Dreaming of Kalbarri

by Meredith Stephens

“Wake up! If we don’t get going now it will be too hot!” urged my fiance Alex.

I couldn’t understand why we had to leave for Kalbarri National Park at 5:30am in darkness. Was it really going to get that hot? We quickly arose and headed to the car for the long drive. By the time we arrived, the day was breaking and we were among the first tourists to arrive at the famed Nature’s Window. We made our way along the trail to the window where international tourists were lining up to take photos. When it was our turn one of them offered to take our photo, and carefully took photos from various angles.

We decided to leave for the next gorge quickly ahead of the other tourists. At the top of the gorge there was a large sign warning people to be careful of the heat, not to walk in the middle of the day, and to carry adequate water, plus the sobering warning that people had died here. We picked our way along the path to the gorge below. It was getting warmer as the sun moved overhead. The pleasant crisp warmth on my skin was moving to oppression. I took a swig of water. Alex pressed on contentedly, but I worried about heatstroke. We continued to clamber along the path downwards towards the gorge. Handrails had been affixed to the rocks in order to facilitate climbing down the steep sections. At one such section I took shelter from a massive rock and perched myself to watch Alex make his way to the stream at the bottom.

Somehow we made it back to the car through the wall of heat. Even though it was mid-morning it was too hot to do anything other than shelter from the heat, so we drove back to our accommodation. We were staying in a cheerful renovated shack with brightly painted walls. As we slid the glass door open and turned on the air conditioner we were relieved by a sudden coolness. I could enjoy gazing at the undisturbed landscape from the coolness of the room.

Our generous host offered us a third night for free because they happened to have no bookings the following evening, but we had to stick to our schedule so departed after two nights. Despite the oppressive heat I yearned to spend more time in Kalbarri. On our second afternoon, we watched the boats enter the tricky path weaving through the channel markers to avoid the rocky reef. Alex was studying their moves, perhaps hoping to retrace their path through this dangerous entry when we sailed past.

We returned to our boat in the Geraldton marina and resumed sailing north. The distance by car was several hours whereas the voyage by boat took a couple of days.

“Can we go back to Kalbarri?” I asked.

“The winds are unsuitable. We’ll have to head out west towards the Abrolhos Islands to harness the favourable winds.”

We headed twenty nautical miles out to sea and could just see the cliffs in the distance. We needed to keep our distance from them. The next morning we left the Indian Ocean to enter the turquoise waters of Shark Bay. Away from the swell we were free to savour the relative calm and stay at the various anchorages as we explored deserted beaches, but I couldn’t get Kalbarri out of my mind. Our northernmost anchorage in Shark Bay was Homestead Bay, and there we reluctantly terminated our voyage because we had to head back south to a wedding home in Adelaide. The plan was to sail back to the Geraldton marina and fly back to Adelaide. The Geraldton marina would be the safest place to leave the boat during our absence. Cyclones did not typically descend this far south.

We wove our way back staying at various anchorages in Shark Bay, before heading out to the swell in the navy blue Indian Ocean. 

‘Will we get there before evening?” I asked.

“Probably around midnight,” Alex informed me.

“Can we break it up by anchoring overnight in Kalbarri?”

“The conditions  won’t be favourable when we pass by. Plus, following the winds takes us away from the coast.”

We followed the winds heading way offshore, considering that we might need to shelter in the Abrolhos Islands, but ended up following the wind back to Port Gregory where we anchored at 6 am. Then we had a brief sleep before resuming our sail south to Geraldton.

We flew back to Adelaide to attend the wedding, and then a couple of weeks later flew back to Geraldton to resume our sail north. I was concerned about the long sail. There were few anchorages along the cliff-lined coast and so there would be nowhere to stop. The only shelter would be Kalbarri, but we could only enter when the tide was low and the winds were favourable.

“Can we break up the sail at Kalbarri?” I asked Alex.

Memories of watching boats perform the zig-zag entry into the renowned bay flooded my mind. Alex had studied it astutely and was confident he could perform the maneuver successfully.

“The wind is too strong, so won’t be able to enter, sadly,” he explained.

We headed way out to shore and I could see the endless line of cliffs in the distance. Just as night fell we entered the nearest anchorage, the forlorn and furious False Entrance, where we were again the sole vessel. Nor was there anyone ashore. The only activity was the ocean thrashing into the cliffs.

The next morning we retraced our passage north, heading out into the lumbering swell of the Indian Ocean to find the wind. We entered the safety of Shark Bay, and resumed our passage inside Dirk Hartog Island, sheltering again at Homestead Bay. The next leg was into the unknown, as we sailed north, sheltering inside the Peron Peninsula, before sailing north to Carnarvon. We could have kept sailing north onto Exmouth and even Timor Leste, but family demands in Adelaide meant again we had to head south back home. Maybe this time we could enter the bay at Kalbarri. This would be our last chance.

We returned via Shark Bay as before, and headed out to the massive swell of the Indian Ocean.

“This time we will be able to anchor at Kalbarri!” advised Alex. “I know you have been wanting to do it for a while. Of the four passings this one will be the one when the conditions align for a safe entry. We will arrive at 6 am when the tide is low and the winds are light.”

The swell sent me into a deep sleep. I tried to keep my eyes open. I was never one to take a nap under normal conditions, but the rocking motion was hard to resist. I lay on the sofa in the saloon and covered my entire face with a wide-brimmed hat to protect myself from the sun blazing through the windows. I had little sense of how much time was passing as my eyes fluttered open from time to time. As night fell and the waves turned to blackness I succumbed to a deeper sleep. 

“We will arrive at Kalbarri soon. I am slowing down our speed so that we can enter at the best time,” he explained. 

Alex turned off the engine and left up the jib, letting the wind power us at just the right speed to enter Kalbarri at the lowest point in the tide. I wish I could say that I was completely alert to witness our entry to the place of my longing, but the timing of my deepest sleep happens to be at around 6 am when many others are rousing. I staggered outside to observe the once in a lifetime entry through the strategically placed channel markers. Alex zig-zagged in according to both the channel markers and the mental map he had created from land when observing other boats make the entry. Before long we had arrived past the rocky reef and into the estuary of the Murchison River. We pressed on up river and anchored alongside the many other vessels, many of them dilapidated fishing vessels.

Next we planned to head ashore. We took the dinghy to the wharf and cleated it. Then we climbed onto the wharf and started walking across the expansive lawn to the town centre.

“Alex, I’m in trouble,” I announced.

Having been trained in childhood not to complain, I felt guilty uttering these words, but there was no point succumbing to heatstroke just because I was too proud to draw attention to my plight. Alex was walking normally towards the lawn. He never complained of hunger, thirst, heat or cold. I couldn’t compete with his stoicism, or perhaps he was less sensitive than me to physical deprivation. Because I usually tried not to complain, he knew that when I stated that I was in trouble, it was an understatement and we needed to take action.

“Let’s go back to the boat. You can take a dip in the estuary from there,” he suggested.

We took the dinghy back to the boat and then I headed down the ladder to immerse myself in the water where I found instant relief. Still, we wanted to see the town since we had taken so much trouble to negotiate entering the bay. 

“How about taking the dinghy further back into the estuary so that it’s less of a walk to the shops?”

“Absolutely!” I agreed.

“You can dangle your legs in the water as we pass to cool down.”

Again we hopped into the dinghy and powered towards the grocery store. We dragged the dinghy up to a safe spot in the sand, and walked towards the store. At first my body retained the cool from the dinghy, but as I continued to place one foot in front of the other I sensed the heat creep up upon me. We entered the store and I felt a rush of cool. Rarely one to buy soft drinks, I had a sudden urge to buy the famed Japanese drink Pocari Sweat. This was the best medicinal drink I had ever tasted. I wandered the aisles but of course in that remote part of Western Australia I could not expect to find Pocari Sweat. Then I chanced upon coconut water, and we bought several packs of this. As soon as we had made our purchase I started swilling the coconut juice straight from the pack. The liquid trickled down my oesophagus and I felt a cool sensation in my chest. I continued to gulp it down to both savour the sweetness and cool down my insides.

We headed back to the dinghy and I dipped my legs into the water as we zipped along. Once we reached the boat I knew that the land temperature was too high for me to venture ashore again. But I could still look forward to zig-zagging through the channel markers the next morning, and this time I vowed to be awake.

Just before sunrise Alex turned on the engines and we headed towards the Indian Ocean. The waves were making waves over the reef in the distance. A small fishing vessel was heading back from the ocean towards us, and zig zagged expertly between the channel markers. Once the path was clear we headed out. The further we got to the ocean the more the boat started rocking. I clung to the handrail at the back of the boat and started filming, determined not to miss the exquisite drama this time. Alex deftly turned the boat to pass through each pair of channel markers as the boat continued to rock. A few minutes later we were in the open waters of the Indian Ocean. We turned south and observed the grand rocky outcrops and beaches of Kalbarri.

My dream to return to Kalbarri was not quite realised. The heat exhaustion had prevented me from making all but the briefest excursion to shore. However the drama of weaving through the channel markers to get to the estuary made it all worthwhile. Later on our travels fellow travellers who knew Kalbarri warned us against it, and explained to us the various tragedies that had occurred there. Alex had only attempted it after observing other vessels make the entry, studying the tides, ensuring that the weather was favorable, and monitoring the radar. Participating in this feat was immensely satisfying, even for a non-sailor. However, if we ever get to traverse the enormous distances to reach the north of Western Australia again, I hope to go in winter when it is cool enough to enjoy the land as much as the seascape.