Before there was fishing there was sailing. Dad had kept his promise to eager for adventure David, and purchased for him a sailing boat on his seventeenth birthday. The sailing class that perfectly matched Dad’s budget at the time, was named Mirror Dinghy. I soon discovered why it was given this unusual name. See, it was to high speed sailing what hopping backwards is to running. Well, Mirror was appropriately named because it was so slow you could still see your unruffled mirrored reflection in the wake of the passing water, and dinghy because if the wind could not give you forward momentum then its dictionary definition just may [n] a small boat of shallow draft with cross thwarts for seats and rowlocks for oars with which it is propelled. Sadly, David’s sailing challenged Mirror Dinghy did not come with oars, which left us back at the mercy of those fickly winds. Now this particular barge with a sail had what I thought to be a pretty serious design impediment a broken mast. The Mirror’s boat designer had somehow figured that a mast in two pieces and strapped like a badly set fracture, was some sailing design breakthrough. The fact that this design was never pilfered by another sailboat designer is testament to his matchless view I would say stupid! Our first day out, at the sheltered waters off Scarborough Bay, was fairly uneventful apart from the fact that we got out and push the Mirror Dinghy more than we sailed her. This was due to the outgoing tide and the fast raising and exposed mud flats. It did give David enough confidence though to strike out at something bigger – on his own. His decision was made, Why don’t we sail from Cleveland to Dunwich and back on Saturday, Sam?. I will tell you why, because if that crossing takes over two hours in a barge with twin engines it will take a good week in our barge with none. Still, the sound of the water lap lapping on the bow of our red sailed, double jointed row boat as we headed for Dunwich, tasted of pure adventure. We arrived safely at Dunwich at about 1:00pm having only taken about 5 hours to cross the bay. A world record for that class. Trouble was the world class had nothing to do with sailboats but far more to do with Dad’s World Class Idiots comments later. Dad was right on this occasion, but even us idiots get hungry. So I ran up to the shop in the centre of Dunwich and ordered 3 drumsticks. One for David, one for me and one for Joyce David’s girlfriend. David was a better mathematician than me and soon figured out that we should take off as soon as possible to get back before dark. He also figured that the quickest way back was a direct route, rather following than the engine powered barge route that he had chosen in getting there. Now there is a good reason why the barge goes around, rather than between those two little islands in the middle of Moreton Bay. They are actually joined together, under the 12 inches of illusionary mirage water, covering the gap between the exposed land masses. No problem, last week I pushed the dinghy over the mud flats this week I pushed it a kilometre over the rocks and barnacles. I simply thought that this is what one did when one went sailing. Eventually we cleared the shallows and I joined the rest of the crew in the comforts of the boat. Then a remarkable thing happened the wind stopped. There we were becalmed in the middle of Moreton Bay in a tug boat without engines, designer oars or fickle winds. There was however the most gentlest of breezes beginning to puff from the direction of the land. The boat began to lap, lap, lap as the day got dark, dark, dark. It was quite an eerie surreal feeling sitting there in the darkness just listening to the ripples of the water and the wind puffs occasionally catching our flapping disjointed mask. At one point David asked me to take the helm whilst he comforted Joyce. I will never forget his instructions Sam, just keep the boat pointing for that bright yellow light on the mainland. Now as I looked ahead all I saw was a long horizon of Christmas lights. Still, with intent concentration, I was able to identify the light in question. David had obviously picked out the area where car and trailer were located, long before it had got dark and had maintained focus on that spot until the darkness brought forth our guiding light. I was far to distracted by the interesting surrounds to figure out any of that survival type stuff. Well, at about 10 pm the mirror came putting out of the darkness like the African Queen of old. David had navigated us right to the illuminated boat ramp from which we had launched some 15 hours previous. Just like Captain Bligh had done when alone and forsaken. There was the lonely but faithfully waiting VW with trailer standing in readiness under a light – and there too was a solitarily figure standing solemnly with arms folded in that I thought we had lost you tonight Baskerville type pose. That pose could only belong to one man I knew – my Dad.
