Abeam

The captain and crew were all friends. They had gone to school together, the families all knew each other. They had the same politics, principles and beliefs. They were aligned. 

They were taking the boat up north to the islands. It was a solid week of sailing and they were one crew short. They were three out of their usual tight cohort of four.

It was the captain's pick. A friend of a friend, recommended to him for sailing skills and knowledge of the coastline. They had not met but time was short and so arrangements were made. The wind would swing around against them after next week so they had to be gone within the next day or two. The short notice stand-in would join the boat on the morning of departure, before the tide turned. The rest of them were staying on-board the night before.

They considered themselves capable and serious sailors. They had no concerns about the trip or the newcomer. Although the extra hand would help they were confident that all would have gone well without them. The captain may look out for the unknown crew but the other two cared little; there was a known quantity coming aboard, another like them surely.

Next morning, at the allotted hour, someone carrying a small duffel bag made their way down the marina towards the boat. The captain was the only one topside.

‘This must be the boat then, am I right?’ She said, peering out from under her cap. The captain, still nursing his coffee mug, was not at all sure she had the right boat. 

‘Depends. If you are looking for ‘Awesome’ then you have found her. If you are looking for her captain then you have found him too,’ came his even reply. He put his coffee mug down and leant over the rails to grab her bag. With a nimble leap she followed it aboard and stood comfortable and steady on the deck. The others come up from below, curious and fully armed with good manners meant to impress.

Introductions were made. Not once did any of them act as if she was anything other than what they expected. The captain offered to show her around and the two of them went below, leaving the other two to think this turn of events through. 

They made turn of tide and set sail as soon as they cleared the marina leads. She watched as they all busied themselves, she was already subtlety excluded and relegated. Patience she told herself. 

With the boat settled on course she suggested that they log in with the Coastguard. The captain agreed so she picked up the radio handset without further discussion.

‘Coastguard Mooloolaba, Coastguard Mooloolaba, Coastguard Mooloolaba this is Awesome, Awesome, Awesome - over.’ She said clear and slow.

‘Awesome, Awesome, Awesome - this is Coastguard Mooloolaba go ahead.’ Came the reply.

‘Coastguard, Awesome - requesting to log on with you, over.’ 

‘Awesome, Coastguard – not a problem, what is your current position, destination, registration, vessel details and number of people on board?’

‘Coastguard, Awesome – we are three miles north of Mooloolaba, destination is Double Island Point around 17:00 hours, registration is Q306799, we are a 20 meter sailing yacht with blue hull and white sails, 4 POB, over.’

‘Awesome, Coastguard – thank you, all details received, have a safe trip north, call us when you are 5 miles off Double Island Point Lighthouse and we will hand you over to VMR Tin Can Bay, over.’

‘Coastguard, Awesome romeo that, Awesome standing by’.

‘Coastguard Mooloolaba standing by’.

She turned from the radio to see them all looking at her. 

‘None of us are any good on the radio.' Explained the captain, surprising not just himself with this confession.

‘No sweat guys, better to be safe, happy to help’, she said. ‘I know the Coastguard and Volunteer Marine Rescue network pretty well. You can never have enough friends out here, you should drop in and chat with them sometime.’ 

Her inclusiveness was unnerving; already she had bought the outside world into theirs without any polite preamble. This was only the first morning, what would the rest of the week bring?

They soon found out. She was solidly smart and well read, all that time on boats. She had no fixed address, lived on boats. She worked for some well-known people, delivered their boats, raced their boats. She had connections they could only dream of but she cared little about impressing them. Her world was large.

They were well educated but insular and hardly ever read. They valued their homes for the status they demonstrated, not for the comfort. They compared themselves only to each other. Their world was a privileged clubhouse. She should belong to it but didn't.

Double Island Point lighthouse became visible before dark. She radioed in to Coastguard Mooloolaba before they changed course to navigate into the anchorage. The lighthouse began it’s nightly signal cycle when it was directly abeam of them. She noticed and tipped her head in silent acknowledgment. 

Early next morning they left Double Island Point to cross the treacherous Wide Bay Bar. The swell was up but it went to plan, her plan. There were no cross words, no blame laid, no false bravado. They were grateful for the course direction and coverage provided by VMR Tin Can Bay for the bar crossing. Once anchored in Tin Can Bay they all went ashore to visit the VMR shed for a catch-up. 

All the next week they made their way up the coast. She logged them on every morning and cleared them every night with VMR. They viewed the radio differently now and listened to the traffic with interest. They liked it. No embarrassment. Plenty of discussion about boats other than their own, and their crews.

She preferred to listen, their first impression of her was wrong in that respect. They found that they stopped talking so much too. They said more between the three of them during that week than in their lifetime growing up together. The glue was still good but the veneer had cracked. 

They had the best sail ever. Not that the weather was perfect the whole time, they had some days of big wind and seas to match. There were quiet laughs and genuine questions, regrets owned and honest answers given. 'Awesome' became much more than a possession to them. It took the week, but they had the making of sailors by the time they tied up at Hamilton Island.

Then she was gone, off the boat and catching a plane. She had another boat to join. They never sailed with her again but they stayed in touch, kept track of where she was, where she was going. They hoped their children would meet her, could sail with her one day. 

In the years to come the guy who missed that trip drifted apart from the other three. They had changed course and he was left abeam of them.