Journal Extracts: Caught in a Cyclone on a Pearling boat

Every now and then I include an extract from my travel journals. Today’s extract is from my time working at Pas Paley Pearl Farms in Kuri Bay, Western Australia.

Kuri Bay Pearl Farm

Craig and I were only new to Kuri and we had spent the two days previous to the journal extract on land preparing camp and the cyclone shelters for the arrival of Cyclone Faye. We were not allowed to go out on the open water for obvious reasons. I was nervous, yet a little excited, at the prospect of being able to get up close and personal with a little of nature’s fury.

I had two serious ear infections, so I was happy enough to be on dry land to give them a bit of a rest.  I was desperate to make a good impression so I could stay and work a 5-week swing and earn some serious cash. I knew, having just arrived, it would not look good if I asked for some time off due to ear infections.

I should never have even flew out to the camp from Broome to start the job and on second thoughts I’m sure the sea plane flight would have been a contributing factor to both ears eventually perforating. But it was really hard to get out to the farm as the waiting list was long. My brother, Stilts and his wife Chris, worked at Kuri, and we needed some good, quick cash to travel with, so when the rare opening appeared for us to fly out, I sucked it up, stayed quiet and did my best to work hard.

Having a day to just roam camp and tie down hoses was like a gift from heaven for my aching ears.

Cyclone Faye was all bark and she eventually turned to head out to sea. The next day we were sent back out on the boats at sun up to continue the tedious job of chipping shell.  The hour journey by speed boat to the farm was a relaxing way to greet the rising sun and enjoy the spectacular scenery of the Kimberly coast. Once there we would change from the people mover onto our working 10 foot aluminium barge (AB).

Kimberly Coast Kuri Bay

“Today was a horrendous day on the water with quite a story to tell. We were at Port George C again. Craig was there this time as well as Coxy’s boat so there were three barge crews pulling lines.

Port George C pearl farm Kuri Bay

The morning seemed really slow in starting but once we arrived at Port George and shook the sleep from our eyes we saw that the darkness was coming from the stormy sky. Ominous, black clouds rolled around above us and the sea soon became quite rough making it extremely difficult to pull the lines. The panels kept dragging under the boat with the swiftly moving tides. It was difficult to pull them up and balance at the same time as the boat kept pitching with the swell, threatening to knock us overboard.

The rain pelted down and the wind howled, slicing into my ears and sharpening the pain even more.  The boat continued to throw us about and the wind pinned us against the side of the work table many times.

We tried to contact Brad, our manager, in the Pearling office to see if we needed to come back in but we could not get through. So we kept working, while I kept silently begging for us to stop and go back in. We had to keep stopping as conditions worsened, making it almost impossible to chip the shell.  I was baffled as to why Forester, our boat boss, did not just pull the plug and take us back to camp.

The rain covered the area like a blanket and visibility was only a few metres. I could barely make out Craig’s boat in the distance and I hoped he was holding on tight. Fear started to tighten its grip on me.  I could barely hear Forester and Jez’s instructions over the noise of the wind and the rain grazed at my skin, soaking my body as it came teeming in sideways. The usually steady barge rolled and pitched in the huge swells as the waves broke around us.

Photo: shutter sparks

Eventually, at about 1pm, Forester suddenly became aware of the danger we were in and decided to get the hell out of there. We  had to take AB through the tumultuous ocean to other side of the bay to moor and transfer over to the people mover. The waves were crashing over us and we held on tight as we made our way across. I had finally found something to take the focus off the pain in my ears.

We couldn’t moor the AB to the people mover as the swell was tossing us around too much. We were stuck in the raging water and I started to panic on the inside. Trying to move from one boat to the other felt a bit like trying to time your entry into the double dutch skipping ropes on the primary school playground. The consequences of a miss timed jump however, would be far greater than a slap on the legs with a rope.  There would be no need to worry about the crocodiles and sharks that often swam around our boats.

Hungry visiting sharks

Finally each of us timed the jump right, and we moved the speed boat to pick up Craig and the remaining crew and set off for home. The danger was not yet over. We still had over an hour’s journey to get back to camp.

The little speedboat was getting tossed about in the swell  and I was soon wishing to be back on the sturdy barge. The big strong men surrounding me, who were usually jovial, became deathly silent and focused on the ocean ahead.

As we entered Quinlin Strait, a notorious area for huge tidal movements, Jez’s concentration deepened and so did my concern. The boat hit the oncoming swell, took some air, and as it slammed back down nose dived under a wave. A wall of water raced towards us covering the windscreen and washing over the small cabin. My heart rammed into my throat, my eyes closed, and my hands gripped the fragile pole with terror waiting for the flip into the raging ocean and death to greet me. My eyes squinted opened only when I felt the boat pop back up and heard the collective sighs of relief from the others.  A few swear words were muttered, some pats on the back for Jez, and we kept moving forward.

I was chilled to the bone and my ears were screeching with pain from being tossed around like a rag doll. As we neared the final bend home two hours later, we saw my brother and his crew waiting for us in their boat on the other side of Quinlin Strait. They were really concerned about where we were as our radio was down and Brad had been trying to call us in all morning.

When we finally made it safely back to land, I almost bent down to kiss and hug the steady firm ground. The wind was blowing at almost 80km/h and anything that was not tied down on land was getting picked up and thrown about and we had to hurry to the shelter of the mess hall.

All of us were frazzled and deeply annoyed. Brad was extremely apologetic for sending us out in the boats. The weather reports from early this morning had been wrong and the squall was totally unexpected. Cyclone Faye had decided to turn back around to shore, surprising everyone and leaving us out on the open water in her category-1-tail-wind. I didn’t feel so bad asking him for time off for my ears anymore.

The bar was busy that night. All crews were downing a  few beers to calm their nerves and share their version of the adventurous day chipping shell.

I guess it’s all a story to tell in the end.

We survived the cyclone