The boat lay on its side. Peter and Roger were already up on the centreboard. Graham coughed salt water and cleared his eyes.
“Where’s Max?” Peter called.
They looked around. Graham saw movement under the jib. He gulped a breath and pushed under. Max was there, thrashing at the sail. As Graham tried to pull him free Max lashed out and kicked at him. Graham lost his grip and dodged back from the flailing feet, then lunged in to grab Max by the arm. He hauled, holding the mast as he did.
The two boys broke surface, both coughing and gasping. Max grabbed the mast and looked around with panic all over his face. He had the foresheet wrapped about his neck.
“Calm down!” Graham snarled angrily. “Hang on. I’ll get this off.” He unwound the rope. Max began to retch and gasp.
“I thought I was dead then,” he cried.
“You should have a bloody lifejacket on!” Peter snapped angrily. “So should you Graham.”
They righted the boat and lay to for a few minutes until all had calmed down. Then they resumed their sailing practice. Peter looked anxiously at his watch.
“We’ve been going an hour and all we’ve done is get a hundred-metres from the beach.”
“And tip over three times,” Roger added with a smile.
“Here come those blasted girls again!” Max said.
“Ignore them,” Peter said. “OK, let’s try a downwind run.”
The skiff was turned so that the wind came in over the stern. Peter ordered the mainsail over to port. “Ease it out Roger,” he instructed. “Keep letting the sheet run out under control until the boom is as far out as it will go.”
Roger did as he was told and the boat picked up speed and began to swish and gurgle along.
“I wish the wind was stronger,” Max said. “We would really fly along then.”
“It’s quite strong enough,” Peter replied, his face a study in concentration as he watched the sails and the rapidly approaching shore.
After a minute of this Peter pointed to the right. “OK, I’m going to turn us to starboard up into the wind,” he said. “As we go around lean upwind. Roger, you pull the sheet in, but wait till we are around or we will tip over.”
Graham looked anxiously forward, then back at Peter. He reached forward ready to raise the centreboard as they skimmed into shallow water.
“Now!” Peter put the tiller over. The skiff surged around in a graceful curve. “Haul in Roger.”
To everyone’s surprise the manoeuvre went without a hitch. As the boat settled on the port tack, her bows pointing towards Double Island, the boys all grinned at each other.
“Now let’s try tacking,” Peter said. “When I say ‘ready- about’, Roger you ease the sheet. Graham you pull the boom across. Then all lean upwind.”
They tried it. The skiff came smoothly around and settled on the starboard tack. Graham began to relax and feel pleased.
The yellow skiff came scudding past close to leeward. The four girls were all leaning out on trapeze wires and they waved as they passed.
Carmen waved and called, “Have you finished your capsize drill?” This brought shrieks of laughter from the other girls. The boys scowled. Graham tried to think of a suitable response but could only watch enviously as the girls put their boat about in what seemed to be an instant of disciplined flurry.
Peter held their course till the boat seemed to be hundreds of metres out from the beach. With no other boat near them they practised turning downwind then upwind again. They managed this twice without mishap.
Next Peter turned them to run directly downwind.
Graham looked anxiously around. “Shouldn’t we swap our jib over to the opposite side from the mainsail?” he asked.
“Wing and wing? Yes but let’s master this first,” Peter said.
At that moment a wave larger than the others lifted the stern. The boat rose, then slid down the back of the wave as it passed. The mainsail spilled its wind and went slack. The boat rolled drunkenly.
“Hey!” Max shouted.
The boom suddenly swung over. It struck both Roger and Graham on the head. Max ducked but slipped. The boat swung in a wild curve, then rolled over. Graham tried to hang on, and again banged his toes. To his surprise he found the boat on its side and himself in the air. He flopped onto the mainsail then swam off as the boat rolled over.
Once again they had to right the boat.
“What happened?” Roger asked, as they hauled themselves back aboard.
“We gybed I think,” Peter said.
“We what?”
“Gybed,” Peter replied. “The mainsail went from one side to the other. It’s a manoeuvre you do on a downwind run but it’s supposed to be done under control.”
“We’d better practise it then,” Graham said.
“What about a break?” Roger asked.
“Soon. We’ve only got half an hour to go,” Peter replied.
So they practised gybing. In the process they tipped over twice more. If nothing else they got good at righting the boat. Graham still didn’t like it but stopped worrying so much.
“Let’s swap around,” Max suggested.
After some dispute Roger moved forward to the jib sheet, sitting just behind the mast. Max took over the mainsheet. Graham swapped with Peter. They began a repeat series of manoeuvres.
Graham was apprehensive about taking control. Nervously he gripped the tiller, feeling the vibration of the water rushing past. He looked ahead, trying to sort out all he had heard about sailing; and realised with a shock that he knew very little. Reading novels about sailing ships was poor preparation for this, he decided.
But he began to enjoy himself. As his confidence grew so did his pleasure. He tried a few easy manoeuvres and felt a real thrill of achievement.
“Right, let’s try a gybe,” he called, steadying the skiff on a downwind run. She seemed to rush along, even in the gentle breeze. Graham looked around to check no other boats were near. The beach was at least two-hundred metres away. He sniffed the salt air and felt gloriously happy.
“Ready? Stand by to go about!” he called. He put the tiller over. The boat swung, then seemed to skid. The boom suddenly swung.
“Max! Haul in!” Graham cried.
Too late. The sail flashed across with a loud flap and ropes screeched through blocks. Graham was aware of shouts and then the horizon tilting. He fell and slid into the sea, fittings pulling at his clothes and skin. As he splashed in, the shock of the cold water added to his shame.
They righted the boat again and scrambled aboard. The boat lay bobbing into the wind.
“Max, you bloody idiot! You are supposed to haul in and let the boom swing across under control,” Graham cried as he seated himself at the tiller again.
“It wasn’t me!” Max answered. “It was you. You are supposed to hold a steady course till the mainsail is swapped over, and apply counter-rudder if needed.”
“I did,” Graham countered.
“You didn’t.”
“Bull! Let me have a go,” Max yelled.
“No! It’s my turn.”
“You’ve had a go, and mucked it up. Let me try,” Max said.
Peter intervened. “Graham can have one more go. Then you take over Max,” he said.
This calmed them. Graham gave orders and got the boat under way. He then tried another gybe. This time it worked. They went round in a big circle and ended up facing into the wind about a hundred-metres from shore.
“My go,” Max called. He moved aft. Graham moved aside to make room for him and began to crawl forward.
Suddenly Max pushed and Graham was in the sea. He came up spluttering, in time to hear Max’s laughter. The skiff was just out of arm’s reach. Graham struck out to reach it but Max had the mainsheet still and had hauled it in so that the sail drew. The skiff slid ahead. Graham swore, then a wave slapped in his face and he coughed and spluttered. He could see Max’s grinning face and heard him laugh.
Graham be
gan swimming as fast as he could, reaching out for the rudder which was only centimetres from his fingers.
“Stop Max! Stop...guggle...gasp!”
Max laughed again and held the mainsheet taut. The skiff gathered speed and drew ahead. Graham thrashed after it with a powerful overarm stroke but he found it hard going in the waves. The skiff drew quickly away.
Graham gave up and began to tread water. He wiped his eyes and coughed. The effort had winded him and was annoyed. He could see Peter and Roger arguing with Max but already the skiff was twenty or thirty-metres away and travelling fast. A look around was no comfort. There were other boats but none with within a hundred-metres.
The beach was closer so Graham turned and began swimming that way, stopping often to get his breath and so see what the skiff was doing. It was now a hundred-metres away, angling out to sea and Peter was moving back towards Max, leaving the jib flapping.
‘I’m not as fit as I thought,’ Graham told himself as he stopped to rest. Already his arms felt like lead. A wave lifted him and he saw that he was less than fifty-metres off shore. He struck out again, changing to a breaststroke as he tired.
Feeling quite annoyed, he splashed into the shallows and waded up the beach. He looked around. ‘Drat! Fifty-metres from those sunbathing girls!’ he thought. ‘I’ll get eyestrain!’ Then he shook his head. ‘I don’t care - even if I do go blind!’ He tried to think of a reason to walk their way but could not, so he looked out to sea.
The skiff was angling in towards him. Graham stood and waited, but instead of stopping, the boat sailed past ten-metres out. Max called out and laughed. Graham waded in till it was waist deep then fumed. He put his hands on his hips and swore. The yellow skiff went past further out and he saw the girls waving but ignored them.
Max took the skiff out, came about a hundred-metres further along then angled back in. Graham watched for a moment. He was angry by then, believing he was being teased. ‘If I swim out now I reckon I can catch them,’ he thought.
He plunged in and began swimming as fast as he could. As he swam he saw Max look around for him, then his head turned to look at him.
“He’s spotted me!” Graham gasped. Max pointed and yelled. The skiff came surging closer and Graham swam towards it.
‘I’m going to catch it!’ he thought, as the boat grew in his vision. He saw the angles changing and knew that Max had put the helm over and loosened the sheets.
‘I can still do it!’ Graham thought. He put his head down and thrashed along.
The hull of the skiff hissed past only a metre from him. Graham heard Max laugh and Peter and Roger both calling out to heave to. Max kept going. Graham swam till it seemed his heart would burst but the skiff drew rapidly away. He stopped and began to tread water, his heart pounding and throat hot. By then his arms felt like lead.
As each wave lifted him he watched the skiff. Max was going about a hundred-metres on.
‘The bugger is going to tease me again,’ Graham thought angrily. He looked around again and noted he was fifty-metres from the beach. He also noticed all the people there were standing and watching. Some waved and pointed.
Graham hesitated. ‘Should I swim ashore or try again?’ he wondered. He didn’t want to admit defeat. Then he laughed.
Max had fluffed the gybe. The skiff rolled over. Graham decided not to wait. He was getting very tired. He turned and began to swim slowly towards the beach.
Again he noticed all the people standing. Others were running from further along. People were yelling and pointing. Suddenly Graham sensed alarm. He looked around.
And his heart seemed to freeze.
Shark!
And a big one!
It was about twenty-metres behind him and swimming on a course at right angles to his. As it rose with a wave Graham clearly saw its back and both the triangular dorsal fin and the longer, narrower tail fin. It was a monster, mottled brown in colour, and was longer between the fins than Graham was tall.
He was seized by terror and for a moment could only stare in fascinated horror. “Shark! Oh my God! Shark!” he gasped. His mind raced. ‘Do I face it or swim for the beach? Don’t panic! Don’t panic! Don’t thrash about! Perhaps it hasn’t seen me yet?’
No hope of that, he knew. ‘I’ve been splashing about here like a fool for ten-minutes. Besides they locate their prey by electro-magnetism.’ He remembered the nature program on TV but the knowledge tended to paralyse rather than help.
‘Can’t hide. Can’t outswim it. Oh help!’
The shark had dived.
That was worse; infinitely worse. Now Graham’s stomach churned and constricted in spasms of fear. He wanted to curl up, to pull his legs up. The monster would just appear he knew. It would strike with terrifying speed. With eyes that seemed blurred and out of focus he searched the water for a glimpse of the rushing shadow in the hope he might just have a moment’s warning to fend it off. In his heart he knew it was a vain hope.
TV images of the mighty jaws with their hundreds of razor-sharp teeth tearing and grinding gristle and flesh filled his mind. Somehow he plucked up the courage to put his head underwater with his eyes open but it was all just rippling shadows going down to a black nothingness and he couldn’t face it. His heart hammering wildly he came up, blinked and looked around for a sight of the dreaded rushing fin.
Instead he saw the yellow skiff. It was scudding towards him and he knew real terror. “Help! Help!” he shouted, waving an arm. But the girls had seen him already.
The yellow skiff slowed to a lopping standstill a few metres away. Graham swam for it in mortal terror. At any every moment he expected to feel the bone-crunching snap of giant jaws. The girls reached for him. He grabbed the boat. Almost safe!
Margaret and Kylie tried to grab him but their hands slipped on his wet skin. He gave a heave and floundered onto the deck between them, heedless of bruises and skinned knees.
Safe!
For a moment Graham lay still, gasping and trembling. Kylie grabbed his shorts and Margaret held his hand. He could see her worried hazel eyes. Jennifer was there too, smiling with relief.
After a moment Graham drew his legs further in and sat up. It was very crowded on the small skiff and it meant he rubbed against Margaret and Kylie, both of whom held him tightly. Kylie let her relief flare into anger.
“You fool Graham! Didn’t you see that shark? We called and called and pointed to it. It circled you when you first swam ashore.”
Graham felt very foolish. Margaret hugged his arm to her chest. “When I saw you go back in and try to catch your boat I was nearly sick,” she said.
‘Nearly sick!’ Graham thought. He was nearly sick. He had to suppress an urge to vomit.
“There it is!” Jennifer cried, her voice shrill with fear.
The shark had broken surface about ten-metres away, swimming parallel with them. Graham stared aghast at the evil silhouette and was again appalled at the creature’s size. He became extremely conscious that the plastic sailboat only had a few centimetres of freeboard. ‘That shark could just slide aboard and grab one of us,’ he thought.
The same idea must have come to Carmen at the same moment. “Let’s get ashore,” she said. “Graham, you lie down. We don’t want to tip over now.”
He did as he was told, gripping a shackle and the mast, Margaret’s legs beside his head. The girls got their boat under way and came around to head for the beach. As the boat turned it heeled and Graham found his face close to the water. Fear that they would capsize, or that the shark would attack them, filled him.
“Where are we going?” he asked, noting the beach receding.
“To warn those silly boys,” Carmen replied.
Graham just wanted to go ashore but he made no protest. “Can you still see the shark?” he asked, raising his head to stare around.
“No, it’s gone under again,” Kylie replied.
Margaret put her hand on his shoulder and patted him. Graham was simultaneously comforted an
d annoyed. ‘I’m not a bloody dog!’ he thought. ‘Besides, I don’t want Jennifer to think that Margaret owns me!’
CHAPTER 14
THE FIGHT
Ten-minutes later Graham stood on the beach pretending his knees weren’t shaky. He kept shivering and staring out at the tumbled waves. Both his mother and Peter’s mother were angry and upset.
“You can pack the boats up,” Peter’s mother said.
“Aw mum! We’ve still got half an hour to go,” Peter protested.
“Pack up! This minute!” his mother snapped.
The other boys, who hadn’t seen the shark, were reluctant and sceptical. Graham complied without protest.
“I wonder what sort of shark it was?” he asked.
“White Pointer?” Max suggested.
“Not likely!” Peter snapped. “You don’t get them here. They live in cold oceans; off Victoria and South Australia.”
“Bull! You do get them here,” Max replied.
“Maybe it was a Grey Nurse?” Roger suggested, trying to smooth the argument.
"Bronze Whaler more like,” Graham said.
Max sneered. “Whale? Whales don’t eat people.”
“Whaler,” Graham replied.
“Are they man-eaters?” Roger asked.
Graham shrugged. “I think so,” he said.
“Are not,” Max snorted.
Carmen cut in. “Stop arguing you boys and un-rig this boat.”
Margaret came over and gently slid her hand over Graham’s back. He winced.
“You are terribly sunburnt Graham,” she said. “And you’ve got a lot of scratches and bruises.”
Graham pulled away, angry at her action and tone as Jennifer was watching. He was uncomfortably aware of his foolishness and resented her pointing it out.
“Serves him right,” Kylie said as she carried a bundle of lifejackets up to the trailer. “And wear one of these next time. You could have been drowned, never mind the shark!”
“Mind your own business,” Graham yelled at her.
The Mudskipper Cup Page 12