only two mooring buoys, both full, and anchoring is not permitted. However, as we circled like a brahminy kite eyeing off a dead crab, one of the tourist charter boats dropped their mooring and headed off - their skipper yelling across to Arjuna and saluting our perfect timed arrival as if it was some sort of lucky strike instead of a calculated navigational triumph.

Manta Ray contained the best coral and fish of the trip so far - surpassing even the brown coral of Abell Point Marina or the pan fried whiting of Hamilton Island. We swam in to the reef from the back of the boat. Batfish were already swarming under the hull awaiting their risotto. In addition, a very large fish was circling the keel. If the Captain had the opportunity to catch more fish he could probably have identified it but it will have to remain unnamed and uncooked. Let's call it a giant trevally and be done with it. The reef itself was swarming with fish enjoying their unfried status in this marine park. The First Mate spied a moray eel. We all kept our distance, knowing their reputation of dragging submarines to their doom. A small runabout was dropping bread into the water and was being practically lifted on the back of the resulting fish school. From deep within this chaotic sprawling tornado of schooling fish an absolutely massive maori wrasse slowly rose to the surface. The Captain estimates its size at two times the depth of the Arjuna's fridge or perhaps six times the width of our BBQ plate. No doubt this was the undisputed king of Manta Ray Bay because all of the other fish parted as it passed and allowed it to casually seize the bread in the water before sinking back into the depths. The Ship's Monkey, never one to hesitate in putting his hand into another creature's mouth, gave it a pat as it departed.

Ship's Monkey attempting to coax a batfish onto the BBQ

The sun sank at Manta Ray. The various tenders and small boats that were milling back and forth from neighbouring Luncheon Bay departed as did the large tourist cat on the next mooring. Arjuna sat alone in one of the most popular snorkeling locations in the Whitsundays. We scoffed at the lack of backbone of the various charter boats scurrying past to more palatable moorings. And so we sat on the mooring buoy all night. The promised swell did of course start to rise and we lozenged about in a sickening fashion trying to maintain a sense of superiority despite various bottles and containers rolling across the saloon. However, dawn broke over a tranquil bay. The crew deployed the kayaks to explore as actual manta rays hunted across the reef.

The First Mate in the Grade 6 Manta Ray Bay rapids

Our next port of call was Cataran Bay on Border Island. It was touch and go - with calm conditions, this would have been the optimum day to make a run out to Bait Reef and back: about 20 nautical miles north as the seahorse swaggers but our casual tropical outlook had dulled our motivation so we headed around the top of Hook Island (the Captain, ever hopeful, trolling a lure past some submerged rocks like the real fisherfolk do) and south into Cataran Bay.

Cataran is another popular anchorage because it is sheltered from the southeasters and is rumoured to contain fine coral. We had some trouble edging in between the vast schools of catamaran spread out across the bay. The First Mate, high on coral from our time at Manta Ray Bay, led an Away Team out to check the underwater offerings and returned with a mediocre report. We almost left Cataran the next day without happening upon its fine, fine coral gardens which spread several hundred metres along the opposite side to where the First Mate was exploring. A second Away Team operating a kayak assault discovered the coral on a late afternoon paddle. The next morning we released the Zodiac and dropped its anchor on a sandy patch and then spent some time swimming over the coral apron. After the obligatory 30 minutes of adjusting the crew's goggles, flippers, snorkel, goggles and flippers we were able to graze along the drop off watching as the coral changed from plate, to brain and on into many other variants. The Captain was most impressed. The First Mate requested that she be left to swim further around the bay to spend some time looking at fish without emptying water from someone's goggles every five minutes and so the team return to Arjuna leaving the First Mate drifting obliviously out to sea - the only serious danger being the potential to be run over by a bareboat.

Sun sets at Tongue Bay

Our quadruple circumnavigation of the Whitsundays continued with a short run south to Tongue Bay. We like Tongue Bay. Actually, a lot of people like Tongue Bay. In fact, it was bristling with so many bareboat catamarans that we first thought we had arrived fashionably late at the 2014 Bi-weekly Bareboat Catamaran Conference and we had come overdressed in a monohull. We read somewhere, possibly on the internet, that the bareboats are instructed to anchor in no less than four metres of water so we employed a similar technique to Cid Harbour and coasted deep into Tongue Bay until there was nary half a fathom under the keel and the nearby rock oysters shuttered their shells in panic. The tides don't run so deep in these parts. Compared to, say Mackay, where one can't get to the marina bathroom at low tide for fear of pulling a calf muscle walking up the near vertical ramp to shore, the tide range here was only a metre or so and therefore we felt confident that we could support the depth in return for slightly more peace and quiet. In fact, being the deepest boat into the anchorage paid off the next morning as a bareboat catamaran managed to drag anchor in 0.001 knots of wind and some outgoing tide and float unattended through the densely packed moored fleet. It transpired, listening to the radio traffic, that there was an occupant on the catamaran - they were just sleeping off a margarita downstairs while a Shore Party was having a good time on land. The Captain, whose competence, granted, is sometimes questioned, scratched his head wondering how an anchor can miss the bottom in a place like Tongue Bay. Despite the massive density of fibreglass floating in Tongue Bay, the crew of Arjuna had a fine evening. Many of the crew visited our observation deck in the boom bag. This affords a pretty spectacular view of the cosmos and our mooring light.

In the morning, by prior arrangement, we met the team from Dilligaf on the beach at Tongue Bay with plans for a rousing trek to the lookout. Our timing was very poor. Somehow we had lost track of the charter boat cycles and we had obviously underestimated the number of people berthed in the bay. The short walk to the lookout was clogged with people.

The queue for the lookout

At one point, the Ship's Monkey, who once off the yacht, becomes disobedient and disrespectful of the Chain of Command, skipped off and became separated from the Captain by around a hundred tourists being dragged up the hill by a tour guide in a top hat and the Captain arrived at the lookout at least twenty minutes later. The lookout above Tongue Bay actually looks out to the south over Hill Inlet and the scalding haven of white of Whitehaven. In order to get the attached photos some effort had to be spent prising people away from the railings. We found that shouting out loudly that we had just seen a koala or that Paris Hilton had just updated her Twitter feed helped to disperse the crowds.

The view over Hill Inlet is something else. Long term readers might reflect on the view from the sandhills at Moreton Island - certainly a dazzling display but the absolute white sand (well not absolutely white - the Captain is some sort of engineer and these sort of absolute descriptions sit uncomfortably - but white

Hill Inlet

enough) underlying Whitehaven and Hill Inlet are spectacular. There is no missing the stingrays sitting on the bottom even when viewed from the lookout. There is no missing 300 tourists dipping their toes in like a day at Bondi Beach either.

We descended from the lookout to the beach at Hill Inlet itself and nodded begrudging respect at the evil tour guide mastermind who had scratched out the real name of the beach at Hill Inlet (Lookout Beach) on all the National Parks information signs and crudely replaced it with permanent marker label saying "Whitehaven". Obviously, this is how you saved costs; by convincing tourists that they had been to Whitehaven without actually having to transport them there. Brilliant.

"You Are Here": Whitehaven...magic. Just magic

The beach itself was crawling with people coming from or returning to their charter boats. This was the perfect opportunity to break out the 175 gram tournament quality flying disc and throw a few hammers between the crew followed by a dip in the sparkling waters.

Bondi Beach

We spent another night at Tongue Bay with the turtles bobbing up and down around us. Tongue Bay should be called Turtle Bay but confusingly Turtle Bay is on the southern side of Whitsunday Island and, even more baffling, is full of tongues. The Second Mate and Captain spent some hours dangling a line from the tender in the vague hope of landing some plate sized fish ending only when night had fallen and the Second Mate had turned blue. Another tender motored past at one stage, thinking that they might get some fishing tips but left rapidly when they realised that we were using cheddar cheese for bait and the Captain was prising a fish hook from his eyebrow.

Another day. The clockwork of time cycles around. It's endless spring obviously constructed of high quality 316 stainless steel. We raised the anchor and set a course for the tropical playground of Hamilton Island once more. Our course took us down Whitehaven for the second time on the trip - this time the beach was bathed in sunshine - not the disappointing cloak of rain that we had to bring our friends to two weeks before. It was with some surprise that we found ourselves in the Solway Passage once more battling sizable oncoming swell with wind against tide and all sorts of other havoc. We were under engine and again our speed through the water and speed over ground were out of whack as Arjuna was basically sucked through the passage with the tide while the swell and wind tried to hammer us the other way. These are the sort of conditions where a good helmsman sometimes needs to put down their coffee.

Fortunately, it is not a long stretch before the course turns westward towards Hamilton (passing Turtle Bay and its hordes of tongues). The First Mate radioed in to Hamilton to request a berth. There was a few minutes pause while staff checked whether we were a known vessel and how many million dollars worth of damage we had caused to superyachts on previous visits. On entry, the Third Mate, ever alert, noted a new vessel in port. This one with five decks. The Captain noted that said vessel had fibreglass damage outside of deck three - the only likely explanation that there had been a superyacht - superyacht collision at some point or a collision with the the deck of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

The sheer audacity of the Hamilton Island Yacht Club. A Manta Ray of all things

Our purpose in returning to Hamilton was to drop two crew members to the airport for some well earned shore leave. We saluted the departing Second Mate and Ship's Monkey and watched them depart to the south and far icier and less watery climes.

Now, in an undercrewed state, all hands were critical. The Captain, recognising a brewing

They won't take a decent prawn on a hook but are happy
to suck the scunge off the hull

crisis, ordered the remaining crew to the pub for a double ration of ale. We happened upon the folk from Mustang Sally, also wisely ensconced in the tavern. These are wild parts: like Tortuga or Port Royal when things were rough and piratey. An aggressive curlew tried to steal a potato chip. The Skipper of Mustang Sally grabbed it from behind to the startled cries of onlookers then bounced it out the door assuring everyone that he was a chicken farmer from wayback. The crew of another vessel from Townsville, obviously pirates, tried to shanghai the Third Mate claiming that he was soft and cuddly. The Captain necked a rum bottle and covered the retreat as the crew backed out the door. The companionway on Arjuna was well secured that night lest the Dread Pirate Oatley himself swaggered past swilling a recent vintage Wild Oats.

Arjuna sports her new charcoal livery. Take that superyacht