Over the Top: Sailing from Darwin to Cairns, Australia

 Part One: The Voyage from Darwin to Thursday Island, Australia  November 2-28, 2017

A map of northern Australia showing the route of our voyage.  You can enlarge any photo by clicking on it.

Captain Ric met me at the airport, a friendly face welcoming me to Darwin, Australia, and aboard SY Hard Yakka, a cutter rigged Farrier 44' catamaran.

Ric's boat Hard Yakka.  The name is Aussie slang for "hard work".

A view of Cullen Bay marina.  Tarci's boat, a Wharram 42  is on the right.

It was approaching midsummer and the Northern Territory heat was as fiery and liquid as a shot of rum.  I spent a half day exploring Darwin town, taking in the atmosphere, the Aboriginal Art Center, the verdant esplanade along the waterfront, and the long legged magpie-geese dozing in the shade of a scarlet-flowered flamboyant tree.

Magpie geese chilling in the shade on a really hot day.

A third crew member would be joining us at the last minute. Ric introduced me to Tarci, but I bowed out of joining them for lunch since I was jet-lagged and needed to  rest.  It was so hot in the marina that even the powerful fan in my cabin barely kept up. I felt like I would melt.

An aerial view of Cullen Bay, from the internet.

My shipmates are impressive. Both men had built several boats in their lifetimes. Ric built his Farrier catamaran in a shed in the yard; built the molds, molded and glassed the hull and coachtop, finished the interior, wiring, plumbing, and installed the powerful high tension rig.  Tarci built his Wharram cat designed on the simple principles of Polynesian voyaging canoes, lashed together with ropes so the hulls flex. Both men had been sailing in Australia waters and beyond for many years.  I felt pleased and honored to be sailing with them.

Bright and early, we went grocery shopping together. We had to provision for three weeks away from civilization.  The boat was packed with food and veggies that would keep.  We departed Cullen Bay Marina at 11:00, through the lock that protects the inner harbor from big tides.  Ric briefed Tarci and me on the complexities of Hard Yakka's powerful rig. Optimally, it takes two crew and nine sequential steps to raise the mainsail.  We left Darwin behind us and turned our faces to the sea.

Heading east along the coast, we encountered strong tidal currents of up to 3.5 knots, massive upwelling eddies, and even a whirlpool.  We anchored under the nearly-full moon at Melville Island. The next day we labored. We attempted to sail past Cape Don against it's notorious tides and rips.  We spent over four hours making only two miles against a terrific 7-8 knot current, all sails flying and both motors running. At one point we were moving sideways at 6 knots.

Our rhumb line course is in purple, and our actual course is the broken line. The deviation was caused by the boat being pushed b the massive currents and tide rips (indicated on the chart), ins spite of Ric's best efforts to steer the course.
What a day!

We swabbies messed up raising the mainsail and the error cost us a hard-won quarter mile due to the relentless current. Massive upwellings rose around us, deceptively smooth circular eddies of water with breaking wavelets dancing furiously around the edges.  Pyramidal waves crested in all directions for miles around us, belying the tumultuous current churning beneath.  Several times the current abruptly pushed the boat off course by 30 degrees or more.  We slogged away all afternoon, but barely moved in relation to the lighthouse across from us, where SY Winston rode quietly at anchor nearby.

                               The Cape Don lighthouse, as it looked all day as we struggled against the currents.
We joked that they must be sipping wine and wondering what on earth we were doing out here!  Finally we gave up and anchored near Cape Don, had dinner, watched the full moon rise, and discussed books we were reading.  Tarci was engrossed in reading a book called "Slow Sex", which  must have been way more interesting than... whatever it was... that Ric and I were  reading!

Tarci and Ric.
Engrossed...are they reading the book or plotting a course???

The following day the sea was rolly, with much reefing and sail changing.  I was still getting used to the unaccustomed shimmy of the catamaran.  The guys identified and repaired an air leak in the starboard engine, which had stopped a couple of times already.  We anchored around 3 pm near Danger Point and dinghied ashore for a beach walk.

Ric went fishing for barramundi.  On the beach Tarci pointed out my first "saltie", a two meter fellow lounging at the water's edge.  These salt water crocodiles are known for their aggressive feeding habits.  Shy he bolted when he saw us, but not before I snapped a photo.

My first saltie.  A bit unnerving.

A strong, lashing wind rose around midnight.  All of us were wakeful in case the anchor should drag.

A squall on the horizon.

The next day dawned very hot and calm, and there was a haze that refracted a blinding glare. I got sunburnt in spite of sheltering in the shady cockpit.  We were cruising along, each of us immersed in our own thoughts, when "wham", down crashed the main boom.  The cheek block at the head of the main sail had exploded, the bolts and sheave were lost.  We anchored in the lee of Sandy Island for repairs.  Tarci rebuilt it by using pieces-parts from Ric's rigging spares.  We hoisted Tarci to the masthead in the bosun's chair to retrieve the halyard, and the job was finished.  We got underway again, raising the spinnaker for a downwind run. It was my job to handle it (my first time).  If the back of the sail collapses, ease it out; if the front collapses, sheet it in; it took close attention.  We anchored at sunset off Valencia Island.

Spinnaker swabbie.

We got underway early, after squalls in the night rocked us with strong gusts.  Trailing fishing lines behind, Ric caught two small bronze whaler sharks and one big Spanish mackerel, which we kept for dinner.  There was no other sign of the existence of humanity, on sea or shore; no cellular service either.  Anchored near Goulburn Island, our dinner of fresh fish was delicious.

Ric reeling in a baby bronze whaler shark. He returned it to the sea unharmed. Illegal shark fishing
for the harvest of the fins for lucrative sale in Asia occurs in the waters of northern Australia.

A beautiful mackerel, the first of many delicious fish dinners on this trip.

Getting up early, we went ashore for a beach walk, where I saw a feral billy goat.  We'd had long days of sailing, the wind had not been at the best angle, requiring a lot of sail changes.

Beautiful beachs, a great place for sailors to stretch their legs.

The old billy goat.

 Sailing 60 miles, we anchored at Entrance Island near where the wreck of the Pandora was discovered by Ric's old friend, filmmaker Ben Cropp.  This ship was sent by the Admiralty to capture the mutineers from HMS Bounty and return them for trial. Pandora struck a reef. The ship would have sunk with the mutineers still confined and shackled but for the compassion of the bosun, who tossed them the keys to salvation as the ship listed over for the final plunge.

The wreck of HMS Pandora, 1791

                                     Learn more about the Pandora by clicking this link!

On we sailed, with an unfavorable wind direction.  We'd been pushing pretty hard so far.  The day was uneventful until evening, when squalls surrounded us, lightening flashed and flickered, and we had to anchor in the dark with a massive current running. No sign of the existence of humans all day, every day.  Miles upon miles of white sandy beaches lines the coast of Arnhem Land, and yet we couldn't go swimming because of the presence of aggressive and fearsome salties.

Ric told me not to worry about sharks....the salties eat them. Maybe a joke??

We sometimes risked slipping quietly into the water off the stern of the boat's pontoon for relief form the tropical heat, staying right next to the ladder for safety.  We also we wary of "stingers", the highly toxic irukandji and box jellyfish which occur in these waters.  Lashings from them can be deadly.

Tiny nasty stingers, the Irukandji jellyfish.

An unfavorable east wind continued on the nose.  As the day progressed the wind built to >30 knots apparent.  The boat was plunging as we approached Elcho Island.  Tarci called his friend Ann, another Wharram owner and university professor, who is living and working on Elcho.  She met us on the beach surrounded by local children.  We gave her adopted tribal mother a big mackerel we caught today, which was most welcome. Ann and our little buddy Eric drove us around the island.

A house on Elcho Island

My little buddy Eric.

 Ann described how indigenous people here have fallen through the cracks.  They don't know enough English to fill our their welfare forms, so the money is cut off and there is hunger.  Food is very expensive on remote Elcho;  I saw $28/kilo for fresh peaches.  Elcho was ground zero for Cyclone Nathan, and recovery is ongoing.

Ann described some cultural differences of the Yolngu Aboriginal people.  It's considered rude to ask a lot of questions, so patience is needed when making friends. "Yes" can be silently indicated by raised eyebrows, "no" by pursed lips.  There are 24 indigenous languages spoken on Elcho, with two or three main ones.  It was interesting to listen to the tumbling syllables of the ancient languages I overheard in the grocery store.

The famous musician and eloquent advocate of Aboriginal land rights, Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu, was born here on Elcho Island.  He was awarded an honorary doctorate for his work on behalf of indigenous peoples.

Dr. Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu. He was blind from birth.

                                 Hear the music of Gurrumul Yunupingo by clicking this link!        

Ann told us that the locals would be playing rough and tumble Aussie football tonight, and there would be singing at the church service tomorrow; it would be worth sticking around for.  Ric offered to stay, but the decision rested with me and I declined in order not to delay the voyage. In retrospect,
we should have stayed....the opportunity is lost.  Lesson learned!

A last view of the village of Galiwin'ku on Elcho Island,

On we sailed, through tidal narrows, rain squalls and into perfect weather, when we lounged on the trampoline was we sailed throughout the day.  We had seen only one other boat in the last ten days.

Look!  It's Winston!

We anchored early and went for a beach walk and a cautious shallow dip in the sea.  After this welcome refreshment, we walked on around the bend and saw a croc on the beach.  Yikes!  He slipped into the water and vanished instantly...they can reappear instantly too!  I collected beautiful tridacna clams and murex shells.  At night on the trampoline, we gazed up at the velvet dome of heaven streaked with shooting stars and satellites, and the Southern Cross shining bright in the Milky Way.

The Southern Cross.  Image by Hubble telescope.

After ten days, we reached Gove around noon. Tarci and I hitchhiked to Ski Beach, an Aboriginal village.  We cooled doff with mango popsicles a the tiny general store and chatted with a Maori lady with a pleasant square face and some local Aboriginal ladies. We hitched back with an Aussie mine worker who chatted along amiable and I couldn't understand about 80% of what he said due to his strong accent.  At the cruisers' tiki hut outside the boat club we met up with Ric and some local yachties like Bob, a sunburnt and bearded mining engineer, who stated with heavily accented monosyllables but ramped up to chattiness after the second beer.

Bob and Ric chilling in the tiki hut, where cruisers meet to socialize in Gove.

Everything we need for a party: bug repellent, stainless steel polish, and disco ball.

We got up early and ran Hard Yakka up on the beach and cleaned the boat inside and out, power-washing her hull and bottom.  Work done, we took the bus from the Gove Boat Club, past the massive bauxite plant and in to town. The Kiwi bus driver was another Maori woman, the sister in law of the lady at Ski Beach.  We shopped for a one-cup French coffee press to replace Ric's heirloom one, which I had broken.  We snacked on Aussie meat pies ad walked into the shopping center, the heart of the little town, to see the sights.  Aboriginal women strolling languidly in colorful long skirts reminded me of butterflies.

At the Council Office we had to apply for a permit to buy alcohol, since it is strictly controlled in Arnhem Land due to high rates of alcoholism.  Native Australians, like many indigenous peoples, can't metabolize alcohol well and suffer for it.  We applied at the Aboriginal Homeland Office for a permit to cruise down to Groot Island, and stopped in at the Chamber of Commerce for a informational visit as it poured torrents of rain outside.

We rose early and bought groceries for the next leg of the voyage. After, we caught the bus to Yakilla to see the Native Art Museum and gallery and a bit of the countryside. The curator explained that the tribes with adjoining territories have some overlap in themes in their art, and that the background hatchings identified the tribe and region.

Several large panels painted by local elders decades ago, depicting tribal Dreamtime images and referencing local landforms, ended up proving native land ownership in the Australian courts.

We had dinner ashore at the Gove Boat club.  Ric ordered a massive plate of succulent roast pork and was too full to eat the delectable crackling skin. I was delighted to assist, because that's the kind of friend I am.  It added to the legend of my insatiable appetite!

The Gove Boat Club...different from the tiki hut!  Photo from www.easternarnhemland.com.au

With the east wind blowing contrary to our plans for crossing the Gulf of Carpentaria, we decided to sail south. Sailing all day and standing two hour watches throughout the starlit night, we arrived at Groot Island in early morning.

Relaxing in the breezy shade on the trampoline.

At anchor off Chasm Island, near Groot Island. Photo by Ric Burnup. Thanks, Ric!

We anchored in a wild gorgeous rocky bay, surrounded by spectacular landforms, shaped like a sea turtle, sleeping lady, monitor lizard, falcon and elephant. I could see why the ancient tribes venerate them.  These rocks, the ancient bones of Australia, were sensuously rounded , carved, layered and swirled by eons of erosion by wind, rain and sea.

The fantastic layers in this rock, the colors of Australia.

There was no sign of mankind anywhere.  It was infernally hot.  The low tide exposed giant oysters on the rocks nearby, so we went in the dinghy to collect some. Each was two bites and tasted briny fresh and sweet.  Our big bowl was filled in no time.  We feasted on them for dinner and the guys were ready to throw our what was left.  No, please don't! I sauteed them in butter for my breakfast. Yum.

On a different island, Tarci climbed up into a deep cave looking for cave art, while Ric and I strolled the beach.

Tarci climbs like a mountain goat.

Beauty on the beach.

We set off to cross the Gulf around noon with a favorable tide.  In every direction the sea was rent in patches by frenzies of feeding tuna fish with terns swirling overhead.  Fins ripped the water as the tuna torpedoed across the surface, sending sparkling sprays of  prey fish leaping for their lives.

Our boat cut right through one frenzy, with tuna darting in every direction on the hunt.  None of us had ever seen anything like this before.  Ric threw a line over ad got an immediate hit. After 20 minutes of fighting....we have sashimi.

Reel him in!

A glimpse of tuna feeding frenzy, birds circling.

We sailed on for three days and nights, standing two hour watches through the night.   Dolphins came to play off the bow, and a booby comically tried clumsily to land in the boat, first sideways on the bow seat, then on a hatch with wings akimbo against the stanchion, and at last, facing comfortably forward on the bow seat.  I also saw a poisonous sea snake, four feet long and yellow banded.

They don't call them boobies for nothing....

On the last dark night of the crossing, Tarci and I were chilling on the 'tween watch looking at pictures of his grandchildren when suddenly the sail luffed....the wind rose and backed instantly as a squall hit, and the boat went into irons. All hands on deck! We started the engines, reefed the headsail, reefed the main, dropped the main and put a second reef in.  Seas were steep and choppy. We arrived in Weipa at sunset where at last we could rest.

Ric....ahem....strategizing our next course change.

The next morning we sailed north to the Jackson River for a lay day.  We dinghied ashore and Ric went on up the river to fish for barramundi.

                                   

A great catch of barra and other great tasting fish.

Tarci and I explored the beach, finding rafts which drifted all the way from Indonesia.  Later he husked some coconuts on a tree stump.  We identified some edible plants and a green tree ant nest, and Tarci showed me how to eat the ants. They have a nice citrusy pop.

The raft from Indonesia.

It had a stone anchor.

The nest of the green tree ants , made of folded leaves. You can see the ants. They taste lemony.

Tarci prying the husk off a coconut.

While fishing, Ric hooked his hand rather badly and had to cut the hook out.  Unfortunately he couldn't reach us on the radio since the keypad on the hand-held radio I was carrying got jostled and switched to channel 17 rather than the hailing channel 16.  Fortunately his hand healed well. Later, it rained long and hard, and we took gleeful rain showers and spread the tarp to capture rain water for our tanks.  We got a third of a tankful!  After, Ric went fishing again, and we enjoyed a delicious dinner of fresh barra and the last of the fresh salad that night.

Happy hour on the trampoline.

We weighed anchor and sailed for Crab Island, arriving late afternoon. Salties were lined up equidistant from one another on the shore, ready to munch down baby sea turtles as they hatched.  Ric deployed his drone with the movie camera, and zoomed over the saltie to film him napping at the water's edge.

Ric's drone shot of the big saltie.

My shot with my zoom lens.

The next day we sailed for Seisia, dropped anchor and went in to eat lunch, do laundry, and go exploring.  We went to the Seisia Fishing Club that night for drinks, to find that it was hosting a huge family feast to commemorate the christening of a tombstone for an auntie who had passed some months ago.  Scores of people were there from all over the Torres Strait Islands, all dressed for a party.  These folks are ethnically similar to New Guinea Melanesians, and distinct from mainland Aboriginals.  They brought local specialties such as curried sea turtle, dugong, and pig blood stew. They invited us to come and eat, so we gladly joined. There was a wonderful dance performance later which was extra special since it was performed for family, not tourists.

Local delicacies at the headstone christening ceremony

 A still of a Torres Strait Islander dance. My video is too many bigabytes to include here. Boohoo.

The next day Tarci and I hitchhiked to nearby Bamaga village to have a look-see.  We met some little boys who were fun to talk to, and who managed to  push every button and control on my camera in an instant with flying fingers.  Tarci climbed a coconut tree to get us some sweet coconuts while we waited for Ric to pick us up in the dinghy.

Termite mounds on the opposite shore.

More little pals in Seisia .  Fast finger Freddie is next to me.

Tarci getting coconuts.

We sailed next for Thursday Island, where Tarci would leave the boat.  We provisioned again, then explored the town, visited the famous multicultural cemetery with the Japanese pearl divers' memorial, and did a little pub crawl through the town's five hotel pubs.

The waterfront on Thursday Island.

The multicultural cemetery.  I think there are more people below the ground than above it on T.I.!

The Japanese shinto pearl divers' memorial.

There are five hotel pubs on T.I. We inadvertently almost caused a brawl in one of them.
In the end,everyone was slapping each others' backs and swearing eternal friendship.

 Bidding Tarci farewell at last, Ric and I went back to Yakka to prepare to sail on, past Cape York and on the the Great Barrier Reef.

                                                  Next up, Part Two of "Over the Top".