Coasts of Cape York

by Christopher Cummings

  “Three one five, aye, aye sir,” Andrew repeated.

  To Willy’s intense relief the ship rode over the next big wave. He could now see through the broken window and in the freeze-frame flash of lightning he had a horrifying glimpse of an apparently endless series of giant waves hurling themselves towards them. ‘How can we ever survive these?’ he wondered.

  But the ship kept on, pounding and driving into the huge waves. Spray and rain swirled into the wheelhouse, the icy wind chilling Willy. He noted with part of his apparently frozen brain that Andrew had been helped into a lifejacket by Carmen, who then handed him one. With difficulty he slipped it on and did it up.

  Andrew seemed much more in control of himself and he managed a sickly grin and yelled, “If we were out in the open ocean we wouldn’t have to fight the waves. We could just lie ‘a-hull’ and let the ship ride with the storm. But we have to keep facing into them to keep from being driven backwards onto the rocks.”

  “What happens if the engines fail?” Willy asked. He had a pretty good idea and Andrew’s answer confirmed his worst thoughts.

  “Then we get driven to leeward until we hit something,” Andrew replied grimly.

  Willy moved so that he could see the radar screen. Shielding his eyes from the rain and spray he squinted at the screen and was relieved that he could clearly see the outline of the mainland and of the islands. Blackwood Island showed clearly dead ahead. Outside it was so dark and so rough that he found it hard to make sense of the glimpses he got. “How did the sailors get on in the old days?” he wondered aloud to Capt Proctor.

  Capt Proctor gave a short harsh laugh. “They didn’t!” he replied. “Once the wind got up they just hung on and committed their souls to God. That’s one reason why the square rigger sailors of old were mostly very religious. You’ve heard of the ‘Beaufort Scale’?”

  Willy nodded. He had even once tried to memorize it. Capt Proctor explained, “Old Admiral Beaufort was a sailing ship man and he only worked his scale out up to sixty knots. Sixty knots is the minimum wind speed for a hurricane or typhoon or whatever you want to call it. His logic was that once the wind got above that then trying to calculate it was irrelevant as no sailing ship could reasonably expect to survive.”

  That thought appalled Willy even more. His gloomy thoughts were diverted by the arrival in the wheelhouse by Mr Marshall, the bosun and Graham. All were clad in ‘Souwesters’ and oilskins which were dripping water. Lifejackets added to their bulk. They looked cold and shaken and exhausted.

  Mr Marshall pointed aft as he clung to the captain’s chair. “The tow line had broken Skipper. We got it wound in and secured,” he shouted above the whistling howl of the wind.

  “Well done. You look like you need a hot drink. Go and see if Cookie has any,” Capt Proctor yelled back.

  “Done that Skipper. We will just rest for a minute, then I will take over on the wheel again,” Mr Marshall replied.

  He led the way back down. As Graham turned to go he gave Willy and Carmen a tired grin. He looked blue and shaken but the gesture cheered Willy a tiny bit. ‘If only it would stop!’ Willy told himself. The storm had now gone on so long he felt he could not endure it for even one more minute.

  A few minutes later there was another shuddering crash as yet another larger than normal wave slammed into the ship. For the next few minutes Andrew and Carmen struggled to hold the ship’s head into the wind. Water cascaded into the wheelhouse and flowed knee deep around, chilling Willy even more. Just as the situation seemed to be under control and the ship steady on course again Willy heard Capt Proctor swear. He looked towards him in alarm.

  “Damn and blast! The radar has gone out,” Capt Proctor cried. He turned to Willy, “Quick lad, we are approaching Blackwood Island. I must ask you to stick your head out and try to spot the land so we don’t run into it.”

  Willy was appalled but moved to one of the broken windows and looked out. He could only do this for a few seconds but found the wind so strong that it seemed to peel his eyelids back and stung so much he could hardly see anything. Even when he looked all he could see was blackness flecked with white. Fear began to grip him as the awful realization that they were blind and apparently at the mercy of the storm sank in.

  CHAPTER 37

  ANXIETY

  Willy had to fight down a bout of panic and nerve himself to look through the broken window. Shielding his eyes with his hands and squinting between his fingers he peered into the tempest. Again he could see nothing but flecks of white in the blackness. Then a flash of lightning lit up a horrifying sight. Directly ahead he saw the dark bulk of Blackwood Island.

  “Island, dead ahead,” he screamed.

  “How far?” Capt Proctor shouted.

  Willy had to duck into shelter and wipe his eyes before shaking his head. “Not sure. Not too close I think.”

  “Keep watch and warn us before we run aground,” Capt Proctor ordered.

  Willy did so, looking out every minute or so for a few seconds. Each time he prayed for another lightning flash and it was only by that illumination that he was able to estimate how close they were. But he also noted that the ship was not pitching nearly as violently. For the first time he began to feel some hope.

  Graham and Mr Marshall returned to the wheelhouse and joined in as lookouts. By then there was no doubt- they were in the lee of the island and the waves were noticeably smaller. By 0200 Willy felt almost safe. By then they were only a few hundred metres from the island and safely tucked in behind it. But it was an anxious feeling of insecurity.

  ‘If the engines fail we will drift back across Bathurst Bay and get dashed ashore on the far side,’ Willy thought.

  Mr Marshall now took charge, ordering both Capt Proctor and Willy to go below to warm up. Willy realized he was shivering violently and that his skin was covered in goose bumps. With an effort Willy allowed himself to be persuaded. He struggled below, clinging on all the way. In the saloon he slumped onto a bench and was immediately wrapped in a blanket by the cook, who then handed him a cup of hot chocolate.

  Willy gripped the cup thankfully, allowing it to warm his shaking hands. He did not think he would be able to stay down inside the superstructure without a panic attack but realized he was exhausted, so he sat and shivered.

  The bosun came in from checking something on the deck and Julia poked a green and sickly face out of a cabin for a minute. To test himself Willy closed his eyes. It was no good. The constant rocking, rolling and pitching caused him to break into a sweat of fear. He had to open his eyes. To hide his shame he sipped at the warm drink.

  He managed to stay there for nearly half an hour before he just knew he had to get up where he could see. The portholes were no use, the steel deadlights had been dropped over them and screwed tight shut. So he put the blanket aside and thanked the cook, then dragged his trembling, tired body back up to the wheelhouse.

  As he reached the top of the steps Willy almost turned back. The place was so wet, windy and cold it made him flinch. But a sickening lurch made him go on up. Soundlessly he wedged himself in a corner next to the chart table. He noted that Graham and Mr Marshall now had the wheel and Andrew and Carmen were the lookouts.

  At 0400 Carmen moved to the radio but was unable to get it to work. “Water has got into it,” she said. She went below and listened to the weather on a portable radio. When she came back ten minutes later she reported that the eye of the cyclone was now estimated to be only 50km to the south west of them. “It is moving at about fifteen kilometres per hour but the weather people claim it is weakening.”

  Mr Marshall and Capt Proctor both agreed with that. “Wind has shifted too,” Mr Marshall added. “It is coming in from the North West.”

  “We moved just in time,” Capt Proctor said.

  Half an hour went by. Willy felt so battered and numb he wanted it all to end. ‘I don’t think I can stand much more,’ he thought. But he also felt sure that the wind was not shrieking as loudly and that th
e ship was not pitching as much.

  Capt Proctor confirmed this at about 0500. “I think the worst of it is over,” he said to Mr Marshall.”

  Mr Marshall nodded. He looked grey with strain but took the wheel again, relieving Graham. “We are damned lucky the cyclone went to the south of us,” he said. “If it had gone to the north I doubt if we would have survived.”

  This was Capt Proctor’s opinion as well. “We would have been goners I reckon. But we are alright now. Cyclones quickly lose their puff when they move over land; and this one has been nearly twelve hours ashore.”

  “Why is that sir?” Willy asked, as much for something to say as anything.

  “Cyclones depend on a continual supply of moisture. They need to be over warm ocean to pick up the evaporation. It is the transfer of energy when the humid air condenses that provides the heat to move the air so rapidly upwards. Once they go over land their fuel supply is cut off.”

  Mr Marshall added, “The mountains and hills rip the bottom out too and they get disorganized and lose their pure circular air flow.”

  Willy looked out and suddenly realized that he could see the waves without the aid of lightning. With something of a shock he saw that it was the first grey of dawn. ‘Daylight! I have survived!’ he thought. The relief was immense and he almost collapsed as the tension began to ease out of him.

  By 0600 there was no doubt the worst of the storm was over. The weather report placed the eye of the cyclone 75 km to their south west and said that the cyclone had been downgraded to a Category 3. The wind had definitely dropped and the rain and lightning all but ceased. With the coming of the pale grey dawn the whole situation appeared altogether different. Willy began to flex his stiff and frozen muscles.

  An hour later the first watery rays of sunlight peeked through the rapidly thinning layers of cloud. The wind died even more and the rain stopped completely. Patches of blue began to appear high up to the North West.

  Capt Proctor ordered them all below to have a hot breakfast. This time Willy went without too much concern. He was surprised at himself. ‘What a weakling and coward I am when things go wrong!’ he berated himself.

  The deckhand and bosun went up to the wheelhouse and the cook was set to work by Mr Marshall. Willy slumped into a corner of the saloon settee next to Carmen and Andrew. Graham and Mr Marshall sat opposite. Then Julia and Jacob appeared from a cabin. Both looked bedraggled and haggard but Willy could see that they were all looking very dishevelled. The brother and sister joined them.

  “Is it over?” Jacob croaked.

  “Apparently,” Andrew replied.

  “I hope my Mum and Dad are alright,” Graham commented.

  That gave Willy a jolt and he realized he had been selfishly pre-occupied with his own fears and fate. Only now did he start to think about others. Worry about his father came first. Then he said to Julia, “I wonder if your yacht is still afloat?”

  “Hopefully,” Julia answered. She looked exhausted and miserable.

  “Cheer up! You are still alive,” Carmen said.

  “Yes, but we may have lost our boat and all our money and now we won’t even get the treasure to compensate us,” Julia responded.

  That gave Willy another jolt. He had completely forgotten about the two crooks. “My word yes! I wonder what has happened to the Saurian,” he said.

  “I hope they got drowned!” Julia snapped with quite venomous force.

  “If they weren’t in good shelter they probably have been,” Andrew said.

  Willy thought about that. The last time he had seen the Saurian, the motor launch had been rounding the other side of Flinders Island and heading north. ‘That is out towards the Great Barrier Reef and the open ocean,’ he mused. He said, “So where is the wreck of the ‘Dornier’ supposed to be?”

  Jacob stared back at him, his face a hostile mask. “That’s our secret,” he muttered.

  That really annoyed Willy. “No it’s not!” he cried. “Your mates Gator and Corey know where it is. And we have a right to know. You owe us. We have helped save your life twice. So give.”

  “No.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake!” Willy snorted. “Even if you don’t give us the exact location we know the story. We are much more likely to find it before you. We can at least navigate- and we’ve got the ships. Besides, you can’t possibly think you can keep any of this treasure. If it is the crown jewels of Makassang then they are state property and there will be a lot of government officials from both countries very interested. So you may as well tell us and at least share in the discovery.”

  Jacob still looked stony-faced and defiant but Julia nodded and said, “Willy’s right Jacob. We won’t be allowed to keep any treasure.”

  Willy went on, “Besides, if people died in the wreck of the Dornier then it is a war grave. We will probably be breaking all sorts of laws if we touch it. This needs to be done the right way.”

  Carmen now spoke. “Jacob, the only chance you have of making any money out of this now is to be able to sell your story to newspapers and magazines. If we find the plane and the treasure then you will get some of the credit.”

  Julia nodded. “Carmen’s right Jacob. Tell them please, or I will.”

  Jacob scowled and then snapped with very bad grace, “Alright. I think the wreck is on a reef named Crab Reef. It is about twenty five kilometres north of the Clack Islands.”

  “Thank you,” Willy said.

  Andrew stood up and put down his hot drink. “I’ll get a chart,” he said. He hurried up to the wheelhouse. Willy occupied the embarrassing silence by drinking and then wolfing down some toast and scrambled eggs. Two minutes later Andrew was back, carrying a sodden and torn sea chart.

  “Sorry, but it got a bit wet,” he said. “Capt Proctor said we can have this one.”

  “Has he got another?” Julia asked.

  “Yes. He’s securing it to the chart table now,” Andrew replied. He spread the torn and soaked chart on the table and they all moved to look at it. It only took a minute for Carman to place her finger on one of a dozen reefs that littered the Coral Sea north of the Flinders Group.

  “Here it is,” she said.

  Andrew studied it and then shook his head. “If those two crooks went that way in that little launch then I don’t like their chances of having survived, not unless they got onto one of the islands before the wind got up.”

  “Good!” Jacob said.

  Having discovered the location the talk shifted to how to get there and how to recover any treasure. Carmen reminded them again that there were serious legal and ethical issues and suggested that the first thing they had to do was inform the relevant authorities.

  “We need a radio to do that,” Andrew said.

  Julia looked aghast. “Don’t we have one?”

  Carmen shook her head. “Not a transmitter. Water got into it. But I will have a go at fixing it after breakfast. Now, let’s eat,” she replied.

  So they did. Willy sat in silence, reliving the terror and imagining what the cyclone might have been like for the two crooks in a tiny boat in among coral reefs in the dark. ‘They would have no hope at all,’ he thought.

  After breakfast there was nothing for him to do. Already the seas had dropped- from five metre waves to three metre waves. By then the cyclone’s centre was another 30km away- over 100 km to the South West. Capt Proctor informed them that he was not moving until the seas had gone down further so they may as well get some rest. They were shown to cabins and given pillows and blankets. Willy lay down on a sofa in Mr Marshall’s cabin and was asleep within minutes.

  He was woken at midday for lunch. Despite protesting that he was too tired he was ordered to get up by Mr Marshall. “You need the energy,” he was told. “If the weather worsens again you will be no use if you are weak from hunger. You can sleep again afterwards.”

  So Willy washed his face and stumbled to the saloon. On the way he noted that the sun was shining and that the waves had gone down e
ven more. Now they looked to be fairly normal one or two metre waves. During lunch he learned that the cyclone was now nearly 200km inland to the South West and was weakening further. It surprised him how quickly it all seemed to subside back to normal.

  “We were lucky,” Capt Proctor told them. “According to the radio some of the places south of the eye have taken a real battering: Hopevale Aboriginal Community, Cooktown and Laura. There has been heavy rain and severe flooding all the way south to Cairns.”

  “I thought we didn’t have a radio?” Julia queried.

  “We don’t, not a transmitter. But we have several little receivers. They give us the news and weather forecasts. Young Carmen is working on the transmitter and thinks she will have it going soon.”

  She did have. By 12:30 pm she was able to gain contact with the Marine Radio in Cairns. They all crowded into the wheelhouse to listen while she relayed the news that Bonthorpe was safe.

  An anxious looking Graham at once asked her, “See if they have any news of Wewak.”

  Carmen asked but the control had no news. Carmen told them where they had last been seen and was told that the authorities would send search planes as soon as they had dealt with the more urgent situations being caused by flooding down the coast.

  Carmen then tried calling both Wewak and Dyfken but there was no response. Each time she called Willy saw a look of anguish in Graham’s eyes and he felt very sorry for him. ‘He might have lost his Mum and his Dad and his sister, and the family might have been financially ruined by the cyclone,’ he thought. That his own father might also be dead he tried to not think about.

  After three failed attempts Graham turned to Capt Proctor. “Sir, can we use your boat to try to go and see what has happened?”

  Capt Proctor shook his head. “Sorry son, but the boat is gone. She was torn loose and went overboard sometime during the night. But we can move closer and then try to find a way ashore. We will take ourselves to near the mouth of the Normanby River.”