Post Trip

     Later, with my heart threatening to stick in my throat, I took the yacht out on more solos. It wasn’t as hard as I’d anticipated, though I did have the occasional problem I had to learn to deal with. One of these was to figure out a procedure for leaving or coming onto the fore-and-aft moorings which would suit all weather conditions. The big Spring tides can run hard up to seven metres or more, and easily push the boat into awkward situations. On a couple of occasions when attempting to leave the mooring, I found the boat snagged on top of the thick rope running between the mooring buoys, and I had to wait for the tide to drop before I could get her off.
     Whenever breaks in work or the weather would allow it, I’d find myself enjoying a slow sail in light airs in the morning heading outside the harbour. Brisk late afternoon sea breezes would send me flying back inside under full sail, with spray whipping up from the bow as it plunged repeatedly into waves.
     However, while I was getting better in my ability to handle the boat, I was now edgy about carrying any crew on board. The best way to get over a fear of something is to approach it head on, so whenever time off work and weather permitted, I’d go sailing with my wife Delma and some friends in Darwin Harbour.
     The two incidents on the Cobourg trip created an appreciation for safety issues that have lasted ever since. Safety briefings became the norm every time people came on board. Occasionally someone would sit with a resigned look on his or her face, but I made sure they understood where the safety equipment was, how to use it and what to do if someone went overboard. And I took particular care to caution them about the mainsail boom, and to keep their heads down when behind the mast.
     We spent some nights at anchor up an inlet inside the harbour, and Delma and I relished the new experience of owning a cruising yacht. I’d done a lot of fishing in small boats and spent many nights at anchor up some creek or other, but this was something else again. It was wonderful to be able to have a shower and put on clean, dry clothing, followed by a hot cooked meal at a table. And be able to move around the boat freely without being cramped.
     The lights of Darwin city formed a low loom in the dark sky to the south above the line of mangroves. To all intents, we might have been miles away from anywhere sitting under a sky peppered with bright stars. After dinner we relaxed on mattresses on deck in the stillness of the night.
     With a full moon rising slowly in the east, a faint blue light was cast over the surroundings. The flat tidal water reflected a white moonlit track across the surface, and black shapes of drifting sticks or leaves contrasted starkly as they passed through it. Birds singing in nearby trees and the sound of fish plopping all around the boat, lent a pleasant background to our soft conversation.
     In the mornings we would rise slowly and simply enjoy nature as it welcomed us to a new day. Sea-eagles would often be sitting in the trees within a stones throw from the boat, and an occasional fruit bat might be making its way home after a long night feasting somewhere. A breakfast of crisp bacon and eggs followed by a nice big cup of coffee in the early morning light made a lovely start to a day of more sailing.
     However, while all this was enjoyable, being so close to Darwin city had its drawbacks. Sometimes the early morning stillness would be shattered by the sound of an outboard motor, as some hopeful fisherman made his way to a favoured fishing spot. I never cease to understand why they have to pass by so close at full speed, leaving us bobbing around in their wake. It just tended to add an edge to my desire to make another trip somewhere else.
     Gradually my confidence increased enough to start thinking of a trip further afield, like the King George River in Western Australia.  But that is another story.