This weekend's paddle was a bit like playing touch tag. We started out with five, changed players and eventually returned with three late on Monday. The kick off was a delayed by slackers who tried unsuccessfully to absolve their tardiness with a rapid pack on the muddy sand of Point O'Halloran. Leaving around midday
it was over to Coochie for some lunch before angling towards the intended destination of Caniapa. By now a firm 10Kn SE was hanging around promising a slow trudge. Sailing to Peel with the following sea looked like fun waiting to happen, but Blakesleys
prevailed. Turned out to be a great choice.
Tom shadowed Carol with her sail while we headed in a northern
direction to get some advantage off the wind. This eventually took me north of the Pelican Banks and for my effort I was the only one who did not get my feet wet. Given the wind we opted for the sheltered northern end of Blakesleys, another fortuitous
choice given the sheer numbers of people we later discovered camping on the southern side.
Mark's casual comment 'whose boat is that heading off ?' had me charging off down the beach but the squishy mud
and murky waters had me think twice about swimming for it, instead commandeering a boat. By now everyone had arrived and the distance to the campsite made wheels look a sensible proposition. Before long the tents were up and the firewood collected. The evening was mild, fire suitably hot and SE ensured that the smoke
went out to sea. There were no sandflies or mossies of consequence. I think you could say that we were the noisy northern yob element that evening before turning in around 9:30.
The following morning was a walk up the back of Blakesleys to find the lakes. The track was well defined and looked like it had little traffic. Dropping down over the back of a dune through some scrub we came across a bitumen road which ran along one side
of the first of the three lakes. There was no water to be seen as
the entire lake had been taken up by tall reeds. The ground was moist in places but certainly no swimming to be had. It was the same for the other two lakes.
The walk was interesting with the sandy track taking us past some revegetation that had been in
place from as early as 1979. Can't say what had been planted looked too successful with many trees fallen over and no secondary growth of any substance. Along the way a chain of prickly grubs making their way in tactile single file crossed the track. There were a couple of mischevious suggestions such as make the front one find the rear one, remove one from the middle, but in the end they were left to their own devices. A large stock pile of black
sand didn't look like it had been accessed for some time.
On the return walk fibrous cement nesting boxes were either in trees or waiting to be put up. Wooden boxes painted a pale green appeared to have fallen out of trees which wasn't surprising as some of the methods used to secure the boxes looked like they would either ring bark the tree or have little hope of hanging in
there. A white 4WD drove past, pulled over and a person put on a hard hat and came over. Turned out she was a research student assessing the revegetation. The nesting boxes were for sugar gliders and we were not supposed to be here as it was a part of Consolidated Rulite Ltd (as was Blakesleys). At no stage was there any signage to indicate this nor that it was a restricted area. Like to see the response they would get if they tried telling that to the people settled in at Blakelsleys.
By the time we arrived back in camp with firewood in tow we found many more launches and yachts out front. Scarla, Cathy, Mike, Dean and Chris had rocked up bringing the numbers up to 10. Lunch was had under the tarp. Carol produced a fabulous banana cake
with smooth cream cheese icing. Lunch was concluded with segments of a sweet Murray which Carol insisted on adding flavour too by rolling in the sand. As the tide receeded owners of a cruiser found out where not to park. Watching their vain attempts to push the craft into deeper water had Dean stride off to give a hand. The rest of us continued to watch and waved when Dean beckoned for back up. Even with back up this girl was stuck fast so the fat lab had a great day of it waddling around the beach unlike the soldier crabs who were in mortal danger.
After a 17C swim amongst the cruisers it was time to send off Tom, Mark, Dean and Chris. At the farewell a laundry bucket next to the stuck cruiser was filled to the brim with soldier crabs clambouring for their freedom. Scarla promptly negotiated their release with a bored three year old who was a keen prison warden. After gathering some more firewood it was into a hammock or a good book. Mark made friends with our
neighbours who were sorting out a previously felled tree. He triumphantly returned with a couple of heavyweight logs for the fire which was a beauty. Too bad about forgetting the marshmallows.
That night was still, clear and cooler than the previous. As the tide came in the cruiser finally made off into a setting sun to the cheers, whistles and applause from all ashore and on boats - don't think they will make that mistake again in a hurry. Scarla took sympathy on a teacher on a Duke of Edinburgh trip and helped him lug his kayak ashore and then invited him around for the evening. While there were promises of a sax serenade this was overwhelmed by 1980's music blaring off one of the many boats offshore. The southern yobs won the noise stakes but I think our fire would have been hard to surpass.
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