Punching South: A highly dramatised account of our journey to Cooktown

Hello again, faithful reader, spam bots and sailing aficionados. The First Mate has requested the Captain fill in some details from her hasty fact and photo filled recent blog posts and so we join the long, continuing adjective encrusted tale of Arjuna:

Almost two weeks were spent in the waters of the Flinders Group. Boats were rare here - tapering off from the handful of yachts heading further north from Lizard when we first arrived to just three between all the islands for the remainder. The highly advanced electronic communication systems on Arjuna were rendered completely useless here. We couldn't even get AM or FM radio. Later investigations proved that we don't have an AM radio, explaining at least one of these issues. We obtained information on the weather periodically from the odd boat equipped with HF radio or super yacht with its own satellite and meteorological office. Every few weeks, a supply barge anchors in the area but we saw no sign. The Third Mate was assigned the duty of recording three hourly wind speed and direction observations. We felt that if we established the pattern of wind then we would be able to work out when to make our escape to the east around Melville and then back to the south east without the need of a bureau forecast. 

We sight a small yacht on our tail. Stokes Bay

It had been hoped that we could obtain some fish or prawns off the trawlers that stop in the bays here in strong conditions. However, the first and only trawler we came across had been out for weeks and only had three fish on board. Instead, we survived on the meagre fish rations caught by the crew including some mackerel and more bonito. Fresh fruit and vegetables had long since been consumed and scurvy was an ever present problem. Later in the stay we learnt to bite the abdomens off local green ants and gained some sustenance from these insects. From time to time, normally after 5pm but sometimes before, rations of wine were carefully issued to ensure that this change in important ballast didn't affect the stability of the boat.

After a month at sea, we had barely even started to make an impact on the water in the tanks. This was mainly due to using bore water at Lizard Island for washing up and also collecting tank water off Flinders Island. Also, the water pump on Arjuna was still off limits so the crew were barely using any fresh water at all - the result being constant dehydration and dirty socks. We spent six hours or so walking in the bush one day, the crew returning late in the afternoon - desperate to launder some clothing - but still we held out, knowing that if we ran out of water we would be figuratively sunk or literally riding much higher in the water.

Desperate times. The crew gather salt off the rocks of Stanley Island

One night, we dined aboard the only other vessel in the group, sampling their homebrew, enjoying their lasagne and discussing kickboxing. On returning from their boat at 2100 hours, we thought it was as good a time as any to up anchor and hit the high seas. The crew turned in to bed and the First Mate and Captain cycled up the engine and navigation lights, setting off between Flinders and Blackwood Islands and out through the Fly Channel before turning the nose to the distant bearing of Cape Melville.

The are many wilder parts of the waters than Cape Melville on a dark, windy night at 0001 hours: Cape Horn, the Sea of Okhotsk when the winds blow from the Kurils, the docks of Portland when the felled logs pile up down the Willamette, Oxley Creek when the overflow from Wivenhoe backs up the storm water drains. But on a moonless night when the wind speaks hastily from the East and the foam surges uneasily past the gunwales and there is naught but wave swept granite and a darkened tropical reef to embrace the weary sailor, the Cape is wild enough indeed. In fact, all our calculations and observations of the wind over the last few weeks did nothing to help predict the wind. From leaving the Fly Channel we were nosing into the swell with the wind on the bow. As we approached the channel between Cape Melville and Pipon Island the seas rose and the wind headed north of 20 knots. The bow was pounding up and down and in the darkness off both sides we knew that rocks were waiting to scratch our gelcoat - or worse. The First Mate, relieved of the watch, elected to head downstairs for a sleep in the calm tranquillity of the bow cabin: a true sea salt indeed who can sustain sleep while bouncing between floor and ceiling every few waves.

Beams of heavenly light illuminate the path in to Ingram Island

Coming round the east of Cape Melville, welcoming lights were sighted in the distance. A fellow vessel doing hard times on this lonely eve. As Arjuna and the unknown craft converged it became apparent that this was no yacht. It was a trawler on autopilot towing all its tenders strung out several hundred metres astern. Arjuna swerved to avoid a collision and the fishing boat passed - apparently unaware of our presence but hopefully aware of the oncoming reef.

And so the night proceeded. Some hours passed and the watch changed. The wind had curved around to the South East after rounding Cape Melville but had dropped considerably resulting in the seas immediately flattening to tolerable levels and making travel much smoother. Several hours before dawn, the Captain arrived for another watch to find the vessel heading sideways towards the East at an improbable 8 knots for the nearest reef. Obviously, the waters were doing strange things in the vicinity of some of these reefs. We passed through the tidal stream shortly and continued on with dawn approaching.

On a whim, we headed in towards Ingram Island as dawn cracked and dropped our anchor off the beach to find a fantastic little cay featuring all the required elements of an anchorage: water - attractively deeper than our draft, beach - attractively sandy, allegedly no crocodiles, someone's grave, birds, some shade and protection from the swell. This turned out to be a fine place to stop and we spent the day here, finishing the evening eating the offered scraps from another vessels' crayfish catch like scavenging dogs.

Continuing the theme of our southward travels thus far, we arrived back on the boat and elected to depart into the night. The somewhat calmer waters and wind of the early morning had disappeared and the wind and swell were up but we set a course for distant Cape Flattery - where our kite surfing visitors in Cairns had delighted in the constant thirty knot conditions. Curse their sporty optimism and gourmet sailing safari. Early the next morning with the wind and swell building further we decided to jump in behind one of the tiny Pethebridge Islands just off the coast for refuge. For such a small island, the protection from the swell was actually quite good. Not only that, we caught our first glimmer of internet coverage in several weeks and were able to update our weather files. From these we could tell that it was quite likely that we would be spending some days here with no respite from the south easter predicted for at least a week.

A friendly dugong swam around the boat, obviously sympathising with our predicament - or looking for tasty sea grass hand outs. Although Pethebridge Island (West) appeared to be lovely, it was no place to raise and educate a family or season an unruly crew for that matter either. A quorum of the vessel management committee was hastily convened and using the decision making process used almost exclusively by sailors: rock, paper, scissors - it was decided to make a run for that most lovely of earthly paradises: Lizard Island - a short, full day sail almost due East. Almost due East, but not quite - which meant a long day spent beating into the swell but at least on the quarter and not straight on the bow.

This diversion was not on the agenda and stores were beginning to decline in the holds of Arjuna. Some wanton merriment in the Flinders Group and some trading of beer for other services had seen our spirituous beverage level reduced considerably. Reduction in our tanks of wine meant the boat was now listing to port as we had drunk our way through the ballast. The pemmican levels were low, as was our barrel of rancid salt beef and our weetbix. No pelagic monster had taken our lure for days. If we didn't play our cards right, we might have to survive for weeks at Lizard Island bumming cheese and dip off other boats each day at sundown. The Captain has always claimed that persistence is the key to successful fishing. If the lure is left out long enough it is a certainty that at some stage a careless or short sighted fish will bump into it. At the very yawning gates of the Lizard Island Marine Park, a mighty mackerel seized our rusty trolling spoon and found itself as fillets on the swim deck before it could even start to escape. There were cheers all round from the crew - knowing this meant the difference between a week of tin can driven forced vegetarianism and normal life as an omnivore.

A typical Lizard Island scene: howling winds, many boats, good times

Watsons Bay was almost as we had left it except there was a new rotation of boats in town. Not long after we arrived, a tender pulled up and the occupants politely explained that we had been on the missing boats list for a couple of weeks. People: this is why you need to keep your Facebook and Twitter feeds up to date. An embarrassing lesson in communication indeed. Another strike for the First Mate - the second time she had been declared lost at sea.

At Lizard Island, we were able to catch up on communications, collect various fines from the tax office and get updates on the weather forecasts. There wasn't a lot of happy news in the forecast. When we squinted really hard at our forecast software, it almost looked like there might be an upcoming easing for a few hours a day or two ahead. Spending time further north had made us even saltier seafarers because another evening arrived and after a selection of tasty Watson's Bay aperitifs we headed back to the boat - sealed the hatches, secured our antique Wedgewood crystal dining service  - and got the heck out of Dodge. There was a theory to our madness in that it looked like there would be at least six hours of low wind along the coast between Lizard and Cooktown during the night with the constant 25-30 knot southeaster easing to a more pleasant 24-29 knot southeast south easter. Drunker heads than ours at the Table of Knowledge at Watsons Bay had recommended heading out further and running down inside the outer reef gaining shelter from the swell however we stuck to our plan. We reefed both main and jib before emerging from out behind Lizard in the dark - to find that the swell and wind were completely unabated. The frigid waters of the tropical coral sea washed over the boat sweeping the very marshmallows from the top of our hot chocolates.

A calm spell, somewhere north of Cooktown

Ten or so hours later we approached the magnificent protective harbour of Cooktown. We had tried to make Cooktown on one tack but had come up well short, coming in towards land still north of Cape Bedford. For a moment, we considered pulling in behind the fine plateaus at the cape here but seeing a motor boat who we knew escaping from behind Cape Bedford and heading for Cooktown, we decided to push on. So we tacked back out - avoiding a reef here and a bulk carrier there. South of Cape Bedford, the wind decided to head upwards into the 30 to 35 knot range to assist us through the choppy surf building up in the shallow water. Our imported Chinese sail held up magnificently as did our Venetian decorative glassware and the general esprit de corp of our fine crew - who, like Cook's crew of centuries past - greeted the site of the channel leads outside Cooktown with a lusty cheer.