We woke to a lovely morning in Schooner Cove off the Bathurst Channel, with fair winds forecast tonight for a run back around the South Cape. It was bittersweet, but we would have to move on.
Exploring Schooner Cove
We still had a full day before the weather-window opened, and Silver Fern had run out of drinking water. We had been wary of running the water-maker in the brackish black buttongrass peat water of the Bathurst Channel. John and Liv decided to take the boat out into Port Davey to run the water-maker for a few hours in clean salt water, a trip that would take most of the morning, so I volunteered to take the dinghy to explore Schooner Cove, and most of the crew hopped in.
We tied up the dinghy on a handy beach, and had a long and mostly enjoyable romp over the now-familiar low scrub, looking for an ‘aboriginal cave, ochre and midden’ which was marked on a mud-map in Ian Johnston’s excellent book The Shank. We never did find the midden, but did end up on a very pleasant little beach close to the site on the map.
Rather than hike back over the hill, I took off my boots and waded back along the shoreline to fetch the dinghy, picked everybody up, and then did a boat tour around the cove ending at the ‘swimming hole and fresh water’.
The swimming hole was a small bay inset into the larger one, fed by a small spring that ran over the narrow shingle beach. I went for a very pleasant swim in the sun-warmed waters of the bay, then dug a shallow basin below the spring and washed my sweaty clothes for the first time, hanging them out to dry on the bushes above.
It was a glorious day, and we knew that we were leaving tonight, so we all took the time to just sit by the buttongrass water and soak in the peace.
Down Bathurst Channel to Port Davey
Silver Fern returned to Schooner Bay in time for lunch, and we spent the afternoon tidying ship and making ready for sea. As dusk fell, we weighed anchor and motored out of Bathurst Channel and into Port Davey, with the teeth of the Breaksea Islands looming out of the ocean ahead. Here’s a short movie clip.
We were all a little contemplative as we watched the quartzite rocks of Port Davey fall away astern. Bathurst Harbour is a magical place, satisfyingly hard to get to, and we were well aware that perhaps we might not be able to visit again.
Out in the Southern Ocean, we were greeted by three-metre swells and a flotilla of albatross and petrels. A fur-seal popped out to perform back-flips and then raced to catch up, farewelling us to sea.
Still looking astern, the comforting words of Deny King, the famous bushman who lived here for most of his life, ran through my mind:
‘Those who drink the buttongrass water always return.’
I have drunk the buttongrass water.