ALONG the rocky coastline of Bundaberg, a flotilla of massive yachts lie wrecked.

During the violent storms that thrashed the town and its beaches they were flung out the mouth of the Burnett River into a wild bleak yonder.

One such vessel, a 40-foot cruising catamaran, Barefoot, lies on the rocks between Mon-Repos Beach and the seaside town of Bargara.

The ferocious winds and tides have left it a hapless wreck at the mercy of future tides, winds and salvage merchants - never to sail the seas again.

The mast sits at a precarious 45 degrees, held by two lone stays that still sing in the wind. The main sheet is shredded and its hull broken.

Inside the main deck, cupboards are packed with food, the bedroom cabins a mess with pillows, doonas and debris piled high.

Two huge stainless steel steering wheels on the aft of each hull wait in vain for a sailor's hands.

Approaching the abandoned vessel over the volcanic rock conjures a sense of foreboding and gloom.

It's like being the first on scene at an accident, the heart sinks. Debris litters the shores, entire pontoons, pieces of smashed hull, buoys, navigation beacons, fuel tanks, clothes, jars of food,  electrical wire, rope, children's toys, stainless steel, seafaring books.

These once mighty yachts will never sail again, I only hope that their owners do.



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