We slipped the lines at first light.
“Goodbye everybody,” I said, shoving Moksha away from the dock with my foot.
A handful of early shift workers from the fish depot had gathered to gawp. “Goot-bigh,” muttered one in disbelief, his eyes popping out at what he was seeing. No motor? No sail? All the way to Australia? “Dispela boi bagarapim het,” he whispered to his friends. This bloke must be buggered in the head.
April and I had spent the week since her arrival readying for the final push to Australia, scrubbing corrosion from metal fittings, and lubricating moving parts. A few modifications to the boat were needed, like using a spatula to position a magnifying lens in front of the compass, allowing April to read the degree markers. And in the event I disappeared overboard, she received a crash course in navigation, and proper use of a lifejacket, flares, and one of the RAF rescue mirrors to signal aircraft. Continue reading