Monster Day - Wide Bay Bar to Moreton Bay Storm

 

Crossing Wide Bay Bar at the bottom of Fraser Island is always a nail biter. The 3nm transit takes over 3/4 hour and requires a sharp turn. The location of the sharp turn is the poser. The nature of ocean bars are such that the seabed is a bit dynamic and the inevitable shoaling moves yet needs to be crossed as safely as possible. Many bars, mostly made famous up and down the NSW coast are dredged and CCTV cameras angled down them to assist mariners. Not so this ‘mother’ of a bar. It’s not filmed, nor dredged. The local Coast Guard at Tin Can Bay are not even located within eye shot but they do issue the ‘latest’ co-ordinates which invariably have a codicil like - “go 100m north of Waypoint X”. It’s as good as you’ll get. Leads do not exist; instructions are only to deviate this way or that. Notices to Mariners are only slightly helpful, if indeed you can locate the PDF maplet buried on the Maritime Safety Queensland website under the Maryborough Pilotage area sub-heading. Only locals would guess the area that this document might be lurking in. Google searches give links to material up to a decade old and mostly about boat losses! This just adds to the mystique and anxiety.

Aug 5, 2018, Aerial shot taken by Peter Gash 
(pilot of Sea Air Pacific flight from Coolangatta to Lady Elliot Island Eco Resort).
A good 'visual' if you will, for the path to be taken.

There are ‘rules’ set out by the cruising guide guru Alan Lucas, as to the best time to cross each bar relative to the tide and optimal wind direction and velocity as well as swell conditions. Throw into the mix that sometimes both optimal tides might be in the dark, there is an appreciable anxiety that favourable conditions align with daylight. It’s a lot of ducks to line up. But wait, there’s one more. The nearest points of shelter once outside of the Great Sandy Straits for our boat will be Double Island Point (reached about 1 hour after crossing and mostly rolly as hell) or Mooloolaba 10 hours away and itself gated by a bar. The weather needs to be good enough to get out and stay good enough for the duration of the trip. Yes, a lot of ducks to line up.

Electronic chart with The Blokes waypoints

Our actual track out during the first 1.5 hours of the trip

In anticipation of this lottery-win of suitable conditions we departed Southern White Cliffs to take the tide down to Inskip Point. Another tricky traverse since there is a particularly shallow channel just north of Boonlye Point at Sheridan Flats. As a drafted vessel - we draw 1.6m, we need a high tide to cross and to avoid getting stranded. We’ve learned to use the tide to good effect since the GSS tides reverse just south of Boonlye Point. Heading south we leave the anchorage 1 1/2 hrs before predicted high tide at Boonlye to benefit from 2-3knots of assisting current, crossing the shallows with maximum water, then picking up the outbound current all the way to Inskip Point. Super sneaky except that on the day, we encountered wind-against-tide once the lee of Fraser Island receded showing the bare opening to the ocean. It was a foamy saw-tooth horizon. The bar was ‘going off’! We’d planned to reach Tin Can Bay but the late tide and our unfamiliarity with the Tin Can Inlet decided us against going beyond Pelican Bay. This would do just fine for now. We’d sleep in deep, clear calm water with the acoustic back drop of big surf rumbling on the bar.

So began a charming and enjoyable 3 day stop at Tin Can Bay after 7 straight days aboard. This enabled a lunch with Dougie from The Albatross, some walking, some shopping and refueling, then as more boats trickled down, we were caught up by Supa Trooper, Sans Souci, Shenanigans and more. And yes, there was socializing.

The Bloke and Dougie making up stories.

The Tin Can bay Inlet and Snapper Creek are 

home to a sizeable fishing fleet and quite a big and charming marina

“When do you think you’ll go across the bar?” Was asked and discussed over and over. Thursday became Friday, which became Saturday then Sunday. Messages flew about to report how things went. The early departers reported nail biting crossings, some even that the given waypoints needed adjustment. All helpful stuff.

Location of Tin Can Bay relative to the Wide Bay Bar

So we waited for the ducks to align. In fact they looked that good, that passaging meals were prepared to feed us at least as far as to Yamba on the northern NSW coast. Southbound at last we thought!

A stupid o’clock start was required to reach the start to the ‘Mad Mile’ and traverse it in the last hour of the making tide. We departed through Inskip Point with 23 like-minded sailors. What a procession. The crossing was much more active than predicted. A morning easterly breeze, although only around 6kt, had helped keep the swell up so we encountered 2- 2.5m instead of our anticipated 1.5m and at the turning point, as guessed at using our best eyeballs, it was a bit more. Catamarans quite often use an alternative exit - Fisherman's Gutter, but it requires both local knowledge and low swell. One such vessel was clearly sniffing around for this opening but in the end opted for the main percentages with the rest of fleet of 23 vessels.

Take a ticket.

First light and the stampede begins.

  

 

After reaching the turning point we put the sails up, sailing first in an easterly then a northerly just as the forecasts had predicted. Then the wind began to reduce and before long we were motor sailing and then just motoring. Blast. We looked inshore and further out to sea, the by now scattered boats were having a mixed bag of wind. Sometimes we had it, other times they had it. We settled into our passage. By 2:00pm, still motoring and under a sky becoming a little ugly we resigned ourselves to making for Moreton Bay and taking the longer meandering route south behind Brisbane's off shore islands and further delaying any significant progress southward. VHF radio broadcasts began to advise of imminent and nasty thunderstorm activity confirming our 'look out your window' forecast was not without foundation. 100km winds inland. Hailstones the size of golf balls and even an ETA for when the city would be 'hit'. Wonderful. Only Higgins Storm Chasers (a weather site that promotes wild weather) had mooted the possibility of these conditions.

An unwelcome scene.

Plan B became Plan C, then D. We'd want a bit of sea room and to avoid some of the channels that have very shallow areas around them which in certain conditions reveal breaking water. We could easily be blown off course and onto shoals. The shipping channels have alarming names like Spitfire Channel and Skirmish Passage. Woah! Pulling off to Mooloolabah didn't appeal since The Basin anchorage has poor holding and is crowded. The Marina would likely be full of like minded refugees and then we'd be 'locked in' by the Mooloolah River bar in coming days. Going into Scarborough Marina, an option discussed ahead of departure should thunderstorm eventuate, ruled itself out as the tide would be too low to negotiate the entrance channel. We pressed on under jib alone and endlessly refreshed the weather radar hoping for reassurance that the worst of the cells would miss us. Of course we got none and ongoing VHF reports from Southport, Redcliffe and Mooloolaba VMR's further amplified our anxiety. We stashed everything that could become a missile or hazard, took in the cockpit cushions, attached the tethers to our life jackets and jacklines and fitted the stormboards in the companionway. We furled the jib giving it an extra wrap and furled our ensign lest it shred. At least it was daylight. We chewed on a few lollies to steady us..

The barometer dipped sharply and the wind dropped

A Mooloolaba Pilot had to be pretty quick to get off this ship departing 

Moreton Bay and the Port of Brisbane. We speculated that the ship went full steam ahead to dodge what was coming.

It wasn't long afterwards The Bloke detected the drop-down curtains on a storm cell. There was no possibility of outrunning it and before we knew it, lightening was whizzing in all directions overhead. These systems often have an unknown amount of wind under them so we felt blessed that it was only in the 30knot range. Holding the bow into wind in heavy rain, our own radar and AIS were the only clues to surrounding vessels (none near). Even though we had our navigation lights lit, they'd hardly penetrate this stuff. Just holding the bow into wind rotated the boat through 130 degrees as this storm quite literally swirled through the bay.   

  By 4:30 it was mostly all over and the storm cells heading seawards  

 

We watched as the storms marched up the coast destined for Tin Can Bay, Bundaberg and further.

  After dark as we motored down the throat of Morton Bay we were passed not just by a cruise liner but overtaken by a massive container ship. We speculated if any of the passengers aboard were even aware of what had just gone on. A massive open-air LED screen added to the illumination. Surely this vessel could be seen from space. The Pilot of the container ship radio'd to inform us of his intentions to pass us (we were in any event outside of the actual channel) and thank us for having AIS (as if we'd leave home without it!). We think he was making a point to all who'd be listening on Channel 16. We weren't the only yacht out there!

Once we reached The Sand Dunes anchorage at the southern end of Moreton Island, we anchored a respectable distance from Gradiva and Supa Trooper who'd beaten us in. The Eastern horizon was still pulsing with the receding electrical storm. We ate a hearty passage meal that we'd heated in the oven during the last hour of our trip, accompanied by an 'Anchor Dram' (or 3), for medicinal effect and fell asleep fully clothed on our bunk after rather a demanding day at the office. Had all our ducks aligned today? We're not too sure, but one thing we are sure of - We are a pair of Lucky Ducks.

Waking to a beautiful morning as if nothing unusual had happened.

Storm Season in the Great Sandy Straits

During our Bundaberg Marina visit last year we were hit by a colossal storm cell on Melbourne Cup Day. It was so significant it resulted in the catamaran Felix sinking and being written off. We might have thought it a freak storm had we not experienced another of only slightly lower ferocity this year. The difference between 40 knots and 60 is significant but you’re still glad to be in a marina when experiencing winds of such velocity. The Bloke had timed our marina visit to perfection. We could have remained out at the Lady Musgrave Lagoon for one more glorious day but poor weather was predicted and besides it would be nice to be ashore for my Birthday.

Pelting rain and howling wind

An American couple at the end of a trip up to Bundaberg from Tin Can Bay (at the bottom of the Great Sandy Straits), were traversing the channel and within 20minutes of coming in through Burnett Heads when this year’s event hit. On bare poles (no sails) they were nearly laid flat during ‘white out’ conditions. Miraculously, they managed to avoid hitting any of the channel posts marking the entrance. There are plenty of them creating something of a runway effect at night with their red and green tops virtually strobing their presence. It’s one of the reasons why Bundaberg/Burnett Heads is so easy and safe to access even at night.

Further horror tales emerged. The Lady Musgrave ferry, MV Main Event, that delivered Lucas and family to us at Lady Musgrave Island only a week before, was 1.5 hours late returning. It’s a big power cat and covers the 49nm trip roaring along at 22knots. Not this day. Noticing it’s late return, we located it using Marine Traffic (an AIS App) limping along at barely 9. The skipper later told us he was reduced to just 3knots and had actually been forced to hove-to after registering a gust of 70knots. A first for him. He basically stopped his vessel and pointed the bow into wind to let the boat drift plus present minimum exposure against the wind. It was a small wonder we heard the passengers cheering as the ferry came alongside at the end of our jetty!

Crazy clouds announcing a trough

At the conclusion of 9 days of hard yakka in the marina we were keen to get off the jetty. Instead of heading out and traveling immediately, we anchored off in the river for a day to gather ourselves and get some rest. We often do this just to re-calibrate.

We’re now on a new mission: One to revisit Hobart. Every long journey starts by making a shortish one so we set sail with light northerlies down the funnel of Hervey Bay with a plan to reach South White Cliffs; a location known to us and deep into the Great Sandy Straits. A very menacing and dynamic sky was in evidence with up to four emerging water spouts along the flanking Fraser Island horizon. Reconsidering our anchorage for Northerly/NW protection we ducked into Riverheads at the head of the Susan River. As luck would have it, it wasn’t too crowded but it is narrow, tidal and the combination of a shale seabed plus a variety of unattended vessels, some on anchor and some on moorings, some lit at night, others not; it all made for an edgy time. We were well protected from wind but this IS ‘storm season’ and the clouds during the day confirmed the presence of unstable air. Lots of it.

 

Inbound!

Investigating the weather radar revealed that the lightening we began seeing at 5:30pm was no small storm cell. Our computers, iPads and phones displaced the baking tins in the oven. We sat up in the cockpit for an hour and a half in our foul weather gear, life jackets on and the engine running. We had no real idea if there was any wind under those clouds crazed with lightening and delivering copious rain. From what we could guess, Gympie, Maryborough and Harvey Bay were all being hammered and we’d been spared the worst of it. Phew. After it passed, the rain stopped and a mirror calm restored.

The following day, weather predictions pointed to further storms. We’d discovered that a tiny 28’ boat had paid out 45m of nylon rode giving it a 90m swing arc bringing it far too near us. Being small and light it was flung about in the competing forces between wind and tide. We too were doing a bit of crazy circle-work. We had a dread thought of getting anchor wrap like we did once at Laurieton. We shifted upstream 100m to give ourselves a bit more peace of mind plus we dropped out an extra 10m of chain for good measure. Were were glad we did. Our 2nd evening at Riverheads delivered an even bigger light show. The storm cells came closer and lingered longer. Electronics were once again in the oven and we were kitted up and expectant. Go sailing they said. You’ll have fun they said. Mmmmm!

Clearly not a settled sky

Once again we’d been spared although this time there had been a little bit of gusting wind causing nearby anchored, but unattended vessels, with unknown lengths of chain to move about and alarmingly near. The engine was on in case we needed to maneuver. In the dark it’s terrifically disorienting. Would it be too much to ask for this stuff the happen in daylight? Round 2 at Riverheads lasted longer and there was another albeit smaller storm cell visit at 2am. Go sailing they said ...

The outlook for the following day was for a wind change. Time to visit South White Cliffs. We like it there; a broad and open anchorage ideal for SE protection. Bliss. A bit of space around us. Southbound boats as a part of the spring migration away from the tropical north were scattering to every possible perceived bolthole. A low pressure system was forming at the other side of Fraser Island. One thing was for sure, the prospects of exiting through the Wide Bay Bar to progress towards Hobart were exactly zero, and zero for perhaps 1 week yet.

Motoring out of South White Cliffs AFTER 3 days of rain.

We settled in by lunchtime and well pleased. A couple of neighbouring boats were known to us. Great. Some playfriends, we thought. We even dropped the dinghy and paid a visit. Weather forecasts suggested that winds would strengthen around 4pm. We were tucked in as close as tides would allow to some nice protective hills. Aaahh, yes this would be a nice change from the previous 2 nights. Strangely, by late afternoon a couple of boats suddenly re-anchored. Was there something we were missing? A quick call revealed Tin Can Bay had been hit by a 70kt storm cell and there had been a mini tornado inland. The wind had come in from the west and we were all anchored expecting a southeasterly.

Storm cell picked up on radar over Tin Can Bay

Little purple pin to the north was were we were.

Hastily, we repositioned ourselves under a spooky cloud canopy and paid out 55m of anchor chain in 5m of water for good measure. 65m weighs 150kg, and the usual water depth to chain length ratio is 4 or 5:1, just to give an idea of how seriously we were taking this. Chain in the locker is pointless and is only ballast according to sailing guru Alan Lucas. Friends nearby joked that they only had 2 loose links left in their chain locker. They had dropped the lot. We sat and waited for what might eventuate. We were all sitting ducks and were not kept waiting long in late afternoon light. 2 1/2 tense hours passed as lightening lit the sky and scenery around. The closest the storm cells came were about 3km. Luckily the cell that hit Tin Can Bay and was looking like it was on its way to us, was dispersed by the bottom of Fraser Island and slipped up the seaward shore behind us. Another equally huge cell raced up the mainland coast with both Riverheads and Bundaberg scoring an overhead pass. Supa Trooper, Sans Succi, Cruising Kitty and The Albatross, all fellow New Caledonia Rallyistas from last year were in Bundaberg and confirmed the overhead visit. Indeed The Albatross had lightening arc through the shore power and damage some electronics. What a lucky escape we had. Then came biblical rain for 3 days and the listlessness of cabin fever. Go sailing they said. You’ll have fun they said. From here, and the days yet before conditions abate sufficiently to cross the Wide Bay Bar and sail further south, Hobart might as well be the moon.

Our poor dinghy had to be bailed out twice.

Preparing for International Gin and Tonic Day 2018

It’s actually ‘Marina week’ for us right now and we are back in one of our favourite marinas; the Bundaberg Port Marina. We’ve been doing ‘boat jobs’ at a furious pace at the commencement of our run south to Hobart. We hope to get there by the start of December. Re-provisioning features high on the list of tasks including the ubiquitous trip to Bunnings, Jaycar Electronics and Super Cheap Auto. The latter outlets necessitated a hire car which we shared with our jetty neighbours. To sprinkle some fun with the dull we suggested a visit to the Kalki Moon Distillery which we’d enjoyed the previous year.

We were easily converted to Kalki Moon gin last year during our tour of the distillery on what turned out to be International Gin and Tonic Day 2017. We’ve now made it a gin of choice if we have the opportunity to go to Dan Murphy’s in Queensland, the only stockists we know of. Our taste buds were not cheating us. Just look at the international awards they’ve won in the past year!

Knocking off the British is high praise indeed.

Number 1 Premium Dry Gin in the world 2018

Kylie Prosser, the distillers wife, introduced us to a new drink they released for Mother’s Day this year. It’s a Pink Gin Liqueur. It’s a slightly sweeter drink than a regular G and T with a hint of rose and musk in the flavour. A bit different and it’s PINK - looks like fun. Yup, added that to our other Kalki Moon cellar door purchases too. We’ll be well stocked for the coming International Gin and Tonic Day - October 21st, 2018. What about you?


www.kalkimoon.com

The Goldilocks Principle

Arriving later than planned to the Lady Musgrave lagoon meant The Bloke didn’t get a chance to run our Rainman de-sal system and top up the stern tank ahead of our guest’s arrival. En route, saltwater ingress in the for’d cabin meant the call on the stern tank was heavier than usual to cope with washing some of the bedding (thankfully most of it was still in vac bags - phew). By day 2 we needed to switch tanks. Generally, we use and top up the stern tank with desalinated water (the opening is the easier of the two to reach) and fill the for’d one at a marina using on-tap scheme water, so we were in for a bit of a surprise when we started using the fresh tank.

Freshwater tank under the the V berth.

Lucas suffered a migraine on his 2nd day aboard and required some Staminade (a salty sports drink with electrolytes) to re-hydrate and it was only when he was recovered that he complained about the taste of our water. Our initial response was that Lucas was just being weird. But wait a minute: my cups of tea were a little strange tasting too but I was well distracted with the family aboard and beyond making a fuss. The Bloke began cogitating on the the various observations, especially after Tom joined the chorus, and he began to connect the strange set of circumstances.

During our passage over to Lady Musgrave the bow seemed heavy from both a boat trim and steering perspective. Odd, but the sea state had been a bit horrid. When anchoring I’d noticed that mooring lines in the anchor locker had fallen off their shelf and through the webbing onto the chain below. Odd, but plenty of water had washed through the chain locker during our passage; perhaps more than normal and water can certainly shift things. We’d certainly never had water run down the inside of the V berth before though, and we’d certainly experienced heavier seas elsewhere. Odd. Why now? Furthermore the wetted areas were streaked with something brown and gritty - rust particles perhaps? Decidedly odd.

Then it dawned on The Bloke that a length of dynema rope in the chain locker might be the culprit. It was a component in a reinforcement strop he’d recently created. He’d decided against trimming it in case he needed to redo some knots, leaving a long trailing bitter end. It’s expensive - over $20 per metre. It would be wasteful to cut it unnecessarily wouldn’t it? Oops. Mr Murphy is constantly stalking and finds an invitation at every indiscretion. Never leave a length of rope/twine trailing. Never!

The dynema was just long enough. It was just stiff enough and just the right diameter to plug the chain locker scupper at the waterline. You’d actually struggle to manufacture such a perfect little plug had you wanted one. The chain locker filled with water in the messy seas - right up to the very top where there is a breather for the for’d freshwater tank. Seawater had found an entry into our internal freshwater system. Thankfully we operate with two independent tanks switching from one to the other as needed hence sparing both tanks from contamination. At least we had that in our favour.

Everyone aboard was invited to enjoy longer showers albeit that they were now a teensy bit salty. With 6 bodies aboard, the tank was quickly emptied but it did require switching tanks across at ‘bath time’ so we could enjoy uncontaminated water through the day. The regime backfired on its second day when I’d forgotten the salty tank was in operation when carefully filtering, filling an refrigerating a few bottles of water- doh. What a comedy. All the kids subsequently joined in the fun of querying whether I was offering fresh or salty drinks! It was a huge relief when that contaminated 200l was finally gone and we could return to 100% fresh sweet water - not too salty, but just right!

Hidden away in the top corner of the port side of the chain locker - the water tank breather hole, the anchor-winch remote (curly cable) and the cable connecting the port side navigation running light. We think the latter was insufficiently sealed (since fixed) and was the source of the water and rust ingress. The anchor chain always has a bit of rust in the links hence the fine rusty grit that found its way into the front cabin.

View into chain locker with anchor-winch remote clipped against the moulded fiberglass that shields the breather hole etc...

Deconstructed front cabin - yet again!

Contents relocated to the salon which is in an unimaginable mess.