Mum was my coordinator back at home on shore through email, and through Satphone in an emergency. We would keep in touch every day. Any technical problems, I’d let her know. She’d talk to the blokes in the boatyard, and they’d do what they could to talk me through repairs and maintenance. Any injuries and health problems, she’d ask the doctor. We’d thought of everything, we hoped. We were as ready as we could be. All set to go. But I wasn’t happy. There was a side to all this I was really beginning to dislike. Over the last weeks before I left I’d become a bit of a local celebrity, and I was finding the constant intrusion getting on my nerves. I just wanted to be gone. But I knew they’d be there, and lots of them, on the day I left. I wanted to slip away without anyone noticing, but Grandpa wasn’t having any of it. He wanted me to have a proper send-off, a Cretan send off. The press was important, he said. He was proud of his little girl, proud of Stavros Boats, and he wanted the world to know it. And what Grandpa said, went. So that’s how it happened.
I’d never seen so many cameras flashing in all my life. “This way, Allie.” “Smile, Allie.” I showed my teeth – it was all I could manage. But that apart, it was a send-off I’ll never forget. The whole family turned out. Bouzoukis played on the jetty. They danced, they waved, they cried. Everyone from the boatyard was there, along with half of Hobart it seemed to me. All I wanted now was to be gone. I wanted the hugging and the tears to be over with. I just wanted to get on with it.
My first big worry was the dozens and dozens of motor boats and speedboats and jetskis and yachts that were escorting me down the Derwent River and out to the open sea. They were all around me, some of them very close, too close. Eyes in the back of my head would have been useful. I tried to wave them away, but they seemed to think I was waving goodbye to them and just waved back even more enthusiastically. But once we were past the Iron Pot and out in Storm Bay they all turned back, and I was on my own at last. We had a good breeze behind us and Kitty Four was sailing like a dream. I’d always loved Kitty Four—she’d been a dream for so long – but I never loved her more than I loved her now. She was going to be my home for five months. We’d be doing this together, just her and me, and Dad, who’d built her to sail the way she did, and made me the person I was, and the sailor I was too.
I sat there in the cockpit, the sun and the spray on my face, in seventh heaven—Dad was always counting heavens in his story, so I can too—singing London Bridge is Falling Down and drinking my first hot chocolate of the voyage. I was on my way.
Jelly Blobbers and Red Hot Chili Peppers
1600 hrs Mon 10 Jan 043’ 23”S 148’ 02”E
out past Tasman Island. great start. lumpy bumpy sea. lumpy bumpy boat. nice of everyone to see me off, except for that bloke in his jet ski who nearly took my bow off he came so close. Anyways, he missed, so still in one piece. Kept crying when I looked back and saw you all waving, so that’s why I stopped waving after a while. wasn’t being unfriendly Grandpa. Every time I look up at the sails and see Stavros Boats I’ll think of you. And Mum every time I use the laptop I’ll be thinking of you. See you all in my dreams too from time to time, that’s if I get any sleep which isn’t likely.
Like I said to Mum I’ll be writing emails whenever I can – you do the same, pleeeze – to let you know where I am, how I’m doing, how the boat’s behaving, what the weather’s doing.
I’m really loving this already, the emailing I mean. I talk a lot to myself anyway when I’m sailing because it’s good to hear the sound of a voice, any voice, reassuring somehow, makes you feel there’s someone else around – silly I know. So these’ll be like talking emails. I sing a lot too, but I’ll keep my singing to myself. You’ll just have to imagine me up on deck belting out my Whitney Houston special in a force 8 or 9 – and ieeeiiieeei will always love you. I found myself humming London Bridge is Falling Down in the cockpit just now, like Dad did. I’ve got Dad’s cds – louis armstrong, bob dylan, the beatles, buddy holly. I’ve got “What a Wonderful World” on right now, one of Dad’s favourites when we were at sea together. Got my own stuff too – Coldplay, Red Hot Chili Peppers, few others. Couldn’t take much, not enough room. piled high with junk down here, hardly any room for little old me. feel like a really big sardine in a really small can. Still it’s home for a few months so I’d better get used to it. just hope the pc keeps going. lot depends on that. And that’s down to the generator. Towing the turbine at 6 knots at present, so lots of amps. Amps = happy pc = happy me.
Just want to thank all of you for everything you did to get me this far. Kitty 4 is where she loves to be and so am I, and don’t worry bout me too much. Got Dad’s lucky key around my neck so I’ll be fine.
Wind gusting 30 knots. Lots of jelly blobbers all around come to say goodbye too I spect. Saw my first albatross. Now I know Dad’s out here with me, going all the way with me. See you.
2000hrs Tues 11 jan 44’ 13”S 151’ 12”E
Hi y’all. G’day. Settling in or trying to. Forgot how uncomfortable Kitty 4 really is. Didn’t dear old Dad realise you’ve got to live in a boat as well as sail her?
Not enough room to swing a mouse down here. Sea kept me awake most of the night. Never shuts up, not for one moment. Banging and crashing all night, and if I got up never stopped chucking me about either. No consideration. I think she was just reminding me who’s in charge out here. Gave up after a while and went up on deck, had some hot chocolate, yummy, and looked at the stars, zillions of them. Can’t be any more beautiful place in the whole world than the sea at night when someone’s switched on the stars. Hope heaven really is up there. Thought of Dad. Think of him often. Miss him, and when I miss him badly I talk to him. Tried to get some sleep again but I couldn’t. Too keyed up. I still can’t really believe I’m doing this, after all the years of building and planning, after everything that’s happened. I lay there listening out for problems, for any strange creaks or groans. Kitty 4 talked to me all night, telling me she was fine, that I wasn’t to worry. But once I start worrying I can’t stop. S’not really worrying, it’s just that my brain keeps churning things round and round and won’t let me sleep.
Forecast was spot on. Wind from the north 50 knots. Funny how you forget things so quickly. You forget how busy you have to be. So much to be thinking about, so much to be doing and when it’s done there’s always something else. Which is why I’ve got to stop this and get some sail off………
Back again. Read a bit of Dad’s story again in the night, the beginning bit with him being sea-sick. I’m lucky. Don’t do sea-sickness. Love reading his story because I can hear his voice in every word.
Kitty 4 sailing beautifully. Big rolling beam seas don’t make it an easy ride, not for her, not for me. Still finding sea legs. Not hanging on hard enough, always banging my head. Big lump above my right ear. I’ll hang on tighter next time. Huge tanker out there. Ugly great monster. Saw an albatross again, think it may be the same one. I tried to take a photo of him, but discovered the digital camera doesn’t work. It did when I tried it out back home. I wanted to send pics on email, but now I can’t. Very fed up. Sorreeee. Thanks for all the emails. Yes, Grandpa I am taking the vitamins. Hope I sleep better tonight. See soon. A.
1600 hrs Thurs 13 jan 45’ 41”S 156’ 19”E 5 knots
Love your emails. I love y’all. Miss y’all. I read them over and over. Yes Mum head’s fine, no concussion. Yes Grandpa course I’ll keep the Greek flag flying all the way, right up there with the Aussie one. Kitty 4 is a real beaut. Got y’all to thank for that, and Dad and Mr Dodds. She’s a real marvel. Nothing I can teach her. She’s teaching me. Got to be honest, it’s a whole lot easier living alone on this boat. Dad was the best sailor in the world, but the untidiest. And he always hated me tidying up after him. He liked his own mess he said, knew where everything was. So I’d have to wait till he went up on deck then just tidy everything away quickly while he wasn’t there. When he came back he’d never even notice I’d done it. Sound familiar Mum? He just love
d living in a tip, that’s all and I didn’t. But give Dad his due, he was a brilliant cook (never washed up but he cooked like a dream).
He’d do all the cooking and let me sail the boat. All right so it was baked beans with everything. But he made the best bread, learned it off you Mum, the tastiest bread I ever tasted. Can’t be bothered much with cooking at the moment. Just open a tin of something, anything, wolf it down then have my hot chocolate. That’s what I live for, hot chocolate. I sit there all cold and wet and drink it down. It shivers the cold right out of me, warms me up from the inside up, reaches toeses and noses, all my freezing cold bits and pieces.
Decided this morning to learn The Ancient Mariner all the way through before I get to England. Think Dad would like that. Know the first verse already. Here it is. Not cheating, promise:
It is an ancient mariner
And he stoppeth one of three.
By thy long beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?
Up on deck earlier going along nice and easy, brilliant sunshine. Saw the albatross again. It’s the same one, sure of it now. He brought some of his friends with him to check me out. Seems to like me cos he stayed around for a while, they all did. He came so close I could see right into his eye and he could see into mine. I can’t get it out of my head that maybe it’s Dad keeping an eye out for me, doing this with me just as he always wanted to. When he flew off a few minutes ago I missed him, and the whole ocean seemed so empty and hostile too. I felt alone for the first time since I left.
Waves 10 metres and higher. Winds 30-40 knots all the time. Set the storm jib, not easy with the whole world pitching and rolling around me. Been up on deck doing too many sail changes, fifth today. Got to think ahead more. Got to limit the sail changes. Each one takes a lot out of me. When I get tired I make mistakes. Took the skin off my knuckles the last time I did it. Stupid. Little wounds don’t heal out here easily. I’ve got two ginormous blisters already. Must look after them else they’ll fester and festering isn’t good, leads to all sort of nasties.
Wind patterns all over the place down here. Got to learn to predict the unpredictable, Allie – I can hear Dad saying it now. Doing my best, Dad. Halfway to Stewart Island, halfway to N.Z. Hot chocolate to celebrate. Listened to Coldplay. One or the other cheered me up – don’t know which. Any news about Kitty, Mum? Be so so good if we could find her. Love you. A
And Now the Storm Blast Came
1700hrs Sat 15 Jan 46’ 50”S 162’ 49”E
Biggest storm last night, worst I’ve had. Gusts over 80 knots, waves 10 metres plus but the self-steering brought us through, easy as pie as Dad used to say. Can’t say I enjoyed it much but Kitty 4 took it all in her stride. Made for it she is. Sat down below, wind howling all around and learnt another verse of the Ancient Mariner – can do the first eleven verses now without looking:
And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he
Was Tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o’er taking wings
And chased us south along
Little strange and little funny to be sitting down here saying that over and over. I had to shout it out loud so I could hear myself. But it passed the time, kept me happy, made me think about something else besides the next towering wave out there. It was “Tyrannous and strong” all right. that Coleridge bloke knew what he was talking about.
Better now, heavy seas still but not anything like it was last night.
Averaging 5-8 knots, so that means we’ve done about 700 miles so far. Yippee! Hee hee!!! Well done Kitty 4 well done me! Good to know just how well Kitty 4 handles herself, feel she could cope with anything. I’ve always had confidence in her, but last night she really proved she could take it. She’s so brave, so clever and I’m so lucky to be doing this with her. Lucky, lucky, lucky.
Lots of birds about today and best of all my albatross is here too. Just making sure we’re all right after the storm, that’s what I think. He really is the king of birds. He’s got to have a wing span of 3 metres, massive, magnificent, MASSIFICENT, better word, my word. invented words are better words, mean more, say more. maybe that’s the first time anyone has ever written that word. I like that, doing something for the first time, like going places no one’s been before. At sea you do that all the time. I mean you sail up a wave and every one of them is unique, a new discovery, never seen before. You see clouds no one’s seen before, and birds too. Course other sailors have seen albatross but not here not now not exactly the way I’m seeing mine. Difficult to put feelings into words but just want to say that’s what’s so great about being here cos it’s like no one’s ever been here before, that I’ve discovered it all for the first time. That’s what it feels like anyway. Going on a bit. Sorry but I do love it, makes me feel so good, so lucky to be alive.
You should see my albatross. he doesn’t fly, he doesn’t need to. he just finds an airwave and floats – and you don’t see his feet at all. They’re tucked up neatly underneath him. There’s hundreds of little birds all around him, recognised some storm petrels I think – Dad was better on birds than me, knew them all, knew so much. They dash about showing off, wing tips just not skimming the sea. And they’re so fast, here, gone, swirling away. Wonderful.
Drying out after the storm, both of us, Kitty 4 and me. Soaked through, sodden. nowhere’s dry, down in the cabin or up on deck. Not complaining, just dripping.
Reported sightings of icebergs little way south. got to be careful, really careful. icebergs worry me silly. So lots of cold sleepless nights ahead up there on watch. Wish the self-steering could do lookout as well. That’s what I’ll do one day, invent a self-steering system that does lookout as well. Easy. No problem. Make my fortune. Cool or what? Call it Stavros self-steering, all right Grandpa?
1641hrs Sun 16 Jan 2005
Sorry to hear about your cold Grandpa. You’re always going on about me taking my vitamins and you go and get a cold. Stay in the warm. look after yourself. promise?
Fog now and rain, so got our lights on all the time. Icebergs don’t see lights but other ships might. All you can do is listen and hope. Not too worried I tell myself cos there’s a lot of water out here and very few ships. Still you think about it. It niggles at you all the time. Did a bit of fishing, but no luck. 82 miles now to the Snares south of Stewart Island. Cooked myself a great feast cos it’s so miserable up there. No fish, so baked beans (of course) sausages and eggs and…and…and…wait for it two mugs of hot chocolate. Feel a lot better. Fog lifted a little so I could listen to Dad’s Beatles CD, played his favourite song – here comes the sun – thought it might make the sun come out. Great song, but still no sign of sun up there. Read some of Dad’s story. I love the parts when he was at his happiest, when Marty and Dad were living with Aunty Megs. Love the bit about that wombat “Henry’s horrible hat hole,” always makes me laugh.
No albatross today. Probably can’t find us in the fog. Thought I saw a dolphin though v close to the boat. Can’t be sure. Sea goes very quiet in fog. Even the waves seem to whisper. Can’t spend too much time down below. Too risky. Got to keep an eye out. Got to keep listening. v. tiring. want to sleep. mustn’t. got to go. Miss y’all. Think of you. Love you. A. P.S. Any news about Kitty?
1015hrs 17 Jan 41’ 57”S 167’ 31”E
Fog’s lifted but feeling a bit low. Not enough sleep. All last night on watch and got to thinking about Dad again, I mean about him being here with me. Maybe it was reading his story that upset me, remembering all the sad things that happened to him. I shouldn’t be sad because I know that he had good times too, specially during the best parts of his life, and with you and me Mum. But I just couldn’t stop thinking about how much he wanted to be here doing this with me, that he made so much of this boat with his own hands. Maybe it’s because I’ve always been so used to being on Kitty Four with him.
Maybe I was just imagining things, but I don’t think so. I just felt he was there with me all night. I even thought I heard hi
m humming London Bridge. I thought maybe telling you about it might help me make some sense of it. But it hasn’t. Mum, I’m really beginning to believe he’s still here with me on Kitty 4, like we really are doing this trip together just as we’d always planned we would. But there’s something more. I need to believe it. I think the only way I’m going to get to England is to believe he’s with me. at the same time I know I’ve got to stop feeling so sad about him, stop missing him so much. So I mustn’t read his story again. I won’t think of the past. Just focus on the here and now, it’s the only way. Not going crazy, Mum, promise. We’ll make it. Dad and me and Kitty 4. We’ll make it. No worries. xxx A
1250hrs Tues 18 Jan 47’ 31”S 170’ 36”E
Hi Mum hi Grandpa. Feeling a whole lot better. Not sad any more. Slept really well. Didn’t want to get up at all. Always the same. Tell you why.
1. You don’t want to get up there and get wet again soon as you stick your nose out up top.
2. Socks. You can always smell where they are and you don’t want to go near them ever again.
3. Boots always waiting for you where you left them. Step right in, they say, and it’ll be lovely and wet and cold, hee hee.
But once you’re in your boots, in your wet weather gear which is always still wet, it doesn’t seem to matter any more. It’s done. I make a nice hot chocolate to warm myself through. Then suddenly I’m up there in the cockpit out of the stench of socks and diesel and damp, and the ocean is heaving all around, and it’s the best place in the whole world to be. And this morning, guess what, my albatross was back. He was there waiting for me. And…And…And…he’s brought dolphins with him, dozens of them dancing all around me. Never been so happy in my life. What was it you called me once, Mum? Moody? Moi? OK you were right. Waves go up and down – why shouldn’t I?? Even my blisters are all better. Love you lots. Allie
The Classic Morpurgo Collection (six novels) Page 51