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' La Boheme - La Boheme - this is HMAS Laun-sess-ton - are you receiving - over?'. Launceston directs us towards the nearest landfall, and advises us that there is nothing immediately that they can do for us. Of course at the moment we have no immediate danger. But we all, that is except for our captain, are aware that things are deteriorating, and that without too much imagination we shall find ourselves in an altogether more serious situation. Night encloses us once more, and Launceston departs, satisfied that today there is nothing more that she can do for us. Dean and Avi are both taking shelter below as the four in our team, Laurence and his two crew huddle together on deck. It is quite clear now that we are rapidly approaching an emergency situation. We are all as the saying goes 'In The Same Boat' and therefore we agree that each one of us will do what we can to get us through the situation. Now we must all pull for each other. The dividing line of customers and crew must be scrubbed if we are to get through this spot. Andrew and Tim within a few minutes of each other bring their dinners back up, vomiting overboard into the wind. In our cabin, Dean is sobbing into her pillow, nervously chattering about wanting to be at home. In a fit of rage she flies at me and vents her anger and helplessness, thumping me as hard as her fists will allow 'Get me out of here', she bawls. All our worst nightmares are rapidly coming true.

Another stormy night ensues. The conditions seem to be getting worse as time unfolds. In the darkness we feel the bow rising high in the air over each successive wave. We then sail through the air as the wave passes beneath us, and then we rejoin the sea with a crash as we hit the next wave. The shudder that jolts the hull at each crash is enough to make one fear for our immediate safety. Overnight we hear boxes and water bottles work themselves loose and roll and rattle their way around the cabin. We try to ignore, and continue saying our prayers.

Day breaks, and I go above decks and offer my assistance to Lawrence. 'You don't want to be up here', unfortunately for our captain there are no prizes for stating the obvious. Over the last few days Lawrence has had not much more than a few hours sleep, and I wonder whether his judgement is sound. Its just a few minutes later and the boat is taking blows from every angle. Each one feels strong enough to be the boat's last. We teeter at precarious angles and the crew and our team hang on for dear life. After a particularly loud crack I hear Laurence shouting for help. Clambering up on to the deck I find that all hell has broken loose. The wind has strengthened, and breaking waves surround us. The deck is awash from breaking waves, the sun awning is mainly blown off, and Laurence is clinging grimly to his deck mounted compass. As a wave washed across, the compass was broken from its mountings and before it fell overboard Laurence grabbed it. After stowing the compass we attempt to tie down the dangerously flailing metal poles of the awning. The sea has become wild, and the crests of the waves are being whipped off by the howling gale. Unbeknown to us at the time we are flirting with the outskirts of Cyclone Sam; Australia's first of the season.

Our speed has dropped further still, and although early in the day, amongst the maelstrom that is threatening to swallow us, we are just 25 nautical miles from shore. We sway and rock and at the helm, Dan does his level best to keep us at an angle to the worst of the waves. We all know that the storm is worsening and that Darwin is slipping away from us. Our fuel supplies dwindling, making painfully slow headway, and now without a compass I feel deeply uneasy at the situation. How are we going to reach a satisfactory situation. This view is compounded an hour and a half later when we inspect the GPS once more. Our distance to shore now.....twenty six point nine nautical miles. We're drifting away from Australia and from safety. Laurence is trying to navigate using only his GPS. At these slow speeds and veering erratically on the motion of the powerful waves the computer can't work out which direction we're heading in. I rack my brains for a compass. We must have one somewhere. Laurence certainly doesn't have a back up. We sent our handheld Silva one back home a few weeks earlier, having not used it. And then I remember the one that Nickers had given me back in Thailand - mounted on my handlebars, complete with bell.

'Pablo have you got a Phillips screwdriver', it doesn't really seem like the time to be fiddling around with bike maintenance, but its clear that we need a better indication of which direction to head in. Its far from perfect - but at least it gives us a chance.

'La Boheme - La Boheme - this is Coastal Watch - do you copy over?' a cry of delight goes up as the plane comes over 23 hours later than we had last heard them. A discussion ensues between Laurence and the radio operator over whether we are in distress, and whether we need immediate assistance. The plane will only be overhead for a short while, and we have a finite window where we can talk to them. After that we shall be back on our own. Whilst Laurence is on deck, out of earshot, we take the opportunity to explain that our situatio0n is indeed serious and we shall be requiring assistance as soon as it can reach us. Just before they go out of range, we hear Coastwatch calling Lauceston back once again to assist us.

'La Boheme - La Boheme this is Laun-sess-ton. We would like you to proceed on a bearing of one hundred and ten degrees. This will bring you into the sheltered anchorage of Dundee beach. There we expect the swell to settle out sufficiently to be able to launch our rib.' More cries of relief, and more tears. Dean is adamant by this point that she will be getting off La Boheme today. There won't be many more discussions on that subject. 'We intend to bring you more fuel and something warm to eat - over'. As we continue to fight our way through the still uncomfortable swells we are flanked by the reassuring bulk of Launceston. Every now and again we refresh radio contact with them, trying to give more information about our situation without wanting to overload the Captain with unnecessary details. The rain comes and goes and from time to time we lose visual contact with Launceston. A mist encircles us briefly but surely as we draw closer to land, the sea begins to settle. We attempt to muster some enthusiasm for our sighting of land and our first Australian vista, but in our drained condition its about all we can manage just to get up on deck and have a look. Some 4 miles off the shore line we finally get the nod from the Captain of HMAS Launceston. 'La Boheme La Boheme - this is HMAS Launsesston - ah yes....we shall not be able to proceed any further in to shore. If you can drop you forwards speed please. We shall be launching the rib and sending our guys over to you shortly, over'. The tiny rubber, partially stiffened inflatable dinghy zips across the tops of the waves as daylight begins to falter. Without any fuss or excitement, the four man crew manoeuvre alongside, and within moments they are aboard and charging the fuel tanks with diesel. Without discussion, the commands are shouted out clearly and unequivocally by X.O. Paul McCarthy, and his three crew immediately jump into action. Officer McCarthy explains that the navy has many other operational commitments to fulfill as well as assisting ailing pleasure craft. It is not normal procedure to take civilians aboard Patrol Boats unless the situation is a risk to life. He drops below whilst the fuel and food is being loaded aboard and talks with Dean who is going through every sort of emotion; unsure of whether she will be aboard for another night, being taken to the Launceston, or quite what is happening. After a brief radio discussion it is confirmed that Nadine and one other will go aboard Launceston and the remainder will head for shelter in shallower waters close to shore where the sea should be even more settled. After a few moments of discussion with Andrew, Tim and Rich, all of whom are also seriously shaken by the situation, it is agreed that I will leave with Dean. Dean, Freddo and Shuey pull the oldest trick in the book as we hop down into the rib. 'Aw, you've done the hardest bit ay! Getting up on to Launsesston - that's a piece of cake!'. We run before the waves in the grip of darkness, adrenaline pumping and a sheepish smile returning to Dean's face. In the half light we can just about see the moving horizon of the black waves rising to meet the ashen sky. Fully illuminated with navigation lights, Launceston is bathed in a deep red haze radiating from doors and windows. The decks are bustling with crew going about their business, whilst also trying to get a look at the 'Pommies' who have just been plucked from the yacht. Alongside we scramble up on to a rope ladder. The swell moves rythmically, the rib rising in steps up the sheer steel hull of Launceston. At the top of the third rise Shuey shouts 'Go - go' to Dean who steps up and is plucked from the rib by two strong arms who launch her up on to the main deck.

Unable to believe quite what has happened the two of us smile, a deep smile of relief. And then we think of the guys still on board La Boheme. 'Ow ya travellin now then choppa?' a friendly face gives us a wink, not expecting a reply. He doesn't get one. It takes me until I'm halfway down the corridor until I can figure out quite what he's said to me. Max the 'cheffo' cooks us up the most miraculous baked beans, tomato soup, chicken kebab combo that we have every tasted. His sarcastic drawl disguises what seems to be a concern for the two of us. He makes sure we're fed and watered and settled in for our night's sleep. Before we turn in though we get to meet the face behind the voice on the radio; the Captain of HMAS Launceston; Ken. We spend just a few moments thanking him and shaking his hand several times over. We hope he gets the message; we're truly grateful to the whole crew of Launceston. The two of us sleep soundly, despite the lumbering crashing reverberations as the Patrol Boat makes its way back up and around the North Coast.

In the morning we wake refreshed and find despite a fresh wind, and continuing whitecaps as far as the eye can see, the day has dawned sunny. Following breakfast of fresh fruit, milk tea and the legendary Ozzie vegemite on toast we make our way up to the flying bridge to watch our entry into Darwin Port. We watch the weather report come out of the laser printer. The ship's navigator points out the two tropical depressions that are on the point of becoming cyclones. Our route traces a neat line between the two; small wonder we have had such an ordeal! Back down in the junior officers mess we're surrounded by the crew who grill us both on how we came to be here, and also the standard of English Cricket. Now this is what we had been looking forward to, the Ozzies, the people with whom we share so much, and yet who are on the opposite side of the world to us, and who can't stop beating us at Cricket!

Epilogue

As we came alongside in Northern Command Naval Base Darwin, the customs officers were ready for us. As we explained how we had come to be entering Australia in such an unconventional way, the two officers looked at each other. 'A 51ft ketch, on Dundee Beach.....it went down last night'. In the pit of our stomachs Dean and I both felt dreadfully ill. Like a hard punch to the stomach, our wind was taken from us. As we sat together wondering what on earth had happened the next piece of news filtered through that all seven on board were safe and well. We couldn't help but wonder though quite what disaster had unfolded back there to mean that the boat had sunk.

Probably looking somewhat punch-drunk, Dean and I were taken under the wing of one Captain David Bergman of the Northern Command Army. Brought back to his house we sat, and we sat, not really able to gather our thoughts properly. We looked at our one bag and the handful of belongings that had come ashore safely with us. 3 Hindi Pop CD's, Dean's make up, a reading book, and a few grubby clothes. We sat and looked at each other in our Navy Boilersuits. Now what would we do?