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  Getting to the starting line on time, however, was something I was less confident of.

  We worked every waking hour to get ready for our launch. It had become such a big production that there was no way we could delay the start because of the level of media interest in the trip.

  As the departure date loomed, the work increased and one day melted into the next. It was exciting, especially working on the boat, where a carnival-type atmosphere had developed among the crew and helpers. But with the excitement came stress, particularly for the office crew, who were juggling sponsors, the media, organising the launch event and keeping an eye on a crew of young novices.

  On the business side of things, the sea crew looked to the office team for direction. They were older and experienced with business and public relations. For the boat preparations and logistics everyone looked to me. I assigned each crew member certain tasks and responsibilities. Beau decked out the galley, Mika wrote presentations and Josh took care of the production equipment. Nicolette had, unfortunately, arrived at the last minute and didn’t have the experience to tackle any tasks on her own. To make matters worse, no one had the time to explain anything to her, so she was just expected to fit in and help out where she could.

  The day before our departure we headed to the yacht club to pack our equipment and personal belongings into the tight spaces below decks. All the crew was there except Nicolette and no one knew where she was for the entire day.

  Aboard Kijana I was relieved to find we had more room than I’d expected, but it still took well into the evening to get everything in place.

  I returned home to my flat for the last time, still unsure where Nicolette was and mildly concerned that none of her stuff had been packed or that she wouldn’t know where everything had been placed on board.

  My concern turned to anger when she arrived at my flat later that night having spent the entire day shopping. With less than 12 hours until departure, I had neither the time nor the inclination to raise my concerns with her. She was, after all, the least experienced, so I was willing to forgive a one-off indiscretion. As it was, I didn’t get much sleep that night as I wrestled with last-minute problems.

  In the meantime, Maya had decided to come home from her Canadian trip. She was scheduled to arrive in Melbourne the morning Kijana departed. I was over the moon when she told me, but came down to earth with a thud when she said she wasn’t sure if she wanted to come to the marina to see me, for she feared she’d be too upset. Her flight was arriving early in the morning so I offered to meet her at the airport, as I wasn’t due to leave until late morning. She said she’d prefer I did what I had to do and not worry about her. That was easier said than done.

  Departure day, 10 March 2002, finally arrived. For months it had felt such a long way off, and now it was here. But there was no fanfare as the sun rose, just a bloody lot of hard work ahead of us.

  I said a quick goodbye to my flat as Nicolette and I packed the last few boxes into Dad’s car and drove to Sandringham Yacht Club where Kijana sat silently by the dock. I wondered if she knew what lay ahead.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t a simple matter of jumping on the boat and leaving, as I had done on Lionheart, a little over three years before. This was a slicker affair, with freebies and music, and a crowd of thousands. There was a formal function for everyone who had helped us get out on the water and a video presentation highlighting what we hoped lay ahead. The Victorian Government even sent along the Deputy Premier to say a few words.

  One by one, each of the crew, adorned in our uniform – T-shirts bearing the names of our biggest sponsors – was presented to the audience and asked to say a few words. There were plenty of tears and laughs, particularly from Josh, and then it was my turn. I’d given little thought to what I was going to say, but I knew that whatever I said I needed to thank those who had helped get us to that point.

  I directed most of my appreciation to Mum, Dad and the office team who’d done so much for me and the crew to get us to this point. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spied Maya. She had slipped in unnoticed and unannounced. Her face flushed red when our eyes met. I’d been thinking about her all morning and suddenly she was there. I hadn’t seen her for nearly three months and suddenly, in a crowded room swimming with emotion and television cameras, she just appeared. My lips started to shake and my mind began to swim. I was about to break down in front of everyone. So I quickly finished with: ‘I just do what I want and I get all this help.’

  Reading those words on a cold page makes it appear like the jabbering of a spoilt brat. But I honestly felt I was the luckiest person in the world – I was able to actually follow my dreams, and all these wonderful people were willing to help me. I felt as though I had everything in the world – everything.

  I stepped off the stage and began to battle my way through the crush of well-wishers. It seemed to take forever, but I was finally able to touch Maya. I wished we were alone, not surrounded by hundreds of people. Holding her hand as if it were my lifeline, we slowly made our way down to the water.

  The jetty was crammed with family, friends and everyone from the Kijana office, while thousands more lined the shore. Outside the marina lay dozens of spectator craft waiting to escort us down the bay. It was chaos.

  Beau, Mika, Josh and Nicolette slowly made their way to the boat, wishing their loved ones goodbye. The media was clamouring to get their best shots and the TV crews staged a mini press conference with the crew on board. Josh had brought along his fake teeth and put them in for the photographs. We had a group photo of the land and sea crews together at the front of the boat, then Maya and I sat on the deck talking and smiling at each other.

  Suddenly it was 11 a.m., the scheduled time of departure – an around-the-world odyssey had to start sometime. I said goodbye to Mum and Dad and started the engine. Maya was trying not to look at me as she wiped tears from her face. I told her she was beautiful but she said she thought she looked horrid.

  I wasn’t the only one being torn from a loved one – Mika was leaving her boyfriend of seven years.

  People started to step off the boat until only the crew remained. Beau and Nicolette undid the lines tying us to the jetty and pushed the bow out. I gave it a bit of throttle and Kijana began to move.

  We rounded the breakwater of the marina, where the water was covered in streaks of wakes as yachts, motorboats and windsurfers followed us towards the heads of Port Phillip Bay.

  Gradually they dropped away as we sailed the four hours to the heads. By the time we got that far there were only three boats left – Dad on his small catamaran, the office crew on a power boat and Mum and Maya with our friends, Steve and Julie O’Sullivan. Eventually they could hang on no longer, lest they end up on their own around-the-world voyage, and were forced to turn back.

  With the boats disappearing from view, the only thing left to do was what we had all dreamt of doing for so long. We raised the sails and hit the big blue ocean. The Kijana adventure had begun.

  CHAPTER THREE

  FINDING OUR SEA LEGS

  THE MILE-WIDE OPENING INTO PORT PHILLIP Bay from Bass Strait may be one of the most treacherous port entrances in the world, but it is a special place for me. Each time I’ve passed through it I’ve felt something new, as if being reborn by Mother Nature. Today was no different. The sunlight splashed across the coastline and a stiff wind sent spray flying over the cockpit, giving us our first taste of what was to come as we turned east. We were finally on our way.

  Aboard Lionheart I had felt like a small dot in the middle of the ocean. Now, on Kijana, I felt like the captain of a real ship. While not exactly the size of Captain Cook’s Endeavour, Kijana was much bigger than Lionheart, and was also much more sturdy and took on the waves like an experienced traveller. The conditions Kijana faced as we entered Bass Strait were far from dangerous but still uncomfortable enough for us to realise we were on an adventure, not a pleasure cruise.

  I stood in the cockpit holding th
e wheel, every shudder of the wooden hull being relayed to my fingers. The crew was positioned across the deck, up the side ladders and on the bowsprit. I had an overwhelming feeling that my crew would prove just as sturdy as the wooden planks we were standing on. It was this feeling of adventure that I loved. With the salty spray hitting my face, the realisation of something that was once only a dream was satisfying beyond words. I wondered if the rest of the trip would continue in the same vein.

  Dusk fell, revealing a starry sky that marked our first night together. The excitement of the day had finally passed through our system as we took time out to gather our thoughts and explore our new surroundings. The rocking sensation as we headed into the waves had finally quelled the enthusiasm of Mika and Nicolette, and they were officially feeling seasick. They had both taken the seasickness drug dramamine to quell their impulses to throw up, which, in turn, spaced them out, making the stars even more pretty.

  Beau and Josh were in better shape. Their experience in sailing Kijana from Brisbane to Melbourne had given their bodies a taste for the movement.

  As the sun disappeared, Beau swung into action to prepare our first meal. He immediately discovered that the bike pump required to pressurise the kerosene tank for the stove was missing, forcing him to prepare a cold meal of dry biscuits and guacamole with tinned oysters mixed into it.

  He handed the girls their meal (you can imagine being served that while feeling seasick – they were less than impressed), then hit the sack at 8 p.m. after drawing the fourth watch in the early hours of the morning.

  I wanted to make sure we got far enough away from land before I also went to bed, so Josh stayed on deck to keep me company. We sat at the rear of the boat, the glow of the compass lighting the cockpit as we talked about the day.

  At one stage we were looking out into the darkness at the black water when Josh broke the silence by thanking me for asking him to come on the trip. I was taken aback, but I didn’t think it was the right time to thank him for accepting my invitation. I knew he appreciated being aboard. I saw it in the way he did things. While Beau was the muscles of the crew, doing the hard jobs and committing his all to any task at hand, I considered Josh to be the apprentice captain. Even before we hit the water he was eager to learn everything about sailing, including all the theory, as if he thought I was going to fall overboard one day.

  Josh may have thought I was doing him a favour, but, as I saw it, he was repaying me tenfold with his enthusiasm. We sat and talked about what he should do with the sails if the wind changed or a gust came through unexpectedly. His questioning gave me a sense of support that was invaluable. I knew Kijana was in good hands.

  When I woke the next morning we were well on our way to Wilsons Promontory, the southernmost tip of mainland Australia. The conditions were overcast and the wind had died down a little. I was glad to hear that Mika and Nicolette had completed their watches. Each crew member had completed a four-hour watch overnight. Josh and Mika had kept watch after I went to bed, then Beau took over Josh’s role, then three hours later, Nicolette took over Mika’s role. I shared the last watch with Nicolette.

  During those first few nights there were always two people awake in case any problems arose. Having two people on watch also meant you could keep each other company and prevented anyone from drifting off to sleep.

  A keen eye had to be kept for any other ships, and every hour our position was plotted on the chart and course adjustments made depending on our progress and position.

  Even though the girls were seasick, they appeared to enjoy life out on the water. The scenery was always changing, whether it was overcast or a blue sky, and we appreciated having finally left the hectic schedule of organising and the crowds. It was the first time in months that any of us had been able to sit down and chat without the pressure of having things to do.

  It was great to relax and just enjoy each other’s company. But there was plenty to do on board. For instance, in the months leading up to our departure, each of us had completed a navigation course. However, we’d finished it before Nicolette arrived, so she had missed out. We spent the first few days teaching her how to plot our position using the GPS (global positioning system).

  It took us four days to round the south-east corner of the Australian mainland and start on our northward course. Although the wind was becoming increasingly fickle, I estimated we were only four days’ sailing from Sydney, where we had an appointment with the National Maritime Museum for another media launch to drum up more publicity for our sponsors. Josh was also having problems linking the computer to the satellite phone, which was preventing us from emailing, so we were keen to get to shore so that Telstra could help Josh work it out.

  The wind continued to die, forcing us to fire up the motor so we could make Sydney on time. The day before we arrived, Kijana was visited by its first pod of dolphins. Aboard Lionheart I’d got so used to dolphins that I forgot what a thrill it was to see them. In a mad rush, and amid screams of delight, everyone rushed to the bow to see them playing in front of the boat. Josh headed in the opposite direction, grabbing the camera, like a good cameraman should, before joining us.

  We got to Sydney in time for a series of public engagements and got the email system working. Beau got his hands on a bike pump for the stove, while Dad drove up to help with more last-minute jobs on the boat. Most of the office crew were also on hand to organise interviews with the Sydney media.

  After two weeks in port, we were ready to set sail again. Our departure felt even more crazy than when we had left Melbourne. As we were heading direct to Papua New Guinea from Sydney, Customs came down to the boat and stamped everyone’s passport amid a frenzy of further media interviews. The call had gone out to yacht clubs to escort us out of Port Jackson. I counted at least 30 boats as we motored to the heads.

  It was all a bit overpowering and confusing. We’d already said goodbye in Melbourne and there we were doing it all over again, complete with all the emotions. It affected Nicolette the most. With so many people swarming around her, all the attention took its toll as we sailed towards the open sea.

  She sobbed as she spoke to her mother over the satellite phone with helicopters buzzing overhead and foghorns blasting in the background. Despite her discomfort, we knew it needed to be filmed. If we were going to make documentaries they had to show the truth of what happened on Kijana. That meant capturing the intimate moments we would not normally share with the outside world.

  Within an hour we were at the heads, accompanied by only one boat. As soon as we entered the Pacific Ocean, the wind died down until it seemed we weren’t even moving. Our solitary companion bid us farewell and turned back, revving its motors and leaving a trail of white water away from us.

  On board Kijana the only signs of movement came from the clang of the rigging against the mast and the smallest of ripples that showed we were making some progress. What we needed was a strong wind to get us out of there.

  The mood on board was one of melancholy. Beau read some letters from friends, Mika sat at the wheel with headphones on listening to music, Nicolette leant up against the mizzen (rear sail) mast staring out to the cliffs along the coast. Quiet tears rolled down her bright red cheeks.

  But Josh’s reaction shocked me the most. He was the one we could rely on to make a silly comment and snap us out of our mood. Yet, he too sat uncharacteristically quietly, mulling over his thoughts. I walked along the deck to where Josh was lying with his T-shirt covering his face. When he saw me with the camera he gave a look as if to say ‘please, not now’. But he knew the rules and smiled reluctantly.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

  He took a few moments, his eyes red from tears, and looked straight ahead at the bright blue sky, as if it would provide the answer. ‘I dunno,’ he said. ‘It’s ... just ... sad.’

  I knew exactly what he meant, but I couldn’t explain it in any better way.

  There we were, on the threshold of an amazing adventure, f
ree to go wherever we wanted and do anything we wanted, yet all we could feel was – sad?

  Being the lucky ones about to sail the world hadn’t made us immune to being sad. In fact, I suspect it had made us more susceptible to every emotion. It was as though we had been on a high for weeks, and now that we were finally on our way we were hit by an amazing downer as the reality of actually being out there and doing it dawned on us. With so much freedom at the tips of our fingers it scared us a little.

  Josh dried his watering eyes and continued. ‘I just don’t want to let everyone down – the office and all the time they’ve spent away from their families. All the hard work we and everyone else have put in. I just hope it’s worth it, that people can say they’re glad we did it.’

  The wind picked up slightly that night, but over the next four days our slow progress did little to lift our mood. One night we actually drifted backwards.

  On one of these calm days Beau cooked a breakfast of bacon and eggs to everyone’s delight except Josh’s. As our resident vegetarian, Josh was the butt of jokes by Beau and I over what he could expect to be served up in Papua New Guinea.

  ‘What are you going to do when they serve you up a slice of wild pig from a wedding ceremony?’ we’d ask. ‘You can’t say no ’cos it’ll be an insult.’

  However, he had a good answer: ‘If it’s part of a cultural experience then I’ll try it.’ It soon became his mantra.

  On the fifth day out of Sydney the wind returned and filled our sails and lifted our spirits.

  The crew looked to me as their sailing teacher, but as much as I told them about how I did things on Lionheart, I was learning just as much from them. I discovered some of the crew were better at doing tasks than others. I found that I had to make a conscious decision not to always ask Beau and Josh to do the work. They’d spent more time on the boat, so had more sailing knowledge, and they also attacked each job with more enthusiasm. My major concern was that if one crew member began to dominate a particular job, the others would leave them to do that job all the time. I wanted everyone to be competent in all tasks, just as I had been forced to be on Lionheart. In an emergency, whoever was on watch had to be able to fix the situation.