Departure Mackay
I have been told to expect a musical send-off, so we can't be too late departing. We don't want to keep the lone piper waiting. We are all stowed for sea, loaded up with stores and water, and the new crew have been inducted and safety-briefed. It is 1710 and we are ready to go. A crowd has gathered on the marina to see us off. No sign of the lone piper but the breeze is favourable so we must sail. Gary leads us in the customary 'Three cheers for Mackay,' and Duyfken moves away from the marina. The well-wishers wave and the volunteer guides call their farewells. The crew have their heads down, stowing mooring lines and fenders. As we pass through the main port of Mackay a haunting sound reaches us from across the water. Alex Cameron is waiting for us after all, playing his bag-pipes on the end of the breakwater. I recognise the tune of 'The Sky Boat Song' and then, I think, 'The Portsmouth.' He is hardly a lone piper though. He is surrounded by more well-wishers, strategically positioning themselves to see Duyfken set sail and vanish over the horizon. Well, they might see her vanish if they have a spare hour or two. There is thunder and lightning about, so we leave the topsails stowed in their gaskets and just set the courses. The foresail then the mainsail fill with wind. Duyfken heels slightly to the breeze, gathers way and heads for the open sea. She must be a fine sight, her sails curling gracefully to leeward, her poop sweeping high into a farewell flourish of carvings and bright paintwork. No doubt the onlookers are enjoying the spectacle. Four hundred years ago the same sight must have been a sad one for families left behind, as their sailors set out for parts unknown on a voyage that would last years, perhaps never to return. Our voyage to Gladstone should take us only five days. Hardly an epic, but our departure still draws a crowd. Duyfken is sailing large, with the wind behind her. We have sailed (and motored) so many miles to windward in Duyfken that it still feels strangely like cheating to be covering distance so easily. I go on deck at midnight to check on the situation. Duyfken is sailing steadily between the Northumberland Isles. The sea, the ship and the islands are periodically lit up by the dazzling light show spearing down from the clouds. The rumble of thunder is all around. Andrea has the changed our course 30 degrees to allow for the strong tidal current and we are crabbing along sideways past the rocks and islands on each side. She has the situation under control. I return to my hammock for a few hours and sleep the sound sleep of a skipper surrounded by competence.
Peter Manthorpe
Master
