[Kyle]There's not much in the way of secure anchorages along the coast directly north of Coff's Harbour, so it was necessary to leave at 1:00am in order to make it to the Yamba/Iluka entrance at the Richmond River in time for an early afternoon bar crossing.
An early start meant we were able to enjoy another sunrise at sea, but it was a chilly day and storm clouds were clear to see during the passage
The sail was bordering on pleasant. We had a mild spinnaker run under clear skies. It was still really cold and even wearing four layers I was still shivering when the sun came up. Maryanne made me a big bowl of oatmeal, which helped with that tremendously. After a couple hours of sleep, she woke me to say that we were almost there.
Since we went into Iluka the last time we were here, we decided this time to head to Yamba, on the south side of the wide river and also tucked behind a few sand dunes. Unlike Iluka, which is just accessed via a hole in the northern breakwater, Yamba is reached via the same on the south side, followed by a sinuous trip through a series of narrow channels. Fortunately, they were all well buoyed and marked by lighted ranges, so it was easy to tell where dead center was.
The anchorage, opposite the main caravan park in town, is also very narrow, with only enough room for one or two rows of boats between the channel and the adjacent mud flats. Most of that space is occupied by moorings. Grrr.
Heading into Yamba, the sun arrived!
After much searching, the ONLY spot we could find that allowed for a tiny swing was in 1.3 meters at low tide (we draw 1 meter). We set the anchor until we knew it was well buried and then brought half of the deployed chain back aboard to keep our swing to within two boat lengths. The good thing was that the anchorage is so well protected that we weren't likely to need to pull on the anchor chain much anyway. Mostly, it just hung straight down from the bows,
Since we hadn't made it ashore in Coff's, we were both eager to get out and have a look around. Yamba is definitely bigger than Iluka, with plenty more to see {Maryanne: although it is still a small town}. We started with the museum, which was well done and had the bonus of a docent who was happy to answer any questions and even throw in an anecdote or two. There, we picked up a walking map with two self-guided walking routes, one marked “flat”, the other “hilly”. It looked like we had plenty of time for both, so we started with “hilly”. {Maryanne: There wasn't much hill in even the hilly trail!}
That trail was really labeled as such because it wasn't entirely at sea level. It took us to the beach on the ocean side and then basically followed the cliffs of the coast around the town's perimeter back to the anchorage/caravan park side. It turns out most of the points of interest on the maps were of places where there used to be something somewhat interesting, like a hotel where visitors used to stay in the '50s and '60s. Now it's the site of a different hotel where people stay now. The tour would be a great way for octogenarians to get their bearings on a trip down Memory Lane, thinking about their misspent youth.
Enjoying some coastal scenery from the many beaches around town
One thing that actually was still there was the Pacific Hotel, perched on the sea cliffs at the top of Yamba's highest hill. They were open, so we decided to pop in for a beer. Then we saw some of the food the other patrons were eating and decided that maybe it was time for lunch after all. That should fortify us for the rest of the walks. I figured that if I started to flag later, Yamba seemed like the kind of place that should have at least one ice cream shop.
We headed down the other side of the hill to the southern breakwater and then to its end, where we were able to get a good look at the bar conditions at the same state of tide in which we planned to leave. On the way back, we noticed a gannet sitting on the beach just out of the reach of the waves. We had noticed him on the way out, since he was conspicuous as the only gannet in a flock of gulls. Now, the gulls were gone and he was still in the same spot. I was worried there was something wrong with him, so I scrambled down the rocks of the breakwater to the beach and went over to have a look.
When I arrived, he was sleeping with his head under his wing. It took two or three nudges to wake him up, then he freaked out when he saw me there standing over him. It's the same thing Maryanne does every morning. He only had the energy to hop two or three times before he plopped back down on the sand. When I approached again, he made a feeble attempt to charge at me to scare me away, but just ended up collapsing at my feet, defeating his own purpose. His final salvo was a halfhearted peck. After that, he seemed to figure out that I wasn't there to eat him and eventually let me scratch his head while he dozed fitfully.
Something isn't right here...
Back at the breakwater, Maryanne had managed to find a number for WIRES (Australian Wildlife Rescue Organization) and coordinated with them to send someone out to help.
The local volunteer, Heather, arrived with a pet carrier and a beach towel. The towel was to throw over the bird so that it couldn't bite while being picked up. Heather made a few attempts, but the bird wasn't keen and mostly ended up being chased around the beach, the towel landing where it had just been while it tried to hobble away.
The bird was getting more and more distressed, so I tackled the towel on the next throw and let the bird get a few steps away to safety. Exhausted, it plunked down on it's belly. Since I had previously been playing good cop, he let me get close enough to him to drape the towel over his back like I was putting a shawl on an old lady. That way, I already had it swaddled so that it couldn't wriggle away. Then he became perfectly docile and went into the carrier with no fuss. Maryanne and I each took a handle for the walk back to Heather's car.
Off to the Vet with WIRES
The bird didn't have any obvious injuries, like being entangled in fishing line. I was worried he might have a stomach full of plastic, but Heather said it was more likely simple exhaustion. Gannets migrate from New Zealand. If they get unlucky and get bad headwinds, the trip can be too much for them. Based on the juvenile plumage, it may have been our little guy's first time. This seems like a strange problem for a sea bird that eats fish and can rest on the water like a duck, but most of the fish Gannets eat are near shore, so from their standpoint, there is a big food desert to traverse and the longer the crossing takes, the longer they have to go hungry. Our guy seemed too weak to just be really tired, but I hope Heather is right. Once we were at her car, she said she'd have him to at the Vet's in ten minutes.
Our bird detour had eaten up enough time that we decided to save the rest of our tour of Yamba until the next day. First, Maryanne got to do our laundry at the caravan park while I stayed home to hack away at a problem with our weather analysis software. Our reunion was cause for a big celebration, so we dressed Begonia up in all of her Laundry Day flags. We then finished what walking there was left to do in Yamba, even finding a little worn trail with a sign that said, “Caution, Bees Ahead”. We also found that ice cream shop I had been looking for.
We loved ambling about the small town, returning to Begonia around sunset both days
Heather later called Maryanne to pass on the sad news that our gannet was far too sick to survive and had to be euthanized.
{Maryanne: Kyle was obviously sad about the outcome for "our" gannet, its tough to find all that effort didn't really help the bird, we hope at least it had a stress-free time once it made it to the vet. On a lighter note we enjoyed a host of other birds around town; nature thrives after all.}
