Looking for a bit of shelter from the 20 knot southeast wind we dropped our sails and pulled in close to Thompsons Point. With spray, spume and drizzling rain, it’s hard to determine exactly where Flying Fish Point is. I am pretty sure it is almost due north where a low lying isthmus of land is vaguely visible on the other side of a long bar break at the mouth of the Johnstone River. If I am right, which it turns out I am, we’ll have to fight both wind and waves to paddle east for a kilometre or thereabouts to try and come in through the channel.
We head off, but the wind, which has had a consistent easterly component to the normal southeasterly trade wind, has picked up a good size sea and the waves are breaking and running as the tide streams out. It feels like a losing battle as we sidle over each wave crest and hit the force of the blasting wind. “Let’s just run in the through the bar,” I say to Doug. He is not convinced but says gamely “I’ll follow you.” Immediately, I’m catching a wave and my heavy boat is careering down the face and soon broaching because a wing blade really doesn’t rudder well and my kayak is way too heavy to lean and carve. “Lean and hang on” I think. The wave runs out and I straighten up, soon to be hit by another wave and off I go again.
After repeating this cycle about three times, I think about trying to back-paddle to let the waves go past so I might have a bit more control but by then, I am just about through the line of breakers and I can see Doug, upright and to my left, is also through the surf break. All those days surfing in the Batemans Bay bar certainly paid off on this one short section of our two week trip. A short paddle north and we land on a bit of sand beside a small boat ramp just inside Flying Fish Point. The end of a two week trip along the Far North Queensland coast which featured days of strong winds and calm conditions and very little in between.
Our first stop is Magnetic Island, only six kilometres off Cape Palleranda north of Townsville. We leave from the very popular, even at 6:30 am when we arrive with gear and kayaks, Strand where the locals are exercising early before the heat of the day. It is calm inshore but by the time we are half way to Magnetic Island the 20 knot southeasterly is blowing across our kayaks and getting to camp involves both paddling into the wind, and, for a very brief time, sailing comfortably along. There are strangely few boats around Magnetic Island even though it is Sunday. Perhaps it’s the wind, we see no boats at all on the windy days when we are out on the ocean all alone in our sea kayaks. It’s funny how these small and intimate vessels can be so sea worthy.
The wind blows all day and all night and the sea is lively the next morning but luckily, the mornings seem to feature a bit more southerly component to the wind, so we can sail past Rattlesnake and Herald Islands and, with conditions getting more and more punchy as the wind builds and swings more to the east, we have a bit of a wild ride to Acheron Island. We aimed off to counteract the easterly flow of the wind but we still have to edge even more easterly as we approach. We have done 30 kilometres and the next island is a further 20 kilometres away so we want to stop here but the island is not conducive to landing. The sand spit on the western side isn’t sand, it is steep, broken coral and the sea has picked up so much that the side of the island that should be sheltered (north) has such big waves dumping that they run right up and over the steep spit which is at least two metres high.
We prowl back and forth around both sides of the spit and eventually decide on a spot to land. Doug goes in first but a kayak with 20 days of food and 7 days of water is heavy and it is really difficult to get the kayak up out of the waves. I come in next and we man-handle my kayak up. I cringe thinking of the damage these rough landings are doing to our keels. Someone has, within the last few days, taken a shit right near the only spot available to camp and left the faeces and the toilet paper sitting out in the sun. It’s disgusting but unfortunately surprisingly common. On a previous trip north of Yeppoon we encountered this multiple times and came to believe we were following the toilet paper trail of the infamous“Capricornia Crapper.” I bury the offending items wondering how our species has survived this propensity to shit where we live.
We paddle the next day northwest to Havannah Island. We load the kayaks and then slide them out into the water during a break in the waves, jump in, and paddle out before we get caught by a dumper. It feels too windy to sail. I can hardly see Doug as the sea has been building for a couple of weeks now and the wind and swell are again very easterly so it is beam on most of the way to Havannah Island. I amuse myself by wondering how difficult a rescue might be and making sure I brace when the big waves wash over. We keep clear of the southeast tip of Havannah Island and are soon sliding around the north side still pushed by the wind but the sea is broken by the island.
Havannah Island has a great beach to land on, good swimming, nice shady camping under she oaks behind the beach and a fringing reef. As the tide drops, I manage to walk almost all the way down to the southeast tip of the island on a mix of broken coral and rock slabs. The next day, we have a lay day here and walk up the grassy hill side at the south end of the island to look across at the rest of the Palm Islands spreading to the north. The grass looks easy walking from a distance but it is surprisingly thick and in places reaches as high as my head. We get to the very top, which is covered in thick rainforest so the best views are lower down.
We had hopes to paddle the east side of Great Palm Island but the wind is again quite strong and quite easterly so we head north to Brisk Island. Plans to paddle the east side of Brisk Island give way to paddling up the west side as we encounter two metre waves pushed along by the easterly wind at the southern tip and it is too much of a battle to get around the east side. On the more sheltered west side, a large shark bumps into Doug’s keel. An attempt to paddle between Falcon and Brisk Islands is thwarted by too little water over the reef so we pass around the north end instead and slog across to Great Palm Island.
Pulling in at the jetty, three aboriginal kids are kicking a dead shark up and down the length of the jetty. I stay to mind the kayaks as the tide is falling fast, while Doug walks up to the service station to ask about getting some drinking water. At the service station, the taps don’t work but at a nearby works yard Doug gets water and drops off our garbage. Just as we are leaving the barge bringing supplies from Townsville pulls in and the kids abandon the dead shark.
We want to make use of the wind so we head up Curacoa Channel from Great Palm Island using the sails but still needing the odd brace as the wind is gusty. At the north end of Curacoa Island, a herd of goats is running along the shingly beach. I get out and stumble over rocks and broken coral to see if we might find a camp but it will be another tough landing on the kayaks so we keep going to a better camp.
On Friday, our sixth day out, the wind eases and we paddle with a little bit of help from the sails up the east side of Orpheus Island. There is a large and breaking reef off Iris Point but a good channel near Pelorus Island and, in a fit of perversity, we decide to paddle against both the wind and the current three kilometres south down the west side of Orpheus Island to Pioneer Bay. A couple of whales are swimming only a dozen metres from our kayaks!
The tide is just high enough for us to sneak into Pioneer Bay with a nice campsite and a picnic table. There’s mobile phone reception so I can book us in using the Queensland National Parks web site. After lunch and tea, we walk up the track behind camp that goes past an old stone hut to the ridge top. Doug and I last stood up here in September 2013. It’s good to still find the old track. There are nine boats (yachts and power boats) anchored off-shore. The most we will see in any one place.
Dolphins swim with us the next morning as we paddle into Lucinda. There is a puff of wind so we keep the sails up but they mostly only lift the kayaks out of the water a bit. Our bearing is pretty much right on and we arrive near the jetty and right in front of the lovely park with garbage facilities and toilets.
Our food rations on this trip are lacking as I managed to forget two tubs of homemade lentil crackers and all our dehydrated dinners so while Doug dumps the garbage and fills our water bladders I slink off to the shop and with some slight feelings of shame, buy fish, chips and a burger with extra egg and bacon for Doug. I could slam back a steak if I wasn’t allergic as my meat craving is quite high!
From Lucinda we head north keeping out as much as we can without heading due east as there are extensive sand bars off George Point. The water gets shallower and shallower but we make it over. At Sunken Reef bay there’s some small waves and I land where I can see a Parks sign as we are not exactly sure where the camping is and what facilities are available. There are no facilities, but just north of the trail head marker there is a good campsite with decent shade that has a dirt rather than sand base and I signal Doug in. It’s too much faff to relaunch simply to paddle 60 metres up the beach so we carry my kayak up to the beach near the camp. This trip has involved a lot of awkward carries. An old codger at Lucinda had told me I would be pulled from my kayak by a giant crocodile but we didn’t let this legend of Hinchinbrook stop us from having our daily swim.
Before leaving the next morning, we walked the track up to a saddle where it joined the Thorsborne track and followed this across Mulligan Creek and down a long hill to the base of Mulligan Falls. The walkers have luxurious camps with big toilets, large shaded tent sites, camp furniture and poles to hang food. The pool at the base of the falls is delightfully clear but given we have to walk back uphill again and get all sweaty we don’t bother swimming. Also, on the flats at Sunken Reef Bay there is a waist deep creek we need to cross to get back to our kayaks so we can have fresh water freshen up there.
It is a very calm day and the sea is flat as we paddle around Hillock Point with it’s prominent granite cliffs to Zoe Bay. There is a yacht and power boat at Zoe Bay and about a billion mosquitoes. Lunch is quick and punctuated by swatting biting bugs and we continue on just squeaking through a very narrow and shallow channel between Agnes Island and Hinchinbrook Island to Banksia Bay.
The camp at Banksia Bay is on the western side of the bay and is again an awkward carry. At high tide, you can paddle into the estuary but at lower tides you have to carry across a rocky shore line through small trees that flood at higher tides. There are spacious tent sites and a structure to hang food but no furniture or toilet. There is, however, a track that climbs quickly uphill and connects to the Thorsborne track. There is a better, but possibly unofficial camp, if you continue east past the first small beach to the second. It has one tent site, a freshwater creek and an easier carry.
The next day we have a good walk along the Thorsborne track to Nina Beach. The trail goes over a couple of headlands but also follows sandy beaches, boulders and rock platforms. It is surprisingly slow going and takes us two hours to get to Nina Beach but I am feeling very saggy from our poor quality diet. On the way back we have a fresh water swim and get back to camp as the drizzle starts. The bugs are bad and the drizzle makes them a bit worse than normal. Late in the afternoon, a tour group arrives and they set up camp on the eastern end of the beach. It’s funny watching them knowing that they have no idea we are only a few hundred metres away.
Our next camp is at Banshee Bay which is just south of Cape Sandwich. We have just enough wind to get some assistance paddling up long Ramsay Beach but before we plug north we have a quick stop at Blacksand Beach. We camped here in 2013 and I recall it being infested with sandflies as well as mosquitoes. It is a delightful beach however, and an easy walk up to scenic Nina Peak.
Banshee Bay looks out on Eva Island and, with calm weather, there are a few power boats about but none anywhere near us. Before going into Banshee Bay we paddle around Cape Sandwich in case there is a better campsite at Sunset Beach. Sunset Beach is further west than we had thought and we don’t paddle far enough west to find it. A bit of breeze will help keep the bugs down though and Banshee Bay has more chance of that so we return past Cape Sandwich and pull into Banshee Bay.
Again, there are no facilities for kayakers and the only obvious tent site is not very good – no shade and rough ground – and has an old fire pit (illegal) and garbage left behind. At least it’s not human faeces. There are however, big granite boulders at the north end of the beach with excellent shade and we can camp on the beach. The boulders at either end of these beach would be good for bouldering with cracks and big scooped out holds. Holey soles don’t seem to work well, however.
We have never visited the Brook Islands so we skip Gould Island the next day and go straight to Coombe Island via the Brook Islands. These islands are some kind of wildlife refuge so we just paddle past over a shallow coral reef home to many green turtles as we lazily drift along the three main islands and few rocky islets. Coombe Island has another steep broken coral beach but also a nice shady campsite and picnic bench. It has been a hot day with no wind and we paddled with our decks and life jackets strapped to the kayaks.
On our twelfth day, we island hop again in very calm and hot conditions past the rest of the Family Islands to Dunk Island. Dunk Island has changed since our last visit with a small cafe open near the jetty and glamping units on the south side of the sandy spit. The camping is now on the north side, west of the jetty, and it is very good. Large shady and private sites with a picnic table, showers (hot!), toilets, barbeques, garbage and water. The beach is great for swimming! Dunk Island really is a lovely place. We have paddled right around Dunk before so instead of expending extra calories I sheepishly shuffle down to the cafe and buy the usual fish, chips and burger. I feel revitalised by the food and after it cools off a bit, I walk up to the Mount Kootaloo lookout on a very good trail. I pass Doug on his way up when I am heading down.
The wind is back and leaving Dunk Island in the early morning we are confronted by very lumpy seas and bumpy conditions. Strangely, there is little wind for the first hour and the long crossing to the Barnard Group feels like it will take for ever in these conditions. Sitting in the kayak is a bit like being on one of those old dodge-em car rides where you were getting bumped around by other riders. The wind builds quickly however allowing us to get the sails up and the final two hours to Sisters Island takes all our concentration.
The tent sites at Sisters Island are hacked out of dense bush. These islands seem to have got more heavily vegetated since we paddled this coast in 2013. We should have stopped at Sisters Island but pressed on to Kent Island in strong winds which push us along at 9 km/hour. Kent Island is steep, broken coral again and we have to faff around to find a spot where we can land without bashing our hulls on broken coral. The north side, which again is only semi-protected, is too steep so we have to land through small waves trying not to hit the shore too hard as the waves drive in. There are a couple of tent sites cut into dense bush with some benches and a picnic table. In 2013, we walked up to the light station but there is no sign of the track now and the bush is very thick. Instead, I walk around the south side of the island in blustery winds on rocks and boulders.
The forecast is for another week of strong winds, up to 30 knots, and we are growing weary of the battle with beaches and blustery conditions. We have paddled the coast from Flying Fish Point to Cairns twice in the past and the prospect of long crossings in rough conditions as we travel to Russel, High and Fitzroy Islands is not appealing. Our food supplies are also a bit of an issue although we have plenty of crackers and peanut butter left. I feel myself growing weaker and weaker as I feel too queasy in the morning to eat any breakfast so I typically only have two small meals a day. We can end the trip at Flying Fish Point. The first time in my life I have ended a kayak trip early, except for one year when Doug got a sorewrist (coincidentally on a trip north from Lucinda). Without making a firm decision, we crawl into the tent and fall asleep.
It is surprisingly easy to end the trip the next day. It is our 14th day out and it is windy and rainy. We lurch across to Double Point in bumpy conditions and then kayak sail north up the coast with gusty winds flipping the sail from side to side. I think how lucky it is that my brace is instinctive every time the sail flips across the kayak with a rough jolt. It feels strange to pass by Etty Bay where close in shore we can see holiday makers on the beach and the bright colours of the resort. Flying Fish Point, in contrast, is hidden under drab clouds and blustery squalls.
We have had a good time but I am left with mixed feelings. It was a very long drive to get here and we had paddled this coast before, some of it more than once. I am an explorer at heart and love most of all going some place new. It feels churlish to not gush over the splendour of the landscape through which we’ve travelled but I do feel somewhat let down. The last few years we have done so many absolutely epic paddles – out to the Percy Islands in 2022, High Peak Island in 2023, the eastern crossing of Bass Strait, also in 2022, and finally, southwest Tasmania in 2024 – that this one feels a bit bland. The islands are nice but not spectacular like the coast north of Bangalee where the tides run at 8 metres and there are 20 metre deep sea caves. Southwest Tasmania and even eastern Bass Strait feel so much more remote than North Queensland where the ocean and the landscape feels somehow tamed by the combustion engine.
But perhaps it’s coming back because nothing is ever the same when you go back. We spent many weeks paddling this coast since 2013 and, over the years we have paddled virtually the entire coast north from 1770 to Lizard Island. Going back is never the same as your first visit when everything is new and exciting. Like southwest Tasmania, this is one of those trips I probably wouldn’t do again but for entirely different reasons. I feel too old for southwest Tasmania now, and too jaded for a repeat of the far North Queensland coast.
All on water images: Doug B.
