"An extensive mass of dangers” was how Captain Matthew Flinders famously described the Recherche Archipelago. That is not exactly what you want to read in your cruising guide. I was initially inclined to give the whole area a wide berth, as sensible navigators should. Of course, thanks to twenty-first century charts, the potential for danger is now manageable, and the risk is further reduced by opting for daylight sailing.
The Dutch navigators, François Thijssen and Pieter Nuyts, were the first to sail past the archipelago as they charted a significant portion of Australia’s southern coast. It was not until 1792 however, that it was named the "Archipelago of the Recherche" (L'Archipel de la Recherche) by French Rear-Admiral Antoine Bruni d'Entrecasteaux, after one of his ships, Recherche ("Research").
Before we could depart from Daw Island, we fixed the second reefing line that had jammed the previous day. Weighing anchor at 10:35, brought up a huge mass of seaweed that took several minutes to remove. Once clear of the cove, a 15-knot easterly propelled us along at six knots. We were doubly reefed, expecting stronger winds, but the most we encountered was 18 knots. Our destination was the north coast of Middle Island, but as the wind swung to the northeast, the northern anchorages became less attractive. Instead we headed for The Keyhole on the southern side of the island. This dramatic deep-water anchorage is surrounded by tall cliffs, a safe haven from all but southwest seas. We ventured ashore to a speck of beach that was too small even for our dinghy, choosing to anchor it and swim the final stretch.
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| Middle Island anchorages. |
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| The Keyhole, looking out to sea. |
We departed early the next morning, at 05:36, ensuring ample daylight hours to reach our next destination. Four hours later, with the wind blowing ten knots from the northeast, we replaced the jib with the gennaker to boost our speed to six knots. At 13:29, having traveled 36 nautical miles, we anchored on the eastern shore of Lucky Bay for lunch and a swim. Located in the Cape Le Grand National Park, the bay is renowned for its bright white sands and turquoise-coloured waters, and we were not disappointed. Our ninety-minute stop was all too brief.
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| Lucky Bay. |
At 16:00 we jibed into Esperance Bay, so named by d'Entrecasteaux after this second ship, the Espérance (meaning “hope”), and two and half hours later, we were anchored at the town of the same name. We were keen to dine at the Taylor Street Quarters, a stylish restaurant on the foreshore. In retrospect, perhaps we were a little too keen. Enjoying our sumptuous Sri Lankan curry, washed down with a fine Western Australian Semillon Sauvignon Blanc (an “SSB” to locals), we were oblivious to the gusty conditions developing out in the bay. It was only when walking back to the boat that we noticed that Arriba had drifted and was almost on the beach, north of the boat ramp. It was high tide and the onshore wind was driving Arriba further ashore. Desperate to avoid ending up in even shallower water, we deployed a kedge anchor and spent the next few hours securing Arriba in place. We fell asleep at 01:00, as there was nothing else we could do until the wind abated.
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| Beached at Esperance. |
We had a parade of curious onlookers the following morning, including some elderly ocean swimmers who wondered why a boat was blocking their usual swimming path. An official from the Port of Esperance, operated by Southern Ports, also paid us a visit. He gave me the name of a local salvage operator, whom I called and later came by, offering advice that we would probably float off at the next high tide. That was not until 19:45 and I didn’t particularly want to wait that long. So I borrowed a shovel and set to work excavating under the rudder and mini-keel. To counter the tendency of the fine sand to slump into the hole as quickly as it was removed, every load of sand had to be dumped a distance from the boat. After thirty strenuous minutes, I could punch into the sand and feel the bottom of the rudder. I was getting close!
In the meantime, we had secured bow and stern lines to a strong mooring, and emptied our water tanks to lighten our load. The fine sand meant that no damage had been inflicted on Arriba. It also explained why the holding in the bay was so poor, a fact that is not mentioned in any cruising guides.
Shoveling and kedging aside, there was one more trick we had at our disposal. Taking advantage of the fact that there is almost no weight in the stern of catamarans (nor in the bow), it is possible to use a dinghy as a giant lift bag. This is best explained with reference to the diagram below. This technique requires placing two lines over on the top of the dinghy (on boards to protect the rubber), then under the transoms and up the exterior of the hull, with one winched on the port side and the other on the starboard side. Winching the lines pushes the dinghy down, which in turn raises the stern.
Success! The dinghy lift bag raised Arriba a critical 15cm (6”). At 16:24, a full three hours before high tide, we floated off and bid farewell to Esperance. I made a note that there was a marina at Esperance, operated by the Esperance Bay Yacht Club, and berths are very affordable.
Ninety minutes later we turned for Cape Vancouver, named in honour of Captain George Vancouver in 1791. Technically, he named it Couverden after his family's hometown of Coevorden in the Netherlands and it was later anglicized. George Vancouver was a contemporary of James Cook, and served under him on both Cook’s second (1772-1775) and third (1776-1780) voyages of discovery to the Pacific.
Shortly after taking my midnight watch, I adjusted our course slightly to ensure we cleared the north coast of Investigator Island, named after Captain Matthew Flinders’ ship. Four hours later, we passed the island, and were able to again set our course for Cape Vancouver. The light winds necessitated motor sailing through the night and morning. Eventually, early afternoon, with a nine-knot wind from the southeast, we could finally turn off the engine. Raising the gennaker, we enjoyed fine sailing conditions for the next twenty hours, averaging over six knots.
The following midnight the wind dropped and swung to the northeast. With the wind abaft, we continued under mainsail alone, eking out five knots for the next few hours. At 03:52 we anchored at Whaling Cove, on the western shore of King George Sound. We had traveled 215 nautical miles and averaged 6.1 knots since leaving Esperance.
The following morning we toodled over to the Albany Waterfront Marina, where we berthed at the free visitor dock for a couple of hours. It was just long enough to enjoy breakfast ashore and a walk around town, including a visit to the obligatory second-hand book shop, Gemini’s. There is plenty to see in and around Albany, Western Australia’s third largest regional city, but a proper visit would have to wait until our return voyage. Fifteen days had already passed since we departed Adelaide, and we needed to be in Perth in only three days’ time.
Shortly after taking my midnight watch, I adjusted our course slightly to ensure we cleared the north coast of Investigator Island, named after Captain Matthew Flinders’ ship. Four hours later, we passed the island, and were able to again set our course for Cape Vancouver. The light winds necessitated motor sailing through the night and morning. Eventually, early afternoon, with a nine-knot wind from the southeast, we could finally turn off the engine. Raising the gennaker, we enjoyed fine sailing conditions for the next twenty hours, averaging over six knots.
The following midnight the wind dropped and swung to the northeast. With the wind abaft, we continued under mainsail alone, eking out five knots for the next few hours. At 03:52 we anchored at Whaling Cove, on the western shore of King George Sound. We had traveled 215 nautical miles and averaged 6.1 knots since leaving Esperance.
The following morning we toodled over to the Albany Waterfront Marina, where we berthed at the free visitor dock for a couple of hours. It was just long enough to enjoy breakfast ashore and a walk around town, including a visit to the obligatory second-hand book shop, Gemini’s. There is plenty to see in and around Albany, Western Australia’s third largest regional city, but a proper visit would have to wait until our return voyage. Fifteen days had already passed since we departed Adelaide, and we needed to be in Perth in only three days’ time.
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| Berthed in Albany, with Paul in foreground. |
We departed again at 09:53, and once around Peak Head were confronted with an unfavorable westerly headwind. By 16:30 we’d had enough of upwind sailing and decided to take a break at Dunksy Beach, where we enjoyed a rest followed by an early dinner. This anchorage overlooks a very pretty beach, but be aware of the shoal which lies 100m off the beach and is only 1.2 m deep at low tide.
Although conditions had not improved, we got underway again at 20:00, motor sailing through the night. The following morning the wind dropped off completely, before swinging to the south shortly before noon. We sailed until 18:30 when we lost the wind again, and resumed motoring.
It was during this leg of the journey we had a distressing conversation with Marine Rescue Western Australia (MRWA), after overhearing some search and rescue chatter on VHF channel 16. A solo sailor, named Maurice Saunderson, who had left Albany almost two weeks earlier had failed to reach his destination had just been reported missing. Sadly, his vessel’s EPIRB and debris would be later found washed up near Augusta. It is a poignant reminder of how unforgiving this stretch of coastline can be.
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| Marine Rescue vessel searching for missing sailor. |
We weighed anchor at 05:17 the following morning. We were within hailing distance of Cape Leeuwin, the most south-westerly point of mainland Australia, and one of the Great Capes (the others being South Africa’s Cape of Good Hope and South America's Cape Horn). The Dutch were the first navigators to sight the Cape in 1622, referring to the area as “Landt van de Leeuwin", meaning “The Land of the Leeuwin". Leeuwin, meaning "Lioness", was the name of their ship.
The Western Australian Cruising Guide (WACG) advises that when rounding Cape Leeuwin in good conditions to maintain a depth of 35 m, which yields a clearance of about 5 ½ nautical miles. However the conditions were so good that we kept within two nautical miles of the Cape. In adverse conditions, heavy swells would demand a much wider clearance.
At 13:10 we passed the famous surf beaches of Margaret River, tacking offshore to avoid entering one of the surf breaks. Five hours later, we were north of Cape Naturaliste. We set course for the northwest tip of Garden Island, with the intention of sailing through the night all the way to Fremantle. Although there was only six knots of wind, we were motor sailing at 7.3 knots using a single engine at 1,700 RPM.
By 20:00 the wind had died completely, and I became concerned that we would not make it all the way to Fremantle without refuelling. Therefore we changed course for Mandurah, and continued to motor at 1,700 RPM, averaging five knots. At that low RPM, Arriba's Volvo Penta D1-30F engines are remarkably fuel-efficient, consuming just one litre per hour, which is roughly a quarter of a US gallon per hour. So while we wouldn’t win any races, I knew we’d reach our destination.
Sliding through the placid waters of Geographe Bay, the powerful swells of the Southern Ocean were already a distant memory. As the sun rose, it was quite a shock to find ourselves offshore from civilization, the southern sprawl of Greater Perth.
By 08:24 we were docked at Mandurah. We put 216 litres of fuel into Arriba’s 240-litre tank and another 120 litres into six empty jerry cans. It would be another 31 nautical miles to the Fremantle Sailing Club, where we berthed at 14:08.
The numbers provide the data. We had traveled 1603 nautical miles in 18 days, anchored 11 times, spent 7 nights at sea, and used only 336 litres (~88 gallons) of fuel since leaving Adelaide.
The data is not the whole story though. We'd successfully crossed the Great Australian Bight, marveled at the spectacular Bunda Cliffs, explored the ruins of a town engulfed by sand, and observed nature in its most unspoiled, magnificent form, culminating in rounding one of the Great Capes. Witnessing the rugged, rarely-seen beauty of southern Australia on our voyage was an immense privilege.
Paul was returning to Melbourne in two days, but my Western Australian adventures were just beginning.
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| Reunited with family in Fremantle. |
OVER.
Sailing distances
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