For the remaining five hundred miles
northward from Cairns to the tip of Cape York Peninsular and the
Torres Strait, Koko may as well have been the only person on earth.
The only living things he saw along the pristine Far North
Queensland coast were sea birds and a myriad of marine life. The
perfect weather continued, except for a few drenching tropical
showers which Koko used to catch fresh water off the mainsail and
top up his tank. The further north he sailed the stronger the trade
wind blew and on some days he sailed around eighty miles. The reef
was much closer to the mainland now, often no more than two or
three miles offshore and Koko had to use all his sailing skills to
pick his way safely through the maze of sharp, jagged coral which
could instantly hole the boat even if he only struck it
lightly.
By the time he approached Cape York, Koko
found his life had been shaped into an enjoyable daily routine. By
day he would carry as much sail as he dare in the boisterous trade
wind and at night he would rest in a safe anchorage where he would
study the charts and plot a course for the next day. He was now
living on a steady diet of fresh fish, usually Spanish mackerel or
trevally, which, after being hooked within moments of dropping a
trolling line over the stern, had to be hauled aboard quickly
before they were snatched off the line by sharks.
Koko’s last anchorage before Cape York
was at Halfway Island about fifty miles south of the cape itself.
When he plotted his course for the next day, the chart he used was
the last one aboard that would be of any use to him.
It covered the remainder of the east coast of
Queensland and the Torres Strait, the narrow strip of water between
the
top of Australia and New Guinea. The
Australia Pilot
warned of dangerous
currents flowing swiftly over barely submerged reefs and shallow
sandy shoals. Years before, pearlers had also told Koko of the
dangers of the Torres Strait. They had said it was like a seething
cauldron, the place where the vast Indian Ocean gushed through a
narrow bottleneck of land into the Pacific, like water swirling
down a bathtub plug hole.
The Strait was Koko’s last great
challenge and he knew he would have to be extremely careful. Apart
from its natural navigation hazards, he knew there would be small
naval vessels and a police boat stationed on Thursday Island and
also aircraft flying out of the RAAF base on neighboring Horn
Island. But once through the shallow, treacherous waters, he could
use the
Australia Pilot
to set
a single compass course to cross the two hundred and fifty miles of
open water in the Gulf of Carpentaria to the familiar waters of
Arnhem Land and the Top End coast.
A sudden gust of wind in the anchorage caused
the sloop to sway and strain on her anchor chain. A few moments
later, driving rain drenched the deck. It wasn’t a short evening
tropical shower because it was still raining hard when he turned in
over an hour later. Koko wondered before he fell asleep if, in
addition to all the dangers facing him in the Torres Strait, he
might have to cope with a change of weather as well.
Koko awoke the next morning to leaden skies
and a thirty-knot south-easter but the rain had stopped. He left
the anchorage under the mainsail only but was soon forced to tie in
a reef. He shortened sail again later in the day when he was
navigating through Albany Passage, a long narrow strip of water
between Albany Island and the mainland. Here the wind took on a
tunnel effect between the high rocky headlands on each side of the
passage and it howled in the rigging like a demented demon. Then it
began to rain again, cutting visibility down so much he couldn’t
see the land either side of the boat. The night before, he had
noticed the chart showed a pearling station located in the passage
at a place called Somerset Bay and he was glad when he caught a
glimpse of a cluster of huts on the shore which confirmed his
position as he anxiously strained to see the way ahead.
Then suddenly he was through the passage and
had some sea room, and steering the last few miles to Cape York
became a little easier, although there was no let up in the
weather. It was late afternoon when he entered the Torres Strait.
Now the whole of Australia lay to the south of him and fifteen
miles to the west lay Thursday Island and beyond that the Gulf of
Carpentaria. Dog tired, soaking wet, and with darkness approaching,
Koko made straight for shallow water in the lee of Cape York and
dropped anchor.
The anchorage was uncomfortable.
Confused tides and currents and sudden powerful wind gusts
accompanied by lashing rain, sent the sloop scudding wildly around
her anchor chain for most of the night. Even though he was
exhausted, fear of dragging the anchor and losing the little ship
on a reef or rocky outcrop, kept Koko awake most of the night. But
in the early hours of the morning the wind dropped and the rain
eased and
Chinook
ceased her
wild gyrations and settled down. In minutes, Koko dropped into a
sound dreamless sleep.
He was awoken by the throbbing of an engine.
It sounded very close. Startled, Koko sat bolt upright and peered
out through a porthole beside the bunk. It was already light
outside. He had overslept. The sky was dull and overcast and the
rain was still falling. But there was no wind at all and the sea
was perfectly flat. He felt a surge of panic when a motor launch
flying a white ensign came into view but he had the presence of
mind to quickly wrap a bandage around his head to cover his eyes.
Then he pulled on a pair of shorts, took a deep breath and climbed
up the companionway into the cockpit.
‘Ahoy, there.’ The voice belonged to a
uniformed sailor speaking through a loud hailer from the deck of
the launch. The little naval vessel was stationary now, sitting
about twenty yards away with its engine idling.
‘Yes,’ Koko shouted across the water, ‘what
can I do for you?’
‘This is a naval patrol from Thursday
Island,’ the sailor called out. ‘The pearling station at Somerset
radioed in and reported sighting you in heavy weather in Albany
Passage yesterday. Are you all right? What happened to your
head?’
‘I fell. I have a bump on my head and cuts
around my eyes.’ Koko shouted across the water. ‘But I’m able to
manage, thank you.’
‘Where are you from, sir?’
‘Sydney.’
‘Where are you bound?’
Koko hesitated, unsure what to say. In the
end he just said: ‘Thursday Island.’
‘Do you have any radio equipment aboard,
sir?’
‘No, none at all.’
‘Do you have an engine aboard your
vessel?’
‘Yes… I do.’ Koko’s eyes narrowed under the
bandage. ‘Why?’
The sailor ducked down into the cabin of the
launch and briefly spoke to another sailor then reappeared back on
deck.
‘Regulations require all vessels which are
not known in these waters to be boarded and searched, sir. In view
of the weather and your injuries, the skipper says that can be
conducted at the jetty at Thursday Island. We’ll radio ahead to
alert the hospital that you’ll be seeking medical attention. Now,
please raise your anchor, start your engine and follow us in.’
Koko broke out in a cold sweat. His heart was
thumping and his hands were shaking as he hauled up the anchor and
started the engine. They were still shaking when he took the tiller
and fell in behind the launch to motor in to Thursday Island. It
would be a long wet journey. At full revs and over a flat sea it
would take almost two hours to reach the harbor. That was all the
freedom he had left. Once ashore, the serious questioning would
begin and the bandage would come off and it would all be over.
As the morning wore on it began raining
harder. With no wind the rain fell straight out of the sky like
water from a tap, hammering and splashing onto the smooth surface
of the sea. Then the wind piped up again and short steep waves
began to build, sending spray flying as the two vessels powered
into them The sailors in the launch kept dry in an enclosed cabin
while Koko stood soaked to the skin at the tiller of the sloop.
When the launch reached the channel separating Thursday Island from
it’s larger neighbor, Horn Island, visibility was down to less than
fifty yards. Koko couldn’t see any land at all and knew the launch
must be steering a compass course into the harbor at Thursday
Island.
Soon visibility was down to thirty or forty
yards. And it was when Koko temporarily lost sight of the launch
during a strong wind gust that he realized he still had a slim
chance of freedom. A surge of excitement swept through him. Beyond
the channel between the islands lay the Gulf of Carpentaria. He had
charted a compass course the night before. For a few miles before
the open sea, he had marked some minor deviations to the course
because of some scattered shoals and reefs. Koko knew if he made a
run for it, in places he would be sailing blind in shallow water
and may well tear out the bottom of the boat. But he didn’t care.
Nothing could be worse than being returned to Cowra.
When the launch slowed down to three or
four knots, Koko saw a channel marker loom up out of the rain at
the entrance to the harbor. He knew it was now or never. Without
warning, he cut the sloop’s engine and as the launch disappeared
into the grayness ahead, he quickly hoisted the mainsail. In a
second it was filled with air and
Chinook
surged silently away and was swallowed up
in the gloom.
The excited shouts of the launch’s crew
carried downwind over the water when the sailors realized what had
happened. But by then it was too late. Koko knew an invisible,
silent vessel in reef strewn waters was impossible to follow. An
hour later
Chinook
was in safe
water out in the Gulf of Carpentaria, charging blindly towards
Arnhem Land with a howling storm building up behind her.
*
Joe sailed into the all-weather
anchorage in Gove Harbor near the settlement of Nhulunbuy under
dark threatening skies. It was early-afternoon but poor light made
it seem much later. Off to the east, heavy weather was rolling in
over the Gulf Of Carpentaria and Joe was glad that when its full
fury hit, the
Walrus
would be
safe and secure in one of the best natural harbors on the Top End
coast. But the best thing about being at Nhulunbuy was that
the
Walrus
would take on fresh
food and supplies before heading back towards the Goulburn
Islands.
The old ketch anchored about fifty
yards off the shore and as Weasel and Monday tended to the sails
and set about snugging the vessel down, Joe scanned the length of
the beach with his binoculars. He grinned when he saw a police
truck pull out of the scrub then stop at the high water mark. With
Nhulunbuy being several miles away from the harbor, he had radioed
ahead earlier in the day to the police detachment and told them
the
Walrus
was coming
in.
It began to rain just as Monday lowered the
dinghy to row Joe ashore. When Joe jumped out onto the sand it was
raining harder and he quickly pushed Monday off in the dinghy then
ran up the beach to the police truck and hopped inside. A portly
middle-aged sergeant with a friendly face and a strawberry nose sat
behind the wheel. He held out his hand.
‘I’m Sergeant Wilson, I’m in charge here at
Nhulunbuy.’
‘I’m Corporal Joe Brodie.’ Joe shook the
outstretched hand firmly. ‘Thanks for coming to pick me up.’
‘Are you the only one coming into town?’ the
policeman asked.
‘There’s only three of us aboard
the
Walrus
. Army regulations
say at least two must be aboard at all times. It’s to do with
monitoring the radios.’
Wilson slipped the truck in gear and pulled
away down the narrow dirt track that led to town. ‘Corporal Brodie,
you say?’ The sergeant rubbed his jaw. ‘I used to know a Sergeant
Brodie in the Territorial Police. He was drowned off Darwin in the
great cyclone of ‘37.’
‘He was my father.’
The sergeant glanced quickly at Joe. ‘Oh, I’m
sorry, mate.’
Joe shrugged. ‘It’s all right, it was a long
time ago. For a few moments they bounced on down the track through
the rain with out saying anything. Then Joe said, ‘Do you know if
the store in town has our Army supply requisitions ready to
go?’
‘I talked to the bloke at the store right
after I got your call on the radio. He said everything’s boxed up
and ready for you.’
The rain was coming down so hard when they
reached Nhulunbuy that the windscreen wipers could hardly clear it
away. The hard packed dirt on the main street gleamed like ice and
was just as slippery.
‘Don’t reckon there’s much point in trying to
get your supplies out to the harbor for a while, Joe.’ The sergeant
cast a dubious eye up at the sky. ‘Maybe you’d better wait a bit
and see if this lot eases up. How about a nice cold beer?’
Joe grinned. ‘That’s the best idea I’ve heard
all day, Sergeant.’
The police station was a little clapboard
building with a tin roof situated right next door to the general
store. Besides two small offices and a rarely used prisoner’s cell,
it had living quarters for the sergeant, his wife and the
settlement’s only other policeman, a young constable, who was
sitting at a desk when Joe and the sergeant walked in. The sergeant
sent the constable next door to the store and after a few moments
he came back with two bottles of cold beer.
Wilson winked at Joe as they sat down either
side of the Sergeant’s desk. ‘I keep my private stock in the
refrigerator in the store.’ He turned to the young constable as he
was leaving the room. ‘Keep ‘em coming, George, just as long as you
can hear the rain hammering on the roof.’