The Gulf of Cards-and-beer-ia.

One serendipitous outcome of the timing of the Archipaddlo Expedition was that Lain and I would essentially miss winter this year. We'd roll from the end of our summer, into equatorial waters and stay there until the end of the following summer. Poor us. Now I know most people would rather be commuting to work on a drizzly, cold morning with a southerly blasting Antarctic winds across your few small patches of exposed skin than lolling around in tropical sunshine so you can appreciate how difficult this is for Lain and I. We are heading south now, not part of our plans, but still a long way from winter as we know it.

However one of the highlights of my 'normal' year is the annual migration of humpbacks and other whales right through my favourite paddling patch, my stomping ground. Of all the activities that have squeezed my adrenals into action, few of them can get the endorphins flowing more than paddling right up close to an enormous mammal, hundreds of times larger than myself, and knowing I have made contact (perhaps a mutual understanding) with such an wondrous creature. The thought of missing a migration is a tough one for me especially as it is about this time of year that the first blows appear on the horizon.

So imagine my surprise when, sailing down through the Gulf of Carpentaria, we saw the unmistakable spout of water from a large cetacean not far from the boat. Whale! What? Here? Surely not. Again, there! Sure enough, we all saw that one. The whale rose from the water, its blowhole clearly visible on a slight hump, its smooth, long back, its arched, tall dorsal fin, this is a big whale. I have paddled with plenty of humpbacks and the occasional southern right whale but this whale was different, a new species for me. There's another one! Sure enough, they were a pair. Perhaps they were mother and calf that probably took a wrong turn at Cape York on their last migration south. It looks like they missed a winter too.

The Gulf has been full of surprises, and empty of other people. The whole way down the 800km or so of coastline we have seen just a handful of tinnies and the occasional trawler in the distance. This would suggest a profusion of wildlife but in fact we were face to face with many more critters on the east coast. The bioluminescence in these tepid Gulf waters, though, is something that needs to be experienced. Billions of bacteria explode into light every evening under a dark sky. Every ripple, every fish that flips, every splash is an eruption of bright green light. It is hard to imagine anything more magical.

We finally broke our spell of poor fishing results when, in the mouth of the Mitchell River, we found an old fishing net on the shore. We had sat for hours that morning in a mangrove-lined tributary, barramundi country, with four lines in the water and not one bite between us. Clearly we know what we are doing. So, with a ratty old fishing net and a bit of ingenious mucking about we managed to haul from the water a particularly impressive mangrove jack, a hefty queenfish and a tasty threadfin salmon, a bonanza that fed the four of us for three days. Not a bad result.

The lower coast of the Gulf became remarkably flatter (if that is possible) and shallower, and the water murkier. The sandbanks were stickier (we were bogged and stranded quite a few times) and the tides bigger and slower. Sailing these waters was tricky business in slow, variable winds. Afternoons were hot, and the auto-helm worked a treat to make sure we could escape to the cabin for another round of cards, games, reading, and pretty much anything you can think of to do when stuck in a tiny cabin for a fortnight with three other people.

I entitled this post "Cards-and-beer-ia". While there was been plenty of cards, the smooth pack now well-worn and furry around the corners, there has been a total drought of beer. On quite a few occasions I questioned the logic of our decision to travel this way without a single drop of alcohol on the boat, and yet I know it has done me some good.

In saying that, as we near Karumba my thoughts are turning more and more to the flavour of a juicy hamburger (mmm, meat, beetroot, pineapple) and an icy cold beer poured into a frozen glass. I have had enough cards but I can honestly say that I am looking forward to that first sip. Cheers!

PS. As I send this blog post through the ether we are, after a rough and tiring day, sailing within sight of our final destination on this remote coastline, Karumba. Aye Karumba!!