Of all the bizarre re-enactments we do without even knowing it. On day 241 I wondered 'if the original Duyfken's stores included some tiny oak barrels filled with gold glitter nail-polish' after Alex painted the toenails of all the crew. Well, historian Menno Leenstra sent me a message from Holland suggesting they might have had something of the sort. He tells me the old Dutch sailors probably carried tiny amounts of paint, not in oak barrels but in small bottles, to retouch the ship's carvings and ornaments on passage. It's likely they also carried gold leaf to gild, among other things, the toe-nails of the carvings. Spooky. Straight after breakfast this morning we heave up the anchor, set both topsails and start reaching across Moreton Bay towards the Brisbane River. We are on a tight schedule. We have to pick up a Channel 7 crew and some special guests, then our arrival at Admiralty Wharf must be timed exactly for 1740 because it will be televised live. It is a beautiful sail across the bay. I'm expecting to have to adjust Duyfken's speed to arrive at the river at the appointed hour but she seems to have taken control of the situation, sailing at exactly the right speed to arrive on time. We have a moderate north westerly which carries us to the entrance and straight up the river. What a perfect way to end my time in Duyfken, with a brisk sail in a fair topsail breeze. The weather and our little ship are turning it on for me. People are asking me how I feel. I make trite responses, like: 'Mixed feelings.' It's hard to express how it feels. In a couple of days I will be leaving Duyfken, my home, my little timber world for the past year. I will miss sailing in her. It's impossible not to have a strong attachment to a vessel that has carried us safely across 7000 miles of ocean. Harder still will be leaving the group of people I have been living and working with for the past nine months. But anything I try to express about that will sound pretty trite as well. On the other hand there are things I am looking forward to back in Adelaide. Hot showers whenever I want. Standing headroom wherever I walk in the house. Fresh eggs every morning. Comfy chairs. A big wide bed. And, of course, Michelle. You might remember that I got engaged the week before I left Fremantle. Just inside the river entrance a big motor-cruiser with twin overhead Chevron flags ranges alongside. Cliff Leggoe calls across: 'Hi Pete. We've got a present for you.' My head is full of speeds and ETAs but I try to look interested. A present. Will it be a flag, or a plaque, or what? Can't it wait until we are alongside the wharf? My mouth drops open as a grinning Michelle steps out of the cruiser's cabin. She climbs aboard and there seem to be an awful lot of cameras ready and waiting to catch our embrace on film. I have the distinct feeling that I am the only one surprised. The Channel 7 film crew arrive on board with all kinds of elaborate technology. Suddenly there are black wires snaking all over the deck mingling with the miles of hemp already there. The producer briefs me on the sequence of filming and where the ship has to be at certain times to ensure the live television link-up doesn't get broken. I am informed that a group of pirates will be boarding at 1710, that they will tie me up to the mast, take our bags of nutmeg and disembark. Hmm. Sounds like fun. The film crew are having problems. The picture is being beamed off alright but they can't get any sound. They fiddle with knobs and connections with no success. Ten minutes before going to air there is still no sound. They decide to change cameras. Stress levels are increasing as wires are pulled and plugged, and clipped messages fly back and forth over the headsets. Gary gloats. 'All the 16th century gear seems to be working alright,' he announces loudly. With half a minute to spare the sound finally comes good and they go to air on schedule. Soon a couple of boats bearing pirate flags appear. The crew are waiting for them with buckets of water, so all the fancy costumes are soaked by the time they come aboard. One of the pirates seizes me and ties my hands to a cleat on the main-mast. I'm glad some of the crew are getting into the spirit of the pirate raid because I'm finding it all quite irritating. What have these people who clambered aboard a minute ago got to do with our eight month expedition? They are going to feature in the media coverage of the last hour of our voyage, so where do they fit into it? But it's all out of my control, which is how any pirate raid should be I suppose. Perhaps I'm just being precious. With the pirate raid over I am summoned to the forecastle for an interview. I extricate myself from bondage and obediently hop up on the forecastle. This is a very strange feeling. I am having trouble getting used to being told what to do next and where I have to stand on board the ship I have been commanding for nearly a year. But there I go getting precious again. Duyfken passes beneath the Story Bridge and is suddenly dwarfed by sky-scrapers. I am startled to see the reflection of her masts and yards passing across the faces of the buildings. We tie up at the customs house landing where a welcoming party has assembled. Three Aboriginal women stand at the front of the crowd. I ask them for permission to walk on their traditional lands. Maroochy Barambah responds on behalf of the Turrbal people with a short speech greeting Duyfken and telling us we are welcome here. She starts a song and the Wakka Wakka dance group perform a welcome dance for us, their bodies elaborately painted and clothed in animal skins. Then a remarkable thing happens. Though we have had light winds all day and it has been nearly calm for an hour or more, at the moment the Wakka Wakka group start to dance a sudden wind springs up from the south, building rapidly until Duyfken's topsails, still hanging loose after our arrival, are flogging a noisy accompaniment to the didgeridoo. The wind whistles around the buildings, shaking the branches of a tree overhanging Duyfken's foredeck as the dance continues. A young Aboriginal girl standing next to Maroochy says in a matter of fact tone: 'There are the ancestors.' The dance ends, the TV crew starts packing up their equipment, and the ship's crew climb Duyfken's rigging to secure the flogging topsails. Within minutes the wind dies away to a flat calm again. And I'm smiling. I'm very content now with the way things have gone, today and for the whole year. That gust of wind has made me very happy. Some things are out of the control of TV crews and ship captains alike.