CHAPTER THREE…COME SAIL AWAY WITH ME

  

                                        

                                         Eddy Grant's music played a big, loud part on the Saturday night

The resort was right at the tip of Cape Richards

View taken from top of Cape Richards looking down upon Orchid Beach; my little house was at the base of that rocky outcrop...at the lower right of the picture (out of the frame).

A couple of the visiting yachties.  The fellow on the left was the one who had something to do with Australia 11 - the winner of the America's Cup, 1983

Sundown views from jetty across to Garden & Goold Islands...on a peaceful, yacht-free afternoon!

The party, the hi-jinks, the music and the dancing continued through until dawn.  The tamer merrymakers chose to rest their feet. Groups gathered around the tables; some sat on the deck, or on the side of the pool.  Happy persons, mobile and stationary, were everywhere. Some still moved to the music; others were content to just sit; happy to share stories and laughter.  The population eventually began to dwindle as the revellers’ energy levels wavered. Winding down, weary, but contented, they began to wander back to their respective bunks or beds…whether it was to the cabins on their yachts, or to the resort’s cabins.  Quite a few hardy, hearty stalwarts, which included a couple of my staff and me, of course (I always seemed to be the Last of the Mohicans), were left to hold the fort; to ensure the mainsail remained hoisted, and the gangplank lowered. Never let it be said we were party-poopers!  Never!  

Like the captain of a boat, I was the manager of the resort; it was my solemn duty - my happy duty - to remain until the very end...whenever that might have been....

At daybreak a few stragglers were seen strolling along Orchid Beach, nonchalantly wading in the shallows at the water’s edge. 

Putting on a brave front showing he was not defeated, my bleary-eyed breakfast cook arrived at the kitchen. I knew it was a façade, but he carried it off successfully, having had myriad past occasions in which he'd done similar. He'd had much practice; many rehearsals. A hearty hot and cold breakfast he would prepare for all and sundry; for all-comers.  And after the previous evening’s boisterous activities, there were a lot of hungry bodies to feed.

Around dawn I'd raced home to have a refreshing shower; otherwise known as a “wake-me-up” shower. After another change of clothes – I think I had more changes of clothes that day/night/morning than model Miranda Kerr during a catwalk appearance – I returned to my office to write up the day’s work-sheets for my staff, and to attend to other necessary office duties, such as….and then my mind went blank.

“Where do I start?” 

I had absolutely no idea who my island guests were; which of those guests staying in the cabins were yachties; and who were my holiday-making guests; those who’d arrived by sea-plane or were delivered to me from the mainland via the “Reef Venture”; guests who had absolutely nothing to do with yachts or yacht races.  Who was staying on and who was departing?  I had no idea; none whatsoever!  

On any "normal day", I never had to face such a dilemma. Not that there were many normal days on the island, but at least during those other times,  I knew exactly who was who, and who should be where; who should be leaving; who should be staying and who should be arriving! When, where, what and who; but this was no normal day; no normal weekend!  I hardly knew who I was, other than I knew I wasn't normal!

Not one to fly the white flag of defeat; not one to give up or in easily, bravely I forged forth, having faith that somehow, some way, it would all work out in the end, even if only by bluff, smoke and mirrors!

I completed the work-sheets to the best of my inabilities; handed the sheets out to my staff, and wished them good luck. It was akin to tossing a boxful of bits and pieces up into the air and allowing them to fall at will.  

I said to myself - “to hell with it – I’ll leave it all in the laps of the gods” - I went for walk down along the beach.

My brother, Graham – not “Graham, my breakfast/dessert cook” – worked for me at the time, too, as I mentioned in Chapter Two.  Before I left for my brisk, bracing, mind-clearing walk, Graham came to me for his work-sheet.

Expecting a list of the cabins from which he’d have to load the guests’ luggage onto the island’s one an only vehicle, an old Toyota ute, for transfer down to the jetty, and then onto the punt in readiness for their planned departure later in the day via sea plane, he was slightly bemused when he tried to decipher my hieroglyphics. Little did he know that the next day's work-sheet would go down in history!

I told him to... “play it by ear, or by series of elimination because I have not a clue who is coming; who is going, or who is staying! And try to look intelligent and knowledgeable while doing so!”   

To be concise, I had no idea who was who; or where they were or were not going!  I tried to follow my own advice regarding keeping up the appearance of intelligence and knowledgeability.

I figured everyone could and would, eventually, work out their movements; their own comings and goings. It was up to my staff and me to make sure they were fed well, happy, comfortable and their thirsts quenched while doing so; with as little visible upheaval as possible.  Smooth sailing....

Sunday’s mood was much more mellow than the previous day and night’s had been.  We’d all partied beyond human limits, so a quiet, restful, peaceful Sunday was the order for the day. 

A couple of new, unsuspecting arrivals did step out of the sea plane into the punt around noon, their eyes opened wide in amazement.  There had been nothing in the holiday brochures at their travel agents warning them about a flotilla or fleet of yachts being in the waters off from the resort as a welcoming party to greet them as they disembarked.

Manager-mode took over immediately.  I knew I had to instill a sense of calm amongst the newcomers to dispel the wild looks of panic in their eyes. I explained the events of the past 24 hours or so. Assuring them everything would be back to normal at the resort by day’s end, if not, by the next day at the latest. I informed them they’d missed the majority of the boats, because many had already left our fair shores.  I crossed my heart and gave my word to my not-yet-disgruntled vacationers that soon the madding crowds, along with their yachts would be gone; sailing an ocean wave way out in the blue yonder. The peace, harmony and solitude they expected would once more descend. Before too long they’d become willing, carefree captives; caught under the gentle, mesmerizing spell of the island….or something like that.

As I’d expected, during the day quite a few of the yachts upped anchor and sailed off to their next destination. Not all were returning south to Townsville; not all yachts were Townsville-based. To some, the race had just been a minor portion of their cruising agenda; a bit of fun to add to their adventures.  But there were still a lot of people milling around; many more than “max. pop. 30”.

Sunday night in the restaurant was far more subdued than the previous night.  Dinner was served and eaten quietly, just the way a Sunday night should be spent; not that we had any set rules on the island. Most times, things happened spontaneously at the resort; which was more than half the fun of it!

However - “early to bed and early to rise” was the unspoken motto everyone followed on that particular Sunday evening…thankfully. 

I welcomed my bed.  I realised I’d not slept since the previous Thursday night!  Obviously, I’d been running on adrenaline…and on the fact I had a million guests under my care, and, hopefully, watchful eye.

Come Monday morning, I was refreshed after a solid night’s sleep. I was in my office shortly before 6 am trying to compose sensible, intelligent, legible work-sheets.  My brother Graham arrived to collect his, and immediately began shaking his head when he saw all my deletions; crossing-outs; additions; scribbles, scrawls and scratches.  He looked at me with a stupid look on his face, and immediately we both broke into the giggles. Our chortling grew into uncontrollable hysterical laughter. Our mutual sense of insanity was bouncing off each other.  The more we tried to stop, the worse we became, until we just gave into our out of control hysterics.  Graham slid down the wall and sat on the floor of my office.  Unbridled laughter engulfed us. We laughed and laughed until tears poured down our faces. We couldn’t talk. I laid my head on my desk, exhausted, yet exhilarated by our unrestrained, uninhibited mirth.  

Other staff came in to collect their work-sheets. After taking one look at Graham and me, they left, speechless, thinking we’d lost it and were best left to our shared, inherited insanity. Graham and I were siblings, after all.   I think they were right in their assessments.

When we’d exhausted our laughter (and were feeling a little exhausted from our unable-to-be-checked behaviour), I told Graham to do the best he could; to wing it.  Work it all out himself and whoever was left over at the end of the day would be our island guests, not yachties.

Graham kept that work-sheet.  He told me he didn’t have the heart to toss it away; he was going to have it framed! He treasured it, reckoning that one day, because it was so unique it would be worth a lot of money! He didn’t have it framed, but he did keep it, safely stored away in a book about Hinchinbrook Island.  I’m sure I still have the work-sheet here somewhere amongst some of my/his memorabilia.  Graham passed away in 1998.

Every time, in the ensuing years when Graham and I recalled that particular Monday morning on the island, in my office, we laughed our heads off once again. If his work-sheet had fallen into the hands of the CIA, MI6, ASIO or any other secret service agency, they wouldn't have had a hope in Hades of deciphering it!

Others probably didn’t/wouldn’t see the funny side of it, but to us - the moment - and my efforts of trying to fill in a workable work-sheet, one that could be followed to the letter, were hilarious. 

If only the guests had known…..it was better they didn’t.  They were totally oblivious to all the inner machinations and mayhem!

It was a wonderful, unforgettable, fun-filled weekend.  It was a hectic time, no doubt, but everyone who participated one way or the other, had an absolute ball.  I met a lot of interesting people over those few days; I heard so many great stories. I made many memories; and I shared much laughter. 

A crew member of one of the visiting yachts had been part of the crew on Australia ll; the Aussie yacht skippered by John Bertrand, which, three years earlier, in 1983, had won the America’s Cup; famously ending US domination of the racing series. I can’t remember his name, or what his exact role was.

By Tuesday afternoon the bay was empty of yachts. The only craft left at the resort were “Lady of the Island”, the yellow Abalone, the powered island boat; the AIMS punt (The Australian Institute of Marine Science) – the punt the AIMS folk left tied up to the resort’s jetty; the punt we used for the collection or depositing of guests to and from the sea plane; and the Topper; the small, single-person (and I don’t mean “unattached”) sailing craft mentioned in an earlier post. 

All other water craft, big and small, had left our precinct.  Life on the island, at the resort returned to normal; peace reigned once more; and the only footprints we saw on the beach were our own – or those of our resident wallabies.

It was then, and only then, I discovered who my true-blue holidaying guests were; those who were left on the island...that's who....

And this is the tail end of my sailing tale.....the stern....