WHITSUNDAYS AND TOWNSVILLE:
TO SYDNEY and RETURN... OR BUST:
TO URANGAN FOR MAINTENANCE:
WHALE WATCHING IN PLATYPUS BAY:
MARYBOROUGH to KEPPEL BAY:
BUNDABERG FOR EASTER:
100 MILES OUT TO SEA:
CIRCUMNAVIGATION OF FRASER ISLAND:
DELIVERY TO MARYBOROUGH:

With the proud new owner as more of a passenger than crew, delivery of Nova Vida from Mooloolaba to Maryborough was accomplished with the help of Sam Heidenreich and Ivan Adams as Captain.  Departure had been delayed for more than a week by stormy weather, and when conditions finally allowed, our departure was more rushed than calculated.

No sooner had we cleared the Mooloolaba harbour than problems began.  Raising the mainsail was prevented at first by its halyard becoming thoroughly entangled in the footsteps protruding from both sides of the mast, a problem that was difficult to clear with the boat pitching and rolling in some big waves.  After wrestling with it for half an hour we were almost ready to turn back when the halyard was shaken free and the sail eventually raised.  It was then that we noticed that the forecast south easterly wind was actually blowing from the north, exactly the direction we wanted to go and promising some slow beating all the way.

By late afternoon we were far from satisfied with our progress, and decided to restart the engine to help better penetrate the wind.  And so we continued all night, arriving off Double Island Point at daybreak.  At some stage during the night an inaccessible hose became disconnected from the hot water tank, covering the galley floor with water and filling the bilge with our entire supply of hot water.  But we were pleased to have arrived off the Great Sandy Straits bar at precisely the recommended time for crossing it.

In vain did we look for the leading white light supposed to guide us to the entrance across the bar.  We could see what we thought was the light structure standing high on Fraser Island's beach, but with no sign of the red, white or green lights that were supposed to emanate from it we were far from confident, and cruised north and south again looking for that darned light until we noticed a big fishing trawler heading into the Strait at full speed.  "Follow him" suggested Ivan, which we did without any problem (and also without any evidence of being anywhere near the recommended track except for fleeting moments).

Safely inside the Strait we anchored in the shelter of Fraser Island for breakfast and a much needed sleep.  It was then that we discovered our water tank had run dry, and upon checking the fuel tank discovered we had insufficient fuel left to reach Maryborough.  So it was that we detoured south again to Tin Can Bay for fuel and water.

Because of the detour we decided to anchor for the night at Gary's Anchorage on our way north again.  Arriving at dusk we anchored in the only available spot we could find, and were halfway through cooking dinner when a hail from a passing boat brought us out on deck again... to discover that we were drifting away.  It seemed that the rising tide had allowed our anchor to drag on the short length of chain we had let out.  So now we had the more difficult job of anchoring again, in the dark, and with even less space available than before owing to the passing boat dropping its anchor right where we had originally been.  But somehow Ivan accomplished it, and we had no more drama that night.

Attempts to depart the anchorage at the crack of dawn were initially less than successful.  The tide was rising but still low, and unknown to us, one exit from the anchorage was shallower than the other.  After polishing the bottom of our keel on the sand several times we turned around and went out the same way we had come in, polishing the keel only once more during the process.  From the anchorage there were two more tricky shallow bends we needed to negotiate on the way to Maryborough, but Ivan knew them well.  We arrived and anchored in the river just downstream of Maryborough city, then hurried ashore for a welcome rest!

A trip right around Fraser Island was something I had dreamed of doing for years, but with the trailer sailers I had before I was never confident enough to attempt it.  In Nova Vida there was never any doubt we could do it.  With Sam and Ray as crew we motored down the Mary River early one Friday morning, and proceeded to follow the buoys marking the channel that would take us in the direction of Bundaberg.

We had not gone far when our keel took another major polishing in the sand, this time my fault for steering a more or less straight course between two buoys.  It seems that getting close to buoys is not a good idea.  Fortunately the boat came unstuck fairly easily, and we proceeded past Kingfisher resort and into the gap between Big Woody and Little Woody Islands.  Somewhere around here we realised that we would have to motor most of the way to Bundaberg, as the wind had now moved around to its usual direction directly ahead of our bow.

It was dark when we arrived at Bundaberg to take on fuel and water.  Not being familiar with the port, and having discovered by radio that all services had closed for the night, we anchored just inside the river mouth and close to the entrance to the Burnett Heads harbour.  So it was around 10am the next morning by the time we had entered the harbour, topped up our fuel and water, and set sail heading north east to take us well clear of the northern tip of Fraser Island.  As expected, the wind had moved around to the north east by this time, so we got plenty of tacking practise during the day.

A large area of shoals known as the Breaksea Spit guards the northern tip of Fraser Island, and we had been advised to keep well clear of them.  To go north of all of them would mean going nearly as far as the start of the Great Barrier Reef, so I plotted a course through a decent gap shown towards the northern end of the Spit and followed that, not knowing quite what to expect.  Nightfall occurred before we were anywhere near it, so we did not see much as we sailed through the gap in the dark.  We were just emerging from the gap at daybreak, with nothing but choppy water visible around us.  Ray described the waves as being like those in a washing machine, but they were never big enough to cause us any problem.

All of Sunday was spent sailing southwards, down the eastern side of the island.  The wind was a bit slow to realise that we had turned, so for the first time since I had bought the boat we were able to do some broad reaching.  As the day wore on we began to consider whether we would arrive at the Sandy Straits Bar at a suitable time for crossing it.  Doing 5 and 6 knots it seemed we should reach it about the time of high tide, so we raised another sail (the mizzen) and trimmed the boat to get best speed out of her in the hope of arriving a little earlier.  Until that time we had not bothered with the mizzen and only had the genoa half unfurled because winds had been quite strong.  After trimming we flew down the coast for a couple of hours, but as nightfall approached the wind died, with the result that it was an hour and a half after full tide and completely dark by the time we were in position to cross the bar.

Should we amatuer sailors attempt it, or should we anchor and spend an uncomfortable night awaiting a more suitable crossing time in the morning?  In our favour was the fact that we could clearly see the sectored leading light, and now that the wind had died the worst of the waves had subsided.  We thought that sufficient, so with the Volvo running strongly we came in, entirely without incident.  When Coast Guard asked for a bar report sometime later, Sam was able to report that compared with the Breaksea Spit, it was a piece of cake!

After anchoring in the lee of Fraser Island for a meal and some sleep we proceeded through the strait and up the Mary River to our mooring, which we reached shortly after mid-day on Monday.

When Ray and I sailed from Maryborough early in March we didn't mean to go 100 miles out to sea.  We planned to sail south to the Clarence river in NSW and spend a week there before coming home.  But the weather seemed to be conspiring against us, and we got no further south than Mooloolaba before a change of plan seemed called for.

Our departure had been delayed for several days by strong wind warnings and we were later than intended going down the Mary, resulting in us reaching a shallow patch known as Horseshoe Bend not long before low tide.  Ray's chart indicated a depth of 2 metres even at low tide so he was confident we could get through... but after rubbing our keel in the mud several times and then getting almost immovably stuck we considered ourselves lucky to be able to get back upriver towards Beaver Rock where we could anchor to await higher water.  As we swatted mosquitoes that swarmed from the mangroves to greet us, we noted that Ray's chart was nearly twenty years old, and obviously due for replacement!

It was dark by the time of the next high tide but the channel we wanted to follow was well marked by lit buoys, so we had no trouble motoring the rest of the way downriver and then across to Fraser Island, where we anchored for the night.  Motoring south through the Sandy Straits next day we were still hearing radio reports of big seas in open waters, so we thought it prudent to anchor at the entrance to Pelican Bay to await the calmer weather forecast for the following day before venturing out across the bar.  We did that, eventually getting sails up and the boat pointed towards Mooloolaba early next morning.

The calmer seas were still quite high, and with the boat pitching vigorously it was not long before Ray succumbed to sea sickness.  The wind had assumed its usual direction from directly in front of our boat, so we knew we were in for a slow trip.  It was with a feeling of some relief that we arrived in Mooloolaba harbour early the next morning, and treated ourselves to a berth at Lawrie's Marina.

We needed to visit a chandlery to buy charts of the NSW coast, and we needed to top up with fuel and water, but with radio weather reports mentioning gale warnings for the NSW coast and strong winds forecast for Queensland we felt there was no hurry.  We were easily persuaded to stay another day when rumours predicted the NSW gales sweeping north into Queensland waters.  Imagine our frustration when the extra day turned out to be beautifully calm at Mooloolaba.  We could have been sailing!  But the gales in NSW waters were predicted to last for days so that did not seem to be a wise place to be going.  Where else could we go?

I had hopes of cruising to New Caledonia later in the year, so now I hit on the idea of setting course for Noumea so that we could get some experience of what the expected big swells would be like well offshore.  Ray was agreeable, so early on Sunday morning we extricated Nova Vida from the narrow confines of Lawries Marina and headed directly out to sea.  With the wind blowing from the east we were close hauled on a north easterly course all of that day, and seemed to be making good progress.  Ray became a little less agreeable as his sea sickness returned.  The wind speed and waves both rose higher the further out we went, and it was with the mainsail reefed and the genoa half furled that we prepared for Sunday night.

We must have crossed a shipping lane around nightfall, as two big container ships crossed our path, requiring a bit of dodging on our part.  But the rest of the night passed with no more ships sighted and nothing eventful happening.  Ray and I were taking 4 hour watches, which seemed to satisfy the balance needed between boredom and the need for sleep.  Our autopilot affectionately known as Oscar was doing all the steering so watchkeeping was really quite easy.  I even managed to finish a thick book I had been reading.  Apart from that, hanging on, and marvelling at the phosphoresence in the water, there was really very little that needed doing.

By change of watch at around 3am we were already a tenth of the way to Noumea and far enough out to have experienced conditions at sea.  But neither Ray nor I felt like turning the boat around in the boisterous conditions that night, so we continued on as we had been going.  To someone who had not been to sea in a small boat before, the waves were rather intimidating.  Weather reports were forecasting 30 knot winds and three metre waves on a similar sized swell, but whenever we were in a trough between waves it looked as though the surrounding crests were up to half the height of our mast... and that is well over 6 metres.  As dawn approached and it became light enough to see, we noticed whitecaps all around us.

Time to turn around!  A check of the GPS told us we were off the edge of our chart, and 100 nautical miles out from Mooloolaba.  So around we went, setting a course back to the entrance to the Great Sandy Strait and home.  The wind was still coming from the east, giving us the chance to try some downwind running.  I was quite impressed with the way Nova Vida handled the towering waves catching up with us from behind.  As mentioned before, these waves were half as high as our mast whilst we were at the bottom of them, but as a wave came closer the boat just slid smoothly up the slope of it until the peak passed harmlessly underneath.

You might think that with all the wind we had to drive us, there would be no need for us to run the engine.  But at this time in her life Nova Vida had no way of recharging her batteries other than from the engine driven alternator, and so whenever the batteries were flat we had to run the engine for a few hours.  We discovered that batteries nearly flat were first indicated by Oscar going beserk.  At one time he steered the boat in a complete circle before we discovered what was wrong!  Fitting some big solar panels and a wind powered generator were quickly elevated to the top of our list of jobs to be done on Nova Vida.

We arrived outside the Sandy Straits bar in the dark early hours of the following morning, still with the wind behind us although weaker and with occasional periods of complete calm.  Timing and conditions were suitable for crossing the bar so we went straight in, under autopilot and under sail.  Not a problem!  We returned to our anchoring spot at the entrance to Pelican Bay for a welcome sleep.

Departure next day was timed to give us the benefit of a rising tide as we went north, trying to arrive at the shallow spot known as Sheridans Flat around the time of high water.  This meant a late morning start, giving Ray the chance to treat us to a breakfast of his famous pancakes, topped on this occasion with golden syrup.

By late afternoon we were across the flat, and were being overtaken by the dark clouds of a severe local storm that we had heard being discussed over the radio for several hours prior.  We kept going as long as possible in the hope it would miss us, but when a wall of heavy rain was only a hundred metres away from engulfing us we veered towards Fraser Island, dropped anchor, and scurried below.  Lightning, thunder, rain and hail lasted an hour or so and then departed.  We decided to sleep for a few hours and then get going again in the dark early hours of the next morning to arrive at the shallow patch of the Mary River on the next high tide.  Our strategy worked, and we were back home on our Maryborough mooring by midday.

Sam wanted to take his girlfriend sailing during the Easter school holidays, and so a return to Bundaberg was planned with Sam, Carla, Sara and myself on board.  Everything went to plan, with us getting as far as Kingfisher Resort on Fraser Island around 11pm on the first day out.  We anchored there for the night and went ashore to explore the resort next morning.  Our little dinghy, El Niño, surpassed itself on this occasion, with Sam ferrying the two girls ashore at once without anyone getting wet.  He couldn't get me aboard with more than two however.

When we eventually departed for Bundaberg it seemed likely that we would be arriving there in the dark, again.  Wind and waves were not particularly strong, but Carla proved to be extremely prone to motion sickness, resulting in a day-long miserable trip for her.  We were listening to a weather report that afternoon when we noticed that the wind, supposed to be coming from the south east, was actually coming from the north west, precisely the direction we had to go.  Sam radioed the coastguard to ask how come the wind was coming from the wrong direction, and was told that we were probably experiencing a local effect.  It's simple really.  The wind merely senses the local presence of Nova Vida and veers through 180 degrees to blow directly upon her bow!

Stronger than the head wind was our iron spinnaker (unkindly called the Green Death by some).  In other words, we motored to Bundaberg, where in the dark I failed to find the entrance to the Burnett Heads harbour and ended up further up the river than planned.  We found the harbour entrance on our second try, but our problems were still not over.  There was no space at the fuel pontoon where I had hoped to berth until morning.  The public wharf looked particularly uninviting, guaranteed to scrape with every wave and tide any boat not having enormous fenders.  Nobody was about to offer advice, so we eased to the side of a buoyed channel and dropped anchor in 3 metres of water.

After an uneventful night I emerged at daybreak to find a sandy beach almost alongside!  Evidently the tide had fallen since we anchored, exposing the vast shallow areas within the harbour and no doubt burying our much abused keel in the sand.  But the tide was now rising again, and by despatching Sam in El Niño with a long rope to tie onto a conveniently placed mooring buoy, we were able to winch ourselves away from the beach without difficulty.

After breakfast the marina opened and found a berth for us.  We then spent a relaxing day in which we walked into town, socialised with the local sailors, and topped up with fuel and water.  Carla had recovered from her sea sickness, and after a good night's sleep and the consumption of much ginger (reputed to suppress motion sickness) she was ready to put to sea again for the return trip.

Ginger is evidently over-rated.  Within an hour of departure Carla was looking green again, and sat for the remainder of the morning on the seat at the back of the boat, clutching a bucket.  At one stage she looked so far gone that Sam kindly tied her to the seat so she would not be washed overboard!

Around mid afternoon I noticed a small tear starting about half way up the rear edge of our genoa, so we furled that sail and resorted once again to the iron spinnaker.  Rain squalls wet us a couple of times, and were still threatening as night fell, by which time we had reached the northern tip of Big Woody Island.  This left us with a tricky passage with poor visibility through the channel to River Heads, but with frequent reference to the radar we made it into the Mary without incident, where we anchored to await a high tide.

The rest of the trip upriver was also incident free, and with a rising tide behind us we arrived at Maryborough around midday.  We had left it to this late stage to make fools of ourselves by taking six attempts before we could hook the mooring aboard, but eventually even that was accomplished.  For our reward Carla announced that she wanted to go sailing again!

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