Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
The uniformed coast guard duly arrived, and heavy lines were attached to our bow. After a
few attempts, the powerful launch dragged Déjà vu's bow around and safely deposited us
in deep water. We were thrilled to be afloat again and gave them a hundred dollars, which
they gratefully accepted. They warned us not to go out into the ocean through the river
mouths across the sand bars. Apparently, it was extremely dangerous around here, and sev-
eral huge fishing trawlers had been capsized and destroyed attempting a crossing. We had
no intention of crossing these bars anyway, preferring rather to stick to the calm interior
waterways.
A day after this incident we could tell that the couple were feeling the pressure of having to
sail in tandem with us, and they respectfully pulled away and headed off south to some un-
known destination. Gavin grumbled about these bloody, flaky Americans, but I was not too
put out by their actions. I could see their side of this and voiced my thoughts. Why would
a young couple want to be shackled with a couple of old brothers in a slow boat the whole
time?
There was still a slight atmosphere of abandonment when we sailed into the big, balloon-
shaped lake, for want of a better description. This large body of water was part of the inter-
coastal waterway and was a favorite amongst the local sailors and boaters. It was a Sunday;
the wind was a warm and mild ten knots. The water was flat, sparkling with diamonds.
Great albatross were flying slowly about the blue skies, and there was a feeling of peace
and laziness on this large expanse of glittering water. Déjà vu was wafting along, steering
unaided as she hummed herself almost to sleep. Fishing lines were out; the awning had
been stretched above the cockpit, and I had brought out the bunk cushions as a special treat.
I was sprawled out on the one side reading a book with a soft drink made from Tang, a de-
licious orange drink that became famous when the astronauts had used it in outer space on
their way to the moon. Someone has since ruined it for me when he mentioned that it had
orange dye in the contents,;Agent Orange I have called it ever since.
The radio was playing some soothing background music, the sort that is so appropriate for
a lazy Sunday afternoon sail, and there was a general air of peace and tranquility. How
many times in my life I have recaptured that moment and have been so grateful that I had
experienced it. It shall be a part of my cruising memory until I die. I think we all long for
days like that.
The rest of the sail to Tin Can Bay was uneventful. Tin Can Bay was a tired, little outback
fishing town with a grimy tavern frequented by sleazy fishermen and their raucous chil-
dren. They wore tattoos, had safety pins in their eyebrows, dyed their mohawked hair red
or green, wore chains and pointy boots, and smoked, drank, and swore the whole night in
the bar. It was most depressing. A very aptly named town I thought. It is sad to see human
beings take such a downward spiral. Proof positive of evolution at work….
