Friday November 18 1330hrs,
Port Lincon SA and after 24 hrs of sublime weather, we cast off and motor out of the marina in a stiffening Southerly. Further visits from the local electrical boffins during the morning do little to encourage us as to the state of our battery charging scenario. With the hours and days wasting away it’s time to get some miles under us. With an incoming tide, wind on the nose and cloud covered sky we anticipate a less than comfortable ride. Although the LED readout on the electrical panel tells us we are low on power, tests on the batteries say the opposite. It’s Peter’s theory that when the air-conditioning and fridge was being worked on, the charging readout may have been re-set and now tells us in negative figures what we have used rather than what we have stored! It’s not a big leap of faith to accept that theory given the previous technicians had negated to switch on the battery charger in the first place and a particular ‘strum’ box which had supposedly gone missing (we were asked constantly if we’d seen it) turned out to be in it’s box right next to where it was supposed to be installed!

At 1530 we round Donnington Reef and meet a Sou’wester hitting us at 22 to 27 knots, the sea is choppy, the swell is confused and we’re diving for the Phenergan. Peter has us start our shifts pretty much straight away. One and a half hours on, three hours off and we quietly congratulate ourselves on having prepared at least 8 days of evening meals in advance.

Saturday November 19.
A bitterly cold night heralds in a grey sea, grey sky and grey moods. Hard to be excited about swaying palms, azure seas, balmy nights and dusky maidens when all around you is beige, lifeless, bitterly cold and smelly unshaven men.

Hugh is knocking back the Phenergan like they’re E’s and he’s got 20 night clubs to visit, I’m feeling a bit like death warmed up, well short of sea sickness but very, very plain indeed and our illustrious skipper even looks less than his usual jolly self. They day goes by in a haze, everyone rigidly sticking to their appointed shifts trying to get in as much sleep as possible.

We are though visited by the occasional pod of dolphin and maybe it’s just me but even they don’t look all that happy to be here, just going through the motions as it were. (read dead-pan) “Hello welcome to our waters, this is Warren he’ll be your tour guide for the next nautical mile. By the way don’t expect any overt aquatic displays, it’s too damn cold, they sky and sea are grey the wind and swell are contrary and we haven’t seen a fish in days”

With the evening rolling around and the wind and sea abating, the swell begins to line up making the boat’s attitude somewhat more tolerable. Last Chapter maybe 60’ long but she’s quite narrow and suffers in the confused seas pitching and rolling mercilessly. Now that the conditions have ‘improved’ life onboard becomes some what more tolerable and by late night we’re all sleeping much better.

Sunday November 20. 1400hrs – S35.00 E13135 (South of Ceduna)

A long slow swell mainly from the South and glassy seas, no wind (well certainly not enough to move this baby) and we’re motoring at just over 6kts. We have in fact been motoring on and off now for nearly 20 hours. Luckily she’s has a huge fuel capacity 1,500 litres. Giving us plenty to motor all the way to Perth if we have to, though the owner has never bothered to find out her fuel consumption and range, so it’s a guesstimate.

It seems that Duane’s weather forecasts have been pretty accurate (well done!) though a ‘heads up” on how cold it may be would have been helpful, dammed if we weren’t all clamoring for our thermals over the past 2 nights. Either we’re over the shock of it or it is in fact milder, but today seems somewhat more tolerable.

It’s a ‘boy’ thing isn’t it, Peter discovered the joy stick for the boat’s navigation system and in the process inadvertently has us doing 360’s in the middle of the ocean. We just wish he’d told us first before he fired the thing up. Motoring along merrily suddenly the boat begins a steady turn to starboard and just keeps right on turning. My first thoughts were “oh shit the auto-helm has shat itself and we’ll be hand steering for the rest of the voyage (for joy for joy)”. I politely let Peter know of the situation (my idea of polite is more “oh shit Pete, the helm is possessed!” and he’s sitting in the coach house with a bemused look on his face, trying to work out how to turn the thing back to course. Never mind we’ll just chuck a couple of donuts and away we go.

The rest of the day passes without incident and the routine continues.

Monday November 22. Wind from the south east, glassy seas and we continue to motor.

Highlight of the chilly overcast day is our first showers, a pleasant respite from the burgeoning body odours. No sign of life save the occasional gull, a certainly not another vessel to be seen. At 1000hrs CST (E129.00) we officially entered Western Australian waters, a minor (nautical) mile-stone. We turn on the satellite phone at 1600hrs and like a mini lonely hearts club sit waiting for it to ring.

And wait.

Nothing!

I don’t know what possessed us to think we’d be inundated with calls but knowing the link is there seems to tease us into a false sense of optimism. I fear that in a few weeks time We’d even get excited if some Indian telemarketing guy called Brian from Mumbai replete with fake Aussie accent calls wanting to speak to the head of the household in the hope of changing us to a different telecommunication carrier. I think just for sport (and the horrendous phone bill they’d eventually get) I’d try and keep him talking for at least an hour. “So tell me again Brian, how exactly does your sliding rate scale differ from Optus and can you find out from your supervisor if she can throw in a set of free steak knives and baseball caps for little Peter and Hugh, if I sign up the whole family to your obviously tempting 24 month mobile plan?”

Eventually the wind begins to pick up moving steadily to east and as night settles, we kill the motor and get in some down wind sailing. 10 – 15 knot Easterlies giving around 7 knots of boat speed. We get another cold night with nothing to be seen, save the occasional stars as the cloud breaks. Peter is seriously contemplating turning on the heaters, the whimp; though I’d stand with him next to one just to keep him company.

Tuesday November 23.
Though the chilly 10-15 knot Easterly winds continue, we have sunshine at last. Coffee on the deck in the mid morning is pleasantly interrupted by Peter exclaiming simply, “Ship!” Like demented school children we crane our necks on tippy-toes and sure enough way in the distance to our starboard is at last another vessel! (I can just about hear your gasps of mutual excitement as you read this).

Having turned on our radar system the other day and with nothing to see we really weren’t sure if the thing worked. Now we have confirmation. Yes indeed it works!

In addition to spying said vessel with the naked eye, through binoculars and now seeing it’s blip on the radar we can absolutely confirm that contrary to our initial fears we are definitely NOT alone.

Ok contain your selves, you can all take a deep breath and relax – that’s as much excitement for this installment as anyone could cope with.

Detlef Bauer 1300hrs CSDT Tuesday Nov. 23

Wednesday Nov 23.
A Southerly swell was met with an Easterly but for the most part extremely light conditions. It’s cold, grey and spectacularly DULL, even our regular ‘happy hour’ has in itself been an exaggeration. Whilst pleasant enough the cold tends to take the edge off the moment so Peter decides it’s time for drastic measures. It’s somewhat ironic that we were held up in port due to the installation of the air-conditioning unit and what appliance do we turn on for comfort as we near summer? The Heater! Sad to admit but we’re complete whimps and although it doesn’t really ‘heat’ up the boat (one would have to completely close the hatch etc) it does offer us some sort of emotional comfort. Although, if one was to stand right next to the unit it is rather toasty!

A good 3 hours of Wednesday was filled in with sorting Peter’s music on his computer, some of which haven’t been identified correctly. We got most of it sorted out but if someone can tell us before we reach Perth, who did the song “Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong” we’d be eternally grateful. I for one have been sweating on the question now for 24 hours and it’s beginning to drive me nuts!

Over the past few days I’ve had the sneaking suspicion that on the subject of watch rosters, I am loosing the plot. Twice now Hugh has corrected me when I’ve mentioned that I was off to bed that it was in fact MY watch shift, even though (and this usually happens after all 3 of us have been up for a few hours) I was under the impression the I had just finished a watch. Each time I’ve done a recount in my mind and could have sworn that I was right, but a look through the watch sheet confirms Hugh. So back I go on watch whilst they go to bed.

Well, well, well. This afternoon we discover that the watch roster has a few errors and I have in fact been doing the occasional double shift whilst the skipper (inventor, supplier and auditor of said sheet) and Hugh (himself completely innocent of all dastardly manipulation) have availed themselves to a few extra hours of sleep every few days! Strangely the mistake in the roster schedule only affects (adversely) one person and that just happened to be me. (I forgive but I never forget).

We got a flying visit from the coast watch guys around 1500hrs. They did a low pass, photographed us and had a chat with Peter over the VHF.

Happy hour took a step up when we went for the Ploughman’s Lunch washed down with Coopers Stout. Perfectly appropriate for the conditions we thought.

Thursday Nov 24.
Cold, cold, cold, it’s hard to believe summer is nearly upon us. All things considered we’ve been lucky with the wind and sea conditions though with the South swell and the predominately south easterly wind Last Chapter tends to rock and roll. Hugh decided to stop dropping the tablets and is going cold turkey. Bad move. He’s now feeling less perfect.

Late in the evening and Hugh is out for the count dashing to the rails and feeding the fishes with some very unattractive burly! (Sorry that last sentence should have had a “do not read whilst eating” warning). The wind has increased to the mid 20’s and the poor bastard is laid up in his bunk and there is no way he’s capable of any shift, so Peter and I swap to a 2hrs on 2hrs off routine. Outside of bouncing around a bit the night goes without to much of a problem.

Friday Nov 25.
Passing Albany today and the our somewhat still green-in-the-gills Hugh spends the day laying down, the wind has dropped and we’re getting good boat speed with a more comfortable ride. Peter got Hugh to hit the Phenergan now that he’s stopped throwing up and he’s feeling much better. The night brings a revelation that has befuddled me for days. For some reason I seem to be doing and extra shift a day. All the scouring of the times fails to shed light on this dilemma. Then it dawns on us it’s HUGH doing. Inadvertently (we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt here) after each happy hour Hugh has been skipping a shift. It comes to light as Peter realizes this as this time it’s him that ends up with a double shift. We go back over the boat log and yes Hugh has thrown us out!!!!

Peter and I now plot to exact our revenge on Hugh. (Insert visual of both of us sitting together at night, lit only by the soft glow of a red night-light rubbing our hands together in mutual conspiracy, the evil mutterings of “Mwwwaaaaaahhh” punctuating our dastardly plans).

Saturday Nov 26.
Are we there yet? . . . . are we there yet? …… are we there yet?”

The sun is up and although the wind is still bitterly cold it’s a pleasant enough sipping coffees under the comfort of 3 layers of clothing, beanies and wet weather gear. Whilst whiling away the morning we spot quite a sight. For the entire trip we’ve seen a few dolphins and sea birds, nothing else – a veritable feather and fin black hole until out of the corner of our eye we spot, launching itself out of the water a massive black fish. It’s absolutely huge. It’s about 500 meters away heading east swimming against the prevailing conditions. Again it shoots out of the water long enough to know it’s far too big to be a dolphin (unless Neptune has Dr. Frankenstein doing work experience somewhere below us) but moves exactly the same as one. It’s definitely not a whale or marlin leaving us with only the possibility in our limited aquatic life knowledge of it being a killer whale as it’s shape very much like but without any white markings! Got any ideas folks?

Early evening and we pass Cape Lewin, a minor milestone in this nautical adventure. A major milestone psychologically as we are gradually heading more north with Margaret River and all those yummy wines just out there (yes we are close enough to the coast to make out buildings and as night falls the lights of cars as well).

Once again our hats off to Duane, the predicted weather pattern though expected about 6 hours later kicks in. Thirty plus knots from the east and we’re grunting along at up to 9 knots with only the inner headsail up. The mood of the boat has lifted up a notch as we realize that we’ll be in Perth by around 1100 hours. It’s a wild ride and getting wilder as night falls punctuated with a massive electrical storm to our north and east. The winds have consistently hit 35+ knots but at least the swell from the east has abated due to us being in lee of the coast.

Sunday Nov 27.
All is good in the world. The easterly is still in the mid to late twenties but the seas are relatively flat and Fremantle is only a few hours away. We do the breakfast thing and all three of us are beaming from ear to ear. The worst (hopefully) part of the voyage is nearly over and the clear skies promise a beautiful day. We motor into the Fremantle Sailing Club and after a few hospitable gestures from other yachts (making room for us to berth within 50meters of the club) we step ashore at 1130hrs and knock the tops off some nicely chilled VBs. Peter again has excelled himself getting us through some less-than-pleasant conditions unscathed. Hugh has found the going harder than he expected but is justifiably proud of the achievement. He’s come through with flying colours and has (when vertical and not feeding the fish) been a pleasure to sail with. Both Peter and Hugh honor me with a toast to my realization of my now complete circumnavigation of Australia. The first third of this (Last) chapter comes to an end.

Detlef Bauer.

Tuesday Dec 6 / Wednesday Dec 7
Nothing much to report for Tuesday, just going through the motions nursing the prop shaft and its wayward couplings. Peter squeezed his body into the engine room to check that his handiwork was still holding and discovers that the bolts on the other side of the couplings are also loose! Armed with appropriate tools and a few creative suggestions as to what should be done with the person responsible for servicing the boat, all of which seem to involve some bodily cavity.

The SE to SW winds seems to be holding nicely around the 15-20 knots giving us a comfortable ride and a relatively fast run up the coast.

Wednesday morning has us in sight of the huge radio towers that seem to sit like giant masts on the horizon. They’re right on the very edge of North West Cape on land only a few meters above sea level so they are easily seen well before one actually sees the land they’re perched on. Of course given that they are so visible from such a distance it naturally seems to take forever to reach them. We do though, around midday and head due south around the Cape into Exmouth Gulf and make our way into the marina and tie up to the refueling wharf. We’ve been told that this is where we’ll spend our time here but as our nasal passages are constantly assaulted by the fetid stench of a nearby industrial bin Peter coerces the marina manager to allow us to tie up on the end of the floating berths on the other side of the marina and considerably closer to the ablutions block.

That night we make our way into town and after a few beers and a meal at Pot Shots Hotel we take our weary bodies back to Last Chapter for some well earned sleep.

Thursday December 8

I can hear the kettle whistling its wake up chorus and it’s around 9am. Sleep blissful uninterrupted sleep has recharged the batteries for all of us. Peter’s on the phone to the mechanic who will apparently be there in an hour Hugh and I busy ourselves with boat maintenance. Hugh seems to have taken responsibility for the heads during the trip and has done an excellent job keeping them working; the secret apparently is vegetable oil!

I spend the morning with a chamois on the top deck cleaning all the glass and the abundant chrome. Within a few hours above and below decks are sparkling and surprise, surprise no sign of a mechanic. We all understand the concept of regional time / Island time / chronographically dyslexic time but constantly being on the receiving end of this lèse’fers attitude can become rather tedious. We fully intend to stay in port around 48 hours, enough time to do our laundry, emails, and supplies and knock back a few cold beers in air-conditioned comfort and this waiting on tradesmen is eating into serious drinking time! It’s midday and no sign of him and we begin to have visions of our mechanic arriving around the end of the day only to tell us the part we need will take 24 hours to get here and given that makes it end of Friday he cant fit it until Monday!

All this conjecture has put a dampener on the day. But hey why stop there? Peter in his frustration decides to go for a walk over to the marina office and on alighting hears a “Kerspalsh”. Reaching into his pockets he quickly tries to ascertain what it is that has taken a swim. Cigs, lighter, sunglasses, wallet, phone.

THE PHONE!!!!

Somewhere between the wharf and the boat in what we discover (throwing down a lead line) is around 3 meters of water sits a perfectly good non waterproof phone, probably laying in some nice mud or silt. Only one thing to do; don a wetsuit, mask and flippers and begin a rescue attempt of what will now no doubt be a rather less than functional phone.

Peter commits a couple of dives using the lead line as a guide and comes up empty handed. There is no sign of the black phone in the dark and murky depths below our boat.

A despondent Peter resigns himself to a trip into town while we wait for the mystery “I’ll-be-there-in-an-hour” mechanic arrives to purchase a new phone.

In the process of getting dressed again we here a delighted exclamation from our illustrious skipper the phone is after all that, actually in his pocket!!! Now I’ve given this a lot of thought and there seems to be only 2 possible explanations for this bizarre scenario.

1. (And work with me on this dear reader). Since the beginning of our voyage and contrary to the usual familiarity that time affords, Peter seems to be hitting his head on the coach house ceiling of the yacht with monotonous regularity. I must say the I have noticed that each time I do a yacht delivery (at sea for extended periods) my toe and fingernails seem to grow with speed and determination hither-to unknown in my regular terra firma life. Anecdotally, many other sea going types tend to concur with this observation. (Quick, someone phone Dr. Carl on Triple J.) It doesn’t take a great leap of faith to conclude that perhaps Peter is in fact getting taller as the trip progresses! Perhaps only by a fraction of a centimeter a day but enough to consistently misjudge his own clearance and give himself a good daily head smack. (Still with me?) It therefore stands to reason that the taller he grows the further his finger tips are from the base of his pockets. Ipso facto his mobile phone was no more than just out of reach!!!
2. On-the-other-hand, the man could just be an idiot caught in the temporary (we sincerely trust) grip of a mild senility!

Mechanic eventually does arrive 3 and a half hour later. Turns out to be very efficient, asses the situation and has it all fixed by mid afternoon and gives us a lift into town with our smelly laundry in tow.

For those that haven’t been to Exmouth here’s a brief description.

Barren.

There, that about sums it up.

Devoid of any vegetation taller than shoulder height and that on the verge of dying anyway. I think for the whole town one can count the trees on two hands, three of those trees are in the mall. At least I think it’s a mall. It’s about 10 meters wide and 30 meters long, has two general stores, one take-away a ‘cheap as chips’ type of outlet, a woman’s clothing store, and electrical store and an arcade (chic huh?) with a unisex hair salon, a music store, a haberdashery and Laundromat. I will say though that the trees in the mall are the most delightful frangipani.

Later that day.

Washing is done, emails sent but due to the tonight’s STREET PARTY, all the shops are closing early, so we’ll have to re-supply tomorrow. We’ve been promised a band, Santa and a general ‘knees-up” worthy of the festive season. Our excitement barely contained we head back to the boat to shower, shave and put on the glad rags for a big night out.

On arrival at around 7pm the shindig is pumpin’ with nearly one hundred people soaking up the entertainment and beer. Peter, Hugh and I throw ourselves into the fray and apart from the occasional overwhelming feeling of de-ja-vu when the band repeats songs (once immediately straight after they had just performed it) we actually enjoy ourselves and in the process happily invite the whole party back to the boat. Luckily either not too many heard this generous invitations or they just thought we were pissed yachtie wankers, so only a handful took up the offer. Just as well as we didn’t call it quits until 4am and many beers later.

Friday December 9

Please let me crawl up and die.

It’s around 0930 and I’m feeling very plain. I have no idea how the other two feel save the fact Hugh is vertical and kindly seeking out pain killers for me whilst Peter is on his 3rd coffee and has a conversation range that includes indiscriminate grunts and the occasional half coherent word vaguely resembling “Berrocca”.

Pumped with painkillers, coffees and a damn good shower we begin our day, albeit with slightly less enthusiasm than would be deemed seemingly professional for a delivery crew. To town we go with a priority of a greasy hamburger to put a lining back on our collective stomachs. It must be said that Hugh tended to show a little bit more restraint in the consumption of alcohol than Peter and I. (he makes up for it though with a near ravenous capacity to consume unnatural amounts of cashews!) and given his better disposition consumed his hamburger due to genuine hunger and perhaps a little bit of sympathy for Peter and I.

Shopping completed, we gathering last minute goodies like Berrocca’s when Peter makes a discovery that gladdens my very heart to the core. He has unearthed (probably the last in Australia) a “Bop It” in the midst of a jumble of toys on the top shelf of a news agency.

The “Bop It” is an unusual toy built to send any sane person around the twist within hours. Recommended for ages 8 and upwards this steering wheel shaped object asks you to follow one of it’s 5 commands set to a beat that steadily increases as you become more proficient. Peter and I fell victim to the “Bop It” in Darwin 12 months ago when it was introduced to us by the front of house staff of the local marina bar and restaurant. One session saw sunrise without anyone having mastered the infernal device and of course one becomes more determined and relatively less capable with each drink. Since that night I have searched high and low for a “Bop It” with no toy shop even acknowledging it’s existence, and now I have one in my hands!!! I have 2 surrogate nephews and a niece who I can hand this to, knowing that after a few weeks of “Bop It” it’s highly likely their parents may have to consider sending them to therapy! (Ain’t Christmas fun!) In the interim Hugh, Peter and I can give this toy a good going over whilst motoring through the doldrums.

As the afternoon has bought us some strong winds and because the local yacht club is only open Friday and Sundays we think it would be remiss if we didn’t pay our respects that evening. We shower and head off to the beach where the yacht club sits in isolation amidst the scrub and sand dunes. In a few years I fear the club will have changed dramatically as between it, the marina and the main road heading into town (some 2 or 3 thousand hectares) there is currently a series of waterways being dredged ready for the developers who have planned a resort along with casual and permanent accommodation and the infrastructure that type of development demands. A mini Sanctuary Cove by all accounts with all the trees having to be shipped in as well.

Exmouth Yacht Club is so much like many regional clubs, little more than a shed for a clubroom and bar, a small ablutions block, a few trailer-sailors parked ashore and genuinely warm hospitality. Bare foot on the lawn overlooking Exmouth Gulf cooking our own steak and sausages and chatting to the locals leaves us pleasantly relaxed enough for Peter to deem a night’s sleep in port and cast off at sunrise.

Detlef Bauer

Perth Nov 27 – December 2
As nice as it is to stop a day or two on a journey, it’s always good to get underway again and Perth was no exception. Having arrived Sunday we’d been there for just over five days with very little to do but wait on assorted tradesmen to arrive and complete the repairs we required. First and most efficiently was the sail maker. After Last Chapter’s illustrious owner had created some crude modifications on the mainsail (put hole in it), it was time to have the tired old thing (the sail not the owner) repaired. Arriving first thing Monday morning the sail repairer hauled off the main sail in his station wagon after much bending, coaxing and heaving from us as the main sail isn’t exactly tiny. It was returned to us as promised on Wednesday completed with a new baton.

Not so efficient was the fridge mechanic. He eventually did arrive on Tuesday but took one cursory glance at the situation and bluntly told Peter “you don’t need me you need an electrician. Needless to say Peter wasn’t too amused with his attitude but I think that may have been compounded by the fact he was sporting a nice little hangover from our Sunday night session at the Fremantle Sailing Club whilst being entertained by Brian Cadd, Russell Morris & band.

Let me make it understood though, that the hangover that Peter and if truth be known myself included were blessed with, came not so much from excessive drinking but due to completely forgetting to eat that day. It was, I admit rather strange when on our third beer we began feeling rather ragged and by our fifth and probably last beer of the night we were very shabby indeed. Apart from that night’s musical nostalgia (not sure whether I really needed to hear “The Real Thing” done live) by albeit the original artist, a middle aged, balding though hatted to hide the fact, somewhat pudgy “used-to-be” pop star!

Now, where was I? Oh yes. Earlier that evening, we were introduced to one of Hugh’s five daughters and her boyfriend who proceeded to whisk the Hugh-man (our endearing moniker for Hugh) away for a spot of dinner. At least one of the team had enough common sense to eat. We are assured by Hugh that Peter and I didn’t make fools of ourselves in front of his delightful daughter but then again the night was but young when we met her.

The only disappointment for the night was in retrospect that we didn’t get to see Hugh dance to Brian Cadds’ “A little Ray of Sunshine”. Given Hugh’s passion for “dancing” it would have been a treat for us and perhaps a near nirvanic experience for him

All through the following days whilst berthed at the Sailing Club we were constantly asked about the yacht, where was she from, where was she going, who made her etc, there’s no doubt about it Last Chapter certainly is an eye catcher with virtually everyone either beginning or ending a conversation with “she’s a beautiful boat”. Given the slovenly condition she was in before and the sparkling one presented now, we take just a little pride in all the attention she gets. It’s a pleasure sitting out on the cockpit with a beer in hand knowing she’s now all tidy and gleaming.

Speaking of beer, what would be a trip to Fremantle without sampling some of the local brews? So sample we did. Our respective partners will be pleased to know that we sampled politely, limiting ourselves during our visit to only one PINT of every type of local brew each. I’m so glad that there are only around 50 local brews! Needless to say that VB not falling into the category of local brew, was drunk without restriction.

We only went out for dinner twice whilst in port, once to Clancy’s Fish Café and a particularly pleasant night recommended by Peter at the Little Creatures Brewery where Hugh after much prodding and interrogation opened up and supplied us with enough personal material for plenty of good natured fodder for the rest of the trip. See: dancing reference earlier of which Bev (Hugh’s wife) and his five daughters (yes you did read correctly earlier 5!) will appreciate completely. The rest of you reading this will have to reach your own conclusions.

Tuesday through to Friday was spent either chasing tradesmen, or chasing down items for the boat. Hugh had a night ashore with his daughter and returned sporting a rosier complexion given his previous green phase and a brand new Thailand courtesy flag. Peter on the other hand came back empty handed when he tried to pick up the previously ordered, delivered and confirmed lugs for our new life-raft. A phone call prior proffered a “Oh yes Mr. Neaves, ready for you to pick up when you’re ready”, only to be told when he arrived at the address “yes well, they were here but someone sold one of the two but another shipment will arrive on Friday”. The steam from Peter’s ears could have run a sauna for a whole weekend.

Eventually things started falling into place, the fridge it appears needed a new water pump and would be installed Friday, the life raft and lugs would be done by Thursday and customs would be able to clear us around 2.30pm Friday. Speaking of customs, given we’re clearing Australia from Freo it was considered sensible that we should stock up on duty free. The only one in Freo turned out to be run (and I use the term loosely there) by a bejeweled pre-menopausal (and I use the term lightly here) BITCH! Our request to purchase alcohol, cigarettes etc was met with the most unhelpful and venomous reply.

Bitch: (spitting) well you need to give me 24 hours you know. It has to be organized with customs and couriered to your boat. When are you leaving?

Us: Yes we realize that. We’re going tomorrow.

Bitch: Well that’s hardly 24 hours!

Us: This time tomorrow afternoon.

Bitch: Exactly 24 hours!

Us: Yes we are leaving tomorrow afternoon 24 hours from now.

Bitch: Well, where’s all the paperwork?

Us: we’ll go and get it

Bitch: well that will be more than 24 hours then won’t it?

Us: (to the delight of the other customers who are as bemused as we are and the pleasure of her no doubt terrorized employees we jump the counter, threatening to shove her duty free where the sun don’t shine)

Ok I made the last bit up, it was just I vision I had whilst listening to the bitterness spewing from her cruel twisted cheaply lipsticked mouth. Instead we just walked out empty handed in a state of stunned disbelief. We knew full well that if we returned with all the paper work she’d find a “t” uncrossed or a missing page of a triplicate – she was that kind of person / creature. Lacking my usual diplomatic reserve, I did on departure ‘complement’ the woman on her superior customer service and thanked her for her being so “overwhelmingly helpful” and I’m pleased to say I said it all without using one expletive and without referring to her talons, scales or the fire shooting from her snout.

So onward we go leaving for Exmouth Friday afternoon sans any duty free. We have a repaired sail, a fridge and freezer that works (fingers crossed) and a new life raft which we hope we never have to find out if it works, mounted and ready to go all storage checked and a weather forecast that we hope will provide a far more comfortable journey for the three of us for the next four to five days.

Detlef Bauer.