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| Victor Creek Boat Ramp...via Seaforth |
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| Newry Island |
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| Me before Cyclone Joy wiped the smile off my face! |
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| Newry on a clear day...when you can see forever | | |
Warning:
(Some of you may have read this story before)......This is a lengthy tale; lengthy and true. I wrote about this actual event and posted it a couple of years ago...but every Christmas since when the story unfolded...Christmas/New Year 1990-1991...my thoughts return to that time in my life...when I lived on Newry Island...just me, Pushkin and Rimsky...like the Three Musketeers, we ran the little resort on the island. If you've run out of reading material between now and New Year's Eve (or yonder)...this story of mine might fill the gap...make sure you have a mug of coffee or three at hand...or a bottle of choice...that is if you're in for the long haul...
CHAPTER ONE
In the early Nineties I lived, alone, on Newry Island; well, not
entirely, alone, “Pushkin” and “Rimsky” my two cats were my bedfellows.
The island lies within the Great Barrier Reef World Heritage Area. Since
2001 only camping is allowed on the island. Most of the buildings were
demolished; only shells of their former selves remain.
Once upon a time, back in the early to mid-1900s, Newry Island housed
one of the earliest resorts in that northern area. Newry lies between
Rabbit Island and Outer Newry Island; with Acacia and Mausoleum Islands
nearby to its south-east. Newry sits in the azure waters of the Coral
Sea, 25kms north of Mackay; and few kilometres north of Seaforth, as the
fish swim, or as the seagulls fly. A well-maintained boat ramp at the
22km long Victor Creek, 4kms north of Seaforth is the main departure
point for Newry Island.
In my care were the island’s basic accommodation, bar and dining
facilities. It was my job to handle everything it took to run the small,
unsophisticated resort.
From my first sight on the first day I crossed from the mainland to the
island, an island I’d never visited before, I fell in love the run-down
resort with its cabins built close to the foreshore, facing the ocean;
its simple, straightforward, unrefined main dining/bar area in need of
repair harboured many stories between its walls. The buildings reminded
me of the seaside as it used to be when I was a small child; a long time
before our coastal areas and tropical islands became clones of Hawaii,
Florida and similar glossy, “plastic” holiday areas.
No rain, or very, very little, had fallen during the nine months since
my arrival on the island. The dam was at a disturbingly low level; it
had gone beyond hovering; daily, its level decreased. Lowering the pump
became an every day chore for me to enable water to flow down to the
main building, the guest cabins, and to the outside public amenities
block. Eight self-contained cabins, the bar/dining/kitchen area, and a
camping site were serviced by the dam’s water supply. Fortunately,
visitors to Newry understood my dire water shortage. In most cases, they
happily obeyed my requests to not waste the precious commodity.
Christmas was drawing close. The eight cabins were booked out for the
Christmas/New Year break; all by family groups. My plans for the “Silly
Season” were well underway. The larder and bar were being stocked. I
made sure I had more than sufficient supplies of diesel for the running
of the generators. The main holding tank was full, and I had a couple
of spare drums…just in case! Everything was running smoothly…I was on
top of it all.
Cyclone Joy formed out in the Coral Sea, off the coast from Cairns on
18th December, 1990. Joy slowly travelled westward; and then remained
hovering off the coast of Cairns for almost a week, causing rough seas
and high tides along the northern beaches between Port Douglas and
Cairns; teasing everyone’s equilibrium. With little or no forewarning,
on Christmas Eve, tiring of the Cairns’ area, Joy picked up speed and
headed southwards.
From the outset of Cyclone Joy’s appearance on the 18th, I’d been
monitoring her activity and progress daily; not only by radio, but also
by frequent telephone contact with friends who lived at Clifton Beach,
north of Cairns. When living on a tropical island or at any of the
coastal and near coastal areas in North Queensland it’s mandatory to
keep track of a cyclone’s erratic movements.
My commonsense kicked into gear a week before Christmas. I knew I'd
need someone to give me a hand through the busy time ahead. A couple of
weeks earlier I'd met a very nice young girl, Alice, who had visited
the island for a weekend with her young boyfriend. Alice's father, Ian,
was a guest on the island at that time; so the young folk joined him
for a couple of days. Rick, Alice's new boyfriend was a nice young
lad. He was working as a jackaroo on a property out from Sarina, south
of Mackay. Rick wads off the land. His family were beef cattle people.
Alice took a gap-year off from her university studies, having decided to
travel around Australia, much to her mother's dismay.
Alice had been a governess at another cattle property outside of Sarina,
but when I met her she was no longer working in that role. She was
staying at a backpackers' hostel in Mackay, run by friends of her
father, Ian.
So I had a light bulb moment. Alice would be my ideal work companion
through the Christmas period. Fortunately, when I offered her the job
(a very low paying position...I couldn't afford to pay her much over and
beyond her board and keep...including access to the bar!), she jumped
at the chance. I picked her up by boat from the mainland the following
day. No time was wasted dilly-dalllying over decisions!
Alice and I had ball together. We had so much fun. I may have been old
enough to be her mother, but we got on like a house on fire. She was a
great, intelligent young woman with a zest for life.
After a few days Alice asked if it would be okay if Jill, her mother,
came to the island to spend Christmas. They'd not seen each other for a
while. I agreed, of course. Jill lived in Melbourne; Melbourne was
Alice's home city. Jill was thrilled at the invitation, and like her
daughter, wasted no time in heading north to Queensland...and Newry
Island. I had to pick her up Christmas morning along with other guests
who had booked to come across to the island for Christmas Day. All was
set in place.
Christmas Eve arrived on Newry Island, bringing with it a clear blue sky
and gentle sea breezes. The temperature was around 28C…perfect summer
weather; perfect Christmas weather, with not a hint of a storm on the
horizon, let alone a cyclone. My day was filled with a multitude of
chores as I prepared the following day’s Christmas lunch for my expected
30 guests. I kept patting myself on the back for having the good sense
to ask Alice to be my off-sider. She was wonderful with people. She
was a smart girl; and she was the life of the party. I couldn't have
wished for more.
My Christmas lunch menu consisted mainly of cold fare, accompanied by
couple of hot dishes. The final preparation of the planned dishes I’d
complete on Christmas morning after I'd picked up the balance of my
guests. Early Christmas morning I planned to make two boat trips across
to Victor Creek on the mainland to collect guests who’d booked to stay
on the island for a week, intending to enjoy New Year on the island as
well. Amongst those guests were also some day-trippers, overseas
backpackers.
My holidaying guests were mainly family groups with little children.
Along with the family groups, a couple of young fellows in the mid-to
late twenties who often stopped off at the island during their fishing
expeditions chose the island to be their Christmas destination, too.
Early Christmas Eve morning with broad smiles across their friendly
faces they arrived by their own boat, a 12-foot runabout. They anchored
it close inshore. I suggested to deaf ears that it would be more
sensible to anchor their boat out near where my boat was moored; in the
deep waters of the channel between Newry Island and Outer Newry Island;
but I’m a woman…what would I know about boats?
Christmas Eve evening we partied a bit, of course. Later on in the
night once the guests returned to their cabins after spending a fun
evening mingling at the bar enjoying a few Christmas spirits of the
liquid kind, Alice and I finished off decorating the extensive,
temporary buffet table that was to hold the elaborate luncheon feast.
The table was adorned with palm fronds, banana leaves and bougainvillea
blooms; along with various other specimens of indigenous greenery
befitting a tropical island. Once satisfied with our efforts, we stood
back and admired our excellent creativity! The long table looked
spectacular.
The Christmas tree standing proudly at one end of the dining room. Alice
and I had found a suitable dead, weathered remnant of what had once
been a living tree. Sprayed white, it had been given a rebirth; a second
life. It looked wonderful - sparse but it stood proudly in its place.
Glimmering silver, white, red and green baubles hung from its spindly
limbs; the glistening balls of varying sizes reflected the moon’s rays
as they shimmered through the full-length windows that looked out across
the beach to the softly murmuring sea; a perfect ending to a perfect
Christmas Eve.
I felt excited about the coming day.
The Christmas spirit on the island was alive and well; it was
contagious. Those who had children assured the little ones that Santa
knew where they were; lemonade and slices of my rich fruit cake were
left on the end of the bar for Santa’s anticipated arrival during the
night. My luncheon preparations were all but completed. Feeling
confident everything would run smoothly, my first Christmas Day on Newry
Island couldn’t arrive quickly enough. I could see only calm waters
ahead.
By 8 am Christmas morning I’d already completed two return boat trips
between the island and Victor Creek, Seaforth to fetch the balance of my
guests; day-trippers intent on returning to the mainland later in the
afternoon after a leisurely tropical island Christmas lunch. In all,
including the guests already settled in the cabins, on Christmas Day the
final number of guests increased from 30 to 31; all keen to partake in
my special luncheon fare and the island’s ambience. Some guests, of
course, were staying beyond Christmas Day. Five young children were
included in the number; and amongst those children were twins, aged
around 20 months.
After my second group of day-trippers disembarked, I motored out to the
mooring to secure my 21-foot Trojan De Havilland; and then, I rowed
ashore in my little red tender. The little red dinghy had two wheels
beneath its stern, making it easy for me to pull along the sand. Upon
reaching the beach, I pulled it right up to the foreshore, and tied it
securely to one of She-Oaks fringing the beach.
Once satisfied everyone, including Jill, Alice's mother was happily
settled in and relaxed, I raced into the kitchen to begin finalising my
luncheon preparations. Alice kept an eye on the bar because I couldn’t
be in two places at once; but along with my two regular fishermen guests
also tended to everyone’s requirements if needed, that end was
well-covered; therefore taking a lot of pressure off my shoulders. I
had no concerns that anyone would take advantage. My guests couldn’t go
anywhere. They were on an island surrounded by water; with me the sole
operator of the boat. I was their only means of escape! I held the
tiller, as it were!
From the moment I stepped into the kitchen, I didn’t see daylight again
until around 11.30 am when I emerged from the galley to begin laying out
salads and various other cold platters onto the long buffet table in
the dining area, in readiness for the hungry hordes to descend.
Glancing towards the ocean, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The weather was
unrecognisable to what it had been only three or so hours earlier when
I’d returned from my second trip to the mainland. The conditions had
changed for the worst. A frenzied sea was being whipped up by a
boisterous, unrelenting wind; it whirled erratically and wildly. The
once clear sky was now covered in low-hanging, steely-grey clouds that
groaned and moaned from their heavy load. The burdensome clouds
threatened to explode at any moment.
I hadn't the time, nor did I have the ability to row out to my boat on
its mooring in the channel. To try to do so would have been madness.
When I first arrived on Newry months previously, I’d been advised that
in the event of a cyclone for me to anchor the island boat securely away
up in the far reaches of the creek across the channel on neighbouring
Outer Newry Island. The turbulent system now racing southwards was
moving too quickly for me to act.
CHAPTER TWO
Departing the Cairns region, Cyclone Joy was determined to cause havoc
in my home territory, having given little forewarning of her intentions.
The relocation of my boat to the upper reaches of the creek was an
impossible feat for me to achieve under the conditions in which I found
myself. There was no way I could safely row my little dinghy out to my
motor boat to enable me to do what should be done, and what would have
been done if I’d had sufficient warning. Even if I had been able to
make it out to my boat, I would have found it impossible to row back
from the creek over on Outer Newry; back across the churlish channel,
and then across the turgid waters to the island’s main beach. Such
attempts would have been rife with danger; I’ve always suffered a huge
desire for self-preservation. There was absolutely nothing I could do
about the predicament. It was far too late! I had no choice; my boat had
to remain on its mooring for the duration of the cyclone; and my
fingers had to remain permanently crossed. I had no idea how for how
long in either case!
My happy guests seemed oblivious to the outside turmoil. Chattering
animatedly amongst each other, they’d begun to mill around the bar and
dining area in eager anticipation of their Christmas lunch; pangs of
hunger niggled. The mixed aromas of pork, ham, turkey, chicken, beef and
seafood, amongst other tempting fare wafting from the kitchen
heightened their expectations.
Immediately upon seeing the drastic weather changes, I’d gotten onto my
air-sea radio to find out the finer details of what was going on.
As my guests were altogether in the same area, I took the opportunity to
inform the merrymakers that Cyclone Joy was on the move, and she was
heading rapidly in a southerly direction. It was clear for all to see
from the weather’s rapid change in behaviour over the previous couple of
hours that the calm conditions of earlier in the morning were no
longer. What had once been a mirrored mill pond was now an angry, ugly
cauldron of metallic waves battling for supremacy.
Calmly, I drew the day-trippers’ attention to the dire
situation. Without embellishment, I told them I feared their day trip
had been extended into longer than one day; and perhaps even more if the
weather conditions didn’t improve. I pointed out the impossibility of
my taking them back to the mainland. They took the news on the chin and
were philosophical about it. Everyone appeared to understand what was
going on outside was far beyond my control. Nature had the upper hand;
and was the sole conductor of what was going on in the outer
extremities, at least.
As I was discussing the situation at hand, I was stunned to see a figure
clad in rugged yellow wet weather gear striding up the beach. Battling
the strong wind that forced his PVC raincoat flush against his body, his
hooded head was lowered in an effort to protect his face against the
stinging sand being whipped up by the unapologetic gale.
Rain had begun to fall, albeit lightly at that stage. However, it was
obvious the churning, dense masses of gun-metal clouds were impatient to
be rid of their burden; a downpour was imminent.
The image of the man striding up the beach battling the elements
reminded of Philip Rhayader, the protagonist in Paul Gallico’s stirring
short novella, “The Snow Goose”.
As he drew closer, I recognised the figure to be Ziggy, a retired
professional fisherman, who, many years earlier when he was still a
young man, had emigrated from Sweden. Ziggy was a regular visitor to the
island. He and his wife, who I never met, lived on a property between
Seaforth and the Bruce Highway. I liked Ziggy. I always welcomed his
visits. He’d prop himself up at the bar, order a cold beer, and then,
he’d settle in for a chat. The old sea-farer would only have a couple
of cold beers, or perhaps a nip of rum depending on the weather or
temperature. It was the conversation he preferred more than the drink.
At a guess, Ziggy would have been in his mid to late Sixties at that
stage. With his weathered face and calloused hands from his years spent
at sea, it was a little difficult to pin-point his exact age. Ziggy was
as strong as a Mallee bull; and as gentle as a lamb.
Often, during his visits, he’d crank-start the larger of my two diesel
generators for me, believing it to be a very dangerous job for a woman.
It was a dangerous activity; for either a male or a female if care
wasn’t taken. If the handle got stuck during the cranking, it would
release itself, and then fly through the air at a dangerous pace. If
someone’s head was the target; and usually that head would belong to the
one trying to start the gennie; that head wouldn’t remain attached to
the neck for long if it was struck!
Ziggy was a gentleman of the old school; and to satisfy a gentleman’s
wishes, I gratefully accepted his offers to start the generator when he
visited. Of course, Ziggy wasn’t present every day so the perilous
operation was mine to handle all other times, anyway. I alternated
between the two generators, sometime opting for the button-start smaller
generator of the two. Using the smaller of the two was also kinder on
fuel. Which generator I operated depended on my diesel supply, my mood,
and on how strong I felt on the day! I didn’t run the generator
non-stop. I narrowed down the hours of usage by trial and error;
limiting usage to just enough hours to maintain the temperature in the
freezer and refrigerators. The times I had no guests on the island, I
shut the generator down not long after nightfall, if not, at times,
beforehand. I’d read by torch and candlelight. However, as I was always
up at the crack of dawn, if not before, early nights were welcome. I
never wasted diesel by running the generators to watch television when I
was alone on the island at night; to me that was unnecessary wastage,
not just of diesel, but of money, as well. Transporting fuel from the
mainland to the holding tank on the island was a quite a massive
operation for me to organize; it took quite lot of planning, coercing
and bartering to set into place; so the less I used, the better it was
on the whole.
A couple of keen young fellows from over Seaforth way were willingly to
operate the old wooden barge as it slowly lumbered along under its load
of drums full of diesel, not only for the adventure, but for the carton
of beer and bottle of bourbon or rum offered as incentive. The trip
across to the mainland had to be carefully orchestrated. The departure
had to be when it was high tide on the island; and preferably just as it
was on the turn of going out. At the mainland end, the tide had to be
again on the turn of being on the rise once more, so when the loaded
barged arrived back at the island, the tide was once again high; to
enable the barge to be pulled up close to the foreshore; making it
easier to pump the fuel from the drums up to the holding tank
In the middle of the growing mayhem, my friend, Ziggy, a man of generous
spirit strode up the beach, having selfishly tackled the
ever-increasing turmoil created by tropical Cyclone Joy as she made her
journey towards my little corner of the world. Ziggy had made a
determined trip in his tinnie across the wild waters from Victor Creek
to get my promise not to take my boat out again until after all the
craziness had passed. There are not many people who would do such a
thing. He was a good friend.
I assured him I had no intentions of going anywhere; that my feet and
that of my guests were firmly planted on the island’s sand. I was very
appreciative of his warnings; and that he’d risked his own safety in
making the trip to the island. Ziggy had been fishing the area for many
years. He knew the local waters like the back of his hands. Before
tackling the churlish sea, he’d anchored his larger fishing boat further
up the mangrove-protected reaches of Victor Creek in an endeavour to
safely ride out the storm; well away from the cyclone’s fury.
Ziggy’s visit was brief. There was no time to waste with frivolous
chit-chat. Once he was satisfied that I wouldn’t take any chances, he
hastened away to spend the duration of the destructive weather system
securely ensconced in his larger fishing boat, out of Joy and harm’s
way. After thanking him for his concern, and faithfully promising I’d
take all precautions, I bade Ziggy safe passage and farewell.
Turning to my intrigued guests, I advised them that they were now my
prisoners for as long as the wild, unpredictable weather remained. I
laid out clearly to them the situation as it stood, leaving no
misunderstandings. Most had overheard what Ziggy told me, and even if
they felt disturbed about the predicament in which they found
themselves, they understood there was nothing that could be done about
it, other than to follow my instructions to the letter. The
day-trippers were the ones mostly affected. All, but one, understood it
was impossible for me to get anyone off the island; that trying to do
so would put not only their lives, but my own, in jeopardy. The weather
was closing in at a dangerously rapid rate. The ocean was being whipped
up into a tempestuous mood. And all of my guests, bar one, accepted
wholeheartedly they had no other choice but to remain in the island.
There is always “one” who chooses to go against the flow!
And, on that Christmas Day on Newry Island, that “one” decided to morph
into Fletcher Christian; making me his enemy, Captain Bligh!
Until that moment, I’d hardly noticed this guest. He was a nondescript
person who had blended into the crowd; someone with no noticeable
features or outstanding personality; not one who would cause a second
glance. I did recognise him as one of the day-trippers I’d ferried to
the island earlier in the morning.
The disgruntled day-tripper took it upon himself to start a mutiny.
Like a politician trying to garner support and numbers from his peers,
he did his upmost to turn the others against me. One by one he took each
aside, in front of me, whispering “sweet horribles” about me in their
ears. He demanded I take him off the island immediately; and he urged
the rest of the guests to demand similar of me.
Unflinching, nor taking a backward step, I firmly stood my ground. I
looked directly in his eyes as I stated, loud enough for his ears and
those of the others milling around us.
“No one is going anywhere. I make the rules on this island. You heard
what Ziggy said. I respect that man’s knowledge and advice. He’s been
fishing these waters for many, many years; he put his own life at risk
to come here this morning. Even Blind Freddy could see that any attempt
to take a boat out now, in this weather, would be fatal! I make the
guarantee, here and now, that Ziggy’s boat will be the last boat we will
see until this upheaval has passed; and I have no idea when that will
be. A cyclone is on its way; and it’s moving very quickly. Who knows
what lies ahead? I sure as Hell don’t.”
Still staring at him, I continued. “And just so you’re fully aware -
firstly, I have no intentions of killing myself; that’s first on my
list! Secondly, I have no intentions of killing you, or the rest of my
guests! Is that clear, or do you want me to repeat it all again?”
At this point, he tried to interject, but I would have no part of it. I shut him down the moment he opened his mouth.
Without batting an eyelid and not shifting my feet, I leaned my body a little closer towards him, not losing eye contact with him.
I offered him an out: “If you want to go back to the mainland, you can. I
won’t stop you. There’s the ocean. All you have to do is walk down to
the water’s edge; jump in and start swimming; but don’t expect me to
save you when you get into trouble! Do you have anything further to
add?”
Like a mongrel dog with its tail between its legs, off he slunk. My
other guests who had remained around me as if in a circle of confidence
smiled as one, saying I had their full support. A possible mutiny had
been successfully nullified. I never had a doubt that it wouldn’t be!
I, alone, was solely responsible for all people, matters and situations
on the island; and I needed everyone to be on the same page as I was.
Desirous of keeping my guests together safely in the one area, I advised
them to gather their possession from their respective cabins; and then,
to congregate and set up camp in the main building. At my suggestion,
the male members brought down mattresses from the cabins to lie on the
painted concrete floor of the dining area. A couple of the day-trippers
even spilled into one of the upstairs rooms that were part of my
private, personal quarters; but my privacy was way down on the list of
importance at that point. I didn’t want anyone to be in their cabins,
away from the main building and other people. It was too dangerous a
scenario. Everyone happily complied. Without further ado, they moved
their belongings, including their children, out of the cabins into the
main dining room. Marking their territory, they willingly bunkered down
for the duration; however long that was going to be.
The rain started pelting down as only it can in the tropics; and, more
particularly, when a tropical cyclone is nearby. A merciless, vicious
wind howled; its cries akin to a hundred wailing banshees.
Water was everywhere; inside and out. Everything was wet and getting
wetter by the minute. There was nothing I could do to rectify the
situation. On the bar and on the floor behind the bar were buckets and
large cooking pots strategically placed to catch the multitude of
unstoppable leaks. The dining area, now the guest accommodation, was
similarly decorated with whatever containers I could lay my hands on! I
strung a clothes line across the only dry area of the bar to enable
guests to hang some of their personals in a vain effort to get them
dried.
Fortunately, we could see a humorous side in the shemozzle!
Even though water was everywhere, none was flowing from the island’s dam
to the buildings. As strange as it was, in the middle of torrential
rain, I had no water; none for showers; toilets or drinking! Not a drop
was coming from the taps. Because the dam had been so low up until
Christmas Day, the pump was still high and dry; well, not dry…but high,
at least!
Around 9 pm Christmas night, I asked one of the fishermen to accompany
me up to the dam in an attempt to solve the problem. Each armed with a
flashlight, we slowly made our way through the darkness, battling wind,
rain and unruly tree branches, hoping to God we didn’t get struck by any
identified, or unidentified flying objects. I wore what was to become
my uniform for the next three days, a black, one-piece bathing suit. I
knew I’d be continually wet from going back and forth in the rain
checking the outside perimeters; I could see no point to my wearing
anything other than a swimsuit.
In the darkness, being lashed by the belting rain and uncontrollable
wind, my off-sider and I discovered it was impossible under the
conditions for us to fix the problem with the water pump. We tried to
syphon water, but to no avail. Giving up, despondently we trekked back
to the main building. Admitting defeat, we decided the better idea was
to attend to the pump at the crack of dawn, when, at least we’d have
natural light to work by. There was nothing we could do until then.
Returning to the main building, I informed everyone of the problem, and
asked if they needed to use the amenities, it was best that they added
to the natural flow of water outside when Nature called upon them; or if
they found their circumstances to be more dire, to try their utmost to
wait until after dawn’s early light and the water problem had been
fixed! Failing that, perhaps grab the shovel and do what had to be done,
if that be the case! Everyone took my instructions good-naturedly.
There was no other choice; it was not a time for genteel niceties!
As hoped, the pump problem was corrected at dawn’s first light. However,
some of the guests decided it was much more fun to shower outside under
the downpipe at one corner of the building with the ocean as a
backdrop. I gave them bars of soap and left them to it! All modesty
disappeared and was replaced with feelings of brazen good-humour. No one
went totally au naturale – not that I noticed, anyway; and I wouldn’t
have cared if they had.
It was mid-summer; showering out in the heavy rain became an enjoyable
pastime, and one the younger folk, the overseas back-packers, in
particular, continued doing through the deluge. Their high-spirited
acceptance of the situation was a good thing because their pleasure
lifted some of the weight off my shoulders; shoulders that were already
sagging beneath the burden; although, I did my best to hide my feelings
from the guests. None noticed my inner tensions, which I kept well
hidden within me. I had to be staunchly in control, or at least give
the impression of being so!
Amongst the day-trippers were backpackers from Canada, Japan and
Germany. Young people a long way away from their families and loved
ones. It turned into the greatest adventure of their lives! I’d be
brave enough to lay a bet of a million dollars that to this day they
still talk about the Christmas they spent on an Australian island!
I didn’t sleep Christmas night other than to snatch a couple of restless
minutes here and there. My senses were on high alert. At 2 am, the
two young fishermen and I were outside in the middle of it all, checking
around the cabins, the generator shed and other areas ensure everything
was securely battened down; or, at least, battened down as much as
possible. It was a difficult task to successfully achieve completely. I
just had to keep my fingers crossed and hope for the best. The
pelting rain, like piercing needles, stung my body while I struggled to
fight against the powerful force of the wind. I was taking one step
forward, and three back, it seemed.
Meanwhile, my boat was out on its mooring bucking like a bronco. All I
could do was watch on, hoping against hope that the rope, anchor and
mooring held. Seeing the boat lurch and strain on its mooring is not a
sight I’d wish to revisit. There were times I thought it had broken
free because the boat appeared to be heading for the open waters, way
beyond its mooring, but as quickly it would return closer to the buoy. I
began to wonder how my nerves were going to last the distance,
unhindered; but I knew I had to push all negative thoughts from my mind.
A mental breakdown could wait until after Cyclone Joy had petered out!
Surrounded by sleeping bodies, I sat, alone, in a fretful, sleepless vigil throughout the rest of the early morn.
Moments before dawn, one of the things I had feared would happen,
happened. The boat belonging to the two fishermen that they'd anchored
in shore got swamped; more than just swamped; it flipped over
completely. The angry sea had pushed vigorously up to and against the
foreshore, dumping pumice stone and foam along the high edge of the
beach. She-Oaks bordering the beach writhed and groaned; helpless
victims of the unforgiving cyclonic wind.
Little could be done about the upturned boat. The boat owner and his
mate salvaged what they could; everything that was floatable was
floating; some possessions had headed out to sea; some had sunk and
other bits and pieces had made it to shore. Nothing further could be
done until after the turbulence abated.
One of the young men decided the generator shed and the heat generated
therein was a good area for him to dry his soaked clothes; that is,
until the following day when he discovered diesel and oil had been
flicked onto his shirts and shorts. He remained in good spirits, even
when he found his new t-shirt, a special Christmas Day purchase, had
been ruined forever.
Early Boxing Day morning the activity going on outside hadn’t abated; in
fact, it had increased in tempo; the rest of my stranded guests began
to stir. They seemed to be relishing the conditions; it was more fun
than time spent at Adventure World! Sleep may not have come easily to
me; it hadn’t come to me at all, but it hadn’t bypassed them. A fact
that pleased me, actually.
Earlier, I’d set up an urn on a table at the far end of the kitchen so
the guests could make their own coffee and tea. I suggested that
everyone prepare breakfasts for themselves. On the table that held the
urn, I placed the toaster, plates, bowls and cutlery, along with cereal,
bread, butter and spreads. Those guests with families who had been
staying in the cabins added their own food supplies to the table.
Everyone was happy to share and to take care of themselves,
understanding that I had a lot on my plate – not my breakfast plate!
While they attended to their own needs, I began converting some of the
leftovers from Christmas lunch into large pots of goulash and soups; and
whatever else I could concoct to feed the masses in an uncomplicated,
simple way. We were in for the long haul. I told everyone to help
themselves to the food whenever they felt hunger pains; and to the
coffee and tea etc.
Fortunately, whether it’s a good trait or not, when I cater I always
over-cater; always fearful of “not having enough”. Invariably, I have
more than enough to feed not only the army, but the air force and navy,
as well! My cupboards, freezers and refrigerators have always resembled
those of a supermarket; a large supermarket; it’s a habit that, over
the years, has proved its worth; particularly when living on an island
where you can’t just pop down to the corner store if you run out of
bread, milk or whatever else. Therefore, a weight was removed from my
shoulders. I felt confident I had enough supplies to outlast the storm,
and then some.
Unfortunately, the twin toddlers holidaying with their parents ran out
of nappies fairly quickly. I held no back-up nappy stocks on the
island, of course, so I gave the mother some towels and a pair of
scissors with the suggestion she use the towels wisely and sparingly!
She was happy to oblige.
Within hours, there was no dry bedding left anywhere. Sheets that had
already been on the clothes’ line before the cyclone made its unexpected
presence known just got dirtier and dirtier from the heavy rain as it
viciously splashed the dirt up upon them. The rain poured in a non-stop
torrent. It was pointless taking the sheets off the lines because I had
nowhere to put them! I had to turn a blind eye and hope for the best.
There were more important issues that needed my attention at that stage.
Once their appetites were sated, the shipwrecked guests settled down and
began occupying themselves. Some conversed; others played cards or
darts; some quietly read, lost in their own thoughts. Generally, all
were in acceptance of the situation in which we found ourselves. There
was nothing else they could do, other than accept it. All of us, me
included, were isolated; marooned. I’d made it clear that there was no
way in the world I was taking my boat out again until the weather
abated; and they respected my decision. Pushkin and Rimsky, my cats,
remained upstairs in my bedroom eager to stay away from all the activity
downstairs and outside.
The guests understood my reasons for asking them not to go off wandering
alone; and if they did intend going somewhere, for whatever reason, I
asked that they take someone with them, and that they inform me of their
plans beforehand. I explained I had the right to veto any plan I
deemed unnecessary or dangerous, or both. My fears were if they wandered
away alone somewhere they could get injured from a falling branch, tree
or other flying objects. If that occurred, our problems would be
compounded.
CHAPTER THREE
There was no respite from the weather throughout Boxing Day and the
next. The woeful conditions tested the patience of my guests, but
everyone displayed amazing tolerance, great resilience and strong
resolve. All were fully aware that complaining wasn’t going to alter
Nature’s course and intent. Even Bruce didn’t complain; he communicated
with no one else; nor did he with me. He chose to remain in sombre
silence. After I’d privately advised the other guests, out of his
earshot, to give him a wide berth, they were content to leave him well
enough alone. Bruce, my would-be, try-hard mutineer stayed glued in the
armchair in front of the televised cricket. It was his chosen little
corner of the world, and, along with the others, I, too, didn’t intrude
upon his space. His silent wish was our command. We were all happy to
oblige and leave him to his own miserable self. Bruce watched the
cricket by day, and he slept in the chair at night. He didn’t partake in
conversations, card games or other activities. He never offered to
help. The only times he stirred was to visit the ablutions’ block; and,
perhaps, to make himself a coffee or tea! However, I can’t recall him
doing so often; but then, I had more important issues to attend to than
watch his every movement. In general, I ignored him. After my chat with
him up in the unfinished concrete-block building, he adhered to my
advices, and didn’t wander off again.
By the time Boxing Day dawned, my stranded guests felt at home. I
didn’t have to wait on them. As instructed, without further prompting,
they helped themselves to the food and prepared whatever they wanted, if
and whenever they felt like it. The island kitchen became familiar
territory to them. They did their own cleaning and washing up after
their meals. Meal times were erratic – it was a case of “catch as catch
can” or “eat when you’re hungry”. The weight of catering for them was
lifted from my shoulders. An ample supply of food ensured I had no
concerns about provisions running out.
Everyone seemed content with their card games, conversation, books and
darts. The children were well behaved. They kept themselves
entertained and amused with their Christmas presents. The novelty of
the new toys hadn’t worn off. I’d received word through my two-way
radio that flooding was occurring in the surrounding areas of Mackay
where a number of my guests lived. Naturally, they were concerned, but
they accepted their hands were tied. They adopted a “c’est la vie”
approach. In the most, they kept their concerns to themselves, or, at
least didn’t share them with me in depth. They were a good-natured group
of people…on the whole; all but one! My guests had free access to the
phone, so were able to call family, friends and neighbours for updates
on what was happening on the mainland at their own properties.
During Boxing Day my army of helpers lugged spare mattresses,
water-filled bottles and a few other necessities up the rise to the rear
of the main premises, to the concrete bunker, Bruce’s “hide-out”. I
started to feel like I was Snow White with all my eager helpers! It was
in the incomplete, but sturdy concrete-block building that I intended
to secure the guests if the cyclone threatened to arrive on our
doorstep.
A narrow room ran behind the bar in the main building; it acted as a
perfect wine cellar; the constant cool temperature rarely varied making
the space ideal for that purpose. The room also held back-up liquor
stocks and glasses. The rear wall of the area was natural rock; the
section had been excavated into the rocky side of the hill that rose up
behind the main building. I believed the area would be a safe haven for
me to ride out the cyclone; if worst came to worst; not only because it
was rock solid, but also because the island telephone was nearby, as
was my air-sea radio. Easy access to the outside world, by radio and
telephone while being able to remain safely in the centre of things was
imperative. Hopefully, the guests would be protected in the concrete
bunker; and I’d also be safe in my “cave”. It was my intention to have
Pushkin and Rimsky, my two cats, with me. They’d not ventured from my
upstairs living quarters; or should I say, out from beneath my bed! The
limited space under the bed was their refuge. I’d set up a litter box
for them, along with their food bowls, so they had no need to wander
far, even if they had the desire to do so, which they didn’t.
The bar remained open throughout the duration of the disturbance.
However, alcohol was the furthermost thing from everyone’s mind; and
mine more particularly. I didn’t even raise a glass of good cheer on
Christmas Day. From the moment I noticed the change in the weather I’d
not given alcohol a thought. I had far too much on my plate, and too
many people whose safety was my responsibility. Their welfare was of
utmost importance as was keeping a clear head! It was on me to keep
them safe; and also ensure that no one panicked. Panic can cause so
many problems and, if allowed run free, it can spread like a virus. It
was important I kept my wits about me every single second; I couldn’t
drop the ball. The outside areas needed my constant watchful eye and
attention. I’d never been in a similar situation before; so, in truth, I
was “colouring-in by numbers”; all the while hoping I was making the
correct decisions.
On Christmas Eve before the weather decided go on its rampage, I’d
joined my guests for a few drinks in celebration of the Christmas
season. Everyone that evening was in a party mood. At that stage, none
of us was aware what lay ahead.
The commotion raged outside. Christmas Day came and went shrouded in
leaden clouds, pouring rain and gale-force winds; and then "tomorrow"
became Boxing Day; and then the next day followed with nary a drop of
Christmas spirit passing my lips; and, I might add, very little crossed
the lips of my guests, as well. Bar sales were down, but I didn’t charge
anyone for a drink when they wanted one, anyway.
I was operating solely on adrenaline with little assistance from
caffeine even. I was too occupied elsewhere to prepare coffee for
myself; time meant little to me, but yet, on the other hand, it meant a
lot. Day or night – it all seemed the same; meal times, for me, at
least, didn’t exist. I suppose I ate. I can’t remember. The desire for
food or coffee didn’t enter my mind very often, if at all. Other more
important matters occupied my mind.
Continually on tenterhooks, I watched in fearful wonder as my boat
struggled to break free from its mooring; hour after rugged hour.
Witnessing its strenuous, never-ending battle out in the channel was
akin to watching a frenetic bronco at a rodeo! Under great pressure and
strain, I, too was in a constant battle; one with myself to ensure I
kept my inner concerns well-hidden from my guests.
So, the pattern continued, unchanged, for the two days following
Christmas Day; Christmas Day that seemed long gone in the distant past;
the past was blurred; the present hectic and worrying; the future, an
unknown quantity.
The rain showed no indication of ceasing. The wild, angry wind
stubbornly refused to abate. Seconds turned into minutes; and the
minutes became hours; and my boat kept up its endless tug-of-war with
and against its mooring in determined attempts to break free.
As the others slept, I spent sleepless hours wondering when the
commotion was going to cease. However, I knew my concerns wouldn’t be
over until I’d finally ferried everyone safely back to the mainland; and
then, myself, back to the island. As yet, I could see no light on the
horizon. I couldn’t even see the horizon!
And all the while my heart pounded as it travelled back and forth from the pit of my stomach to my throat!
Early evening of the third day, an announcement came over my two-way
radio that Cyclone Joy had crossed the coast between Newry Island and
Airlie Beach to the north; and by doing so, the cyclone had turned into a
tropical low; a rain depression. Loud yells of happiness and relief
echoed throughout the building. We all jumped up and down; clapping
each other on the back, and shaking hands. The mood in the room had
shifted and lifted within seconds.
Seeing the happiness of everyone, I decided to make a declaration.
Grabbing their attention, I announced loudly and joyfully to all and
sundry that a party must begin in celebration. Once I knew we were safe
from harm, the time had arrived for everyone to let their hair down.
We all deserved a reward! We’d been living tightly-coiled, even if none
of us would admit to it (me, in particular); a release was necessary. A
second invitation wasn’t required. As one, the crowd surged to the bar.
Well, bar one...to the bar they all went!
After making my announcement, I walked across to the television. Bruce
hadn’t stirred. He remained sitting in the armchair, staring at the
screen throughout the surrounding joviality.
I called out cheerfully: “I think it’s time this thing went off, and
some music goes on in its place! We need music! Let’s dance! It’s time
to celebrate! We deserve it!”
Without having to be asked, the two fishermen stepped behind the bar and took over the role of barmen.
I turned of the television set, and switched on the stereo. Bruce rose
from his chair. He stepped across to where the entertainment systems
were, and he turned off the music, and then flicked the television back
on.
“Hmmmm...” I thought. “After all, it is my TV set; and it is my stereo...hmmmm!”
“No, Bruce,” I said to him, politely, with a smile on my face. “You’ve
had your go. You’ve sat here watching the cricket for the past couple of
days; and no one bothered you; they left you alone, as you wanted. Now
it’s time for everyone else to have some fun. Everyone has shown you
polite consideration over the past few days; they allowed you your space
and privacy - and now it’s your turn to show them some respect in
return. It’s time for some music. It's time we all relaxed and had some
fun! You can join in if you wish...if not, that's okay...but don't spoil
it for everyone else!”
Again, I switched off the television, and turned on the stereo system.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash. My reflexes automatically
flew into action. I leaned quickly to my left, out of the way of a
fist whizzing past my right ear! I felt a slight breeze as it passed by.
Turning, I saw my unsuccessful, would-be assailant was Bruce! He'd
lashed out at me, his hand closed into a fist! There would have been
only enough room for a cigarette paper to fit between his fist and the
side of my head
In the immediate moment thereafter, it wasn’t Bruce I saw, though. All I
could see was black, followed by a stark, glistening white - the
colours of my anger; and then nothing! The rage I felt obliterated all
else around me! Only a couple of times in my life have I felt such
unbridled anger. An intense, almost indescribable anger took over my
being; it consumed every single part of me. .
Never in my life had a man struck me; and, one thing of which I’ve
always been certain is - if it ever did happen, it would only happen
once - it would never happen a second time. By my swift thinking and
movement and half a millimeter or less, I wasn’t struck that night.
Bruce missed his target because I’d fortunately caught a glimpse of his
movement, and had deftly leaned out of the way of his fist. That he
missed didn’t make me any less angry. I was furious. For a second or
two I shook in anger; and then, stillness overcame me. I felt as if I
was surrounded by a fluorescent white aura. I think it was the depth of
fury I was experiencing.
I sensed my guests’ intake of breaths. Everything had happened so
quickly, I felt as if I was suddenly in the midst of a vacuum. People
describe “out of body” experiences. It probably is the best description
of how I was feeling at that moment.
I spun around with the intent of beating the shit out of my would-be
attacker, but I stopped myself just as promptly. In the moment, the
strength I felt was Herculean. I knew if I struck out, all hell would
break loose. There were little children in the room who needed my
consideration. I wasn’t worried that I’d be hurt. Of one thing I was
certain; it wouldn’t be me who’d be hurt; I had absolutely no doubt
about that! My anger had given me a feeling of strength that I'd never
felt within myself before; I felt – no – I knew I’d overcome the weak
creature before me, if I chose that course.
However, commonsense arrived just as quickly as the aforesaid thought. I
pulled back, and then went over to the telephone. I picked up the
handpiece to ring the Mackay police; but, as quickly, I replaced the
receiver before dialing because I knew ringing the police was useless.
What could they do? The ocean was still rough; darkness had fallen. The
police were in Mackay. Mackay was over 50kms away, by land and sea.
Many thoughts flooded my mind in an instant. The two men who’d joined
me in the search for Bruce on Boxing Day morning took me aside, and
asked me to let them take him down to the beach to teach him a lesson or
two. I didn’t think that was a very good idea, either!
“No!” I told them in no uncertain terms. “That’s not going to prove
anything; it won't solve anything. It would only make matters worse.
We’ve got kiddies to consider. He didn’t hurt me...he didn’t manage to
connect. I saw him coming. So, let’s just get past this...right now!
Let’s dance! Let the party begin! We’re not going to have any
violence. He’s not worth it! Just ignore the bastard! I’ll deal with
him later.”
And, as the saying goes, I began dancing like nobody was watching. I
had to – to rid myself of the anger coursing through my body and mind. I
had to dispose of it somehow. Dancing was my way of getting rid of the
intensity of my wrath.
Turning the volume up high on the stereo system, I let “The Travelling
Wilburys”, Bruce Springsteen, Chris Rea, Bob Seger, Dan Seals and a few
others take control of the night.
My two holidaying fishermen continued their job as my assistant barmen
along with my P. R. girl, Alice. For a couple of hours everyone let
their hair down, realising how lucky we’d been. We danced and danced to
the music as if, in the saying, "nobody was watching!" We didn't care
who noticed our joy at Cyclone Joy's departure!
We'd dodged a bullet...in more ways than one! Successfully and safely, we’d ridden out the storm!
All the while everyone ignored Bruce as if he wasn’t there. He was
invisible; he didn’t partake in the fun. He remained seated; sullenly
contrite in “his” arm chair.
Of course, once the cyclone had crossed the coast, my guests were eager
to leave the island; and I was as eager, if not more so, to ferry them
back to the mainland. Those who lived in the Mackay area were impatient
to return to their homes and face what was ahead of them there. I
asked that they gather their gear together before they went to their
respective resting spots in readiness for a very early start the
following morning. I was hoping the weather would settle down enough
during the night to enable me an early morning escape; more than one, if
I had any say about the matter. I knew I’d have to make a few boat
trips to get them all off as I was allowed by law to carry only a
certain number of people at any one time. I had 11 life jackets on
board; so only 11 passengers were allowed at any given time. I had 30
people still within my care and responsibility. Taking risks was not on
my agenda; it never was regardless of any given situation. The safety of
my passengers was on the top of my list of importance; a step below my
own!
Because the ocean is the calmest just before dawn, and only for a brief
time thereafter, my intention was to begin ferrying people off the
island at first light or just before, even. Taking the guests with
young children off the island in my first boat run was my priority.
During the "Bye-Bye-Cyclone" celebration, as asked, my stranded visitors
began gathering together their belongings; no doubt with feelings of
relief; mingled with many other mixed emotions, as well.
My hopes were the weather would remain calm long enough for me to make
the necessary number of boat transfers to ferry them all off the island;
and then, and only then, could I start to relax, on my own.
The party didn’t continue for long. After a couple of hours everyone was
eager to snuggle into their respective mattresses in their designated
familiar areas on the floor. Overcome with exhaustion; exhaustion
mainly from the release of pent-up stress and emotions accumulated over
the past few days. Brave faces had shone throughout the sager, except
for Bruce, of course; but once everyone knew an escape hatch had opened,
their emotions had been set free to a degree.
I could see the finish line ahead; or, at least, I knew it was out
there, somewhere, closer than it had been only hours before. I was
eager for the time when once again I had the island to myself. Of
course, those feelings had to remain my own, unannounced. I succeeded
in retaining the staunch persona that I’d worn through the intervening
days and nights. That, in itself, was tiring; but I’d worry about all
of that later; after everyone was gone; and I was once again alone with
only Pushkin and Rimsky as my sole companions – my furry, four-legged
soul mates!
As soon as the excited, yet weary guests were settled down for the
night, I headed towards the stairs that led up to my own living
quarters. It was then Bruce stirred in his chair.
“Lee!” He mumbled, beckoning me over to him. “Can I talk with you for a
moment, please?” He’d finally remember his manners and said “Please”!
“Sure, Bruce,” I replied. “What do you want to talk about?” I knelt down on my haunches beside “his” chair.
“I...I...I owe you an apology...” he stammered.
“Yes, you do!” I answered, firmly, staring him straight in the eye.
He continued; “I don’t know what you intend doing, but you are within
your rights to report me. I’ll accept whatever it is you intend
doing...I...ummm...”
“Yes, you are absolutely correct, Bruce! I have every right in the
world to do something about all of this – what could’ve occurred here
tonight – what you tried to do!” I replied, not taking my eyes away from
him. He found it difficult to return the favour, though. When not
lowered, his eyes darted about everywhere, but rarely landed on mine.
And then, suddenly in a flash, an evil, mischievous thought entered my
mind. There are more ways than one to skin a cat, as the saying goes. I
wanted this weak creature before me to squirm like no other. There’s
nothing like a little revenge; even if some say revenge isn’t sweet –
don’t believe it. Sometimes it is very sweet, indeed! I was going to
have some fun with my would-be attacker...unknown by him, of course!
I was going to have my bit of fun! I deserved my moment in the sun.
Bruce had opened the gate. How could I not go through it? It would have
been bad mannered of me not to do so!
“I tell you what, Bruce...” Unsmiling, I started, pausing purposely.
I
was almost bubbling over with mirth, but I kept my feelings within,
well-hidden. Privately, I was having a grand old time; but on the
outside I was as serious as a judge. Bruce was about to become the
biggest fish I’d ever caught and landed! I threw out a baited line to
him; and he latched onto it; hook, line and sinker!
Slowly, I began – “slowly” - because I didn’t want him to miss a word of
what I was about to say; and, selfishly, I wanted to enjoy - to savour -
every second.
“I don’t know what I intend doing about this yet, Bruce...about what you
tried to do here tonight...but, I’ll tell you what I won’t do...” I
paused, again. The pleasure I was feeling was palpable...to me!
By now I had his undivided attention. With his eyes wide open, his eyes
finally met mine, and there they remained glued in fear. The whites of
his eyes were so large they, alone, were almost enough to illuminate
the room!
“Bruce, you may not be aware of this, but I have an older brother. And,
he lives in Mackay. My brother has always been pretty protective of me
– no...I’d say he’s always been VERY protective of me - his little
sister - throughout of our lives. He’s a pretty fit, strong guy, too.
He’s done manual work all his life; and he knows how to take care of
himself.”
Again, I deliberately suspended my words before continuing. I wanted
them them to sink in. Bruce had blanched. I’d sensed he’d stiffened
slightly. Good! He understood my meaning.
“But..what I won’t do, Bruce...what I won’t do is ring my brother and
tell him that you tried to punch me! If I did tell him what you tried
to do to me here tonight, I guarantee you, here and now, without a
skerrick of doubt...I can assure you that when I drop you off at the
boat ramp over at Victor Creek, your feet won’t have time to touch the
ground! And the reason why your feet won’t have time to touch the
ground is my brother will be there to meet the boat…and you! He’ll be
at the water’s edge. Do you understand what I’m saying, Bruce?”
He gave a slight, jerking nod of his head, but the rest of him was
frozen in the chair. I don’t think he blinked or took a breath while I
was describing to him the ins and outs of life; the facts of reality. I
was on a roll and having lots of fun; but he wasn’t aware of the game I
was playing and thoroughly enjoying. He grew paler by the second.
Sweat appeared on his brow. I figured it was a cold sweat! I
continued; I had a captive audience of one. I may as well make the most
of it, I thought. I might never get the opportunity again!
After the
tensions and stresses of the past few days, I was having a good time;
and relished the moment. It was much more fun than giving him a
physical beating! I’m not a fan of violence, anyway.
“The main reason I won’t tell my brother, Bruce; and this is a very
important reason, Bruce - I won’t tell my brother because I don’t want
him to spend the rest of his life in jail. Are you with me, Bruce – do
you understand what I’m saying here?”
Nervously, he nodded he understood.
Good! I had achieved the result I was after.
“So, Bruce...I suggest you be ready first thing in the morning – before
dawn - because I’ll take you back to the mainland on my first boat
trip...okay? I intend leaving very early. So be ready! Okay?” I stood
up.
Still nodding his head, he reminded me of one of those stuffed animals with suction caps people stick on their car windows.
Without further ado, I bade him a “Good night”.
I went upstairs to
spend the night’s remaining few hours with my cats. They were happy to
see me; and me, them. Poor little fellows - we’d not seen much of each
other over the previous few days.
Once again, I was unable to sleep other than to catch a light nap here
and there. So much was going through my head; my mind was like a
kaleidoscope. However, I felt I was at the beginning of the home
straight.
Up very early, before first light, I went downstairs prepared for a
swift start to the day ahead. At that time of the morning the sea was
like a mill pond; as it usually is just before and just after dawn. I
grabbed not only my large flashlight, but also one of the fishermen to
come with me to row my little red dinghy out to my boat. I knew I’d
have to start the bilge pump on the island boat, the 21-foot Trojan De
Havilland before attempting to bring it to shore; having assistance
would be invaluable, particularly time-wise. I secured the red dinghy
to the mooring before climbing on board the Trojan.
The presently calm conditions wouldn’t last for long once the sun began
its journey higher above the horizon and across the sky, so t was
imperative that I commenced my boat transfers as quickly and as early as
possible in order to get at least some of my stranded people off the
island. I was hoping all, if fate and or luck looked kindly upon me. I
believed I’d instilled the magnitude of the situation in the minds of
everyone the previous evening. However, I was in for a rude awakening!
Having anchored in shore ready to take on board my first group of
passengers, I discovered trying to round up people was akin to trying to
round up one hundred aimless sheep without the help of a sheep dog or
two!
I had expected to find some waiting on the beach, ready to go; but, frustratingly, not a soul was in sight!
Upon entering the main building I could hear a lot of activity going on
out in the kitchen. Everyone was leisurely making breakfast for
themselves and their families. They were displaying no urgency
whatsoever! All they cared about was having breakfast before departing!
I couldn’t believe my eyes!
People meandered around the kitchen as if they had all the time in the
world, and all the events of the past few days hadn’t happened!
Holiday-mode had swung back in play! I felt like tearing my hair as I
tried, once again, to make them understand the gravity of the situation.
For the previous three days a cyclone stormed and threatened,
stranding them on the island. How could they have forgotten so quickly?
Finally there was a break in the weather, and they didn’t understand
the urgency! I knew that the conditions would change within a couple of
hours; or, perhaps, even sooner. Our window of opportunity was open
for only a brief while; it would rapidly close again, and all bets would
be off until who knew when!
In the midst of the mayhem of trying to herd them up, Bruce obviously
had had a change of personality overnight. He’d had an epiphany! Bruce
had turned into “God’s Little Helper”; or, at least, “Lee’s Little
Helper”! He followed me around like a bad smell, or like a shadow or
both! I couldn’t get rid of him. Everywhere I went, he was there-
under my feet. I felt like screaming! He became more of a hindrance than
a helper! Rushing around, but getting nowhere, he morphed into
“foreman material”; or my self-designated 2-IC! Bruce ordered people
around; telling to get on the boat; he gathered up their luggage; tossed
it on board; likewise, he ushered the children onto the boat. He
couldn’t do enough for me, it seemed; he was bending over backwards in
an effort to be nice; and all the while, he was getting under my feet.
He was in my way!
I guessed he was trying to make amends for his actions the previous
night, with the added hope I wouldn’t change my mind and ring my brother
on the mainland!
To top everything off, when push came to shove, and I’d finally managed
to herd the first lot of people on board the boat, Bruce declared he
wasn’t leaving! He told me he’d wait until another trip; or, perhaps,
even, the last boat load! What? There was no way in the world,
including the Solar System was I going to entertain that thought! I’d
put up with enough from him from Christmas Day onwards. I was sick to
death of molly-coddling him. All I wanted was to see the last of Bruce;
his back fading off into the far distance!
The time had come, the walrus said…and I didn’t feel like talking to him
of many things, or anything for that matter; it was time for him to put
on his shoes; hop aboard my “ship” and go! I’d said all I had wanted
to say to him, other than the following:
“No! No! Bruce!” I stated firmly. “I want you on the boat...now! I’m
taking you off on this first trip. No arguments...jump aboard...now!”
I may not have been taking any prisoners, as the saying goes, but I was
definitely taking Bruce off the island with me as part of that first
group of passengers! I didn’t care if I had to tie him to the anchor
chain and drag him along behind me...one way or the other, he was going
off the island...there and then!
Finally, after much ado, everyone who needed to be on board, including
Bruce was on board for the first trip across the sea. The remaining
guests stood on the shore waving as we motored forth.
Alice was very keen to spend New Year's Eve with Rick, her boyfriend who
was back home on his family's cattle property at Kumbia, outside of
Kingaroy. She was one member of my first boat load of escapees. Jill
decided she would stay on. She asked if I minded if she stayed on the
island through until after New Year's Eve. Without reservation I told
her that would be great. I liked Jill. She was a very nice person.
Similar as with her daughter, Jill and I bonded pretty quickly.
Having passed the southern tip of Outer Newry Island, I was headed
towards Mausoleum Island in the distance to the south-east when the
swell began to increase in density and intensity. Swollen waves rolled
menacingly across the open ocean between the two islands in ominous
warning of unfavourable conditions were on their way. At the same time, I
noticed the boat’s motor, a 175hp Johnson outboard was missing a beat
or two; and, so was my heart, which had taken a leap into my mouth! My
stomach was fluctuating between somersaulting and constricting into a
tightly-coiled ball. The boat motor felt like half its horses had
decided to stay corralled on shore; and the other half were out for a
gentle canter! To make matters worse, to the south, towards Mackay the
sky was purple, almost black. Gloomy thick, leaden clouds hung low and
heavy on the horizon; a sombre threat not to be ignored; and one that
heightened my stress and tension levels.
The sluggishness of the boat’s motor worried me greatly; not without
cause. It was imperative I kept the boat ahead of the rolling waves;
far enough ahead that when they broke, they didn’t break upon the stern,
or any part of my boat. If we were caught in such a predicament, we’d
be in all sorts of trouble. I feared at any moment the boat would be
swamped.
Standing at the helm, my knuckles turned white from gripping the wheel
so tightly; they’d become one with the steering wheel. A forced smile
on my face remained as if adhered by a tube of “Tarzan’s Grip”. Intent
of distracting my passengers’ attention, I began a sing-a-long.
Everyone, including the children, innocently and willingly joined in;
and then continued in full voice; completely unaware of my original
motives. The last thing I wanted, or needed, was panic on board; and
particularly with Bruce amongst the group. But, he blissfully sang
along with the rest of them. I think he thought he was Mitch Miller! I
didn’t care who Bruce thought he was, as long as he and everyone else
were ignorant of the base of my concerns; of the reality of what was
going on around them. At least, if they could be kept in ignorant bliss,
then I could focus on getting my voyagers, and me, safely to the
mainland; that was my priority.
Approaching and entering the mouth of Victor Creek, I’d never been so
happy to see the creek, and close proximity of solid ground! A giant,
massive weight was slowly being lifted off my shoulders. By then,
however, the weather had started to close in at a rapid rate of knots. I
could feel a distinctive change in the atmosphere.
Off-loading my passengers, I knew there was no hope my returning to the
island that day. After the last person disembarked (Bruce, of course);
he was still wearing his Boy Scout uniform - insisting on helping the
others off the boat. By that stage, I welcomed his eagerness to be of
assistance. The sooner my passengers were ashore, the better.
I was too intent upon my own purposes to notice, but I’m sure Bruce’s
eyes were darting about to see if my brother was waiting on shore for
him!
After he finally set foot on land, I turned the boat about and headed to
the middle of Victor Creek where I secured the anchor. Once the boat
was secureed, I had no alternative but to dive overboard and start my
swim ashore. And, swim I did against the powerful current pushing the
water out to sea. The fear I’d be carried to the creek’s mouth and out
into the open ocean urged me forward. Being swept out to sea wasn’t a
pleasant image! With that desolate thought uppermost in my mind, I swam
stronger than all Olympic swimmers combined!
One day, a few weeks prior the event described, I’d spotted a large box
jellyfish in the water to the side of the ramp as I was about to jump
from my boat; and the vision flashed through my mind. The extremely
dangerous jellyfish breed in the warm waters of creeks up along the
tropic coast before venturing out into sea; and once out there,
preferring warm water, they always keep close into the shoreline. But, I
had to put the thought of jellyfish out of my mind, along with all
other hazards, including the possibility of my being swept out to sea.
My focus had to be on one goal; and my goal was to safely reach the boat
ramp. Whatever followed, I’d worry about that then!
Making it safely to shore, I looked up to see my landed guests standing
gaping at me like a row of stunned mullets. I’d given them an unexpected
shock (and show) when they saw me dive into the water. Cheers rang out
when I set foot on land. A couple of the guests came down to escort me
up the ramp! I cheered, too; but I cheered silently to myself! Someone
offered Bruce a lift into Mackay; and one to me, to Seaforth, four
kilometers away. After much hand shaking, back patting and words of
thanks, my first boat load drove off into the distance. However, they
did give backward glances as they waved from the windows of their
vehicles.
Arriving at the local store in Seaforth, bedraggled, wet, but a
survivor, Bob, the store owner, greeted me. He stood shaking his head
with a cock-eyed grin on his face when I walked into his shop.
“What the hell have you been up to, Lee?” A redundant question, I thought.
“Don’t ask!” I declared, with a chuckle. “What you see is what you’ve
got…and what I’ve got on is all I’ve got! I come bearing…nothing! May I
have a couple of packets of Marlboro Reds, please, Bob…and put them on
my non-existent tab…you know I’m good for it!”
While talking with Bob, I learned the heavy clouds I’d noticed building
on the southern horizon were those of a mini-tornado. Around the same
time I was nearing the mouth of Victor Creek, it hit the Slade Point, a
beach suburb of Mackay, and surrounding areas causing a far bit of
disturbance. The news confirmed my belief it would be impossible for me
to attempt a trip back to the island. I was stranded in Seaforth; with
two packets of cigarettes, a lighter, and the drenched swimsuit in
which I stood!
However, there’s always a glimmer of hope somewhere if you look carefully enough; even if the horizon is invisible!
Next door to the Seaforth store was the holiday house owned by Ivan and
Doris, friends of Willi Litz. Willi held the lease of the Newry resort,
and had done so for a number of years.
Originally, Willi signed a 99-year lease, but within a decade of my time
on the island, unfortunately, the lease was made null and void by the
government. Certain government factions had been trying for years to
strip the lease away from Willi Litz; they were after his blood.
Somewhere in the past, when he was gem mining he upset a couple of
politicians, Vince Lester, in particular. Willi stood on a few toes; and
the owners of those toes wanted their revenge. The battle to retain the
lease began before I arrived. While I lived on Newry I made approaches
to various people I hoped would lend a sympathetic ear.
One approach I made was to Denver Beanland who was, at the time, leader
of the Queensland Liberal Party. Later, he held the position of State
Attorney General from February, 1996 to June, 1998. Back in the
mid-1970s, when living in Brisbane, I was a member of the Liberal Party.
Denver was the President of the particular branch I joined – the North
Toowong Branch- and I became his Secretary. He and I had gotten on
well. And, after he received my lengthy letter regarding Willi’s
problem, Denver personally telephoned me early one evening to discuss
the matter. His reaction was positive; and for a while, Willi, and
myself, could breathe more freely. However, in 2001 all that changed
under Peter Beattie’s Labor Government. The island came under the
jurisdiction of Queensland National Parks and Wildlife. Once they gained
control of Newry Island, all its buildings were demolished; with only
forlorn skeletal remains left.
Ivan and Doris owned and operated a cane farm at Mirani, outside of
Mackay. Willi, a German aged in his early fifties was a man with an
interesting past and many intriguing stories. He was a very intelligent,
knowledgeable, pedantic fellow. I hadn’t known him prior to beginning
my Newry Island adventure. And, I’d only spent a brief time with him
when I first arrived on the island to take over the management of the
resort. We got on well from the first moment we met. I respected his
intellect. Willi had a very alert mind; it was obvious he absorbed and
retained knowledge easily. He departed within days after my arrival; and
our only contact following his departure was by telephone. Once Willi
had shown me the tricks and trials of running the island, he left,
figuring I knew all I needed to know, and what I didn’t know I’d soon
learn! Until I arrived on Newry, I’d never driven a boat; nor did I
know how to drive one; but I soon learned. I had no other choice. After
all, an island was my home; and an island is surrounded by water. That
should give enough clues!
Willi worked in earth-moving somewhere on the Queensland-New South Wales
border. As above-mentioned, he also had spent a lot of time gem mining
in the Central Highlands around the Sapphire and Anakie areas. Doris,
the owner of the holiday house was also German. She and her husband,
Ivan met and became friends with Willi out in the gemfields years
before. Because I didn’t want to take all my possessions across to the
island; it was too cumbersome to do so, Willi asked if they could store
my many cartons etc., in the enclosed, weatherproofed lower level of
their beach house. Even though Doris, Ivan and I were still strangers
to each other at that stage, they generously agreed to Willi’s request.
Thereafter, every now and then, when having a break from their farm
duties and were staying at their beach house they’d pay a visit to the
island. We got to know each other quite well during those visits.
Standing in Bob’s store considering my next move; and without a clue
knowing what my next move would be, I saw Doris walk down the back
stairs of her house. Calling out her name, I rushed across the spare
block between the shop and the house. Breathlessly, I gave her a brief
history of what had transpired over the past few days. I asked if it
was possible for her and Ivan to put me up overnight because I had no
where else to go; and, all I had with me were the clothes I was standing
in, my black bathing suit!
“Of course, you can, Lee!” Doris said without hesitation.
I was desperately in need of a change of clothing; I was desperately in
need of clothes – dry clothes of any type or description! Luckily, in
cartons beneath the house were my worldly possessions. Rifling through a
carton or two, I retrieved a couple of tops, jeans and slacks. Once
that chore was completed, I found the bathroom, and there I stood
swooning under a long, hot shower. It was the first shower I’d had since
very early Christmas morning before my world fell apart! The previous
days I spent soaking wet from being constantly in and out of the rain;
and then from my “death-defying” swim across the creek, but I hadn’t had
the pleasure of enjoying hot showers. The normality-restoring hot
water flowing over my weary body felt heavenly. All I wanted to do was
sit on the floor of the shower recess forever, allowing the water soothe
my weary body and my wounded soul.
At the kitchen table waiting for me after I’d finished restoring myself
to some stage of normality; were Ivan, Doris, a pot of percolated,
quality coffee, and a bottle of German liqueur. From memory, it was
Barenjang/Barenjager; but, I can’t be sure. I’d never tried the liqueur
before, nor have I since. I do remember it was delicious, whether I
remember its name or not. It was the nectar of the Gods; and it was most
welcome.
By then it was mid-morning or thereabouts. I really had no idea what
time it was. With all that had gone on since Christmas Day, I wasn’t
sure what day it was!
Joining Ivan and Doris at the table, I began to tell my tale in detail.
Within a couple of minutes of commencing my story, I broke down into
tears. Succumbing, I sob and sobbed. Ivan and Doris didn’t interrupt
me, both understood I had to release my pent-up emotions; emotions I’d
kept imprisoned for far too long. The tension and stress I’d been
hiding over the past few days needed release; and release them, I did.
Like a tsunami, my unstoppable tears overflowed.
After a little while, I calmed down and I pulled myself together. Once
composed, I rang the island to let the remaining guests know that I
wouldn’t be returning until the following day; and maybe not even then.
My return was dependent upon the weather conditions. Those still on
the island understood the situation, and promised me that they “would
hold the fort” on my behalf. I wasn’t concerned about them…they
couldn’t rob me…there nothing to take, anyway…and if they did, where
would they go? They were as trapped on the island as they’d been
throughout the Christmas period. They couldn’t flee the island until I
returned. And, there were no other boats, other than my own, silly
enough to be out in the waters. I was the only idiot who’d dared
attempt the high seas! My start to the day and the trip would’ve been
without hiccup (other than my sluggish boat motor) if my passengers had
heeded my wishes in the first place…to not dilly-dally around and for us
to leave at the crack of dawn! But, oh, no…people have to be people! I
would have, at least, been able to make one successful trip and have
made it back to the island if they’d not fiddled about devouring time as
they prepared breakfast!
The three of us chatted across the table for a short while, snacking on
crackers, cheese and Christmas cake; sipping steaming black coffee,
accompanied by the warming, comforting liqueur. To me, the simple food
and drink on offer was a feast fit for a king; it was the best I’d eaten
for days. To this day I still savour the taste.
Exhausted, both physically and mentally, it wasn’t long before I excused
myself and went to my designated bedroom; a dry room where a very
welcoming bed awaited my tired body. My head barely touched the pillow
and I was asleep. There I remained, sleeping the sleep of the dead until
around 6pm that evening. Upon rousing, I enjoyed a hot meal Doris
prepared for me, but soon thereafter dinner, I was back in bed asleep
again. Without stirring, I slept through until just before dawn the next
morning.
Up early before the birds realised a new day was on its way, once more I
was ready for another rescue mission across the waters. From all
appearances, the weather had settled. The coast was clear! All I wanted
to do was get back to the island to off-load the balance of my stranded
guests. Until I had achieved that desire, I couldn’t relax. I
declined breakfast, other than a piece of toast, which I took with me.
Ivan drove me to the Victor Creek boat ramp. Thanking him for his and
Doris’ hospitality, I said I’d be fine and told him to go on his way.
He had to drive out to his farm. I didn’t want to inconvenience him any
further. Both he and Doris had been more than kind in opening their home
and hearts to me.
Ziggy’s large fishing boat was back anchored out in the creek, a short
distance from my boat. It hadn’t been there the previous day when I
dropped off my guests. Obviously he’d retrieved it from the upper
reaches of the creek some time after my momentous arrival at the boat
ramp. I could see Ziggy moving around above deck, so I shouted out to
him. I needed him to row ashore in his dory to pick me up and take me
out to my boat. He failed to hear my calls; and I started to feel
concern. It was evident to me that he was headed below deck. I knew
once he was down below, there was no chance he would hear my cries for
his assistance. There was not another soul around other than Ziggy and
me. My chance to grab his attention was slipping out of my control. I
took a very deep breath and really let loose with as much power as I
could garner.
What relief! He heard me!
I gestured to Ziggy; pointing at myself, and then towards my boat
anchored out in the middle of the creek. After my escapade the previous
morning having to dive off my boat into the swiftly-running, murky
waters to swim ashore, repeating my feat in reverse wasn’t an attractive
option. If I could find a way not to have to duplicate my “Olympic
swimming moment”, I was prepared to grab it with both hands. Ziggy
waved back at me, acknowledging he understood the meaning behind my
manic actions.
As he helped me on board his dinghy, Ziggy said. “You were lucky I heard
you, Lee when I did because within another couple of seconds I would’ve
been down in the engine room for God knows how long. And, once down
there, I would’ve heard nothing.”
Firstly, we had to bail water from my boat by bucket before we reach the
bilge pump. The rain had returned with a vengeance during the previous
afternoon and night dumping its load solely into my boat, it appeared. I
explained to Ziggy the problems I’d experienced with my motor during
the first run off the island, and of my concerns about retrieving the
rest of my stranded visitors.
“Ziggy, I’ve a massive favour to ask of you,” I began. “If you can’t do
it, I’ll understand. I won’t be upset if you say ‘No’…so please don’t
feel obligated. You’ve already done more than enough for me. I really
would like to be able to get the rest of the guests off in one trip
because I have no idea what this weather is going to do. It’s clear now,
but for how long? I don’t have enough life-jackets on board to get
them all off on one foul swoop…but, if it is at all possible…and,
please…if you can’t do it, I will understand…could you follow me across
in your dinghy, and then bring some of the guests back with you. I’ll
carry the majority of the load. That way we’d manage to get them all
off together – over and done with; and then, once that happens, I can
get back to the island and ride this madness out, alone until things
settle back down to normal once again.”
Without hesitation or a second thought, Ziggy agreed to help me.
“Of course, I will, Lee…it’s no problem at all…let’s get going straight away…the sooner, the better!”
Ziggy told me how many life-jackets he carried on board. Along with
mine, we knew we had enough between us to fulfill our joint mission.
Off we went, with me leading the charge. Ziggy followed in his
dory/dinghy.
Before I’d left Ivan and Doris’ home I’d rung my remaining guests to
inform them of my intentions; and had given an estimation of how long I
thought it would be until I returned to the island; asking they’d keep a
watch out for sight of my boat. I doubted there would be any other
people out and about on the ocean other than me, and, now Ziggy, as
well. I also asked that they be down on the beach with their
possessions, ready for immediate pick-up once I drew ashore. I
impressed upon them that the moment I arrived, time would be of the
essence. A quick turn around was necessary.
As I drew closer to the island, I could see everyone lined up at the
water’s edge. They looked like a tiding of magpies on a power line!
Not wasting any time, Ziggy and I herded everyone on board our
respective vessels and prompted headed back to the mainland to deliver
our passengers to the mainland and whatever awaited them there. We left
them carrying not only their possessions, but memories of a Christmas
never to be forgotten.
As I pulled away from the boat ramp, Ziggy started the motor on his dinghy and said;
“Lee, I’ll follow you back to the island - to make sure you arrive
safely. I’m a bit concerned about that motor of yours; so it’s best I
trail behind you; just to be sure.”
“Oh! Ziggy! You’re a gem! You’ve done so much already, but thank you;
thank you very much…I really would appreciate it if you did! I owe you
big time! When all of this insanity is over…the drinks are on me!”
“You’re on!” He answered.
We both laughed; and off we headed towards the mouth of the creek, once
again on our intrepid ways across the ocean. I took the lead; and Ziggy
followed a few metres behind. I could sense the finish line; so potent
I could almost smell it. The end to all the drama was drawing close.
However, I couldn’t allow myself to relax until I had my boat securely
moored in the channel, and I, once again, was ensconced, alone on the
island.
Exiting the mouth of Victor Creek, I turned left to begin the first leg
of the return journey. About half way along the waterway, all around me
was engulfed in a “whiteout”! The horizon disappeared, leaving me with
no reference points at all. I couldn’t see beyond the bow of my boat,
and even it was in a haze. Without warning, the elements changed, once
again.
The route to and from the island was as familiar to me as the back of my
hands, but I wasn’t prepared to take any risks. It mattered not whether
I had passengers on board, or only myself; I never took chances out in
the water. I was always very careful and extremely alert when in charge
of the boat, believing if something went astray, I wouldn’t be able to
step out of a boat on to dry, solid ground and walk to safety like I’d
be able to do if I was in a car on solid ground. As mentioned
previously, every time I drove the island boat, I wore a bathing suit. I
had five or six pairs in my wardrobe. The ocean is a cantankerous
chameleon. There are times it can be a placid teammate; but just as
quickly it can turn into an unforgiving adversary.
Surrounded on all sides by the dense fog, it was highly unsafe for me to
continue going forward; it was equally unsafe to retreat. My
self-preservation gear kicked in!
The ocean, whipped into a passion-fueled frenzy by the cyclonic
conditions throughout the past few days, would be rife with logs and
various other foreign floating and submerged objects. It would be an
obstacle course to end all obstacle courses. To the left of me I knew
rocks were somewhere along the way. Not huge rocks, but rocks big enough
to cause damage to the hull of my boat if I struck them. As my vision
was impaired, I didn’t know if I’d already passed by the outcrop or not.
To my right was a sandbank; but, in the bleak conditions, I had no idea
exactly where it was, either, or how much water covered it. My options
of travelling either forward to the island, or back to the boat ramp
were as murky as the fog that surrounded me. I was in a “no win”
situation.
Looking behind and around me, I couldn’t see Ziggy anywhere amongst the
impenetrable mass in which I found myself; nor could I hear his boat
motor. I pulled my own motor right back; letting it idle, without it
shutting off entirely. I lingered as much as possible in the one spot;
going around in small circles as and when I could.
To tie up to a channel marker is illegal; but such a little obstacle
wasn’t going to scare me off. I’d decided as soon as I saw a marker I’d
edge the boat across to it and tie up. And there I’d remain tied to the
marker until the conditions cleared; and I didn’t care how long that
would take. I had no other choice. If anyone had a beef about it, too
bad! I’d face (and fight) those consequences if or when they happened!
No other boats were out and about, anyway. Who would know of my
unlawful activity? The only two fools out in the crazy weather were
Ziggy and me; and I had no idea where he was!
Like a enticing siren of the sea luring me, through a small break in the
dense fog, to my right about 100 metres away, I caught a glimpse of a
channel marker. Slowly turning my boat towards the marker, I gave a
sigh of relief as I began feeling my way towards the channel buoy like a
blind person; hoping against hope I didn’t strike any damaging flotsam.
At that point, I didn’t care how long I’d have to be attached to the
marker. My decision was made; I would not proceed an inch once I’d tied
up, not until I could see clearly. The preservation of my own safety
and life was uppermost in my mind. I had no intentions of putting myself
at risk. I never intentionally have; and I never intentionally will!
Creeping towards the marker, out of the corner of my eye, through the
dense gloom, I saw a yellow flash. It was Ziggy, rigged out in his
wet-weather gear; his body straining against the wind. My Yellow
Knight, once more to my rescue; he drew up beside my boat.
With his hands cupped to his mouth, he yelled out; “I lost you! I
thought you’d gone back the boat ramp. I went back looking for you! I
was pretty damn worried when I couldn’t find you anywhere! You did the
right thing by stilling your motor!”
“Yeah! I figured the best thing for me to do was just to go around in
circles until I could see where the hell I was! Then, I noticed the
marker…that’s where I’m headed; to tie up to it!” I yelled back at him.
“No! Come on! We’ll make it! I’ll go on ahead you follow me to the
island! Don’t lose sight of me!” Ziggy instructed, pulling away as he
waved me forward.
“Okay!” I bellowed in reply. I trusted him.
The fog had lifted considerably by the time we passed Mausoleum Island.
Without drama, we motored closer to the southern tip of Outer Newry.
However, still the oppressive grey clouds loomed heavy and threateningly
in the sky; the thunderous grey irreverent ocean groaned and surged in a
display of discontent, making its preparations to build up again.
Shortly after I secured my boat to its mooring, Ziggy drew alongside. I
directed his attention to my red dinghy that had been hitched to my
mooring buoy since the previous morning. My poor little red boat was
filled with water; water up to its brim! It was ready to disappear under
water. I shook my head and laughed. What else could I do?
I climbed aboard Ziggy’s dinghy. He untied my little red vessel, and in
turn secured it to his boat. Slowly we towed the leaden weight ashore.
Once inshore, we managed to bail out some of the water before removing
the bung to allow the rest to flow freely. We then pulled the tiny
tender up high and dry above the foam and pumice stone-covered
foreshore. There we fastened it securely to a She-Oak tree. It wasn’t
going anywhere until all the madness abated; and neither was I!
Turning to Ziggy, I declared with a wide sweep of my arms; “Until this
weather settles down, and all is as calm as mill pond again, this boat;
my boat out there on the mooring and me – aren’t going anywhere! From
this minute until that happens, I declare myself a “landlubber”! And
that’s a promise! I shall not be moved! Come on, Zig! If you’ve got
time, let me shout you a drink before you head back. After all this
mucking about, I don’t want you to get stranded, but I’m sure you feel
like a drink! I know I do!”
The two fishermen were still on the island. However, they informed me
two of their mates from Mackay were on their way. Plans were already in
place for their friends, upon their arrival, to take them back to the
mainland; with intentions of towing their swamped boat while doing so.
Reaching the bar, I prepared drinks for Ziggy and the other two fellows
who were glad to see me; and then, I poured myself a triple Bundaberg
rum…no ice; no mix; no water; just plain old rum! The drink of
pirates…and I surely felt like a pirate! To complete the image, I put a
Jimmy Buffett cassette in the player! I think I’d passed the test into
becoming a true-blue “Parrot-Head”. Jimmy would’ve been very proud of
me!
Slightly shell-shocked, I sat wearily upon a bar stool. I just kept
shaking my head in wonderment and disbelief. There seemed little that
needed to be said! I wasn’t really sure what emotions I felt; they were
a mixed bundle.
“Cheers!” I said, lifting my triple dose of rum to Ziggy and the fisherman.
“Here’s to us! We made it! God! What happened? For a while there, I
never thought I’d reach this moment!” I laughed; and the three men
laughed along with me.
I walked Ziggy back down to his boat. After giving him a big,
meaningful hug while thanking him profusely…words didn’t seem enough…he
headed back to Victor Creek. I didn’t see him again until late January.
An hour or so after Ziggy left, the boys’ mates arrived. With little
fuss, very soon they were on board with their own boat hitched to the
stern of their mates’ craft.
I stood on the foreshore until they’d crossed the channel, and had
driven past the southern tip of Outer Newry. Finally, I had the island
to myself, thank goodness!
Within a couple of hours, the clouds had had enough of being nice.
Tossing aside good manner, they began dumping their load; and what a
load it was. The rain continued coming down in a tropical downpour,
with hardly a break, for the next three weeks; allowing me time to
digest and file away in the pigeon-holes of my mind what had occurred
from Christmas Day through to 29th December!
A whole lifetime of events occurred during that period. An “adventure” I
would never have imagined happening to me; but it did happen, and I was
a major participant in it!
Jill, who had chosen to remain on the island with me until New Year and I
had the island to ourselves for those next few days after Boxing Day.
She was very good company. We'd clicked from when we first met. It was
if we were old friends from long back.
During our days we mostly read. We ate when we felt like eating. There was no standing on ceremony.
Happy Hour arrived every afternoon as if a bell had announced its
arrival; it was time to pop a cork or two. We discussed every possible
subject under the sun; or should I say, under the heavy grey clouds that
persisted in dropping their loads. The more glasses of red we had, the
more philosophical we became. We solved every problem known, and even,
some unknown. We were the precursors to Dr. Phil!
Finally, Jill returned to the "real" world; with her she took many
memories; behind she left many fond memories with me, as well. I was so
happy to have met her and to have been able to spend that time with
her. To many others, they wouldn't have fitted in as well; nor would
they have been so accepting of the sometimes rough, awkward, very wet
surroundings! Jill and I, two strangers who had not met until Christmas
morning, 1990 had fun as if we'd been girlfriends since our teenage
years. I was sad to see her go. Like mother like daughter...both Jill
and Alice were a pleasure to meet. I felt fortunate to have gotten to
know them.
Earlier in December before Christmas, a Mackay engineering company made a
group booking that would occupy the island’s entire cabins for the
coming Australia Day weekend. The actual 26 day of January fell on the
Saturday in 1991. The company’s staff members planned the weekend to be
their belated Christmas celebration. Instead of having their Christmas
party in a restaurant or similar function venue, they decided
celebrating on the island over the Australia Day long weekend a far
better option; one in which all members of their families could
participate.
All I hoped for as I listened to the rain falling persistently upon my
roof, day after day, night after night, was it would cease before the
long weekend. I certainly didn’t want a replay or sequel of my
Christmas escapades!
When the rain finally ceased a few days before the long weekend, upon
inspection of the cabins, I discovered all the walls and ceilings in
every cabin were black with mould! There was not a dry towel (I did
have some towels left even after quite a few were cut up and recycled as
nappies for the toddlers), sheet, or pillowcase on the island; and most
of them were covered in mould, as well! But my problems and future
chores didn’t end there; the septic systems of the cabins were blocked!
Who ever knew pipes leading away from a toilet ran uphill? I can tell
you that in some instances they do! Well, they did on Newry Island!
And, by the way, they don’t work properly if installed in that manner!
If I’d gotten my hands on the person who had done that plumbing job……..
It was obvious I had a lot of work ahead of me to ready the cabins for
my expected long weekend guests, who were due to arrive within less than
a week!
But, as I often state: “That is another story, for another day!”
THE END
