The bright lights on the horizon quickly resolved themselves into the big cargo ships in their anchorage off of the Port of Grafton. We altered course slightly and passed a quarter mile from the nearest one. It's amazing how the size of a ship can make that seem like that's not going to be enough. We weren't close enough to be in any potential security zones, but were probably close enough to set off an AIS proximity alarm on the bridge. I imagined the anchor watch wondering what the hell a sailboat was doing out here at this hour. Keeping them on their toes, of course.
We had such a fast run that we arrived at Great Keppel Island four hours earlier than our original prediction from the day's forecast. When we were coming around the back side of the island, we noticed one AIS target there, and then two. When we rounded the last corner, we were surprised to find seventeen other boats already at anchor. We have not seen a crowd that big since Sydney.
This is when it's great to have a catamaran (or any low draught boat). We weaved our way through the fleet and dropped our anchor on the sand. The depth was just under two meters of water at low tide. We spent the rest of the afternoon watching Cruiser's TV, being entertained by all of the antics of the other boats and their dinghies. Most seemed to be Australians who had ducked out for an early weekend under the new, “It's now okay to go sailing” rules. (Previously, sailing was allowed “for exercise” as long as you went home every night. Since we live here, we were in a bit of a gray area.)
In the morning, we headed to shore for a hike on Keppel's longest trail. On our sail in, we had seen the other end of it terminating at the automated lighthouse on the opposite side of the island from our anchorage. It runs six kilometers, mostly along the ridge that bisects the island's north and south drainage areas.
Around the bay at Svendson's Beach
Judging by the number of dinghies ashore, we were expecting to have loads of company on the walk and many opportunities to worry about social distancing, but it never happened. The only other people we saw was one couple just finishing the trail as we were starting. We met them at a crossing where we were trying to figure out exactly which branch to take. They gave us the valuable tip of pointing out the trail markers on the ground: smooth black stones painted with white handwriting saying which way to go. In addition to trail directions, there were occasionally others inscribed with a quote or a poem. Nice touch. There were also pairs of plastic chairs placed at the tops of climbs and at viewpoints.
Views from the trail - we had it all to ourselves (along with the goats)
After finally traversing the island, we descended down a slope covered with loose scree and bare rock to the lighthouse below. As we did, we startled a couple of feral goats munching at the side of the path. They bleated and scurried off towards another few more standing on the cliff tops. Then we saw a bunch of others pop their heads up to see what's going on. In the end, we counted a herd of about a dozen, nervously watching our every step.
We left them to their grazing and headed back up the hill for home, stopping frequently to look at interesting rocks or bugs or just to sit and enjoy the views. In the end, we had to carefully pace ourselves to make sure we arrived back at the dinghy before sunset.
Just before we were done, I noticed a shuffling in the underbrush. I thought it might be a Rail or some other ground dwelling bird, maybe a big Goana if we were lucky. It was even better than that! It was a little Echidna snuffling its way through the underbrush. Our first wild Echidna sighting!
We started out observing cautiously from afar, taking slow quiet steps to get closer. It didn't run, so we were eventually able to get up nice and close.
We needn't have been so coy. Echidnas seem to know they can't outrun us, so they don't even try. This little guy saw me and then took a couple of steps over to a spot where he could hide his face in the ground cover beneath a big branch. Then he just sat there, presenting me with nothing but an armor of quills. Apparently, it's possible to pick up these defenseless little animals. Their mouths are too small to bite effectively and they do not have control of their quills like porcupines. Still, they look enough like porcupines to make you think a while before trying to grab one. Since I had no compelling reason to stress out some poor little animal who was just trying to forage for his dinner, I decided to let him be.
Well, that was a find! A little further down the trail, we saw another one! This time, we weren't shy and just walked up to say hi. We got the same reaction: face in the dirt. Awww!
Seeing the echidnas was a real treat, and the butterflies continue to delight us
We made it back to shore in time for sunset
A little later, we descended into the zone of forest where all of the Grass Trees grow. These are the preferred food of the jillions of Blue Tiger butterflies migrating through the area. As it was the end of the day, they were all refueling before setting down for the night in the nearby trees. As we walked by, they would silently flutter into the air around us until we had passed. Then they would float back to their perches.
At the beach, we headed towards the other dinghies to see where everybody else was. They were all hanging out together at a shelter on the beach decorated with paraphernalia left by other cruising boats over the years. We introduced ourselves (from a covid safe distance) and received only a few brief acknowledgements. We thought we may have interrupted a group, but one of the guys nearest us explained that they were all a random assortment who had just met, {later we noticed it is marked as a general pot-luck/sundowner meet up point for anyone to join}. We hadn't come prepared, and were happy to keep our distance from groups of strangers anyway. We bid them all a good night, received no response, and hastened back to the dinghy.
In the morning, we decided to go for a snorkel to see if anything was happening down below. Oh, what a change it was from just a little bit further south. The corals were fewer and farther between and mostly seemed long dead, with a scattering of survivors, some of which seemed to have suffered from a recent bleaching event. The water was also very murky, making things seem even less vibrant. We swam along the rocks clear over to the next anchorage half a mile away, but the situation never really improved. At least we got to see that our anchor was well buried and get a good wash.
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