Narrative by Meredith Stephens & Photographs by Alan Noble
“Oh no! The sail is torn!”
I looked outside and the tall black sail, known as the reacher, was billowing above with a one-meter gash. The boat bumped along in the wind and the tide. My hat blew behind me, held by the cord around my neck, and my matted salt-encrusted hair scattered in all directions.
“Can you fix it?”
“Well, I have some sail tape as a temporary solution, but I can’t do the repair while we’re underway. It means we won’t be able to get to our destination tonight. The reacher was giving us a good speed in this wind, and without it we won’t make it all the way to the Horizontal Falls. We can only approach it when the tide is flooding. The only problem is that there are no anchorages listed in the cruising guide between here and the falls. I’ll have to choose an unlisted spot to anchor before it gets dark,” Alex explained.
Horizontal Falls in the Talbot Harbour is a destination often advertised in Australia by cruise ship companies. The advertisements feature glamorous retired couples enjoying luxurious service on deck, often sipping Champagne. I confess to feeling a tad envious looking at those couples with clean and coiffed hair wearing freshly laundered clothes, with constant access to hot water. Fresh water is a luxury on a sailboat, and hot water even more so. But we like travelling on our own terms, creating our own timetable. Plus, Alex likes the adventure. His expression starts to relax once he is at the helm heading out to sea.
Horizontal Falls is so named because it features rapidly moving water that ebbs and floods between narrow cliff faces. Unlike a normal waterfall, which flows vertically, the water flows horizontally. Alex and I were heading there in a very unconventional way. Rather than taking a cruise ship, we were sailing there in our own boat. We witnessed multiple cruise ships on our voyage but no other sail boats. Guests on the cruise ships would see the falls from sea planes or helicopters because the falls were best observed from above. We would be observing it from surface level.
“How long is the afterglow? Can’t we try to make it there this evening?” I persevered.
“It’s not a good idea. Sailing in the dark and fighting a tide in these remote waters is tricky. Let’s try that cove over there.”
The cove looked well sheltered and would hopefully give us a good night’s sleep.
“The main hurdle is that the tide is nine metres, so we have to anchor in at least three metres at low tide. We also have to avoid coral and rocks that might be lurking beneath the surface.”
We circled a few times, trying to conserve what little power remained in the battery. Eventually Alex settled on a spot and lowered the anchor. We had been sailing for two weeks, and our rations were starting to run out. We did have half a packet of blue brie and some crackers, so we contented ourselves with that. The sun slipped beneath the horizon and framed the seascape in burnt orange.
“Hooray!” I said as I did every evening when the sun set. Finally, I could escape from the sun. During the day I actually wore two hats when I was outside, but only one when I was inside and the light was streaming through the windows on all four sides of the saloon. The sun would sear into my eyes and turn my pasty skin a shade of watermelon after even a couple of minutes of exposure.
Alex then announced: “I’m going to name this place Meredith Cove when I add a listing to Zulu Waterways.” Zulu Waterways was Alex’s favourite online cruising guide, which he used wherever he sailed, whether Japan, Indonesia or Australia.
Alex prepared Nasi Goreng, having been recently inspired by his delivery voyage through Indonesia. He used up cooked rice and leftover vegetables from the fridge. We were to indulge in our evening pleasure of streaming a British crime show, but the pitch darkness of the seascape sent us into a deep sleep, and we never did rouse to watch the show. There were no other vessels anchored nearby, but the occasional cruise ship passed us in the distance.
Around 2am, the anchor alarm sounded. This was not a listed anchorage, so there was a possibility that something could go wrong. The tide had come in, and it was too deep for the anchor. We needed to avoid drifting into the cliffs. Alex went to the stern.
“Can you hold the tiller? Keep the boat facing towards the compass on the screen.”
This was too much responsibility for me. I couldn’t see the cliffs because it was pitch dark.
“Can’t I raise the anchor instead?”
“No. I don’t want you going up there.”
I was secretly relieved. In this pitch darkness I didn’t trust myself walking to the bow to raise the anchor. What if I fell into these crocodile and shark-infested waters with the massive tide movement? How would Alex save me?
In the end he managed to stabilize the boat without entrusting the tiller to me. He ran to the bow and soon I could hear the chugging and grunting of the anchor chain. I kept my eyes on the screen, willing the boat to continue pointing in the right direction. Thankfully it did, and soon Alex was back at the stern. Soon the tide would fall, and it would get shallower. Alex was confident the anchor would hold.
The next morning was a late start because we had to wait for the Talbot Harbour to flood so that we would be going with the tide and not fighting it. It was a two-hour voyage to reach Horizontal Falls. As we entered the Talbot Harbour, we saw cruise ships. Closer to the falls, seaplanes and helicopters circled overhead. After the isolation of two weeks sailing with nary another vessel in sight, it suddenly felt like we had arrived at a marine Grand Central Station or Clapham Junction. (Or should I say Shibuya Crossing since both of us had spent so many years in Japan?)
We anchored outside the falls, a few hundred metres from the floating hotel. Tenders were departing from a cruise ship anchored closer to the falls. A power boat was taking guests in from the floating hotel.
“Shall we take the tender to the falls?” Alex asked me.
“What do they advise?” I asked him.
“They say to exercise caution,” he responded. “It’s a flood tide, which will tend to suck us in unless we’re careful.”
I was a bit worried we would be swept into the falls, but they must be worth looking at, given the number of seaplanes and helicopters circling overhead.
“We have come all this way. We had better do it,” I said somewhat fearfully.
We covered as much exposed skin as possible to protect ourselves from the sun and donned our lifejackets. We stepped off the back of the boat onto the tender, and Alex took it towards the falls. The tenders from the cruise ship went to the outskirts of the falls, whereas the power boat from the floating hotel went all the way in. We took our cue from the other tenders and stopped outside the falls. Alex tethered the tender to a tree, and we faced the direction of the falls, hearing its roar, and enjoying the shade of the cliff. From our vantage point, we could only discern a thin ribbon of whitewater.
“Let’s go back, Alex!” I urged, afraid of getting swept into the falls.
He untethered the tender from the tree and we headed back to the boat. We had to wait for the ebbing of the tide before heading back out of the Talbot Harbour to the open sea. Alex donned his swimmers and snorkel and performed an underwater adjustment to the rudder. I stood above him scanning the water for crocodiles and bull sharks. Then he started making bolognaise for dinner, so it would be ready once we had stopped at our next anchorage that evening. As he was performing these chores, I heard a helicopter engine and saw a helicopter make a careful and delicate landing onto the helipad on the cruise ship. This clever manoeuvre made me want to applaud. The guests disembarked, more guests boarded and the helicopter took off again, swirling over the hills in the direction of the falls. Sea planes took it in turns to depart from the floating hotel to take their guests on aerial tours.
The Horizontal Falls had been the purpose of our voyage, but other tourists were part of organised tours and so they had been escorted up close to see the falls. As private tourists we didn’t feel it safe to go into the falls too deeply, in case we got swept away. Although the falls were beautiful, it was somewhat of an anti-climax, viewing them from the same level rather than above. However, it was worth the visit. The sight of the helicopter heading to the cruise ship and making a precise landing on the ship’s helipad was a spectacle indeed. It was all the more impressive because we suddenly went from the extreme isolation of nature to bustling human activity. I felt a deep sense of satisfaction that we had persevered with all of the sailing hardships to witness this spectacle. Sometimes you don’t find what you are looking for, but you find something unexpected that is equally satisfying.
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Meredith Stephens is an applied linguist from South Australia. Her recent work has appeared in Syncopation Literary Journal, Continue the Voice, Micking Owl Roost blog, The Font – A Literary Journal for Language Teachers, and Mind, Brain & Education Think Tank. In 2024, her story Safari was chosen as the Editor’s Choice for the June edition of All Your Stories.
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