Having seen the sunset from 95% elevation it was time to see whatsunrise looked like at 50% where there was a chance to keep out of any sneaky breezes. With the moon high in the sky, the low tide allowed ribbons of pink interspersed with dark shadows of sand to provide a delicate and beautiful reflector of colours ofthe morning sky.
We headed back for a leisurely breakfast and progressive pack. The aim was to be on the water by 09:30 at the latest. Unlike our trip over this was a deadline and as it turnedout it we would have been better served to have left around08:30.
The now infamous dugong waypoint had us travelling SE in spectacular turquoise waters. I was not convinced we would see anything as the sea floor while shallow remained barren. An occasional dark shadow become a clump of grass around 12 feet indiameter, a mere biscuit snack for the obligate grazers. More shadows. Then did one move ? Maybe, maybe not but grass can’t thump and it certainly doesn’t have that tail. The same shape and size tail with the same thump that kept me transfixedas Mark was being shunted by a dugong off Snipe Island. The shadows were moving and they were not taking flight. There were around 15 or so, some with calves. We spent around 25 minutes quietly drifting or paddling amongst small groups of thesebeautiful creatures. It was whale watching kayak size. While some were curious, they remained dastardly difficult to photograph. They come up so infrequently, and when they do theyare small and do not take a leisurely look the way whales are inclined too.
With Brian ticking another want to do experience in style, the tide was not waiting and we started the crossing in earnest as signalled by the dramatic change in the water colour from turquoise to deep emerald. Such a long time sitting and continuing to drink of water can have painful consequences for female paddlers. This is tricky territory. It requires a special technique which risks an involuntary swim. Maybe do dry runs on a special skills day.
After much laughter and Brian’s gentlemanly discretion it was allsmiles and destination St Helena. The place I had said all along had been obscured by the city profile, but do you think anyone was listening ? It can be a long haul, especially when towards the end, the tide has turned and you have it and distance tocontend with. Another reason to have left at 08:30.
With the ebbing tide a slight NE was not enough to turn the sail but itdid push up a tiny ruffle. I was milked it for all it had to offer and was chipped for surfing. We missed cutting though the NE lagoon by inches – 30 minutes earlier or a higher tide and it would have been a direct route amongst the solitary mangroves before we pulled into a most welcome NW beach. Hungry for lunch, in need of a stretch and time for some sheltered sunny warmth. Little wonder it was fast becoming Brian’s favourite beach. We watched with vague interest as Mark swilled mud out of a glass bottle, I said I would rather he look for a brick. I need not have commented for I found a precious brick buried in the sand and Mark, it turned out had a one pint glass bottle in mint condition.
It was time to continue, with my prized brick tucked up next to my seat for the final leg to Wynnum Creek. This last leg can seem to take forever. We were now around a midway through an ebb tide. There is particularly unpleasant mud off the shoreline, so Mark I decided not to risk the shortcut Brian had chosen and went for the depth of the D’arcy Light. When we turned for shore was when we copped it. A 10 to 15 knot due westerly. The kind thatreally tests your stamina over distance. The kind of blow that Iwas dreading when we were out in the middle of the bay. A forecast is merely that, a chances are scenario. While at times eerily accurate, you cannot hold the BOM to account if doesn’t play out. If you tire to the point of danger of falling out of your boat and find yourself unexpectedly in the drink you are there for a reason, and it is usually not a good one. Sure people poke fun at the gear we carry, but I doubt few match the capacity we have to call for help.
I was so grateful, positively happy to be facing the westerly now, for we only had 32 minutes on the water, not hours of it. It is this kind of change that is the reason for Mark’s sending the e-mail he did.
When we landed and had unloaded, I was feeling like an arthritic old feline. It was time to head home for an enthusiastic furry welcome, a hot shower and a welcome meal. Next time I would like to head towards Moreton via the Rous Channel. By then the dominant ginger will have either undergone behaviour re-training, continue with the kids next door, or who knows maybe he will have moved on. Whichever, he will always be an intelligent, adaptable and peculiar feline with a place in our hearts, certainly not a crab pot – not even Ray could do that to the one he affectionately calls Feral.
