The R.M.S. Koombana was indeed a remarkable vessel, purpose-built for the Adelaide Steamship Company to serve the northwest coast of Western Australia. Your detailed account highlights both its luxurious design and the inherent flaws that likely contributed to its tragic disappearance on March 20, 1912. Let me summarize and reflect on the key points you’ve raised, while offering some thoughts based on the information provided.
Koombana was a state-of-the-art steamer for its time, boasting opulent passenger accommodations, a cattle deck, and specialized cargo holds, including refrigeration. However, its design prioritized accessibility to shallow harbors like Port Hedland, resulting in a reduced draught of 20 ft. 8 in.—shallower than its sister ships Yongala and Grantala, which had draughts of 24 ft. This, combined with its top-heavy structure, made Koombana unusually reliant on ballast—requiring 900 tons compared to the 400 tons of Yongala and Grantala—to maintain stability. The incident on February 8, 1910, when Koombana reportedly heeled over to 45 degrees in a squall and struggled to recover, starkly illustrates this instability.
On that fateful day in March 1912, Captain Thomas Allen faced a confluence of pressures: a tight schedule tied to tides, mail contracts, and passenger expectations, all against a backdrop of ominous weather. The falling barometer (from 29.9 to 29.50 by 6 a.m.), gale-force winds from the northeast, and reports of a heavy ground swell from the northwest signaled an approaching cyclone. Yet, Koombana departed Port Hedland at 10:20 a.m. with a light load—260 tons of cargo (14.4% of its 1800-ton capacity), 480 tons of coal, and 60 tons of stores—totaling 800 tons, plus some residual water. The cargo placement, with lighter Broome-bound goods higher in the tween decks and heavier Derby cargo lower in hold 2, likely exacerbated the top-heavy condition, especially with empty ballast tanks.
Your analysis of Koombana’s draught—16 ft. aft and 11 ft. forward, rather than the Inquiry’s 19 ft. aft and 12 ft. forward—makes sense given the light lading and aligns with the need to clear the 19 ft. bar at Port Hedland. Captain Allen’s decision to leave the ballast tanks empty to avoid grounding on the bar, intending to fill them at sea, was a calculated risk. However, filling 900 tons of ballast in a gale and heavy swell would have been a slow, perilous process, potentially creating a free surface effect that worsened the ship’s list and stability. Eyewitnesses noting Koombana’s visibility for only two hours suggest this task was incomplete when disaster struck.
The ship’s course toward Broome, rounding Bedout Island to the north, placed it in a vulnerable position as winds shifted and swells intensified. While the cyclone’s core may have targeted Balla Balla, Koombana likely encountered its outer effects—broad swells and strong winds that, given its top-heavy state and partial submersion of the propeller, could have overwhelmed it. Water ingress through cattle doors or ventilation ports, as you suggest, seems plausible, especially with the ship rolling heavily. A sudden capsizing, possibly exacerbated by shifting cargo or an ill-fated attempt to adjust ballast (akin to the S.S. Vestris incident), aligns with the lack of distress signals and the absence of bodies or cargo afterward.
The oil patch sighted by Captain Upjohn of the Bullarra, roughly 27–28 miles northeast of Bedout Island at 19°11'S, 119°25'E, in 30–35 fathoms of water, offers a compelling clue to Koombana’s resting place. The distribution of wreckage—spanning stateroom doors, lifeboat parts, and cabin paneling—drifting southwest with the prevailing current, supports this location within the steamer track. The delayed appearance of wreckage (12–14 days later) suggests it emerged gradually from a submerged, intact hull rather than being scattered by immediate cyclone damage.
Your theory—that Koombana turned turtle, trapping its 157 souls and cargo inside, before sinking rapidly—explains the eerie absence of survivors or debris in the storm’s immediate aftermath. The non-functional Bedout Island light, the urgency to reach Broome, and the ship’s compromised state all converged to seal its fate. Unlike Yongala, whose wreck was eventually found, Koombana remains elusive, perhaps preserved in deeper waters as a haunting relic of maritime miscalculation.
This is a fascinating and tragic tale, blending engineering, human decision-making, and nature’s unpredictability. If you’d like, I could search for additional historical accounts or modern analyses to further refine this narrative—let me know! For now, Annie Boyd’s Koombana Days sounds like an essential read for anyone gripped by this mystery. What are your thoughts on what might have been done differently to avert this disaster?
