This is the third, and, for the time being at least, the final of my books set in the imaginary Mangowak. It seems an appropriate occasion therefore to thank all the various bits of god around me, and in particular the angels who have in their own invaluable ways ministered to this long and often tempestuous process.
First, Alistair Stewart, poet of geological depth and glittering humour, a dear friend and grand guide. TonTon Hanna for her inner sight, her deep loyalty and uncompromising faith in the bluewater dream. My mother, Patricia, and my brothers, Bill, Peter and Tim, for their great example, their love, and their natural understanding of the often contrary and confronting life of the creative artist. Chris Grierson for his enthusiastic solidarity and great commitment to Australian literature. Michael Epis and Lawrence Mooney for their generosity, nous and wit. Lindon Crossland for her astute considerations, her trust, and her love of moonlight. John O'Brien at Random House for getting it all the way along, even back in the wild days of Barroworn. Robert Ashton and Jane Grant for the lunchtime debates, the bush nectar and fine friendship. Christos at Lorne Fisheries and Petros at Barwon Booksellers, for making it their own way and nourishing my body and mind. My publisher, Nikki Christer, to whose integrity and judgement I owe so much. Hilary McPhee for noticing me as a fledgling by the river. And lastly, but mostly, my delicate avocet, mother of our two beautiful boys, Sian Marlow.