All day Saturday Graham spent at home. Peter had to visit relations, so did Roger. Max had to work. For once Graham and Alex weren’t called on to work on the ship. The Malita had been unloaded, reloaded and was ready to sail as soon as a last consignment of mining machinery was delivered on Monday morning.
So Graham worked on the model, happily gluing on fine details and feeling that increasing sense of achievement that creating a scratch-built model generates. He was working against a deadline now as next Friday was the closing date for entries in the Show. That thought got him wondering how Kylie was getting along with hers but she kept it securely locked in a cupboard out of sight. He did know she had been busily working on it while he had been sailing and that was a worry.
In the middle of the afternoon Graham sat trimming pieces of dowel to make the masts for his model. He heard girls’ voices upstairs. These approached with much giggling. There was a knock on the door and a girl said.
“Hello! Can we come in?”
At the sound of that soft, musical voice Graham’s heart leapt. He looked around.
It was Jennifer.
At his house.
And wanting to see his model!
Graham was all flustered and embarrassed as she came in. Kylie, Margaret and Carmen followed. Jennifer bent over and studied the model. Graham could only gape and admire. She was so beautiful!
Margaret nudged him. “Graham!”
He looked around and realised that Carmen was talking to him.
“I hear you’ve had a few adventures sailing?”
“Yes, just a few,” Graham replied. He recounted some of them but was so flustered and embarrassed he mixed them up and knew he sounded silly. Somehow he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He was even more tongue-tied when Jennifer complimented the model.
“It’s super Graham. Really good. You are clever!”
He blushed and squirmed in embarrassed delight. His eyes met Margaret’s and he knew she was hurting. Poor kid! He gave her a smile and felt a heel at the way her face instantly lit up with hope.
The girls trooped back up to Kylie’s room with cheerful warnings of how they would win all the races tomorrow. Graham would have dearly loved to ask about the cadet camp but somehow it just hurt too much. But he could overhear snatches of conversation from upstairs. “And then we...” followed by laughter. It twisted him inside with jealousy and misery.
CHAPTER 30
RACE 4
Graham carefully measured out a thimbleful of gunpowder and poured it down the barrel of the small cannon. Peter inserted the paper wad and tamped it gently down. The gun was then placed on the starboard quarterdeck of the Mudskipper and Graham busied himself tying on the breech rope and train tackles. Peter inserted the wick in the touch hole, then carefully wiped his trousers and took out a box of matches.
Sunday morning, one minute to eleven. Twenty minutes to high water. The three catamarans lay bobbing bows to the wind in line near the Harbour Beacon. There was a moderate breeze from the South-East which was blowing up small waves less than half a metre high. The sky was a cloudless blue. It was just cold enough for all the crews to be wearing pullovers. For once even Max was wearing his lifejacket; the reason being that he was under the eagle eye of Captain Kirk, who sat on the stern thwart of the Malita’s aluminium run-about. In the boat with him were Sub-Lieutenant Sheldon of the Navy Cadets and three other naval cadets.
To save all the complications of a running start all three cats were stationary. The Mudskipper, her new name carefully painted on bow and stern in yellow paint, was anchored. The other two were held alongside the Malita’s run-about which was also anchored. Their positions had been drawn out of Captain Kirk’s Panama hat. All sails were furled. The crews fidgeted and looked nervously at their watches.
Captain Kirk nodded. “OK Mudskipper, weigh anchor.”
Roger stood on the bow and hauled. The anchor rope came up easily and Graham moved to wash it before coiling it neatly in the ‘chain locker’. As the anchor broke surface Graham took it from Roger and vigorously rubbed it free of mud, then placed it in the locker.
“Stand by!” Captain Kirk raised his arm. Peter struck a match and held it ready. At a nod from Graham’s dad he lit the fuse. Graham crouched ready, hoping they had measured the charge correctly.
Boom!
The cannon belched a cloud of smoke. Small bits of burning wadding fluttered onto the water. At once all three crews burst into activity. By then the Mudskipper was drifting backwards and the other two cats were also cast loose. Graham and Max jumped to different ends of the boom and began untying the gaskets holding the furled mainsail. Roger began hoisting the jib. Peter untied the cannon, which had not done its usual somersault, due to the tackles and the reduced charge. It was wrapped securely and bundled into the stern locker.
“Hoist away!” Graham called. The order was really to himself as Max dived to seize the mainsheet. The mainsail rattled and squeaked up the bamboo mast but the Mudskipper was under way, the jib already drawing.
Graham looked around as he tied off the end of the halyard. The girls’ Yellow Cat was also under way but something had stuck in the Blue Cat’s gear, the mainsail only half way up.
The Mudskipper scraped around the beacon and set off on a run down channel, the Yellow Cat close behind. They had covered several hundred metres before the Blue Cat came round the mark under jib alone. Andrew’s crew could be seen struggling to free the jammed mainsail.
The Mudskipper responded well. Graham looked up with satisfaction at how the fuller sail caught the wind. Then he noted that the new mast had a distinct bend in it. He did not know whether to worry about that or not as his reading told him there were different schools of thought about the efficacy of ‘bendy’ masts.
“I hope it doesn’t break,” he murmured, resting his hand on it to feel the vibration.
They fairly scooted along, surfing on the wave tops and, amazingly, holding their lead over the Yellow Cat. The Blue Cat had at last sorted out its troubles but was now more than half a kilometre behind.
The three cats raced down channel with almost no change in their relative positions. Peter kept looking astern, then at the waves, then at the cotton tell-tales fluttering on the rigging. Graham used a pencil held at arms length to judge the relative distances.
“The girls are gaining, but very slowly,” he said. “But the Blue Cat isn’t catching up.”
That was real satisfaction. Maybe they had a hope after all? He gave the deck an affectionate pat. “Good old Mudskipper. She can still fly!”
They rounded the fourth channel marker, nearly two miles out, and turned for a beam reach in towards where they launched the Mudskipper an hour earlier. This time they would not be beaching. Captain Kirk had taken the runabout there and anchored a hundred metres out, to act as a safety boat and a marker.
They hauled the sails as stiff as they could. The mast bent even more and the rigging hummed and creaked. The Mudskipper thrashed along and from time to time the windward hull would lift.
“Isn’t this good!” Roger cried. “This is the fastest she has ever gone.”
The boys grinned and laughed. It was a wonderful sensation.
But the Yellow Cat was planing with one hull high out of the water and the four girls leaning far out at right angles on trapeze wires and it was fairly flying. It quickly began to close the distance. The Blue Cat was also making up lost ground.
Graham frowned and pursed his lips as the Yellow Cat visibly overhauled them. It crept up twenty-metres to leeward and just seemed to walk slowly past so that before the Mudskipper was half way along the second leg they had been bypassed.
The Yellow Cat rounded the runabout a hundred metres ahead of the Mudskipper. By then Andrew’s Blue Cat was almost up with them.
They rounded the mark to cheers and ribald advice only metres ahead of the Blue Cat. The tacking began on the upwind leg. Each cat used a different method. The girls did frequent short tacks which, fo
r a time, Peter tried to match. Realising that the Mudskipper was not as handy ‘in stays’ as the newer ones he gave this up and opted for longer tacks. Andrew went in for a few very long tacks.
They still made good speed, even into the wind. Spray bucketed over from every wave and Graham was constantly busy with the bailer. They were all soaked and didn’t care.
Try as they might they could not catch up. Worse still, about two thirds of the way along the third leg, the Blue Cat crossed their bows fifty-metres upwind, to the accompaniment of rude comments and ‘helpful’ advice.
The girls won. They crossed the line a clear fifty-metres ahead of Andrew’s Blue Cat. The Mudskipper came in a minute behind it. The boats hove to beside the runabout, which had followed them up.
“That was really good!” Peter cried. “Let’s race again.”
“Have we got time?” Carmen asked.
Peter nodded. “That only took half an hour. It’s only ten-minutes past high water,” he replied.
“I was thinking of the mud when the tide goes out,” Carmen said.
“So was I. We’ve got a couple of hours yet before it matters,” Peter answered.
Roger agreed. “What’s a little mud anyway? We are the ‘Mudskippers’. It’s our natural environment.”
“Speak for yourself Roger!” Graham laughed.
Andrew stood up. “What about a different course, a longer one with more of a challenge.”
“Out to False Cape and back,” Margaret said with a grin. Everyone laughed.
“No fear,” Peter replied. “Not without a spare mast.”
“I know,” Graham said. “What about from here, up the Inlet and round Admiralty Island and back.”
“How far is that?” Andrew asked.
Graham dug out his map and did a quick calculation. “About eight or nine miles,” he said. “We just did five in half an hour so it shouldn’t take more than about an hour.”
“I like it,” Andrew said. He turned to the Officer of Cadets. “What do you think sir?”
Sub Lt Sheldon turned to Graham’s father.
Captain Kirk looked thoughtful, then said, “Yes. It would be a good test. But it is liable to take twice as long. Smiths Creek is fairly narrow and you will lose a lot of wind. The mangroves will blanket it. And you will be against the tide.”
“Which way should we go sir?” Andrew asked.
“Clockwise,” Captain Kirk said. “On the run South against the wind you will have a wider channel to tack in, and a weaker tidal current. Then come back along Smiths Creek. The tide will bring you down even if the wind doesn’t and you won’t have to tack in the narrow channel.”
So it was agreed. Once again the boats dropped their sails. Graham took out the cannon and re-charged it. Once it was securely tied in place he moved forward. This time Max fired the cannon. It gave a lovely deep thump and the race began.
Captain Kirk had been right. It did take much longer. It took six tacks just to get up level with the mouth of Smiths Creek, then thirteen to reach the southern end of Admiralty Island. By then an hour and a half had elapsed; and long before that the other two cats had passed from view.
The runabout followed as safety boat. Half way along, just as they were rounding the eastern curve of Admiralty Island, Captain Kirk came alongside and asked if they wanted to turn back, indicating the time. Both Peter and Graham had said ‘No’. It went against a stubborn streak in both their characters to give up just because something might be a bit unpleasant. Anyway, as Roger had said: ‘What’s a bit of mud to a Mudskipper?’. So they slogged on, beating up against wind and tide.
As they thankfully rounded the southern tip of Admiralty Island - just a large mangrove swamp really - Captain Kirk pulled alongside again.
“We will push ahead and see how the others are going, then come back,” he said. The runabout powered out of sight around the bend.
Now, in the lee of the mangroves, speed still stayed slow. Captain Kirk had been right about that too. In the shelter of the mangroves only the top of the sail felt much of the wind’s force. Peter kept on the leeward side of the channel to catch as much of the breeze as he could.
Smiths Creek was much narrower, one hundred to two hundred metres broad; and it meandered about more. Both banks were just mangroves, many square kilometres of them, with numerous small creeks entering on each side. Graham pulled a wry face as he noted that the tide had already fallen so low that the mud in which the mangroves grew was now exposed.
The boys ate their lunch and swatted at mosquitoes as they coasted gently along. Sand flies began to trouble them. A huge fish leapt out of the water twenty-metres away.
“Should have brought a rod,” Peter commented.
It was hot now so they peeled off their pullovers. Max neglected to put his lifejacket back on. They passed an anchored launch, then a colony of flying foxes which stank worse than the mangroves. Another fish jumped, making Roger jump.
Max sneered. “It’s OK Roger. It wasn’t a crocodile,” he said with a laugh.
“No. But something big must have been after it to make it jump,” Graham said. He looked nervously into the muddy green water. It was deep. Even the banks dropped steeply. The outgoing tide was swirling and gurgling along with visible force.
They passed several fishermen sitting in an anchored dinghy, then another moored yacht; then a colony of sulphur crested cockatoos which rose in querulous, squawking clouds. Graham scratched at a sand fly bite and looked at his watch. Nearly two o’clock. So much for two hours. It would be more than three.
The runabout returned.
“The others are back in the Inlet. Do you want a tow?” Captain Kirk called.
Graham shook his head. “No thanks dad. We will make it on our own. Go back and tell them to go home. We will be OK,” he called.
His father waved, turned the runabout and sped off downstream. The Mudskipper cruised slowly on in its wake. About five knots Graham guessed. He studied the map.
“Not far. We should pass the government wharf around the next bend,” he said.
As they did Graham saw the police launch tied up there. The sight made him pull a face. No policemen were in sight. They sailed on past trawler berths, the yacht storage, and the Malita berthed at the commercial wharves. No-one was visible on deck. Then past the dry dock and more trawlers.
“What about stopping at the shop,” Graham suggested, pointing at the buildings.
Roger nodded vigorously. “Good idea. Lunch didn’t really fill me up.”
Peter nodded. “OK. I could do with a soft drink. I don’t think we are going to win this race.”
They all laughed. Peter put the helm over and they nosed in past some trawlers to the rocks along the creek bank.
“Someone had better stay with the boat,” Peter said as the sails were run down. Graham sprang ashore with a rope and tied it on.
“I will,” Max said. “Just bring me a Coke.”
The boys clambered up over the rocks, leaving Max standing there. They crossed the road and went to the shop. Roger proceeded to buy a milkshake, a pie and two sausage rolls. Graham also bought a pie and a can of soft drink. Then he walked back outside - to be confronted by Burford.
“Ah! Hello Kirk, you little wart. Bought me another pie have you?” He reached for it. Harvey and Macnamara, who stood behind him, both laughed.
Graham stepped quickly aside, colliding with Peter as he came out the door.
“What the...?” Peter began. Then he saw the bullies. “What do you want Burford? Leave us alone.”
Burford hesitated. Roger also came out, his mouth full of sausage roll which he swallowed nervously.
Burford put his fists on his hips. “You owe me Bronsky, for knocking me off the oil pipes.”
Peter laughed. “Bull! You hit me with a stick. But if it’s another fight you want you can have it.”
There were a few moments of uneasy tension as the two groups eyed each other. Graham considered what to do with
the pie and soft drink. He saw that Harvey and Macnamara both had their hands full with fishing gear and bait boxes.
The shop owner pushed out between them. “What’s going on? I don’t want any trouble here.”
Burford sneered at Peter then nodded to his cronies and they went into the shop. The friends relaxed and began walking back to the Mudskipper.
“Whew! I thought I was going to lose my pie then,” Roger said.
That eased the stretched nerves. Graham smiled. Good old Roger. He looked soft, but he had a heart like a lion. Then he noticed Max walking quickly back along the road which led down to the boat ramp.
“Hey Max, did you see Burford and his scaly mates?” he called.
“Yeah. They parked their boat just there on the ramp,” Max replied.
“Max! You didn’t do anything to their boat did you?”
Max shook his head. “No. Honestly. I hid when they went past and just went to have a look.”
“Did you do anything to their boat?” Graham asked grimly. He was sick of Max.
“No, I didn’t do anything to their boat,” Max replied somewhat defiantly. Then he laughed. “Where’s my soft drink?”
Peter gave it to him and they scrambled back down to the Mudskipper.
“Do you think they will come after us and harass us, like that other time?” Roger asked nervously.
“Hope not,” Graham replied. He untied the Mudskipper and shoved off as soon as all were aboard. Using a paddle he turned the cat around. The sails were hoisted and they set off again. Within fifty-metres they reached the mouth of Smiths Creek and turned into the Inlet. Graham saw Burford’s ‘tinnie’ sitting on the ramp but there was no sign of the bullies.
The Mudskipper picked up speed and they settled to a steady run down channel. Graham ate his pie and finished the soft drink. He was just stowing the aluminium can when he noticed Max toss his over the side.
“Max! For Christ’s sake! Have some sense. We could get fined for that, or a speedboat could hit it,” he snapped.
The Mudskipper Cup Page 28