Hay Island to Thursday Island

Hay Island to Cairncross Island

    It's time to go again but there will be no overnight stop tonight.  The day is still calm with gentle breezes of about five to 10 knots and it promises to be another beautiful day.  The anchor is brought up and we set off again.
    During the morning we continue to motor-sail to get a charge back into the batteries for the portable fridge.  I occupy some time by doing some washing up on the bow, while the others sit around the cockpit having a chat.  While engaged in these endeavours, Coastwatch flies by with another challenge, so once again we give our details and intended passage to them.
    In the early afternoon the motor is finally turned off and we continue under full sail.  It was not to be turned back on until the next morning.  The gap between the Great Barrier Reef and the mainland between Cooktown and Cape York gets progressively narrower as we travel north.  We're sailing close enough to the coast now to see that it looks a little stark, consisting mostly of large sand dunes.  Some are almost like small mountains in places.
    Misfortune strikes in the late afternoon when the tillerpilot fails.  On inspection, a small brass shear pin has broken, and the worm gear will not engage.  An attempt is made to fashion a new temporary pin from a fishhook, but during this operation a myriad of small ball bearings spill onto the floor.  Nearly half an hour is spent on hands and knees inspecting every nook and cranny, but it's unlikely we found them all.
    The ones recovered have now got to be put back into the apparatus, which becomes a laborious and finicky process.  At length, when it has been re-assembled, it's hooked backed onto the tiller.  Immediately there are loud grinding noises and Lowana starts to turn slowly in a circle.  The worm gears are binding so the device is quickly unhooked and the boat brought back on course.  It seems we are now forced to hand steer from here on - bugger!

Wednesday 15th September 1993
    The narrowest gap in the sea-lanes for all shipping inside the Great Barrier Reef is only one mile wide between Piper Reef and Inset Reef.  The night is moonless and it's after midnight as we approach it.  There's a low swell on the sea making our sailing quite pleasant. 
    For some time we have been watching the lights of two large freighters coming our way.  A quick call on the radio establishes contact with them and we are informed that although they cannot see us visually, they have a good fix on us with their radar.  There'll be no problem and a "green to green" pass is arranged.  This means that we would pass with the other on our respective starboard sides.
    Of more concern are the lights of even bigger ships ahead and behind us.  It becomes apparent they could be upon us while we are still inside the narrow passage between the reefs.  There's nowhere to go.
    The radio suddenly bursts into life.  The master of the Atlantic Clipper heading south starts talking about a little radar blip with the master of the large container ship going north.  Neither vessel can actually see what it is.  Our skipper is galvanised, immediately grabs the microphone, and quickly confirms that the little blip is a 30-ft steel cruising yacht heading north with a crew of three.
    Once again we're told they have a good radar fix and there'll be no problem, but we still watch with apprehension as the ships loom up.  They are huge in comparison to us and we're looking almost head-on at both of them.  The red and green navigation lights on either side are clearly visible and the noise of the engines is clearly audible.
    We hold as steady a course as possible and soon, both ships steam past on either side between 100 and 200 metres away, pushing large bow waves ahead of them.  Their combined wake boils the sea leaving us bobbing around for some time, forced to hang on, but with a feeling of relief as we watch them draw way.
    Thankfully, our radar reflector in the crosstrees has done a good job, but I'm concerned that none of those ships could see our own navigation lights.  They are mounted at deck level but obviously they're not efficient in any sort of a seaway.  After this incident, I resolve that one of the first things I would do upon getting home is to put the lights at the top of the masthead.
     The rest of the night is uneventful if a little tiring.  We had to hand steer and there were a lot of doglegs in the sea-lanes through the reefs.  Thankfully they were well marked by navigation beacon lights.  Even so, the GPS is a wonderful time saving instrument which tells exactly where we are, without having to constantly take less than accurate compass bearings as we pitch and roll in the sea.

Approaching Cairncross Island

    It seems like it's going to be another handsome day and I'm pleased to see the dawn off Cape Granville.  The wind has shifted further aft so the sails are goosewinged.  The boat immediately shifts into a higher gear in response and for the rest of the day we make reasonable time.
    Cairncross Island is just another island fringed with coral reef but it's to be our next overnight stop.  It's late in the afternoon and the reef can be harder to see as we carefully negotiate our way in.  Eventually we're close enough to drop the anchor for a welcome layover, in what looks on the sounder to be a clear spot.

Brian on coral bombie lookout

    We've completed the distance of 160 miles in 33 hours but it's been tight sailing demanding concentration.  Despite our tiredness, the fishing lines go over the side but nothing is caught.
    Our next leg is to Thursday Island, which lies just around the most northern point of mainland Australia at Cape York.  We're going to need a start before dawn tomorrow, so we have dinner and go to bed early.


Cairncross Island to Thursday Island

Thursday 16th September 1993
    At 3:00 am a succession of clock alarms sound throughout the boat.  It's hard to drag ourselves out of bed but the effort is made and we set about getting under way.  Paul quickly checks the engine oils while Brian and I wash the dishes from the night before, and then prepare to pull up the anchor.
    Topside there is a slight chill in the air.  We can barely see the island in the darkness, but the compass tells us Lowana is hanging awkwardly towards the fringing coral reef.  We're being held in place by the current and there's not a lot of water underneath.  Any mishap retrieving the anchor could end up with us going aground. 
    Before doing anything else, the tide books are pulled out and the Secondary Port tides for Cairncross Island are calculated.  The results aren't promising.  Given the way the boat is laying and the current height of tide, we decide against raising the anchor and trying to get out to deeper water in the dark.  It would be best to wait until the tide turns and attempt it in daylight on a making tide.  We went back to bed instead.
    Just after dawn another attempt is made to get under way, but as the anchor party goes forward it looks like the anchor had dragged.  We're some 100 metres or more out to sea and the anchor chain has snagged on something down there.  Winching in the chain involves using a tool like a crank-handle, but it is impossible to turn it. 
    Paul manoeuvres the boat around in an attempt to unravel the chain from its watery obstruction, but to no avail.  Unfortunately the depth is too much to allow a free dive and we have no scuba gear.  Luckily we do have a piece of pipe that had been bought back at Magnetic Island for just this purpose.  The anchor winch has a small handle to which the pipe can be fitted, and allows a link-by-link retrieval of the chain but with much more leverage. 
    The tedious business began.  Brian and I take turns on the winch while Paul keeps the boat positioned properly.  Surprisingly there doesn't have to be a lot of pressure applied to the pipe and the chain comes in reasonably smoothly.  After half an hour the anchor had been brought in and we are underway. 
    By mid-morning we have a nice sunny day but with little breeze to fill the sails.  There's an option of following the established sea-lane or take a shortcut direct to Albany Reef.  The route is through shallower water and more attention will have to be paid to navigation, but it'll save us 10 miles.  The shortcut is taken.
    Paul decides to have another go at working on the tillerpilot again, and we're delighted when he manages to get it working again.  Without further ado it's put back into operation where it still crackles and grinds a little bit, but at least we are relieved from the drudgery of steering -- yahoo!
    Before too long the Albany Rock light is sighted at 10 miles away, marking the turning point from the east coast across the top towards Cape York.  This is the moment that I've dreamed about for some time and it's finally going to happen.  It couldn't be on a nicer day with a gentle breeze and calm seas.

Under spinnaker

    Since the tillerpilot is taking care of the steering we now have a bit more motivation to do other things.  Paul remarks that the conditions are good to fly the big spinnaker for the first time.  Brian and I look at each other.  Paul's got that familiar glint in his eye when he wants to clap on more sail.  Hereupon he's dubbed "Captain Glint" and we set about achieving this marvel.
    The bag is found in the bottom of the sail locker and retrieved up onto the deck.  All three of us get involved in the exercise, although Brian and I don't really know much about what we're doing.  Under Paul's instructions the bulky sail is laid out ready while he carefully explains the procedure for getting it up there and controlling it.
    In due course it's hoisted and starts to billow out without snagging or twisting.  Paul stands up forward giving directions to Brian and I controlling each sheet, and the spinnaker is brought around to the best position to catch the wind. 
    This is the first time any of us have seen this sail, which looks very large and majestic flying up there, and we revel in the shade it cast.  The colour is a reddish-orange with a big blue eye sitting right in the middle looking out on the world.  It seems to say to us, "Who are you puny individuals, and why have you taken so long to release me?"
    The boat also seems to glory in it as it quickly picks up speed and soon we feel another new experience of sailing at a quick pace while the boat is relatively level.

Cape York in the distance

    The fun is not to last.  By mid-afternoon we are approaching Cape York itself when there is a loud bang that gets our hearts started.  Startled, we look up to see the spinnaker falling into the sea beside and ahead of the boat.  The noise had been the spinnaker halyard snapping, but we'll have to move quickly to prevent the sail going underneath the boat.
    Thankfully all of us are still nearby sitting in the shade and our reaction is swift.  Madly we start pulling all that cloth out of the water back up on board before it can wrap around the propeller, which is spinning freely against the drag of the water as we sail along.
    We have become a practiced team and with a minimum of fuss a jib headsail and the staysail are hoisted, and we're soon on our way again without losing too much momentum.  Nobody wants to volunteer to climb the mast to rig another spinnaker halyard, so the spinnaker is left to dry out on deck before being packed and stowed back below again.

Thursday Island in the distance

   Later in the day we have our first sighting of Thursday Island, which is only one of a group lying off Cape York.  It's a recognised Port of Entry for vessels entering or exiting Australia, and although it's no longer a major shipping port, it's a popular place for cruising yachties to visit or enter the country.  In its heyday "TI" as it's locally referred to, used to be a major pearling centre but that has since declined, although some "seeded" pearling still takes place
    About 2,300 people live on TI itself and it's the administrative centre for the Torres Strait region.  More than 25,000 others live on 23 islands throughout the strait, and "Torres Strait Taxi's", being 3.5m aluminium dinghies with a 40hp outboard motor, are the preferred method of getting around.  They can often be seen way out in the middle of nowhere, zooming along giving every indication that they know where they are going.
    The afternoon breezes push us along steadily and by late afternoon we're inside Ellis Channel, the main access through the Thursday Island group to the township of Thursday Island itself.  The tides run very fast here at about three to four knots and our progress is slow.  Paul bumps up the revs on the motor as we make our final run.  The tillerpilot worm gear starts protesting by making a grinding noise, but otherwise seems to be working okay.
    No time is lost putting the anchor down once a site is selected.  With the tide running so hard it's difficult for the anchor to bite into the hard ground.  It scrapes across the seabed for some distance before finally digging in, and the tide quickly swings Lowana around to hang back on her anchor rode.  Paul watches cautiously for several minutes before testing the strength of the anchor hold by applying a little reverse thrust.  It seems okay but he leaves the motor running for a little while anyway, just in case.
    Now that there's time to look around, we notice a big red roof directly opposite with "Federal Hotel" painted on it.  That's fortunate, since it means less distance and thus less work for our dinghy, and its poor little two horsepower Yamaha outboard motor.

Thursday Island with Federal Hotel to right of centre

    Even so, getting ashore is an accomplishment.  The pint-sized outboard struggles gamely against the tide run, trying to keep us from being pushed clear out to sea.  Eventually we make it to shore but we end up some distance further down the beach than intended.  Some huffing and puffing follows as the dinghy is carried back up the beach, closer to a point opposite Lowana.
    It's almost dark and there doesn't appear to be too much happening around the main street, so we head directly for the hotel.  Here we indulge in a good feed and an excellent sociable night ashore.  One of the local lads brought his guitar to the pub and a big group of the islanders had a sing-a-long, while we enjoyed an almost south-seas atmosphere - plus of course a few more drinkies.
    The trip back to the boat that night was interesting.  There was much scientific calculation trying to gauge the best launching spot so as not to overshoot Lowana in the strong tidal push.  If that happened we would never be able to get back against the tide run.
    First we had to get into the dinghy and this proves to be a delicate feat in itself.  It's so unstable that sitting in it is like trying to balance on roller-skates at the best of times.  And of course there is the constant movement of the ground, normally not noticeable, that repeatedly upsets ones balance at the exact moment when someone tries to lift a foot.  At least one of the crew, and it wasn't the skipper or the boat's owner, managed to fall out of the dinghy before we even left the beach.

Friday 17th September 1993
    Despite the hangovers, some chores about the boat need to be carried out the next morning.  We find that Lowana's fuel consumption has been quite economical.  After dipping the main fuel tank it's found to be still over half full, even though we've only added 20 litres of diesel since the start of the trip.  This is despite persistent use of the motor during the 388 mile run from Cooktown, which took seven days and between 50 and 60 litres of diesel to complete.
    The main water tank is also dipped.  We've used about 145 litres since Cooktown, which makes a daily rate of about six and a half litres per man per day.  There's still about 125 litres left in the tank and in addition, another 40 litres of spare water in containers lashed on deck.
    After our little bit of housekeeping around the boat is completed, the trip is made back ashore.  With a little bit of time on our hands, we walk around the town and have a quick look at the shops.  The locals prove to be quite friendly and on the most part willing to stop and have a chat.  After an hour or so wandering around, there doesn't seem to be all that much more to see, so we grab a quick lunch and return to the boat.