It was an early start in the morning. Willy was roused from a restless sleep at 04:30. After a quick shower and shave he dressed in old dark blue longs and shirt, gym boots and cap. His kitbag was all packed and he had a second bag with hiking and camping gear, plus maps and books. Before sitting down for breakfast he checked he had his camera, pocket magnetic compass and protractor. His father joined him at the kitchen table. As always his mother fussed about all the usual perils: falling overboard, sharks, crocodiles and getting sunburnt. Willy took all this with good humour. He was too excited to be annoyed.
By 06:00 a taxi had taken Willy, his father and mother to the Portsmith wharf where the Wewak was berthed. They were met by Captain Kirk who was supervising the final loading of a large yellow coloured machine. “For road making,” he explained. “We are taking it to Cooktown.”
Another taxi arrived and Mr Beck and Norman got out. Then a car deposited Andrew and Carmen. Mrs Collins got out to speak with Willy’s parents. Willy was becoming a bit anxious by then as there was no sign of Marjorie. His anxiety increased when the mate, a tanned and chunky man named Lester Trembath, instructed them to bring their gear and to follow him. The group picked up its bags and walked along the wharf to the gangplank near the stern.
As he walked beside the landing craft Willy was struck by the nautical smells; the salt, paint, diesel mixture. He had visited ships before and been on short trips on the ferry to Green Island and so on but had never been on a large vessel. He had seen the Wewak before but had never really taken notice of its construction and layout but now he was struck by the length and by the chunk of white painted superstructure at the stern. She had been built, he knew, as a navy LCT- a Landing Craft Tank. He was aware there must be room for heavy tanks to be driven on across the bow ramp but because of the high sides he could not see into the well deck.
Going up the gangplank and seeing the dark water below gave him more of a thrill than he expected. ‘I am afloat,’ he thought happily. ‘The adventure has begun!’
They were led onto a small space right at the stern, the deck seemingly covered with a capstan, chains and an anchor, plus the usual deck clutter of cleats and bollards, and small hatches. A semi-inflatable power boat hung on davits over the stern. From there they were led through a door into the saloon. Just going inside changed everything when a strong draught of hot air and engine smells engulfed them.
Willy saw that one side of the space was taken up by steps (companionways he was to learn) that led down to the engine room and up to the bridge deck, and by a tiny shower cubicle, a toilet, larder and galley. The cook, a small bald man named Frank, leaned out to greet them, all the while wiping his hands on his apron. The starboard side of the saloon was a long dining table with bench seats on three sides, the longest against the starboard bulkhead.
Mr Trembath pointed at them and said, “The skipper said that it might be best if Mrs Williams and the two girls bunked down here. It isn’t very private but it is out of the weather and the toilet and shower are right there.”
This was agreed to. Mr Trembath then pointed up the companionway on the port side. “Mr Beck, you and your son are to share the small cabin on the port side at the top of the companionway here.” He then turned to Andrew and said, “You are Andrew Collins? Good. You share the aft cabin to port up there. Take the top bunk. The other belongs to the deckhand, Spike Hartnett. Now, you others come with me please.”
The mate led them forward past the funnel and along a central corridor between the cabins occupied by the cook (to port) and the engineer (to starboard). This brought them to a door which led out onto a steel deck in front of the superstructure. The front end of this small space was a steel bulwark marking the rear of the tank deck. A canvas awning had been rigged across and canvas wind ‘dodgers’ and safety netting had been lashed along the railings on either side to make a relatively sheltered area.
“Sorry, but this is the best we can do for four of you. I think you had better fight it out among yourselves. There are four army surplus folding stretchers there for you to sleep on and you will need to change in the shower.”
Willy looked around with some dismay. It all looked very primitive and open to the weather. Seeing his expression Mr Trembath laughed. “You’ll survive. This is the topics in Summer, not the North Atlantic in Winter. Besides, we just took a mineral exploration team up the cape and they managed OK.”
Willy’s father laughed and said, “It will be fine.”
At that moment Stick and Marjorie arrived with their parents. Marjorie jiggled with excitement but Stick swore and said, “Bloody hell!” when shown the camp stretcher out on the deck under the tarpaulin. Parents then looked through the accommodation and spoke to Capt Kirk. Willy took himself out of the crush and stood looking forward from his sleeping area. In front of him was the tank deck, a well 3 metres deep with steel sides. Sitting in it were several vehicles including two small ‘Four wheelers’ and the road making plant. Willy used his imagination to picture it full of tanks and heading for that climatic moment of dropping the front ramp on an enemy held beach.
‘Have I got the guts to face something like that?’ he wondered.
From where he stood he could not see over the front ramp so he walked forward along a walkway on the outside of the steel walls of the well. Only steel wire handrails provided safety and he thought the water looked uncomfortably close.
Up on the starboard bow next to a huge pulley wheel over which the steel cable for the ramp ran Willy could see back along the whole length of the vessel. It looked quite large from there, the double story superstructure looking quite substantial.
Andrew joined him, saying, “The skipper is chasing all the parents off now. We will get under way soon.”
“Can’t be soon enough,” Willy replied impatiently.
A wiry looking middle-aged man in grimy overalls came forward and said, “Which one is Andrew? You are? I’m Spike. OK young fella, the skipper says you are my offsider so come with me.” Spike shook hands with Andrew and led him away, leaving Willy feeling quite left out. As the sun was now well up and there was almost no breeze Willy found he was sweating profusely. He made his way aft to the superstructure and joined the others on the deck near his stretcher.
Capt Kirk leaned over the wing of the bridge above them and called, “I’d like you all to stay there while we get underway, and please don’t come up to the wheelhouse unless we invite you. The tide has just turned so we will be on our way.”
Willy glanced over the side and saw that the murky green water had an obvious current in the direction they were pointing. He watched as Andrew and Carmen, both in blue work clothes and with gloves on, helped cast off and coil the mooring lines under the supervision of a burly man with a pipe stuck in the side of his mouth: Dan Appleyard, the bosun. Andrew and Carmen both seemed to know what they were doing and were given grudging approval at the way they did their work. Watching them at work really made Willy feel like a passenger.
The deck vibrated as the diesel engines increased their revolutions. Willy noted the bow of the vessel swing away from the wharf and experienced a peculiar sensation he did not like to label as fear. A man on the wharf, dressed in bright orange safety vest and plastic safety helmet, unhooked a rope (Which Andrew called a spring) and tossed it free. Andrew, Carmen and Spike hauled it dripping in through a fairlead and set to work coiling it.
‘They look like they have been doing that for years,’ he thought, sensing that he was feeling both a bit useless and a bit jealous.
The vessel began to slide away from the wharf with barely a ripple, the speed increasing every second. Marjorie and Stick went to the rail to farewell to their parents but both Andrew and Carmen only gave their mother a brief wave. Then the engines rumbled faster and Willy nodded. “On our way at last!” he muttered.
There was nothing to do but stand at the rail and watch as the vessel made its way down river past the dry dock and ship repair yard and then rows of moored
trawlers. The bow swung to starboard and Willy saw the mouth of Smiths Creek ahead, the wider waters of Trinity Inlet opening up. Once clear of the point the landing craft turned to port and made its way down the main shipping channel past the bulk sugar terminal. There was a huge, slab-sided bulk carrier at the sugar terminal but Willy saw that Andrew was staring ahead at two grey painted patrol boats at the navy base.
Between the sugar terminal and navy base was the Navy Cadet’s depot, TS ‘Endeavour’. Both Andrew and Carmen stared hard at it but the place looked deserted. Willy had been there several times on visits but to him it was just a big shed and a few other buildings in a fenced-off yard.
Willy had never travelled down that part of the city by water so found it mildly interesting, noting the familiar buildings behind a line of oil wharves and general cargo wharves. Then they slipped past the old city wharves and the more familiar parts of the city waterfront: the Pier, Yacht Club, Tourist jetties, Marina and so on. Beyond them the inlet widened out, the channel marked by two rows of huge steel posts which seemed to march out to the distant horizon.
For a few more minutes Willy stood with the others looking alternately to port at the Esplanade and city and at the mangrove swamps lining the eastern side of the inlet. It was all very familiar and made him feel a sudden strong sense of ‘home’.
Marjorie stood beside him, gently touching his arm and obviously happy to be with him. They were left alone for ten minutes and Willy was quite surprised at how quickly the city seemed to recede. He knew that the Wewak could push along at about 12 knots. ‘That’s over twenty kilometres per hour,’ he thought.
Carmen came and called them in for breakfast and Willy met the cook again and was squeezed in at the end cross bench next to Marjorie for a full breakfast of bacon and greasy fried eggs which he suspected was some sort of practical joke on the part of the cook. ‘He wants to see if we get sea sick easily,’ he thought.
But he found he was hungry and ate as much as he was given. While he was eating his toast the vessel began to pitch ever so slightly as they began to encounter the small waves in the outer inlet. By the time breakfast was over the vessel had a pronounced movement, both pitching and rolling. It gave Willy a very uneasy feeling to see the whole horizon slide up and down across the port hole.
‘I hope it doesn’t get any rougher than this,’ Willy thought, sensing that he might not be a very brave sailor. It was an irritating and worrying idea which he tried to push aside. But when he went out on the aft deck and looked back towards the now distant city and land that was many kilometres away he felt distinctly uneasy.
‘Oh well, nothing to do but act brave,’ he told himself. He was committed. ‘At least we are on our way at last!’ He leaned on the port rail and stared ahead, willing the LCT to move faster.
CHAPTER 22
COAST TO COOKTOWN
For the next ten hours Willy mostly sat on a folding chair in what shade he could find and watched the coast slip by. To help him he had his air navigation charts. From time to time either Andrew or Carmen would stop and talk, looking at his chart and either pointing to places they knew or checking. Both had sailed that section of coast several times and were much more experienced. They were also allowed in the wheelhouse- indeed had to work there, taking turns at steering. That added to Willy’s feelings of being a spare wheel. Ruefully he conceded that the weekend before it had been his turn to feel superior.
Luckily the weather, while extremely hot and humid, stayed fine. There was, so he was told by Carmen, only a gentle breeze of about 10 knots and the average wave height was only about 1 metre. The old LCT just slid across these with barely any unpleasant motion. Just the odd larger-than-normal wave threw up a shower of spray.
For most of the day there were almost no clouds but during the afternoon some large cumulus clouds formed over the coastal mountains, all trying to build into cumulonimbus. It was fascinating to watch but they were too far away to affect the voyage.
The first part of the trip was northwards and about 3 nautical miles offshore, the course leading the vessel past the northern beaches of Cairns: Machans Beach, Holloways Beach, Yorkeys Knob, Clifton Beach and Trinity Beach. Willy could clearly see such obvious features as Double Island and then Haycock Island. Buchans Point was easy to identify but after that the course trended slowly away from the coast so that the long stretch of mountains which had their feet in the sea as either rocky headlands or beaches was just too far off to make out details.
‘That big triangular mountain up on top of the coast range is Black Mountain,’ Willy observed. Below it was one of his favourite beaches: Wangetti, but it was all but invisible over the curve of the earth.
Island Point and Port Douglas were easy to identify and the course went close past the Low Isles. Willy had been there on holiday trips with his family. His parents came out to watch as the flat disks of the two islands slipped past. One was just a flat mass of mangroves which appeared to be sitting on the sea. The other was a ring of pure white sand backed by a belt of vegetation, all topped by the startling white finger of a light house. The sea between the two was a mixture of browns and light greens. Willy knew that the brown meant coral. A dozen tourist launches and yachts lay at anchor and he could just make out divers in the water.
As the two islands slid astern Willy was called in to lunch. This was cold meat and salad so he made himself a corned beef sandwich, adding pickles for extra flavour. An hour later they passed a completely different island: Snapper Island, a ‘high’ island that was really an extension of the coastal ranges. It was ringed with steep rocks and covered in lush green vegetation. By then the Wewak was past the mouth of the Daintree River and the coastline trended back eastwards as the northern limit of Trinity Bay. From then on the course was close to the shore, within a nautical mile. This allowed a clear view of the big, jungle-covered mountains that backed the coast along there.
It gave Willy a chance to study Thorntons Peak from another perspective and he compared that with the mental images from the previous flights. While he was doing this Andrew came and said that they were now allowed in the wheelhouse. As the afternoon sun was now shining into the area where he was sitting he was happy to do that.
In the wheelhouse he found Carmen at the wheel and Andrew and the mate bending over the chart table. Capt Kirk was there, sitting in a solid chair bolted to the deck from where he could see the steering and the radar and sonar screens. Willy, Marjorie, and Stick took turns looking at these and then Willy joined Andrew at the chart table.
The mate pointed off to port and said, “That is Cape Tribulation. It was just north of there that Captain Cook ran on the reef.”
Willy was offered a pair of binoculars and stared at the low, jungle-covered hump that was Cape Tribulation. On either side were long sandy beaches backed by trees and palms. Jungle-covered mountains towered behind the narrow coastal plain and the rain forest ran right down to the water’s edge. The whole scene was a mass of brilliant colours: lush greens and sparkling blues and golden sand.
“It is certainly very beautiful,” he commented. “I can see why the tourists come here.”
“It is,” Andrew agreed. He then moved to the starboard wing of the bridge when Capt Kirk called him over. Capt Kirk pointed and said, “Endeavour Reef is over there, about two miles. See that flattish area amid the waves?”
Willy joined them and tried to focus the binoculars but the rolling movement of the landing craft made it very difficult and he gave up, peeved that both Capt Kirk and Andrew could apparently stand quite still, yet move in time with the ship to hold their binoculars steady. To prove he could do it Willy tried again, squinting against the glare of the afternoon sun which was sparkling off the waves. Even then he wasn’t sure if he could see the reef or not. He knew the story of how the Endeavour had struck the reef during the night but found it interesting to listen to Capt Kirk describe the drama from a seaman’s point of view, of the dramatic struggle to lighten the ship and to
haul her off, then the struggle to keep her afloat while they made their way north to find a place to careen her.
For the next three hours the Wewak pushed on northwards. During this time Willy stayed in the wheelhouse, watching the coast and talking. They passed the Hope Islands, Walsh Bay, Archer Point, Walker Bay and the mouth of the Annan River. Ahead quite dramatic isolated mountains began to appear over the horizon; odd, flat-topped and very rugged. The chart gave their names: Indian Head and Cape Bedford. Willy remembered seeing them from the air.
“That is where all those huge sand dunes start,” he said to Andrew.
Andrew nodded and then pointed slightly to port of their course. “Grassy Hill. Cooktown is just around the other side.”
“Good,” was Willy’s comment. The coast he found very interesting but already the novelty of sea travel was beginning to pall. “We could have flown that in half an hour,” he grumbled.
It was 4:00pm when the Wewak rounded the end of Grassy Hill and entered the mouth of the Endeavour River. Willy stood with Marjorie and Stick at the port rail below the bridge. He studied the river mouth and was surprised how wide it was, and how many sand bars there seemed to be. The far side of the estuary was lined with sand dunes or mangroves. To port he noted that there were a few houses on the end of the point and a white painted lighthouse on top of the hill. Then the wharf came into view and more of the estuary.
Stick suddenly gripped Willy’s arm and pointed up the river. “Look! The Pterodactyl!” he cried.
Willy looked upriver past a scatter of anchored yachts, motor launches and fishing boats and saw the familiar black-painted shape of the ‘Catalina’ sitting at anchor out in the middle of the river. “Mr Jemmerling! He is here. Oh, I hope he hasn’t beaten us to the wrecks,” he said.
The Wewak slowed as it passed the wharf. There were two vessels berthed alongside: a fishing trawler and a small sailing yacht. A few people stood or sat on the wharf. A couple were fishing and a group of four had ‘Council Worker’ written on them by their overalls and orange safety vests. The others were just loungers or sightseers. As the Wewak began turning slowly to port to bring its bow ramp in to a sloping concrete boat ramp Willy idly looked at the two vessels. On the small sailing yacht, seated under a small awning at the stern, were a man and two women. The man turned to watch the barge and Willy saw his face- then gasped in surprise.
Coasts of Cape York Page 26
