Mutiny on the Waltzing Matilda

​The Whitsunday Islands are considered one of the best places for sailing in Australia, so I signed up for a 2-day sailing trip on the Waltzing Matilda, a ship named after a ballad that became the country’s unofficial national anthem. Going into the journey, my main concern was getting seasick. The ocean motion ended up being quite manageable (no one aboard got sick). However, one ailment did strike – cabin fever. Confined to this 60 ft boat were 15 people, including 13 tourists, the cranky captain, and his first mate. While "mutiny" is a bit of an exaggeration, there were some tensions between the passengers and the captain that almost blew up. Apart from this incident, the rest of the trip was smooth sailing. We enjoyed a snorkel in the marvelous Great Barrier Reef and set foot on the famous sands of Whitehaven Beach.

​The sailing trip left from the resort town of Airlie Beach, about 1100km north of Brisbane. I flew from Brisbane to the Proserpine airport, charitably named the “Whitsunday Coast Airport” despite being 30 minutes inland and surrounded by farms. On the flight, I had a window seat and was treated to amazing views of the Queensland coast. I spotted Noosa and Fraser Island, where I had just been a few days earlier. As we approached the Whitsundays, there were dozens of little islands and glimpses of the reef. It was one of the most scenic flights I’ve ever taken. Not bad for a $75 USD Jetstar ticket.

Fraser Island from above

Kiwi shaped island?

​In Airlie Beach, I stayed at a hostel that was confusingly named The Hostel. It had a laid back atmosphere. At its center was a large courtyard with picnic tables and umbrellas. Each room had a balcony overlooking the courtyard, and occasionally, a screeching sulfur-crested cockatoo would perch itself on the railing.

In the previous 11 days, I had spent the night in 8 different places. ​It was a relief to have almost 2 days of doing nothing except resting and journaling. The most exciting part of the day was discovering a “New Zealand Food” section at the local Woolworth’s. They had a special Kiwi soda that I had been looking for, called L&P – lemon and spring water of Paeroa, a small town on the North Island. It was essentially a sparkling lemonade, but still a fun novelty.

The hostel had a handy luggage storage area. On the morning of the sailing departure, I stored most of my belongings and headed for the harbor, which was conveniently only a block away.

Bit by bit, the group began to assemble. It was a diverse international turnout, and all young backpackers. There were two other solo travelers: Valentina from France, a free-spirited pharmaceutical lawyer, and Julius, an innocent 18-year-old from the Netherlands about to start in film school. A friendly Aussie/Czech couple included Sam, a software sales AE from Sydney who played guitar. Another couple was German/Romanian. The latter was a strange fellow named Raul, who didn’t speak English very well and wasn’t eligible to work in Australia, complicating the couple’s working holiday. On the upper deck, it was too windy to light his cigarettes, so Raul stretched out his girlfriend’s shirt and ducked underneath with his lighter. Also onboard was a tight-knit squad of four girls who met while working in Townsville, originally from Argentina, Finland, Sweden, and Germany. The final two travelers were also from Germany, so German was the unofficial second language of the cruise.

​And then there was Captain Pete. He seemed capable of being charming but had the most unorthodox speaking cadence. It involved repetition of phrases with no context, sentences that ended when their intonation suggested more, and extensive use of sound effects. When asking us to secure the bathroom doorhandle with an elastic band, he mimicked the “bing bang boom” of the untethered door for much longer than was necessary. The group awkwardly listened to his drawn-out safety briefing for what felt like an eternity. He also attempted to be a tour guide, and tell us basic information about the area, but it was diluted by his dramatic pauses. At the end, he really wanted us to ask questions, so I asked if the Waltzing Matilda had been damaged in the 1970 cyclone he mentioned earlier. His reply: “a little bit.” Followed by silence. I quickly realized that every minute spent with him was a minute wasted.

​The first mate, Dan, was a silent superhero. In addition to managing the moorings and the sails, he doubled as the snack chef. Platters of pizza slices or fruit slices or nachos appeared at convenient times, raised onto the upper deck and happily gobbled up.

​The main meals were basic but crowd-pleasers. Less thrilling than the professional photos on the cruise’s website, but still a good quantity and variety. Breakfast included yogurt and croissants. Lunches were self-assembled sandwiches or wraps. Dinner was pasta, paired with a moreish garlic bread. Eating on a boat was not without its challenges. Since we ate on the top deck, we had to navigate the narrow ladder with full plates or cups. Lettuce and chips were routinely blown off our plates, sometimes onto our neighbors. And the rocking boat was a challenge, especially for already difficult tasks like trying to assemble a tortilla wrap. Add it to the list of unusual travel cooking scenarios!

​The boat’s layout was compact. It fit a surprising amount, including a shower in the main bathroom and an extra sink in my shared room. However, there wasn’t much wiggle room elsewhere. The bunks were tiny. I had the upper bunk and was glad I didn’t roll off. I don’t know how Julius even fit into the lower bunk. The second bathroom was claustrophobic, with a ceiling that was too low to stand up, a lock that didn’t work, and a toilet that seemed like it could clog at any moment. This was no luxury cruise, but it was part of the experience – and everyone was respectful of each other’s space, as much as they could be.

​The first destination was a snorkeling area near Border Island. The water was choppy as we crossed the open ocean between the mainland and the larger islands. I sat near the front, soaking in the adventure, until I was literally soaked and then retreated to the stern. The weather was mixed, with momentary sunbursts but mostly clouds. A cold wind from Antarctica had been lingering in the area for weeks.

​The cruise took place in late May, when dangerous species of jellyfish in the water were no longer a concern, so unlike my first taste of the Great Barrier Reef back in January, stinger suits weren’t provided. At the same time, the water temperature wasn’t considered cold enough for wet suits. We shivered in the Antarctic winds as we climbed from the Waltzing Matilda into a tiny speedboat. Packed shoulder to shoulder, it was crowded but had the advantage of trapping heat. When the boat took off, we all grimaced as the whipping wind and sea spray hit our vulnerable bodies.

​I’m really glad it wasn’t my first snorkeling experience, as it lacked a sense of agency. For no good reason, Pete started counting down from 10 to time our entry, which led to a lot of panicked adjusting of masks. We entered the water, which was slightly warmer than the air temperature. Since we didn’t have fins, I grabbed a noodle just in case. As a side effect of being finless, the group didn’t spread out very quickly, so there was a lot of accidental kicking at the beginning. Pete stayed in the boat and directed us along the shore. The tide was fairly strong, which reduced the effort of swimming but increased the potential for crashing into shallow coral. My mask had a decent seal but the snorkel itself tended to fill with water. There was a scary moment or two when the snorkel clogged but I couldn’t stop to fix it because I was boxed in by shallow coral below and fellow swimmers to the side.

​Simultaneously, a visual smorgasbord of otherworldly coral and anemones danced below. I had heard this part of the GBR wasn’t as impressive as the northern parts near Cairns, so my expectations were low. I was blown away. The water visibility wasn’t the best, especially with the lack of sun, but the reef itself had a great variety of coral and fish species. There were familiar shapes of coral, like brains and fingers and antlers and cauliflower. There were also new types that looked like bubble wrap, ferns, and gift bows. Some had vibrant red or purple colors. Giant sea cucumbers were parked on the ocean floor, and clams with pulsing mouths were embedded in the rock. Spaghetti forests of anemone tentacles were animated by the tides. Schools of colorful fish skirted the edges of the coral, including a few tiny ones that were an eye-catching shade of neon blue. There were some medium sized parrotfish and butterfly fish, but nothing I would consider large. I was able to use Google Lens to retrospectively identify a few species of fish in my GoPro footage, including the sixbar angelfish, the two lined monocle bream, and the scissortail sargeant.

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​After this first session, we climbed back into the small boat and tried not to freeze. For several people, one go was enough, and they returned to the main boat. The rest of us continued with a second round on the opposite side of the bay. As before, we swam with the tide parallel to the shore, while Pete shepherded us from the boat. The reef was decently close to the rocky shore, so a few wanderers were summoned back. We kept an eye out for turtles, but didn’t see any.

On the return from the second snorkel, Pete told us there would be a third snorkeling opportunity later in the day. Myself a few others stayed in our swim gear in anticipation. But not long after we departed Border Island, I happened to overhear Pete say that a third stop wasn’t in the cards, and followed up to confirm. Given it was a cold and cloudy day, and it didn’t seem like everyone would participate, I didn’t think too much of it. I did think it was strange that he would change his mind so suddenly, and not share this news with the whole group.

Our second stop was at Tongue Bay, which is the access point for the Whitehaven Beach Lookout and also where we spent the night. We were running out of daylight but set out for the lookout. Now in our dry clothes, we boarded the small speedboat and headed for the rocky beach where the trail began. Not only did we get wet from the ocean spray, but it was a treacherous landing. Pete steered the boat towards the shallows and indicated it was safe to get out. The first girl ended up waist-deep in water. When it was my turn, I wasn’t prepared to land on a minefield of sharp corals, and nearly lost my balance trying to avoid stepping on one. We regained our collective composure and started the hike to the lookout.

​Whitehaven Beach is one of those places that’s always depicted at low tide on a sunny day, when its signature swirling sands are most prominent. Getting to see it dressed up with soft pink and red colors of sunset was very special, and not something I was expecting from the tour. It was also uncrowded, and we could take all the photos we wanted.

​On the speedboat ride back to the Waltzing Matilda, one of the German girls – Louisa, I think – asked Pete if we could add the third snorkeling stop. Pete rejected the request without any sympathy or even acknowledging that he’d changed his mind. It was painfully obvious he wasn’t going to capitulate, but Louisa wouldn’t take that answer and continued pressing him about it. During this uncomfortable argument, the entire group was still shoulder to shoulder in the tiny boat. Pete disingenuously offered that we could snorkel again if the whole group was willing to skip the planned beach walk. He gave us time to think about it, breaking the stalemate. We got back on the Matilda and quietly discussed in smaller groups; it was clear that if we couldn’t do both, the group preferred the beach walk. We moved on with the evening, starting dinner and cracking open our BYO beers.

I had seen a guitar on the lower deck and went down to play a few tunes. Raul took notice and joined me. But the conflict broke out again. Louisa asked Pete why we couldn’t attempt the additional snorkeling early in the morning. The arguments got nastier; Louisa emphasized how much we were paying for the tour, while Pete accused her of “whinging” and being a bad person. While Louisa deserved blame for repeatedly poking the bear despite having a lost cause, Pete’s responses were even more appalling. It was totally unprofessional for a tour operator to be speaking to a passenger like that. His acrimonious attacks were the most hostile I’d seen from anyone in Australia. The argument fizzled out, and I was freed from the spellbinding train wreck.
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Chatting with Valentina, Julius, and Sam on the back deck was far more pleasant. The moon was bright and we could see the ridges of Whitsunday Island around us. The stars were partially masked by the clouds, but we tried to identify the ones we could see. We talked about how traveling with a group creates a shared collective memory, but that traveling solo creates memories that no one else can truly understand. We fished out beers from the esky, a team effort that required holding the lid open and shining a flashlight. I traded a Carlton Dry for a Great Northern, the same beer I had on the boat in Cairns after my first GBR snorkel. After a long day, we all slept surprisingly well. A few of us woke up to see the sunrise.

After breakfast, I was sitting at the downstairs table looking through my photos when I was interrupted by Captain Pete: “you won’t see turtles looking at your phone.” This was his way of announcing a turtle spotting excursion, of which no mention was previously made. Still groggy, we were ushered onto the speedboat. Pete was adamantly sure we were going to see a turtle. A few people caught a brief glimpse, but it was slim pickings. Cold and unimpressed, we returned to the boat. I wondered if it was an attempt at an apology to Louisa, who wanted to see a turtle. If so, it wasn’t effective.

On the second outing to Whitehaven Beach, we were mentally prepared for the wet landing. Pete tried to hurry me off the boat, and I explained I was going slow because of the sharp corals. His reply? There weren’t any rocks. Was this guy delusional?
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The tide was coming in. It was a marvelous time to be at Whitehaven Beach. The virtual flatness of the beach meant the ripples of sand were being reshaped before our very eyes. The dry areas of sand started with a corrugated texture, dotted with holes excavated by soldier crabs. These elaborate patterns smoothed as the waves washed over them. Entire sandbars gradually disappeared.

​The high tide also gave the local stingrays an extended range. They ventured into the shallows to browse for crabs. Their tan color was easy to spot in the ankle-deep and transparent water, and they didn’t seem too fazed by our presence. We joked they were posing for our photos. I took an underwater video which revealed they weren’t just gliding over the sand, but repeatedly pressing their mouths down to the bottom. There were also a few baby lemon sharks around.

​I had the urge to split off from the group and return to the Hill Lookout. ​It was the middle of the day, and it was peak hour for the day tours arriving at Whitehaven. By coincidence, I timed it perfectly and arrived in the gap between two large tour groups. I savored the chance to soak in the view without the distraction of people jockeying for photos. When someone else did arrive, it was a tour guide from Ocean Rafting – the company that Vince and Rachel had chosen when they visited. He was surprisingly nice and started telling me about the stingray migration patterns from the upstream mangroves to the shallows to the open ocean. The ones in the shallows are apparently the juvenile rays! I’m tempted to say I learned more from 5 minutes with this serendipitous guide than 48 hours with my own “guide.”

The Waltzing Matilda was considerably slower than the day trip  speedboats. It took us the rest of the afternoon to travel back to Airlie Beach. I spent most of the journey hanging out on the top deck, where I was blasted with both wind and sun.

​Arriving back on land, we were finally rid of Captain Pete's presence. I returned to The Hostel and checked into a different room for my final night. At Valentina’s recommendation, I walked over the hill to Shute Harbor to watch the sunset with a grocery store dinner and another New Zealand soda, this time a feijoa flavored one. I watched as territorial seagulls swooped the innocent egrets browsing for fish, and flocks of cockatoos sought out an evening roost. It was a pleasant last night in Queensland.

The airport shuttle was 10 minutes early, but thankfully I was too. The airport had an aquarium in the waiting area, but the fish looked different than the ones I’d seen in the wild.
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In the end, the tour did deliver where it counted – beautiful snorkeling, off-peak access to Whitehaven Beach, and a more relaxed pace. Of course, I wish I had a different captain. I don’t normally write reviews, but I decided to post mine on several different platforms. My review on the official “Sailing Whitsundays” website was acknowledged by their customer service team but did not post to their public website. Makes me wonder if similar reviews were potentially suppressed. Though prior to signing up for the tour, I cross-checked on TripAdvisor and Google Reviews and didn’t see any red flags regarding Captain Pete. It’s a mystery, but not one that I’ll dwell on.