| Crossing the gulf, A whale of a time |
 |
| No big deal, crossing the Gulf of Carpenteria, just 370 nm, a couple of days, no problem. We up-anchored at TI at 7.00am, and motor sailed off with the tide in a strong current so that by the hospital on the SW corner, we were doing 12.5 knots in neutral! What a buzz, turned off the engine and trolled out the lures with 15 knots sneding us on our fast way to Booby Island. THEN WE TURNED LEFT! Well what a mess! For the next 24 hours the wind blew at 25-30 knots and the 3 metre chop/swell just stood up in lumps like around the sea mountain on the way to Lord Howe! Alistair the Autohelm could handle the wind but not the swell and spat the dummy, so we took turns at the helm. With a reefed main and near full headsail we were doing a current assisted 9 knots over the ground, bucking and twisting just south of our rumbline. Now, I've said it before, and I'll say it again, rough passage-making is the closest thing to childbirth! When you're going through it you promise your body if you get through alive, you'll never put it in that position again, never ever! Then, like childbirth, something incredible happens and you're on such an emotional high you forget the pain and anguish, and the promise flys out the window! What we experienced that afternoon, even the Duck admits was pretty incredible! About 2.00pm a large pod of enormous black, round-headed "dolphins" about 40-50, from 6 - 12ft long, decided to escort us. [We've since identified them as short-finned pilot whales] They surfed along beside us in the swell, eyeball to eyeball beside the cockpit, taking turns under the bow. At one stage they were 6 abreast, 3 deep right under Destiny's bow. It was like looking down on an open tin of huge sardines! Then one would peel off and make way for another, only to swim back again ten minutes later. We started to recognise them by their distinctive fins as they surfed in to take up position, some battle-worn and scarred, others bent with chunks missing. The sounds were incredible. On deck we could hear them clicking and squealing to each other, but below decks it was like being under a tree of cicadas. I wish we'd been able to translate. We tried clicking an bit ourselves and tapping the hull, which they seemd to like as they stayed with us for over 2 hours! At one stage half a dozen much smaller, lighter, bottle-nosed dolphins tried to get in on the act, but were driven off with much tail slapping. There was a team of 4 syncronised swimmers who did everything in perfect unison, with smaller whales on the outskirts of the pod broaching and somersaulting like circus tumblers. The talent scout from Circ de Soliel [?] would have had a field day! We nearly joined them in the drink trying to capture their antics on camera, but are reactions were too slow, so all we got were lots of splashes, as you do - SORRY. |
| Then suddenly as if on a given signal they peeled off and swam south over the horizon leaving us lonely but elated. That night was still rough, but next day the wind dropped to a manageble 20 knots, the swell was more consistent [we were in deeper water] so Alistair resumed control. Next night there was an incredible full moon casting a ribbon of light on the ocean for us to sail down, so with the Three Tenors blasting "O solo mio" from the aft speakers, the trials and tribulations of the previous 24 hours were forgotten. At daylight we spotted Veronica Island exactly where it should be, and sailed into Gove harbour for breakfast. 370nm in 50 hours, we were pretty chuffed. |