Kelebek
Bundaberg is home to sugar cane, rum and nesting sea turtles.
Each year loggerhead, green and flatback sea turtles nest on the beaches along the coast near Bundaberg. And each year Dr Col Limpus and his team of researchers and volunteers return to study the turtles. Many years ago I worked as part of this team. This year I've also returned, to help out at night along the beach as the turtles crawl up to lay their eggs in the sand.
Occasionally a female turtle also nests in daylight.
Watching turtles nest became such a popular attraction that the authorities caring for the beach and turtles had to limit the number to 300 people per night, guided by rangers. Visitors are taken to the beach when a turtle is preparing to lay.
As part of the research team we work together with the interpretation team and as a basis tag the turtles, monitor the number of eggs, where they are laid and the hatching success of the eggs, plus gather data on more specific aspects of turtle biology.
Loggerhead turtles are endangered. To help increase the number of hatchlings produced, any nests that are laid where the eggs are likely to be damaged, for example by high tides, are moved to a safer location, either further up the beach or into the hatchery for further study.
In February 2009 the 29th World Symposium on Sea Turtles will be held in Brisbane, Australia. See www.turtlesbrisbane2009.org
Cyclone Hamish
March 8 Cyclone Hamish travelled south off the Queensland
As the cyclone travelled south nearing Bundaberg we prepared Kelebek - adding extra mooring lines, taking down tarps, removing gear from the deck and hoping that the cyclone would stay out to sea.
Winds and swell battered the coast, eroding beach sand, but fortunately Hamish stayed out to sea and the damage was less than people were fearing.
Fortunately most of the turtle nests had emerged before Hamish arrived and while the beach at Mon Repos was eroded and some nests were exposed, there was little egg loss and nest damage.
The waves washed up through the hatchery but weeks later I found hatchling tracks running to the sea from a nest buried there
Hauling out
After five months in the Burnett River in the centre of Bundaberg Kelebek was home to an unwanted community of barnacles. Before leaving the river we needed to haul out, clean off the barnacles and paint the bottom with antifoul.
Kelebek emerged from the water tied to the cradle under the careful eyes of the team at Bundaberg Slipways. Their faces showed no surprise at the barnacles, I guess they’d seen it all before. Our faces weren’t the same, we were horrified at the huge patches of barnacles covering the hull and propeller. A couple of hours later though and Tanil had removed most of the barnacles using the water blaster. Unfortunately while the top of the barnacle shells had blasted away the circular bases remained glued to the hull. That was my job. Using a scraper I began chipping away at the cemented discs. I hummed to myself “1000 barnacle bases cemented on the hull, 999 barnacle bases cemented on the hull…..
After a few days of chipping, sanding and painting plus a new rudder bearing, we gently slid back into the water on the cradle. Kelebek had a fresh coat of antifoul and we were impressed and grateful to Russ and Lorraine, co-owners of the slip and Jason, their employee for their care and competence.
Sense would tell anyone to leave the river immediately, not to wait for barnacles to re-attach, but we re-launched on Good Friday and had to wait until Tuesday to tie up a few loose ends in Bundaberg.
The Trek North
April 15 2009 We left Burnett Heads, the entrance to the Burnett River in the early morning dark to begin our trek north along the east coast of Australia.
No matter how many times I watch dolphins play on the bow I still race to the front of the boat, talk to them, applaud and laugh at their antics as though it was the first time. And I’m sure I’m not alone in this.
The dolphin leapt from the water, twisted and landed on its back, rode the bow wave with the bow nestled into the angle made by its dorsal fin and back and rode the bow wave upside down. I’m not convinced this dolphin was performing totally for us though, in between it would swim close to the other dolphin side on. I could imagine it saying, did you see that? Pretty cool eh?
We day-sailed north, often leaving before the sun rose and arriving late afternoon. There are hundreds of islands off the Queensland coast, some low coral cays, others high continental islands. The hills of the many the continental islands and coastal bays are covered with lowland tropical forest, beautiful to look at but almost impenetrable.
The Whitsunday Islands, a group of 74 islands off the Queensland coast are a mecca for sailors; cruisers, racers and local day-sailors.
To manage the natural marine resources of Queensland, government authorities have partitioned the waters into zones according to the activities permitted, from zones where virtually all activities (including commercial fishing) are permitted through to areas where the public are not permitted at all.
Zones maps are free and available in fishing and boating stores and at National and Marine Park offices.
In truth we were a little overwhelmed at first, both because we were unfamiliar with the system and because the maps are like a patchwork quilt of coloured zones. We are used to throwing the trolling line into the sea and waiting to catch a fish. This time we had to be constantly aware of whether we were in a permitted fishing zone or not. We got used to the situation fairly quickly. This didn’t help us catch a fish though. Something big hit the line, snapped the rubber shock cord, broke the trace wire and continued on its way wearing our lure. The one that got away. The rest of the time the lure swam unharmed and unnoticed behind the boat.
The coastal waters of Queensland are green continental shelf waters filled with nutrients and plankton, plus the run-off from the many rivers entering the sea. They aren’t the clear reef waters seen in the tourist brochures. This is quite a disappointment to many of the foreign yachts sailing north along the coast.
For many years we caught fish by spear-fishing. We like to snorkel and it was a fun way of catching dinner at the same time. We never needed to learn the finer points of line fishing. Sitting holding a line didn’t and still doesn’t hold the same thrill as snorkelling. But with unclear water, stingers and sharks now seemed like a good time to learn, particularly as the boats anchored near us were hauling in large golden trevally and trumpeters. It seemed like a good time to meet them and ask their fishing secrests. Thankfully Peter, Doris, Brian and Paula were happy to share their tricks and techniques, give us some bait and in the end, even give us some fish since they continued catching and we continued watching, holding a line. We think we’ve got the idea, it's just a matter of practise now.
Australians like to fish. There are tv and radio shows devoted to fishing: where the fish are biting, what type of fish, what bait to use. Every coastal town has a shop selling fishing hooks, lines, sinkers and lures.
After two weeks out from Bundaberg we were running short of fresh fruit and vegetables. We had plenty of stored food, but we wanted the crunch of an apple or carrot.
Also, after being out in the bays it was time for a change, to be among people, cafes and the buzz of society. Airlie Beach along with Shute Harbour services the Whitsunday Islands. Ferries and charter yachts take tourists and supplies out to the islands and reefs and on day trips. The centre at Airlie caters mainly to young backpackers. There are many restaurants, pubs, cafes, internet cafes, travel and souvenir shops selling thongs, sarongs and sun-tan lotion.
We enjoyed the esplanade and followed the path along the shore, through the Airlie lagoon, a modern take on the town swimming pool, pleased to be stretching our legs after a few days on the boat. There are a number of chlorinated saltwater pools surrounded by grass and shelters with benches and tables, free barbecues and children’s playgrounds. We swam and lazed under the watchful eye of the on-duty lifeguard. While there are plenty of white-sand beaches at Airlie, people can swim all year round in the lagoon without worrying about stingers - jellyfish – some of which can be deadly.
As we are travelling north we are tidying Kelebek and ourselves. Things that stayed out on the shelves while we were stationary in the river at Bundaberg have been returning to their places in cupboards or thrown away at the next port. We’ve begun to lose the kilos and casualness that comes from living in port.
There’s a saying “Ports rot ships and sailors.” While I don’t believe we’ve rotted we are re-sharpening the seamanship skills necessary when living on a sailing yacht. It happens every time we begin a new trip.
As we travel along the coast I am revisiting places from my youth. And not only places. People, friends from this time also. We are picking up where we left off, the time apart and different paths irrelevant.
In the Wake of Cook
For some time now we have been sailing in the wake of Captain James Cook, one of the world’s finest seaman, navigator and explorer. Cook visited Australia on his first voyage in 1770 aboard the bark Endeavour. Many of the landmarks we have visited or sailed past since Cairns were named by Cook and in some ways tell the story of his trip north along this section of coast. Cape Tribulation - “because here began all our troubles” and indeed if you look at the chart the reefs do crowd the coast from Cairns north. Endeavour Reef - where his ship struck the reef at 11 pm one night. Hope Islands - “I have named them Hope Islands, because we were always in hope of being able to reach these Islands”. It took Cook 24 hours to refloat the Endeavour and another 5 days to reach the river which he named Endeavour, where he beached and repaired his ship. Cooktown is built today along this stretch of river.
Cooktown for us was a challenging anchorage with strong tides racing through the channel between shallow or drying sandbars and many boats moored, anchored or tied to the wharfs and pontoons lining the shore. It was an interesting town to visit though, a town buzzing with vitality and local characters.
History tells us that none of Cook’s crew died of scurvy and that he was particular about his crew’s diet, insisting they eat onions, sauerkraut and the wild grasses that he collected in anchorages. Cook loaded supplies in Cooktown before leaving the river and we did the same. We bought extra fruit and vegetables from the greengrocers to prepare for our trip into the still remote and isolated Cape York Peninsula.
The James Cook Museum was filled with collections of early Cooktown life, the Palmer River Gold rush days, the Chinese community attracted by the gold rush and the Aboriginal community. Also displayed was one of the Endeavour’s anchors recovered from the sea, which is enormous, and the book “Cook’s Journey” published in 1789 and donated by the Whitby Literary and Philosophical Society England to the people of Cooktown in 1949. The book, kept protected in a glass cabinet, was open at a page showing the dictionary of words Cook compiled while in the Society Islands of French Polynesia. Why wasn’t it open at a page detailing Cook’s time in the Endeavour River? I don’t know. Displayed on a wall though was a quote from Cook, “I had ambition not only to go farther than any one had been before, but as far as it was possible for man to go”. I’m sure this quote strikes a chord still today with many explorers.
Cooktown is becoming a popular tourist destination. Many of the pubs, clubs and cafes are putting on a trendy front. No doubt the old timers, the ones who’d hoped to escape from the bustle of the city, are muttering into their beers.
A quirky attraction took my fancy - “The Musical Ship” – an old fashioned sailing ship made of tough plastic tubes.
Tanil hammered out “tunes” on the various tubes.
The sign at the ship said a lot
Just over thirty miles from Cooktown we anchored in the shelter of Cape Flattery, a large well protected bay named by Cook because “We now judged ourselves to be clear of all Danger, having, as we thought, a Clear, open Sea before us; but this we soon found otherwise”.
Lizard Is. was a welcome stop for us: for the first time since leaving Bundaberg were anchored in clear water. We snorkelled each day on the coral reef close by the boat. This reef was known at the Lizard Is Research as the Clam Garden and we saw many of the 74 giant clams counted on the reef.
We continued in Cook’s footsteps as we climbed the steep hill to the highest peak on the island, enjoying the view back over Watson’s Bay towards the mainland.
Just over thirty miles from Cooktown we anchored in the shelter of Cape Flattery, a large well protected bay named by Cook because “We now judged ourselves to be clear of all Danger, having, as we thought, a Clear, open Sea before us; but this we soon found otherwise”.
Lizard Is. was a welcome stop for us: for the first time since leaving Bundaberg were anchored in clear water. We snorkelled each day on the coral reef close by the boat. This reef was known at the Lizard Is Research as the Clam Garden and we saw many of the 74 giant clams counted on the reef.
We continued in Cook’s footsteps as we climbed the steep hill to the highest peak on the island, enjoying the view back over Watson’s Bay towards the mainland.
From here Cook looked to sea and found a pass through the reefs and out to the ocean. Since we climbed in the cool of the early morning the sun angle prevented us from seeing Cook Pass.
Cook named Lizard Is. because of the large lizards he saw on the island. The lizards we saw as we explored the tracks crisscrossing the island usually scurried a short ways into the bush before looking back at us.
We are not the only ones travelling north in Cook’s wake. There are 130 or so yachts in the Darwin Indonesia Rally and most of these yachts are also sailing north along the Queensland coast to Darwin.
In some ways the rally has already begun. On one evening we had 30 yachts anchored in Watson’s Bay at Lizard Is. Each evening people gathered on the beach to meet, socialise and swap information.
With the Bureau of Meteorology forecasting the arrival of strong winds over the next few days Tanil and I decided to leave. Early, before any hint of light, we slipped out of Watsons Bay, hoping to reach the Flinders Islands almost 80 miles away in the daylight.
The Flinders Islands were named for another early navigator who mapped much of Australia’s coast, reefs and islands, Mathew Flinders. Still today much of the navigation information we use in northern Australia is based on the careful observations and recordings of Mathew Flinders.
On Kelebek we sail with a GPS interfaced with a chart program on the computer. As long as the systems are working we can see our ship moving across the chart, weaving past reefs, islands, bays and headlands, much like a computer game. This is an enormous comfort, especially when the wind is strong and pushing us along before it. Many years ago I sailed along this coast navigating with only a paper chart, compass and dividers, it wasn’t so comfortable. I can only imagine the nervousness and terror felt by the crews of the early sailing ships as they sailed through these areas with little or no information, no charts and yet through their diligence left a wealth of information in their wake.
Still following in the steps of the early explorers we searched for the wells used by the crew of HMS Dart to collect water into barrels in 1899. We found the name carved into the rock but not the wells. We needed to continue conserving the water in our tanks.
The Flinders Islands were named for another early navigator who mapped much of Australia’s coast, reefs and islands, Mathew Flinders. Still today much of the navigation information we use in northern Australia is based on the careful observations and recordings of Mathew Flinders.
On Kelebek we sail with a GPS interfaced with a chart program on the computer. As long as the systems are working we can see our ship moving across the chart, weaving past reefs, islands, bays and headlands, much like a computer game. This is an enormous comfort, especially when the wind is strong and pushing us along before it. Many years ago I sailed along this coast navigating with only a paper chart, compass and dividers, it wasn’t so comfortable. I can only imagine the nervousness and terror felt by the crews of the early sailing ships as they sailed through these areas with little or no information, no charts and yet through their diligence left a wealth of information in their wake.
Still following in the steps of the early explorers we searched for the wells used by the crew of HMS Dart to collect water into barrels in 1899. We found the name carved into the rock but not the wells. We needed to continue conserving the water in our tanks.
On Kelebek we live close to nature. When the wind blows Kelebek tugs at the anchor and we check the make sure the anchor is holding and we are still in the same place. If the day is hot we open all the hatches and portholes to welcome the cooling breeze inside. If the day is cold we close all the hatches and portholes to keeps out the wind’s icy fingers. The wind generator hums to the wind, sending electricity to the battery. On a sunny day the solar panel does the same. Virtually all our energy comes from the wind generator and solar panels, we rarely run the engine solely to charge the batteries. Most of the time we avoid the sun ourselves. We have a cover over the cockpit to shade us. When it rains we close the hatches and catch the water into our tanks. Without rain we fill the water tanks from a town water supply when possible.
Our fridge runs on electricity stored in the batteries, as do the TV, CD player, computer, radio and lights. Tanil installed LED lights recently to reduce consumption. The fridge, TV and computer are amp-guzzlers, using between 3 and 5 amps each per hour. We live within the energy stored in the batteries. If the sun is shining and the wind is blowing we can loosen our belts a little. If it a calm over cast day then we have to limit our use of these appliances, sometimes not running the fridge. This can play havoc with food storage – vegetables rot more quickly and cheese becomes mouldy.
Change is the only constant at sea. We’d slept lightly during the night listening to the wind and left Flinders Island in the darkness with a light breeze gently pushing us before it. The breeze faded and we motored most of the day over a smooth sea. A few miles from Morris Is, our destination, we looked in the direction of a beginning light breeze from the south-east. The waves rose green and collapsed flecked with white. Within minutes the wind blew at 20 knots sweeping spray across the boat.
Safely anchored behind Morris Is we went to bed listening to the wind generator howling like a werewolf in the wind.
In this way with variations we sailed north each day, anchoring each night in a bay or behind an island.
Most days we trail a fishing line behind the boat, changing lures from time to time, hoping for a fish. Recently fish had taken the lure but they’d jumped off the hook before we could haul them on board. Bean stews were losing their appeal.
Again the line snapped tight and we raced to pull it in. As I pulled the line hand over hand the fish swam close, parallel to the boat, a tuna, torpedo-shaped. We hauled it on board. This one wasn’t a particularly big fish, but it was all muscle packed into a streamlined body. Tuna are spectacular and awe-inspiring fish; fast swimming, able to recess their fins in grooves, one of the top predators of the sea. To some degree they are also able to regulate the temperature of their body. The warm flesh quivered as Tanil sliced the muscles off the skeleton.
A couple of hours later, anchored at Portland Roads, we dragged sashimi through sauce, the wasabi hit us behind the nose and the sun sank towards the horizon.
Most days we trail a fishing line behind the boat, changing lures from time to time, hoping for a fish. Recently fish had taken the lure but they’d jumped off the hook before we could haul them on board. Bean stews were losing their appeal.
Again the line snapped tight and we raced to pull it in. As I pulled the line hand over hand the fish swam close, parallel to the boat, a tuna, torpedo-shaped. We hauled it on board, hoping we wouldn’t lose this one. This one wasn’t a particularly big fish, but it was all muscle packed into a streamlined body. Tuna are spectacular and awe-inspiring fish; fast swimming, able to recess their fins in grooves, one of the top predators of the sea. To some degree they are also able to regulate the temperature of their body. The warm flesh quivered as Tanil sliced the muscles off the skeleton.
A couple of hours later, anchored at Portland Roads, we dragged sashimi through sauce, the wasabi hit us behind the nose and the sun sank towards the horizon.
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