|Under covers and air conditioned, keeping cool in the Darwin "build up"|
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Friday, December 9, 2011
It’s December 8th and I’m sitting in the Reference Library in Darwin and it’s so cold I wish I had a jumper in my backpack. The librarians wear windcheaters to keep warm. This is an odd feeling as when you do finally leave and walk outside, the reality of Darwin in December becomes very apparent. It’s hot. It’s actually bloody hot! That is why I’m holed up in the Reference Library, editing our first draft of the circumnavigation book and enjoying the quiet, studious, ambience of this space. It sits in the same building as the Northern Territory parliament so you can pop in for look at democracy at work if the feeling takes you. It’s a beautiful place to be and it seems no expense has been spared on the fit out. It’s like sitting in the library/study of a million dollar display home; plush carpet, quality sofas and desks, exquisite art displays and the quiet whisper of air conditioning at work.....oh yes! It opens at 10 am and they suggest you go home at 5 pm although I have been tempted to ask if they do sleep-overs. It provides some time off the boat and it’s the perfect place to work through the long and sometimes painful process of editing 120,000 words of rambling anecdotes. We’ve been in Darwin since the end of October, waiting for our town house in Fremantle to become available. We fly out on the 20th of December. The time has gone by surprisingly quickly and we have both found things to do to keep busy. This is the first time we have actually stopped since we both retired and so it’s been a learning experience dealing with life where time is a plenty. I have been editing our book on the circumnavigation, Diana has been catching up on blogs and we have been out and about on our trusty push bikes. I’m taking a break from editing to write this final blog.
Thoughts on the Kimberley
Going back to somewhere you have already been never carries with it the same buzz of your first visit. We were spellbound on our first trip through the Kimberley, mesmerised by the colours, the massive gorges, the thundering waterfalls and the quiet emptiness that floats all around you. Every day we would search for adjectives to describe the startling beauty that lay around every corner of this vast area. We had that in the back of our minds as we made our way across from Cape Leveque and I suppose I was hoping to find that all over again. And I did find it here and there but it was not as constant or perhaps as mesmerising as the first time. Can it ever be? What lingered in my memory were moments of Kimberley magic that really highlight the essential beauty and terror of this place and why it is so special.
Little moments stick out and Sampson Inlet was one such moment. We left Raft Point for the 30 mile sail to Sampson and, in true Kimberley fashion, found ourselves motoring most of the way. That turned out to be a bonus as we were short on water and by the time we had dropped anchor the water-maker had done its job and the tanks were overflowing. We had also caught a small Mackerel so it was a very productive trip. Sampson Inlet is typical in that it has a deep entrance which opens out into a steep walled waterway that meanders along and ends up in a fresh water oasis. Just near the entrance is a smaller inlet that shoots off to the right and is about half a mile long and quite narrow. At the end is the typical freshwater oasis, complete with a small outbreak of rainforest.
|rainforest backdrop at head of inlet|
Phil and Marion, the legends of Silver Gull, actually camped at this spot for the whole of the wet season some years ago. There are still signs of their camp up amongst the rainforest. It’s a lovely spot but you’d be doing it hard to spend a whole wet season there. We let The Doc settle on her anchor and then quickly set about putting up the shades. It was mid October and the heat was starting to really intensify. The fans were going non-stop and shade was a priority. So, what was special about this spot? For me, this mini-inlet captured all that is unique about the Kimberley: the colours, the quiet and the sounds and sights of nature that wander randomly through your day. I was sitting in the cockpit looking up at the rock walls when I suddenly spotted a dingo making its way over the rocks towards, no doubt, a favourite water hole. It looked sleek and healthy and it covered the tricky path with a surefooted ease. At one point I whistled out to it and it stopped, turned its head towards me, stared for a minute and then carried on its way. It was midday and hot and this dingo had only one thing on its mind, water. It eventually disappeared into the wash of ochre and sandstone.In the evening, with the sun buried for the day, it’s nice to sit in the cockpit and enjoy an ale or two. We were doing just that when suddenly we heard the familiar whoosh, whoosh of dolphins swimming near the boat. This safe anchorage was obviously a nice little fish trap and this small family of dolphins were doing a casual reconnaissance before retiring for the night. It happens like that up here. You don’t have to sit for long before some example of nature flashes before your eyes.
|The Doctor settled on anchor in Sampson inlet|
Later on, up near the Osborne group of islands it was a thunder storm that flashed before our eyes and again, it was nature putting on a show. The misty grey clouds had been funnelling in all afternoon and by about 5 o’clock the thunder started. Rain and lightening followed and it was intense, loud and very frightening. I was always under the impression that the seconds between seeing lightening and hearing thunder equated to how far away the lightening was in miles. That is, every second equals 1 mile. Not so dear reader. You have to divide the total seconds by 5 and then you get the distance in miles. So, 5 seconds = 1 mile. A lot of the lightening we sat through at the Osbornes was followed a milli- second later by the crack and roar of thunder. That means it was a lot closer than we were wishing and it’s not that comfortable sitting on a boat with a 60 foot aluminium stick pointing up to the raging heavens. We had two thunder storms in as many days and we decided it might be wise to cut short our 3 month cruise in the Kimberley get close to a marina if anything really nasty blows up.
|Just another quiet night during the build up (can you see Motley the ship's cat doing a weather check?)|
|the barby at the end of the gorge at the end of the world|
The highlight from King George was sitting up on a wide, flat, rock ledge under the waterfall (obviously dry at this point but usually roaring with water) with cold beer in hand while a spread of lamb chops sizzled away on the barby. We had set some deck chairs up and then arranged a barby plate on some rocks, surrounded by the 300 foot walls of the gorge. In front was a circular pool of water that was crystal clear but dark and very deep. Oh to dive carefree into its cooling depths dear reader but no can do I’m afraid, not up here and definitely not in King George River. It was a memorable spot for an impromptu barby and we enjoyed the moment despite having to move the whole show, fire and all up to a higher ledge when the tide snuck in.
|through the walls we go|
Back to the Doc for a farewell drink with Frank and Karen and then prepare for the 250 mile sail back to Darwin starting next day. October/November is late in the season and, we all decided, after a few
thoughtful reds, too late to really enjoy the Kimberley. The heat and the lack of water make it tough going and we were all ready to get going.
Well, it’s now 10 days till we fly to Perth and I’m sitting in the library looking out the big panelled windows at a sky that is filling rapidly with storm clouds. This is the “build up”, the time before the monsoon breaks and every day the storm clouds cook away in the baking oven of sky until by late afternoon they start to mingle with the rumble of thunder and flashes of lightening. Occasionally, it all erupts in a giant catharsis of drenching rain but we haven’t had this for a few days now. I love it. It’s so alive up here at the moment and this is the one, enduring experience you get from this cruising life. You get time to see another world at work, the world of nature in all its beauty and its terror.
|the sky is always changing during the build up|
Thanks to everyone who has been following our journey through the blogs and I wish you peace and rest over the holiday break. July next year we head off to Dilli and the start of our South East Asian adventures so stay tuned for more blogs coming your way.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
18th October 2011
It took two attempts to get out of Krait Bay, just south of the notorious Voltaire Passage. The first morning we left at 6.30 in the morning hoping to be at the passage right on slack tide at 7.30., the reason being that there was conflicting information about the direction of the tide going through this narrow and treacherous channel. The Fremantle Cruising Yacht Club guide confirmed the information on the chart stating that the flood tide runs towards the west, but then it contradicted that information and said that it has been observed that the tide runs in the other direction. Tricky. What we don’t need are any contradictions when planning this one. The passage has been known to produce major over falls and 2.5 metre waves with wind against tide. The passage lies between two shallow banks 0.2mts and 2.7mts and is about 0.1NM wide. Hence, the decision to get to the narrow bit on slack water. Anyway day one we set off early with a 10-15knt SE forecast. It seemed a bit blowier than the usual calm morning but we hoisted the anchor and took off hoping to get Voltaire over and done with. Out of the bay it was really blowing, only up 20 knots but it would have been against us going through the passage so it didn’t take that much discussion amongst the crew to decide to abort. It is not often that Rob and I turn around, but we wanted to do Voltaire with everything right.
Later that day Frank and Karen in Kokomo radioed up. They were just coming in to the bay. We had been doing our own thing for a week or so but here we were again back together. They had been having a hard time with their anchor winch out of action and Karen badly affected by a smoky atmosphere causing serious asthma. She sounded really down in the mouth so we offered to bring over dinner to give her a break. We had 10kgs of mackerel in our fridge so Rob made up a great curry, while I made poppadoms and rice. We had a good upbeat night with the Kokomonians as we hadn’t seen them for a while and there were stories to tell.
Next morning we had another go at getting up to Voltaire and with gentle breezes and sunny skies we were glad that we delayed by a day. Kokomo went through to Parry Harbour and we headed more south east towards the Osborne Islands. We sailed for a couple of hours but then the wind dropped out completely and despite our best intentions of saving fuel we had to use the iron jib.
The Osbornes are high and steep faced islands with sheer ochre cliff faces and lush green forested slopes. The entrance is quite awe inspiring. We nosed our way in deep water along SW Osborne Island and dropped anchor off a sandy beach.
We were pretty exhausted as the temperatures are getting pretty unbearable and we often just flake out. We are living out in the cockpit more and more and tonight was no exception. We had dinner at the cockpit table with citronella candle lit and the last rays of the sun hitting the majestic face of a huge orange cliff. As darkness dropped the stars came out and I lay with wine glass in hand on the foredeck on cushions just looking up. It was perfectly still and all that could be heard were the various splashings of fish and the birds' last night calls. Off in the far distance a thunder cloud glowed weakly, but near the boat the phosphorescence flickered and glowed far outstripping its rival. Exhausted and hot we made up beds in the cockpit and dropped off to sleep with the cool night air caressing our skin. Just as I was drifting off I heard a dolphin nearby taking deep breaths. Bliss.
|Fossicking at the Osbornes|
We left the sandy beach anchorage off SW Osborne and decided to do a bit more exploring of the island group. We had a mud map that indicated the site of "The biggest boab tree in the Kimberley". Rob was enthralled at the idea, but went along with going there anyway. We dropped anchor off Kidney Island and dinghied up between Kidney and Middle Osborne Islands. It was so hot, the sun piercing our skin even through our shirts. There was no sign of relief. We felt like we were being baked alive, but we found the boab off to the right, but nestled securely behind a protective forest of mangrove trees. We thought we found a path through the mangroves but it petered out to nothing. It was just a bit disconcerting wading through the mangroves and I wondered if "The biggest boab tree in the Kimberley" was really worth dicing death with a croc. We gave up and took the obligatory photo, that I am sure will look just like a bunch of bush and we I will wonder why I took it.
|Spot "The biggest boab in the Kimberley"|
|No thanks. Think we'll leave it to the crocs.|
Next stop on our adventure was picking our way through the masses of pearl farms spread seemingly from one side of the passage between the islands to the other. We found a way through and dropped anchor of some rocks that reminded me a lot of a Japanese garden. They were arranged so perfectly and balanced so well with green foliage that they could easily be a temple garden.
We had only travelled 7NMs but the heat had taken it out of us and we fell asleep. As I woke from my snooze in the cockpit I noticed a black cloud out the back and said jokingly to Rob, looks like rain. Ha, ha. Suddenly the cloud was rumbling and flashing and the first big drops of rain dolloped on the cabin top and into the water. It got heavier and turned into a serious shower. We were like the proverbial drought stricken farmers dancing around in the rain, relishing the downpour as it washed down the last of the Dampier and Broome dust from the rigging. It got heavier and we could see bands of rain blocking out the mainland and coming out way.
|Looks like rain|
A huge crack of lightening hit very close and immediately put an end to the party atmosphere. Now we were wide eyed and just more than a bit worried. The wind picked up and lashed our boat shade as the wind came from first one side then the other. The thunder was all around us and the rain was coming down in torrents. Really scared now, I turned off all the electrical equipment in the vain hope that if we got hit by lightening they would be spared. As quickly as it came the tropical storm spent itself out and we were left with damp everything, but the boat had been washed clean and the atmosphere felt cleansed and we felt revitalised. Welcome to the tropics, hot one minute and terrifying the next.
|The power of water|
After all was clear we dinghied towards the “Japanese garden” and discovered rocky coves surrounded by sculptured rocks modelled by wind and water. Amazingly there were a stand of lush green mangroves growing out of pure white sand which added to the garden effect. We landed on a shell grit spit and topped up Motley’s litter tray. The work of the waves laid the shell grit in gently curving ridges lines. We carried on to find the three natural arches that stood like the empty windows of a ruined cathedral and clambered through a cave to discover a tiny white shell grit beach. Every day there is a new discovery and another exciting element to the amazing Kimberly.
|Shell grit beach|
|Three Arches Osborne Islands|
|Catching rainwater dripping through the rocks|