One Girl One Dream

by Dekker, Laura

  I try to unfurl my torn genoa to replace it with the spare one, but it’s one tangle of strips of sail. Hmm . . . Before I do anything stupid in my weary condition, I think I’ll catch some sleep.

  After a few hours’ sleep, the world looks much better and I tackle the problem with renewed zest, but it still resists my attempts. When I look up, I see another problem. Because there’s no tension on the torn sail, the halyard has wrapped itself around the forestay. I shake the spinnaker halyard hanging next to it back and forth, and by turning it at the right moment everything falls into place. A little later the genoa, or what’s left of it, lies on the deck. The spare genoa was given to me and should fit, but it has a bolt rope that is too thick and the sail is 20 centimetres too long. Hmm . . . Now that the weather gods are smiling on me, I could fly the genoa with a beam wind. Considering the potential squalls and strong winds, I drop that idea and decide to continue on the mainsail, mizzen and small jib. Guppy is going a little slower because the wind has dropped, but is still making good progress. I’m still tired, despite my few hours’ sleep, but I can’t manage to get any more sleep. So I do the dishes, clean up the traces of apple juice, write a blog, read and play my guitar. Next my tummy reminds me that I’ve forgotten to eat for the past 36 hours. I’m slowly losing the tension and excitement of the Torres Strait experience and get back into my daily routine. I now have to share my bed with the sail bag containing the torn genoa. I don’t have the energy at the moment to fold the enormous sail properly to fit it in the forward compartment.

  Day 13: 21 August

  It’s exactly a year ago that I started on my solo voyage from Gibraltar. That’s a weird thought. After a night’s rest, I still feel tired but a lot better anyway. There’s a good bit of shipping traffic and I’ve already counted six cargo monsters passing me by. Guppy smells of delicious, freshly baked bread at the moment, and I’ve made contact with Henk. He’s also managed to get Sogno d’Oro through the strait unscathed, and is sailing 85 miles behind me.

  The Arafura Sea where I’m sailing is very shallow. The waves are short and steep and are throwing Guppy all over the place; but then it wasn’t a lot better in the Pacific Ocean with its cross-seas over the past few days. Sitting on the taff rail at the back, I raise my shoulders and watch how Gup jumps wildly from one wave to the next.

  DAY 14: 22 August

  A fishing vessel has been sailing behind me at a distance of 2 miles all morning. It initially came from the opposite direction and turned around 2 miles behind me, and has been hanging around ever since. I’m keeping a sharp eye on it from the entrance of the cabin. I wonder what they want. They don’t respond to my calls, and the fishing vessel doesn’t really belong in this area as the chart indicates a no-fishing zone. I eventually see the mystery vessel move away. All of a sudden the radar alarm for zone 1 goes off. Huh, what’s going on? A vessel first has to sail through zone 2, but there was no alarm earlier. The only thing I can see on the radar is a long stripe, and another one a little later. I suddenly see what it indicates. It’s a low-flying Customs plane.

  ‘Sailing ketch, sailing ketch, sailing ketch,’ I hear on the VHF.

  That’s me. They have heard my calls to the fishing vessel that is now retreating hastily. This is the second Australian Customs plane that has flown overhead; something that’s normal in these waters. They ask for my boat’s name, passport details and a number of other official enquiries. It’s almost impossible to enter Australian waters unseen. I’d given my details to the first plane that flew over when I sailed through the Torres Strait, and I now only have to repeat the boat’s name. I have a pleasant chat with the crew of the plane, and they wish me a pleasant voyage. The plane disappears as Guppy sails on into the night. There’s less shipping traffic and I’m able to sleep for a longer period. I’m feeling much better than yesterday, which is good as I have to feel fit for the last stage. There’s a huge obstacle course ahead of me: a hundred miles of sandbanks, strong currents and a 7-metre tidal range. It’s the Gulf of Diemen . . .

  DAY 15: 23 August

  Bang, splash — congratulations! I know that you like to turn my life on board upside-down, but give me a break. WHAM, splash!!! It seems you won’t . . . The cross-waves are getting worse; steeper and bigger. At regular intervals, Guppy is surfing down from the tops of the waves only to be knocked sideways by a wave washing over her when she reaches the bottom of the trough. The waves even splash over the spreaders. The cockpit, of course, gets the full load, which means I need to keep the cabin entrance closed, and it’s hot and humid below. But even though the water is coursing over Guppy, she’s running at more than 7 knots.

  The water looks peculiar; there’s a strange brown substance floating on it — whole fields of it. It looks like sand or mud. Could it be sand from the desert in Australia?

  I have another 280 miles to go to Darwin, a real mega-milestone for me, and I still can’t quite absorb the fact. I’ve been looking forward to being in the Pacific since I was young and have now left it behind me. Wow!

  The wind freshens at night and I drop the mizzen and put a reef in the mainsail. When I crawl into bed a little later, I notice that the wind has increased to more than 30 knots. Sigh. I climb out of my warm bed and put a second reef in the mainsail. I don’t sleep much for the rest of the night while Gup chases on at 8 knots.

  DAY 16: 24 August

  In the greyish dawn, I alter my course and sail close-hauled in the direction of the Gulf of Diemen, which is known to be a rough sailing area with a 7-knot current to contend with. While Guppy thunders on at a speed of 7.5 knots, the groundspeed falls back to 6, then 5, 4, 3 and finally 2 knots. Damn, I’m heading into the current! Hmm, that means having to wait until the tide turns. The Gulf of Diemen is just a bigger version of the Wadden Sea, in the Netherlands, where I sailed with my Hurley when I was 10. I have to spend the rest of the night tacking between sandbanks, and should get to Darwin by tomorrow morning if all goes well. I’m really looking forward to it, especially to the moment when I can finally get some sleep.

  Towards nightfall, the tide turns and Guppy’s speed visibly increases to 11 knots. I’m not used to this speed and have to be totally alert to find my way between the sandbanks in the pitch dark. It’s almost midnight when I need to alter course, which brings me sailing close to the wind. Water is pounding over Guppy and me, as I stay on deck to watch everything closely. I’m cold and drenched and suddenly hear that dreadful tearing sound. Rtsch, rtsch, flap . . . Oh no, my mainsail has torn to shreds! It’s flapping like mad as I drop it down to the deck and bind it together while watching where Guppy is heading. There are shallows all around and it’s very dark. Something like this will, of course, always happen when I’m sailing close to the wind on a small strip between bits of shallow water. It’s not the right moment to set the spare mainsail, but Guppy is managing to maintain a speed of 6 knots with just the small jib and the mizzen.

  Towards morning, the wind drops slowly and the contours of Darwin become visible. I make contact with Customs, who direct me to a jetty in front of the lock at the marina. During the last 8 miles the wind eases further and I switch on Mr Volvo. The sun shows itself above the horizon, and Gup is slowly drying while I get the lines and fenders ready. Wow, Gup, we’ve reached Darwin!

  Darwin

  There’s no time to even think about getting some sleep, as Customs and Quarantine officials are ready to clear me inwards. I fill in form after form and answer the questions while the letters swirl through my head and I can’t seem to find the right order. It’s suddenly hot inside, especially since I’m still in my sailing gear. Guppy is lying still, but now the land is moving! The quarantine official takes his time; an hour and a half to fill in forms and to inspect the boat. They end up taking a tin of meat and the refuse with them. I then give a brief TV interview for the media who have been waiting patiently.

  I feel as if I’ll drop from fatigue when I sail from the dock. Once I’m at anchor, a small boat bearin
g the yacht club manager, David, comes to welcome me. I let myself be persuaded to come on land for a nice shower at the yacht club, and can’t refuse a cold Coke with ice either. This entails putting the dinghy together. I decide to do this on land where it’s easier. This should definitely have been the moment for me to have gone straight to bed . . . I forget to take the outboard with me, of course, and need to be towed back to Guppy after my delicious cold Coke and shower. Once back, I find that the outboard doesn’t work and the wheels of the dinghy are flat, and that my folding bike is tangled up and its tyres are flat, too. I carry on trying to sort it all out, but my body, which hasn’t had any sleep for two and a half days, protests and wins. Tomorrow, tomorrow is another day, I’m trying to tell myself. Yes, but today is not over yet. But for me it is, and I’m going to sleep without interruption; a whole night without tearing sails, without islands, reefs, sandbanks, buoys and ships. What a luxury! But my brain is still working at full speed. Slowly, even this last active part of me falls asleep; a long, deep sleep that I only wake up from 17 hours later. The next morning it feels like a whole lifetime has slipped by since I arrived in Darwin.

  At the yacht club, I dismantle my Mercury outboard carburettor and Michael, who can’t bear to witness my pathetic attempts, offers to help me. He lives on a catamaran in town and does day trips for tourists. I soon get to meet a lot of people through Michael. There’s a festival in the city and, seeing that I haven’t been further than the yacht club so far, I think it would be nice to go along. After the festival, he shows me some more of the town.

  While I’m wandering through the yacht club, I bump into David, who’s busy preparing the afternoon sailing races.

  ‘You can borrow one of the club’s old Lasers and take part, if you like,’ he suggests.

  ‘Yeah, what the hell, why not?’

  The club Lasers are obviously not used often, but after a while I find all the parts and start to put one together. I’m ready just before the start, and only just make it to the start line in time. The race goes very well. In the Netherlands I sailed in a lot of competitions, and it feels good to know that I can still stay up with the leaders when it comes to sailing small boats; and it gives me just as much pleasure as it did in the past. During the second day of the competition, the wind is strong and I’m only just able to keep the boat under control with my light bodyweight. My Laser is leaking quite a bit more than the previous day, and in these waves it lies deeper and deeper in the water while I steadily drop further behind the rest of the fleet. When almost everyone has crossed the finish line and the rescue boat is waiting patiently for me to round the last buoy, I can’t manage to keep the boat upright anymore. The Laser is slowly sinking and I capsize again and again, but I’m not giving up. With just a few centimetres of freeboard left, I get over the finish line and sail the Laser back to shore, where I’m laughingly helped to get the sinking Laser back on the beach. At the prizegiving, it turns out that I’ve come second overall thanks to my good performance the previous day. Wow — I’ve never managed to come second in a sinking boat before! The prize, a pretty flag, is added to the collection of souvenirs in Guppy’s cabin.

  Jillian arrives at the airport tonight, and when I make my way to the dinghy ramp in the early morning I see her waving to me in the distance. We take the bus to town to buy a cheap phone and SIM-card. We are chatting so much on our way back that we forget to press the stop button and sweep past our stop. Knowing that our bus tickets are valid for three hours, we remain seated. Surely, it will come around again? Suddenly we are at the airport, the end of the route. We get off and take the next bus back. Once again we are too late to press the button for our stop. We get off at the next stop and now need to walk back to our original destination.

  Now that Guppy has been moored for a while, I notice that it’s getting harder and harder to move the rudder. I’m afraid that Guppy needs to be lifted out of the water to solve this problem permanently. While I’m sailing it’s not a problem, but as soon the rudder is unused for a while the rudder head starts to rust due to the leaky packing between the bearings. After having travelled halfway around the world and stopped at many harbours and anchorages, she needs a good service and has truly earned one. I’ll take the sails to the sailmaker. That will make a big dent in my savings, because everything is really expensive here. It’s a heavy blow for the boat’s kitty!

  Life is suddenly very busy, and it seems as if everyone around me, including Guppy, needs me constantly. I’m longing for the sea again, but I first need to get Guppy into shape. I’m trying to find the best place to lift Gup out of the water. According to David, there are two shipyards that are equally expensive. The one in town is said to be the best and is closer, but it still costs A$1000 to lift her out. That’s not a prospect that makes me happy.

  Through the Laser sailing I’ve come into contact with a group of people of my own age at the yacht club, and they’ve invited me to join them at The Sandbar. It’s a sandbar that’s dry at low tide and an ideal place for a party. Half of Darwin sails to this location and it’s full of boats. We have a tube behind the speedboat and there’s also a kneeboard, but no one is interested in using it. When I want to try it everyone laughs at me, but they soon stop laughing when they see that I can actually do it. I’ve been doing this since I was six on a special little board that Dad used to tie up behind the dinghy. On the way back I’m hanging onto the tube behind the boat with two others, when the outboard suddenly cuts out and we are launched into the air. I land with my face on one of the tow ropes and two of my teeth bite through my lip. Ouch! Eating, drinking and laughing are not going to be much fun for a while, and that’s easier said than done. The rising tide brings the party to a natural end and I’m asked to join another party at someone’s home. Here there are snacks that I simply CAN’T eat. Eventually someone feels sorry for me and gives me an ice-cream that I eat very carefully. Wow, it’s been great fun and very late by the time I sail back to Guppy in my dinghy.

  If everything goes according to plan, Dad should be getting on a plane in the Netherlands today to arrive here in two days’ time. I’m crazy about him and am so glad he’s coming over. With Jillian on board it’s getting rather crowded, and we have to find three places to sleep amongst all the spare parts on Guppy.

  Darwin is a fairly big town, but there’s nothing but desert around it. It’s really hot during the day and I don’t have much energy to do much. By contrast, the nights are nice and cool. It’s the dry season at the moment. Summer starts in a month’s time, and so does the rainy season, and I want to be finished and gone before then. There’s still a lot of work to be done on Guppy. Jillian is the most untechnical person and not much help, so I’m on my own. Well, Dad arrives the day after tomorrow and he can lend me a hand. I’ve made some friends at the sailing association, and in the evening I join them at Bogarts, a local pub. I end up talking to someone who turns out to be the pilot of the second Customs plane that flew over Guppy in the Arafura Sea. Small world! At 01.00, I’m back at the yacht club. It’s low tide and I need to tow the dinghy over the sand and mud for about 500 metres to the water’s edge. I forget to push in the safety cord with the ignition key so it takes a while to get the motor started. Jillian is still awake when I climb on board and is going through the film shots I’ve made of the voyage. We chat for a while and then go to sleep.

  By now, I’ve spent two weeks in Darwin and have done a lot. Dad arrives tonight and I can’t wait to fetch him from the airport at 04.00, together with Jillian. Dad is totally surprised to see me there at night and I jump into his arms.

  ‘Dad, I have so much to tell you — it’s wonderful here and Guppy and, and . . .’ I gush.

  ‘Hey, take it easy. Let’s take it one thing at a time.’

  We take the taxi back to Gup and talk until the sun reminds us that a new day has begun.

  Jillian makes breakfast, and together Dad and I take a look at Guppy’s problems. Dad reckons that I’ve managed to fix most
of them well. We make a list of the things we still need to do and what we’re going to need to complete them.

  We spend each day working really hard while the dolphins swim around Guppy and inspect her. We walk up and down to Bunnings, the hardware store, and comb the entire town for the parts we need. After two days of phoning around I finally find the right filters for the Volvo engine, but it entails a two-hour trip to the middle of the desert! Someone at the yacht club overhears my phone conversation and says ‘Take my car’, and throws the keys to me. ‘It’s the white one around the corner to the right.’

  Dad and I walk around the corner to find a beautiful new pickup with all the mod-cons. Dad is relieved to return the expensive car without a scratch later that afternoon, after which we enjoy a drink at the yacht club. And so the days come and go and soon Guppy’s sails are delivered, but the genoa doesn’t seem to fit. The sailmaker has done something wrong.

  Dad and I start to tackle the Yanmar’s exhaust, which still leaks, but first I need to tidy up on board. I’ve discovered that working in chaos only creates more work, so I clear everything out of the cabin fore and aft and then put it all back neatly. I now have the benefit of knowing where everything is, and have found a place for the things that were drifting around in the cockpit and cabin. There are four overstuffed dustbin liners standing in the dinghy for removal; filled with unnecessary stuff, according to Jillian and Dad. I must admit that I have a problem getting rid of things.