Whitehaven Beach to Pioneer Bay

60^th AUS Trip Blog 13

 Anticipating a third night of rolls, creaks and groans in our exposed anchorage, we agreed to rise at dawn and scoot over to Whitehaven in order to get a good spot. Just as well it is our last night; a ‘bullet’ has whipped our chart overboard during the night. We do have a spare, thank the Lord.

 Whitehaven is a 5 km stretch of brilliant white sand, pure silica. I wonder if it would make good frackking sand. We could suck the whole thing right up and ship it off to the gas fields. Just kidding.

Whitehaven Beach with Tongue Bay in distance

 

We arrive around 7 am, and the day is shaping up perfectly. Lighter winds, bright blue skies and a gentle swell. A few boats bob in the anchorage, its occupants still asleep. There is a campground on the beach; where did the campers come from? Later we found out that you need to hire a boat to drop you, your supplies and your solar panels. It is a tranquil scene.

 Whitehaven before the tourist onslaught

Glad we got here early. Whitehaven is the Whitsunday’s version of Sydney’s Manly Beach. By 10 AM a cruise ship has disgorged a sea of humanity, a seaplane has splashed down dramatically and numerous yachts make the anchorage like a parking lot. The place is packed.

 Tourists come from all directions

Luckily we have all done our thing by then. Kank has jogged the beach twice, Dave has completed his ablutions, Andrew and I have hiked to the top of a small hill which overlooks Whitehaven and has views back to the mainland. We have morning tea on the boat and push off.

 The sailing is fantastic! We have a tailwind of 15-20 knots; we are able to run out all sail and we fly back up the coast. Heeling over jauntily, Waterman bucks like a frisky colt. We take turns at the wheel trying to outdo each other on speed. 7 knots, then 8; finally yours truly coaxes 9.3 knots after some judicious sail trimming. I am accused by the crew of withholding sail handing information from them until it was my turn. I would never do anything like that; there is not a competitive bone in my body.

Peter finding every bit of speed

Feeling frisky ourselves, Commodore Andrew and I decide to sail through Hook passage, the narrow channel of flukey winds we had motored through the day before. Margaret is poring over the chart, for banks of coral await those who don’t stay in the channel.  As we fly into the passage, a bullet from the opposite direction throws us all aback. We flounder around trying to regain control and adjust to a headwind rather than a tailwind. I start the engine as a precaution. In the end we are able get through under sail, but the wind has come at us from every point of the compass. In all the confusion of sail handling, we mistake a channel marker for a port side marker, when it is really a reef warning marker. Margaret spots our mistake just in time to avoid sailing onto the reef.

As we emerge from the channel, another bullet causes our Commodore’s shoe to fly overboard. We dare not turn the boat with coral all around, so Andrew hops into the dinghy and goes back for it. Luckily, his shoe is a floater, a bright green Croc.

 

 

Andrew Celebrates the return of his Croc

Andrew eventually retrieves his shoe and then the chase begins. Can he catch us, now sailing downwind again, with his tiny 6 horsepower motor?  We furl our headsail to give him a chance. He is falling behind. We trim our main. He is now a dot on the horizon. Finally we reach a bay, where we can turn around and sail back to him. “You took your bloody time!” was all a wind whipped and spray soaked Andrew could splutter as he clambered back on board.

 

Pioneer Bay

Our destination that evening is Pioneer Bay, an anchorage just outside the confines of Airlie Beach Harbor. Our sailing is over. It is a bittersweet feeling as we enjoy our last meal on the Waterman. Tomorrow we return the boat, debrief with sailor Bob, and go our merry ways.

Bob debriefs