Duyfken is full. Today we depart on the last leg of our voyage from Fremantle to Brisbane and there is no shortage of people who want to be a part of it. She has a crew of twenty when she pulls away from the marina, swings her head around towards the entrance and starts to move out. Twenty voices give a rousing 'Three Cheers for Sandy Bay'. A crowd has gathered on the headland to watch us depart. I decide to give them a bit of a show. As the crew prepare to set sail I turn Duyfken around and motor back past the entrance. The spectators must be thinking I have been too long in the sun as they see the ship heading up a blind alley among the sand-banks, but then they see her turn, set both her courses and rapidly gather speed in the fresh south easterly. By the time we pass the entrance again the engines are off, the sails are straining full of wind and Duyfken is flying along with a bone in her teeth. The crowd waves as we pass and I think they should have some memorable photos. I should invoice Kodak for a commission. We find a patch of safe water among the many sand-banks of the Great Sandy Strait where we have some room to manoeuvre. We sail back and forth a few times, tacking and wearing just for the exercise. The crew exercise their muscles and I exercise my vocal chords. There are so many enthusiastic crew on board that for once we have more people than lines that need pulling. 'Stand by to wear ship,' I call. John looks up from his chopping board, sees that all the lines are already tended, and goes back to dissecting onions for Jane. As I write this we are at anchor in the Strait at a place called Boon Boon Creek, waiting for tomorrow's high water to get through the shallow part of the Strait. A half-moon is setting over the lights of Urangan behind us. The sweet smell of mangroves wafts across from Fraser Island ahead and mingles with the smoky twang of fresh tar coming off the newly coated fore and main tacks. Most of the crew are already asleep and the anchor watch routine has begun. I pace aimlessly around the decks of a quiet ship, stepping among the dark shapes of sleeping bodies. This is my last sail on Duyfken and a hint of nostalgia is already creeping into my consciousness. How much of this am I going to miss when I am back in suburbia in just over a week?