Cruising Log—8...Cape Capricorn to Keppel Is

After being thrown about by really lumpy seas for ten hours we rounded the dramatic, rocky tip of Cape Capricorn under failing light and lowering cloud, and looked for the anchorage described in the guide book.

There was silence on Masala. Eventually Leanne said “Surely that’s not it, is it?” We checked the GPS, rechecked the charts, studied the guide book again, and all in five seconds as the current swept us in towards the other boat and the rocks. Yes, this was it. Crikey, it was intimidating, but we had no choice.

It was very exposed and we had no idea how the wind, tide and swell were going to move Masala around at anchor. We picked a spot to drop the pick as best we could, although it seemed awfully close to the cliffs, the beach and the other yacht. But further out the swell was untamed. The anchor went down and we floated back as the chain ran out. We let out a lot, as you couldn’t afford to drag. By the time we locked it off we seemed awfully close to the other yacht – exactly what we complained about and hated in other yachties. What to do?

Distances can be deceptive on the water. Leanne had a brilliant idea. She called out to the other people, who were in the cockpit watching us (as you do, when someone else arrives, for your own safety). “Excuse me, do you think we are too close? If you do, we’ll move.”

“No, you’re fine” came the reply from Wirraway. Thank goodness, I didn’t know where we were going to move to. And what a great tactic, Leanne.

There was a single yacht anchored in a tiny bight, surrounded by towering rocky hills. Way above on top of the Cape, shrunk by the height, perched a white lighthouse and associated cottages, almost glowing against the black clouds. Down at water level, swells roared in like express trains and broke against the rocks and on a tiny beach.

Next morning we continued sailing north towards Great Keppel Island, or GKI as it is affectionately known. Our dreams and expectations of cruising Queensland, until now a little dinted, were finally realised here.

The water is crystal clear and the most amazing jade green in colour, and the swimming is brilliant, if a little chilly. A school of more than one hundred fish took up residence under our hull. The beaches seem endless (just like this cruising log), the sand like castor sugar. There are creeks to explore in the dinghy. The island is crisscrossed with walking tracks, most with great views. In fact many people we’ve spoken to say this area is better than the Whitsundays because it is not overrun with commercialism and zillions of charter boats. On this, we will have to wait and see. Suffice it to say that we have finally made it to paradise.

Daily life continues. Perhaps not quite the same as on land, but nevertheless still daily life. For example, Leanne has developed callouses in some very funny places on her hands from operating the manual toilet. One morning at GKI she said she had a really rough one on the palm of her hand, which was proving quite inconvenient.

In the evening I said to her that I had trouble keeping up with her in bed. She looked pleased and said that most men would like that in a woman. “No” I said, “I mean you sleep so many hours that it’s hard to keep up.”