by Les Powles
‘Right, naaaaa, do you have any pets on board?’ is the first question.
‘No sir,’ I replied, ‘not even a cockroach!’
We went through the plant and seed bit.
‘Right, sport, I want all your food laid out on deck.’
So I went below and fetched my remaining bag of rice, which I placed in the middle of the deck, and then I stood looking at him with my tail wagging and my tongue out, like a cocker spaniel that’s just done its business in the dirt box.
‘Maaaaaate, maaaate, aaaaall of it!’
I turned out every locker and cubby hole trying to find something I could give the poor man. I kept inviting him to come below and search Solitaire.
‘Maaaaaate, I don’t want to search your flaming boat.’
At last I found two slices of dried meat in a sealed glass jar, which I think the Americans gave me in Panama. My maaaaaate smiled and locked it in his briefcase.
While this was going on, a tramp had been sitting on the side of the dock taking it all in and swigging from a pint of milk through his matted beard. By the time he had heard my story there were tears in his eyes and he offered me his bottle without a word. I drained it in one gulp and handed back the empty.
Mr Customs asked the question I’d been dreading: ‘How long do you plan to stay in Australia?’
During the past two weeks I had been picking up their radio broadcasts and, apart from learning of a shortage of work, it seemed that every disaster that occurred was due entirely to the English or, as he is better known, the Pom. Poms ran the unions and were responsible for the strikes, Poms ran the government and were responsible for the country going to the dogs, they controlled the weather, and that was the reason for all the bush fires. There was a disc jockey I’d been listening to whose pet saying was, ‘Punch a Pommie every day!’
By this stage I was thinking I might be allowed to take on water before being set adrift. With the hurricane season coming on, I really needed a visitor’s permit for six months and when I explained this, I was told to call at the Customs Office next day to pick up one for a year!
The officer told me about Gladstone and the best places to eat, several times asking if I was all right for Australian currency. In fact I bought myself some fish and chips and ate them in Solitaire’s cockpit, during which time I was invited to dinner the following night by one couple and to a barbecue that weekend with another. My mooring problems were solved when an Australian offered to share his berth free of charge. Sometimes I think that certain types of radio broadcasters and newspaper reporters would be better employed collecting garbage rather than dishing it out.
Over the next few days I tried unsuccessfully to find work. I could not be taken on as a skilled electrician because I had no Australian licence and unskilled work was carried out by apprentices, but my luck changed when I called on the local boatyard to buy a shackle. The manager, a Yorkshireman, asked if I needed work and then said I could cut the grass around the boats on hard standing. After that it was making racks to store wood, fibreglassing, painting. In the end I spent all my time working for the boatyard. Sometimes I would help tie up ocean-going cargo ships; my last job was putting the yard’s transport in shape and, as in Tahiti, I could have stayed on as the company wanted to build fibreglass dinghies and there were opportunities to work on charter boats. I liked the people who were always more than fair; even grass-cutting carried the same wage as everyone else’s in the yard.
I managed to stay in Gladstone for more than five months without getting into serious trouble, although I nearly managed to kill myself when working on a large charter boat that could carry 300 passengers. One lunch time, having just returned from buying some fish and chips, I had reached across and put my meal through a ship’s window and, stepping onto a catwalk to board, fell 10ft into the water twixt ship and dock. Luckily I managed to grab a rope and haul myself out before the gap closed.
My first thought was to eat my fish and chips before they grew cold but as I quickly ate, all this funny red stuff began running down my front, re-soaking my shorts and shirt. When my workmates returned I was rushed to hospital.
On the operating table, blood from a gash under my chin was flooding the place and half a dozen pretty nurses gathered round me.
‘I’m sorry for being a nuisance and making such a mess,’ I apologised.
‘We need the practice,’ a chippy one replied.
‘Lift me off the table and I’ll go break a leg,’ I offered.
‘You do, sport, and we’ll break the other one!’ Which started me laughing and the blood gushing. Even when they were stitching me up, I was still laughing.
There were few things I disliked about Australia. Food was reasonably priced and for a dollar I could fill my frying pan twice with chops or steak. Flies were a pest, particularly the little sandflies which looked like specks of dust but could bite like tigers.
Terrell Adkisson and I joined up in Gladstone for the first time since Panama. Altair was berthed 100 miles down the coast but he spent a week on Solitaire and we made arrangements to sail through the Barrier Reef together. While in Gladstone I met Brolga of Kiama with Rob and Lyn Brooks who were just about to start their voyage around the world. New arrivals in Gladstone creek were not normally greeted by fellow sailors, but I had always liked the Pacific Islands’ friendly customs so, although only a visitor myself, I would always row over to newcomers to see if I could help. Rob and Lyn have always made a point of the fact that in their own country it had been an Englishman who had first enquired.
While in Australia I managed to acquire some new sails from England. I had been well satisfied with my original Lucas sails so I had ordered from them again, including a battenless main with three sets of reefing points as I still had to round the Cape of Good Hope, where it can blow. The last reef would so reduce the main that it would double as a trysail. At the same time I stepped up the weight of cloth from 6 to 8oz, and a new storm jib.
The boatyard let me haul out Solitaire free of charge and I had another go at the crack in the hull, although it had not leaked since Panama. The antifouling had vanished so I applied a heavy barrier coat followed by two coats of top-quality finish. I also bolted the self-steering rudder to the drive shaft, thus making it a more permanent fixture. I still had $1,400 (then about £700) left, twice the amount I had left England with, and Solitaire in many ways was in better condition than when I had set out, even though she had looked after me for more than 16,000 miles. Now she was taking me home, about the same distance again. I had not yet told Solitaire about Cape Horn!
The next leg of our trip would be from Gladstone to Thursday Island in the Terres Straits, 1,000 miles away. We had crossed 8,000 miles of the Pacific Ocean on just two charts and a few sketches. Now I needed 30 charts for our next trip, and a couple of Australian friends, John and Penny Pugh, lent them to me. Often I would go to their house for dinner and a bath and they did most of the chasing around for my supplies. Apart from the food parcel they gave me, they made a going-away present of a heavy fishing line (a life-saver on my second voyage).
The Great Barrier Reef starts about 60 miles offshore at the bottom end, closing to a mile or two at the top. Most of the navigation would be by sight, or, as the Americans call it, eyeball, and for much of the time we would have the mainland and a few islands in sight. I still enjoyed single-handed sailing but if there was ever a time when I would have liked a female crew member aboard, this was it. The Great Barrier Reef must be one of the finest cruising areas in the world, anchoring behind your own private island after a day’s sail with plenty of fish in the sea and oysters ashore. The sea, protected by the reef, is shallow and flat.
Terrell came into Gladstone Creek to collect me but as my sails had not arrived, he went on ahead. Before I left, the boatyard threw a party for me where I tried to uphold the best British traditions by keeping up with some of the young bloods. After dinner the party continued at the Pughs’, of which I remember nothing.
Dawn woke me with a thick head, a foul mouth and to a weird sound. I had been sleeping on somebody’s lawn and was covered by every dog in the neighbourhood, snoring their heads off.
Solitaire’s mooring lines were cast off on Wednesday, May 18th, 1977, and as I had not let her touch bottom since Grenada (antifouling apart), and my navigation had improved, we both felt more confident. A dozen cars followed us on the shore, blasting their horns as we set off, by far the best farewell we had had and one of the hardest to make.
I caught up with Terrell on Friday, June 3rd, two weeks out from Gladstone. We met in Cairns, about halfway up the Reef, where he had picked out a berth for me alongside the town quay. Cairns was another low-sprawling Australian town, so different from home, where everything seems condensed. Here there were modern supermarkets, a cinema and a heavenly laundry. We spent a few pleasant days there, talking to a good many English people who had settled in the area. Terrell’s nephew, Leo, had gone back to the USA and been replaced by an Australian crew member. Things improved once we joined up: with four eyes on the other yacht Terrell always took the path-finding position up front, which allowed me to nip below for the occasional cup of tea without worrying about the constant changing picture of mainland and islands.
Cooktown was quite unlike Cairns. You could walk through it in a few minutes but it was well worth the visit, if only to see the museum. The day we arrived they were to re-enact Captain Cook’s first landing and on the jetty a good crowd had turned up for the spectacle. Three men came ashore in a rowing boat and the people promptly started to drift away.
‘When’s Captain Cook arriving?’ I asked.
‘He just did, spoooort,’ came the reply.
Another advantage of being in company with a cruising yacht is that you can take it in turns to visit and cook dinner. We were having dinner on Terrell’s boat where, since it was my turn to play host the following night, I asked, ‘How do you fancy fish tomorrow night?’ Both seemed enthusiastic, so I asked their preference and was requested to catch a few mackerel.
Next day I took out the line John and Penny had given me. I put the 9in spinner, about the size of any fish I had ever caught, over the side and seconds later it pulled tight with a blooming great mackerel nearly as long as my arm on its end, enough for three people. To make sure, I thought I would catch its smaller sister, which turned out to be twice as fat as the first.
I was concerned about possible waste and as I thought Terrell, who was astern, might also be slaughtering fish, I decided to wait for him. I halted Solitaire by luffing into wind and when Terrell came within hailing distance, I stuck two fingers in the air and pointed over the side. The effect on Terrell was instantaneous: he belted off in the other direction and I failed to catch him until much later. When I asked Terrell what his problem had been and why the panic, an argument ensued. Two fingers in the air and pointing over the side means I’m over a reef two fathoms down, Terrell insisted, while I claimed any fool knows it means I’ve caught two mackerel. Although we stuffed ourselves with fish much was wasted which, coupled with the fact that I had not enjoyed watching a living thing die, made me put the line away, believing they would be the first and last fish I would ever catch at sea.
Thursday Island lies between the most northern part of Australia and New Guinea, where the current can reach 6–7 knots. We anchored 20 miles away, timing our arrival to take advantage of the flow. When we reached our anchorage it was to find marker buoys being pushed under by the force of churning brown waters, the last place to drag or break an anchor chain. Thursday Island, which we reached on June 23rd, after a month’s sail inside the Great Barrier, was a disappointment. In the days of sail it was known for its dusky beauties who, it was said, would outswim the fast-flowing current to ravish the poor unsuspecting seamen. After a quick walk through its shantytown of drinking houses, we decided to push on for Darwin. Any dusky maiden would have been repelled with a boat hook, after which I would have called a cop.
Darwin was 700 miles away but wind and current would be mostly with us. Gales were rare in the area but a bad sea could build up quickly in high winds. In company with Altair and two other yachts, we left on Monday, June 27th. Although we had our sails up, it would be wrong to say we sailed from the island; it was more like being fired from a cannon and we had to start and run engines flat out to keep control. We shot away like cars on a racetrack, trying to correct for drift, which was great fun while it lasted, and circling the course with three other boats made it that much better. Darwin was approximately halfway across the top of Australia so our course would be due west.
On Friday, July 1st, we ran into a storm off Melville Island with some of the worst waves I had seen, not so much in size as in shape. There was little Solitaire could do against them so we dropped sail and lay a-hull until Saturday morning, when the storm died. Until then we had been making good progress, covering 565 miles in just over four days with a best-ever day’s run of 149 miles. When I tried the engine I found it had seized and was impossible to turn, even with levers directed onto the flywheel, and this wasn’t the best place to have it happen. Melville Island and the 15-mile-wide Dundas Straits protect Darwin in much the same way that the Isle of Wight protects my home port of Lymington. I had in fact to sail between them, which turned out to be terrifyingly difficult, thanks to the speed of the tide.
Approaching from eastwards you pass through the Dundas Straits with its tidal current of 2–3 knots. The land then falls away to form a large bay which curves back to the island 60 miles on, where 12 miles separate mainland from island, those few miles filled with smaller islands and reefs. There is a marked channel on the land side, about one mile across. Once through it, Darwin lies only a few miles further on. As I had no tide tables and no engine, I decided to sail up to the reefs and then anchor for the night.
We passed through Dundas Straits on Saturday night and had a fast sail next morning. By Sunday afternoon we were in sight of the islands and their surrounding reefs, with Darwin’s voice, 30 miles away, coming through clearly on the RDF. Having negotiated the reefs we seemed to pick up speed but the land was falling away. Solitaire was being driven astern – onto the reefs! The tide had turned.
I let go the 15lb CQR anchor on 50ft of chain plus a good length of strong rope, which thankfully held in coral. The seas, an Amazon in flood, raced past us, the anchor rope vibrating like a bow string forcing me to keep a watch all night, checking the depth from time to time. By Monday morning the tide had slackened, then gathered strength in Darwin’s direction. I had missed my chance. Instead of heaving in the anchor during slack water I had to struggle manfully to haul it in against the tide – and failed. So, deciding to wait for the next slack, I slung back what I had retrieved. When the tide eased again I found that the anchor had fouled and would not haul in. We had been there 40 hours and there was only one solution. It broke my heart but I had to do it. I cut the rope and lost the anchor and 50ft of chain.
From then on it was a doddle.
There are two bays in Darwin: the first, big and shallow, houses the yacht club. Next to it is an area for ocean-going ships. You can anchor in either and catch the bus into Darwin. On Tuesday, July 5th, I anchored near the Club after a journey of 753 miles. Our stay in Darwin was marred by engine repairs and the sickly smell of diesel. The final diagnosis was that a sump plate fitted to prevent oil splashing about had broken loose, cracking the main bearing and jamming the reduction gear. Deciding to sail engineless and non-stop to Durban, I cabled Saab, requesting them to send on a new bearing and timing instructions.
Terrell and the other yachts arrived a couple of days after Solitaire, having run for shelter during the storm which shows, perhaps, the different thinking between a single-hander and a crewed yacht. In bad weather I would always run from the land, an attitude I was never to change.
When we arrived in Darwin they were sinking piles in front of the Club for members to tie up and antifoul. Terrell and I were among the first to use th
is facility which, at $5 a time, was much cheaper than being hauled out by a boatyard.
From Darwin I planned to sail to Durban, approximately 5,600 miles away, my longest voyage so far, broad reaching again in the south-east trades. We left Darwin on August 2nd. Solitaire was surrounded by other yachts and as there was not a breath of wind, Terrell shouted he would pull us clear. For the first time I accepted a tow. Up to then I had felt lonely only once, when the Canadian yacht left us in the Pacific, but as Terrell let go my lines I felt abandoned. I think it’s watching the other yacht pull away that’s the problem. During the first 24 hours light winds kept us out of trouble, but the next two days brought variable winds from the west and we found ourselves beating into choppy seas. That first week we covered 596 miles, thereafter we were into true trade wind sailing and logged 884 miles in the second week, followed by 912 in the third.
A thousand miles from South Africa, I started to pick up their radio broadcasts, which is always good for morale. The pilot charts for once had proved accurate and we made good time. I preferred the blue, lively Pacific to the grey, overcast Indian Ocean for things to watch. The seas above Australia had a few surprises: black and brown snakes, giant rays that leapt out of the water only to slam back again, and then, towards the end of the voyage, nightly visits from dolphins, which invariably cheer up life.
Thursday, September 22nd, was our 50th day at sea and, after sailing 5,555 miles, we had another 400 to go. I was trying to make our landfall well north of Durban to allow for the Agulhas Current sweeping us south.
On Monday morning we were nearly run down by a tanker, not in fact one of the super type although I thought it then the largest ship ever built. Because I could not keep my lights on all the time I had been standing in the hatch keeping watch in poor visibility when, hearing nothing, I saw a ghost-like bow loom out of the dawn mist. At first I thought she was cutting across Solitaire’s bows but she was already turning. Looking up I could see her two anchors ready to drop on us. A mass of rust and rivets, she swept down our side and back into fog. Never had I been so glad to see a ship disappear. There were many more after that but she was the closest.