Australia's East Coast

Map of passage up the Australian coast

"Hey, Lady, you wearing any?" the guy shouted at Mum as he motored past us.

We had anchored in Watson Bay around midnight and were woken early as the Doctor was alongside in the launch. After customs had cleared us in, we started the washing. First, the generator was lifted out the fore hatch with the headsail's halyard. Next, the anchor rope box lid was laid upside down on the deck. Finally, the generator was gently lowered onto it in case it leaked oil. Stu then passed up the small plastic washing machine. The washing was last done at the wharf in Noumea over two weeks ago. Hence, as the small motorboat passed, the guard rail was covered in female underwear.

Mum's friend, Audrey, from Ardmore Teachers Training College, Auckland, lived and taught in Sydney at the Clarke Road Special School. I vaguely remembered Audrey from her visits to New Zealand, or it may have been the photos of her I remembered. Mum and we two girls spent quite some time with Audrey and helped out when the school group went on camping trips up the Hawkesbury River. Kap and I enjoyed this time playing with the kids on the beaches and swimming every day.

Pittwater was a busy anchorage but convenient. One day, there was a "hoy" from the marina. Through the binoculars, we saw Stan, Dad's business partner, an unexpected visit. I was asked to row in and pick him up. I liked Stan best of Dad's partners, but I was shy, having not seen him for at least six months. Arriving at the marina in the little tin dinghy, I transferred the oars and rowlocks from the middle seat to the bow and bade Stan sit in the stern. He was much heavier than me, and with me sitting in the bow, the dinghy sat more level in the water. As I rowed Stan out to Franda II, he asked, "Do you remember me?" my quiet and shy response was, "Yeah, you're, Stan." We sat facing each other, so I glanced quickly at him and then returned my eyes downwards to the tin floor of the dinghy. I had to glance up repeatedly to ensure my heading was correct, trying not to make eye contact. He made small talk, but my shyness made my answers very short.

We stayed in Sydney for quite some time. I realise, looking back, that we were waiting for Grandpa to die. Maree, Mum's niece, was working in Sydney, so we got to spend much time with her. Mike and Stu kept fit and topped up their bank accounts by emptying garbage bins and running behind the trucks. They were amazed that they could earn so much just working for a few hours every morning. Their wages are more significant than a full day of farm work. They purchased a little car that was handy around Sydney.

Although Mike and Stu were off working and had autonomy, Mike had difficulties being back under his father's control at twenty-one. So he spent a few nights sleeping on a park bench until they managed to sort their differences out.

Dad's sister, Shirley, Uncle Ken and their two youngest children were visiting from Melbourne. We took them up the Hawkesbury River, a quieter and secluded spot to fish and swim. There, Mum learned that Grandpa was on his last legs, and she and her niece Maree flew back to Gisborn on the first available flight. Luckily for Dad, although it may have been planned, his sister and family were still visiting us. So a week later, Dad flew to Gisborne, Aunty Shirley and Uncle Ken drove, while the four cousins rode on the train to Melbourne.

Rachel and Elizabeth were the only two Mackie kids still living at home. Both were adopted. One is of Vietnamese descent, and the other part Maori. We four girls got on well together. We were all aged within two years of each other and had heaps of fun. Rachel and Elizabeth spent time at school while Kap and I did schoolwork at their home. The school holiday was spent swimming and exploring at their summer house on Phillip Island. I struggled with my "Mean" Aunt and sent a postcard to Mum and Dad asking them to rescue me! However, rescue did not come.

After a month in Melbourne, Mum joined us for a few weeks and then took us back to Sydney and home on the train.

Now, we had to wait for the correct season to leave Sydney. We did not want to go north during the cyclone season. So Franda II was slipped for a few days and had her bottom scrubbed and anti-fouling applied. We then provisioned her and, by mid-April, were ready to head North.

Our friends onboard Searcher, whom we met in New Hebrides, arrived in time to travel North with us. So we slowly sailed up the Australian East Coast, stopping most nights and travelling most days. The sea was very sloppy as we closed in on Ballina. The wind had died overnight, leaving a large, sloppy swell. The swell was breaking on the bar across the entrance to Ballina. We discussed the wiseness of crossing it with Searcher on the VHF. However, the chart and the local pilotage book ensured it would be deep enough if we stuck to the channel. Searcher committed herself first. With mainsail and engine, she surfed in on the waves.

We followed once she was safely inside. Halfway across the bar, Dad realised that the engine's pitch had changed. He poked his head out the side of the doghouse, "Mike", he called, "Come and listen". As Mike returned from the bow, he realised Franda II was slowing down. "What's wrong, Dad?. Why are we slowing?". Dad looked at the water flowing past the hull and glanced at the Speedo. Yep, only 3 knots. "Props not turning; better hoist the genoa". At this speed, Franda II was slow to respond to the helm. She was a little off-square when the next wave hit, surfing her towards the edge of the channel, but with the extra speed, Dad straightened her course again.

Meanwhile, on deck, Kap was quickly untying the genoa from the pulpit rails while Stu clipped on the halyard I was in the cockpit redying the sheets. Up it went. I kept the sheet very tight so it would not catch too much wind, making it harder for Stu to winch up the forestay. Stu signalled me to say it was up, and I eased the sheet, allowing it to catch more wind. It drew well in the light aft breeze. We could all feel the surge of speed and hear the water gurgle along the hull. Dad could also feel a more immediate response to the helm.

Searcher's crew looked on confusedly as our speed slowed, and we ran around on deck. Timely over the VHF, we heard, "What the hell you doing, Hutton?" Dad simply replied, " Our engine stopped. Can you tow us ". Meanwhile, Mike got a long rope out of the locker and tied it to the bow, preparing it for throwing to Searcher.

Searcher dropped her mainsail, and as soon as we were over the bar and safe, we all relaxed somewhat. When Searcher indicated they were ready to take our tow line, we dropped our genoa and mainsail. The lack of wind made this bar crossing safer in some ways, but in others, it was less so.

Upon inspecting the engine, we discovered a leaking hydraulic hose. Due to a lack of oil, the gearbox could not transfer the power to the driveshaft. Therefore, it would need to be repaired before we could leave Ballina Harbour. Fortunately, we had the time to spare, as the weather was windy for three days, and the waves were too high to allow exit out over the bar.

At Brisbane, we bade our farewells to Searcher, who was returning to New Zealand. She had three children to attend school in the second term. I would miss Caroline, but obviously not enough to continue our friendship by letter alone over the years.

While sailing up the East Coast, several New Zealand friends visited us for a holiday. Among them were the Robinsons. During Mr Robinson's time as headmaster at Russel School, Mum taught primers, Dad was on the school committee, and he taught my three siblings. Unfortunately, he retired last year before my half-year in Form 1 and our departure from New Zealand.

Stu and Margaret Sinclair joined us for a while. Margaret had also gone to Ardmore Training College with Mum. Stu, a farmer from Taihape, encouraged the boys to go pig shooting. So, while at Haselwood Island, they were diving for crayfish one day, catching 6 and the next pig shooting. So Mike, Stu and Stu Sinclair took the shotgun and some solid shells and went pig hunting. At 0700hrs, an hour later, they were back on the beach. After breakfast, we all went ashore to singe the bristles off the pig. A long job and not as "clean" as scalding it and scraping the bristles off, like we did at home. However, it is more convenient here on the beach.

The following day, Kap and I joined the pig hunting party. It was a long, hot, disappointing walk across the island, but we spotted, and Mike shot a sow on our return. We skinned her, saving the work of singeing off the bristles later. But, of course, there would be no crackling on the roasts.

Margaret Sinclair loved "a party" and dancing, so we often went ashore of an evening to see if a dance was being held or if there was a pool table, Dent Is., Daydream Is., Brampton Is., Linderman Is., South Mole Is., Hook Is. All had some sort of entertainment for our guests.

Our most significant visitor was Grandma. A recent widower. She joined us for a few weeks as we sailed up the East Coast. Mum swore us to secrecy and hid her smoking from her mother. She would sneak onto the deck and hide to smoke. Many years ago, Dad had started his new wife smoking and then quit. We kids gave Mum a hard time with her smoking. We prohibited her from smoking below deck and restricted her to three a day, often taking control of her stock of cigarette cartons.

Seeing Cape York Peninsular enforced the reality that we were on this incredible trip. We were leaving the security of the Pacific Ocean behind and heading into the Indian Ocean with pirates. Although many Kiwis explore the Pacific Ocean for a few months of sailing, only a few venture past its boundary.

In Portland Roads, we met a yacht that had seen Mike picking up coconuts down south near Gladstone. He is memorable (I guess) because he only has one hand. Just north of here, we ripped our mainsail in half gybing. We didn't bother repairing it as we have a new one in the forepeak, so we limped north without it.

Next, we stopped at Thursday Island(TI), where we installed the new mainsail and disposed of the old one. We couldn't wait to see how it set. It had been ordered and delivered in Sydney from Hong Kong, which is much cheaper, and has sat in the forepeak for the last 6 months.

We reprovisioned, saw all the sights, and learnt about pearl divers. Although we thought purchasing a pearl shell would be easy, finding one took most of the day. Thursday Island was still celebrating its centenary (Lieutenant H.M. Chester commenced duty in 1877). Among other activities, they held a Mardi Gras. We all went ashore in the evening and watched a karate exhibition and Aboriginal and Islander dances.

Just out of TI, we encountered what looked like a vast oil slick, but when we collected some in a bucket, it looked more like grass seed. There were a number of these oil rivers all flowing into the one main one, which we estimated to be One nautical mile wide and, as far as we could see from halfway up the ratlines, about 5 miles. We radioed the "slick" into TI harbour master and took a sample in a small bottle to hand in at Darwin.

We sailed down the peninsular's West coast just a little into the Gulf of Carpentaria. The beaches here were mudflats, welcoming at high tide but not at low. Mike and Stu wanted to fill the freezer with pork again, so they kept their eyes open for boar prints. Finally, after visiting many beaches, they saw prints. They spent most of the day tracking these prints but came home empty-handed. Another time my brothers went ashore, they realised the shallows were covered in flounder, their mother's favourite fish, so collecting the net and soliciting help from the family, the net was duly dragged around with the dinghy and a vast quantity of stingrays were hauled onto the beach. Of course, we could not handle 200 stingrays, so most were let go. We cut the wings off the tastiest-looking ones and discovered that stingray wings were great to eat, and many were frozen.

One beach we explored was covered in beautiful blue Soldier Crabs. What a sight—the whole blue beach moving in unison. As I walked along the beach, they parted for me, turning to face me with their claws raised and closing ranks after I had passed. No wonder they are called soldier Crabs.

One of the drawbacks of this area, with its vast tides, fast currents, and mudflats, was the "No See Ums" by the billion. They are very tiny biting fly that injects a blood thinner, and the bite site swells and itches for days. As a result, we all still bear the white scars on our legs from the bites.

Our time exploring the coast of Australia was coming to an end. The last leg was across the Arafura Sea to Darwin, staying a night anchored under the Cape Don lighthouse on the tip of the Coburg Peninsula before running for Darwin. We arrived well after dark, but Darwin was a shipping port, so a night arrival would be safe.

From Darwin, we would be heading West across the Indian Ocean, stopping first at Ashmore Reef.