Sailing this coastline, towing our kayaks behind a tiny 25 foot yacht, not only is a great way of stretching our measly budget (shipping kayaks and ourselves back from TI was going to be cripplingly expensive) but is an awesome way to keep our adventure rolling.
This is a coastline not visited by most touring yachts, or in fact by many boats at all. Sunburnt fishermen in tinnies and the odd prawn trawler give the turtles something to dodge but the customs plane doing a low-level zoom over the coastline seemed quite surprised to see a tiny yacht, with two kayaks silently sliding southward. Much of this coastline is unnervingly listed as "Unsurveyed" on the nautical charts, and is perilously punctuated with hidden sandbars and mudflats, just waiting to swallow the keel of a passing pleasure cruiser. Fortunately Trivial Pursuit, being a trailer-sailor, has the secret weapon of a retractable keel so that we can pass over obstacles less than half a metre below the surface - a depth we have tested now many times over.
I am sure it is many people's idea of a nightmare of Freddie Kruger proportions to be stuck aboard a tiny vessel in remote, featureless, crocodile infested waters…with your in-laws. While this tiny yacht has removed any sense of privacy, personal space and solitude, we are all actually getting on like a tent on fire. Apart from fighting over the tiller, we are happily spending these days reading, drinking tea, rummaging through all the supplies we bought for PNG, watching the sunsets (for the hope of catching an elusive green flash), and attempting to catch fish for dinner.
I have discovered that I take after my father in many ways, not least his notorious fishing ability. In all my life I recall just two fish that Dad has caught - an impressively large flathead (well done, Dad!) and, 25 years earlier, a half dead fish he kicked out of the ankle-deep waves. Whether fishing skill is hereditary or not, I seem to be developing an equally embarrassing lack of skill in this area. Here I am in perhaps some of the most fertile fishing grounds on the planet and yet my lures seem to be about as interesting to the aquatic life as a Big Mac would be to a food critic.
On the first couple of days heading into the Gulf the sea was bubbling with life. I won't bore you with the "one that got away story" suffice to say that I had the biggest fish I have ever caught right up to the boat before it flipped off the line. I caught a spotted mackerel later that day which at least fed us for the night, but it was a meagre specimen compared to the monsters that had been zooming around us all day. For days since I have been waiting for the lure to even get a bite.
We moored one night in an unnamed mangrove-lined creek with the expected resident crocs and plenty of bird life. Finally my opportunity to catch a whopping barramundi had arrived, and to prove to the doubtful onlookers that I could seriously keep up with Bear Grylls. After snagging plenty of gear and using up nearly all of my bait I felt the fluttering tug on the line that signalled success. I hauled in the monster, glory was mine, the hunter redeemed…almost. A smelly, ugly, brown catfish, fresh from scouring the muddy bottom, stared questioning at me from the end of my line. Well barramundi are overrated anyway. Some local fishos turned up in a tinnie and jokingly suggested that if I couldn't catch a fish in this river that I should just throw my hand line in and give up. I have kept the line, but perhaps just as a reminder of my clear (hippy-like) determination to conserve the wildlife of this fragile coastline.
The sailing is great fun, and a new experience for me. The one-sqaure-metre sails on the bow of our kayaks have been an awesome assistant to help move us through the water but they are insignificant compared to the power of the full and billowing sails of a yacht. While it feels fast sometimes we are cruising down this rugged coast at about 5 knots, or about jogging speed, just with less impact on the knees. The scenery is subtle but beautiful with seemingly endless stretches of sandy beaches backed by casuarinas and mangroves. The bauxite and ochre cliffs close to Weipa, although short in stature, were so dramatic and colourful that they glowed in the sunlight from literally miles away.
Considering it took us the best part of six weeks to paddle an equal distance on the East coast, our descent into the gulf has been rapid. Today [Wednesday], the sixth since we left Thursday Island, we crossed the half way line to our goal, Karumba, an event we all celebrated by leaping off the boat for a cooling swim.
The days are long, the coastline is flat, the fish aren't biting, but I couldn't be happier.
Picture: Captain Lain in her favourite spot at the helm of Trivial Pursuit.
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