Part Two.

'Jump on, jump on Dan for God's sake', the yacht scraped excruciatingly along the concrete jetty at Bima port. With a sharp crack, one of the rear starboard-side halyards snapped and flailed, and the rubber tender grazed the side before we lurched erratically out into the deeper water. Our captain couldn't understand why one of his crew hadn't jumped on in the confusion and rapid acceleration. Of course we knew why he hadn't got on; but somehow we didn't feel it appropriate to contradict our enthusiastic captain.

A gentle breeze whistled in from the North as we made our way around the final cape of Sumbawa. Spirits running high the team and crew were all smiles. We were being treated like customers on a luxury cruise. Incidentally, we had paid as if we were customers on a luxury cruise. Our crew of 5 scurried around looking after our every requirement. Dan, from Yeovil Somerset, and Pablo, the Scotsman with a shock of dyed blonde hair, would be our crew from here to Darwin. Avie was our cook. Petrified of what was about to unfold; we tried to reassure her that everything would be just fine. The two Indonesian crew Ketuk and Madee would come only as far as Kupang in West Timor, from where they would fly back to Bali.

Our captain, Lawrence, from British Columbia Canada, had sailed to Indonesia some 4 years previously aboard La Boheme. He was clearly keen to look after us, and was chirpy and friendly towards us. His habit of asking a question and then only listening to half the answer was a little annoying, but we let that ride. We didn't feel quite as lenient however, to his abrupt orders that were barked from the wheel. The conspicuous absence of p's and q's, somehow didn't feel right for the captain of a yacht where everyone lives in close confinement.

On the first night, sunset approached, and we were crossing the Komodo Straits, bound for the southern Cape. Pablo duly scurried off to fix us ice cold Bintangs as we waved goodbye to Sumbawa. Calm waters, great weather, amongst friends, and bound for Australia, life looked rosy. Tim organised a Human Powered celebratory game to commemorate the true culmination of 'Human Power'. Now we would attempt to sail to Darwin. This vain desire, however, lasted for just a few hours. We set the sails in the hope of catching sufficient wind to propel us on our way. Our speed barely flickered above one knot, and so the writing seemed to be on the wall. Andrew and I held a brief discussion beneath the stars on the foredeck.

After having spent such a huge amount of money on the crossing, in order that we might maintain our non-fossil fuel journey, it seems that we shall now be motoring, after just one day afloat. With more than a tinge of regret we concede that we shall have to motor; particularly bearing in mind all the recent weather forecasts for the Timor Sea that have been showing widely spaced Isobars and only the faintest wisps of wind.

Fair weather prevails all the way until Timor. Scorching sunshine beats down on the deck and the team seek out whatever shade is to be found. A couple of times we pause for open sea swimming where we all take it in turns to practise our diving; flying either from the bowsprit or directly from the side. We're visited by a couple of schools of dolphins en route and despite not being able to sail, we're quite happy. We eat well. Dan and Pablo have by now picked up the task of preparing our meals as well. Avie has been sleeping or staring in fear at the watery horizon, ever since our departure from Bima. Its quite clear that she shouldn't be out here; she's scared out of her wits and sick even from the gentle swaying motion of the boat.

The rude issuing of orders from the wheel has, by the time we approach Kupang reached serious proportions. Madee is shouting back at Lawrence; clearly not prepared to put up with the barrage of orders and lack of thanks. Dan and Pablo, are both also losing their motivation for the trip. We're concerned that they may look to jump ship in Kupang too. At that point of course we would find ourselves in a very difficult spot; four hundred and seventy miles from Darwin without a crew. Around this time it becomes clear that despite being paying customers we must look after Dan and Pablo. Without them we shan’t be going to Australia.

We slowly draw closer to Kupang. The wide circular horizon extending on all sides further than the eye can make out curves away into nothing. This bare landscape without landmarks, gives way to the approach to Kupang, and at around 5pm on the 28th November we're dropping anchor just off shore and readying ourselves for a calm night in sight of dry land.

Whilst Andrew, Tim, Rich, Lawrence, Dan and Pablo make for the bright lights of Kupang's restaurants, Dean and I opt for a quiet night being cooked for by Avie. Strips of deep fried chicken and fried potatoes with lashings of ketchup make for a tasty meal, and we're turning in early hoping to get a good night's sleep. The next morning it turns out that none of the team have returned to the boat. Trying to contain our anxiety we put it down to maybe a few beers and then a contingency plan of staying in one of the town's small hotels. On arrival back it turns out that the real story is a little less benign. On their return to La Boheme, the guys walked past some police who asked to see their passports. On not being able to produce them, a trigger happy officer decided to fire off a couple of rounds from his pistol. The guys are a little shaken but otherwise quite fine. Tim takes some time to contemplate last night's events, and sits quietly for a couple of hours with furrowed brow. After breakfast, we head back into the town to provision, and to send a quick note home. Rich S gets the hardest of the jobs, and is packed off with Lawrence to get us stamped out from Indonesia. This is the reason, that in spite of our intentions never to get close to Timor, we find ourselves overnighting here.

Kupang seems to be functioning perfectly normally. The town is bustling and busy, and the locals seem to be in pretty good spirits. We chat to an Indonesian employee of the UN, and try to get a snapshot of the current climate here. Elya tells us that the big issue here in Indonesian Timor is the continual flow of refugees from recently independent East Timor. Apart from this, she says everything is quite normal. Its difficult to put one's finger on it, but there is a kind of hollow feeling to the place. The normal Indonesian shouting and laughing is somewhat subdued. We don't hang around here for too long. We get food and drinks and then we're back aboard the boat ready to leave.

'Rough water ahead', at the bow position I shout out to Lawrence. Ominous white caps are breaking not far away, and it looks as if a reef is below the surface causing the disturbance in the water. Images of our 51ft ketch run aground on a reef race through my mind. In a panic Laurence spins the wheel violently. The yacht lurches suddenly as we enter the rough water. 'We're on a reef', colour drains in an instant from his face, and we all look at each other. Seconds later the depth sounder is reporting two hundred feet of water. In the confusion the swell is hitting us from all sides. Dean shouts that she definitely doesn't want to be here. With an almighty gush, a heavy rolling wave swamps the aft deck. Soaking all of us, and catching us all unawares, our hearts are in our mouths. The boat tips and rolls nauseatingly. Our grips tighten on the railings around our seats. We hope they'll hold fast. We all slide one way and the next in time, but a little too stteply to be laughing. As the water flattens and we leave the violent chop behind, Laurence begins laughing. 'You know that's quite normal', he puffs proudly. 'Three sets of current are coming together just at the tip of that headland, and boom!' he gestures with his hands rising up to the sky. It is intended that we should believe that Laurence was quite ready for the rough water. Somehow I can't help but wonder why he took us straight through the middle of it, and why he thought it was a reef. Our confidence in our captain has taken a knock.

Evening approaches, and after a brief respite the sea roughens once more. The wind picks up a notch and we motor on into a choppy stormy night. We make do with a makeshift meal from the galley. Avie is now firmly planted in a horizontal position; eyes tightly shut and praying for deliverance. Dan and Pablo stagger around and make us some fried chicken and baked potatoes. In the darkness the yacht continues to wander back and forth. With no horizon to fix my eyes upon my head swims. Our motion is something like a roller coaster ride with the lights off. Just the phosphorescent wash off the bow as we crash into successive waves shows that we are rolling back and forth, up and down, in and out of the sea. I stuff down my food as quickly as I can and head down below. It seems that in the horizontal position with eyes closed I can avoid sea sickness quite effectively. Nadine, my fiancee grips my hand tightly, and whispers 'Get me out of here Rich'. The swell washes up and over the portholes. Adrift from the Australian mainland by still a full three and a half days at best, I know that we're going to have to be brave. I also suspect that I'll be lying if I say that its going to get better. We enter stormier conditions overnight, and Dan, Pablo and Lawrence take their watches through the darkness. We can feel the bow rearing up and then crashing down. I try to imagine what kind of animal would move as we are, with this strange lolloping gait. My confused mind reasons that we're galloping like some kind of lame horse. Shortly afterwards I slip into a fitful slumber. From our first night it takes us a further eighty four hours to reach the shallowing waters of the Northern Territories Australia. Time becomes rather confused, and nights and days become one. We take turns to take the helm, and we edge towards Australia.Overnight thunder, lightning and rain lash the decks and the winds whip up sickening swells. From our tiny circular portholes we watch brightly silhouetted lavender tinted clouds splashed with brilliant light by fantastic electrical storms. We also watch spellbound, on a clear night as we cross beneath the patchwork of Southern Hemisphere constellations. The mast cuts the sky like a blade and we hold course by selecting a notable star on our bearing and heading for hour after darkness hour in that direction.

On day three we awake to discover that overnight the wind and waves have been fighting us hard for the last ten hours. Our progress has dwindled from our usual 5 to 6 nautical miles per hour down to a grinding three. On the GPS we watch with growing concern as our estimated time of arrival climbs again to almost 2 more days. It seems to have been hovering at 2 days for the last 2 days. Our thoughts stretch out to Australia as we creep forwards. At first I had been prepared to write off the minor weather disturbances as rain showers. My barometer shows steady high pressure - so no cause for alarm. Now, however, with the wind freshening, the 3 to 4 metre swell looking pretty set, and our forward speed not much better than a slow moving tortoise, I am truly becoming concerned. Its around now that we all begin to realise the power and danger of the sea. The feeling of being so far from help and from safety. The feeling that the weather has easily within its potential to overwhelm our tiny craft, and crush us in its awesome power. We all would like some good news and some help. Contrarily, Laurence announces that we don't actually have enough fuel to reach Darwin. So to add to our concerns of the weather, we also now juggle with the thought that when we do come within range of the coast, we may find ourselves without enough fuel to negociate any reefs or waterborne hazards that we may encounter. There seems to be only one sensible course of action with a shortage of diesel.

Two of our sails however are torn. We have a broken shackle on the jib. Our captain seems very reticent to hoist the sails. Indeed, even in calmer seas, when any true sailor would have felt ashamed to have been motoring, when any true sailor would have leapt at the chance of the peace and tranquillity of drifting under sail; even at a reduced speed, our captain would not be drawn into hoisting his main. Our captain it had become clear, was not a sailing man. When finally we did manage to get agreement on proceeding under sail power, we were unable to make good progress upwind. With the wind whistling in directly from Darwin we could at best make a course of approximately 140 degrees. During this time our captain spent his time making more accurate time calculating exactly how much fuel we had in our tanks.

We continued motoring just a few hours later. Making now for the nearest point of the Northern Territories. Although the weather had been fine and pleasant in the middle of the day, the wind, clouds and rain were not far away. The afternoon wore on and the conditions deteriorated. The boat shuddered and shook on each mighty crashing wave that we broached. The tinkle of glasses, and the horrible mess of food spilling out of the refrigerator, and the dripping of water through the hatches and down into the cabins, all combine to make a nasty mess down below. By now we have damp beds, damp clothes, sticky patches of congealed food behind the fire extinguisher in the corner, and difficulty in staying on the toilet as the boat rolls uncontrollably. The GPS continues to say that we are 2 days away from land - even late on in the afternoon. Just as we are all beginning to wonder what unexpected and nasty turn the adventure is going to take next, a crackle of interference and a loud broad accented Australian voice echos around the galley. Coastwatch, the Australian Airforce patrol who sweeps the enormous Northern coast, has a visual contact with us and has contacted us on channel sixteen the international emergency and distress channel. Laurence clambers downstairs to respond. The heavily falling rain and water from his waterproofs drenches the floor as he staggers across to the radio, bracing himself against the wildly rocking boat.

part two...