By late morning on the 27th, the weather was beautiful again. Toward the east, we could see a virtual wall of boats heading our way. Boxing Day celebrations had merely been put off by a day. Within an hour or so, the whole bay was packed cheek to jowl and in full party mode.
One guy in a big cabin cruiser came in towing his big RIB (Rigid Inflatable Boat – think dinghy, only a lot bigger) on two long lines. He tried three times to anchor right near us before realizing he was going to hit when he shut down his engines. Each time, he would almost back over the RIB. On his fourth attempt, as he was maneuvering to set his anchor practically on top of ours, he realized he was about to foul both propellers with the RIB lines. How he hadn't done that on the previous attempts, I don't know. It was the first thing we mentioned to each other when he arrived.
He sent his teenage son to pull in the port line, which had passed underneath the hull. Then he left the flybridge to sort out the starboard line. This left the big boat broadside to the wind and drifting straight at us about a boat length away.
Quick thinking by the son saved the day. He jumped into the tender, started it up, disconnected the lines and wedged it between Begonia and the big boat like a big fender. The Dad, who was working on the side opposite us, suddenly looked up from what he was doing and realized he was closer to us than he had thought. He bounded back up to the flybridge, gunned the engines and escaped just inches before any contact was made. The RIB was up against our bows. The son couldn't use the engine without fouling the prop on our bridle. I moseyed up, projecting my best aura of unbothered calm. After all, it wasn't his fault. He was the hero as far as I was concerned. He sheepishly apologized and I wished him well as we both muscled the RIB away from our bridle. He then went off on his own while Dad looked for another spot to anchor, which seemed like a much better plan. Eventually, they settled on a spot where neither of us could drag into one another.
Just before sunset, we lifted our anchor for the overnight sail south to Busselton. By then, the wind was nice and light. That was not supposed to last, with an overnight forecast of strong winds from the east. Usually, the winds are howling from the south, so this was our chance to go that direction without tacking.
Sure enough, as we cleared the lee of Rottnest Island, conditions gradually changed from pleasant to downright miserable. The wind increased into the thirties, which was ten knots more than forecast. This heaped up a vicious beam sea that constantly broke over the boat. The helm got a good dousing every second or third wave and the decks forward of the cockpit were constantly under a centimeter of water that never had time to drain before being replaced. It was a very wet, cold, and miserable ride.
Once the Sun came up and started heating up the interior land areas a bit, the wind finally started to abate as if someone had been slowly rotating a dimmer switch. By noon, we had full sail up in light winds and all of the bigger waves had smashed each other into smaller wavelets. We were back to being on a pleasant sail again, just like the afternoon before. The only difference was that we had a thick crust of salt coating everything, including ourselves, as a testament to the rough night.
At Busselton, which lies pretty much at the midpoint of twenty-mile wide Geographe Bay, we anchored in a big patch of sand just off the town's main district. Apart from a couple of runabouts on moorings, we were the only boat there, which seemed kind of strange because it looked like a good anchorage. We were anchored next to the town's floating inflatable fun park, where throngs of people were beating the heat by bouncing each other into the cool water.
In the morning, we went ashore to see what there is to see. The town's main attraction is the pier. Busselton Jetty claims to be the second longest wooden structure in the world at 1,841 meters, just about one nautical mile (First is Lucinda Jetty in Queensland, at 5,760 meters). To get to the end of Busselton Jetty, you can take a fifteen-minute train ride, but we elected to go for the thirty-minute amble instead. At the far end is an underwater observatory, where we bought tickets for a fifteen-minute slot looking out at the sea life living in the pilings eight meters down.
Exploring Busselton waterfront and 1.8km Jetty
Deciding to break our exercise into manageable chunks, we stopped at a local brewpub for a tasting paddle and some very well made pizza before continuing our walking tour based on a self-guided map we had seen in the Tourist Office. There were a few interesting things, notably the old gaol, now converted into an art gallery. A lot of the rest was signs explaining what historic thing used to be there. Still, it seems like a nice town and it was good to stretch our legs.
The next day, we took the pudgy to the jetty's mid-point with all of our snorkeling gear and had a long swim to the end and back. Then, just for good measure, we paddled the kayak the next morning from Begonia to the end, then in a big triangle to the sailing club and then back home. I think we can tick the pier off of the list.
Snorkelling around the Jetty posts
It was now New Year's Eve. Our solitary anchorage was now home to eight boats, each a comfortable ¼ mile apart. We were expecting a more Sydney-like crush from all of the surrounding areas as sunset approached, but the count stopped at eight, plus maybe three more on the other side of the jetty.
The waterfront was another story. It was packed as far as we could see with people waiting for the big moment.
Just after 9pm, presumably for the benefit of the kids, the lights on the pier were shut off and the fireworks commenced. We had a front row seat.
New Year's Eve Fireworks (children's edition)
Unlike Sydney, Busselton did not do a second show at midnight. That's fine. We had both nodded off well before then anyway. I did stir just before midnight and went out on deck, expecting to hear music and cheering coming out of the bars. Instead, the town was dark and the beaches were empty. Well, I'm glad we hadn't slept through anything.
We were keen to explore inland a bit, so we rented a car for the weekend. Between Geographe Bay and Cape Leeuwin lies the Margaret River region, which is known for two things, caves and wineries. We had plans to see several of each.
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