On a fine tropical morning, Lord Bailey and I boarded the racing yacht Ragamuffin. Our destination was the uncharted waters of the Whitsunday Islands.
Preparing to come aboard.
First order of business, as it always should be, was morning tea and biscuits on deck.
Cheerio, good sir!
The captain, denoted by an admirable mustache, prepared the boat for departure.
A local transport awaiting work.
The main sail is hoisted.
Whales were sighted off the port bow. If only we had brought our harpoons, we could have sent back oil to light the empire.
Relaxing in proper style at the stern of the ship.
Lord Bailey inspects the forward rigging.
The crew hard at work.
A sailing ship at anchor.
A distant mountain rising up out of the sea.
Flying the Australian variant of the Union Jack. For empire, for empire!
Arriving at Whitsunday Beach. A fleet of pleasure craft greeted our arrival.
Preparing to drop the anchor.
A deckhand bids us farewell as we are brought to land.
Whitsunday Beach has some of the whitest and squeakiest sand in the world.
Even in paradise, Bogans find interesting ways of making their presence known.
The only palm tree on the beach.
A seaplane makes a quick departure.
Preparing to raise anchor and get underway.
A two masted ship.
More whales. Now where did we store the harpoons?
The winds picked up on our return voyage.