Conditions were so calm that evening, we didn't need a marina. We anchored a few miles up the coast at a depth of 4m and had mackerel for dinner (21°54.38'S 114°8.995'E).
The following day we motor-sailed north against a one-knot tide flooding into Exmouth Gulf, with 2kW of propulsion yielding only four knots SoG. By 10:55, we’d passed the North West Cape and were back in the Indian Ocean. The wind picked up to 11 knots boosting our speed to 6.6 knots, and conditions further improved during the afternoon. South of the North West Cape, the tropical oceanic southeast trade winds, which had blessed us since Darwin, gave way to south-southwesterly winds. This meant that we would be facing headwinds all the way to Fremantle.
The question the skipper posed to his crew was:
“Do we do a short sail to Tantabiddi or a long sail to Yardie Creek?”
We decided to press on and “make way while the wind blows”.
Yardie Creek is on the inside of Ningaloo Reef, which is why it is an excellent anchorage. Reviewing the charts, I assured myself that the passage through the reef was wide and deep, but the roar of nearby breakers in the darkness was still disconcerting. Nevertheless, by 22:45 we were safely anchored, and treated ourselves to a quick night G&T nightcap, before retreating to our berths.
In the morning we moved Lightning closer to the mouth of the creek (22°19.55'S 113°48.233'E). On our paddleboards, we explored Yardie Creek’s striking red limestone gorges—a mini-Kimberley gorge minus the crocodiles.
At noon, we made our way back out to the open ocean and spotted a large turtle, who was too quick to be photographed. That evening we anchored at Norwegian Bay, 23 nautical miles away (22°35.778'S 113°39.466'E). Along the way, we started seeing more and more whales migrating north.
Next morning we debated whether to go ashore and visit the ruins of the old whaling station established in 1911 by Norwegian whalers. However, we decided to get underway, and at 15:35 we were anchored at Maud’s Landing, just north of Coral Bay at 15:35 (23°6.943'S 113°45.788'E).
The following day (August 17), Byron and Ruth signed up for a Ningaloo Reef tour, while Merri and I enjoyed a relaxing shore day. Byron and Ruth kindly hit the bottle shop on their way back to the boat, and we enjoyed one of their purchases for happy hour.
We could easily have enjoyed more time in Coral Bay. Ningaloo Reef is so close to shore, that snorkeling is possible in many places after taking just steps into the water from the beach. However, we needed to be in Geraldton in one week, so we pushed on.
Anchorages between Coral Bay and Shark Bay are limited and this stretch would normally be a prime candidate for night sailing. Apart from freeing my crew from the obligation of night watches, day sailing meant we wouldn't miss any of the stunning daytime scenery or wildlife. In particular, migrating whales were becoming more frequent.
We reached Cape Cuvier, 86 nautical miles away, at 20:20 (24°13.313'S 113°24.358'E). This anchorage, which lies in deep water below a cliff, demands confidence in your ground tackle. Despite being exposed to the swell, it was surprisingly comfortable—though I suspect it might be rolly in a monohull.
The following day, we logged another 59 nautical miles as we pressed on to Carnarvon. Along the way, we caught an 80cm-long northern bluefin tuna. Landing the large fish without a gaff took teamwork; I brought the fish in as close as possible to the stern, while Byron grabbed its tail using a towel. Sushi for lunch soon followed with tuna steaks for dinner. WA’s bounteous seafood never disappoints.
We reached Carnarvon at 17:40. With our maneuverability limitations, I decided to anchor out in Teggs Channel, with the tug boats, rather than attempt to enter the Fascine estuary. As we planned to spend two nights at Carnarvon, I rented a car for 24-hours to make getting around easier. I recommend Budget Rental Cars, who were extremely helpful and picked us up at the marina.
Our first stop was the Carnarvon Post Office, where I picked up a replacement charger for our electric outboard. It also happens to be one of Merri’s favorite post offices in WA, as it has a good selection of Australian books. We then treated ourselves to our first shore meal in a week at the Carnarvon Hotel.
After lunch, we drove the “Fruit Loop”, the scenic drive through Carnarvon’s horticultural district that hugs the Gascoyne River. Growers here produce a significant portion of Western Australia’s tropical fruits and vegetables. We were keen to try some sweet bananas, but they were in short supply due to Cyclone Narelle devastating the area a few months earlier. We eventually found some, but a week later they were still rock hard.
On the way back into town, we dropped Byron and Ruth off at Carnarvon’s wonderful Space and Technology Museum. Merri and I had visited the museum the previous year, and used the time to go food shopping.
The following morning Byron and Ruth agreed to stay onboard, while Merri and I returned the car and bought some fresh bread. I went to pull the dinghy closer to the stern, except there was no dinghy! The wind was blowing from the south, so I grabbed my binoculars and scanned towards the north. All the while, I was secretly hoping that the wind had not been offshore overnight. In a distance, almost a nautical mile away, I spied a bump on a spit of land, near the entrance to the Fascine. There it was! Its hold on the land was very tenuous.
I grabbed the keys to the outboard, hopped on my SUP and paddled furiously towards the dinghy. We were lucky. The dinghy’s outboard was stuck in the sand. Had it been blown a mere 100m further west, it would have missed the spit entirely and been blown out to sea—it would be somewhere on its way to India!
The dinghy’s painter had not abraded, which meant only one thing—the knot securing it to the transom had come loose! We’d certainly averted a serious emergency. Paddleboards are often fine for quick shore trips, but a dinghy is essential for hauling real cargo and multiple crew.
Merri was desperate to wash her (long) hair, so I used the time to refill a couple of our jerry cans before dropping off the car and returning to Lightning. It was almost noon before we departed Carnarvon. We set sail for Cape Peron and enjoyed a broad run averaging 6.7 knots. Six hours and 41 nautical miles later, we anchored at Broadhurst Bay on the northwestern side of the Cape (25°31.331'S 113°29.336'E). The northern half of Cape Peron, which is part of Francois Peron National Park, is famous for its dramatic coastal cliffs and its red sands. Given more time, we would have loved to go ashore, as Merri and I had done in 2025.
The following day we sailed across Shark Bay to Dirk Hartog Island—named after the Dutch sea captain who in October 1616 became the first recorded European to explore the Western Australian coastline and set foot on the island. We had to work against light winds followed by head winds but at 15:40 we were finally anchored near Dirk Hartog’s Landing. The shore break looked rather menacing, so I decided that we should use the SUPs, instead of the dinghy. The side-shore wind from the south-southwest meant we were all blown downwind in the process, but that was preferable to having waves smash us in the dinghy.
Dirk Hartog had left an inscribed pewter plate to mark his 1616 arrival. The plate is long gone but his arrival spot is commemorated with a plaque, just a short walk inland from the beach. Armed with today's GPS navigation and electric propulsion, it's humbling to reflect on Hartog's remarkable achievement over four centuries ago.
Anticipating a long day of upwind sailing into the prevailing southwesterly, we weighed anchor an hour before first light (04:55). However, apart from briefly running aground in waters with a charted depth of 4m, we enjoyed a quick run south to Homestead Bay. For the second day in a row, we caught a large spotted Mackerel which would feed the four of us over several meals.
The Dirk Hartog Island Resort located on the shores of Homestead Bay operates a fantastic beach bar. Merri and I had visited several times in 2025 and were keen to return. So after a leisurely beach walk, we were among the first in line when the bar opened at 17:00. We paddled back to Lightning only once the sun was setting and enjoyed fish tacos for dinner.
The following morning was a much more civilized 06:40 start. As a precaution against shallows, I raised the rudder halfway to reduce our draft to the minimum of 90 cm. Sailing in places such as Shark Bay and the Kimberley has made me a firm believer in retractable rudders. Three hours later we anchored at Shelter Bay, and paddled ashore for a beach walk one last time.
At 12:30, we weighed anchor for the second time, and soon after passed through the South Passage, the narrow tidal passage located at the southernmost entrance to Shark Bay. The Passage can be dangerous when a strong sea breeze blows against an ebbing tide creating breaking waves, but we experienced a mild crossing. Back in the Indian Ocean, we were reunited with ocean swell and a southwesterly headwind. At 18:00, we were anchored at False Entrance just in time to enjoy happy hour as the light faded.
 |
| (Photo by Ruth) |
The following day we motor-sailed north against a one-knot tide flooding into Exmouth Gulf, with 2kW of propulsion yielding only four knots SoG. By 10:55, we’d passed the North West Cape and were back in the Indian Ocean. The wind picked up to 11 knots boosting our speed to 6.6 knots, and conditions further improved during the afternoon. South of the North West Cape, the tropical oceanic southeast trade winds, which had blessed us since Darwin, gave way to south-southwesterly winds. This meant that we would be facing headwinds all the way to Fremantle.
The question the skipper posed to his crew was:
“Do we do a short sail to Tantabiddi or a long sail to Yardie Creek?”
Yardie Creek is on the inside of Ningaloo Reef, which is why it is an excellent anchorage. Reviewing the charts, I assured myself that the passage through the reef was wide and deep, but the roar of nearby breakers in the darkness was still disconcerting. Nevertheless, by 22:45 we were safely anchored, and treated ourselves to a quick night G&T nightcap, before retreating to our berths.
In the morning we moved Lightning closer to the mouth of the creek (22°19.55'S 113°48.233'E). On our paddleboards, we explored Yardie Creek’s striking red limestone gorges—a mini-Kimberley gorge minus the crocodiles.
 |
| Up Yardie Creek (Photo by Ruth). |
At noon, we made our way back out to the open ocean and spotted a large turtle, who was too quick to be photographed. That evening we anchored at Norwegian Bay, 23 nautical miles away (22°35.778'S 113°39.466'E). Along the way, we started seeing more and more whales migrating north.
 |
| (Photo by Ruth) |
Next morning we debated whether to go ashore and visit the ruins of the old whaling station established in 1911 by Norwegian whalers. However, we decided to get underway, and at 15:35 we were anchored at Maud’s Landing, just north of Coral Bay at 15:35 (23°6.943'S 113°45.788'E).
The following day (August 17), Byron and Ruth signed up for a Ningaloo Reef tour, while Merri and I enjoyed a relaxing shore day. Byron and Ruth kindly hit the bottle shop on their way back to the boat, and we enjoyed one of their purchases for happy hour.
 |
| (Photo by Ruth) |
We could easily have enjoyed more time in Coral Bay. Ningaloo Reef is so close to shore, that snorkeling is possible in many places after taking just steps into the water from the beach. However, we needed to be in Geraldton in one week, so we pushed on.
Anchorages between Coral Bay and Shark Bay are limited and this stretch would normally be a prime candidate for night sailing. Apart from freeing my crew from the obligation of night watches, day sailing meant we wouldn't miss any of the stunning daytime scenery or wildlife. In particular, migrating whales were becoming more frequent.
We reached Cape Cuvier, 86 nautical miles away, at 20:20 (24°13.313'S 113°24.358'E). This anchorage, which lies in deep water below a cliff, demands confidence in your ground tackle. Despite being exposed to the swell, it was surprisingly comfortable—though I suspect it might be rolly in a monohull.
 |
| Cape Cuvier. |
The following day, we logged another 59 nautical miles as we pressed on to Carnarvon. Along the way, we caught an 80cm-long northern bluefin tuna. Landing the large fish without a gaff took teamwork; I brought the fish in as close as possible to the stern, while Byron grabbed its tail using a towel. Sushi for lunch soon followed with tuna steaks for dinner. WA’s bounteous seafood never disappoints.
 |
| (Photo by Ruth) |
We reached Carnarvon at 17:40. With our maneuverability limitations, I decided to anchor out in Teggs Channel, with the tug boats, rather than attempt to enter the Fascine estuary. As we planned to spend two nights at Carnarvon, I rented a car for 24-hours to make getting around easier. I recommend Budget Rental Cars, who were extremely helpful and picked us up at the marina.
Our first stop was the Carnarvon Post Office, where I picked up a replacement charger for our electric outboard. It also happens to be one of Merri’s favorite post offices in WA, as it has a good selection of Australian books. We then treated ourselves to our first shore meal in a week at the Carnarvon Hotel.
 |
| Carnarvon Hotel lunch. |
After lunch, we drove the “Fruit Loop”, the scenic drive through Carnarvon’s horticultural district that hugs the Gascoyne River. Growers here produce a significant portion of Western Australia’s tropical fruits and vegetables. We were keen to try some sweet bananas, but they were in short supply due to Cyclone Narelle devastating the area a few months earlier. We eventually found some, but a week later they were still rock hard.
On the way back into town, we dropped Byron and Ruth off at Carnarvon’s wonderful Space and Technology Museum. Merri and I had visited the museum the previous year, and used the time to go food shopping.
The following morning Byron and Ruth agreed to stay onboard, while Merri and I returned the car and bought some fresh bread. I went to pull the dinghy closer to the stern, except there was no dinghy! The wind was blowing from the south, so I grabbed my binoculars and scanned towards the north. All the while, I was secretly hoping that the wind had not been offshore overnight. In a distance, almost a nautical mile away, I spied a bump on a spit of land, near the entrance to the Fascine. There it was! Its hold on the land was very tenuous.
I grabbed the keys to the outboard, hopped on my SUP and paddled furiously towards the dinghy. We were lucky. The dinghy’s outboard was stuck in the sand. Had it been blown a mere 100m further west, it would have missed the spit entirely and been blown out to sea—it would be somewhere on its way to India!
The dinghy’s painter had not abraded, which meant only one thing—the knot securing it to the transom had come loose! We’d certainly averted a serious emergency. Paddleboards are often fine for quick shore trips, but a dinghy is essential for hauling real cargo and multiple crew.
Merri was desperate to wash her (long) hair, so I used the time to refill a couple of our jerry cans before dropping off the car and returning to Lightning. It was almost noon before we departed Carnarvon. We set sail for Cape Peron and enjoyed a broad run averaging 6.7 knots. Six hours and 41 nautical miles later, we anchored at Broadhurst Bay on the northwestern side of the Cape (25°31.331'S 113°29.336'E). The northern half of Cape Peron, which is part of Francois Peron National Park, is famous for its dramatic coastal cliffs and its red sands. Given more time, we would have loved to go ashore, as Merri and I had done in 2025.
The following day we sailed across Shark Bay to Dirk Hartog Island—named after the Dutch sea captain who in October 1616 became the first recorded European to explore the Western Australian coastline and set foot on the island. We had to work against light winds followed by head winds but at 15:40 we were finally anchored near Dirk Hartog’s Landing. The shore break looked rather menacing, so I decided that we should use the SUPs, instead of the dinghy. The side-shore wind from the south-southwest meant we were all blown downwind in the process, but that was preferable to having waves smash us in the dinghy.
Dirk Hartog had left an inscribed pewter plate to mark his 1616 arrival. The plate is long gone but his arrival spot is commemorated with a plaque, just a short walk inland from the beach. Armed with today's GPS navigation and electric propulsion, it's humbling to reflect on Hartog's remarkable achievement over four centuries ago.
Anticipating a long day of upwind sailing into the prevailing southwesterly, we weighed anchor an hour before first light (04:55). However, apart from briefly running aground in waters with a charted depth of 4m, we enjoyed a quick run south to Homestead Bay. For the second day in a row, we caught a large spotted Mackerel which would feed the four of us over several meals.
The Dirk Hartog Island Resort located on the shores of Homestead Bay operates a fantastic beach bar. Merri and I had visited several times in 2025 and were keen to return. So after a leisurely beach walk, we were among the first in line when the bar opened at 17:00. We paddled back to Lightning only once the sun was setting and enjoyed fish tacos for dinner.
Dirk Hartog Island Beach Bar.
 |
| Fish tacos. |
 |
| Shelter Bay. |
At 12:30, we weighed anchor for the second time, and soon after passed through the South Passage, the narrow tidal passage located at the southernmost entrance to Shark Bay. The Passage can be dangerous when a strong sea breeze blows against an ebbing tide creating breaking waves, but we experienced a mild crossing. Back in the Indian Ocean, we were reunited with ocean swell and a southwesterly headwind. At 18:00, we were anchored at False Entrance just in time to enjoy happy hour as the light faded.
 |
| False Entrance |
 |
| Happy Hour, False Entrance (Photo by Ruth). |
The following day was going to our longest—120 nautical miles as the crow flies—and would require night sailing. We got underway at 04:10 to take advantage of the early-morning offshore breeze. We squeezed 7.5 knots of boat speed out of the 14-knot southeasterly for as long as we could. Alas, that was not very long; two and a half hours later the wind faded, forcing us to motor. In the sloppy conditions, conserving our battery by using only 2kW of power, our boat speed was a mere four knots. Ten-knot southerlies finally developed late afternoon, permitting us to sail upwind for the rest of the day and through the night. By 03:00, the easterlies had returned, boosting our speed to over 8 knots for a few hours. At 08:20, we were anchored at Gregory (28°11.397'S 114°14.716'E). We’d traveled 152 nautical miles in 28 hours, averaging 5.4 knots. This was my fifth time anchoring at Gregory, and my third time doing so in darkness, and I rate the anchorage highly. Approaching from the north is particularly straightforward.
For the last time on this trip, we paddled ashore and enjoyed a leisurely walk through the small town. No trip to Gregory is complete without a visit to the Pink Lake on the outskirts of the town, officially known as Hutt Lagoon.
When we weighed anchor a couple of hours later at 10:55, a warm 10-knot breeze was blowing from the north-northwest. Conditions seemed perfect for a quick run to Geraldton, but there were some ominous skies to the north. At 16:30, we were hit by squall packing near-galeforce gusts that briefly overpowered the autopilot. I handed the tiller to Byron, and we turned into the wind so I could drop the mainsail. Unprepared for the rain, Byron and I got drenched. We continued under jib alone, as squally weather followed us all the way to Geraldton. At 18:00, we were safely anchored at Geraldton’s Town Beach as the wind continued to rage around us. A hot Japanese curry for dinner was just what we needed.
Geraldton marked the planned end of the voyage for Byron and Ruth, while Merri had to cut her trip short and return to Adelaide for a family emergency. For me, it was simply a pit stop before setting off single-handed for Fremantle.
OVER.
 |
| Byron on night watch. |
For the last time on this trip, we paddled ashore and enjoyed a leisurely walk through the small town. No trip to Gregory is complete without a visit to the Pink Lake on the outskirts of the town, officially known as Hutt Lagoon.
 |
| Pink Lake (Photo by Ruth). |
When we weighed anchor a couple of hours later at 10:55, a warm 10-knot breeze was blowing from the north-northwest. Conditions seemed perfect for a quick run to Geraldton, but there were some ominous skies to the north. At 16:30, we were hit by squall packing near-galeforce gusts that briefly overpowered the autopilot. I handed the tiller to Byron, and we turned into the wind so I could drop the mainsail. Unprepared for the rain, Byron and I got drenched. We continued under jib alone, as squally weather followed us all the way to Geraldton. At 18:00, we were safely anchored at Geraldton’s Town Beach as the wind continued to rage around us. A hot Japanese curry for dinner was just what we needed.
Geraldton marked the planned end of the voyage for Byron and Ruth, while Merri had to cut her trip short and return to Adelaide for a family emergency. For me, it was simply a pit stop before setting off single-handed for Fremantle.
OVER.
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