The Wetsundays – our mad attempt to sail the Whitsunday Islands in Australia

Hamilton Island is a beautiful port town where most charters operating in the Whitsundays are based. The town’s popularity has outgrown it’s capacity so it’s wise to make all your reservations well in advance – pperhaps download the Hamilton Island App to find activities things collated in one handy place: you’ll find coffee venues, several decent restaurants, great cocktails bars, the stunning yacht club and villas, beach activities and extensive walking trails with magnificent views in all directions. There’s also the superb Hamilton Island Golf Course on nearby Dent Island that I’m told is a tricky but tremendous course.

I’ve been gone a while from writing but I was enjoying what I thought was my ‘happily ever after story’ with a dreamy man, however, that narrative was edited to a concise but rather fabulous ‘short story’. This blog came about because in the very moments my anticipated future was being revised, I missed a couple calls from a dearest university friend. I called him back, dreading equally bad tidings – a death perhaps, or something worse. Instead, I was greeted with news that my oldest and closest gang of mates had been offered a boat over Easter and I was invited to join them sailing the Whitsundays. They only had the option on the boat for a few hours so I needed to decide quickly. I took less than three seconds.

Hardly a word was said to anyone in the weeks that followed as we concocted a double surprise around my arrival; in the first instance for my old flatmate, Pod, who was cramming in special holidays between cancer treatments, and secondly, for our London besties Liz and Mike who were also flying in to take advantage of precious last moments with Pod. Our huge friendship group was originally super-glued together in the 80’s – some relationships starting at university, but most developing during our early days starting out as young execs in Johannesburg. Many years on, and now with several dozen kids between us, we still grab every opportunity to reconvene from far-flung parts of the world. This exciting opportunity to explore the fantastic Whitsundays attracted guests from Sydney, Perth, Melbourne, Brisbane, Auckland and Cape Town and London, and with additional boats we could have included dozens more. As it was, we gathered in Hamilton Island and filled three yachts. After joyful shrieks, hugs and kisses were amply distributed, we unpacked our considerable provisions and settled in the port for our first night blow out. And indeed ‘blow out’ became the operative word of the entire weekend.

Our flotilla set off for Stonehaven Bay on Hook Island the next morning. We glimpsed the sun and the brave even swam, although the donning of stinger suits made that undertaking a bit of a drag. We’d been warned that jelly fish stings weren’t much fun, and among the many toxic side effects, one was a ‘sense of impending doom’ – it turned out we didn’t need to be stung for that to become our reality.

We enjoyed a quiet first evening updating our stories and then turned in relatively early in anticipation of busy sailing days ahead. Because the wind was up, we tied up to a large mooring, and when the tide turned, it crashed against the hull under my bed all night. I suppose I should have been grateful there was still at least one buoy still trying to get into my cabin.

Our plans to visit Butterfly Bay for lunch the next day were scuppered by rough seas and pelting rain so we moved to another sheltered bay called Nara to anchor overnight. The little we could see of the surrounding islands through the deluge suggested we were in a magnificent spot but none of us could tell you for sure. An invite from the other boat for pre-dinner drinks meant we threw a cheese platter and some beverages into the dingy at 5.30pm and returned at 1.00am.

We awoke the following morning to noisy radio chatter as all charter boats were recalled to Hamilton Island until a decision could be made on the strength and direction of fast approaching Cyclone Iris. It looked like a normal Wellington day to me but I figured the Aussies were a little gun-shy after the devastation wrought by Cyclone Debbie the previous year. All plans of visiting even one of the 74 Whitsundays Islands, diving the Great Barrier Reef, snorkelling in warm aquamarine waters, or walking on Whitehaven Beach were abruptly postponed.

It took more than three hours to motor back to port against the tide and into stinging rain. Captain Mike and boat hands Johnno and Ant were drenched and icy by the time we tied up again, right back where we’d started two days earlier and with no sailing hours to report. We girls were dry and cheerful having played several competitive rounds of cards, sustained by chocolate eggs from the Easter Bunny and a GnT, or possibly two. Another berth, another night, another party, and much more laughter.

On day four of our go-nowhere adventure, a representative from the Sunsail Charters boarded the boat early with firm instructions for us to leave the island. We were informed the harbour and airport were closing until further notice, which could have meant several days. All flights were already full and the last ferry to the mainland left at 1.00pm. He suggested we boarded it. We hurried to buy ferry tickets, secure alternative accommodation, change connecting flights and be gone. No time to clean up and we were instructed to leave our supplies behind to be sorted later. This wasn’t meant to include my swimming togs and underwear but, as it happened, the postman eventually reunited me with some of my favourite apparel.

We trudged to the ferry during another gusty downpour and waited in long and laden but still cheerful queues. Then we slopped and swayed on the ferry deck for the hour it took to reach Airlie Beach. By the time we’d checked into our new digs, showered and dried out there was only enough time left of the day to make dinner, play scrabble, and joke about the complete absence of the sunny, sailing component of the holiday. I suppose we could have all headed directly home, but it never occurred to any of us to complain or cut short our days with Pod.

Airlie Beach is a beautiful place but to us it remains an unexplored mystery. We noted multiple marinas, parks and pathways, a stunning beach-side walkway, and a cute little town centre that is rumoured to support a great nightlife. The weather while we were resident however, was so miserable we hunkered down for a long lunch at the nearest nondescript restaurant, and then followed that with an even longer cocktail hour in one of our unmemorable motel apartments.

I returned to Auckland to hear all about the cloudless perfection everyone had enjoyed over the Easter weekend, and, as excited as I had been for my first sailing holiday, I still have no pertinent stories to share. As someone quipped when we departed, the only unfurled sail we saw the entire holiday was the one shading the motel pool.

And to think I packed three hats.