The kids and I sailed into Thursday Island, tired and hungry. Actually, We sailed into Horn Island because that’s the island with protection from the prevailing winds, while the anchorage on Thursday Island, a mile away, is wide open. While Thursday is a little more interesting, a calm anchorage wins just about every time. And there was exactly one pub/restaurant on Horn, so we were all set.

Approaching the anchorage on Horn Island.

We dinghied to the pier and found lots of locals dropping a line in looking for dinner.

Horn Island, looking across to Thursday Island. The currents through here are ferocious, and the water shallow. Ships are required to take pilots onboard through this whole area.

We were happy to get some fresh food back onboard. Fortunately one of the workers let us know the ship would be in tomorrow and all the fruits and vegetables would be topped up. Saved us wasting a bunch of money on overripe everything.

At nearly $1 USD per raspberry, this was a hard pass.

Just up the road was the Millman Hill Coastal Battery. Reading about the historical significance of the place would have to wait for Wikipedia.

Back in the States, Ali’s visit with my mom came to an end and she zipped off to Minnesota to catch up with her family while waiting for us to sail the last leg to Darwin where she could meet up with us again.

Ali and her sisters at the old Stillwater bridge.

She decided that e-bikes are the best bikes.

We didn’t lollygag at Horn Island. We stocked the fridge, ate a couple pub meals out, took a little diesel onboard, and set off. It should be pointed out that the pub staple in Australia is Chicken Parma. Every pub in Australia makes it, and they all make it equally well.

We were expecting a pretty tame crossing of the Gulf of Carpentaria. While the winds weren’t too bad, the seas were much bigger than we’d anticipated.

The seas laid down a bit, eventually, and we whipped along at a good clip under reefed sails. Two nights after leaving Thursday Island behind, we had The Wessel Islands looming as a pit stop on the west side of the Gulf of Carpentaria.

Inevitably, the sun went down and total darkness descended on us 30 minutes before reaching our anchorage in a bay that some other cruisers had just reported hitting their keel on an unmarked rock. Ah well, what are the chances that rock could get lucky twice in a row?