The shells were from the beach, and I split two sticks. A bit of twine and we had spoons . Very Robinson Crusoe to eat with shells, very Kees to forget the cutlery.

There are many things to ponder when you're on a 14-foot catamaran out at sea- especially if the coastline takes you more than an uncomfortable days' hike away from the road. On my trip to Cape Peron I thought that the sandy, shallow shelf surrounding the Shark Bay Peninsula would be perfect for sailing. The whole area is a 'World Heritage' site because of 'outstanding natural beauty and unique plant- and animal life'. I had this cunning plan....

It took some doing, though. We practised over Christmas on a trip from Bush Bay to Carnarvon. Did the thirty kilometres in just over 1 ½ hour! We tried some capsizes and proved once again that cats are happiest on their backs.
Hedging bets, got floats from my fisherman neighbour , tied them to the mast and rigged righting ropes. A marine VHF borrowed from Neil , Andy lent me his EPIRB and charts. I built a CB radio into my car and took a handheld too. Along came a spare stay, lots of rope, epoxy resin, gaffa tape and spare shackles. Forgot the spoons, though.

Early on Saturday morning we set out for Shelley beach- a 300 k drive. Mike and Nathalie were a bit green around the gills and uttered not a squeak until we fdiscovered that there was no launch at Shelley. Unhitching the trailer and shoving it for half an hour through soft sand and mud to the shore brought some colour to their faces. We had to wrestle the trailer back up the dune and also got Caramella stuck in the mountains of little shells- lots of digging to get her out.
Tired even before the start we set off with water and food for two days in the direction of Monkey Mia.

And it was beautiful beyond words. The shallows stretched for kilometres offshore in some places, and we were running before the wind. Through crystal clear water we pottered sedately under jib alone along the coast. There were large black Eagle rays gliding over the white sandy bottom. The coastline changed between dunes, beach and red sandy cliffs. The trampoline was great to stretch out on with a drink and a snack. And apart from nature- there was nothing. No sign that anyone had ever been there before (which may actually be close to the truth). No debris, no boats, no lighthouses or radio masts visible. Just wind, sea and sand.

Adventure is all about doing something dangerous and making it as safe as possible. If you want danger- stand one-legged on a roof. If you want adventure, head into the unknown and sail like the boat was made of eggshell.. As the shadows lengthened we sooked for a protected beach and found it near Dubout Point. We dragged the cat ashore, built a fire, drank wine and cooked a meal. Food never tasted better. On the moonless night the Milky Way stretched like a broad shining band across the skies. The trampoline makes for a reasonable bed and we awoke to the sound of little waves lapping against the hulls- the tide was coming in. So everything was dragged higher ashore and it was the midmorning heat which finally burned me out of my sleeping bag. The sea had retreated and it took some serious groaning and straining to get afloat again.

Now the wind is ALWAYS force 4-7 SW. Except that day... in light and variable NW winds we put up all sail and cruised along the headlands. The deeper water black with seagrass and we saw many turtles, a big Shovelnosed shark and possibly a dugong. Later we were on a broad reach under full sail flying at 12 knots in bursts. Sailing and scenery, warm clear water....AAAhhh! The wind picked up and at full throttle we landed at Monkey Mia- where the beer is cold and the dolphins frolick off the beach.

Still glowing with the excitement and sunburn we hatched a more ambitious plan. A flurry of activity involving work, pieces of broken catamaran and the usual mindsplintering effort to keep track of the 100 or so bits of kit needed for the trip.... Drove to Denham, launched the cat and sailed North. There's a big lagoon called Big Lagoon - Aussie nomenclature at its best- a sspecial place, with sandy shallows, mangroves and lots of birds.

Life on a cat again. Two white pontoons with a blue tarp in between. The blue of the ocean and the skies, white like foam and beach. You can stretch out, look at the fish or gaze at the coastline. In the heat we dragged behind the cat to cool down. A bag with little snacks is tied to the mast, a bottle of Diet Coke fastened to the backstay. The other backstay's got the chart rolled around it, held in place by tape. Sleeping bags wrapped in seven layers of plastic, a waterproof camera handy. Slowly things fall . Either into place., like the pliers and the migrating jerrycan finally lashed to the crossbeam. Else into sand or water like the sunglesses and keys...I curled up like a cat on the cat with a smoke and a coke and dragged my hand through the balmy water.

The seabreeze kicked in and we set for Cape Peron at ten knots or so. Proper sailing, spray flying and wetsuits needed. The coast sped by- red sandy cliffs fringed by white sand. I got a bit anxious when the shallow ledge dissappeared, the water was deep and wild and the coast became unlandably rocky. Properly committed to the sea for the first time! It got to the point of worry when we had to navigate between submerged rocks with a full force six propelling us forward. On the next beach we landed and walked over the rocks and dunes to see if there were any more nasty surprises up ahead... my main concern was the big tidal rip off the Cape where I'd hate to be in a small boat. I'd phoned around in Denham, to the Fisheries Department, the Conservation Department, the Tourist Office and the owner of a big catamaran for advice. But again- it's so remote that no-one really knew what the riptide was up to when or where.

Anyway- we bit the bullet, rounded the cape at sunset without a problem and camped on the beach. Lots of little ghoastcrabs were attracted by the fire, they started nibbling at everything including toes if you let them.The next morning we found they'd gnawed through plastig bags to get at food. And that we'd accidentally finished the wine.

All of the next day was spent beating to windward.... we were getting used to the cat and had a bit of faith in our sailing so the legs went further and further offshore. Another camp, more sailing and after three days we landed at Monkey Mia once more. More cold beer, more dolphins, and a good restaurant .

Back at work, a patient worried about his high blood pressure. I told him the story of sailing from Denham to Big Lagoon while measuring. It slowly dropped to 150/95. The tale went on to Peron, his BP sank to 140/90. I told him that was good enough, it'd be normal if we sailed on to Monkey Mia.

There should be a Health Warning on this webpage. We've had our eyes on Tamala-Useless Loop for a while now, and the only way to pull it off was to force another 3- day weekend into the working week. Although for me the long hours of preparation, the scanning of charts, the phone-calls, and the 800 km drive in two cars are an essential part of the Adventure, it's getting repetitious. We launched the cat on a natural boatramp at Tamala Station. We met Penny, who lived in a caravan on the bay . She said that her previous visitors had left three months earlier. It felt rude to get underway quickly...

But it was late afternoon before we sailed and with the Seabreeze behind us we were eating Nautical Miles like peanuts. 3 Bay Island came into view and we made a little detour to check it out. A bit later we'd both fallen in love with it: a triangular rock, deeply indented by white beaches in its sides. And although we had a bit of time- pressure, we opened a cask of wine and soon were unable to sail. I had these visions of planting the Dutch Flag somewhere- the first landing in Australia by Europeans was in Shark Bay too, by a Dutchman! Dirk Hartogh who landed in 1616 at Cape Inscription, followed by Willem de Vlamingh in 1697. They called it 'The Miserable Southland' and gave it a wide berth. Saint Alouarn of France quickly nipped ashore in 1772 to claim it all. Only in 1803 did the French (Boudin, Freycinet, Peron) do a survey of the area, hence the many French names in Shark Bay.

There was an anxious moment when the rising tide floated the cat off the beach... it sailed itself and if it wasn't for a record- swim by Nathalie I'd still be on the island playing Castaway.

The next day the wind turned Northerly and we spent the entire day tacking in a gentle breeze. The beauty of this bit of Shark Bay are the many islands. Most were a bit out of reach because of our meteorologically-induced tardiness and also looked like rocky pinnacles smeared with guano. We crossed 4 Miles of deep open sea in this gentle headwind and saw two dugongs. After 10 hours of tacking in the blistering sun even the rugged beauty of the coastline was getting a bit tedious. The relief we felt in the one hour of Seabreeze- barrelling along at 12 knots, sitting on the tail of the cat to keep the bows from submerging and covering more ground than the rest of the day together- ah well, you just have to be there.

Just as well we had that bit of wind, and were within sight of Useless Loop. We were becalmed the next day and had to paddle the last couple of kilometres. The water was crystal clear and we emptied a tin of oily Tuna into the water... a largish brown shape, probably a Shovelnose-shark, came to check it out.

Frowning our eyebrows at the chart folded out over the trampoline: we've done the most obvious exciting bits now. There's a couple of gaps to fill but the next big leaps would be Dirk Hartog Island or a change of venue to coral reefs and big swell: the Ningaloo Boogie! I'll stop this series here, but as always, watch this space!