The sail from the Low Islands was a straightforward enough affair, although a bit miserable. We threw off the mooring pendant, unrolled some jib and had a fast downwind sail northward to the Hope Islands. We had stinging rain off and on for the first half of the trip and spent much of the remainder reefed down but still going fast. By the time we arrived, we weren't surprised that we hadn't seen anybody else out braving the weather. That plus, you know, Covid19.
The Hope Islands lie within the Cook Shire, which along with Torres Islands Shire is one of the Aboriginal areas with tighter travel restrictions than the balance of the State of Queensland. Word through the grapevine was that boats were being stopped there by the authorities and even being sent back.
We had applied for and received a permit allowing us to transit on the proviso that we do not interact with the community along the way, at the very least not until we had self-quarantined for fourteen days. Since the permit is worded as if it is meant for cars and since it is not actually possible to drive 'through' the peninsula, Maryanne fired off an email to the Shire Council explaining that we were transiting by boat and that it would take multiple days, making stops at many anchorages. They wrote back quickly. They told us to enjoy ourselves, including snorkeling and walks on the beach at uninhabited islands. Just don't go ashore at inhabited islands with resorts or into towns. A copy of that email response and our transit permits should satisfy any authorities, provided they don't catch up to us during a potluck. {Maryanne: for anyone who doesn't know him - that last statement is a classic 'Kyle' joke - do read on.}
At Hope Island, a sign clearly stated to NOT go ashore "closed to the public".
We discovered too late that the island is now open again, but that the sign just hadn't been removed yet.
We picked up a public mooring at Little Hope Island, leaving Big Hope Island to the birds. Our guides said mostly things like 'Hardly any crocs, hardly that often'. Okay, so no swimming. We had hoped to go to the beach (Hope is uninhabited), but once we were certain it was permitted, the weather never allowed it. The water was too shallow to want to risk our dinghy's prop on the journey. I tried rowing. I could just make headway into the wind when I was alone, but not with us both in. We gave up and decided to spend our time there listening to the howling wind and enjoying the view.
The Hope Islands were given their names by Capt. James Cook. The Endeavour ran aground on the nearby reef that now bears its name. As the crew was frantically trying to repair the boat enough to refloat it, the hope was that they could reach one of the two islands in the distance to make more lasting repairs. It didn't work. As soon as the Endeavour was off of the reef, it began taking on water faster than the pumps could bail and it began to sink. They managed to save the day by fothering the hole, which is wrapping a sail around the outside of the hull. That allowed the pumps to keep up. They then decided to bypass the Hope Islands altogether and sail to the mainland at what is now the present day site of Cooktown for an extended refit.
We only saw freighters in the distance during our time at Little Hope. Nobody else seemed to be sneaking out for a day of sailing and no authorities came to inspect our paperwork. Still, we were safe and secure and having a way better time in this part of Australia than poor Captain Cook.
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