Kijana Page 5

  It didn’t take long before I noticed Mika and Nicolette were beginning to drop behind in the number of tasks they performed, relative to Beau and Josh. They were seasick again as soon as we hit some swell, taking comfort in dramamine and spending a lot of time in their cabin.

  On the sixth day out of Sydney I woke to shouts of distress. Nicolette was on watch and I dashed up the steps to find her leaning over the stern. The inflatable dinghy had come loose and was dragging behind us, held to Kijana by only one hook. The other hook had straightened out under the weight of the dingy as it bashed about in the messy sea.

  Soon everyone was up on deck to check out the commotion, Josh with the camera rolling. The sea was very messy, tossing Kijana about and damaging the inflatable dinghy as it bashed against the hull. I grabbed a rope and gave one end to Mika while the others unhooked the dinghy until it dropped freely into the water. We weren’t moving quickly enough to worry about losing it, but there wasn’t enough time to sit and think about it either.

  I grabbed the other end of the rope and jumped onto the upturned dinghy. I was in my underwear and the water was freezing. I tied the rope to the dinghy before Kijana travelled too far away, while Beau tied the other end to Kijana. We dragged the inflatable dinghy alongside Kijana and tried to lift it onto the deck, but in the choppy sea the dinghy proved too heavy. Our only option was to tow the dinghy to land so we could lift it back on board and fix some of the damaged ropes that secured it to the boat.

  We reluctantly turned on the engine and headed towards the coast for Shoal Bay on Port Stephens, the closest major centre settlement, which lay 15 miles to the north-west. I was aware we’d officially left the country, according to Customs, but maritime law states that vessels in distress must be able to land irrespective of their custom and quarantine status.

  It was our first minor emergency and it was annoying having to head back to land. But what concerned me more was the obvious difference between the guys and the girls during the crisis. We had needed to act fast and with gusto to rescue the dinghy, and whether it was strength or commitment, the girls had taken a back-seat approach throughout the whole ordeal.

  We were determined to make our stop in Port Stephens as brief as possible, which we managed with just an overnight stay while the hook was bent back into shape and the dinghy lifted out of the water and secured tightly to the davits, the steel arms used to hoist the dinghy on and off the boat.

  We were not only sick of the delay in getting clear of mainland Australia, we wanted to avoid the melancholy feeling of yet another farewell. We slipped out of the harbour quietly without alerting the authorities, and headed directly into a north-easterly wind.

  Once more Mika and Nicolette were sick, although not to the point of vomiting. It was an uncomfortable part of the trip for everyone, with an overcast sky and constant showers.

  During the second night out of Port Stephens the wind eventually swung around and came from the south-east. This tamed the waves we were bashing into and gave us some good sailing. Travelling at a good speed, safely away from shore, allowed me to finally get a decent sleep. But on what should have been my first uninterrupted night I was jolted awake by the sound of Josh yelling.

  Without thinking, I leapt out of bed and dashed up the stairs in survival mode. I was slightly annoyed when I realised Josh, who was on watch, had yelled out my name so I could see some dolphins. For crying out loud, I thought, I nearly knocked myself out on the hatch slide to look at some bloody dolphins. All I could see was complete darkness, with the lights of a few fishing boats dotting the horizon. What the hell was he on about?

  ‘You know that sparkly stuff, what’s it called?’ Josh asked.

  ‘Phosphorescence,’ I replied, spying the familiar glow spreading across the bow wave, like angel wings.

  ‘Yeah, well there’s dolphins or something covered in it.’

  I’d seen dolphins and phosphorescence while aboard Lionheart. When they broke the water’s surface to breathe, the microscopic animals on the surface would whip themselves into a frenzy to form a fluorescent greeny-white glow, much like a firefly.

  ‘Where’d they go?’ I asked, still only mildly interested.

  ‘Dunno. They were just here.’ A few seconds later he pointed into the darkness. ‘Yeah, just there.’

  I immediately saw what he was so excited about. Gliding beside us below the water’s surface was the outline of a dolphin in almost perfect detail. The bright glow surrounding its entire body made it appear as if we were being shadowed by a digital dolphin. Each flick of the tail sent fluorescent lines darting over its body, before they trailed off into a cloud of glowing water. It was so clear we could see the point at which its nose pushed against the water.

  I was blown away and immediately forgave Josh his excitement.

  ‘Wow,’ I said, ‘they don’t usually look like this.’

  Josh darted below deck and grabbed the camera. By the time I reached the bow he had returned and was behind me. There were four dolphins, perfectly illuminated as they played with each other against a perfect black background. I suspected the camera wouldn’t pick up the phosphorescence, which Josh confirmed, much to our disappointment and they disappeared soon after.

  The following days the wind picked up until it was blowing a strong 40 knots downwind. Kijana carried very little sail and was handling the long swell beautifully. But the sides of the boat were dipping low, to the point where water was constantly pouring onto the decks, and occasionally making its way down the companionways. Below deck it was akin to being in a washing machine, which was putting the girls through living hell.

  The girls’ sickness had been a constant since departing Melbourne 32 days earlier. Their inability to do little more than lie in bed and eat chips and chocolate meant we weren’t running at full crew capacity, and with several weeks before our arrival in Papua New Guinea, the idea of pulling into Coffs Harbour, to our west, until the weather calmed and we dried our clothes and bedding, was greeted enthusiastically by all.

  We changed course and willed Kijana along the remaining 23 miles so we could arrive before dark.

  The sun was dipping behind the mountains by the time we spotted the town. The harbour entrance was tricky and, as I never expected to pull in there, we didn’t have the necessary charts, having to rely on one that didn’t have much detailed information. Nevertheless, it was either stay out in the weather or get into the marina before dark.

  As we entered the harbour a rain squall hit, making it difficult to see the rocks we knew were on either side of us. We made it into the small harbour as the light vanished behind the hills.

  It was a nightmare trying to locate the marina, then, once inside, it was chaos trying to manoeuvre the boat in the small space amid the driving wind and rain. After half an hour of me screaming orders to secure the mooring lines to one side, then the other, then back again, we had one shot at coming alongside a large steel-hulled fishing boat, which was the only mooring space available.

  It was extremely difficult to pull off without damaging our wooden hull, for the wind was pushing us into the fishing boat. Kijana had to be slowly steered sidewards, then reversed at the right time so the wind would push us into position. A few scratches here and there and a hoarse voice, and we were safely tied up, albeit soaking wet and hungry.

  I apologised for my yelling and I knew I was forgiven by the relieved grins on everyone’s faces. It was time to relax and get some food.

  The trip so far had been uncomfortable for all of us. I was on a downer because I wanted to get to the tropics, away from the cold, wet weather. Most cruising yachts choose to stay in a marina until the season is right for travelling, then leave when the weather forecast looks good for a week. But we were in such a rush to get to Papua New Guinea to start our adventure that we were enduring appalling conditions. I decided to hang tight in Coffs Harbour until the weather eased.

  The rain had stopped by the morning but the wind was still strong. Ever
yone had managed to get a good night’s sleep so we decided to get stuck into the mountain of jobs that needed doing. I compiled a list of everything I thought needed doing, then asked everyone to choose a few jobs to do during the day. These included wiping the salt streaks from the wood in the cabin, washing the dishes, drying the carpet outside, tidying the sail lines, putting the binoculars and charts away, washing the deck and hull with fresh water, checking the diesel, drying the bathroom, retying and covering the sails and buying supplies.

  Josh took his list of jobs and headed into town. Back home he didn’t have a car, choosing to walk everywhere. I think he was glad to get off the boat and move his legs again after being cramped up for five days since we had left Port Stephens. The rest of us decided to get our jobs on board out of the way so we could go ashore too.

  Some jobs needed two or three people to tackle them, but most were individual efforts. Mika and Nicolette seemed to work at a slower pace than Beau and I, and often asked annoying questions. Not sailing-type questions, but commonsense stuff that I thought everyone should know.

  ‘I dunno, just make sure it’s clean,’ was my typical response. Any more effort on my behalf to answer a query on how to put things away from the table and I figured I may as well do the job myself.

  About an hour later, I saw Beau grab his dirty clothes and I looked around to see that all his jobs were done. That’s what I liked about him, he just did things.

  He said he was going to do his washing, so I asked if he could wait a few seconds while I grabbed mine as well. I wanted to get off the boat as much as anyone, and I’d just finished what I had to do.

  We had a bit of trouble finding the marina washing machines, then we had to get change for the machines. We had just put our washing in and started the machines when Nicolette and Mika stormed into the laundry and dumped their clothes on the machines next to us. They looked extremely pissed off and Nicolette had a go at us for not offering to do their washing. The thought had crossed my mind but I knew from experience that when either of them asked for a few seconds to get something it would take five or ten minutes. All I had wanted was to get away and do my own thing.

  I could see that both were genuinely disappointed and angry, yet I couldn’t understand why. Nicolette reminded us how she and Mika had done everyone’s washing at Port Stephens. With that, they put their money in their machines, pressed the button and stormed off.

  I was dumbfounded. It was as if I’d been reprimanded by a school teacher for doing something I didn’t know was wrong. It didn’t take long for a seething anger to rise in me. My head was full of ammunition to hit back with. I began thinking of everything I wished I’d said. I wanted to cut them down and let them know how I felt about their performance, that so far on the trip Josh, Beau and I had done all the sailing, while we waited for them to stop being sick and start pulling their weight on board.

  One half of me was saying I should be understanding because they didn’t yet have the confidence to take the initiative on board, while the other half wanted to have a go at them for personally attacking Beau and me. I wanted to remind them that they did the washing in Port Stephens because they weren’t doing anything else, while Beau was cooking a meal and Josh and I were trying to send our update on the satellite phone. Beau and I sat in silence as we waited for our washing to finish.

  That night Josh was lying on his bed while Beau and I played cards in the main cabin. Nicolette announced she wanted to call her mum from the phone on the fishing wharf but didn’t have enough change. None of us did, so I suggested she hitch a ride into town to change a note. It hadn’t been dark long and the shops would still be open.

  She disappeared and I went to bed, leaving Beau to clean up the kitchen. A few minutes later, from under my sleeping bag, I heard her ask Beau if he would go into town for her to get the change because she didn’t know how to get there. It made my blood boil and I hoped he’d say no. After the laundry incident, my patience was quickly running out.

  I was wondering what Beau would say, when I heard him say ‘OK’ in a tone I knew so well. It was the one he used when Mum asked him to do something he didn’t want to do.

  As he left the boat, I pictured him taking the note and walking in the dark to find a passing car, arriving in town, changing the note and arriving home a couple of hours later, all so Nicolette could call her mum.

  The next morning he told me how the guy he got a lift with was smoking a joint and Beau had been concerned at the speed he was driving on the winding road to town.

  By the third day in port the wind was still strong with no change in the forecast for the next two days. I was becoming more frustrated at the time we were wasting. I wanted to get everyone into the tropics where the winds were lighter, the climate warmer and we could catch fish for dinner. So far we hadn’t caught one fish!

  We were only 140 miles from Byron Bay, the easternmost point of the Australian continent. At that point we planned to veer away from mainland Australia into the Coral Sea en route to Papua New Guinea. I was becoming increasingly concerned about this leg. It could take us several weeks to complete and there was no land on the way that we could call into to rest if this poor run of weather continued. I was also aware of a growing dark mood among the crew and was not keen to embark on a long leg until the mood had lightened.

  The option was to continue along the Queensland coast, around to Darwin, then on to Indonesia. There was no reason why we couldn’t change plans – we’d simply visit Papua New Guinea on our way home. The only problem would be explaining to those back home why our course was changing. I really had nothing solid upon which to base my growing doubts about the performance of the girls, so it would be difficult to use that as an excuse. And to change merely because of the bad weather would seem a cop-out.

  I spent all day wrestling with my dilemma. It was all so complicated. I had the office back in Melbourne to answer to, and then there was the media, who were eagerly following our progress, sponsors and, of course, the crew themselves.

  I was wandering around deep in thought when I stumbled across a Wharram Tiki, a Polynesian catamaran, at one of the marina berths. It was the exact boat design I’d originally planned to use for my trip, except much smaller. I inspected its construction and admired its beautiful shape. A part of me couldn’t help wishing I was aboard this small 24-foot boat, rather than the huge ship I was in charge of, with all its associated baggage. I sat there for the best part of an hour with all my thoughts.

  I spent most of the day away from the boat and crew. As darkness fell there was nowhere else to go but back to the boat. Beau had cooked us a great meal of dhal – my favourite, especially when it’s cold and miserable. It was the kind of meal I needed and it meant all the more coming from Beau.

  It was another subdued evening. I hung out on the couch in the main cabin (my bed!) and casually talked with Josh. He’d done much the same as me that day, wandering around, thinking and listening to music. While we talked, Mika was off somewhere, and Nicolette and Beau were in their respective cabins – Beau at the front of the boat, Nicolette at the rear. It may have been a large yacht, but you could hear almost every movement of the crew, no matter where they were.

  I heard Nicolette open the slide to her cabin and go out onto the deck. It was quickly followed by a loud thud. Josh and I looked at each other and I said ‘Nicolette’. Moments later she stuck her head down the companionway to tell us she’d twisted her ankle. That was no surprise. Nicolette was a self-confessed klutz, which was made worse by being aboard a moving boat. She would knock into stays, hit her knees against the stairway and scrape her shins against the winches. Her clumsiness was becoming one of those silly issues that was starting to bug me. Every time she bashed into something I winced because it usually looked like it hurt.

  The boat wasn’t even moving this time. Josh and I climbed on deck and inspected her foot. She seemed to be in a lot of pain. It made me cringe as I imagined how she felt. ‘Do you think it’
s broken?’ I asked. She wasn’t sure.

  We did some prodding and worked out where it hurt the most, which indicated to me it was probably a sprain, not a break. Within a few minutes she was feeling better and able to clamber over the railings onto the neighbouring boat and hobble to the marina toilets. Josh and I went back downstairs and started to play cards. About 20 minutes later Mika charged into the cabin to announce that Nicolette had broken her ankle.

  ‘Yeah we know, but it’s not broken, she just fell over on deck,’ I said

  She disappeared as quickly as she arrived, so we continued playing Uno.

  A few minutes later, Mika returned and shouted down the steps to us: ‘She needs help getting back to the boat, she’s really hurt!’

  Her tone carried the heavy hint of accusation that we were a pair of heartless bastards. I think she expected us to follow her out when she came in the first time.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ I felt like saying, ‘get your story right, Mika. She was OK to walk over the fishing boats on the way to the toilet and now, all of a sudden, she needs help to get back.’ But I held my tongue.

  Mika’s tone annoyed me as much as Nicolette’s seeming need for attention. Josh and I climbed the stairs and followed Mika over the boats to the marina car park where Nicolette sat in tears. We helped her to her feet and Mika got under one arm while Josh got under the other to help her limp back to the boat. There was no room for me to help so I stood there like an idiot, trying to hide my suspicion by looking sympathetic. Her red cheeks shone from her tears and through the strands of hair hanging over her face she gave me a look of total disappointment.