Fai Tira blog Saturday 4th September

Hinchinbrook to Cairns 16:52.94S 145:48.62E

 

Pictures of Hinchinbrook Island from Haycock Island anchorage

 

 

 

 

Pictures of Scraggy Point

 

 

 

 

Almost immediately visible after leaving the Hinchenbrook Passage and the lovely tranquil and rather inappropriately named overnight anchorage of Scraggy Point, located in Rockingham Bay, are the Family group of islands, each identified by its own English and Aboriginal place name. And at their northernmost tip, appropriately at the head, sits by far the largest, and that of our next intended destination, Dunk Island.

The group was named by Captain Cook as he sailed through them in the month of June 1770. At the time, Montague Dunk was First Lord of The Admiralty.

So after an early start, and not much more than 4 hours of relaxed motorsailing, luxuriating in the automatic guidance of our newly rejuvenated tiller pilot, we rounded its prominent sand spit and dropped anchor in about 4 meters of water in the lea of Brammo Bay.

 

 

Dunk Island

 

Although one of the main features of the island is its P&O-owned resort, it occupied only a narrow coastal stretch; and even though its first impact was the extremely tasteless beachside bar that would have been more at home in the middle of Slough High Street (sorry, I think that should now be “pedestrianised thoroughfare”!), that, and its extended development, did little to dent the inherent natural beauty lurking not that far inland as Jeremy and I found.

 

 

It was really called Muggy Muggy beach.

 

With Pete off walking to Muggy Muggy beach and later snorkelling around an adjacent island,  we strode out along one of the rain forest tracks that took us to the highest point 271 metres up Mount Kootaloo. We were rewarded, not just by the exotic sounds, bird life, butterflies and atmosphere, but also the stunning sea views at its peak and an hour or so of entertaining conversation with an affable pair of fellow cruisers, Jeff and Soy, whom we’d only just met on the way up.

 

 

 

The “boys”  at the top of Mt Kootaloo

 

 

However, my biggest disappointment was to discover that The Artist’s Colony, something I’d so much been looking forward to visiting, was still recovering from the effects of a devastating cyclone (Larry) that hit the Islands back in 2006!

The colony had been founded, in 1974, by Bruce Arthur, someone who’d spent the previous 10 years of his life on the nearby island of Timana, discovering and perfecting his talents.

A local cult figure who died in March 1998, he was, by all accounts, a charismatic and unlikely character who emerged from a life of athletic prowess as an international wrestler, representing his country at both Olympic and Commonwealth levels. He extracted himself early, allowing his underlying peaceful and calming persona to lead him into the art of weaving, and extend this into a community that attracted a following, including potters, jewellers, sculptors, painters and other like-thinking individuals who eventually consolidated the group. All of this is now in the hands of resident jeweller Sharon Kirk. However, sadly it’s still not open for public display, and we left with me feeling like I was turning my back on something special and leaving it permanently unseen....Shame.

 The journey to Cairns covered a distance of about 85 miles and we wanted to arrive in daylight. 5 knots average, over the ground, equated to a travelling time of about 16 hours. A midnight start would see us arrive somewhere around 4 pm. That was the plan then. Quick eats, early bed and abrupt up!    That’s exactly what happened.

The good news, when we poked our bleary eyed heads into the cockpit, was that we were greeted by the whirring of the wind generator...It was breezy! The bad news was it was lashing down, the night was very cloudy, very dark and seemed to entwine itself like a velvet cloak.

Once more our watches were to be double handed. Poor old Jeremy’s sleep was immediately shot to pieces by the general commotion of preparation. It eventually lead to the involvement of all three of us in what felt like a covert operation of stealth, as we slide almost silently through a slalom of unlit vessels searching for the deep water channel that would take us in the direction of next overnight stop.

The weather hardly improved except for the sporadic rain easing, but never being far away and the wind increasing to a healthy 10-15 knots, providing us with a delightful mid journey sail, pushing us along at something like 6-6 ½ knots, and shortening our ETA by about 4 hours, with us eventually entering the prominent, distinct, long line of posts marking the deep water channel just after midday.

 

 

 We dropped anchor in shallow water within a dense, tightly packed group of boats opposite the marina, close to mangrove swamps and adjacent to the main ferry entry channel.

I’d already spent much of the passage up to my elbows in bleach and disinfectant, cleaning the galley for the arrival of Dee on Monday and her eventual sail with us to Darwin. Our early arrival had the effect of facilitating a bit of a continuation, with the rest of the makeover taking place tomorrow with input from Pete and Jeremy.

Although it was early evening by the time our tender was tied up against the marina dinghy dock, a short walk to town revealed a vibrant, if modern, waterside development alive with tourists and backpackers, complemented by an extensive and popular craft and produce market. The time left to explore it was just enough to whet the appetite for a return visit.

 

 

It was time to settle down for a beer and take in the scene. What we saw was mostly colourful, fascinating, in a variety of shapes and sizes, but nearly always on two long elegant legs.......Hadn’t done this for ages......”Blokes thing”, I think,   However, that might just have to be prefixed by “sad and old”!!!

Although the choice of eating venues seemed endless, and the boys would have settled for the food hall; yours truly preferred to find somewhere more authentic. Then after an extensive search, that also had us locating the local Municipal Art Gallery, (another re-visit) we ended up at P.J.O’Brien’s for their $10 meal, lots of noise and Guinness..... Now what could be more authentic than that?!

With yet another gallery located for a return visit, we found ourselves back on the boat in shattered mode, ready for an early night and our morning departure for Port Douglas.

 

A little snippet, in the Lonely Planet book, referred to a late night taxi hitting a newly placed speed bump in the middle of town,  with the unsuspecting driver then being confronted with the sight of a badly injured crocodile, that later had to be destroyed, laying in the centre of the road.

Now whilst our wildlife experiences can’t compare, we were, at least, treated to the close up sight of a sea eagle as we sailed away. It sat on its nest high up on one of the channel marking posts, feeding its young!

 

Welcome to Australia!