The Mudskipper Cup

by Christopher Cummings

  “Max, drop the sail. All of you wave,” he instructed. He waved the flag and bellowed.

  “Ahoy there! Ship - ahoy!”

  Graham knew his father would be on the bridge. He always was when going in or out of harbour, or during any other tricky bit of navigation. Captain Kirk was a very prudent seaman.

  Then Graham saw a person come out onto the wing of the bridge and raise binoculars. It was his father, he was sure. He waved his arms as well as the paddle, then snatched at Roger who was almost tumbled over the side as a wave made the Old Cat lurch.

  The man went back into the wheelhouse and the coaster began to turn out of the channel towards them.

  “They’ve seen us! We are saved!” Roger cried.

  Graham put the paddle down and gave Max his shirt. He watched the rust streaked bows drive into the head sea and prepared himself for the meeting. He could read the name now, Malita, and saw old Oscar, the deckhand, up on the focsle.

  The ship passed well clear to starboard, then came around to windward of them to form a lee. She hove to thirty-metres away. Graham looked up and met his father’s eyes.

  Captain Kirk’s face clearly changed from annoyance to astonishment, then to anger.

  “What the bloody hell!” he boomed. “What are you bloody idiots doing out here in the middle of the Pacific Ocean?”

  Graham instantly thought: ‘It’s not the middle of the ocean! We are still inside Trinity Bay!’ But he knew his father wouldn’t be amused by any ‘sea-lawyer’ talk so he told him. “We broke our mast. The jury rig is working OK. It’s just a bit slow and we are running out of time. Can you give us a tow please dad?” He nearly said ‘sir’.

  His father swore and banged his hands on the rail. Graham looked up at him. He really admired the bluff old sea-dog and thought, seeing the wind ruffling his hair, his weather-beaten face and binoculars around his neck, that he looked very much the professional Master Mariner. But he was frightened of him too.

  Captain Kirk called to the deckhand, then turned to the boys. “Yes, I’ll give you a tow. Come alongside, then get on board.”

  The mate appeared and grinned down at them. “Cripes Almighty! Where are you buggers going in that - New Guinea?”

  He tossed them a line which was led aft through a fairlead. Then the mate tossed a Jacob’s ladder over the side. The Old Cat was hauled in close near the stern. Graham noticed that old Oscar was carrying a rifle and knew why.

  The coaster was rolling heavily in the beam swell and this made it dangerous. Graham poled the Old Cat clear with the paddle. “You go first Pete, then help Roger up,” he said.

  Captain Kirk leaned over the weather deck rail. “Don’t you bloody kids slip and go down between the ship and your cat. You get scraped by the bloody barnacles on this hull and you’ll regret it. Besides, we saw a bloody big shark just back there a while ago.”

  Peter sprang onto the ladder and scrambled up. Roger took his place and hesitated, made even more nervous by Captain Kirk’s warning. He licked his lips and looked anxiously at the rapidly moving steel side.

  “Go on Roger, as we rise on this wave,” Graham urged. “Now!”

  Roger sprang. For a moment he looked like he would miss but he hung on, then climbed up. Max followed nimbly. Graham then checked that the towline was securely fastened. He looked up.

  “Can I stay to steer her dad?”

  “No you bloody well can’t! If you fall off while I’m towing up channel I won’t be able to turn or reverse. It will be buggery’s own job. I’ll have to launch a bloody boat! So get aboard. The catamaran will have to take its chances.”

  Graham shook his head. “It’s Peter’s cat. His grandad made it. If it’s liable to be wrecked we will stay aboard and continue sailing.”

  Captain Kirk visibly bristled. “Like bloody hell! Don’t you get stubborn with me son! And don’t insult me. I’ve been towing things for thirty bloody years. Now get aboard.”

  “Yes sir,” Graham said. He picked his moment and then sprang nimbly onto the ladder and climbed up.

  Old Oscar met him with a grin. As he helped Graham over the rail he jerked a thumb at the boat deck overhead. Soft enough not to be overheard he said, “Keelhaul for you boy! Fifty lashes eh!” Then he chuckled. Graham gave a sour grin. Already he had heard the engine beat change and the ship began moving. He went aft with Oscar and the others and watched as the Old Cat was streamed astern.

  For a while it looked as though the Old Cat would simply vanish in a welter of foam but as more rope was paid out she rode easier. The ship picked up speed and headed back into the channel. By then two-hundred metres of cable had been run out and the Old Cat seemed to be following docilely enough.

  The mate slid down the companionway, grinning at them. “What the blazes are you silly little buggers doing way out here?”

  “Practising for when Captain Bligh casts us adrift in the long boat out near Tahiti,” Graham replied.

  The mate laughed. “Bora Bora I think it was, not Tahiti. Anyway Captain Bligh - or maybe he’s more like Captain Blood today - requests your presence.”

  The boys followed the mate up to the wheelhouse. The mate took over the wheel and Captain Kirk came out to speak to them. “Well? What happened? What’s your story?”

  Graham told him. His father grunted and sucked on his pipe. “Hmm. Tanker’s bow wave. You should have known better.”

  “Yes dad.” Graham looked down, ashamed of his poor seamanship. His father then went on. “And what safety gear did you have, other than the lifejackets you stole off Vasco da Gama? None, I’ll bet. Flares? No. Radio? No.” He rounded on Max. “And where’s your lifejacket young Pulford? Couldn’t be bothered to put one on eh? Silly bugger. Doesn’t matter how good a swimmer you are if you get knocked unconscious or break an arm or a leg!”

  Captain Kirk snorted. Graham tried to steer the conversation to safer ground. “You are back early dad. I didn’t expect you for a couple of days.” To his surprise his father smiled. “Good luck for a change. I’ve got a return cargo and a deadline to meet.” He nodded and went back into the wheelhouse.

  Graham and the others walked to the stern of the boat deck and looked back at the Old Cat. It was trailing in a smother of foam and from time to time yawed across the channel. The ship would then slow to bring it back under control.

  “How will we get the Old Cat home?” Peter asked.

  “I’ll ask dad to stop when we get closer in and we can paddle,” Graham suggested. He went to the wheelhouse and put this to his father, the others close behind him.

  Captain Kirk smiled and pointed over to starboard. “You going to push it ashore across that are you?” he said, indicating the miles of black mud now exposed. “You’d need to be a bloody mudskipper to do that. No, you can come with me. Just shorten up the tow as we go up past the wharves.” He turned to the mate. “We’d better put up some flags in case the Harbour Master is watching.”

  The mate went to the flag locker and began selecting the ones that warned that the ship was towing. While he did Graham spoke to his father.

  “But dad, how will we get the Old Cat back to Peter’s from Smiths Creek?”

  “I’ll ask one of the carriers. Don’t fret. Besides, I want to see this craft.” Then, to Graham’s surprise, his father chuckled.

  CHAPTER 27

  THE BAMBOO PATCH

  When the Malita berthed in Smiths Creek Graham was surprised to see his mother, Kylie and Margaret on the wharf. When he said so Peter chuckled. “Wonders of modern science old boy. Radio telephone.” Graham felt foolish. He was also worried. Now his mother would learn of their escapade. She was far more likely to ‘put the kybosh’ on their schemes than his father, who obviously wasn’t all that concerned.

  The ship’s crane soon hoisted the Old Cat up onto the wharf. The boys carried her out of the way as the first truck arrived to start unloading the cargo. Mrs Kirk and the girls at once wanted to know how they came to be on the ship. There was no avoid
ing it. They had to explain.

  Captain Kirk finished speaking to some men then walked over. “I’ve asked Jack there and he says he will give you a lift while he waits his turn. Now, let’s have a look at this unusual vessel.” He walked to the Old Cat and proceeded to peer in all the lockers, pull and poke at things, then stood back and studied the lines. Then he lit his pipe and sucked at it.

  “Hmm. She’s sound enough but she’s not built for ocean going, nor I suspect for racing.”

  That was bad news for the boys. Kylie and Margaret smiled. Kylie poked her tongue at Graham. “We’re going to win. Told you so!”

  “You are not! You aren’t in the competition,” Graham snapped.

  “What competition?” Captain Kirk asked.

  Peter told him. “And it’s only between us and the boys,” he added.

  Kylie at once cried, “That’s not fair! Mum, you tell them they’ve got to let us race too!”

  “Hush! Hush!” Captain Kirk ordered. He sucked on his pipe and nodded thoughtfully. “So it’s Peter’s boat?” He turned to Peter. “So you are the captain? And so far you have won one race, Collins has won one, and the girls have won one?”

  “Yes sir,” Peter replied. “Graham’s the bosun,” he added somewhat apologetically.

  “Is he any good?”

  “Oh yes sir. He organised the jury rig after we were dismasted,” Peter replied.

  “Good. Well, as I see it, there are two issues.” Captain Kirk paused and looked at his wife, then at Kylie. “The first is fairness - equity - if the girls aren’t in it then I don’t see how I can spend money on this boat.”

  He paused while the implications of this sank in. “Secondly, there’s safety. None of you is going out until I am satisfied all reasonable safety precautions have been taken. Is that clear?” He looked at each boy in turn.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Right, do you agree the girls can be in your competition?”

  The boys exchanged looks and nodded.

  “Yes dad,” Graham replied.

  Kylie and Margaret whooped and hugged each other. Captain Kirk went on. “Now, promise me there’ll be no stupidity.”

  They did. Again he looked hard at each in turn. Then he nodded and went on. “Good, now, take the Old Cat back to Peter’s. Take everything apart and lay it out. I will come over tomorrow after lunch and have a look. We will then make up an inventory of things you need. You will need new sails for sure, and a new mast.”

  “Oh we can get a new mast,” Peter said, wanting to minimise expenses.

  “Hmm. Yes, well. We will see. Now get the cat on that truck there and get going. I’ll see you later.”

  The boys looked at each other in disbelief. Peter was embarrassed. After Captain Kirk had moved away Peter said, “Your dad doesn’t have to spend money on our Old Cat Graham.”

  “I think he wants to,” Graham replied. “I suspect he is pleased I’ve shown a bit of adventurous spirit.” He didn’t add that he secretly believed his father thought he was a spoilt little sook.

  Delighted with their luck the boys heaved the Old Cat up onto a flat-bed truck, then followed it in Mrs Kirk’s car. They were driven to the Esplanade to where the trailer was parked. The Old Cat was unloaded onto the trailer and the truck driver thanked. Graham’s mum drove off back to the wharf to get the girls.

  The boys wheeled the Old Cat to Peter’s and agreed on a time to meet the following day. Then Graham, Roger and Max mounted their bikes and thankfully pedalled home. They were all cold in their damp clothes and all had blisters, sore muscles and bruises.

  Graham luxuriated in a long hot bath until the others arrived home. Then he had to tell the story again before tea. He could sense that his mother was worried and didn’t approve, but Alex and Kylie were both jealous.

  That night Graham slept like the proverbial log. By 9 O’clock the next morning he was on his way to Peter’s, accompanied, to his annoyance by not only Max and Roger but also Kylie and Margaret.

  At Peter’s they spent an hour disentangling the wreckage, laying out all the pieces, and examining for damage.

  “The hulls look OK,” Peter said, pulling at the cross beams to see if there was any movement. There was none.

  Kylie wasn’t impressed. “Look at the mess you boys have made of our nice paintwork.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Graham replied. “She doesn’t leak and looking pretty doesn’t make her go any faster.”

  “It makes Jennifer go faster,” Max quipped.

  “Why?” Kylie asked.

  “To keep away from Graham!”

  Graham blushed angrily. He glanced at Margaret who gave him a hurt look. He wanted to explain to her he had never chased Jennifer but didn’t know what to say. Instead he held up the mainsail.

  “This is useless. Torn to shreds.”

  The sail was ripped right across in several places and was in tatters.

  “What about the jib?” Peter asked.

  Roger unrolled it. “It looks OK.”

  “We still have a spare mainsail,” Graham reminded.

  Peter pulled a face. “Yeah, we used this one because it looked the better of the two!”

  Graham tossed the two sections of broken and splintered bamboo mast to one side. “This is our real problem. Where can we get another mast?”

  “Cut down a tree?” Max suggested.

  Peter gave a wry grin. “I’m glad to see environmental awareness emerging at last,” he said sarcastically.

  “Why not?” Max snapped.

  Graham spoke first. “Because it would probably be too heavy. And most Australian timbers aren’t much good. They split too easily. They’ve got no flex to them.”

  Max sneered. “So what do we do? Collect bottles for five years so we can buy an aluminium mast?” he asked.

  “No,” Graham replied. He was having trouble keeping his temper with Max. He looked at Peter. “The Bamboo Patch?”

  Peter nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”

  They all knew what he meant. At North Cairns the lower ridge of Mt Whitfield ran down to where the old Naval Oil Tanks were nestled into the hill beside Collins Avenue. On the ridge above was a thick stand of bamboo, planted by the Sheehan family, early pioneers whose home was built on the lower slopes of the ridge.

  Kylie objected. “We can’t just go and take bamboo. Isn’t it a National Park or Nature Reserve of something?”

  Graham shrugged. “Might be. Or it might be on private land or on Navy land.” They had often gone there for small lengths to make spears, fishing rods and similar items. But this was on an altogether different scale.

  Peter spoke next. “Bamboo’s an exotic, an import. It’s not a native Australian plant. So it shouldn’t matter.”

  Kylie still wasn’t convinced. “We could get into trouble.”

  “You don’t have to come,” Max said.

  Kylie bit her lip and looked worried. So did Margaret. Roger looked glum. He had recently been through one of the most horrible experiences of his life in the swamp near there.

  “We could go and look anyway,” Graham said. He was fired with enthusiasm for the idea. The Old Cat needed a new mast and that was a way to get one.

  Peter looked at his watch. “We’ve got two hours. I’ll get some tools in case we see a good one.”

  “Bring a ruler,” Graham added, as Peter turned to go.

  Margaret sat on the bow of the Old Cat looking worried. “I still don’t like the idea.”

  “It will be alright,” Graham said. “We’ve been there heaps of times and we’ve never had any trouble.”

  A few minutes later Peter came back with a haversack full of tools. The group set off walking, Graham, Max and Peter quite oblivious to the unwillingness of the others. Graham led.

  “We need to reconnoitre our route. We will have to carry it back,” he said.

  Peter nodded. “Be best to keep off the main roads then,” he suggested.

  “As much as we can, yes
.”

  They followed Arthur Street across the railway to Centenary Park, then turned right along the walkway. Roger looked decidedly unhappy but said nothing. This was where he and Stephen had got into all that trouble with the two gangs and he just wanted to forget.

  The footpath ran along an embankment. On the left was the park and on the right a small pocket of the original scrub. Ahead was Saltwater Creek. Across the creek was a footbridge resting on three large steel pipes, black painted, which had once carried the fuel from the storage tanks to the naval base.

  Graham saw people sitting on the small outside pipe, fishing, but it was only when they got closer that he recognised them. ‘Oh no! Burford and Harvey!’ He groaned inwardly, but set his jaw and kept on walking.

  As they got closer Harvey looked around and saw them. He told Burford. As the group reached the end of the bridge Burford sprang up and scrambled over the high metal railings onto the narrow footbridge.

  “You kids can’t cross here,” he snarled. Graham’s heart sank. He hated this sort of confrontation.

  The footbridge was narrow, only wide enough for one person. On either side was a chest high safety rail. The footbridge rested on the two largest pipes. The third pipe was on the right. Harvey stood on it, a hand reel in his left hand.

  Graham noted that the tide was on the flood, so much so that an obvious current of muddy water dotted with leaves and sticks was flowing up the creek. The creek was about fifteen-metres wide, and was deep. He looked around, seeking some other alternative. Downstream about fifty-metres, on the far bank was Macnamara. He was standing, rolling up a fishing line and looking their way.

  The group had checked for a moment but now Peter walked forward onto the bridge.

  “Crap Burford, this is a public footpath.”

  Burford raised his fists. “Ya can’t cross! If ya try I’ll belt ya.”

  Peter kept walking. “Get out of the way Burford. We can cross if we want to.”

  Burford snatched up a bamboo fishing rod and swung it in a vicious arc. It swished as it scythed through the air. Peter stopped.