Who the F*** is Garry?
'Sarf & West mate, Sarf & West'
Pete Bernfeld
Fri 10 May 2013 22:05
Garry's Place, Fraser Island 10/05/13
Been there, done that and got the Wide Bay bar tee shirt but more of that later.
I arrived here (Garry's Place) at 1400 on the 10th and promptly found one of the pleasures of a nature reserve is no 3G signal, hence the date because I'm not sure when this willl be sent.
I pulled up the anchor at Tangalooma, the official name of the anchorage on Moreton Island, at 0900 on the 9th and boldly set sail for either Mooloolaba or Fraser Island depending on how things went. They went very well as it happens and I took the tide all the way out of Moreton Bay and in fact seemed to have 'gone with the flow' all the way to Fraser Island. That caused some problems in the middle of the night as I didn't want to arrive at Wide Bay in the dark. There's one very nasty rock exactly where you'd be if you were giving the point a comfortably wide berth. With a 'pocket handkerchief' flying I was still making 4-5 kts over the ground courtesy of an occasional 25 kt gust up the chuff but in the end I got to Wide Bay just at first light. This unanticipated early arrival opened up the possibility of crossing 'the dreaded bar' at slack water high at around 0835 as opposed to what I had anticipated doing, stooging around or even anchoring in the lee of Double Island Point until slack water low at around 1430.
THE WIDE BAY BAR. Yes, most Australian sailors seem to say it in bold capital letters. There are numerous stretches of the water around the world that are the subject of much urban myth, ferocious reputation and cause fear and trepidation in the general sailing populace. The English Channel causes palpitations amongst neophyte British Yotties, Biscay is another and Finnisterre can make grown sailors faint at the mention of it. Such is the reputation of the WBB and I hope it will not take offense at being reduced to a three letter acronym, hereafter referred to as a TLA. Not, it must be said, wholly undeserved The only way (from the South) into the Great Sandy Straight is to cross the bar. Open to the South East, the predominant South-Easterly swell powers straight into Wide Bay and piles up on the bar, where allegedly the minimum depth, in the channel at LAT (lowest astronomical tide) is 3.8 metres. Having been there and done that I have some doubts about that but then my depth gauge doesn't work which makes transiting shallow water much less stressfull than it might be. Ignorance is truly bliss, particularly when surrounded by white water. When in doubt, call the coast guard. I did.
Tin Can Bay Coastguard. Try saying that quickly over the radio. I reported conditions in the bay as 1.5 to 2 metres swell with 15-20kts of breeze up the chuff. What did they think? They were quite optimistic about the whole affair, perhaps they hadn't had to rescue anybody for a while? 'Call me at way point one' the man said. Way point one? I didn't like to ask. There was a transit on the chart (echart on my IPad, which incidentally has worked faultlessly to date but more later), I identified the transit visually and the Lucas cruising guide(2002 edition, the latest apparently) backed it all up. I told him I'd venture a bit closer, take a look and make up my mind. He thought this was a sound idea but also obviously thought that crossing the bar under these conditions was no big deal.
I ventured a bit closer, I had a look and the transit seemed to be clear of breaking water. I told the man I was going through and I'd call him 'on the other side'. He pointedly said to call him once INside, reinforcing a growing suspicion that just possibly the bar's reputation was more fearsome than reality. Don't get me wrong, this is a fairly formidable obstacle and I can quite appreciate that there are conditions under which you would have to be an 'effing idiot' to even consider crossing it. Shortly after I had committed myself, i.e. it was too late to turn away, the swell increased (nothing to do with shallowing water) and the wind started a series of 'long gusts' of probably up to 25 kts judging by the moaning from the rigging, or was it the moaning of crews past? No matter, under those conditions I probably would have given it a miss, at least for my first time over except now of course I couldn't. Hey ho, all aboard for the skylark!
It was quite hard work to stay on the transit and although there probably is a bit of latitude straying off it didn't bear thinking about. 'Steer small, damn your eyes' sprang to mind. I manfully twirled the wheel. Was the steering OK? I'd heard some suspicious noises the previous day and had topped up the hydraulic fluid. Unable to bleed the system at sea (a two-person job) everything had seemed OK although the autopilot hadn't liked the combination of a small following swell, strong wind and not much sail. I'd been hand-steering on and off for several hours. Hmm, well if anything was going to be bled at this point it was going to be me.
Due to the overly-optimistic depth gauge I sailed over the bar in 15 metres of water (yeah, that'll be right then) whilst experiencing at least two metres of swell. Hmm, 3.8metres at LAT plus 1.68 metres of tide, less swell and draught, never mind. Then the next fright occurred. A sharp left turn (left hand down a lot Chief) was called for by the next transit. There was no doubt, straining 'me rheumy old eyes' I could clearly see the transit and the faithful IPad agreed. The only slight problem was the line breaking, nay foaming water that seemed to parallel a line between me and the transit marks. Would I be inside, outside or in, said line? Straight ahead for a bit was not an option. I turned.
Just inside the line of breaking nay foaming water, I waited a few minutes to avoid unanticipated embarrassment then informed the Coastguard that I was inside the bar and mine was a large single malt please.
Once in the Great Sandy Straight, so called because the area of water between Fraser island and the mainland is straight and there's a hell of a lot of sand about, I had a pleasant run up to turn off to Garry's place. The tide had turned but the wind over tide chop wasn't bad at all so once I turned out of the main channel and got in the lee of Fraser Island I rolled away the pocket handkerchief and motored. It was an extremely intricate channel on the chart and the various posts and the one transit appeared to bear absolutely no relationship to what was on the chart. I stuck to the chart (on the IPad). The IPad informed me it was low on battery power. 10% was remaining. I increased speed (the engine at the moment for reasons best known to itself has agreed to deliver full power when asked). I now had 9% battery remaining and I estimated that I probably needed at least 25% battery to complete the trip along the intricate channel whose markers, when they occurred, appeared not to bear any resemblance to the channel. The IPad is charged by the inverter and although it's a portable inverter the connections between it and the battery bank are inside the cabin. Oh well, at least it's all sand and mud. Except that there was a 20kt wind blowing. I discovered that the connections would stretch far enough to allow the IPad to rest on the cabin step. Slight problem you can't charge the IPad in it's waterproof housing and water can splash up through the cockpit drain and onto the cabin step.
The IPad survived the experience and I had a sound sleep. Contrary to a suspicion (and Denis's comment) about anchorages on the route to Darwin, it was flat calm overnight even though there was 'a bit of a breeze' blowing. I now see there is a 3G signal, so I will send this off if it lasts.
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