Bumping Along the Great Sandy

Running under foresail through the Great Sandy Strait. Photo: Kevin Green

This feature article originally appeared in AFLOAT Magazine and forms part of our latest edition of boating features exploring cruising adventures, sailing destinations and life aboard.

The reward for running the gauntlet of the Wide Bay Bar is the maritime Eden that is the Great Sandy National Park. Running about 50 nautical miles north from the south end of Fraser Island near the mainland at Inskip Point, it’s a sandy, muddy and shallow waterway; yet holds many attractions for the cruising sailor. I contemplated all this from the cockpit of my 25 foot quarter tonner Skyebird, having celebrated the crossing of the treacherous bar with some tots of rum, and reflecting on the fascinating voyage from Sydney that began two years before. That voyage had started as a post-Covid reaction that prompted me to tick-off some bucket list items; just in case the world stopped spinning on its axis again.

Tin Can Bay

From Inskip Point I motored along the twisty channel west to the famed cruising destination of Tin Can Bay just before a westerly began blowing hard, prompting me to anchor as near the western shore as the shallows allowed, while I awaited enough water to reach the marina. The narrow and shallow channel into the marina had to be approached at high tide, otherwise Skyebird‘s 4.5 foot keel would ground. Tin Can Bay is home to dozens of liveaboards nestled in surrounding creeks, many on drying-out catamarans. It’s been known to be hit by severe weather – as numerous wrecked yachts around me attested to – but is fairly snug. Attractions include a cute yacht club, IGA supermarket and excellent marina bistro with friendly fishing tackle shop that sells blocks of ice. And fuel of course, because the two-stroke Freddy Mercury outboard enjoyed his petrol and lashings of oil. Strolling around town, I read somewhere, maybe it was the RSL, that the village’s rather unflattering name may have come from the indigenous Gubbi Gubbi people’s word for mangroves – tinchin – and there were plenty of that green vegetation, along with biting midges. European settlement began around the 1870s as an outpost where logs were floated up-river to timber mills in Maryborough. Originally known as Wallu, it grew from a sleepy timber and oyster hub into a thriving coastal village, officially adopting the name Tin Can Bay in 1937. About 45 minutes drive from the major town of Gympie, Tin Can retains its quiet charm, especially for us boaters.

A few days later with the ice chest full of fresh meat and other victuals I took the ebb tide north to one of the most famous places in the region, Gary’s Anchorage on Fraser Island. Apologies for the overuse of the word ‘shallow’ but that was the main feature as Skyebird wound its way north on the ebb tide beside emerging mudbanks while the views west were of heavily wooded hills because this is a major forestry region with sparse population. The Navionics chart, depth sounder and the MK1 Eyeball had to be well used on the narrow approach behind Stewart Island where I rounded the west cardinal mark to reach the sheltered Gary’s Anchorage. The thick mud now became my friend, giving the CQR anchor good holding for a few days. Dingoes howling in the evening mixed with birdsong sounded surreal. Little did I know that during the ensuing days of my jogging through the bush here that a woman was attacked on the other side of the island by a pack of dingoes and nearly killed. The new inflatable kayak was used for fishing but the flatheads weren’t biting. Swimming was done sparingly, given the rumours of some resident crocodiles and the opaque water, but despite a few yacht comings and goings, it was a tranquil and sheltered anchorage.

Bumping

Sailing north a few days later with a light following wind I passed several grounded yachts and nearly came a cropper myself when misreading the chart. The view from Skyebird‘s cockpit was of clear azure blue waters, mixed with patches of green as we glided over sand and mud under genoa. The small Skyebird has the advantage of being nimble – something I put to the test at the shallowest part of the entire Great Sandy Strait at Sheridan Flats. Despite knowing that I should really wait for more water, along with the pleas to do so from anchored yacht crews, I forged on for the two mile narrows with Skyebird at times bumping and ploughing through the mud. This was just about possible until the northeasterly ramped-up and put me on a lee shore. So, I quickly fired-up Freddy who released a large plume of blue smoke in anguish, then sheeted in hard to heel Skyebird right over, thus reducing her draught, which allowed us to claw our way through the shallows; watched on by the amazed catamaran crowd. Not to be recommended by diligent sailors but the serene anchorage at Sheridan Flats was worth the drama. After canoeing ashore, I followed dingo tracks, scrambled through the bush and in the shallows tickled my toes on resting stingrays. Spectacular western sunsets were enjoyed and Skyebird‘s tiny cabin was given a tidy. The two burner metho stove was lit to cook a most unusual fish I’d just caught. Long and thin with silvered skin and an elongated toothy jaw, my guidebook told me I’d landed a wolf herring. The amount of tiny bones in each mouthful certainly reminded me of the North Sea herrings I used to catch back home.

Deck work included Skyebird‘s teak toerail which was given a coating of linseed oil. Domestic power comes from two 250KW solar panels which input to three 120 amp hour marine lead acid batteries. Located just ahead of the fin keel, these heavy batteries also help Skyebird going to windward and reduce her tenderness in general. Another domestic item, bought during a year of cruising around the often rainy Gold Coast, was a two kilowatt petrol generator. Combined with a smart charger its job is to keep Skyebird powered-up as my floating office, no matter the weather. Yet, after buying it, sunshine seems to have been the norm. However, it can also operate any 240 AC power tools I bring aboard.

Dragging

A few days later, a southerly wind propelled me further north under headsail alone. Gliding past high cliffs on Fraser just beyond Alligator Creek and then the long channel into the settlement of River Heads, which proved difficult because of the outflow from two rivers. The old industrial town of Maryborough is worth a visit but it’s a long motor up the partly rocky river, so I’ve visited it by car instead later in the voyage. The old facades where naval ships, heavy machinery for sugar mills and other industries once operated now looks forlorn but the central streets remain busy with holiday traffic and yachts still anchor off the town. The famous east coast Tilt Train passes through it, making it one of the few places in the region to pick-up crew.

Inside the estuary of the Mary River, nearly proved my undoing, just like the bad anchorage I’d chosen at Bruny Island. I’d only come here to pick-up my own crew, an old friend who’d join me for two days. Two main rivers feed the estuary, the Mary and the smaller Susan River. Anchoring near the mouth of the latter in shallow water led to a crazy night of multiple anchor drags, setting a second anchor and nearly careering into several boats. Fortunately, I’d recently bought a powerful LED torch, which guided me to clear water during the inky dark night. Exhausted, by daylight I wearily met my friend Dave at the jetty at River Heads and was glad to reach some open water.

A pleasant reach across to Fraser Island and the famous Kingfisher Resort allowed us time to recall our childhood boating adventures in the far north of Scotland. Dave had gone on to become a commercial skipper while I worked as commercial fisherman for a time. Anchoring off the resort proved tricky with only a few shallow areas, already taken by other boats, so we found ourselves clinging to a slopping sandy shelf as the tide ripped through. This eventually fouled my anchor rode, and I cursed myself of not using my anchor weight which would have allowed Skyebird to swing safely. Another challenge here is the beach approach due to the vast mudflats but my new inflatable kayak paid for itself by allowing us to lift it right up to the resort bar to await the rising tide for the homeward paddle.

Over a few cold beers at the Sunset Bar at Kingfisher Resort on Fraser, we both agreed that the warm Australian waters were preferable to our childhood ones of the North Atlantic. The Sunset Bar is a popular watering hole for many yachties, so we swapped information on tackling the northern coast and the islands around Hervey Bay. One sailor recalled how a whale had badly damaged his yacht and advised running the engine when Humpbacks were near. Fraser’s west coast is a boaters’ heaven because most of the land-tourism is on the east side, where the beach is an official highway and full of four wheel yahoos. They are often preyed upon by packs of dingoes that have adapted well to barbecued food and bared bottoms. Yet, I’ve enjoyed doing some four wheel drives there myself, along its vast beaches where swimming is wonderful. Another attraction is the famous wreck, towards the northern end. The Scottish built SS Maheno, an ocean liner belonging to the Union Company of New Zealand that washed ashore while under tow in 1935.

The next day Dave and I sailed north past yet more islands. Big Woody and Little Woody, where the waters disappeared rapidly in the three metre plus tidal range. These thickly forested hummocks were well named by Matthew Flinders. The bigger island has an early colonial lighthouse, dating back to 1866. Beyond that, the busy tourist settlement of Urangan hove into view; our destination. With three marinas inside its breakwater, I motored into the first one, the Great Sandy Strait Marina, to give Skyebird, Freddy and the skipper some shore leave.

This feature article originally appeared in AFLOAT Magazine. To explore more stories like this, browse the AFLOAT Magazine archive or view the latest edition of AFLOAT Magazine.