Thursday Island to Gove

Thursday Island to Gove

   There is an old sea superstition, "Never leave port on a Friday".  It portends certain trouble if you do so.  But since none of us are particularly superstitious, the dinghy is raised and secured up under the targa and other preparations are made ready to leave.  It's still early afternoon as we head westwards out Ellis Channel towards the waiting Gulf of Carpentaria.
    Booby Island takes its name from the large numbers of the species of bird roosting on it.  It's not a big place but suitable enough for a shipping navigation beacon to be sited there.  By the late afternoon we've cleared the island, and set a southwest course for the township of Gove, which lies at the northeast of the Northern Territory.

Saturday 18th September 1993
    Since leaving Thursday Island the seas have been slight to moderate, and so far it's been uneventful sailing without the thudding of the motor in our ears.  The sails are still goosewinged as they have been all night, catching the 15 to 20 knot winds pushing mostly up our tail. 
    The log is showing 116 miles but we have actually achieved 128.6 miles over the ground for the 24 hours, meaning a helpful current has been pushing us along as well.

The booby

   A booby has been following throughout the night.  It made plenty of tentative attempts to land but couldn't seem to work out how to get past the sails.  The poor bird tried some ungainly landings in the sails, wheelhouse, cockpit and even the mainsail sheet but none of them seemed to be satisfactory.  Eventually it plonked onto the bow with a spectacular nosedive onto the deck.  It's been left alone up there, and right now is asleep in front of the anchor winch with its beak tucked under its wing.
   Our lovely spell of sailing is not to last.  The wind dies and the waves subside in the early afternoon.  We struggle along for a couple of hours trying to maximise what wind there is, but the motor is reluctantly turned on later in the afternoon.

Bounty of the sea - mackerel fillets

    Not long after dark after just finishing my spell on watch, I went up to the forward berth to get some sleep.  As usual the fore hatch was propped open to catch some air and it feels good to lie down and make myself comfortable.  Before too long I'm just about nodding off when guess who fell inside through the open hatch?
    I think the booby was as startled as I was.  There is a mad scramble in the dark as I try to grab it quickly; not knowing which end has the pecking bit, while it just as desperately tries to evade me.  It's squawks of protest do no good as our bird finds itself being unceremoniously ejected out the hatch and over the side, together with any lice it may have had.
    I later found out that exhausted birds landing on a vessel often seek some warmth below decks.  Apparently it's a survival thing.  Perhaps if I'd known that I might have been a bit more considerate.

Sunday 19th September 1993
    Why is it that problems seem to occur in the very early hours of the mornings?  Suddenly the orange ampere-warning lamp is glowing on the instrument panel, indicating a battery-charging fault.  The regulator is putting far too much charge into the batteries and it will cook them if left unattended.
    The wheelhouse flooring is pulled up and Paul and I both check the back of the alternator.  A loose wire is found but fixing this does not remedy the problem.  Every other wire connection that could be found is pulled off, cleaned and reconnected firmly.  Some of them are in poor state but even when this is done, the lamp obstinately stays on.
    We'll have to think a bit more about it but not right now.  We are using up good sleeping time so for the time being at least, we'll save the batteries and sail for Gove.  Everything electronic is turned off with the exception of the GPS to try and save power, and we'll just have to keep our eyes peeled whilst on watch.
    Everyone is very tired in the morning because of interrupted sleep.  Our speed has been as low as one knot and no more than three knots.  The flapping of the sails and the activity by the person on watch trying to keep the boat moving in the light airs hasn't helped.
    It's time to start troubleshooting the electrical system again.  The motor is turned on but surprisingly the ampere lamp winks out.  Just to be sure all is in order, the regulator is checked with a multi-tester, but all the readings are correct.  The batteries are also checked with a hydrometer and they are charged up nicely reading 1250 specific gravity.  I don't know why the problem has suddenly fixed itself but I'm not going to question it.
    There are times when sailing that you get too much wind, or not enough of it.  Today it's the latter so we continue to motor along through the rest of the day and night on an almost flat sea.

Gulf sunset.

Monday 20th September 1993
    The passage during the night was unexciting and in the early morning light we get our first landfall sighting of Bremer Island, which lies off Gove.  Our next leg will be towards the Victoria Islet light before a final run into Melville Bay and Gove Harbour.  As we're travelling west we wind our watches back half an hour to adjust to the local time.
    It's coming up to the third day of our crossing the notorious Gulf of Carpentaria.  The relatively shallow waters of 40 metres or so can create some rough seas at times, but for us there has been virtually no wind except for the first night.  However there's always a bright side.  Since we've been motor-sailing almost continually, the ships batteries are looking good with a charge of just under 1275 specific gravity.
    There hasn't been any further sign of our booby so I assume it must have got the huffs since being thrown overboard.  In fact we haven't seen much bird life at all since yesterday.
    After lunch we enter Gove Harbour having covered the 340 miles in almost three days to the hour.  A ship is berthed against one of the wharfs while bauxite is being loaded onto it.  A fine white cloud issues up from the ship before being whisked away by a gentle wind.  This is a pretty harbour with stretches of beach interspersed with mangroves, and navigation is relatively easy with only a few obstacles to be watchful for.  Before long we find a spot with sufficient swinging room outside the Gove Yacht Club.

Gove Harbour

    Although we are tired, there isn't much time wasted in going ashore.  The President of the club is Dave Black and happens to be an old friend of Brian's.  After the introductions, Dave arranges the usual honorary membership that travelling sailors get in cruising yacht clubs, and organises a key to the shower and laundry facilities.
    Bathing at sea with fresh water is a luxury when sailing on a boat not equipped with a saltwater desalinator.  A little bit of cleaning is first on the priorities since all the crew and their clothes are getting a bit smelly and salt encrusted.  After an hour or so we feel considerably refreshed after a hot shower and clean clothes.
    The yacht club bar is almost empty on our arrival there, but we soon start to meet some of the locals, as they begin to arrive after finishing work.  The crowd quickly swells.  The members have probably been drawn to the club to participate in a happy hour, in which the drinks are sold at a reduced price.
    The first few sippies go down particularly well.  Then a couple more sippies are followed by an enjoyable dinner, and then a few more sippies and lots of laughs.  They're certainly a friendly mob at the Gove Yacht Club.
    During the evening, Dave mentions that he is the proud owner of a classic timber yacht built in 1939, and she's moored outside the club.  Our interest is fired and arrangements are made to go out and look over her, so after closing time we work an unsteady path down to the dinghies.  
    Once again there are unstable crewmen falling out of our unstable dinghy.  Eventually we manage to get off the beach and out to Dave's yacht.  We are even able to achieve the feat of climbing aboard without falling off and drowning in the harbour.  Dave takes us on a tour of the grand lady and we're all suitably impressed with its beautiful panelling.

Tuesday 21st September 1993
    While having breakfast in the morning, we decide to go into the little township of Gove, look around and buy a few more supplies.  The yacht club is situated a little bit out of town and although there's a bus service, we're able to hitch a ride in there.  It doesn't take long to have a look around and shop in the supermarket.  Unfortunately we don't have our own transport to take a wider look further afield, so we catch the bus back to the club and take our stuff out to the boat.
    Back at the yacht club, a quick phone call is made to the local Perkins Shipyard to arrange for more fuel and water for Lowana.  A booking is made for tomorrow before we depart for Darwin.  The rest of the afternoon is spent idling at the club and talking to other yachties. 
    One couple we meet are Dave and his partner Shea.  Dave is a tall, sun-tanned individual probably in his early 30's, with thinning hair, blue eyes, laid back attitude and a winning smile.  Shea is a striking young woman with ginger hair and freckles, though a little bit more reserved than Dave.
    Dave is the owner of a catamaran which is up on the beach while he tries to fix the head, plus some other repairs involving fibre glassing and epoxy.  It's proving to be a messy business and his hands are coated with gunk that will not come off.  To make some money, Dave is working for the local mines and Shea works somewhere in town.
    They later made their way to Darwin and in due course ended up buying a steel yacht that Dave called Wanita Merah, meaning "Red Girl" in Indonesian.  Several years later I ran across them at Kupang in Timor, Indonesia during a visit.
    Cruising life can have its problems but also has considerable rewards too.  One of them is in the people you meet and the friends you make, but it's different from friendships outside the cruising yachties fraternity.  There's something special, even exciting, to drop anchor in some remote place and recognise a friendly boat, or when they arrive after you.

Wednesday 22nd September 1993
    The morning is sunny, windless and cloudless as we motor over to the Perkins wharf, where we take on 165 litres of diesel.  That brings our fuel usage to 185 litres from Mackay to Gove with regular use of the motor.  The cost per litre is higher than Darwin, but that's to be expected in these remote places.
    Just 50 metres around the corner is a place called Metaland that supplies LPG gas, so while we're here, the gas bottle is disconnected and taken around for refilling.  A fresh water hose at the wharf soon fills up the water tank.
    With the replenishing tasks completed, we return to the Gove Yacht Club where we go ashore for a final shower and collect our refund on the shower block key.