The last outpost

We had been told Cairns was the end of the road, and then in Cairns we were told Cooktown is the end of the line. We therefore expected the locals in the region to include misfits: runaways hiding in the farthest place they could run to while still having access to some conveniences of twenty-first century life. We only arrived in Cooktown yesterday, but the people we have met over the last few weeks, particularly the locals (many of whom are from elsewhere), have been fabulous, and we’ve had more in common with these folk than many we’ve met along the way! Hmmm. Maybe we just fit right in …

Blown away

We spent a few days at Hope Island, where the wind blew night and day. At Cooktown it appears to do the same. Further south we’ve observed the wind easing off at night and starting again in the morning as the land heats up. At around 15 degrees latitude, we’re now experiencing the trade winds, apparently. We are again sheltering from several days of even stronger winds forecast. A local advised that the key to Cooktown’s wind was the last two digits of the high pressure system in the (Great Australian) bight, i.e. if it’s showing 1020 hectopascals it will be blowing 20 knots at Cooktown. No doubt we’ll be checking to see if this theory holds true.

Cook’s nook

It was with mixed feelings that we wandered the bank of the Endeavour River, over the alleged location of Captain Cook’s beaching of the Endeavour 244 years ago, to repair the hull after its close encounter with Endeavour Reef. Cook’s extraordinary navigational and ‘seamanship’ skills are awe-inspiring and legendary, and it seems, unlike many of his time (and our own), Cook respected indigenous people. But it’s hard to walk here and not think of the devastating impact on Aboriginal people that was to follow. How different might history have been if this mob of rugged, ragged and talented sailors had been, like so many others, a little less lucky …

Scary hair no more!

Fresh water is a precious resource when you are on the move, you know it probably won’t rain any time soon and you’re not sure when you’ll next be able to fill the tanks, so it’s hard to justify wasting something so precious on frivolities like rinsing out shampoo (unless you have a freshwater stream close by, of course).

Some sage had informed the Matey that it’s impossible to wash hair with seawater: you can’t achieve a lather, can’t get it clean, etc. This seemed reasonable enough considering how thick and frizzy hair feels after swimming in salt water. However, moved by necessity, Matey decided to test this belief, and would like it to be known henceforth that it’s been debunked! A little extra shampoo was required to achieve a good lather and following conditioning and rinsing with salt water, Matey used perhaps a litre of fresh water to rinse the salt water out. The happy result was hair that feels almost as clean and soft as if washed in fresh water. Hallelujah!

Scotch o'clock at Hope Island with other boat people

Sunrise at Hope Island

Cooktown sky

Cooktown fish 'n' chips get the nod

Cooktown sunset 

Bloomfield Falls and lovely locals (err, mostly)

This must be an impressive sight in the wet season

Next stop was the Bloomfield River. We decided to shelter from the strong winds forecast for the next few days, and about ten km up the river is a waterfall, which of course had to be investigated!

The Bloomfield is a beautiful river and crawling with crocs. OK, the Matey does exaggerate, but only slightly. We’ve been told that for every croc you do see there are four you don’t see. Obviously it’s the ones you don’t see that you need to worry about.

One hears many croc stories in FNQ. Not all of them are necessarily true. Some southerners we had encountered in the Daintree told us the crocs in the Bloomfield were hungry, that until recently there had been a regular supply of feral horses drinking at the river. For whatever reason, the horses had been removed and the crocs were now hungry … true? Who knows, but it was enough to put us off dinghying in the inflatable, TLC, towards the waterfall.

Wujal Wujal, an indigenous community, is beside the river a short distance from the waterfall. We decided to set out on foot (to keep the weight down we left bikes behind in Cairns) and try our luck hitching. We had walked perhaps ten metres when a 4WD pulled over. It already had four people in it but, hey, no problem, they rearranged themselves and made room for us. They were from Wujal Wujal, and one lovely man chatted all the way there. He worked at the local sewerage facility and had an admirable sense of humour about it. They could not have been nicer and would have been happy to drive us out of their way to the waterfall, but we were keen for some exercise, having not expected to get a lift so quickly, so we set out on foot from Wujal Wujal.

The waterfall was stunning. Access beyond the path in required clambering over rocks, something we have become quite adept at with practise. At the base of the waterfall on the right is a small swimming hole with deep, cold water — very welcome after picking your way over the rocks to reach it. The croc-expert southerners had also told us that on a previous visit they had seen a croc lurking at the edge of the much larger pool, so we didn’t risk swimming in that, tempting as it was and unlikely as this story seemed, as a croc would have had to climb over a considerable distance of rapids to get there. We regretted not having thought to ask the people who gave us a lift if it was safe to swim here. Somehow it seemed their information would have been far more reliable …

The waterfall was worth the climb and our rock hopping skills were put to good use as three intrepid young Japanese travellers arrived at the end of the path to the waterfall as we were leaving. We exchanged greetings and found at least one of them was keen to go further but lacked the confidence/experience to climb recklessly over the rocks. We ended up showing all three the easiest way through a slightly precarious section, and they seemed very pleased about it. No tour bus for these kids!

Coming home it took longer to get a lift, as not many cars were going our way. Eventually, we got a lift from another local and his two very friendly dogs. He did drive out of his way to drop us at the boat ramp, and, being a former boat person himself, he even offered us showers (we assumed this was due to familiarity with the lifestyle rather than our personal aromas as we’d just been swimming). He had a different perspective on  the local crocs and thought taking the inflatable dinghy up the river wouldn’t be a problem.

So, what better way to spend another day waiting for conditions to improve than dinghying in an inflatable past the gaping mouths of crocs basking in the sun for another waterfall fix? While we timed our trip for just before and after high tide, this proved interesting as the river was in parts still quite shallow with a stony base, which necessitated slowing right down. Hmmm. Not really advisable in croc territory. Poor Captain’s little heart was aflutter at one point as a croc slid into the river as we passed.

Unfortunately though, the Matey didn’t get any photos of the exquisite river vista as she was completely absorbed in watching the water for snags and crocs and poised ready with both hands wielding her croc-clobbering implement, the spare paddle, ready for action should any come too close. Fortunately, the weapon of croc distraction was not required.

(Postscript. As the Matey uploads this we have just sighted dolphins in the Bloomfield River. Matey, of course, feared for their safety but Captain was of the view that they’re much faster and smarter than crocs. It appears he was right as we’ve just seen them again on their way back towards the entrance. Phew!)

Spot the Capt for an indication of scale

Ok, not a great photo, but do the doubters believe me now?

Capt impersonates wallaby

Goliath

The Daintree is such a beautiful place. While it hasn’t escaped the impact of white settlement and contains many introduced species, in places you can still imagine yourself to be in a pristine wilderness. 

We were fortunate to find a relatively inaccessible spot to anchor for a few days, inside a small inlet, nicely protected by sandbanks and with enough breeze still reaching us to mean the sandflies weren’t too ferocious. It’s at times like these we’re particularly grateful to be in a catamaran drawing only 50 cm — at low tide we were virtually sitting on the bottom. We anchored near a hideaway shack on land someone years ago had managed to claim, and keep. Otherwise we were surrounded by national park. We met the lovely caretakers of this idyllic spot, who were very warm and welcoming, making our stay even more enjoyable. They were happy for us to use their freshwater creek, which meant the luxury of ‘baths’ and the joy of clean hair!

Our hosts told us about a 5.5 metre croc living in the inlet. Sure, sure, we thought, an exaggerated story to entertain the visitors. But, then we saw him. They didn’t lie. Looking towards the fork in the inlet even myopic Matey had no trouble seeing this monster swimming along. Binoculars confirmed his size. According to our host he was most likely on his way to visit one of his girlfriends in another section of the inlet. Well, it is mating season after all, but this also means crocs can be more aggressive and territorial. Goliath is apparently around 70 years old so has survived the days when crocs were shot on sight. We were told that some years before, a previous caretaker had from time to time fired potshots near Goliath, ‘just so he knows who’s boss’, so fortunately for us he has apparently retained some fear of humans. We were also told he had probably been up to check us out ...

Tempting fate

Despite having been told that Goliath was unlikely to bother us, Matey isn’t overly keen to take chances with large reptiles that look like they’ve just plodded out of the Mesozoic Era. As our sojourn on Goliath’s patch progressed, Matey had cause to be especially grateful that he had things on his mind other than becoming better acquainted with us. Captain is not always relaxed (!) but sometimes he is overly so. The night before we were to depart, we were arriving back at the boat after another evening of drinks and dinner with our hosts, when it was apparent that TC had dragged slightly in the full-moon tide and the stern anchor (we had two anchors down as there wasn’t much swinging room) needed to be brought up and repositioned.

Hmmm. It’s night time so visibility isn’t good, but fortunately the moon is helping out. Nevertheless, it’s not an operation Matey is particularly keen to perform at night with a hungry Goliath potentially lurking nearby. Somebody (!) had forgotten he left the fishing line out, and it’s now twisted around the stern anchor rope. Ok, that is sorted out via lots of activity on the back steps, just a little too close to the water/Goliath’s lair for comfort, though. No fish … or maybe Goliath gobbled it ... Hmmm. Then out in the dinghy to reposition the anchor. Matey drives dinghy while Capt lets out the rope. Oops. Stop. Back to the boat. Not enough rode out so it needs to be untied from TC. Back to easing it out. Oops. Tidal flow is still strong. We’re going backwards. Stop while Capt pulls rope in. Stop. Back. Stop. Forwards. Oops. Dinghy engine stalls. Said rope is now tangled around propeller blades. Oh goody. We’re without engine, floating in an inflatable ‘croc’s teething ring’, at night and in water where a 5.5 metre monster lurks. This would, of course (!!!), be the first time we’ve ever been silly enough to let rope tangle in the blades. Sigh. Poor Matey has to heave the motor up and lean over the water and put hands in water to untangle blades: slop slop. ‘Hello Goliath? Are you hungry? Dinner’s served’. Fortunately he’s deaf or otherwise occupied as he doesn’t show, blades are untangled, rope pulled in, motor restarted, anchor repositioned, rope eased out, dinghy is back at TC and Capt and Matey clamber gratefully back on board. Phew!

Postscript. Not all crocs are likely to be so timid (or conveniently otherwise occupied), and Matey is not keen find out if they are. Surprisingly, though, when one is actually a wee bit uneasy about one’s predicament, however short-lived, Matey is pleased to report that profanities were not to be heard and calm reigned!

Shifting sands and a row of ancient paperbarks is no more.

Ahhh … fan palms ...

Sunset at Cape Tribulation

Horizontal trees

Cape Tribulation in background

If only more coconut palms grew at this angle ...

View on entering the Bloomfield River

TC anchored in the Bloomfield

Mouth of the Bloomfield River at sunset

Three years on a boat

Hard to believe it may be, but it’s three years since we moved aboard TC. While we’ve had some ‘land breaks’, Captain, Matey and TC have been together for most of that time. We’ve all had a few ‘moments’ and the odd hissyfit, along with highlights and lowlights. As with any dwelling, once lived in for a while, imperfections and irritations become evident with time. For example, low bridge deck clearance could be perceived as a design flaw in TC (it creates a slopping/slapping sound even when we’re in near calm waters), which Capt has ruminated over on numerous occasions. A somewhat exasperated Matey recently had to tell the poor old Captain to either end his relationship with TC or accept such imperfections lovingly. They do add to TC’s unique character after all.

We’re finally on the move again, heading north. At Port Douglas we spotted our first Crocodylus Porosus in the ‘wild’ — also our nearest neighbour. After so long with not a croc to be seen we were surprised to see one so close to human habitation. Matey attempted to snap this exciting new development from the dinghy but our new buddy coyly disappeared beneath the surface. As soon as it started to move Capt moved too — very fast — as he revved the dinghy engine and we were off. No good photos to be had that day. Our new friend was basking somewhere on our stretch of the inlet each day, so we moved nearer to the entrance as he was starting to look cute with just the top of his head and back protruding through the surface, reminding the Matey of an amicable dog. No doubt if teeth had been visible too the Matey also would have been reminded of the reptilian reality of our new pal. We’ve since reminded ourselves that in these parts inflatable dinghies such as ours are known as ‘croc teething rings’ so it’s best not to allow oneself to think any croc looks friendly enough to invite to scotch o’clock. Sigh. Matey would just have to look elsewhere for new friends …

Soon the opportunity arose. It was a quick trip to the Low Isles from Port Douglas. As soon as we were moored several turtles came by to say 'hello' and a group of batfish swam straight over and anchored themselves at TC’s rear. At dinnertime a large giant trevally and some other yet-to-be-identified, shark-shaped fish with what looked like suction pads on their ‘heads’ competed with the batfish for the occasional scrap. Clearly all associated boats with free food, and were happy to let us know. It was tempting to encourage a feeding frenzy, though we restrained ourselves as best we could from creating scavengers who presumably would be made unhealthy by unnatural food. With little wind, next morning was almost perfect for snorkeling, and several giant clams were spotted.

The one

It's essential to have a good ‘the one that got away’ story, so Capt celebrated our three-year anniversary by catching a big mackerel. A superb looking fish it was, and clever too, as it extricated itself from the line while poor old Captain was still admiring it and his own fishing prowess. Matey had resigned herself to the need for fishing while we’re in the remote north, and therefore the need to despatch some of her lovely fishy friends, but she secretly and silently cheered Mr Mackerel’s lucky escape. Poor old Captain is already lamenting how sorry we’ll be when we’ve run out of food …

Today we pulled in at the southern end of the Daintree and following a dinghy reconnoiter and depth testing we carefully entered a creek, where we’re now nicely protected from the swell behind a sand bar. The view is superb.

Hanging stores include limes to avoid scurvy!

The croc looks like a submerged log directly in front of mangrove at right.

We met up with Craig for lunch aboard Wavedancer at the Low Isles 

Wavedancer

We had sunset drinks with Jan, Bob and Mal from Charisma at the Low Isles, with this view.

The Daintree beckons