Kijana (6 page)

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, free 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.

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.