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Crystal clear waters, pure white sands, Cote d'Azure blue skies, and a girl in a pink bikini.  Life is good in the Whitsundays.

We arrive late evening at Airlie Beach from a night in Mission Beach some 480km up the road.  We look around for a place to stay, its busy so we plump for a cheeky free night in a caravan park in the back of the Beast which turns out to be far better than any of the hostels which are littered along the main street here. Quiet and close to nature.

The next morning we wander down to the marina in a vain effort to find a charter yacht for a week.  To our surprise we strike lucky - twice - perhaps helped by the collapse of the country's national airline Ansett that week.  Our choice is now a 35' Benateau called 'Moet', or a 31' Hunter called 'Wolf'.  For some inexplicable reason (it looked nicer), we choose Wolf from Queensland Yacht Charters.

We go aboard the same day and spend the evening getting drunk with some Sydney sports fishermen on board a boat which is a legend in Australia - The Force.  Now this boat is all motor and Cedar wood.  Its brimming with the most high tech fishing gear ever devised and features the most outlandish flydeck I've seen yet - it even beats a Fioretti for style, and that saying something (if you know your power boats).

This beast is designed to chase Black Marlin and is hired out at A$3000 per day by super rich maggot hookers.

Back to Wolf... and next morning, after provisioning up on headache pills and groceries, we head off in a gentle force four. Not long after we put in two reefs as we pass a headland and discover the boat is very susceptible to strong gusts. In fact its crap when the wind picks up - stalling rapidly and turning wildly towards the wind of its own volition.

I'm wondering if we've done something wrong with the canvas flappy bits, but that night, for the first time in September for years, the weather bureau issues a high wind warning. We have 24 hours to get somewhere, then have to stop a while - Sods law!  

Still, we go for it - heading through a wild wind tunnel called Hook passage and down to the incredibly scenic Hill Inlet where shifting sands give a mother of pearl appearance to the water.

We spend a couple of smug, self-satisfied hours on nearby Bettys Beach before heading to Wolf for the night.  Life doesn't get much better than this. That is until the boatload of tourists blast up on a huge rib...

That night we swing wildly on the anchor chain, and we note ours is the only boat to do so - a twinge of regret over our choice sets in, but we have to make do...

Next day its off to Sawmill Bay on the west side of Whitsunday Island - an anchorage which proves much more settled in the SE trade winds which have reached force seven by this stage.

Wolf bites that night too - Isobel, while bravely reaching for a bottle of Gin in the fridge, cricks her back... Its bad - so bad that not even two large measures of Gin can get her to her feet. We fret a few hours then decide to wait for calmer weather before I attempt a solo return to harbour.

Disaster. Bad weather, we run out of fresh water (partly due to a leaking tank) and Iso is on her back. This, I reckon, is comeuppance for our smugness at Hill Inlet, what goes around comes around...

But it turns out not to be so bad - Iso gradually improves and so does the weather.  We break for Abell Point Marina a day early and Iso is able to slowly walk up the pontoon the next morning. The doctor tells us its a trapped muscle or possibly a slipped disk - either way we need to rest up...

So, doctors orders, rest.  OK, we can do that.

And where better than a ridiculously cheap £100 a night penthouse suite in a 5 star resort hotel?

We book into the Coral Sea Resort and avail ourselves of a suite overlooking the Yachts in Pioneer Bay - a most civilised way of getting close tot he sea.

The only problem is, that while Iso is improving daily, I am developing a strange inability to do anything for myself anymore...  Could someone call room service? I need another cocktail...

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