Bunkered Down in the Bold and Beautiful Bunkers

from Women Who Sail Australia Magazine 2023

Humpback Whales:

Sonia, her husband Miguel, and their ship’s cat ‘Pooky’, share their experiences sailing the southernmost islands and reefs of Australia’s Great Barrier Reef aboard their Westerly Conway ketch DreamCatcher.

There’s nowhere to run, no one to help you, and nowhere to take cover if you get into trouble so you better be prepared! This might sound like a horror movie but in fact it was one of the most exciting and memorable 10 days we have spent sailing together on Dream Catcher

We felt like we were living in a postcard and what still surprises me is that we were in Australia – in my backyard!

Fortunate to have left New South Wales before COVID-19 hit, we spent roughly six weeks making our way up the east coast in the hopes of adventure and warmer temperatures.

We passed a few days in lockdown upon arrival in Southport before heading on to Bundaberg.

Departing Bundaberg

Waking in the early hours to go sailing is no joke when it’s only a few degrees above zero – and on this chilly morning we had six degrees. Bundaberg Port has one of the best lit entry channels I’ve experienced with little to no back lighting to confuse a tired sailor. Leaving posed no issues, so with coffee in hand we quietly slipped the lines before dawn and were soon on our way. Once out of the channel we logged in with Coastguard, advising an expected arrival time of 1500. We had perfect sailing conditions so hoisted full main, mizzen, and headsail. Knowing that we would soon lose signal completely we took it in turns to advise our closest contacts that we would be ‘off grid’ for at least a week, telling them our intended route. Looking out over the horizon the adventure was in full swing –first stop, Lady Musgrave Island.

Much deliberation had gone into deciding if/ when to venture out to the Capricorn Bunker Group of the southern Great Barrier Reef as the weather had been very uncharacteristic of southeast Queensland up to now – with no sign of anything regular on the horizon (regular weather would suggest predominant SE trade winds of 15-20 knots). We were really keen to get out to the reef, and while heading north via the coastal route to Pancake Creek seemed like a more sensible option, we were seeking the road less travelled.

I felt that our window of opportunity could be hampered later that week as we had already had to delay our departure by one day to allow some strong northerlies to pass. We knew there were more coming in a few days but hoped to be well bunkered down in the lee of the island, and we had one other yacht heading out with us which is always comforting.

Much of our trip in the lead-up to this had been quite tiring from a navigational perspective; first the numerous bar crossings in NSW waters, then the Broadwater and the Sandy Straits which demand a keen eye and a lot of short hops within tides and shallow channels – none of which caused any incident but did demand attention. To now be heading out to sea with plenty of room, increasing depth, and a clear horizon was an exciting change.

Once out of sight of land that old familiar feeling of being out on the ocean came back thrilling my senses – aah to be at sea!

But with that came a new set of challenges –the weather could be less predictable and without internet or phone signal (and without the luxury of Iridium) we were solely dependent on daily BOM updates on a crackly VHF, or insight from other cruisers. In the days to come, I was to learn that in general you can expect the wind strength to be at least 5-10 knots stronger than predicted for coastal waters and several glances at the barometer helped to determine when any change was coming.

“Landahoy”

We had been travelling since before daybreak and the wind had eased mid-morning, so the iron sail went on to assist. Pooky was asleep in the cockpit while I napped on the bow thrilled by the whales and dolphins that had greeted us earlier. Meanwhile Miguel had been busily preparing his diving gear ready to jump in the lagoon to catch fish upon our arrival! Areas of the Capricorn/Bunkers are ‘green zones’, where no fishing is permitted, however one of the drawcards for him was that fishing was allowed on the southern side of Lady Musgrave Island within the lagoon.

With land in sight, I was up on my feet shrieking like a child. At first it was like a mirage, then it looked like clusters of trees, but it was our eyes playing tricks on us. It was actually the surf breaking on the outer reef. As we neared, the island became more apparent and then the golden sand beach of the western side. Stunning. It reminded me of the many Caribbean islands I’d sailed to back in my twenties – but this was Australia, my home, and I was arriving here on my own yacht this time!

Soon I could see other yachts anchored to the south of the island – in the lagoon. Reality set. We would need to drop sail and prepare to enter the channel into the lagoon. Noel Patrick’s book Curtis Coast says, “This island, with its accessible lagoon, really has it all” and adds, “it is well protected against all but the wildest weather”. I wondered whether this statement was going to be put to the test in the days to come.

Bubbles of Paradise

Just as I spotted the first marker, my heart skipped a beat as a friendly whale popped up to welcome us – taking Pooky and I by surprise! The tiny entrance into the lagoon didn’t pose any problems but once in we had to keep a sharp eye out so as not to strike any of the coral beneath us.

We spent a glorious first morning exploring the reef and had a walk ashore. Sitting in a bouncy cockpit, mesmerised as I looked around, I shed a tear of joy.

The crystal-clear water, the lush green trees of the island, a beautiful lagoon filled with reef life, little sharks looking for a nibble, green turtles popping their heads up and darting away as quickly and several birds and eagles soaring above. Our backyard was a coral reef where Miguel had lots of fish to admire. Fresh coffee was brewing below and beside me Pooky was cleaning his paws having gobbled his brekkie.

We did it. All the hard work, preparation, and believing we could get here. We were in paradise living our dream.

Surrounded by eight other yachts – all sitting in their own little bubbles of paradise – it couldn’t possibly get better than this.

Knowing we were about to experience bad weather we had time to prepare the boat. We were fortunate on arrival to score the last Marine Parks mooring which was perfectly positioned to the southwest of the island –exactly where I had hoped to anchor to seek protection from the impending northwesterly due in the following days.

Riders of the storm

With the dinghy secured, halyards tensioned, all gear stowed away and the engine ready for an urgent start in the unlikely event that the hefty mooring line should fail, we bunkered down for a night and a day. Our friends were close by, and the other occupants of the lagoon were doing the same. (No-one had departed or arrived in the days following our arrival)

Dream Catcher rocked and rolled and swung on her mooring line (which we had raised to avoid it banging on the hull) but that was the worst that we experienced. We rescued our friends a couple of times when their dinghy failed to start but once the winds died down we took to shore for a walk before going for a drift dive in the crystal-clear waters. We farewelled the island with a little picnic ashore and thanked the Universe for putting us here rather than amid lockdowns elsewhere. To acknowledge our thanks, she put on the most magnificent sunset with streaked orange clouds to be followed by the rise of a full moon emerging from the south. This was a special place indeed.

Lady Musgrave to Fitzroy Reef

We left Lady Musgrave in the morning to arrive at the entrance to Fitzroy Reef with the sun well above us. This would allow us to see the reef channel, which we were told was not as clearly cut as Lady Musgrave. Passing Fairfax and Hoskyn Islands we were accompanied by a plethora of whales – more than we’d seen in one day the entire trip. Pooky, however, was unimpressed by these large noisy creatures, preferring to sleep next to Mummy.

I admit I had misgivings about anchoring inside a reef lagoon in the middle of the ocean, but we timed our arrival perfectly. I was most curious about visiting this reef but also quite wary of being caught out in inclement weather with nowhere to hide. Fortunately, it was calm and sunny – the only conditions I was up for on this occasion with no real Plan B to speak of with and little option for shelter for several miles elsewhere. However, this was also mid ebb tide which we also knew meant strong currents. I had never anchored in the middle of the ocean before – inside a coral reef – and it proved to be a humbling and surreal experience.

One would expect to see land, an island, or at the very least a sand bank, but there was nothing – other than the sound of a breaking swell to the north and south of the yachts. I felt my heart flutter as we approached the surf. The channel markers were not visible –but my plotter and Navionics advised otherwise. Two rather pathetic little sticks appeared – then a third. Ok, that’s the channel but where is the entry? Assisted by my binos I managed to make out two smaller buoys just past the swell. This was WEIRD! On we went heading for the markers but giving the reef wall a wide berth. At least in real life the reef is bigger than it looks on the charts, but the narrow entry gave little peace of mind.

We experienced about four knots of current entering the channel. It was narrow and the reef looked terribly close on either side of Dream Catcher but with Miguel keeping watch on the bow we emerged the other side into the deep lagoon unscathed. Unlike Lady Musgrave, there were a lot less bommies once inside the lagoon and we anchored in about nine metres of clear water with the anchor in sight below.

Time for a paddle board, some snorkelling, and a swim before cocktails at sunset. Another ‘moment’ looking out at our apparent reality in disbelief. Where else in the world would we rather be? Nowhere. This was magic.

A sea of serenity

Pooky woke me at dawn as is customary. This time I didn’t complain and gave him some brekkie to keep him happy. He had been a bit bored up to now as there were no birdies to yap at since leaving Lady Musgrave. He enjoyed pacing about the boat staring into the deeps below, worrying Mum and Dad that he might fall in. A heavy dew had fallen but the milky water was still and beckoned me in. I wished he liked swimming so I could take him with me on my morning paddle. Instead, he saw me off and then went for a sleep.

I had the lagoon to myself. The little fishermen’s boats were long gone in search of a morning catch, while the few cruising yachts anchored were still sleeping – relishing the calm conditions. I paddled to the closest reef within the lagoon and hovered over above the corals. The entire lagoon was still with not a ripple on the water. The only disturbance on the surface was from the droplets falling from my paddle as I drifted with the gentle current watching the world below. It was like being in a huge aquarium or even a glass bottomed boat. Several spotted rays shimmered on the seabed skirting the reef while little fishies of all colours and sizes darted this way and that going about their morning business like people in a busy shopping mall.

Keen to hear the morning weather forecast I left my wonderland and paddled back to the boat. Miguel had asked a few neighbouring boats for weather intel the night before, but no-one knew any more than we did – which was just three days ahead and constantly changing:

• Wed: N 10kts tending NNW 10-15kts in the afternoon

• Thur: NW 10-15kts, then WSW 15-20 kts tending SW in the evening

• Fri: S 10-15kts tending SE 15-20kts later

We felt fortunate to have had such a wonderful experience, so rather than risk a second night with the possibility of strong northerlies decided to press on later that morning after some board yoga (me) and a spot of snorkelling (Miguel). With much gratitude and a little regret, we left the beautiful lagoon through the channel again. It was cloudy and seeing the reef was next to impossible, so I relied on a reciprocal track to exit, and with less current this worked well.

Curiosity killed the cat

Our next ‘goal’ was North West Island, some 35 nm to the northwest. To reach North West Island, it is necessary to pass through a channel between two reefs; Wistari Reef and Heron Island. We had been told by a very reliable source that the snorkelling at Wistari Reef was phenomenal and that there was a public mooring which offered some shelter in a southeasterly (which wouldn’t work for our conditions). Heron Island was said to have a resort, although information was lacking, and Miguel was curious. He had to find out more about why, according to Alan Lucas, ‘Visitors are not welcome’ (not to mention the thought of a cocktail ashore) so we decided that if there was a suitable location offering protection we would stop over and if not, we should push on to North West Island – a further 18 nm to the north west.

Our friends who had left Fitzroy before us opted to keep going as their dog would not be welcome ashore at Heron. We decided to take a look ashore and call them on Channel 16 to advise once we arrived. It was a calmish day and the forecast northwesterly had fizzled to a light breeze so we would need to motor for another four hours if we continued on to North West Island.

Heron beckoned. Our guidebook told us to make ourselves known*. I called up on Channel 16 but they were not monitoring that frequency – nor was anyone else it seemed. We picked up the one and only mooring just off the reef wall and lowered the dinghy into the water leaving puss puss behind, ‘Bye Pooky… we’ll be back later’.

We boldly motored into the narrow channel passing a wreck and landed on the shallow beach. The management greeted us and after a brief ‘interview’ which confirmed we were not refugees, criminals, or COVID 19 victims, we were signed in and made to feel very welcome on this private island resort. How exciting! Off to the bar… followed by a swift visit to the gift shop.

Heron Island is a diver’s mecca, and the resort is geared for those keen on snorkelling, diving, and ecology, with nightly talks on marine life and coral species.

Back on board it was time to take a hot cockpit shower while experiencing the most spectacular sunset of the trip so far (and that’s a big call!). We settled in for a relaxing evening of star gazing until sleepiness prevailed. Off to bed for a great night’s sleep – well, not quite…

It wasn’t the usual warm fur of the cat that woke me, but the disturbing sound of the mooring slamming against the hull. I quickly realised that the wind had picked up from the north during the night. We hadn’t bothered to raise the dinghy as we were intending to go ashore to avail of internet and maybe a snorkel in the morning, leaving with the tide around midday. The weather had other plans. I grabbed a torch and went out to secure the dinghy with a second line and reinforced our mooring bridle before heading back to bed to get some sleep.

About an hour later, it was evident that we would need to move fast. We were on a lee shore and the reef was too close behind us. We were being held stern to the wind and bow to the tide and the boat was swinging violently. It was already over 20 kts and building from the north. We had to act fast. First, we needed to fix the mooring buoy from submerging itself under the hull as it was hammering the hull dangerously close to the propeller and shaft.

Bang clunk bang

The mooring thudded its way under the boat and up the other side. This was not good.

Combined with the pitching and rolling, there was havoc below decks, and it was barely light. “First, let’s get the mooring up to the bow” I said. We lassoed a line over the mooring ball when it was slack and ran it as far forward as possible before the wind pushed the boat back over it. We continued this process on the other side when it reemerged and finally, with much heaving, got the mooring to the bow. Then we set a quick release bridle from the buoy ready for a quick departure as we couldn’t afford to be pushed back onto the reef which was less than 20 metres behind us.

Now the dinghy was heaving and crashing against the swim ladder. It was a roller coaster ride, and I couldn’t manage to get in it but Miguel did a ninja jump and made it on board to secure the davit lines. Another timed jump had him safely back on board as we hefted the boat out of the water. It was now blowing 25 knots. Our idyllic private island had become a nightmare!

Below decks out of the mayhem we had our morning coffee and took a well needed breather to assess the situation. It was only 6.30 am!

Staying here was not an option – it was too uncomfortable and completely exposed. This wind was not forecast – at least not at that strength. The promise of a shift later in the day to the south made North West Island more favourable. We would have to motor into it for the first portion of the trip to the island as there was nowhere else to go. I knew we could shelter on the southern shore if needed until the wind swung south.

We tried to raise our friends on the radio but without success. What could have happened to them? We had no way to send a message to anyone and no way to source a weather forecast as it seemed there was a ‘hole’ in VHF coms.

Fuelled with warm coffee we donned our safety gear and warm woolie hats and prepared to face into 25 knot headwind for four hours against a strong current. I did wonder how we had been so duped by the serenity of the previous evening and failed to raise the dinghy, but what worried me was that we could raise no-one on the VHF. We wondered what would await us at North West Island… surely we’d meet our friends or at least there would be other yachts anchored… but who in their right mind would want to sit out this blow fully exposed?

Before dropping the mooring, instinct told me to check the prop by putting her in gear forward and reverse… we had taken a few slams earlier when the mooring ball had been swinging under the boat and I was worried about damage to the prop or shaft. Fortunately, all seemed normal. By this point Dream Catcher was pouncing like a pendulum, so getting a clean break from the mooring and the exposed reef ahead of us was vital. Full astern and we were off and out. I steered her north and into the wind with more revolutions than normal, but her reaction was so slow I was sure the gears were not engaged. We weren’t moving forward. Then we were making ground 1.2 knots, then 1.5 knots, then 2 knots, but this was insane! How would we get anywhere in this? It was impossible to sail as we needed to pass well clear to the north of Wistari Reef which was on our port. Finally, we had enough room to hoist a reefed mainsail and combined with reefed jib and mizzen we were soon making headway – just. We would have to dog leg north, then west, then north again, and so on against the current and wind.

Hours passed and with each glance over my right shoulder Heron Island never seemed to get any farther away. This was hopeless. Miguel reassured me that indeed we were making progress. However, I felt responsible for having exposed my boat and crew to such conditions, and soon we would have more challenges to face… we were experiencing much stronger northwesterly winds than were forecast and still waiting for the southeasterly change which was scheduled for ‘later’. How later is ‘later’?

The only anchorage with a mooring ball was on the northwest of the island, no use whatsoever to be on a lee shore of a coral reef. So, we looked at the south side as a temporary option which would provide shelter and a chance to rest and regroup. But I had no idea what the bottom was like. Fortunately, as we approached the reef wall, the wind eased to about 15 knots and we were able to drop sail and take a good look. With the sun overhead, we could see that it appeared to be sand with the odd coral bommie. We looped around before anchoring in about nine metres… laying sufficient chain to allow for a swing towards the reef. Phew! We were exhausted. The adrenalin of the past few hours slowly discharged from my body. It was lunchtime and we were starving. I made pizzas and we sat on deck. It was glorious. The reef was magnificent, and the island sat luring me… was there anyone else here? Were we completely alone?

Still unable to reach our friends on the radio we suspected that they must have bolted during the night as they would have experienced the same conditions as we had... but the closest haven was Hummocky or the Keppels and that was 60 nm to the west, which would have meant punching into it for a lot longer. I didn’t envy them and suddenly our situation seemed far better.

Reluctant decision time…

I considered our options while the boys slept. “Why not wait here at anchor under the lee of the island until the wind goes south?” I asked myself. Or perhaps we should leave for the mainland and sail through the night... We were very protected here on the southern side of the reef. But for how long? When would we experience this southesterly change? I expected it to be any time that afternoon/ evening… but later meant ‘later’. Then I remembered reading something about southerlies in this area in Noel Patrick’s Cruising the Coral Coast:

“Snug in one’s bunk, after the first whisper of a southerly change is ignored, forget the cosy bunk! You must arise and move as quickly as practical as normally the wind will only increase, leaving your vessel on a sometimesterrifying lee shore if you delay.”

Should we up sticks and leave for the mainland and sail through whatever Poseidon was to send us through the night? Ugh, that didn’t really appeal either, but it was possibly an safer option. So as always when struggling with a decision, I put it to the crew.

Pooky turned his nose up immediately when I suggested sailing again and Miguel looked dead to the world. With a thyroid condition, his energy levels could drop very fast, and he was having ‘one of those days’ so I didn’t feel comfortable expecting him to sail through the night. I must admit, I did not want to leave without exploring the island. It was really beautiful, and we had made it this far…

Our only option was to up anchor and head around to the exposed side of the island before nightfall to find a suitable place to anchor. We knew there was supposed to be one mooring but didn’t want to rely on that as an option – nor did I want to wait until after dark to feel our way around a coral reef. So, just before sunset we weighed anchor and headed for the western bay leaving the sheltered waters behind us. The reef was vast and the scenery spectacular. Rounding the southern tip things got a little bumpy as we crashed into the northerly swell. We braced ourselves for the headwind and ploughed into it. Still expecting to see yacht masts as we rounded the bottom, we saw no-one. But then – in the distance – we saw one little yacht. Damnit! They had taken the only mooring. We would be anchoring in the swell and wind on a lee shore with a coral reef.

We managed to secure Dream Catcher close by the other yacht and set our anchor alarm. I decided to sit watch as there was no way to rest in these conditions with the reef in sight. At least if we dragged, I would be in the cockpit ready to fire up the engine and get us out of there. It was dark now… and still howling from the northwest. We were pitching and rolling, and my mind was weighing up our options yet again. Today had been tough.

Miguel took watch while I had a rest and at about 1 am the change finally came. At least now if we dragged it would be out to sea. A little later the other yacht decided to leave so we jumped on their mooring, which would give us a bit more peace of mind, and collapsed into a deep sleep. At last.

Fortune favours the brave

The next morning, we woke up in paradise. With Sydney and Brisbane in lockdown, we felt privileged to have made it here. With no signs of yesterday’s drama, the sea was an inviting azure blue revealing colourful corals beneath the surface. The beach shone with dazzling golden sand and gentle waves broke on its lonely shores. Yet again, I was humbled by the spectacle before my eyes and how we deserved to experience this beautiful, graceful place… all alone.

Still wondering what had happened to our friends, we tried the radio again, but to no avail. By some crazy miracle Miguel had one bar of service on his phone, which was sufficient for an instant to reach them. They had sailed to Rosslyn Bay without an engine the previous day. They had endured their own share of dramas leaving the island the night before… trying to up-anchor with no engine and sail away from the reef. It must have been frightening.

Knowing they were safe, and vice versa, we relaxed. Time to explore this island. Signs in the water advised of ‘No swimming’ due to sharks. We later learned that a National Parks and Wildlife ranger had been the victim of an attack here the previous winter. Walking ashore we stumbled upon a memorial tribute (his boots had been preserved and mounted on a timber bench overlooking the ocean). He was just 23 when he was taken.

As we wandered along the shoreline, several little local native birds (buff banded rail) welcomed us, while several small sharks watched us curiously just beyond the water’s edge. Dying for a swim, we each bathed in the shallows not daring to take long about it. The water was irresistible but, not wanting to be another victim, we kept our dip brief.

While ashore a huge power boat appeared and anchored near Dream Catcher. How dare they we thought! But they didn’t go ashore as the narrow tidal gate was closing. (There is one stake marking the entry to the lagoon and shore. It is only accessible for small shallow draught vessels close to high tide.)

Back on board I felt thoroughly invigorated by this island paradise but also humbled by its beauty and inaccessibility. With a full belly and having successfully passaged north through the Bunker Group we prepared for the next day’s sail to explore the Keppel Islands – thankful for every moment up to now.

Lessons Learned

Safety in numbers vs splitting up

While it’s always nice to find a private and secluded anchorage, it does sometimes beg the question ‘why is no-one else here?’. If you are fortunate to enjoy it alone, make sure you keep an eye on the weather as it can change without warning. Having someone on the radio is always comforting when decision making.

On the one occasion where we ended up alone, we lost radio contact with our friends’ yacht, and they were indeed having their own troubles and could have used some help. We were quite worried about them, and they were worried about us.

Have a Plan C as well as a Plan B

I spent a lot of time preparing our passage plans each day/night for the following few days and applied varying conditions, so we always had more than one option to consider. The only real time we were ‘caught out’ was when I failed to take the tides into consideration and lacked a reliable weather forecast to determine the time of the wind shift between Heron and North West Island.