by Jesse Martin
I came across an Australian boat that had spent the last three years meandering around the globe. In a few weeks it would be in Florida, in the United States, where it wanted fresh crew to sail the final six-month stretch to Australia. I was keen. Very keen. But I had to weigh that up against the disappointment of the aborted attempt twelve months before. I was only sixteen years old and had done no real distance sailing. It was a long shot that the skipper would want to take such a young and inexperienced hand on board.
Crunch time had also arrived for my schooling. I was due to start Year 11, the first year of the crucial Victorian Certificate of Education, in a few months. This was the first of the two-year Leaving Certificate, which I needed if I wanted to go on to university.
From the moment you can write two words, you seem to have drilled into you the importance of doing well in your VCE. If I was to embark on my final years of school, I had to make a decision. Was I going to continue chasing my dream of sailing around the world, or knuckle down and finish school? I could not afford to scrape through like I had been doing—the teachers would not be so tolerant in those final years.
But no matter how hard I tried to reason and listen to the arguments in my mind, I ached to go on another adventure. It was an opportunity too good to miss, so I applied for the position. It was a few weeks until I received a reply. I remember the nervousness as I opened the letter. I also remember the utter disappointment when I read the rejection. They'd filled the spot and no longer required crew. I was devastated. This had been my best chance, I told myself, and now it had gone.
The letter sealed my fate. I entered Year 11 in February 1998, determined to do the best I could. My life of adventure would have to be played out in my mind on those cold winter's mornings as I looked out the bus window on the way to school. I'd get out there one day, I reasoned, but it may not be for some time yet.
Then something happened, as it always does.
I got home from school about two weeks into the school year to receive a phone call. My heart skipped a beat when I heard the peculiar sounds that come with an international phone call. I swear I nearly fainted when the strange voice introduced himself. It was Dave Smith, the skipper of the boat in Florida. The crewman had failed to arrive. Did I want to join them? They would be in Belize, a small country bordering Mexico and Guatemala on the Caribbean Sea's Gulf of Honduras, in a fortnight. If I was going to join them, I had to meet them there, he said.
I was beside myself with excitement. I got off the phone after mumbling something about getting back to him. Then the reality of the situation hit. I'd already started school, and if I was to embark on the trip it would probably put me too far behind to catch up to make a proper go of VCE. Mum knew I desperately wanted to go, and would support whatever I decided. She had gone to the trouble of talking to Dave's mother to get an idea of what sort of person he was, so she was comfortable with the trip.
Dad, on the other hand, was against the trip. That surprised me as I was sure this would be something that he'd tell me to go for. He supported our Papua New Guinea trip, but I'm still not sure why he was against this trip. I suspect he was a bit concerned at granting so much freedom to a sixteen-year-old by sending me to a dangerous part of the world with strangers. I can understand how that would worry a parent. And I can see how anyone could get into trouble while they were in places like that. Dad's opinion was important to me, so it made my decision to go all the more difficult. I just couldn't pass up this chance.
I'd never tackled anything with such gusto as I did in preparing for that trip. I only had a bit over a week to organise my schooling and equipment for half a year at sea. The first step was to get in touch with the Victorian Distance Education Centre and organise study material. I then had to scrape together some money, as I had none left after Papua New Guinea. On top of the cost of getting to Belize, it was going to cost $150 a week to crew on the yacht to cover food and overheads. Once again, I had to borrow the money from Mum.
Then there was the organising of flights and visas. It was an incredibly hectic time but, with the help of good old Mum, I made it. Two weeks later, I said goodbye to my family and boarded a plane for Los Angeles.
But not before the obligatory dramas. When I presented my one-way ticket to Belize at Melbourne Airport, the immigration officer immediately summoned his superior for a mumbled conference, complete with concerned glances at me, then back at my ticket. They finally told me why they were worried. They believed I risked being turned back when I got to Belize as I did not have a return ticket. Even if I explained I was going to sail out of the country on a boat, the Belize officials may still not believe my story and turn me back. I had no return ticket to jump on a flight out of there, so I'd be stuck. They were also very concerned about sending a sixteen-year-old into a volatile situation like that, especially in a Central American country. As you can imagine, Mum was nearly having kittens by this stage. I ended up signing something that stated my intentions before I could go. I'd had too many disappointments to let some officials at an airport stop me. Mum even got a call from the Department of Foreign Affairs in Canberra to say they were concerned at what could happen, and would be monitoring my situation.
I got to Los Angeles, then on to Houston the next day. From there it was direct to Belize. I had about 40 hours of flights and stopovers to mull over my possible rejection at the end, yet, when I got there, they didn't even bloody look at me. I must have looked like a trembling leaf as I got off the flight, but not one Belize official batted so much as an eyelid at my one-way ticket. I quickly grabbed my bags before they changed their minds, and headed for the street. I was sitting in the gutter, eating some of the bubblegum I'd stocked up on in the United States, when this guy approached me. He was in his mid-thirties, his long hair spattered with blond tips, and wore the tan of a man who'd spent some serious hours outdoors. He carried a woven basket with some fruit and vegetables in it and was walking in bare feet through the filthy streets of a third-world country. It was Dave, my skipper for the next six months.
He wasn't much to look at, but I was bloody glad to see him. We introduced ourselves, then hailed a dodgy-looking taxi. He stood in this crazy street yelling and gesturing as he negotiated the price. For a split second I felt as though I was in a movie. Only two weeks before I'd been committed to two years of heavy study. My mates would have been doing homework at that very moment, and here I was, about to head to sea with this wild-looking bloke in a country I'd never heard of until two weeks before. If I was looking for adventure, I reckon I'd found it.
We arrived at the boat without being ripped off, thanks to Dave's negotiation skills. I was just so happy to have made it to the dock, to finally see the boat that was going to take me back to Australia. All the rejections and disappointment were well and truly behind me. The yacht was an Adams 40, a 40-foot fibreglass yacht built by Dave in 1994. He had sailed her pretty much ever since, around the world through Indonesia, Madagascar, South Africa, Brazil, America and the Caribbean. She was called Imajica, the title of a book Dave had once read. He thought it was a nice name, even though he didn't like the book.
I also met the crew: two Australian women, Moira and Anika, who were both in their mid-forties. They'd joined Dave in Miami after answering the same advertisement.
Meanwhile Mum, who was beside herself with worry, had rung the Belize airport to see if the Houston plane had arrived. In broken English they told her the plane had landed, that everyone had got off, and nobody was at the airport. But that was of no comfort to Mum. She was convinced they'd stolen my stuff and thrown me in the slammer. I obviously didn't share Mum's concern. It wasn't until after dinner, more than five hours after I arrived, that I realised I needed to ring her. At least I called her the day I arrived!
As the crew had been waiting for more than a week for me to get there, we left early the next morning. We left so suddenly we didn't go through customs or immigration. Belize immigration probably still thinks I'm in their country somewhere! But,
then again, they probably never noted I'd arrived in the first place. It was the same in Panama. They certainly march to the beat of a different drum in Central America.
The first few days at sea we mainly stuck around the coral atolls about 50 miles offshore. It was the first time I'd really been ocean voyage sailing. The trip from Sydney to Brisbane had been mainly under motor, so there was a different feel and motion to the boat. I wasn't seasick, but there were definitely periods of queasiness as we headed into the waves. Some of the crew were physically sick, which usually makes you feel worse. Dave could just about sail the boat on his own, which meant our role was to help out when we could. I think I learnt more than the girls, and was quickly able to do more once we got underway. By the end of the trip I was the one he called on if he needed something done, which was reassuring. I had hoped to be doing all this myself one day.
It took a week at sea before we got to Panama and the famous canal that separated North and South America and linked the Caribbean Sea with the Pacific Ocean. The canal is not only an engineering marvel, but it makes journeys such as the one we were making possible. Without it, around the world cruises would have to take on Cape Horn, which would not be a very pleasant experience. The global pleasure cruise would be virtually non-existent without the canal. Ironically, nearly a year to the day after we passed through the Panama Canal, I was battling those very conditions at Cape Horn that we were avoiding.
Sailing through the Panama Canal was quite complex. We had to spend two weeks in Colon, an ugly town at the eastern end of the canal, waiting our turn and doing the necessary paperwork. As it was a busy passage, it was necessary to book a spot. At that time, the Americans were handing control of the canal to Panama, which meant the cost of the passage was expected to rise, so a lot of cruisers were trying to get through before the price hike.
To sail through the canal, you need a skipper, four lines people and a pilot, who works for the local authority. The crossing takes two days. The first day you pass through the first lock, which lifts boats up to enable them to enter the large freshwater Gatun Lake. After waiting overnight at the halfway point, a new pilot is dropped aboard, and you sail through the second lock, dropping back down to sea level to enter the Pacific. The smaller yachts have to help each other, with each crewing the others’ yachts through the canal to Balboa, the port at the western end, then catching the bus for the 60-kilometre journey back to Colon to bring another yacht through. We needed one extra person, as well as the pilot, to get through. We ended up doing a few trips with other boats as we waited our turn.
It was in Balboa that I got mugged. Dave and I decided to catch the bus to Balboa to pick up mail, and watch a movie in the air-conditioned bus. We were walking through a rough part of town when three guys in their twenties came up behind us and grabbed my arm. They tried to grab my watch, which had a rubber band and just stretched, so I yelled, ‘Have it. Have it.’ They took the watch but still held on to me, which was a cause for concern, as I had my passport and money in my pocket. If I'd lost that, I would have been in real trouble.
Luckily Dave did some quick thinking. Only a few minutes before he'd bought a new pair of sneakers, which he had on. He was carrying his old shoes in a bag, which he intended to give to the next street hobo he came across. Instead, he yelled, ‘Here, catch,’ and threw it to the guy holding me. The thief naturally went for it, thinking it was something valuable. We just ran. It's a pity we never saw their faces when they opened the bag and got a whiff of Dave's smelly old runners. I was a bit shaken, but glad I had a good story to tell my mates when I got home.
We finally got permission to enter the canal. It was not as romantic as one might expect. The canal is a pretty bleak place, with plenty of concrete around. We were in the first lock when I noticed smoke coming from the motor. I yelled out to Dave, who seemed to dismiss my concern, until I pointed out the billowing smoke. One of the springs was damaged, causing trouble with the pistons. After doing some temporary repairs, we stopped at the halfway point for a few days while Dave caught a bus and a train to get a part for the motor. A two-day trip was stretching to three weeks, but at least we were in the canal. We finally got the motor repaired and waited for the next morning, when a new pilot would arrive. There was nothing to do but swim and wash and socialise with the other yachts nearby. One bloke jumped into the water and swam to our boat. He was sitting in our cockpit with a beer in his hand when Anika spotted a crocodile about 50 metres from the boat. We stopped swimming from that moment. To think some people have actually swum the length of the canal.
We eventually got through the canal, and not a moment too soon. We'd spent nearly three weeks in Panama, when we really wanted to be sailing. We spent a night in Balboa, then got out of there as quickly as we could. Our next stop was the Galapagos Islands, famous for their volcanoes and wildlife.
We were at sea for eight days when we first spotted the Galapagos Islands, really prehistoric-looking islands. You half-expect a pterodactyl to fly out from behind one of the mountains. The islands were formed from volcanoes millions of years ago and have some really weird animals. This was because of the cold Humboldt current coming up the coast of South America from Antarctica to the Galapagos. So the island, located right on the equator and with an average temperature of more than 30 degrees, had animals usually found in cold climates such as seals and penguins.
The prehistoric bent is lent weight by the large marine iguanas. They look like huge lizards but actually live in the sea, diving and eating sea grass off the ocean floor. Galapagos was also famous as the place where Charles Darwin thought of his theory of evolution. He noticed finches on the islands differed slightly to suit the different conditions on each island. He reasoned that maybe the finches came from the same ancestor but evolved through natural selection to their current state. I actually found a dead Darwin finch on the ground and put it in my pocket to take home. But I forgot about it and proceeded to try on some wetsuits to go diving. When I got back to the boat I pulled out the finch but it didn't look very happy so I ditched it.
The wildlife was the most incredible part of the Galapagos. A couple of times we saw a seal wandering around on the street in the middle of town. From the reaction of the locals, seals in the main street was a pretty common sight.
The Galapagos was a beautiful place, but there was one bad memory from our visit, which made me wonder if I'd die.
Moira and I wanted to go scuba-diving, so we went on a tour to Gordon Rocks in hope of seeing some hammerhead sharks which, again, were only meant to be found in colder climates. The guides took us to a place that was quite ferocious, with white water spewing up around the rocks. It was a fairly angry sea to be diving in, but we jumped in anyway. I soon discovered my mask did not fit properly as water poured onto my face. Usually this is no great bother, as blowing through your nose would most often clear it. But this mask just would not seal.
I started to lag behind the group. As much as I looked, I couldn't find any hair breaking the mask's seal. I suppose I was not paying attention, and feeling a little tired from trying to clear the mask, but suddenly I found myself being swept along by an incredibly strong current. I was about 10 metres underwater, where the currents pulsate up to 6 knots an hour. For a current, that was incredibly quick. I found myself in the middle of a channel where the current swept through. I was only a few metres away from the shelter of a large coral clump, but the force of the current meant I was not going to make it. I was absolutely buggered, and the water was pouring into my mask, so I could not see the others in the group. I tried to swim, but was getting nowhere, and the harder I tried, the more I could feel myself being swept away from the group. I believed I was on the verge of being swept out into the open ocean, when I saw a rock below me. I dived and grabbed it, hanging on like Superman flying through the air. But now that I was stationary, the force of the current against me was much stronger, creating a bigger problem. On the mouthpiece was a button that allowed air to escape. Th
e pressure of the current was enough to push that button in, purging my air.
I was in a bind. If I tilted my head forward and looked down, my mask would fill with water, and more than likely be ripped off. If I held my head up, I'd lose more air. I started to panic. My goggles were full of water, I had no idea where the others were, and I was losing air rapidly. As the air was being purged, my mouthpiece filled with water, until I was breathing a deadly mix of air and water. I thought I was down to the final mouthfuls of air in the tank. I made the signal for more air, not knowing if anyone was around me, imagining the worst.
I was never so glad to feel someone grab my arm. It was the dive instructor. She checked my air gauge then took my hands off the rock. I had no choice but to trust her. We drifted together for a while and I immediately began to breathe properly and clear my mask, as I was no longer fighting the force of the current. We surfaced not far from where we started.
I was glad to hit that surface and breathe air. I have never felt like that before or since. There were times on the solo trip when I was scared, terrified even, but never to the point I was that day. It didn't stop me diving that afternoon, when I did things a bit differently.
We farewelled Moira and Anika after spending five incredible nights at the Galapagos. The pair decided they would opt out of the three-week crossing to the Marquesas Islands and fly home to Australia. We said our farewells and Dave and I prepared for the 2700-mile trip. The Marquesas Islands, or lies Marquises, were part of French Polynesia, sitting southwest of the Galapagos, smack-bang in the middle of the Pacific. I was glad Dave and I would be doing this stretch alone. I had nothing against the women, they were great company, it's just that I wanted to do a long ocean stretch in conditions as close to solo sailing as I could. Dave was a pretty mellow fellow, so I was able to pretend I was on my own much of the time.
It was a good experience, as it was the longest stretch I had done before the solo trip. I learnt how to sail a long trip in those weeks. There were heaps of things I'd spoken to John about and read that I was able to put into practice. Things like how a wind vane worked, how to set it, the fact you had to continually check it. And how you needed to constantly monitor the boat and be prepared for bad weather. But, more importantly, I learnt to take it easy and not push myself or the boat to the point where either may fail. That was the most valuable lesson I was able to carry through to my solo trip.