The boat boated, the sails sailed, we headed out of Darwin on a beautiful Saturday morning after stocking up and crewing up for the trip across the top end. Jonna, a Swedish firefigher. Sara, a Scottish Dame. Elodie, a French firebrand. Jennifer, a Leeds lass. Sounds like the start of a very bad joke.
Over the course of a few days we worked our way east across the northern edge of Arnhem Land, a large part of the Northern Territories populated and governed by Aboriginal Councils. We stopped at a few islands to cook the huuuge fish we caught on trailing lines, learning how to navigate in reef waters, how not to panic when the tide drops and how to make a Spanish Mackerel taste divine. We stopped off at Mirimbina in Arnhem where crocs patrol the harbour and glass hides in the mudbanks, perfect for severing ill-protected toes. Our final destination in the northern territories was the mining town of Nhulunby and its bauxite extraction industry. After setting up camp in the Yacht Club we set about renting a ute and trying to fit in with the less than stable locals. Mining tends to attract people from the odder spectrum of humanity. It says a lot about the place that permits are required to purchase alcohol, so we duly queued up at the courthouse with the miners to get ours.
Our next odessy was crossing the Gulf of Carpenteria, connecting the northeast of Arnhem land and the extreme north of Queensland, Cape York. Naturally, the wind wasn't in our favour so we tacked and motored our way for 4 days in open water, on the go 24 hours a day and lamenting the loss of one of the masts on day 2. With Seamus hanging from the side of one of the hulls, we watched as circling sharks eyed up our idle boat while the mast stays were being reattached. A few bits of sausage got their attention and all was going well until some screaming alerted Seamus to the fact that a couple of massive grey fins were making straight for the boat. Oh dear. Turned out to be a squadron of enormous dolphins, easily 9 feet long, coming to check out the situation. With the arrival of the dolphins the sharks bolted. Wusses. The dolphins stayed close until we got moving again, their shark bullying tactics a success. The sea is a weird and wonderful place. We trailed a few hooks with glowing squid lures on the way and hauled in some monster fish, a 4 ft barracude, 3.5ft spanish mackerel and a couple of tuna. Yummy, although barracudda stinks a bit.
We sailed into Seisia on the 4th day and set about getting badly needed showers, ales and beds. Seisia is close to the community of Bamaga and serves as a good starting point to fish, sail and explore Cape York and the islands. For us it was a chance to refresh and revive before heading north again to round the Cape, the most northerly point of mainland Australia, and continue our journey down the east coast.
Our night anchored at Cape York did not bode well, with wind roaring through the night and all of it coming from the south and east, exactly where we were headed. The following day we made a break down the coast and in 30 continuous hours made it to Margaret Bay, a relatively secluded spot a million miles from anywhere. Things went from unsure to despondent as the wind kept picking up and weather warnings coming over the radio. 25-30 knots heading straight into our bows from a high pressure system all the way down in the Tasman sea. Hold tight, we'll be out of here soon. Or not.
A week later, water running low, stocks dwindling and cabin fever well established, we made a break south to Portland Roads, the last outpost of civilisation on the east coast of Queensland before the coast dwindles to rocky, crocky outcrops heading north to Cape York. Naturally, the only shop in the place was closed for the day, off we headed again for Lockhart River, an aboriginal community a few hours south, with promises of a supermarket and the possibility of car rental to get us out of dodge. The weather warnings weren't waning, the wind and swell was making sailing impossible, the timeframe to get to Byron Bay (originally 6 weeks but looking more like 12 at the rate we were going) was killing the budget. After asking all around town we had resigned ourselves to another week of waiting for a break in the weather when good news arrived. Finally, things might start to go our way. A charming Scottish man working in the council heard about our predicament and offered to take the four of us, Jonna, Sara, and ourselves, to Weipa, a bigger bauxite town on the other side of the cape facing the Gulf of Carpenteria. It doesn't bring us any closer to Cairns or Melbourne but they have hotels and a Thrifty agent, can't be all bad. We unloaded our substantial load of luggage and headed off, creeks, dirt roads, wild turkeys and trembling crocodiles in our wake.
After a night in the mecca of Weipa we collected our ride, a rented Nissan Patrol, one of those giant 4x4s the Irish Army use to wander around the world. 800km to Cairns, best to make an early start. After a bit of shopping of course. 600kms of dirt roads, gravel, creeks and road trains later we hit civilisation and make the rest of the trip on tarmac through mountains, counting the wallaby carcasses on our way. Naturally, a puncture decided to arrive only 20km from our destination, in the middle of the night on a dusty highway. An hour later we're ready to go, covered in dust and oil but delighted that we managed to sort it out with the miniscule jack and pathetic equipment provided by Nissan for the purpose. Cairns has never looked as good, nor has the lovely soft beds we found. Bliss.
Cairns is a fantastic town. We thought so 4 years ago and our suspicions have been confirmed. Jonna and Sara started the job hunt immediately, interspersed with dinners and trips to the pub in the lively town centre. It was our pleasure to attend the Coyote Ugly night at PJ O'Briens and enjoy the spectacle of a hairy Cavan man strip off his shirt and dance on the bar in return for a small bar tab. He lost, the 5 ft tall Chinese guy had much better moves. We set about arranging for transport to Melbourne asap, we're approaching the 9 month mark, funds are dwindling and the prospect of going for a pint with our friends down south is too tempting. Onwards, always onwards. Upwards, or in this case southwards.
Yarr
Lemon Sharks in knee-deep water.
A Black Noddy, nesting outside our window
Nearly there! (Q1 at Surfer's Paradise)
