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strangely out of place as it rolled about on the terrifyingly steep upright faces of these ugly
soldier-waves from hell. They were all horribly tangled up, and I just hoped and prayed
they would keep working until the storm abated. We sat mesmerized for a long time just
staring at this ongoing display of power.
Imperceptibly, the day dragged on, and at first we couldn't tell, but by afternoon, little by
little it became evident the wind was abating. It continued to drop rapidly as evening ap-
proached. The sheer cliffs of these waves had been melted away by the slowly receding
power that had formed them. Mountainous seas still passed under her keel, but Déjà vu told
us through her motions that things were going to be alright. It seemed like just a few hours
of normal easy trades had brought the high seas down and had actually changed their dir-
ection slightly, and soon we were sailing along as though nothing had ever happened.
We went about looking for signs of damage. The most obvious was the plastic window that
a wave had smashed out of the spray dodger. The tough little working jib that I had used
since her first launching had been washed overboard. I had lashed it to the pulpit, but some-
how it had been lost. I was very sorry to see it go. We both agreed it could have been a lot
worse.
Little did we know that Dave, back in Fiji, was aware of this storm and had tried to radio
us to send out a message on our behalf trying to find out if we were OK. It was almost two
years later that a Canadian family that we had befriended in Fiji, also friends of Dave, met
me on my solo voyage in New Zealand. They were amazed to see that I had made it. They
were all convinced that we had not made it to Australia. This Canadian couple contacted
Dave to tell him that we had.
A couple of miles off the coast of Queensland, Australia, we were met by a huge naval frig-
ate out on patrol. They called us up on the radio and asked where we were headed. We told
them of our intention to clear in at Bundaberg. They wished us a safe trip and welcomed
us to Australia. We dipped our ensign and, later that evening, cracked open a bottle of red
wine with dinner. Spirits were high after our horrifying three day ordeal; we were hours
away from arriving in the land of kangaroos and wallabies, and Déjà vu had managed to
stay together in one of the worst storms either of us had ever seen. After dinner, I hauled
down the mainsail and, leaving up the little working Genoa, put Déjà vu in a hove to posi-
tion where she faced the gentle trades and rose and fell on the swells that passed harmlessly
under her keel. We took turns at watch during the night, and the loom of the Burnett Heads
Lighthouse remained constant throughout.
At first light, we eagerly hauled up the mainsail and set off in the direction of the little boat
harbor at the mouth of the Burnett river. The great Australian coastline soon was sighted in
the distance, and by midday we had passed through the narrow and rather rough entrance
