The Mudskipper Cup
Page 11
“Look!” Alex cried. Graham turned and followed his brother’s pointing arm. He could see nothing.
“Something bloody big in the water! Shark I reckon,” Alex said.
“Or a croc,” Capt Kirk suggested. “Dave Mason was telling me he saw a five-metre ‘saltie’ up past his boat the other day.”
They searched right out past the Marlin Jetty and Marina. The police launch continued off along the main channel out to sea. On the way back they nosed in amongst moored yachts and close to the wharves.
“What a bloody waste of an hour,” Capt Kirk snorted disgustedly when they tied up alongside the ship. “Well, you can bloody well pay for those oars Graham. I’ll take it out of your wages.”
That added to Graham’s misery. As it was he thought the pay a miserable pittance for the hours he put in against his will. “Bloody shanghaied by slavers!” he thought.
He was a most unhappy boy for the rest of the day. His spirits only recovered a bit after he got home. A hot bath, clean clothes, hot Milo, a big feed, and his mum’s comforting sympathy all helped. Kylie was also sympathetic. Graham went to his Ship Room and spent the evening working on the hull of his new model, happily painting and lost in a dream world where he was always the hero and nothing ever went wrong.
The following morning he was not sure if he wanted to go to church or not. “Jennifer will be there. But do I want to see her? It will remind her.”
In the end he went. He sat glumly beside Kylie, glancing at Jennifer from time to time. Once she turned and their eyes met. To his surprise and delight she smiled. “Surely she didn’t smile at me?” he thought in wonder. “It must have been at Kylie, or at someone behind me.”
During the “Greeting” Jennifer walked back and gave him her hand. It felt warm and dry. “Peace be with you,” she said in a husky voice. She smiled again. Then she turned to Kylie to greet her. Peace! Poor Graham’s heart skipped and thudded. He got a waft of her perfume and felt quite giddy.
All through the rest of the service he fidgeted, hoping to get a chance to speak to her afterwards. But by the time he got out he found her talking to Margaret. That stopped him. Margaret! Oh well! Then Kylie raced over and joined them and the girls put their heads together before bursting into shrieks of laughter.
Graham found Roger beside him.
“You ready for this afternoon?” Roger asked.
Graham nodded. “Yes. I’ll come over as soon as I can.”
When the family got home Graham changed into old shorts and shirt and collected a cut-lunch.
“You take a hat,” his mother said. “And put something on your feet. And be careful. Don’t do anything silly.”
“Yes mum. No mum,” Graham replied. He snatched up an old scout hat, ignored the injunction on shoes, seized his bathers and a towel and ran down to get his bicycle. A few minutes later he was at Roger’s.
“You’re a bit early,” Roger said.
“Yeah. Mum is taking Kylie somewhere so I came straight over.”
Half an hour later the two boys were at Peter’s. Max was already there. Peter’s mother pressed an early lunch on them, then bundled them into the family station wagon. They drove north to Palm Beach. The car was parked and they walked to where a man was hiring sailing boats. Peter’s mother made the arrangements. She could be very fussy and bossy when she chose. Graham gave her his share of the hire costs.
“The last of my hard-earned pay,” he thought.
The boys were then set to work moving stores to where a sail boat lay upside down just above the swash of the waves.
“It’s a lovely day for it,” Peter said, indicating the sparkling waves. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the breeze was fresh but not strong. Several other sailboats were skimming back and forth offshore. Graham watched one go about very smartly.
“It looks like fun,” Max said.
“I think it is harder than it looks,” Peter cautioned.
Max snorted. “Bull! It’s like falling off a log!”
With his recent defeat at sailing in mind Graham looked at several catamarans beached nearby. He could see one fairly flying along further out.
“Why don’t we get a Cat?” he asked.
“Because the agreement was for boats,” Peter replied.
“We could get it changed.”
“Maybe. But not today. Let’s get this thing rigged or the day will be over,” Peter replied.
“Can’t we have lunch first?” Roger asked. “It’s midday.”
“We are paying for this thing by the hour. Let’s get our money’s worth,” Graham answered. “Eat while you work.”
Peter’s mother had withdrawn to the shade fifty-metres off so the boys were alone; or almost, as there were several young women lying on towels only a dozen metres away. The young women wore very brief bikinis and two of them wore no tops. They were very busty, well developed young ladies and Graham found them most distracting and arousing. He positioned himself so that he could surreptitiously observe them while helping to rig the boat.
Peter took charge of this but it was more of a problem than they anticipated. After about ten-minutes of tripping over things, tangling ropes and sorting out what was what they hoisted the mast.
“Max, you hold that wire, that one there, the port shroud. Graham, you hold the mast. Roger, grab the other shroud. I’ll take the forestay,” Peter directed. “All ready? OK. Lift!”
The aluminium mast was heavier and more awkward than Graham had expected. He tried to guide it into the hole in the hull of the plastic boat but it pinched and bruised his foot. Grunting with effort he guided it in and the mast went upright.
“OK,” Peter called. “Lean it a bit this way so I can fasten this forestay.”
They did so. Peter set to work to screw on a D shackle over a steel ring.
Suddenly the mast swung. Graham had to struggle to hold it and the stay was pulled from Peter’s grasp. Peter swore and looked around.
“Max! Keep hold of that bloody wire! I’ve cut my hand now; and dropped the shackle screw in the sand.”
Max had turned to look at the girls, one of whom had sat up to rub sun cream on her front. The sight was enough to make Graham’s mouth go dry. Peter grumbled and sifted the sand until he found the stainless steel screw. He did the shackle up, then moved to secure the one Max was holding.
As he straightened up Graham looked up the mast. “What’s that pulley thing up there. Do we have to put anything through that?”
Peter looked up and swore. “Yes. What idiots we are! We have to put the sails and their ropes on first. We will have to take it down.”
The shackles were undone. With some difficulty Graham hugged the mast and lifted it out.
“Help us Max!” Peter cried. “It’s bloody heavy.”
The mast was laid flat and the boys studied the various ropes and wires. After some thought Peter spread the triangular jib on the sand.
“OK. We have to thread this on the forestay,” he said. “I think this corner is the Head. And that is the Tack and the other the Clew.”
“Search me,” Max quipped, “I wouldn’t have a clue.”
The jib was fitted on after about ten-minutes of fumbling and getting ropes tangled. Then they turned their attention to the mainsail.
While they worked several cars pulled up. Graham paid them scant attention until a girl laughed. He looked.
And his heart thudded.
Jennifer Jervis!
She was applying sun cream to her face. Her hair seemed to sparkle golden in the sunlight. Her teeth gleamed white when she smiled. “Oh God she’s beautiful!” Graham thought. His gaze took in her nicely rounded shape and travelled down her legs. They were the colour of honey and Graham’s chest seemed to squeeze tighter. She wore short white shorts which just covered her bum, and a tight yellow T-shirt.
Then Graham glanced at the girls she was with and his mouth gaped open in surprise.
Kylie! And Margaret! And Carmen Collins!
Graham badly wanted to talk to Jennifer but did not dare with Kylie and Margaret there. The girls said ‘hello’ then ignored them and set to work rigging their boat. Within a few minutes they had the mast up and the sails in position. Even to Graham’s unpractised eye it was obvious they were a team who knew what they were doing.
“Come on you lot,” Peter called to the boys. “Get this sail up.”
Graham turned to help. “How humiliating!” he thought.
By the time the boys had the mainsail rigged the girls were finished. They pulled on yellow lifejackets and sunhats with yellow ribbons which were tied under their chins with neat bows. After a few quiet words of command from Carmen the skiff was slid down into the waves. Jennifer scrambled aboard and hauled in the main sheet. Carmen leapt nimbly on and took the tiller. Kylie and Margaret held the skiff steady in the gentle waves, then both hauled themselves aboard.
The skiff drew rapidly away from the beach. Kylie lowered the centreboard into position and Margaret hauled in the sheet. The breeze heeled the skiff and she picked up speed and seemed to dance out over the waves.
“Move!” Peter cried. “We can’t let those girls beat us!”
“Lifejackets,” Roger said, running up the beach to get one.
“Bugger them. I can swim,” Max snorted. He pulled off his shirt and threw it on the sand. Graham did likewise. All he now wore were bathers. He stretched and flexed his muscles. Ah! It felt good - the cool breeze on his skin. He thought he had a good body and he wanted to show it off, to impress Jennifer.
Peter also grabbed a lifejacket and hauled it on. “OK. Grab hold. Now lift!”
They carried the boat down into the water. The sea was much colder than Graham had expected. It made his skin tingle. His bare toes gripped the sand as he held the boat.
Max began to scramble aboard.
“Not yet Max!” Peter cried. “Roger, you get on first and grab that main sheet.”
Max didn’t get off but instead moved to the bows, seized the jib sheet and hauled it taut. The sail stopped fluttering and went stiff. Graham felt the boat begin to spin around as the wind pressure came on. He tried to stop it but was too far aft.
He shouted for Max to let go just as Roger levered himself aboard. Then everything seemed to happen at once. Amidst cries of alarm and a flapping of sails the skiff broached beam on to wind and waves and toppled over. Graham found himself thrown flat on the sand and trapped under the mainsail.
It took a minute’s angry shouting to sort out the mess and to right the boat. A hundred-metres out the yellow skiff cut gracefully across the waves. Four faces were turned towards them and laughter came rippling across the wave tops. Graham flushed hot with shame. He brushed sand off himself and waded in till the water was up to his arms, hauling the bow around into the wind.
Peter again instructed Roger to get aboard. “Just hold the bloody boat steady Max!” he snapped.
Once Roger was in position with the mainsheet in his hand Peter clambered over the stern and settled himself at the tiller.
“OK, shove off and climb aboard,” Peter ordered.
Graham pulled the boat hard, then gripped the gunwale and heaved himself up. Max sprang on at the same moment on the same side. The skiff lurched sharply to port. Peter cried out in alarm. Roger tried to counteract the roll.
Graham slithered on the wet foredeck and snatched at the mast. The skiff rolled sharply and he kept on sliding so that his head went over the far side. The sea seemed to rise and next moment his face was underwater and he was toppled on his head.
He hit the sandy bottom with his arms and went to get up, only to fetch a sharp crack on his head from the hull of the skiff. He ducked and struck out, to surface, a few metres clear. To his surprise he saw the skiff had capsized again.
Graham swam in until his feet touched bottom and helped haul the boat upright. To his embarrassment he noted that the topless girls were watching and smiling. He didn’t look to see whether the girls in the yellow skiff were watching.
Peter again instructed them on how to get aboard. This time Graham was last. He held the skiff steady till all the others were aboard. Peter checked that Max and Roger both had the sheets in a firm grip.
“OK, now lean to port. Graham, give us a push then climb aboard.”
This time they all did as they were told. Graham scrambled over the lee gunwale and crouched at the centreboard. Peter rapped out a string of orders: “Haul in the main sheet, steady, hold it! Now the jib. That will do! Drop the centreboard.”
Graham did so. After a moment’s fumbling he locked the centreboard down. Then he glanced around.
The skiff was moving!
He felt a thrill of pleasure. The boat lifted over a wave and began to slice along with an audible gurgle. The beach began to rapidly recede. He turned to grin at Peter. ‘This is better!’ he thought.
They swept up over another wave, the bow shouldering up a spatter of spray. Graham braced for the roll and was surprised that there was almost none. Then he remembered that sailing craft were held steady by the wind’s pressure on the rigging. He found it quite amazing and very enjoyable.
The boat seemed to dance smoothly over the wave tops. Graham felt his spirits soar. He grinned with delight.
“This is fun!” he cried.
Then he saw Peter’s face. Peter was frowning and biting his lip as he stared ahead. Graham twisted to follow his gaze. Another sailboat was heading towards them on what looked like a collision course. Graham tried to sort out what they should do.
‘We are on the port tack heading out to sea. The other boat is coming across from the left, upwind of us.’
Roger interrupted his thoughts. “We are going to collide with that other boat Peter!” he cried.
Peter nodded. “I can see it. There’s a rule about it. One of us has to give way but I can’t remember who.”
“Us,” Graham called. “The leeward boat.”
A glance showed the other boat much closer, creaming along with a row of faces watching anxiously.
‘This is bloody silly,’ Graham thought. ‘The whole Coral Sea to sail on and we have to meet another boat.’ He turned to Peter. “Come round to starboard and run parallel.”
“No, go the other way!” Max shouted in alarm.
Peter did as Graham suggested. “Ease the main sheet,” he called as he put the helm over.
The skiff spun beam on to wind and sea, missing the other boat by only a few metres. There were angry shouts.
“Bloody idiots!” a man snarled.
The other boat was moving faster but as it passed it took the wind from the skiff. The skiff rolled heavily and the sails flapped, then snapped taut.
“Ease the sheets!” Peter cried in alarm as the skiff heeled sharply. Graham flung himself to lean outboard, then sky and sea rolled around and he went over backwards as the boat capsized. Before he realised what was happening, he found himself underwater - dark green, deep water. He panicked, looking fearfully in all directions, as he struck out for the sunlight.
Blinking salt water from his eyes he came up to find the boat on its side and still rolling over. The others were all splashing in the waves around it. Graham glanced around. The other sailboat was already fast receding and had not stopped. The beach looked a long way off. He felt a spasm of fear as his feet thrashed in the deep cold water. ‘Sharks!’ he thought.
Dread of some monster of the deep grabbing his ankles and hauling him down filled him. He swam frantically to the now upside down skiff and tried to haul himself out of the water.
Peter was there. “Everyone OK?” he cried. He splashed around to grab the centreboard.
“Let’s get her the right way up. All come around this side. Graham, stand on the centreboard and lean back.”
After some floundering and slithering they all grouped themselves. Graham did as he was told. The skiff half rose but the wind then pushed her flat again.
“Wait. We have to turn her into the wind,” Peter called. The boys had to swim and push to get the bow around. Then they tried again.
The skiff came upright so easily and so fast they were caught by surprise. It kept on rolling, right over the other way. Graham went down deep again but this time clung to the centreboard and came up spluttering on the other side.
The yellow skiff hissed past just upwind Kylie called, “You put a lifejacket on Graham.”
Graham ignored her. He didn’t enjoy looking a fool. At the next attempt they got the boat upright. The skiff lay sluggishly bobbing on the small waves, sails slatting. The boys clung on to the sides.
“OK,” Peter instructed. “One at a time. I’ll get on and get the tiller. Then Roger to the mainsheet. Then Max. Graham last.”
Graham didn’t like it. He pulled his legs hard up against the hull so they didn’t dangle down into the murky void. He was scared but didn’t dare admit it. It was with real relief he at last hauled himself aboard.
“This is harder than it looks,” Roger commented ruefully as they again slowly got under way.
CHAPTER 13
THE SHARK
No sooner had the skiff settled on the starboard tack than the yellow skiff came angling past again. Max stood up and waved his arms. “Look mum. No hands!” he called.
“Max! Sit down! Don’t play the bloody ... bloody hell!” Peter shouted.
Max stumbled, grabbed at the mast, then got the foresheet wrapped round his ankle. Peter tried to turn up into the wind to prevent another capsize but the yellow skiff was too close. He swung the tiller to head downwind. “Roger, ease the main sheet. Change sides everyone! Max!”
Too late. The boat lurched, rolled and tipped. Graham tried to brace himself but his toes banged painfully on the deck fittings and his bare skin rasped painfully over the plastic decking. He found himself underwater again. A rope somehow wrapped around his leg. He tore it free and surfaced between the sail and the hull.