Sailing the Kimberley

The oldest stone on the face of the earth.  Rock paintings from the dawn of mankind. A vast and pristine wilderness where land and sea meet in beauty, grandeur and merciless power. An incredible reward for the challenges to your seamanship, preparation and self-sufficiency. This is the Kimberley.

A map of the Kimberley. Our approximate course is shown in red. You can enlarge any image by clicking on it!

My Australian friend Tarci invited me to sail with him aboard Monkey Me, his customized Wharram Tiki 38’ schooner. Tarci built this boat starting only with the fiberglass canoes, and according to James Wharram’s designs based on Polynesian voyaging canoes, lashed the remainder of the boat together with Dynema, creativity and clever design. The boat has a large flat foredeck, wide side aisles, and a capacious stern deck which accommodates a hydroponic garden, workspaces, and solar array. The canoes house two double berth cabins and two single berths, as well as a separate tool room and head. The bridge deck features a pod, housing a comfortable galley, the helm and large settee which converts to a double bed, which can be raised allowing the pod to be easily enclosed with sheltering canvas when the weather is cold. The bridge deck is covered with a hard top, providing a high vantage point for reef-spotting and abundant shelter from the burning Australian sun. While it is faithful to Wharram’s vision of basic simplicity akin to camping, this custom boat is extremely comfortable, multi-functional, seaworthy, and fun to sail. To top it off, she is painted in bold primary sea-gypsy colors!

SY Monkey Me.

We buzzed around Darwin completing essential boat projects, provisioning, and bidding farewell to friends in the midst of Darwin’s winter holiday season. We managed to depart one crucial day later than planned, and sailed west around the corner to anchor and focus on the voyage ahead. Even one day out of Darwin, the wilderness makes itself felt.  We explored a reef exposed by the falling seven- meter tide, careful not to step on poisonous stonefish, and later came upon several leatherback sea turtles nesting as the sun set, reddened by the smoke of bushfires. 

Walking carefully on the exposed reef, watching for stingers.

There were several leatherback mamas in various stages of nesting this evening.

We saw the print of a large salt water croc in the sand, the first ominous sign reminding us that these cunning predators are an ever-present threat here, and to always remain vigilant whenever we left the boat.

He was a bigfella.  

Monkey on the beach

We sailed on south for two days, anchoring at night, and had favorable weather to cross the Joseph Bonaparte Gulf into the Kimberley region. The Bonaparte Gulf is known among Aussie sailors as the “Blown-apart Gulf”, since contrary winds often push against powerful tidal currents to create a steep, ugly chop. Fortunately for us, it was glassy calm and we were happy to motor across during a favorable weather window.

Every day we consulted the weather, watching for favorable winds. A satellite phone is the only reliable way to pick up weather once you’re into the Kimberley, and also the only way to call for help unless you use a personal rescue beacon. Short wave radio broadcasts are made at intervals each day, but were nearly impossible to tune into. Many times a day, we would review the Navionics tide tables pertaining to our present location, as tides and currents govern all travel here   We also consulted two essential cruising guides: “Western Australian Cruising” published by the Freemantle Sailing Club, and the Cruising Guide and resources from the Kimberley Coast Cruising Yacht Association, available to members in downloadable format.  Here's a link:

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 Kimberley Coast Cruising Yacht Association

We made landfall after 24 hours motoring, and the next day entered the Berkeley River. Sandbars ripple across the mouth of the river, and we were careful to enter on a rising tide, so that if we became grounded, we could float free shortly after. We rode the current up river under sail, past great sand dunes, beaches and low cliffs bordered with mangrove, and into towering canyons of red sandstone. Two billion-year-old formations of weathered rock often resembled the ruined walls of ancient cities, pettified giants, or stone animals.

Approaching the mouth of the Berkeley, we touched a sandbar.

Closer in, the magnificence is increasing..

The distinctive shape of Mt. Casuarina.

Keeping the dinghy on the large flat foredeck at night keeps the crocs from
getting too familiar, lurking under it, or damaging it, as well as preventing
 fouling and having the drag of towing it.  

 Higher rose the cliffs as the river narrowed, until we finally came to the end of Casuarina Creek, where, in the Wet season, great thundering cascades have carved and eroded the bedrock through the eons. Now, at the end of the Dry, the waterfall was a but a small stream. Tarci eased Monkey’s bows against the cliff, and held boat in position with the engines in dead slow while we replenished our drinking water supplies, did laundry, and bathed to our heart’s delight in the cascade. 

Monkey nosing right p to the waterfall.
Blackening of the stone indicated that water flows here regularly.

An image captured by the Waterfall Spy-cam...

                             

We had been out for ten days, and had seen no other signs of humanity.  The effect of the endless vastness of the land, the unchanging sun, sea and sky, made me feel somehow unmoored and drifting in timelessness.

We moved on to the King George River, encountering two small cruise ships doing boutique charters to the Kimberley for around $1000 AUD per day. We also met and befriended five other cruising boats, most having sailed over a thousand miles north from Perth.   Upriver we anchored near another waterfall climbed up a scree fall to the top of the escarpment, looking for croc-free billabongs.

We gathered oysters exposed by the falling tide, and gathered driftwood too. Tarci built a fire in the unique steel fireplace he designed, pulled from storage and easily rigged on the spacious foredeck.  We hosted a sunset pizza party, toasting flatbread pizzas on the fireplace for the delighted cruisers, who had never seen a bonfire on a sailboat before. Beer and conversation flowed, and the night rang with laughter under the sparkling Milky Way.

The firebox has eisenglass windows on the door, movable cookplates
on the top, and an insulated chimney stack which is supported by
lines to the shrouds. Held securely in place over the windlass.

Up to 22 people have been entertained on this foredeck, and it's great for sailhandling too.

We climbed to the top of the waterfalls, up steep scree field and up tumbled rocks, to enjoy amazing panoramic views.

The next day we dinghied up a different creek to a cliff where a thick rope led up to the top of the escarpment.  I climbed as far as I dared, but when the rock began to overhang, I quailed and decided to stay on a shelf while Tarci climbed on. He climbs like a mountain goat, I climb like a....giraffe!

Soon the silence of nature engulfed me and I contemplated life in the silence of that golden canyon. A leaf fluttered down, a sea eagle glided over, and crocodile surfaced and turned his cold gaze upon me, then vanished beneath the water.

The view from my ledge. 

We headed down to the beach at the mouth of the river, with plans to meet up with James and Hannah aboard Tangaroa, another Wharram. Here Tarci beached the boat, again consulting the tides.  He pushed the boat up on the sand just after the high tide, such that it would float again on the next rising high tide and we would then continue on our way.  This technique is useful for work on the bottom and other major projects.  Studying  the tide table and moon cycle for seasonal king tide heights can permit two to four weeks on the beach for major projects.

Monkey and Tangaroa on the beach.

Once the boat was beached, we all went ashore for a lovely beach walk, as always watching for signs of crocs.  Around a driftwood fire we savored a nice veggie curry picnic Hannah had prepared.

After a blustery day’s sail we dashed into Jim’s Bay with all sails flying and were glad to drop the hook. Soon we were joined by two more boats. After a dinghy ride to explore the area, we stopped by to meet our neighbors. Over fresh scones baked by jolly Putu, from Bali, aboard Sirocco, we learned of an incongruous internet connection available in the middle of the bush near the ruins of Pago Mission a few days ahead. 

Later, we invited them and the crew of Lizard to join us for another bonfire, and another good party resulted.

We sailed into the treacherous Drysdale River, which is inaccessible to keelboats. Gliding silently under sail upriver with the rising tide, from the roof I watched the murk water ahead for rocks and sand bars. The water is turbid due to dust and minerals from flowing through the deeply fissured sandstone bedrock.  The river winds around small islands, sand bars and piles of rocks, intermittently exposed by the tides.  We hugged the mangrove shore for a while, then cut across and hugged the other shore.

We were electrified when suddenly the boat bumped an invisible rock. Tarci went full astern in an instant to stop the boat from driving over it. We passed over a flat rock shelf with only inches under the keel. Once up the river, a wide, deep creek turns off to the right, and we were safely in 18 meters of water.  Turning again, we entered a smaller, deep creek which eventually ends in tumbled rock.

Monkey up the Drysdale

Higher up were trickling pools of fresh water. After scouting from the heights to see if there was a croc in the pool, we found a small cove with lovely clear water which was ringed with big rocks to protect us, and lavished ourselves with fresh water. The cliffs of the Drysdale are a cubist dream, stone blocks looking as if they were stacked by a stonemason ready for shipment.  

Pure sea salt for my popcorn.

On higher tiers of stone, I found dry rock pools which had become tiny salt pans, and I collected a jar of pure, clean salt crystals. At the head of the salt water creek, great shoals of mullet and kingfish swirled.  We got out the cast net and Tarci stood on a ledge and hurled the net. They were wary, and none of the casts came even close. As I was returning jerry cans and laundry from the rocks into the dinghy, Tarci called out to me from above.  A large croc had spotted me and was stealthily approaching.  I scrambled out of the dinghy as fast as I could to the safety of higher rocks. The croc eyed me coldly and submerged without a trace.  We dinghied back to the boat, passing a four-meter croc who had silently approached to have a look at us.  He glared with his baleful golden eye, then silently slowly sank into invisibility.  Another was lounging in the sun on an Island.

A Bigfella who wasn't stalking me,  the same size as the one that was.

How well camoflaged he is....

Tarci preparing to cast the net.

We reflected on a story we had heard about a sailor who had dinghied out to an island to view the rock art.  As he returned to his dinghy, he observed  a large croc biting the tube of his inflatable dinghy, then easing into the water to watch and wait.  The sailor was marooned for a few days until he was rescued by incoming cruisers.  This could have ended badly in many ways…thirst, exposure, or predation.  That night we slept out on deck, watching shooting stars and the full moon sail across the velvet sky, and listening to the night sounds of the gently lapping of water.  Suddenly something banged into the hull, and banged again.  It was a croc!

On we sailed to the fishing camp at Honeymoon Bay to replenish our fresh food and fuel.  We made our way past campsites and the 4WD trucks called “utes” of fisherman and off-road enthusiasts of the most rugged, self-reliant kind. 

Pure Oz.  A ute under a boab tree in a fish camp!

At the office we met Joy, the wife of Loncho, the white aboriginal owner of the camp, and their “mob” of children. She arranged a ride for us to the aboriginal community of Kalumburu for the next morning.  We chatted with some fishermen, and met Wolfgang and Pam, the patriarchs of the camp, who have been coming here for 16 years. Wolf advised us about best, uncharted course to take up the Drysdale. Later we moved the boat nearer to the mission ruins at Pago and hiked four hot, dry, sweaty, miles through recently burned bush.

The burned bush around Pago Mission and Honeymoon Bay fish camp.

Graceland!

 At last we came to a tidy corrugated shed with a sign naming it Graceland, with a porch, a plastic chair, an overturned refrigerator, and a handicapper walker with a seat.  Settling in, we caught up on three weeks of backlogged communications.  We hitchhiked back to Honeymoon where we learned that the shed is only a quarter-mile from the anchorage if you land on the right beach (duh).  Internet is here because companies must provide service access to isolated parts of Australia as well as to population centers.  The next day we rode with Krista, Loncho’s cousin, in the ute piled with jerry cans, backpacks and kids, for an hour-long rough-ride into Kalumburu.

All the kids, large and small, in the back seat of the ute.

In town, the supply barge had arrived yesterday and the little grocery store was well stocked with fresh produce and other delights. Here, as in many aboriginal communities, alcohol is not available, but ice cream and Aussie meat pies were, so we feasted in the shade by the post office and chatted with police officers and friendly locals. It was a great peek into local culture.

The catholic mission at Kalumburu

We sailed on toward Bigge Island when the tides were favorable.  I was on watch as darkness started to melt into dawn. I peered into the twilight to see a line of dragon’s teeth where chartplotter showed 30 meters of water. As the sky lightened, it revealed a significant unmarked rock reef, exposed even at high tide. Hitting that reef in the dark running at five knots would have been catastrophic.  I dropped a pin on the display saying “Di’s Reef, pass to seaward”. I saw it again on the return trip. Yikes!

Bigge Island is known for its aboriginal art, which can only be reached by boat. Beneath a rock overhang we found intricately painted ghostly figures with wide, lash fringed eyes and raised hands.

Near the landing, these are the art caves. Notice the footprints from the
cruise ship pax. Nearly all the places we went, ours were the only prints.

                               

                                             

                                     

 Long ago mouths had sprayed pigment over hands, leaving stenciled shadows reaching down the ages.  It is difficult to determine the age of these artworks, but many are thousands of years old.  In a nearby rock niche lay two human skulls, standing mute watch over more bones which had been placed here.  We absorbed the timeless mystery of it, and moved on to explore among the cliffs and ledges, caves, galleries of stone columns and expanses of spiny spinifex grass dotted with fantastic rock shapes.

Hummocks of spinifex grass.  It is glazed with a sticky resin and has a needle
 on the end of each blade.  Makes for uncomfortable bush-walking sometimes.

When dinghying ashore, carrying water is an absolute must in this land of intense sun, heat, and 10% relative humidity.  Our dinghy always contained an anchor and rode, for the tidal rise and fall means you must think ahead to determine where you should leave it secured.  A wrong choice can strand your dinghy a half kilometer up on the beach high and dry, which is a long haul back, or the same distance out in the water, where you’ll risk croc attack in wading out to retrieve it.  Tying off short may cause the dinghy to be pulled underwater as the tide rises.  Oysters can cut the inflatable sides as the changing tide pulls the boat along rocks.  In addition, the dinghy should be supplied with a ditch kit in case you are marooned by mishap. Ours contained energy bars, extra water, a shelter tarp, sunscreen, fishhook and line, a coil of Dynema line, dinghy repair kit, lighters, knife, flares, portable VHF, a small first aid kit and other items necessary for wilderness survival. The situation can turn quickly in the Kimberley and it’s important to be prepared, anticipate problems, and stay aware of the changing natural environment.

It's a bit far out....the tide came in.   It could have been much further!

After two days of hunting art sites and rock hopping on Bigge, we began to head back west, to a creek near Palm Island. Moving up the creek, we found a beautiful spot to anchor and explored with the dinghy. 

Hiking up a dry creekbed to find fresh water.

A pretty place.

The creek was dotted with cliffs, sand beaches and mangroves where the barramundi live.  In the morning we beached the dinghy near an intriguing rock formation which turned out to be an extensive gallery of giant columns supporting a rock roof, in row after orderly row running deep into the cliff face. 

Exploring Karnak.

I nicknamed the place Karnak, a mammoth temple to primeval stone gods. Marveling, we wandered through fantastic galleries of stone, through chambers and vaults of red, purple and buff sandstone.  It was a holy place of nature. 

At Karnak.    A temple....or the legs of a petrified brontosaurus...

On we sailed to Dog Ear bay and on to Swift Bay to see more art. The elegant French cruise ship was there, and we dinghied up the creek and chatted with some passengers who were taking a break in the shade.  

The French boutique cruise ship.  Cha-ching.

We crept along the cliffs beside the creek to admire more rock art, and backtracked to find another overhang richly decorated with ancient paintings, three ghostly female figures from the Dreamtime. That night at anchor, crocodiles banged loudly against the hull, letting us know it was their territory.

                                                                   

We passed Paspally pearl farms as we headed for Kidney Island in the Osbourne group. We went ashore for a quick walk to see the giant Boab tree here, a silent witness to the centuries. 

 Later in the day, we went up a creek where we wandered through more stone galleries, rock ho

pped up to a fresh water billabong, did some laundry and had a splash. We found more rock art too.

Rare, extinct Australian penguins......or...an  ancient fisherman bragging on his catch, more likely.

Returning to the boat, the falling tide had revealed a large rock just a little too close, and Tarci re-positioned the boat. That evening we harvested a large mess of smaller oysters and enjoyed them with garlic and cream over pasta.

"Give me oysters and beer for dinner every day of the year, and I'll feel fine!"

In 25 knots winds we sailed to Jar island.  After a rest, we went ashore to explore among the cliffs and ledges separated by mangrove flats where cone-shaped snails crawled everywhere in the receding tide.  We climbed a cliff find the art, images of emu, the Rainbow Serpent, and a tall slim figure I named the Shadow Man

Kangaroos above mysterious human-like figures.

Shadow Man and tiny figures on the left.

The emu. The age of rock art is best determined by micro-changes in the
oxidation and composition of the mineral pigments.

Shadow Man's timeless place.

 After admiring these, we made our way separately back to the boat.  We would whoop out a call to one another periodically, since we had discussed the scenario of what would happen if one of us got lost or hurt? As I climbed back, my shadow lengthening in the setting sun reminded me of Shadow Man.

Shadow Woman

Back on the beach, the falling tide revealed clusters of teacup-sized oysters. We forgot to bring the tools  we usually used to gather them, but two beach rocks and the plastic bailer from the boat served, and we enjoyed these two-bite oysters for dinner.

Oyster beach. We hurried to collect them as the tide, and sunlight, ebbed.

Heading out the next day, we went ashore near Truscott airbase, active in WWII. Passing a salt pond and heading into the bush, we found a mostly-intact C-47 like my dad used to fly.  I climbed inside and waved out the window, warmly remembering my Dad.  

First Lieutenant Behe in the cockpit once again.

On we sailed.  Passing Mary Island through Middle Reef was tricky. We had to line the boat up with land feature as well as following the charts.  The tide swept us between mounds of ship-killing rocks and submerged reef and through the narrows without incident.
 

Now we were bound for Darwin.  We returned up the Drysdale River, bumping only once on a rock, so Tarci could look over the old fish camp for possible future adventures, using the course up the River that Wolf from Honeymoon had shown him. Departing at night, we tested that route to the max…it was a risky move.  

   

We departed in pitch blackness with the tide at 2 am and ran for 24 hours. Running north along the coast toward Cape Londonderry we raised the spinnaker in the mid-afternoon and ran on and on with it, never shifting, all night. We binge-watched Sopranos, and during my four hour watch I took a series of 20 minute catnaps to test what I’d read about the best strategies for resting for solo sailors.  (It worked).  The spinnaker was still flying when morning broke. When we turned west around the cape, the tide was against us.

 The sleigh-ride was over. We dropped sails and pushed into the current, making only 1.8 kts and were shoved and twisted side to side by tidal eddies.  Only five miles in four hours. But we were treated to the sight of humpback whales breaching and slapping the water with tails and pectoral fins.

A humback whale waving his fins and slapping his tail.

In the Berkeley River we went into Casuarina Creek one last time, to the waterfall now just a trickle so late in the Dry. Watered, bathed and with laundry clean, we bade farewell to the Kimberley.

Laundry day.  In 10% relative humidity it is all dry in 5 minutes.

We ran straight thru, day and night from here across the Gulf, all the way to Darwin, taking advantage of a good weather window before strong south-easterlies set in.   Arriving Darwin was bitter-sweet, and the voyage was at an end.

SAILING NOTES

Sailing the Kimberley requires being prepared, being capable and self-sufficient.  Everything depends on the tides, which range from three to nearly eight meters and more on king tides.  Tidal currents can be up to 5 knots, can create whirlpools and eddies which can push, pull, stop your boat dead and swirl it around before you can break free.  Pushing into the current, you may progress at 1.2 knots while burning fuel which should normally push you along at 5 knots. Often in tidal rips , you'll see massive swirls of sand in waer that is 30  meters deep.

Color variations in the water are the sand swirls
roiled up from the bottom in 100' of water by powerful tidal rips

Opportunities to refuel are rare.  It is essential to check tides and currents several times a day to time your passage to coincide with them, or you’ll waste fuel and get nowhere.  Tide range also effects when and how you anchor.  Anchoring on a high tide may leave you stranded on sand bar, mud flat, stuck on to of rocks or even precariously hanging over a rocky ledge with meters of air beneath.   When the tide goes out, your anchor rode suddenly is longer.  Likewise, when anchoring in low tide you need extra scope to accommodate the rise of the next high tide. Tide tables must be consulted when going over shoals or up rivers; it is best to time these passages for the rising tide so that if you make an error, there is still rising water to help lift you free.  Wind against these strong tides can create powerful chop and rip conditions.  It is best to time rounding a cape or head land with these conditions in mind, running with the tide. 

It’s of critical importance to make sure that the boat is well anchored in a safe place, as per above conditions.  When going ashore, the last thing you want to return to is to find that the boat has dragged and drifted away. There can be no swimming out to the boat, as crocodiles abound and are a real danger.  When going ashore in the dinghy to bushwalk or find rock art, you also need to know the future tidal influence.  On the falling tide, you may return to find that your dinghy has been stranded with a half mile of soft, wet sand between you and the water. Equipping your dinghy with fold-up wheels will come in handy.  Or, tying up on the rising tide you may find that the rock or tree you’ve tied to is underwater and your dinghy is half a kilometer away, or being dragged half underwater by the painter, and with no way to reach it, due to crocs.  If you’re up the river, a falling tide may leave your dinghy hanging by the painter, against a cliff.   Make sure the tie-up point is something you will be able to reach with the anticipated tide.

 Cruising season runs from April to November, when the Northeast Monsoon brings the Wet. In the Dry, the Southeast trade winds are predominant.  Access to fuel and food is quite limited.  Alcohol is rarely available in Aboriginal communities, and when it is, may require you to register in order to purchase limited quantities. In some areas, permits are “required” to come ashore on aboriginal land.  You can apply online, but there is often no response and no enforcement in the field. 

It is common for the boutique cruise ships to check with nearby cruisers to see if they are in need of water, and if you become friends with them, you might get bonus treats as well. Likewise, most cruisers and fishermen will readily come to the aid of others in need.  Fellow adventurers take care of one another.

In the Kimberley, flowing surface water is generally potable and delicious. As the season goes on, the flow reduces. It may be scant from the start if the previous Wet had low rainfall, as was the case in 2019.   Fishing is generally supposed to be good but you can’t always count on catching them. We were told by fishermen and discovered for ourselves that this year was not a great one for fishing.  Western Australian Fisheries Inspectors make lightening inspections, sneaking up on you in fast motherships and boarding quickly to inspect for fishing licenses and any catch. You have to cut fish in pieces greater than 30 cm and leave the skin on for identification purposes.  (SY Lizard had a wonderful catch confiscated because the pieces were too small had no identifying skin. With typical Aussie humor, Sirocco radioed Lizard to say that the Fisheries Inspectors had just gifted them with a several pounds of fresh fish fillets!)

This voyage was for five weeks and covered about 1300 nautical miles. Many thanks to Tarci for inviting me to sail on Monkey Me, and for guiding me safely through the Kimberley and Australia’s beautiful wild places. 

What a difference a day can make.