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| Day 88 |
03 July 2000 |
| Tual Harbour |
| "Bright Lights, Big Smoke" |
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The Kai Islands slowly rise over the horizon all afternoon. They
are different from most other Indonesian islands we have
seen--they are low and flat. As we pass between the islands on
the approach to Tual the sea flattens out and Duyfken stops
pitching for the first time in days. The going is more
comfortable, yet she is less alive in smooth water. A ship's
home is the ocean, after all, and harbours are only interludes
for them.
We pull into the wharf in Tual which is so busy we have to tie
up alongside another ship, a small coastal freighter, which in
turn is tied up to another ship. The harbour master comes aboard
to greet us, as does the navy chief for the region. They
reassure us that Taul is a safe place for us to visit, then
recommend that we anchor off for our safety. They also stress
that we should not walk around town on our own but should always
travel in pairs or groups. We are naturally very reassured by
this advice.
We leave the wharf at sunset and anchor in the harbour opposite
the town. Duyfken's twelve volt anchor light is a dim glow among
the bright lights. We are surrounded by coasters and trawlers,
all with their generators roaring and deck lights glaring. The
town of Tual across the water is lit up, too, in a way we are so
unfamiliar with that it looks decadent. Traffic pours along a
causeway nearby. It appears to be a two lane road, but it could
be a freeway to our eyes accustomed only to looking at passing
clouds and waves.
Five of our number will be disembarking here and returning
respectively to Jakarta (Iwan, journalist with Tempo magazine),
Hawaii (Tom Goodman, historian), and Australia (Paul Hough,
marine biologist, Marcus and Geoff, film-makers). Their bags are
packed and on deck before we get alongside and they don't seem
to be able to get off quickly enough, up to the comfort of a
hotel somewhere.
The 13 crew left on board tonight will be the complement for the
coming voyage to the Pennefather River, and a good deal of the
conversation over dinner is about the prospect of the next five
weeks at sea. The stayers are looking forward to it. It will be
the most difficult of all our legs so far: the greatest sailing
challenge and the longest period at sea. It will also be a most
significant voyage in the life of this little ship in that it
will be the first time Duyfken will arrive in Australia. A grand
homecoming. As we eat our chilly-beans and rice by the soft glow
of a lantern, I scan the faces of the crew and try to read their
expressions. One thing I can feel confident about is that the
implications of the upcoming voyage are not lost on anyone here.
Between the jokes tonight are long, contemplative silences. I
read this as a good sign, that thirteen people can sit around a
cabin immersed in the same silence without feeling the least
uncomfortable. It indicates a concord that bodes well for the
weeks ahead.
We have news today that the patrol boat HMAS Gladstone will meet
us in the Gulf of Carpenteria to give us any assistance we might
want. We have been asked to assemble a list of things we could
need. When I read out that part of the message a nearly
unanimous cry goes up of 'Ice-cream!' Only Gary shakes his head,
disgusted by his shipmates who have clearly gone soft.
I have a deep admiration for a man who does not miss ice-cream.
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Peter Manthorpe
Master
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